#(i did keep it in a jar though so bacteria maybe didn’t get to get in)

[wokeuptraveledstraightintothesun]

ate some old candy that’s been around for a month or two out of the wrapper and like. It’s not spicy but i am more aware of heat on my tongue. Not fun :(

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 5 - Cross Your Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Lying is supposed to be easy for spies.

Series Masterlist

You were beginning to think undercover operations were some sort of punishments given to agents, because lying was one thing, but creating a whole life around that lie was another.

Not only were your knives replaced by a bunch of paintings on the wall, you now had some photos in frames; old photos of people you didn’t know, people who were supposed to be your “cover” family.

You’d still prefer to have your knives on the walls though.

“You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear, and heard Chloe’s laugh.

“I am on your side, I just can’t do anything about your uniform.”

You plopped down on the couch, setting your heels down on the floor.

“Bucky might be from 1940s, but he knows that it’s the 21st century now,” you said, putting the heels on, “No reason to make me dress like a….weird pin up waitress.”

“It’s a part of your mission,” she reminded you, “What, you can kill a target with a wine glass but a pin up costume is where you draw the line?”

You clicked your tongue, “Anyone can kill someone with a wine glass. It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Babe it’s not rocket science, you just break the bowl part, then use the stem to stab them in the—“ you got distracted when you opened the kitchen cabinet, “I’m sorry, why do I have so many kitchen supplies?”

She held her breath in excitement, “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know what to do with most of them.”

“Cover Y/N likes cooking!”

“And the real Y/N can’t stand her,” you deadpanned, making her stifle a laugh.

“So he hasn’t texted you yet?”

“Barnes?” you asked, “Not yet. Why?”

“Well, I took the liberty of taking a look at his messages the other day.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me,” you said, “He’s seeing someone else?”

“No no, not at all,” she said, “He’s totally single, and probably ready to mingle. With you, that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He and Wilson were talking about you the other day. Well, more like Wilson was telling him to get his shit together and ask you out.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to ask someone out via text,” you said, “I think he will come to the shop one of these days.”

“Why?”

“He looked sort of….” You searched for the word in your mind, “Uh-clueless?”

“Clueless?”

“Yeah, you know how assassins usually flirt,” you ignored her noise of disagreement, “He wasn’t like that.”

“You really need to focus on the personal details of his file.”

You scowled, “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, “I know his favorite weapons, what knives he—”

“Personal file,” she repeated, “You know there’s more to people than their weapons of choice right?”

“I might have to engage in combat if I’m ever compromised, and do you know how many people walked away alive after engaging in combat with the Winter Soldier in all these decades?” you asked, “Three. Three people; Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and they are legends. I might be good, but I’m not that good.”

“Just memorizing his arsenal can’t help you in this mission,” she said, “Did you know that he hasn’t exactly dated since becoming the Winter Soldier? His ex Connie ended up having 3 kids and a long career at the post office—“

“What am I supposed to do Chloe, stalk grandma’s Instagram?”

“No, she passed away 5 years ago.”

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, “Listen, I don’t have time for this. I’m already knee deep in my own cover, I can’t get into Barnes’s past when it’ll give me no advantage in the mission.”

“Y/N-“

“Trust me,” you cut her off, looking in the mirror to fix your uniform, “I have everything under control.”

                                              ***

You had maybe like one thing under control and that was the milkshake you were currently pouring into a mason jar. After a crash course in different recipes yesterday, you barely needed any help from your coworkers and seeing that the shop wasn’t very crowded, you didn’t have to rush.

And now you knew how to make three things; pasta, eggs and milkshakes.

If Keith were here, he would’ve said those were 3 main food groups.

“Tara, we’re running low on maraschino cherries,” you said as you shook the can and your new coworker turned to you.

“Oh that’s okay, there’s another jar are under the counter.”

You put the cherry over the whipped cream, and handed the jar to her. “There you go.”

“Another week of working here and you will come up with your own recipes,” she said, “Tell me the truth, are you like a spy sent by a rival company?”

You stared at her, then forced a laugh.

“I wish,” you said, “Maybe I’d be paid more.”

“Good point,” she said and walked to give the milkshake to the customer while you put the empty jar aside, then went under the counter to search for a new jar.

“Strawberries….” You read the labels out loud as you heard the wind bells chime by the door, “Figs, berries—cherries!”

You reached out to grab the jar and stood up but as soon as you did, you caught the sight of the figure by the door and held your breath, the jar slipping from your grip before you caught it mid-air.

“Bucky.” You breathed out, before you remembered to plaster a smile on your face.

Naïve, soft hearted civilian.

He stole a look around as if he expected someone to attack him at any seconds in a milkshake shop before he stepped closer to the counter you were standing behind.

“Hi.”

“Hi-hi there!” you said, putting the jar down, “You came!”

“You sound surprised,” he smiled and you shrugged your shoulders, shooting him a mischievous look,

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

He hissed in a breath, “Ouch, was it that late?”

“Just a little,” you said “So what can I get you?”

He looked up at the board over the wall, “What are my options?”

“Well, we have Unicorn Cotton Candy, Pumpkin Spice Latte, Candy Cane Passion, Lavender Macaron—“ you stopped talking when you saw the clueless look on his face and cleared your throat, “Or hey, maybe chocolate? We have chocolate milkshake.”

“Chocolate sounds good.”

“Coming right up.” You took a mason jar from the shelf to get to it and he grabbed his wallet, making you raise your brows.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on—”

“I’m going to make you an overly complicated milkshake if you try to pay for this,” you warned him, shaking the can before putting whipped cream on top of the milkshake, “It’s on the house, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quickly, making you point at him with the straw.

“Either way, I’m warning you. I’m armed and dangerous.”

“Consider me intimidated,” he said with a grin as he put the cash into the tip jar and you narrowed your eyes.

“Bucky.”

“Well technically, tip doesn’t count.”

“I wonder where I heard that before,” you muttered under your breath while he walked to pull himself a seat.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, reminding yourself that your cover probably wouldn’t make dirty jokes and went to place the milkshake in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You waved a dismissive hand and rested your elbows on the counter, leaning in slightly.

He was gentleman enough to not check out your cleavage, instead kept his gaze on your face, making you suppress a smile.

“You were right,” Bucky said, his eyes darting around the café after a couple of seconds, “About how this place looked. It is creepily accurate.”

“Really?”

“I mean we didn’t have a neon flowers corner, but…” he trailed off, “Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

“Is that why you look like you expect someone to jump out of shadows and attack you?” you asked and his head shot up before he scrunched up his face.

“That obvious?”

“Not that I have lots of experience but so far none of the customers looked this uncomfortable while drinking a milkshake,” you said, “Is it because deep down you actually wanted to try Unicorn Cotton Candy?”

“Oh no, I’m good with classics,” He held up his milkshake, “No I just think that I’m a bit….uh, rusty.”

“Rusty,” you repeated, “On what?”

“On this.”

You batted your lashes, looking up at him and you could almost feel him being lured in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” you said softly after a beat and he gulped, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just that you’re—“ he cleared his throat, “You’re very beautiful and it’s been decades since I last asked someone out for a date.”

Winter Soldier, credited with over 100 assassinations, you reminded yourself Don’t lower your guard, it’s just a cover.

Don’t believe in your own cover.

You bit down a smile, tilting your head.

“Well, I didn’t think you were rusty,” you said and he raised his brows.

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all,” you said, “For the record, I’m definitely going to say yes.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned, “Once you actually ask me, that is. With words, not an implication.”

His smile was almost playful, “With words, huh?”

“I’m old fashioned like that,” you taunted him, “Let’s see how we can make it less awkward for you though. Would you feel more comfortable to ask me out if you knew some weird stuff about me?”  

“You know, that would help a lot actually.”

You tapped your fingernails on the counter, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to be in deep thought. Your superiors had always said the best cover stories were somehow based on real life without revealing your identity, so you figured telling him random things about you wouldn’t hurt or put the mission in danger.

“Well, I really like grapes but I don’t like the skin, so I end up peeling every grape I eat, one by one,” you counted with your fingers, “I watched a documentary once and now I can’t swim in any lakes because I keep thinking I’ll get attacked by that weird flesh eating bacteria. When I was sixteen, I was the president of the chess club but I had a boyfriend who didn’t believe in the moon landing—”

“I heard about the moon landing!” he said quickly, “I didn’t get around to watch it yet though.”

“Oh my God, you should.”

“What else?”

“I’m scared of peacocks,” you confessed, “I know everyone says they’re beautiful but they look like they’re waiting for the right time to attack you.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself not to laugh and he pressed his metal fist on his lips, his whole attention on you.

“You can’t laugh!” you exclaimed and he shook his head, trying to look as serious as possible.

“I’m not!” he managed to hide his chuckle with a cough, “Keep going, this is very helpful.”

You heaved a sigh. “Well, do you want to hear the most embarrassing one?”

“Absolutely.”

“I normally keep my phone on mute 24/7 but since last week it’s been on full volume because I was terrified I’d miss something important.”

The amused light in his eyes got softer and he lowered his hand, a smile warming his face.

Hook, line…

“I was um— I was hoping for you to call, you see.” you said, averting your gaze from him to look down for a second, biting on your lip.

His voice was raspy; “Were you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, mumbling an inaudible maybe, and his eyes trailed down to your lips before snapping up to lock your gaze in his.

“What time do you get off work today?”

And sinker.

Time to pull back.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, “I work at the soup kitchen tonight.”

“Oh –I thought you said it was on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“I did, I’m just covering for a friend tonight. Family emergency, she says.” you said and pushed your hair behind your ear, shifting your weight, “But my shift is over at 6 tomorrow and I can be ready around 7, I live really close by. If you’re- if you’re free, that is.”

“I am.”

“It’s a date, then.”

“It’s a date,” he repeated and stood up, “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.” You smiled as he walked out of the shop and Tara came closer to you.

“Wow, you’ve been here a month and you met someone that hot?” she said and winked at you, “Good job there.”

Right.

Good job.

                                             ***

“So, wait—“ Chloe came closer to sit between you and Keith, holding a huge bowl of popcorn, “He just showed up?”

“Mm hm.”

“And you have a date tomorrow?”

Keith uncapped your beer and handed you the bottle as you rested your feet on the coffee table.

“You’re being careful, aren’t you?” he asked you and you nodded.

“Sure.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“No, he’s buying this whole naïve soft hearted civilian thing,” you said while Chloe snatched the remote from Keith’s hand, ignoring protests.

“And are you?”

You dragged your eyes from the list of movies on the screen. “I want a horror movie.”

“Well too bad, I want an action movie.”

“We’re watching a rom-com and that’s final!” Chloe pointed at both of you, making you groan.

“Why does this keep happening?” Keith asked to no one in particular and she snapped her fingers.

“It’s my turn and my place so I pick the movie,” she said and shot you a look, “I’m still waiting for an answer, by the way. You don’t….you don’t have feelings for Barnes, right?”

Keith stole a look at you before turning to Chloe,

“I don’t think our dear friend here wants a relationship beautiful,” he told her, “Not after what happened the last time.”

You could feel the goosebumps rising on your arms as a shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t even know Barnes all that well yet, but I can assure you he’s not the type to—“ you paused, “Do something that cowardly.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “Where is that asshole anyway?”

“Hungary,” Chloe said and you raised your brows.

“Undercover?”

“Yeah. I hope he gets compromised and dies there.”

“Very unlikely,” you murmured, “Anyways, what brought this on? My feelings for Barnes?”

“It’s just that I recently read Vincent Smith’s file,” she said, “You guys remember Vincent?”

“Who?”

“His code name was Marco.”

“Oh, I remember Marco!” Keith said, “That guy took down a whole unit by himself. What happened to him?”

“He is missing.” Chloe said and you pulled your brows together.

“Since when do agents go missing and we don’t know where they are?”

“Since they fall for the target.”

“No way,” Keith chuckled, “Badass spy Marco fell in love? Poor idiot.”

“You’re a terrible person, Keith.”

You sat up straighter, “Wait, did you say he fell for the target?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports from his handler. And now he’s missing, and I don’t want you to run away with Barnes like Marco did with his target.”

You and Keith exchanged glances and you clicked your tongue.

“Chloe babe, he’s not missing.” you said “He’s dead.”

She pulled back slightly, “You don’t know-“

“Yes I do. You don’t fall for the target and compromise the whole mission, not unless you want to end up dead.”

“There’s no report of that,” she insisted and Keith sipped his beer.

“What did his report say, sweetheart?”

“That he was removed from his mission before going missing.”

Keith scoffed, “Rest in peace Marco, you won’t be missed.”

“How do you know—“

“Because that’s the code,” you said, “If the report says he was removed from his mission and went missing, it means he was killed by an agent on our side.”

“We killed our own agent?” she exclaimed and you turned the beer bottle in your hand,

“He stopped being our agent the moment he fell for the target.”

Chloe covered her mouth with her hands, worry etched into her expression, “Y/N, please, please promise me you won’t somehow get too involved in this mission and fall for Barnes and put yourself in danger.”

You let out a small laugh, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“It’s the Winter Soldier we’re talking about,” you reminded her and chewed on the popcorn, “Trust me, that would never happen.”

“Cross your heart?”

You heaved a sigh and clinked your beer bottle with hers.

“Cross my heart honey,” you assured her, “There’s no way I’d sign my own death warrant by doing something that stupid.”  

Chapter 6

[kurlyfrasier]

Terrified: Part 7

Raph x Reader

Synopsis: Raph saves you from ruffians one night in an alley after watching out for you for weeks without you knowing. Which leads you to getting to know the guys and becoming part of the family. But Raph keeps a distance and you don’t understand why. 

Word Count: 2043

Warnings: Sadness

A/N: At this point I believe I’ve been sucked into a bitter black hole, never to return. @thebiggestnaturaldisaster I’m really need to stop saying this is the last chapter, because once again, there is more to come! @emeraldgirltmnt I SEE YOU and I THANK YOU. Thanks to you both, really :) I’m lovin’ the comments, likes, and reblogs! Your love is making me giddy!

