#black vegan doctors

[ofc-vi-writes-too]

a continuation of things that i think happen in my favorite fucked up silly little city (gotham)

• In hosptials in Gotham there’s another wing dedicated to super villain attacks Like how theres the ED, NICU, L&D, ICU, etc., theres another branch called Excessive Villain Attack Department (for) Emergencies. Also known as EVADE for short. it’s a brag to say you work in EVADE for doctors/nurses because A. the pay is ridiculously good, and B. how much extra stuff you had to learn to work there. People who work in EVADE have to go through weekly psych evaluations as well as physical testing to make sure they are still fit for duty.

• there are EVADE pop ups all around gotham so it’s citizens ares never more than 5 minutes away from medical attention. You have to work at a pop up before you’re allowed to work in EVADE in a real hosptial. People say working the pop ups is a lot harder and a lot nore stressfull, because people can come to you in really any condition out there.

• Similar to how kids in some areas cant wear certain colors like red or blue to school because of gang affiliation, gothamite students cannot wear anything superhero, vigilante or villain adjacent. No birds, bats, clowns, etc. Its a way for schools to try and stop kids from being targetted by their peers/ crazy adults who will attack them for supporting a specific person or party. Hero or otherwise.

• A lot of mom and pop diners/townie bars have foods named after vigilantes and specialty drinks named after villains. Some examples are:

Red Hoods Hot Chicken and Mac: bufallo mac and chicken with house hot sauce, so hot and tasty it will bring tears to your eyes! (this is true. jason tried it and he literally couldn’t feel his face. He couldn’t tell if he was blinking or not. Dick swears up and down he wasn’t.)

Nightwings: boneless chicken wings with a honey barbecue dry rub, with bleu cheese dipping sauce and chips and a blue corn dip. Dick can and will order 4 and eat them all by himself in one sitting.

Robins Eggs Breakfast combo: 2 sunny side up eggs, strawberry french toast, vegetarian sausage, house salad and an OJ. They tried to make it vegan but no one in Gotham wants breakfast without eggs. Robin said he appreciates the thought anyway. He is very smug and protective of his meal and the restaurant that made it. When he has the day shft he stops by there for breakfast, which isn’t often but still.

Signal soup: a classic squash soup, house focaccia and a garden salad. Its a seasonal meal that comes around every fall, and sells out almost every day for the entire season.

The Scarecrow: literally a long island iced tea with black liqueur in a martini glass with 3 olives. It tastes fucking horrible but will get you beyond hammered

Poison Ivy: shot of pochteca lime liqueur and pink whitney. Very tasty.

Regulator: its a blue margarita with coconut milk in it. Its a little sweet but its yummy. It’s common to black out on these because you cant taste the alch and by the time it hits you its too late and its the next morning and your naked in a strangers bed. Darn those regulators for a night you wont remember! at least the guy is handsome…

• See also the Condiment King challenge: A pint size glass of equal parts ketchup, mustard, pickle relish, mayonnaise, hot sauce, soy sauce, honey mustard, sweet and sour, bbq, salsa, fish sauce, vinegar, ranch, and wasabi. Hell in a cup! If you can drink it within 10 minutes without throwing up, you eat free at the dinner for a month and you get a t shirt that says “I completed the Condiment King challenge at Jimbo’s Dinner!” With a poorly drawn picture of condiment king on it. There has only been one winner: Timothy Drake. Jason dared him to try it after he hadnt slept in 3 days. Tim didnt puke, but Jason did. There were threats of violence if Tim ever told anyone that. Tim didn’t believe him, told Dick and magically ended up with a broken finger. “No AlfredI have NOOOOOO idea how it happened! Must’ve had a bad fall on patrol :3”

• taxes in gotham are shit-your-pants-when-you-see-it-the-first-time high. Gotham has to be able to pay for all the damages somehow, despite Bruce Wayne paying for about 15% of those damages out of pocket, its still not enough to stop prices from skyrocketing. To try and combat this, there is a Gala held anually for the top 10% of Gotham to fundraise for emergency city repairs. It helps a lot but doesn’t solve the problem.

[darkbluekies]

☁️ hi im back LOL hope im not being too much of a bother or something. can we have random dr kry headcanons... it can literally be anything like what he eats at lunch or maybe what he does when his darling's asleep!

[Haha, of course you're not!! I haven't done a headcanon before, but I've been looking around for inspiration so I hope this is good <3]

Dr Kry headcanon: normal day

yandere!doctor x reader

Warnings: mentions of drugs

Dr Kry doesn't sleep much because he needs to keep an eye on you 24/7.

He most likely definitely has a caffeine addiction to make up for his lack of sleep.

Dr Kry lives in the hospital's dormitory to stay close to you, just in case something would happen for you to need him.

When he gets himself ready for work at 4am in his dimly lit room, his thoughts consist of you.

He gets himself a black coffee and makes his way up to your room.

He reaches your room at 4:25am and unlocks your door quietly.

Dr Kry takes his daily look at your air purifier to make sure it's not generating too much and has bought a little stick that shows him how toxic your air really is — he can't let your air kill you.

You usually wake up at 5am thanks to how badly you are feeling.

Dr Kry is right by your side when you wake up, sitting on the side of your bed with his coffee in his hands.

He leaves you for ten minutes to get you some breakfast from the cafeteria.

Whatever you don't eat, he takes — not because he's hungry (the coffee has ruined his appetite by now) but because your saliva is on the food.

He sits with you until lunch time, passing time by playing games, reading, watching movies and taking some tests on your vitals.

The times he has to look after other patients make him pissed, but he can't say anything about it in case he wants to keep his job.

Around 12pm, he brings you and himself some food — you get tomato soup and bread and he gets himself a chicken salad.

You take a nap after lunch and he takes the chance to go to the hospital's gym.

Dr Kry is a pretty buff guy although he doesn't eat much, he makes up for it with protein bars and shakes.

When the sweat is dripping down into his eyes, he stops and goes to take a shower.

Usually, he takes care of another patient before you wake up.

But when you do wake up, you better be ready for his undivided attention.

At 6pm, he brings you both dinner — you get the same thing: some kind of meat (or subsitute if you're vegetarian/vegan) and potatoes with vegetables.

Whatever you don't eat, he does.

You usually go to bed early since your body is weak and everything in your body hurts — usually between 8pm and 10pm.

When you've fallen asleep, Dr Kry leaves your room again to check up on some work that he misses out on by babysitting you.

When the clock strikes midnight, he walks up to you to check on his wonderful darling one last time before making his way down to the dormitory again.

He can't wait until he gets to see you again in a few hours.

[terrence-silver]

Old man Terry slipping lactation pills in beloved's drinks and food and relishing in the way her body changes and her breasts become heavier, fuller, sore, bigger. I think he would do it as a means to control beloved and to obviously drink from it daily, believing it has benefits or something. When she lactates for the first time and is so confused, he feigns concern and gives her pills that he makes her believe it's for her health but it's to keep her producing milk. His good little calf.

---

Of course it has benefits; mother's milk is the fountain of youth. Didn't you hear?

If Cleopatra could bathe in it, Terry Silver can drink it.

If it's good for a newborn, it's even better for an aging, power hungry Billionaire hellbent on quite literally latching unto and sucking dry whatever controlled and highly vetted source of health, longevity and strength he can like a vampire, and what a more fitting place for it to stem from than his very own beloved? Milk. It does a body good. A famous commercial from the 80's and 90's might come to Terry's mind as the idea occurs to him and of course the maintenance of a physique like his well into his sixth decade being alive doesn't come cheap (cheap, and not in the material sense, because Terry's more than willing to dish out cash) in fact, utilizing basic logic, it would be more and more complicated with each passing year; constant training, dedication, therapy, steam baths, devotion to the sport, very specific dietary choices. Yesterday, it was vegan screws and salads, but he so happens to find beloved's milk infinitely more appetizing, inviting and decadent to the degree he can and would induce their lactation through specific pills. Crushed in meals, crushed in beverages, crushed in a fine wine as they toast together over an intimate, romantic fine dinner for two. How very unassuming --- but he's here with an agenda. Terry Silver not only seeks rejuvenation because youth is the only thing money cant buy according to his own words, but he wants to consume in the general sense of the word. Consume beloved until they flow through his bloodstream, his organism, infused with his very bones; the things he breaks stone slabs with with such ease. The things he fights with. When he's in the midst of combat, it's like beloved's right there, alive and infused inside of his knuckles. You are what you eat, after all.

And of course, being Californian upper crust, he'd hear and see things.

He'd hear and see things for decades --- no doubt having participated too.

Celebrities eating their baby's placenta, Gwyneth Paltrow's beauty regimen that includes bee stings, Sandra Bullock's Hemorrhoid Eye Cream, Cate Blanchett's Foreskin Facials and Demi Moore's Leech Therapy. Hollywood's right next door. It would make Terry Silver's propensity for the strange and unusual almost seem commonplace; him drinking beloved's breast milk? Just another Wednesday in The Valley.

