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amazingmsme · 5 years

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The Spider’s Out of the Bag

So this fic’s been done for months but it was back when this shitty ass hellsite made the new rule about mobile posts being a certain length, and this was back when I posted on mobile. I originally planned on posting it in three parts because of this, but after the first part didn’t receive the feedback I was hoping for, I forgot about it. Well, here it is in its entirety.

Peter hadn't been getting much sleep and it was starting to show. He was always run down, which resulted in him being less than his normal cheery self. He was probably only averaging three to four hours of sleep a night.

"Dude, when's the last time you had a full night's rest?" Ned asked, slowly spinning on the computer chair. Peter looked up at him, shrugging, "I've been running on Five Hour Energy all day, no stopping now." Ned simply stared at his friend, not really knowing what to say. "What?"

"Peter, that's not good. That stuff isn't just supposed to be chugged like it's water, you need sleep." Peter made a face, hanging upside down from his bunk bed and crossing his arms.

"I can't! I have so much school work and Avengers training, and that's not even counting when I'm working in the city. And when I get in bed I usually still have all that adrenaline in my system, so it's hard to fall asleep."

"Are you tired right now? I can try and help you fall asleep 'cause you look like you're about to drop dead." Peter scoffed, "Is it that bad?"

"You know you're my best friend and I would never say anything to personally offend you, but you look like pure shit. Like, it literally looks like someone took an ice cream scooper and dug the circles out from under your eyes." Peter couldn't help but to smirk at his friend's description. "Anything else?"

"Your hair's constantly messy because you keep running your hands through it like a depressed middle aged suburban mom."

"That's oddly specific. How many depressed middle aged suburban mothers do you know?"

"More than you would think," he said, staring off in the distance as though he was having war flashbacks. He blinked hard, coming back to reality. "But seriously, is there anything I could do to help out, maybe help you relax, I could make you some tea..."

"Ned, I'm fine, you don't have to do anything. Buuuut-" he began to grin, something coming to his mind. "But what?" Ned prompted, hoping for an answer. "Buuuuut a massage would be nice," he said, tilting his head & batting his eyes. Peter climbed down from the bunk and laid down, letting his friend knead into the muscle. Peter practically melted underneath the touch.

"Oh man, I almost forgot how good it feels to just relax." he said, sighing contently. "How hard is Mr. Stark pushing you?" Ned asked, concern clear in his voice.

"He's not really pushing me that hard. It's more myself forcing me to do my best," he admitted. "Once I get going, I just, don't know how to stop." Ned was about to reply when suddenly Peter jerked away from his hand as if it was a hot rod. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

Peter shook his head, "No, no I'm fine." Ned nodded and continued rubbing his back, but couldn't help but notice how he flinched away yet again. It all began to click and Ned couldn't hold back his grin, "I think I know of a way to make you tired." Before he could question him, he began squeezing up and down his sides, throwing him into hysterics.

"Nehehehed, whahahat are you dohohoing?" Peter managed to say through his laughter, his friend not stopping his work.

"I'm trying to tire you out. If you don't have any energy, you can't stay awake. This is for your own good Peter," he spoke, trying to remain serious but ultimately failed upon hearing his bright infectious laughter. He worked his fingers underneath his arms, lightly scratching at the hollows, making Peter erupt into screams and pleads.

"I'll tell you what Peter, let's make a deal. I'll stop if you finally get some rest. Deal?"

"Deheheal! Deal!" Ned stopped and helped him into a sitting position. Ned looked at him, "Do you think you can get some sleep?" Peter chuckled, "After that I might. My neck's still a bit sore though." Ned was about to offer to help but Peter cut him off, "No. If you think I'd let you help after pulling something like that you're sadly mistaken."

He grinned at him, "Alright, that's understandable. But I hope you know I plan on using this against you." He let out a groan, flopping face first into his pillows, his voice muffled, "You suck."

He gave a sly grin and shrugged even though he couldn't see him. "I'm just doing what's best for my friend."

Peter couldn't help but to smile into his blankets. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

~~~~

Peter had been having frequent study sessions with MJ ever since she had become captain and they started talking more. He refused to call it a study "date" since he was sure Michelle didn't like him(or anyone for that matter) like that.

"How much salt is in the average adult human body?" MJ asked, hiding the answer from Peter whilst waiting for his response.

"Easy, 250 grams," he said without even looking up. She nodded her approval, "Correct. Next question: In Blake's poem, the phrase, "unbuckled was the shield," is an example of-"

"Inverted syntax. C'mon MJ I thought you said you had tough questions for me," he smirked, looking up to meet her gaze. Before she could respond with what he was sure would be a smart remark, an alarm went off on his phone.

"What's that for?" she asked, craning her neck to look at the screen.

"Oh, uh, that's just my alarm," he said, silencing it. "This is usually the time I do my workout." She scoffed, looking him up and down, "You workout?" He nodded, "Mhm." He stood there awkwardly, not sure of what to do with himself. "Uh, would you mind if I do some stuff while we study? I won't get distracted I swear," he promised, knowing she wanted him to focus on the material. "I guess," she shrugged and he made his way to his bunk, hanging upside down and beginning to do sit ups.

"Exercise disgusts me," she said, turning her head away to look back at the flash cards. After answering a few questions and doing 100 sit ups, he climbed back down, sitting on his knees. Michelle looked up at him, noticing how he hadn't even broken a sweat. He looked around awkwardly, "Uh, would you mind sitting on my back?"

"What?"

"Like for extra weight an' stuff."

She tilted her head back, looking at him. "Are you calling me fat?" His eyes flew wide open, and he stuttered over his words, worried that he had offended her and trying to correct his mistake, "No! Absolutely not, I'd never say that about any girl and-"

"It's okay, I was just fucking with you," she waved her hand dismissively, smiling at him. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "So... will you?"

"Oh, you were actually serious? Um, okay." Peter laid on his stomach and waited for MJ to climb on his back. Once she did, he asked, "Can you grab a few textbooks and hold them in your lap?" She nodded, reaching over and getting the biggest ones she could find. "You sure you can answer questions while doing push-ups?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I can barely do push-ups even without having to do math," MJ said, playing with the index cards in her hand. Peter smirked to himself, pushing himself up. His arms shook in an exaggerated manner as he faked a lack of strength. "If it's that hard for you Peter I can get off," she supplied, buying his act.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, suddenly able to do perfect push-ups. MJ, shocked at the quick change of pace, placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. "Can you start a timer for 10 minutes?" he asked, " And read some more questions?" She complied, setting up her phone timer and reading him questions that he easily answered. She let out a sigh, placing her head in her hands. Sitting on someone constantly moving up and down isn't exactly fun, even when studying.

"Just how many push-ups can you do?" Peter paused for a second before continuing, "Don't know. I get too distracted to keep track, so I just set up a timer."

"I bet you've already done a thousand."

"Probably."

"Are you even tired?" She'd be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little bit impressed, but no one needs to know. He shook his head, "Not really."

"What are you, steel?" she joked, poking his side. He let out a laugh that he tried to disguise as a scoff, "Noho, I'm completely human," he defended himself. His reaction didn't go unnoticed by MJ however. When he pushed himself up once more, she let herself fall forward, using Peter to brace herself. Her hands gently clasped his sides, and her fingers curled underneath his arms. He let out a small gasp, trying to cover it with a huff of air. "You okay Peter?" she asked, fully aware of what she had done. He nodded and swallowed thickly, "Yeah."

When he tried again, MJ's fingers were back on his body, this time with more intent. Peter struggled to keep himself from falling to the floor, "MJ whahahat are you dohohoing?" he cried through his laughter.

"Why didn't you tell me you were ticklish?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"Ihihit's not exactly aha normal conversation to hahave," he managed to say. She tweaked his ribs, eliciting a squeak. "But we're friends, and friends don't keep things from each other, riiiight Peter?" He shook his head back and forth, trying to escape her maddening touch. "No? What other secrets are you hiding Peter?" she teased, scribbling her nails over the back of his neck.

"AH! MJ nohohoho," he giggled, and fell to the floor, MJ easily pinning him beneath her body. She grinned down at him from her position up above, "I wonder if you can answer questions while I tickle you mercilessly," she pondered aloud, an evil glint in her eyes.

"Youhu don't have to do this!" he pleaded, already laughing from the anticipation.

"Yes I do," she said, eying him like a lion looking over its prey. "If you tell me where you're most ticklish I'll go easy on you. Maybe."

"Whahat? Nohoho," he protested, trying to squirm away. MJ tilted her head quizzically, "No? Oh well, more fun for me," she shrugged and set to work, scratching her nails along his sides dragging out a loud screech.

"How about you answer five questions correctly and I'll stop."

"Thahahat's mehehean!"

"Thank you. I can't let people think I'm actually nice."

"MJ plehehehease!" She rolled her eyes, scratching her nails across the muscles on his stomach, "Oh alright, one question. But you have to get it right." She moved down, digging her thumbs into the hip bone causing him to buck violently.

"Do you like me?" she asked, hoping he was too out of his mind to read too much into the question. Ned had been their messenger back and forth and told her to come clean or he would do it for her, and she just couldn't do that. So she took matters into her own hands, quite literally.

"Yehehes okay?"

She stopped, somewhat in shock, and looked down at him. "You- did you hear what I said?" He nodded, panting and trying to catch his breath. "You ahasked if I liked you."

"You do know I meant more than a friend, don't you?" His cheeks turned a bright shade of red and he looked down, "I had hoped that's what you meant."

Without thinking MJ leaned forward and shoved their lips together in a kiss, leaving both of them in a blissful state for the rest of the night.

~~~~

If someone had told Peter that his hero and role model would become close to him he would've called them crazy, yet here he was. Sure they weren't the closest, but they were getting closer with each mission and training session they had together, and Tony even invited him to just hang out on more than one occasion. Like now.

Peter didn't know what to expect when he received a text from Tony asking what he was doing after patrol. He honestly thought he was going on another mission, but when Tony told him he just wanted to talk and check in with him, he was pleasantly surprised. When the fancy sports car came to pick him up, he couldn't help but smile to himself. It always made him feel a little special getting to ride in such luxury, seeing as he never before had the chance to. He let his grin grow wider once he saw Tony in the backseat waiting for him.

It had taken him a while to feel comfortable enough around Tony to not be nervous all the time, but he had finally learned to relax a little. It still took him a few minutes to adjust to his presence, so he was still a little tense in the car. He relaxed a bit once they reached the compound. Peter's stomach growled loudly as they walked down the hall.

"Hungry?" Tony asked, seemingly amused.

"Uh, yeah," Peter answered a bit sheepishly.

"That's okay, we have food in the kitchen. But I won't make you anything, you're old enough to fend for yourself," Tony said with a smirk, ruffling his hair. Peter chuckled, smoothing it back down, "I think I can manage without you."

"Don't forget who gave you the suit kid," Tony said with a jab to his side. Peter yelped and jumped away, earning a side look from Tony. It didn't take long for him to realized what happened and he smirked, poking him again, "Ticklish?"

"N-no," Peter stuttered, trying to subtly take a step back. "Remember what I said about lying to me," he said in a jokingly stern voice.

"I-it's not a lie!"

"Really? 'Cause that squeak says otherwise," he teased and Peter's head snapped towards him. "I didn't squeak!" His voice came out an octave higher than he would've liked it to. Tony gave him a kind smile and patted his shoulder, "Relax, it's fine. Between you and me I once heard Thor shriek like a banshee." Peter couldn't help the way his face lit up with amusement when he heard that, "Really?"

Tony nodded, "Oh yeah. But don't tell him I told you, he'd probably kill me." Peter made the universal signal for sealing his lips. "And feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. Oh, and one more thing," he started and Peter turned his attention towards him. "Hm?"

"If you tell him I told you, don't think I don't know how to get you back," Tony said with a mischievous smile as he wiggled his fingers in his direction. Peter's face burned a bright red as Tony chuckled.

"You're never gonna let me live that down are you?"

Tony's smile was blinding, "Nope."

Peter groaned as he opened the fridge. He swore these people were going to be the death of him.

#spiderman #peter parker #tony stark #tony & peter #ned leeds #mj #michelle jones #avengers #avengers fic #avengers tickle fic #ticklish!peter #spiderman fic #spiderman tickle fic

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iloveyou-morethanthis · 6 years

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The Man of My Dreams

Word Count: 3,000

Rating: angst, mystery, eventual smut

Summary: A car accident steals four years of memory from a girl. Anyone in this circumstance would be surrounded by loved ones. But she's not. They've all abandoned her, or so she thinks? She's made new friends, and fallen in love again. But are they really new friends? Is it really a new love? Secrets, lies, deception all for the sake of protection. As her memories start to comeback she begins to recognize a familiar figure in her memories but before it all comes back she's in danger again. Will she survive long enough to uncover the secret in her own?

Dark.

Cold.

Quiet.

She awoke gasping for air.

Choking. Drowning?

That's how she always wakes up from them.

Dreams? Nightmares? Memories?

They don't happen as frequently now.

Once a month, maybe?

At least now they seem to guide her. As if they're trying to tell her something. She's no longer afraid of what they have to show her. The visions, as her therapist calls them, are her ‘suppressed memories’ trying to ‘resurface’. They always show her snippets and clips but never the full movie. Sometimes her mind plays reruns and she'll have the same dream for weeks. Sometimes they're new. Sometimes she'll remember them. Most of the time she doesn't. But there's one thing that's always the same.

Him.

She knows him.

Well she did, or did she?

“Maybe he’s your guide?” Her therapist would say.

Maybe he's my anchor. She thinks. He never takes me anywhere. He's always just....there

*ding*

The familiar sound of the front door rang through the coffee shop. At 6:30 in the morning the shop was usually buzzing, but it’s Saturday, even in the city, not many people are bustling around this early in the morning. She’s an exception of course, being assistant to the Head of Design for multi-million dollar fashion company meant that vacations and weekends mean nothing to her workload. This Saturday was no exception. The Fall line is to be released in one month, so her team is working overtime to prepare the finishing looks, prepping models and arranging last minute seating charts for the fashion show guests. Not to mention all the while preparing the looks books for next year’s summer and fall lines. Thankfully the Spring show is being handled by the second design team. Handling one season is hard enough, but getting three seasons in a row is unbearable. If fashion wasn’t something she loved she would’ve quit the first day of her internship, if you could call 72 work hours of stitch removal an internship. She still remembers soaking her hands in warm water the first weekend and crying to her brother about the witch she now calls her boss. He told her to quit if she hated it so much but she was determined to make it. She’s always wanted her own fashion line, and if getting it means she has to make deals with the devil, then show her the dotted line.

“Good Morning Katsumi.” The young man behind the counter greeted her.

“Good Morning Nini, and how come you never call me Sumi?” She returns his smile.

The man smirked, with a quick look behind him he leaned in close and spoke, “You know I’d call you that if it wasn’t for you know who.”

She peeked over his shoulder looking down the hallway. Just beyond the boxes of to-be-stocked coffee beans she could see his office. Jongin’s boss was mulling over some papers, with his silver rimmed glasses perched at the tip of his nose. He looks exhausted. His dark bangs falling into his face. He must have stayed up late last night only to return first thing this morning. She wanted nothing more than to walk behind the counter and run her fingers through his hair, to soothe and comfort the man.

“He works too hard,” Jongin says shaking her from her thoughts.

“Yeah, he does.” She agreed. Lifting her eyes to the office one last time she’s met with an empty desk. The man instead is standing in the doorway just behind Nini, looking right at her. She starts to stutter good morning but the air in her chest remains trapped. Words never breaking out. He's handsome. Gorgeous even. She's smitten. He's not nearly as tall or broad as Jongin, but still built, his muscles firm beneath his too tight dress shirts and dress pants (not that she was looking, but if she was she'd report a marvellous ass carved by the gods.) As perfect as his body was, it was his face that bewitched her. His doe eyes were a deep dark brown, so deep that when she looked into them she could see her secrets welling inside them. As if him looking at her could cause her to bare everything to him. His smile was contagious, his laugh just as precious. On the off chance she was graced with its beauty she felt happy for days. His smile was mostly gums and teeth, but boy was it the cutest thing she'd ever seen. She wanted nothing more that to see it on him always and to be the reason for that smile.

“Good morning Ma’am, is it your usual today.” The man said stepping from the doorway to the machines on Nini’s right.

“Actually sir I've already got it ready.” Nini said stepping to his left and handing over a large to go coffee and a warmed croissant in a small bag. Looking to his boss and back at Jongin she spoke a small thank you.

“Making me look bad,huh?” Minseok raised a brow in their direction.

“Oh please you're just making an excuse to not finish your work, a very pretty excuse if you ask me.” Nini quips, shooting a wink in Sumi direction. The heat in her cheeks rising quickly, while she silently wills it to disappear. An accidental glance towards Jongin’s boss shows she not the only one with tinted cheeks.

“So you're in awful early on a Saturday morning, even for you?” Minseok questions.

“Ugh tell me about it. Between closing the summer line and opening the fall one, yah girl gets no sleep.” She says using exaggerated hand motions. This brings a smile to both men's faces.

“Do they have you working Spring this coming year? Surely not Winter to finish out the year?” He questions, eyes full of concern.

“Thankfully no Spring. After the flower fiasco of 2017, I refuse to step within 10 feet of a Spring lookbook.” At that Jongin chuckles, apparently recalling her stories of the baby runways and mini flower floats. Her boss was lucky she actually liked children but that was more than she could say for the rest of her team.

“As for Winter I'll be joining the executive team as a designer. My accessory line was approved, so I won't have to plan the events for the season but just participate. It'll be nice, in a nerve wrecking kind of way.”

“Oh my god, Congratulations, Sumi!” Minseok expresses, noticing Sumi’s surprise he adds, “Really, I mean it. It's a big deal to have your line appear. Especially on the executive team. Your work must be amazing if you've only been with them for 3 years.”

She can feel her cheeks warming again at the praise. “Thank you. I'd like to think it's because I work hard, but my work is pretty amazing if I do say so myself.” She winks. Looking to her watch it reads 6:45am, she doesn't need to be in the office until 7:30 but not wanting to catch traffic she decides to say her goodbyes.

“Nini are you gonna be at the studio next weekend for Yixing’s classes?” She asks.

Jongin and Sumi met at Yixing's dance studio, not too far from the coffee shop. Even though they go to the studio for different reasons, Jongin to choreograph and Sumi to relax, they both love dance. That's what they built their friendship on, it's also how she found the coffee shop, and in turn Minseok. She'd been coming to this coffee shop for almost 2 years. Her and Nini meeting shortly prior, their friendship never extended past the studio and the coffee shop. She was okay with that. In the time she's been coming to the shop, she and Minseok had never exchanged anything more than a few pleasantries, it was love at first sight. Well from her sight.

“Yep, and guess who's gonna be recording his choreo?” Jongin says wiggling his eyebrows.

“No way!! Is this the same one you were working on in spring?! I'm so glad you finally finished. Does this mean he's gonna let you teach it? Oh please please teach it! I better feature in this video or we’re gonna fight.” She joked. Jongin worked hard on his choreos always honing his skills making sure each move was perfect and if anything felt off or just not quite right it never saw the light of day, that is until he found just what was missing.

“Promise. I teach first thing Saturday morning. I'm nervous, it's not like it's my first time teaching but I guess since the class is international it makes it a big deal.”

“You'll do great Nini. Don't worry about it. I'll be right there in the front row” She encourages. At that moment another customer walks through the door. “Well I should get going I will see you guys later.” She waves.

Minseok and Jongin laugh. “We'll see you tomorrow.” They chime.

“Heyyyyyy.” She faux pouts. “I have the day off tomorrow so I was gonna sleep in.”

“Mhmm sure,” Minseok taunts, as Jongin helps the new arrival. “So I'll just make your coffee for dine-in, maybe even later in the day? 8:30?”