I woke up in an unfamiliar room, cardboard boxes littered the ground, a few books scattered on the dresser, and familiar, dirty clothes were piled in a corner. Then I realized; I was in my own room. But how? I had fallen asleep next to Raph. On his bed. With him. I sat up in my bed, flipped the blankets off of myself and stumbled to the closed door. I turned the knob, but it didn’t budge. I pushed and pulled a few times before panic started to set in. Had the guys locked me in? But why? Did they really think I would jeopardize Raph’s health? Was he okay? Did something happen?

A few minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Thirty, as my panic slowly ebbed into fury. My short, quick breaths turned into deep heaves as it all clicked together.

Leo.

He must have carried me in here before they moved Raph into the lab and then locked me in! Like an animal! Something not worthy of trust!

I seethed, pacing back and forth until I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. I banged on the door, yelling for someone to let me out. It didn’t take long for the culprit himself to appear.

“Y/n.”

“Leo,” I ground out through clenched teeth. “Let me out.”

“I can’t do that,” he almost sounded regretful about it. “You know I can’t.”

“I call bull! Tell me the truth,” I demanded. “Why can’t I go see Raph? I’ll go through all the precautions. I won’t even touch him if you say I can’t. I’ll do-”

“Raph will flip out the moment he lays eyes on you. That’s why,” he said low, like he was trying to stay calm. “He needs to rest and not be stressed in any way when he wakes and if he sees you- well, I’m certain he’ll go on a rampage.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I whimpered, barely keeping my tears at bay. “You me-mean he ha-hates m-me?” My knees buckled and I hit the unforgiving floor- hard, but I didn’t feel the jarring impact. I was numb to all pain by this point. The stress, the anxiety, the worry, the fear that Raph would never wake- It consumed me down to my soul.

“No! Shell no!” Leo banged on the door a few times, grabbing my attention as tears streamed silently down my cheeks. “Raph- he-he- ugh! He cares about you more than anything, that’s all-”

“He does?” I sniveled, unbelieving. I know Raph cared for my safety and did everything he could to keep me from being harmed, but caring about me more than his weights? His sais? His father and brothers? I doubted that. He could barely stand my presence except on movie nights for reasons I would never understand.

“Yeah. Of course he does, Y/n,” Leo cooed through the cold, metal door, cutting through my thoughts. “If he didn’t, then I wouldn’t have locked you in your room.”

“Well,” I dried my wet cheeks, sniffling. “I guess I have lost a little weight.”

“Yeah….” He was so quiet and sounded so unsure- so unlike himself- that I barely heard him through the door. “A little.”

I searched the room for my closet door mirror until I found it laying sideways between the wall and some boxes. I dragged it out, leaning it against the wall. The girl in the reflection barely looked like me. I lost weight, more than a little. Before, I had a few extra pounds. Enough that covered my bony joints and gave me some curves in the right places, along with a small pudge, cushy thighs, and arms that looked stronger than they really were. Now though, I could see those bony protrusions and my pudge was gone, leaving my stomach concave. My pants-held by a belt- swallowed my thighs and my once strong looking arms were sticks. I had become sickly pale, the bags under my eyes held truth to the fact that I hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks. Even my hair had become thin and brittle- mousy.

“Y/n?” I heard Leo call out, door still closed and locked.

I ignored him, now understanding why it would be bad if Raph saw me like this as I sunk onto bed. But I had wanted this, hadn’t I? To keep him from leaving my side. To keep him from going topside again. To keep him safe.

Still, I hoped it would be enough.

“Y/n?” Leo peeked his head in the door, looking concerned. “I’ll keep you updated on everything, okay? And-”

“Don’t tell him about- about-” I started, a little frantic and unsure of what I was trying to say. What, exactly, did I want to keep from Raph? Leo let me ruminate in silence. “Everything,” I breathed out, staring down at my skeletal hands in my lap.

“Everything?” He stepped into my room.

“Yeah,” I nodded, unwilling to meet his gaze. “About moving in, my job, my sleeping habits- everything.”

“Okay, I’ll make sure we don’t tell him anything. In the meantime, though, how about I get you something to eat?”

“Sure,” I mumbled, lying down. “You sure I have to stay locked in here?”

“Yeah,” regret tinged his tone once more. “I’m sorry. I don’t want Raph barging in when he’s first able to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been three days since Raph woke up and he had yet to hear even a peep out of you. Donnie had expanded his and Mikey’s plastic quarantined room to cover half his lab. Enough so Raph could walk around a little now that his strength was coming back. Granted, he could only walk a few laps before his breathing got heavy, but every day a bit of his strength was coming back- at mutant speed- and he was more than thankful. If only a certain little lady would come to visit, then everything would be going perfect.

The first couple of days he thought maybe you were at work when he was awake or maybe his brothers hadn’t told you that you could visit yet. But it was close to the end of day three as he got up again to walk a few laps and you had yet to show. His patience was growing thin. It was like pulling teeth to get Mikey to even mention your name.

“Where is she?” He grumbled before glaring at his youngest brother across the room. Donnie had brought in one of his extra monitors and Mikey’s game system for entertainment. Raph got bored of it real fast, but that was okay with him because he needed to focus on getting his strength back so he could hunt you down- make sure you were unharmed and well. He had to see you with his own eyes. He was starting to think something had to be wrong or that you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore with the way all his brothers were skirting around the subject.

“At least tell me she’s not injured,” he shouted at Mikey.

“Who?” He asked, acting dumb.

“You know who, Numbskull,” Raph marched in Mikey’s direction, growling. “Y/n.”

Raph noticed his brother flinch before he answered. “She’s fine, bro. Donnie’s just worried some kinda human bacteria mi-”

“I know what Donnie said!” Raph growled intimidatingly, grabbing his brother by the shell, forcing him to pay attention. “But the way ev’ryone’s been actin’ ya’d think she died or somethin’.”

“Look, Raph,” Mikey held his hands up in surrender, voice shaky with fear. “It’s not my fault, okay? I was told not to say anyth-”

“What are ya talkin’ about!” Raph roared in his face, the commotion had his other brothers slamming the lab door open.

“What’s going on?” Leo demanded, using the tone that his brothers knew not to deny.

Raph obliged all too willingly as he shoved his youngest brother away, knocking him off balance. “Mikey here says tha’ he’s not suppose’ ta be tellin’ me somethin’.”

“Oh,” eerie silence reigned over the room.

“It’s not cos of the bacteria thing, is it? That’s not why she hasn’ been ta visit,” Raph filled the silence, his voice confident.

“No,” Donnie replied in defeat. Raph saw Leo’s head snap to their brother, even through the thick plastic he knew all too well the daggers Donnie received.

“Tell me!” Raph boomed, wishing he had a table to flip over before continuing in his most menacing voice. “Or I’m gonna rip this plastic wall ta shreds and find her. Even if I have ta rip New York apart brick by brick.”

“I’ll tell you, Raph,” Leo was quick to acquiesce. “Just, please, don’t freak out.”

“I won’t freak out.”

“You say that now, but you haven’t see her-”

“Donnie!” Leo cut off his brother from saying more. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry,” Donnie mumbled, shuffling his feet.

“I’m waiting,” Raph stated impatiently.

“She doesn’t look like how you remember, brother.”

“Whaddya mean? Who hurt her? I’m gonna kill the-”

 “Nobody hurt her, okay?” Leo extolled quickly and waited until Raph grunted in understanding. “Just listen until I’m done and don’t freak out.”

Another grunt. Leo sighed, wishing he had more time to get your weight back up, but you hadn’t been eating as much as he would have liked since the transplant. Barely anything at all, really. So, he was forced to break the promise he made to you that day and spilled everything. How you cried- inconsolable- when you heard the news of his injuries. That they had to pry you away from his side when they bathed him. How you didn’t sleep more than a few hours a night, if that. That you were barely eating and that each of them had caught you, at least once, retching the food back up. About your job, losing your apartment, moving into the lair- everything. His brothers stayed silent as Leo spoke, not once interrupting. It was unnerving, to say the least, to see Mikey, normally so full of life, curl in on himself, to see the faraway look in his eyes as he remembered it all.

Raph didn’t want to believe a word of anything his brother said, but the more he spoke, the more he knew Leo wouldn’t lie to him about someone he cared about. Especially when it came to you. His heart grew heavier with every passing word as his fists clenched tighter and tighter.

This was his fault. If only he had seen that stupid blade. Then you’d be happy. Then he would have already told you how he feels about you- that you’re his everything. That without you, life was dark and meaningless. Maybe you two would be together. Maybe you and him would be on a rooftop somewhere, looking out at the city lights after eating a midnight picnic he set up for a date. Maybe he would be holding you tight instead of being stuck in quarantine with his ugly mug of a brother.

“It’s like, without you, she didn’t wanna live,” Leo’s somber words cut through his self-deprecating thoughts as he finished the heart-wrenching tale. “She became this….empty shell. Void of any cares unless it came to you.”

“She-” Raph swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe what he was about to ask. “She hasn’t hurt ‘erself, has she?”

“No,” Leo was quick to reassure. “We were getting worried she might, though. So we took precautions.”

“Good,” he grunted out, thankful his family kept you as safe as they could.

“She really cares about you, Raph,” Donnie spoke softly, reverently.

Those words filled him with hope. Even as Raph told himself you probably would’ve been the same way had any of them been in his place. But he wanted to believe that he was special. That he was the only one you would wither away for. 

For now though, he would wait to see you. He needed to process everything Leo told him and be certain he could control his reaction when he first saw you again. He refused to lose it when he saw you again. Refused to lose control. He didn't want to scare you away before he had you in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 8

[druddigoon]

bede and gloria; late night confessions

[it’s been a while since i worked on this, i tried to finish this to something ao3-worthy but the muse is just not comin ;_; didn’t quite get to the meat of your prompt tho it’s still at 1.5k words and full of drunk shenanigans!]

Bede doesn’t know how he got here. 

There’s something digging into his side, uncomfortable and wet (a log, some part of him helpfully supplies, before his thoughts sink into oblivion) as he half-squats, half-slumps onto the peat. Bioluminescent mushrooms pulse like strings of faerie lights at the edges of his periphery; he closes his eyes and feels the pleasant hum of television static against his bones, loose-limbed and sluggish. 

“Bede. Hey.” Someone’s standing him, shaking him. Glor-Gloria? What’s the champion doing here? She’d had more pressing obligations to take care of than visiting him, right? Unless she was…

He sits bolt upright. “Training.” 

“Hey. Bede no, you’re in no state to train.” She’s grabbing his shoulders, so irritably he shrugs her hands off. “Okay, fine. Haterenne, help me please?” 

“Hissssss.” 

“I know, it’s my fault, you can hate me for this later. Could you teleport him to Opal before he pukes on me?”

“I won’t puke on you.” He attempts to stand up, wobbles, and relocates onto the log, looking up at her like he only intended to shift his seat all along. “Just...don’t say a word of this to Opal, she doesn’t know I’m rende...rendezvu...meeting you for training at night.” 

Gloria makes a face like a goldeen, open-mouthed and slack-faced, before reeling herself in, blowing her bangs out of the way in exasperation. “What’re we going to do then?” 

“Train.” The log is awfully comfortable. 

She throws her hands up, stalking a ways away into the undergrowth. “Fine, you win. Hatterene, he’s yours now.” 

“Rene.” 

“This’ll wear off,” he insists after her. “Besides, we still have an entire night. It’s only--”

                                                                                     --Three in the morning. 

He knows this because it’s a routine ingrained into his internal body clock, reinforced by Sylveon sitting at his bedside and repeatedly probing him in the cheek. She dodges the togekiss sleep mask he flings at her, mewling incessantly from her safe space behind his rarely-used study desk as he fumbles the blanket off himself. 

Check surroundings. Judging by the iron klefki wards she hung in front of her door every night, Opal’s asleep across the hall; woman can sure sleep like the dead when she wants to. It’s quiet, empty. The portobellos growing on the kitchen walls ebb with the faint chartreuse of early morning. He pulls on his gear as quickly and quietly as possible, recalling Sylveon into her ball before climbing out his bedroom window. 

Despite most of the Ballonlea population being asleep, the Glimwood Tangle is teeming with activity: impidimps chittering from the trees, the echoing croons of hatterene in the distance, a male indeedee wandering around collecting swathes of amanita--most likely for some courtship ritual. He’s been gym leader for nearing six months now, and they no longer saw him as an intruder on their turf. The oranguru that always meditates underneath a wisteria-choked tree barely gives him the side eye as he passes. 

At the edge of the faerie ring, in their designated meeting location, he finds the Champion resting between the boughs of a tree. 

She’s already noticed him, of course--squirrelly, quick-eyed and observant, Challenger Bede had scribbled in his league-issue notepad, where he kept track of rivals and how to counter them--and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she made her way down, landing like it’s all she’s known, to fall and pick herself up. 

“The usual?” He prompts. 

“Nope.” Something clinks in her tired leather bag as she straightens herself. “I was thinking of having a battle today. Haven’t had one outside a boring league stadium in weeks.”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat reserved for when the region’s champion calls million-dollar, painstakingly designed entertainment buildings “boring”. Then again, Gloria never cared much for the stark geometry of commercial buildings. 

“But first. I brought something.” After rifling through her bag, she produces a jar of clear fluid with more flourish than she ever showed in her league battles, handing it to him. 

He unscrews the lid for a whiff and immediately regrets it. “Don’t tell me you smuggled alcohol all the way from Wyndon.” 

“Aren't you legal?” 

“Yes, I am. You aren’t.” Hatterene take him if Opal caught him in a hangover the next morning. At least Gloria had her own condo. 

“It’s only illegal if they catch you.” She replies, and Bede would agree wholeheartedly on any other day, if not for his desperate need to retain the vestiges of self-control slipping through his fingertips. Before he could protest, she takes the jar, tips it back to take a sip, then returns it to him.

He supposes he’s not a stranger to alcohol. While Rose never greeted him in-person, Bede had attended fancy meet-ups with potential patrons on behalf of the man (Galar loves a good rags-to-riches story, Oleana always told him) and let himself enjoy a flute or two of champagne on corporate dime. 

