#Jon being given the gift of living a happy normal life

[thevoidcannotbefilled]

I say this in the most unironic way possible: Madoka Magica AU for TMA.

The world is infested with pockets of fears that hurt everyone who comes near or in contact to them. The worst of these are Manifestations, which actively attack people and seek them out, distorting the land around them to create a world where the only laws of physics are the ones it creates. To combat this, creatures from the entities go and find people to be their avatars, able to wield their power at the cost of normal life. And to power their change, they make one wish equal to the power within them.

But, of course, this is not all what it seems. When becoming an avatar, each person is given a gem to power themselves. Over time, the gem gets slowly corrupted, little flames, little eyes peeking through the sea of color. They're not told this, but the gem? That's not just power, it's their mind, their heart, their soul kept safe within its confines. Their body is just a vessel now. 

And if their gem gets fully corrupted? Well, avatars are manifestations of their entities after all. If they are more fear than person, it's time to emerge, to Manifest.

There are two ways to prevent this: 1) Manifestations when they're defeated, drop a core. This core can be used to slow down corruption. But the most consistent way... well, sometimes you need to cause fear in order to prevent more right?

So, shit's fucked and for the most part, most of the avatars dont know the truth behind what they do or if they do, don't care because they're enjoying being awful.

Which brings the Institute crew.

Honestly at this point, this is just the plot of Madoka but we'll continue anyway. 

Jon, Sasha, and Tim are all working at the Magnus Institute when they have a new recruit, Martin Blackwood. He's odd, stern, and in a way incredibly distant. It's almost like he isn't there, and yet when the rest of the crew think of him, they can only think that he has a nice smile.

Well, Jon thinks other things. 1) Martin seems incredibly competent at this and 2) the tea makes is absolutely perfect. He has no idea what to make of any of this. But Martin doesn't seem to keen to talk to any of them more than strictly necessary, which is perfectly fine with him.

There's an attack, Martin surprise surprise, uses odd powers of disappearing(?) to stop it. Elias with a help from a creature from the entities tries to recruit the crew to becoming avatars, but Martin tells him off, and manages to convince the crew to talk with him and hear him out.

Martin tells them about the avatars. About the fear manifestations. He tells them how this isn't a choice that can be so quickly made that it will change their lives, make them... inhuman.

Tim asks about the wishes. What they can do. Martin quietly answers that whatever he wants to wish, it's not worth the price. Sasha asks why Martin is doing this and why didn't he tell them.

He goes quiet, but then answers honestly, he knew they wouldn't believe him.

For Jon, he asks every question imaginable. Who are you really? What can you do? Why did you protect us? What are those creatures? Why shouldn't I become one of these avatars? What's wrong with Elias?

And Martin answers some of them vague. Some of them full answers. But he says this: I just want everyone to be safe.

Skipping a bit, this story becomes a combo of Martin continuously preventing Jon from becoming an avatar while the world goes to hell around them. Tim becomes an avatar to save his brother. Only to be corrupted by the realization that he's now stuck in this cycle. Sasha becomes an avatar for what she says, to protect others, but she wants to know, needs to know what's going on.

Sasha dies from the a Manifestation, the Not!Them. Tim dies, on the edge of Manifesting himself, but goes down, dying as he takes out the Unknowing.

Throughout all this, Jon slowly realizes there are things Martin isn't telling him. And he asks directly, why aren't you letting me become an avatar? Why aren't you letting me help anyone?

And Martin, terrified that he's going to lose him to Elias' tales of power, tells him.

Martin's power isn't to disappear. In fact, he's always there. No, Martin can manipulate time.

These past few months. Martin has lived them again and again. Trying over and over to keep Jon alive. Every time Jon has become an avatar, he's died or worse, Manifested.

And it always happens. Every time. Every time he tries to go back and save Jon, it seems like there is never a happy ending for him. For them. Elias hasn't told them but there's a huge Manifestation arriving soon. If they dont stop it, do something, it will destroy all of London, and if it does that, there will be nothing they can do for it wrecking havoc all over the world.

And Martin adds, Elias wants Jon to become an avatar, to be his Archivist to either defeat it or become something far worse and far more powerful.

What Martin doesn't know, the wish gains power from the world around them. And Jon, while having the ability at the beginning to be a pretty decent avatar, has become something more. By going back over and over, Jon has become more important in the grand scheme of things, a fixation gaining power of decision with every loop. As much as Martin tries, going back has only made Jon's ultimate fate more ensured and more destructive.

And Jon... he's terrified. But he knows what to do. He wishes there was no such thing as Manifestations in all of existence.

In doing so, he rewrites the laws of the universe. However, by doing so, he essentially destroys his own existence. There can not be avatars without Manifestation. And thus, Jon exists and yet he doesn't.

And Martin.... maybe it's a gift maybe it's a curse, but he remembers Jon. He remembers the many loops trying to keep that stubborn man safe. He remembers the soft smiles that Jon only let the most precious to him see. He remembers falling in love. He remembers sometimes, being loved back.

It hurts. It hurts so much to lose him. But, these moments, these memories, they mattered. Martin loved Jon and that love that determination to save the world mattered. If he didn't think that Jon's life didn't matter, the world would have gone to hell the first time with nothing left but despair.

This isn't a happy ending. It isn’t fair and it isn’t right. But it is an ending made best despite the circumstances. Because despite the fear, despite everything against them, it was love, love of others, love of the world, that saved everyone. It may not exist anymore, but it mattered. They mattered. And sometimes that's enough.

[ieattaperecorders]

Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 2

The three archival assistants engage in some highly unprofessional office gossip, showing a lack of respect for the esteemed academic institution that employs them.

Read on Ao3

“He’s going to fire me, I just know it.”

Martin sat miserably at his desk - head down, hands at his temples, trying in vain to banish the tension headache forming behind his eyes. Tim leaned over him, casually tossing one of Martin’s little desk toys from hand to hand. It was a stress ball shaped like a Snorlax, and had done very little to reduce Martin’s stress of late.

“Don’t really think that adds up,” Tim said, “why start being friendly if he’s planning to fire you? And wouldn’t he have, y’know, done it by now?”

“Elias, then. He’s going to fire me and Jon knows about it, so he’s acting nice to soften the blow.” Martin pulled at his hair, dragging a few messy curls down over his face. “Or - - or else he’s just happy I’ll be gone soon. Either way.”

“Or, here’s a thought - -” Tim reached over and set the stress ball down on the desk, about an inch from Martin’s nose. “He’s just decided to be nice. Something nice is actually happening to Martin Blackwood but he can’t accept it, because he’s got worms in his brain.”

Martin glared tiredly up through his hands. “I did ask you to stop with the worm jokes, Tim.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tim put his hands up. “But that’s a thought, right? He probably just feels bad that you, y’know. . . got attacked by a stalker and her army of flesh eating parasites?”

There was some sense in that, Martin had to admit. It hadn’t been long after his encounter with Prentiss that he’d begun to notice changes in the things Jon said and did. Some of them were nice enough - he snapped a lot less, for one thing. He didn’t grumble and complain over little things Martin did or forgot to do, at least not where Martin could hear it. But other things were just baffling. He seemed to ask after Martin a whole lot more. He’d make strange comments and look at Martin like he expected him to laugh. And more than once, Martin had turned around to catch Jon staring at him with an expression that he couldn’t make heads or tails of. It left him feeling scrutinized. As if it was just a matter of time before he slipped up somehow, made some mistake that would upend his life even more.

Oh yes, and then there was the incident two weeks ago when he’d nearly smashed Jon’s head in with a wrench, and he’d said it was fine and they shouldn’t worry about it. Martin almost had a heart attack with that one. And then, then Jon said to call him if he thought he heard something at night? What did that even mean? Was he concerned that his employee would be making frivolous 999 calls from the institute every time he heard the floor creak if he didn’t keep him from it?

If so, well . . . he probably wasn’t far from right, to be honest. Martin had been doing his best to keep it to himself, but he'd been pretty badly wound up lately. Especially at night, when everyone else was gone and it was just him and a thousand files filled with spooky stories to keep him company. And there was always that sensation of eyes on the back of his neck, no matter how many times he told himself that no one else was there.

To say nothing of the creepy noises. It was an old building, and everything creaked at night. The pipes were especially bad, the uncanny susurration of rushing water that through the walls at night. He tried to ignore it, even block it out with music. But as the long, empty nights wore on, it always crept back into his mind. His sleep-deprived brain making it sound like muffled, unintelligible voices. As if there was something just beyond the walls whispering or singing to him. It made him feel sick inside.

He really needed to get better sleep.

Still. If Jon just felt sorry for Martin after everything that had happened, it would at least explain why he was grumbling less and hovering more. Really, Martin should be enjoying the better treatment while it lasted, because he doubted it would stay for long. Jon probably wasn’t going to ever actually like him. But if Martin could gain some ground with his new boss out of pity, well. That was something, wasn’t it? Better than being hated. And despite everything, he still really needed this job.

Tim’s eyes suddenly widened. He gripped Martin’s arm and smiled brightly, looking over his shoulder to the door.

“Hiya boss,” he called, “how’s decoding Gertrude’s filing system going?”

Martin turned to see Jon enter, a rueful smile on his face.

“It’s a challenge,” he said. “I’m afraid it will be some time before we can expect any progress.”

“We really should come up with a name for it,” Tim replied. “Creepy Card Catalog? Dewey Decimal of the Damned? Oh! How about Old Lady Robinson’s Disaster-o-pedia?”

“‘Disaster’ is certainly appropriate.” Jon's tone was neutral, but he didn't hide his smile. He turned to Martin, setting a mug in front of him. “I ah, I’ve noticed you’re always making tea for the rest of us, Martin. I thought it might be nice if someone else brought you a cup.”

It was the mug that Tim had bought Martin as a gag gift shortly after they’d started working in the archive. The one with a black and white pattern that looked like a Jersey cow, with a pink three-dimension udder sticking out of the side. Martin looked at it, then back at Jon who was smiling expectantly.

“Oh. . . thanks?” Martin smiled back, a little awkwardly. “That’s nice of you.”

Jon’s smile widened. It widened a lot, actually. His whole practically face lit up and it was way too much, and it was weird. Maybe Jon didn’t hear people call him nice very often?

"Least I can do. Given, ah - -" Jon hesitated, as if trying to remember what he was supposed to be grateful for. "Well. Given how hard you've been working, I suppose."

“What, nothing for me?” Tim teased.

“Ah . . . I didn’t think to--” Jon frowned, an expression of mild distress on his face. “But I could? I’ll just be a moment.”

Jon turned back towards the break room, and it was clear that even Tim was startled by that reaction. He’d obviously been joking, setting Jon up for a retort or an excuse to complain. It’s what he'd have normally responded with.

“See?” Martin gestured to where Jon had been standing. “That’s weird, right? That’s not just being friendly, it’s . . . I don’t know what it is. It’s an entire personality change.”

“Hmm. Yeah.” Tim blinked at the doorway. “He’s definitely planning to kill you.”

“Don’t joke about that either.” Martin groaned, rubbing his brow. The stress headache had not left, and he doubted it was going to any time soon.

“It starts with tea.” Tim continued, feigning a solemn tone. “Then, bit by bit, he’ll begin slipping you teeny tiny amounts of poison. Once you’re too weak to fight back or run, bam. Briefcase full of snakes.” He shook his head. “The perfect crime.”

"Come on."

"Snakes can't talk, Martin. That means no witnesses."

Martin sighed and reached for the mug. Whatever was going on, he supposed he was at least getting tea that he didn’t have to make. As he took a sip, a familiar flavor bloomed on his tongue and he choked in surprise.

“Yikes.” Tim looked at him with concern. “Is his tea that bad?”

“No . . . no it’s - -” Martin set the mug down, coughing a little, and wiped his mouth. “There’s jam in it. Strawberry jam.”

“Seriously?” Tim wrinkled his nose. “Who puts jam in tea?”

“I do! Sometimes . . . .”

“And you have the nerve to call anybody else weird?”

“I like it! It’s sweet and - - and anyway that’s not the point.” Martin frowned. “How does he know that? I know I never mentioned it.”

“Eh. He remembers strange things sometimes.” Tim shrugged. “He’ll forget that you had to show him how to use the copier, but he’ll rattle off a thousand details about how it works. He’s probably got an encyclopedic knowledge of how everyone in the institute likes their tea.”

At that moment, Jon’s head appeared back in the doorway. “Tim. I forgot to ask. Do you take sugar or milk?”

“Oh, you know it’s both.” Tim grinned, pointing in Jon’s direction.

Jon nodded and ducked back out. Martin looked at Tim, who shrugged.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve known Jon a lot longer than you. And one thing I can say about him is this - he’s a prick, but he’s not an asshole.”

“What does that even mean?” Martin sighed, picking up the mug again.

“It means . . . he’s just sort of like that,” Tim gestured vaguely towards the door. “He’s insensitive, and kind of snobby, and when he’s in a bad mood he makes it everyone else’s problem. But he’s not mean-spirited. Most of the time I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, honestly.”

“Realize it or not,” Martin muttered into his tea - - which damn it, was delicious and he was going to enjoy it regardless. “It’s not very nice being on the other end of it.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Tim smirked. “Like I said, he’s a total prick. But I don’t think he wants to be mean. And he doesn’t like thinking he’s hurt someone. You want to know my guess?”

“. . . Sure.”

“The whole worm thing made him take a look at how he’s been acting, especially with you,” Tim said. “And now he feels guilty. Covertly figuring out your awful, deviant tea preferences is probably his way of trying to make amends.”

“Mmm.”

Martin tapped Tim’s arm and looked at the door, which he’d been watching more closely ever since the first interruption. Jon appeared with a second cup of tea, this one in a mug that read “Over Sixty and Still Sexy!” in pink bubble letters.

“Here we are,” he handed it to Tim, looking pleased with himself.

“Thanks, chief.” Tim snapped his fingers. “Oh, hey! Almost forgot, I followed up on Statement 0162102. The woman in Sussex who saw a manifestation in her backyard? You know. The one with the uncanny, owl-like features?”

“Oh.” Jon raised an eyebrow. “What did you find?”

“Well. I looked up her address and as it turns out she lives half a mile from an owl sanctuary.”

“Ah.”

“Went to investigate like you said. Really nice old lady. He scones were a little dry, but she had all sorts of interesting knickknacks that she wanted to show me.”

“Sounds profoundly fascinating.”

“Anyway, I managed to tear myself away long enough to check out the yard. Shockingly enough, found some owl pellets there. So, stop me if you’ve heard this one, but--” he clicked his tongue loudly. “Think maybe she saw an owl?”

Jon smirked. “Another one for the discredited section.”

“That thing’s filling up fast.” Tim observed.

“Quite unsurprising, all thing considered.” Jon sighed, feigning disappointment, badly disguising how smug he was about it. Given his attitude towards the paranormal, Martin expected he believed that every statement should go straight into that pile. “Still. Progress is progress, and elimination is a form of progress on its own. I’ll let you know when I have something new for you.”

“Sure thing. Still waiting for my chance to unmask the creepy old mill owner trying to scare those meddling kids off his property.”

Jon laughed, sharp and loud, before catching himself and putting a hand over his mouth. There was something in his expression when he looked at Tim that Martin couldn’t quite place, and he found himself wondering if Jon had any interest in men. If so, it would make sense for him to be interested in Tim. Everyone was interested in Tim.

“Yes, well. I’d best be going,” he added hastily, nodding at Tim and then Martin. “Work to do. Good afternoon.”

Off he went again, ducking through the door and heading back towards his office. Tim turned to Martin once Jon was out of earshot.

“See?” he said, sipping his tea. “Deep down, the man’s a teddy bear.”

“Hmnn.” Martin fiddled with the handle on his mug. “Well. You and Sasha have known him for longer.”

“We were a duo of infamous murderers in a past life,” Tim said, “and now we’re being punished for it.”

“I suppose if you guys think this is normal for him - -”

He was interrupted by the loud thunk as Sasha appeared beside them, setting a box full of files down on the desk next to his. She looked at them both and smiled brightly.

“Oh, are we talking about how weird Jon’s been lately?” she asked. “Because he’s acting super weird, don’t let this guy over here tell you differently.”

“Right? Thank you!” Martin exhaled, relieved.

Tim gave Sasha an annoyed look. “Thanks, Sash.”

“Welcome, Tim!”

“It’s tough for me to say this," Tim leaned back, shaking his head, "but I’m honestly not sure that we can trust him anymore.” 

“Jon?” Sasha asked.

“No, Martin,” he made a show of putting a hand over his mouth, loudly whispering. “I found out he’s got this weird jam thing going on. Highly suspicious.”