She sighs, tapping a finger on her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose I do have some errands to run tomorrow. I guess spending the morning here wouldn't hurt.” She smiles. Minseok nods in acknowledgement and waves her out the door. With a quick wave from Nini she heads down the sidewalk towards her car.

At seven o'clock it's time to close up shop. He let Jongin go home early. Since he goes to school now he lets him pull doubles on weekends as to not disturb his class work. He always feels bad for him and tries to send him home to get some rest when the shop isn't busy. The kid works too hard. He's wiping down the last table when he hears the door open.

“We're closed.” He calls out to the customer.

“Ah, sorry about that. Good thing I'm not here for coffee,” the customer states.

Minseok's heard that voice before, and he's certainly not fond of it. It's arrogant, irritating, bitchy, pushy and too smooth. His voice sounds like it belongs to a seasoned salesman. The kind that sells you what you never needed, takes your last penny and you never realize it till you've already sold your soul. He's the devil.

“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure, Yuta.” Tucking the towel in his back pocket, he places the last chair on the table. He hates saying the young man's name, it always leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

“Shall we sit?” The younger asks motioning to a booth by the window. No doubt making the elder an easy target for whatever gunman the younger has stationed outside, should Minseok try anything. Which, sounds like a pleasing thought, but he's not in the mood to take a bullet over a good sock to the younger’s face. Minseok heads to the booth and takes a seat. He glances out the window for any visible signs of Yuta’s men, but it's all in vain. Even with his trained eye he could only guess the spots they're in. After all this is his territory, so Minseok is confident that even if he doesn't have eyes on Yuta’s men, then Seungcheol definitely does. He and Jongdae were opposed to him opening up the coffee shop complaining that it leaves him exposed and vulnerable. He's been known to live on the edge never worrying about consequences, that is, until that day. He always knew his risk-taking would get him hurt, maybe even kill him. He was ready for that, but he wasn’t ready when the consequences fell to someone he cared most about. He never expected that she would have to pay the price.

“I'm sure you know why I'm here.” Yuta smiles warmly. To those who don't know him they'd trust that smile in good faith, but Minseok knows that smile all too well, it sends cold chills down his spine.

“Actually, I'm not quite sure why you're here. As I recall, we settled our business months ago with no intentions of renegotiating.” Minseok said sternly. Minseok is almost 32 and has obtained, maintained and controlled most of Seoul’s underground for a decade, as well as outer lying cities. He was young like Yuta when he came up. He was arrogant pushed the boundaries and grew his territory with a relentless hunger and iron fist. Yuta has recently overtaken a smaller rival gang that originated in Minseok’s home town of Guri. The gang has always been a thorn in his foot, but he never had any desire or need to extinguish until Yuta appeared. The younger is like a starving leopard, his blood lust evident on his face. The younger man pushed an envelope across the table.

“I think this will reopen our negotiations.” His smile grew into something similar to the Cheshire Cat. The elder grabbed the manila and opened it. He splayed it's contents across the table in front of him.

There were pictures. Five freshly printed photos of her. Of Sumi. Each one he could tell was from different times of the year. The first was from last year around summer time she hadn't been coming to the shop for long at that point. The next photo was of her leaving her apartment that following winter, then again in early spring. Each picture leading up to today. It was her exiting her car from her office’s private parking garage.

He was fuming. Minseok is usually good at controlling his anger but once you've pressed his buttons he sees red. And right now Yuta’s blood was the red he sought after. He wants nothing more than to spill his blood across his freshly cleaned table.

How dare he bring her into this? How dare he even consider threatening her? Bringing someone innocent into this. She's done nothing and means nothing to him. What could he possibly—How does he even know? Does he know?

Looking up from the pictures into Yuta's eyes, he gets all the answers he was looking for. Yes, he plans to use her against him. Yes, he will do anything to get what he wants, even harming her. And yes, he does know.....exactly who she is.

“Ahh, so you do know who she is.” Yuta drawls. “I was under the impression my men were following a useless lead.” He chuckles. “But seeing the look on your face shows me I should've put more resources into this much sooner.” Smirking he interlocks his fingers and places his hands under his chin.

“So, what do you say? You give me the outer cities. I already have Guri, what about I give you the girl and you give me Suwon and Ansan.”

“That's bold. Even for you.”

“Well, how much does she mean to you?” His face darkens. “Besides, Suwon isn't much worth to you, it sits on your outer boundaries. What would you really be giving up? A few hundred thousand won? Besides, Ansan is your baby, that where you keep your arsenal isn't it?” The glint in his eyes are starting to grow into a wildfire. “The girl means nothing to me. But she means a lot to you, Ansan and your trading ports mean a lot to me, and I can't just stand by and watch you forsake them. So I propose a trade—”

“Not happening” he counters. “What you're gonna do, is walk back out that door you came in, get in you car and drive home. The next time you set foot in my territory is the last time you walk.” His whole demeanour darkens. He can see it even rattles Yuta, not enough to scare him but enough to catch him off guard. “That girl is off limits. You wanna throw her into the mix then you can consider yourself cut off. No more deals, no more supplies. If you want so badly to be a solo independent organization then prove it. But you just bit the hand that feeds you, and I put those dogs down, not kick them out. If it's a war you want then that's what you get, but you're undermanned and if you think your equipped to handle something of this magnitude then you're dumber than I thought. Now get the fuck out of my coffee shop.”

With that the younger man stands and exits, just as confident, if not more so, than when he came in. This is what he wanted. He came to strike a nerve, and that he did. Minseok doesn't care if he put if heart on his sleeve or let his emotions show, it's how he's always been and it's how he'll continue to be. He's never backed down from a fight, and he's not going to now. Yuta's messes with the wrong boss today, and he's gonna out that brat in his place, then put him out of his misery.

He grabs the photos in the envelope and locks up the shop. He exits through the backdoor into the the cool night air. Picking up the buzzing phone from his pocket he swipes to answer. “Yeah. I know.” Is all he says into the receiver before hanging up. He doesn't let himself think about anything the whole 30 minute ride to his night club deep in the heart of Seoul. He cherishes the silence knowing that it'll be his last of the calm be the storm. He may not get this again till he's rid himself of Yuta. Or until Yuta get rid of him.

He pulls his car to the secret entrance at the back of his club. Jongdae is already waiting for him. He didn't need to look at his best friend to know the look he carried on his face. It was one mixed with concern and disappointment. Jongdae is his right hand man. Best friend since childhood. When they started in this business Minseok was the muscle and he was the brains. Where Minseok can be hot headed, Jongdae was always ten steps ahead and had contingency plans for his contingency plans. All jobs Jongdae headed were bound for success, if anyone could get him out of this mess it would be him.

“Before you say it, let's find the mole so I can blow off some steam.” Minseok entered the building, he could feel the bass vibrating through the walls.

“I already know who it is, but you're not getting his name. We need him, for now at least,” Jongdae said taking the lead and heading up a stairwell to the office.

“Jongdae—” Minseok wanted to say more but was cut off.

“Look Minnie the first course of action is contacting Kyungsoo. He needs to know.”

“He'll kill me.”

“Then we agree on something.”

Cont.

#exo #kyungsoo #kyungsoo angst #kaisoo #xiumin #jongdae #chen #minseok #jongin #yixing #chanyeol #baekhyun #chaptered fic

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ryukoishida · 6 years

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QZGS | The King’s Avatar Fic: In which law student!HST crushes on coffee shop manager!YWZ, feat. witch/teashop owner!WJX and programmer!YX. [coffee shop AU]

Title: The Magic Hour is Now Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): YuHuang; with a hint of WangYe Summary: When an exasperated, love-sick Huang Shaotian has had enough of suffering Blue Rain Café’s manager Yu Wenzhou’s quiet, perfect smile day after day, he decides to seek help from Wang Jiexi, a famous tea sommelier (and witch) rumoured to be able to brew tea with various magical properties. [Coffee Shop AU] Part: 1/1 Rating: PG-13 A/N: Utterly self-indulgent. You have been warned!

Writing Commission | Editing & Translation Services

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‘It’s him again…’ Yu Wenzhou thought, unsure why he was still surprised.

Without his first sip of caffeine, it was almost impossible for the manager of Blue Rain Café, a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop mostly frequented by college students from a nearby campus and locals residing in this area, to carry any sort of conversation without offending the first customer he encountered this morning.

After covering a loud, unattractive yawn with the crook of his elbow, Yu Wenzhou pushed a tired hand through his sleep-ruffled hair and strode past the man who was waiting by the glass door. He managed a weak wave in the blond-haired man’s vague direction before digging into his messenger bag for his keys and unlocking the shop.

“Good morning, Wenzhou!” Huang Shaotian responded in his usual chipper voice, tone warm and full of sunshine, but it was too much sun and too damn bright for Yu Wenzhou to handle this early in the morning.

Yu Wenzhou half-hummed and half-grunted in reply as he shuffled his way into the coffee shop like a dispirited zombie and slipped behind the counter, and Huang Shaotian, as was his usual routine, let himself in after the seemingly sleep-deprived manager and helped himself to the stool by the wall-mounted bar nearest the front counter. The windows let in pastel orange and cerulean glow of the first hint of a wintry dawn and casted Huang Shaotian in a halo of soft, gentle light as he made himself comfortable for the moment.

As the college student discovered upon the first time of his morning visit almost four months ago, the first thing Yu Wenzhou did after putting his belongings away was not doing opening tasks like prepping pastries in the display case or checking up on equipment but was instead turning on the expresso machine to start brewing himself a mug of fresh coffee.

While the expresso machine whirred quietly in the background and the scent of freshly ground coffee beans saturated in the cool morning air, Huang Shaotian looked on with quiet interest, a palm sliding under his jaw to support his head, while he watched the dark-haired barista sluggishly move about to pour himself some coffee and add a dash of milk that started a silent, swirling storm of white mixing into black.

With the kind of reverence one usually only reserved for prayer to the gods, Yu Wenzhou cradled his steaming mug with both hands like his entire life was depended upon it, eyes fluttering closed, and took a tentative sip. The warm steam rose up, clouded around his hair before dissipating, and Huang Shaotian watched with a suddenly parched throat, mesmerized by the way Yu Wenzhou swallowed his mouthful of coffee like a man tasting water after days of dehydration.

‘Fuck! Get a hold of your fucking self, Huang Shaotian!’ he scolded himself inside his head, finally noticing that he’d been staring for way too long to be deemed polite.

“Feeling more alive?” Huang Shaotian asked with a grin when he saw the manager blinked a few times with more clarity as if he’d just fully woken up from a dream and become aware of his surroundings once more.

“Much,” Yu Wenzhou turned towards him with his trademark courteous smile, though it was laced with a hint of self-consciousness as well when he added, his cheeks tinting the softest of pink, “I’m sorry you always had to see me in this state…”

“Nah, that’s okay, that’s okay! I should be the one to apologize to you — for barging in before you even get a chance to get ready for opening,” Huang Shaotian quickly said, golden gaze tracing along Yu Wenzhou’s disheveled hair, pink cheeks, and pale but smiling lips.

“I couldn’t very well leave a customer waiting outside in the cold, could I?” Yu Wenzhou said with another harmless smile. It seemed that no matter what, Huang Shaotian just couldn’t get past that infuriating smile: sure, the expression was welcoming and friendly, comforting to anyone who walked through the threshold of Blue Rain Café, but there was an unspeakable distance buried along the curve of his lips as well, and Huang Shaotian wanted nothing more than to further investigate this enigma of a man.

“Is that the only reason why?” The question was out of his mouth before he could filter it through his brain, and Huang Shaotian immediately regretted it. Ever since he discovered this coffee shop and its beautiful yet mystical manager four months ago, Huang Shaotian, who, as a first-year law school student, had a tightly-packed schedule and could only manage to squeeze out some free time in the early mornings and late nights, had been hanging out at the café any chance he got.

“Do I need a better reason than that?” Yu Wenzhou tilted his head to the side a little, slightly amused, his smile growing a little crooked, a little more mischievous. Initiating a challenge, almost.

‘Fuck,’ Huang Shaotian muttered to himself again, gaze darting to the ground and his cheeks getting warmer than he’d like to admit. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

“What can I get for you? Your usual?” Yu Wenzhou seemed to return to his normal charming and capable self after consuming the cup of invigorating coffee, and he was ready to start his day’s work, by serving his first customer with the utmost professional attitude.

“Y-Yes please,” Huang Shaotian almost choked.

He gave up. He just couldn’t do this anymore. Any time he even attempted to ask for Yu Wenzhou’s number or ask him out or even try to remotely flirt with him, it was as if the manager was ignorant of his advances, or worst still, perhaps he wasn’t at all interested and was just rejecting him in a subtler manner that Huang Shaotian had yet to realize.

He needed to know, Huang Shaotian sipped the perfectly brewed and flavored rose black tea latté with an obvious frown, and almost cursed out loud when his tongue burned from the heat of the beverage.

“If you stare any harder, I think Xiao Lu is going to call the police,” Ye Xiu, a frequent patron of Blue Rain Café who liked to sit by the smoking area in the back corner of the shop for hours on end, was referring to Lu Hanwen, the youngest staff member in the café but was highly proficient in the art of coffee-brewing nevertheless, as he tapped out a few lines of programming code on his keyboard before he sent his friend a knowing glance, “he seems awfully fond of the manager.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Huang Shaotian sighed, finally tearing his gaze away from Yu Wenzhou’s figure and returning his attention back to his own laptop screen and the mug of caramel macchiato in his hand. The case study he was supposed to be reading was impossible to understand, as if the document was written in a foreign language, but Huang Shaotian knew that he was just too distracted and keyed up to concentrate.

“You know, I heard the teas from Big-Eyed Wang’s teahouse is quite efficacious in curing illnesses of the heart. Apparently, he can fix anything from healing heartbreaks to attaining one’s desires.”

“I’m not heartsick, you asshole!” Huang Shaotian yelped defensively, earning glares from hardworking students from nearby tables, and he immediately lowered his voice, glowering at Ye Xiu. “I didn’t realize you’re as superstitious as those high school girls who are naïve enough to believe in that kind of bullshit, Ye Xiu,” Huang Shaotian teased him back as he settled back in his seat across from the slightly older man. “Anyway, where did you even hear that from?”

Huang Shaotian might be skeptical, but he was also a curious creature at heart. He was also desperate as hell, but he wasn’t going to let Ye Xiu know that; his relentless torment would only intensify.

Besides, sorcery of this level and use was nothing unusual nowadays, since government had long lifted the ban on such branch of magic years ago, claiming that herbalism and similar witchcrafts that promoted healing of the physical and emotional wellbeing could actually be a good thing for the public.

Ye Xiu took a leisurely drag on his cigarette and breathed out a trail of white smoke before he replied, “Some girls were talking about it earlier. They seemed very convinced that the teas worked in ways that would help resolve their troubles, as Wang Jiexi had promised.”

“You are such a nosy eavesdropper,” Huang Shaotian tutted at him with an exaggerated disapproving look, wagging his index finger at him. “Absolutely shameless.”

“It’s called being observant,” Ye Xiu shrugged, then shifting his gaze towards the manager of the coffee shop who was politely greeting the next patron in line, continued, “something that the man you’ve been passionately having a crush on and grossly salivating after is obviously not — at least when it comes to you and your embarrassing and artless wooing.”

“Can you not be so crude? Jesus fucking Christ!” he almost spilled his beverage over his lap at Ye Xiu’s obscene comment.

“But it’s the truth,” Ye Xiu turned his dark eyes back at Huang Shaotian, his lips tucked into a small smirk, “isn’t it?”

Ye Xiu slid a crumpled business card across the table, the pleasant moss green and cream white of the paper and text embossed with the name, address, and phone number of the shop he’d just informed of Huang Shaotian. As hilarious as it had been for him to observe Huang Shaotian’s different tactics (and different ways and degrees of failing) of pursuing the oblivious Yu Wenzhou for the past few months, Ye Xiu really couldn’t stand the college student’s constant whining and puppy-eyed worshipping from afar anymore.

“Give it a try,” Ye Xiu said with a twinkle in his eyes, “you never know.”

He sneaked into Tiny Herb Teahouse like some sort of unsavory criminal, his curious but cautious gaze looking around his surroundings as if he was a soldier trespassing enemy territory.

Where Blue Rain Café was painted in oceanic blues and furnished with tarnished oak tables and chairs that welcomed patrons seeking temporary shelter from fierce winter evenings, Tiny Herb Teahouse was all crisp glass and minimalistic designs that allowed natural light to come into the shop from all directions, strands of light splitting into pieces by the hanging plants that trailed delicately all over the interior — an inviting sight and a serene place to enjoy a cup of tea and a good book in the summer.

“I-Is Wang Jiexi around?” Huang Shaotian approached the staff standing closest to him and asked in a stage whisper, his eyes flitting this way and that as if he was afraid of being spotted by someone he knew.

The staff member who was manning the counter, upon seeing a potential customer acting in such a strange yet equally suspicious manner, looked like he was about to dash to the backroom and asked for assistance given the chance, but he stood rooted in place and forced himself to smile as politely as he could before he answered, “Mr. Wang is busy attending another patron at the moment. Did you make an appointment?”

“An appointment!? Fucking hell… You’re actually serious, aren’t you?” It was difficult to keep his voice down because he was partly panicking but mostly just annoyed. He wanted to have this… this heart problem of his fixed before he drove himself crazy and resulted in consequences he’d definitely regret later.

“Um…” the young man shrank further back, unsure of what to say at Huang Shaotian’s outburst.

“Yifan, do we have a customer?”

“Mr. Wang!” the staff turned around in relief at the quiet, eloquent tone of the teahouse owner’s voice and lowered his head in respect, “Y-yes. This gentleman would like to see you, but I told him he needs to make an appointment first…”

Wang Jiexi, the well-known witch and herbalist renowned for concocting various kinds of potent potions and liquid spells guaranteed to grant the users’ any powers, was a young man in his early twenties who donned a casual set of oversized sweater, knitted scarf, and jeans; one of his eyes was veiled behind stylishly cut forelocks, but the other eye — the one that was glancing over at Huang Shaotian with a cold, calculating light — was the shade of vibrant green, like the heart of a living forest.

“Send him into the consultation room,” Wang Jiexi told Qiao Yifan, who happened to be one of his apprentices and helpers in the teahouse, and continued, “I still have some time before my next appointment. This shouldn’t take too long.”

He disappeared behind a set of swinging doors to the back area of the shop without another word to the patron, leaving Qiao Yifan to smile apologetically at Huang Shaotian as he led the blond down a narrow passageway until they reached a small, cozy room. Qiao Yifan invited him to take a seat while he waited and offered him a cup of jasmine tea as he did so.

It might be a consultation room, but from its homely furnishings like the cushioned armchair Huang Shaotian was sitting in to the plant-inspired paintings, books, and decorations scattered all around the room, it looked more like someone’s den than an office-type setting.

“So, what can I do for you, Mr…?”

Wang Jiexi closed the door quietly behind him and settled into the seat across from the other man, crossing his legs elegantly, his face never displaying any sort of emotion.

“Huang Shaotian,” he quickly introduced himself as he leaned forward with brightened eyes. “I heard from Ye Xiu that you can help me, that you’re very good at… uh, making certain… types of, um, teas…”

The more words trickled their way out of his mouth, the more hesitant Huang Shaotian felt about this whole grand master plan of his. Who the hell in their right mind would think drinking a cup of specially concocted tea was going to solve something as complicated as unrequited love?

“Is this the first time you’ve used services like mine, Mr. Huang?”

“Services…?”

“Witchcraft,” Wang Jiexi clarified, though he didn’t need Huang Shaotian’s answer to know for certain.

