#cause dead apple came out in 2018 right?

[sad-emo-dip-dye]

Currently thinking abt how I started bsd in 2019 which means I have never seen skk interact with each other in real time

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Beach day with the Slashers

Female Reader -Bo- Gender-neutral -everyone else-

Bo- Fingering but no penetration. Dirty talk.

Angst and Fluff with Herbert and Dan (They pronouns used for Y/N) Fluff with Michael and Jason.

Michael Myers (1978 with the extra height of the 2018 one)

> Wants to visit the beach during the day. He’ll even have his mask off. Instead of enjoying the beautiful view of the sun hitting the blue ocean, you spend your day staring at your handsome boyfriend.

> Michael is just there to scan for new victims. He kills people who litter, hates seeing wrappers and cigarette butts littered across nature.

> You egg him on to go swimming, it takes a lot of coaxing. “Please, Michael, just for a little bit.” He points to your belongings on the towel, “They’ll be fine, who’s gonna want to steal some sandwiches and some towels?” He shook his head. You got down on your knees and gave him sad puppy dog eyes. He grumbled then lifted you onto his shoulder, you squealed as you placed your hands on his firm back, rubbing his taut muscles.

> When he got up to his pecs in the water he threw you in. You came up for air, “Mikey, what the hell!?”

> “What? You wanted in the water.” He gave a small smile.

> He made you swim in front of the beach while he just stood in the water and watched. He knew you’d be fine, it was your belongings he was worried for. You caught his eyes, his already dark blue eyes were now matching the deepest parts of the ocean. He barreled through the water, pushing you aside. You watched him as he made his way up onto the beach.

> Some fuck had the bright idea to do some stealing. He just happens to choose the one man’s belongings you don’t fuck with.

> Before that guy had time to react to a six-foot-three man, hauling ass like he is a tiger chasing after a deer, Michael clocked him so hard in the face the man immediately went down.

> People stood around Michael, some congratulating him for knocking out a thief, others gawked “My God he swung that punch so hard.” “Is the thief even breathing?” Michael stood over your belongings, and turned back towards you, just making your way out of the ocean. Michael was mad, but not as mad at what he saw next.

> Some random beach Chad made his way over to you, “Yo, that was wild huh?” You gave a quick, “Ya.” not caring to speak to him, just wanted to get back to your boyfriend. “He just knocked that guy out in one punch.” You made your way up the beach, he grabbed at you “Hey, be careful, probably want to stay aw-”

>The poor sap never stood a chance, Michael swung his fist so hard Chad went flying back into the water.

> “I’ve had enough, we're leaving.”

> You were gonna protest, but when you scanned the crowd, you realized that yeah, we’re gonna go home.

> Walking back home, Michael held your hand, tightly. “Mikey?” He grunts, “You don’t like people touching your belongings, huh?” You turned to look up at him and he caught you in a kiss. He snuck his tongue in, dominating yours, you moaned and he pulled away. You whined and he smiled.

> “what’s mine is mine.”

Jason Voorhees

> He’s the beach’s lifeguard, so if you wanna spend a beach day with Jason, you’ll have to do it after hours. You would, but Jason takes the evening shifts too.

> Everybody loved Jason. Kids loved him, he was always so nice to them after all. He gave them swimming lessons. He was always so patient with them, never getting mad if a kid was struggling to grasp the basics.

> Men and Women loved Jason. His stoic demeanor, his calming presence...his bulging muscles. Jason was oblivious to all kinds of flirting. “Your hands are like, so big!” said a bubbly tanned beach bunny. Jason just grunts. A muscle-bound beach bro asked, “Bet you lift a lot eh, what’s your macros?” Jason just looked at his large bicep, he shrugged.

> When you visit him at work he gives you small waves then his eyes go right back to the water, not wanting to miss anything. Dedicated <3

> He doesn’t take a proper lunch break, he’ll eat his food while watching the beach, scarfing down the food as fast as possible.

> After a long day, you’ll finally have Jason all to yourself.

> Night swimming!

> You and Jason have splash fights, that he often wins, his large palms create huge splashes that knock you back into the water.

> Keeps you incredibly close in the water, will bug you to wear a life jacket if you ever swam without him. He’s very protective.

> Holds you close to him the further out you go. He won’t let you go, so it’s the perfect time to smother him in kisses.

> Jason hums into your kisses, his large hands running up and down your back, the water and his hands feel perfect on your skin.

> Jason couldn’t be happier that you're together.

Herbert West + Dan Cain - Poly relationship or what Derrick Barry calls a ‘throuple’

> “Please Herbert, for me?” He grimaced at you. Don’t you know how busy he is? Perfect specimens don’t just end up dead you know? Someones gotta end a life! You sighed and brought out the big gun. “Well, Dan said-” The moment Dan left your lips, Herbert was pushing you and him out the door.

> You and Dan had a blast, building castles, collecting seashells, playing some beach volleyball with another friendly couple.

> Herbert sulked under the beach umbrella, nose in a large medical textbook.

> “If you come with us, Herbert, we’ll get you a grape freezie!” Dan coaxed but it did not affect Herbert. Herbert waved you both off as if you were two mosquitoes bugging him.

> You and Dan walked hand in hand, swinging them in between yourself on your way to the little concession stand. “You sure it was for the best we brought him, Dan?” Dan looked at you and frowned, your eyes were a little glossy. “He only came because you were coming.” You felt the tears rolling down your cheek.

> “fuck, Herbert, you little monster.” Dan cursed to under his breath. Dan knew Herbert gravitated more towards him. It’s not that Herbert didn’t like you, just Dan was there first. Dan never told you but he often caught Herbert staring at you, a softness in his eyes that Dan knew meant one thing…

> “I’m sorry…” You mumbled, quickly rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes. Dan shushed you and brought you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head.

> “Don’t be, Herbert should be. Some Vitamin D is much needed for his pale little body. I’ll talk to him, okay? In the meantime, focus on me!”

> Dan and you continued with the most fun day ever. You ate your freezies, swapping flavors halfway through. A little boy asked Dan to help with flying his kite, Dan’s height coming in handy.

> Herbert stewed in his spot under the umbrella, watching you and Dan have fun, “Hmph, wasting time.” He kept peeking from his book, eyes on you, how you smiled when you looked into Dan’s eyes, how you leaned in closer, head resting on his shoulder. How Dan wrapped his arm around your waist, lips on your ear whispering...God knows what, Herbert can only imagine.

> “They could just yank me away from this, make me spend time with them...not that I want to. But if they dragged me away from my book then I’d have no choice.”

> When it got late, You and Dan packed away everything into the bags, Herbert supervised. How helpful/s

> Dan had you drop a few of the smaller items at the car on your own, he made Herbert help with some of the heavier items. As your figure became smaller and smaller in the distance, Dan turned to Herbert, “You know, they wer-”

> “I can’t believe you two, frolicking about so openly.” Herbert had cut Dan off. Herbert fumbled with the bags while trying to push up his glasses. Dan fumed.

> “You mean act like a couple, which we are, which you're a part of. Or are you only a couple with me?”

> Herbert snapped “excuse me, you and Y/N are most certainly a couple, which I have no part of.”

> Dan scoffed and shook his head “They want to be with you too, Herbert, They do like you, They feel upset with how you treat them. Now I know deep down you adore them, you best start showing it.”

> Herbert stopped, he looked at Dan and then at you in the distance starting the car.

> Later that night, Herbert had asked if you’d help in the basement. As tired as you were, you went to help. Herbert scarcely looked at you, but he found ways to touch you. Hands ghosting over yours as you handed him some flasks. Grabbing your hips softly to move you out of the way.

> “Everything good, Herbert?” You asked. His eyes looked everywhere but you. He stepped a little closer to you, His face only a foot away.

> He smashed his lips onto yours and wrapped you up in his arms. His hands rubbing along your sides, pulling you in so tight you were surprised he was strong enough to bring pain that way.

> “Don’t cry over me. Okay?” Your face felt hot, you nodded. “You are mine too, not just Dan’s, okay?” You nodded again. “Good. Now kiss me.”

> The kiss started tender but that just wasn’t gonna cut it with all the tension between you two.

Bo Sinclair /Female reader/

> Lookin’ at all the pretty girls go by.

> Catches you catching him staring, flashes his baby blues at you, “C’mon darling, you know you're still the apple of mah eye.”

> Gets pissed when other guys check you out. Strolls on over and wraps an arm around you, sneering at the Chads and Kyles.

> “You just had to wear that sexy little number, didn’t ya?” He snarled in your face. You grabbed your tits in the cute red bikini and gave them a Lil shake.

> Bo yanked you away from the beach, you protested, hitting his large forearm, “Bo, what the hell? Oh come on, you act like a leech an-” He cut you off, his lips slammed onto yours, the kiss was teeth and a little tongue action.

> Bo had yanked you away to some run-down looking bathrooms, the paint was so old it looked like the original coat from the 1960s

> “Now, Darlin, looks like you’ve just been wanting to rial me up now, huh? Wanting those sons of bitches to fuck you?” He leaned in close to your ear, his heavy breathing making you shake with anticipation. He suckled on it, causing you to buckle at the knees.

> “Bo, no I didn’t wan-want ah, the- them to” You were panting as he made small circles on your clit over your bikini bottoms. His fingers were calloused but he could be surprisingly gentle.

> “Now, yah best be quiet so no one hears ya, understood, Doll?” You whimpered and Bo flashed you his pearly whites. “That’s a good girl.”

> You should make him jealous more often.

[millyscreepypastas]

INANIMATE INSANITY 666: PAPER'S KILLING SPREE

Have you ever heard of Inanimate Insanity?‚ I'm a BIG fan of my favorite season‚ season 1! Little did I know I saw strange VHS of the show and I don't know what it was here's the story about I found this VHS!

THE PASTA:

in 2018 It was november‚ I was happy, it was Saturday I was playing with my LOL surprise dolls when I saw something underneath my bed it was a VHS from my dad's house‚ the VHS said "INANIMATE INSANITY 666: PAPER'S KILLING SPREE (NEVER BEFORE SEEN!!!)" When I saw the VHS I got a little worried but I brought my VHS TV I made some popcorn and orange juice put the VHS in and I let the episode play

The inanimate insanity season 1 intro came up but something was wrong everyone is frowning with black boxes covering their eyes except for paper he had his evil eyes but his evil eyes were black instead of pastel yellow his eye pupils were dark red instead of red blood spilling out of his eyes his skin was reddish his teeth were sharp and black in color his claws were Sharp and he has a knife in his hand‚the background was red instead of blue the "INANIMATE INSANITY" logo with black instead of green and the audio is reversed I got a little bit scared to see that!

The episode started like "flowers revenge" but in inanimate insanity Also, because of the fact that this is a Season 1 episode, it uses the assets used for episodes 8-14. Anyway, paper stared at all his friends and enemies angrily he takes out a knife he said in a loud extremely angry voice:

I HAD ENOUGH WITH YOU YOU'LL ALL PAY FOR YOUR STUPID STUFF YOU DID TO ME I WILL TAKE MY REVENGE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!

Paper and OJ stopped being friends and paper stabbed OJ hyper realistic blood came out of him OJ was letting out a blood-curdling scream to death‚OJ was horrified‚ then OJ died‚ and paper laughed demonically‚ also why would paper kill his best friend?

Then he stabbed pickle in the chest more blood splatter all over pickle screamed: "how brutal it hurts really bad" taco was scared to see pickle die

Paper stabbed Taco As The Next victim‚ more blood came out of her shell and then paper stabbed tacos heart even more blood spray it out of the heart causing her to die then I threw up all over the rug

Paper took out in axe and came up knife and said to him "THIS IS WHAT YOU'RE GONNA GET YOU B***H!" Seriously? Did I hear paper swear? He didn't swear in Inanimate Insanity then he sliced knife's head off and cut and his stomach and torn out his organs more blood splattered everywhere I threw up on the rug some more (that's a lot of vomit ew)

Then it showed a montage of paper killing everybody in gruesome ways here's some of them:

Apple: Sliced by paper‚ Instead of apple juice, there was blood guts and organs.

Marshmallow: Stabbed In The Neck‚ blood was coming out of her neck

Bomb: stabbed and exploded into blood gore and organs

Pepper: cracked with a hammer‚ blood came out of her cracks

Balloon: popped by a knife with blood and organs flying all over

Baseball: ripped with a chainsaw

Bow: Eyes gouged out and stabbed by the throat

Mephone 4 appeared out of nowhere and as soon as he saw the contestants dead bodies he said: "hey guys for the next challenge you'll have to- OH MY GOD PAPER YOU KILLED ALL MY FELLOW CONTESTANTS!!!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE????" paper picked mephone4 up and stabs him blood came out of his cracks and his mouth laying on the ground dead then I went to black all of a sudden

The episode ends what a clip of evil paper saying "and I keep my promises" from episode 10 but it was frozen and didn't said that he keeps his promises he just screams very loudly in a maximum tone and paper looks more demonic‚ he had blacker eyes glowing red bloodshot pupils and they were spelling out some black ooze he had horns and demon wings his mouth was bleeding his skin was more reddish and his body was covered in blood‚ behind him they're all the contestants dead bodies and the background was dark red and static overlyed

Then I saw what really haunts me it was the noedolekciN logo but I saw pickle and taco on 2 nooieses bleeding i screamed in horror after I saw that logo and the episode ended

After the episode ended I saw demon paper he was looking at the TV screen saying something in a demonic tone and reverse for 1 minute I didn't know what he was saying it kind of haunts me all of the time then I went to black

This episode is nothing but a nightmare I was shocked to see this episode so I decided to play Just dance now on my tablet to calm me down!

If you see me episode anywhere don't watch it!!!!

OJ Pickle And Taco's Reaction To Paper's Killing Spree

[hyunjilicious]

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ Christmas Edition [bucky barnes]

Summary: it’s pretty self explanatory, I guess. (FLUFF) 1.6k

Warnings: absolutely none, just Bucky being cute, awkward and madly in love with you!!

-

In 2018, you were in Namibia, hunting down an American terrorist that had been on the run for the better part of the year. In 2019, the avengers were scattered around the globe, executing a 'shoot first, ask questions later' type of mission that ended long after the new year began. But this year, all of your friends were home. For the first time in years, the Stark Tower was shining from top to bottom with Christmas lights, carols echoing down all of its long, secluded hallways. It was the first time you'd get to actually spend the night of 24th of December with your true family. That is, if you made it in time. Back on December 19th, you and Bucky got stuck in the depths of Louisiana, with absolutely no means of communication, let alone transportation. You decided to make the best out of the situation and turn it into a road trip, but time flew by so much faster than expected, that it was now 2:13 pm on Christmas eve, and you and Bucky were sprinting down the snow covered empty highways of the east coast, dead set on making it home in time. He wasn't that eager to get back and tried to get you to rent a hotel room and spend the night alone, but you weren't having it. He huffed and puffed about not giving a shit about Christmas, but it was the first one he could celebrate with people that loved him, in over 70 years. With every motel that you passed, he'd turn and look at you from the passenger seat, begging you to stop. You didn't even consider it. You wanted him to have the full Christmas experience. A storm was brewing and you were whiteknuckling the steering wheel, fighting back the urge to yawn for the 3rd time in the last 10 minutes. After driving for 7 hours straight, you were close to passing out, but nowhere near ready to give up. "Pull over, love" he smiled, grabbing your thigh, "Let me drive. I'll wake you up when we arrive"

-

And of course Bucky refused to decorate. You spent the better half of the day rummaging through boxes and looking up diy tutorials on the Internet, doing your absolute best to make your bedroom as cozy and Christmasy as possible. Candles were scattered all over the furniture, their soft light and delicate cinnamon scent filling up the room, a small Santa Claus figurine was sitting neatly by the window, garlands dripped from every corner and your Christmas playlist was on shuffle for probably the 4th time that day. As you kept busy, lowkey exasperated whenever one ornament didn't fit in as planned, Bucky laid on the bed, making nasty comments with every chance he got. He complained about the music, said the room was too hot, that the candles made his nose feel funny and not for a second did he stop begging you to drop the fucking decorating and join him in bed. You didn't wanna hear it. You kept going, bringing in box after box of ornaments, each one making Bucky more and more frustrated.

"Buck!" you whined, turning around in your hands a little remote controlled reindeer. "His leg is stuck... he keeps falling"

"Throw it into the trash" he scoffed, plopping down on his back and hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.

Of course you didn't listen to him. "No..." you mumbled, more to yourself. You sounded like a child, but you didn't care. Instead, you just sat down on the edge of the bed, all your attention focused on the broken toy in your hands, "I'll fix it somehow"

"Just throw the goddamned thing away, Y/n" he groaned, "Only on my nightstand there are other 3. We got enough"

You just shook your head, focused on getting the reindeer to walk again. It was no use. You got no utensils and your nails were threatening to break as you kept trying to open up his battery container. 5 minutes of painful silence followed, ending with you finally giving up, "I'll just put something under his leg and use it as a decoration" you whimpered, legitimately heartbroken over the toy.

"Fuck, just come here. Give it to me. I'll fix the damn thing for you"

Your heart swelled up, "Really?"

"Yeah..." Bucky sighed, grabbing a screwdriver out of his nightstand and picking up the toy. "Master assassin and I'm fixing toys" he mumbled under his breath and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

-

Your version of paradise started just when you arrived at the tower on Christmas Eve. Bucky did as promised and then offered you a weak smile, full of warmth as he helped you out of the car when he parked in front of the Tower. You were beaming with excitement for the days that were to come. When the next morning arrived, you were sipping your coffee on the balcony, waiting for everyone to wake up so that you could all start unwrapping the presents. When the door opened you didn't expect Bucky to come out, as he never - ever, failed to sleep until noon, if given the chance. But there he was, wrapped in one of your comfy blankets, padding over to you with a coffee mug in his hand. When he reached you, he opened his arms and welcomed you against his chest, closing his hold around your body and engulfing you in the warmth of the blanket. It didn't take long until you noticed the little paper bag lodged under the elastic of his sweats, and when you asked about it, he cursed himself for ruining the surprise. He handed you the bag, and urged you to open it, insisting that it wasn't your present. When you did, your eyes landed on a knitted bunny clutching a heart to its chest. "An old lady was selling these a few weeks ago at a boutique I saw while waiting for you to meet me. I know you love to call me Bucky Bunny because you know how much I hate it. I forgot about it and came across it this morning at the bottom of my bag while searching for my charger. Now I think its stupid, a dumb rabbit and his eyes are a little bit fucked up, but he's cute and it reminded me of you, so here you go"

-

As much love as some of you had for the holiday, it still wasn't enough to convince the whole group to actually watch a Christmas movie. So, in true avenger spirit, you all decided to watch Terminator. After finishing dinner, you all scattered around the Tower. Some people left to change in more comfortable clothes, some helped clean up the kitchen, and some, like Bucky and Thor, remained in the living room, plopped in the middle of the couch, fangirling over Arnold Schwarzenegger's acting and the great sense of humour of the 90s. Eventually everyone gathered around them, you and Wanda being the last ones to show up. She cuddled against Vision's side, but Bucky was lodged in between Thor and Steve, and there was no way you'd ever ask any of them to move. Seeing you eye an open spot, Bucky waved you over as he stood up. "Here, take my seat". You wanted to object but he didn't want to hear it. Eventually, you sat down, and so did he, on the floor, right in front of you. Nonchalantly, Bucky pulled your legs apart and settled between them, with his back against the couch. He gathered your Christmas themed sock clad feet into his lap and rested his head against your knee as the movie began.

-

And like any other Christmas dinner, of course yours wasn't an exception. Natasha's recipe for apple pie was by definition the best that ever blessed the earth and none of the attendees was any stranger to that. Considering how many of you there were, as you made a point of spending the end of the year together, 2 batches had to be made. It was hectic, everyone fuzzing around the Tower, preparations on tow the whole day. And of course there would be repercussions for the chaotic atmosphere, but you'd only find out about them later. After burning through the first meal courses of the evening, it was finally time for her sweet delicacy to grace the table. Natasha neatly placed the two pies on either end of the table, proudly announcing you could all dig in. Bucky was seated to your right, and he unlike you, managed to grab a piece of pie from the first batch. You didn't think too much of it, until you started eating yours, only to realise the bottom was burned. Despite all of you trying to assure Natasha that it was not her fault and that she shouldn't beat herself up about it, she promised she'd make another one tomorrow. The night carried on as planned, but no matter how much you tried to push away the thought, you couldn't help but feel bitter about missing out on the good pie. Just when you were about to come to your senses and realise what a dumb reason for you to get upset that was, Bucky sent you text, asking you to come to the bedroom. Curious as to what this could have been about, you hurried upstairs and burst into the room, nearly crashing into Bucky's chest. He slammed the door behind you and handed you his plate - his slice of pie only halfway eaten. "I saved you a piece. These are jackals, I had to hide it. Dig in before anyone comes!"

-

On December 27th the buzz was starting to die down. When you put up the lights in your bedroom, Bucky said they could stay on for two days and two days only, and you reluctantly agreed to make a compromise. Just this time. The time to turn them off came last night, and since he offered to let them on until the morning, you felt like an unreasonable little shit if you were to ask him to turn them on again. It was about 7pm and you were two seasons deep in The X Files, and Wanda asked for your help. Bucky pulled out his phone and assured you he wouldn't watch ahead until you got back. It took you about 30 to help your friend with her problem, and when you returned to your room, confusion washed over you. The Christmas lights were on and Bucky was nowhere to be seen. "Fuck" he grunted.

