snot-all-over-the-place

Headcanon:

Nearly all the bars in Velaris have “NO SERVICE TO” posters of Cassian because of how overwhelmingly drunk he’d get during those 50 years the Inner Circle was stuck there knowing what was happening to Rhysand. 

Not because he is a violent drunk- 

 -because he’d hang on as many patrons at once as possible, wailing with booze in hand about how amazing and perfect their High Lord was, shouting “DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT GLORIOUS BASTARD IS DOING RIGHT NOW FOR ALL OF US?!” as snot and tears drip all over the place. 

 After Rhysand came back, those first couple days where you KNOW he didn’t leave the house and had to be surrounded by his friends, Cassian stole away to quietly threaten the lives of every single barkeep and patron he could find. 

 If they didn’t tell Rhys the posters were because he was “too much fun when drunk” or “conquered too many beautiful females with his amazing charm”, he’d bring his own little slice of the Court of Nightmares to Velaris just for them. 

 As he left each establishment, Azriel faded in from the shadows to bribe them like a CIVILIZED Illyrian.

A short drabble for Haline day (inspired on my sickness dfdfsf)


Aline hated Wrangle Island with her whole being. Everything about the Island was cold and deserted and so white. If she hadn’t been there herself, witnessing it, she wouldn’t have believed you could get tired of looking at white. Sometimes she had to stop staring at the ground cause she was scared of going blind.

But none of this made her hate the island so much as the fact that Helen seemed to get sick every single time she stepped out of the house. Which was, thanks to her job, fairly frequently.

“’Lin” she heard Helen call (whine) from the other room. “‘Lin I’m dying.”

Aline sighed inwardly and put down the pen she was holding. She had been trying to write a letter to her parents, but so far had three scratched-out lines and… that was it.

She got up from the the small kitchen table and went to the couch where Helen was lying, sitting on the floor next to her wife’s head.

Helen’s nose was read and her eyes puffy, her hair spilling from a very messy bun. Despite everything, she looked as gorgeous as always.

“You’re not dying, baby,” Aline said, pushing back Helen’s hair. Helen closed her eyes at the gesture and let out a breath through her mouth, since, Aline guessed, her nose was too stuffed to be of much use. “You’ll be fine tomorrow, you’ll see.”

Helen turned her head to look at Aline through half-lidded eyes. “Pr’mise?”

Aline smiled despite herself, and leaned down to peck her wife’s lips. 

“Alineeeee what are you doing?” Helen said, slightly horrified, pulling back. “You’re gonna catch it too! We can’t have two sick people in the same house! How are we gonna take care of each other if we’re both snotting all over the place?”

Aline really loved Helen when she was sick though. There was something about her red nose and hoarse voice that just melted her. She smiled again. “Then we’ll just share the tissue box. Now move over, I’ve been told my cuddles work miracles.”

Helen, suddenly looking aware, squinted at Aline. “Who’s said that? Who’ve you been cuddling?”

Aline just rolled her eyes and placed herself behind Helen on the couch, putting her arm around Helen’s waist and pressing a kiss to the back of her head. 

“You, baby,” she whispered in Helen’s ear. “You’ve said it.”

She felt Helen relax under her touch and push back to settle herself in the curve of Aline’s body. She sniffed. 

“I hate this goddamn island,” Helen said, and even though Aline couldn’t see her face, she could picture her pout perfectly.

“Tell me about it.” 

Blackstairs Fluff: So You Had a Bad Day

Because I had a rough day, I needed a little fluff to cope. Enjoy!


Julian walked out of Tavvy’s room shaking his head at the thermometer: 99.7.

“Any better?” Emma asked.

“Temperature’s down a little. Finally under 100.” He scrubbed his face. “Maybe he’ll be able to sleep through the night.”

The doorbell rang and the pair shared a look.

“Are Mark and his crew coming?” Julian asked.

“Cristina said something about a date night.” Emma headed down the stairs.

Dru ran past. “It’s probably my friend.”

“You need to start giving us a heads-up if you’re inviting people over.” Julian called after her as he followed.

Dru huffed. “Oh.” She pointed. “The trifecta is in there.” She turned and flounced back toward her room while two kids followed where she pointed in the opposite direction.

“I forgot that Ty and Livvy were hosting their thing this week.” Julian groaned. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

“Wish there was something for that.” Emma slipped her hand into his. “Come on, let’s go relax.”