“Yeah,” Huang Shaotian replied a little sheepishly. “You know, not that I don’t trust the expertise of your people or anything, but I always manage to resolve the problems in my life with my own abilities. I never needed the extra boost of power or whatever it is that you witches boast of providing for your customers…

“Again,” he protested with his hands raised in front of him when he spotted the icy glance that Wang Jiexi sent him, “it has nothing to do with your capabilities, or whether or not I doubt them, I swear! I just… never saw the need was all.”

“Then you must be at the end of your rope if you’ve decided to come seek answers from a witch,” Wang Jiexi said, tone calm as the mirrored surface of a lake on a windless night.

“I guess you can say that, yeah,” Huang Shaotian admitted with a dry, humorless chuckle, his head lowered, and a bitter smile tainted his lips. “I’m a desperate man.”

“You wish to seek an answer, but you will not get it from me,” Wang Jiexi began even before Huang Shaotian had a chance to tell him his problem, his green, glimmering eye widening just a degree as if that one motion could let him see through Huang Shaotian’s heart: the twisting, twirling storm of confusion, want, and fear of possible rejection dancing a waltz that made him dizzy. “There’s someone in your life right now — someone important, someone you cherish — and you want to know if they feel the same way.”

“Well I’ll be damned, Ye Xiu wasn’t actually bullshitting when he said you’re good,” Huang Shaotian was impressed when he let out a burst of laughter.

Wang Jiexi’s lips curved up into a grin, and then said, “Ye Xiu told me everything.”

“Tch, fucking hell, and here I thought you can actually read my mind,” Huang Shaotian swore, his expression darkening immediately.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Wang Jiexi remained frustratingly impassive, his lips still tucked into that irritating, all-knowing smirk. “But if what you need is the eloquent language to help you confess your feelings to the other person and if you are not afraid of getting the most genuine answer from them, I do have something that might be able to help you.”

“H-Hey, listen, I don’t want anything that would superficially affect his emotions just because he drank your weird tea, okay? I might like him a lot — like, a lot a lot — but… if his feelings for me are only there because of someone else’s doing, then I don’t want it.”

Huang Shaotian bit his lower lip, his cheeks tainted slightly pink from his admission.

“Huh, so you’re the more virtuous type. I like that,” Wang Jiexi flashed him a quick, haunting smile and reassured him, “Don’t worry. What I have in mind is nothing like the love and lust incenses I make; it will not imitate an emotion that does not exist within that person’s heart.”

The witch got up and walked to the side of the wall where a cabinet, stretching from the floor all the way up to the ceiling with hundreds of little unlabeled drawers, stood. From one of the lower drawers by the left side, Wang Jiexi pulled out two glass vials without any hesitation and returned to his seat. He placed the vials on the table, and then with his eye fixed firmly onto the uncharacteristically quiet Huang Shaotian, he began to explain.

“When you feel ready, prepare these teas separately according to the instructions I’ll give you. It’s nothing too complicated, but the amount of time the tealeaves should be steeped in the water is important; the longer you let the leaves sit in the water, the weaker the potion becomes.”

Huang Shaotian nodded, his previously unconvinced expression had shifted back to one of utter concentration as he continued to listen.

Wang Jiexi tapped a finger gently against the vial with a blue stopper, the glass showing bits of what seemed to be brown tealeaves and dried flower petals of azure and violet shades. “This is the one you will drink. It will give your heart the strength and your mind the semantics to tell the person what you have wanted to tell them for the longest time: your heart’s deepest and truest desire.”

“And this?” Huang Shaotian pointed to the other vial with the green stopper, his hand, as much as he was unwilling to admit, was shivering a little at Wang Jiexi’s words. The contents looked slightly different, with dark green tealeaves mixed in with white dried petals. “What does this one do?”

“This tea you will brew for the person you are confessing to,” Wang Jiexi said, “it will ensure that they tell you nothing but the truth — no sugarcoating, no roundabouts whatsoever. As for how they will react to your confession, it will entirely depend on how they feel about you. In other words, the answer may not be the one you want to hear.”

“I get that,” Huang Shaotian released a small sigh and carefully gathered the two vials of tealeaves into his palms, “but at least I’ll finally know for sure.”

“May the spirits give you strength and confidence in your pursuit,” Wang Jiexi said, his tone never changing from its serene softness but there was a hint of genuineness that Huang Shaotian appreciated anyway. “You can give your payment to Yifan on your way out.”

“Good night, Manager Yu!” Lu Hanwen shouldered his backpack and tightened his scarf around his neck before he stepped out of the coffee shop and into the cold night.

“Thanks for your hard work. Take care on your way back,” Yu Wenzhou waved goodbye at the young barista with a gentle smile.

“Xiao Lu, done for the night?” an irritatingly familiar figure appeared from the shadow and stepped into the orange glow of the streetlamp just outside the entrance.

“Are you here to bother the manager again?” Lu Hanwen immediately switched on his defense mode, glaring at the blond with distrust.

“Aww kid, give me a break, will you? I don’t mean any harm, okay? I just want to have a chance to talk to Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian explained.

“You want to talk to the manager, and you could have picked any hour of the day to do so, but you decide to do it late at night when there’s no one around?” Lu Hanwen scoffed, crossing his arms, “yeah, tell me that you don’t have any ulterior motives at all.”

“Alright, alright, fine, fine, you win, okay? You win. I do, in fact, have ulterior motives,” Huang Shaotian sighed with exaggerated defeat.

“I knew it!”

“But it’s something that little brats like you have no business sticking their noses in,” Huang Shaotian said, and when he saw that Lu Hanwen was about to protest, he quickly cut him off, “I promise I’m not going to do anything weird — er, weirder than usual. I just want to talk to him without a goddamn audience. Now please just run along and go home?”

Lu Hanwen opened his mouth, ready to argue, but then he noticed how serious Huang Shaotian looked, the gold of his eyes darkening into the kind of solemnity seldom observed on the usually happy-go-lucky college student, that the young barista momentarily found himself at a loss for words.

“If something were to happen to the manager,” Lu Hanwen lowered his voice in a threatening manner, though it didn’t come out as intimidating as he’d like with his shorter stature and boyish face, “you’ll have to answer to me.”

Huang Shaotian agreed and after a few more foreboding warnings from the barista, the young man finally begrudgingly left him alone and went on his way.

“Why does Xiao Lu hate me so much? What did I ever do to him, huh?” Huang Shaotian whined loudly the moment he entered into the comforting warmth of Blue Rain Café.

Behind the counter, Yu Wenzhou was doing the last bit of closing duties, wiping down equipment and making sure that all the machines had been turned off.

“Shaotian, what are you doing here?” Yu Wenzhou sounded a little surprised when he turned around to face him with a small smile and raised eyebrows. He knew that the college student would sometimes come in during the evenings to study until closing time, but this was the first time that he’d wandered in after the shop had already closed for the night. “I’m sorry but I won’t be able to make you anything; I’ve already cleaned and locked everything up.”

“Oh, no, no, no, I’m not here for coffee. I, uh, I’m wondering if I can perhaps, maybe, walk you home tonight, if that’s cool with you, that is…” Huang Shaotian rambled, scratching his cheek with a finger, and after a poignant pause, added as an afterthought, “Also, I brought tea.”

“How thoughtful,” Yu Wenzhou’s smile grew a little wider as if he found Huang Shaotian’s unexpected gesture rather endearing, “just give me a few minutes to close up.”

“Yeah, sure, absolutely, I’ll, uh, get out of your way and wait outside,” Huang Shaotian nodded and swiveled around to get out of the coffee shop as fast as his legs could carry him.

What the fuck was that?! What was wrong with him? Oh my god. His heart was thundering beneath his ribs like something fierce and demonic, and he could hardly breathe even as fresh air filled his nostrils. Hell, he could barely carry a comprehensible conversation back there! He hadn’t drunk the potion yet, so he knew it had nothing to do with the magical concoction, but if he was already this nervous at the prospect of walking with him alone at night, Huang Shaotian could scarcely imagine what drinking the tea could possibly do to resolve this entire mess.

“Ready to go?” Yu Wenzhou asked after locking up the entrance, but when he received no answer from the usually boisterous man, he tried again, calling his name softly, “Shaotian, is everything okay?”

“Huh?”

Yu Wenzhou was looking at him with concern, brows drawn into a worried frown, eyes seemingly even brighter and more mesmerizing than usual under the warm glow of the streetlights.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” Huang Shaotian laughed uneasily having been caught off guard, and handed one of the cups he was holding to Yu Wenzhou, who took it with a nod of thanks and another quiet smile. If he’d noticed Huang Shaotian’s lingering gaze at his cup, Yu Wenzhou didn’t comment upon it. “I hope you like herbal tea.”

“It’s much healthier than coffee for sure,” Yu Wenzhou laughed lightly, noting the irony of his statement as he was the type of person who couldn’t function at all without consuming at least one cup of caffeine first thing in the morning. Throughout the day at work, the amount of coffee consumed would be diluted with more milk and sugar and syrups to fuel him through the busy hours.

Yu Wenzhou took a whiff, his eyes briefly fluttering close at the pleasant flowery and citrusy fragrance, before taking a careful sip, the steam slithering out from the lip of the cup and rising up to cloud around his hair like a fragile halo.

As Huang Shaotian watched him swallow, he looked for signs of any changes that the tea was supposed to cause, but he couldn’t find any visible clues that could tell him whether or not the potion was actually working like it was supposed to.

He’d just have to trust Wang Jiexi on this one, Huang Shaotian thought resolutely, and took a big gulp of tea from his own cup. He’d made certain to brew the tealeaves as instructed and surveyed the timer like a hound so that he could take out the tealeaves, fully soaked and tainting the water into a glazed green and sunset gold, on time.

The tea was, fortunately, the perfect temperature for him, yet he couldn’t help but grimace at the taste that first hit his palette: so bitter that he swore he could feel the particles seeping deep into his bones and making his skin crawl. Yet, after the first mouthful, the aroma of something akin to cornflowers, spicy with a subtle hint of sweet aftertaste, filled his mouth and soothed the restless storm of his heart.

‘It’s working… It’s actually working!’

“This is really good,” Yu Wenzhou commented after he took a longer sip and glanced over at him, “where did you get it?”

“Tiny Herb Teahouse,” Huang Shaotian replied without thinking, and then added quickly, “a friend recommended their teas to me.”

“Tiny Herb…” Yu Wenzhou mouthed the familiar name to himself, lost in thought, and then said with a glint to his eyes, “isn’t that the specialty teashop run by a witch named Wang Jiexi? I heard that his personal brews make for powerful potions that grand the drinkers any powers and wishes they desire.”

“Ahahahaha, is that what you’ve heard? I have no idea that they specialized in that sort of thing, like, at all! Wow, that sounds very cool, very cool indeed. Witchcraft, huh? Damn.” Huang Shaotian was never good at acting; he was a smooth talker — an elegant debater at times even, which was why he’d chosen to pursue the career of law — but when it came to Yu Wenzhou, it was as if he’d lost the basic ability to string words together into an intelligible sentence.

“Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing the other man to halt as well. While they were walking side-by-side, they had inevitably wandered closer, their arms brushing against each other’s occasionally, and now that they were facing each other, Huang Shaotian was startled by their proximity. A small step would bring them even closer, but neither of them was ready to take that step.

“Y-yeah?” He couldn’t read the emotion in Yu Wenzhou’s eyes — they were dark as night, almost like ink had been dripped and mingled into that rich shade of blue — nor could he interpret the firm line of his pale, full lips.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” Yu Wenzhou asked softly, a light touch played upon the string of Huang Shaotian’s heart, the single note echoing and hanging in the air between them like something tangible. “Anything at all?”

Huang Shaotian took another nervous sip from his cup, almost thanking the bitterness and the malty aftertaste, the clarity of thought and strength of heart, that the tea brought. He breathed in deeply, lifting his gaze to look intently at the man whom he’d fallen in love with during the few months he’d known him (as ridiculous as it might sound, but nonetheless painfully true), and somehow, the sight of Yu Wenzhou — eyes warm and serene, cheeks slightly chaffed pink from the winter breeze, and wisps of hair falling into his eye as the wind teased through them — was enough to strengthen Huang Shaotian’s resolve.

“Actually yeah, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” Huang Shaotian said, his mouth curving upward into a tense but genuine grin, fingers tapping on his cup in a random rhythm, ��Yu Wenzhou, I know we haven’t known each other for long — or you know, we don’t know much about each other at all, I guess, but I’d really like to change that between us. It’s weird because even though we barely know each other, there’s just something deep in my heart that won’t let me let go of the thought of you. Wait, did that sound super stalker-ish just now? I’m sorry, I totally didn’t mean to do that, please don’t freak out! Uh. What I mean is, I want to know you better but not simply as a friend, and, um, I hope you’ll give me a chance as well.”

He was losing his words and his nerve, but it was already too late: he was baring his heart for Yu Wenzhou to see and judge, and there was no going back.

“Shaotian…” he reached out for him — tenderly, delicately — and Huang Shaotian caught his wrist with his hand, lacing their fingers loosely together.

“Wait, wait, please, let me finish, I’m almost done, I promise,” Huang Shaotian tightened his hold on the other man’s hand to silence him, and called out his name, savoring the syllables, the sweetness and flight of joy that they brought, much like the strange yet pleasant aftertaste of the tea he drank. “Wenzhou, I like you very, very, very much! Will you go out with me?”

Yu Wenzhou laughed; he covered his mouth with the back of his hand out of politeness and the sound was muffled, but Huang Shaotian was sure that the manager of Blue Rain Café was laughing. At him. Definitely.

His heart instantly sank.

He was going to reject him. After he stopped laughing, that was, whenever that was going to be.

Despite this, however, their hands were still linked. Huang Shaotian was too numb and horrified to realize that he was still holding onto the other man’s hand, and it didn’t look like Yu Wenzhou had any intention to pull away either.

Even if he was laughing at him, the sound of his laugher was a lovely sound, but once he’d come to his senses, he would tell Huang Shaotian the truth — the truth that he probably didn’t want to hear, the answer that would probably tear his heart apart.

“I sincerely apologize, Shaotian,” Yu Wenzhou pulled him close with lingering chuckles until they stood face-to-face, blue eyes staring into gold, a soft smile and a softer touch of his lips against Huang Shaotian’s knuckles that made the blond shiver and his cheeks grow warm. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I’ve just been waiting for so long that I thought I was getting my hopes up again.”

“You’ve been… waiting?” Huang Shaotian was confused for a good few seconds as Yu Wenzhou’s words revealed their meaning, and his eyes widened comically at the realization. “You mean to tell me that…”

“That I’ve taken an interest in you since we met? That the reason why I always remember your order and make it just the way you like it is my subtle way to let you know that I like you? That I, too, am an awkward fool who’s terrible at this romantic wooing?” Yu Wenzhou let go of Huang Shaotian’s hand, and the blond was already starting to miss his warmth, but then Yu Wenzhou was caressing his lower lip with his thumb, slow and deliberate and full of promises, and Huang Shaotian’s mind went blank. “Yeah, that’s basically what I’m telling you.”

“Well, fuck,” Huang Shaotian said after two beats, because honestly, what else was he supposed to say at this point?

“Uh-huh,” Yu Wenzhou chuckled, his heated breaths and the floral scent of the tea was all Huang Shaotian was aware of and he found himself leaning forward even more, their lips almost touching but not quite. Yu Wenzhou lowered his voice into a whisper, dark eyes gazing at the blond’s parted mouth, his intention never clearer. “May I?”

“Please,” Huang Shaotian breathed, closing his eyes by instinct, and he felt the scent of flowers growing overwhelmingly potent, filling his senses, filling up his heart until it was beating steady and strong, as their lips touch in a chaste kiss.

In the back of his mind, Huang Shaotian reminded himself to thank the witch who had somehow made this happy ending a reality.

But right now, he needed to concentrate on kissing Yu Wenzhou back with as much fervor as he could muster, and their teas — still steaming and half-full in their respective cups — were left forgotten for the moment as they continued to sought for each other’s taste to make up for lost time.

“What a rare sight,” Wang Jiexi said, putting down a cup and saucer on the small round table before taking a seat on the only available chair across from the man he was addressing. In the glass cup was freshly brewed tea in the shade of honey-brown, and on the saucer a sprig of some leafy plant acted as a simple decoration. “Drink up.”

“What the hell is this?” Ye Xiu pushed the cup an inch away from himself, his eyes dimming with distrust. “I’m not drinking this, no thank you.”

“It’s a sage infusion with lemon,” Wang Jiexi said, nudging the cup towards Ye Xiu again, “it’ll get rid of your smoker’s breath. And you will drink the entire thing if you want to do anything with me today.”

Ye Xiu was no fool; he caught the underlying meaning of his lover’s threat and sighed, giving up almost immediately.

“What brought you here anyway?”

“If I have to see Huang Shaotian and the manager of Blue Rain flaunting their newly established romantic relationship in my face for a second longer, I will jump off a fucking bridge,” Ye Xiu shook his head, ceasing his work on the laptop for the moment, and took a hesitant sip from the teacup.

He grimaced at the taste.

“Jealous?” Wang Jiexi asked, lips tucked into a teasing smirk.

“Not at all. I’ve got you all to myself, don’t I?” Ye Xiu pulled the other man over the length of the table by his scarf and traced his fingertip along the witch’s jawline, gentle fingers brushing back auburn forelocks to reveal the brightness of his other eye. Wang Jiexi insisted on keeping his slightly bigger eye hidden behind his hair, but Ye Xiu had always thought his eyes were the most charming and beautiful part of him.

Working with all sorts of teas and aromatic plants, Wang Jiexi smelled like he was constantly surrounded by fields of different flowers and herbs, and that distinctive scent called out to Ye Xiu like no others could. He leaned in closer, eyes hooded with his face angled slightly to make it easier for them to kiss, but he was stopped by Wang Jiexi’s index finger pushing roughly against his lips, interrupting him rather rudely.

“Drink,” Wang Jiexi reminded him with a hard glare.

Ye Xiu groaned and settled back into his seat, begrudgingly picking up the cup and starting to drink obediently.

“What sort of tea did you actually give him?” Ye Xiu asked after half of the tea had been consumed.

“Just the shincha with a sprinkling of honey-infused citrus blossoms, and the Lapsang Souchong black tea with some dried cornflower and anise hyssop,” Wang Jiexi told him, though he knew that Ye Xiu had no idea what those were.

“Did you even cast a spell on those tealeaves?” Ye Xiu’s arched a brow.

“He didn’t need the magical properties of my teas,” Wang Jiexi said with a casual shrug, “he just needed a push.”

“And how much did you charge him?” Ye Xiu’s grin started to widen.

“The usual price,” Wang Jiexi avoided his lover’s teasing gaze.

“And you didn’t even give him a friendship discount? Scoundrel.”

“I still got to make a living, don’t I?”

---

A/N: Thank you for reading until the end!

#quan zhi gao shou #qzgs #the king's avatar #yuhuang #wangye #bowie's crappy writing

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soocouldbemyonlystar · 7 years

Text

Chaebols: The Arrangement Pt2

Length: 4.8k

Pairing: Kyungsoo x OC

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3

Their honeymoon was quiet and uneventful. As promised, they flew in silence to their island honeymoon, stayed in separate bungalows, and they only saw each other for a few hours a day. In the morning, the two would tour places on the island, taking pictures of one another and even a few together to post on social media and send to family and friends. Then they ate dinner in the evening. The rest of the day was left for Jae-eun to do whatever she wanted.

They didn’t speak of the reception, if they even spoke at all.

Despite this, Jae-eun enjoyed her vacation. She spent several hours under an umbrella at the beach, was able to mark five books off of her yearly reading list, and had met a few interesting people. Best of all, Kyungsoo left her alone. She wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. She would, but for now she was happy to be on her own.