You turned around to see him behind you, standing in the doorway, two cocoa mugs in his hands, "I made these cause I know you like them. And I wanted to surprise you with the lights but vision is a dumbass and forgot to text me and tell me when you were almost done"

"So she didn't actually need help folding the bed sheets?" you laughed, endeared by his antics.

"Of course she didn't" Bucky shook his head, handing you one of the mugs, "She's not an imbecile"

"Oh my god" you giggled in disbelief as you sat down on the bed.

"I'll squirt shit nuggets out of my ass for two days, so please tell me at least I got the recipe right" 

He was so adorable, anxiously waiting for you to taste the cocoa he just made. "It's so good!" you rolled your eyes in pleasure, taking another sip, "Thank you, you're too sweet, Buck"

"Yeah, I know-" he chuckled, grabbing the mug from your palm and placing it on the nightstand. "I got one more present for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands"

"No, Buck-" you whined, "I didn't get you anything else-"

He dismissed your words in an instant and kissed your lips, before guiding your hands up. You opened them up and closed your eyes, curious about what he could have gotten you. First, you heard him shuffle around the bed, and then you felt something rather itchy touch your palms. You nearly burst into laughter when you realised it was his chin.

"Ok, open your eyes"

And as you did so, your eyes landed on Bucky's face, as he had placed his head on your hands. He was wearing a tiara with reindeer ears, and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"You're my present?" you beamed, throwing yourself against his chest.

"My face is the present-" he corrected you. "Guess what it does. Take your leggings off and you'll find out"

[dragonleesupporter]

Incomplete Without You (Part 1)

Hey guys! Sorry I’ve been dead for so long. I wanted to make this for a loong time but lost motivation multiple times and nearly lost the whole damn file.

WARNING: Triggers for disablement, depression, talk of a suicide attempt, and panic attacks.

He grumbled as he was pushed along the sidewalk. He had every reason to complain, every reason to be upset, especially when a jogger moved past them. He was always told to be thankful to still be alive with his strange condition. Well, at least he could move his head and face muscles.

            “C’mon man, you said a view of the lake would make you feel better!” Remy prodded his cheek. “Where’s that smile?”

            “Dead. Long dead. Like the rest of my soul.” Virgil growled.

            “Ugh. This job’s sooo boring!” The sunglass-wearing punk complained.

            “Then forfeit your salary so the rest of me can die in peace.”

            Virgil was paralyzed from the shoulders, down. He couldn’t feel his body and needed constant assistance from those willing to put up with his acidic, pessimist attitude to help him do… pretty much everything. He couldn’t even hold his goddamn diploma when he graduated high school. Remy had to hold it for him. He had to give the coffee lover credit where credit was due. He was the one who had lasted the longest as his caretaker. Taking him on “walks” as to not make him feel helplessly alone. Thankfully, his parents did everything else, like dress him and clean him and lay him down to sleep.

            Even though he didn’t feel as alone with Remy keeping up gossipy conversations, he did feel piercing envy for anyone he saw around him. Laughing with their friends, running, swimming, riding bicycles, dancing… Not to mention the people that made fun of him, and yet he was supposed to be more positive that he wasn’t dead? Death would merciful to someone in Virgil’s position. He couldn’t even kill himself. Not to say he didn’t try. The closest he had gotten was when he had annoyed someone enough to shove him into the lake, who was unaware of his condition, while Remy was in the bathroom. Little did he know that the sassy teen was a fast pisser and was able to rescue him.

 Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal? Even for a day?

 “Oh hey, that man child texted you again.” Remy’s naturally condescending voice interrupted his thoughts. But he couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Puppylover99? What did he say?”

 “Work is super fun today! Got to hug a lot of people! Every time I hugged someone, I thought of you, kiddo!” Remy put on a high-pitched feminine-like voice, which made Virgil laugh, no matter how much he hated it.

            “You ass!” He would’ve hit him playfully if he could.

            “Is that what you want me to say?” Remy gave a cocky smirk, opening up messages.

            “No no no!” He shook his head madly, making his caretaker laugh even harder than Virgil did.

            “So… what- oh! He sent another.” Virgil’s smile widened as a small blush made its way onto his face, even though he was trying his best to fight it. “Anyway, I was wondering when I’d be able to hug you in person! I know we both live in Purble County.”

            Virgil’s smile was gone instantly. He had never physically met with any of his online friends before… What would he think? That he… wouldn’t be able to hug him back? Tears filled his eyes, and he couldn’t even wipe them away.

            Remy quickly pulled onto an alleyway so no one would see him like this. The caretaker quickly wiped his face and massaged the base of his neck to calm him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve read it and warned you first.”

            “It’s fine, Remy…” He sniffled.

            He was just about calmed down when he saw two people cheering just outside the alley, diving into each other’s arms.

            “It’s you!”

          “I can’t believe I found you!”

            Soulmates were a natural part of life in this world. Usually in the form of blanked out tattoos on someone’s skin that gets filled in when they meet their soulmate. There are other soulmates whose signs are a bit different, however. There was a case ten years ago where two people, one blind in the right eye, and the other blind in the left that magically gained full sight upon meeting each other. They were pronounced soulmates and are still together to this day. There were other cases where individuals didn’t have tattoos or anything of the sort, and lived their whole life out without a lover, claiming it was meant to be that way. Others have multiple soulmates. The subject is so complex, Virgil had to take multiple classes on it in high school.

 Virgil had been told by scientists and priests alike that he most likely wouldn’t have a soulmate based on the religious belief that cripples couldn’t contribute enough to a relationship, (welcome to Virgil’s church-hell) and the scientific data doctors collected from him on a weekly basis. Most of the population that was physically disabled in a 2018 case study found that they never found soulmates. Since Virgil was such a rare case, the doctors demanded data be collected from him every week to see if they couldn’t figure out what had caused it and if a cure couldn’t be found. His parents greatly profited from this, and so did he to an extent, but it just made him feel like a specimen instead of a living person.

 And seeing two people unite in the soulmate tradition only made him break down more. It wasn’t fair… it wasn’t fair…

 Remy did his best trying to distract him and take his mind away from it, wiping his tears and hugging him around his neck, where he could feel the comfort of it. After the whole meltdown finally was over, Remy suggested going to a food attraction place for lunch, and Virgil reluctantly agreed, eyes bloodshot from all his crying.

 Afternoon Benedict was a place he had never gone before, but since Remy said he knew people who worked there, he didn’t feel as anxious going. Plus, some afternoon breakfast didn’t sound half bad.

 He was wheeled in and saw a very friendly person up front with a pink apron on, saying “free hugs!” on it. He greeted them warmly, bright blue eyes, blondish-brown hair, milky white baby skin, with so many freckles dancing across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, his face looked like a sprinkled birthday cake. Virgil had to resist the smile that was tugging at his lips.

 “Hi! Where would you like to be seated?” His voice was so sugary sweet, the emo could feel his teeth rotting.

 “Anyplace with chairs that pull out. He can’t leave this one.” Remy gestured to his friend.

 Internal sigh.

 “Okay! Coming right up!” He dashed away and got a nice table ready before beckoning them over.

 Virgil got wheeled over and situated. “Now, what can I get for you two?” His honey-dripped voice asked them.

 “I guess… some scrambled eggs with toast? And apple juice with a long straw if you can manage?” Virgil kept the quiver of anxiety out of his voice well enough.

 “I’ll have my usual, bud.” Remy winked at the friendly employee.

 “Okay! It’ll be out soon!” He danced away to Virgil’s humor.

 Now came the part he dreaded about eating out. Remy took a couple bites of his food when it arrived, then started feeding Virgil. The coffee lover had quickly learned not to tease Virgil about having to be fed like an infant, as he’d either get a bite on his finger, or he’d have to help him calm from another meltdown.

 Virgil was thankful that no odd glares had been sent his way yet. Maybe Remy had set this whole thing up so he didn’t have to worry about anybody judging. No matter how tough the sunglass-wearing nerd acted, Virgil knew he had a soft side. A love for kittens, an admiration for children pop star singers, a small addiction to baby sugar sticks… he knew it was there.

 As the cooks were preparing the meal, the cheerful waiter was told to take his last 10-minute break. He skipped to the back and checked his phone excitedly. He was a little saddened that MCR10150 hadn’t responded to him yet, but he kept his hopes high and ate a quick snack while listening to music.

 Even if he couldn’t taste anything, the happy music made the food go down better, like a spoon full of sugar.

 Virgil was just about full when the bubbly waiter came over again. “Are you two ready for the bill? Or would you like to see our dessert menu?” He looked over at Virgil, who was being fed another forkful of scrambled eggs.

 “Luckyyy!” He squealed.

 The emo nearly spit his food out at that, but managed to swallow it.

 “Excuse me?”

 “I’d kill to be in your seat! Being fed without a worry in the word! You must feel like royalty! Nonono-wait!” He suddenly bowed. “My highness.”

 Virgil couldn’t help it. He bursted out laughing. Just the sheer ridiculousness and confusion-not to mention the irony- of the whole situation made him utterly crack up.

 Remy sighed with relief. He knew Patton could be overbearing at times. Yesterday, when he had told the staff and usual visitors about Virgil and how to act around him when he brought him in, Patton wasn’t there, but he was glad Virgil wasn’t offended or distraught over his behavior. It was hard to predict that kid.

 “Well… he doesn’t have much of a choice.” He explained after Virgil started to calm from his laughter. “He can’t feel any of his body other than his head and neck.”

 “Oh! I’m so sorr-“

 “No! Please don’t pity me…” Virgil growled out, interrupting the poor employee.

 Patton gave a quiet whimper, his smile becoming forced. “S-so, will that be bill or dessert?”

 Virgil felt bad now. Even though he hardly knew this living cartoon, seeing his bright cute face darken with sadness made him feel even more dead inside.

 God dammit, he thought to himself.

 “Virgil? It’s up to you.” Remy murmured. He tried to give Virgil a choice whenever he had the chance. He was indifferent to having dessert or not, but he wanted Virgil to feel like he was in control, even if it was for little things.

 “What kind of dessert menu comes out of a breakfast place?”

 To be continued…

  @cefsticklestoo @thestarswelcomemewithopenarms @my-anxiety-hasanxiety

@poptartsaysurloved @leedrop-angel @lavenders-loveforthings @ I’m sorry I forgot everyone else. O.o

[spncanonbigbang]

Masterpost 2019

That’s a wrap on SPN Canon Big Bang 2019! You'll find the list of this year’s bangs below the cut.

Thank you to everyone who participated!

Enjoy, and see you in January 2020!

| 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020

Cleanse the Waters by li_izumi | art by ThePlaidFox

16,4; Teen and Up Audiences; Castiel/Dean Winchester

Castiel’s multitude of sins haunt him in ways all too human, but water cannot cleanse him when he is drowning in his own guilt. Over the years, he’s tried to ignore his fear–after all, no one needs a broken angel–but he keeps failing and needing to be saved by those he should be saving. If Castiel is ever to be absolved, he must overcome his fear and walk into the water alone.

It’s All In The Eyes by YokubouNoRain.  | art by Leafzelindor. 

5k; Teen and Up Audiences; Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester

When Sam took the Baozhu pearl on his hands, he didn’t realize what his truly wish was until that moment and Dean didn’t seem to be happy with Sam’s wish.

Heaven is a Place on Earth by kaianieves | art by pimentogirl

19,5k; Teen and Up Audiences; Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle

Charlie Bradbury has been on the road for as long as she can remember, couch to couch and car to car. Parties, drinking- they’ve never been her favourite things, but they’ve been there. She’s never considered any place her home, though. Until she arrived at Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Until she met Jo.

how many years i’ve missed you by hanneswrites | art by deanirae

5,1k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gabriel/Sam Winchester, (unrequited) Becky Rosen/Sam Winchester

Sam has been in a relationship with Gabriel for almost two years now, so when Gabriel gets a call from Sam saying he’s getting married to someone other than himself, he’s rightfully pretty confused.

At Any Cost by klove0511​ | art by leafzelindor​

18,1k; Explicit; Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

When Sam came back from Hell, he felt different. He couldn’t put his finger on what had changed, but the buzzing under his skin was definitely new. It didn’t matter, though. Whatever it was, Dean would help him figure it out. The only problem was that Dean is happily retired in Indiana with Lisa. He deserved that happiness; Sam should just let him have that, right?

A Brother’s Mission by Clowns_or_Midgets | art by Zolaliz

16,6k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

When Dean and Castiel disappear after killing Dick Roman, Sam knows it’s going to take sacrifice to get them back. After an appointment with Doctor Robert that is almost his last, he finds someone to help. In return for joining a fight against the King of Hell he can have twenty-four hours in Purgatory to find his brother and friend. It’s a straight swap, a chance, and Sam takes it. It’s what you do for family.

Angel Cuddles by noiproksa | art by love-nakamura

5,5k; Teen and Up Audiences; Castiel/Dean Winchester

Angels need a lot of physical contact, especially when in a human vessel. - Dean is determined to give Cas the ‘physical contact’ he requires. Cas is more than suspicious when suddenly, Dean starts touching him more and more.

Red and Gold by sarasaurussex | art by deanirae and pimentogirl

25,9k; Explicit; Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Crowley/Gabriel, Crowley/Gabriel/Sam Winchester, background Castiel/Dean Winchester

Back from the dead and acting strange, Gabriel finds himself in debt to Crowley. In order to free himself he must fulfill a contract by spying on the Winchesters, who are trying to shut the Gates of Hell. But after Sam catches Gabriel spying on him in the shower (naturally), the contract is voided and Gabriel finds himself enslaved to Crowley as payment. Sam figures out Gabriel’s deal with the devil and tries to help, but ends up caught up in it himself. Eventually, Sam and Crowley discover the cause of Gabriel’s strange behavior, and the unlikely trio of heroes and villains come together to save their favorite feathered frenemy from an even greater threat.

When In Lebanon by smalltrolven | art by winchesterchola

9,4k; Explicit; Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester

Sam has some unfinished business with the teddy bear from the Lebanon pawn shop. Since the pearl didn’t work on getting Michael out of Dean, maybe the bear can get the job done.

Angels with Dirty Faces by BurningWicker | art by Anyrei

18,8k; Mature; Gadreel/Sam Winchester, mentions of Dean/Cas

Sam finds a case just a handful of hours away from the bunker, doesn’t exactly lie to his brother, and takes off all on his own to investigate a pair of dead twins. He finds himself knee-deep in a mysterious set of coincidences including lottery wins, an amnesiac angel, and a bartender with a knowing smirk and a sweet tooth.

Mr. Blue Sky by anyrei & mugglerock | art by Huntress79

111k; Explicit; Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy, Claire Novak/Kaia Nieves

The British Men of Letters had done a pretty thorough job ridding the world of monsters. With Sam already out of the life, living with Eileen in California, Dean and Cas are faced with a new predicament. What to do with the rest of their lives? 

Clearly the only logical option was to try out the apple pie life thing as two best friends, right?

Wrong Reality by AvalonSilver | art by Cross-Roads-Blues

20,2k; Teen and Up Audiences; Gen

With Sam near death following the failed Third Trial, Dean calls for Castiel to come. Castiel manages to heal Sam. Soon, they are faced with the consequences of Castiel’s actions. Sam and Dean are placed in another reality with seemingly simple instructions. Unfortunately, the brothers soon find out what they need to do to set things right is anything but simple. As Sam and Dean face down another apocalypse, they need to persuade this other reality’s Jimmy Novak to sacrifice himself. 

[littlemisssquiggles]

Any theories on who Oscar's parents might be? Maybe lesser known characters from the Wizard of Oz series? Or maybe just other fairytale characters that RWBY has yet to introduce?

Hmm…at this point, I’m unsure if Oscar’s parents or his family for that matter will even be relevant in RWBY. I’m at least hoping for a mention of their names for V6. I’m not as familiar with the Wizard of Oz story so I’m not sure which lesser known characters his parents could be based on. But I do have another cute idea.

Imagine if…Oscar’s parents’ names are Jackson and Gillian Pine and they’re based off Jack and Jill from the famous nursery rhyme. I’m picturing Ruby asking Oscar about what his parents were like growing up. Since the likelihood of Oscar’s parents being huntsmen in their past lives is probably out the window, my next best bet is that they were probably just regular Mistralian farm folk who loved two things: the ranch they bought together and the son they raised together.

If Oscar could recall one interesting thing about his parents, it’s how they met. They were childhood sweethearts. Even though they’d lived as neighbours not too far from each other, Jackson and Gillian didn’t officially meet until that one fine day when they both were sent by their families to fetch a pail of water from the local well which was at the very top of this massive hill, the tallest hill in Northern Anima where Oscar originated from. Who knew two strangers could magically fall in love while tumbling down a hill after trying to get a bucket of water? Sounds ridiculous, right?

Admittedly, when Oscar first heard the story of how his parents met from his aunt, as kid, he thought such a feat was impossible but his parents proved him other. And the rest as Oscar knew it, was history.

What would be great is if we actually got to meet Oscar’s parents in V6. Most of us just assumed they were dead but what if they’re actually alive. Like perhaps…Oscar’s home is in a neighbourhood along the path to Argus. What if…the only reason Oscar came down to live with his aunt was because he was at the age where he’s supposed to be deciding his future. Since Oscar wasn’t quite sure of what he wanted to do, to aid him, Papa Pine pulled some strings for Oscar to get a small job working as a farmhand down on his aunt’s farm in Southern Anima.  At least that way, he would have something to keep him active until he could figure out what he’d like to do for the rest of his life.

It’d be really nice if we can get an episode for V6 where we get to meet Oscar’s folks. Who knows? Maybe Oscar’s parents can even help the group get to their next destination on the trek to Argus. Maybe they can even offer them help on which direction to go and offer supplies to aid in their journey.

Plus if we meet Oscar’s folks alive and well, I kind of have this meta joke where Ruby asks Oscar about his aunt and Oscar’s answer is basically “if you’ve meet his mom then you’ve met his aunt” cause coincidentally Oscar’s aunt and his mom are identical twins. The only difference is that is aunt is a nice but a bit of a stickler for rules and routine (as we glimpsed in V4) while his mom is the traditional sweet farm mama who makes a mean apple pie.

That’s my idea.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2018)

[i-kaiwen]

This Is Okay

​BakuDeku Halloween Spoopy Prompts 2018

Day 2: Nightmare/Phobia

AO3 Link

WC: 4,981 | Chapter(s): 1/1 [Complete]

It happened again. Same as it had the last two nights

I tried to stop him. I really did. But it didn't matter, because he leaned forward off the roof.

And he fell.

And I fucking screamed.

And he fucking died.

And I could do nothing but crumple to my knees, sobbing.

He dreams of Deku's death as if it happened. Two nights in a row and he does nothing. But he always heard that if it happened a third, then it would be real... [WARNING: Mentions of Suicide (due to dreaming), BUT NO ONE ACTUALLY DIES.]

The first night it happened, I didn't think anything of it.

I'm a fucking hero! Heroes get nightmares all the time. It comes with the damn job territory. Anyone who tells you differently is either really fucking stupid or just another extra. No one else needed to know about it, though. I wasn't some crybaby like Deku who would try and crawl into bed with me every time he had a damn nightmare.

I didn't need him there to reassure me that he wasn't dead.

----

The world around me was both strange and familiar at the same time.

I knew exactly where I was. I even knew when it was. Looking down at my middle school uniform, I couldn't help but glare at the sight of the black uniform. It had been years since I had seen it, now being so accustomed to the gray jacket of Yuuei. Scowling, I looked up from the fabric – and felt my face drop as I stared in shock at the back of a head, green-curls blowing in the slight breeze from the open air of the rooftop of our junior high.

“Deku -”

“I'm not fit to be a hero... I'm not fit to be anything.”

I could only watch as Deku stepped up and onto the ledge of the roof, staring up at the darkening sky. Tears were falling down his stupid fucking freckled face, causing his cheeks to shine in the last remaining bits of light. I tried to get my feet to move closer from my position at the doorway entrance, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't fucking move.

“Deku... what are you doing? Get the fuck down from there right now before you fall to your death, you stupid shit!”

I could hear him sniffling before he started laughing softly, almost as if he were amused by my shouting. I wanted to run to him – to pull him away from the edge, pull him off the roof and shake him, bring him into my arms and stop him – but it was like my legs were paralyzed and I could only stand and watch as the boy that I had known for my entire life decided to fucking die.

“I'm just... doing what you told me to do. Taking a flying leap and hoping that in the next life I'll actually be born with a quirk... That I won't be just some stupid Deku.”

I shook my head, reaching out my hand to him. “That's not what I meant, you idiot! You don't have to die. You – You've got a quirk now. You've got All Might's quirk. You're on your way to-to becoming number one.” I shook my head, trying to think of anything to say to get him from jumping off the building – from fucking leaving me. “You're on your way to beating me!”

“Kacchan...”

I could feel myself trembling as I tried to fight whatever bound me to the cement of the roof. Tears of frustration were building up in my eyes. “Don't do it, Deku. Don't leave me – Don't leave me behind!”

“Kacchan... I'm sorry.”

I could only watch as Deku took a step closer to his end. And there wasn't a single fucking thing I could do about it.

He turned to me one last time, grinning brightly even as the salty liquid still fell.

“Goodbye, Kacchan. I love you.”

And then he fell.

“No!” And I screamed.

And the world faded to black.

----

I shot up from bed, feeling a cold sweat pouring down my body as the remnants of that fucking nightmare started slowly dragging itself from my conscious. I tried to catch my breath, feeling as if I had just tried to run a mile in weighted shoes against four-eyes.

It had just been a dream.

A fucking really bad one, but a dream either way.