“It’s not even that unusual!” Martin gesturing towards Tim. “See, he thinks Jon just feels guilty because I almost got murdered by worms.”

“Well, sure. I could believe that was it if he was just being less of a grouch. But there’s other things.” Sasha leaned in, lowering her voice. “I was talking to Cora today about some of the things in artifact storage? Jon overheard as he was walking by and he got . . . oddly upset. Went off on a whole rant about how there was nothing good down there and it would be better for everyone to keep their distance.”

“Well, I sort of get that.” Martin had been at the institute long enough to notice the high turnover rate in artifact storage. He’d heard stories. “That place is really creepy.”

“Sure. I don’t like going down there anyway.” Sasha shrugged. “But he was so intense about it. Like he’s trying to keep something shut up there . . . not sure what, though. Kind of thinking of taking a look around, just to see if anything came in recently.”

She reached over towards Tim and grabbed the mug out of his hand, taking a sip from it. He glared at her in mock annoyance.

“And you know when I hurt my shoulder just a few days ago?” she continued. “I asked if he’d let me record a statement about what happened, since some of it was a little bit odd --”

“What did happen anyway?” Tim asked, “you keep dodging me on the details.”

“Why stop now?” Sasha grinned, taking another sip of Tim’s tea. “At any rate, he wouldn’t let me just tell him about it. Handed me a form and said that I should write it down and he would read it afterwards. Was insistent about it, too, even though Elias says we should be committing as many statements to audio as possible.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh, and there’s something going on there. Have you noticed the way he looks at Elias now?”

Martin blinked. “Not really.”

“Hate.” Sasha said. “Not his usual - ‘ah, how dare you have the temerity to exist in my immediate area while I’m working’ thing. I mean real, proper hatred.”

She paused dramatically to let that sink in. Martin frowned. He wasn’t entirely sure what it meant if she was right, but he didn’t like the thought of it. Elias was an okay boss, as far as he could tell - not that he had much experience. But there’d always been this edge to him, something in his eyes that made Martin never want to be on his bad side.

“At first I thought it was an ego thing, you know?” Sasha continued. “That Jon had some new ideas about how things should be done around here, that Elias pushed back on them, and now they were having a pissing contest.”

“Thank you for that horrible image.” Tim said.

“But aside from the recording, he’s not doing anything differently. There’s just this tension between them all of a sudden. Feels like something happened.” Sasha continued, taking another sip of tea. “Not that I have a clue what it is. Yet.”

“Okay Poirot.” Tim reached to grab the now mostly-empty mug back from her. “As long as you’re solving mysteries around here, how about you catch the villain that keeps stealing snacks from my desk? Sometimes in front of me, while I watch her do it?”

“Oooh. Dunno, Tim.” Sasha smiled. “Got to deal with one thing at a time, don’t I? Don’t want to overwork myself on an empty stomach.”

“Speaking of . . . I should probably get back to work.” Martin said, glancing at the pad of notes he’d been ignoring since Tim sat down and started chatting with him. “Got a lot to get through.”

Work had been piling up since he moved into the archive. He wasn’t getting the best sleep, and during the day he was distracted too often. Occasionally he’d spot what looked like one of Jane’s worms and have to drop everything to lift up boxes and move furniture, make certain there was nothing there. Not the best circumstances for productivity. Jon hadn’t commented on it yet, but he was sure to notice if he hadn’t already, and Martin didn’t want to spoil whatever tentative good will he’d gained too quickly.

“I can take some of it off your hands.” Tim said. “I’ve got nothing to do anyway.”

“Oh, uh --” Martin hesitated, looking at the small stack of folders beside him. “Are you sure? I mean, if you don’t mind. . . .”

“Sure. Archival assistants gotta stick together, right?” Tim smiled and gave Martin’s shoulder a gentle shove. Martin smiled back, something soft and grateful rising in him at the gesture.

“Well . . . take your pick, then- -” he held up the two folders containing statements he hadn’t started on yet. “We’ve got, let’s see . . . a guy who thinks his car is haunted because it’s been making funny noises and, uh . . . someone who claims her parrot is the reincarnation of her late husband.”

“Thrilling stuff.” Sasha muttered.

“I’ll take the parrot one.” Tim said, holding out a hand for the file. “I’m good with birds.”

Sasha shook her head and sighed. “Is it just me, or have all the cases we’ve been working on been really, really dull lately?”

“Hey, I’m developing a real appreciation for dull.” Martin held up a hand. “The last interesting case I looked into got me locked in my apartment for a week. I’m pretty happy to have something where the follow-up’s probably going to involve recommending a mechanic.”

“Hmm.” Sasha sighed, glancing with disinterest at the files she’d brought in. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Got some follow-up of my own to do.”

Martin saw Sasha grab her coat off a chair and walk back out the door, leaving the files untouched. He turned his attention back to his own work.

[unfortunatelysirius]

Goodbye, My Love // Jon Snow

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」 When it comes to saying goodbye, you’ve always had trouble. But it becomes especially hard when saying it to Jon Snow. 「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」 I am SO bad at updating… all I’ve got as an explanation. *shrug emoji* If you guys want a reunion companion piece [season 6] then hey, just ask. Otherwise, here’s this chunk of trash for you all ;) [It’s honestly rushed, I apologize in advance] 「 ❁ 」WARNINGS 「 ❁ 」 Swearing, Angst 「 ❁ 」WORD COUNT 「 ❁ 」

3027

         YOU MET JON SNOW ON YOUR FIFTH NAMEDAY.        You had always lived in Winterfell with your mother and father, who were (respectively) the seamstress and blacksmith. You were lowborn, but respectable, with parents whose gifts were renowned throughout Winter Town. You were never put in the finest dresses or presented in front of hand-picked husband prospects, that much was true; however, you never wanted nor needed to be highborn to feel like your life had meaning.        Your first meeting with Jon Snow had you smitten, even at such a young age.        You’d been running around Winter Town, a crown of flowers in your hair, when you’d stumbled into something warm and fleshy—a human body. You squealed and fell, the stranger following suit with a kidlike grunt. Only when you’d managed to spit out one of the petals that had fallen into your mouth did you look up, eyes snapping into some sort of trance. There was a blue-eyed gaze locked on your own.              “Hi!” you’d immediately said, not bashful at all. You grinned at the strange boy, near the same age as you. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”        The boy’s face was flushed red, a look of embarrassment on his face. He stood quickly. And he stayed silent, continuing to stare, like someone might would a predator.        “Hellllllo?” You tilted your head. “You’re not very nice.”        The curly-haired boy shook his own head, defiantly silent. His eyes flickered away from yours and back towards the way he came—the way you were heading towards. When you went sideways to see from around his body, you saw what he was looking at. Eddard and Catelyn Stark, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, as they stood on the railing of their tower.        You were incredulous, to say the least, that this was what caught the strange boy’s attention. Was it why he was silent, too? “Why are you looking at them?” you demanded. “D’you wanna be a lord, too?”        The boy snapped his head around to stare at you. “What?” he demanded, in a voice much too brusque to be a child’s.        You giggled childishly. “Lord Curly,” you teased. “’Cause you’ve got curly hair, and I don’t know your name!”        Though he remained alert and angry-looking, the boy finally caved. His mouth twitched into a grimace. “Jon,” he said simply.        “Lord Jon,” you said. You smiled toothily up at him. “Bye, Lord Jon.”        You pranced around him, sprinting in the direction you were going originally. And as you went, a stray petal untucked from your crown, and it was rushed backwards by the wind. It went and went, all until it fell at Jon’s feet.        He picked it up. And he stared at it.        What he wouldn’t admit to anyone, much less himself, was that he thought you were really, really pretty. As pretty as someone five name-days old could be. And he hoped he’d see you again.        He really hoped he’d see you again.

       -

       It was three years and three moons later when you saw the mysterious Jon again. You were eight, hair reaching your waist and eyes ever so wide. You’d become curious and adventure-seeking, still carrying around that same naivety like a sleeve’s patchwork. You were hanging around the kitchens, stealing sweets your mother refused to let you have, just leaving when you caught a glimpse of a curly-haired boy. He was walking briskly. Was he angry? You dropped the biscuits you were carrying and went to pursue him.

       “Lord Curly!” you cried, struggling to keep up. The boy was older and taller, his pace like that of a man running from a bear—only he was jogging. Maybe he knew you were following, even before you’d called out his nickname. “Lord Curly, please—stop running!”

       He stopped abruptly. A bit too late, perhaps, as you rammed your nose directly into his back.

       “Ouch,” you cooed, rubbing the offended spot, blinking. The boy had turned around in the time it took for the pain to disappear, and catching his bleary gaze locked you in place. In a very bad way, given his expression. “Are you alright?”

       “I was,” he said coolly. Was that a hint at you being an annoyance? You never could tell with anyone, much less the brooding subject of your childish fantasies. “What do you want?”

       “My, my, Lord Curly! I just wanted to speak to you.” You smiled.

       “I’m busy.”

       Your smile became a frown. “Oh? Doing what?”

       Jon didn’t look very pleased that you were still there. He was an inch away from fleeing. He returned your frown and muttered, “I’ll get in trouble if we keep talking.”

       You jutted out your lip and made a noise. A very inhuman noise. “Lord Curly, why do ya say that?”

       He looked over your head at something in the distance. You knew it was the Lord and Lady of the castle, as that’s all that lay beyond Winter Town.

       “You’re not Robb,” you stated. “So who are you?”

       “No one,” said Jon in response. Quick—too quick. He didn’t want you to know.

       You kept quiet in reply.

Jon pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and face, body twisting around. His back was to you, his curly head of charred hair the framework of his identity.

He was like a shadow and a puzzle, conjoined together to make one very difficult game. You were eager to be his friend, keen to know him better—but he kept disappearing. It’d been over three years since you seen him last. And now he was the one running away.

“Bye, Lord Curly!” you called out to him as his footsteps echoed into silence and his head of curls were no longer seen.

-

Jon had hoped to see you again.

But Catelyn kept watching.

And she didn’t want him to have any friends.

-

So many years passed. You got taller and curvier, growing into yourself, until eventually you stopped changing at fifteen. Your fifteenth name-day was a tremendous affair, with the Lord and Lady themselves in attendance. Jon wasn’t there, to your disappointment. You hadn’t seen him since you were eight. It’d been so long, too long, enough to make you forget he ever existed. But he plagued your memories, he haunted your dreams. His name was always on the tip of your tongue. The cusp of a breath.

You’d danced with several boys, wearing a flower crown on your head. Every boy was worse than the last. You always pretended they were Jon, even though you held no picture—hardly even an inkling—of his current appearance. How did he look now, with the two of you older and less naïve? You were sure he’d chiseled out. He probably looked more a man than your own father did, the child that he was.

You wanted to stop being eaten alive by questions. You wanted him to appear on a white mare and take you captive in his orbit. You wanted to fall in love the old-fashioned way, the against-all-odds way, with someone your parents would not approve of. You could not care less. You didn’t give a shite what they thought. All that mattered was finding someone who could give you a happy ending.

That was over a moon ago. You were beginning to feel like you’d never see him again.

You walked out into the snow atop your balcony on a crisp evening, wearing another crown of flowers. You were dressed in an evening gown—feet barren and your hair crowning your face. You’d spent the day dreaming about Jon, and crossed Winter Town over six times, desperate to see the boy again—even if he held no recognition for you. What were the odds that he’d appear? To you, chance was nothing; this was all fate. Whether you’d find him again, you knew not. You knew next to nothing on fate’s plans.

You felt the world was in your hands and odds were in your favor, however. There was a feeling in your gut, a feathery weight, that kept you lifting, refusing to let you land. You were not grounded. You were airborne.

What did this mean?

It meant having hope in naïve fantasies.

Your hair blew around your face, masking your vantage of the navy sky. The moon was a hair away, right above your head, crowning you Luna. It was glowing translucently. It was calling for you to give up your games. But you—really, honestly, truly—refused to leave this for children until you found Jon again. Until you saw his face. Until you knew his coldness for what it was.

Curiosity is a killer. As is love.

You knew it so, but that did not make you any less reckless.

A rustling sounded from below. Could this—be it? You thought maybe. You brushed your windswept hair from your eyes, glancing downward.

From the dark shadows emerged a shape. A lean, muscular shape, clad in black—or maybe that was the darkness. He was threaded with it, wasn’t he? When a glint of moonlight bounced off the shadow’s raven curls, you knew it so.

It was Jon.

“Jon?” you whispered aloud, just to be sure. This fantasy come to life needed cemented.

The shadow moved closer, bringing with him sudden light. It was like a scene from a fairytale, with the ruggedly handsome knight coming to rescue his damsel. Though, this one was much darker and much less renowned than what you’d normally expect; the princes in your books were blond, blue-eyed, and sunlit.

A new perspective, you declared it. Jon was perfect in your eyes.

The boy in question coughed. “Yeah, it’s me, Y/N.” He was silent for a while thereafter, as the two of you stared at one another. Then he said, “I’m sorry for how I’ve made you feel.”

“Sick with longing for a man I know nothing about?” You smiled, though wearily, and laughed at him. “I assure you, there is not any remorse.”

Jon sighed. If not for the crisp air, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “Lady Stark has no kindness in her heart for me. I am a bastard, you see—”

“I know what you are, Jon Snow,” you said. “And quite the contrary to what you think, I don’t care.”

“Y/N, I’m a bastard—”

You snorted, as unladylike as could be. “And I’m not highborn. So why would I give a rat’s arse?”

Jon looked uncertain, glancing between you and the way from which he came. “I came to apologize, Y/N, not to start anything—”

“Lady Stark is a bitter, middle-aged woman, Jon,” you said. “And I’m quite the opposite. I assume you like that. Why else would you come back here to woo yourself into my good graces?”

There was an intensity in the air. It made you want to scale down the balcony and take Jon for your own.

Jon seemed quite puzzled, like he couldn’t tell what to think of you. At last he said, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Then let’s not get caught.”

From this view, Jon seemed like he was considering what you said. You decided not to give him time to take back his visit and his words. You hopped up on the edge of your balcony’s wooden posts and curved your body to face the entrance to your bedroom. You gripped the posts tight, and dropped down a few feet.

Jon hissed, “What are you doing, Y/N? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you grunted, using your limited view to catch what post to drop to next. Eventually you reached the last available post and you realized that you needed to jump down. “Jon, I have to let go.”

“Y/N, stop, no. You’ll get hurt.”

You smiled largely. “That’s why you’ve got to catch me!”

Your hands lost grip on the balcony.

You fell down, the wind gusting in your hair. You were flying, a raven born of air. You didn’t think about the consequences, not the possibility of death or severe injury, brain only centered on the beauty that being airborne was; and the idea you had a prince of darkness to catch your fall.

You roughly hit Jon’s rock-hard body, his arms coming to envelope you, the both of you falling into the snow. He grunted, and you squeaked. You had only dreamt of a proximity this close, and having him as close to you as he was now—

You flipped around to be chest-to-chest with Jon.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you said abruptly.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

You pressed a small peck on his lips, without an actual response.

Jon stared up at you, his cheeks a rosy red. His nose, too. He looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually kiss him—but then you did, and he didn’t know how to respond. How to think, even. This beautiful art-piece of a human-being, kissing him and touching him like they couldn’t care less what his namesake was.

Jon surged forwarded and kissed you hard, much more assertively than you did him.

You squeaked again, finding this roughness, this ferocity, such a difference from your own faint touches. He was gripping your body like nothing ever had, holding you close and center, with the snow just a background accessory in the face of his body heat, and his kiss—fuck, his kiss.

It was otherworldly.

Eventually, you found this had to stop.

“Jon, Jon, stop—my parents!” You giggled against his lips.

“Fuck the town. Fuck everything, Y/N,” Jon said, leaning back to stare at you. “We’ll have our own town. Our own world. I’m Lord Curly, right? You can be Lady Flowers.” He placed a delicate hand  on one of the flowers in your crown.

This direction was so different from where you’d thought it’d go. You thought Jon would use you then discard you like a used towel, and you’d let him because you liked him that much. You had learned to take what you could get, regardless of how hurt it put you in the process. Jon wanted this as much as you, right? So you thought it’d be foolish of you to say no.

You pushed yourself into him and got lost in the midst of frigid wind and falling snow, giggles and growls muffled under the pale light of the moon.

-

The two of you, for the better part of a few years, were rather invested in keeping up your connection. You’d hide out together and kiss, talk about your hopes and dreams, curse Catelyn Stark and her bitterness; all the while, you fell more and more hopelessly in love. You were once enraptured by Jon, thinking of him as the most honorable man you’d ever met aside from Eddard Stark, his father. But now, it was love.