She came home, to her new home, no worse for wear. He introduced her to the maid and butler and they decided she could redesign the rooms to her liking. Jae-eun would spend more time in the house than Kyungsoo. She made quick work of redecorating and rearranging, adding her own pictures along with pictures of Kyungsoo’s family and friends. He had almost no personal items or pictures throughout the house, Jae-eun was forced to get these things from the maid, who was named Noh Na-ri and quickly became Jae-eun’s favorite person in the house, or from his mother.

Their wedding photo hung over the mantle, because that is where happy couples put it. Sometimes, when it caught her eye, she felt a pang of guilt. Not just because they were lying, but because they were so convincing. They looked happy in that photo. There was no hint of the sadness, anger, or indifference they both felt. The man and woman in that photo were in-love, standing close to each other, his arm around her waist, her face leaning close to his. Though they looked like Kyungsoo and Jae-Eun, they were strangers, like the stock photo when you buy a new picture frame.

Jae-eun added pictures of Kyungsoo and his friends from high school, even a few of her with the friends she’d made while in America. But her favorite was from their honeymoon. On one of their photo expeditions, he leaned in to get a picture of the two of them with a spectacular view of the ocean behind them. Just as he moved to take the picture, she turned her head and pressed her lips to his cheek. The resulting picture was priceless. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. They looked happy. She had felt happy when she did it. He didn’t even get mad at her for it, just gave her a little crooked smile and walked ahead.

She spent a lot of time getting acquainted with his parents. His mother was nice enough, and Jae-eun realized that was where Kyungsoo got his personality, she was just as critical as he was. His father was a ray of sunshine. He was more open and friendly, but a strict business man. Though Kyungsoo ran the company now, the board had voted him in when they returned from their honeymoon, Do Kyung-chul was always involved in any deal the company made. Jae-eun grew attached to him the quickest.

She continued in her position at her father’s company, since Kyungsoo had yet to decide if she would take a position at his. In her spare time, she learned all she could about his business, The Ganghan Company. Kyungsoo worked late most days and when he wasn’t late they ate dinner together, at opposite ends of the table, then parted ways, retiring to their separate rooms across the house from each other.

Jae-eun tried to be personable, initiating the typical married couple conversation, “how was your day, did anything interesting happen, how about this weather?”

This went on for about two weeks before Kyungsoo interrupted her.

“Jae-eun, I really wish you wouldn’t talk so much,” he told her one night.

She glared at him for a moment. His narrowed eyes focused intensely on her face, as if he was waiting for her to get angry. As if he wanted her to get angry.

“Thank God,” she sighed in a loud, over-exaggerated way, “coming up with things to say to you every night is exhausting.”

He watched her, his large eyes widened in surprise. Jae-eun finished her meal in silence and with a satisfied grin. She hated to admit it, but she loved the “deer-in-headlights” look on his face when she did something he wasn’t expecting.

After that, dinners were quiet. Jae-eun fell into a routine and learned as many details about Kyungsoo as possible, like how he would disappear for five or ten minutes after every meal, and how he would wake up at four every morning to go for a jog or exercise before work. The menu was rarely repeated because he liked trying new foods, and he usually sang when doing menial tasks.

It wasn’t a bad existence, Jae-eun preferred the silence anyways. And there were good things in her life too, like her growing friendship with Kyungsoo’s best friends. Jongdae had come several times and they were able to catch up. She had missed him more than she thought, and getting to know him again made her heart swell. Chanyeol and Minseok visited frequently and after a few weeks they began texting her daily as well. They were funny and sweet and kept Jae-eun company on the days Kyungsoo was gone.

Chanyeol had even begun confiding in her. One day, when he had stopped by, he told Jae-eun about how his father was pressuring him to take over their company PCY Entertainment. But Chanyeol didn’t want to run the business. He loved the music. He even admitted he wrote the song she didn’t recognize from the wedding. Chanyeol had told his father he wanted to be a producer, which resulted in a fight and Chanyeol moving in with Minseok. He had been hiding from his father’s men for weeks now.

Kyungsoo had been busy for several days, either coming home just to sleep, or not coming home at all. So, when Chanyeol called wanting to stop by she jumped at the chance for a ittle company.

Chanyeol and Minseok sat in the drawing room, showing Jae-eun a video of a girl he had discovered in a bar he frequented. She and Chanyeol sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the love seat while Minseok sat at the corner of the couch. The laptop was positioned on the coffee table just in front of her, a solemn sound accompanied by a powerful, sad voice, filled the room. When the song was over Chanyeol looked to Jae-Eun.

“She’s good. That’s an amazing song and the lyrics, with her voice, it’s haunting. It’s really good,” she told him.

“I couldn’t breathe when she was singing it,” he leaned over Jae-Eun’s lap to adjust the video, “When she sang this one I knew I wanted to produce her.”

“What’s going on here?” came a deep voice with the familiar ring of Kyungsoo’s annoyance.

Jae-eun jumped at the sound. Kyungsoo hadn’t given her any notice he would be home on time today.

“Oh, Kyungsoo-yah,” she said ignoring his tone, “come listen to this. Chanyeol wants to produce a song with this girl.”

“You’re still doing that?” Kyungsoo asked Chanyeol as he stepped in between the couch and love seat.

To Jae-Eun’s surprise, Kyungsoo knelt beside her leaning his arm over her leg.

“You know I have no intention of stopping.” Chanyeol replied as he leaned forward and played the video.

Kyungsoo listened quietly, his face was stoic, and Jae-Eun was sure he didn’t care for it. His eyes narrowed slightly and the tip of his tongue darted out to wet his lips. She found this particular habit fascinating. He settled in deeper beside her, his hand came up to rest on her bare knee, and her breath caught in her throat as his thumb caressed her skin. The warm path he made tingled, and she instantly regretted wearing the high waisted shorts she had expertly chosen this morning.

When it was over he nodded to Chanyeol.

“Fair warning, if you sign her, I’m buying out your company. Did she write and arrange that herself?”

“Yeah, it’s all her.”

Jae-Eun’s eyes turned to Kyungsoo’s her furrowed brows giving away her surprise.

“You know music?”

His dark gaze moved over her, “Of course I do.”

Confusing washed over her face and Minseok laughed.

“We were in a boy group in high school. We even auditioned to become trainees for SM Entertainment.”

“How did I not know this?” She giggled at the thought of Kyungsoo in a boy group. “What happened?”

“Chanyeol has no talent, and I looked like a gargoyle!” Kyungsoo explained.

“What about oppa?”

Chanyeol closed his laptop, “They made Hyung an offer, but he wouldn’t accept without the rest of us.”

“Remember the audition song we put together?” Minnie’s hand shot out and whacked Kyungsoo on the shoulder.

Jae-Eun could feel him chuckle slightly, again reminded her that his arm was still resting across her thigh.

“All I can remember is your haircut, Hyung.”

Chanyeol erupted in laughter, covering his mouth with one hand and pointing at Minseok with the other.

“I call bull. I’ve heard Chanyeol’s music, he’s beyond talented and I’ve seen pictures of all of you in high school, you were all handsome enough. I’ve even heard Kyungsoo sing, that would be enough to make you a trainee.”

Minnie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “We’re heirs, Jae-Eun-ah, there was no way all of us could get our parents to approve. Jong-in, Baekhyun and Junmyeon are the oldest sons, and Kyungsoo is the only heir. And there is no way Chanyeol’s dad would let him work for another entertainment company.”

“I understand that all too well.” She said quietly.

Silence filled the room. There had been many things Jae-Eun had wanted to do. In high school, she had tried to convince her father to let her go to art school. She loved drawing and painting, often spending hours in her room covered in charcoal and pastel chalks or oil paints. But her father pressed her to go school overseas for business. In the end, she wouldn’t disobey her father’s wishes.

Kyungsoo broke the silence. “Hyungs, have you eaten?”

It was decided then, they would stay for dinner. Minnie received a call from Junmyeon, who was then invited and bringing Yixing. Chanyeol called Baekhyun who found Jongin and Sehun. And Jae-Eun contributed by texting Jongdae. Within the hour, she was surrounded by loud, rowdy men in her kitchen.

Kyungsoo cooked! That was something she had not learned in their few months of marriage. He cooked well enough that it brought all his friends to his house to eat. They all sat around the island as Kyungsoo grilled meat and made various side dishes. Jae-Eun served beer and Soju. Her husband, she knew, took a mix of the two. He wasn’t a heavy drinker and tended to like them together.

Many things could be said about Jae-Eun, but she refused to be called less than an attentive wife.

They reminisced about auditioning for SM and how Jongin had choreographed their dance. Jongdae filmed a music video for them, which Jae-Eun promptly declared she must find and watch. Junmyeon had scheduled gigs for them, and Sehun designed their outfits.

Jae-Eun didn’t usually like to be in big, loud groups. When it involved the business, she was able to put her discomfort aside to accomplish her goals, but for her personal time she preferred a book over parties or just a couple of friends, but these men, were so easy to get along with. They were comfortable with each other and that made Jae-Eun feel comfortable as well. They treated her as if she had been a part of their group since inception. Of course, a few cups of soju loosened her up a bit as well.

Baekhyun relentlessly badgered Kyungsoo as he worked, peering over his shoulder and attempting to steal pieces of meat, which only resulted in Kyungsoo coolly slapping him across the cheek. The room erupted in laughter.

“Kyungsoo-yah!! Just a bite… one piece… I’m so hungry!” Baekhyun whined rubbing his assaulted cheek.

“Aish,” Kyungsoo huffed, pointing the fork and his friend, “Reach again and I’ll fork that hand.”

Jae-Eun laughed and poured herself another shot of Soju, but before she could drink it Chanyeol spoke up.

“Woah, Jae-eun-ah, that’s three shots now.”

“I can count, oppa.” She nodded sarcastically.

“She seems to hold it well,” Jongdae teased.

“Pour one for me.” Baekhyun commanded. “I’ll drink one with you.”

Jongin spoke up. “Hyung, Kyungsoo may not want Noona to get drunk.”

Kyungsoo didn’t bother to look back from the cutting board, “She has a mind of her own. I’m sure she knows her limit.”

Jae-Eun poured a shot for Baekhyun and he counted to three.

She threw back her head and let the warm liquid flow down her throat.

“Wow,” Chanyeol said again as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Our little sister can drink well.”

Jae-Eun sunk back into the embrace. It felt like being wrapped up in a warm Chanyeol scented blanket. It was calming and Jae-eun was glad for the interaction. She wasn’t a woman who needed constant attention and physical contact, but it was nice occasionally.

No one seemed to think anything of it.

Sehun held his glass out to her, “Noona, pour me a drink too.”

He was the youngest by just a couple of months, and Jae-Eun could see he liked to use that to his advantage. Though the others knew, they didn’t refrain from giving him what he wanted.

“Sure,” She lifted the bottle and poured despite Chanyeol’s heavy form restricting her movements.

Jongin stood from his stool, “Hyung, do you need any help?”

“Yeah,” he moved to the cabinet, and Jae-Eun thought she saw a moment of hesitation as he finally noticed Chanyeol arms around her, his eyes flickered, just a slight movement, but he continued gathering plates and bowls and placing them on the island. “Can you set the table please?”

Jongin grunted agreement and took the plates. Minseok grabbed the bowls and followed suit while Junmyeon pulled silverware out of the drawers unprompted, handing half to Yixing.

Kyungsoo finally turned to Jae-Eun.

“Jae-Eun-ah, make me another drink.” He ordered.

“Yes, Jagi,” she moved away from Chanyeol’s arms and retrieved Kyungsoo’s glass from the counter. Normally she wouldn’t respond to a command, especially not from him, but she was just relaxed enough to let him get away with it once.

The moment she was out of Chanyeol’s embrace, Kyungsoo threw the napkins at him.

“Hey,” Chanyeol yelled as the blue squares of fabric bounced off his chest and land in a heap on the floor, “Why?”

Kyungsoo made a motion as if he was going to backhand Chanyeol and Jae-Eun bit back a laugh as Chanyeol jumped and raised his arms to block a hit that wouldn’t come. He cautiously knelt to retrieve the napkins from the floor.

She mixed his drink, leaving it on the counter for him as she gathered the side dishes to move to the dining room.

“Thanks,” he said in passing.

She hummed an acknowledgement.

“Jae-eun-ah, let me help you with that.” Jongdae moved quickly to take the dishes from her.

She took the remaining side dishes to the dining room, the last four following her out with the dishes of meat.

The boys made quick work of setting the table and they were soon gathered around filling their bellies with food and talking about their current situations.

Jae-Eun watched, so entranced by the rapport these men she forgot to eat.

“Jae-Eun-ah,” Kyungsoo leaned forward, placing a cut of pork on her plate, “Eat.”

She blinked back her fascination and smiled at her husband. “Sorry, I just like hearing all of your stories from when we were younger.”

It wasn’t a lie. These men were an anomaly to her. Each one was so different than the other, but somehow, they worked well together. True brothers, not the ones you were born with, but the ones you chose to have by your side. Kyungsoo, though cold to her, was as warm as the other guys. She honestly wanted to know more.

“Noona, I think you are a little drunk.” Jongin chuckled.

“Maybe.” She took a bite of one of the sides and her eyes immediately turned to Kyungsoo. “Jagi, I didn’t know you could cook this good.”

“Kyungsoo, you haven’t cooked for her yet?” Junmyeon scolded.

“Sorry Hyung, I’ve been working far too hard these days. I’ll have to make her a special dinner soon.”

“Not even on your honeymoon?” Yixing asked.

Jae-Eun took a bite of soup and rice, the flavors were amazing.

As she took a sip of water, Kyungsoo replied, “We were on an island, and… preoccupied with other things.”

Jae-Eun choked on her water, her hand flew to her mouth as she struggled to refrain from spitting water at Chanyeol and Baekhyun across the table from her. Kyungsoo patted her hard on the back as Minseok handed her a napkin. She bowed her head in thanks since the coughing fit she was currently in the middle of stopped her from voicing it.

“Are you okay,” Kyungsoo asked, concern in his wide eye, as-well-as embarrassment in his reddened cheeks.

She nodded, eyeing Kyungsoo as he gave her a knowing smile. They both knew what other things he suggested they were preoccupied with never happened.

“Yeah,” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I think Kyungsoo’s food is enough to choke anyone up!” Jongdae teased again.

Desperate to change the subject she turned to Jongdae.

“You’re still at university, right Oppa?”

“Yes, I’m majoring in film. We have a great program.”

“And some hot female film students, am I right Jongdae-yah? Baekhyun laughed, “Why haven’t you hooked up with that study friend of yours, what was her name, Eun So-young?”

“So-young is a good friend, but I’m her senior. It wouldn’t look right if we dated, Hyung.” Jongdae explained, his cheeks tinted pink.

Baekhyun clapped Jongdae hard on the shoulder. “Well, then, it shouldn’t be any problem if I give her a call.”

“Absolutely not, Hyung, I have to work with her. I don’t want to deal with the aftermath of your “call”.” Jongdae hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, women love it when I call.” Baekhyun bragged.

“Yeah, it’s when you stop calling that it becomes a problem.” Sehun inserted, and the table erupted in laughter.

Jae Eun loved the camaraderie between them. As she watched them joke and tease, she realized there were many good things that came from her marriage to Kyungsoo. They may not get along, but he provided for her, gave her this beautiful house, partnered with her father, and introduced her to these new friends. He was a good man. Or maybe the alcohol was affecting her.

It had to be the alcohol because the sight of him, his eyes curved into crescent moons and his lips arched into a dusty-rose colored heart as he laughed at his friends, made her feel hot. He leaned forward on the table resting his chin in his hand, his thumb rubbing across his bottom lip as he listened intently. Kyungsoo and his damn thumb, and those ridiculously plump lips making her feel flush. It wouldn’t last long, she knew, they would probably get in an argument before the night was done, but right now she would appreciate it.

She realized she was staring. Not just that, but there was a stupid grin on her face. Jae-Eun sat back and shook the image and feelings out of her head. Then turned to Chanyeol’s raised eyebrows. His lips curved into a crooked smile as if he knew something she didn’t. She raised an eyebrow as well and wrinkled her nose at him before turning back to the conversation, something about Jongin overworking himself.

The conversation lasted a while longer, then slowly the guys started to say their goodbyes. Chanyeol left early with Minseok, the grin still on his face. Baekhyun claimed a sexy little thing at the club was waiting for him to find her, and Jongdae had a class in the morning. Jongin stayed behind after everyone left. Kyungsoo was close with the other guys, even closer with Chanyeol, but Jongin was his person.

Jae Eun let them talk in the drawing room and made her way to the kitchen. The Chief and Nari had been given the night off since Kyungsoo cooked, so the dishes would have to be taken care of. She didn’t mind this task; she was in a good mood, slightly buzzed and the house was practically empty so she cleared the dining room table and washed the dishes until Jongin came up behind her.

“I’m heading out, Noona.” He said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a hug.

She pulled her gloves off and wrapped him in a real hug. “Jongin-ah, you should eat well all the time, not just when Kyungsoo feeds you. And get some good rest. Don’t make me and Kyungsoo worry about you.”

“Yes, Noona,” he said with a blush on his cheeks. He was a kind and sometimes shy man, and Jae Eun was enamored with him. He worked far too hard from what she understood from their conversation. He neglected himself and she could see Kyungsoo was concerned for him.

She released him and pressed her had to his cheek, “Get home safely, and get some good sleep.”

“Good night, Noona.” He said and rejoined Kyungsoo at the door.

Jae Eun turned back to the dishes, forgetting her gloves, while Kyungsoo showed Jongin to the door. He returned a few minutes later stepping up to the sink beside her.

“That really isn’t necessary.” He said quietly. The scent of his cologne filled her senses and her shoulders rose and fell quickly as she breathed him in. Part of Jae-eun hated the times when his presence relaxed her. They were connected, whether they liked it or not, he was her support. Kyungsoo was becoming familiar, like a new tattoo, the eyes catch it because the marking is foreign, but slowly it becomes part of your body. His voice, his eyes, his scent, even his moods were becoming a part of her. For better or worse.

“Nari is off for the night and I won’t be able sleep as long as there are dirty dishes. It’s not a problem, really.”

“I’ll help then.” He took the glass she had just washed from her hands and dipped it into the clean water.

“You don’t have to. I’ll be fine, you should get some rest.”

“That’s nonsense, I made the mess cooking, I can help clean it up. Don’t argue and hand me the dishes.” He demanded.

Jae Eun complied. But after the house being full of noise, the silence was defining.

“This was nice.” She tested. Kyungsoo didn’t like small talk, but with the remainder of the alcohol in her system Jae Eun didn’t care. She wanted anything but the silence that made her think too much.

“It was. Last time we were all together was at the wedding.” He replied.

“Well we should do this more often. Your friends are charming.”

Kyungsoo didn’t reply. Jae-eun felt a little dizzy, from him, from the soju, she didn’t know. She rested her head on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind, continuing to rinse and dry the dishes.

“Do you have all my friend’s numbers now?” He asked suddenly.

“As of tonight, yes. I had most of them at the wedding, Yixing and Baekhyun gave me theirs tonight.” She smiled as she remembered each conversation that lead to the exchange of numbers.

“Why?”

The question threw her off she lifted her head and turned to Kyungsoo. “Because they are important to you. Is there a reason why I shouldn’t have your friend’s numbers?”

“You just seem rather close to some of them.”

Jae Eun turned back to the dishes. Here it came, the moment when all the good disappeared. “Say what you want to say, Kyungsoo.”

He sat a cup in the drying rack, “Don’t you think Park Chanyeol is a little high profile?”

Jae Eun scoffed as she dropped a glass in the clean water instead of handing it to him. “Are you insinuating that I’m having an affair with Chanyeol?”