One sip. Surely nothing would come of one sip. 

“Alright,” he relents, “I suppose it’ll take more than a--

                                                                                    --Couple swallows in and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, the tips of his fingers strangely numb like that one time he accidentally stuck them into Gardevoir’s moonblast. Damn Opal and her “fairy boot camp”, he could bet on his favorite soap opera that no other trainer got their leg tied to their pokemon and forced to three-leg a batt--

“Drink.” Gloria orders, pushing the empty mason jar she refilled with water up to his lips. It tasted slightly viscous when he drank and...how did she get this anyways? Was it from her golisopod? Was he drinking bug spit?

“Bede. About your. Uh.” 

“We’ve disgus...discussed this to death already. I didn’t mean. Anything with the finalist speech. It was the heat of the moment, I was focused, and you were all that was on my mind--” 

“--So you were thinking about me then?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Anyways,” she continues uneasily, “Could you recall Hatterene? She looks like she wants to tear me to shreds with her mind.” 

“Oh.” He glances back and, sure enough, Hatterene is right behind him, every strand of hair bristling with psychic energy. “Hattie, behave. You’re better than this.” 

Hatterene trains the brunt of her attention to him, and there’s the low before a tidal wave, thrumming in his skull like a shotgun blast before she presses her pokeball and enters it with a huff. 

He hears an audible exhale from Gloria in the ensuing silence. “I haven’t heard you call her ‘Hattie’ in a long time.” 

“Old habit.” She’s long outgrown it now, but he still remembers her as a hatenna small enough to fit within the cradle of his arms, the outlier of the batch Macro Cosmos had donated to his orphanage. Most likely a breeding reject--too smart for her own good, too ill-behaved and unruly to be championship material--because nobody liked a pawn that didn’t follow orders. He knew how it went. “My younger self’s nicknaming skills left much to be desired.” 

They’ve come a long way since then.

“That’s sweet,” she says, and normally Bede would bristle at a challenge to his dignity, but today his limbs are sluggish and the bottomless pit of hatred he’d often found himself visiting seemed strangely empty.

"You were friends since you were young," Gloria clarifies, "And she obviously cares for you a lot--I've heard most hatterenes are as misanthropic as psychics come. It's nice that you've managed to keep it strong through your gym challenge."

"Gloria..."

"What's done is done though. I'm Champion, he's a researcher, and you're drunk out of your mind." When Bede sputters in response, she tips the jar of water in his general direction. He's forced to catch it so she doesn't spill the entirety of the contents on his clothes.

Definitely bug spit. But if this is the fix to the pressure building behind his eyes then he may as well take it. Even if that damn taste--

                                                                                    --is not at all what he expected: medicine-grade and overpowering, a hyper beam to his sinuses so powerful it forces him to tears. If this thing is safe to drink, the only reason would be because no bacteria would bear to live in it. He manages to swallow purely by willpower, refusing to spit it out in front of Gloria; whatever face he saves is instantly destroyed when she bursts out laughing at his expression. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sorry at all. Bede stares intensely at a cluster of mushrooms metres away and prays it’s too dark to catch the blood rushing to his face. “I thought-I thought you’d take it better. Maybe I overestimated you.” 

“And should I be under the assumption you’re a heavyweight drinker?” 

Gloria shrugs in lieu of an answer. “Leon always brought some kind of new wine or liquor when he visited home, and shared some of it with Hop. Hop shared some of it with me.” 

Unbelievable. And to think Leon was lauded as a children’s role model. Bede resists the urge to rub away a phantom headache. 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Sixteen

Claire comes back to the past with Brianna and arrives at Helwater looking for Jamie—but must confront the Dunsanys first.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen

This installment is kind of inspired by and therefore dedicated to all the parents out there who have been put into the position of homeschooling their children due to current circumstances. ~ Mod Lenny

********************************************************

With Lady Isobel gone to stay with her sister, Brianna’s education fell back to Claire and Jamie. 

At first, Claire worked with Brianna during the day while Jamie was busy with the horses. She reviewed mathematics and gave Brianna some problems to solve before changing their attention to science. Even if Brianna hadn’t requested it, Claire would have insisted upon teaching her daughter as much 20th century science as she could. 

When Jamie returned for lunch and dinner, Brianna would tell him about what she had learned and then in the evenings, he would work with her on languages, reading and classical history. 

Brianna and Claire played a game when Jamie wasn’t around where she would toss out a historical event and Brianna had to guess whether or not it had happened yet. Once, Brianna asked about changing history and whether it was possible. Claire offered an abridged account of her own attempts at changing things with Jamie’s help.

“Perhaps it was only that we tried to change an event that was too large,” Claire admitted with a shrug. “There were too many forces pushing it to happen and we couldn’t stop enough of them. Perhaps, if we’d tried with something smaller and more insignificant, we would have succeeded and eventually its consequences would have snowballed into larger changes decades from now. Or perhaps it isn’t possible at all.”

“Maybe the things you could change of the ones that don’t make it into history books at all,” Brianna guessed. “Then you wouldn’t know if you were changing anything or not.”

“Maybe,” Claire agreed with a smile. 

But while Jamie would probably have happily skipped learning the history-yet-to-come that fueled their game, his curiosity got the better of him when it came to Brianna recounting what Claire was teaching her of science. 

“And why are ye growin’ mold on bread?” Jamie asked, turning from Brianna to Claire. But Brianna answered. 

“There’s a special kind that squirts out stuff that keeps you from getting sick,” she explained, causing Claire to laugh and Jamie to quirk an eyebrow.

“Lord John has agreed to help me acquire a microscope,” Claire told him. “And if it works well enough, I should be able to find — or at least try to find — the strain that secretes what will one day be called penicillin. It’s an antibiotic that can help prevent and cure infection.”

“The wee bit of mold will do all that?” he asked in wonderment. 

Claire smiled, carrying a plate with freshly cut (and mold free) bread to put on the table before him. She stayed standing behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders and leaning in close to add, “And it’s a Scot who’ll discover it. In about a hundred and fifty years’ time.” She kissed his cheek and gave him a pat on the back before moving to take her own seat and dig into the meal.

“And you plan to find it and… use it?”

“Of course. I’ll need to fashion some kind of hypodermic needle eventually, but an oral administration is better than nothing. The acid in the stomach breaks it down a bit so its effects aren’t as fast or strong,” she rambled. 

Jamie sat nodding, watching her as he chewed. 

“When did you say Lord John would send you the microscope?” Brianna asked around a full mouth. 

Claire frowned at her and swallowed her own mouthful before replying, “Within the month. I’m hoping it will be closer to a fortnight but either way, it doesn’t hurt to start a few cultures so I have something to try right away. As soon as it arrives, we’ll go around collecting samples we can use to calibrate the microscope. Trough water, goat’s milk… we’ll see if we can find some algae on the rocks in the stream and maybe some plant spores or flower pollen…”

“I can bring ye some of the muck from the stalls if that would be of interest to ye,” Jamie offered. 

Claire beamed while Brianna grimaced at the thought. Jamie laughed, joined by Claire when she saw Brianna’s disgusted expression (only some of which was about Jamie’s offer and the rest by her mother’s obvious intention to take him up on it). 

“I cannae wait to see what ye find wi’ the microscope,” he said with excitement. 

********************************************************

The microscope arrived from Lord John about three weeks later, when Brianna’s frustration at its delay had begun to negatively affect her attitude (and Jamie and Claire’s by extension). 

It arrived while Jamie was busy at the stables. When he returned to their small cottage for his midday meal, he instead found Claire bent over the table setting it up and Brianna hovering like a butterfly, too excited to land anywhere for long. 

“Shall I fetch something from Cook in the kitchen then?” he asked, announcing his entrance. 

“Would you?” Claire asked gratefully, adjusting a mirror and inching a candle (burned to a low nub) closer. “I’ve got it nearly there… I don’t want to move it to lay anything out yet.”

“Bree,” Jamie jerked his head back toward the door. “Come help me carry it.” 

“You don’t need help carrying anything from the kitchen,” she whined. “I wanna stay and look through the microscope when Mama’s got it ready.”

“She’s like to have it ready by the time we return and we can find something from Cook tha’s worth a keek through the microscope,” he assured her, heading into the room and herding her out of the cottage. 

He glanced to Claire as he reached to close the door behind them. She was watching him leave mouthing, “thank you,” and smiling. It warmed him through, easing the tired tension in his arms and back from his morning’s work. 

Brianna chattered away as they walked to and from the kitchens, fetching some bread, cheese, and cold meat left from Lord and Lady Dunsany’s meal. 

“Insist on the full spread though Lady Isobel’s away,” Cook muttered as she picked over the parcel she packed for them, retrieving stray bones she needed for making stock. 

Brianna carried the basket while Jamie carried some bottles with ale.

“I wonder if Mama will let us look at that under the microscope,” she mused, nodding to the bottles.

“I’d dinna ken as I want to see that just yet. If I’ve just had it to drink and the sight turns my stomach, I may see it in a still less flattering way… or if it would turn my stomach and I havena drunk it yet, then I’ll just go the day thirsty and I cannae do that wi’ an afternoon yet ahead of me,” he told her.

“Ugh, no. Nothing food or drink then for a while,” Brianna grimaced. 

Jamie chuckled, amazed at just how much the expression matched a common one of Claire’s. It was a constant wonder to watch and listen to Brianna. She was at once the embodiment of Claire, the mirror of himself, and yet something – or rather, someone – entirely her own. 

Claire didn’t look like she’d moved at all since they’d stepped out, but when she raised her head at their entrance her face was alight with triumph. 

“Care to take a look?” she asked Brianna. 

Jamie successfully grabbed the basket from her hands before Brianna could drop it or toss it aside in her haste. 

Claire gave him an apologetic look as she showed Brianna what to do and reminded her not to jar the table or the device. 

“Whoa… what is that?” Brianna gasped. 

“I had a vial on me the last time I went looking for mushrooms in the woods,” Claire explained. “There’s that shallow spot near the stream that’s basically a small stagnant pond. Since I had the vial and there was water in it, I thought I might as well take a sample.”

“Holy cow, they’re moving!”

Instincts startled into action by Brianna’s exclamation, Jamie darted to her side but Claire was grinning. 

“I know! I was worried anything alive in the sample would die before the microscope arrived. You’re looking at a paramecium. They live in the water and feed on bacteria, algae, that sort of thing.”

“I think it’s eating another one,” Brianna said with horror and panic in her voice. She looked to Jamie while Claire swept in to peek.

“It’s not eating the other one. It’s dividing. That’s how they reproduce,” she explained. 

Brianna looked again. “Da… you have to see this.” 

She backed away, offering him her spot. He looked to Claire with uncertainty, but she nodded and walked him through how he should adjust the scope to focus as he needed. She knew he found the right setting when she heard his quiet gasp. 

“And that wee thing lives in the water?” he asked carefully. 

“Not all water. But some microorganisms like this can make people ill. That’s why I always boil water for drinking and sterilize my medical instruments in boiling water. It kills the kinds of microbes that cause infection.” 

“So it’s one of yer germs, then… this paramecium…” 

“Not exactly. But it does eat some kinds of germs. I’m afraid this microscope isn’t strong enough to see the bacteria it feeds on. But it should do just fine for examining the molds to find the right one for penicillin,” she declared. 

“I’ll never again dip my hand to drink from a loch wi’out seein’ that wee thing in my mind’s eye,” Jamie said, sounding haunted and perhaps a bit queasy. 

“What’d you two fetch for lunch?” Claire asked, hungry now that success was achieved.

[skelly-survival-guide]

I'm wondering how the skeletons and other monsters are surviving the current global crisis. Would the establishments of all the Grillbys and the Muffets be open to humans that are with skeletons? I wish I could shortcut too.

So this would be if I put the boys in what would be a mirror of our world. The monsters wouldn’t have to worry about getting sick or even passing the disease around since they don’t have the type of physical bodies that viruses or bacteria would be able to infect or cling too. However that doesn’t mean monsters aren’t greatly concerned.

Since monsters cannot get or give the virus to anyone they become an absolute essential in keeping everything from falling apart in the worldwide quarantine. Monster doctors and nurses, once pushed off to the wayside, are quickly stepping up to deal with infectious patients. As well as making sure necessary public services are still going.

Now if we want a reaction from the bros, especially if they have a close human friend or mate, I’ll try to keep it brief but informative. Simply cause i normally only do answers for 4 boys at a time.

Undertale Bros

Worried but calm. They do their best to keep their friends company during the isolation and if they have mates they make sure they have time out in the yard and have plenty of physical contact to help ease the stress. Papyrus is more prone to coming up with ideas to entertain, mostly with puzzles, while Sans is more then happy to drag someone down for a nap. Sans may call Grillby and ask if he can sneak his human in.

Underfell Bros

Anxious but trying to act tough. They think by acting strong it will calm their friends or mate down but in reality it just kinda makes them look like bullheaded dorks. Papyrus probably doesn’t help with the stress as he is adamant you stay in the house at all times and if he catches you outside will lift you up like a sack of potatoes and drag you back into the house. Sans is still likely to be your nap buddy but now you don’t get much of a choice. He will drag you to the couch muttering and growling the whole way. Sans is to paranoid to take you out right now. He will pick you up a to go bag though.

Underswap Bros

Nervous and clingy. The last thing they want to do is let their humans out of their sight but they understand full well the feeling of being trapped. Sans would be the type to set up a backyard camping trip so you can star gaze together but will bring all the soap and stuff outside with him so you can keep washing your hands. Papyrus is the type who would seem like a chill buddy to hangout with but he’s actually keeping a very close eye on your condition. He will definitely sneak you home some spider donuts just to watch your face light up.

Swapfell Bros

Paranoid and grouchy. Both of them are suddenly grinding their nasal ridges into human healthcare books. Don’t let their normally smooth behavior fool you, these boys are very possessive and whether you are friend or mate it makes no difference. They will not allow anything to happen to you. Sans, surprisingly, demands that you rest and relax as much as possible, as excess stress will leave someone open for disease. Papyrus on the other hand knows that sitting around doing nothing can be stressful in itself and will sneak his human to the yard to kill some time... Maybe make flower crowns. He won’t take you out though. Not a chance in hell. But you will be given sweets as apology.