Eventually, it caught up to you.

Catelyn Stark discovered your forbidden romance when she’d passed by the two of you kissing once. At once, she put a stop to it. She demanded Jon not to see you anymore, forced you all to put the shenanigans in the past. She knew who your parents were, and she disapproved of their child intermingling with a bastard. So much so, she went to your door a fortnight after you had last kissed Jon—and told your mother as she answered the door that you were in relations with her husband’s bastard.

Things got steadily worse after that. Your mother and father began fighting, as your mother did not like what you’d been doing while your father couldn’t bear telling you that you were wrong to love who you loved. Your mother would sleep alone in bed, your father made to sleep outside.

Jon never appeared again. He went moons without speaking to you. You felt like things were getting progressively worse, that the love of your life had been snatched away—

And then the King visited. And you learned from Robb Stark, who knew of your relation to his half-brother, that Jon was leaving for the watch.

You had to say goodbye.

-

Like you had two left feet, you clumsily left your mother and father’s abode, hurrying to the stables where Robb claimed Jon would be. You were terrified, thinking he had already left. This was the man of your dreams; if he left without giving you a deserved farewell, you wouldn’t know if you could forgive him.

You knew you wouldn’t forgive him.

You were flying through crowds of townsfolk, your legs aching and stomach receding into itself the longer you went, the farther you got. Eventually you reached the stables.

You stopped at the very edge of the entrance, peaking through. Your gaze swept past horses as they quietly moved their heads downward and ate from their haystacks. At one point, your sweeping gaze faltered, and you realized what had happened.

Jon had left you. He left without saying goodbye.

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

-

You knew this day would come. Jon would get tired of running, and he’d get tired of feeling worthless, and so he’d put an end to both. He’d run until he got to a dead end. He’d fight until he was worth more than anything in the world. He’d do all he could to be something more than Eddard Stark’s bastard.

It meant throwing away your memories.

It meant leaving without uttering a single goodbye.

It meant letting your love be just as it was.

Never meant to last.

-

Jon kept running and running and running. He would run until his legs turned to jelly. He’d pant until his eyes rolled back with exhaustion. He’d scream and fight until he got where he wanted to be—somewhere new, somewhere different, somewhere not Winterfell.

(You couldn’t come with. Why couldn’t you come with?)

The running would stop.

(He never wanted to leave you.)

He only wished it didn’t mean losing the thing he’d loved most.

-

I love you, Lord Curly.

-

I love you too, Lady Flowers.

-

FIN.

[ohjaimelannister]

What are your predictions for 8x04 and the rest of the season? Plus all the major characters, like who do you think will live?

Oh god anon, Im sorry I didnt see this until now! 8x04 is kinda redundant now, and no one could have really predicted that storm of shite.

Okay so this is gonna be long I guess but here we go.

To be honest with you I only have a few prediction as to where the story’s gonna end up, I’m more concerned with the characters but :Kings Landing and the Iron Throne are destroyed by Cersei and/or Daenerys and Drogon. There is no more ‘King or Queen’ of the Seven Kingdoms, they have a council of a few (possibly elected? but probably not because this is Westeros) lords in a democracy or each kingdom goes back to being completely independent (which in the Norths case I wouldn’t actually mind) .

I’m not sure whether the White Walkers are truly gone or not? I’m not sure whether there’s gonna be something to do with them, but probably not. But basically there’s gonna be a lot of destruction and dismantling of the normal before this is all over.

I think this isn’t going to be type of “The End” situation, life will continue and maybe we’ll get some sort of epilogue about how one of the characters we’ve come to know is murdered under /mysterious/ circumstance (just like how the series began with Jon Arryns murder) or there’s another rebellion and the cycle begins all over again. There will be the inlaying message about how the wheel is never ‘broken’ because power will always be coveted and power will always be taken from those that have it. Basically they’re doomed to live this cycle over and over again. Hence the ‘bittersweet’ ending. All those that died along the way, died for nothing because the politics, backstabbing and wars will never be over.

Characters :

Lets start with The Starks, Sansa- I have nothing much for you except I just hope she lives at this point? Honestly, Id like her to rule and be Sansa of House Stark, First of her Name Wardeness of the North. She cares about her people and loves them endlessly so she’s perfect for ruling and protecting the North because of all she’s learned from figures like Tyrion, Cersei, Littlefinger etc.   I don’t really mind if she marries or not but I’d like her to at least experience a loving relationship at some point in her life after all the shit she’s suffered through, and she just deserves to be happy basically. Though saying all of this considering how they’re writing it at the moment I honestly and truly expect her to end up ruling the north completely alone without any of her family with her because that ‘subverts expectations’ and D&D are shits.

Jon - well I hope for the best again but let’s be honest we’re not going to get it. Therrs two ways this could go : 1.) He doesn’t want to rule and I honestly don’t think he will. I would like him too, he’s good in leadership positions and he’s got the ‘saving the masses’ temperament (re: Wildings and getting himself killed for it) but I’m getting real big “gonna kill my auntiegirlfriend” from him at the moment, and I think we all know by know its been implied that Dany is going to go ‘mad’ and hell do it it to stop her from continuing to destroy an already burning city and more people from dying later on when shes finished with Kings Landing. Itll sort of parallel with Jaimes story in the end, though instead of being protected by the new ruler and his family, Jon will confess to his ‘crime’ and be sent to the North to exile, and go off with Tormund via Castle Black. I don’t want to say he establishes a new Nights Watch because there’s really no need for them now? Unless the WW aren’t really gone, then hell feel like he has too and the cycle will start all over again. Either way, he’s going to end up alone pretty much. As Beric and Ser Alistair said his life will never be easy and hell end up fighting others wars forever.

2.) Basically the same thing as before ^ but instead of being exiled, Drogon will just burn him to death in the Throne Room for killing Dany.

Either way Jons not going to get a happy ending I don’t think.

Arya - Her whole arc on the show has been badly written, and in the end I just want her to be happy with her family and Gendry. BookArya just wants a ‘pack’, basically a family. She fought so long and hard to get back to where she was, and even announced it to one of the most dangerous men in the world that she was “Arya Stark of Winterfell” and that she was going home. Where has that been this season? I want her not to kill Cersei, I want her to see what impact Cersei and Dany tearing each other apart has on KL and decide that vengeance isnt the best route and go to Gendry, who she clearly loves and he clearly loves  her. The Hound might even try and convince her to seek out Gendry because there’s someone in the world that obviously loves her for who she is.  But in all honesty? I think theyll have her just leave without saying goodbye to any of her family and just disappear again to find out what’s “west of Westeros”.

Dany - Dead. I dont like saying it, because I think Emilia has done her very best with whats been given to her (and D&D have done her dirty) but Dany is going to end up being killed by Jon for going mad with power and bloodlust basically. All signs have been pointing to it for a while now and without her morale compass in Ser Jorah and experiencing the pain of the abduction and then murder of someone she loved as a sister is obviously going to send her over the edge. I dont think shes ‘evil’ as such but, shes always had a problem with her anger and temperament, which the others have been skillfully subduing for years, with them gone, watch out world. Of course I could be epically wrong and she could actually win, murder all the Lannisters and Jon in a shock twist and take the Throne for herself??

Cersei - Dead. I mean it would be the ultimate shock and plot twist if she somehow lived and killed all the others? And tbh with the writing at the moment I wouldn’t actually hate that. I think shell probably either get killed by Jaime or take the easy way out like she was going to try to do before Stannis got to her during the Battle of the Blackwater. Nothing too surprising on the horizon there I think (hope).

Jaime - I want him to live? I mean I’ve known for many years there’s a 99% chance the he will die but I still have the smallest hope.  If he has to die let it be heroic, let it be him killing Cersei to stop her from blowing up KL to get at Dany and co. Hed only die if he was wounded in the fight to get to Cersei (which is highly likely), or if he was caught by Dany and she has him executed because it looks like he betrayed them all, when in reality he was the only one who could get close to her. Im not gonna say anything about the leaks because I really hope that if he has to die its a GOOD death (and not falling from towers or jsut to be with cersei at the end or some shit) and that its his redemption arc completed and I really hope while hes killing Cersei he says “The things I do for love” and she KNOWS its not about her anymore. I will really be angry if this is a D&D screw up and they mess his entire character arc up because of this “addiction” nonsense. If he has to die let it be with Brienne by his side (because shes gone chasing after him) cradling him. “In the arms of the woman I love”

My dream for him would be that he lives, goes to Tarth, marries Brienne (after begging her forgiveness and shes punched him, ALOT) and they have warrior babies. The end.

Tyrion - I have two endings in mind for him, Dany finds out about someone is plotting behind her back and either Varys sells Tyrion out so he can keep playing his little games (or they both get found out) and he has a trial and is executed. Or if Dany dies he becomes part of this council thats going to lead Westeros.

Brienne - She lives? I cant see anything bad happening to her at this point unless she goes to KL to save Jaimes dumb ass. Either way I think shell live and end up bearing Jaimes child (whether he lives or not) because they were together for weeks and weeks, and it’ll be a plot device used to carry on the Lannister bloodline when the other three die, like Gendry was for the Baratheons. Which lets face it would cover the whole “bittersweet” ending really wouldnt it? She has to carry and bare the child of a man who loved and left her (with hopefully good reason) but shell never know that so she has to raise him/her alone on Tarth as a constant reminder.

Gendry - Well. Boys got two options (maybe three) But I dont think hell stay Lord of Storms End possibly? If its a choice between Storms End or Arya, I hope hell pick Arya. Shes never cared about him being a lord, she loved him for who he was way before he was made one. Or they just live in Storms End together and raise children. (They have to give us something right????) And the third option - Ive always had this really weird foreboding feeling he’d end up married to Sansa, Arya said no and made it clear she doesn’t want to marry, and if she leaves then…….the whole “i have a son, you have a daughter” thing still becomes a reality.

Pod - Well, I hope he lives, gets made a knight and helps Ser Brienne on Tarth basically. Hes too pure to be ruined (though D&D will probs give it a shot)

Davos - Might live? Im not so sure, if he does hell be helping out the new ruler/rulers in some way?? Or hell just be down in FleaBottom adopting random kids left and right.

The Hound - Will probably die in Cleganebowl and Arya will actually give the gift of Mercy this time, but not before he bestows his dad wisdom on her about Gendry/Life. And if he does by some miracle live hell probably go somewhere, build a house and live there in solitude for the rest of his days.

Bronn - Well I had a joke that this shit (i loved the character early on but this season has just been no) would avoid all the major battles somehow, live on over all our faves and get his damned castle……..Im probably not wrong about this one….

Sam and Gilly - Their goodbye already seemed pretty final? I hope we see more of them because just leaving them at Winterfell seems a bit open ended and weird considering Sam was like, part of the most MAJOR plot on the show? Maybe hell put on this council or be Lord of Horn Hill with Gilly as his wife, which would a great middle finger to his horrible father.

[chmerkovskiyvalentin]

Nancy McKeon is sorry about the sudden whirring sound. She has a protein shake to make, perhaps more cheerfully than one has ever blended a smoothie before, seeing as she's in the heart of rehearsing for her Dancing With the Stars debut.

Best known for her role as Jo Polniaczek on the hit '80s sitcom The Facts of Life, McKeon is so nice it's a good thing her return to TV is on DWTS and not Big Brother. The 52-year-old actress is self-deprecating about her dancing skills, utters "Good gravy!" when surprised, enjoys getting schooled on both footwork and social media from her pro partner, Val Chmerkovskiy, and, I'm convinced, secretly bakes chocolate chip cookies for her fellow competitors. If this sounds a lot like your mom, that's probably because McKeon took nearly 15 years off to focus on raising her daughters, 14-year-old Aurora and 11-year-old Harlow, whom she shares with husband Marc Andrus.

The break was well deserved. McKeon started working when she was two, first as a child model and commercial actor before scoring roles on TV, and was acting up until the seventh month of her first pregnancy. "I just love what I do, but I have been given this amazing gift of my husband and my children, and I didn't want to not be there for this small amount of time you get with them," she tells ET. "I can't even believe when I say 15 years. It just feels like a nanosecond. I really wanted to give them all my attention that they deserve."

Though she had a handful of smaller, carefully chosen roles, DWTS will be McKeon's first big return to the spotlight since her Lifetime detective drama, The Division, wrapped in 2004, and she knows you're probably surprised to see her name on the list of season 27 competitors. "This isn't something that I would normally do. It really is outside my comfort zone," she admits.

If it weren't for an important family meeting, she may not have even strapped on dance shoes. "The way to affect change in your life is to move beyond your comfort zone, so I had this conversation with [my daughters] and they said, 'Mom, this is going to be great. You can do it.' Having them as my support team and cheerleaders is extraordinary," she says. "As a mom, I can tell them to be brave and I can say, 'This is how you should be,' but sometimes there's no more powerful demonstration than actually doing it. So I just decided, you know what, I'm going to scare the living life out of myself and say yes and just show up every day and see what happens. Everything changes and moves you, so I'm also excited about all the changes and the different things that I'm learning in this venture as well."

She may have found the perfect partner-in-crime in Chmerkovskiy. Not only is there a clear chemistry and sense of humor between the two already, but McKeon is pretty sure they've settled on the team name of "McVal." "I got top billing so I gave him an extra letter," she jokes.

McKeon has zero dance experience and, despite doing hot yoga regularly and living on a ranch where she averages four to seven miles of walking a day, she says none of her previous roles have helped prep her for DWTS. "I don't think anything can prepare your feet for being crammed into a high heel and then dance across a stage," she says. On top of that, social media wasn't a part of the TV landscape the last time she was here.

Luckily, Chmerkovskiy is an excellent teacher. So far, the pair has put in about two weeks of rehearsals. McKeon feels they're doing well as they run their steps and get their stamina up for the big, first number, and her partner is giving her some very important advice during what she calls "a master class every day." "'Don't have the terror look.' That's a big one," McKeon says. "He said, 'Look at me, but not with those eyes that are scared. Smile! Enjoy!' I love him for doing that because when I work, it's focus and concentration. The last [acting projects] had been drama and prepping for that, and this really needs to just be fun."

McKeon says her and Chmerkovskiy's goal for week one is "just sheer fun and love." This is partially to provide some escapism for fans during these tumultuous times but also because, on a personal level, if she's going to leave her family, it needed to be for a good reason.

"[My daughters] are everything to me, and without them and my amazing husband, then nothing really does have much meaning. I've worked a lot and this is really the first time I've gone away and am spending a lot of time doing something," she reveals. "It's uncomfortable because I miss them, but somewhere [down the line], I think this might be very helpful in our conversations as our lives go on, and I'm interested to see where all that lands too."

"It's funny, you maybe wouldn't put a dancing show or something like that in this sort of category, but it really is a lot more than just dancing," she adds. "You develop this wonderful friendship and partnership with, in my particular case, Val. He's awesome and everybody loves him. I think I feel even more pressure now because he's the show's national treasure, but so far I'm thrilled that people seem to be OK with him being partnered with me!"

Holding family as the most important pillar has been essential in helping the dancing partners connect. Though she hasn't met Chmerkovskiy's brother, Maksim, as he's not competing this season, McKeon has met his fiancee, fellow DWTS pro Jenna Johnson, whom she describes as "dear," "beautiful" and "sweet." McKeon has even dished out some excellent advice for Chmerkovskiy and Johnson's pending nuptials.

"I told him to enjoy the day. I've been married for 15 years, and I can still look back and remember every single moment of [my wedding] day. It was just about 20 people and it was our day, and it was one of the best days of my life," she recalls. "So, my advice to him was, 'It's just got to be about the two of you. After all, the rest of your life is about the two of you.' That's what I did -- there was no stress, no pressure, and it was really amazing. Other than that, I think everyone figures it out for themselves!"

Johnson has popped by rehearsals, bringing smoothies or simply saying hello and providing encouragement, which has helped McKeon have a bit of that familial grounding while away from home. "The family you get welcomed into on this show is extraordinary. Everybody -- from the guys who help you park in the morning and our security to the producing teams -- they literally are all happy to be there and they're rooting for everybody," she explains. "I have never felt like an outsider from day one. What a great thing! I love the atmosphere they've created. Yeah, it's a competition, but everyone's cheering everybody else on too."

McKeon will have some very important faces in the crowd when season 27 kicks off on Sept. 24. Her daughters and husband will be there (she joked that they better be, just in case there's no week two for her!), as well as actress Lisa Vidal, her best friend since they were partnered up on The Division, which also starred then-unknowns Jon Hamm and Taraji P. Henson, along with Parenthood's Bonnie Bedelia.

