#that would at least be something if i could get a nutrient from the chalk

[notdotspot]

Dp x Dc We Meet Again

Masterpost

Tim was waiting impatiently in his normal corner of the Bat Burger. He finds it difficult to sit still when he is so close to clues about his dreams. Despite his anger at Bruce for benching him, the ten hours of sleep did grant him reprieve from his visions. He thought sleeping would have reawoken the nightmares, but Tim had dreamless sleep for the first time in years. In retrospect, he does not even have clear memories past the forty-eight-hour mark, so his research after that time was nothing but jumbled thoughts. At least now he is not plagued with paranoia and that creature lurking in the outskirts of his vision. He could take the chance to get some fuel in his body, though Damian would argue a burger and fries are not sufficient nutrients for their nighttime activities, and put his rest towards quality investigation. 

The door chimed as new customers walked in. Tim glanced up to see Jason walking towards him. Tim would have directed his attention back to his food if he had not noticed Jason speaking to someone behind them. Leading the mystery person to the table where he was sitting. 

“Trust me he is chill. He might actually be able to help.” Jason’s attention turns to Tim. “I brought someone for you to meet. I do not think he is working for Ras but I think he knows something about the Lazarus Pits.”

“Hi, I am Phantom,” says a boy as he pops out from behind Jason.

Tim freezes the second their eyes meet. Those green eyes sent him right back to the clearing he found himself in four nights ago. The black figure whose whole being radiated fear and death. A glowing green aura and eyes to match. Eyes he has seen a thousand times since his dream. Eyes that were burned onto the back of his eyelids. Eyes that he thought he escaped after sleeping off his exhaustion. Eyes he had nearly chalked up to being a fictional dream and a symptom of delirium. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, but the darkness does not cover the blazing green of those eyes. His ears are ringing and his heart is pounding out of his chest. A firm hand grips his shoulder and his eyes spring open, meeting Jason's clear blue eyes. 

Tim finally registers his voice, “Hey, Timmy! Are you good?”

A voice off to the side speaks quietly, “Is he okay? Should I  leave?”

“No!” Tim forces out, quickly. “Stay. I need answers.”

The boy, Phantom he remembers, hesitantly slides into the booth.

“I can try.”

“What are you?” Tim asks with a bit too much aggression. Jason smacks him on the back of the head. 

“Do not be rude, dipshit. He is willing to help and he does not seem like a threat.”

“Were you not just chasing him through the city earlier?” Tim accuses.

Phantom interrupts, “Yes, but it was all fun and games. I try not to interfere with human realms.”

“So, you are not human?” Tim’s scrutinizing gaze tears through him. Jason goes to slap him again but Tim catches his hand, giving him a dirty look.

“Be nice.”

Tim raises his hands in surrender but his guarded posture remains. “Okay. Okay. Can you, please, queue us in on your existence?” 

“Sure! I am a ghost from a different realm,” he says, casually, “It can not be that crazy. You have a Kryptonian on your planet and he is a ghost, too.” Phantom points at Jason.

“I mean, well, kind of. Not in the same way that I am but he reeks of tainted ectoplasmic residue. He has seen death. I can feel it.” 

“What? I am a ghost?”

Phantom turns to Jason. “Not quite. It is like the difference between fish and aquatic mammals. Ghosts, or for the sake of this analogy fish, survive within water. They rely on it for habitat and food sources, but they also breathe it. You are like an aquatic mammal, you seem to also rely on the water, or ectoplasm, for survival, but you do not breathe it. If my inference is right, you require your human functions to be alive but without ectoplasmic energy, you would unravel. You would be like a beached whale, still alive, but slowly shutting down without water. There is likely a more scientific approach but no way to know for sure without a lab.”

“Cool.” Jason stands from his spot. “Good enough for me. I am getting food. Your usual, Tim?”

“Sure,” Tim says blankly, eyes never leaving Phantom. 

“Anything for you, kid?”

“Not a kid, but I will take a number three. Thank you.” Jason walks around the corner to place the order. Tim’s eyes harden.

“My turn. Why are you haunting me?”

“I am not. Haunting is not a real thing. Just some GIW propaganda to make people subconsciously fear ghosts. A haunt is a ghost’s safe space and a term stolen and twisted by humans,” he replies, cooly. There is a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

“Okay, so why did I see you in my dreams? What is the GIW?”

“The GIW stands for Guys in White. Some secret government organization under the guise of public security. They research and hunt ghosts. To the dream question, I do not know, but I am flattered.”

“I am serious. Night terror level dreams.”

Phantom seemed to soften. “Look, I really do not know. Maybe you had a recent brush with death. Sometimes close encounters wear down the line between our realms. I am sorry. They will go away with time.”

Jason slams the food tray down, sliding into the booth next to Tim. 

“Thank you, uhh?”

“Red Hood,” Tim answers for him, seeing as Jason had already slid back his helmet for a bite of burger. 

“I am Tim.”

They eat silently as Tim and Phantom’s eyes flicker back and forth. Jason finishes quickly, and with his helmet back in place, turns to Phantom.

“So, is the Lazuras Pit ectoplastic?”

“Ectoplasm? Umm. Do you have a picture?”

Tim wipes his hands and grabs his phone. He takes a moment to scroll and type before turning the screen, displaying a picture of a glowing green pit.

“Oh. One hundred percent ectoplasm.”

“Is there a way to fix me? Should I swim in it again?”

“Again? No. You never should have in the first place. It looks dirty. I can infuse you with fresh ectoplasm. With the right amount, it should last you about the same time as a normal human lifespan. I would need a few days to do the calculations and maybe consult some colleagues.” 

“Colleagues?” Jason questions.

“People I know. They would know more than me about ectoplasm specifics. I will make the trip soon.” 

Tim speaks up, having tucked his phone away, “Could you get rid of the Lazarus Pit?”

“I think so. It would need some purification but, theoretically, I could send it back to the ghost zone.”

Tim turns to Jason, “I think you need to brief B. We could solve more than one issue with Phantom’s help.”

Phantom’s phone begins to ring. He pulls it from a pocket that was definitely not there before.

“I have to take this. Thank you for the meal.” He exits the booth, answering the phone. 

“Hey, Frostbite. Perfect timing! I have some questions for you.”

As Phantom neared the door, already engrossed in his conversation, Tim calls out, “How will we contact you?”

“I will find you!”

-----------

Linked the master post bc I am lazy and don't want to link each part individually

I can't stop writing. I am about to get busy with personal work, so updates may slow down. I was posting a chapter a day but I don't know if I can keep up with that as this story gets longer. I will try to find a schedule quickly!

Thank you for reading!

[mari-lair]

Norray halloween week Day 1: Ghosts!

If curious, below are some random info about this Teacher/ghost AU

Ray got a gun and he can use it. The ghost gun isn’t able to touch, much less physically hurt anyone, but it replicate the sound of a real gun, which contributed a lot to how low priced his haunted house rent has become. It nearly gave Norman a heart attack the first time he heard it.

After being dead for a while, Ray learned how to turn visible and invisible at will and play around small objects such as paper, shoes and butcher knives. He can control up to 4 small objects at a time or something relativaly heavy like a chair if he really concentrate. The more he got the hang of controling and moving small objects the lower his house rent become, rarely getting aggressive but still able to physically hurt people. On All Hallows Eve he can posses people’s bodies and get out of the house he haunts, but he always ends up back to his empty ‘home’ when the night is over.

Ray is an incredibly fast learner. Just by observing the people that visits his house, he learned a decent amount of modern english and understand the basics of how tecnology is a  thing now -he wished this advanced tecnology was invented when he was alive. It would make the of lack of food and nutrients less of a deadly nightmare in open sea.