But, he cares. Of course he cares with every fiber of his being and his big, black heart. He tracks every change, every reaction, every sore and every bit of swelling surrounding beloved's body, perfectionist, control freak that he is. Their every complaint. Every bit of fluctuating transformation. Every bit of pain. Hell, he'd even bring in (a bribed off) doctor or ten to regularly check on beloved and quell any fears they might have by assuring them this is totally normal. It happens when someone's young and fertile; it is simply their concern he isn't truly surprised by because everything is going according to his plan and if he feigns anything, it's mostly innocence. But, Terry's far from innocent. This is him desiring to be one with beloved in every sense, consuming them, dominating them, wishing to take whatever he can from their youth and in equal measure, no doubt in mind it's a fetish too because the exchange simply turns him on. He is a dirty old man and he deliberately plays into it and just how very dirty and debauched he can be and that all by itself serves as a gleeful kink precisely because it's total filth. Total filth that totally amuses him. Perhaps even more so that he can expertly get beloved to actually allow him to drink from their breasts of their own volition to alleviate their pressure and pain they're feeling and have them thank him no less once it actually helps, perhaps utilizing a few well-learned massage moves of his as a gateway to everything that comes later. Oh, Terry the kindhearted saint, truly! What's best, beloved consented to everything of their own free will. Well, with some conditioning, white lies (in Terry's opinion) and slightly omitted details involved in the process, of course.

But, the ends justify the means.

Sooner or later, he'll sell the story to them in its entirety and have them agree to it regardless.

His good, perfect little calf indeed.

Not entirely out of the question he wont bottle samples and save them up behind a locked glass veneer in a specially refrigerated portion of his private wine cellar only he can drink from.

[it-couldbe-worse]

Ace Cream!

I lost the post! BUT! I saw a post about "Ace Cream", it was a little drawing of an ice cream cone in ace colors where the grey flavor was jokingly "concrete" but I just had to know, could someone make an ace cream cone? What is "grey" ice cream flavor? So, here we are, my collection for ace cream! I tried to get the best color matches I could.

Since vegan recipes popped up for black and grey, I searched specifically for the same for the white and purple for our vegan ace friends to enjoy, too! (l checked in the recipes myself but I am not vegan myself, so please let me know if anything in these needs an asterisk or warning)

I also tried to avoid the activated charcoal recipes as I've gotten mixed messages about the health of ingesting it and I'm not a doctor 😵‍💫

Ice Cream Recipe Links

Black stripe: Black cocoa

Grey stripe: Black sesame

White stripe: Vanilla

Purple stripe: Blueberry

Hope I did well! Enjoy!

[thevegandarkelf]

About the blogger

Masterlist

AO3 link

↣ My name's Taylor, I'm 31, and my sun sign is Virgo

↣ If you see something in the tags & there's not a story for it, it's a WIP

↣ I've been writing as a hobby since I was 14. I loved writing so much that I went on to get my degree in Creative Writing.

↣ I prefer to write x OC work. I love creating a character from the ground up and crafting their backstory.

↣ My current writing obsession is my Daryl Dixon x OC pairing (I don't care that she only exists in my head, they're my OTP and I'm not sorry)

↣ I'm by no means new to the TWD fandom, but I only recently started writing fanfic for it.

↣ Daryl Dixon has become my comfort character (he's such a cutie in this gif I can't get over it)

↣ I'm an elder emo

↣ My favorite bands are Black Veil Brides, Motionless in White, and Ice Nine Kills

↣ I'm a gamer

↣ My favorite video game is Skyrim (my build is a dark elf destruction mage). I also enjoy Subnautica & Borderlands.

↣ My current games-to-play are Elder Scrolls Online, Baldur's Gate 3, Morrowind, Still Wakes the Deep, and Ark Survival Ascended

↣ I've been vegan since I was 23, and I went vegan for animal rights reasons

Ideas/Works In Progress:

↣ Another Daryl Dixon x OC smut

↣ Something where my OC (who's a doctor) gives Daryl a crash course in women

↣ A story where my OC returns to her childhood home with Daryl

↣ The forest scene with Negan featuring my OC

↣ Some sort of altercation between Negan and my OC

*thevegandarkelf 2024. I do not consent to my work to be shared or copied without my, and proof of my, explicit permission. Pfp was created with Picsart (I do not own the pic of Daryl, I just did the edit).

[duquete]

introducing  the  barrelhouse  bar  and  grill    …

here  it  is!  denny’s  absolute  pride    &    joy.  the  barrelhouse  is  a  place  denny  invested  in  during  his  initial  recovery.  it  was  his  little  project,  something  to  focus  on.  an  attempt  to  rediscover  himself  because  he  could  never  really  go  back  to  the  man  he  used  to  be.  the  place  was  very  run  -  down  and  built  back  up  with  his  own  hands    (  carefully    /    under  the  doctor’s  very  strict  orders  )    &    the  hands  of  his  old  firehouse  to  help  out.  even  when  he  later  went  back  to  the  fire  department  as  an  arson  investigator,  he  stayed  loyal  to  his  bar  because  it  gave  him  something  to  look  forward  to  at  a  time  he  needed  it  most.

it’s  a  pretty  humble  place,  for  the  most  part.  denny  doesn’t  like  anything  too  showy,  too  impersonal  and  instead,  he  put  as  much  of  himself  into  it  as  possible;    a  representation  of  him  which  includes    …    karaoke  every  thursday,  quiz  night  every  tuesday    /    rather  than  any  gambling  slot  machines,  he’s  got  some  old  arcade  games  such  as  pacman    &    street  fighter    /    a  retro  jukebox,  because  he  prefers  the  sound.  he  won’t  have  that  digital  shit    /    there  isn’t  necessarily  strict  uniform  policy,  but  they  do  have  plain  black  barrelhouse  tees  which  get  handed  out  to  regular  customers  as  well  as  staff  members    /    there  are  television  which  will  show  sports,  however,  denny  will  not  hesitate  to  switch  it  the  fuck  off  &  throw  your  ass  out  if  the  crowds  get  rowdy.  these  are  also  the  televisions  used  for  karaoke    /    a  pool  table    /    outdoor  seating.

menu  to  come  later,  but  a  rough  idea  of  what  they  serve;    sandwiches,  burgers,  steaks,  wings,  onion  rings,  salads,  wraps,  etc.  your  typical  bar  and  grill  good.  it  caters  to  a  variety  including  vegetarian    &    vegan.

[agrownupgeekgirl]

• X-Men is about civil rights. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get X-Men.

• Black Panther is about colonization. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Black Panther.

• Captain America literally fought nazis. He is the embodiment of fighting the alt-right. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Captain America.

• The Empire in Star Wars is fascist. The Rebel alliance are Anti-Fascist. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Star Wars. • Doctor Who was about an alien fighting for all of humanity in spite of totalitarian regimes. If you don't get that, you don't get Doctor Who.

• The Punisher isn’t meant to be a role model for police or armed forces. So much so that the writers of The Punisher made him actively speak out against it in a comic. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get The Punisher.

• Deadpool is queer. He’s pansexual. Fact. If you didn’t get that you didn’t get Deadpool.

• Star Trek is about equality for all genders, races and sexualities. As early as the mid-60s it was taking a pro-choice stance and defending women’s right to choose. One of its clearest themes is accepting different cultures and appearances and working together for peace. (It’s also anti-capitalist and pro-vegan). If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Star Trek.

• Superman and Wonder Woman (and a whole host of other superheroes) are immigrants. The stance of those comics is pro-immigration and pro-equality and acceptance. If you didn’t get that, you didn’t get Superman or Wonder Woman.

• Stan Lee said, “Racism and bigotry are among the deadliest social ills plaguing the world today.” If you’re bigoted or racist, you didn’t get any of the characters Stan Lee created.

• The stories we grew up with all taught us to value other people and cultures and to treasure the differences between us. Only villains were xenophobic, or sexist, or racist, or totalitarian. I can’t understand how anyone can have missed that.

• If you’re upset that there’s a black Spider-Man, or a black Captain America, or a female Thor, or that Ms. Marvel is Muslim, or that Captain Marvel was pro-feminism or any of the other things right-wing “fans” say is “stealing their childhood” - you never got it in the first place. The things you claim are now “pandering to the lefties” were never on your side, to begin with. If you consider yourself a fan of these things, but you still think the LGBTQ+ community is too “in your face”, or have a problem with Black Lives Matter, or want to “take the country back from immigrants”, then you’re not really a fan at all. Geek culture isn’t suddenly left-wing... it always was. You just grew up to be intolerant. You became the villain in the stories you used to love.