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anonymous asked:

I need a full backstory and the drarry hurt/comfort and angst drawing😂. That one was stunning and I think by far my favorite one you've done😍. I love all the details you put into your work! Keep up the amazing work💪

thank you so much! 

well, this is very much from the auror!harry/unspeakable!draco au so really it’s meant to be an episode, but I’ll try to summarise under the cut basically:

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anonymous asked:

Can I have an RFA+Saeran reacting to MC getting a bad allergic reaction? You can decide whether it's like her entire body is breaking out in hives, or like her tongue/lip/throat starts swelling up. Thank youuuu❤️ your blog is lovely btw. I find myself visiting it almost daily. <3 hope everything is well with school and life tho.

OMGG THANK YOU SO MUCH I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND SCHOOL HAS BEEN A BITCH BUT WHATEVER IT’S SPRING BREAK NOW AAAAAA ;_;


Yoosung:

  • he didn’t know what to do
  • like at first everything was good, they were eating ice cream and Yoosung gave her some of his to her but she forgot that his had strawberries in it and well.. 
  • now her face was turning beet red and her throat was swelling up so quickly that he just couldn’t react to it in time
  • his eye widened and he literally dropped his ice cream onto the floor
  • “OMG MC! ARE YOU OKAY? ARE YOU HAVING AN ALLERGIC REACTION?”
  • mentally slaps himself for asking that question like of course she is you idiot can you not see that she can’t breathe?
  • he’s just SCREAMING for help and low key crying because he’s so scared that MC will die??
  • MC manages to choke out that she has an epipen in her bag and FINALLY he reacts and stabs her thigh
  • in a couple of seconds her wheezing slows down and a few minutes later, she breathes more steadily
  • “MC! oh my god I thought I’d lose you! I’m sorry I didn’t know you were allergic to strawberries”
  • is he still crying? probably

Zen:

  • holy cow he was so prepared for this
  • he had benadryl, an epipen (for himself), allegra, claritin… he was basically a walking pharmacy
  • so when he saw MC sneeze with watery eyes and cough with her itchy throat, he knew that she had hay fever
  • it was almost scary how quick he was to realize like
  • one second she was looking for a tissue and in the next he already handed her a pill, had opened water bottle in one hand and a packet of tempo tissues in the other
  • MC was kinda shook like “Whoa where did all this come from?”
  • “Well, I’m always prepared ‘cause, never know when I’ll meet a cat, y’know?”
  • so grateful AAAAAA
  • “Zen, you know you’re the-”
  • “Best boyfriend ever? Yea, I know. Now eat this medicine before you start snotting all over the place”
  • ^^got slapped for saying that but it’s okay it was a “playful hit” sorta thing
  • they had a nice date in the park after that
  • but MC was secretly hoping that someone would bring their cat outside >:)

Jaehee:

  • she didn’t even know it was happening?
  • MC and her got the SAME DRINK (coffee, i mean)
  • and she’d ASKED SPECIFICALLY for soy milk because MC was lactose intolerant but when they got the drinks, the barista mixed it up (damnit customer service)
  • we won’t go into the nasty stuff but MC was suffering 
  • she felt nauseous and her stomach was cramping up 
  • there was a cold sweat on her brow but she was determined (and i mean D E T E R M I N E D) not to let Jaehee know because 
  • how embarrassing?? it was low key just a stomach ache but at that point in time, she didn’t want Jaehee to know that she was about to puke in the taxi
  • “Hey, MC? Are you alright? You look all pale and you’re sweating?”
  • “Y- yea, I’m alright. But can we get off at the next stop? I’m a feeling a bit carsick.”
  • as soon as she got off the car she started vomiting on the side of the road
  • Jaehee was freaking the hell out and was so worried she was patting her back and talking like a mom
  • but after it was out of her system, MC felt better and told Jaehee about her lactose intolerance
  • “MC, you should’ve told me earlier!!”

Jumin:

  • honestly the fact that MC could’ve had allergies never crossed his mind
  • so when he told chef to prepare a Mille-feuille with almond accents he was absolutely clueless
    • did i or did i not literally google fancy french dessert names and plug in some sort of nut for this to happen idunno u decide
  • right so MC who didn’t know what the fuck this dessert was, much less knew that there would be almonds in it
  • immediately after the first few bites she felt this heat rush to her face
  • uh-oh she knew EXACTLY what was happening
  • she excused herself from the table and ran to the bathroom with her purse
  • Jumin was confused like did she have to pee that badly??
  • when MC came back out, he noticed her eyes were swollen and she was breathing rather heavily
  • and not to mention, she spent a solid 10 minutes in there
  • “MC, did something happen?”
  • “um.. were there nuts in that?”
  • “Yes, I especially told the chef to add almonds. Don’t tell me, you are allergic to nuts…?”
  • MC didn’t even have to say anything 
  • “I’m so sorry, I promise it won’t happen again.”
  • he pulled MC into a hug and told her he was going to throw away all nuts products at home (even Elizabeth’s nut shaped toy nuuu ;A;)