As a pirate, Ray used to be the one in charge of doing most of the bloody work and take the night watch, protecting his captain’s back from both outside and inside forces. He was constantly alert, borderline paranoic. But as the years in death passed, he grew more calm, very patient. He usually don’t mind new people in his house, happy to learn more modern english and befriend the guests willing to tolerate him. If a new guest cross a line however,  Ray will do his best to scare them away. Hurt them or kill them by manipulating knives if he sees fit.

It’s very rare for adults to see Ray as anything other than a nonsense they have no energy to deal with or a warning sign for their crumbling lives, so he usually hang around kids. The childish company mellows him with time.

Ray is from a time where death was common and getting hurt was inevitable so what people consider pretty serious is something Ray considers mild “Why are you being so dramatic about seeing some bone? Be grateful your hand is still attached to your wrist after you slaped your daughter. If it wasn’t for her wishes you wouldn’t have legs to run away.”

Norman is considered a genius and have countless prizes under his belt. He wanted to go to the moon when he was a kid but because of his weak health, he knew he would not be acepted in the space program. He decided teaching was the next best thing later on, accepted as a teacher in a prestigious school while still young. He enjoys and understand all subjects but love history the most, unable to deny it was hard and frustrating to teach a whole class of teens at times but still liking his job. Having one student that was genuinaly interested in his class was more than enough to make his day.

When Norman first started teaching, he felt more responsable than he had his whole life. It wasn’t a bad feeling per see, but it made him anxious so he called his little sister Cherry once a week to ask her questions about her teachers and make sure he was doing a good job.

Norman may not be the funniest of teacher but he’s still a favorite for his palpable cares for his students. He does not make the subject easier than is requested but he put a lot of effort into making people enjoy their world history, teaching with passion and seriously answering any questions, no matter how silly or joking it sounds. He’s understanding and try his best to help those with dificulty with the subject, always giving people second chances, having lost countless nights of sleep correcting re-writen essays after deadlines and turning his test questions into podcasts for students with adhd, aware the big historical excerpts are fundamental for answering the test but too hard to focus, specially with limited time.

The lambda crew are problem children. Norman went the extra mile to save Barbara and Zazie from failing classes even outside history and left Vincent startruck with his wide knowladge about not only world history but a ton of subjects he could be teaching too if he wasn’t overworking himself. Norman is both happy to inspire the squad to study hard and also very awkward by their blind admiration.

The teacher had a firm “ghost don’t exist”  mentality, which is one of the reasons he brought the haunted house in the first place. He had chalked Ray up as an halucination from his sleep deprived brain, having the rotten luck of buying the house right after a bad guest owned. The ghost got more annoyed than usual from things as insignificant as Norman keeping the lights on for too long, putting music Ray doesn’t vibe with, or just acting unfairly cute, to more personal matters such as Norman studying about Ray and his family lives. They used to have a distant and bad relationship but once Ray noticed Norman had only admiration for history, being genuinaly kind when trying to talk instead of mocking his existence, Ray apologised. Norman was still wary at first but they quickly hit off, enjoying to learn what the other had to offer and matching in wits.

When Norman catch a fever or a bad cold Ray gets wary. He know, on some level, that medicine have evolved a lot, but he remenbers way too clearly how serious even the weakest of diseases could get if not imediatly treated.  He always stick by Norman’s side when the teacher sneezes, not taking his eyes off him. Usually Norman keep working when he catch a cold, so Ray learned to float Norman’s grading papers out of his reach when coughing joined his sneezes. Floating a paper is enough to get Norman to take a break most of the time, but if the get stubborn Ray will stop playing nice. Just lower his voice to comander mode and order “Rest. Now. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.” and Norman does what he’s told, it’s very unconfortable to have a gun in the face and he does feel very tired.

When Norman is seriously sick, not just coughing but stuck to his bed. Ray freak out and fear for his life. When it reached this level, most of his crewmates died or had to be thrown in the sea to not infect other. Yes Ray know it’s not as bad anymore, but even when he observed guests, they rarely got sick, and when it got bad they where taken to a doctor. Norman lives alone so he got no one to feed him and bring him blankets or take him to the doctor if he lies for hours in bed. Ray was all the help he would get and he is fucking dead, he can’t measure his temperature or take care of him properly. Ray does tries his best though. He concentrated a lot to float heavy blankets and pillows towards Norman. Imediatly fetching any pills asked of him and doing his best to make him tea. It isn’t tasty, but Norman still appreciates his care.

Ray is the first to fall in love, he think “If only I could  kiss this fool and hug him, I would do it on the daily. I wish he was alive back then... He would love meeting Emma...” at least once a week but a big part of him is just “Forget scurvy! Norman would die of cold or malnutricion before he reached 10. Thank god the helpless bastard took his sweet time to be born.”

Ray cannot touch any eletronics, he can’t even come close without phones, computers, and tvs turning to statics, so Norman buys an illustrated book about the Red Mane Pirates for Ray to see his crew again. He know is not perfect but is the best he can offer whenever Ray expresses missing his family.

They read together. Norman occasionally teaching a new word to his ghost and Ray correcting any historical inacuracy. It’s fun.

Norman finds an illustration of an alive Ray sleeping in the mast waaay too beautiful. Ray snort at the romantized draw, disolving into laughter by how Norman failed to hide his blush.

It became a habit to read history books together and tease each other. More often then not, it lead to a history class and way to much sass on both ends.

“Wait, so there really was a world war? I heard about it from old guests but I thought they were exagerating when they called world war! And what do you mean 2? There was a second one??”

“How did miss the second one? It was HUGE, quite horribl-”

“You were not even alive when it happened.”                                        

“Tecnically, you weren’t either Ray-” 

Ray is a bit scared of how attached he got to Norman, knowing eventually the man would die. He hopes it will take a long time, and that once he had a painless death, he will become a ghost too, but he doesn’t really believe Norman will ever turn into a ghost. Ray knows not everyone that dies became a ghost. Since someone as compassionable as Emma -even if she was forced to have blood and dirty choises on her hand to survive the merciless seas- was not cursed to became a ghost, he was confident someone as kind as Norman would dissapear from Ray’s afterlife once he died too.

More of this AU here

.

And since you reached the end of this text wall. You can have this bonus Norman being awkward/excited about their growing friendship.

[portalford]

Jellyfish Apocalypse Not Coming

AO3

Author’s note: yes this is based off that headline and what about it

Stan wakes up Thursday morning to a deck covered in jellyfish.  

His first thought is that he should go back to bed.

(Truthfully, his first thought is something much more R-rated, but he’s working very hard on the swearing thing for the kids’ sake, so he quietly discards his actual first thought).

So.  His first thought is that he should go back to bed, because if he goes back to bed he can pretend this was some kind of insane fever dream and he won’t have to deal with it.

Ford ruins this plan, because Ford is an unrepentant bastard.

“Stanley!”  his brother is, of course, disgustingly awake for this hour of the morning.  He’s not vibrating enough to be over-caffeinated, but he’s definitely two or three cups into the day.

Stan would kill for a spoonful of the nastiest bilgewater coffee right now.

“Stanley?”

Ah.  He needs to respond to Ford.

“Mmph.  Yeah.”  Good enough.

Ford, assured that Stan is not zombiefied, dead, or likely to die in the next ten minutes, immediately lights up again.

“Stanley, this is amazing!”  He does a full spin on the deck, narrowly avoiding the fluorescent purple heads of at least four jellyfish.  

Stan doesn’t know if these things are alive or dead, and doesn’t especially care, but if Ford gets stung this morning will truly go from bad to worse, so best to try and calm him down.  Or, at least, not wind him up more.  “Ford, please don’t step on the jellyfish.”

Ford stops, startled.  He looks down at his feet.  “Ah.”