Horrortale Bros

Very very very worried and very bad at hiding it. The famine made them very twitchy about big crisis's and this time its a global one. Papyrus already had a vegetable garden but when the signs of crisis started in the spring he was quick to expand his garden, growing more and stocking up on more pickling jars to preserve it. Sans didn’t even hesitate with helping his brother, dragging their quarantined human into the farming. He knows what it’s like to feel useless in times of trouble. Sans may also take up hunting deer and the like so you may not get Grillby’s but there will be plenty of meat in the freezer.

Horrorswapfell Bros

Trying not to panic. They are so worried that they start preparing for the worst and any human friends or loved ones are quickly snatched up and hoarded into their home where they can keep a socket on them and they will be safe. There will be a tone of food stocking, preserving, and hunting. Sans will be so paranoid he may drag you into a bath and scrub you down everyday, whether your just a friend or not. He knows it’s those human germs causing this and he will be damned if you have any on you. Oh did you just sneeze? Get in the shower. Papyrus will be doing the most active hunting so expect him to come home covered in blood. And a massive shocker! He will actually get in the shower to clean up. Just be prepared for his giant whiny ass to slump on top of you when he’s done cause he hated it and you’re lucky he likes you so much. There won’t be any outside sweets coming your way unless you give Sans the puppy eyes until he makes you some.

[d-criss-news]

The actor Darren Criss, 32, has a lot to say about grooming, diet, fitness and, most important, sleep. Mr. Criss, a San Francisco native who lives in Los Angeles, is so obsessed with sleep that he times it to REM cycles. He has also started a men’s grooming site, the Motley, with the siblings Matthew and Madison Ruggieri, and has just introduced a unisex skin care line called Onekind. Here, Mr. Criss, who is in the war drama “Midway” and is filming “Hollywood,” the new Ryan Murphy Netflix show scheduled for release next year, explains his personal care routine.

Fully Groomed

I have a lot of cleansers, but honestly, this is the one category where I feel like you just need to get your face clean. You use a bar of soap, and as long as it does the job, it’s O.K. Then I use Port Products Sol Defense SPF moisturizer. Then, morning and night, I put onRecipe for Men Under Eye Gel.

For night, I’m biased toward my own products. I do the Onekind Midnight Magic serum — there’s retinol in there — and I use that in tandem with Onekind Dream Cream. Every two days or so, I do the Urth Botanical Resurfacing Mask. I love a lot of their products. I also have the Urth Antioxidant Face Complex. It’s like taking your face to the spa.

The Perfect Shave

I have to shave every day for “Hollywood,” the show I’m on, and it’s really tough on the skin. I have to pay attention to the length of my stubble and the kind of blade I use. If I have a few days’ growth, I like the Executive blades from Dollar Shave Club.

But if it’s a day’s stubble, I’m using a safety razor. That’s because razor burn comes from multiple blades and multiple tiny cuts. I’m trying to minimize that by the number of the blades and also how big the blade is.

I use a hot towel to warm up the stubble. I also try to use really hot water to warm up the blade. Lock Stock & Barrel makes a really great shave oil.

One of the most important things, though, is the Urth Post Shave Elixir. I have buckets of it. If I don’t have it, I’m in a panic. I recommend it to anyone. I recommend it to my wife after she shaves her legs. I guarantee you maybe five people in the world care this much about shaving.

The Eastern Medicine Thing

I know it’s a hippie-dippy thing, but I’m a fan of oil pulling. I take a big dip out of a jar of coconut oil and swish that around my mouth. It sounds gross, and it is kind of gross. It’s supposed to pull bacteria out of my mouth.

I think it’s an Eastern medicine kind of thing — let’s face it, they’ve been ahead of everything on this front for millenniums. Someone recommended it to me years ago, and then when I was doing “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” on Broadway, I was literally making out with strangers every night. I did anything I could do to clean my mouth — it was more for their benefit and less for mine.

Sleep King

I’m really militant about sleeping for certain lengths of time. I’ve been doing this for years and years: I make sure I sleep in increments of 90 minutes. It takes me about 10 to 15 minutes to fall asleep and then the 90 minutes to complete a good REM cycle. So, for example, I’d rather get three hours of sleep than four hours.

You know those days when you wake up and you feel really good even though you didn’t really get a lot of sleep? That’s hitting the REM cycle. Or you sleep for a long time, but you wake up in the middle of a REM cycle and your whole day feels awful? I avoid that like the plague. Of course, there are a lot of variables — what you ate, how much you drank — but I try to have my sleep evenly timed out.

A Timed Diet

I’ve been into health and food ever since I was maybe 12 or 13. I was fascinated by the idea that food is fuel in this very nonintellectual way. You need carbs to do this and protein to do that. How it’s translated today is that you see that the digestive system is directly related to everything else. It’s not a subsidiary component.

So I time the way I eat. I don’t mean I’m timing while I’m eating, but you know how if you have dinner plans at 8 with friends? Well, then you don’t eat as much during the day so you’ll have an appetite and enjoy a meal out. I take the same approach with every activitythroughout the day.

If I’m working, the snacks and the doughnuts are all lying around, and I have to be careful of that. Otherwise I’ll feel strung out and tired. I try not to eat three hours before bed, but if I’m hungry, I might have a low-glycemic snack. I’m not going to have a carnitas burrito.

Then one of my biggest life hacks: I’m a huge chia seed person. If chia seed was a brand, I’d be repping them so hard. I soak chia seeds overnight and then do chia seeds and matcha in the morning. They’re the ancient form of good things.

Becoming a Fitness Fiend

I got heavily into fitness in my late 20s. Now I’m a certifiable fitness rat. I work out like I used to play video games. It’s competitive and fun. It’s also meditative. For me it’s really about the cardiovascular benefits and general well-being. If my body is a little more toned, that’s a super-bonus.

When I first started, that entry point was hard to find. I was completely allergic to the bro-y gym culture. “Get swoll, dude!” The thing that changed my life was P90X. I’ve never met him, but Tony Horton is the biggest dweeb in fitness.

I was too embarrassed to go to the gym, and I didn’t want to work out in a public space, and here was a guy who was making the dumbest dad jokes. This guy was all right. I knew this guy from high school.

I now love the social aspect of working out. I have maybe six or seven friends on rotation, and instead of going out, we do a workout class together. It might be H.I.I.T., a Pilates reformer class or yoga. I try to change it up as much as possible. I want to confuse my muscles.

I also love Training Mate in Los Angeles. It’s by these goofy Australians. They’re super-fun and funny. When I’m in New York, Refine is my jam. Fhitting Room is really great.

Making Time for Recovery

A lot of people don’t know how to keep their muscles healthy. They need to do the recovery. Physical therapy is really nice, but it’s expensive. I believe in rolling out the muscles, and that just takes some time. Also, cryotherapy is incredible.

You can do other things, like an Epsom salt bath, and I’m a big fan of the steam shower if you can get access to one. I do it at night too, as it helps me relax before going to sleep.

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 21

Table of Contents

“Such extensive damage.”

Carrington muttered to himself indiscernibly as he looked Geek over with various ginger palpations and medical devices. As the doctor scrutinized him, Geek sat obediently on the edge of one of the stone coffins, which had been simply left rather than move it when the Railroad had relocated its base of operations to this crypt. The stethoscope was ice-cold when it went to his chest and back to listen, but Geek didn’t really mind. The doctor clicked his tongue several times in disdain for the costliness of the treatment Geek had accepted so readily from Tinker Tom. The sample of excretion the doctor took from Geek’s scarred skin singed the swab, and he murmured in displeasure before trying again carefully with the side of an aluminum-barrel fountain pen. Geek watched while he did something with it, but couldn’t make out what he was doing.

“I’m surprised you’re even standing. This looks superficially similar to ghoulification, but I can’t reasonably assess the condition of your internal organs to verify that. What I can safely say is that you have definitely mutated. That dark mess you made seems to be a metal excretion achieved through a thiolated salt solution. Simply put, the diluted sulfuric acid from Tom’s serum infused in your bloodstream and a chemical reaction took place which leached all kinds of metal from your body via your sweat glands. Lead, iron, aluminum, even traces of uranium. That sludge in the floor will become a rich metal slag once the sweat evaporates. Did you all mean it literally when you said you’d eaten a Synth? Absolute revulsion aside, if you meant a Gen I or Gen II, that didn’t even have living tissues in it. No part of the earlier models isn’t toxic to a human being.”

Geek had watched Carrington gesticulate in near-exasperation without comment, taking in all he had to say.

“Mutated huh? Mutated... further.” He let out a heavy sigh, and picked at his now vacant right eye socket. “You wanted the whole story? I haven’t pieced everything together yet, but I’ll tell you what I have of it. I’m from Vault 82. South-Central Mass. I haven’t figured out what exactly the experiment was, but I know we was guinea pigs, an’ I know it had to do with feedin’ us goo for every meal. I just can’t tell ya whether the food dispensers screwin’ up was all according t’plan. I’ve got real cynical about all this shit over the years... I know for a fact I’m not the only one of us that started supplementin’ his diet with whatever appealed to him. The doc in Worcester called it pica, eatin’ all the things I personally can rattle off’s been on the menu, past hundred years or so. The food paste stopped bein’ enough on its own, when it was supposed to be a master-food with all the vitamins and junk anybody needed. Maybe it wasn’t the machines. Maybe it spoiled. Who knows how long the experiment was supposed to go on.”

“Why do you say your nutritional dependency was a mutation?”

“I’ve eaten a thousand different things, ate ‘em solid. An’ they never came out... undigested. I’ve been digestin’ everything I’ve eaten. Makes sense how I sweated? ...the metal. But it makes me wonder if that’s what use my sweat will serve me now, or if I gotta keep gettin’ more a Tom’s shots to detox.” Geek looked up knowingly and pointed at Carrington to catch him before garnering commentary, recognizing a gap in his story. “But y’know what I ain’t been digestin’? Actual fuckin’ food.”

“You... might try some normal food now.” Deacon had come up to them after changing back into his casual white dress shirt and slacks. “Ease into it.”

“You’ve mentioned preservatives before bein’ a factor in all this,” Hancock started, having been sitting in the doctor’s chair with his arms crossed the whole time. “Mister Intel might have a point. Maybe prewar food ain’t totally off-limits to ya. Fancy Lads are about as much of a nonfood as it gets. An’ you were eating on that tub of shortening. Usually easing into eating food again after being critically ill means lots of soup, but for you it might mean just bridging back to what you’re supposed to be eating.”

“You’re not entirely wrong to speculate such,” Carrington nodded, brow wrinkled as he looked over to Hancock briefly. He’d forgotten he was there, he’d been so quiet. “People who are born into a settlement with higher caliber food sources, like Diamond City with its multiple quality restaurants, tend to do very poorly adapting to wasteland fare. But wastelanders who’ve been long accustomed to RadBug for protein, tato for their starch staple, and shelf-stable prewar food--they tend to be able to eat anything. I’ve read in medical journals, as well, that cultures with lean diets adjust abominably to high-fat cuisine, and vice versa. You might have been unable to stomach unpreserved foods because you were shocking your system. Which... brings me to the other half of my prognosis.”

“I... just might try it. There’s no tellin’ whether Tom’s shot might’ve complicated the range of what I can stomach.”

“And that’s exactly what I was getting at. I likely couldn’t pry the exact ingredients of the injection from Tom, but I know there’s bacteria cultures in it. Part of what makes the human digestive tract so successful is a symbiosis with key bacteria. Honestly, before you mentioned confidently that you were digesting the things you’ve swallowed, I thought perhaps the issue was that the toxins of what you were ingesting had killed yours off, but now I only feel more confident in theorizing that if you were mutated, so were the bacterial cultures that live in your stomach and intestines. You have adapted to eat the way you’ve been eating, that’s for certain. But whether the bacteria in Tom’s injection will end up competing with those inside you, only time and tests will tell. Antibiotics can be complicated to predict.”

“Does this mean bloodwork?” Geek flinched. He didn’t want to know whether his blood was still neon pink after all this.

“Yes, but to be perfectly fair with you, it’s going to be slow-going. I’ve only got the time at the moment to have this discussion because your dramatic arrival with my prototype has frozen progress in HQ.” Carrington tourniqueted Geek’s upper arm with a length of rubber, and easily found a vein. Steeled for the stick, the pink ghoul readily let the doctor draw four vials. As predicted, the blood nearly looked like hot pink milk. They both reacted poorly to the sight. “Once business resumes as normal, I will only have so much time to scrutinize your exact condition to give you a definitive diagnosis. I’m still not positive you’re not terminal, but this once-over gives me the reassurance to turn you loose to take stock for yourself of how your body reacts to its mutations.”

“...So you’re still tellin’ me I’m on forced leave.”

“You’re not even hired yet!” Carrington massaged his temples with one hand and grunted, then pulled composure into his shoulders, and snapped the rubber off Geek’s arm. The doctor then capped the blood samples to deposit them temporarily into a medical tray nearby. “But yes, I’m not even considering taking you on until you see whether you can function a week from now. I can tell your body’s still eliminating toxins. You’re going to continue sweating, and this sweat is caustic. There’s a good chance you’re going to accumulate further damage.”

“Can’t get much worse,” Geek rasped jokingly, messing with the hair he had left. “Sweat don’t really burn me much, but I seen what it did to that cotton ball. I’ll be careful.”

Carrington handed him his jumpsuit and armor, having gotten to the end of his patience with his impromptu patient. Exhaustion dripped from his dismissal.

“Have a care, will you?”

“Do my best.” Geek didn’t put his coveralls back on just yet, dumping them into Hancock’s objecting lap. He purposely kept hold of one of his shoulder pieces. “Before we leave, though, I gotta talk to Tom.”

Approaching the eccentric from across the room, Geek interrupted Tom scrutinizing something on the terminal on the desk at which he sat. The man mumbled to himself, eyes dull with information.