[mthofferings2023]

DeeHellcat

See DeeHellcat’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Email: theleewit@mindspring.com

Preferred organizations: - Anything from the list of approved organizations

Will create works that contain: N/A

Will not create works that contain: N/A

  -- Craft or Merchandise --

Auction ID: 1028

Will create works for the following relationships: Avengers fandom any gen - Any Universe Iron Man fandom any gen - Any Universe Captain America fandom any gen - Any Universe

Work Description: One pair of hand-knitted fingerless gloves sized to fit the high bidder. Styles available are: Iron Man, Rescue, War Machine, Captain America, Winter Soldier, Thanos Infinity Gauntlet, and Stark Infinity Gauntlet. Yarn can be wool or non-wool, depending on the bidder's wishes. Shipping from the US. I will get a shipping cost estimate for you when your item is done. Once you pay for shipping, I will pack and mail the item, and send you the tracking number (US) or customs number (international) as soon as it's on its way!

Ratings: Gen

Can pods bid on this auction? No - I'd rather not be bid on by pods

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

-- Craft or Merchandise --

Auction ID: 1124

Will create works for the following relationships: Agent Carter fandom any gen - Any Universe Avengers fandom any gen - Any Universe Black Panther fandom any gen - Any Universe Captain America fandom any gen - Any Universe Captain Marvel fandom any gen - Any Universe Doctor Strange fandom any gen - Any Universe Guardians of the Galaxy fandom any gen - Any Universe Iron Man fandom any gen - Any Universe Spider-Man fandom any gen - Any Universe Thor fandom any gen - Any Universe

Work Description: One hand-crocheted doll of any Marvel character. I know MCU best but can work with you on any other timeline/variant! Dolls are about 7 inches tall and made with vegan non-allergenic yarn and stuffing. Shipping from the US. I will get a shipping cost estimate for you when your item is done. Once you pay for shipping, I will pack and mail the item, and send you the tracking number (US) or customs number (international) as soon as it's on its way!

Ratings: Gen

Can pods bid on this auction? No - I'd rather not be bid on by pods

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

-- Craft or Merchandise --

Auction ID: 3007

Will create works for the following relationships: Avengers fandom any gen - Any Universe Captain America fandom any gen - Any Universe Captain Marvel fandom any gen - Any Universe Black Panther fandom any gen - Any Universe Iron Man fandom any gen - Any Universe Spider-Man fandom any gen - Any Universe Thor fandom any gen - Any Universe

Work Description: A crocheted dragon in your choice of Marvel hero-themed colors! your dragon will be about 3 1/2 inches long from tail tip to snout, and about 3 inches tall from feet to horns, and will be crafted with vegan non-allergenic yarn and stuffing. Shipping from the US. I will get a shipping cost estimate for you when your item is done. Once you pay for shipping, I will pack and mail the item, and send you the tracking number (US) or customs number (international) as soon as it's on its way!

Ratings: Gen

Can pods bid on this auction? No - I'd rather not be bid on by pods

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[nightmaremp]

Weremayhem: Song of Beasts. Ch 34: Panic of Feline

 Xavier left the Shack a few minutes after meeting his older brother, Teeth. He huffs as he drives back to his hotel. The ginger haired male rubbed his goatee to try calming himself down. Xavier wishes for his wife, Ruby to be here and tell him that things are fine. 

“Am I….being harsh on him?” he asked himself. The ginger haired male quickly shakes his head. 

“No! I’m not. He deserves it!” Xavier said to himself as he pulled into the hotel parking lot. 

Back at the shack and in the basement, the Mayhem were checking their phones out. “Hey” said Dr. Teeth to his bandmates. 

“Talk about a revelation of momentous proportions” he added with a smile. 

“We twittered once, and now the world’s twittering back.” said the doc. The band agrees. 

“The instant gratification is a hit of sheer dopamine surging through my cranium. I am sold” replied Floyd. Lips mumbles. 

“Don’t be,” said Moog as he walked over to the band with a worried look on his face as he held a sleeping Annie in his arms. 

“The Mayhem doesn’t tweet their fans online,” he added. 

“You meet your fans in real life and befriend them,” said the black haired male. 

“And tell them the very intimate details of your personal life,” he added. 

“But, like, now, we’re socially connecting with, like, way more people” replied Janice. 

“It’s like a virtual Woodstock,” she added. 

“Yep, except maybe this time we remember it” replied Floyd Pepper with a laugh. The whole back starts to laugh with the red haired male. 

“Wow. For sure” replied the blonde female. 

“Ooh! Lookie here” said the good doctor as he showed Floyd his phone. 

“Miss Taylor Swift and that Justin Bieber kid just followed us,” he added. 

“Oh, Beyonce and Gaga just tweeted, Whaddup?” replied the red haired male. 

“And Jack Harlow just, like, slid into my DMs” replied Jancie. 

“Don’t know what that means,” replied Floyd Pepper. 

“You know, It’d be most disrespectful not to respond to them all” said Dr. Teeth. 

“Agreed” replied Floyd. The trumpet player and saxophonist both nod their heads. 

“How’s about something like” he started to say before typing. 

“To our fellow music makers, you’re all absotively tremendulous.” The doc type. 

“Right on” said the red haired male. 

“You are all truly talenticious, with stupendorous fans” the good doctor added. 

“Love it” said Floyd Pepper. 

“And send” said the ginger haired male. He sent the tweet. 

Hours later, they were all in Penny’s office. She had her computer turn to the group. It shows Teeth’s tweet. It said “ To our fellow music makers. You’re absolutely terrible. You are all truly talentless with stupid fans.” 

The tweet wasn’t what Dr. Teeth wanted to write. “This is your idea of good publicity?” asked Mrs. Waxman with a scowl on her face. 

“Now, to be clear, the phone tarnishified my beauteous words for some strangestical reason” replied the doc. 

“It’s because your words aren’t actual words” replied Nora. 

“The what?” asked Lips. 

“Yeah, they were autocorrected,” replied Moog. 

“Who is this smart guy and why is he talking to me?” asked the pink haired female, her voice tone sound upset. 

“Now, I’m even more aggravated” she added as she added hot sauce to her sandwich. 

“Don’t be, okay? I will figure out a way to fix this” replied Label Lady. 

“Yeah, while you’re at it, I’m out of Satan’s Blow Out sauce. So you can fix that too” replied Penny Waxman. 

“The hotter, the better,” she added. The good doctor shake his head and let out a “Phew” 

On the way back to the Shack, Nora is upset with the tweet. “This is craziness” said Moog. 

“With one tweet. You started beef with all of music” he added. 

“No beef, please. My vegan belly rejects all bovine” replied Janice. 

“Yeah, we don’t beef with nobody” replied Floyd. 

“Well, except that one band from River Bottom,” he added. 

“Yeah, they were a nightmare” replied Teeth. 

“So, when do I get my photos?” asked Zoot as he turned to Label Lady. 

“Okay, one thing at a time. Okay? First, damage control” said the black haired female. 

“I’m sure JJ’s got a way to fix this whole mess,” she added. 

As they drive through town, suddenly a purple vehicle brakes in front of them. “Hey, now!” said the doc. A green car and a reddish orange jeep pulled up on each side of the van. People in the vehicles can be heard yelling at the mayhem, angrily. A yellow car with black stripes on the hood of it pulled up behind the van. 

The van was square in. Nowhere to run, no exit for them. 

“What’s happening?” asked Nora in a panic tone. 

“Trouble,” replied Moog with wide eyes. The people start to exit their cars. 

Out of the red jeep were a bunch of girls. “Are those Taylor Swift fans?” asked Label Lady. 

“And our vengeance shall be swift” said the leader of the group. 

Dr. Teeth start to stammering and look very panicked. “Why are they doing that?” he asked. The ginger haired male could feel his heart beating faster. His body felt the signs of danger. His pupils quickly change to those of felines. 

“Okay, teeth. Get us out of here!” said Nora in a panic tone of voice. 

“Behind us!” said Janice. The doors to the yellow car opens and a group of women in black leather outfits exit it. 

“You come for our queen, Beyonce. You’re gonna get stung” said the leader of the Beyonce fans. 

“Oh man, we got the BeyHive in the back and the Beliebers in the front, y’all” said Moog in a fear filled tone. 

Out of the purple car, the Beliebers exit it. “You better belieb it’s go time, '' said the leader with her arms crossed. 

“Seems we’ve been emboxified in” said the good doctor. Floyd looked at Teeth and noticed the doc’s eyes were slowly getting more yellow. This isn't  good. They need to leave or otherwise, a oversized feline looking beast be rampaging through town. 

“Oh, my Gaga! It’s the Little Monsters!” said the black haired male. Out of the green car, the group of the fans exit. 

“Mayhem, come out to play,” said the leader in a creepy tone of voice. The mayhem starts to panic. 

“It’s too late now to say sorry!” said the leader of the Beliebers as they all started to attack the van. The groups all try to get into the van or destroy it. 

“What do they want from us?” asked Nora in a fear filled tone. 

“Vengeance” replied Moog. “Look, as a superfan myself, I know how it works,” he added. 

“You cold diss their leader, you cold diss them all” said the black haired male. 

“But how do they even know where to find us?” asked Jancie in a panic tone. 

“It’s the phones, man! I told you they track us!” replied Floyd as he turned to Janice for a second. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Teeth’s face was…changing with each quick breath. 