Stan considers trying to find a clear path to his brother and immediately decides against it.  There’s just too many damn jellyfish.  “Do you know where they came from?”

“Well, the ocean, presumably.”

Right.  Of course.  “Do you know why they’re no longer in the ocean?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”  This, of course, just makes Ford even happier.  Give him a brain-busting puzzle and you’ve made his day.  A deck full of shiny purple jellyfish probably isn’t even in the ten weirdest things Ford has seen.

To be fair, it’s only number nine or so for Stan.

“Wasn’t there something in the news about a jellyfish apocalypse?”  asks Stan. 

“That’s clickbait,” says Ford.

Stan scratches his jaw.  He needs to shave.  “How can you even pick real news out of that mess?”

Ford starts talking about weather, signs, and maybe the position of the stars relative to the poles.  This is clearly going to last a while, so Stan stumps back inside to get that coffee.  Ford follows, skittering around the jellyfish and still talking a mile a minute.  Stan nods and grunts in all the right places, picking out one or two pieces of information to file away for the next time Ford complains that he never listens.

He listens a solid twenty percent of the time, at least.  What Ford says is less important than that Ford’s happy when he says it.

After his lecture, Ford disappears to his room and returns with a net, a tape measure, an LED light, and a dog whistle.  Stan doesn’t know where he got the whistle.  They’ve never owned a dog.

When Stan goes back on deck, several of the jellyfish are flapping wildly about, transformed from mostly-harmless goo to tentacle-whirling dervishes.  Ford is fending them off with the back end of his net.

Stan immediately heads to Ford’s room, picks up his space pistol — Ford rarely carries it around the ship after the Incident With the Crabs of Which They Do Not Speak — puts it on stun because Ford will probably throw a fit if Stan kills his terrible stinging jelly friends, and shoots the sons of bitches.

Ford takes more time thanking Stan for having his back than he does berating him for causing potential damage to the murder fish, so Stan chalks it up as a win.

“I still haven’t figured out why they all jumped onto our ship,” says Ford.  “Perhaps it’s a migratory instinct?”

“They can migrate all they want,” says Stan, “but if they do it on our boat they gotta pay transport.”

“I doubt their currency would be worth anything to us, Stanley.”

“They can cook then,” says Stan, and he goes to make lunch.  He was going to make something with fish, but the smell of jellyfish has permeated the entire ship by now, and he’s tired of it.  He makes pasta instead.

Ford doesn’t come down for lunch.  He had some toast with his pot of coffee this morning, and they’ve reached a compromise where Stan only insists that Ford eat twice a day like a somewhat reasonable person, instead of trying to overachieve and insist that Ford eat three squares like a completely reasonable person.

The pasta’s a little overdone, anyway.

Stan braves the deck again later that afternoon, only to discover that he brought the gun for nothing.  The jellyfish are all gone.  There’s just a few splotches of slime here and there to prove they even existed.

Well, slime and Ford’s giddy excitement over the slime.

“It’s incredible, Stanley!  They make a lubricant ten times more effective than anything on the market today, and with a fraction of the amount needed; this could be revolutionary!  I just need to find out if it reacts badly with metal.”

“Don’t use the frying pan.”  Stan looks around the empty deck.  It’s almost eerie after half a day with their blobby visitors from the deep.  “Why’d they all leave so fast?”

“Well,” says Ford, still scraping at some of the slime with a trowel, “I would assume it’s due to a need for water or nutrients or some other environmental factor.  Either that or a desire to follow the herd, so to speak — some of them left, so the rest followed suit.”

Stan mmhm’s, a little absently.  He’s trying to figure out what piece of cutlery or machinery Ford is likely to experiment on with his fish slime, and how to cut him off at the pass.

“Stanley?”  Ford sounds annoyed.  “Are you even listening?”

Stan mhmm’s again.  “Yeah, sure was.”  He looks up at Ford and grins.  “They found out the jellyfish apocalypse wasn’t coming.”

[cherrywoes]

< entry 001:// prometheus in flesh >

                                        < 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 .𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎...>

[The following is a recorded conversation between Senior Geneticist Ukai Keishin and Senior Biologist Takeda Ittetsu. It is narrated through a personal AI belonging to Takeda Ittetsu. After further review, this conversation has been classified for rank seven priority persons and has been archived.]

UKAI: This is… (He takes a puff of a cigarette. He sounds angry, petulant, and in a state of disbelief.) This is ridiculous. Who decided that this passed legislation? What need do we have for these—these things?

TAKEDA: (He coughs, perhaps out of nerves or anxiety. The shuffling of clothing and the scrape of a chair indicate that he has sat down beside Ukai.) You know what they said, just like I did, Keishin. Once it’s over, it’s done—we need to play cleanup crew afterwards.

UKAI: No one said anything about… (His finger slams into the table as he angrily points at something on the table near him. He doesn’t say the words aloud, fearing that someone will overhear him, perhaps his AI.) That. That is—I’ve spent years of my life with these things and—I can’t do that, Ittetsu. You know I can’t.

TAKEDA: I know. (He sounds sad.) But look on the bright side. Once this is done… (Previous interactions indicate that the slight swallowing sound prefaces nausea and purging.) We can leave this place and never come back. Right?

UKAI: (Hesitantly.) ...Right.

NECTAR CLUNG TO YOUR fingertips in crystal clear strings of sticky sweet euphoria. It spilled from the artificially enhanced flowers clustered in your lap and around your feet, the large, palm sized petals capturing globules of the precious liquid within their curved centers. It tasted sweet, flowery, and, above all, smelled divine; like camellias on the wind, or goldenrods in the spring. It ran down your arms and elbows and dripped down onto your thighs, running rivers down your calves to sluice between your toes, creating a crystal clear lake within your shadow and the chair you sat upon.

“Diet’s good.” The scientist standing outside your cage scribbled something on a bleach white piece of paper. It smelled acrid, a sting to your sensitive nose, and the ink was a bizarre scent, smelling almost like the oil that the older scientists rubbed into their skin to keep it from cracking and drying. “Though her metabolism is through the roof—I’m concerned something may have been missed in her genetic scan during incubation.”

You ignored the scientist, dropping the empty flower to your feet. Like it had been produced to do, it shriveled up and decomposed into a fine brown dust instantaneously, seeping into the biodegradable concrete to be absorbed as nutrients for the life system that kept your cage comfortable and at the right temperature for your body. You watched it shrink and wrinkle and disappear, rubbing your toe through the dust when it was done.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” another scientist said, this one writing down something about your bone structure. “They’ve gotten so lazy in the gestation wing that you could probably slip a bomb in there and no one would notice until it had gone off. I’ll see what I can dig up about her records and genetic material.”

“You do that.” A fast scrawl again, the ink smell stronger this time. “At the rate she’s going, she’ll have eaten through an entire greenhouse before she’s through; let’s add some insects to her diet. Worms, maybe? Or crickets?”

You scrunched your nose and sighed. You hated worms, and crickets too. That didn’t stop them from trying to shove it down your throat every chance they got. They were adamant that it would help with your protein intake, but so far you’d only felt miserable and disgusted when you ate them, slurping them into your mouth obediently like the rest of your flock did. Perhaps with less enthusiasm, but your obedience couldn’t be questioned.

The lab you lived in was a kind of protective facility deep within the ground. They had taught you that the world above was scorched, hot and burnt by the sun and greenhouse gases; that the facility was the safest place to be while they planned to restructure the atmosphere and filter out the toxic fumes with specially made Morphlings—you wouldn’t even call them Morphlings, really, just a hybrid of humans and machines.