“I’m just looking out for everyone. Chanyeol and his company are always in the media. If you get caught it turns out bad for all of us.”

“You really don’t think very highly of me, do you?” She smiled in disbelief.

“Jae-eun, any one here could see that you two have something going on.”

“It’s called friendship, Kyungsoo, and you seem to be the only one to have given us a second thought.” Her voice was strained and her words were clipped with her annoyance. “God, just when I think I may actually like you, you have to open that mouth.”

“He had his arms around you.”

“Yeah, Chanyeol’s a touchy-feely kind of person. You know this. You also know Chanyeol would never do that to you, so you’re really just insulting me. The hug was nice. Nobody can live devoid of physical contact all the time, Kyungsoo.”

He didn’t respond, but Jae Eun had had enough. Her blood was boiling and she felt an overwhelming need to burn off the alcohol still in her system.

“You’re such a hypocrite. I’m not really the one with prospects outside our marriage, am I? How is Mi-sun by the way? I heard she had a boy a couple of weeks ago.” She sneered.

“Lee Jae-eun,” Kyungsoo warned.

“No, cause I’m really curious. Is he yours. I think as your wife I have a right to know if you have a child with another woman.”

“Oh, you would like that wouldn’t you?” He accused.

“Now why the hell would I be happy about that?”

“Physical proof that you’re such a better person than I am. Sweet, perfect, understanding Jae-eun. And here I am having a child with another married woman. Happily treating my wife like shit.” He was yelling now. She had obviously hit a sore spot.

“It’s a horrible situation and I wouldn’t find any joy in that. It’s heart breaking,” She began to regret she brought it up, but it was the only insult she could think of that would hurt him as much as he had just hurt her.

“I don’t need your sympathy.” He spat.

“I’m not giving it to you.” Jae-eun barked back.

Kyungsoo moved toward her, getting in her space, in her air. He was too close, the heat from his body, his cologne, his breath doused with alcohol, permeated her senses. Jae-eun couldn’t breathe. And he seemed to know it. His eyes wandered slowly over her face, his lips turning up in a wicked smile.

“Well you don’t have to worry, wife. I only slept with her once and that was way before she was married. But you forget we went to school together, I remember you had quite a reputation for hanging around the upper-classmen.”

Jae Eun sighed and pulled her hands from the soapy water. She trembled with anger, “Because, a girl who is quiet, serious and doesn’t care for drama and gossip has plenty of female friends to hang out with.” The sarcasm was thick in her voice.

“The girls were less likely to mess with me when I was surrounded by my brother’s friends. I didn’t sleep with them, and I’m not sleeping with Chanyeol, despite what you think of me. I knew what I was getting into when I married you, Kyungsoo. I’m not naive, I wasn’t disillusioned, and I didn’t have a faint hope that you would fall in love with me. I know if I make this work, both of our families will continue to prosper. That is my only goal here. Trying to take your company, causing you problems, that puts everything that I’m trying to accomplish in danger. I have no interest in that.”

He said nothing, just stared at her with those deeply intense eyes that made Jae Eun feel paralyzed. She fought that urge and blinked her eyes away from him. Pulling the dishtowel from the drawer, she dried her hands and draped it over Kyungsoo shoulder. This was wearing her down. Jae Eun was out of alcohol induced adrenaline. All she wanted was to get away, get a shower and some sleep.

“You know, I think the alcohol is getting to me, Jagi, I’m going to get ready for bed. You should be able to finish here on your own. Don’t leave them for Nari.” She glanced one last time into his penetrating stare, her show of strength, then she turned away from him.

#kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo fanfiction #kyungsoo scenario #kyungsoo series #kyungsoo #exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #chaebols #yixing really is next

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libulanns · 4 years

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Y’all mind if I .... write about some traumatic moments throughout my life in excessive detail 👀 I’ve never written about this before. I just want to get it out. I won’t post about it again and might delete later. I’m tagging this ptsd.

At age 3, I would get up at night and leave the house, wandering the neighborhood alone. My parents would not notice and come looking for me until morning. At age 4, I would be sat in front of a television in a dark room all day. I was totally alone until my Dad got home from work or sister got off of school. At age 5, my mother would abandon my sister and I in public places. Random strangers would find us and start a search party to return us back to her. My Mom would take me with her to my Dad’s friends’ houses while he worked. I would hear them loudly having sex. Mom constantly told me we were running out of money and going to end up on the streets. I started obsessing over the way my clothes felt on my body and what foods were okay to eat. My parents thought I was being a brat. Believe it or not, I had my first panic attack over ketchup being on some food I was given to eat. I began having intrusive thoughts & nightmares of my parents throwing me out of a moving vehicle for some reason lol. At age 6, I watched my mother threaten to slit her wrists and kill herself. She chased my sister and I around the house. My sister tried to throw her pills away because they were making our Mom crazy. My mom responded by throwing a glass vase the size of my sister at her. She shut the door in time not to be hit and wrote a sign to hold out of our bedroom window begging people passing by to save her. I was scared so I left the house and wandered the neighborhood by myself again. At age 7, my parents separated. My Mom took me from my Dad. I watched my aunt slit her wrists. I was constantly exposed to my Mom, Aunt, and Uncles high on marijuana, a cocktail of pills, and drunk. They are all angry drunks. I watched my Uncle put all of my sister’s barbies on the grill outside and melt them. My Mom told me about everything that went wrong in her marriage to my Dad. My Aunts and Uncles lined my cousins, sister, and I up to beat us with the belt one by one. We never had enough to eat because they spent all their money on drugs, alcohol, and gambling. We mostly ate ramen noodles. My sister constantly told me I was worthless (projecting her feelings onto me). I stopped talking to kids at school. I’d start having weeks at a time where I barely said a word and nobody noticed. I wished I was dead. At age 8, I constantly missed school because my mother would be too tired to take me and the school bus didn’t come to my neighborhood. I lived in a one bedroom, roach-infested apartment that was not wired properly (if you touched the stove and fridge at the same time, you’d get electrocuted). Five people lived there at once. I slept on the floor and was terrified of roaches crawling all over me at night. My mom would leave me alone for weeks at a time without telling me where she was going or when she’d come back. She tried to get me to live with her boyfriend eventually; half of the house did not have electricity. The bathroom in the room they had me sleep in was infested with mosquitos. There was no running water and my Mom bathed me with a bucket from the hose outside. Roaches would crawl on me at night there, too. They had a fight and she tried to leave but he locked us in the house. She told me she was terrified he was going to hurt us and worked out a plan for me to jump over the outside gate, run to someone, and ask them to call the police. She started driving me around the city while she was drunk. We came so close to hitting cars and causing huge accidents. I screamed bloody murder. I rolled the window down and screamed for somebody to help me. I thought I was going to die. At age 12, I missed almost the entirety of seventh grade because I was too afraid to leave my baby brother home alone. My Mom constantly left for days at a time without contacting me. We constantly ran out of food. I watched my Aunt destroy things and threaten to kill herself. I watched my Uncle beat my cousin black and blue. My Mom let me go on a diet to lose weight, because I was overweight from eating garbage all the time. I ended up having a kidney stone. My Mom was afraid of the cost of the ambulance, so she accused me of exaggerating and faking my pain for hours before my Uncle finally called one. The doctors did not give me any pain medicine for hours because they assumed I was pregnant. The kidney stone was 2 cm shy of needing to be surgically removed. My Mom got drunk and told me she was going to send me away, threw all of my things in a suitcase, and chased me outside. I was terrified and wanted to get away from her. She chased me all the way down the street to the park but she left when she saw other people were watching. At age 13, I lived with my Dad. His wife emotionally abused me. She shamed me for my period, and constantly told me I stunk because I did not want to wear tampons and wore pads instead. She told me I was fat, ugly, creepy, and that I would die alone. She’d put things in the food she knew I was disgusted by so I wouldn’t have anything to eat. I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen to cook other things. She blamed me for the mess her sons made; I had to clean after both she and them. When I gave up and started staying in my room all day, she tried to force me to stay outside. They talked to me about their sex life in detail. I heard them loudly having sex frequently. I said I was disgusted by sex. They told me I would want sex one day soon. My Dad tried to forcibly put me on the birth control pill because he said he knew I would have sex soon. I begged my grandfather to tell him not to do it. His wife would get me drunk because she thought it was funny. I watched them scream and throw things at each other. My Dad would promise me he knew what she was doing to me and that he’d leave her soon, and then the next day, tell me he never said that. They separated. I started having nightly panic attacks. I told my grandparents what was happening and they said they couldn’t be sure it was really happening because they didn’t live with me. My step grandmother told me my Mom abandoned me. I started having memory problems. I couldn’t stand being touched or people being too close to me anymore. I began having intrusive thoughts about people poisoning me so I stopped eating and drinking anything anyone else made. At age 15, my Dad would leave the house for weeks at a time and not tell me where he was. I’d have no way of contacting him. He did not buy me school supplies or clothes. He screamed at me whenever I asked. He called me a bitch all the time. He’d constantly be drunk, high, or both. He sold all the furniture in my room one by one to buy weed and fake urine. I had my first panic attack at school. I cut off all of my friends. I couldn’t talk to people anymore. At age 16, I went back with my Mom. Her husband was a predator. He’d stand outside my bedroom window at night, watch me through the window in the bathroom, make sexually charged comments at me, and masturbate to porn in the bathroom. He did the same to my sister. He took the locks off of our bedroom doors, and broke them so they couldn’t close all the way. I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow. I started having worsening panic attacks at school. I stopped going to school. I stopped sleeping. I started obsessively locking the doors at night. He started taking my little brother in the bedroom with him and locking the door. I was terrified. I told my Mom and she said I just didn’t want her to be happy. My memory problems got worse; I could no longer remember entire years of my life. We never had anything to eat. I lost a lot of weight and got a vitamin deficiency. I frequently missed school because I obsessed over the way my clothes felt. I would take every single item of clothing I owned and throw it all on the floor and get into a fit of rage every morning before I gave up and put on my pajamas and got back in bed. I suddenly became totally irrationally mortified of roaches; every time I saw one, I would just scream until I went numb with pure terror. And then I somehow also became irrationally terrified of planes crashing into my house. At age 17, I started therapy. My therapist diagnosed me with OCD and PTSD. She didn’t have the training to do ERPT with me so she just did talk therapy with me as though I had anxiety. It didn’t help much. I told her about what my Mom’s husband was doing to us and she told me it wasn’t normal. I told my Dad and he insisted I move back with him again. I was too afraid to stay in the same house with his wife again. She played nice and pretended nothing ever happened. My Dad said overtime, he had accepted that everything was his fault and she never did anything wrong. I had an ovarian cyst rupture and they refused to take me to the hospital. They told me it was just a “bad period” and gave me ginger snaps and xanax. I moved in with my grandparents. I still had intrusive thoughts of my family member who was driving the car just stopping and telling me to get out in a random place. It was something i actively feared every time I got in a car with someone. At age 18, my compulsive checking behaviors were extreme and preventing me from doing much of anything. I couldn’t even read without doing it anymore. I was having three to four panic attacks per day. I had extreme insomnia. I kept trying to get help at the doctors. They gave me zoloft, which gave me suicide ideation. I confided in my Aunt and grandfather these thoughts. They screamed in my face, told me they hated me, that I was a worthless coward, and called the police on me. I was terrified and ran away from them. The police followed me. My step grandmother would get drunk and throw things at me. She would slam things around me and not speak to me for weeks. My Aunt did exactly the same thing. Every single person in my family mocked me for trying to talk about my mental problems with them. They constantly reminded me that they were doing me a favor by letting me live with them and if I was unhappy I could get the fuck out. I was constantly afraid they would kick me out. I stopped telling them anything that wasn’t mindless praise and constant pleasantries because I didn’t want them to have any reason to kick me out. My dad invited me over to his house one day and I got flashbacks. I had a panic attack and left. I stopped talking to him too. I gained weight. I start obsessively checking my rearview mirror when driving because I was terrified I was going to hit a pedestrian. At age 19, I got into a relationship. He pressured me sexually, constantly. He constantly ignored me to talk to other people and do other things. He never put down his phone when we were together. He pressured me to bend to his whim on my most cherished beliefs. Everything was an argument/debate. He shamed me for criticizing anything he did. He gaslit me constantly. I started remembering many things I had forgotten. My panic attacks were far less frequent over time, but I noticed I wasn’t interested in doing anything anymore. I frequently found myself sitting and staring at the wall for hours. I started randomly sobbing violently and uncontrollably whenever I got in my car. I missed an important meeting at school because I was obsessing over my clothes and couldn’t leave the house again. I stopped cooking for my family because I was afraid I was going to poison them or make them sick due to improper cooking. At age 21, my one Aunt who called the police on me apologized for it. She said she never should have done that. It was the first time any of the adults in my family had ever apologized to me for anything. I found out my boyfriend had been cheating on me for our entire relationship; he has dozens of accounts on secret social medias and dating sites and was actively speaking to other women and his ex all those times he ignored me. My sister was almost beaten by her partner at the time I found out. I was away from her and overwhelmed with fear that she would die. I still have frequent bouts of heavy sobbing that don’t seem to be related to anything. I have insomnia. I have flashbacks and panic attacks triggered by weird sensory things. I don’t have a relationship with my parents, grandparents, aunts, or uncles. I have no real life friends. I don’t speak to others often. I frequently self-isolate. I can feel fine one moment and the next I’m nonverbal and bawling my eyes out. I’m still terrified of roaches and I literally scream and duck onto the floor when planes fly too close overhead. I’m going to be 22 soon. I’m not sure who I am outside of my trauma. I’m trying to stay positive. I’m writing this as I’m struggling with more insomnia. I don’t know who I am and most days feel joyless but you know what. I’m alive. I’m still here. I don’t have to be a victim anymore because I can fight back now. I’m not helpless anymore. I’m not dependent anymore. I will protect myself. This is what I tell myself. It makes me feel a little better. None of my symptoms have lessened at all but part of me feels better somehow. I know I need more therapy but don’t have any way of getting that atm.

#ptsd #its a gemini moon so its time to grossly overshare #me and my sister and cousins were grossly disgustingly neglected our whole entire lives

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lifeoflaurynn-blog · 4 years

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The Reality of the Disconnect From Mental Health in CUNYs and SUNYs

By: Lauryn Garcia

Jhoana sat down on the bed. On top of the pile of dirty clothes, beside the overflowing pail of garbage. In front of the overcrowded desk that had piles of notes she crammed into her head the night before. Her notebook laid open from when she was completing homework she had no idea how to do. She didn’t know what to do, who to talk to, how to not feel alone. And it was only her second semester in college.

Jhoana Amate-Perez is a 19 year old student who now attends Lehman College. She lives in the Bronx with her three sisters and her parents. She works in a bakery in Manhattan and hangs out with her friends on her spare time. When she graduated high school in 2018, she went straight to college 5 hours away at SUNY Geneseo. She was accepted through the AOP Program, and stood for a summer orientation the summer of 2018. After spending a year and a half and completing three semesters, she decided to leave and come back to New York City to attend CUNY Lehman College. Just like Jhoana, many students do not feel hopeful in finishing out their degree because of distance, the lack of preparation, and the lack of support in regards to studies and mental health at college, and tend to go back home and attend schools there.

When Jhoana left for the AOP Summer Program in summer 2018, she was really looking forward to the next four years of her life. She had been looking forward to this since graduation. She wanted the freedom. She wanted the independence. She wanted to experience the parties and the new relationships that would enter her life. But she didn’t expect for her college experience to end up like this.

“As I got through my first semester of college, I noticed that I wasn’t as prepared as I thought it was…but in terms of what was to come in terms of living and stuff like that…like obviously I wasn’t prepared for that.” The very basic fact of not living at home and being in a new environment was enough of a stress on Jhoana.

Never having lived on her own, in addition to being in an urban environment, she felt this feeling of homesickness. She didn’t know what to do on her own, and she missed the rush of living in the greatest city in the world; New York City. “Just the environment, like going to school in an urban environment and then going to school in a rural area, with all these white people when I never went to school with anyone that was white was different.” The change in peers was an even bigger change because. Being a person of color and not having many people of color to be friends with was hard for her. She felt as though she had no one to relate to, and this feeling of loneliness took an even bigger toll than being in a new environment did.

One of the biggest factors that impacted Jhoana was simply the work load that was expected of them. Even the type of work that was expected from the students was problematic, and not because of sheer laziness: “I don’t know if it’s in all SUNYs but in Geneseo, the rigor of the school was almost like if I was going to a prestigious private school… and I feel like the work load was exaggerated and the expectations were set too high. Even though I was a really hard worker in high school, going there was a setback in the effort I had, and it was like the intelligence that I brought from high school was not enough to do good there.”

It is not uncommon for adolescents and new college students to suffer from mental instability and depression. But the stress from pending economic stability and difficult college pressure makes the pressure for success worse. Additionally, the 2016 UCLA Higher Education Research Institute survey showed that “12 percent of college freshmen say that they are frequently depressed… Not only does school sometimes contribute to depression, depression can also interfere with school.” It is a vicious cycle of students in college. Students become stressed because of the college process and the work they have to do. And because of this stress they can become depressed. And because of this depression they begin the do worse in school. And since they do worse, it mentally affects them, and could cause them to become more depressed, anxious, or sad. According to Newport Academy, “85 percent of college students report feeling overwhelmed by everything they have to do”.

Over time, Jhoana began to notice her mental health declining. She would always sleep in late, miss class, find herself crying over her schoolwork, and avoid confronting her responsibilities. And as obvious as this change in behavior and attitude would seem, she never had anyone from school ask if she was okay. When asked about the things her school did to bring awareness and help about mental health, she says it was not enough to be helpful: “In terms of mental health there wasn’t much awareness… like they tried but it was only like oh let’s have a meeting where people come and talk and not something to make sure you’re actually okay.”

Not only did Jhoana notice her mental health declining, so did her family. When asked about the change they noticed in Jhoana, her older sister Fatima states: “She never called anyone. I would hear from her maybe once a week, and that’s only if I called her”. She continues to explain, “…and every time I did speak to her, she was quiet, she looked as if she had been crying and hadn’t been sleeping. It was bad”.

After leaving SUNY Geneseo, Jhoana went back home to The Bronx to attend CUNY Lehman College. When asked why she never went to a CUNY to begin with she states: “I overlooked them simply because I was looking to get away from home. I wanted to do my own thing. I wanted to have a college experience like in the movies and it didn’t turn out that way.” She then adds: “I feel like SUNYs are held on this pedestal because it's like the closest thing you can get to a private school without paying thousands of dollars. If I had known that my experience with a SUNY was gonna go the same way it did, I definitely would’ve chosen a CUNY to begin with. First because it’s a lot cheaper but it’s pretty much the same academics. The way it’s set up gives you more leniency but also gives you more time to experience different classes than in a SUNY. SUNYs are very direct with major credits and gen ed’s and all that. But CUNYs gives you the opportunity to take classes you didn’t know you were able to. And that’s the whole point of college, learning different things in different types of classes with different topics. Not only take classes in the thing you’re majoring in.”

Many chose to go to a school with a good reputation, but according to Jhoana, “They demanded so much from you and in a sense that was more of a disadvantage than it was an advantage because you weren’t allowed that type of freedom which is what people are told you get when you go to college.”

A year later, Jhoana sat on her bed. On top of the made covers, beside the organized desk, in front of her notebook. She had just finished her assignment with no confusion, and had nothing left to do for the rest of the night. She checked her email, closed her laptop, and took a shower. She laid in her bed, and turned on Netflix. She didn’t feel overwhelmed, she felt good. There wasn’t any burden on her shoulders. It was her fourth semester in college. And her first in a CUNY. The change she decided to make changed everything. It changed her education. It changed her mental health. It changed her life. It changed everything for the better, just like she wanted.