707:

  • DUDE he literally shared his FAVOURITE CHIPS WITH MC AND NOW SHE WAS COUGHING HER LUNGS OUT
  • “MC! MC! MC!!! IT’S OKAY WHERE IS YOUR MEDICATION!”
  • he remembered seeing in her medical records that she was allergic to something
  • what it was, it couldn’t remember now, but it was obviously something that was in his HBC (much to his dismay)
  • anyway he was running around the house flipping the couch over like it was a piece of paper, rummaging for her medicine like a mad man
  • and when he finally found it under her pillow (what was it doing there anyway???)
  • he nearly hollered out of delight and forgot that he should, in fact, be giving it to MC and not celebrating his find 
  • oops
  • k so after MC calmed the f down and could breathe again
  • sEVEN WAS SULKING
  • “Seven y r u sad”
  • “B- because, I can’t share the thing i love most with you”
  • .-. i have no words

Saeran:

  • he wasn’t ready
  • nO ONE PREPARED HIM FOR THIS
  • for his entire life he hasn’t heard or encountered someone with a severe allergy and this bb
  • this poor thing was so scared
  • he just started like shaking because he didn’t know what to do
  • MC was breaking out into hives and her face was all itchy and she just looked so uncomfortable 
  • he couldn’t react cuz like ???? what was happening what is this how to life send help
  • so MC is over there scratching at herself and telling Saeran to calm down
  • “It’s okay, it’ll go away in a few hours once I eat some medicine”
  • he didn’t believe her
  • but when it was over he was super relieved
  • “MC please don’t let that happen again, I don’t want to see you suffer”
  • “I’ll try, but sometimes I can’t help it. I’m allergic to egg products and sometimes I eat it by accident.”
    • ^^idk too much about hives and stuff but yea i searched online and came to this conclusion, sorry if i’m wrong

AYY hope that wasn’t too bad? I have hay fever myself and lemme tell u that i wish i had a BF with meds 24/7 

~Cherry L.


Masterpost: click here

Askbox/Requests: click here

I’m back from the store. I got storebrand dayquil/nyquil combo. I didn’t see Chris Evans on this, my least attractive of all of the days. 

Like seriously I’m coughing and snotting all over the place, my hair is up in a samurai top knot that it’s barely long enough for, my clothes don’t match, I haven’t showered in three days, I can barely stay awake… but it’s LA. You can see ANYONE at the store. So naturally I figured today was the day I’d run into Captain America. Thankfully, it was not. I’d hate to have given him the plague. 

  • Ichigo: ... That's our way of saying 'a river dirty' to the person who's graduating.
  • Momoko: I think you mean arrivederci, not 'a river dirty'
  • Ichigo: Well, whatever. The point is, you're crying a river, right?
  • Momoko: Crying a river? What are you talking about? Do you even know what irrivederci means, Ichigo?
  • Ichigo: Yeah. it means saying good-bye to someone while crying so hard you get snot all over the place. Like you're crying a river and making it dirty with spit and snot, cuz you're gonna miss them so much.
  • Momoko: That's completely, totally wring. Arrivederci is Italian, actually, and it means 'till we meet again.' You say it to someone who is leaving on a journey.
  • Ichigo: Since when?
  • Momoko: Since day one.
  • Ichigo: Maybe that's just in Kansai.
Slough, part 1 of 2

For the last three decades, small groups of mycologists have been visiting a village deep in the Brazilian Amazon. It is suspected, based on some evidence, the village is atop a colossal fungal colony, similar to the Armillaria solidipes in Malheur National Forest, Oregon, only dramatically larger. If that’s the case, the fungus would be the largest living creature on Earth.

The hundred-or-so expeditions before ours yielded inconclusive results. Genetic tests have shown there is a type of fungus unique to the general area, but attempts to grow it in any environment outside a 40-mile radius of the village have been futile. My trip down last March was with the intent of seeing if the fungus could be grown artificially under specific chemically-induced conditions.

A biotechnology firm had recently developed an interest in that particular mushroom, believing it might have anticarcinogenic properties. As a result, the two members of my team and I were given far better equipment to take with us than we normally had. We were happy to oblige. When we arrived, the native people were as friendly and inquisitive as always. They’d taken a liking to all the scientists who’d visited them. While the lab was set up a hundred yards from the nearest structure in the village, it was common for the scientists and villagers to interact when the workday was over. A few of us even figured out a few words of their local dialect, although no one was anywhere near conversational level. It didn’t matter, though. Food, drink, and wrestling were the common languages we spoke. And for 32 years, everything had gone well.