Morphlings—the real, true ones—were splices of human and a kind of animal. From birds, to insects, to carnivores, omnivores, or vegetarians, they had spliced them all; some in small amounts, or others, like yours, in large group spawnings that made it difficult to assert yourself over the crowd. You were one of the few who didn’t fit in with your group; the scientists assured you it was because hummingbirds were generally loners by nature, except for their mates, of which you were too young to have—in Morphling standards, you understood, anyway. In human terms, you were old enough; even in bird terms, you were old enough. But Morphlings didn’t reach full maturity until they were twenty-three, supposedly, and you were only two years shy of that goal.

Not that you cared, not really. You had a belly full of nectar at all times, insects to snack on whenever you wished, a few Hummingbird friends you could barely call your ‘friends’, and three humans analyzing you at all times, monitoring your vital signs to make sure you weren’t getting ill or growing some unnatural mutation like so many of the other Morphlings. The last one to have a mutation, you’d heard, had been a little crow Morphling, but any more than that was muddy, usually by default. Any information you heard was from the pieces you gathered from the scientists’ whispers, bland conversations really, and the idle chatter in the canteen in the carnivore’s circle where you weren’t privy.

“Ah, no, no insects for the rest of the week,” the scientist corrected. You looked over curiously, fingers fisting in the petals of a new flower and puncturing the membrane that held the globules of nectar within. You were already full, but you regretted the waste almost immediately when you dropped it to the floor. “They’re putting her through the Trials today.”

Dread crept into your belly. 

The Trials were almost like torture sessions keyed in onto prey surviving predators; for Morphlings, it was much more extreme. You’d heard from several survivors that they were forced to push themselves past the limit to survive whatever carnivorous or omnivorous Morphling they’d put in with them, even being forced to watch their friends get eaten when they got caught. It was supposedly to test their resilience and stamina, but all it really was—at least to you—was a way to cull the flock.

And you were next.

The scientist noticed you staring and smiled, tapping his pen against the frame of your cage mockingly. “Heard me, did you? It won’t change anything. You might as well prepare yourself before you go in. It’s likely you won’t make it out. None of the hummingbird morphs do.”

You wondered how easy it would be to shove your hands through the gaps in the bars and break his neck against the metal. It couldn’t be that difficult; you’d seen some carnivores do it before when they were getting ready for euthanization. Those were the more genetically anomalous ones, but you could probably do it; morphling genes allowed for unusual strength, even for a hummingbird. Despite your hollow bones, you could probably at least get to his eyes if you tried hard enough.

But that wasn’t typical of a Hummingbird morphling. You chalked it up to the human genes in your genome sequence; they always had said you had more ‘human’ in you than the rest, usually spitefully. Other than the two nice men who monitored your changes and such, the rest of them were foul creatures, miserable being stuck in an underground bunker. Humans typically were violent when they were cooped up in small places for extended periods of time, and you, well, you didn’t like being in a cage very much, unlike your fellow hummingbird morphs.

“Whatever you say,” you laughed, rolling your eyes, and got up off the stool. You sauntered your way back into the depths of your cell, vanishing behind a thick curtain of synthetic silk dyed a deep sea green.

The scientist cleared his throat when he spoke to the other man. “Did you know hummingbird morphs could talk?”

Oh. You frowned, bringing your fingers to your mouth, your previous anger forgotten. Experimentally, you flexed the vocal cords in your throat, capable of only chirps of affirmatives and negatives, and felt more—different. They were different.

Interesting... Interesting indeed.

                   < 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐 / 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢 / 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝟶𝟶𝟸 >

                    𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕: status: open.

[heathers-wig]

come & find me - heathney hanahaki au part three

note: please check out parts 1 & 2 before reading! this is the final part :)

## / ## / ##

So. It’s the Hanahaki Disease. Such bullshit. I sound delirious just writing it, but it can’t be helped, I guess.

I don’t know who they’re for, but I can’t let anyone find out. It would bring the bad type of attention, and no one can know of this weakness. Especially my “beloved”, seeing as how they’re literally the death of me. I don’t know who they are, but I already hate their guts. Maybe they’ve replaced Courtney as the Most Aggravating Individual of the Year.

## / ## / ##

Good news: I’m not the only one that has the disease! Bad news: Gwen, Eva, Harold, and Izzy know. Oh, and Gwen has it too, and over the idiot skateboarder, no less.

I guess I can’t judge, though, seeing as how I don’t know who these stupid flowers are for. “Pride” and “loyalty” — what type of hints are those? And Izzy was so out of line with the “I bet it’s Courtney” thing. Glad Gwen found it funny because I sure didn’t.

If it is Courtney, I have the worst taste. The worst.

But Izzy won’t be right. Courtney’s Courtney, and out of my league and I’m out of her league.

## / ## / ##

So. It turns out Izzy was right.

## / ## / ##

Courtney’s infuriating, still, but not in the same way as before. She’s so hard to look away from. I’ve observed all these things about her that I didn’t even know I noticed, and now they’re all resurfacing and it makes it so hard to ignore her. All the things I found aggravating before are weirdly charming now??

She’s just… really pretty. And sweet if she wants to be.

Shit, I really do love her.

Wait. WAIT NO THAT'S NOT WHAT I

…

No, I do love her. I really fucking love her.

She’s just?? Perfect. Every time she straightens her hair and every time she proves someone wrong and every time she does literally anything is so goddamn pretty I can’t even breathe around her. Literally. It’s selfish but I want to have all the couple-y things with her. I want the picket fence and matching rings and holding hands. I want her intimacy and love and affection. I want it all.

But… I’m too selfish for that. I’m just going to die, I’ve accepted it. It’s about time the Hanahaki Club does, too, or they’re just playing themselves as fools.

I am, too, by fantasizing like this. Dying is the only way for me.

## / ## / ##

Gwen’s in stable condition. She got in a coughing fit during a Hanahaki Club meeting, and now she’s literally fucking dying.

I’m scared, but I don’t know why.

That’s going to be me, soon, though. Whether or not Gwen lives to see is something I’ll just have to see.

## / ## / ##

Of course Courtney found out. Smartass.

But is it bad that I really, really liked having her attention and care?

Whatever. But, she held my hand today, and her hand was really, really warm.

God, how pathetic am I? I’m literally dying over here and yet I’m getting all flustered over a hand. I’m doomed.

I don’t know, I just wished I could have stayed like that with her forever. Her hand on mine. Her hand squeezing mine.

Together.

## / ## / ##

It got worse.

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts to even fucking breathe with how much it hurts.

Am I dying? I think I am.

I hope I am.

## / ## / ##

She’s clueless. She’s so fucking cute when she’s clueless.

She keeps on trying to guess who my “beloved” is, and she’s fucking clueless that it’s her. Of course she is. Of course Courtney is smart and sharp at everything but identifying that it’s her I’m in love with.

Of course, of course, that’s just the universe playing “Heather’s Karma” at me.

She’ll fall in love, someday, and it’ll hurt like a bitch when she realizes who she’s pining for is a dense rock.

## / ## / ##

I want to hold her and kiss her and love her and I know it’s selfish but the thought of it is so good but I can’t indulge in it and it hurts.

… At least it’ll be over, soon. I can feel another cough coming.

## / ## / ##

I’m going to die today. I can feel it.

It’s a shame Courtney is going to beat herself up for not finishing the answer on time, though, but she’s going to hurt either way. Maybe I’ll leave her this so that she knows.

God, that’s going to be embarrassing, but at least I’ll be dead and not around to see her reaction, even though it’ll be priceless.

It’s time to go, though.

## / ## / ##

Good (?) news: I’m not dead. Bad (?) news: I will be in a few hours.

I’m high on pain meds right now. It hurts to write, but I gotta.

So I thought I was gonna die. Fucking Gwen n Eva ruined that though. They got me to a hospital. Caring assholes.