“Tinker Tom?” he started. Tom jerked up from his train of thought and came to.

“Hm? Oh, it’s you! You really mean it, that you feel better? That’s definitely the first time that’s ever happened with my serum.”

“Yeah,” Geek smiled. “I think so. Sorry to interrupt. I’m about to head out, but I had to do two things first. One, I had to thank you. Your treatment was unorthodox, but I think it was exactly what I needed. And two, Carrington mentioned you’re the quartermaster?”

“No need to thank me,” Tom beamed, slouching back in his desk chair. “And that’s correct. You hittin’ me up for goods? I don’t know what all I can rightly part with, since you’re not a bonafide agent yet, but I’m sure I have something juicy.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for handouts, especially not after how much y’helped me out with my health. I need somethin’ to keep myself occupied while I take this week to recoup. How much leather can y’spare? I’d like to upgrade my armor.”

“Man, me an’ my boys have got better than leather! You should come and see me when you pass the test. I will fix you up.” He sprung up and began digging through the metal shelving that lined the walls of his sprawling corner of the crypt. “What kinda customizing you thinking about in the mean time? Dense plate-layered? Deep-pocketed? Maybe somethin’ pneumatic? I got all kinds of toys. Great stuff to act as a stabilizer layer. A jar a wingnuts, makes great studded armor...”

“I already got all kinds a pockets.” He surreptitiously pulled out several hundred dollar bills where Tom could see the denominations himself, for emphasis. Tom blinked. “You gotta point, though. Mods seem more useful’n addin’ more layers. Got any mods that’d keep my arms an’ legs from... gettin’ broke so easy?”

“--I’ve got just the thing.” He produced a long wooden box after rooting around a bit, dropping it excitedly on the desk. “How does the guts from power armor legs sound? The components are compact enough to incorporate into greaves. This pair just hasn’t gotten used for it yet.”

“It sounds like you’re just about as crazy as I am.” Geek grinned stupidly, eyeing the box and tucking the bills in the bib pocket of Tom’s overalls. “Mmh. Can I part you with two or three tool aprons, too?”

“Oh man, that’s the kinda leather y’wanted? You really are a pocket fiend.”

The two went back and forth spitballing concepts for a while, but Hancock came up to interrupt, arms full of Geek’s things.

“How long am I supposed to sit over here with your purse while you chat up this mad scientist in your underwear?”

Geek took them from him apologetically.

“We can continue this in a week,” Tom insisted, understanding Hancock wanted to leave. He shooed off the two of them pleasantly. “I’ll be schemin’ up something special for ya. Have fun on vacay, my friend.”

“I like somebody that’d spoil you.” Hancock chuffed and patted Geek on the back as they let themselves out the back way. Down the stairs, and through the waterlogged, unpaved patch. “I gotta find a way to spoil ya worse, though.”

“And just what exactly do you call what you n’ me did at the quarry?”

Hancock barked and grinned at him.

“The beginnings of a fine friendship.”

[my-fanfic-soul]

No Need to Regret: Chapter 21

From the Beginning

The nurse left the room for what felt like the thousandth time since we got here.  It was day two in the children’s hospital, day three of hospitals in general, and I haven’t had more than five hours of sleep pieced together since we arrived.  I spent most of my time watching the monitor hooked up to Olivia, grateful for every heartbeat and for the higher oxygen saturation level, even though she was still on an oxygen tank.  It seemed like every time I did manage to doze off, a nurse would come in to give her medicine or check the monitors or write something on a notepad.  They tried to be quiet, but there's only so much they can do.

Or maybe my brain just refuses to shut down.

The past 48 hours had been a waking nightmare that I had never expected to have to endure.  Yesterday a doctor had talked to me about the possibility that she was asthmatic and that’s why she kept getting bad chest infections so easily.  He was going to write a script for an inhaler to hold us over until she could be properly diagnosed.  This morning they switched her antibiotic because the one she was on wasn’t doing anything, and it turned into the scariest moment of my life, surpassing even the fear I felt when Bethany called me a few days ago.  She ended up having an allergic reaction to it and there were several minutes of panic and multiple doctors and nurses rushing in the room and pushing her IV full of epinephrine.  It took me an hour to get her calmed back down because if I was scared, it was nothing compared to how she must have felt.  They were going to have cultures back in a few hours to find out for sure what antibiotic would work best and we’d just have to hope she didn’t react like that to whatever new one they put her on.

I felt like I had aged twenty years in two days. 

Outside the hospital bubble things weren’t going too much better.  The kids had an official social worker now and I could tell she wasn’t too big on the 20 year old being the one making medical decisions for a 7 year old.  Dad was giving Noah the ancient minivan to drive the other two kids an hour each way to school, because he couldn’t be arsed to transfer them to a nearer school or to drive them himself.  Ethan and Bethany were having to go back to the high school after their final bell so they could sit around while Noah was at practice.

Brad came to visit after work yesterday, but he couldn’t stay long.  My professors were being beyond kind about it all by letting me turn in my assignments online and do in class credits through various means, even if it’s just emailing them a summary of something they covered in the notes.  I was losing valuable hours at work, but there wasn’t anything that could be done about it.  It was overwhelming and I hid in the bathroom last night crying over the fact I had no idea how I was going to pay all of my bills this month.

An advocate came to sit with Livy yesterday for two hours while I went to handle the paperwork and legal crap around my new small SUV.  Niall hadn’t been kidding and I was just grateful that he had gone for a Toyota instead of a Land Rover.  It was pretty and I was appreciative of the gesture, as grand as it was.  I would need it in the weeks to come.

I chose to ignore the fact that I now had to add gas money and car insurance bills to the long list of things I could no longer afford, but had to figure out anyway.

“Kendra?” Olivia’s voice was so tiny these days it didn’t even sound like her.  She was so little and so very, very sick.  She was getting help now, but it didn’t help my guilt.  If I had known, I would have been there.  If I had just tried harder, I could have stopped this before it started…  “Keni?”

I sat up and leaned over her bed.  There were two chairs and a sleeper couch in the room and I had moved one of the chairs so I could be right by her side when she needed me.  It was still jarring to see the oxygen tubes in her nose, how pale her skin is, and the hospital gown with the patterns of tiny ducks on it.  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” I asked, my hand brushing over her clammy forehead.

“Can I get out of bed?” she asked and my heart sank.

“No, baby girl, you can’t,” I told her as soothingly as I could.  “You’re still very sick, so you need to stay in bed.  I can raise the bed up if it makes you more comfortable, though.”  She nodded and I pressed the buttons until she was in more of an upright position, the bed making noises as the pressure mattress adjusted to her new position.  “Do you want to watch some more TV?”

Her eyes brightened as much as they could in a little girl fighting off pneumonia.  Being able to watch whatever she wanted was the only good thing about her being in the hospital.  She was too weak to do any of the school work her teachers had sent me, so we spent a lot of time going through TV channels.  In fact, it only took ten minutes before she was asleep watching the TV.  The nurses had assured me that asleep was the best thing for her.  That when she was asleep, her body could focus on making her better.  It was still hard to see such an active, vibrant little girl spend most of her day asleep.

I leaned against the back of the chair, letting my mind wander while I kept a watchful eye on her monitor.  I couldn’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t be in this room, as worried as I am now, but I could imagine ways to make it better.  A caring man that would make me get up and shower or go down to the cafeteria to eat.  A man who would take his turn resting beside Olivia so she could lean on his shoulder while she watched TV, trying to ignore them pulling on her IV so they could give her medicine.  Someone to share in my concern as the doctors told us about what would come next for Olivia.

It always started out ambiguous, just a shadow of a man.  Then it would turn to Niall and my heart would ache because I wanted him here, more than anything.  I knew he can’t be, and I don’t fault him for it, but it would be nice to have someone to share this with.  He did as much as he could, but it’s hard to be an anchor from an ocean away.

Like my thoughts of him were a beacon, the Skype ringtone started going off on my computer.  I lunged across the room as fast as I could, praying that Olivia wouldn’t wake up as I slid onto the couch and pulled the computer onto my lap.  I quickly plugged in my headphones and hit answer, relief flooding my veins as Niall’s face came into focus.  As hard as being without him is, just seeing his face is the best part of my day.  Life is better with him, and I can’t argue against that.  “You have no idea how good it is to see you,” I tell him, keeping my voice low.

“How’s Olivia?” he asked, his concerned eyes sweeping down my face, like he thought he could figure out how I was feeling just by looking at me.  And maybe he can.  I don’t even know how to hide this, I just don’t have the energy.

“Exhausted,” I answer honestly.  “She’s asleep right now, which is for the best.  They’ve had to take her off her antibiotics for now.”

“Why?”

I glanced up at her, watching her chest rising and dropping from across the room.  “The ones they put her on the first day weren’t working, they didn’t fight against her bacteria.  They tried a new one this morning but she ended up being allergic to it.  Her face started swelling up and she was struggling to breath.”  I shuddered at the memory, not wanting to remember the panicked look on her face.  Not wanting to relive how scared I had been.  “They got medicine in her to fix that, and she’s fine now, but we have to wait a couple more hours before they get the results back from her culture to see what antibiotic is going to work the best.”

“Why didn’t they already do that?” Niall demanded, sounding like a concerned dad, sending my mind back to the daydream I had been using to keep me sane with only the sound of the beeping from Olivia’s monitor to keep my company.  He’s just as out of his element as I am and there’s something comforting about that.

I shook my head, “It’s not something that happens quickly.  They said it takes 48 hours to do one.”  I took a deep breath, taking in every familiar detail of his face.  “I never realized how slow results would come in situations like this.  I always thought that doctors would just… have the answers.”

Niall nodded his agreement.  “They make it look so much easier on the TV, don’t they?”  He rubbed his hands down his face.  “Have you heard anything about your mom yet?”

My stomach clenched and I had to force it to relax.  I don’t like thinking about her these days.  It fills me with anger and a delayed sense of betrayal.  She doesn’t care about any of us, even the most innocent.  I let her mistreatment of me slide a long time ago, but it hurt in a different way watching it play out with Livy and Ethan and even Bethany.  “She bailed out of jail.  She’s not allowed to contact or be around the kids or any of their guardians, which now includes me since I’m at the hospital with Liv.  She’s not going to have any visitation or custody arrangements until her court date.”

He gave me a knowing look.  “How often does this mean you’ll have the kids with you?”

I fidgeted a bit.  “Every other weekend.  Maybe more often since Abi won’t really have the patience to take them every month.  Dad has business meetings planned two months out so he’s not really an option.  We all know he won’t cancel them.”

Niall looked almost… frightened at the prospect.  I didn’t know how to ask him about it, though, so I let it go.  Maybe if I had slept more the night before I would have found the words to ask him what was wrong, but right now the capacity just wasn’t there.  It was just a fact of life, he��d come around to it eventually.

“Do you know when your mom’s court date is?” he asked.

“Sometime in April.  I can’t remember the exact date.”

Face contorted in shock, he asked, “That far away?  What are they on?”

It prompted a half chuckle out of me.  “Whatever it is, I could use some right now.  The social worker said it’s so both sides can build up a case or something like that.  It also gives them a chance to work towards a plea deal.”

“She doesn’t deserve a plea deal.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” I sigh.  “Neither do murderers, but they get them anyway.  In her case it’ll likely be to cut out prison time or whatever.  Save the kids from having to deal with court proceedings and save the county money.  It would be different if Olivia hadn’t gotten sick, it may not have even made it to trial.  I wish it wasn’t happening but it almost feels like retribution for my shitty childhood, in a way.  Hopefully it means that CPS will always be looking in on how things are going in the house.”  I didn’t mention how overworked the Texas CPS system was, because I didn’t want to think about it, either.  I had to hope that things would change for Bethany, Ethan, and Olivia.

Niall’s face was soft as he looked at me. “Hopefully this really is the part where things start getting better, Keni.  I refuse to think that things can get worse for your family.”

 Niall:

When I got off Skype with Kendra, I felt like I had aged ten years.  I knew it was nothing compared to what she was dealing with, but hearing the soft beeping from Olivia’s monitors and seeing the uniform, frankly ugly, wall paint behind her made me want to scream.  It was enough to drive a man mad.

The reality of Kendra’s situation was starting to weigh on me, too.

“How are they?” a voice asked as I stepped out into the hallway.  I hadn’t even realized that my feet had started carrying me towards the later half of our rehearsals.  I looked up to see Louis paused in front of me on his way towards the elevator.  “You said you were going to call Kendra, right?”

I rubbed my hands against my face again.  “They’re as alright as you can expect.  Had a few scares, but Liv is leveled out for now.  Keni is… tired.  Really tired.”

“Did she get the car?” Louis asked as we both headed towards the elevator.  I had asked his opinion on what to get for her since he had come from a large family himself.  He was the one that talked me down to the Toyota Rav4 with the most additions, as a balancing point for me.  I wanted nothing but the best for her.  If I couldn’t give her a top of the line car, the least I could do was make sure that what she did have had ever spec available.

I nodded as he pressed the button to go down.  “Yeah, she did.  She hasn’t had a chance to drive it much, with everything going on.  But she did seem to like it quite a bit.  If it wasn’t for the emergency, she would have given me hell for it, that’s for sure.  She feels weird about it as it is.”

“It’s just a car,” Louis said as we stepped into the small space.

Leaning against the wall with my eyes half closed so I didn’t have to think about being in a tight space, I replied, “Yeah, to us.  But you remember not having much money.  You wouldn’t have liked it if someone gave you a car as some sort of charity.”  Louis raised his eyebrows and shrugged in understanding.  “That’s how she sees it.  Damn pride is what it is.”

Louis slapped my shoulder.  “You’ve got plenty of that, too, lad.”

Rehearsal for the show was killer.  I just couldn’t concentrate, not when my mind was on Kendra thousands of miles away, facing what had to be the most difficult moment of her life.  I wasn’t like the others, I didn’t often feel guilt over leaving.  I was only really close with my dad and he understood.  I missed little moments with my nephew, but that was all I cared about.  I never really dated anyone seriously enough to feel guilt over not being with them.  By and large, I was free of strings holding me to anything other than my career.