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Imagine Fred and George taking care of you when you are sick.

Requested by Fredricgideonweasley

Atchoo!
Oh Merlin, you feel awful. The cold you’ve been suffering with all week seems to be developing into something far worse and really you should be at home in bed, not traipsing round Diagon Alley looking for last minute presents. It’s Christmas Eve and you have been so busy at work lately there just hasn’t been the time to go shopping. Even though your throat is killing you, your nose is streaming and your limbs achey, you simply have to carry on - you can’t turn up tomorrow empty handed. Besides, there are only a few more presents to buy. You have already managed somehow to struggle through most of your shopping list, hence why you are currently loaded up like a packhorse with bags and boxes. Just a little longer then you can collapse somewhere warm and quiet for the night.

So now on to the final stop on your agenda - Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. There should be plenty of options there for your two young nephews and then you can go home. You heave a sigh and gather your purchases a little closer to you as the icy December wind whips around you. Talk about saving the worst til last you think to yourself. The twins’ shop is bound to be heaving and full of noisy, excitable children. Not what you need when your head feels like it’s being pounded with a sledgehammer. And then there’s the matter of the twins themselves. Tall, good looking, devilishly charming the pair of them although you’ve always had more of a soft spot for George. You’re very aware you look completely awful, blotchy face, bright red nose dripping with snot, hair all over the place thanks to the incessant wind. Life can be cruel sometimes and forcing you to encounter a guy you fancy whilst looking like a disease-ridden scarecrow really takes the biscuit. Still, can’t be helped you remind yourself, pushing open the bright red door and stumbling over the threshold.


Fred spies you immediately, welcoming you with his usual broad grin. “Hallo!” he calls out, weaving his way through the throng of customers. “Haven’t seem much of you lately. Thought you might have forgotten us!” He starts taking your bags from you and stashing them behind the counter. “Stick those down here.” he instructs. “I’ll keep an eye on them, don’t you worry!” He turns and shouts up to George, who is speaking with a customer on the staircase. “Oi, Georgie…… look who’s here!” George leans over the bannister, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. He raises a hand in greeting, lifts his finger to indicate he’ll just be a minute, then turns back to finish helping the customer. Even in your feverish state, your heart skips a beat when he smiles at you like that. You’re suddenly very hot and you’re not sure if it’s your cold, the mass of people around you or your crush on George making you feel so off-kilter. You close your eyes for a moment, fighting off a wave of dizziness.

"You ok?” Fred asks with concern. You open your eyes to see George had joined him. “Hello you.” he says affectionately “You do look a little peaky. What’s wrong?” You smile weakly at them. “It’s this cold I’ve got. Can’t seem to shake it.” Another wave of dizziness washes over you and you feel like you’re burning up. “You should be in bed, young lady.” George remonstrates, which makes Fred raise a brow suggestively at the unintentional innuendo. George rolls his eyes at his brother then switches his attention back to you. “I know. I’ve just been so busy with work and what with Christmas as well, I just haven’t the time to stop.” you explain, your voice panicky at the thought of everything you’ve got going on. “I just need to get through the next couple of days then I can finally rest. I’ll be fine” you lie as sweat begins to bead on your forehead. Fred and George don’t look convinced but say nothing. As you begin to sway a little George suggests you sit down. He sends Fred off to fetch a chair but as you move towards it, the shop begins to pitch about like a ship on the ocean. “Oh Gods….” you mutter as the dizziness overcomes you and the ground rushes towards you. Quick as lightning, George leaps across to catch you heroically in his arms, a split second before you would have hit the floor. The last thing you remember is his strong arms holding you up as blackness descends and you lose consciousness entirely.

What happens after that is rather hazy. Completely out of it and delirious with fever, you drift in and out of a fitful sleep. Now and then you wake for brief glimpses of Fred or George tending to you. You’re so ill you never quite know which twin is which. Sometimes they bring you food which you are unable to stomach. Cool, wet flannels are carefully placed on your forehead. They bring you water and encourage you to drink, holding the cup to your lips, trying their best not to spill liquid down you. Every now and then one of them spoons a potion into your mouth. Such is your state of delirium, it all seems dreamlike and unreal. At one point, your parents are seemingly there, offering soothing words and stroking your fevered brow. How much is a dream and how much is reality is impossible to say.