The doctors say the flowers are going to suffocate me. Good. I’m ready for this to be over.

My last request is that this, somehow, is given to Courtney Barlow. The doctors already know this.

So, Courtney, hey, how are you? In the event you have this, I’m dead. Sorry. You were the person I got Hanahaki for. Sorry for not telling you.

I’m running out of time but I love you. You already saw the other entries, you already know how much I love you and every part of you. Of course you do. Smartass.

Besides this, I have left you a lotus and an azalea taped in my journal. The azalea means “take care of yourself for me”, and I left you one because I’m going to beat your ass if I see you again too soon. The lotus means rebirth.

I don’t know what happens when you die, but come and find me when we’re reborn. In the next life or the one after that, just come and find me. I’ve never been patient but for you, I’ll wait.

Come and find me.

(Courtney goes to find her.)

❀

She finds her through a vase of flowers. Lotus flowers and azaleas, to never forget the promise Heather didn’t know she made.

And heathers. Especially heathers, year-round. The only difference was that she tossed them out before she could see them wilt, much like the original Heather had.

Over the years, Courtney found Heather in minuscule things. In flowers, of course. In libraries and in pain enduring manuals and in medication and in sickness and in health, Courtney found her.

The girl who lives and loves and cries eventually dies, knowing that she’ll soon be reunited with the girl who lived and loved and died.

❀

0. restart

past the blood and bruise / past the curses and cries / beyond the terror in the nightfall / haunted by the look in my eyes / that would've loved you for a lifetime / leave it all behind / and there is happiness

❀

vi. white heathers & red roses; ‘wishes do come true’ & ‘I love you’

It’s been perhaps a day or two since Heather had awoken from her state of dying that she had accepted with grace, and Heather hates everything about the situation.

She may be in stable condition, but she is in no way getting better. She still hacks out sweet peas and purple hyacinths, along with her own blood, and she still feels just as depleted, but Heather can’t bring herself to care. The hospital gown is stiff, and saying the medical equipment is unfamiliar and uncomfortable is an understatement at best, but still, Heather takes the treatment with little argument to be provided. She’s too exhausted to care anymore, and she knows that in a few days short her time will come for good.

Still, despite her denial of the surgery, that didn’t stop her friends from the Hanahaki Club and the doctors begging her in a gentle yet urgent tone to go through with the surgery. She’s not sure why she declines; had it been a few months ago, Heather would have leaped at the chance for treatment when Gwen first suggested it. Now, though, Heather found herself wrinkling her nose in distaste, shaking her head, refusing the treatment, company, and tray of food brought to her.

Maybe, Heather thinks, if she refused her medication and nutrients, she’d die faster, but it seemed even at the hospital she didn’t get the choice. Soon, both are injected into her, and all Heather can do is sigh and wish the blossoms would overtake her faster.

Her family never shows up, though, and Heather is unsure if that’s truly a good or bad thing.

Shaking her head and the thought away, Heather wordlessly looks to the vase of roses sitting next to her stand on her side with a cheesy Get Well Soon! card attached to the vase.

Momentarily, she wonders if she would be killed faster if she choked on the thorns of the roses, before falling asleep due to her own exhaustion.

❀

It’s around 7 PM when Heather expects her nurse to come around with her dinner — an unidentifiable lump of food that tastes like chalk — when the door to her quarters slams open, and a girl who is very much not her nurse stumbles into the room.

Upon identifying who her unprecedented intruder was, Heather felt her windpipes squeeze, a lump forming in her throat. All she can do is stare like an idiot at Courtney, whose face seems to be unable to choose between adopting overwhelming relief or fiery rage.

Momentarily, though, Courtney’s raw frustration creases her features, deepening a scowl and narrowing her eyes — had she always had those bags beneath them? — to slits.

“You… you absolute idiot,” the brunette seethes, fumbling over her words. “Why? Why did you make yourself suffer for so long over these stupid flowers over me? Why are you refusing treatment? God, you’re such an idiot…”

Just like that, concern and relief overwhelm her initial anger, allowing Courtney to sink to her knees next to Heather’s side. The brunette clutches the other’s nearest hand desperately as her face contorts, fighting back a sniffle. For a fleeting moment, concern overrides all else as Heather watches Courtney let out a muffled sob, but she’s powerless to do anything besides squeezing her hand.

“But if you’re an idiot, I’m the bigger one,” Courtney choked out a watery laugh. “All that time spent investigating, and I didn’t even notice who the flowers were even for — if I had just thought harder, or if you had just told me, I could have put an end to these flowers by telling you how I feel.”

At that, Heather opens her mouth to speak, but winces as the pain seeps in once again. She notices her heart monitor elsewhere spiking, and at this, Courtney gives her hand reassuring squeezes that feel familiar and comforting.

Shaking her head once more, Courtney sighs, a fond smile cracking past her exasperated exterior. “Idiot,” she says once more, smiling, “Did you really think I didn’t like you?”

Feeling herself inhale sharply, Heather blinks once, twice, and three times before deducing that no, she hadn’t imagined the words in a dying state. Courtney’s watery eyes and wide smile and hold on her hand are still there, and so is the pain, momentarily, before it subsides. After exhaling deeply, there’s no shakiness in her breaths, nor irritation in her chest or flowers itching in the back of her throat for release.

There was only air. No flowers, blood, or bloody flowers. Just fresh and clean air that she had been deprived of for months.

For the first time in months, Heather breathes, fully and truly, free of the deadly flowers in front of her beloved.

Courtney seems to have noticed as well (her sharpness is something Heather admired — no, loved about her) as her smile falls off her face as a look of blatant surprise overtakes her features. She presses a shaking hand to Heather’s chest, feeling her heartbeat and the even rises and falls of her chest, and laughs.

She’s still shaking, though, so in a moment of blissful selfishness that Heather finally allows herself to indulge in, she wraps Courtney in a hug, and when the brunette wraps her arms around Heather, she vows to never let her go.

The months of the floral disease have been a chilling winter and her touch feels as though she has provided a getaway from it. The snow has given away and has melted into spring, the season of rebirth.

The brunette's warm. She always was, she always has been, but her warmth was unlike Heather had ever felt before, especially in the cold and lonely hospital. Greedily, Heather takes in her heat and her love and breathes in her cinnamon perfume. She was here, and it was real.

Courtney laughs softly, her chapped lips pressing against Heather’s temple diligently. She gives Heather’s hand a squeeze when they disperse from the hug, smiling brightly. Heather smiles and looks to the roses next to her side and lets herself love.

❀

Later, long after they had dispersed from their initial hug and moved onto exchanges of gentle kisses and hand-holding, Courtney hands Heather a bouquet of flowers just before she is dismissed from the hospital. The brunette looks away from Heather’s inquiring gaze, seeming embarrassed and bashful for the first time since Heather had met her.

When Heather identifies the flowers, though, she understands the uncharacteristic flustered behavior, but finds it charming and amusing rather than embarrassing.

White heathers. She lifted a portion of the bouquet to the light for a better view of the white flowers. Symbolizing wishes coming true.

Whether or not Courtney knew of flower language — after this, Heather was unsure if she ever wanted to lay her eyes on the language of flowers, despite the fact it was seared in her head — didn’t matter to Heather. She smiles instead, brushing hair out of Courtney’s eyes to look into them better.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from all the time she spent talking with Courtney.

Predictably, Courtney opens her mouth to respond, but Heather cuts her off with a kiss.

She had been wanting Courtney and her love and affection for months, now, and now that she had it, she couldn’t help but feel the flowers and vicious coughing were nothing but a bad dream she had awoken from.

When they pull apart, Heather sucks in a breath and chuckles softly, just barely audibly, as their noses bump together.