Groaning, I fell back onto my sheets, recognizing the dampness that came from rapidly cooling sweat as I threw an arm over my eyes in an attempt to relax. I could feel my heart racing; beating a fast staccato the threatened to burst from my chest at any given moment. I've had nightmares before. I've had enough of them to only remember vague details of them.

But that dream? That nightmare?

It felt way too fucking real to be anything but.

I grabbed my phone off the table – wincing at the bright light that emitted from it and grumbling to myself as I realized it was 2:09 in the fucking morning – and pulled up my contacts, scrolling through the short list before I landed on the desired target. Tapping the screen to bring up a new message, I hesitated for a second. What if it wasn't a dream? What if all that happened and I'd be texting a random number with no connection to the person I quite possibly may have lost?

“This is fucking stupid, just do it Katsuki,” I muttered to myself, quickly hitting a few keys before sending the message. If that dream – nightmare, fucking hell – wasn't real, there was no real reason for him to respond to me now at ass o'clock in the morning. I sat there for a moment, my thoughts circling around and around before I heard a ping, indicating a new message. Feeling the anxiety currently sitting in the pit of my stomach amplify by about eight million, I paused for a moment before unlocking my screen.

Katsuki (2:11am): You're an asshole.

Deku (2:13am): Kacchan, did you really have to text me at two in the morning to tell me that? >:c

I sighed with relief, not even realizing how tightly I had wound myself up over this until I fell bonelessly back to the bed, throwing my phone across the room and listening as it bounced off the wall with a satisfying thunk. I knew I wouldn't be able to close my eyes and deal with that nightmare again. The feeling that a black pit was about to swallow me whole was there still, lingering in the back of my mind.

Looks like I wasn't sleeping tonight.

----

It was the same dream all over again the next night.

I couldn't stop him from jumping – from spreading his arms and free-falling off the roof to his demise. From leaving me alone like I always fucking told him to. I tried to move. Tried to get my paralyzed legs to unfreeze from the cement of the ceiling. Tried to reach out to him to stop him, to fall with him, to do anything but watch as he took the final step to end his life.

But I failed.

I failed miserably. And I still couldn't save him.

----

“Bakugou, you look like shit,” Kaminari gaped in my direction as he sat next to me. I knew the circles under my eyes were dark. I could practically feel them as if they were bruising my face.

After the second night in a row of having that stupid nightmare, I wasn't able to go back to sleep. As much as I tried to tell myself that it was all just a dream – that none of it was real, just something my shitty head decided to make up – I wasn't able to get over it that simply. I was almost afraid to close my eyes and sleep, a fear that I would take to my fucking grave.

I didn't want to watch him die again while I stood by and watched.

“Shut the fuck up, shitty Pikachu,” I grumbled, having little bite to the insult as I listlessly chewed on an apple. I didn't have the brain capacity at that very moment to try and give him attitude. I needed what little I had functional to focus on breathing air and not walking into walls.

“Dude, seriously,” Kirishima pipped in, plopping down in front of me. “Have you been sleeping, like, at all? You're bags are starting to rival Shinsou's. Are you getting sick?”

I grimaced, turning my face up to glare at him. “Why, you gonna nurse my ass back to health if I were?”

“Bakugou, seriously man. You alright?”

Huffing out an annoyed groan, I leaned back in my seat, trying to ease the tension and exhaustion that permeated me down to my very bone. “I'm fine, asshole.”

I could see out of the corner of my eye as the two looked at each other, twin looks of doubt filling their stupid faces before Kirishima shook his head. “If you say so, Baku.”

“Yeah, I do fucking say so. What are you going to do about it, shitty ha-”

I cut myself off as I heard familiar laughter across the room, turning to look behind me.

Behind us, sitting with his typical followers, was the current bane of my existence. Laughing at some stupid joke while my sleep schedule was currently being wrecked by his dumb face. I couldn't help but stare for a moment, watching as the light from the windows lit up the rosy tint to his cheeks, freckles bright against slightly tanned skin.

All I wanted to do at that moment was to be near him.

Grabbing my bag off the floor, I threw it over my shoulder before grabbing my tray. I ignored the questions of 'Dude, what are you doing?' from the two as I headed closer to the source of my current misery.

Walking towards the table containing my childhood 'friend' and the idiot extras that followed him around, I took a seat directly next to the green-eyed senior without waiting for permission, sitting practically hip-to-hip with him. Dropping my tray on the table with a loud clank, I paid no mind to the fact that the table suddenly went silent with my arrival, three pairs of eyes staring at me in surprise.

“Uh, Kacchan?” Deku questioned, eyes wide as he watched me carefully. I could feel the tension coming from him with the little contact we had, his wiggling giving away any pretense of calm he could have tried to keep. “Can I... help you with something?”

I ignored him, taking a bite of my sandwich as I tried to disregard the eyes staring at me from around the table.

“Did I miss something...?” Uraraka whispered to Iida, clearly trying to discretely ask the question as she leaned in closer to him.

Iida shook his head, eyebrows furrowing together as he watched me with careful eyes. “I wasn't aware you two were suddenly close again.”

Deku frowned thoughtfully – something that got on my nerves at that very moment – before trying to respond. “Neither was I, to be honest-”

I didn't give him the chance to fully speak as I interrupted him with a growl. “All of you shut up and eat your damn lunch!” I could feel my eye beginning to twitch as I fully looked up, taking note of the surprised looks from those around me. As I turned towards Deku, fully intent on giving him a piece of my mind, I froze.

The look on his face... He was so concerned. I've never had a problem reading him and how he felt – damn idiot was like an open book, just ready to be picked up and started – but this emotion was just so... raw. He wasn't even trying to hid it as green-eyes stared back at me.

“Does this... does this have anything to do with the text from the other night?” Deku asked quietly as he put down his fork, seeming to pick up on the fact that I didn't want the other two at the table to know what was going on. They seemed to take the hint, turning away from us slightly as the younger boy leaned in.

Clenching my hand against my knee as I felt it shaking, I nodded shortly.

“Did you want to talk about it? We can go somewhere else, away from the chaos.”

I shook my head minutely. I didn't want to talk about it right then. Talking about it would make it real. And if it were real -

Well, I honestly didn't want to even fucking think of that option.

Deku moved slightly, almost as if he were trying to get closer to me. I felt a hand underneath the table, rough with callouses and scars that hadn't been there when we were younger, settle on top of my own. Flinching, but not moving my hand away, I moved my head to look towards the boy next to me – only to be met with a gentle smile that could melt the hearts of thousands without even trying.

It didn't matter that we had years where we were nothing more than enemies, mostly on my part more than anything. It didn't matter that we were rivals. That I had once been horrible to this... this boy that didn't have a single bad bone in his body. All that mattered in that moment was his hand covering mine as he seemed to understand me better than even I knew myself.

“Okay, Kacchan. But just remember... I'm here if you need me. Okay?” he said sweetly, that million-watt smile lighting up his face.

A small part of me still wanted to push him away; to tell him to fuck off, tell him not to touch me, anything to get him to stop looking at me with such... adoration. But another part of me? The other bigger part of me wanted me to just hold his hand. Wanted me to remind myself that he was still here. That I hadn't pushed him away as my dreams kept trying to tell me.

And that part won out as I turned my hand beneath his, slotting my fingers together with his and ignoring the heat I could feel rushing to my ears. His impossibly wide eyes widened more as he looked down, even though he couldn't see our hands beneath the metal surface. I watched in amusement as the red tint on his face grew, even as he squeezed my hand in return.

“Okay.”

----

It happened again. Same as it had the last two nights

I tried to stop him. I really did. But it didn't matter, because he leaned forward off the roof.

And he fell.

And I fucking screamed.

And he fucking died.

And I could do nothing but crumple to my knees, sobbing.

----

As I woke up for the third time in a row, dredges of the dream still hovering over my head, I was done lying in bed. I couldn't spend another night trying to fall back to sleep, only fearing that I would be shoved back into viewing what I feared the most.

I had heard once that if you had the same dream three nights in a row that it was going to come true. That it was going to be real. I couldn't imagine it being real. Couldn't think of stupid fucking Deku... killing himself because of something I said almost four years ago.

But I couldn't take the risk.

Shoving the comforters off me, I rolled out of the bed with a groan and headed for the door, intending on heading straight towards his room and slamming on his door until he was as awake as I was.

I didn't have to go far.

Standing outside of my door, hand posed as if he were about to knock, was none other than Deku.

Eyes narrowing, I had to stop myself from immediately snapping at him. “What are you doing here, nerd?”

He stared at me in silence for a moment, lowering his hand and letting it hang by his side. He was barefoot, wearing a threadbare hoodie and pajama pants covered in – what a shocker - All Might. “I... honestly don't know. Something just told me that I needed to be here, so... Here I am?”

Snorting, I shook my head at his explanation. Figures. Moving back to the bed, I saw down with a heavy sigh. Raising an eyebrow as I realized he was still in the hallway, I waved a hand at him. “Well... are you going to come in or just stand in my damn doorway all night?”

He squeaked before rushing in, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the back of, staring me down. “So... why are you awake?”

Blinking tiredly, I mumbled quietly as I reached up to try and rub the exhaustion from my eyes. “Couldn't sleep.”

“That's crap.”

I startled, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. My immediate reaction was to waspishly snap back, “What do you know, shitty nerd?”

“Kacchan... I heard you screaming.”

Now that got my attention. Had the dreams started effecting me so badly that I was now vocalizing out loud? Shit. That was all I needed.

I must have been quiet longer than I thought, because the nerd suddenly spoke out softly as he moved closer to me. “Kacchan, talk to me. What's going on with you lately?”

“Nothing's going on, asshole.”

His brows furrowed together, eyes heavy with concern. “You're lying. Something's going on. Something's keeping you awake. Are you having nightmares?”

“No!”

“Are you still having dreams about when you were kidnapped?”

Still? How did this asshole know I used to have those... “Can we just get as far away from this damn subject as we can? Everything is fucking peachy keen.”

“So you were just screaming in the middle of the night for no apparent reason?”

“Shut up!” I was getting angry, vaguely wondering where this nerd got the balls to talk to me like this. Maybe I was getting softer than I thought.

“Talk to me, Kacchan. I just want to help you!”

“Not possible.”

“Why not?”

“You can't fucking help me!”

“Why not?!” He repeated again, his own voice raising.

And I broke.

“You died, Deku! You fucking jumped off the roof and died because of something stupid I said when we were fucking fourteen! You were gone and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it! There, are you fucking happy?!” I started pacing around the room, trying to keep myself from really shouting at him. This was nothing. If I started getting really angry, actually angry, I wouldn't stop until the entire building was up in flames.

He reached out towards me. “Kacchan, you gotta calm down -”

“No!” I turned, sticking my finger in his face as I got closer to him. “Don't fucking tell me to calm down, you shithead. You don't know what I saw. You didn't see any of it – I saw it all! I saw you die three nights in a row. Three. Fucking. Nights. I saw you fall! And I could do nothing! Nothing but watch it fucking happen! So don't you dare tell me to calm down.”

My anger seemed to

“But I'm still here... I'm right in front of you,” Deku spoke softly, hands wringing anxiously in front of him.

“But you weren't. You weren't there anymore. You were just... gone,” I trailed off, feeling the anger finally leave me as I sat back down on the bed. I could feel my hand shaking as I stared at them for a moment before threading them through my hair, resting my elbows on my bent knees as I tried to gather my bearings -

And failed.

“You disappeared and I couldn't even save you,” my voice unwillingly cracked on the last word, hands digging further into my hair, nails clenching at my scalp.

I felt more than saw him move closer to me, that electric aura of his practically lighting up the room as he came to stand directly in front of me.

“Kacchan...” Deku spoke softly, reaching out with hesitation towards me. He paused for a moment as my eyes turned up towards him, and I could almost hear his thoughts going a mile a minute as he weighed out his options, before settling his scarred hand on my cheek. I shuddered, feeling his thumb running softly along my heated skin – and feeling myself lean into it in turn. “You know... you can talk to me. You didn't have to sit on this. I want to be here for you – whatever it is that you need.”

I could feel the heat build up behind my eyes, a surefire proof that if I didn't get myself under control soon that I was actually going to cry in front of this idiot.

“It was the same day – the same day as the slime villain. That day where I told you that if you tried your fucking hand at jumping off the roof, maybe you'd be born with a quirk in the next life,” I spoke quietly, afraid to break the hush in the room – afraid of him moving his hand. He didn't even flinch at my statement, though, palm instead coming up to disentangle my fingers from the strands.

“I remember that day. What happened?”

Swallowing dryly, I reached up to grab his hand that wasn't currently cradling my face, holding it gently between both of mine. “We were suddenly on the roof... You kept telling me how you couldn't be a hero – how you really were just a Deku. And it didn't matter what I said or how much I struggled. I couldn't stop you. I had to watch you fall. Watch you die. Watch you leave- ”

Pushing my hands aside, he suddenly invaded my space. He stepped into the open area between my knees, drawing me close with arms that were powerful enough to smash an enemy through a brick wall, though with a gentleness that was all Deku. Wrapping himself around me, warm limbs drawing me close, he brought my head to rest against his toned stomach.

I tried not to get too close. Tried to act like this didn't feel as right as it did. But the second my forehead touched the soft material of his hoodie, I practically fucking melted. I could feel the warm, gentle heat radiating from him. Proof that he was alive.

Proof that he was here.| “I'm not going anywhere... doesn't matter what you say,” he muttered into my hair, the feeling of his breath warm and moist on my scalp. “I'm here, Kacchan. I'm here.”

“How can you act like... like I wasn't such a fucking asshole to you when we growing up? How can you pretend I wasn't anything else but horrible when you didn't do anything wrong?” I asked, eyes clenching shut tightly as I tried to stop the tears from building up again, fingers so tightly clenching his hips that they had to be bruising. I was angry at myself. So angry for ever letting everything get as bad as it had. I had been such a complete shithead over something stupid – something that could have lost me my most important person.

It really felt as if he could read my thoughts, hear the self hatred I had for my past stupidity, because next thing I knew I was being drawn even closer to his small, strong body, thick hand running through the hair at the nap of my neck in a soothing gesture. “Because you were a kid. Sure, you were kind of a dick, but you were a kid, Kacchan. And I don't see that kid anymore. Sometimes he pops back up to make a smart ass comment,” he chuckled, grinning slightly at my own snort before continuing, “but he doesn't have control anymore. It's just... It's just you. It's always been you.”

The meaning behind those words were stronger than even I could fathom at that moment, eyes drooping closed as I breathed in Deku's scent – a mix of clean cotton and some sort of musky smell - burying my face into his stomach as the first true sign of tears fell. I wrapped my arms around his midsection, tugging him impossibly near. This was probably the closest I had been to him that had nothing to do with fighting since we were four. I could hear him cooing softly above me, bent over slightly to bury his face in my hair as he held me tight.

It was at that moment I realized that I didn't want to let him go. I couldn't let him go.

“I... I shouldn't even be fucking saying this, but... Can you stay the night?” I asked him quietly, dislodging one hand from around him to try and get rid of the traces of tears with the palm of my hand. I knew rejection was possible. I knew he could easily tell me to fuck off. “I just. I need to know you're here if I have that dream again.”

I felt his lips form a small smile against my hair, his head bobbing up and down once in a single nod. “Yeah.”

I hadn't been expecting that answer. Drawing back – and missing the warmth almost as soon as I did – I gazed up at him in a daze. “What?”

“Yes, Kacchan,” he chuckled lowly, running his hand through my hair. Even with the lights off I could see the red staining his cheeks. He could try to pretend all he wanted that he wasn't affected by this, but I knew differently. I knew him. “I'll stay here with you for the night. Can't promise I won't kick you in my sleep, though.”

Still a bit surprised, I tried to knock myself out of the momentary stupor as I huffed out a laugh in response, moving away from him to get back under the covers. I had had enough emotions for the night. I felt emotionally and mentally drained from it all. “I'll just knock your ass to the floor if your feet come anywhere near me.”

“Kacchan, that's not very nice.”

I snickered. “Who fucking said I was nice?”

“Eh, point.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding, kidding! Now move over so we can go to sleep. I don't want to miss breakfast in the morning. You know what happens if you get there past ten – Asui eats all the Fruit Loops!”

Rolling so that I was closer to the wall, I lifted the blanket to allow Deku to slide under. For some reason, I didn't feel as nervous as I thought I would to have him sleep in the same bed as me. “Psh, you and your Fruit Loop obsession... Do you have any idea how bad those things are for you? It's all fucking sugar!”

“Yeah, but it's delicious sugar,” he chirped happily, quickly slipping in and burrowing quickly within the blankets.

I felt a smile tug at my lips before I quickly extinguished it, tugging the fabric up closer and over both of us. It was almost like we were kids again, having a sleepover after a long day. “Just so you know, if you end up drooling on my pillow, I'm lighting your hair on fire.”

“Wouldn't be a first time.”

“We were six, you asshole!”

“Didn't make it hurt any less, you jerk,” he said with a pout, emerald eyes bright even in the darkness as he looked up at me.

I watched him closely, knowing without a doubt that I probably had some dorky expression on my face because his pout disappeared as he beamed up at as if I were the sun. As if he weren't the brightest thing in this room. The new beacon of hope that this world needed.

He started scooting closer to me. It was almost like he was daring me to push him away. Seriously, when had this little nerd gotten so brave?

“Deku...”

“What?” He grinned up at my impishly, trying to act coy even as the red on his face deepened. “It's the best way to keep the nightmares away. Didn't you ever cuddle with your parents after you had scary dreams as a kid?”

I raised an eyebrow at that one before replying dryly, “I was the scary dream.”

“Hm. This is true.”

“Deku.”

“I'm just kidding, Kacchan,” he giggled, reaching over to pinch my cheek. “Jeez, can't you take a jo-”

Acting on impulse, I reached forward and pulled Deku to my chest, ignoring his startled squawk as he rolled into me with a slight 'omph'. I felt his hands reach up to grasp the singlet covering my chest, eyes wide and surprised. The tension I had been feeling the previous nights seemed to finally be fading out of existence as I held him close to me, one arm reaching around his waist while the other pushed his head into my shoulder, just happy to feel him breathe. Feel the whoosh of air as it left his lungs only to return a moment later.

“Is this okay?” I whispered, trying not to break the fragile hold I had on the situation. I wanted to hold him – needed to have him in arms, something I never thought I would willingly want. But I didn't want him to think that he had to stay here. If he wanted to leave, I would let him. It would hurt; there was no doubt in my mind that it would be painful, but I needed him to want this.

To want me.

I felt him freeze for a moment, almost as if he were expecting me to push him away. Something I would have done had this been three years ago and the same situation was happening. But his nerves of steel decided to show themselves as he moved one arm to wrap around me, slotting a knee between my legs as he shoved his face into the junction of my neck. He grip tightened, moving us so close together I could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

He spoke softly, my shirt clenched tightly between his fingers as he nodded.

“Yeah. This is okay.”

And I knew it would be.

[liv-andletdie]

Zelink Week 2018: Finale

Author: liv-andletdie 
Rating: teen and up 
Words: 1200+ 
 Pairing: BOTW Zelink, Hylink 
 Notes: The hero had reached his inevitable end. He had fought bravely and loved dearly but at the finale it was all for naught. He would receive no reward, no accolade, no grand happy ending. It was his destiny to give his life to the land.

Available on Ao3

<><><>

Everything hurt.

Words were impossible in that moment, that moment hovering between the end and the beginning. An incredible heat bore down on him as he was blinded by ash and blood. The scorching sun caused his lips to splinter, the metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth, and with every breath Link could feel his ribs cry out in pain.

He would scream if he could. If there was anyone who could hear him still left on the surface. He had sent his people skyward, followed his heavenly orders and protected the ones the Goddess loved most. They were safe now, he knew, and as bitter tears welled up in his eyes he tried to be grateful for that.

At least I did something right, he thought as tears began to trail down his cheeks.

In the distance he could see a shadow, looping through the sky like the ash from a fire. He could feel his heart slow in his chest as he watched it, trailing it’s path with clouded eyes. The shadow passed in front of the sun, suddenly lost to him, snuffed out like a candle on a dresser. Shutting his eyes to the sunlight he let himself drift, resting on the burnt out ground of what was once a forest.

Demise had set it aflame. Taken everything he could and destroyed what he wanted. The people had put out the flames as best as they could, but still the trees had withered and died. It had been too little too late. The world he had once loved was gone.

Footsteps like thunder shook the ground and suddenly She was there beside him. White hair flowing around her shoulders as she knelt next to him, hands clawing at his tunic and hair. Cold fingers trailing over his cheeks and neck as he lay before her, a tangled broken shell of who she loved.

“Hylia” he breathed, his throat dry and aching. He felt her pull him into her lap, the dusty earth leaving his back as she pressed his head against her shoulder.

“My Love” she whispered, her hand trailing down to his side. He wanted to scream when her hands found the wound in his abdomen, but his voice failed him. Hylia pulled her hand back from his side, crimson as bright as her loftwing stained her skin. “You’re hurt” she choked out, her body shaking at the sight of his blood on his skin. “You were meant to be on the island with the others!”

“I wasn’t….fast...enough” he panted. He cursed the Demon who had wounded him, cursed himself for getting distracted, cursed himself for letting her down, “I’m so s-sorry” he murmured, pressing his face against her neck. Hylia threaded her hands through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp.

“It’s alright” she murmured, rocking him gently in her arms. “It’s alright it’s going to be alright” silver tears pricked at her eyes. He was getting colder, the strength seeping from his bones as his blood soaked into the earth beneath them. “It’s all going to be alright” she clung to him, his body shaking in pain.