Who knows how much time passes in this way? Eventually you awake feeling more able to take in your surroundings. You are in a strange bedroom. By the looks of it, it belongs to a young man. Your powers of deduction tell you it must belong to a Weasley Twin. There are Weasley products dotted around, quidditch team memorabilia and posters on the wall plus you seem to be wearing a very fetching pair of stripey pyjamas. Their original owner is clearly on the tall side as arms and legs have been rolled up to accommodate your shorter limbs. “Morning.” says a groggy voice, and blinking in surprise you look down beside the bed to find George encased in a sleeping bag, lying on a blow-up mattress on the floor. “Morning….. I think!” you reply, still spaced out and trying to come to terms with what is going on. “You’ve been out of it for a while.” George explains sitting up, still in his sleeping bag. “Gave us all a nasty scare, passing out in the shop like that! How are you feeling?” He unzips himself and comes to sit on the edge of the bed, regarding you with kindly concern. “I don’t know…….” you answer truthfully. “It’s all a bit of a blur.” George smiles and gently feels your forehead with the back of his hand. “Temperature’s gone down……” he tells you cheerfully “and you’re conscious and talking to me. Reckon you’ll live.” He grins at you and despite feeling rough, a warm glow fills your belly and you can’t help but grin back. “Hungry?” he asks as he gets up. “Starving!” you nod, realising that you are in fact utterly famished. “I’m not surprised. I’ll get you some breakfast.” he replies, walking towards the door. “You’ve barely eaten since Christmas Eve.”

It takes a couple of seconds to process that sentence, by which time George is already on his way to the kitchen. Your face falls with dismay. Christmas Eve! Merlin knows how long you’ve been out for the count but by the looks of things you’ve completely missed Christmas. Your family must be going spare! The door opens slowly and Fred pokes his head in. “How’s our Sleeping Beauty?” he jokes then sees your face and comments “Not great by the looks of it!” You gaze sadly at him as he comes to sit on the bed. “What day is it, Fred? I’ve missed Christmas haven’t I?” He makes a sympathetic face at you and pats your hand in consolation. “I’m afraid so. It’s the day after Boxing Day. You’ve slept through for pretty much two whole days!” You stare at him in disbelief. “Oh no!” you cry. “My parents will be so worried!” You’re starting to become frantic at the thought of them not knowing where you are or what has happened. “Calm down.” Fred urges. “It’s all taken care of. George owled them and they’ve been to visit whilst you were in the land of nod.” So that wasn’t a dream then. “But how?” You’re confused. Your mum and dad are muggles. How could they have got to London and back over the holidays? “Ahh!” Fred looks very pleased with himself. “We went to pick them up. Apparated them in and out in no time at all.” he tells you smugly. Your panic ebbs away and you giggle at the thought of your folks experiencing apparition for the first time. “That’s better.” Fred says kindly. “Nothing to worry about.”

The door opens again and in comes George with a tray of food. He sets it down on your lap. “There you go….” he smiles “should make you feel even better.” You thank him and tuck in greedily, the first few mouthfuls emphasising just how famished you are. “Slow down!” Fred teases. “You’ll have the pattern off the plate if you carry on like that!” You chuckle through your mouthful of bacon and egg, the twins both grinning back at you obviously pleased to see you eating so heartily. “I better go owl your mum.” George tells you, heading back to the door. “Let her know you’re over the worst.” After he leaves, a thought strikes you. “Fred….. Did you and George miss out on your Christmas too?” You know they were planning on spending it at the Burrow but with you there chances are they’ve not been able to go. “Oh don’t worry about us.” Fred announces grandly. “We were fine. George insisted on looking after you so I got to have my Christmas lunch then I took over nurse duty whilst George went off for leftovers.” Your heart aches at the thought of George missing out on the festivities because of you. “Poor George….” you murmur despondently. “I’ll have to make it up to him.” Fred grins and winks at you. “Oh, I’m sure you will!” he answers conspiratorially. “There’s plenty you could do to put a smile on his face.” He leans in closer, glancing at the door briefly before continuing in a low voice. “Between you and me, George’s got quite a crush on you.” He smirks at you, enjoying watching you go a little red in response. “By the looks of things it’s mutual!” he adds gleefully.