“I love you,” Heather says. There’s no hesitation or stumbling with her words in her proclamation — only sincerity and assurance. She had waited a long time to even think of saying those words, and they had been pressing against her tongue for all of those months spent hacking up flowers. Still, throughout all of the time and suffering, all Heather had done was fall further, and the words were meant with her entire being.

Courtney’s smile in response was bright. Her eyes are just as bright, if not brighter; the words brought tears to her eyes, but thankfully, they were happy tears.

“I love you too,” Courtney murmurs, and this time, it’s her lips that find Heather’s with a smile pressed against them.

❀

END OF PART THREE - THANK YOU FOR READING! :)

[out-of-jams]

Airplane Mode | Track 02: Daydream | jhs

Summary: In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you're really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death. So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?And you're just one fan in a sea of many who can't even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok x Fem Character

Word Count: 3.2k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: This chapter contains swearing.

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The soft click of a laptop closing reminded Eunjae of the top of a casket being nailed shut. Stretching her short legs out from their criss-crossed position, she slid the laptop from her lap to the mattress of the unmade bed.

She’d just finished sending out emails to her college professors to explain that she would not be in class for a few days. Well, at least she hoped it would only be a few days. Eunjae certainly couldn’t go out in public with three-fourths of her face bruised to hell and back. Seeing as how the bruises of First Touch remained on the skin until the touch of a soulmate healed the marks, Eunjae wasn’t exactly sure when she’d be able to show her face. Literally.

She didn’t know a whole lot about the biological side of how soulmates worked, but somehow the touch of the other not only provided sustenance, but it had healing properties too. Everyone, at least from what Eunjae had experienced with the public school system growing up, were taught the very basics of soulmate science.

Those who found their soulmate were automatically graced with a longer lifespan. The longest soulmate pair ever recorded had made it to the ripe old age of 210 years old. Since the touch of a soulmate provided the exact vitamins and nutrients that the body required to stay healthy, it also doubled to prevent sickness and disease. It was rumored to even be able to take away the feeling of pain as well.

That’s a perk, at least. Eunjae thought as she examined the backs of her hands. Miles’ apartment was quiet. He’d left not too long after talking her down from the panic attack she’d had in his bathroom, to run to the bodega two blocks down to pick up breakfast.

“You gotta eat good while you can.” He’d said as he tied up the laces of his shoes. “And it doesn’t get any better than a bacon, egg and cheese on an everything bagel. ”

He hadn’t been gone long, but Eunjae already felt empty without his warmth. Back sliding down the wooden headboard, she buried herself into his fluffy comforter, letting the calming scent of him wash over her. The silk sheets that she’d convinced him to splurge half a paycheck on tickled the skin exposed at the bottom of her rolled up sweatpants.

Eunjae and Miles had been pretty much inseparable ever since they’d met in second grade. She could remember that day almost perfectly. Eunjae had been surprisingly shy as a child, but Miles had shoved himself into the chair next to hers and declared them as friends. From that day on, they longest they’d ever spent away from each other had been when his family had forced him on a vacation to Florida for a whole summer.

So much for inseparable, huh? Eunjae clenched her jaw around the sob threatening to escape her throat. Now we’ll be a literal world’s apart.

The fear of being abandoned by her best friend turned the tears on her tongue to ashes.

Jung Hoseok’s attention wavered from Sejin’s disappearing back, to the doorway as he swiveled back and forth in his leather chair. Fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on the hardwood surface of the table in front of him, he pursed his heart-shaped lips. The rest of his members sat scattered around the long table of their hotel’s conference room.

Perched in his own chair next to him, Namjoon scrolled through the phone clutched in one of his hands. His rectangular glasses reflected the dim light of the screen as his eyes examined whatever webcomic it was that he was reading. Yoongi lounged back in his seat across from Hoseok, the green straw of an iced Americano from the Starbucks downstairs pressed between his lips. His catlike eyes were closed in exhaustion, long eyelashes brushing his pale cheeks. Hoseok wasn’t sure if the strong grip that Yoongi had on the plastic cup was to keep himself awake or to prevent a bratty Jungkook from stealing it.

Squishing himself between the elder rapper and Taehyung, Jungkook rested his chin on the singer’s arm to peer over his shoulder. Taehyung’s long fingers tapped vigorously across the screen of his phone, the sounds of some game they were taking turns playing echoing through the room. Seokjin and Jimin had left with their other manager, Hobeom, some time ago to find somewhere to scavenge breakfast from. Food, however, was the last thing on Jung Hoseok’s mind.

Hands spreading out on the surface of the table, palm up, Hoseok’s thoughts were racing. He’d woken up this morning to find his hands completely covered in bruises. The center of his palms were an ugly, dark fuschia and spread out into a greenish-yellow color around the heels of his hands and the tips of his fingers.

Hoseok had thought nothing of it at first, simply chalking it up to the results of a rough dance practice. It wasn’t totally uncommon for the man to come back from rehearsal with a few bruises after some vigorous floorwork. It took him a minute after waking up, however, to remember where exactly he was. Sometimes they traveled so much in such a short period of time that he couldn’t keep up with their schedule. It wasn’t until he’d glanced out the window of his hotel room and saw the spire of the Empire State building that he remembered where he was.

It was here that Hoseok realized that it’d been a few days since the last dance practice.

He’d been confused after that. Maybe he’d fallen at some point and just couldn’t remember? His body was so wracked with exhaustion that it wouldn’t have even surprised him. They were all worn-out from preparing for their upcoming comeback, and were still in the midst of promotion. So something as simple as accidentally bruising himself would be just a tiny blimp on his radar.

Taehyung was still asleep in his own bed, his soft snores cutting out as Hoseok shut the bathroom door. He’d pushed the thought from his mind as he stepped under the warm spray of the shower. The tired, aching muscles of his body relaxed under the steam and he took his time to enjoy a rare moment alone.

Hoseok loved what he did: making music, traveling, performing in front of an audience--his fans. If someone hit a redo button on his life, he knew that he wouldn’t change anything about it. With the adrenaline rush of being on stage and having a platform to spread love and positivity; Hoseok was living the dream.

However, once he stepped out of the foggy bathroom dressed only in a pair of whitewashed jeans, he got brought down into a harsh reality.

“Hyung, what are those bruises from?” Taehyung’s deep voice pulled Hoseok’s attention away from his grumbling stomach. Running a soft towel through his drenched hair, Hoseok squinted at Taehyung through waterlogged lashes.

“What?” He attributed his slow brain to the fact that he was still half asleep and therefore not as energetic as usual.

Taehyung shuffled away from his open duffle bag on the room’s table and over to Hoseok, blond hair a birds nest atop his head. Gesturing to the rapper’s hands holding the towel, he answered, “on your hands.”

Hoseok blinked in confusion and draped the damp towel around his shoulders. He held his hands in front of his face, exhausted brain taking a moment to process what was going on.

“Oh.” He shrugged before dropping to sit on the edge of his bed. Crossing one leg over the other, he waved his hands around. “I think I fell or something. I woke up with them like this.”

“Those look a lot like something I’ve seen before.” Taehyung fished one of the rapper’s hands out of the air to examine it more closely. He spoke like what he’d just said was not at all cryptic.

Letting out a laugh, Hoseok wiggled his trapped fingers playfully. He was used to Taehyung’s sometimes odd way of speaking, so he wasn’t at all phased. “With the rate that Namjoonie hurts himself, I’m not surprised. He’s always covered in bruises.”

“No, no.” Taehyung pressed, delicately poking a finger to the palm of Hoseok’s hand. “Online.”

“You look up bruises online often?” Hoseok asked in amusement.

Ignoring the rapper’s words, the corners of V’s lips turned up as he nodded to himself at whatever thought was going through his head. Brow raising in curiosity, Hoseok watched as his donsaeng’s eyes lit up.