"I told her, 'Mama, you're going to have to help me with some kind of cha-cha or salsa,'" McKeon says of Vidal. "Lisa is like a sister, but that whole cast -- it really was one of the best times of my life. I loved everybody on that show. We were all supportive of each other and to watch Jon blossom and Taraji just shatter it is so beautiful… It's so exciting to watch such good people get to do what they love to do and just crush it. They're amazing people. It's a joy for me to be an uber fan because [after the show ended], I got to be with the most important people, which is my kiddos and my hubby."

McKeon is the first to admit she's been blessed to work with some incredible people throughout her career. She famously acted alongside Michael J. Fox in the '80s, as well as Mariska Hargitay and Jean Smart in the short-lived sitcoms Can't Hurry Love and Style & Substance, respectively, plus she did take some time out from being a stay-at-home mom to play Demi Lovato's mother on the Disney Channel show, Sonny With a Chance, from 2009-2010.

Though the two haven't spoken in some time, McKeon only had kind words for Lovato, who suffered a relapse and apparent overdose earlier this summer

"I wouldn't presume. I can only send all my love. She seems to be incredibly smart… It was a difficult time during that show and things kind of went on, but I can tell you in my experience, she was genuinely lovely to me and to my girls, who were much younger at the time and very excited to meet her," McKeon says of her onscreen daughter. "I have every confidence that she's going to come back stronger and in a way that is the best for her. She deserves that."

McKeon was side-by-side another big actor during their early days, one whom she gets asked about a lot: George Clooney, whose first real TV experience was as a handyman on The Facts of Life. Though his time with them was short, McKeon says she would see him working on another show on the lot and they remained friends. "He's everything you want him to be," she happily reveals. "He's fun, an incredible talent, and he's loyal as the day is long. He deserves all good things and it looks like that's exactly what he's gotten."

The most important connection she has from those sitcom days, however, was with Charlotte Rae, who portrayed the beloved, wise-cracking redheaded housemother of the fictional Eastland School. She died in early August at age 92 after a series of illnesses, and McKeon chokes up when thinking about her beloved friend.

"That's a hard one for me. It's soon," she says slowly. "Charlotte's one of the most remarkable people I've ever met in my life and we were actually very good friends. If I was in L.A., we were always together and if I wasn't, I came in, even if it was just to see her. She's been at my ranch and hung out with the girls and myself, and I will always be the luckiest person and a much better person for having had her in my life."

The women of The Facts of Life still keep in touch. In fact, McKeon has been texting with Kim Fields, as the actress known as Tootsie danced with pro Sasha Farber in season 22 of DWTS. Though McKeon hasn't watched every season of the dance competition show, she did watch Fields and Farber compete "with joy and amazement."

"She just knocked it out of the park. She's just so amazing. We've been texting and I said, 'Really? Did you have to set the bar this high? Girlfriend, I don't know if I can live up [to that].' She's just a doll and supportive," McKeon says, adding that she's gone back to watch some of Chmerkovskiy's dances with previous partners but had to stop "because he's so good" and didn’t want to get stuck in a brain warp comparing herself to others.

In fact, Fields' best advice had nothing to do with the dancing itself. "'Have fun. Enjoy this week, this day, this rehearsal. Try not to look ahead.' For me, I think that's awesome advice because it's really just got to be about the journey," McKeon says. "There's some amazing people dancing, so it's really not about an end result for me. What I'm looking for is the best I can do on every single day."

"It doesn't matter how sore [I am] -- get up, go back, fight the good fight the next day," she continues. "Have some smile, as my partner would say, and just enjoy that day, because none of us can possibly predict how long any of us have."

Season 27 of Dancing With the Stars kicks off Monday, Sept. 24 at 8 p.m. ET/PT on ABC. 

[omeletsforpepper]

If They Liked This, They Might Also Like...

Over at @reactingtosomething​ we wanted to get into the holidays in a way that was more or less on brand. So in the spirit of a Netflix recommendation algorithm, here are some book suggestions for what to buy friends and family who may have liked some of the same movies I did in 2018.

If they liked Wildlife or Widows: The H-Spot: The Feminist Pursuit of Happiness

As I say in my Amazon review, this is the best applied ethics text I was never assigned. In fairness to my professors, attorney-turned-journalist Jill Filipovic hadn’t written it yet when I was a philosophy student. Filipovic is also not a philosopher. But she is a brilliant writer and a rigorous thinker, and The H-Spot is fundamentally and explicitly an Aristotelian ethical project. That is to say, it takes the starting position that political organization should be aimed at the goal of human flourishing (as opposed to, say, economic growth). From there Filipovic builds a case, or maybe it's better to say several cases, for specific ways in which American policy fails women and disproportionately women of color in this aim, and concrete ways in which it could address this failure. She does so largely through first-hand accounts of several women across America, in a wide range of socioeconomic circumstances. Although the institutions and less formal systems in play are complicated, the questions at the heart of all this are simple: What do women want? What do women need?

Filipovic asks these questions without pre-judgment, and without assuming that any answers are too unrealistic to consider. Not that anyone she talks to asks for anything "unrealistic." Partly this is because they often speak from too much experience for the unrealistic to occur to them as something they deserve to ask for, but also, the idea that woman-friendly policy is unrealistic is a Bad Take to begin with. Filipovic doesn't need to be pie-in-the-sky utopian to show how things could be much better for women (and by extension, it should but still doesn't go without saying, for everyone).

I left academic philosophy over five years ago, but I really think each chapter (built around topics like friendship, sex, parenting, and food) is brimming with potential paper topics for grad and undergrad students of ethics and/or political philosophy. Whether you’re philosophically inclined or not, if you think “women should be happy” and “the point of civilization is to make happiness easier for everyone” are uncontroversial claims, The H-Spot is the book for you -- and for your friends who loved the several underestimated women of Widows, or Carey Mulligan’s captivating portrayal in Wildlife of a woman doing the best she could within the restrictions of her era.

If they liked Black Panther: A Nation Under Our Feet

Though it helps to have some familiarity with the Avengers storylines that led up to Ta-Nehisi motherfucking Coates’s first year on the Black Panther comic -- as well as with the excellent opening arc of Matt Fraction’s Invincible Iron Man -- here’s all that even a new comics reader really needs to know before jumping into Nation: King T’Challa, the Black Panther, was recently unable to prevent several consecutive disasters in Wakanda. Both as a cause and as a result of these disasters, T’Challa worked with the so-called “Illuminati” (Tony Stark, Reed Richards, Stephen Strange, and other intellectual and strategic heavyweights) to prevent the end of the multiverse itself. That crisis averted, T’Challa has returned to Wakanda to resume his royal duties.

Coates takes as a starting premise that Wakanda, the most advanced nation on earth, would only still have a hereditary monarchy if the monarch was uniquely suited as a protector of the people. In the wake of the Panther’s failures in this regard, Nation opens with a rebellion against T’Challa’s rule on two fronts: domestic terrorists with an unknown agenda on one hand, and on the other, former officers of the Dora Milaje (the all-female royal bodyguard corps beloved by fans of the movie) rallying Wakandan women who have suffered great injustices unaddressed by the crown. The leaders of the latter, lovers Ayo and Aneka, are nominally antagonists to T’Challa, but to the reader they’re parallel protagonists. You root for both T’Challa and the Dora Milaje, even though their agendas are in tension, not unlike the way one might have rooted for both Tyrion Lannister and Robb Stark in early Game of Thrones. (Shuri’s around too, though she’s quite unlike her movie counterpart.)

When he’s not fighting or investigating, T’Challa does a lot of soul-searching and debating about his responsibilities as king, the ways it conflicts with his career as a globetrotting superhero, and whether and how the government of Wakanda must evolve. Though Wakanda is too small to be considered a superpower, the domestic terror angle, an interrogation of historical injustice, and the struggle between moral idealism and political reality make Wakanda a proxy in some important ways for modern America. (You may have noticed that Ryan Coogler did this too.) Coates’s meditation on leadership and political power made A Nation Under Our Feet not only a great superhero comic but -- this is not an exaggeration or a joke -- my favorite political writing of 2016.

Nation is illustrated mostly by Brian Stelfreeze and Chris Sprouse, with colors by Laura Martin; some of Stelfreeze’s designs clearly influenced the movie.

If they liked Thoroughbreds: Sweetpea

When a clever, mean-spirited would-be journalist with airhead friends learns that her boyfriend is cheating on her, old traumas bubble to the surface and she becomes a serial killer who targets sex offenders. Darkly, often cruelly hilarious, Sweetpea is what you’d get if American Psycho was set in southwestern England and for some reason starred Amy from Gone Girl. Protagonist Rhiannon is a self-described inhabitant of an Island of Unfinished Sentences, de facto Chief Listener of her “friend” circle, and a maker of lists. Lists of the things her friends talk about (babies, boyfriends, IKEA), signs she’d like to put up at work (please close doors quietly, please do not wear Crocs to work), and oh, the people she wants to kill. Like her boyfriend, at the moment. Or ISIS, when news coverage of a terror attack pre-empts her beloved MasterChef.

Author C.J. Skuse smartly chooses not to have Rhiannon wallow in her traumatic past as many superheroes do. We get glimpses for context, but Rhiannon is committed to moving forward, to escaping her demons rather than being defined by them. It matters that she wants to get better, even if she also hates that she’s bought into society’s definition of “better.” (#relatable)

It’s worth noting that Sweetpea leans seemingly uncritically into a lot of dated gender tropes, in Rhiannon’s assessments of the women around her. (Body positive she is not.) Then again, she’s an unreliable narrator -- one of the best demonstrations of this is a scene in which she’s convinced of her ability to fool the world into believing she’s normal, then overhears her dipshit co-workers talk about how unsettling she is -- so arguably we’re supposed to laugh at how terrible she is without necessarily agreeing with her. This is, I think, a perfectly legitimate approach to a protagonist, even if some find it unfashionable.

The book is not quite as thematically rich as it first appears, at least on the topic of sexual violence; it indulges a “stranger danger” picture of rape that doesn’t feel entirely contemporary. (For a more nuanced treatment of rape culture, see the sadly short-lived but wildly entertaining vigilante dramedy Sweet/Vicious.) But as a portrait of a vibrant, layered, genuinely Nasty-and-you-kinda-love-her-for-it woman -- given Oscar-caliber-portrayal-worthy life by Skuse’s wickedly sharp voice -- Sweetpea is too fun to pass up.

Upgrade or Infinity War: The Wild Storm

Castlevania showrunner Warren Ellis helped redefine superhero comics with 1999’s The Authority, which at DC’s request he's given a Gritty Reboot (along with the WildCATS, whom some of us remember from this extremely 90s cartoon) in The Wild Storm. Ellis has always been interested in The Future, both its potential wondrousness and its probable horror. Fans of Upgrade’s refreshingly unsanitized (and unsanitary) take on human enhancement through body modification will find much to like in Ellis’s spin on the trope of second-skin powered armor. (He semi-famously wrote Extremis, one of the comic arcs that inspired Iron Man 3.)

art by Jon Davis Hunt, from The Wild Storm #1

Angela Spica, a reimagining of Ellis’s old Authority character The Engineer, is a cybernetics expert who stumbles onto a sort of shadow government conspiracy related to her employer, and goes on the run with the armor she’s designed for them. (When not deployed, the armor is stored inside her body.) Angela is quickly targeted by multiple covert organizations, one of which rescues (?) her and brings her in on a secret history of technological arms races and contact with extraterrestrials. The Wild Storm is full of big action and bigger ideas, and for smart, generally curious superhero movie fans who find the decades-long continuities of the DC and Marvel universes intimidating, it’s a great entry -- with a blessedly planned ending -- into sci-fi-comics.

Happy holidays, and have fun shopping! Hop over to the full post for @supersnarker3000’s gift guide.

[valentindaily]

Nancy McKeon is sorry about the sudden whirring sound. She has a protein shake to make, perhaps more cheerfully than one has ever blended a smoothie before, seeing as she's in the heart of rehearsing for her Dancing With the Stars debut.

Best known for her role as Jo Polniaczek on the hit '80s sitcom The Facts of Life, McKeon is so nice it's a good thing her return to TV is on DWTS and not Big Brother. The 52-year-old actress is self-deprecating about her dancing skills, utters "Good gravy!" when surprised, enjoys getting schooled on both footwork and social media from her pro partner, Val Chmerkovskiy, and, I'm convinced, secretly bakes chocolate chip cookies for her fellow competitors. If this sounds a lot like your mom, that's probably because McKeon took nearly 15 years off to focus on raising her daughters, 14-year-old Aurora and 11-year-old Harlow, whom she shares with husband Marc Andrus.

The break was well deserved. McKeon started working when she was two, first as a child model and commercial actor before scoring roles on TV, and was acting up until the seventh month of her first pregnancy. "I just love what I do, but I have been given this amazing gift of my husband and my children, and I didn't want to not be there for this small amount of time you get with them," she tells ET. "I can't even believe when I say 15 years. It just feels like a nanosecond. I really wanted to give them all my attention that they deserve."

Though she had a handful of smaller, carefully chosen roles, DWTS will be McKeon's first big return to the spotlight since her Lifetime detective drama, The Division, wrapped in 2004, and she knows you're probably surprised to see her name on the list of season 27 competitors. "This isn't something that I would normally do. It really is outside my comfort zone," she admits.

If it weren't for an important family meeting, she may not have even strapped on dance shoes. "The way to affect change in your life is to move beyond your comfort zone, so I had this conversation with [my daughters] and they said, 'Mom, this is going to be great. You can do it.' Having them as my support team and cheerleaders is extraordinary," she says. "As a mom, I can tell them to be brave and I can say, 'This is how you should be,' but sometimes there's no more powerful demonstration than actually doing it. So I just decided, you know what, I'm going to scare the living life out of myself and say yes and just show up every day and see what happens. Everything changes and moves you, so I'm also excited about all the changes and the different things that I'm learning in this venture as well.'

She may have found the perfect partner-in-crime in Chmerkovskiy. Not only is there a clear chemistry and sense of humor between the two already, but McKeon is pretty sure they've settled on the team name of "McVal." "I got top billing so I gave him an extra letter," she jokes.

McKeon has zero dance experience and, despite doing hot yoga regularly and living on a ranch where she averages four to seven miles of walking a day, she says none of her previous roles have helped prep her for DWTS. "I don't think anything can prepare your feet for being crammed into a high heel and then dance across a stage," she says. On top of that, social media wasn't a part of the TV landscape the last time she was here.

Luckily, Chmerkovskiy is an excellent teacher. So far, the pair has put in about two weeks of rehearsals. McKeon feels they're doing well as they run their steps and get their stamina up for the big, first number, and her partner is giving her some very important advice during what she calls "a master class every day." "'Don't have the terror look.' That's a big one," McKeon says. "He said, 'Look at me, but not with those eyes that are scared. Smile! Enjoy!' I love him for doing that because when I work, it's focus and concentration. The last [acting projects] had been drama and prepping for that, and this really needs to just be fun."

McKeon says her and Chmerkovskiy's goal for week one is "just sheer fun and love." This is partially to provide some escapism for fans during these tumultuous times but also because, on a personal level, if she's going to leave her family, it needed to be for a good reason.

"[My daughters] are everything to me, and without them and my amazing husband, then nothing really does have much meaning. I've worked a lot and this is really the first time I've gone away and am spending a lot of time doing something," she reveals. "It's uncomfortable because I miss them, but somewhere [down the line], I think this might be very helpful in our conversations as our lives go on, and I'm interested to see where all that lands too."

"It's funny, you maybe wouldn't put a dancing show or something like that in this sort of category, but it really is a lot more than just dancing," she adds. "You develop this wonderful friendship and partnership with, in my particular case, Val. He's awesome and everybody loves him. I think I feel even more pressure now because he's the show's national treasure, but so far I'm thrilled that people seem to be OK with him being partnered with me!"

Holding family as the most important pillar has been essential in helping the dancing partners connect. Though she hasn't met Chmerkovskiy's brother, Maksim, as he's not competing this season, McKeon has met his fiancee, fellow DWTS pro Jenna Johnson, whom she describes as "dear," "beautiful" and "sweet." McKeon has even dished out some excellent advice for Chmerkovskiy and Johnson's pending nuptials.