You spend the rest of the day recovering in bed as the two lads fuss over you. Fred’s words have given you plenty to think about and you watch George carefully. He certainly seems very happy when he’s around you. And whilst both boys have been wonderful, he’s definitely the more diligent of the two. By the evening you feel strong enough for visitors and so they kindly offer to apparate your parents to the flat. It’s not quite the same as spending Christmas Day with them but you are over the moon to see each other and have a lovely time together with Fred and George being very well-behaved hosts. You are more than a little surprised but then if George does fancy you, it stands to reason he would want to impress your mum and dad. At the end of the evening, as George zips himself into his sleeping bag, you surreptitiously watch him, wishing you were well enough or brave enough to invite him to join you in bed. “Thank you for taking care of me.” you say softly once he has settled. “I’m really sorry to spoil your Christmas too.” “No need to apologise.” he replies sincerely. “It’s not often I get an attractive young lady in my bed.” He flashes a grin at you and you smile back a little coyly, your heart thumping because he just called you attractive. Swallowing nervously you decide to risk a little flirting. “Next time you won’t need to make me unconscious first!” you quip, looking away shyly as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Well I shall look forward to that.” George murmurs softly. “Once you’ve got your strength back of course!” he adds which makes you both smile at each other like a couple of idiots. Wishing each other goodnight, the light goes out and you lie silently daydreaming about kissing George and wondering if he is doing the same.

The following morning you wake feeling much improved. George still insists on making you breakfast in bed then offers to run you a bath. You gladly accept, enjoying a soak in the hot, soapy water - a chance to finally get clean and feel more human again. You are well enough to get dressed in the clothes your parents brought when they visited. Comfy though George’s pyjamas were, you’re glad to have your own things again. Once ready you head to the living area to see what the twins are up to. Other than bringing you breakfast you’ve seen nothing of either of them today. As you enter the room you realise why. They’ve been busy. The room is decked in garlands of holly and ivy. The lights on their tree are blazing merrily and the smell of roasting turkey wafts through the air. They both turn and grin at you, both of them wearing paper crowns on their heads. “Merry Christmas!” they chorus, their grins growing wider as you stare at them trying to take it all in. “Table’s set….” says George, gesturing to the dining area where candles and crackers nestle with their finest crockery. “Dinner’s on…” Fred adds, holding out the sides of the apron he’s wearing and curtseying at you. “Presents are under the tree.” George points to a pile of gift wrapped objects. “Couldn’t have you missing out now, could we?” Fred crows triumphantly as you continue to stand there, mouth agape in shock. All this for you? As if reading your mind, George walks over to you, smiling down at your stunned expression. “You know me and Fred….. Any excuse for a good feed.” Finally coming to your senses you laugh and shake your head in disbelief. “This is awesome!” you tell them. “You’ve thought of everything!” Fred takes his wand out very deliberately and fixes you and George with a sly smirk. “Not quite.” he replies cryptically. “Just one more thing left to take care of.” He flicks his wand at the pair of you and gives you a knowing wink before going back to the kitchen. You look up at George, puzzled by Fred’s actions but as you do so you understand his plan. Winding its way down from the ceiling to hang over your heads is some mistletoe. George follows your gaze and chuckles when he sees the growing sprig. “Well, it is tradition…..” he reasons, taking you in his arms and bowing his head down towards yours. “Aren’t you worried you’ll catch my fever?” you tease as his lips hover tantalisingly in front of your mouth. “That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.” he says softly, his lips enclosing around yours in the sweetest, most breathtaking kiss. As what seems like a million fireworks go off in your brain, sending tingles of pleasure around your body, all you can think to yourself is Merry Christmas indeed!

WANNA KNOW HOW TO MAKE THE PERFECT BASTED EGG?

IT’S LIKE SUNNY-SIDE UP, EXCEPT THERE’S NO RESIDUAL EGG WHITES STILL SLIMING UP YOUR PLATE. 

FIRST YOU GET THE PAN HOT AS GOLLUM, NOW THAT HE’S RESTING IN THE FIERY PITS OF MOUNT DOOM.

GET A BIT OF BUTTER INTO THE PAN! MAYBE A TEASPOON. YOU THINK PRECISION MATTERS IN THIS SHIT? NO! IT DOESN’T! JUST DON’T PUT A SHIT-TON IN THERE.

PROTIP- CRACK YOUR EGG AGAINST A FLAT SURFACE, LIKE A COUNTER, INSTEAD OF AN EDGE. YOU’RE LESS LIKELY TO GET EGG SNOT ALL OVER THE PLACE LIKE A CLUMSY MOTHERFUCKER.

DIG YOUR THUMB INTO THE SHELL AND DROP YOUR EGGY DELIGHT INTO THE HOT BUTTER.

MAKE SURE THE EGG IS OFF TO ONE SIDE OF THE PAN, AND NOT IN THE CENTER! THIS IS PROBABLY EASY, AS MOST STOVETOPS WERE DESIGNED BY NON-PERFECTIONISTS, AND AREN’T PERFECTLY LEVEL.