“H-hylia” he choked, blood clogging his throat. She pulled back to rest her forehead against his, his blue eyes weak and almost unseeing as redness coated his teeth, “It hurts” he whispered as crimson dribbled down his chin. Hylia reached out to wipe the blood from his skin, her fingers almost burning him. Link held a fragile hand against hers, keeping her fingertips against his cheek. “I’m scared”

He was dying.

The hero had reached his inevitable end. He had fought bravely and loved dearly but at the finale it was all for naught. He would receive no reward, no accolade, no grand happy ending. It was his destiny to give his life to the land.

Oh how she cursed destiny.

Hylia pressed her lips to his head, his skin burning under her touch. He felt a shiver of pin run through him, it was getting harder to stay awake, to stay present. He tried to focus on her, picking out the silver scars that shone in the dying light of the sun. He tried to focus on the way her hair fell over her shoulder, tried to focus on her hand against his cheek. He tried to remember lying in their bed, wrapped in each others arms as the moon sailed past the stars. He tried to hold on as long as he could.

She was talking, words lost to the evening sky as she whispered and breathed. She seemed to be telling him that he was going to be okay, that he would see the next sunrise. She tried healing incantations, prayers and curses, but nothing could stop the bleeding. Nothing would save him. Link felt his heart calm as he watched her, using his last strength to squeeze her fingers in his.

“Thank you” he breathed, crystal tears trailing over his cheeks.

“You have nothing to thank me for Link” She bit, silver streaking down her cheeks. Her eyes began to turn gold as she watched him fade, all strength leaving him, all fight gone. He became heavy in her arms as he tried to shake his head. His chest heaved with each laboured breath, the wound in his side growing larger.

“Thank you” he said again, his eyes growing clear. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, mixing with his tears as he gazed on her. “Thank you for giving me the chance to love you”

She was silent. A single tear fell from her eye, landing on the apple of his cheek. She watched as it seemed to wash away the dirt and blood on his skin leaving him fresh and healed and whole. Link’s breathing slowed, his eyes became unseeing as his head drooped back.

Hylia looked away for a second, surveying the burnt out remains of the forest. The large smouldering tree trunk still shone red with the embers of a long dead fire. She recognized it, letting a sad smile curl at her lips. Only he would choose this place to die.

“Look Link” she tried, tears flooding her throat as she pulled him closer to her. “This is where we first kissed” Link was silent, heart thumping weakly against her. A steady drumbeat that told her she still had a few moments left, a few fleeting seconds

And then it stopped.

His eyes had slid shut, no more pain or suffering marred his features as his head rested in the crook of her elbow. He looked like he could be sleeping. Hylia wanted him to be sleeping. More tears began to flood her cheeks, molten silver clogging up her throat.

“Look Link” she tried again, vainly begging for some response, “please look… open your eyes. Wake up Link please” Her sobs grew as she buried her face in his neck, all warmth and life gone from him now.

“Please Link”

“Open your eyes”

“Wake up Link”

The young man opened his eyes to shining blue lights. A voice, faint in the back of his memory beckoning him to awaken from his slumber. A voice that was so familiar, he must have heard it before… maybe in a dream. Silver hair and golden eyes came to mind but before he could remember a face or a name they were gone.

It must have been a dream, He thought, wiping agonized tears from his cheeks. It couldn’t have been anything other than a dream.

~Fin~

Notes: ZELINK WEEK IS DONE AND I’M PROUD OF MYSELF. I finished of the week the way I started it, with BOTW Zelink angst this time with a Hylink flavouring. (I’m sorry I had too, the parallels between BOTW Zelink and Hylink were to strong for me to ignore!) I want to thank everyone who has stuck by me this week and who has supported my writing. I couldn’t do this without you x Keep your eyes peeled for future projects. Like a Modern TP AU, a Smutty Sequel to “Water”, and a little bit more Hylink x

[danithebookaholic-blog]

NEW RELEASE!

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Apple of My Eye

By Christine Barfknecht

Publication Date: August 4, 2018   Genre: Psychological Suspense

Synopsis:

Laurie Brandon isn’t crazy. It’s a bout of panic that has her muttering indecipherable sounds and crying out like a mad woman, an attack brought on by her infant daughter’s sudden disappearance from the town’s annual Apple Festival. Not insanity. She needs help to save Emily. Someone has to see that, do something. 

But her recent history of psychosis coupled with witness claims that Emily was never at the festival with Laurie isn’t helping her credibility. Neither is recent suspension from her job as a school teacher over stability concerns. Perhaps most damaging, though, is Laurie’s insistence that her ex-husband, Jake, had something to do with the child’s disappearance. Any sane person knows a dead man can’t run off with a baby. 

The town sheriff believes Laurie is, at best, unreliable and possibly something much worse. But Laurie knows what she saw. She knows other things, too, details too hard to believe and even harder to accept. Now, she needs to convince someone – anyone – that Emily is in danger before the sheriff locks Laurie away permanently.

Goodreads

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Laurie

September 18, 2018

I’m not crazy. I know what I saw.

With a wave of dizziness, I hunch forward, my head hanging low, my palms pressing against a cool, hard surface. The evening sky blackens before my eyes and the chill in the air raises goosebumps on my arms despite my fleece lined sweatshirt. I can’t think straight, can barely breathe. 

The silhouette in the darkness…that posture, poised to take action…

I didn’t need to see a face. I’d know that stance anywhere. But it isn’t possible.

I chew on my lip, try to gnaw the panic away. It has to be possible. I saw with my own eyes.

I can’t just stand here and wait, need to do something, find help. No one will believe me, though. It’s hard enough for me to believe me. It won’t help that everyone seems to think I’m out of my mind.

A tingling sensation shoots through my head like a strike of lightning and heat spreads through my body, starting in my head and washing through my chest. My heart beats so fast I fear it will burst. I remind myself to breathe. It’s just a panic attack. I’ve had plenty before and right now, it’s no wonder. Soon it will be over. I’ll be back to normal, get help, make someone believe me. Someone will help. They have to.

Breathe in, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.

A fog settles in my head, sprinkling over my mind like chalk dust. I find myself gasping, my heart racing faster and harder. This symptom is new. I blink, trying to focus on the brick surface of the street but it’s a blur. The dust is growing thicker, an eraser materializing, brushing over my mind and randomly choosing which memories to wipe away.

Not my memory. I must remember. 

My palms slide farther over the surface of…a table, counter…I’m not sure, but it’s rough like a sheet of unfinished wood. I lean hunched over it, struggling to breathe as I peer beneath my arm to look behind me.

Emily. My sweet baby girl.

She sits in her stroller, kicking her feet and cooing at the plush doll in her chubby fist. Cold flushes her cheeks pink, but the fleece bonnet tied beneath her chin keeps her head warm.

She’s here. She’s safe. I think. I’m not entirely sure. The fog is getting thicker, her image waving in and out as if it may not be real. I have no way of knowing. In this state, I can’t trust my eyes.

Maybe I can’t trust what I saw before either.

No. That was different. Not panic induced. Real.

A high-pitched shrill slices my skull, piercing my eardrums before fading to a crackle. Light flashes, then dozens of white stars appear.

“Laurie?” A voice slices through the static. 

I force myself to stand up straight and blink. Lights swim before a backdrop of blackness and voices echo around me. Screaming. But in a happy way. The scent of grease lingers in the air, mingling with a sweet and spicy smell, like sugared cinnamon.

The lights twirl and I blink again. A Tilt-a-Whirl spins, masses of people passing in front of it. My eyes are drawn to one man, not because I know him but because he looks like a marionette, his arms outstretched, pulled by strings. My gaze follows the threads to four little dogs, Teacup Pomeranians, the kind Jake would never let me have.

“Ankle biters. Useless yippers.” I hear the rage in his voice, the unwarranted anger I’d become accustomed to. “Food for real dogs, that’s what they are.” That’s my translation, the clean version with every other word removed. 

“Laurie, are you okay?” That voice again, soft and feminine, though drowning in background music.

I bring my vision in, notice a woman standing on the opposite side of a counter before me. I know her, Rochelle, a good friend of my mother’s. Two pies sit on the counter between us and she holds a wad of bills in her hand. A cool breeze brushes my skin, whisking the aroma of the pies toward me. Apple.

A memory washes over me, replacing Rochelle’s current image with one of her in my mother’s kitchen from many years ago. I see Rochelle pressing dough into pie tins, hear my mother counting with me as I measure sugar and sprinkle it over a huge bowl of sliced apples. “One…two…”

I’m five years old and wearing my favorite apron. Mom made it for me, complete with an embroidered apple on the chest. In front of me mom’s apple shaped clock ticks on the wall. Except for Christmas it’s my favorite time of year, being with mom in the kitchen and baking pies for the festival.

I blink, focus on Rochelle. Present day Rochelle. I remember. The Apple Festival. I’m in a booth selling pies to support the school. I brought Emily. My friend, Josie, came too. I look beside me, but Josie isn’t there. She must have stepped away.

Rochelle is still staring at me, her eyes wrinkled with concern. I force a smile and straighten my back, pulling myself off the countertop. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Just getting a migraine.” I can’t tell her the truth. Everything I love is already in jeopardy; Emily, my job. Thanks to Jake, rumors of my supposed insanity spread over town as quickly as softened butter over a slice of bread.

I’m fine. I am. Postpartum psychosis, the doctor called it. My-wife’s-an-effing-nut-case, Jake called it.

Ex-wife. Almost. He forgets that part.

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As I blink my thoughts away and hone in on Rochelle, I can’t help wondering what she thinks of me. Does she believe I have a migraine or is she waiting for the right moment to make an emergency call to the mental hospital?

“You scared me for a minute there,” Rochelle says, handing me the bills in her hand. “Keep the change. For the school.”

I force another smile and take the bills from her, my hands trembling with the aftereffects of my attack. I’m still trying to get my bearings, breathe in and out, slow the hammering of my heart.

Rochelle hoists her purse on her shoulder, a huge tan bag that causes my shoulder to ache just looking at it. “You sure you’re all right?”

I nod and force my mind to focus. My name is Laurie Brandon. I’m a second grade teacher. I’m in Jackson, Ohio at the Apple Festival. My hometown. I glance at the surface of the street where the booth sits, the brick street confirming my location. A few blocks away, lights illuminate the water tower hovering over the town, painted red to resemble an apple and embellished in a green leaf with a pipe protruding from the top as the stem.

I live on Mountain Valley Road. My parents are Gary and Paula Barreau. Emily is nine months old.

My heart rate slows and my body relaxes, the routine stabilizing me. I take a deep, long breath. I’m okay. Everything is fine. I’ll call the doctor in the morning. The medication she gave me has been working well. It’s just the extreme stress, my psychopath-almost-ex-husband worsening my psychosis, if that makes sense.

I remember. There’s more. I let out a gasp.

“I can tend the booth for you if you want to head home to lie down,” Rochelle offers.

I don’t hear Emily behind me. It shouldn’t surprise me. I can barely hear Rochelle over the crooning country band a block down the street. Still, I spin on my heels to check on my daughter.

She isn’t there.

My eyes shoot left to right so fast the plywood walls of the booth seem to flail. Emily… She was there just a moment ago in her stroller, wasn’t she? I saw her. I looked behind me, under my arm… I thought she was there.

My heart races again, my stomach turns, fog swirls in my brain. I can’t help questioning myself, replaying the day through my mind to make certain I brought Emily with me. I picture Josie in the booth and Emily right behind us in her stroller, just like I saw her earlier.

It was today, wasn’t it? My breathing grows faster, intensifying the dizziness. I’m not sure. The fog needs more time to clear. I force a deep breath. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.

“Laurie?” Rochelle’s voice jumbles with my thoughts.

I just need a moment to get through this and then everything will make sense. Maybe I’m remembering another day. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.

In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three.

But I spot something on the street. I lean in, force myself to study it, make sure of what I see.

There is no mistaking; it’s Emily’s soft pink doll. If she wasn’t here, where did the doll come from?

The next scream I hear rolling over the crowd is my own.

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Amazon / B&N / Smashwords

Author Bio:

Christine Barfknecht has a passion for weaving the darkest bits of the human psyche into page-turning fiction. She’s been crafting stories since before she printed her first word and credits her overactive imagination to a lifelong love of reading. She seeks out books that keep her hiding beneath the covers at night or turning pages long after her eyes begin to cross, and strives for those qualities in her own writing. 

Christine lives in rural Wisconsin with her husband, children, and pets where she is also a virtual bookkeeping entrepreneur. In addition to reading and writing, she enjoys gardening, crafts, time with family, and traveling. APPLE OF MY EYE is her debut novel.

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From one bookaholic to another, I hope I’ve helped you find your next fix. —Dani

Have a book you’d like to suggest or one you’d like me to review? Please feel free to leave your comments down below.

[katrinawritesthings]

Jonghyun/Taemin; Growing Up (Part 1/3); PG

me: high kicks into 2018 with a fic set in 2010

hello baby au where taem just has a giant crush on jonghyun the whole time they’re filming and it causes him Stress

While he’s still being grumpy, Jonghyun’s breath turns into a little laugh, a little mumble about how cute Yoogeun is. Taemin huffs, pulling away from him if he’s gonna be a traitor to the sleepy cause.

ao3

1-2-3-Epilogue

Episode One A lot is happening right now.

Well, kind of. The bus ride here took a while, and they all had their little talk outside before they went in, but still.They were basically kidnapped from their manager, they’re in an unfamiliar place, they’re supposed to all be taking care of a real life human child soon, on camera, and Taemin is flustered. Like, that’s not small news. It is very very big news. Kibum is reading all of the fan comments about their upcoming challenge and Taemin is cold, excited, restless, and nervous, and the hiccup escapes his lips without permission.

As, really, all hiccups do.

Still, the second one gets him a warning, and the third one.

The third one gets him Jonghyun pointing at him immediately, Jonghyun saying his name, and Jonghyun grabbing him and tugging him close to hold him in place in front of the camera. He’s made to explain himself, which he does very poorly; he decides right now in this moment that he suddenly hates the old “hiccups mean dirty thoughts” superstition. He’s put into the corner to calm down and he presses his forehead against the wall, giggly but still blushing at the accusatory grip of Jonghyun’s hand around his wrist.

Later, when they’re all playing rock paper scissors to decide who has to go clean up outside and who gets to stay inside, Taemin is the first to win, and he backs up out of the group with a pleased little grin, but then--

“You go sweep outside,” Jinki says, and Jonghyun repeats it immediately after, and then the other two as well, and this isn’t fair at all. Taemin tries to protest but the others are already playing the second round to see who will join him.

It’s Jonghyun, and he looks dead on the inside as he steps away from the group as well.

“No, come on, this is wrong,” Taemin says, but Jonghyun talks over him and tugs him outside with him. Taemin sighs, feels like it’s extra not fair that Jonghyun is only going along with this because he’s ashamed that his own rule change backfired on him. They could be warm and cozy inside right now instead of cold and shivery outside.

Jonghyun starts a snow fight with him almost immediately, though, and as Taemin ducks and laughs and advances on him with a full shovel of snow, he can’t say that he’s as disappointed as he could be.

Episode Two “Taemin. Taemin.”

“Hmm?”

“Taemin.” Jonghyun is close when Taemin turns to him, bent over Yoogeun’s chair. His hand was firm on Taemin’s arm but now it’s making little grabby motions as he speaks. “Do you wanna, like, combine our two presents?” he asks lowly. Taemin grins, amazed at how he even has the nerve to ask for that.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, patting Jonghyun’s hip and turning back to their small bean child. He spent good money on this little play laptop and he’s not gonna let Jonghyun mooch off of his popularity just because all he brought was a table. He’s still kind of bitter about how Jonghyun rubbed his last place spot in his face last night, to be honest. Something about Jonghyun looking down on him so much made it feel extra humiliating.

“You can play on the floor then,” Jonghyun says, and before Taemin can even point Yoogeun to something on the screen Jonghyun is picking up his cute laptop and setting it on the floor. Taemin laughs into his hand but also slides over to it, sure that the kid will still like it no matter where it is.

‘Yoogeunie, look,” he says, turning the laptop a fraction. Yoogeun looks; honestly, he’s been looking since Jonghyun moved it. Taemin watches him turn halfway in his chair before Jonghyun picks up his laptop and sets it back up on the table.

“Yoogeun, you wanna use the desk right?” he asks, and not half a second after the kid agrees does Jonghyun extend his hand out to Taemin again. He’s so fucking cheap, and that is extremely fucking cheating, but as Taemin reaches out to accept his firm handshake, he can’t make himself be anything other than amused.

Episode Three “I can't do it like this,” Taemin announces. He puts his half peeled apple down and stands up. He thought he was doing an okay job for his first time but the other two are giving him shit and making him feel inadequate. He’s just gonna do it the easy way. “I’m gonna go get a potato peeler,” he mumbles, shuffling his way into the kitchen.

Jonghyun and Jinki are in there making their own food, and they’re also trying to kick Taemin out almost as soon as he steps inside. He smiles against Jonghyun’s pushing hands, waving them away and standing his ground. He’s not trying to spy on them or anything.

“Wait, wait,” he says. “I just came in here to borrow something.”

“Borrow what?” Jonghyun asks.

“A potato peeler,” Taemin says, miming with his hands.

“We don’t have one,” both Jonghyun and Jinki say, and they gently push Taemin towards the door again. Taemin loses his footing and saves his fall by kind of just sitting on the floor. His composure doesn’t do so well because he’s a little dazed by all the things that are happening so quickly. He’s not good with things happening quickly. After a few seconds of sitting there and gathering himself up internally he tries sitting up again, but Jonghyun’s hands halfheartedly push him back down.

“Alright look,” Jonghyun says when he finally lets Taemin stand, and Taemin smothers a laugh in his hand because he’s trying to be all intimidating or whatever. “We can’t just give you it so easily,” he says. “Show us a personal talent.”

“I can do a duck noise,” Taemin says automatically. That’s totally a personal talent. Jinki does it all the time and everything. Taemin has been saving his own version of it up for a while now to use on the next reality show, but doing it here is fine too. His is even better than Jinki’s, and he tells this to the room confidently. Jonghyun’s brows raise in expectation and Taemin lifts his hands up to start. He’s determined to impress Jonghyun with this. He can do this.

He does his thing, blows into his fist and shakes his head and directs the sound with his other hand and honestly, it sounds pretty dang good to him. He lowers his hands and grins hopefully; Jonghyun laughs, and his smile grows, but then both of them kick him out again anyway. Jinki escorts him out with his own original duck noise and Taemin laughs loudly, giggles bubbling out of his chest as he’s pushed away. Holy shit. Jinki is so good.

“Come back after you’ve practised your talent,” Jonghyun calls as Jinki closes the door on him. Taemin runs his fingers through his hair and just stands there for a moment, getting most of his giggles out of him, before he turns around and walks right back inside. Jonghyun notices him immediately. “Taemin, did you prepare a talent for us?” he asks, and Taemin fights down another laugh. This is so unnecessary. He scans the room quickly, looking for something that he can just do in a second and get over with. His eyes land on a pan on the stove and he points at it.

“I can flip that egg,” he says, stepping up between them.

“What, really? Do it,” Jonghyun says immediately. Taemin grins in victory. Nice. He takes the pan and flips the egg four times.

What happens next is a lot of impressed noises from Jonghyun and a lot of yelling from Jinki; as Jinki is being fake angry at him and pushing him to a giggly mess on his knees, Jonghyun appears and presses a potato peeler into his hand with the brightest, most amused eyes Taemin has seen on him all day.

He royally fucked up Jinki’s egg, but he got Jonghyun’s approval and the peeler and that’s all he was looking for.

Episode Four The smug, overpowering sense of pride and confidence that fills Taemin up when he steps into the barbershop is such a good feeling. Jonghyun immediately makes many excited noises and Jinki wraps him up in a relieved hug and it’s great to feel so needed. They explain the problem and he grins because he has just the things to help. He pulls out his little bag of tips and toys to help Yoogeun chill, painstakingly researched with a few minutes on google the other night.

In less than a minute Jonghyun and Jinki are agreeing that he’s totally useful. He laughs, accepting the praise a little bashfully but also waving it off like it’s nothing. He has more tricks up his sleeve. He’s such a good dad.

Ten minutes later, everything has gone downhill.

HIs sunglasses didn’t work, his crinkly plastic bag was a waste of energy, and Jonghyun’s face when he whispers “Taemin, you should have bought a bubble gun that works,” is enough to make him feel crushing disappointment in his soul.

But, still, even Minho couldn’t make Yoogeun cut his hair, and Taemin is the one that Jonghyun chose to nap next to later, so whatever. He can’t fail at an impossible mission and Jonghyun wasn’t annoyed enough at him to give up some sweet sleepy snuggles. He’s still killing this dad thing even in his sleep.

And by sleep, he means his short doze is cut harshly short by a tiny, tiny child voice shouting for him to wake up.

Which he does, immediately, shooting up into a surprised sitting position; when he realizes what’s going on, he groans and flops back down. Yoogeun is cute but he doesn’t deserve this.

Jonghyun turns to him with a grumpy little noise and Taemin latches on immediately, slinging his arm over his shoulder. They can be sleepy and groggy together. Taemin knows that Jonghyun can’t have gotten more than a few minutes anyway, what with his insomnia and everything. He holds him close, enjoying their little moment of bonding.

While he’s still being grumpy, Jonghyun’s breath turns into a little laugh, a little mumble about how cute Yoogeun is. Taemin huffs, pulling away from him if he’s gonna be a traitor to the sleepy cause. Yoogeun is adorable but he’s gonna latch onto every moment he can get.