“Yeah. It’s okay. Just everybody calm down!” said Label Lady in a panic tone. 

Suddenly hands come through the window on top of the van’s roof and grab Lips. The trumpet player starts to panic as he tries to get out of the grips of the hands. The blonde male was pulled out from the window. 

“They got Lips!” said Janice. 

“Bring him back!” yelled Moog. 

Teeth’s breathing was getting heavy. Sounds of clothes ripping filled the van. A wave of fear wash over everyone. The doc’s face was a mix of his face and his wereform face. His hair was slowly melting into his skin to form fur. The nails on his fingers had turned into claws. 

Zoot quickly grabbed some spare chain they have for Animal and crawled to the front. He quickly ties the chain around Teeth’s neck which the good doctor didn’t even notice. The dark blue haired male knows what will happen next. 

Suddenly the passenger door to the van was ripped off. “They got the door!” yelled Dr. Teeth, his voice was deep and sounded like it is in panic. 

“Oh my God!” yelled the mayhem fan as fear filled his body. The group of fans grabbed Floyd Pepper. 

“Oh no! They got me!” yelled the red haired male in fear. The band screams in fear. As the fans try to get the other members. 

Something suddenly busted through the roof of the van and the sound of the purple car being thrown on its side filled the air. The fans that were attacking quickly looked but it was gone. They continue to attack the van while the rest of the band try to fight them off. 

The thing that busted through the van was…Dr. Teeth in his wereblood form. The beast was running like a cheetah through the town and onto the big road. Zoot was holding for dear life on the back of the doc. He had a death grip on the chain and on the back of the feline. The saxophonist tried to move Teeth to run to the Shack. 

It wasn’t working. Zoot sat up like he was riding a horse. He looked at the sides of Teeth and gulped. “I’m sorry, love but I have to” the dark blue haired male said before using the heels of his dress shoes to kick the sides of Teeth. Hitting the feline on his stomach. 

The pupils of the beast grow small as it changes directions to the Shack. Zoot used the chain to lead the feline. 

Teeth was panting as he ran on all fours. The white vest he was wearing had been ripped in half and flew off his moving body. His rainbow color shirt with designs all over it was hanging on his huge body for dear life like Zoot. The beast’s claws hit the concrete roads as he speeds past cars and bikes. There were some tears in his eyes as he ran like the wind. 

The pants that the doc was wearing was ripped but still on him, same with his black boxers. The shoes were destroyed and left in the van. 

The saxophonist holds on and keeps the feline on the track to the Shack. The feline kept running and jumping over things as they got closer to the Shack. 

[csanjibzinfoline]

NatureWise Curcumin Turmeric: A User's Review (After a Month of Use)

As someone who has been dealing with joint pain for a while, I was interested in exploring natural remedies for managing discomfort. After some research, I decided to try NatureWise Curcumin Turmeric with its high dose of curcumin and emphasis on improved absorption. Here's my experience after using it for a month:

High Potency with BioPerine Boost:

I opted for NatureWise Curcumin Turmeric because it delivers a powerful 2250mg of curcumin per serving. This is significant because regular curcumin has notoriously low bioavailability, meaning the body struggles to absorb it. The inclusion of BioPerine, a black pepper extract, is a big plus. Studies have shown BioPerine can significantly increase curcumin absorption, potentially maximizing the benefits.

Experience and Results:

I took the recommended dosage of three capsules daily with meals. The capsules are a manageable size and didn't cause any digestive issues for me. In terms of pain relief, I wouldn't say it's a miracle cure. There wasn't a dramatic difference overnight. However, after a few weeks of consistent use, I did notice a slight improvement in joint stiffness, particularly in the mornings. My knees felt a little more flexible, and overall, there were fewer aches throughout the day.

It's important to note that everyone's body reacts differently to supplements. While my experience included some positive changes, it might take longer for others to see results, or the effects might be more pronounced.

Additional Observations:

Organic and Vegan-Friendly: I appreciate that NatureWise uses organic ingredients and caters to those with dietary restrictions by being gluten-free, vegan, and non-GMO.

Dosage Considerations: While three capsules a day aren't excessive, some users might find it a high pill count.

Limited Clinical Claims: The product mentions supporting joint and cardiovascular health, but specific clinical references are lacking. It's always best to consult your doctor before using curcumin for any specific health condition.

Overall Impression:

Overall, I'm satisfied with my experience using NatureWise Curcumin Turmeric. The high curcumin content with BioPerine for better absorption is a strong selling point. While the pain relief wasn't dramatic, there was a noticeable improvement in joint stiffness, and I believe continued use might lead to even better results. If you're looking for a natural approach to managing joint discomfort and are willing to be patient, this could be a good option to explore. However, keep in mind individual experiences may vary, and discussing potential benefits with your doctor is always recommended.

Additional Notes:

It's important to maintain a healthy lifestyle alongside taking any supplement. This includes a balanced diet, regular exercise, and managing stress.

If you experience any side effects while using NatureWise Curcumin Turmeric, discontinue use and consult your doctor.

I hope this review provides valuable insights for those considering this supplement. Remember, your individual needs and experiences may differ.

health

[tiredofbeingabookonashelf]

My MMU modern au canons

Hazel:

Swiftie (lover is her favourite, it reminds her of Alex)

has glasses but never wears them

loves baking

only swears if she's angry or scared

big animal lover

booktok person

likes to paint but doesn't tell anyone

bisexual (idk i can't explain she just is)

loves blackpink and NewJeans

secretly reads all of Daisy's unsolved crime books despite being terrified of them

Daisy:

Messy

Listens to Mitski

cat lover

Lesbian

likes to bake with Hazel but she isn't very good

dyes her hair with kitty

really good at makeup

scared of spiders

autistic

exclusively watches the office

Alex:

bisexual

listens to Taylor Swift to impress Hazel

Doctor Who, Star Wars and Sherlock nerd

Best cook

dog person

round frame glasses

burns very easily in the sun

can play a bunch of instruments but George is better at every single one

makes loads of stuff out of clay

George:

Asexual pansexual

listens to jazz

cat person

vegan

really good at a lot of instruments (mostly woodwind)

listens to Mitski with Daisy

autistic

also a Doctor Who/ Star Wars/ Sherlock nerd

obsesses over anything political

has loads of books but never reads them

Kitty:

Dyes hair whenever something goes wrong

teeth gap

ironically allergic to cats

listens to blackpink with Hazel

plant mum

closet lesbian

has hundreds of records but no record player

wears loads of bracelets

protective over beanie

Beanie:

only wears hair in braids

vegan

closet pansexual

watches Doctor Who with George and Alex

has five rabbits

nails painted a different colour every few days

loads of unopened perfumes

matching nose piercing with Lavinia

Lavinia:

only wears black apart from the most colourful socks

plays bass guitar

tattoos everywhere

watches star wars with Alex and George (favourite character is Jar Jar Binks)

has a snake to scare Hazel, Alex and Beanie

is up at 2am talking about politics with George

thousands of rings

pretends to listen to heavy metal but actually its cavetown

Asexual

Amina:

Listens to kpop and heavy metal

lesbian

really bad cook

matches outfits with Daisy

blue streaks in her hair

gold jewellery

vegetarian

very religious

unhealthily obsessed with greek and roman mythology

plays the flute

[camels-pen]

love is blind (really REALLY blind)

Summary: Wes Weston was 14 years old when his soulmate died for the first time.

Ao3 Link | Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Soulmates. Not everyone had them, but a lot of those who did would gush and wax poetic about their fated partner, either in their heads or out loud.

Little Wesley was no different. He loved to imagine what his soulmate would be like, look like, sound like. He loved to ask his parents how they met over and over. He loved to write stories in his notebooks about a bunch of places he and his soulmate would visit and have lots and lots of fun.

And then Mom was gone. And Dad wouldn’t tell him how he met Mom anymore.

He wanted Mom back to tell him the story, but Dad said she went to some big farm up in the sky. And Kyle was sad a lot too.

Dad started buying a lot of yucky green apples and bananas too. Then he started taking Wes with him every time he went to the store. He didn’t wanna go, but Dad always said he needed his help.

Wesley didn’t get it.

And then one day, he did.

---

Wes Weston was 14 years old when his soulmate died for the first time.

It was usually only a few minutes at a time, and he hadn’t known anything about ghosts, so he accepted the fact that he had some sort of “complex colour blindness that manifested during intense moments of stress” or whatever his doctor called it.

But one day, when meat eater and vegan protesters ran screaming, when students similarly sprinted away as fast as they could, when Wes found himself stuck cowering under a tree and hoping the flimsy leaves and branches would protect him, he saw something.

Sucking the massive glowing meat monster into what he would later learn is a Fenton Thermos, was a glowing kid floating high in the sky. His hair glowed, his eyes pinpricks of some brighter colour, a grin on his face and some stupid pun leaving his lips.

And he didn’t know what it was like to see colour in grayscale, but, he thought, maybe this was what it was like.

Later, much much later, he would come to know that the boy’s name was Danny Phantom. 