Sources:

- https://www.newportacademy.com/resources/mental-health/adolescent-depression-in-schools/

- https://www.google.com/search?q=college+caps+in+air&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiEycPlub7pAhXUPt8KHdbICJkQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=college+caps+in+air&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIGCAAQCBAeOgQIABBDOgIIADoGCAAQBRAeOgQIABAeUMavBFij0ARg-dIEaABwAHgAgAHDAYgB3g2SAQQwLjEymAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWc&sclient=img&ei=4ArDXoTZAdT9_AbWkaPICQ&bih=722&biw=1022&rlz=1C5CHFA_enUS883US883&hl=en#imgrc=6gO-v5Z-n6tcaM&imgdii=5kp0IGG_zMo-HM

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scripttorture · 7 years

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Interrogation as Torture

Interrogation is probably the scenario that comes to most Western people’s minds when torture is mentioned. The belief that torture can be used during interrogation is heavily ingrained in Western pop culture whether the story believes it ‘works’ or not.

I’m going to go over some of the most common misconceptions about what bringing torture to the interrogation table does and does not do.

Tell the Truth

‘Care must be exercised when making use of rebukes, invectives or torture as it will result in his telling falsehoods and making a fool of you.’ Japanese Kempeitai manual found in Burman 1943

‘The use of force often has the consequence that the person being interrogated under duress confesses falsely because he is afraid and as a consequence agrees to everything the interrogator wishes.’ Indonesian interrogation manual, East Timor, 1983

‘Intense pain is quite likely to produce false confessions concocted as a means of escaping from distress.’ CIA Kubark Counterintelligence Manual 1963

I can’t prove conclusively that in the history of the world torture has never ever once produced accurate information. Overwhelmingly often it does not. There are several reasons why.

Torture produces a lot of lies. Both people with information and people without information have a good reason to lie under torture. And they both do. The person with information does not want to give it up. The person without information needs to say something to make the torture stop.

Humans are bad at telling when someone is lying. When tested even people who think they’re good at spotting lies can’t do it consistently. It can be almost impossible to tell who is hiding something and who genuinely doesn’t know what’s going on. A person under torture might have already told the truth and started lying when the interrogator didn’t believe them. Which is exactly what happened to Shelia Cassidy when she was tortured in Chile in the 70s.

Pain and stress destroy the human memory. Experiments with willing volunteers have repeatedly shown that stress, pain and lack of sleep make it difficult for people to remember. A 2004 paper using US military survival school as the ‘high stress situation’ which simulated capture and interment as a POW (C A Morgan et al, International Journal of Law and Psychiatry 27, 265-279) found that between 51-68% of soldiers identified the wrong person as their interrogator. Interrogations had lasted four hours with the interrogator shouting at and manhandling the volunteers. The low stress group identified the wrong person 12-38% of the time.

Torture results in loss of public trust. Most police and intelligence investigations live or die on public support. People coming forward voluntarily with accurate information. People reporting on suspects. In the long term torture actively recruits for the opposing ‘side’. According to the IRA this is exactly what happened in Northern Ireland when the British used torture. It also happened in Aden and to a lesser extent Cyprus.

Torture in short produces more lies than truth and in such a mixture that it can be hard to tell which is which. Because of the pain it causes torture can make it impossible for victims who want to tell the truth to actually do so accurately. And because of the effect it has on communities it often makes it harder to gather accurate information through more reliable sources.

Accuracy in torture is so poor it is ‘in some cases less accurate than flipping a coin’. (No that isn’t exaggeration, that’s a quote from D Rejali who literally wrote the book)

The Ticking Bomb

The famous ‘ticking-bomb’ scenario is a fictional situation (it literally came from a novel, written by a suspected torturer) where a disaster (such as a bomb attack) is known to be approaching and in order to save innocent lives the characters need more intel fast.

So they start debating whether to use torture.

Depending on the story and the characters they sometimes do torture. Usually if they do it gives them information they then use to save lives.

There’s another problem, aside from the total lack of accuracy for information that comes from torture. Torture takes as long or longer than other interrogation techniques.

According to the CIA’s own records detainees were put through several days of sleep deprivation before interrogation. The Senate Torture Report (testimony from Ali Soufan) estimated that their torture techniques took 30 days.

According to British records and accounts from the IRA during the Troubles a single torture session by ‘walling’ (sleep deprivation, white noise and stress positions combined) could last between nine and forty three hours.

I’ve selected the following quotes to give an idea of the time frame for short tortures used in interrogation. Both are from Northern Ireland by Irish men detained by the British. Emphasis is mine.

‘One powerfully built RUC detective would keep me pinned in a position while the other one would hold my elbow then press back on my wrist. And that could last for an hour or possibly two hours. And it’s excruciatingly painful, to the extent that I remember after three or four days I would simply go unconscious-’ Tommy McKearney

‘When I was taken away from Girdwood to be interned, I thought I had been there for about eight days, but it was only three. I later realised I was only being allowed to sleep for ten minutes at a time.’ Joe Docherty

Interrogation always takes time. And that time is measured in days not minutes.

Sanitised Portrayals

‘NO useful information so far….He did vomit a couple of times during the water board with some beans and rice. It’s been 10 hours since he ate so this is surprising and disturbing.’ Senate Torture Report, from quoted emails SSCI 2014, 41-42

For me this is one of the most noticeable differences between torture in pop culture and torture in reality. Torture in films and books is always sanitised.

I don’t mean that it isn’t gory or isn’t gory ‘enough’. Blood seems to be a cinematic staple and seeing the hero beaten and bloodied in a dingy lit room has become standard in a certain sort of action story.

What I’m talking about are the body fluids and products we’re trained to think are less acceptable. Vomit. Urine. Mucus. Faeces.

I can think of several movies where a ‘good-guy’ gets beaten to a bloody pulp on screen. I can’t think of any where they piss themselves. But losing control of bladder and bowel function seem to be pretty common in real life. A lot of the eyewitness accounts I’ve read about systematic torture mention the smell of urine and shit.

Vomiting is something I don’t see mentioned as often in survivor accounts but I think it’s very likely to occur frequently because a lot of common methods of torture produce nausea.

The ‘Tough’ Interrogator

‘It may be only later, outside of that specific environment, that the torturer may question his or her behaviour, and begin to experience psychological damage resulting from involvement in torture and trauma. In these cases, the resulting psychological symptoms are very similar to those of victims, including anxiety, intrusive traumatic memories and impaired cognitive and social functioning.’ Psychologists Mark Costanzo and Ellen Gerrity.

‘Those techniques [CIA ‘enhanced interrogation’ techniques] are so harsh it’s emotionally distressing to the people who are administering them.’ Dr James Mitchell, psychologist involved in the CIA’s EIT program.

‘We are where we are- and we’re left popping our Prozac and taking our pills at night.’ Anonymous torturer quoted in Cruel Britannia

There’s a growing body of evidence that torture has a negative psychological effect on the torturer.

The evidence is for the most part anecdotal, based on patterns emerging across interviews. Torturers, funnily enough, don’t show up in droves for psychological studies. But there is a pattern. One of substance abuse, addiction, PTSD and suicide.

The cause of these symptoms in torturers is the same thing that causes trauma in people who witness horrific things. It is well known that seeing violent attacks on others can cause trauma in witnesses.

Humans are empathic creatures.

There is a measurable, automatic response in the brain to seeing others in pain. We can not control it and we can not stop it. Even when we are told that the other person is anaesthetized our brains still respond to their perceived pain.

This, combined with the destruction of normal social interaction and dehumanisation, appears in a very real sense to harm torturers.

If you’re planning to use torture as part of an interrogation scene it’s worth noting that some torturers do believe torture is a useful way to get information, despite the evidence. Some of them cling to the idea that they had to torture, that what they did was useful and saved lives. Some of them seem to overplay the value of torture in order to justify their own actions and jobs.

None of that makes them immune to the effect of torturing another human being.

Disclaimer

[Additional Sources-

‘Torture and Democracy’, Princeton, D Rejali (Only order this if you’ll be at home to pick it up, at over 850 pages it’s a monster)

‘Accuracy of eyewitness memory for person encountered during exposure to highly intense stress’, The International Journal of Law and Psychiatry C A Morgan, G Hazlett, A Doran, S Garrett, G Hoyt, P Thomas, M Baranoksi, S M Southwick, 2004 (This team have actually done a series on high stress situations and the effects on memory. Charles Morgan is the first author on this set of papers.)

‘Audacity to Believe’ Cleveland, S Cassidy

‘Why Torture Doesn’t Work: The Neuroscience of Interrogation.’ Harvard University Press, S O’Mara (Highly recommended, reasonably accessible for a layman)

‘Cruel Britannia: A Secret History of Torture.’ Portobello Books, I Cobain (Very good history, although the author doesn’t seem to understand many of the techniques he writes about)

‘What are you feeling? Using Functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging to Assess the Modulation of Sensory and Affective Responses during Empathy for Pain’, PLoS ONE, C Lamm, H C Nusbaum, A N Meltzoff, J Decety 2007 (The experiments in this paper include brain scans of people seeing photos of a needle and a hand in various different positions, some of which would be painful. There wasn’t much change in brain response if the volunteers were told the hand couldn’t feel pain.)]

#tw torture #interrogation #torturers #effects of torture on torturers #ways torture fails #memory #human ability to tell truth from lies #ticking bomb deconstructed #time frames for torture #bodily fluids #O'Mara #Rejali #Morgan #Masterpost

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planetwalker · 7 years

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Reflections on 6 years of sobriety

Today, May 18th, I officially have not had a drop of alcohol in my system for six years. It has been a long road, and without the support of my family, my friends, and my therapist I would likely be dead or in prison. More that likely, dead. Also, I would like to thank a doctor I knew personally (she shall remain nameless) who risked her professional career by prescribing me medicine to keep me from going into seizures when I quit drinking the first time at twenty (for a year and a half), because of my refusal to go to rehab or do it any other way than in my house, alone. I woke myself up with an alarm every four hours for over ten days to manually check my own blood pressure and administer the medicine that would keep me alive and not convulsing, seizing, or having delirium tremens. It wasn't pretty.

My alcoholism had taken me to a depth of insanity that ended in me finally drinking nearly a 1.5 liter bottle of hard liquor a day, plus beer to wash it down. That's when your tolerance has beaten you so far into the ground that you pretty much just wake up and begin drinking again. There's just not enough time in the day to drink that much otherwise. That is no exaggeration. From about 10am until 5am the next morning, I would drink whiskey in a nearly constant way. There would often only be a half-inch of the largest bottles of liquor they sell left in my freezer by morning. A hair of the dog that bit me, which would get me to the liquor store for a fresh new dog. I think I spent about 25 dollars a day on booze for those 5 last (and worst) years after my initial relapse. That's about 45,000 dollars, more than triple what I have ever made in a year of my working life.

On this sixth anniversary of sobriety though, I'm not really reflecting on my accomplishments in the past, but I'm using it as an opportunity to talk about something far more deadly and much more hard for me to deal with, or speak about. I have to begin at the beginning, but every word of this is difficult to write, I will try my best to speak openly and honestly.

After many years of denial, after being psychologically tested at fourteen years old and severely misdiagnosed and mismedicated, put on lithium, and poisoned to a point of amnesia. After a week in a psychiatric hospital at twenty due to suicidal ideation, and after eleven more years of waiting (including these six sober years), I finally went to a psychiatrist to get a full mental health assessment, at the behest of my family. A multitude of tests, by the most progressive and up to date standards were administered by an expert clinician. I waited to hear the conclusion I pretty much have known my whole life was coming: I have Bipolar II, without a shadow of a doubt, and on the nose.

The good news: I have rote number memorization in the 99th percentile, as well as a smattering of other high-functioning brain abilities that I cannot take any real credit for. I just know how to memorize and remember things in a way that seems insane to most people. I can recite texts I read when I was ten forwards and backwards. I once made a rap out of the alphabet being recited backwards. I remember memorizing decks of randomized playing cards as a kid, just for fun, to see if I could name the last card in the deck. I found out many years later after requesting my transcripts that my IQ had been tested at fourteen as well during those psych exams and largely said the same thing, I was in the 99.975 percentile, something like 151. Unfortunately then, their only concern was me being able to "sit down and listen in school", which I found to be impossible, boring, and frustrating to the point that acting out was my only recourse. I remember refusing to say the pledge of allegiance in the 4th grade after reading a book on my own about the genocide of American Indians, and the horrors of slavery instituted by the very same people who wrote these documents. I was a little shit, too smart for my own good, and I needed to be controlled.

I was expelled from school in the 6th grade for printing out "The Devil's Cookbook" (essentially a bomb making guide, and anarchist literature), from the schools library, hundreds of pages. I went to a "democratic school" run by hippies for the rest of the year where I mostly skateboarded and flirted with girls. I spent 7th grade with my father living in South Africa, and was quickly shuffled out of middle school after arriving back halfway through 8th grade. They couldn't wait to get rid of me. My one saving grace was my music teacher named Ken Johnson, who always let me stay late after school and practice guitar, piano, singing. I don't think I could have finished that year without his support, he turned me on to great music I never would have heard. Mostly, he just got that was talented and interesting, and not just a little shit. That pretty much ended my formal education. I read manuals and textbooks in my spare time and proceeded to get my GED at 15 and tested again to receive a stamped and signed high school diploma (with honors!) from the Rockville Board of Education (the same document all my fellow graduating seniors would get at 18, after wandering the halls for four years of the hellhole I abandoned). I still think skipping high school was the smartest decision I ever made in my life. I have never met anyone who says they learned almost anything in high school except "I still have friends that I know on Facebook", which really says a lot. I was accepted into The Evergreen State College two days before my sixteenth birthday. I had not filled out the small line that asked for age on the application, and apparently nobody noticed. I flew across the country to Olympia, Washington that spring and began my studies in creative writing, ecology, and a self-created major with my friend Sky Cosby: "Liberating the voices of incarcerated youth", which we had a brilliant and very optimistic professor graciously sign off on. We called it "Celldom Heard". We threw a great hip-hop showcase in Red Square that year, as well as producing a DIY chapbook of prisoner literature. My drinking career also really took off at this time, as I was a seventeen year old on a college campus thousands of miles away from home. My gambling too, playing poker anywhere I could, often at seedy clubs and online with a pre-paid debit card, as well as hosting poker tournaments with everyone I knew and could convince to lose their money to me. I could do anything I wanted. I never lied about my age, but simply refused to tell anyone for quite a long time. Age is just a number, right? Says any self-righteous seventeen year old.

My grandiosity surely impressed people; I have been a performer since as long as I can remember (my mother always jokes that I was ready to go entertain people since I left the womb). A magician at five, playing piano and performing music by ten; writing, slamming poetry at the national championships at fifteen, it never stopped. I was in the center of the room, and I thought that meant something, not just that I was an egomaniac, sure to be on the cover of Rolling Stone by the time I was twenty-one. My parents couldn't understand why I could never get up for school, they didn't know till years later that I would put a towel under my door to block the light and stay up all night reading and writing, until about 5:30, where I would sleep for thirty minutes before my father came down the hall to wake me up for the bus. I don't know how I survived. Years pass; trying to drink my hypomania away, trying, jamming alcohol down my throat followed by NyQuil, Ambien, Benedryl, all to try to just get to sleep, that one unattainable goal I could never quite reach. At some point my dreams just disappeared into darkness. As the years progressed further, some of the darker sides of hypomania began to present themselves; impulsive spending, reckless gambling, strings of unhealthy sexual relationships, all of which were doomed to failure from the start. Anger, rage, darkness, depression, and finally, the scariest points of this last year of my life: Mixed-Episodes.

In the past year and a half, I have had to experiment with a regimen of drugs until finally finding the right dosage and medicine to help me live a functional life. And as much as people can be proud of you for conquering alcohol, it's a much harder beast to speak out about your mental illness. I remember once going on a date, and the first thing my date started talking about was her "crazy bipolar ex-boyfriend", he was an "alcoholic too, so I'm so glad you don't drink". What to even say? I'm a fucking mess, girl, you don't want to get anywhere near me, trust me. And what to do? Deny, deflect, and continue to function (sobriety will buy you a lot of time in doing this, as you can use it as an excuse that you've gotten help and are doing fine). Hypomania, actually also keeps you functioning at such a high level. I have been able to operate on about 4-5 hours of sleep for as long as I can remember. I produce music all night in my solitary zen wonderland, read about 3-4 non-fiction books a week, about topics from psychophysiology to economics to super-string theory. Memoirs about drug abuse to politics to mountain climbing. Anything I could get my hands on. People wondered at work out loud often to me "where do you find the time?!". My response was always the same: I am awake and doing things when you are asleep. My hours of extra work were from 10pm-5am. That's seven hours of intense, single-minded focus that hypomania can provide you with, and it is a very very hard thing to want to give up, especially if your depressive spells are severe, but not all that frequent.

This went on for years. I traveled the world, studied all manners of healing and spirituality, motorcycling through the dirty terrain of Cambodia at night, swerving around cattle barely visible until hitting the glint of my low-beams, yards ahead. Being chased by wild dogs on a night I was sure I was going to die and be ripped to pieces. Nothing could stop me. Ever. I was a star exploding at light speed through the galaxy, burning as bright as anything you had ever seen, but sure to collapse upon it's own weight and gravity eventually. I paid this no mind, as I had decided at about twelve that I was sure I would never make it to my 30th birthday alive. I didn't really want to. I wanted to live, hard, fast, intense, non-stop, now. I came pretty close to making that pact a reality. I'm only 31 now, but this year I finally made strides to comprehend and look deeply at who I am and what is happening to me, and what factors are chemical imbalances in my brain, rather that just my insane hyperactivity. I had never even thought to blame anyone but myself. Or thank anyone but myself. My choices were my fault. Everyone else's judgements about me were right, but fuck them, I didn't care, I'll move on to someone else who sees the good parts with the darkness hidden.

The mixed episodes began, and got worse quickly. This is where you have the intensity of the hypomania mixed with the self-hatred of the deepest and darkest depression you have ever felt. Suddenly all that energy I had to conquer the world was turned inwards into a pattern of suicidal ideation, agoraphobia, blowups with close friends, despising my family, hanging up on my father after screaming matches, all of it, more. So much more I can't even write it all down. It was the hardest time of my life, a thousand times harder than my worst days of drinking, without a doubt. At least then I had something to numb out the pain, something to try and quell the manic thoughts and get some sleep. I always used to say "drinking *is* a coping skill, it's just not a healthy one." It's true. Now, instead, I had hypersomnia, sleeping 14 hours a day, unable to get out of bed, whole weeks where I never left my house, fear of everything outside. I was so scared I bought a gun. Then I was scared that I had a gun in my house. Worried I might shoot myself, or worse, mistake some passerby as a burglar and shoot some innocent stranger. Afraid and anxious about the outside world, uncontrollable sobbing for hours at a time, the inability to pull myself out of it for more than 20 minutes before collapsing back into the despair and pain I can't describe as anything short of brutal psychological torture.

The first doctor I saw in New Orleans (who I later found out accepted thousands of dollars from big pharma, of course) told me outright that he didn't care about the tests, he was sure I had Bipolar I, which is much scarier and involves hallucinations, delusional thinking (I am Barack Obama, people are out to get me, etc.), psychosis, and far worse symptoms. He prescribed me tranquilizers that nearly killed me in the following three months. My depression worsened. He suggested I up my dosage. I declined. I am very fortunate and lucky that he was wrong about me having Bipolar I, and that I have the lesser of these two evils, and I never forget that.