Which turns out to be like, almost a whole minute, which isn’t that bad. He keeps his eyes closed against Minho saying hi, and against Jonghyun sleepily mumbling little hellos, but when Jonghyun practically launches the kid at him, he admits defeat with a tired laugh. Alright. Fine. He’ll love their little bean child. Not exactly a punishment. He gets a kiss and a hug, feels warm in his soul, and then hoists Yoogeun off to wake Jinki up.

In the time it takes him to do that, Minho grows impatient, which isn’t surprising at all. As soon as Jinki curls up into a flustered yet awake ball under his blankets, Minho scoops Yoogeun up to play and hogs the little goober all to himself for so long that Jonghyun comes up with a clever plan to get attention again. He wiggles up to Taemin laid out as he is on his back, resting his arm delicately over his chest and smiling against his shoulder.

“Tell Yoogeunie to come wake me up again,” he whispers, closing his eyes with a little smile. Taemin snorts, shakes his head, tugs Jonghyun’s arm closer to use as a pillow. He’s warm and soft, at least, even if everything he does makes Taemin shake his head in tired amusement. Taemin just watches Minho playing with Yoogeun for a moment until Jonghyun gets impatient and lightly squeezes his chest. It makes his breath hitch.

“Yoogeun,” he calls. “Jonghyun fell asleep again,” he says, pointing. “Come wake him up.” Minho gasps softly and flops to his stomach, letting Yoogeun toddle over to wake up Jonghyun. The kid screams, like, directly in front of Taemin’s face, but that was kind of expected, to be honest. Taemin is thankfully awake enough by now so that it was mostly cute.

Even with that Jonghyun keeps his eyes shut, a pleasant little smile on his lips, an obviously fake snore fluttering over the skin of Taemin’s neck. Yoogeun pats Jonghyun’s arm with his tiny little hand and says his name again. Jonghyun still stays silent, nothing but his amused breaths floating over Taemin’s neck, making his skin shiver and his heart thud--

“Kiss him, kiss him,” Taemin says quickly, sitting up and pointing Yoogeun closer to Jonghyun. He watches the two playing and laughs along, filing the tingles he got from Jonghyun’s smile away as his sleepy mind being extra sensitive to everything so early in the morning.

[xtruss]

The U.S., Like Israel, Is Wielding The Violence of An Occupying Power

The killing of George Floyd and the ensuing protests bear striking parallels to similar events in Israel-Palestine. Despite their differences, the mechanisms of repression operate in the same way.

— By Mairav Zonszein | June 1, 2020 | 972Mag.Com

— Dr. Norman Gary Finkelstein

George Floyd protests in Washington DC. Lafayette Square. May 30, 2020. (Rosa Pineda/Wikimedia Commons)

Another white cop murdered a Black man in the United States. After over two months in which public spaces were emptied by the coronavirus pandemic – a disease which itself has been disproportionately killing Black and brown people in the country – the streets are now filled with people risking their lives and safety to demand justice for George Floyd and all Black lives.

Floyd’s killing in Minneapolis one week ago is painfully familiar. It comes just two months after the murder of Breonna Taylor in Louisville. Just a few weeks after footage surfaced of the murder of Ahmaud Arbery in Georgia. After Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Philando Castille, and Tamir Rice. The list goes on.

And yet, this time, it feels like a moment of reckoning. Mass protests, sirens, fires, fireworks, riot gear, tear gas, and curfews fill the streets of cities like Minneapolis, New York, Oakland, Atlanta, Portland, Louisville, and Washington D.C. Police have arrested at least 1,400 people in 17 cities and authorities have ordered curfews in 39 cities across 21 states. It looks and feels like an American Intifada.

As I watch everything unfold, I cannot help but notice the striking parallels between George Floyd’s murder and the countless Palestinians killed at the hands of Israeli forces. I write this as someone who is neither Palestinian nor Black, but as a journalist and activist in solidarity with both communities, who has witnessed such events both in the United States and Israel-Palestine.

While there are substantial differences between the two countries and their circumstances, the mechanisms of state violence and repression ultimately operate in the same way. There is a clear “us” and “them.” A sense that there is the occupier and the occupied. If you are Palestinian under Israeli control, you are a target. If you are Black in America, you are a target. And when you take a stand, you are beaten or shot down.

Israeli police arrest a Palestinian protester outside the new U.S. Embassy in Jerusalem. May 14, 2018. (Oren Ziv/Activestills.org)

In both countries, like many others, the state wields brutal violence to preserve the structural inequalities on which it stands. Those defending the sanctity of Black lives in the United States, like those standing with Palestinians against Israeli authorities, are finding themselves face-to-face with armed forces that are fulfilling the role of a hostile occupying power.

The parallels grew even more resonant last week when, just a few days after Floyd’s murder, a 32-year-old Palestinian with autism, Iyad Hallak, was killed by Israeli Border Police in Jerusalem’s Old City. The officers claimed they believed he was holding a gun, yet there was none. When they ordered him to freeze, Hallak, out of fear, ran and hid behind a dumpster. One of the officers shot him multiple times, reportedly even after his commander told him to stop.

Last week’s killings, along with many others, illustrate how the two countries mirror each other’s experiences of discrimination and brutality. Here are just some of those commonalities.

The Power of Cameras

George Floyd’s murder was caught on video from multiple angles. It is the primary reason why news spread so fast, and why those who tried to explain away the incident failed. Palestinians, too, have been documenting Israeli human rights abuses for years, with footage of violence often being one of the only tools they can use to demand justice and draw attention to their plight.

Floyd’s murder particularly reminded me of when Israeli soldier Elor Azaria murdered Abdel Fattah al-Sharif, a Palestinian resident of occupied Hebron, in March 2016. Although the circumstances were different – Al-Sharif had tried to stab a soldier – like Floyd, Al-Sharif lay incapacitated on the ground, posing no threat, when Azaria fatally shot him in an extrajudicial killing.

IDF Sgt. Elor Azaria, the Israeli soldier, who shot dead a disarmed and injured Palestinian attacker in Hebron a few months ago, with family and friends in a courtroom at the Kirya military base in Tel Aviv, on January 4, 2017. (Miriam Alster/Flash90)

Azaria was deemed a bad apple by some in Israel, but was defended by others on the right. After serving nine months in prison, Azaria was released and welcomed by many Israelis as a hero. Despite the massive uproar, the IDF has not changed anything about their conduct in the West Bank any more than American police have changed theirs.

Nonetheless, if such footage had not been captured, many investigations of police officers and soldiers (no matter how futile) would not have been opened and brought to public scrutiny. It is why Christian Cooper, a Black man and avid bird watcher, instinctively took out his camera in New York’s Central Park last week when Amy Cooper, a white woman, called the police on him after he asked her to put her dog on a leash, claiming he was threatening her life. It is why many Palestinians in the West Bank similarly start filming when they face Israeli officers or Jewish settlers, either through their personal phones or professional cameras distributed by human rights groups.

The Narrative Around Violence

Were it not for the protests that erupted in Minneapolis, which saw the city’s 3rd Precinct police station gutted by flames, David Chauvin, the police officer who killed Floyd, would likely not be in custody at this moment and charged with third-degree murder.

Still, as places are being looted and vandalized, the mainstream media narrative has been turning against the protesters, claiming that they are “thugs” undermining their own cause. A New York Times op-ed by Ross Douthat, for example, discouraged the riots arguing that “what nonviolent protest gains, violent protest unravels.”

A destroyed car with graffiti in Minneapolis during demonstrations against the police killing of George Floyd. May 28, 2020. (Hungryogrephotos/Wikimedia Commons)

Tamika Mallory, a prominent Black activist who has also been deeply engaged in the Black-Palestine solidarity movement, gave a poignant response to these narratives: “Don’t talk to us about looting. Y’all are the looters… America has looted Black people. America looted the Native Americans when they first came here. So looting is what you do, we learned it from you. We learned violence from you… So if you want us to do better, then dammit, you do better.”

This same media dynamic exists in Israel-Palestine. For decades Israel has looted Palestinian lives and properties, depriving them of their rights, incarcerating them, raiding their towns, demolishing their homes – an entire infrastructure of state violence and plunder. But when Palestinians protest and fight back, they are blamed as the violent ones; they are the “terrorists.” Suddenly, state violence becomes invisible.

All the while, the vast majority of Palestinians have continued to demonstrate nonviolently, including through the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions Movement. The same kinds of demonstrations have been led by groups like Black Lives Matter since Ferguson in 2014, while Black athletes like Colin Kaepernick have knelt during the national anthem against racism and police brutality – a simple gesture which was still met with punishment and backlash. No form of protest is ever good enough.

Double Standard Toward Protests

The double standard in how white and Black protests are treated by U.S. police is striking. When white, far-right, anti-lockdown demonstrations were held this past month – such as when hundreds of armed protesters in Michigan stormed the state house – police did not shoot tear gas or make arrests; they did not even bring out their batons.

Police in St.Paul and Minneapolis during protests following the killing of George Floyd, May 28, 2020. (Hungryogrephotos/Wikimedia)

In contrast, in the wake of last week’s protests, mayors have imposed curfews, and governors in several states have called in the National Guard. While tanks roam neighborhoods, police have been shooting stun grenades, tear gas, and rubber bullets in Minneapolis and other cities. Journalists also reported at least 60 incidents since Friday of being targeted by the police, even though they were identifiable by their press helmet, vest, and pass; a female photographer, Linda Tirado, was blinded in her left eye by a rubber bullet in Minneapolis.

All of these practices are a mainstay of Israeli occupation, tactics taken right out of the Israeli playbook. The Los Angeles curfew order reads like an IDF closed military zone order. The arrests and attacks on journalists for doing their job, which rarely happens in the United States, is a frequently occurrence in Palestine.

The state’s contradictory response is also blatant in Israel-Palestine. When Palestinians protest, they are often beaten, arrested, or shot at, and those caught throwing stones can be sent to jail for years. Israeli Jews, meanwhile, can usually protest relatively freely, rarely having to fear arrest or repression – the major exception being Ethiopian Jews, who have been repeatedly brutalized by the police for protesting state discrimination and violence.

The U.S. certainly did not learn all its repressive methods from Israel, but there are many direct connections. In recent years, American law enforcement agencies at the federal, state, and local levels have held trainings in Israel on exchange programs sponsored by groups like the Anti-Defamation League, many of them centered around counterterrorism tactics used by the Israeli military. Groups like Jewish Voice for Peace have campaigned to end these exchange programs precisely because they bolster the methods and mentality of an occupying force.

JVP Philly protesting outside the International Association of Chiefs of Police annual conference in Philadelphia, calling on the Anti-Defamation League to stop running exchange programs between U.S. police and Israeli military. October 22, 2017. (Joe Piette/Flickr)

The hypocrisy of the groups sponsoring these police exchanges is also startling. The ADL’s CEO Jonathan Greenblatt, for example, issued a statement of solidarity with the Black community following Floyd’s murder, acknowledging that they are subject to a “racist and unjust system.” Greenblatt, who frequently comments on Israeli affairs, has yet to condemn the killing of Hallak or make a similar remark about Israel’s own “racist and unjust system.”

Police and Military Impunity

The Minneapolis police is notorious for refusing to remove bad officers or to adopt reforms; the officer who killed Floyd, David Chauvin, had 18 previous complaints filed against him. In New York City – where cops have assaulted Black people over social distancing during the pandemic – about 2,500 complaints of bias were lodged over the past four years against NYPD officers; the police deemed every case invalid.

Similarly, Israeli soldiers and police are rarely brought to justice for killing or harming Palestinian protesters. For example, during Gaza’s Great March of Return that began in March 2018, only one Israeli soldier was tried for shooting and killing a plainly unarmed Palestinian child during the mass protests, and was sentenced to only a month in prison.

Other soldiers who have shot tear gas and rubber and live bullets at protests in the West Bank rarely get tried. The soldier who killed Palestinian activist Bassem Abu Rahmeh, by shooting a tear gas canister at his chest during a protest in Bil’in in 2009, was never charged. Over a decade later, no one has been held accountable for his death.

For now, George Floyd seems to have avoided Abu Rahmeh’s fate, as his killer Chauvin appears set to face trial for his crime. But there is still nothing to guarantee that Chauvin will face meaningful justice, nor to ensure that other violent police officers will face the same consequences. Until then, America will continue to see many similar uprisings.

Mairav Zonszein is a journalist and editor who writes about Israel-Palestine and its role in U.S. politics. Her publications include The Guardian, The New York Times, The Washington Post, The New York Review of Books, The Intercept, VICE News, Foreign Policy and many more.

[thelostcatpodcast]

THE LOST CAT PODCAST, SPECIAL EPISODE: THE MAN WHO WALKED IN TO THE SEA

THE LOST CAT PODCAST, SPECIAL EPISODE: THE MAN WHO WALKED IN TO THE SEA

Episode released 19th May 2018

http://thelostcat.libsyn.com/special-episode-the-man-who-walked-in-to-the-sea

He stood with the sea lapping at his ankles as he looked out from the shore towards the edge of the world. He took another step in and the sea lapped above his knees.

He had walked away after last fire and had left his clothes on a tree. He had made fresh prints on the damp sand that traced a straight enough line from the tree-line to the shore. Two prints lay together a stride away from the water where he had stood for a time, thinking, watching, just waiting. And the lapping tide was already melting the prints back in to the beach. And so he took another step out.

And with that step he could feel the tug and tarry of the water around him and he let himself sway on his feet. He dropped his hands down and kept them still, letting the water move between his fingers. There were the sounds of insects from the trees and the sounds of sand being moved by the tide and the sounds of water itself; small low lollops of water dropping onto water; huge high shrulls of foam far away. It was then he had noticed the ocean had risen above his waist for the top half of his body was cold.

So he dropped to a crouch and his head went beneath the surface. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes and pushed away, launching out and swimming hard.  At the end of it he stopped kicking and let his body slowly drop to the upright.

All the sounds of the world disappeared with a rush of bubbles. He moved down into the water and the water all around him was massively, silently, dark. He twisted on himself and looked up at the rippling surface and as it moved it formed accidental prisms shooting the moonlight in shafts down into the water. The shafts formed endless architecture that swayed and changed with the movements of the sea.  He became still and watched cities collide.

And then he swam deeper. He swam between the shafts of light and through them, sweeping water away above him ever harder, whenever he felt his body tugged upwards.

He swam in to the massive silence of the sea, following the shafts of weakening light down in to the swallowing dark. For he saw, at some specific place in the sea not far from him, some things were returning the light.

And they hung peacefully there, vague in the distance and the dark. They gave their light out in pink and yellow. The motes and algae moved away and towards and around these lights. He swam in closer to meet them.

There were many of these things, in a cloud, hanging simply between the bottom and the top of the sea. They tapered in their lower halves with frilly tendrils that were happy to sway with the movements of the water, and they moved the light with them, making it throb. At their necks they had dresses and looked like mushrooms, covering their complicated centres with coyly rippling glimpses. They made no sound the man heard.

And he was among them now.

The tendrils reached out like puppets on strings and where they touched him he was warm. They were about him then, all the mushrooms and the ribbons and they were draped over him like a half-opened present. All his body was warm and then it was hot and the dresses squeaked as they rubbed against his face. Then everything was sharp and the air in his lungs was pushed out in bubbles that lifted the dresses of those creatures and then all the detail inside was pressed onto his face.

And when the man was still, They let him go and he drifted down out of their light, down to the seabed, very far away.

“I’ve found his shirt!” said Clara, out in the sun of the beach.

“Where are you? Clara? Come back here!” came a voices from the trees.

“On the South Shore!”

“Come back from there! Right now! Clara!”

Clara hoiked her skirt and ran back to the paths. “It’s hanging on the tree. He must have taken it off.”

“Don’t go running off,” said Magdelene appearing around a bend. “Come here. Do as you are told”

Clara ran into her arms and hugged the woman’s leg. “You stay with me, Clara. These aren’t games.”

“OK!”

The others rounded the bend then, keeping pace with an old woman with clinking necklaces.

And at that sound the little girl hugged the woman’s leg a little tighter.

“Where’d you say i’was?” the old woman grumbled. Clara peaked out through the skirts.

“She said she found something on the trees by the South Shore,” Magdelene replied.

“The little’un, eh?” she said, giving a squinty eye at the girl, who buried herself even deeper in to Magdalene’s skirts.

“Heh,” she said, then re-arranged herself to look up at the goldening sky “Robert, help me.”

The man gave his beating stick to his companions as the old lady took his arm and they left the path.

“So that’s where he went, right?” squeaked Clara, watching the old woman waddle determinedly off. “We can go find him now?”

“Let’s wait here, wait until Maura comes back, OK?”

“OK.”

The old woman stepped out onto the beach, sniffing the air, looking at the setting sun, scuffing at the sand still damp from the tide. The water had wiped the shore clean. She sighed. “Pick up ‘is clothes. Let’s get back.”

And Maura returned, grumbling on the uneven sand. She looked down at the uneven lump in the dresses to Magdalene’s side.

“Are yer doin’ as yer told, little’un?”

“Yes,” came a squeek from the dresses.

“Heh. Well, fair enough.”

They walked at the old lady’s pace back to the village as the sun set and found that the other parties had already returned. They had found nothing. The fires were lit and a meeting was begun. And They nodded as they heard where the clothes had been found. Maura spoke with her peers and said a search would be carried out. The fires were ordered damped and the meeting was over.

The next day Clara followed Maura as the old women went weeding, and the girl stood at the edge of the fields near a tree. Maura waddled along a row, inspecting plants and pulling up vegetables.

“Is you, Clara-girl,” she called out.

The girl shifted behind the tree.

“Best speak, or I might think yer a carrot.”

“They won’t let me near the South Shore, Maura.”

“As’right,” the old woman replied. She grunted as she poked at some roots, looked at the bottoms of leaves.

“But why?”

“No place for a girl.”

“But I want to help with the search, Maura.”

“No search today.”

“But Maura!”

“But Maura nuthin’,” the old woman snorted. “No searching til the moon’s waned. That’s another day’n night.”

“But why?”

“Heh. Don’t know much for sumn’ ask so many questions, eh girl?”

Clara said nothing, but waited for the old woman to explain. The old woman straightened.

“Not safe to go near the South Shore when the moon is full. Everyone know that.”

“But why?”

“Bad things bound to happen.”

“But what?”

Maura sniffed. “Don’t know. We lost the story. All my elders gave me was the warning that came with it, an’ now I’m giving i’you. Guess’ll find out what it’s for in time. Come on, come here, Help me catch some ‘pillars.”

They took boats out on the third day, dragging the bed with rakes and taking nets out into the waters. They turned the water muddy but caught nothing.

Back at the village it was decided the man had swum out and drowned. A man would have to be mad to swim out on the South Shore in a full moon so death was given as madness. His body could have been a hundred miles away by that time.

They burnt his clothes and Mortim, a man even older than Maura, said some words:

“Simon Bartram, taken by madness and taken by the sea. Let us hope it has taken him where he has needed to go. He is not welcome here anymore.”

“So i’goes,” mumbled Maura.

Clara learnt to ride a pony. Clara helped Magdelene knit; Magdelene saying she liked how the stitches were smaller just there. Cauliflowers were planted. Paul Bastel was punished for thievery. Maura caught a cold. And a month passed in this way.

And then the fish started to change. Morten Dowagers started shoaling off the East Banks. Their numbers were so great in the shallows that children could bring back armfuls of the purple-finned fish, cutting their fingers on the belly-ridges. Marasin the elder went to inspect the fish; clambering over the rocks with the help of two grown men; telling the children to take only one at a time; none below two feet nor longer than five; and none with yellow eye markings as these were female and most likely pregnant.

Frokenwallows washed up all around the island, which were quickly burnt as even the dead ones can be poisonous; as a result the Hollows were opened up for swimming and Prittenmags returned.

The air was full of Jack-Darrows and Flotsam-Hawks, attracted by the boon in the sea. Dusk was the noisiest part of the day and trees exploded if you shook the right ones.

Two lovers on the western reaches swore they saw Nibbing-Whales hoom and spray fifty yards from shore one night; a dozen or more humps rising and blooming; the noise brought apples down. Mortim dismissed the claim which ended with the whales leaving north, against the currents.

Clara had a tree house built, mostly by Gordon and the Dunstun Brothers, but entirely planned by her.

Maura, once she heard of it, demanded access.

“While I still can,” she huffed as she climbed the ladder.

“I don’t let anyone up here,” Clara demanded.

“Heh,” Maura replied.

The tree house had a view looking south east, to the right of the Corn Acres, over the plains with the Mount in the distance and the glint of the sea just visible beyond the Grays Forest.

Maura sat in the chair.

“So who was he?” asked Clara.

“Who was who?”

“The man that downded off the South Shore.” The girl pointed as she said this.

Maura shifted position and swigged at her tea flask. “What’s got’do with anything?”

“Coz things have been happening. You know; changing.”

“Be-Cause. Clara. You’n say it right. “Beee cooorze.” The old woman was scowling at the girl as she said this. The girl hugged a branch.

“Heh,” said Maura. “anyways: No-one else asking that.”

“I don’t know,” said Clara. “I don’t know.”

“Smar’ or stupid,” said Maura, tapping the girl’s head. “Don’t know which yet. He was Simon Bartram. Worked on the plains there. Sheep.”

“Was he nice?”

“He did his part. He didn’ ask so many questions as you.”

“Was he happy?”

At that moment a bell started ringing in the village.

“Happy? He played at the dances. I believe he wooed Florence year ago now. Didn’t want to be a fisherman. That answer anything?”

“Don’t know,” said Clara.

“Guess I shouldn’t be asking you questions yet, eh?”