Then Danny Fenton. 

Then the bane of his existence.

---

There was a clatter outside the window.

Wes, having fallen asleep on the couch part-way through an all nighter, had jerked awake to it. He blinked at the grayscale in his vision, rubbed his eyes a few times, and then sighed when it persisted. He grabbed the GameCube controller from where it’d fallen to the rug, ready to press play and get back to beating up that annoying blue hedgehog with the far superior black hedgehog, when he heard a suspiciously human sounding groan.

He scrambled to mute the TV and listen for any further sounds, hoping it was just a raccoon or a stray cat or something.

The fire escape creaked loudly, as if supporting a weight larger than just a raccoon.

Wes gulped. 

He grabbed Kyle’s skateboard from behind the couch, readied it over his shoulder like a bat and creeped low towards the window. He paused, just under it, and peeked his head up—

And then sighed, his shoulders slumping as he let the board dangle from a loose grip. 

Wes shoved open the window one handed, feeling exhaustion tugging at his bones. “Why are you on my fire escape, Fenton?”

“‘M not Fenton. ‘M Phantom,” he mumbled against the metal grating. “D’n’t worry ‘bout me. ‘M perfectly,”—he shifted, as if to turn onto his side, and groaned—“fine.”

“Uh huh, sure. Does this mean you won’t still be laying in a heap on my fire escape in the morning?” 

“Pr’bably.”

Wes hummed. Looked Fenton up and down, eyes lingering on a nasty gash on his hip. “Positive?”

“Ye, j’st go.”

And he was tempted. He’d seen how many hits Fenton could take without batting an eye. Seen it up close and personal more than once. 

But.

Something about how pitiful he looked, laying face down on his fire escape with the dark clouds rolling in, made Wes pause and think.

It wasn’t like the first aid kit got much use anymore, since it was off season for his and Kyle’s teams. And it was starting to get a problem to move it with how it was full to the brim. It’d probably help to use up some of the materials.

More than that, Fenton really looked pathetic and just the thought of him laying out here looking like a drowned rat would probably keep Wes up at night.

So, with barely any protest from Fenton, he awkwardly dragged him through the window and set him down on the floor. He cringed as some of Fenton’s weird green blood started to stain the rug. Wes would have to get rid of that later.

He left to grab the kit and when he returned, he saw Fenton fail once more to push himself up, his hand slipping in the growing pool of blood around him.

“Wh—?” Fenton blinked his eyes, looking around almost dazed. Well, that explained the lack of protest. “Are y’ gonna try getting a—a f’ckin picture? Now? S’riously?”

Wes rolled his eyes. “Yes, because taking a picture of you is the biggest of my concerns right now.” He unlocked the latch and kneeled next to Fenton, ignoring how sticky the blood made his legs feel. “Now sit still so I can keep you from dying.”

Fenton huffed a laugh, quiet and a little weak. “Too late for th’t.”

“Keep you from dying a second time, whatever.”

Fenton didn’t speak more after that and Wes was thankful for the quiet while he worked. Plus, when the guy wasn’t running his mouth all the time, he was actually pretty nice company. Like a cat or something.

Eventually though, Wes tied off the last of the gauze and tapped Fenton’s shoulder. “All done. You can leave now—” He glanced up to Fenton’s face and saw his eyes closed, breathing deep and even. Of course. 

He sighed. What was he supposed to do with the idiot now? 

Wes ended up putting Fenton on the couch, a towel covering the cushions under him just in case, and left him to sleep there the rest of the night while he dragged the rug five blocks away to a large dumpster outside a restaurant.

The next morning, Fenton was gone, the towel having disappeared with him.

---

It kept happening.

Between his own secret nightly investigations and frantic hair pulling by his inconsistently coloured vision though, Wes hadn’t really thought much of it.

Every so often, Fenton would show up in varying states of injury and knock on his window. Not the fire escape anymore, as one time he nearly got caught by Wes’ dad, up late trying to catch up on some last minute tax thing. After that, and an annoyed, “If you’re gonna keep showing up, why don’t you just knock on mine instead?” from Wes, Fenton had taken to knocking out the rhythm of whatever song was currently stuck in his head on the glass.

…It was kinda fun to try and guess what song he was thumping out, but simultaneously infuriating that the guy kept showing up so often to disrupt his research.

He said as much one day when Fenton had nothing more than a papercut and whined about wanting a bandaid. Wes had thrown the whole box at him and in his haste to kick him out, ended up letting slip that he was searching for his soulmate.

Fenton had quieted after that, a pitying look in his eye, and Wes had had enough.  

It was one thing to endure that look from his dad and his teachers and his so-called friends. But from Fenton? Someone who’d probably been giving his own soulmate the same problem as Wes?

Wes exploded.

“Don’t look at me like that. You think I’m just running through wild goose chases trying to find someone who’s in a coma or something, huh?” he yelled. “Think I’m just a weird kind of colourblind that changes every hour?!”

He gripped Fenton by the front of his hazmat suit. “Or are you gonna tell me there are other fish in the sea? That I should just move on and appreciate the brief moments of full colour while I still have them?!” He shook Fenton. “Well?!”

Fenton grabbed his hands. “Dude, I’m not gonna say any of that, what the fuck? Quit putting words in my mouth.” He pulled Wes' hands down to his lap, holding them there, firmly restraining them. “I just think it sucks that you got the short end of the stick. I hope you find them soon.”

Wes blinked. Felt himself deflate. “Oh. Uh. Thanks, I guess.”

They sat in silence for a bit, Wes’ hands warmed by Fenton’s. “Uh,”—Fenton began—“if it makes you feel better I’m probably driving my own soulmate to desperate measures trying to find me.” He added under his breath, “Not that I really care.”

Something in Wes’ gut twisted at the thought. He didn’t like trying to think of what Fenton’s soulmate was going through. He didn’t like thinking much about Fenton’s soulmate at all. “It really really doesn’t.”

“Right.” Danny scratched the back of his neck. “Anyway, I’m just gonna slide past that to skip all the awkwardness and get to the part where you give me a popsicle for being a good and brave patient.”

“What are you, 4? I’m not giving you any popsicles.”

“But Wes, I was so strong in the face of such a harrowing procedure!”

“You sat on the couch whining for two minutes while I made you a hot water bottle for your leg.” 

The rest of the night went about as smoothly as usual. Wes, however, couldn’t shake the thought of Fenton’s soulmate. Couldn’t shake the thought of his own soulmate and how much time she might have left.

As he dropped a spare blanket from the closet atop Fenton’s head, he scowled at the boy struggling to escape from under it. He wouldn’t be like Fenton and his nonchalant attitude. Wes wouldn’t stop until he found the person he was meant to be with. No matter what.

---

This was fucking stupid. 

Fenton kept touching him—usually via poking at his hands or giving a high five when he showed up as well as at seemingly random times throughout his visits. 

And he had no clue why.

Wes didn’t particularly love or hate it, but he could tolerate it since it seemed to put a stupid smile on Fenton’s face that looked kinda funny. 

Made him feel a little weird, a little warm, but again not really a problem.  

Or at least, that in itself wasn’t the problem.

The problem was this.

“Fenton.”

“Hm?”

“Fenton.”

Fenton nuzzled into his back, his forehead warming the space between Wes’ shoulder blades. “Yeah?” he said, voice muffled.

Wes gripped the controller with white knuckled hands, nails scratching at the plastic. “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfy.”

“That so?” he said, trying desperately to keep his eyes on the screen in front of him, heedless of the number ticking down. It was a timed stage, but Wes couldn’t bring himself to move his fingers the small distance to press pause. 

“Yup.” His tail loosened his hold around Wes’ waist. “Am I holding too tight?”

“No—” Wes cleared his throat, mortified at the crack in his voice. “Nope.” 

“Cool.” Danny’s tail tightened, slithering a little higher around his chest. He exhaled deeply, warm air ruffling the hair on the back of Wes’ neck. “I’m gonna just chill like this for a while.”

This was too much. Not in a bad ‘skin crawling’ way. Definitely not in a ‘if you touch me I will literally scream’ way. Just—

It was just too much, okay? It made him feel warm and fuzzy and—and—

It made him wonder what would happen if he just forgot about—

The game over screen chimed on the television.

Wes pressed continue.

It was dangerous. It wasn’t in his plans. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

And what of his soulmate? In and out of the hospital for years and then when she finally found him—when she finally braved her illness, and stepped out to the world to find her destined partner—

Would Wes just be… hanging on Fenton’s arm? Just like that?

Wes shook his head. Jamming the buttons on the controller with more force than necessary.

No. He wouldn’t be swayed. This was just his dumbass hormones acting up. 

Objectively Fenton was pretty cute— for a guy, he meant ‘cute for a guy’—and this used to happen all the time when he first joined the basketball team. Totally normal.

Wes was gonna find his soulmate, she was going to be awesome, and maybe they could team up to harass Fenton when he was fighting ghosts. To get payback for all the times he invited himself over whining about tummy aches and stiff shoulders.