But Kendra is different.  Kendra is… so different.  I was riddled with guilt that I couldn’t be with her now.  And I was wracked with guilt over the knowledge that I was scared.  She handles things I have no idea about.  I thought I could handle it, I thought the way things were in the fall were the extent of it.  I knew she played a big role in her siblings lives and that was that.  I was naive to what her reality really looked like when things weren’t going well.  To what her life would mean if even one thing changed.

It’s so much more than what I thought, and it’s likely to be more than that for a very long time.  She’s having to be responsible in ways I can’t understand.  Knowing that she could have the kids three weekends a month… that’s more than some divorced parents see their kids.  Knowing that she had to make decisions about their wellbeing and health.  Knowing there’s a chance that this could be her life for eleven years.  Not being able to just drop things and do what she wants because she’s responsible for not only herself, but three children that need some sort of stability.  Noah’s going to college soon, but the other three aren’t.  They need someone to be their advocate, to be there for them to fall back on when every other adult in their life fails them… and that person is Kendra.

It’s starting to feel real.  Committing to someone who has to be a parent to three children is not a light decision.

And she deserves better than me.  I’ve never even been responsible for so much as a dog.  My only responsibility is performing to the best of my ability for our fans, which means that I have to sacrifice other areas of my life to be all that I can be for them.  She deserves someone who can be with her, to hold her when she’s tired.  Someone who can drop what he’s doing to help her when there’s an emergency.  Someone that can help her with the stress of taking care of her siblings.  Someone who can actually be present in her life, not just a supportive voice a couple times a day.  I know she says it helps now, but for how long?  How long until this relationship becomes just another chore in a long list of things she has to worry about?

It makes me sick to think about it.

The lads noticed.  Of course they noticed.  We spent so much time together it’s almost impossible for us to not notice when someone is off.  It’s Louis that finds me during our dinner break and asks me about what’s going on.  He’s always been a brother to me, protecting me in any way he can.  Joking around with me, but giving me advice when I need it.  I don’t even question if I can trust him with my thoughts.  When I’m done telling him about how bloody terrified I am by all of this, of facing down a commitment I thought I was years away from and not with this much emotional baggage, he nods his understanding.

“It’s scary shit, isn’t it?” he asks, his hands busy playing with a water bottle.  I know he’s skipping a smoke break to talk with me and I appreciate it more than he knows.  “If you’re not ready, man, you’re not ready.  It’s not fair to any of you if you try to drag something out that’s not working.”

He took in my shaking leg and my arms rested on my legs.  “You don’t have to make the decision right now, Niall.  I know you care about her.  That much is obvious.  But you’re a guy with a crazy schedule and crazier responsibilities and she’s a woman with a full schedule and strange responsibilities for someone our age.  No one will blame you if you take some time to weigh that. Not even Kendra, I’m willing to bet.”

The conversation weighs on me the rest of the evening.  I feel like the biggest prick to have ever walked the planet, thinking of leaving this girl who has turned my world upside down just because she has obligations I’ve never had to relate to before.  I don’t think I’m ready for this, I don’t know if I can handle this.  The feelings I have for Kendra are uncharted territory for me as it is, but this is so uncharted I don’t even know where to step.  

It’s about maturity.  It’s about knowing that if I stay I’m saying that, in some way, I’m committed to this too because you can’t take one without the other.  I understand now that you can’t have Kendra without also taking on Noah, Bethany, Ethan, and Olivia.  It’s not just ‘her weekends’ with them, it’s a full-time thing.  I’m not ready, but is anyone?  Is Kendra, even?  I don’t know.  I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what to think.  I definitely don’t know what to say.

How can I feel so strongly for a woman, and still be thinking that I need to walk away?  How can I even think of leaving her at time like this?  But at the same time, maybe it’s the most mature thing to do… to recognize that I’m not bringing anything to the table and walk away before things get deeper.  Before she comes to rely on someone that can’t be what she needs them to be.  Before I fall harder for a girl who can’t be just a normal 20 year old.

Later that night when I’m lying in bed, I imagine the way she feels next to me.  The smell of her shampoo.  The sound of her heartbeat… just her heartbeat and her breathing.  I miss her more than a drowning man misses air, but is it enough?  Am I enough?  The thought of her, usually calming, keeps me up all night, my mind racing as I try to make peace with the best option for me.  For Kendra… For everybody.

 Kendra:

“You have to do your homework, Ethan,” I snapped, my patience wearing thin.  My first real driving experience in my new car was driving an hour to go pick up Ethan and Bethany from school, since Noah had a game tonight.  Now they were here at the hospital with me until dad got home and I was fighting Ethan over his homework.

He glared at me from his place in an uncomfortable hospital chair.  He was angry and he had every right to be angry, but I just didn’t have the energy to deal with it.  “Nobody cares, anyway,” he sneered.  “Why should I even bother?”

Olivia’s tiny voice interrupted our bickering.  “Keni, can I have some more juice?” she asked hopefully.  Other than a freak out earlier when I left, she was doing better today.  The new antibiotics were working like a charm and we had been told that as long as she stayed stable, we’d be able to leave in two days.  She’d still have to recover at home, but Abi had said that once Olivia was at dad’s house, she’d go stay there for a week to help out so I could go back to school.  I have a feeling Brad put her up to it, but I can’t complain.  I was stressing about how I was going to handle it all, with how much work I was missing and my professors can’t be so generous forever.

“Let me ask the nurse, sweetie,” I told her as I grabbed her cup and stepped out into the hall.  “Julia?” I asked the nurse at the desk.  They had become something close to friends during our stay, doing their best to make things easier on me.  I would have gone crazy without them.  “Can I get Olivia some more juice, please?”

She got up with a smile, “Of course.  Anything for my favorite patient.”  She took the cup and filled it up with some of the juice they kept in a fridge behind the desk.  “It’s a bit of a circus in there tonight, isn’t it?”

I grimaced.  We were supposed to be keeping things calm for Livy’s sake, but that’s hard to do with a tween in there being his moody mcbroody, definitely not the sick one, self.  The best I could do was make sure they didn’t disturb other patients.  “I’m sorry about that.  I’m, uh… struggling with the middle one, with everything that’s happened.”

“You’re fine, honey,” she assured me as she gave me back the cup.  “You’re handling it better than some of the parents we get through here.”

I thanked her and made my way back into the room.  I don’t like to think too much about the other patients here and what their parents are going through.  In a few days we get to leave, but a lot of these parents don’t get to.  Hearing kids even younger than Livy suffering broke my heart and I can’t wait until I can get us all away from it.  “Bethany, you may not use the TV,” left my lips the second I went through the door. She dropped the remote and sulked back into her chair.  “Here you go, Livs.  Ethan, you need to show your work on that math problem.”

“Why?  I just guessed, anyway.”

“Ethan…”  At just that moment, my phone started ringing.  I picked it up and saw Niall’s picture on my screen.  “Hello?  Can you wait just a sec…?”  I pulled the phone from my ear and said, “Only Olivia can use the TV, Ethan you need to actually try with your homework, and Bethany I need you to keep them quiet for just a few minutes.”

Once I was out in the hallway, I lifted the phone back to my ear and sighed, “Hi, Niall.”

His thick accent was a welcome sound after a day full of dealing with the younger kids, but something seemed off about it.  “Hey, Keni.  Sounded pretty exciting in there.”

I groaned as I waved to Julia, letting her know that I’d be in the main hall for the floor, where people rarely were and where I wouldn’t disturb other patients.  “I’m not sure ‘exciting’ is the right word.  I’m having to fight Ethan pretty hard about homework.  He started slacking back in November and just hasn’t been trying at all since they went back to school in January.  He’s angry, but I’m working on it.  How are rehearsals?”

As he tells me about his day, I finally peg the tone of his voice… It’s sad and resigned and as soon as I make that connection, my stomach ties into a knot.  This can’t be good.  It doesn’t bode well at all.  My mind races to remember the time difference for Australia and Texas, but the sensible part of me knows that even at his most tired he doesn’t sound like this.

“Kendra,” he says after a minute of silence. “We need to talk.”

“Ok,” I say quietly, my blood rushing and my stomach getting queasy.

He’s quiet for a moment and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.  All of my strength collapses as he says, “I think we need to take a break.”

I choke back tears as the burn bites at the edges of my eyes.  I can’t cry now or I’ll never stop.  The past few days have been too much and now this.  “Niall, please,” it comes out whining…. begging.  Not right now.  Please, not right now...

“Things are just… I don’t know what’s happening, Ken.  I really don’t know.  I care about you so much it fucking hurts, but I’m scared.  I don’t want to do this to you right now, I really don’t, but I don’t know if I’m ready.  I thought I could… I thought I knew what you were dealing with, but I don’t think I really did until now.  I don’t know if this is what’s best for us.”

Hurt and anger war with a sick feeling of satisfaction, like a small part of me always knew that it would come to this.  That it was too good to be true.  “Why now, Niall?  Things aren’t always going to be like this.  Things are going to go back to normal…”

My anger fades to regretful acceptance as I hear just how broken he sounds.  “Kendra, no it won’t.  Nothing about either of our lives are normal.  I’m not just doing occasional gigs and you aren’t just a doting older sister.”  He’s right and I hate it.  I hate that he’s acknowledging the elephant that has been in the room since Olivia got sick.  I knew he was getting uneasy, but I didn’t offer up any energy to consider it.  He has a dedication to his job that is required to be successful in his industry, and I have a dedication to my siblings that is far beyond a normal older sister… that’s more than what some adults have to handle with their own children they had a choice in bringing into the world.

Niall was still talking, trying desperately to get his point across without seeming like an ass.  “I’m only 21, I didn’t think I was anywhere near having to worry about things like this and I’m overwhelmed by what you’re going through right now.  I feel awful because I can’t be there to help and I feel like a useless git because I’m scared.  I have no right to be scared or overwhelmed, but I don’t know if I’m ready to commit to someone who has responsibilities like this.  We both know that it’s not just this week, or even a few more weeks.  If your mom doesn’t get custody, this could be the next eleven years of your life.  Even if she does, you can’t just… drop everything and leave them behind when they might need you.  I can’t ask you to do that, either.  I want to do what’s right for both of us, and I just don’t know if I can be the boyfriend you need with me travelling all over the world.”

My heart is trying to grab onto a reason to beg him to stay, but there’s nothing there.  He’s right, as much as I don’t want it to be true.  I expected too much for what is essentially only a budding relationship.  I can’t expect anyone, much less a guy in his early twenties with the world at his feet, to take on what life has dished out to me.  It’s not even like taking on step kids, because there’s a level of fuckery to this whole situation that is beyond most people’s realm of understanding.  I feel like I’m falling through a well as I whisper, “Niall, you know I don’t need you to decide for me what is best for me.”

His voice is just as quiet as he replies, “I know you don’t, Keni.  I’m not trying to do what’s best for just you.  I don’t know if I can handle this with the lifestyle that I live.  I want this to work, Keni.  I want this to work so badly it’s killing me, but I need time to think.  Before I go any further, we both need to know without a doubt that this is worth fighting for.  That this is what’s going to be what’s going to work for everyone involved.”

My voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else, like I’m listening to a conversation through the wall. But I need to know.  “Niall, are you breaking up with me?”

“No.”  There’s no hesitation in the word and not a single part of me doubts that he doesn’t want this to end and it makes me so angry because in a perfect world it wouldn’t have to.  In a perfect world, something that feels so right wouldn’t be coming to an end.  “Kendra, I don’t want to rush into this.  I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about a girl in my life.  I think we could just both do with a break while we try to figure out what’s going to work best for us.  I don’t want this to be the end, but I don’t want to drag out something that will only hurt us even more eventually.”  He’s quiet for another minute and I can hear his breathing in my ear.  Finally, he asks quietly, “Kendra, do you hate me?”  I can tell he’s crying and I can feel the tears falling down my cheeks, as well.

“No,” and it’s the truth.  I’d run from this if I could, but I can’t.  He doesn’t have a responsibility to us and he’s right, he’s 21 and his lifestyle is crazy.  Committing to me is committing to the messed-up nature of my life, and I can’t ask him to do that.  I should have never taken it for granted and realized that feelings can’t change the facts of our lives.  “You’re right.  Our lives are crazy right now, and we could both use time to think about if this is really what we want at this point.  I don’t hate you.  I could never hate you.”

Getting off the phone is difficult and awkward.  I can tell he doesn’t want to go, and unlike all of my other breakups I know this isn’t what he really wants, but I know it’s what he needs.  I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that this is going to end in a breakup.  He’s going to realize that it doesn’t matter how great of a girl I am, I come with hefty baggage that no one really volunteers to deal with.  You don’t just dedicate yourself to a girl you’ve only known for a few short months, not even half a year, who has this mess to deal with.

I take a moment to brush off my cheeks and pull myself together before I square my shoulders and march back into Olivia’s room.  Maybe this will be good for me, too.  He’s right, there is a good chance that this is going to be the rest of my life.  I may need to focus on my brothers and sisters more than ever and won’t have time to deal with dating and all of the struggles that come with it.

But when I walk back in that room I see a teenager who could really use a good male influence as to what a man should be, what she should look for in her own life partner.  I see a boy, no longer a child but not even a teen, who is hurting for someone like Niall to really take an interest in his life and connect with him on the level he needs.  I see a little girl who was so excited about the possibility of Niall being a part of our lives forever.  I thought Niall could be another person in their corner.  Really thought that he might be the partner that I leaned on and supported when he needed it for the rest of our lives.

I can feel the tears trying to work their way back up again but Bethany’s voice brings me back down to Earth.  “Keni?” she asks, looking at me with real concern.  “Is there something wrong?”

Three sets of eyes look up at me and I pull myself together, building up that wall that I spent my whole life designing to protect me.  “Yeah, everything’s fine.  Ethan, let me see how you’re doing on your homework.”

As much as I want to break down, I just don’t have the time.