"I told him to enjoy the day. I've been married for 15 years, and I can still look back and remember every single moment of [my wedding] day. It was just about 20 people and it was our day, and it was one of the best days of my life," she recalls. "So, my advice to him was, 'It's just got to be about the two of you. After all, the rest of your life is about the two of you.' That's what I did -- there was no stress, no pressure, and it was really amazing. Other than that, I think everyone figures it out for themselves!"

Johnson has popped by rehearsals, bringing smoothies or simply saying hello and providing encouragement, which has helped McKeon have a bit of that familial grounding while away from home. "The family you get welcomed into on this show is extraordinary. Everybody -- from the guys who help you park in the morning and our security to the producing teams -- they literally are all happy to be there and they're rooting for everybody," she explains. "I have never felt like an outsider from day one. What a great thing! I love the atmosphere they've created. Yeah, it's a competition, but everyone's cheering everybody else on too."

McKeon will have some very important faces in the crowd when season 27 kicks off on Sept. 24. Her daughters and husband will be there (she joked that they better be, just in case there's no week two for her!), as well as actress Lisa Vidal, her best friend since they were partnered up on The Division, which also starred then-unknowns Jon Hamm and Taraji P. Henson, along with Parenthood's Bonnie Bedelia.

"I told her, 'Mama, you're going to have to help me with some kind of cha-cha or salsa,'" McKeon says of Vidal. "Lisa is like a sister, but that whole cast -- it really was one of the best times of my life. I loved everybody on that show. We were all supportive of each other and to watch Jon blossom and Taraji just shatter it is so beautiful… It's so exciting to watch such good people get to do what they love to do and just crush it. They're amazing people. It's a joy for me to be an uber fan because [after the show ended], I got to be with the most important people, which is my kiddos and my hubby."

McKeon is the first to admit she's been blessed to work with some incredible people throughout her career. She famously acted alongside Michael J. Fox in the '80s, as well as Mariska Hargitay and Jean Smart in the short-lived sitcoms Can't Hurry Love and Style & Substance, respectively, plus she did take some time out from being a stay-at-home mom to play Demi Lovato's mother on the Disney Channel show, Sonny With a Chance, from 2009-2010.

Though the two haven't spoken in some time, McKeon only had kind words for Lovato, who suffered a relapse and apparent overdose earlier this summer.

"I wouldn't presume. I can only send all my love. She seems to be incredibly smart… It was a difficult time during that show and things kind of went on, but I can tell you in my experience, she was genuinely lovely to me and to my girls, who were much younger at the time and very excited to meet her," McKeon says of her onscreen daughter. "I have every confidence that she's going to come back stronger and in a way that is the best for her. She deserves that."

McKeon was side-by-side another big actor during their early days, one whom she gets asked about a lot: George Clooney, whose first real TV experience was as a handyman on The Facts of Life. Though his time with them was short, McKeon says she would see him working on another show on the lot and they remained friends. 'He's everything you want him to be," she happily reveals. "He's fun, an incredible talent, and he's loyal as the day is long. He deserves all good things and it looks like that's exactly what he's gotten."

The most important connection she has from those sitcom days, however, was with Charlotte Rae, who portrayed the beloved, wise-cracking redheaded housemother of the fictional Eastland School. She died in early August at age 92 after a series of illnesses, and McKeon chokes up when thinking about her beloved friend.

"That's a hard one for me. It's soon," she says slowly. "Charlotte's one of the most remarkable people I've ever met in my life and we were actually very good friends. If I was in L.A., we were always together and if I wasn't, I came in, even if it was just to see her. She's been at my ranch and hung out with the girls and myself, and I will always be the luckiest person and a much better person for having had her in my life."

The women of The Facts of Life still keep in touch. In fact, McKeon has been texting with Kim Fields, as the actress known as Tootsie danced with pro Sasha Farber in season 22 of DWTS. Though McKeon hasn't watched every season of the dance competition show, she did watch Fields and Farber compete "with joy and amazement."

"She just knocked it out of the park. She's just so amazing. We've been texting and I said, 'Really? Did you have to set the bar this high? Girlfriend, I don't know if I can live up [to that].' She's just a doll and supportive," McKeon says, adding that she's gone back to watch some of Chmerkovskiy's dances with previous partners but had to stop "because he's so good" and didn’t want to get stuck in a brain warp comparing herself to others.

In fact, Fields' best advice had nothing to do with the dancing itself. "'Have fun. Enjoy this week, this day, this rehearsal. Try not to look ahead.' For me, I think that's awesome advice because it's really just got to be about the journey," McKeon says. "There's some amazing people dancing, so it's really not about an end result for me. What I'm looking for is the best I can do on every single day."

"It doesn't matter how sore [I am] -- get up, go back, fight the good fight the next day," she continues. "Have some smile, as my partner would say, and just enjoy that day, because none of us can possibly predict how long any of us have."

Season 27 of Dancing With the Stars kicks off Monday, Sept. 24 at 8 p.m. ET/PT on ABC.

SOURCE: www.etonline.com

[laraehrlich-blog]

Original content owned & copyrighted by Green Global Travel.

I was a voracious reader when I was growing up, typically reading two books a week on average.

My lower-middle class family didn’t have the money to do much in the way of traveling, outside of the occasional camping trip in North Georgia. Both my parents worked, and my dad worked multiple jobs to support his family of five.

The furthest we ever traveled was a trip to visit my godparents in Treasure Island and Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Books to Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.

It was through Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, John Muir’s Our National Parks, and Ralph Waldo Emerson’s  that I developed a passion for the environment. Without them, who knows if I would’ve become the advocate for Jon Krakauer, Bill Bryson and Paul Theroux greatly influenced the way I did it.

But the first classic quote I remember having a significant impact on me came in the form of a Robert Frost poem: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.” This idea influenced many of my choices, setting me on the path to becoming a full-time READ MORE: The Best Travel Books to Inspire A Love of Adventure

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about Adventure Travel

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1. “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” –Marcel Proust

2. “Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off from the journey.” –Pat Conroy

3. “Travel does what good novelists also do to the life of everyday, placing it like a picture in a frame or a gem in its setting, so that the intrinsic qualities are made more clear. Travel does this with the very stuff that everyday life is made of, giving to it the sharp contour and meaning of art.” –Freya Stark

4. “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.” –Mark Twain

5. “Travel is more than the seeing of sights. It is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” –Miriam Beard

6.  “Tourists don’t know where they’ve been, travelers don’t know where they’re going.” –Paul Theroux

7. “One of the gladdest moments of human life, me thinks, is the departure upon a distant journey into unknown lands. Shaking off with one mighty effort the fetters of habit, the leaden weight of routine, the cloak of many cares and the slavery of home, man feels once more happy.” –Sir Richard Burton

8.  “I travel around the world in a way that tries to open my mind and give me empathy and inspire me to come home and make this world a better place.” –READ MORE: Why Responsible Travel Matters (& Greenwashing Sucks)

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11.  “Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.” –Andre Gide

12.  “We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.” –Jawaharial Nehru

13. “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” –H. Jackson Brown Jr.

14.  “To move, to breathe, to fly, to float, to gain all while you give, To roam the roads of lands remote, To travel is to live.” –Hans Christian Andersen

15.  “In the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn

16.  “If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine; it is lethal.” –Paulo Coelho

17.  “Adventure isn’t hanging on a rope off the side of a READ MORE: Water Wonders (A Father-Daughter Story of Adventure)

Travel

21.  “Never get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.” –Anonymous

22.  “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” –Helen Keller

23.  “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” –Saint Augustine

24.  “Travel brings power and love back into your life.” –Rumi

25.  “Only one who wanders finds new paths.” –Norwegian Proverb

26.  “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” –Lao Tzu

27.  “Make voyages! Attempt them… there’s nothing else.” –Tennesee Williams

28.  “We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.” –Anais Nin

29.  “Your feet will take you where your heart is.” –Irish proverb

30.  “Until you step into the unknown, you don’t know what you’re made of.” –Roy T. Bennett

READ MORE: NatGeo’s Don George on Travel Writing & Blogging

Travel

31.  “To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a

36. “We do not inherit the Earth from our ancestors. We borrow it from our children” –Chief Seattle

37. “We must go beyond textbooks, go out into the bypaths and untrodden depths of the wilderness and travel and explore and tell the world the glories of our journey.” –John Hope Franklin

38. “Two of the greatest gifts we can give our children are roots and wings.” –Hodding Carter

39. “When you travel with children you are giving something that can never be taken away… experience, exposure, and a way of life.” –Pamela T. Chandler

40. “A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” –Tim Cahill

READ MORE: 7 Important Life Lessons I Learned in the Galapagos Islands

Travel

41.  “The further I go, the closer to me I get.” –Roman Payne, The Wanderess

43 “I am convinced that the jealous, the angry, the bitter and the egotistical are the first to race to the top of mountains. A confident person enjoys the journey, the people they meet along the way and sees life not as a competition. They reach the summit last because they know God isn’t at the top waiting for them. He is down below helping his followers to understand that the view is glorious where ever you stand.” –Shannon L. Alder

44.  “A person susceptible to ‘wanderlust’ is not so much addicted to movement as committed to transformation.” — Pico Iyer

45. “How will I know who I can become if I don’t give myself the chance to try new things, to push myself beyond my normal boundaries? Who might I be if I am away from the things that I currently use to define myself?” ― Eileen Cook, With Malice

46.  “Two roads diverged in a wood and I– I took the one less traveled by… And that has made all the difference.” –Robert Frost

47. “To get away from one’s working environment is, in a sense, to get away from one’s self; and this is often the chief advantage of travel and change.” – Charles Horton Cooley

48.  “Through travel I first became aware of the outside world; it was through travel that I found my own introspective way into becoming a part of it.” – Eudora Welty

49.  “Travel only with thy equals or thy betters; if there are none, travel alone.” — The Dhammapada

50.  “All I wanted was to live a life where I could be me, and be okay with that. I had no need for material possessions, money, or even close friends with me on my journey. I never understood people very well anyway, and they never seemed to understand me very well either. All I wanted was my Empty Roads & Broken Bottles: In Search For The Great Perhaps

READ MORE: 45 Pieces of Advice I’d Include in a Letter to My Younger Self

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51. “As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was about to happen.”—A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh

52.  “Believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it.” —Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

53.  “A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” – John Steinbeck

54.  “And if travel is like love, it is, in the end, mostly because it’s a heightened state of awareness, in which we are mindful, receptive, in dimmed by familiarity and ready to be transformed. That is why the best trips, like the best love affairs, never really end.” — Pico Iyer

55.  “The more I traveled the more I realized that fear makes strangers of people who should be friends.” — Shirley MacLaine

56.  “Actually, the best gift you could have given her was a lifetime of adventures.”– Lewis Carroll

57.  “Traveling is like flirting with life. It’s like saying, “I would stay and love you, but I have to go; this is my station.” — Lisa St. Aubin de Teran

58. “What we find in a soulmate is not something wild to tame, but something wild to run with.” — Robert Brault

59.  “Love is the food of life, travel is dessert.” – Anonymous

60.  “To lose yourself: a voluptuous surrender, lost in your arms, lost to the world, utterly immersed in what is present so that its surroundings fade away. In Benjamin’s terms, to be lost is to be fully present, and to be fully present is to be capable of being in uncertainty and mystery.” — Rebecca Solnit (A Field Guide to Getting Lost)

READ MORE: Bret & Mary, A Story About Love (& How GGT Was Born)

Travel

61.  “Once in a while it really hits people that they don’t have to experience the world in the way they have been told to.” -Alan Keightley

62.  “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow! What a Ride!'” — Hunter S. Thompson (The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967)

63. “If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion, and avoid the people, you might better stay home.” – James Michener

64.  “What you’ve done becomes the judge of what you’re going to do — especially in other people’s minds. When you’re traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you.  No yesterdays on the road.” -William Least Heat Moon

65.  “Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all the familiar comforts of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things– air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky– all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese

66.  “READ MORE: The Country of Jordan, the Middle East & Our Culture of Fear

Travel

71.  “It’s not what you look at that matters. It’s what you see.” -Henry David Thoreau

72.  “Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson

73.  “Not all those who wander are lost.” –J.R.R. Tolkien

74.  “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” –Neale Donald Walsch

75.  “Don’t tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footsteps on the moon.” – Paul Brandt

76.  “Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” – George Bernard Shaw

77.  “Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the Universe.” –Anatole France

78.  “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” –St. Augustine

79.  “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” —H. Jackson Brown, Jr. in P.S. I Love You

80.  “I find the great thing in this world is not so much about where we stand, as in what direction we are moving… We must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it, – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.” -Oliver Wendell Holmes

READ MORE: The World’s Best Small Ship Cruises

Travel

81.  “Stop creating a life that you need a vacation from. Instead, move to where you want to live, do what you want to do, start what you want to start, and create the life you want today. This isn’t rehearsal, people. This is YOUR life.” –Dale Partridge

82.  “To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted.” –Bill Bryson

83. “Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you’ve never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.” ―Judith Thurman

84.  “Travel is the antidote to fear. It makes you see the similarities and differences that exist around the world, and it opens your eyes– and mind– to new and different approaches.” –Julia Cosgrove

85.  “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” ― Robert Louis Stevenson

86.  “Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

87. “The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.” —Christopher McCandless

88.  “Travel while you are young and able. Don’t worry about the money, just make it work. Experience is far more valuable than money will ever be.” — Anonymous

89. “If I’m an advocate for anything, it’s to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in someone else’s shoes or at least eat their food, it’s a plus for everybody. Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.” –READ MORE: How to Start a Travel Blog (& Build a Successful Business)

Travel

91. “Look deeper into John Muir, The Mountains of California

95.  “When the blood in your veins returns to the sea, and the earth in your bones returns to the ground, perhaps then you will remember that this land does not belong to you– it is YOU who belongs to this land.” –Native American proverb

96.  “Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realize we cannot eat money.” –Cree Indian Proverb

97.   “I went to the

The post The 100 Best Travel to Spark Your Next Adventure appeared first on Green Global Travel.

[sonofsuperman-archive]

(error1nmycode) "I miss you" (*evil laughter*)

Send me “I miss you” to know what my muse will say after 1 year, 5 years, then to 10 years after your muse’s death. || Not Accepting ( @error1nmycode​ )

1 YEAR.

My fault. My fault. MY FAULT.

The urge to hit something grew stronger and stronger as the same two words echoed in his brain loudly, drowning every heart beat he could hear around Metropolis, even his own. Instead of punching something and waking up his college roommate (and being forced to explain how he could punch a hole through cement), Jon’s hands clenched into fists, finger roughly scratching his own skin as he grabbed his messy hair. Rather than ruin the building he was in, his hands roughly tugged at his hair, body curling towards itself in an attempt to make himself smaller and more invisible. Maybe if he made himself smaller, if his presence looked far more insignificant, maybe this never ending grief would pass him. 

Teeth grinding against one another, jaw tightly clenched, and eyes shut, the teenager tried to survive this wave of depression that hit him as he was trying to go to sleep, forced to listen to his own self-deprecating thoughts and the voices he imagined. His only salvation during the hour was that in those voices, somewhere behind his father telling him how disappointed he was for him not being a hero anymore and Damian’s insults of how weak he was, he could hear Viv. He could hear her voice, and while the words that left her mouth were far from kind, far from the Viv he truly knew, it allowed him to cling to the illusion that she wasn’t dead. She hadn’t died to protect him from an invading enemy as he healed the heavily injured civilians in the battlefield, that he hadn’t failed to run and protect her when his vision caught sight of the lethal looking blow. He’d rather have her alive and hating him than dead. He could deal with her hate, as long as she was alive. 

Tears stung his reddening eyes, heart aching once more as new thoughts circled his mind, one that hurt far more than blaming himself over her death. Maybe if we didn’t meet again, you wouldn’t have died. Hands clenched tighter and pulled his hair harder as the new thoughts grew louder and louder, almost drowning the voices he made up, yet not enough to give him a sense of relief. Jon’s only reprieve appeared as the sun started to rise, a reminder that he’d gone through the night once more without sleep, and his roommate awoke from his slumber with a loud yawn. 

Wiping away his tears, the 18 year old steeled his heart, copying what he had seen from Viv many years ago. She had buried her emotions, hide them from the world who had hurt her, and he did the same. Inhaling to get rid of his shuddering breath, his red eyes turned a cold shade of blue as he prepared himself, staring unemotionally at his roommate as he opened his mouth to greet him, before moving to prepare himself for one more tiring day. 

5 YEARS.

5 years. It’s been 5 years since she’s died and only a year since he’d finally truly accepted it. 3 years he had clung to the hope that someone would be able to fix her, to revive her. It should be easy, with the technology available and yet… it never happened. A part of him had wished to do it himself, to make up for being the reason to her death, yet he didn’t know how to do so and so he waited. Years may have passed until he accepted her death but it only took a year before someone could tell his broken self that repairing her was impossible unless they wanted to create another being that looked like her but without her personality, the thing he fell in love for. 