Figures were running out of the forest towards the village. They were all too far away to tell who they were. Robert came to the bottom of the tree.

“Maura! A thing’s been washed up. We’re dragging it up now.”

“Oh yeh? Washed up where?”

“South Shore, Maura.”

“Yeh.” Maura said, and she was sharing a look with Clara as she did.

“Do you need help getting down, Maura?” asked Robert.

“No I don’t! I’ve jus’ sat down and I’m gonna stay a while.” She threw the flask over her shoulder. “Get me some more tea, what you can do.”

The men took a cart down the paths and brought back the remains of a small boat. They brought it to the square and lit fires around it, ready for inspection. Mortim and Narduke took sticks and poked at it. They found the bones of two men and a small, iron-bound chest. Both the chest and the skulls were intact.

They opened the chest and the gathered folk gasped when the water drained away, for inside were various coins, two silver cups, a pearl necklace and a golden centre-piece, fashioned into the shape of two leaping fish with open shells as candle-holders.

“The hall treasures!”

“Are they real?”

“Did anyone actually see them before they were lost?”

Narduke, who was very, very old indeed, said, “I did. They are real.”

It was the teeth of the skulls that told the story. There were many missing, and some were fixed with a dull, grainy metal that crumbled upon inspection. It was a technique not used on the island, as their diet did not tend to sugary foods. The thieves had come from abroad.

“So,” said Mortim. “The story is at last complete. Foreigners came as thieves for the treasure but were lost before they reached their home. The sea did not think it fair they succeed.”

“No kids’ll be digging holes I’ ground anymore, anyway,” said Maura, holding onto Clara’s shoulder.

“They’ll have to do something useful now, eh?” said Mortim.

“Fill ‘em in mebbe,” Maura answered.

A week passed. The Morten Dowagers left the East Bank. The crew of a fishing boat, out south-west of the island, were tipped out of their boat as something dragged on their net. When they recovered the netting they found it had been torn along the middle; roughly, and almost in two. They put their faces under the water, but they saw nothing. Two of them complained of itching around the eyes the next day.

The sea changed colour all along the Eastern Reaches, from the Hollows to the Needles; from a low green to a dull grey, even in the sun.

“I’ve lost my dog! I can’t find her!” Fina yelped all through the village. “Help!”

“I’m sure it’s just chasing rabbits.”

“I was in the forest. I kept the paths. I did!”

The dog did not come back.

“What do you think happened with Fina’s dog?” asked Clara, sipping at the tea with a pained squint. Maura had come to visit the tree house again, and Clara was intent on proving she could do everything the old woman could do.

The old woman watched with some amusement.

“Island’s plenty big to lose a dog,” Maura replied. “We lost a horse once. Found i’only when it started a’smell.”

“I’m going to be Snowfall in the dance,” said Clara.

“If I’ve got to watch it,” said Maura. “At least make it a surprise.”

Another week passed. There were so many birds, Magdelene was teaching Clara to make omelettes. Shoaling-Crows appeared, bobbing on the sea-surface like blankets. One evening the sea erupted into spuming foam as the birds fought over something. By the morning they had re-formed, slightly down-shore.

Those young, or old, enough to take to walking alone along the Further Shores spoke of seeing a shadow stalking them in the water, such that it made them run or scream, or to throw what was to hand in fits of bravery.

Such things could not happen to such an island without stories brewing like leaves in the autumn. And like leaves they made their own cluttering noise as they jostled with each other and the ground.

There were stories of disaster and glory, either returned or rising; stories of gods, spirits, Father-Trees and Mother-Earths, Natterjacks, Branty-Hamfers and all manner of winds and currents, natural and unnatural.

Someone had lost their pearl in the forest, the world was tipping, the sea was draining, The islands were being eaten one by one. All the old stories were swirled around to see if these new things were their conclusion. But no-one mentioned Simon Bartram.

“I met him,” said Clara.

“You wot?”

“I was down on the South Shore.”

“You ain’t supposed to…oh never mind. You met ‘im? Who?”

“I went down to the South Shore and just a bit out from the shore there was a man sitting on the seabed. He was sitting cross legged so the water was just above his head. His hair was all wavy.”

“What was ‘e doin’?”

“He was sitting.”

“Sittin’?”

“Yes, Maura. Like he was looking. And he saw me. All his hair moved. I waved at him.”

“Waved at ‘im? At the man sitting in the water? What’d ‘e do?”

“He waved back or, at least, I think he did.”

“Uou couldn’t tell?”

“No. And he held his arm funny.”

“Wot, like crooked?”

“No, like loose. The water moved it. You could tell coz…”

“Be-Cause.”

“Maura. Bee-Corze the rest of him was so still. I said ‘hello’ but he didn’t do anything. So I went up to the water…”

“Clara!”

“Well I’m here aren’t I?”

“Well tha’s fair ‘nuff ‘spose.”

“And I shouted at him ‘are you Simon Bartram?’. I could see him move his mouth but I didn’t hear anything. So I threw a pebble at him”

“Bit violent wunt it?”

“All the speed went out of it when it hit the water. He caught it and he wouldn’t throw it back.”

“Yeh?”

“So I took a deep breath and I put my face in the water and I yelled ‘Oi! Man in the sea! Give me back my pebble!’.”

“All that Jus’ for a pebble?”

“It was a nice shape.”

“Why’d you throw i’then?”

“And then the man reached out with his good arm and touched my face.”

“You wot? Come ‘ere!”

Maura grabbed the girl and held her head between her hands, turning it back and forth. The old woman squinted at the girl. The girl was wide eyed and limp. “Where?”

“Just on my cheek,” Clara said with a very small voice.

“Hmm, looks all righ’.” Maura said, rubbing at some puffiness on the girl’s cheek

“It was cold. I got scared and I jumped out and he jumped back too. When I looked again he was walking away, under the water.”

“That’s it? You ain’t holdin’ back?”

“He left the pebble.” The girl held it up. “I got it and ran back.”

“Tha’s it?”

“Yes, Maura. I promise.”

The old woman looked hard at the girl. The girl did not move at all. “Well don’t go back there again.”

“So I went there this morning.”

“Clara!”

“But he wasn’t there! He wasn’t there!”

“Don’ go there again, Clara, or I’ll fin’ I’m too old to come climbing up this ladder, you ‘ear?”

“But Maura…”

“Ah!”

In the third week off the month, traders came in, and the first thing they said as they stepped from the boat was: “what’s with the stink?”.

Because it had happened so slowly no-one had noticed; the island had changed its smell.

The traders got drunk that night, dancing with and being politely refused by some of the younger ladies of the island. With the bottle empty and the ladies escorted back, one of the traders went swimming. He did not come back to the boat. His colleague called the alarm the next morning and the missing trader was soon found. His body had been washed up amongst weeds near the harbour.

When they lifted him he gurgled and wobbled so much they dropped him. His skin tore and dirty, pink water poured from the tear. They let him drain out and, when they tapped his rib-cage, he sounded like a drum.

They opened him up and found a great hollow at the centre of him. They found his lungs shrivelled and tiny up near his neck; they crumbled like pine-cones to the touch.

The elders spoke quietly with the dead man’s companion, then buried the corpse quickly and officially. The companion left with good money for his wares, a boat full of Morten-Dowagers and the best certificate the island had declaring a death by drunk and by drowning.

The grey-colour was spreading along the shores in both directions and the harbour was now clogging with wraseweeds.

By a small inlet near to the Mount and surrounded by the densest forest, there was found a small pile of corpses; dogs, cats, a seal and some birds, all water-logged with their lungs small and crumbling. Also discovered was the little finger of a man, pale and peeling. It crumbled as they touched it and only just managed to get it back to the village. Mortim found that, if put in saltwater, what was left of the finger took back some of the lustre of life, though it was too utterly destroyed to ever be called healthy again.

The next morning a fishing boat sprang a leak while out beyond the Mount-Shadow. One of the fisher-men dived in to check the damage underneath the boat while the others waited for the regular calling-knocks on the hull. Three knocks came, then a scratch, then nothing. They sailed back to shore and the diver washed up just before dusk. The discoverers turned the body over and water flowed from his mouth along with his lungs, as small and as hard as stones.

All boats were called back to harbour then, everyone was accounted for and all were forbidden to enter the water. The fishermen drank more and slept late; the doctor was kept busy tending to the outcomes of fights.

The smell fell over the whole island. The animals were skittish, prone to panic and to run; a few had been lost to ditches and the cliffs. Once it had been mentioned, no-one could ignore it. The smell was of the sea after an electrical storm; sharp and with an undertone of rotting.

Fires burnt in many houses all day long, to keep the smell out, so smoke blew across the island in clouds.

The birds left the trees with the smoke, and fish left the waters as the grey-coloured water spread along the banks. Traders kept away from the island and stocks grew low.

And children fell in the streets. As they were helped to their feet they were ill over themselves and their helpers, with eyelids so low you could not tell if they were awake or asleep. They were all brought to the doctors house in the main village.

“A poison,” came the story.

“A curse,” came another.

“Or  just different,” said Clara. The meeting, which had been called to discuss this new calamity came to silence, and Maura peered down at the girl

“Wha’s that now, little’un?”

“Well the food’s not been the same since… since it happened. Something in it’s different. It felt a bit strange so I kept to fruit and things just from the island and i’ve been fine.”

“And how did you come to think that, young Clara?” Asked Mortim.

“Well, Maura always said ‘the belly is smarter than the head, and the head best pay attention’. So I did.”

“Well then,” said Maura, with something like a smile on her lips.

The children were given a diet of fruit and water, which took up the last of the fruit stocks. Many of the adults refused the fish caught off the South Shore and the herds had to be corralled and guarded.

And piece by piece, little by little, the island shrunk in size as the places it was safe to be became less and less. Weeks passed slowly in this way, but news travels fast, and bad news fastest of all.

A priest from a Western Isle came to the island and stood on the quay-side holding up a staff in one hand, a heavy book in the other and looked out through the feathers and stones that adorned his hat.

“I have been called,” he declared. “From far away to the aid of a cursed brother-island. I shall wash the curse from these waters and in return you shall allow us to build a small church here in the square of your largest village. Come!”

The priest with his party, followed by many of the fishermen and ladies in the harbour, processed through the village to the paths that led to the South Shore. Mortim and Maura watched them go, passing a pipe between them and then grabbing a couple of the men from the procession as they passed to help them aerate the compost heaps.

Some thirty people gathered on the South Shore as the priest walked into the water so his robes floated up about him on the surface, leaving his legs bare underneath.

“Hear me!” he cried and shook his staff. And he slammed it down on the sea bed.

Then he slipped straight down and underneath the surface.

The thirty or so gathered waited or him to rise again but he did not. Some say they saw a shape in the water, just before the priest slipped, others said it was just the shadow of a cloud. Twenty yards out they saw his robes bobbing on the waves. The party he came with ran back to their ship and left.

Back in the village, Maura and Mortim watched them as they fled.

“Looks like they’ve gone and lost their holy man,” said Mortim.

“This isn’t good,” Said Maura, in reply.

Great anger rose up in the crowd. They ran back to the fields and took up hay forks, clubs, spears and machetes, then gathered once more at the South Shore with a lamb the herders had been powerless to keep. Fires were lit. Shouts rang out. By the time the elders had managed to reach the South Shore the crowd had built enough courage to enter the water.

“Stay out!” Mortim cried.

“Outta the bloody water!” yelled Maura.

The men were yards out; up to their waists and hearing nothing. The sea was a white froth around them as they thrashed at the water.

The men were not fools; they stood in a tight circle and threw bits of the lamb before them, then slashed the water to pieces as they slowly spread out. The bodies of Scatter-Knacks and Peppipilots bobbed to the surface and the sea grew cloudy with dirt and blood.

One man stumbled when his machete hit something heavy.

“Quick!”

The other men rushed to him as he struggled to lift his embedded weapon. The water around them had turned a deep red. They levelled their blades and forks at the water and he pulled his catch to the surface. The naked body of the priest emerged from the gunk, hinged at the rib-cage where the machete had struck and his shrivelled lungs bobbed where the water found its level in the hollow of his chest.

“Get out!” Mortim was calling.

“Its got me!” cried one of the men, looking with horror at his fellows before slipping under the surface. The rest of the men struck down into the sea, turning the water once more to chaos. More men went down. Screams rang out. Bits of men floated away from the scrum.

Callum Hearney was lost, Michael Duncan was without the fingers of his left hand, Thomas Duke had a fork through his right calf, most of the others complained of cold bands running around their legs and bellies. They did not recover the body of the priest.

“This is a bad turn.” said Mortim.

Maura was staring out at the blood in the water.

“Ay, this won’t get better.”

And the crowd left the south shore then, turning their backs on the bruised grey of the sea, and they went to hide in their homes at the centre of the island, closing their doors against the stink that raised itself up from the deeps to smother the whole of the land.

And after that the port received no boats, and after that the roads grew dusty from lack of use, and the nights were heavy and silent on the island, lost in smoke.

And in this way, the island disappeared.

And Maura, in her own way, was changing too. She took to spending nights out alone on the South Shore, avoiding the villagers, the elders, even Clara. She hunched down in her skirts on the beach clanking her jewellery and mumbling to herself.

“Lemme alone.” she said to Clara’s repeated offer of help. “I got nuthin to say.”

And Maura stayed out there alone on the South Shore.

Clara returned to her treehouse, and sipped tea, looking out of the window. In time she stopped, and went to join the village

Now, as was traditional in a time of crisis, a meeting was called. The elders sat around the central fire and spoke in loud, slow voices so that everyone could hear.

Maura sat at the edge of this, brushing out sand from her dresses, fiddling with her necklaces and staring out at the start of the trees, her lips all tight.

And most of the village, including Clara, hiding at the back, stood around the edges of the fire circle, trying to catch a glimpse.

They told stories, as was the custom, and Narduke spoke first:

“A moon-fish ate a maiden one night as she sang by the shore and, as she lay in its belly, it made her tell stories of where she had came from. The maiden, so sad at what she had lost, spoke of her home island as such a paradise that the moon-fish desired more than anything to go there. When it had swallowed her completely the moon-fish went up onto that island and grew legs and arms and long brown hair until it looked just as the maiden had. And the moon-fish walked with the people of the island. They were pleased to see the maiden back and told her but the moon-fish could only gargle in reply. So the moon fish ran to the maiden’s house where her mother hugged it but its skin was still wet and slippery and she pushed it away. Men came with torches and surrounded the moon-fish that tried to sing like the maiden had sung but its gills got caught in its long brown hair. They burnt the moon-fish up completely and when they had swept the ashes away there was the maiden, back with them at last, ready for burial.”

“What should this teach us?”

“That there is an order, breaking it will only lead to bad ends.”

“That we should always be true to our true being, for denying it will never bring happiness.”

“That you ent what you et,” mumbled Maura.

This got some giggles from around the edges of the circle.

“Thank  you, Maura. Who else?”

Marasin the elder rose: “A man was drowned at the bottom of the sea. Years later a freak wave brought him close to his home island. And he explroed it, but he found only his grave, and when he looked in that, he found that his clothes had been filled with straw and stones, and buried them in his place. His place on the island was in that coffin, but that was filled with stones and straw so he could not go back to the island at all. He grew so mad that he turned the island all upside down so it could come to him.”

“What should this tell us?”

“That the living should not lie about the dead, so that the dead should not trouble the living.”

“That change must come, that all things come again, that nothing is unique.”

“Only bury thems that’s dead,” grumbled Maura.

“Do you really think that helpful, Maura?”

“If it’s helping you want, you’ll need more than the old stories.”

“Fine. A man caught a fish. Only after it was did did he realise it was pregnant with eggs. He sliced open its belly and let the eggs tumble in to the water and then he returned home and cooked the fish for his dinner. And after that, every time he caught a fish it would look at him and say ‘you killed my mother!’ ‘you killed my mother!’, and he would have to throw it back. And the man died of hunger.”

“Know what you kill, and respect what gives of itself to give you life.” said Narduke.

“Finish what you start,” said Mortim.

But Maura, now, said nothing, only fiddled with her necklaces.

“And you, Maura?”

“I don’t know.” she mumbled.

“It is time for you to tell a story now, Maura.”

“Got no dusty story for yer.”

“You must share a story.”

“Well FINE. You want a story? Well did you hear about bestest tree there ever was? It was the best ever a growin and it grew and grew. Grew so well nothing else around it could grow coz it took up all the growin for itself. But best tree died too in its time and when it did there were nothing on the land but a dead tree.”

“And what does this mean, Maura?”

And Maura said nothing, but chankled her necklaces across her knuckles.

“Maura?”

“It don’t mean nuthin’!”

“How can you say that?”

“It means we got no dusty story for this. There ain’t nuthin’ goes backwards.”

“Now what does that mean?”

“Means we need a new one.”

And she looked around the circle, and an expression passed her face that Clara recognised from when she climbed up the ladder to the treehouse, or when she went out weeding on a cold morning: it was determined.

The old woman stood up, a decision obviously having been made.

Right

Well what do you intend to do?

Well, sumthin’s out there, and it’s hungry. Either we feed it, or we kill it.”

“We could breed some more dogs?”

“I don’t think its got a taste for dogs.”

“Then kill it we must”

“Heh! Kill it? Conquer it. Control it. You don’ even know what it is.”

“So what do you intend to do?”

“What I intend to do,” she said, hufting up her breasts. “Is go an’ have a talk wi’it.”

And with that she stormed out of the meeting, passing by the cowering Clara.

“Well?” she said, to everyone behind her. “Yer comin’?”

He had opened his eyes floating a yard above the bed of the ocean, some endless time since he had met with the creatures, one foot dragging up dust in slow clouds as it touched the bottom. He did nothing for a very long while, assuming that he was dead. Then a change came to the sea and in feeling it he knew that he was not. It brought heat from somewhere far away smelling of rock. Cold from nearby that smelled of sulphur. It brought huge slow pulses, and mammoth curtains of thundering movement. And it swallowed him and crushed him and it filled his ears and he could not understand a thing of it.

Then the tide turned and brought him news from the island. The hollow knocks of wood in water, the rippling shushes of scratching sand, the sigh of wind over the shallow water, the back-washes of paddle-wheels and the rhythms of kicking feet.

He had raced towards the shore, scattering the Mievels, hoping to get back before last fire. He coiled his legs and leapt up hard, kicking, arms up-stretched towards the air, kicking, his left arm finally breaking out on to the surface. And then burning pain ripped through his body as his arm dried out and its skin flaked off. He curled up around his arm and drifted down, leaving a small cloud of his skin, chimneying up towards that bright surface, until he reached the bed once more where he stayed quite still for a long time.

And the group, led by Maura, lit torches from the fires and walked slowly down the paths towards the South Shore.

Clara hurried up to Maura and took her hand, and Maura held it tight.

“Well, maybe it is Simon Bartram,” said Clara, tugging at her skirts.

“No girl,” said Maura. “That man’s dead.”

The water near the shore was violent and painful to him, it was fickle like the air above it, lurching hot and cold, rushing and turbulent, and the sun cut through the shallows and burnt him so everywhere he left a cloud of himself in his wake.

But he could not leave.

For weeks he sat in the shallows around the island, watching, cradling his destroyed arm. And, in this way, the waters began to change around him.

And, late at night, after watching the figures dancing around the last fires, and when he could take no more of the longing, he would head far out in to the deeps, where the water was slow and cool, and the songs of fish and whales filled him with rest now that he had learnt them.

He thought that perhaps, if he travelled far enough, he would not hear the sound of the island. He thought that perhaps somewhere far out in to the ocean, there was a place where the air became so much like the sea that he could pass between them, and make his way slowly back. He thought that perhaps there was a point at the centre of the ocean where he could, if he stood upon it, have the waters of the entire world move around him.

But the deep water only became dark and slow and huge and it swallowed him up until he was nothing, and so he turned back to the heat and the light and the pain of the island where he could turn the shoals to his will and the people on the island would see his work and know him.

And in this way he would be home.

He kept the close waters free of the predators – the stingers and all the shrill ungrateful sounds of the killers. He brought the island fish, and other things he had found – gifts and lost treasures. He protected the island from strangers – their smells and their dirty, dirty boats.

But when the people on the island saw him they ran, or threw things or shouted, and their voices were just mumbled garbles through the water and meant nothing to him.

And he had sat amongst the fishing beds and flinched as the hulls cut triangles in the light-shafts from the surface and raged as the fizzing nets cut into the orbits of the shoals. He felt the scatter-pulses and needle-sharp pulses of birds diving in from the surface, making boiling stalactites as they grabbed at fish and thrashed their way back to the surface, leaving hissing foam in their wake. They all felt like knives to him, and they made his skin cold and thin, so he pushed up to the surface and waited, still among the Peppipilots, waiting for the next to dive.

And, as the next the next bird crashed down, he caught it and held it close to his chest where he felt it struggle all fast and jittering and then the struggle stopped, and the wings opened out and began fanning with the movement of the water and he dropped it and it fell deeper down towards the bed.

But the lightness of the beating of its wings stayed on his skin though, as something glorious and warm. And when the next bird dived down he caught that too and held it closer, squeezing it. He put the bird’s head in his mouth and sucked it.

He coughed up feathers and bird spit and the dead bird dropped down in to the water past the bucking figure.

He was revolted. He felt dizzy. His veins were full of tiny bird-bones. But, he was fast again. The water clogged at him and held him down. He was fast again if only for a moment – the frantic dim energy of the bird faded so quickly.

And then he felt the frantic kicks of children swimming in The Shallows, and all his senses opened up and the water brought him a different kind of music.