Chapter 22

Master List

[what-even-is-thiss]

Fic, Pathos/Patriarch

Hey, guys. I’m doing a little better today, so here’s a story for you all. An anon requested a fic where Patton scolds Roman for messing with Anxiety. Gonna try my hand at writing from Morality’s pov. He’s actually the hardest of the four for me to write from their point of view, because I find it hard to get in his head, but I like a challenge.

Tip Jar

Warnings: None I can think of. There’s a stern parent bit, but I took inspiration from my own dad, and he doesn’t yell or insult. 1,125 words.

Abstract: The heart tries to keep the balance. Hating any part of yourself is not acceptable.

Morality had felt like something was off all day. What, he couldn’t pinpoint. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong, really. He just had a gut level feeling that something was off.

The feeling stayed with him all day. Through relaxing in the woods and video editing. Through visiting friends and sitting on the couch watching Netflix. Something was off, and he was beginning to feel a bit more upset than on average. This wasn’t like being overly confused. There were no mood swings and brief feelings of horror. It was just there, and it was getting increasingly harder to ignore it.

He was still delighted at things. He was enjoying the day, but still. Something was off.

Wait. Something was off.

He walked the long way through the mindscape, enjoying the twists and turns and sometimes stupidly insane layout of the place. The mind really was delightful. It made absolutely no sense and he loved it.

As he reached Anxiety’s neck of the woods, he heard shouting. Grand, dramatic, shouting that Anxiety would never allow here.

Morality didn’t know exactly where it was coming from, but he began running. He ran through the dark, twisted, sometimes red passageways looking for Anxiety.

Wait, duh. He snapped his fingers and concentrated on finding Anxiety. He landed in a hallway and heard the shouting clearly from around the corner.

“All you do is stop Thomas from chasing his dreams! Why? Why? I hate you! You witch!”

Roman. No.

“Roman!” Morality called out as he turned the corner.

Both Creativity and Anxiety looked over. Prince was holding Anxiety a few inches off the ground. Both faces slowly changed from an expression of pure rage to fear.

Roman dropped Anxiety and tried to continue to look intimidating.

“Morality, what are you doing here? This is not your area,” Roman said.

Anxiety shot the prince a dirty look. The hallway grew even darker, but he did not speak. Patton thought about it. His mind felt slightly clearer than normal and he realized that he hadn’t heard Anxiety talk all day. Usually his whispers made him nervous at least once, but there had been nothing that day.

“Anxiety, go to your room. I’m not mad at you, I just need to talk to Princey for a few minutes, okay?” Patton said gently.

Anxiety obviously didn’t look happy about this, but he trudged off in a direction that he obviously knew well. Prince stared Morality down.

Prince began to talk. “If you are prepared to defend him, then...”

“Then what, Roman? Tell me, what did you say to him?”

Roman swallowed. “I told him the truth. I told him that I hate him and all he does is stand in our way. He prevented Thomas from seeing his friends yesterday for the umpteenth time, and I cannot handle it anymore,”

Morality’s eyes went cold. “Roman, how long has this been going on?”

“I have always told him,”

“What has changed? Do you know what you’re doing, Roman, when you do things like that?”

“I am putting him down!” Roman said, clenching his fists. “I am doing it for Thomas,”

Morality crossed his arms. “I’ve told you before, Roman. When you hate Anxiety you hate yourself. You hate Thomas. If you want him to do less, call for help. Ask Logan to talk him down. Ask me to find something to distract him. Have Thomas text his friends or start up a daydream. Insulting and yelling and beating only makes him worse,”

Roman suddenly felt small under Morality’s gaze. Patton almost never became disappointed or angry, but when he did, it was terrifying. No dragon, troll, or evil witch could ever be as terrifying as that cold disappointed parental glare.

Roman looked anywhere but those cold disappointed eyes. Patton let him feel the uncomfortable squirm of being a bacteria under a microscope for a good half minute, which to both of them felt like an eternity.

“Well? Do you have anything to say?” Patton said.

“No, I do not,” Prince sighed.

“Then go to your room and think about some things you like about all of us. Not just about what you do. I’ll know if you don’t,”

“But...”

“No, we’re not going there. Go to your room,”

Roman sighed and twisted away, teleporting to his room.

Morality ran his hand along the red and black walls as he walked along. He felt nervous, but that was okay. This place was beautiful in a worrying way, and he was beginning to feel like he was getting back to his normal level of confusion, so he knew Prince was doing what he told him to.

He reached a simple black door sitting in the living wall of the mindscape and twisted the handle.

“Hi, Anxiety! How are you doing?” He said, slowly making himself visible in the door frame.

Anxiety was sitting cross-legged on his bed scrolling through his phone. He shrugged. The light of the screen simultaneously made him look menacing and vulnerable. Patton began to feel a little distressed, but decided that showing off his emotions in his normal cartoony fashion may not be the best thing for the situation.

“Can you talk?” Patton asked.

Anxiety shrugged again. Morality began feeling more confused than normal. Not exactly an emotional kind of confused. More like a confusion that came with the forced muting of emotions.

he didn’t have the best memory, he’d admit that, but something about this felt familiar.

“Anxiety, it’s okay to express your feelings. You okay, bud?” Morality said, stepping further into the dim bedroom.

Anxiety turned off his phone, making it nearly impossible to see. If Patton was in serious mode, he must really be concerned. Perhaps honesty was  the best thing right now.

Morality heard a sigh cut through the almost darkness. “No, Morality. I can’t talk right now,”

Morality smiled, though he doubted that Anxiety could see it.

“Okay, Anxiety. If you need me you know where I am,”

The vague shape of Anxiety’s head in the darkness moved up and down in a nod and then the shadowy shape of fear fell back onto his bed and curled up into the fetal position to hopefully fall asleep.

Thomas felt the weird sense of dread he had been experiencing all day lessen somewhat, but it was all still very tiring. Maybe going to bed on time for once was a good idea.

Morality was sure things would be better tomorrow. There was always something wonderful to look forward to these days. Despite the feeling of slight uneasiness Prince and Anxiety had caused, he was still feeling pretty good.

Loving yourself isn’t something that happens overnight. It takes patience, it takes work, and it takes a strong heart.

[jahntang]

“THE BEST OF ALL MEDICINES IS RESTING AND FASTING.” – BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

Through some combination of divine intervention and listening to my gut, I recently started seeing another naturopath and Singapore’s only Medical Herbalist, Dr. Sebastian Liew. I even bought his book! More details about the journey leading up to this another time.

After hearing about my condition, my health background and some physical examinations, Dr. Sebastian was started me on this fasting protocol which I have recently completed.

Contents

Part 1: Purging

Part 2: Lemon Juice Concoction

Part 3: Spelt Broth

3 Days of Fasting

Part 1: Purging

I don’t really know if ‘purging’ is the right word but it certainly felt like it.

He prescribed me a magnesium supplement and warned me in advance that this would cause loose stools in the morning. I was to take it 1 hr before bed for 3 nights.

About 7 hours after my last meal on the 1st night, I experienced lots of uncomfortable gastric churning as I slept. I would wake and think I needed to run to the loo but could then sort of control the urge and didn’t feel like going anymore.

Then true enough, at about 530am, I had a huge toilet bomb which first consisted of my usual solid, pebble-like stools but immediately following that I can only describe as a landslide of greenish-black excretion. (my apologies for the vivid description😚)

This continued for a couple of times but, thankfully, eventually stopped. I was afraid I’d be running to the toilet every few minutes for the rest of the day!

On the second night (Day 1 of fasting), it was almost the same except I did not get as much gastric churning – which was good as I slept better. However, again at around 530am, I felt the urgent need to rush to the bathroom to ‘purge’.

This time though, the landslide was more orange-brownish like mud (hence the pun). I think I had up to 5 landslides in the morning of day 2! I was puzzled as I wondered where all this excretion was coming from since I hadn’t eaten anything for a day. 

In my previous fasts, after day 1 I would not have to ‘download’ for at least a couple of days. There was simply nothing to excrete.

Could this be the toxins that have been ‘stuck’ inside my digestive tract for god knows how long?

Possibly.

These episodes continued into day 3 of the fast which won the prize for having the most number of toilet runs – 10! About 5 in the morning, 2 in the afternoon and interestingly, a few at night after I’d taken my spelt broth. This led me to wonder:

Could the broth be stimulating excretion?

In the past, this was certainly the case for any kind of solid food I’d taken as my first meal after a fast. The food would stimulate some ‘poop’ which my body had somehow been holding back for a couple of days.

If so, then I would have to alter my initial theory about our digested matter being stimulated to flow/excrete after we eat some solid food to after we consume something nutritious, broth included.

Despite stopping the magnesium capsules on the night of the last day of fasting, I still continued to experience some gastric churning that night and had a couple of runs on the morning of day 4.

This time though, it wasn’t much like a landslide but more like a shower of still orange-brown excretion 😄. I’d post some pictures but that would probably get me in some sort of trouble or attract the wrong types of readers… 🤔

Later when I questioned Dr. Sebastian about this, he said the magnesium does a good job of stimulating the intestinal tract and colon to excrete water and thus flush out whatever is inside. Your body will only absorb whatever magnesium you needed and the excess would be excreted too.

I guess it helps to flush out not just toxins and ‘stuck’ wastes but also pathogenic bacteria so I can start to repopulate the gut with good ones after the fast.

Lastly, one uncommon thing that happened was that I did not have any bowel movement for 2 days after stopping the magnesium tablets. This despite consuming plenty of fiber from salads and a new vegetarian diet that the doctor suggested I try.

I guess there was nothing to excrete and so I needed time to build up the digestive waste haha.

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Part 2: Lemon Juice Concoction

While fasting from all solid foods, during the day I drank this concoction.

It consisted of:

about 1.5L of filtered/distilled water

Juice of a lemon

2 tbsp of Maple Syrup

pinch of Cayenne Pepper

Taste wise it is pretty good and not sweet at all even though it consists of 2 tablespoons of Maple Syrup.

I guess the syrup provided important minerals while the lemon juice nourished me with vitamins and enzymes.

As for the Cayenne pepper, I couldn’t quite figure out why at first.

Eventually I asked the doc and he explained that it was for stimulating my metabolism. Now that I think about it, my metabolism does get very low when fasting – my energy levels are low and my body doesn’t produce as much heat as usual hence I also get cold easily. Quite ingenious if you ask me!

On all 3 days, there was enough juice in that 1.5L glass jar to last me through the day until dinner time where I drank a bowl or two of delicious homemade Spelt Broth!

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Part 3: Spelt Broth

Ingredients

2 cups overnight soaked Spelt Kernels, rinsed and drained

Couple of carrots, washed and chopped

1-2 cucumbers, washed and chopped

Handful of parsley, washed and chopped

Enough filtered water to cover all ingredients

*Ingredient quantities can vary depending on your preference and pot size 😉

Making this broth is very simple. I purchased the spelt kernels from his clinic and first soaked them overnight in filtered water with some apple cider vinegar to release the anti-nutrients from the grain. Then I rinsed and drained away the soaking fluids and dumped the kernels into a stockpot.

Next, wash the vegetables, chop them and add them into the pot. Fill with enough filtered water to cover all ingredients. (you can add more water to make more broth!)

Bring the broth to a boil. You’ll have to watch for this as you don’t want it to continue boiling for too long. Once boiling, immediately lower the flames and let the broth simmer for 30 minutes. (when simmering, you should see small bubbles rising from the bottom constantly)

You can drink it straight from the pot or drain and keep the remaining in the fridge for up to a week. Freeze if you want to store longer.

As for the remains, throwing them away made my heart ache as I can’t bear to waste food. Besides, they tasted alright, especially the spelt kernels which tasted like a cross between brown rice and barley. My family kept the remains and ate them as a substitute for rice for a couple of meals in the following days.

Taste wise, this spelt broth tasted like a barley soup but felt very clean. You can kinda feel the amount of nutrients in the broth. I enjoyed it regardless of temperature. It was nice to drink it cold in the morning when I woke up, after the 3 days of fasting, as it soothed my throat and esophagus. During the fast, I looked forward to that warm bowl of broth every evening. It was a comfort food.

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3 Days of Fasting

Although I would like to say I’m more conditioned to fasting, having dabbled in numerous fasting experiments over the last few months, I still have to admit that every fast humbles me.

Each time I fast I am brought to the realization of how much I appreciate food and eating. Not just the feeling of content at a full belly, but also savouring the myriad tastes and textures of different kinds of food in your mouth.

Fasting tends to induce a sense of abstinence and tests your discipline and ability to let go of and resist these pleasures for a designated period of time. It is also somewhat spiritual as most religious have some sort of fasting practice to connect or be closer to the divine through abstinence, prayer and meditation.

Hunger

Surprisingly, I did not feel much hunger throughout the 3 days of this fast!

I guess it could be due to the constant drinking of various nutritious fluids such as various teas in the morning (I find green and pu-erh tea helps to stave off the hunger pretty well!) to the lemon juice and spelt broth.

The broth was a delicious meal replacement in the evenings and I went to bed with my belly almost ‘full’ of warm spelt broth.

Energy Levels

Day 1 was the lowest. Starting from the afternoon, my energy levels dropped and I started to feel lethargic and sluggish. I had to remind myself to take things easy, relax, meditate, pray or nap more as it is counterproductive to be too active or busy during fasting.

Day 2 was an anomaly.

I’d booked a trial session for a hydrotherapy bath which the doctor recommended would be very good for my condition. It was a trial because in order to do it frequently, you’d have to purchase the equipment home. I don’t think there are spas that use this special machine. I’ll write about this in the future.

After this trial session, I experienced the exact same feelings I had during my time in Japan at the sulphur-rich hot spring baths! I felt very light, as if I was floating with each step I took. Very relaxed and calm too. Most interestingly, I felt full of energy! So much so that I could not fall asleep that night… 😂

I was tossing and turning for 3 hours before I decided to take my go-to sleep aid, Traditional Medicinals Nighty Night Tea, and finally fell asleep. Still, this insomnia continued for the next 4 nights. 😭

My energy levels dropped again on day 3 but not as much as day 1.

Pain/Symptoms 

As with most fasts, the pain caused by abnormal amounts of inflammation in my immune system subsided with each passing day of fasting. It was at its peak on Day 1, maybe even more painful than usual. Subsequently, I could feel the inflammation ebbing away on Days 2 and 3.