WATCH IT WRIGGLE AROUND IN AGONY, AS THE HEAT DENATURES SOME PROTEINS AND CHANGES YOUR SNOTTY EGG SHIT INTO DELICIOUS EGG WHITES!

WHEN THE EGG WHITES ARE ALMOST COMPLETELY DONE, BUT YOUR YOLK IS STILL LOOKING RUNNIER THAN A VAMPIRE ON THE BUSINESS END OF A WINCHESTER’S GLARE, TIME FOR ACTION!

GRAB SOME WATER AND SLOSH SOME INTO THE PAN - ROUNDABOUT 3 TABLESPOONS.

IT’LL START HISSING AND SPITTING LIKE MAD, BUT YOU’VE GOTTA COVER UP THE PAN QUICK, SO ITS FURY CANNOT TOUCH YOUR PERFECT FACE.

KEEP IT COVERED FOR AROUND 20 SECONDS.

YOU’LL SEE THE LAST OF THE WHITES SOLIDIFYING OVER THE YOLK, CAPTURING IT LIKE THE LOVELY CARLIN CAPTURED MY VIKING HEART!

IF YOU LEAVE IT IN THERE FOR MUCH LONGER, THE YOLK WILL COOK AS WELL, AND THAT’S A DIFFERENT TYPE OF EGG!

ONCE YOUR EGG HAS REACHED PERFECTION, SPATULA THAT BAD BOSS ONTO YOUR PLATE~

WANT SOME SCIENCE TO GO WITH YOUR BREAKFAST?

THE ADDED WATER QUICKLY PRESSURE/STEAM-COOKS THE TOP OF YOUR EGG! BRILLIANT!

HAD YOU FLIPPED THE EGG, YOU WOULD HAVE HAD AN ‘over easy’ AND THAT LITTLE SHIT FUCKS ITSELF UP REAL EASY UNDER AN UNSKILLED HAND. 

Sexuality, Ableism, and Therapy: I'm Not Your Teachable Moment

Not so long ago, I broke up with my therapist. In the fairness of full disclosure, it was a breakup without going through the breaking up. There was no, It’s actually you and not me. No extended communication that I would be leaving, or why.

I skipped, gleefully, over the part where I sat in her office, feeling super uncomfortable, staring at the wall as I explained, You actually fumbled some shit pretty badly, so I’m not coming back.

I got out without another appointment, or returning any calls, or giving a reason why. And I think, according to the internet, or, more specifically, other mental health professionals, that I’m supposed to feel a smidge guilty about the way things didn’t go down.

To them, I say: I have zero guilt, and I don’t have any plans to add it to the list of things I torment myself about.

So, let’s talk about it.

The conversation that led to my great escape

I had a few months under my belt with this therapist before I decided to casually drop my sexuality into conversation. Casually, like tossing her a hand-grenade and stepping back, hoping I was out of the line of fire. Bad luck on my end, because I wasn’t.

The decision to avoid bringing my sexuality up early on was intentional. My thought process being, I have literally zero angst with my bisexuality, so I don’t need to bring it up as if it’s an issue. Sounds good, right? Wrong, wrong, wrong.

As soon as it was mentioned, she latched on to it. Fair enough, I guess. This was news to her, after assuming my raging heterosexuality for a few sessions. But, it didn’t end there. If it had ended at her surprise, as she filed away the new info about me, I might still be there.

But it didn’t. Here’s an overview of what came up over the course of the next few minutes of the session:

  • “I just want you to know, I have other homosexual clients.”

I get that this was supposed to make me feel better. If I was straight, and speaking with a client who’d just revealed her sexuality late in the game, maybe I would say something similar. I can’t know for certain, because I’m not either of those things, but I hope I wouldn’t handle it that way.

But, Estee, you’re thinking, you get what she’s saying. Saying homosexual is code for her experience with other LGBTQ folks sitting across from her and using up her stock of Kleenex.

I get it. But…there’s actually a huge, gaping, differences between my experiences as a bisexual woman, and the experiences of a gay man. Experiences that, to me, as a client being seen by a professional, are really important.

So, leading with that wasn’t super comforting to me.

  • “A lot of people say that bisexual women are confused, or need to make up their minds. How do you feel about that?”

Here’s part of what’s so great about therapy (done right): It is a safe space. I can go in and cry my eyes out for an hour, going through tissues like it’s my job, and generally snotting all over the place while I talk about some hideous shit. I can also go in and tell my therapist that I’m going to need some prompting because I have things to talk about, but they’re not coming easily, for whatever reason.