And at that point, Maura let go of Clara’s hand and determinedly waddled off on ahead.

“Well, maybe I can help you, Maura?” Clara called out

And Maura said, suddenly sharply, “No girl, you have to stay back on the beach and leave this to me.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You do as yer told.”

“I want to stay.”

“You do as yer told!”

“OK.”

“You go with Madelline.”

“OK.”

“And you go back to the village.”

“OK.”

“...you disobeyin’ me?”

“No.”

“But yer still here…”

But Clara said nothing and kept walking, head lowered to hide her tears. And with her head lowered she could not see the proud look that passed across the old woman’s face.

And he watched the people of the island run and burn their land until the air was as thick and dark as the water around him. And he looked at the smoke above the water and smiled a wide, toothy smile.

At Maura’s behest, the men put torches on long poles and drove them into the sand of the shallows so as to light up the water so as to light up the South Shore, and they made a circle around four yards out from the shore. Then Maura shooed them back and walked out in to the centre of the circle and banged her stick upon the bed.

And oh the angry clumsy drunkards wasting their breath! And oh the unguarded thrashing of beasts and the young! The stupid priest shaking through his robe! All of them moved for him like the water around him. But the beautiful noise of their energy never lasted long enough in his veins and the limp dumb weight of their bodies muddied the waters where they hung.

And he sat, impatiently, and angrily, in amongst the murk and the clag, waiting for sunlight and the chance of some fresh gift from the island.

And then he heard something new – a steady thumping rhythm that calm and clear in the waters of the South Shore.

Maura was banging on the bed with a stick.

“Well? Where are yer?”

And Clara watched the old woman from the shore, her old body thigh-deep in the water, hunched over so far the necklaces bobbed, and the water ballooning her skirts. And with splashes all over her face, the lady stamped her stick on the bed steadily.

“Come on then. Let’s get it done.”

A figure appeared in the circle of torchlight. It was flat on the bed and scurried sideways like a crab on long, disjointed limbs, all except one which seemed strangely limp. Its oval head craned on its neck, twitching as it let water through its nose and mouth. Its huge, unblinking eyes strained against the close light of the fire. Its entire body was pale white and its bones were visible through its skin.

“What is it?” the villagers cried from the shore. “Is there anything there? Is there anything we can do?”

“Wha’ you can do is shu’ up!” Maura called back, not taking her eyes from the figure. “Heh, mebbe pass me a bigger stick.”

Maura sighed, and then thumped her stick off the creature’s head.

“Shoo,” she said, and she thumped it again. “Shoo yer bugger.”

The creature flicked up its good arm and grabbed a hold of the stick. It’s grasp was soft, but Maura could not wrench the stick back.

And so Maura let it go, and the creature took it into the water and laid it down beside him, and then he looked back up at the old woman with its huge, dark eyes, head slightly to one side.

“So who are yer, then, eh?” and she dug around in her bunches and pulled out necklaces and drawings and belts, saved from Simon Bartram’s house, and from burning.

She dropped them down in to the water. The creature watched them drift slowly down, wafting in the currents. And when they came to a rest on the bed, it looked back to Maura again, with his head to his side, as before.

“Righ’,” said Maura. “Like that, is it?”

And so she pulled a short knife from her dresses, and showed it to the creature. And she cut her hand and let the blood drop in to the water where it fanned out above the creature’s head.

And the creature sniffed at the blood, letting it into his nose, and then it convulsed and sneezed it out, scurrying back from the light and turning the water all to smoke.

Maura tutted, and scrunched her face all up on one side, and waited.

The creature then scurried hesitantly back in to the circle of light. It scratched at the sand with the claw of its good hand and showed Maura its teeth aggressively. But she saw the nervousness in its body language.

“Oh, what do yer want from me, poor one? What do yer want from this place?”And she sat down in the water, cross-legged so she was up to her chin, and she held her good hand out to it. “Do yer even know?”

The creature scuttled forwards, sniffing at the old woman sitting still in the water.

“Yer doin’ us no good. Yer know that, righ’?”

And the two looked at each other for a while in the circle of light, in the darkness, with the crowd of people standing on the shore. And it was quiet but for the lapping of waves, the buzzing of insects, and all their breathing.

And Clara was out before them, with Magdelene holding her.

“You stay back here, Clara.”

“No.”

“Clara.”

“No.”

Maura shuffled round in the water so she could see back to the shore, her hand still out to the creature. She saw the girl out ahead of the crowd. “You’ve not gone back yet, gel?” She called out from the water.

“No.”

She smiled, turned her back on the shore and said, “Good gel,” quietly, and mostly to herself. She turned back to the creature and its huge eyes and touched its head. She said, “OK. Now, you’n stay there a moment. I’m not done with you. I’ll not be long.”

Then Maura turned back to the island, standing up and tall despite the weight of the water rushing slowly from her skirts.

To herself she said: “get this done, old gel.”

And to the shore she said: “This is Maura speakin’ ‘ere! This is Maura of The Mount and the Southern Shore and I say that we will not have any more trouble from this one, and he will not come back. I ‘ave said this, and you ‘ave ‘erd it.”

“Aye,” came the reply from the elders on the shore.

And Clara refused to blink as she stared out at the old woman in the sea and, as a result, her lips were tight and there were tears in her eyes.

“Good! Well, tha’s it. Tha’s all.”

And with that, she swept her shawl around the torches so they all went out in a circle. And in that darkness there was a splashing sound and a whumping sound and then the high, sharp tinkle of popping foam.

And then the people were all alone on the beach. Maura was gone, and so was the creature.

And eventually the water calmed down in to its quiet, regular lapping.

And the creature never came back either, true to Maura’s word, and the ocean around the island returned to normal within a week. The island took longer, but the rhythms returned with the change in the season.

Clara had wept in to Magdelene’s dress all that night, and was quiet the whole of the next day as the rising Sun taught her how the world carried on.

And that night they lit a fire for Maura, and told stories, and Clara had snuck in to Mortim’s tent while they were doing this, and had taken Simon’s finger from the jar before sneaking back to the circle.

Mortim had asked her to tell a story and Clara told the story of the ants in the tree-house and how Maura had solved the invasion by leaving honey by the door.

And she threw the finger in to the fire and the next day recovered the bones that she made into a necklace that she still wears to this day.

And the rattled as she waddled down to the South Shore, whacking at weeds with a stick, huffing at the distance. For little Gretchen had told her the boys were out there swimming. And the girl had done this while standing half in the door, still very young, and still far too scared to speak above a whisper.

And so she had left her tea, excused herself from the women, and called for her stick and her shawl.

And it took her a long time to reach the South Shore these days, as it did everywhere, and she made sure everyone knew about it.

“Oi! You! Bobby and Fearney and Simon Halloway! I see you!”

The boys were out yards in to the sea, splashing at each other. “And we could hear you from the trees, Clara!” they called back.

“That’s so you can’t say I didn’t you you fair warning, eh? Get out of the sea, the lot of you, and get out now!”

“But why?”

“Bee-corze! I said so!”

And they climbed out on to the shore, their legs suddenly heavy.

“But why, Clara? Come on!”

“Bee-corze… a man once walked in to the sea without knowing where he was going, and he almost took the whole island with him.”

And the boys were intrigued.

“What happened?”

“The sea exploded, and there was a great burning cloud over the whole land.”

“Were there deaths?”

And Clara narrowed her eyes. “Nasty deaths, and lots of ‘em. Piled high they were.”

“Clara, come on. Tell us. Come on, tell us!”

“Help me up, and take me back boys.”

And they hauled her up, and she gave out and angry moan, half at her joints and half as a warning. And she took one boy on each arm, had Simon Halloway beat the path ahead of them.

“Clara! The story!”

and she laughed, and rattled as she did so, and then she told them the story of the man who walked in to the sea.

THIS HAS BEEN A SPECIAL EPISODE OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE. COPYRIGHT 2018.

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

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“How many times are you going to put yourself through this?” “I knew someone that went through years of treatments and when they stopped trying it finally happened.” “When is enough enough?” “Why spend so much money to have a kid when you can adopt one?” “We care more about you and your health than a baby.” “God has a plan.” “You just have to stay positive.” “It will happen when it happens.” “At least you have your health. There are worse things in life.” They say that infertility is common, that so many women go through this process just like me, so you’d think that the sensitivity in people’s comments would have adjusted accordingly. I cannot be the only woman tired of hearing these comments constantly. We see mantras and inspirational quotes all the time about never giving up on something you want, but women are told daily by friends and family to give up on their dreams of having a baby. We are told daily not to compare apples to oranges, and yet we are told to trust someone blindly because someone they knew once had a different experience. It’s crazy to me how many people think they know any better than a doctor which has studied this field for years. Adoption. How is that always everyone’s answer for everything? I’m not at all saying that it’s not a good option, but it isn’t for everyone. They’ve made adoption so expensive and tedious to accomplish, sometimes it is just as expensive, if not more so than these treatments to have our own child. But not only that, look at all these people offering up adoption as they post selfies with their babies, and they ooh and awe over how much their child looks like them and acts like them. Does it make women that experience infertility so horrible for wanting that? What, because we can’t have our own how dare we do not jump at raising a child that may grow up to long more for their biological parent than us? Isn’t that terrifying? What about the horror stories we hear about parents who are set to adopt and fall in love with this child, but another biological family member comes to claim the child? And can I say I am so sick of people telling me they worry more about my health than a baby? Seriously, do you think a doctor would allow me to keep going if they felt my health was in danger? If I stop now, my mental health would be so far into shambles; it may be better that I keep trying because at least then I know I haven’t given up. This journey sucks, and anyone going through the process will obviously have good days and bad days. We will have days when we want to scream and cry, and there will be days that we are positive and anxious. It’s silly to think anytime there is a bad day we should be told to quit or worse, “you can’t be negative.” That is unrealistic. Everyone has a bad day, and if you don’t allow us those emotions, we will explode. I know firsthand that if you don’t let yourself cry sometimes, you’ll find yourself screaming in the kitchen over two tablespoons of parsley.

So that’s my rant, let’s go back and start this story from the beginning. It’s June 2016, I am 25 years old, been married about eight months and I’m laying in a hospital bed being told I am having yet another miscarriage. At this point in my life, I am young, thinish and relatively healthy but yet here I am looking at my sixth miscarriage. The nurse in the emergency room tells me there is no reason someone my age should be having this much trouble getting pregnant and tells me to reach out to my OB/GYN. So I schedule an appointment to get everything checked out. My husband and I go to the doctor, later that month, and get all kinds of tests done. He has to fill a cup, and I have to give a bunch of blood and have a pelvic exam. Once it’s all said and done, I am basically told I am too fat to carry a child because of my family’s history with diabetes but no worries, my husband is “as fertile as they come.” So I think to myself, “no big deal! I can lose weight, that’s easy enough.” So I do, in just five months I drop nearly 60 pounds (mainly by cutting out the multiple liters of mountain dew I was drinking daily). I feel great, and I am totally confident that we will have a baby now because that was my only issue…or so we thought. So we go back to the doctor, and she’s impressed by how much weight I have dropped. She wants to start me on some hormones, and a timed intercourse schedule to ensure we get the results we are hoping for. Spoiler alert, the medications she put me on cause weight gain, and I put on a ton of weight pretty quickly. So now I am eating right, and working out constantly but these medications just continue to cause me to “balloon up” as someone so eloquently pointed out to me and naturally this is causing me a lot of stress. But we proceed forward with the medications, and we get pregnant! Yes, we went in for our first beta test to check our HCG levels and were told we were pregnant! But the fun part about HCG levels?

The doctor wants to see them double every 48 hours, so two days later we go back, and sure enough, they had plummeted. Now all of a sudden they’re telling us we are going to miscarry again. We go through the whole process multiple times over a year with the same result every time. It starts putting a serious strain on our marriage, and my mental health. Naturally, everyone at this point is telling us it isn’t worth trying anymore but giving up was not an option for us. So I started doing some serious research, and come to find the treatment we’ve tried over and over again is not recommended more than two to three times at most. Angered by this information, I needed a second opinion, and I began researching fertility clinics in the area.

It’s now August of 2017, and I’ve stumbled across Spring Creek Fertility. On their website, it had mentioned a doctor referral, but I was dead set on seeing them, so I sent them an email explaining the last couple of years and requesting an appointment. They agreed to see me, and we set up my first appointment. I was filled with hope once more. After my first appointment, we ran all kinds of tests to see what was going on. Here starts the laundry list of problems, none of which was my weight. We were told I had a deficiency in all kinds of important vitamins and methyl folate. Easy enough, take a few different vitamins and swap out some of the failed hormones for different prescriptions, we were filled with excitement and all but planned for a baby because surely with all of these adjustments we were going to have our baby finally. December of 2017 we started our first intrauterine insemination (IUI) cycle. With this cycle we were instructed to take a shot of ovidril in my stomach, it was the first time we had to do our own injection with the fertility treatments.

I was so nervous, but I remember thinking the shot would make it a sure thing so I took a picture of the shot beforehand and sent it to my closest friends with the caption, “finally the medication that will change my life.” Boy was I naïve. Just days before Christmas we went in for our first beta test. I took the whole day off of work so I wouldn’t miss the phone call with results. I took the day to pamper myself and relax. I was filled with joy! I had taken multiple pregnancy tests at home that showed a positive result, and I was just waiting for them to call and say “you’re pregnant!” I waited all day impatiently, checking my phone every few minutes and finally they called and said my numbers indicated there may have been a pregnancy, but there isn’t one now. They apologized like everyone does when they’ve just given you bad news. “I’m so sorry, do you have any questions? Okay, so sorry.” I was devastated. I couldn’t understand how it was so hard for me to get pregnant and stay pregnant. I thought the doctor said all I needed was some vitamins and a little push. What the hell?

We decided to take a break from all of the worrying and ovulation tracking; maybe time was all we needed. So from for the first seven months of 2018, we took a break. We went to parties, concerts, festivals, the ocean; you name it. We just needed to take a break from devastation, but by May I was itching to try again. I felt like we were running out of time because I wasn’t getting any younger and my health wasn’t getting any better.  I called Spring Creek and asked what our next steps would be. They suggested in vitro fertilization (IVF) as our next steps. After some research, this seemed to have the highest success rate and be the most expensive option. I called our insurance to get all the information, and we began saving and looking at loan options. Come July we had a few thousand dollars’ worth of meds and a page long schedule of appointments. But like before, our hope was restored, and we were confident that this would be it. I found an IVF support group on Facebook and read so many success stories of first time IVF patients. SURELY THIS ONE WAS IT. We followed every guideline to a T. Like clockwork every day we’d drop everything to take shots and monitor or levels closely to make sure we got everything right. I had to drive down to Dayton three times a week for nearly a month, but it would all be worth it when I finally held my baby. Every ultrasound and blood work came back great; we were filled with optimism.

We had our egg retrieval; they retrieved 20 eggs! Later that evening the doctor called and said 12 of the 20 eggs fertilized, and while we felt a little uneasy about losing eight eggs, we figured 12 was still great. Five days later, the doctor called and said that only three of the 12 eggs fertilized made it to blastocyst. Essentially this means of the 20 eggs they retrieved, only three of them became usable embryos. Naturally, I was terrified by this news. Out of 20 eggs, only three of them made viable embryos? Would the three that survived even be good? We did everything right, and only three made it. But, everyone in the world reminded me, “it only takes one.”

Here comes August of 2018. Transfer month. Now starts more meds, more injections, more appointments, definitely more stress. But wait! You can’t stress, how dare you stress? Don’t you know stress won’t help anything? Sure I do. But tell me how anyone in the history of the world does not feel any amount of stress while spending their life savings on a medical treatment which makes their hormones go haywire, makes them feel sick and tired, and only have a success rate of like 40%? So, “don’t stress,” is a nice sentiment but it helps no one. If anything it just pissed me off and added to my stress. Google is a bitch, by the way. For the love of God, stay off of Google by any means necessary, it will do nothing but intensify the stress and anxiety of this whole process. But ‪August 29th‬ finally came, and we headed to Spring Creek to transfer our embryo. Dr. Groll told us everything looked perfect and went perfectly and it was perfect. We were so thrilled. We were officially pregnant until proven otherwise (PUPO).  Every day after that point every little twinge, and tingle must’ve been a symptom, or so they devil google lead us to believe. I became obsessed with peeing on home pregnancy tests starting just five days out. They were positive, so bring on the joy and excitement. You would think, after the bout with the IUI home tests that I would’ve learned, but again let’s revisit the explanation of stress and hormones.

September 10th, 2018: beta day. I took the whole day off of work, I knew from last time that I would not be able to focus on anything but my phone. I drove to Dayton to get my blood draw, and then off to Columbus I went. I stopped to visit my mom’s grave (because doesn’t all of this journey sound like so much fun without a girl’s mom?) and went to lunch with a friend. The entire time I stared at my phone. Every time it rang, I jumped. I was hoping that they’d call while I was with my friend because somehow my excitement turned to worry and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be a good phone call. But hours went by, they didn’t call, and I needed to head home. I made it about a half hour away from the support of a friend, and my phone rang. My levels were not good. It was happening again. What in the actual eff? I cried the entire way home and cried even harder when I got home. Why wasn’t anything working?! At this point, people and “friends” were literally telling me that I “signed up for anguish.” I did not sign up for anguish. I was already anguished; I signed up for hope and faith and a miracle. Why was that so hard for my “people” to support?

A week later, I went in to see Dr. Groll, and he explained what he felt went wrong. He made some adjustments to our treatments and pretty optimistically said let’s move forward for October. I felt like it was really fast, but if the doctor who I had found through research to be one of the top-ranked doctors in the country thought we should move forward then who the hell was I to question him? So we prepared to start over in October. Now, to backpedal a little bit, I mentioned earlier that I had joined a support group on Facebook. Through this group of 70,000 plus members worldwide, I found a girl going through the same part of this process AT THE SAME CLINIC and she and I were scheduled for the same day in October. This was a massive weight off of our shoulders. It was a wonderful experience to feel like I had a partner in all of this, someone who knew exactly what kind of crazy was going on in my head, stomach, and ovaries. This cycle was so much easier, every time I felt unsure or negative, I messaged her and vice versa.

October 23rd, 2018 rolled around, and I woke up so excited to meet my fertility buddy. I wasn’t even nervous about the transfer anymore. I felt like it was a good thing. Maybe staying out of my head would help. When Sean and I got to the clinic, she was there all looped up on the Xanax the clinic had prescribed us each to take. Hugs were given, pictures were taken, and stories were exchanged. Almost forgot we were there to transfer another embryo. Sean and I were called back to a room, vitals were taken, and yet again, everything went perfect. The embryologist had us laughing as we saw a “spirited” embryo dance around prior to the transfer and we left the clinic feeling overwhelmed with love, both from finally meeting our fertility partners and seeing a good looking embryo. Let the two-week wait begin. This time I made it till 8 days past the transfer before I caved and peed on a damn home pregnancy test. What was wrong with me? Again, all of my tests were positive, and I was filled with impatience and joy for my upcoming beta test.  The morning of the beta test, I drove to Dayton and waited outside the clinic for them to open. I was the first one there. I was so excited because this one would somehow be different. My partner showed up, nearly in tears. She was positive she was going to start her period, and this would be it for her. Her doubts weighed heavy on me. For her, this was her last shot. She was ten years older than me, and this was her last embryo. I ended up more concerned for her beta result than mine, and I think that actually helped me. The clinic called and I could hear the nurse smiling through the phone. “You’re pregnant! You’re definitely pregnant!” I was floored. This one took, and I knew it would. I waited and waited for my partner to message me her results, I didn’t want to exclaim my good news until I knew she was okay. Finally, I asked her, and wouldn’t you know it; she was pregnant too! It was a miracle.

That night, Sean and I actually went out to celebrate our wedding anniversary, and we were on cloud nine. I remember making sure to order a virgin daiquiri because would you look at me, I am pregnant! A few days later we both went back for another beta, and my partner messaged me that her numbers were fantastic; she was still pregnant. Clearly, we were in this together, so I danced around with excitement while waiting for my good call, but it never came. The clinic called, and the nurse started the call with, “it’s not good news. I’m so sorry.” What the hell? Why? What do I have to do? Let the tears ensue. We are now down to one. One left. “It only takes one.”

A couple weeks later I go yet again to see Dr. Groll. He again suggests we roll right into the next transfer. I don’t know. At this point, my family and three of my closest friends have repetitively told me to stop trying. “Don’t waste your last embryo.” “How many times are you going to put yourself through this?” “ why don’t you focus on the family you have and getting your weight under control?” No one believed that I could have a baby. The people I sought as my greatest support system had lost all faith in this journey. I sat at home and cried most nights, went through a lot of beer. Several nights I drank till I blacked out, and one day I went to the hospital and told the nurse that I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of harming myself. I felt alone and defeated. But we had one stinking embryo left.