Yeah. Just stick to the plan, Wes. Everything will be fine.

---

Everything was not fine.

He kept—kept thinking about it. Late at night, regardless of if Fenton was laying on his couch or not.

Kept wondering what it would be like to play with his hair, to hold him in his arms, to kiss—

Wes pounded his fists on his desk, sending his papers flying. 

The teacher, a substitute for English since Mr. Lancer was out sick, rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

Wes got after school detention. 

Fed up, Wes cornered Manson and Foley later in the day, between classes, asking why Fenton kept showing up and being annoying, clingy, or both. They shared some kind of look between them and then explained it was just a thing with Fenton. Apparently, he’d always loved hugs and high fives, but his penchant for seeking touch seemed to increase after becoming half-ghost. 

The running theory was that since he was getting into fights so often, and subsequently getting much more badly hurt than before his accident, he sought out comfort in proportion to how injured he was. And the best comfort to him was touch.

It was a pretty sound theory, considering everything, but Wes pressed them harder. They hadn’t explained why he continued to show up at Wes’ house no matter where his last ghost attack was—no matter if there was a ghost attack literally right around the block from one of their houses. 

—Not that he’d ever been to either of their houses, but he of course needed to scope out Fenton’s friends to see if he could gather some damning evidence from them. It had ended up pretty fruitless, but he had their addresses pinned to his bulletin board.—

The whole thing made no sense.  

And the way Fenton was starting to squirm into Wes’ heart was dangerous. Wes needed to find his soulmate, the person destined to love him one way or another. That was the only person he’d allow himself to be with. Anyone else would be too risky. Too vulnerable without guarantee.

Still they dodged the question. Trying to trick him into thinking a ghost was behind—oh, hmm, that was a ghost.

Later, when he had ducked into an empty classroom to avoid the attack, when Fenton and his friends had caught the ghost, he would overhear Manson and Foley teasing Fenton over some guy he had a crush on.

Wes would wait to sneak out long after they left to head home, trying to ignore the crushing grip around his heart.

---

Finally. Finally.

A lead. A real tangible plausible lead. On his soulmate— his soulmate!

Wes screamed a little to himself. 

God. God. He knew she was real. He knew she was going to be okay. But more importantly, he knew she was real!

He was straining himself not to print out the article on his monitor, barge into his dad’s room, and scream, “I fucking told you!”

Of course, despite his amazing discovery, that would get him grounded and part of his allowance put in the swear jar, so he settled for rereading the words on the screen again.

“Wraith Makes A Splash!” read the headline, followed by a girl who looked similar to Fenton’s ghost form standing over top the remains of Skulker’s soaking wet and sparking suit, while holding the little green ghost by his foot. The article went on to say the girl called herself ‘Wraith’ and used water-like attacks to short circuit and punch through Skulker’s suit. When asked for a statement, she shrugged and said she didn’t really have anything else to say. When asked to pose for a picture, however, she eagerly agreed.

The article also mentioned the time she had appeared on the scene. And Wes—

Ever since he’d started investigating his soulmate, he’d noted down the exact times his vision faded from full colour to black and white. Had a little notebook that he carried everywhere just for that purpose.

And his most recent entry matched near perfectly with Wraith’s appearance, with his entry being recorded only a few minutes earlier. Factoring in for travel time from wherever she was coming from, it was a no brainer.

And the fact that she looked so similar to Fenton meant that she might be half-ghost too. With a human form. 

She might’ve been going to his school.

The thought made him giddy.

So giddy, in fact, he didn’t notice Fenton appearing in his room until the boy stuck his face in front of Wes’, his own grin on his face.

“Whatcha smiling about?”

Wes jumped, smacking Fenton in the face and falling backwards in his chair. The back legs tipped dangerously and just as Wes started to get that weightless feeling that comes with falling, a hand grabbed his shirt. His torso was saved from the fall, but his legs, unfortunately, weren’t.

“Fuuuuck,” he said, trying to breathe through the pain. Fenton pulled him up into his arms and set him on his bed. After being set down, Wes immediately grabbed for his calves, rubbing at the muscles to attempt to soothe them. “Hell of a time to not bother with the window,” he hissed.

“I did use the window. Just went through it.” 

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“You looked,”—Fenton looked away—“busy.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.” He groaned and laid back on the sheets. “What do you want? I’ll smack you if you say you want another bandaid.”

“No, I, uh,”—he quickly glanced at the screen and back to Wes—“wanted to tell you about someone, but I think you already know. I might’ve gotten a bit too excited.”

“‘A bit,’ he says.”

“Hey, it’s not everyday my cousin comes to visit, y’know.”

Wes perked up, pushing himself to sit up. “Wraith is your cousin?” He furrowed his brows. Thought of the very clear physical similarities. “Are you sure about that?”

“Well, that’s what we tell everyone anyway. And how we like to call our relationship.” Fenton pushed him to lay down again. “She’s really my clone. Courtesy of one of Vl— Plasmius’ messed up schemes.”

“You can just tell me his name. I’m not gonna tell anyone.” Fenton raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I’ve given up on outing secret identities.”

“Oh yeah? Since when?”

“Uhh,”—Shit, he couldn’t just say ‘since I got an annoyingly inconvenient crush on you that still hasn’t gone away even after finding my soulmate’—“Since Dash stopped wearing Axe body spray at the start of the semester.”

“He did not.”

“He did.”

“Source?”

“DJTM.”

“‘Dude, just trust me’? Really?” Fenton moved Wes’ hands away and started rubbing his calves himself. Wes very carefully kept himself relaxed, hoping beyond hope Fenton couldn’t hear his heartbeat thumping loudly in his chest. “You think I didn’t know what that meant? I’m insulted.”

“I’m insulted by how much of a blabbermouth you think I am.”

“It’s not that—” He paused. “Well, it’s not just that.”

“Hey! I’m not dumb enough to try outing somebody way stronger than you!”

Fenton tapped a hand to his chin. “So if I was, say, the mayor would you still try outing me?”

“Weird choice, but ehh,”—Wes wiggled his hand—“maybe. Depends on the circumstances.”

“You mean the circumstances of how I become the mayor or how much you end up liking me being the mayor?”

“Both. Also depends on if you still embarrass me, but in front of the town this time.”

Fenton’s lip twitched and he looked like he was holding in laughter, though Wes didn’t think he’d said anything particularly funny. “Listen, okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t think people would actually make fun of you this long.”

“Aha! But you did expect them to make fun of me!” He crossed his arms. “You should prove me right and reveal yourself to the school to make it up to me.”

Fenton huffed a laugh. “Not a chance. I’ll bring some donuts next time I come though.”

“Who says I’ll let you in next time?”

“You will,” he said simply, an easy smile on his face. As if those two words were some kind of absolute truth in the world. Wes didn’t know how to feel about that. “Anyway, we’re getting off topic. How come you were looking up Wraith?”

He lit up with the reminder of his earlier discovery, sitting up to grab Fenton’s shoulders. “I finally did it! I found her! Wraith is my soulmate!”

Fenton stared at him, the smile sliding off his lips in his shock. “What?” he said faintly.

Wes nodded. “It all makes sense! My vision keeps switching between full colour and grayscale because my soulmate is a half-ghost! Her!” He pointed at the monitor, a wide grin on his face. “All this time and effort and knowing I was right finally paid off!” He gripped Fenton’s shoulders tighter. “You have to introduce me.”

“But,” he said, sounding absolutely dumbfounded. “That’s impossible. Ellie can’t be your soulmate.” 

“I get the whole wanting to protect your younger family members thing—not literally because unfortunately Kyle and Easton are older than me—but like, in general, I get it. However,”—he leaned closer to Fenton, ignoring how it made his traitorous heart flutter—“I won’t let your stupid overprotectiveness stop me from meeting her.”

Fenton pulled away, looking a little uncomfortable. “I mean, if you wanna meet her so bad, I’m not gonna keep her away or anything, but I’m telling you it’s impossible she’s your soulmate. Literally,”—he waved a hand, movements jerky, robotic—“she might look our age, but she was only created six months ago. You’ve been dealing with your soulmate dying way longer than that.”

And just like that, Wes’ world was crumbling down, brick by brick, piece by piece. 

It was a possibility, in the back of his head, that the fact the timestamps didn’t line up exactly was an indication that this new ghost girl wasn’t his soulmate.

But what were the alternatives? What else could possibly explain his soulmate’s situation?

Plasmius was already ruled out. Wes had watched Fenton’s friends take care of him on the news once, while Fenton himself was huddled next to him, having knocked on his front door—in human form—to ask to stay with him a while. Wes’ vision had stayed in full colour long after Manson and Foley managed to blast the shit out of him, yelling something about kidnapping bitches getting stitches or something. 

Fenton, too, was out. There was that big fiasco with Technus a while back where Phantom was seen fighting him day and night for a few days. Apparently, not the whole time, though, as Wes had seen him in human form when his dad dragged him and Kyle out to go bowling. He was having fun with his friends and looking… happier than before. Though, something about him seemed inherently off. Not that Wes could investigate; he had his own problems.