It had taken time and taken effort but he did it. He’d visited his parents one spring break and broke down, asking for help. They had expected it, of course, even with all the things that happened with him, Jon was still an innocent soul, a person with an amazingly happy life. While his dad had the death of Krypton to subdue him, remind him that death was inevitable even in his satisfied and happy life, Jon had nothing to tell him that. He had lived a sheltered and satisfied life, with troubles easily fixed by his parents and siblings. While others could easily shrug off such a thing due to their troubled childhoods, he couldn’t. Her death had shook him, more so than being injured and almost dying. He felt far too much, held far too much happiness and innocence, that one death was all it took to break him, ruin the illusion of his satisfied life.

They all struggled to get him back, to give him back a sense of worth, to implant the idea that it truly wasn’t his fault she died, to permanently accept that one of his closest friend and love for far too many years was dead. It was still a struggle today but it was working… slowly and surely. She’d love it if I was back to being me, he thought to himself as he lightly fiddled with the House of El necklace she had kept for 7 years, one of the two gifts he’d obtained once he’d finally accepted her death, and a physical reminder of what she wished him to be… happier in life. 

“ I miss ya…” he spoke quietly, blue eyes observing the metal and looking at the little scratches it held, all but one from its days with Viv. His lips twitched to form a sad smile as his finger brushed a barely seen (for normal humans) scratch, the one he’d made a day before Valentine’s as he nervously practiced giving her gift and panicked as he imagined Viv’s response. 

Dried lips pressed against the necklace he wore, blue eyes fluttering shut as he tried to ride through the pain he was feeling. “ Viv, it’s been 5 years and it still hurts. My eyes still drift to look for you whenever I’m in New York, I still get that fluttering in my chest when I see your skin color, I still wake up in the early mornings to look for your messages…” Jon trailed off, shaking his head, how foolish was he to think that he’d only liked her as a friend when all of this showed otherwise. Lips parted to say something else but the sound of barks echoing throughout his dorm room halted his advances.

“ Sparky,” baby blues shined as he caught sight of the metal dog that he took care of whenever Viv’s father was on a mission. “You heard her name, didn’t you?” cheeks stretched to form a fond smile at the bark he received, hands drifting down to pet the dog. He’d been a help in pulling him out of his depression and Jon willingly accepted one of the few reminders of her. “I miss her too, bud…” a sigh left his lips as he hesitantly moved the necklace back to its original position, underneath his shirt. He may still grieve about her but it was lesser now, far safer and happier than the years before. Jon could only hope that soon enough, with time and support, he’d truly be back to what he once was. 

‘You wouldn’t have liked seeing me this past few years, Viv, and I hope you never had to endure it…. I was a mess, a total mess. I’m trying to get better though. I’ve had.. the worst of years and the worst reaction to you dying but bear with me, I’ll give you the Jon Kent you befriended, I promise.’

10 YEARS.

“ Sparky!! Krypto!! We’re home!!” Jon shouted as he entered his apartment in Metropolis, one hand shoulder buried with carrying several bags and another holding one special baggage. A wide grin formed on his lips at their barks, listening them grow louder as they got closer and as his feet lightly closed the door. Shrugging off his bags and gently settling them on the floor, the 28 year old patted the two seemingly immortal dogs before sitting in front of them and presenting the most precious gift he’d gotten his entire life, more so than the necklace he’d given to Viv years ago or Sparky who he had kept after several years of dogsitting. 

“Meet my daughter, Viv Kent,” his announcement let a proud smile to form on his lips, fondly looking at the most precious being in his whole life, a 9 month old baby girl he signed to foster and eventually adopt, his process being quickly moved by his uncle Bruce and Damian. It’s been 10 years since Viv died, 7 since he pulled out of his depression enough to get help, 5 until he finally could cope with it and start truly grieving (in a healthy manner) and a year since he decided that its time to find someone to fill the void she left.

The void he needed filled wasn’t romantic though. Jon was happy being by himself and a whole life of being in love with one person ever since he’d seen her couldn’t be matched nor filled. Instead, he decided to gain another precious being in his life, a family he could love, a child who he could give his heart and soul too, as much as he’d given his heart and soul to the girl he fell for since day one. 

A soft hum left his throat, watching the baby in his arms shift, somehow smiling wider as he felt small fists slam against his chest and saw eyelids fluttering open to reveal blue eyes closely similar to his own. “Hey there, baby girl,” he cooed, fingers lightly brushing her chubby cheeks, a soft laugh escaping his throat as a small hand drifted down to grab his fingers before drifting to reach for the dogs patiently waiting for her attention and affection. 

As the child’s laughter echoed throughout the apartment, followed by playful barks, Jon’s thoughts drifted once more to the woman he longed to be here with them yet fully accepted that she couldn’t be. “ Viv,” he whispered softly to the air as he shifted his child to a sitting position, fully supporting her weight, “ I hope you were able to ignore everything that happened the past years. I hope you didn’t see my worst moments. I hope you could look now… You’d be happy Viv.. at least I hope so. I’m kind of back to the person you befriended, back to being a hero… well, besides the accent. I’ve lost that years ago. In fact, I’m the Big S now, got my own Superboy and all. I think you’d be proud.” 

Jon drifted off from his small and quiet speech, humming a small lullaby and lightly bouncing his legs as he was forced to lightly pull away baby Viv from the dogs to place a towel behind her back, he didn’t need her getting sick from sweat. “ I even have my own child… I got her today, you know. Her name’s Viv Kent and I think you’d love her. She kinda has my eye color, my skin tone, the messy hair though its brown like your brother’s and Wanda’s instead of black, and she has dad’s weird curl… It’s actually adorable on her…. I still wish you were here but I understand. I’m just grateful that we met during your lifetime, that you became a part of my life, that you taught me how to be brave again and what being human truly meant. I miss you.. and I love you Viv. ”

[nancygduarteus]

No Family Is Safe From This Epidemic

The last photograph of my son Jonathan was taken at the end of a new-student barbecue on the campus green at the University of Denver. It was one of those bittersweet transitional moments. We were feeling the combination of apprehension and optimism that every parent feels when dropping a kid off at college for the first time, amplified by the fact that we were coming off a rocky 16 months with our son.

We had moved him into his dormitory room only that morning. I remember how sharp he looked in the outfit he selected, and his eagerness to start class and make new friends. We were happy, relieved, and, knowing what we thought he had overcome, proud. Earlier that day, at lunch, I asked Jonathan whether he thought he was ready for the coming school year. “Dad, I can handle it as long as I continue my recovery,” he said. “Everything flows from that.”

Only three days later, Jonathan was found unresponsive in his dormitory-room bed, one of several victims of a fentanyl-laden batch of heroin that had spread through the Denver area that week.

* * *

Jonathan grew up as the introverted, but creative, younger kid in a career Navy officer’s family. He was born a week after I returned from a long deployment, and lived through two more before reaching his fourth birthday. During one six-year stretch, he attended school in five different districts due to military moves. The one constant was his big brother, his best friend, whom he followed around like a rock star. I remember him grinning from ear to ear when he was asked to play on his brother’s soccer team because they were short one kid, and again when the two of them learned to ride a bike on the same day.

It wouldn’t be the last time Jonathan proved himself a quick study. In second grade, Jonathan’s teacher called to notify us that he was selling school supplies to his classmates, lending them money with interest. In fifth grade, he made a perfect score on the Virginia Standards of Learning science test. In ninth grade, he hit a walk-off single in a baseball tournament. A year later, he pitched seven gritty innings of no-hit ball over two consecutive all-star games, with the help of a curveball that seemed to defy gravity.

Jonathan was quiet, but he had a big heart. He helped coach little kids in baseball and laid wreaths at Arlington National Cemetery. He had no enemies, only friends. His baseball coach told us his mind was a gift. “He was a brilliant kid who never laughed out loud that I can remember, but he had a wry and knowing smile,” he told me. And Jonathan was humble, only replying “thank you” when complimented, never letting anything go to his head. “Jon didn’t brag about what he knew or who he knew,” his coach told us.

Jonathan’s military lineage extended to a grandfather and great-grandfather who also served in the Navy, and a great-great-grandfather who was a Prussian cavalryman. One of the few times I saw Jonathan beam with genuine pride was when he was given his great-great-grandfather’s  sword at my retirement ceremony. The moment was deeply meaningful to him because it signaled equal recognition among family; Jonathan had to pedal hard in the shadow of a successful father and a brother now carrying on the tradition of military service.

On the surface, Jonathan was a handsome, shy, gentle kid with a warm and disarming demeanor. But underneath that exterior he struggled with anxiety and depression that eventually spiraled into addiction, with all its sickening complexity.

* * *

Many people have a simple understanding of addiction. They think it only happens to dysfunctional people from dysfunctional families, or to hopeless people living in the street. But our addicted population is spread across every segment of society. Rich and poor; white and black; male and female; old and young.

There are several gateways to opioid addiction. Some suffer a physical injury, and slowly develop a dependency on prescribed painkillers. Others self-medicate for mental ailments using whatever substance is available. Because the brain is so adaptable while it’s still developing, it’s highly susceptible to dependencies, even from non-opioids like today’s newly potent marijuana strains. We now understand that such early marijuana use not only inhibits brain development, it better prepares the brain to be receptive to opioids. Of course, like opioids, marijuana has important medical applications, and it seems to leave less of a mark on the fully mature brain. It’s worth examining whether it would make sense to raise the legal marijuana age to 25, when the brain has fully matured.

From an early age, Jonathan lacked confidence and self-esteem. He never seemed comfortable in his own skin. He followed more than he led. Like many of the 40 percent or more of teenagers who have reportedly suffered from one mental-health issue or another, Jonathan started on the road to addiction early. He began by sneaking a bit of alcohol at night in order to bring himself down from the Adderall a doctor had prescribed him, based on a misdiagnosis of attention deficit disorder. By eighth grade, he was consuming alcohol in larger quantities, and beginning to self-medicate with marijuana. Next came Xanax, and eventually, heroin.

We first tried counseling and psychiatry for Jonathan, thinking this was merely a matter of bad friends and worse choices. We figured he would age out of it and turn away from drugs. Not understanding how addiction progresses, we foolishly hoped, reinforced by his assurances, that every incident would be the last one. The incidents worsened after a girlfriend turned away from him and he was disqualified from playing varsity baseball his senior year due to deteriorating grades. One April night that year, a suicidal gesture and a car accident left him in the hospital and us with no doubt that we needed to make a radical change.

With no available spaces in treatment facilities in Washington, D.C., Jonathan detoxed in Richmond, Virginia, for a week while we frantically searched for an inpatient center that would accommodate his dual diagnosis of depression/anxiety and addiction. He growled that putting him into treatment was the worst mistake we would ever make. But we stuck with our decision, and sent him away to two sequential state-of-the-art inpatient treatment programs.

According to the treatment professionals with whom we worked, it takes most addicts well over a year of skilled, intense inpatient treatment to even have a chance of recovery, and my son is evidence that not even that amount of time is a guarantee. Effective treatment generally requires a combination of craving-reducing drugs (to give recovery a chance), time (for the brain to literally recover), counseling (for the addict to understand what he or she is going through), mutual support (to maintain sobriety), and transition training (to prepare for reentering society).

Even getting people into treatment can be difficult, although some are trying to make it easier. In drug courts, for instance, judges are able to suspend drug-offense sentences in favor of an addict entering—and remaining in—a treatment program. But these programs are still terribly expensive. Because the military’s Tricare medical system would not adequately cover treatment for a dual diagnosis, we dug in and spent more than the equivalent of four years’ tuition at a private college for 15 months of treatment for Jonathan, a sum that would be well beyond the reach of most American families.

It wasn’t until our exposure to the parent-education sessions at Jonathan’s first treatment center that we awakened to the full horror of addiction’s relentless spiral. Unlike cancer, which can be seen under a microscope, addiction works away at the brain much more covertly, using its own flexibility against it.

As Sam Quinones writes in his book Dreamland, the morphine molecule has “evolved somehow to fit, key in lock, into the receptors that all mammals, especially humans, have in their brains and spines ... creating a far more intense euphoria than anything we come by internally.” It creates a higher tolerance with use, and, as Quinones continues, exacts “a mighty vengeance when a human dares to stop using it.” What starts as relief of physical or mental pain transforms into a desperate need to avoid withdrawal.

Treatment was tedious for Jonathan, due to long periods of boredom and his discomfort in being required to reach out to others and talk about himself. But he knew he needed help to recover. Over 16 long months we saw him almost miraculously begin to pull out of the abyss. We were gradually getting our son back. We watched his brain recover as he turned back into his old self. He was more communicative, happy to see us when we would visit, and even led a 12-step Alcoholics Anonymous meeting once per week.

In his last few months in treatment, Jonathan sought and earned his emergency medical technician qualification. He said he wanted to use it to help others, especially young people, avoid his experience. He was so proud that he had found something he loved to do. It was one of the very few things that would light him up in a discussion, so we brought it up with him whenever we could.

Based on his steady progress in recovery, and his successful completion of the rigorous EMT certification program, we thought Jonathan was ready to reenter normal life, and we believed he deserved the chance. Together, we decided he would attend the University of Denver, which had granted him a gap year after high school. Thanks in part to a sympathetic admissions counselor who had an experience with addiction in her own family, the school agreed to allow him to enter in the fall.

His incoming class was required to read J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy over the summer and write an essay about a person who had a profound impact upon their life. Jonathan wrote powerfully about encountering a man in the grip of an overdose-induced cardiac arrest in a McDonald’s bathroom during the first ride-along of his EMT training. He said the experience made him realize how precious life is. “I never found out his name,” he wrote, but the experience made him see his life “in a whole new light.”

Sadly, the morphine molecule had burrowed deeper into his brain than we understood. Even as he was writing his moving essay, referring to himself as a former addict, his relapse was already one week old. Such is the Jekyll-and-Hyde nature of the disease of addiction.

In the weekend before we dropped Jonathan off at college, we missed the telltale signs of relapse. Feeling the shame of his condition, Jonathan used the addicted person’s shrewdness to hide them. As for us, we were blinded by our own optimism. We read his restlessness as an understandable case of nerves about what was coming next, or perhaps too high a dosage of anxiety medicine. In retrospect, it appears he was experiencing symptoms of withdrawal.

* * *

Scientists who study addiction understand how little it takes to return at full strength. Even brief flashing images of drug paraphernalia are sufficient to trigger a flood of dopamine in a recovering brain that can, in turn, cause a relapse. The addict is all the more vulnerable when access to the drug is so easy. The location where Jonathan, two weeks away from entering the University of Denver, was taking a nighttime EKG course is close to one of that city’s open-air heroin markets. He told one of his friends back home that he had been offered heroin while walking back to where he was staying, but had refused. This encounter likely provided the stimulus for his relapse and eventual overdose.

Instead of allowing these open-air markets to thrive, we would do well to develop “safe-use zones” like those in Portugal and parts of British Columbia. These areas not only dramatically reduce opioid overdoses (because trained users of the overdose-reversing drug naloxone can be right on the scene), they can offer treatment to addicts who are ready to seek help.

We are hopeful that the exceptional efforts of a determined Denver police detective will lead to the apprehension, prosecution, and punishment of the drug dealer who sold our son that fatal fentanyl-laced dose. Indeed, the deadliest link in the overdose supply chain is the street dealer who looks an addicted person coldly in the eye and sells what he or she knows could be their last high. However, much of our prosecutorial apparatus views selling drugs as a “nonviolent crime.” Many refuse to prosecute for the small amounts dealers carry. Dealers are sometimes released overnight, allowing them to move on to another location to resume their deadly work.

Meanwhile, addicts continue to suffer under long-standing stigmas associated with drug use, and are subject to the same punishments as dealers. Data from the FBI’s Uniform Crime-Reporting Program shows that of the approximately 1.2 million people arrests for a drug-related offense in 2016, 85 percent were for individual drug possession, not the sale or manufacture of a drug. This is no way to solve an epidemic.

* * *

Drug overdoses, like the one that took Jonathan from us, are now the leading cause of death for Americans under 50 years old. The Centers for Disease Control reports that more than 64,000 Americans lost their lives to drug overdoses in 2016, including 15,446 heroin overdoses alone. The total is more than 20 times the number of Americans killed on 9/11.