That didn't matter though: my agoraphobia worsened to the point that I couldn't get into my car, could barely make it to my porch to check my mail. I didn't go grocery shopping for three months and ate chinese food ever night. Agoraphobia, means literally "fear of the public square", and comes from our (very smart) reptile brains that were afraid of the open savannah. This is because birds of prey could see us from above and pick us off while exposed without a tree to hide beneath. It is a very primal instinct, and hard to counteract. My anxiety attacks got worse and worse, the medication wasn't helping, it was making things worse, but I continued to swallow them down, convinced I was just adjusting. I was not.

My parents finally begged me to come home to Connecticut and see a doctor who was a specialist with Bipolar males of my age, and after months of fighting them off, I reluctantly agreed. And he likely saved my life. He took my off the tranquilizer immediately, and I began to experience emotions again. Not great ones, but at least something. And then I was put on Lamictal, the only Bipolar medication that has been approved for Bipolar II and come on the market since Lithium did in 1948. Lithium is the aforementioned drug that I refused to ever try again, after I was put on it at fourteen, and which cost me a year of my life I can barely recall but for hazy half-memories, lost in a sea of white noise. And to the gracious angels, goddesses, or simply to the smart psychiatrists diagnosing me correctly and providing me with a plan of action including proper medication and therapy, have saved my life.

I cook dinner every night. I went to the grocery store the other day, then the bank, then the post office. I didn't even mind. It felt kind of great. I always ask how people are doing, a habit I've always done. It's amazing how the little things can go such a long way. When I call Cox to complain that my internet has gone out again, I always start with "Hey, my name is Sam Dillon, how are you doing today?". The other night I was met with "No one has asked me that in a week". Try it, it's pretty fun. Sometimes a grocery store clerk will literally break down in tears and tell you about her bad day. That happened not to long ago too. I still go to sleep late still, up reading books, but when I'm ready to fall asleep, I drift off into the odd and vivid dreams I remember having since I was a child, the same ones that disappeared for more than a decade. I am on the path to recovery, not there yet, and as with my alcoholism, I take small steps and don't get ahead of myself.

I was born with a strange chemical imbalance, not much different that someone with diabetes or anemia or Crohn's disease or autism. The large difference is the stigma. When you are an impulsive, grandiose, gambling, alcoholic maniac, nobody gives you much slack that you can't just "get your life together", "fix your problems", or simply "stop acting this way". There is no discussion of treatment (other than AA, a religious doctrine started by holocaust-deniers, sorry AA folks), not much in the way of offering help, a lot of blame and a small amount of empathy. You can only burn so many bridges before people don't want to come near you. And I've burned a lot. Lost of a lot of good friends. Sometimes I'm amazed that most of my family still even talks to me. Some of them barely do. I understand. I empathize. I get it. I know why, even though I know they also just don't understand what I have been struggling with my whole life and simply blame me and say I "always play the victim".

I have not been easy to deal with for many, many years. Even in sobriety I have been a raging asshole to deal with at times. At the height of my hypomanic episodes I have been explosive, unpredictable, and stubborn beyond belief. Impossible to deal with. I have always been this way, in a sense, and for many years, it served me. I skipped high school completely, choosing to get my education through books, following politics and world affairs, listening to everything around me, absorbing knowledge and skills like a sponge, learning from the world and by trial and (a lot of) error. When I made a decision, there was no challenging me or changing my mind. I followed my gut to the ends of the earth and back. Nobody could have stopped me, though many tried.

So on this day I celebrate six years since I touched a drop of alcohol, I guess I would like to begin not by celebrating at all, but by admitting what I was actually trying to drink away, the hypomania, the depression. By admitting that getting to the root of a problem is often just the beginning of seeing a deeper one. That hitting rock bottom only happens when you stop digging, and try to find a way out. That stigmatizing people who are mentally ill is killing millions of people every year. That suicide recently surpassed homicide as the second-leading cause of death in teenagers each year, after car accidents. That our military veterans come home wounded in body and mind and have a suicide rate that is drastically high, with little to no mental health treatment available. Just "be a man and deal with it" leads to guns being put to heads, nooses being wrapped around throats. That we as a society must change the way we treat the mentally ill, simply as people who have an illness no more controllable or treatable alone than Parkinson's. What's the difference? There is no difference but our mind-state, that's the difference. I worked in a Psychiatric hospital for almost 7 years, and I am still amazed at the daily comments from doctors, nurses, staff in general: "Oh, she's just Borderline", "He's just an attention-seeking teenage brat", "He's just classic Bipolar, throw him on Seroquel". "She's just a Benzo-head", "He's just a fucking drunk", "If he even starts acting up, throw him into isolation and we'll put him down with a shot of B52", (this is what we called the injected cocktail of Benedryl 50 with 2mg of Ativan, the B50-2). "He's crazy as a loon". "Don't even try to talk to her". "He's just an old asshole". "Homeless grunt trying to get a free meal". "He's not nice enough, I don't think we should let his kids visit". "She's a classic cutter, let her find a paper clip and do her worst, just ignore her". Daily. During "Report", as they called it. On the floor of the hospital within earshot of other patients. Sometimes directly to a patients face. Adults, Adolescents, Children as young as four years old. I worked directly with them all. And every time I heard "YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND", I remember distinctly thinking: "You're right, I don't understand your exact nature, your exact chemical imbalance or behavioral disorder, but I refuse to not try and help you in whatever way I can. I will show you as best I can that I am WILLING to try to understand, not just that I do", because most of the time, you just don't. But you can try. Empathize. Don't be scared of us. We're your mailmen, postal workers, neighbors, bartenders, waitresses, telemarketers, local business owners, bosses, employees, co-workers, friends, family, loved ones, heroes and heroines.

Which leads me to my last thought. Last night we lost another amazing musician and gentle soul to suicide, Chris Cornell. Add him to the list of amazing artists we have lost to suicide, drugs, and alcohol over the last few years, decades, and the list is too great to comprehend. And the biggest killer of us all is the inability to speak out without being judged, I can speak to that from experience. Saying (or writing) all of this is very hard, when I could be taking myself out to a steak dinner and saying "I used to spend 25 bucks a day on booze, time to treat myself to something nice". I could be getting a relaxing massage. I used to do that. I don't anymore. Now I reflect on what comes next, what the future looks like, what I can do about it personally and globally, and what is beyond my control. I urge other members of my community, and communities around the world to speak up and speak out for themselves and those they love when confronted with the silence that permeates mental illness and awareness of all kinds.

We can't afford another Robin Williams, Chris Cornell, Aaron Swartz, Kurt Cobain, Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, David Foster Wallace, et al. The thousands of unnamed teenagers and unknown mothers and fathers who have to live every day knowing their child is gone. We as the mentally ill need to speak out, and we as a culture need to speak out against the stigma, which increases mortality rates more than any chemical in our brains, of that I am sure. So, help us. Stand up for us. Yes, ask us to get help for ourselves too, and be patient when we need time, or aren't sure, or don't want to talk about it, but keep on pressing. We need the reminder, even when we don't want to hear it. We need the reminder that someone needs us on this earth, and they refuse to let us go without fighting for our lives, and without us fighting for our own.

"Most of us are acutely aware of our own struggles and we are preoccupied with our own problems. We sympathize with ourselves because we see our own difficulties so clearly. But as Ian MacLaren noted wisely, “Let us be kind to one another, for most of us are fighting a hard battle.”

Good luck and godspeed.

May 18th, 2017

Sam Dillon

#suicide #suicide prevention #mental illness #bipolar #bipolar 2 #alcoholism #recovery #chris cornell #robin williams #van gogh #kurt cobain #david foster wallace #hemingway #sylvia plath

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akihairandmakeup-blog · 5 years

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My Journey To Diagnosis

Endometriosis is a chronic, systemic inflammatory disease that doesn’t have a cure. 1 in 10 women have endometriosis, yet it is one of the least researched and understood diseases. Average time of proper diagnosis is 7 – 10 years. I began experiencing symptoms of Endo when I was 13, yet didn’t get a diagnosis until I was 27.

Endometriosis acts like a cancer as in the cells rapidly divide, grow and invade any surrounding tissues and organs. This causes a lot of internal bleeding and severe damage to organs accompanied by unbearable pain.

I went through this pain for more than 10 years before I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Endometriosis. Every month I would take 2 – 3 days off from school during my cycle. Curl myself in bed, unable to eat anything and if I did eat something, I will vomit which makes the pain worse. I have a twin sister who have normal periods. My mum would always compare the two of us and give extra attention and care for me. Years passed by and my pain was getting worse. I was rushed into A&E several times during college and uni days. I’ve been to so many hospitals and seen countless number of doctors. Every doctor concluded the case with just a ‘bad period’.

After graduating in BA Accounting and Finance, I got my first job as an Accounting Assistant. I didn’t want this horrible illness to interfere with my new job so I managed to get some temporary medication to balance my hormones. My GP prescribed me with contraceptive pills which is a temporary cure to help with the pain. Even though it had several side effects such as migraines, mood changes, nausea, night sweats, etc, I managed to adjust to it.

Three years passed by, I was almost 25 and was getting ready to get married and move in with my childhood sweetheart. I’ve been with my husband since school days, for more than 15 years now. Both our parents accepted our relationship early which made things easier for us. We both agreed on starting our family as soon as we get married as we had no reason to wait. So, a year prior to our wedding, I decided to come off the contraceptive pills to bring my hormone levels back to normal and prepare my body to conceive. I had to go through several months of painful periods without the pill, in hope that I will be able to conceive as soon I get married and I will have a break from periods while I am pregnant. However, things did not go that way. I was rushed into A&E several times between this time when I have severe pain. I had to take time off from work frequently but was unable to explain the actual reason at work as I was not diagnosed then.

I went through depression because I was unable to lead a normal life and had no idea what was going on with my body. I was unable to continue my job as I was going through this unexplainable pain and confusion. To divert my mind from all this I decided to quit my job and take on my passion and started this Makeup Artist journey 2 years ago in March 2017. The reason I chose this job is because it does not hold a schedule the way that most other careers do. Every job has it’s own call time. Some may be in the middle of the night and some could be in the middle of the day. I love being able to set a schedule of my choosing. You can accept the jobs that coincide with the life you are living and refuse the ones that are not. In other words, you will be working to live around your schedule, not living to work around someone else’s, which was totally convenient for me. One good thing about my periods were that my dates were pretty regular. So, I avoid taking bookings around those dates. Even then, I had two awful experiences where I had to work in pain as my dates messed up.

One occasion was when I was booked for a Bridal Saree draping job in Central London. Total cost for this job was only £100 including travel since I was new to the wedding industry. I usually drive to my jobs but in this case since I was unable to drive due to the pain, therefore I had to take a cab to the venue and back home, which cost me over £150. I didn’t eat or drink anything that morning because I usually throw up when I’m in pain. Even then I brought a couple of carrier bags with me in case I threw up in the car but thank god I didn’t. I had no other choice because I respect my job and I cannot let my client down on the day of the event and break the trust.

Later on another occasion, I was booked for a pre-wedding photo shoot in Cornwall, which is roughly 5 hours drive from my place. I didn’t want to travel alone as I had to stay over for a night so my husband accompanied me on this trip. I was looking forward to this job since it was my first job far from home and to make it more special, my husband was with me. But the happiness didn’t last long at all! On our way to Cornwall we took a break in-between to have lunch. When I went to refresh myself, all my excitement was flushed away in the toilet as my period came a week early.

Luckily, we were next to a petrol station, so I managed to get hold of sanitary pads and painkillers. I was praying to God to give me strength to bare the pain for the next couple of days.

First Pre-wedding look was scheduled to be shot that evening so once we arrived at the hotel, I unpacked my kit and got the bride-to-be ready. The pain was bearable, so I managed to do my job with less trouble. But the pain was increasing slowly and I had a sleepless night in fear worrying about the next day. The following day I was scheduled to do two different looks, one in the morning and one in the afternoon and head home in the evening. The pain was unbearable in the morning. I had to take several breaks in between to vomit because that’s one of the worst parts of my severe period pain.

More than the pain, it was extremely embarrassing in front of the new people I just met and I couldn’t explain the name for my illness because it was just a ‘bad period’ like the doctors named it. Never the less, I managed to complete my job and my client was happy with the looks I created which gave a satisfaction before I left to head home.

That 5-hour car journey home with my husband is the most unforgettable journey in my life.

I wanted to cry out all the pain I was holding that I couldn’t show in front of everyone. The pain was intolerable, and I was crying through out the journey. At one point, my husband lost his patience and began to get frustrated with me. Like every other person, my husband trusted the doctor’s words that there is nothing wrong me and it’s just a bad period. So, he assumed my pain is normal like his sister’s and every other girl’s but I’m exaggerating and making a drama. That’s the day I felt the meaning to ‘Words hurt more than actions. Actions hurts our body, but words hurt our soul.’

Initially he was very supportive when I decided to quit my Accounting job and was happy to support me financially as it would take time for me to grow in the wedding industry before I can start doing bridal jobs. But watching me go through pain during my job, he assumed I’m not even able to do that simple job. He shouted ‘Stop crying and overdramatising, It’s better for you to quit everything and sit at home and do nothing because that’s all you’re capable of doing. Your voice is irritating me, if you don’t stop crying, I will get off the car and walk home.’ I had no strength to respond since I was mentally and physically drained out.

We finally reached home. My husband opened the house door for me and left. I filled a hot water bottle to ease my pain and curled myself in bed. I really wanted to get some sleep to rest my mind and body but all I could hear in my mind was my husband’s words repeating how useless I was.

I began to judge myself through everyone else’s eyes. I started to doubt myself whether my pain is real or am I over reacting. The one and only person I wished who would trust me and give all the love and support even doubts my pain, this led me into making wrong decisions. I couldn’t imagine living with this pain for the rest of my life, so I decided to take my own life. I took the 12 pain killers that were left in the new pack I bought the previous day and went to sleep in hope that I will not wake up the following day. But little did I know that my body was strong enough that exceeding the stated dose does nothing to my body. I was perfectly fine the next morning. I sat my husband down and told him how hurt I was by his words and it led into taking the tablets last night. He felt extremely bad about what he did and apologised. Soon things were back to normal between us.

Never in a million years did infertility cross my mind so after several months of trying to conceive, without any positive results I began to have serious concerns. I explained the situation to a new gynaecologist at my GP surgery, who was also an endometriosis specialist. After a scan, I learnt I had a large cyst on my left ovary that needs to be removed (laparoscopic) surgery which could increase my chances of getting pregnant, but I was told I may lose an ovary. My husband and I decided to do it as it would also help my pain.

Following my operation, my surgeon explained she had removed the cyst, managed to keep my ovaries intact, remove my left fallopian tube which was totally damaged and there was much more than that. I was diagnosed with Stage 4 endometriosis!

There are four stages of endometriosis: minimal, mild, moderate, or severe endometriosis.

Minimal endometriosis also called stage 1 endometriosis and is characterized by isolated implants and no significant adhesions.

Mild endometriosis (stage 2) is characterized by superficial implants that measure less than 5 cm in diameter without significant adhesions.

Moderate endometriosis (stage 3) involves multiple deep implants, small cysts on one or both ovaries, and the presence of flimsy adhesions.

Severe endometriosis (stage 4) this is the final stage. consists of multiple deep implants, large cysts on one or both ovaries, and thick adhesions. In addition, infertility is likely with stage 4 endo.

I was given pictures of how a normal women’s reproductive system would look and how my one looked from the pictures they took during the surgery. Everything was explained clearly and all my questions were answered. But there was something that I was not ready for. I had to wait 6 months to heal from this surgery and would need to under go another surgery to remove the rest of the endometriosis. My surgeon also confirmed that I will not be able to conceive naturally due to the damages caused by endometriosis so our only option is IVF. But there is only less than 0.8% chance of success.

I felt a slight relief after the surgery having more knowledge about my illness and was preparing myself for surgery number two. I was told having normal periods between the two surgery could cause more pain and damage to my organs, therefore I was on an injection called ‘zoladex’ to stop my periods are prepare my body for the next surgery which is much more complicated compared to the previous one. There are several side effects related to this painful injection: hot flashes, sweating, migraine, dizziness, mood changes, bone pain, nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, loss of appetite, sleep problems (insomnia), and much more. I managed to overcome all this and currently recovering from my second surgery...

#endometriosis

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braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

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Hangovers

Cycle 3, Day 9

Two things learned in the last 24 hours:

1. I really need to shut up whenever discussing how things aren’t too bad, that’s just begging for a smiting.

2. I should probably not write about infusion days on infusion days, because the weird stuff tends to happen right before bed (largely because of my new, “Go to bed immediately if something weird happens policy.”

I had another odd, brief hallucination last night, to go with the crippling pain and limp. I was on Facebook, and the icons suddenly became sand castles, and, in a weird way I was suddenly at the beach, sort of (I can’t really describe it; if that makes any sense to you, kudos). And it is kind of frighteningly amazing how quickly these side-effects can set in. However, if you’re sober at the time (I realize that’s an extremely odd, almost self-negating concept when you’re being pumped full of experimental toxins), it’s not frightening. And my bedtime policy paid off; I didn’t become Timothy Leary.I woke up this morning with an unbelievable hangover. I realize I’m prone to hyperbole and exaggeration, but the one this morning had teeth. Which is one of those sorts of good-news/bad news things - I’ve noticed the faster and harder the serum side-effects hit me, the sooner they go. Also, you know how, when you had to get up early to go to school when you were a child, and Mom, in an act of breathtaking cruelty ripped off your covers off and lied, “I know you’re tired and cold now, but it’ll get better if you get moving.” Which, again, feels like a betrayal of sorts if you finally make it out the door and find out it’s 40 degrees. Well, dear reader, mom may been lying to get you out of the house, but I assure you - based on my own experience - once you get out of bed and a-movin’ (and, more importantly, eating and drinking)(make sure you take your zofran or any other appropriate medications), you’ll start feeling like your old self. Don’t rush that “getting out of bed part,” though, take time as needed (this morning, it felt like I actually had go through several stages of evolution)(side-note; you’re gonna feel much less human and more like a jumbled-together set of human cells at the start of activitiies). I went for an ultra-high fiber and coffee breakfast, which seemed to help - or at least reduce my physical description from “possible 90-year-old amnesia patient” to “nasty but manageable back and shoulder pain.” If all this seems meaninglessly detailed, well, yes, it is. I wish I’d known four months ago that switching to a largely coffee-and-raw-fruit-based diet could save me some pain. Definitely I’m feeling immeasurably better and less-mentally foggy (I successfully recovered my Spotify username and hassled the DMV about my ongoing bureaucratic feud), although I’m still definitely showing signs of sleep deprivation and exhaustion, I’m not too bad. Except for some back pain, which probably isn’t that bad, except it is a novelty for me (sort of, it’s happened to me frequently enough that I know to just grab the Tylenol salt-lick).

So, bad news for you guys, mentally-capable yet too physically sore to anything terribly ambitious is the horrible sweet spot of “might as well sit down and write. Something a friend mentioned on Facebook got me thinking; if I’d been told I’d have to heavily modify my diet (sort of; after six pm I believe I’ve done due diligence), schedule (again, Temodar is very weird, and I’m glad I’ve finished it for this cycle), religiously take lots of various pills, get a lot more cardio exercise, sleep a lot more than I’m used to etc. a year ago, like most of you, my first thought would be, “Oh,God, I’m gonna die.” And, to be fair, the night is young (and I still have that new blip on the MRI); but you’d amazed at what you can adapt to. And after a while, even though you still hate all those things, your body will help keep you on the straight and narrow (mostly because your own body will start actively punishing you if you don’t keep up) Don’t get me wrong, I’m still grumpy and irritable and not going all Tuesday’s with Morrie, but there is a sense that, denied a lot of other of life’s options, I’d double down on the Warlocks, see how far that took me, and leave the black flight box behind for the next folks in line. And now I’m having hallucinations, which, while I can’t claim is something I’m happy about, but it’s definitely not boring,.