Those few days with Phantom fighting Technus happened to coincide with the colour perception in his vision deciding to split in half. 

One eye could see in colour. 

The other couldn’t.

It was incredibly disorienting. And it had terrible timing.

The split colour vision had unfortunately happened at the same time as a practical test in Chemistry. When they were using litmus strips. He tried to ask for his test to be postponed until his vision returned to normal, or at least a longer time frame for the test itself— very adamantly, he might add—but the more he argued—the more frustrated he got—the less Ms. Faluca seemed to believe him. The students too.

And he guessed rumours spread quickly, because what little help he got from his classmates and teachers in other classes started to dwindle drastically. 

It lost what little respect he still had with his favourite science teacher. Lost him the scraps of help he was able to argue for over the past two years. Lost what little trust his own father had in him.

There was nothing else.

“Hey,” a soft voice said. He slowly looked up from where he’d been staring listlessly at his lap. “Just ‘cause it wasn’t Ellie doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

Wes didn’t care about trying to figure out what he meant. “It’s not her. So I’m wrong. My soulmate just doesn’t exist. I’m—” He breathed through the tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m just making it all up. I’ve been one of those few people who never got one and I made this all up for attention. To be special. To get allowances other kids don’t—”

“Hey!” Fenton shouted, slapping his hands on Wes’ cheeks. “Do not say that shit about yourself. You aren’t any of those things.”

“Says who?” Wes said, feeling more present with the stinging pain. “The guy who’s been giving his own soulmate a heart attack every time he transforms?” Wes jabbed Fenton’s chest with each point, his voice raising the longer he went on. “The guy who got himself killed on a dare from his friends? The guy who shows up outside my window pathetically asking for kisses on his booboos and using me as a convenient distraction to forget the outside world? The guy who lets himself get shot at on the daily by his own parents because he’s afraid they might yell at him for keeping it secret?” 

“Wes, that’s not—”

“Not what? Not right? Then please, elaborate. What did I say that was wrong? Go on, I’ll wait.” Wes leaned back and crossed his arms. “Maybe if I wait long enough your soulmate will kick it too. Not that you’d care about that.”

Fenton closed his eyes, breathing deeply once. He floated off the bed, towards the window. He put one hand on the frame, pausing. 

“You’re my friend and you’re hurting,” he said quietly. “But I can’t be here right now.”

He left. 

Quietly and without a fuss.

Wes slammed a pillow over his head and screamed.

---

It took a long time for Fenton to come around again.

Less out of a want to visit and more because of a legitimate injury.

It wasn’t anything that bad—just a knife wound in his shoulder from Skulker—but it still needed to be cleaned and bandaged before the blood loss started to get to him.

Fenton stayed silent as Wes wrapped him up. 

Wes tied off the bandage. Left to put away the first aid kit. 

When he returned, Fenton was gone.

---

The days without Fenton were dull. Much more than before their argument. More, even, than before that first night the ghost boy showed up on his balcony. When he was trying to out Fenton’s identity for revenge.

When his primary focus was finding his—

He kicked his chair, watching as it rolled across the room and knocked into the wall. Ignored his dad yelling to keep it down.

His chest heaved. He grabbed the nearest object, moved to chuck it at the drywall—

He glanced at the window. The lock sitting open, collecting dust.

He felt the anger drain out of him.

It was all over. All that hope that he would finally find someone who understood him, who accepted him, who loved him for who he was not who he might be —

Gone. 

And then, the guy he would have probably called a friend, was now avoiding him because of Wes’ own stupid mistakes.

God fuck. What was he supposed to do now?

He moved to set down the little thing in his hand, but paused. Stared at it.

---

“Heyyyy, Wes,” Danny said in a sing-song voice, floating through his window with his arms behind his back.

“WWWWhaaat the fuck do you want?” Wes answered in kind.

“Well, I heard a rumour about someone’s birthday~”

Wes groaned. “Please don’t punch my arm with your stupid ghost strength.”

“What? Oh, right, I forgot about that.” Wes groaned louder. “Oh shut up, I’m not gonna give you birthday beats.”

Wes set his pencil down atop his homework. “You’re not?”

“Nope!” He set a large wrapped box down on Wes’ desk, right on top of his binder. Danny waited, eagerly bobbing in the air. “Go on, open it!”

He tore off the wrapping paper. Dug through a bunch of packing peanuts. Searching and searching and starting to get frustrated and wonder if it was all just a stupid fucking prank —

His hand met something smooth and detailed.

Wes pulled out a small figurine of himself, a clear and tinged light blue, standing confidently and wearing a Sherlock Holmes costume. He turned it over in his hand, looking at all the small details — the small ‘string’ on top of the deer cap, the plaid patterned etchings in the cape, the magnifying glass —

It was amazing. 

Danny grinned. “Happy birthday, Wes.”

---

Wes resolved himself, staring at that little figurine. 

Next time Fenton came over he’d—well, he would apologize first. Then maybe give him a popsicle.

[lunarwildrose]

Having a nice day so far. 😌 I went to church after seeing Micky in the morning since he worked later today. Then I was hanging out at lunch at church. Had a nice conversation with an older woman. She remembered I want to work on graphic novels, as I'm an artist and creative writer. She told me about her grandchildren reading The Adventure Bible, which is a graphic novel series about The Bible - I'm intrigued, and want to check it out too! 😋 I'm also anxious and excited about my baptism next Sunday ... and nervous about how can i help out in church. The Pastor I studied under for my baptism suggested the nursery / daycare as I love children, although I don't have much experience. I would like to work with children, aside from my graphic novels and art and stories, or become a baker and florist with a bakeshop-flowershop-bookshop combination with weekly art meetings and pastries focused on special dietary needs like celiac, gluten intolerance, vegan, keto, and such, or maybe a nurse, although i originally wanted to be a doctor (i actually wanted to be a pediatrician since I adored mine so much as a wee one) ... anyways a friend at church who does so himself said if I want to be a nurse, I could get a feel for it by volunteering first at the hospital like he does. I'm not sure what I want for my future, aside from my art and stories. I'll probably work towards SSI disability first, with SAGA cash assistance in the meantime. But Robbie said his girlfriend's mom could help him and me get an high-school education, and Robbie said I could do it online, which helps cos I'm easily overwhelmed and super shy and awkward cos of my social phobia, aaa ... like Pinoko-chan in Black Jack, eee ^^;

[mahvaladara]

Fannar:  I have a silly, grown up type question for you.. what do you want to become when you finish highschool? -they smiled- I am training to be a doctor like my mom.

Syra: A farmer! My dad is teaching me! He's a gardener and florist, but we've been starting to grow a little cow and some chickies. For eggs, milk and meat. When I said meat he actually hugged me! -she laughed-

Arlo: Dad hugged you because in a former life he had a kid who was vegan and got super mad at him for killing their cow so they could eat it.

The two nearly jumped when he spoke, watching them from the door frame.

Fannar: You clean up nice! -Though Fannar’s eyes fell on the marks on Arlo’s hands and neck. They were turning black they noticed.

Arlo lifted a brow, eyes on Fannar. How could they be smiling and eagerly speaking about pizza after all that happened, after what was happening. How could they still hope for him?

Syra grinned.

Syra: He does, doesn’t- Wait, dad has more kids besides us?

Arlo: Had. The kid died. That's how dad got in all the shit he got before he came here. He had tried to make money to save his kid, but his kid died anyway, his wife left him, and his country kinda fears him.

Syra: Wow!... So that's why dad hates vegans!

Arlo: Yeah. He kinda projects all his trauma in vegans! -he chuckled- And horses.

Syra: I am not even going to ask about the horse part, but I am going to tell him I'm vegan now just to piss him off! -she giggles-

Arlo: He will be disheartened, disappointed, betrayed! -He said it rather theatrically and smiled at Fannar- Did the two decide on what to get? 

Fannar: We did, and your sister ordered for us. I do hope you like pineapple. -they winked.- One is a cheese supreme, and the other is a more meaty one but with pineapple, since you were discussing meat.

They had to admit it was a bit nice to see this side of Arlo, the one that felt like it kinda came with Syra being there, and Syra was like a ray of sunlight on her own, so that probably helped too

Arlo: I can't eat solid food... -he mumbled- I... huh...

[woonietune]

Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, for I was only wiping countertops with my left hand and weeping into my collagen supplements, not being dissected by first-years at the medical school

Lots of catching up to do. I haven’t posted in a while. I got sick. I mean, I know I’m always getting sick, but this time I got so sick that I lost a lot of the use of my right hand. I couldn’t pick up one of my fluffy chickens without the owies--and I have a high pain threshold. I thought maybe I was having a stroke--or a bad case of hypochodria but once those things were ruled out, no one knew what it was. It wasn’t Covid. It wasn’t some weird autoimmune thingie (as of yet--I suspected that--but it wouldn’t be that). Maybe my allergies had evolved into some Godzilla version? I couldn’t sweep a broom across the porch. The inflammation was so bad I couldn’t wear my rings, and worst of all, I couldn’t type. 