The costs of the opioid epidemic—in terms of health care, its corrosive effects on our economic productivity, and other impacts on society—extend far beyond the loss of life. The White House Council of Economic Advisers just raised its estimate of the epidemic’s annual cost from $78.5 billion to a whopping $504 billion. Princeton University’s Alan Krueger recently completed a study suggesting that 20 percent of the reduction in male participation in our workforce is due to opioid use, and that nearly one-third of prime-working-age men who are not in the labor force are taking prescription pain medication on a daily basis. I sit on the board of a medium-sized industrial company in America’s heartland that has had trouble recruiting employees, despite being willing to hire anyone who walks in the door who can pass a drug test.

If America is going to reverse this epidemic, we need to start treating it like the national emergency it really is. We need a call to arms like the one that led to our nation’s dramatic decrease in cigarette usage, or the effective Mothers Against Drunk Driving movement. There are reasons to hope that public awareness of the opioid epidemic is finally beginning to catch up with the facts on the ground, but its defeat will only be possible through a concerted effort that includes full-spectrum prevention, stronger prescription-drug controls, more robust law enforcement, and far more access to quality treatment. All of this will in turn require major increases in public resources.

The final sentence of Jonathan’s University of Denver freshman essay reads, “I now live my life with a newfound purpose: wanting to help those who cannot help themselves.” Jonathan was very serious about his recovery. He wanted to live, and was on an upward trajectory, with brand-new hopes and dreams. He fought honorably against the demons of this disease but, as with so many others, he lost his battle. Losing Jonathan has left us heartbroken, but we are determined to carry his purpose forward. If his story leads to one less heartbroken family, it will have been worth sharing.

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2017/11/an-epidemic-from-which-no-one-is-safe/546773/?utm_source=feed

[ionecoffman]

No Family Is Safe From This Epidemic

The last photograph of my son Jonathan was taken at the end of a new-student barbecue on the campus green at the University of Denver. It was one of those bittersweet transitional moments. We were feeling the combination of apprehension and optimism that every parent feels when dropping a kid off at college for the first time, amplified by the fact that we were coming off a rocky 16 months with our son.

We had moved him into his dormitory room only that morning. I remember how sharp he looked in the outfit he selected, and his eagerness to start class and make new friends. We were happy, relieved, and, knowing what we thought he had overcome, proud. Earlier that day, at lunch, I asked Jonathan whether he thought he was ready for the coming school year. “Dad, I can handle it as long as I continue my recovery,” he said. “Everything flows from that.”

Only three days later, Jonathan was found unresponsive in his dormitory-room bed, one of several victims of a fentanyl-laden batch of heroin that had spread through the Denver area that week.

* * *

Jonathan grew up as the introverted, but creative, younger kid in a career Navy officer’s family. He was born a week after I returned from a long deployment, and lived through two more before reaching his fourth birthday. During one six-year stretch, he attended school in five different districts due to military moves. The one constant was his big brother, his best friend, whom he followed around like a rock star. I remember him grinning from ear to ear when he was asked to play on his brother’s soccer team because they were short one kid, and again when the two of them learned to ride a bike on the same day.

It wouldn’t be the last time Jonathan proved himself a quick study. In second grade, Jonathan’s teacher called to notify us that he was selling school supplies to his classmates, lending them money with interest. In fifth grade, he made a perfect score on the Virginia Standards of Learning science test. In ninth grade, he hit a walk-off single in a baseball tournament. A year later, he pitched seven gritty innings of no-hit ball over two consecutive all-star games, with the help of a curveball that seemed to defy gravity.

Jonathan was quiet, but he had a big heart. He helped coach little kids in baseball and laid wreaths at Arlington National Cemetery. He had no enemies, only friends. His baseball coach told us his mind was a gift. “He was a brilliant kid who never laughed out loud that I can remember, but he had a wry and knowing smile,” he told me. And Jonathan was humble, only replying “thank you” when complimented, never letting anything go to his head. “Jon didn’t brag about what he knew or who he knew,” his coach told us.

Jonathan’s military lineage extended to a grandfather and great-grandfather who also served in the Navy, and a great-great-grandfather who was a Prussian cavalryman. One of the few times I saw Jonathan beam with genuine pride was when he was given his great-great-grandfather’s  sword at my retirement ceremony. The moment was deeply meaningful to him because it signaled equal recognition among family; Jonathan had to pedal hard in the shadow of a successful father and a brother now carrying on the tradition of military service.

On the surface, Jonathan was a handsome, shy, gentle kid with a warm and disarming demeanor. But underneath that exterior he struggled with anxiety and depression that eventually spiraled into addiction, with all its sickening complexity.

* * *

Many people have a simple understanding of addiction. They think it only happens to dysfunctional people from dysfunctional families, or to hopeless people living in the street. But our addicted population is spread across every segment of society. Rich and poor; white and black; male and female; old and young.

There are several gateways to opioid addiction. Some suffer a physical injury, and slowly develop a dependency on prescribed painkillers. Others self-medicate for mental ailments using whatever substance is available. Because the brain is so adaptable while it’s still developing, it’s highly susceptible to dependencies, even from non-opioids like today’s newly potent marijuana strains. We now understand that such early marijuana use not only inhibits brain development, it better prepares the brain to be receptive to opioids. Of course, like opioids, marijuana has important medical applications, and it seems to leave less of a mark on the fully mature brain. It’s worth examining whether it would make sense to raise the legal marijuana age to 25, when the brain has fully matured.

From an early age, Jonathan lacked confidence and self-esteem. He never seemed comfortable in his own skin. He followed more than he led. Like many of the 40 percent or more of teenagers who have reportedly suffered from one mental-health issue or another, Jonathan started on the road to addiction early. He began by sneaking a bit of alcohol at night in order to bring himself down from the Adderall a doctor had prescribed him, based on a misdiagnosis of attention deficit disorder. By eighth grade, he was consuming alcohol in larger quantities, and beginning to self-medicate with marijuana. Next came Xanax, and eventually, heroin.

We first tried counseling and psychiatry for Jonathan, thinking this was merely a matter of bad friends and worse choices. We figured he would age out of it and turn away from drugs. Not understanding how addiction progresses, we foolishly hoped, reinforced by his assurances, that every incident would be the last one. The incidents worsened after a girlfriend turned away from him and he was disqualified from playing varsity baseball his senior year due to deteriorating grades. One April night that year, a suicidal gesture and a car accident left him in the hospital and us with no doubt that we needed to make a radical change.

With no available spaces in treatment facilities in Washington, D.C., Jonathan detoxed in Richmond, Virginia, for a week while we frantically searched for an inpatient center that would accommodate his dual diagnosis of depression/anxiety and addiction. He growled that putting him into treatment was the worst mistake we would ever make. But we stuck with our decision, and sent him away to two sequential state-of-the-art inpatient treatment programs.

According to the treatment professionals with whom we worked, it takes most addicts well over a year of skilled, intense inpatient treatment to even have a chance of recovery, and my son is evidence that not even that amount of time is a guarantee. Effective treatment generally requires a combination of craving-reducing drugs (to give recovery a chance), time (for the brain to literally recover), counseling (for the addict to understand what he or she is going through), mutual support (to maintain sobriety), and transition training (to prepare for reentering society).

Even getting people into treatment can be difficult, although some are trying to make it easier. In drug courts, for instance, judges are able to suspend drug-offense sentences in favor of an addict entering—and remaining in—a treatment program. But these programs are still terribly expensive. Because the military’s Tricare medical system would not adequately cover treatment for a dual diagnosis, we dug in and spent more than the equivalent of four years’ tuition at a private college for 15 months of treatment for Jonathan, a sum that would be well beyond the reach of most American families.

It wasn’t until our exposure to the parent-education sessions at Jonathan’s first treatment center that we awakened to the full horror of addiction’s relentless spiral. Unlike cancer, which can be seen under a microscope, addiction works away at the brain much more covertly, using its own flexibility against it.

As Sam Quinones writes in his book Dreamland, the morphine molecule has “evolved somehow to fit, key in lock, into the receptors that all mammals, especially humans, have in their brains and spines ... creating a far more intense euphoria than anything we come by internally.” It creates a higher tolerance with use, and, as Quinones continues, exacts “a mighty vengeance when a human dares to stop using it.” What starts as relief of physical or mental pain transforms into a desperate need to avoid withdrawal.

Treatment was tedious for Jonathan, due to long periods of boredom and his discomfort in being required to reach out to others and talk about himself. But he knew he needed help to recover. Over 16 long months we saw him almost miraculously begin to pull out of the abyss. We were gradually getting our son back. We watched his brain recover as he turned back into his old self. He was more communicative, happy to see us when we would visit, and even led a 12-step Alcoholics Anonymous meeting once per week.

In his last few months in treatment, Jonathan sought and earned his emergency medical technician qualification. He said he wanted to use it to help others, especially young people, avoid his experience. He was so proud that he had found something he loved to do. It was one of the very few things that would light him up in a discussion, so we brought it up with him whenever we could.

Based on his steady progress in recovery, and his successful completion of the rigorous EMT certification program, we thought Jonathan was ready to reenter normal life, and we believed he deserved the chance. Together, we decided he would attend the University of Denver, which had granted him a gap year after high school. Thanks in part to a sympathetic admissions counselor who had an experience with addiction in her own family, the school agreed to allow him to enter in the fall.

His incoming class was required to read J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy over the summer and write an essay about a person who had a profound impact upon their life. Jonathan wrote powerfully about encountering a man in the grip of an overdose-induced cardiac arrest in a McDonald’s bathroom during the first ride-along of his EMT training. He said the experience made him realize how precious life is. “I never found out his name,” he wrote, but the experience made him see his life “in a whole new light.”

Sadly, the morphine molecule had burrowed deeper into his brain than we understood. Even as he was writing his moving essay, referring to himself as a former addict, his relapse was already one week old. Such is the Jekyll-and-Hyde nature of the disease of addiction.

In the weekend before we dropped Jonathan off at college, we missed the telltale signs of relapse. Feeling the shame of his condition, Jonathan used the addicted person’s shrewdness to hide them. As for us, we were blinded by our own optimism. We read his restlessness as an understandable case of nerves about what was coming next, or perhaps too high a dosage of anxiety medicine. In retrospect, it appears he was experiencing symptoms of withdrawal.

* * *

Scientists who study addiction understand how little it takes to return at full strength. Even brief flashing images of drug paraphernalia are sufficient to trigger a flood of dopamine in a recovering brain that can, in turn, cause a relapse. The addict is all the more vulnerable when access to the drug is so easy. The location where Jonathan, two weeks away from entering the University of Denver, was taking a nighttime EKG course is close to one of that city’s open-air heroin markets. He told one of his friends back home that he had been offered heroin while walking back to where he was staying, but had refused. This encounter likely provided the stimulus for his relapse and eventual overdose.

Instead of allowing these open-air markets to thrive, we would do well to develop “safe-use zones” like those in Portugal and parts of British Columbia. These areas not only dramatically reduce opioid overdoses (because trained users of the overdose-reversing drug naloxone can be right on the scene), they can offer treatment to addicts who are ready to seek help.

We are hopeful that the exceptional efforts of a determined Denver police detective will lead to the apprehension, prosecution, and punishment of the drug dealer who sold our son that fatal fentanyl-laced dose. Indeed, the deadliest link in the overdose supply chain is the street dealer who looks an addicted person coldly in the eye and sells what he or she knows could be their last high. However, much of our prosecutorial apparatus views selling drugs as a “nonviolent crime.” Many refuse to prosecute for the small amounts dealers carry. Dealers are sometimes released overnight, allowing them to move on to another location to resume their deadly work.

Meanwhile, addicts continue to suffer under long-standing stigmas associated with drug use, and are subject to the same punishments as dealers. Data from the FBI’s Uniform Crime-Reporting Program shows that of the approximately 1.2 million people arrests for a drug-related offense in 2016, 85 percent were for individual drug possession, not the sale or manufacture of a drug. This is no way to solve an epidemic.

* * *

Drug overdoses, like the one that took Jonathan from us, are now the leading cause of death for Americans under 50 years old. The Centers for Disease Control reports that more than 64,000 Americans lost their lives to drug overdoses in 2016, including 15,446 heroin overdoses alone. The total is more than 20 times the number of Americans killed on 9/11.

The costs of the opioid epidemic—in terms of health care, its corrosive effects on our economic productivity, and other impacts on society—extend far beyond the loss of life. The White House Council of Economic Advisers just raised its estimate of the epidemic’s annual cost from $78.5 billion to a whopping $504 billion. Princeton University’s Alan Krueger recently completed a study suggesting that 20 percent of the reduction in male participation in our workforce is due to opioid use, and that nearly one-third of prime-working-age men who are not in the labor force are taking prescription pain medication on a daily basis. I sit on the board of a medium-sized industrial company in America’s heartland that has had trouble recruiting employees, despite being willing to hire anyone who walks in the door who can pass a drug test.

If America is going to reverse this epidemic, we need to start treating it like the national emergency it really is. We need a call to arms like the one that led to our nation’s dramatic decrease in cigarette usage, or the effective Mothers Against Drunk Driving movement. There are reasons to hope that public awareness of the opioid epidemic is finally beginning to catch up with the facts on the ground, but its defeat will only be possible through a concerted effort that includes full-spectrum prevention, stronger prescription-drug controls, more robust law enforcement, and far more access to quality treatment. All of this will in turn require major increases in public resources.

The final sentence of Jonathan’s University of Denver freshman essay reads, “I now live my life with a newfound purpose: wanting to help those who cannot help themselves.” Jonathan was very serious about his recovery. He wanted to live, and was on an upward trajectory, with brand-new hopes and dreams. He fought honorably against the demons of this disease but, as with so many others, he lost his battle. Losing Jonathan has left us heartbroken, but we are determined to carry his purpose forward. If his story leads to one less heartbroken family, it will have been worth sharing.

Article source here:The Atlantic

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No Family Is Safe From This Epidemic

New Post has been published on https://usnewsaggregator.com/no-family-is-safe-from-this-epidemic/

No Family Is Safe From This Epidemic

The last photograph of my son Jonathan was taken at the end of a new-student barbecue on the campus green at the University of Denver. It was one of those bittersweet transitional moments. We were feeling the combination of apprehension and optimism that every parent feels when dropping a kid off at college for the first time, amplified by the fact that we were coming off a rocky 16 months with our son.

We had moved him into his dormitory room only that morning. I remember how sharp he looked in the outfit he selected, and his eagerness to start class and make new friends. We were happy, relieved, and, knowing what we thought he had overcome, proud. Earlier that day, at lunch, I asked Jonathan whether he thought he was ready for the coming school year. “Dad, I can handle it as long as I continue my recovery,” he said. “Everything flows from that.”

Only three days later, Jonathan was found unresponsive in his dormitory-room bed, one of several victims of a fentanyl-laden batch of heroin that had spread through the Denver area that week.

* * *

Jonathan grew up as the introverted, but creative, younger kid in a career Navy officer’s family. He was born a week after I returned from a long deployment, and lived through two more before reaching his fourth birthday. During one six-year stretch, he attended school in five different districts due to military moves. The one constant was his big brother, his best friend, whom he followed around like a rock star. I remember him grinning from ear to ear when he was asked to play on his brother’s soccer team because they were short one kid, and again when the two of them learned to ride a bike on the same day.

It wouldn’t be the last time Jonathan proved himself a quick study. In second grade, Jonathan’s teacher called to notify us that he was selling school supplies to his classmates, lending them money with interest. In fifth grade, he made a perfect score on the Virginia Standards of Learning science test. In ninth grade, he hit a walk-off single in a baseball tournament. A year later, he pitched seven gritty innings of no-hit ball over two consecutive all-star games, with the help of a curveball that seemed to defy gravity.

Jonathan was quiet, but he had a big heart. He helped coach little kids in baseball and laid wreaths at Arlington National Cemetery. He had no enemies, only friends. His baseball coach told us his mind was a gift. “He was a brilliant kid who never laughed out loud that I can remember, but he had a wry and knowing smile,” he told me. And Jonathan was humble, only replying “thank you” when complimented, never letting anything go to his head. “Jon didn’t brag about what he knew or who he knew,” his coach told us.

Jonathan’s military lineage extended to a grandfather and great-grandfather who also served in the Navy, and a great-great-grandfather who was a Prussian cavalryman. One of the few times I saw Jonathan beam with genuine pride was when he was given his great-great-grandfather’s  sword at my retirement ceremony. The moment was deeply meaningful to him because it signaled equal recognition among family; Jonathan had to pedal hard in the shadow of a successful father and a brother now carrying on the tradition of military service.