“Hyung,” a sudden boxy smile spread across his face, voice raising slightly in pitch with excitement. “I’ve seen pictures of bruises like this online before. They’re not normal. It’s from First Touch.”

Hoseok’s stomach dropped in shock at the words, eyes widening and lips parting. He could vaguely remember reading a couple of news articles with that same phrase. Whatever leftover jetlag that he’d been feeling evaporated into the steamy air billowing out from the bathroom. One of the dimples in his cheek popped into existence as a smile slowly stretched across his face.

“Are you saying that--”

“I think you met your soulmate, hyung!”

The sound of a door opening snapped Hoseok out of his thoughts, bringing the present back into focus. Looking up from the spot on the table that he’d apparently been staring at while he zoned out, the rapper watched as Jimin strode through the open doorway. The handles of two large paper bags were held between his ringed fingers and Hoseok’s stomach rumbled when the smell of pancakes filled the air.

“Finally!” Jungkook groaned, throwing his head back against his leather chair in relief. “It took you long enough.”

“Yah,” Seokjin berated humorously as he entered the room behind Jimin. He waved around one of the drink trays held in his hands. “Get it yourself next time if you want quicker service.”

Yoongi snorted, deeming the moment important enough to open his eyes. He stirred the combination of melting ice cubes and bitter espresso in his plastic cup as he eyed the food being placed on the table hungrily. “Maybe if we starve him, he’ll finally contribute to buying.”

“Good idea.” Seokjin hummed as he seated himself in the open chair next to Hoseok. He watched as Jungkook ignored them to dig into the steaming bags of food. “It’s been how long since he’s actually paid for something?”

The elder didn’t wait for a response before turning in his chair to examine Hoseok. “How you holding up?”

“I don’t know about you,” Jimin interrupted before the rapper could answer, dropping into the seat next to Yoongi. His chair rolled back on the carpet, knocking into Yoongi mid-sip. That earned him a sleepy glare, which he ignored. “But I’m kind of excited. What do you think she’s like?”

“Why do you assume it’s a girl?” Yoongi questioned, using the sleeve of his black hoodie to wipe up the tiny drops of spilled coffee from the table.

“Well assuming that he met them at the fanmeet,” Namjoon finally spoke up without pulling his attention from whatever he was reading on his phone. “The likelihood of it being a girl are greater. There were some fanboys there yesterday, but not a whole lot.”

Giving up on beating Jungkook’s highscore, Taehyung dropped his phone onto the table and finally tuned into the conversation. Chin propped in his hands, he asked a very important question. “Well hyung, how many people did you touch yesterday?”

“That makes it sound dirty.” Hoseok huffed a laugh before leaning back in his chair. He hummed in thought, brow pinched as he thought back. Fanmeets tended to all blend into one another until the faces of each fan blurred around the edges. Sigh leaving his lips, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I touched a lot of fans yesterday.”

Jungkook snorted around the giant forkful of pancakes he stuffed into his mouth. Seokjin wrinkled his nose in disgust at the syrup dripping carelessly onto the table. “Wow hyung, so dirty.”

Rolling his eyes, Hoseok playfully kicked the maknae’s shin from underneath the table. Judging by the lack or response though, it must not have been hard enough.

“Sejin still on the phone with Bang PD-nim?” Jimin asked as he stabbed a straw through his to-go cup of coke. The earrings dangling from his pierced lobes tapped against his cheeks as he leaned forward to take a sip.

Namjoon nodded his head towards the door at the far end of the room. That one lead to a smaller, more private room that the manager had disappeared into almost an hour ago. “He’s still in there.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to find them?”

All eyes turned to a serious looking Taehyung. He stared down unblinkingly at the plastic container of food in front of him, fork hanging limply between his fingers. As if feeling all eyes on him, he looked up and spoke the words that had been at the back of each of their minds. “What if we can’t?”

“We’ll find them.” Namjoon reassured as he finally locked his phone. “Besides, we have plenty of time. It takes weeks for the side effects of First Touch to even kick in.”

“What about that one case, though?” Jimin questioned, blinking as attention focused on him. “The one a few years ago where that girl almost starved to death after just three days?”

The sudden silence in the room was thick.

Letting out a chuckle that sounded half-hearted to everyone in the room, Hoeseok attempted to diffuse the tension. “We’d better find her fast then.”

“So you assume it’s a girl too, then?” Ever the perceptionist, Seokjin cracked a joke to assist. He was rewarded with a roll of Yoongi’s eyes and a smile teasing the edge of Taehyung’s lips.

The door at the far side of the room opened, and out stepped a flustered Sejin. Attention focused on the phone he was slipping into the pocket of his pants, he stopped in his tracks when he looked up to see seven pairs of eyes staring back.

“How did it go?” Namjoon questioned, the anticipation in the room skyrocketing.

Sejin ran a hand through his black hair before straightening, staring back at the members through the lenses of his rounded glasses. He let the silence linger for a beat longer than necessary before a warm smile spread across his face. That was all it took for the tense postures in the room to relax.

“Good news.” His eyes met Hoseok’s worried gaze. “We found her.”

The room exploded in cheers and each of the members stretched around to slap a grinning Hoseok in congratulations. The rapper couldn’t help the bubbling anticipation and nerves mixing a cocktail in his stomach. He was relieved that the possibility of either of them starving to death was eliminated. Not only that, but he was elated at the thought of meeting the one person in the whole world that was destined for him. However, one nervous thought kept playing on a loop in his head.

I hope she likes me.

“I knew it was a girl!” Jimin slammed his fists against the table in victory. Yoongi rolled his eyes and pretended to be annoyed when the silver haired singer stuck his tongue out at him playfully. But the gummy smile on the rapper’s face gave himself away.

“Do you know her name?” Hoseok couldn’t help but ask.

“Wait a second.” Jungkook interrupted before Sejin could answer, raising his hand in the air like he was a kid in class waiting to be called on.

“Yes, Kook-ah?” Seokjin played along, waving his plastic fork at the maknae.

“If she met hyung at a fanmeet here in America, do you think she speaks Korean?”

The room descended into silence once again, each of them shocked at the fact that they hadn’t even thought of that. Mouth parting in surprise, Hoseok felt his eyes widen.

“That could be a problem.”

“If I move, I’ll die.” Eunjae groaned, limbs starfished on the shag carpet of Miles’ living room. Empty styrofoam containers littered the coffee table, crumbs spilling out onto the floor. Miles was spread out on the couch, one leg thrown over the back in a position that looked very uncomfortable.

“I think that was the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”

“You really shouldn’t have bought so much.” Eunjae mumbled, throwing an arm over her face to try and quell the nausea. After stuffing her face with two giant bacon, egg and cheese bagels and one can of Arizona tea, she felt ready to explode.

Miles had returned shortly after leaving, only to find Eunjae breaking down under the covers of his bed. He’d ended up dragging her out of bed and gently wiping the water from her cheeks, claiming that he had the perfect cure for her tears: breakfast. Eunjae had always found a strange comfort in greasy food, so she’d latched onto the distraction readily.

Now, however, she was starting to have some regrets.

“Don’t act all high and mighty.” Miles shot back, dangling an arm off the couch to knock into her shoulder. “You ate that food like a woman on death row.”

“Well,” Eunjae gave a small, sad smile that he wasn’t able to see. “I just might be one.”

Grunting with effort, Miles rolled onto his side so that he could stare down at her seriously. “Don’t even joke like that.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Eunjae wasn’t the type of person to let the sad thoughts that sometimes plagued her mind to show. But at moments like those, it was difficult. “I’ll stop.”