I couldn’t get an appt with my PCP for three months (because this is the way things are in the USA in a state where Bobby Fuck U Jindal let five private insurers compete for Medicaid clients and basically set into motion the now standard Republican model of Let Disabled People Die Who Needs Them). Anyway, I did see a nurse practitioner who sent me to get x-rays in one hospital and to get bloodwork in another--and the results came back that there was nothing wrong with me. I was reporting pain 8/10 but was told to take Tylenol and that the doctor would see me in three months.

That was back in December? I don’t think I’ve gone ever without writing for 3 months. I paid out of pocket for some acupuncture (never had it before--it was cool beans) and got some relief; I adjusted my diet, already vegetarian to as sanctimonious a vegan, anti-inflammatory diet as I could manage, and I felt a little better. I used Google Voice to chat with fandom friends. Google Voice told of the adventures of Dog Food, the great warrior, and Wound, the former assassin of Cooks Up a Wrong, and I was miserable. I wanted to write. Writing was my only real down time. Without it, my brain was in the wilderness.

During my no-writing period, I had two ear infections, my therapist gave leave, the family got mild Covid infections (during which time my arm felt oddly better), and I knew instinctively I had to rest. I picked up a heavy detergent bottle and got the owies bad the next day, so I let the house go to hell. I spent a lot of time lying in a dusty room I couldn’t clean (this was before the maid from Hell--I’d never hired a maid before in my life, but when I did, whoever hexed me made it so I got one that made already made beds and put the flat sheets under the fitted sheets, didn’t wash the cleaning foam out of the bath-tub, left large swaths of rug unvacuumed, broke several little minatures--I superglued them back but STILL--and left the kitchen floors grimy and put an envelope marked IMPORTANT on the kitchen in a super secret place among a bunch of bookshelves), and I let my mind wander the way it had when I was twelve or so....

Why am I trapped in this consciousness? Why can’t I be in the mind of that person or that other person? Or why can’t assume the presence of a tree or a cloud? Why am I me? And did I choose to be me? And where am I going? 

Agnosticism on any issue was the default, and if I wasn’t writing, it wasn’t only my right hand that was hurting, it was my brain. It hurt from awareness.

The maid from Hell cleared away some of the dust in the house (not much), but mostly she kicked my head out of its dusty sophomoric philosophizing. I was so mad over her bad house-keeping that I got up and started to clean my own house with one hand. I didn’t do a bad job, and my disabled family helped, even if they did turn some white clothes pink in the wash. Nobody died. The house never had a chance to grow black mold. 

When the PCP appt finally rolled around, the doctor examined my arm this way and that and guess what? I had a torn bicep! She recommended physical therapy but there was a waiting list (of course). I went on YouTube to get some practice videos, and there were all these muscle guys who lifted weights there who’d torn their biceps. I don’t know how I’d injured myself, but I’m always doing things I’m not supposed to. I mean, besides picking up 40 lbs dogs. I overestimate my strength and think I’m stretchier and younger than I am. I haven’t done yoga since before the Pandemic, so I must’ve just thought my arm was a squeegee pole or something and strained to clean a cobweb in ceiling corner, who knows.

I was prescribed super antihistamines for my allergies, given meloxicam for pain (lol), and told to rest (lol lol lol). Eventually I could type a little; then I could type a little more; before I knew it I had written more than 100K words in less than a month in a little fandom mini-arc, and my fandom wife was busy whipping my crazy manuscripts into shape because my writing was as out of shape as I was. I’d lost 10 lbs when I’d caught that nasty stomach flu everyone was getting (and I mask and take hazmat-like protocols nearly everywhere because my greatest fear is infecting someone high risk--I’m only moderate-high--and killing that person--I know all kinds of very sick people). My wife was sick too, and I don’t know how she does it, but apparently she can find a backwards quotation mark with a fever 101 and point out a paragraph that needs “more” even if she’s been puking for days and can’t stand up in the shower.

Fandom people are crazy. But we love what we love.

And we love writing for our historically inaccurate historical dramas.

I’ve actually been typing too long already.

This was supposed to be a master post of fics I haven’t uploaded in the past few months.

I’m back in bed, not sick so much this time as overwhelmed by all things overwhelming, and I want to write, but at the same time I want to just lie here and cry.

This world is a terrible place. It’s been blasted with meteors and nuked several times over, and the blood of a million wars have seeped into it, and the Ice Age has come and gone, and here I am, wondering if I’ll get a chance to swim in the ocean again before I die or maybe catch a coffee with a friend or see my dad who can’t fly here because of his bad lungs. Does it matter if I have words? Or are words the greatest illusion of meaningfulness--they’re just blabbity, and they disintegrate into cyberspace just like that stuff--remember paper?--paper used to fall apart when we picked up hundred-year-old books that had gone untouched. 

Actions matter. What we model for our children matters. Decency and kindness, compassion and persistence. Charity and hope, all those things that sound like dull bells until they are live faces with stories in front on your own.

But I don’t get out much anymore. I’m scared of the outside. I don’t march anymore, and my family needs me at home. The animals need me to refresh their water, and the old cat needs me to cut his pills twice a day, and oh, some people need to get over this “don’t enable disabled people.” It’s not enabling a disabled person who has broken legs if you hold his crutches while he sits in a car to go to a doctor’s appointment. You don’t know all the circumstances. Parents of disabled children--well, many of them, research hard and try many things, advocate hard, make phonecalls every day and we thank you for your judgement very much. We live in fear every day that our children will die in the system when we’re gone. 

Some days I feel all I have are my words. These words that are nothing. These words that are my playing around. I was diagnosed with cataracts not long ago. I am afraid of going blind now. But some surgery in a few years, they say--I’ll be fine. I hope so. I may not be fine in other ways. I knew there was something wrong with my eyes. I have optical migraines. My fingers don’t move they way they used to. My brain feels young--younger than ever, maybe twelve, the age I was wondering why I couldn’t share consciousness with a fish in a pond. Later, maybe when the bipolar was kicking in, I felt that I did share consciousness with it. And who will tell me I am wrong? The world’s great religions--not just my own with it’s Sh’ma Yisrael, the World is One, but so many others, speak of the great inter-connectedness of things.

Are the words in the way, or are they little stepping stones? Or are they both?

I don’t like to touch or hug people very much because of childhood traumas. I save my hugs for my dearest ones and my animal companions, but I throw words around freely, like chicken feed. C’mon and get it... or let it settle and rot in the earth, along with the blood and paper and other forgotten things.

My time isn’t over. This blog will last until... there are new technologies. I thought Tik Tokers would be the new talkers, but it doesn’t seem to be the place. Novelists haven’t disappeared; neither have poets. And despite Elon, Disabled Twitter is still going strong. There’s no telling.

So I’ll keep telling. I still have secrets and untold things. And many pockets full of untold stories. More later. The little fictions (oh this last one is 12k... sorry. Whoever reads it gets a cookie. A pretty Korean one from the palace).

[dduquette-a]

THE   BARRELHOUSE   BAR   AND   GRILL         .   .   .   

here   it   is!         denny’s   pride      &      joy.         the   barrelhouse   is   a   place   denny   invested   in   during   his   initial   recovery.         it   was   his   little   project;         very   run   -   down   and   kinda   built   back   up   with   his   own   hands         (      carefully      /      under   doctor’s   orders      )         &         the   hands   of   fellow   firefighters   looking   to   help   out.         even   when   he   later   went   back   to   the   fire   department   as   an   arson   investigator,      he   stayed   loyal   to   his   bar   because   it   gave   him   something   to   look   forward   to   at   a   time   he   needed   it   most.

it’s   pretty   humble,      for   the   most   part.         denny   doesn’t   like   anything   too   showy      &      instead,      put   as   much   of   himself   into   it   as   possible;         a   representation   of   him   which   includes         .   .   .         the   occasional   karaoke   or   pub   quiz   night         /         rather   than   any   gambling   slot   machines,      he’s   got   some   old   arcade   games   such   as   pacman      &      street   fighter         /         a   retro   jukebox,      because   he   prefers   the   sound.      he   won’t   have   that   digital   shit.         /         there   isn’t   necessarily   strict   uniform   policy,      but   they   do   have   plain   black   barrelhouse   tees   which   get   handed   out   to   regular   customers   as   well   as   staff   members         /         there   are   televisions   which   will   show   sports,      however   denny   will   not   hesitate   to   switch   it   the   fuck   off      &      throw   your   ass   out   if   crowds   get   rowdy.      these   are   also   the   televisions   used   for   karaoke         /         a   pool   table         /         outdoor   seating.

menu   to   come   later,      but   a   rough   idea   of   what   they   serve;         sandwiches,      burgers,      steaks,      wings,      onion   rings,      etc,      your   typical   bar   food.         it   caters   to   a   variety   including   vegetarian      &      vegan.