December 17th, 2018: transfer day. We went in for an operation and secretly transferred the last embryo while we were there. The most significant difference, I had lost all faith in this process. I literally felt no excitement at all because in my head I had convinced myself that everyone else was right and I just wasted my last embryo. But I followed all the rules, and I waited to test and on December 26th, 2018, the day before beta, I took the day off of work to lay at home and have a total meltdown. I at this point told some of my friends that I had transferred my last embryo and I sobbed as I told them that it was all for nothing because this one did not work. Damn hormones, I was literally hyperventilating with fluids flowing from all orifices on my face because I was so sure we spent our savings and time and hopes on a pointless journey. The next morning I drove to Dayton for my blood draw. I waited for my call, fully expecting the bad call. The clinic called and the nurse sounded very neutral. This was unusual. “Marya, your HCG was a 10.10. We consider anything over a 10 a pregnancy, so you are pregnant, but we are going to stay cautiously optimistic.” Cautiously optimistic. What in the hell does that even mean? How do you tell someone to stay optimistic but cautious when it comes to whether or not they’re going to be a parent? I told my husband that we were pregnant, but I wasn't holding my breath, but to my surprise, he was so sure this one was it. He is never sure; he is always on the defense! Maybe it felt different for him? Four days later I drive back to Dayton, and we do more blood work.  It was New Years Eve so I was busy as can be. I came home and started doing housework, successfully keeping my mind off of things. At this point some of my friends and my fertility partner is messaging me asking about my numbers, noticing how late it was I called the clinic. Did I miss the call? I got their “after hours” voicemail. I lost it. How could they close without calling me? So now I am pacing back and forth through my living room, calling the clinic over and over. Finally, they call, turns out they had closed, so they shut their phones off, but they were still calling patients with their numbers. “I’m so sorry sweetie; your number went down.” SHIT! I knew it. “Your number was 18.8.” Wait…I asked what the number was again; she said 18.8 and I explained to her that my number four days ago was 10.10. I heard papers shuffle in the background, “you’re right, but in four days it should’ve at least doubled. It doesn’t look good sweetie, but we will stay cautiously optimistic and continue meds.” Freaking cautiously optimistic. At this point I am irritated. I am bummed out by my numbers, and I decide to turn to that support group for stories of hope. I posted that I was worried about my numbers being so low and that my doctor told me to be cautiously optimistic and asked if anyone else had a similar story which ended successfully. The responses were horrifying. Multiple women commented that there was no way this would be a viable pregnancy. They told me it was a chemical and they were shocked my doctor had me continue meds. I was in tears. Sean yelled at me to get off of the group, told me what good is a support group that shoots down any desperation of hope. At this point, I am waking up every morning and peeing on a home pregnancy test. The goal is to see the test line darken every day.

So each morning I would pee in a cup, and dip my test strip and then wait for it to dry so I could tape it to my test page and compare. Every day it looked a little darker. Sean continued to proclaim his confidence in this cycle. January 2nd, 2019 I went in for more blood work. They called, my number was 31 even. It nearly doubled, and can you guess what they said? Cautiously optimistic. I was so annoyed; my number almost doubled in 48 hours! Why did we still need to be cautious? Why couldn’t they just tell me it would all be okay? But we continued on, peeing daily on the strips and praying it kept rising. January 7th, 2019, I went in for more blood work.  The clinic called and told me my number was 136. Surely a job that great means we are safe, but they said they really wanted to watch us closely and you guessed it, stay cautiously optimistic.  So we wait four more days and do more blood work, all thee meanwhile peeing on the strips and seeing that line just get darker and darker. At this point, even I am positive it will all be okay. The lines are dark as dark can be, and my number has been steadily rising. Sure enough the clinic calls and my number is 282.4 and we are ready for our first ultrasound. Now at this point, my number is low but the doctor is thinking it was just late to implant because my number lines up with about a week behind where I should be. Sean is already proclaiming that it is a boy because “he is a grower and not a show-er.” Hope is restored. We are so happy and excited to see the baby, we are literally just counting down the days at this point. I couldn’t wait to hear the heartbeat. We’ve come so far, at this point we are nearly 8 weeks pregnant. I had started seeing a bunch of ads on Facebook for a heartbeat monitor, you know because they tailor those ads to whatever you’ve been doing online and I’ve already told you that Google is the devil and I apparently have no self-control. So one of my pregnant friends and I get to talking about those apps and how they couldn’t possibly work but she tells me that her doctor recommended an app that actually does work but usually not ‪until 9-10‬ weeks. No will power remember, so I download the app and I am messing around not expecting to hear anything. I’m just sitting in my living room with my phone against my belly, listening to a whole bunch of static scream through the speakers and all of a sudden I hear a fast galloping sound. I stop moving my phone and look in surprise, the phone is registering a heartbeat. I am losing it. Now the 16th couldn’t come fast enough.

What seems like an eternity later, it’s finally the morning of our ultrasound. Sean took the day off because he did not want to miss this. We were 100% convinced we had already heard the heartbeat so we weren’t even nervous, just anxious to see our little bean. So Julie, the nurse practitioner, comes in and starts the scan. We sit silently as she looks all over the uterus with a look of concern growing on her face. I look at Sean, he is just staring at the screen intensely with a blank expression on his face. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest and I try to swallow what feels like a bowling ball. Julie stops the scan and says she needs to go grab Dr. Groll from an egg retrieval he was doing to have a look. As she walks out of the room, I look at Sean. He just sits silently and motionless. I am fighting back tears, because everything is going to be okay, maybe it’s just too early to see anything. Dr. Groll comes in and starts the ultrasound, he scans the uterus slowly. The silence in the room is deafening. After a forever long silence, Dr. Groll says, “it looks like we have the gestational sac here in the middle of the lining. I think that is the fetal pole there, but it’s kind of hard to see because we have some fluid around it. It’s measuring really small, but it might just be a little late to implant. Let’s just get another HCG and stay cautiously optimistic. We will do another ultrasound ‪next Monday‬ but we will really need to see some growth by then and we should ideally see a heartbeat by then.” Cautiously. Freaking. Optimistic. I am so sick of that phrase. Cautiously optimistic sounds like don’t get your hopes up but we know you’re going to. Later that day they call me and my HCG is 694. Still going up, what the heck baby? Why are you scaring me like this? I felt like I had no control over anything. I pretended I was not scared, because Sean didn’t look scared. Everything is fine, we are still cautiously optimistic so I am not frightened or worried. And yet, while making dinner I ripped Sean’s head off about not having two tablespoons of parsley. Parsley, a spice that mainly adds color, and I ended up sobbing for an hour over two stinking tablespoons.

Four days later, I decided to go do something for myself and get my nails done. The day before we had a blizzard, so first I must spend 40 minutes wiping my car off. Once my car is wiped off, my back is a little sore but I ignore it and get into my car to leave. My car won’t budge. So I get out and grab a shovel, I flip the shovel over and use it to kind of kick some snow off the back tires. I am not dumb enough to actually try and shovel. As I am kicking away this snow, a sharp pain starts in my left side and follows up my back. I try to stand up straight, maybe I moved funny. The pain gets worse. At this point I am now in tears and reaching for my phone to call Sean. There is no way I am making it inside. I am currently laying down in tears, hyperventilating because the pain is intense and I am confident this can’t be good for this pregnancy.  My husband tries to get me to the emergency room, but our cars are still stuck. He calls an ambulance, and now the panic is real. I have EMTs trying to give me pain meds, I’m yelling that I am an IVF patient and I don’t want meds. They keep asking how pregnant I am and I am explaining the situation, but they won’t really listen. After hours in the ER, they’ve taken urine and performed an ultrasound. The doctor comes in to tell me that I must be miscarrying because my HCG has gone down to 1039. I told her my HCG was previously only 694 so 1039 would be going up, but she says well we didn’t see anything at all on the ultrasound so you’ll need to follow up with your fertility doctor to check for an ectopic pregnancy. We were pissed. First of all, what about my back? I still couldn’t move on my own, and really if you’re concerned about an ectopic you don’t just send me home.

The next day we saw Dr. Kantitis, Dr. Groll’s partner, he wanted to do an ultrasound and check on the growth of the baby. Within seconds he found the gestational sac, and it looked bigger. He said it was still small but it definitely looked bigger. We felt relieved. We didn’t need more blood work because the hospital tested that the night before, but he said we’d check again ‪in 3 days‬. Somehow I felt like that tiny bit of growth reassured my faith that it would all be okay. We’ve now made it 8 weeks and our number is still going up, the sac got bigger, through every hurdle in 10 weeks, we prevailed. This would not be different. At this point all of our naysayers were calling the baby a little fighter, and telling us not to lose faith. January 24th, 2019, Sean was unable to get off of work, and so I went to the ultrasound alone. I told the nurse that it would be characteristic of my kid to wait till daddy can’t come to make waves. She chuckled and told me she really hoped that was the case. Dr. Karnitis walked in, followed by another nurse. She is one of my favorites, and she comes in with a supportive pat on the back before the scan begins. He starts the scan, and slowly pans across the uterus. “Oh no,” he pauses, “oh no this does not look like good news.” I am still staring at the screen, I am not going to cry. “Your husband was very interactive, that’s very good. He was very observant of the growth of our sac. I’m going to print him a picture of our sac here. It has gotten visibly smaller. The baby probably died a few days ago, but your uterus looks beautiful. I think it’s trying hard to hold on to that baby and protect it.” I made a comment at this point, but I couldn’t tell you what I said. I think I kind of blacked out. Debbie, the nurse, walked over and hugged me and told me she so sorry. Everyone is so sorry. I felt a teardrop against my face, and I prayed they didn’t see it because that would be the give away that I had stupidly gotten my hopes up, but they must’ve seen it because Dr. Karnitis reached to hand my the tissues and just kind of looked down at the floor. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Your uterus looks perfect, we got that formula right. That uterus is ready for triplets. I’m sorry, you did everything, but sometimes the embryo is just not good.” At this point I am full blown crying, and I really just want to get dressed and leave, but now I need to go do blood work. I carry the ultrasound picture of my dead baby with me to the lab to get my blood drawn. I am trying not to make eye contact with anyone because I will not allow myself to cry in front of anyone else. They cannot know that I wasn’t cautious with my optimism. HOW THE HELL DO YOU STAY CAUTIOUS WHEN YOU’VE PRAYED FOR A CHILD FOREVER? I leave the clinic, and text my husband. He says he's so sorry. Everyone is sorry. I’m tired. I just want to go sleep.

On my way home, the roads are terrible but I am driving without caution. Since I am so bad at caution. I am driving and a truck in front of me in going so slow, there is no way around and I just start screaming. Now I am crying and screaming, and I pass a cop and notice I’m definitely going over the speed limit. So I slow down, I take a breath, and I just sit in silence the rest of the way home. I thought I was driving to work, but somehow I ended up at home in the shower. I had already showered that morning, but I needed another one I suppose. I laid in the shower until the water was cold, and for some time after. When I got up, I toweled off, and walked to my bedroom. I woke up three hours later. I took another shower. Our last embryo was dead inside of me. I felt dead inside of me. I don’t want to face anyone. I still don’t. Because when someone hears that I am mourning the loss of a child, yes even at 10 weeks pregnant it is a loss of a child, the questions and opinions will start. “How many times are you going to put yourself through this?” “I knew someone that went through years of treatments and when they stopped trying it finally happened.” “When is enough enough?” “Why spend so much money to have a kid when you can adopt one?” “We care more about you and your health than a baby.” “God has a plan.” “You just have to stay positive.” “It will happen when it happens.” “At least you have your health. There are worse things in life.” It was another 6 days before they were ready to schedule the d&c, but the day before my appointment while at a concert I sat alone in a public bathroom stall covered in my own blood because I began to pass the baby on my own. I panicked at the sight of what looked to be legs and feet. I sat sobbing in a bathroom stall, unsure of what to do, who to talk to...why is it that with infertility, women must suffer alone in silence or face all these insensitive comments and questions?

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Tech Will Save Us offers STEM toys you’ll actually use

I hate STEM toys. I have three kids and ultimately every “educational” toy they’ve used – from LittleBits to Nintendo Labo – has ended up in a corner somewhere, ignored for more exciting fare. This happens for a few reasons but the primary one is that the toys require too much attention and have no lasting play value.

Given this fact, I thought our species (or at least my kids) would be doomed to Idiocracy-style techno illiteracy. Luckily, a set of toys from the optimistically-named organization Tech Will Save Us, has changed my mind.

TWSU toys are nice in that they are at once rugged toys that withstand constant play and electronic devices that can be programmed by a clever eight year old. For example, the $60 Creative Coder is basically a LilyPad device with a USB interface and a block-based programming language that lets you program it. The TWSU website features a number of little programs you can upload to the board including a Pokemon sensor that starts out red and white until you shake the board, activating the sensor and causing the lights to blink. My son loved it and he slept in it, strapping the wearable to his wrist like an Apple Watch.

Programming the Creative Coder is very simple. It uses a Scratch -like interface to set colors and activate timers and in a few minutes I was able to make a Ghost Detector that “hunted” for ghosts and then blinked when it found one. I based the idea on an old toy I had in the 1980s called IAN that beeped when it got close to “invisible aliens.” I still remember the excitement I felt walking around in my Grandma’s basement looking for monsters. I think he felt the same excitement.

The other toys – including a simple game machine that uses an Arduino and a 9×9 LED display – were similarly interesting. The game machine, for example, included a primitive version of Flappy Bird that my son played for hours and he was excited to get the LED to spell his name on command. It did, however, require knowledge of Arduino programming which limited the usability. However, because it comes preloaded with a simple game the device felt complete right out of the box.

How are these toys different from all the other STEM junk I’ve tried? Again, they worked out of the box. The Creative Coder could double as a bike light as soon as you assembled it and it came inside of a plastic case that made it a wearable instead of a science project. The other toys were just that – toys – and the programming was an afterthought. Ultimately I’m sure this stuff will end up under the couch, dead and forgotten, but until that happens they’ve supplied a great deal of fun.

STEM toys often focus on the STEM. I suspect this is because engineers are building them and not toymakers. Further, toymakers create things like the Zoomer Playful Pup (another clever toy) and hide all of the technology deep behind layers of plastic. Finding the right balance in so-called STEM toys is incredibly difficult but its doable and, as Tech Will Save Us have proved, these toys don’t have to be too boring or too complex for the kids (and parents) who might buy them.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8176395 https://techcrunch.com/2018/10/15/tech-will-save-us-offers-stem-toys-youll-actually-use/ via http://www.kindlecompared.com/kindle-comparison/

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The Morning Download: Beyond Bitcoin, the Future of Blockchains in the Enterprise – CIO Journal.

The Morning Download: Beyond Bitcoin, the Future of Blockchains in the Enterprise – CIO Journal.

Good day, CIOs. Amid the wreckage of the burst bitcoin bubble (see: Spencer Jakab’s Bitcoin Wasn’t a Bubble Until It Was) it is fair to assess the outlook for blockchains, the technology underlying the cryptocurrency. There’s a difference. (Please see our CIO Explainer: What Is Blockchain?) Blockchains, it is said, stand to revolutionize enterprise technology by addressing the problems with authentication and identity at the heart of the internet itself, eliminating middle layers in transactions and making it faster and easier to establish provenance.

As CIO Journal’s Kim S. Nash has reported, blockchain technology from International Business Machines Corp. has been adopted by a Walmart Inc.-led consortium of global food companies that want to modernize their supply chain. How will such efforts play out across industries and at what pace?

The adoption of blockchains in the enterprise has been slow. The question now is the extent to which the overblown investment thesis behind bitcoin and related financial mania can be separated from the utility of blockchain as a tool in enterprise technology. We urge you, blockchain experimenters and adopters, to share your experience with us. How is it going?

LATEST FROM CIO JOURNAL

In the age of expanding automation, companies must redefine work. A new report advises companies to aggressively deploy automation technologies, not as a way of getting rid of employees or reskilling them to pursue other routine work, but with the specific intent to free them up to pursue new forms of work that will create more value for both the workers and the enterprise. CIO Journal Columnist Irving Wladawsky-Berger has more.

GEOGRAPHY OF TECH

The rise of America’s superstar cities. The internet was supposed to lead to a golden age of distributed workforces. But superstar firms continue to insist that their top-performing employees cluster in global headquarters or at least regional offices. Writes WSJ Columnist Christopher Mims: “The result is a self-reinforcing trend toward ever-richer, ever-costlier metro areas that are economically dominant over the rest of the country.”

Google details major New York expansion. Alphabet Inc.’s Google said it would lease a large office building in Manhattan’s West Village neighborhood and make it the centerpiece of its new 1.7 million-square-foot Hudson Square Campus. Google’s real estate empire in the city is expected to encompass nearly 7 million square feet of owned or leased office space, enough for more than 46,000 total employees, the WSJ’s Douglas MacMillan reports.

‘Designed by Apple in California’ is a state of mind. Each location where Apple Inc. announced expansion plans Thursday reflects a different facet of Apple’s evolving model toward services and higher-priced devices, says the WSJ’s Tripp Mickle. Culver City, Calif. gives Apple a Hollywood homebase as it pushes into video programming. Seattle is a machine-learning hub. San Diego and Austin offer semiconductor engineers who can advance the customized-chip efforts that help Apple wring more money out of its iPhones, iPads and Macs.

CYBERSECURITY

At gathering of spy chiefs, U.S., allies agreed to contain Huawei. Wondering how Huawei Technologies Co. came to be so much in the news recently? The Journal’s Rob Taylor and Sara Germano traces it back to a July meeting in Canada that drew together spy chiefs from the “Five Eyes” intelligence-sharing network, made up of Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the U.K. and the U.S. At the meeting, discussions touched on how to protect telecommunications networks from outside interference, according to one person familiar with the discussion.

Chinese hackers breach U.S. Navy contractors. Cyber fingerprints pointing to China include the remote administering of malware from a computer address accidentally exposed as located in the island province of Hainan, and a documented use of a suite of custom hacking tools shared among known Chinese hacking groups, the WSJ’s Gordon Lubold and Dustin Volz report.

LEADERSHIP

The fall of the House of Ghosn. After helping to engineer Renault SA’s $5.4 billion bailout of an ailing Nissan Motor Corp. in 1999, Carlos Ghosn stitched the firms into a technology and platform-sharing alliance that later added Mitsubishi Motors Corp. to become the world’s largest. But not everybody at Nissan was happy with the chairman, the WSJ reports. Talks with dozens of Nissan veterans and people close to the investigation reveal that accusations of hidden pay and lavish spending on the company dime were intertwined with a deep sense of discontent over Mr. Ghosn’s long reign over the auto maker.

Private jets. “The most costly assets at Mr. Ghosn’s disposal were the series of private jets that Nissan had purchased over the last 18 years, each decked out with a vanity-plate registration number: N155AN.”

Real estate. Nissan created a company named Zi-A Capital BV in the Netherlands. It was assumed the company would be used to make venture investments. In actuality, it became the vehicle through which Nissan would buy additional homes for Mr. Ghosn, through multiple layers of shell companies registered in offshore locations.

MORE  TECH NEWS

Possible drone collision renews focus on safety systems. An Aeromexico jetliner last week touched down in Tijuana with a large dent and an adjoining gash in its nose. Investigators and airline officials on both sides of the border are still investigating the cause. The WSJ’s Andy Pasztor reports that if the culprit was a drone, it would mark the first documented collision in North America between an unmanned aircraft and a large passenger jet.

Facebook bug potentially exposed unshared photos of up to 6.8 million users. In the latest in a series of privacy lapses at the social-media giant, up to 1,500 third-party apps may have had improper access to photos that weren’t yet shared by Facebook Inc. users, including in draft posts, from Sept. 13 to Sept. 25. The latest incident also exposes Facebook to fresh scrutiny from European regulators, says the WSJ’s Deepa Seetharaman. Facebook said it informed Ireland’s Data Protection Commission, which is the company’s lead privacy regulator in Europe, about the incident on Nov. 22. The company said it believes it is in compliance with European law.

Germany tightens foreign acquisition rules amid China’s push for tech deals. China’s aggressive plans to purchase assets around the world has forced a series of countries to take steps to screen the investments, many times blocking them, the WSJ’s Christian Grimm and Patricia Kowsmann report. The latest move come in Germany, where the cabinet is set to approve Wednesday rules stating that any non-European foreign company planning to buy more than 10% of a German company involved in defense, technology or media will see its deal probed by German authorities

Fight over voter data roils Democrats ahead of election. The party is struggling to catch up with Republican efforts to collect and store voter data that allows politicians to directly target their voter outreach with the Democratic National Committee at odds with state parties over control of data, the WSJ’s Julie Bykowicz reports.

The ‘Fortnite’ dance move that spawned a lawsuit. New York rapper 2 Milly is suing Epic Games, creator of the popular “Fortnite” shooter video game for selling the “Milly Rock,” a dance move he says he created in 2011. Epic calls the move in question “Swipe It” and sold it in a $10 package of virtual goods over the summer, the Journal’s Sarah E. Needleman reports. The suit alleges “Fortnite” unlawfully steals from several dance creators, including Snoop Dogg, as well as the actor Will Smith. Dance moves, called “emotes” are a popular component of the game.

HQ Trivia co-founder found dead in Manhattan apartment of of apparent drug overdose. Before co-founding HQ Trivia, Colin Kroll, who was 34 years old, founded video app Vine, which was sold in 2012 to Twitter Inc., which later closed it. Before that, he was chief technology officer at Jetsetter, an engineering manager at Yahoo Inc. and a software manager at Right Media, according to his LinkedIn biography. The WSJ’s Melanie Grayce West and Zolan Kanno-Youngs has more.

EVERYTHING ELSE YOU NEED TO KNOW

Malaysian authorities filed criminal charges against Goldman Sachs unitsand a former partner of the bank in connection with the 1MDB financial scandal. (WSJ)

The charged politics around funding a border wall has both parties struggling to keep the government funded as the clock ticks toward a partial shutdown. (WSJ)

The year 2018 will go down as one of the best in a nine-year U.S. economic expansion but trouble could lie ahead, as real-estate and financial markets flash warning signs and U.S.-China trade tensions simmer. (WSJ)

Lawmakers began debating with whether to respond with legislation to a federal court ruling that found the ACA to be unconstitutional, as Democratic attorneys general weighed legal action to challenge the judge’s decision. (WSJ)

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