Speaking of strange developments, I had some time to think about Ronny Jackson (as it turns out, television news is the perfect thing to watch when you’ve just been pumped full of various suspicious chemicals - there’s no plot, there are no characters, everything lasts 45 seconds, and you don’t lose much of he information) and my constant harping on about finding top-grade professionals when you’re in my situation. Firsoff, I require that level of competence not because of my personal preferences, but because I have a rare, amazingly dangerous disease that’s already behaved unpredictably. If this was standard colo-rectal cancer, I’d probably go to the Local Health Mart. Not to slam anyone, just that different diseases require different levels of management and training (diabetics are allowed to live in society and actually have their own insulin). The common thing you want - from your GP to your neurosurgeon (okay, especially your neurosurgeon) is to be 50th case like yours they’ve seen, not the first (as Dad described it when choosing his orthopedic surgeon)(that’s not the only indicator, but we’ll come to that point briefly). And that doesn’t happen unless the doctor (or nurse) is out there practicing (oddly enough, younger doctors make better doctors because they don’t have the professional pride/investment that would discourage them from getting a consult)(that was in a study I read). Which means that the current physician to the president has had two patients in ten years, one of whom was, by all accounts, quite physically healthy except for a history of smoking (I’ll discuss that some other time), and another who’s not completely healthy, but that would require a neurologist and nutritionist. One middle aged man and an elderly-but-previously healthy man. Most practitioners could get out some folding chairs, grab a six-pack, and let the situation play out until someone had a noticeable complaint (TWISTED SIDE NOTE: I just realized that all of my complaints/symptoms have, so far, not come from any disease process, but from side effects of treatment)(my apologies if any of my doctors or nurses are reading this, you’ve all been great, but that Zen Koan is true . Unless they had some sort of horrific, undisclosed disease. That’s barely qualified and experienced enough to lance a boil. And he got his job through Yelp, basically - Obama liked him and wrote a letter of recommendation, and so did Trump. And, in total honesty, now that I have artificial middle-age aches and pains, I’d like anyone who offered me Percocet, too. Mine are mostly-manageable with Tylenol, but infusion days are vicious, and if that was a daily occurrence, I’d make out with anyone with Percocet,

This isn’t actually about Ronny (it’s about widening the scope of this essay so it’s not another gripe-fest of me neurotically keeping track of symptoms), it’s about finding good clinicians. I’m still trying to figure that out for everyone, and I’m only beginning to sort through that data (also, there’s a good chance I’ll die during he attempt, but that’s also not the point of this piece). Ronny is obviously not a good doctor (he might be a fun one, though), but he does provide some lessons.

First, you don’t have to like your doctor. Yelp doesn’t have to like them. You have to trust them. I realize that’s not always easy to sum up, but all of my physicians (and probably nurses and other folks I’m ignoring or forgetting because there isn’t any data available that I can find) have been driven to be better doctors than they are now - that sometimes takes a bit of research (Mad Scientist has an impressive number of papers on PubMed) to figure out, sometimes a neurosurgeon will discuss some new drillbit he helped design to get through the skull (okay, I’m getting the details of that incident wrong, but it happened)(It’s a little off-putting to hear that described in the same glowing tone as developing a new, experimental bratwurst for the.county fair BBQ. But he’s been my neurosurgeon for two extremely successful surgeries. And I might need to revisit him before the year’s out (I hope not, obviously)

Which also brings up a teachable moment; for years - a few solid decades - the medical industry recruited and adhered to the standard that as long as you were competent, you could be an utter sociopath. Which, according to some sources, Ronny is. It’s not even some medical secret, it’s a common stereotype in the media. I suspect that the medical industry is trying to combat this more actively, but, in my first semester, I met a guy (you go to as many study groups as you possibly can when possible) who probably had a favorite hooker buryin’ spot. I listened for ten minutes (and I don’t know how I lasted that long; I should’ve just conspicuously glanced at the clock and fled, as my smarter classmates did. It was 10 minutes of narcissism and genocide (not exactly, he felt that poor people got plenty of insurance, and put-upon hospitals should be able to kick them out on the street)(which actually happened to me at one hospital, thanks to the insurance companies using an obscure legal loophole) I think that was the point I left Mr. Wonderful’s company (If I die and end up the traditional Judeo Christian afterlife and am made to atone for my sins, I’m sure St. Peter will want to know why I didn’t follow that motherfucker back to his apartment and kill him with a shovel, I know it a dark thought, but no darker than the probability that he got his MD, passed all his boards, and was set loose upon an unsuspecting public. But that’s just one guy amongst thousands of potential doctors, Ronny’s been accused by a few sources of sociopathy, As a patient, it’s almost not even worth worying about them - you will know them when you see them. Or, rather, when you talk to them

Another checklist item: if your doctor enjoys where they live.

I’ll continue this thought tomorrow (or technically today)

Author’s note: I spent 12 hours on this thing (sort of; after starting it in the morning (obviously), there were various distractions and errands and infernal family members demanding my time, So the last hour or two was mostly desperately typing before exhaustion took me. So I edited this thing a bit.

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johnclapperne · 7 years

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5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

In celebration of Sleep Awareness Week (April 23–29), MyFitnessPal and Thrive Global collaborated to bring you science-backed sleep advice.

A good night’s sleep seems like it should be simple, right? Sleep is natural and necessary, so sleeping well ought to just happen. But as most of us know, good sleep often doesn’t just happen on its own. For many people, a restful night’s sleep doesn’t come easily.

Here’s the truth: Simply waiting for better sleep to happen is going to set you up for a lot of restless nights and tired, irritable days. Sleep is a performance activity: To sleep well, you have to show up prepared to play.

The good news is the rules of this sleep game aren’t complicated. They’re all easy-to-implement strategies that are based on the fundamentals of sleep hygiene. What’s sleep hygiene? It’s a collection of daily routines and practices that contribute to better sleep at night and more energy during the day.

There are five simple rules for sleep, and they are as easy as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

RULE NUMBER 1: STICK TO ONE SLEEP SCHEDULE

A consistent sleep routine is the single most important habit you can establish to help you sleep better. Why? Sleep has a rhythm, and a regular sleep schedule strengthens and supports that rhythm. The body’s biological rhythms regulate when we sleep and when we’re awake, guided by a master biological clock in the brain and bio clocks throughout the body. A regular sleep schedule helps to reinforce your natural bio rhythms, allowing you to fall asleep more easily, sleep more soundly and wake feeling more energized and refreshed.

Here’s the thing: Not everyone’s bio clock runs on the same time. Some clocks run later and others earlier. This preference for lateness or earliness helps us identify our individual chronotypes. The best sleep schedule is one that is consistent, night after night, and matches your chronotype. If you’re a Wolf, you won’t have a lot of success with a sleep schedule that calls for lights out at 9 p.m. For late-night loving Wolves, that’s a sleep schedule that can lead to hours of restless tossing and turning. Likewise, a Lion shouldn’t plan on staying awake and productive until 11 p.m. Lions are naturally early risers, and their best sleep schedule combines a relatively early bedtime with an early start to their day.

To make the most of Rule number 1 and set a sleep schedule you can really stick with, use your chronotype to help you. If you don’t know your chronotype, it’s fun and easy to figure out by taking this quiz. Knowing your chronotype unlocks the secrets to your best sleep routine — as well as the best times to do most everything you want to accomplish in your day.

Remember, this is the one sleep schedule you will use on a daily basis. That includes weekdays and weekends, school days and summer vacation days, workdays and holidays. Changing your sleep routine with different bedtimes and wake times confuses your bio clock, which results in difficulty sleeping, lower performance during the day and less enjoyment of life. Set a schedule that suits you, based on your chronotype and the demands of your daily life, and stick to it.

READ MORE > THIS 1-MINUTE ROUTINE CAN HELP YOU GET MORE QUALITY SLEEP

RULE NUMBER 2: NO CAFFEINE AFTER TWO O’CLOCK

If you’re on a regular sleep schedule, you will likely find yourself less in need of that late-afternoon caffeine pick-me-up. That’s a good thing, because the second rule of better sleep is: stop consuming caffeine at 2 p.m. Regular, heavy caffeine consumption contributes to disrupted sleep and daytime fatigue.

Caffeine — whether in coffee, chocolate or energy drinks — is a stimulant. Once in the body, caffeine begins to act quickly, taking effect within 25–45 minutes. Caffeine’s stimulant effects also last for a long time. Caffeine is metabolized slowly — it takes 6–8 hours to reduce its stimulant effects by only 1/2. That 4 p.m. coffee boost you have at your desk weekday afternoons? It’s still having a stimulating effect on your body at 10 p.m. or even later. The long-lasting effects of caffeine are highly disruptive to sleep.

Caffeine disrupts the normal rise and fall of melatonin, a hormone that is essential to regulating sleep and wakefulness. You may be familiar with the melatonin rhythm as being influenced by light and darkness, but caffeine and other stimulants ingested at the wrong times can also throw melatonin off its rhythm — and with it, your sleep-wake cycle. Caffeine before bedtime has an even more disruptive effect on melatonin than bright light exposure, according to scientific research.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard patients say, “Caffeine doesn’t affect me. I can drink a cup of coffee after dinner and still fall asleep.” For those of you who think you’re immune to the effects of caffeine, here’s what is really going on. It’s not that the caffeine isn’t having a stimulant effect. You’re probably so sleep deprived that you’re crashing into sleep despite the impact of the caffeine. But the presence of caffeine in your system, and its disruption to your melatonin levels, will interfere with sleep quality, lowering time spent in deep sleep and REM sleep, even if it’s not preventing you from falling asleep.

Some chronotypes tend to be more reliant on caffeine than others. Evening-leaning chronotypes — that’s you, Wolves — show greater use of caffeine and other stimulants as well as more daytime sleepiness, according to research.

If you’re looking to cut back on your caffeine consumption, follow these three steps to do it gradually and avoid uncomfortable withdrawal symptoms:

Step 1: Consume caffeine in your normal way for a week, tracking all the caffeine you ingest, including tea, coffee, soda, energy drinks, chocolate and desserts, and any medications that contain caffeine.

Step 2: In week two, begin to reduce your caffeine gradually, by eliminating about 40 milligrams a day — that’s the equivalent of 1/2 a cup of coffee. Start by eliminating the caffeinated foods and drinks you consume in the latter part of the day.

Step 3: As you adapt to the reduced amount of caffeine in your system, replace some of your other caffeinated drinks with low-caf or decaf alternatives.

You can enjoy caffeine in moderate amounts in the first part of the day, but cut yourself off from coffee and other caffeinated food and drink by 2 p.m. to avoid nighttime disruption. This is a sure-fire way to sleep better at night.

RULE NUMBER 3: STOP CONSUMING ALCOHOL THREE HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

Alcohol is the world’s most common sleep aid. Unfortunately, it does nothing good for your sleep when consumed close to bedtime. While it’s true that alcohol will make you feel sleepy and may help you fall initially to sleep, the presence of alcohol in your system at night leads to poor sleep quality. Alcohol consumed close to bedtime causes restless, fragmented sleep and alters the amount of time you spend in the different stages of sleep. After drinking, you’re apt to spend more time in deep sleep and not enough time in REM sleep. Drinking at night also does a number on your sleep-wake cycle — inhibiting the release of melatonin and throwing your body’s bio clock off its proper cycle. As with other stimulants and depressants, alcohol tends to be a bigger issue for Wolves than other chronotypes. Evening types are the most likely to overindulge in alcohol and are the most vulnerable to bio-time disruption from drinking at night.

The closer to bedtime you consume alcohol, the more it interferes with your sleep. Once consumed, alcohol metabolizes over a period of hours, depending on several factors including your gender, size and weight, the amount you drink and food you’ve consumed. If you have a drink or two (or three) close to bedtime, that alcohol will affect your sleep throughout the night. You’re more likely to wake frequently in the second half of the night and have trouble falling back to sleep — often because you need to use the bathroom. And, let’s not overlook the effects the next day — fatigue, mental sluggishness, irritability — which can carry over to affect your sleep the next night.

If you have sleep apnea, alcohol can aggravate the condition. That’s because alcohol has a depressant effect on the body’s central nervous system, which leads to greater muscle relaxation, including in the muscles of the head, neck and throat. Even people who don’t typically contend with sleep apnea may experience a narrowing of the airway and sleep-disrupted breathing after drinking moderately close to bedtime. This same exaggerated muscle relaxation also makes you more likely to snore after drinking alcohol in the evenings.

This doesn’t mean you need to abstain from alcohol altogether. To sleep your best, plan to enjoy a cocktail or a glass of wine no closer than three hours before bedtime. That’s enough time for alcohol to be metabolized through the body, leaving you ready to sleep more soundly throughout the entire night.

RULE NUMBER 4: STOP EXERCISING FOUR HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

Exercise is great for sleep. Regular exercise improves sleep quality, helps you fall asleep more quickly and boosts your overall sleep time. It also increases your time spent in deep sleep. But exercising too close to bedtime can undermine your sleep. An evening workout can leave you feeling too energized and amped up to fall asleep on the schedule that is best for you.

A 30-minute session of vigorous aerobic exercise raises body temperature, a shift upward that lasts for about four hours after you’ve finished exercising. Higher body temperature interferes with your ability to fall asleep. A falling core body temperature is one key part of the body’s physiological preparations for sleep. Body temperature begins to fall in the late afternoon, and a dropping body temperature brings about feelings of sleepiness. Exercise that happens too close to bedtime interferes with that natural drop in temperature, and keeps you awake and alert when you want to be welcoming drowsiness. Move your workout time earlier, and you can take advantage of the falling body temperature that happens four hours after exercise to help you fall asleep more easily.

Four hours between the end of exercise and your regular bedtime is enough time to get all the excellent sleep and health benefits of exercise without having your workout interfere with your sleep. To sleep better, don’t skimp on exercise — just make time for it earlier in the day.

READ MORE > THE SLEEP-WEIGHT CONNECTION

RULE NUMBER 5: GIVE THE SUN A HIGH FIVE

Exposure to sunlight first thing in the morning can make you feel refreshed, energized and ready to jump into your day — and help you sleep better at night. Five minutes of sun exposure in the morning resets your body’s bio clock and strengthens your natural sleep-wake cycle. Early light exposure regulates the cycle of melatonin production in your body. Remember, melatonin is strongly influenced by light and darkness. In the presence of sunlight early the in the day, melatonin levels continue to drop, helping you feel alert and focused.

You don’t need to get a lot of sunlight in the morning to have a big impact on your sleep-wake cycle. Just five minutes is enough to send a powerful message to your bio clock, re-setting it to the right time for waking and setting you up for a better night of sleep.

If you can’t get out into the sunlight in the morning, exposure to bright light indoors does the trick. There are many light-therapy tools available that can deliver the right amount of bright light to spur your bio clock into daytime action. But, if it’s possible, give yourself the perfect waking (and sleep-promoting) boost that sunlight provides.

Don’t let another night go by with so-so sleep. Start using these five steps today and make better sleep a part of your daily — and nightly — life. And check out my new book, “The Power Of When,” to learn more about how your chronotype can affect your productivity and life.

Written by Michael Breus, PhD, a board-certified sleep specialist who lives in Manhattan Beach, California. Author of two bestselling books, “Good Night: The Sleep Doctor’s 4-week program to Better Sleep and Better Health,” and “The Sleep Doctor’s Diet Plan: Lose Weight Through Better Sleep.” Find him on the web at http://ift.tt/K9jXiU.

GEAR UP FOR SLEEP

> Athlete Recovery Sleepwear Technology > Men’s Sleepwear > Women’s Sleepwear > All Sleepwear

The post 5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep appeared first on Under Armour.

http://ift.tt/2q3ZXZ3

#5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

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joshuabradleyn · 7 years

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5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

In celebration of Sleep Awareness Week (April 23–29), MyFitnessPal and Thrive Global collaborated to bring you science-backed sleep advice.

There are five simple rules for sleep, and they are as easy as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

RULE NUMBER 1: STICK TO ONE SLEEP SCHEDULE

READ MORE > THIS 1-MINUTE ROUTINE CAN HELP YOU GET MORE QUALITY SLEEP

RULE NUMBER 2: NO CAFFEINE AFTER TWO O’CLOCK

If you’re looking to cut back on your caffeine consumption, follow these three steps to do it gradually and avoid uncomfortable withdrawal symptoms:

Step 3: As you adapt to the reduced amount of caffeine in your system, replace some of your other caffeinated drinks with low-caf or decaf alternatives.

RULE NUMBER 3: STOP CONSUMING ALCOHOL THREE HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

RULE NUMBER 4: STOP EXERCISING FOUR HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

READ MORE > THE SLEEP-WEIGHT CONNECTION

RULE NUMBER 5: GIVE THE SUN A HIGH FIVE

GEAR UP FOR SLEEP

> Athlete Recovery Sleepwear Technology > Men’s Sleepwear > Women’s Sleepwear > All Sleepwear

The post 5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep appeared first on Under Armour.

http://ift.tt/2q3ZXZ3

#5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

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neilmillerne · 7 years

Text

5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

In celebration of Sleep Awareness Week (April 23–29), MyFitnessPal and Thrive Global collaborated to bring you science-backed sleep advice.

There are five simple rules for sleep, and they are as easy as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

RULE NUMBER 1: STICK TO ONE SLEEP SCHEDULE

READ MORE > THIS 1-MINUTE ROUTINE CAN HELP YOU GET MORE QUALITY SLEEP

RULE NUMBER 2: NO CAFFEINE AFTER TWO O’CLOCK

If you’re looking to cut back on your caffeine consumption, follow these three steps to do it gradually and avoid uncomfortable withdrawal symptoms:

Step 3: As you adapt to the reduced amount of caffeine in your system, replace some of your other caffeinated drinks with low-caf or decaf alternatives.

RULE NUMBER 3: STOP CONSUMING ALCOHOL THREE HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

RULE NUMBER 4: STOP EXERCISING FOUR HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

READ MORE > THE SLEEP-WEIGHT CONNECTION

RULE NUMBER 5: GIVE THE SUN A HIGH FIVE

GEAR UP FOR SLEEP

> Athlete Recovery Sleepwear Technology > Men’s Sleepwear > Women’s Sleepwear > All Sleepwear

The post 5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep appeared first on Under Armour.

http://ift.tt/2q3ZXZ3

#5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

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almajonesnjna · 7 years

Text

5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

In celebration of Sleep Awareness Week (April 23–29), MyFitnessPal and Thrive Global collaborated to bring you science-backed sleep advice.

There are five simple rules for sleep, and they are as easy as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

RULE NUMBER 1: STICK TO ONE SLEEP SCHEDULE

READ MORE > THIS 1-MINUTE ROUTINE CAN HELP YOU GET MORE QUALITY SLEEP

RULE NUMBER 2: NO CAFFEINE AFTER TWO O’CLOCK

If you’re looking to cut back on your caffeine consumption, follow these three steps to do it gradually and avoid uncomfortable withdrawal symptoms:

Step 3: As you adapt to the reduced amount of caffeine in your system, replace some of your other caffeinated drinks with low-caf or decaf alternatives.

RULE NUMBER 3: STOP CONSUMING ALCOHOL THREE HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

RULE NUMBER 4: STOP EXERCISING FOUR HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME

READ MORE > THE SLEEP-WEIGHT CONNECTION

RULE NUMBER 5: GIVE THE SUN A HIGH FIVE

GEAR UP FOR SLEEP

> Athlete Recovery Sleepwear Technology > Men’s Sleepwear > Women’s Sleepwear > All Sleepwear

The post 5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep appeared first on Under Armour.

http://ift.tt/2q3ZXZ3

#5 Science-Backed Rules for a Better Night’s Sleep

0 notes