Therapy, including the space shared between you and a trained professional, is something that should feel welcoming, and also fluid, if you need it to operate one way, and then shake it up at your next visit. It should evolve as you do, or be a familiar, comforting environment where you can work on goals, and also talk about the stuff you can’t say anywhere else.

So, unless I came into this shared space, saying, Hey, let’s talk about biphobia. Specifically, stereotypes about bi women that can often accompany erasure and violence, her decision to make a note of my sexuality and then immediately bring up common biphobic sentiments, wasn’t appropriate. It made me feel uneasy, uncomfortable, like I wanted to bolt for the door instead of saying, How the hell do you think it makes me feel? How am I supposed to answer that? 

Not only did it leave me feeling off about working with her in the future, it also made me wonder how much stock she put in those stereotypes, which doubled my discomfort.

  • “Queer is okay? That used to be a slur, like f*g. You never know what’s PC these days!”

I just…that’s when I knew. Sitting in the little pleather chair across from her politely baffled expression, I knew that I wanted out. I could imagine future sessions with her, where I would have to stop the flow of what we were potentially accomplishing so I could explain something related to my identity, or correcting something she said that made me super uncomfortable.

And I wasn’t up for it.

So, I left. She’s called and left voice mails, and I haven’t checked them. I didn’t schedule another session, where I’d essentially have to pay to sit there and tell her that she made me uncomfortable, and I wasn’t going to work with her anymore.

The flip side of this is that I could have had the conversation, right? It wouldn’t have been that bad to suck it up and have a proper patient-therapist breakup. I chose not to. And if I’m ever in a situation with a mental health professional that causes discomfort, I’ll choose the same thing.

It’s not that I’m angry, or scared to have that conversation, now. As it turns out, it was my way of making the decision to refuse to be a teachable moment. Ever.

Medical professionals don’t have such a great history of treating patients with dignity, or respecting our autonomy, to put it lightly. Add to that what we get from “well meaning” or downright hostile and abusive strangers, friends, and family - and I don’t have it in me to sit and hold someone’s hand while I explain the way(s) they’re messing up. Especially when I am paying for my time there, and they have access to, at the very least, Google, and other resources that can provide free insight and maybe a little less likely to alienate or harm their clients. (Maybe)

The thing is, I need medical professionals to want to be safe for their patients, all patients and not just the Good Mentally Ill, or the ones with backgrounds that are familiar or similar to their own. 

If medical professionals do not actively go out of their way to learn about different races, classes, cultures, and so on - they’re inaccessible. Not only that, but they’re actually dangerous and pretty scary, which a lot of us already know from experience.

So, it sounds like a small thing, me correcting my therapist when she royally screwed up and made me feel wildly uncomfortable, but it’s not up to me to sit in someone’s office and put up with feeling that way so I can correct their attitude/behavior, or at least try to. It’s not up to you, either.

The burden shouldn’t be on us to correct our therapists, unless we want to, for our own reasons. If your therapist, psychiatrist, MD, or anyone you’re working with in a treatment/care capacity screws up, and you want to address it so they can do better for you? I’m all for that. I hope they learn and take in what you say, so you can feel okay seeing them and get the care you deserve. 

But it’s also okay to just get out. That’s what I want people to know.

It’s okay to find something different, something better, or to stop participating/looking for awhile, or forever. 

Marathon Runners are lunatics

A friend of mine is training for a marathon in the summer.  I always thought marathon runners a strange lot. It seems strange to me that people would celebrate a man who died running 26.5 miles by attempting to do the same. My dad was a marathon runner, he would do around 8 marathons a year, and usually an adventure race which involved a 15 mile run, 4 miles swim, 25 mile bike, 20 mile kayak, 12 mile orienteering, finished with a light 15 mile run.  He would do this solo, and beat out all of the teams, including the Army and Marine teams.  Now he has artificial hips and they replaced a disk in his spine last fall.

I used to go to a lot of marathons to cheer him on, and never before have I seen such a large group of lunatics in one place.  There would be people running barefoot, runners wearing tutu’s, and other oddities. 

Runners often have runny noses while running so there are thousands of people blowing snot rockets all over the place. Vomiting is also not uncommon. 

 

Waiting at the finish line you see a handful Kenyan guys who are way ahead of everyone else, followed by thousands of half dead looking runners covered in their own sweat, snot, and other secretions or bodily fluids.

Once and a while you will spot the unfortunate runner covered in fecal matter because he or she lost bowel control due to the “runner’s trots”. 

Pain is temporary, pride is forever.  If you are a marathon runner, my hat goes off to you. Much respect.