On the surface, Jonathan was a handsome, shy, gentle kid with a warm and disarming demeanor. But underneath that exterior he struggled with anxiety and depression that eventually spiraled into addiction, with all its sickening complexity.

* * *

Many people have a simple understanding of addiction. They think it only happens to dysfunctional people from dysfunctional families, or to hopeless people living in the street. But our addicted population is spread across every segment of society. Rich and poor; white and black; male and female; old and young.

There are several gateways to opioid addiction. Some suffer a physical injury, and slowly develop a dependency on prescribed painkillers. Others self-medicate for mental ailments using whatever substance is available. Because the brain is so adaptable while it’s still developing, it’s highly susceptible to dependencies, even from non-opioids like today’s newly potent marijuana strains. We now understand that such early marijuana use not only inhibits brain development, it better prepares the brain to be receptive to opioids. Of course, like opioids, marijuana has important medical applications, and it seems to leave less of a mark on the fully mature brain. It’s worth examining whether it would make sense to raise the legal marijuana age to 25, when the brain has fully matured.

From an early age, Jonathan lacked confidence and self-esteem. He never seemed comfortable in his own skin. He followed more than he led. Like many of the 40 percent or more of teenagers who have reportedly suffered from one mental-health issue or another, Jonathan started on the road to addiction early. He began by sneaking a bit of alcohol at night in order to bring himself down from the Adderall a doctor had prescribed him, based on a misdiagnosis of attention deficit disorder. By eighth grade, he was consuming alcohol in larger quantities, and beginning to self-medicate with marijuana. Next came Xanax, and eventually, heroin.

We first tried counseling and psychiatry for Jonathan, thinking this was merely a matter of bad friends and worse choices. We figured he would age out of it and turn away from drugs. Not understanding how addiction progresses, we foolishly hoped, reinforced by his assurances, that every incident would be the last one. The incidents worsened after a girlfriend turned away from him and he was disqualified from playing varsity baseball his senior year due to deteriorating grades. One April night that year, a suicidal gesture and a car accident left him in the hospital and us with no doubt that we needed to make a radical change.

With no available spaces in treatment facilities in Washington, D.C., Jonathan detoxed in Richmond, Virginia, for a week while we frantically searched for an inpatient center that would accommodate his dual diagnosis of depression/anxiety and addiction. He growled that putting him into treatment was the worst mistake we would ever make. But we stuck with our decision, and sent him away to two sequential state-of-the-art inpatient treatment programs.

According to the treatment professionals with whom we worked, it takes most addicts well over a year of skilled, intense inpatient treatment to even have a chance of recovery, and my son is evidence that not even that amount of time is a guarantee. Effective treatment generally requires a combination of craving-reducing drugs (to give recovery a chance), time (for the brain to literally recover), counseling (for the addict to understand what he or she is going through), mutual support (to maintain sobriety), and transition training (to prepare for reentering society).

Even getting people into treatment can be difficult, although some are trying to make it easier. In drug courts, for instance, judges are able to suspend drug-offense sentences in favor of an addict entering—and remaining in—a treatment program. But these programs are still terribly expensive. Because the military’s Tricare medical system would not adequately cover treatment for a dual diagnosis, we dug in and spent more than the equivalent of four years’ tuition at a private college for 15 months of treatment for Jonathan, a sum that would be well beyond the reach of most American families.

It wasn’t until our exposure to the parent-education sessions at Jonathan’s first treatment center that we awakened to the full horror of addiction’s relentless spiral. Unlike cancer, which can be seen under a microscope, addiction works away at the brain much more covertly, using its own flexibility against it.

As Sam Quinones writes in his book Dreamland, the morphine molecule has “evolved somehow to fit, key in lock, into the receptors that all mammals, especially humans, have in their brains and spines … creating a far more intense euphoria than anything we come by internally.” It creates a higher tolerance with use, and, as Quinones continues, exacts “a mighty vengeance when a human dares to stop using it.” What starts as relief of physical or mental pain transforms into a desperate need to avoid withdrawal.

Treatment was tedious for Jonathan, due to long periods of boredom and his discomfort in being required to reach out to others and talk about himself. But he knew he needed help to recover. Over 16 long months we saw him almost miraculously begin to pull out of the abyss. We were gradually getting our son back. We watched his brain recover as he turned back into his old self. He was more communicative, happy to see us when we would visit, and even led a 12-step Alcoholics Anonymous meeting once per week.

In his last few months in treatment, Jonathan sought and earned his emergency medical technician qualification. He said he wanted to use it to help others, especially young people, avoid his experience. He was so proud that he had found something he loved to do. It was one of the very few things that would light him up in a discussion, so we brought it up with him whenever we could.

Based on his steady progress in recovery, and his successful completion of the rigorous EMT certification program, we thought Jonathan was ready to reenter normal life, and we believed he deserved the chance. Together, we decided he would attend the University of Denver, which had granted him a gap year after high school. Thanks in part to a sympathetic admissions counselor who had an experience with addiction in her own family, the school agreed to allow him to enter in the fall.

His incoming class was required to read J.D. Vance’s Hillbilly Elegy over the summer and write an essay about a person who had a profound impact upon their life. Jonathan wrote powerfully about encountering a man in the grip of an overdose-induced cardiac arrest in a McDonald’s bathroom during the first ride-along of his EMT training. He said the experience made him realize how precious life is. “I never found out his name,” he wrote, but the experience made him see his life “in a whole new light.”

Sadly, the morphine molecule had burrowed deeper into his brain than we understood. Even as he was writing his moving essay, referring to himself as a former addict, his relapse was already one week old. Such is the Jekyll-and-Hyde nature of the disease of addiction.

In the weekend before we dropped Jonathan off at college, we missed the telltale signs of relapse. Feeling the shame of his condition, Jonathan used the addicted person’s shrewdness to hide them. As for us, we were blinded by our own optimism. We read his restlessness as an understandable case of nerves about what was coming next, or perhaps too high a dosage of anxiety medicine. In retrospect, it appears he was experiencing symptoms of withdrawal.

* * *

Scientists who study addiction understand how little it takes to return at full strength. Even brief flashing images of drug paraphernalia are sufficient to trigger a flood of dopamine in a recovering brain that can, in turn, cause a relapse. The addict is all the more vulnerable when access to the drug is so easy. The location where Jonathan, two weeks away from entering the University of Denver, was taking a nighttime EKG course is close to one of that city’s open-air heroin markets. He told one of his friends back home that he had been offered heroin while walking back to where he was staying, but had refused. This encounter likely provided the stimulus for his relapse and eventual overdose.

Instead of allowing these open-air markets to thrive, we would do well to develop “safe-use zones” like those in Portugal and parts of British Columbia. These areas not only dramatically reduce opioid overdoses (because trained users of the overdose-reversing drug naloxone can be right on the scene), they can offer treatment to addicts who are ready to seek help.

We are hopeful that the exceptional efforts of a determined Denver police detective will lead to the apprehension, prosecution, and punishment of the drug dealer who sold our son that fatal fentanyl-laced dose. Indeed, the deadliest link in the overdose supply chain is the street dealer who looks an addicted person coldly in the eye and sells what he or she knows could be their last high. However, much of our prosecutorial apparatus views selling drugs as a “nonviolent crime.” Many refuse to prosecute for the small amounts dealers carry. Dealers are sometimes released overnight, allowing them to move on to another location to resume their deadly work.

Meanwhile, addicts continue to suffer under long-standing stigmas associated with drug use, and are subject to the same punishments as dealers. Data from the FBI’s Uniform Crime-Reporting Program shows that of the approximately 1.2 million people arrests for a drug-related offense in 2016, 85 percent were for individual drug possession, not the sale or manufacture of a drug. This is no way to solve an epidemic.

* * *

Drug overdoses, like the one that took Jonathan from us, are now the leading cause of death for Americans under 50 years old. The Centers for Disease Control reports that more than 64,000 Americans lost their lives to drug overdoses in 2016, including 15,446 heroin overdoses alone. The total is more than 20 times the number of Americans killed on 9/11.

The costs of the opioid epidemic—in terms of health care, its corrosive effects on our economic productivity, and other impacts on society—extend far beyond the loss of life. The White House Council of Economic Advisers just raised its estimate of the epidemic’s annual cost from $78.5 billion to a whopping $504 billion. Princeton University’s Alan Krueger recently completed a study suggesting that 20 percent of the reduction in male participation in our workforce is due to opioid use, and that nearly one-third of prime-working-age men who are not in the labor force are taking prescription pain medication on a daily basis. I sit on the board of a medium-sized industrial company in America’s heartland that has had trouble recruiting employees, despite being willing to hire anyone who walks in the door who can pass a drug test.

Related Story

Why Can’t Addicts Just Quit?

If America is going to reverse this epidemic, we need to start treating it like the national emergency it really is. We need a call to arms like the one that led to our nation’s dramatic decrease in cigarette usage, or the effective Mothers Against Drunk Driving movement. There are reasons to hope that public awareness of the opioid epidemic is finally beginning to catch up with the facts on the ground, but its defeat will only be possible through a concerted effort that includes full-spectrum prevention, stronger prescription-drug controls, more robust law enforcement, and far more access to quality treatment. All of this will in turn require major increases in public resources.

The final sentence of Jonathan’s University of Denver freshman essay reads, “I now live my life with a newfound purpose: wanting to help those who cannot help themselves.” Jonathan was very serious about his recovery. He wanted to live, and was on an upward trajectory, with brand-new hopes and dreams. He fought honorably against the demons of this disease but, as with so many others, he lost his battle. Losing Jonathan has left us heartbroken, but we are determined to carry his purpose forward. If his story leads to one less heartbroken family, it will have been worth sharing.

Original Article:

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[cutefluffinstitch]

Looking at the season 7 premiere!

Like I have been trying to do with Twin Peaks, I want to do a recap by each character’s storyline.

We get a cold open and see Walder Frey (who got his by Arya’s hand last season, so we know something’s up RIGHT AWAY!) and he’s got all of the Frey men in his hall, and he’s raising a glass to them, and recounts all of the good they did by killing the Stark family during the red wedding, by killing a pregnant woman, killing a mother of five, but they didn’t kill all the Starks, all the while the Frey men are all starting to cough up blood.  Walder continues stating that if they don’t kill all the wolves the sheep will never be safe.  After they all die, we see that Arya has used the technique she learned in the House of Black and White to take Walder Frey’s face and impersonate him, and turns to one of Walder Frey’s wives, and says ���When they ask what happens here, tell them that the North Remembers.  Tell them that Winter came for the Freys.”

We later see Arya riding a horse along, and she hears some soldiers singing by a campfire.  One of them is Ed Sheeran, which, was just so silly.  Not mad about it.  They invite her to eat with them and she tells them she’s heading to King’s Landing.  They ask why she would want to go there, basically tell her the city’s gone all to hell, everything’s blown up and getting worse.  Arya says she’s going to kill the queen, to which they all laugh.  They all look like soldiers from King’s Landing, and they’re off to see what has happened with the Freys.

North of the wall we saw a giant cloud of cold air slowly approaching, and as we get closer in, we can see that the Night King is coming in it, and they have a massive army.  We find out we’re seeing this through Bran’s warg point of view, as he and Meera are approaching one of the gates at the Wall.  They say who they are, give their best to prove it, and are allowed inside.

In Winterfell Jon Snow is commanding the forces they have, saying they need to get Dragonglass because it kills the white walkers, so they need to get it and arm everyone.  He also notes they can’t just afford to arm the men, to which one man says “you expect me to put a sword in my granddaughter’s hands?” and the teddy bear queen herself Lyanna Mormont, (QUEEN OF THE NORTH!!!) stands up and puts him in his place, saying she isn’t going to be knitting by the fire while men try to defend the North, she’s just as much a northerner than anyone else and she doesn’t need their permission to defend it.  If I were to have a daughter one day, I would hope she’s like her.

Jon Snow and Sansa disagree on how forts near the wall that belonged to families that betrayed the Starks should be manned.  Jon says the families shouldn’t be responsible for the mistakes their fathers made, Sansa says they should be given to loyal families.  I agree with both, but Jon eventually says he’s the king and his word’s final.  Later Sansa says to Jon he needs to be smarter than their father and Rob, because they were smart but they made stupid decisions and lost their heads for them.  She says he’s a good man, but he needs to be smarter.  Littlefinger is still skulking around, and everyone seems to want him gone except Sansa, and she says he’s only still there because of his forces from the Vail.

Somewhere between the north and south, where winter has arrived, we find The Hound with the Brotherhood without Banners.  They hunker down for the night in a house that the Hound stayed in with Arya, and he’d murdered the man and his daughter that lived there.  He lets Beric Dondarrion (eyepatch) know that he doesn’t like him, but he doesn’t hate him, and he’s not bad.  He doesn’t understand why they follow the Lord of Light, nor does he understand why the Lord of Light keeps bringing Beric back to life, and another man calls him over to the fire.  The Hound, who got his facial scars from his brother shoving his face in a fire, doesn’t really want to go look into the flames, but he does it anyway.  After staring into the flames, he sees the wall of ice, where the wall meets the sea, and an army of dead.  Later that evening he buries the the man and daughter from earlier.

Further south we find Samwell Tarly, doing really grunt level work in the Citadel.  Emptying bedpans, scrubbing them out, feeding everyone (something that looks like it came from a bedpan) and putting away books.  It’s really driven in, too, because it’s just a big loop for like 5 minutes.  He sees an area that is reserved for the meisters, and he wants to go back there to get more information about defeating the white walkers.  While performing…maybe an autopsy..?…he mentions the urgency, that they are coming and he needs to help Jon find a way to defeat them.  The man he’s helping mentions that they don’t even think white walkers exist, but they live different lives than the rest of the world, because the rest of the world constantly thinks the world is ending and they have to keep up with it all so the world will remember.

Sam sees a man with keys to get to the restricted part of the library, and takes those keys in the middle of the night.  He grabs a handful of books and takes them back to his room with Gilley and baby Sam.  Sam is flipping through, trying to find something of use.  He sees that people would decorate weapons with dragonglass but they didn’t know what the first men used it for.  He then discovers a map of Dragonstone, which has a mountain of dragonglass underground.  He quickly gets a note written to Jon.  Later we see Sam still at work, taking dinner bowls from quarantined sick, and one of the hands reaches out.  Sam pulls back, because this man has greyscale.  The man asks if the Dragon Queen has come to Westerose, and  Sam replies that he hasn’t heard anything.  We then see an outline of this man’s face, and we see it’s Jorah.  It seems in his quest to find a cure he has found his way to the Citadel.

In King’s Landing Cersei is walking along a map of Westeros that is being painted on the floor.  Jamie asks her what she’s doing, she is looking for allies.  They are seeing they’re surrounded by enemies, and Jamie says that they’re on the losing side.  Cersei is showing that she’s really losing it, because she isn’t upset over Tomlin’s death, because he betrayed her, betrayed her and Jamie.  She wants there to be a dynasty of Lannisters, and when Jamie reminds her that they’re the only ones left, she says then a dynasty for them, because they’re “the only ones that matter.”  Cercei reminds Jamie that one family that hasn’t turned against them is the Greyjoys.

They go out to see that the Greyjoy armada is sailing in, and when Jamie asks why she would want to align with them, they’re basically a band of thieves, she says they have ships, and all he wants is a queen.

Euron Greyjoy meets with Cersei and Jamie, lamenting how his family abandoned him when he came to claim the throne.  They remind him how he killed his own brother for the throne, and she says “it’s great, you should try it” with a look to Jamie.  They ask what he wants, and he states how he’s always wanted to marry the most beautiful woman in Westeros, and here he stood with an armada and two working hands (again, a look at Jamie).  Cersei declines his proposal, and Euron states that he knew the way to a woman’s heart was with a gift, and that he wouldn’t return to Westerose until he had a priceless gift.  I assume that he means someone or something’s head.

In Dragonstone, we see the Targaryen armada sailing in, the dragons flying overhead.  They arrive to Dragonstone, left abandoned by Stannis Baratheon, and she yanks down one of their banners.  They go up to the…well I don’t know what to call it but maybe a war room.  It’s the room with a large map table that Stannis would use to plan out attacks, and relations with the Red Woman.  She stands there in the window with Tyrion at her side, looking over the table, and says “Shall we begin?”

What a great start to a new season!  I have been hyping up waiting for this season since it was three months later than normal, and I couldn’t be happier to see it back!  I’m looking forward to seeing what’s coming up, who is going to win and who is going to die.  Until next time!  Happy sewing!

Game of Thrones: Dragonstone #cutefuffinstitch #gameofthrones #tvreview Looking at the season 7 premiere!