I also started to feel more mobile, as if someone had put some oil in my joints to lubricate them.

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Conclusion

I felt this fast was one of the more gentle ones on the body compared to a pure water fast or juice cleanse. Although there was the induced purging, the nutrients from the lemon concoction and spelt broth were more than sufficient to replace what I lost.

Furthermore, I barely felt any hunger throughout the 3 days. This in itself is a great psychological load to bear whenever fasting. I did not have to constantly keep myself busy to ‘distract’ myself and forget about the hunger pangs.

Thus, this is a very well thought out protocol for detoxification, as expected of an experienced naturopathic medical herbalist. Thumbs up! 👍

Thanks for taking time to read this! Please share if you found this useful!

Questions? Tips? Suggestions? Opinions? I’d love to hear them. Comment below!

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Links, References and Products Mentioned

The Medical Herbalist Dr Sebastian Liew

From Leaf to Life: Unlock the Secrets to True Health by Sebastian Liew

Bragg Organic Raw Apple Cider Vinegar (Amazon.com)

Traditional Medicinals Organic Nighty Night Valerian Tea, 16 Tea Bags (Amazon.com, iHerb.com)

Whole Grain Spelt Kernels (Amazon.com, iHerb.com)

↑ Table of Contents ↑

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In-depth review of a new fasting protocol for detoxification and healing! "THE BEST OF ALL MEDICINES IS RESTING AND FASTING." - BENJAMIN FRANKLIN Through some combination of divine intervention and listening to my gut, I recently started seeing another naturopath and Singapore's only Medical Herbalist, …

[bestpancetta-blog]

Easy to  Make Bacon and Pancetta at Home

Curing meat is the reason people could stay put when there was nothing to develop, execute or take. It is the means by which champions and pioneers endured while they ventured to the far corners of the planet.

In any case, the cooler and the advanced nourishment industry — with its jars, plastic sacks and chemicals — have made the normal home cook apprehensive of this most basic and valuable sustenance arrangement.

There is no justifiable reason purpose behind this: All you truly require is salt. Also, the outcome? Malcolm, my 17-year-old child, may have said all that needed to be said, "Whatever is on my bagel is better than average."

He was a test tester for home-cured lox I made while frantically flavoring and drying out tissue more than a while for this article. I had stressed that I cleared out the fish socked with salt in the icebox too long. The outside was dry, jerkylike, not the sleek sort from a bundle of even normal lox. I needed to cut further — into new wild salmon mixed with smoked salt, sugar, fennel fronds and fennel dust — to achieve the prize.

I was astonished by how great it was, and this is no unassuming boast. You can purchase brilliant lox from a store: This was an alternate taste planet.

It was likewise simple. I made it myself with precisely the fish and flavors I needed. What's more, the kid enjoyed it, a considerable measure.

Dissimilar to the choice to improve as a cook for the most part, which pays off each day, the take steps to do your own curing prompts a couple of fundamental inquiries previously you begin. Generally: Why trouble?

"It tastes so great is the main answer," said Brian Polcyn, the gourmet specialist and a writer of a standout amongst the most famous books on curing, "Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking and Curing." "A Ford Focus is a decent auto. It will get you Point A to Point B. No disgrace in driving it. A Mercedes E class? You can feel the distinction."

A moment question is one of aspiration. Curing traverses a range from bacon or essential corned meat to the intricate, grease lumped salamis of Italian or French charcuterie. The last take much work on; digging eBay and Amazon for humidifiers, processors, slicers, housings and pH perusers, notwithstanding building a drying space for exact temperatures and dampness.

I'm certain it's a wonderful leisure activity, but on the other hand it's a crazy measure of work — and requires lifted alert about security. Cured sustenance is, by definition, not cooked. Without appropriate safeguards, it can cultivate hazardous microorganisms. Spoil can be useful for wine, brew, cheddar or yogurt. It can likewise influence you to wiped out or bite the dust. Cured meat that includes maturation raises that hazard.

Paul Bertolli, a previous gourmet expert at Chez Panisse and an early supporter of bringing back home-curing, proposes leaving the more confounded stuff to the specialists. An extraordinary presentation, however it gets confused, is one of my most loved cookbooks, Mr. Bertolli's "Cooking by Hand." He went ahead to establish the site Fra' Mani, committed to everything cured; he gained from his Italian grandparents in Canada.

What I've been exploring different avenues regarding for the last eight or so years isn't crushing and maturing yet drying out strong bits of meat as they are changed with quite recently salt, flavors and air. Turns out our progenitors staggered onto something supernatural: Salt jam the meat by sucking the water out, impeding decay and thinking flavor.

The procedure likewise permits the additional flavors to implant into the meat, making it something other than what's expected through and through, and in addition making it more your own.

To what extent it keeps going relies upon whom you inquire. It's sheltered to state dried meat will last half a month in the fridge without issues and any longer if solidified, which is splendidly fine.

New items like bacon or nondried pancetta go malodorous significantly more rapidly and ought to be checked deliberately. Inconvenience is anything but difficult to recognize: I've seen dried meats don't such a great amount of ruin as become yellowish and don't smell new. At that point it's a great opportunity to hurl them. Don’t think of curing as an heirloom exercise in recreating life how it used to be. Like Mr. Bertolli, many proponents of curing learned it from relatives who did it partly out of love, partly out of necessity. So despite the last few generations of mass produced and preserved food, curing is an art that was never lost. Maybe out of fashion, but ever alive.

“For me, it’s the pleasure of making things you are going to consume yourself,” Mr. Bertolli said. “There is a pride in it.”

I’ve developed a basic and useful repertoire that requires no special equipment, space or even much time: bacon, both American and Italian (pancetta); lox, and duck prosciutto, an impressive and fun little trick that I learned from Mr. Polcyn and that you can brag over at your next dinner party as if you just brought it back from Parma. It cures for just one day under kosher salt alone.

I started curing out of love of a particular dish, pasta carbonara. My family and I lived in Rome for four years, and when we moved back to New York in 2008, it was not easy to find guanciale, or cured pig cheek, carbonara’s essential ingredient, even though we’re in Brooklyn, rightly mocked and loved as the navel of foodie obtuseness.

Romans say with snobby certainty you can make carbonara only with guanciale, not pancetta or bacon. I’m fine with any, but there is no question that guanciale makes the dish taste like Rome.

A local shop, Bklyn Larder in Park Slope, made its own and kept us supplied, that is until I came across a recipe from the Philadelphia pasta master Marc Vetri that he called shortcut guanciale.

It promised the exotic without much pain or cost: salt, sugar, pepper, garlic, coriander and rosemary rubbed over the cheek and plopped into a Ziploc bag in the refrigerator for just three days. To use right away, you roast it for about three hours. It is sublime.

We are fortunate enough to have a fireplace, so I thought: Why not dry it the way they do in Italy? I did, even if it drove the dogs mad, hanging temptingly just behind the screen in the unlit fireplace.

Three weeks later I was rewarded with something I felt I didn’t do enough to deserve: It looked Old World on the outside, all tough and dry, the inside a strip of meat encased in almost buttery, flavorful fat.

I realize most cooks aren’t going to find regular use for guanciale, though it adds wonders to other pastas, soups and even seafood dishes. For me, though, it lit a fuse: I moved from the pig’s cheek to its belly. Salts, sugar and maple syrup are all you need for tremendous American bacon.

Nutmeg, juniper, garlic, thyme and bay leaf make pancetta, which can be used dry or fresh and is singularly versatile in the kitchen. Fish, salmon especially, cures in a few days and makes a New York bagel brunch a special occasion. (I just tried a recipe from Mr. Polcyn curing salmon with beets and fresh horseradish. I recommend it.)

The list goes on, for every taste and ambition: jerky, pastrami, corned beef, full hams. I don’t own a smoker, but it notches the art up with little effort. There are websites devoted to prosciutto, which requires only salt, patience and the optimism of being alive in the year or so an entire pig leg takes to dry. Results, apparently, are spectacular.

A few basics for new curers: It’s nice to have a fireplace, for temperature and air flow, but you can hang meat to dry in many places. People use closets, garages, basements, old refrigerators, a kitchen’s out-of-the-way nook.

You won’t smell much of anything as it cures, since it generally is wrapped in plastic for many reasons, mostly because the meat gets quite wet as the salt pulls out the water. But the aroma is terrific: sweet and salty, with flavors like rosemary and cracked pepper at high decibel.

Then there are the inevitable controversies of curing, which I’ll cover here only in outline. This is what the Internet was invented for, and readers of age can decide for themselves.

Last year the curing community was set in an uproar over a World Health Organization report that linked cured and processed meat with an increase in colorectal cancer. As with many risks, experts say, moderation slims the chances considerably.

There is also a theological debate over whether to use the most common curing salt, often called pink salt or Prague powder. It is a nitrite, and thus poisonous in quantity. Some curers prefer alternatives as safer and more natural. Experts I consulted recommended using it (in the prescribed small amounts) for several reasons: It’s effective in killing dangerous bacteria and contributes to the taste and color of good cured meat. I do, without apology.

Finally, I’ll say that curing is handy (this was the whole point, before history was even invented) and can save a bundle. One recent rainy Sunday, our younger son, Nelson, came home from a day of hard New York skateboarding with a friend, starving, as 15-year-olds tend to be. We had not strategized dinner. We considered ordering out, but Indian food or sushi would run $60 at least.

I looked in the fridge, and dinner assembled itself. A hunk of my old standby, guanciale, sat in a Ziploc. I sautéed it, added some onion, olive oil, tomato, white wine, pepper flakes and pecorino. And there we had maybe the tastiest of Roman pastas, amatriciana.

Took 20 minutes. Cost less than $20 for four. The boys didn’t care where that crazy-great, salty bacon came from, but they ate and were happy. I was, too, and the pleasure was not just in my stomach.

[quotidiancomestibles]

Pink Pickled Eggs (with Beets and Sweet Onion)

After reading a slew of pickled egg recipes, I kinds mixed a few together to come up with the following. It’s a lot of work, but I loved the results and am eager to try more! (Image courtesy wc williams, who ate the first without me.)

INGREDIENTS

8 eggs + water for boiling them

bowl of water with ice and salt

1 red beet, cut into chunks

1 sweet onion, cut into fat slices

~12 juniper berries (or peppercorns)

3 tbs pickling spice

1 tbsp salt

1/4 cup sugar (I used raw cane sugar)

1 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar

5 cups water

RECOMMENDED SUPPLIES

chopping knife and cutting board

muslin spice bag (really, will make your life easier) or mesh strainer

pot for boiling (at least as wide as it is deep is ideal).

medium to large bowl for chilling

large bowl for strained brine bits

glass canning jar with lid (make sure the lid seal is still good)

long wood skewer (like for kebabs)

optional: food-safe gloves (my fingers were pink for a day)

super-hot sink water, soap and a brand-new sponge; OR boiling water canner with rubberized heat-resistant tongs

INSTRUCTIONS

Place eggs in a large pot and fill with enough water to cover them by about half an inch. (If any of your eggs float, throw them out! Eggs that tilt up but are fine, and will probably peel the easiest.)

Bring to a gentle boil. Once boiling, remove from heat, cover, and let sit for 9 minutes.

Transfer eggs from pot to bowl of salty ice water and discard boiling water. (Salt makes ice water colder - a great trick to use less ice and/or cool your eggs more quickly.)

In the now empty pot, add the apple cider vinegar and 5 cups of water, sugar and salt.

If using a muslin spice bag, put the spices in the bag, tie off, and drop in. If doing it the hard way like I did, just drop the juniper berries and spices right in to the pot.

Over high heat, bring to a boil. (No need to cover, but I strongly suggest having your hood fan on - boiling vinegar lingers.)

Add the beet and onion and boil for 10 minutes. Then, remove from heat and let cool to room temperature. Do the following while you wait:

Peel your eggs. Slightly older eggs peel the easiest, whatever your chosen method. I prefer cracking the ends of the egg by tapping, then gently rolling the egg around on a cutting board until it’s a webwork of cracks, then peeling from whichever end dented in the most. Eggs that are too fresh not separate cleanly from the inner shell membrane.

Pour the salt water out of the chilling bowl, and put your peeled eggs back in there for now. You may wish to gently cover with a clean towel (paper or otherwise), or put them in the fridge.

Strain the brine. I did this before it reached room temperature, hoping to speed up the process. Throw the strained out bits into a separate bowl.

While continuing to wait for the f*ing brine to cool, pluck out beet and onion bits you want to jar with your eggs. I love pickled onion and beet. Gloves would have been good for this part.

Sterilize your jar and lids. You can get all fancy about it, but I just washed the jar, lid top and ring three times with almost-too-hot-to-handle sink water and soap with a fresh sponge. The acidity of pickled stuff means you don’t have to be as careful as with other foods, and my high school chemistry teacher always said three time is the charm for cleaning instruments. So there. (Sterilizing is why I will never be a food canner type.) You want the jar to still be warm when you put your stuff in, which is why you wait til the end for this part.

Carefully stack in your eggs with bits of beet and pickle. (Again, gloves would have been good.) Make sure to leave room for the brine!

Slowly pour in the brine, shaking or tapping the jar periodically to release bubbles. If any bubbles are being stubborn, use the wood skewer to poke them out. NO BUBBLES. This is important. Bacteria needs oxygen.

Snap on that lid! Screw it tight (may pose a problem if you weren’t patient and didn’t let the brine cool).

Put it in your fridge and wait at least 72 hours. Yep, three days. THREE DAYS. After all that work! But it will be worth it.

NOTES

Most of my notes are included within the recipe above (sorry for the quantity of text!), so I’ll just add one more thing: this is a lot of work for the number of eggs you get. They’ll keep for a few weeks (most indications I’ve seen online put it at 3), so it probably wouldn’t be terrible to make a couple of batches at once, if you and your friends/family will eat that many pickled eggs. (I will happily eat one a day, forever.)

Having done it once, though, I feel equipped to experiment with other spices and flavors – maybe even something simpler.