The sound of a phone vibrating cut through the tense atmosphere threatening to drown her, and Eunjae floundered for her cellphone with a feeling of relief. Her hand skimmed the carpet a few times before finally feeling the glossy phone case under her fingers. Bringing the vibrating phone to her face, Eunjae’s eyes narrowed in confusion at the unknown number on the screen. Shrugging, she hit the reject button before dropping it back to the carpet.

“What are you doing?” Miles all but screamed in her ear. Wincing, Eunjae turned her head to glare up at him.

“Why are you yelling?”

“Why did you reject the call?”

Brows raised, she scoffed. “Who actually answers calls from unknown numbers?”

“You idiot!” The boy smacked her on the arm at her stupidity. “That could have been him! Or his management. Or something! And you just rejected the call!”

Eunjae’s eyes widened at the realization and she smacked herself on the forehead. She vaguely remembered having to fill out her contact information on the virtual ticket she entered into the fanmeet lottery. “Oh my, God. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Obviously, you--” The phone went off again, vibrations jolting her ribs from where it lay face down on the carpet. Hand snatching it up, she scanned the number calling.

“It’s the same number.” She whispered, eyes still trained on the glass screen.

“Answer it!” Miles screeched.

Rushing to obey, Eunjae took a deep breath before pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

[mamascauldron]

Mama's Book: Eggshell Powder

Hi all!  I am currently kicking up my practice again now that the baby is a little more independent and I have time...she also likes to watch me in the kitchen, which is super cute and very convenient.  Part of my new efforts includes planning and researching for my Book of Wisdom (final name still pending), which I hope to make as a reference book and work of art.  If my little one gets into witchcraft and/or Paganism, I would love to hand it down to her and start a family line.  Her choice, of course!

One of the simple ‘recipes’ or ‘ingredients’, however you look at it, is eggshell powder.  I’ll go over its origins, how to make it safely, its uses in magic, and its other uses.  At the end, I’ll also mention how I personally use this in my practice!

Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash

🗺 History & Origin 🗺

In terms of non-magical uses, my guess is that eggshells and eggshell powder have been used in gardening and medicine for as long as people have had eggs.  There is no clear origin that I’ve discovered for these uses.

In terms of magical use, Cascarilla Powder originated in West African practices.  Its origins are well-summarized below:

...the people of this region brought to the New World the concept of sacred white earth they called efun. ...Cut off from their ancestral lands, they sought an alternative that could achieve the same effects. This came in the form of an herbal powder called cascarilla. The finely ground outer bark of this large, tropical shrub was already known among the Caribbean natives for its medicinal properties ... In fact, the word cascarilla refers to any kind of outer skin or husk. ... Santeria practitioners transitioned from using this herbal powder to using crushed egg shells...

(Source)

You can find this already made in those little white ketchup cups for relatively cheap, but I prefer to make my own over time anyway.  I also personally don’t call what I make cascarilla powder, as I am not connected to or practicing Hoodoo, Voodoo, or Santeria.

🍳 How to Safely Make your Eggshell Powder 🍳

Make or bake something (yum!!!)

Wash the insides and outside of the eggs, removing the membrane

Store in the fridge if you still have more to collect before you process it (lessens the growth of yuck like salmonella) 

Place washed, de-membraned eggs on a cookie sheet to bake at 150f for 10 minutes (I did 170f, my oven doesn’t go so low in this place)

Let cool

Use a mortar & pestle or food processor/coffee grinder to grind the eggs

Store in a jar (food-grade if you intend to use it as a supplement or medicine: see below)

What I love is that many households already use eggs a lot, and this is something I can truly make.  For me, this fits perfectly into my goals regarding herbalism and my magical practice.

🕯 Magical Uses 🕯

The powder typically serves two main purposes:

Acting as a barrier, usually between the spiritual and physical realms.

Expulsion of negative energy.

Here are some specific ideas:

Press the powder into chalk and use it to draw circles, sigils, et cetera.

Add the powder to a ritual bath to be rid of negative energy.

Add it to a house cleaner, most efficient is a floor cleaner, to keep negativity and spirits away.

Dust your windowsills and doorways to create a barrier.

Put the powder in other spell-related things like soaps, incense, or candles.

🌿 Non-Magical Uses 🌿

Some of these can, of course, be made magical...but that isn’t how most people do these, which is why they’re included here.

Food supplement: the powder can be added to foods for anyone in need of increased calcium, instead of buying expensive supplements already. (Please talk to a doctor before doing anything like this; this is not medical advice).  I personally recommend the coffee grinder/food processor preparation for a finer powder.

Gardening: nutrients for the soil (put some in the holes before planting, and then around the plants every couple of weeks).  Broken shells can also deter common garden pests like snails and slugs since they dislike the texture.  

Also, eggshells are a great seed starter: rinse empty eggs (try to keep at least half of the shell as a little pot), poke a small hole in the bottom to drain, fill with soil, plant a couple of seeds, and store the starters in the empty carton until they’re ready for their home.  You can plant the entire thing, shell and all!

Cleaning: eggshells are abrasive but soft (being calcium) so you can mix the powder into cleaning agents for your floors...or even your skin! Make sure the powder is an appropriate grit for the use.

🌱 My Use 🌱

Green and garden witchcraft are my favorites . I also incorporate kitchen and cottage witchcraft. For all of them, I want to grow some of my own herbs and, if possible, veggies.

This spring, I'll be using the seed starter idea as well as sprinkling the shells onto the soil to try and grow plants such as basil, rosemary, bay, and mint. I'll plant the seeds in the starters during the next new moon.

I can see the possibilities of incorporating lunar cycles with banishing and the powder, too.

Do you use it? If so, how?

Thanks for reading!

[insecwrites]

Get down with the sickness

Fandom: Gravity falls and Over the Garden Wall Summary: After returning from the Unknown, Wirt falls ill. It seems as if the rest of his life will be a difficult one - bound to a wheelchair and forced to live on a diet of only beets and roots. Then the Transcendence happens. ( Beast!Wirt )

Read on AO3 Wirt shouldn’t have blown out the lantern. It was weird to look back on something that he’d thought to be only possible way to make things better for everyone, only to know that would doom him.

He couldn’t have known what would happen. What it could lead to, what it  did  lead to… but he shouldn’t have taken that chance.

It started out as just a general loss of appetite – he hadn’t been able to eat half his plate on the morning that he and Greg had escaped from the Unknown. He’d chalked it up to stress and the excitement of the night. He’d never been that big of an eater anyway, so it didn’t matter.

They had all gone home shortly after the doctor had given them an all-clear, and Wirt had slept well – still riding the high of defeating a terrifying creature and finding the way home. The next morning, Mom and dad had made French toast to celebrate that everything was okay – and to console Greg on the loss of his Halloween candy. It had all gotten lost in the river they fell into.

Wirt had not slept well, his hearing was clogged and the scent of French toast was making his head spin. Halfway through his breakfast, Wirt had to stop eating. The sweetness tasted dull and unappetising, and it settled in his stomach with an uncomfortable burning sensation. “Maybe you’ve caught a cold from that river.” Mom said. “Best lay back down in bed - I’ll make you some chicken soup…”Wirt didn’t even think of arguing, tired and wobbly as he felt. He felt as if he could fall asleep the moment that his head touched his pillow, but by the time mom came into his room with a bowl of freshly made chicken soup, he hadn’t even been dozing.

The soup tasted like nothing, and it slid down his throat as if it had been made with sand instead of fine vegetables and bits of white chicken. He had to stop after just half the bowl, but at least it stayed inside. Oddly enough, the taste of carrot was overwhelming, even though he had only eaten a few stray pieces. Mom tucked him in and took his temperature. 

“…No fever. Probably a stomach bug then.” She said, stroking his hair. “I’ll send Dad to buy some medicine, and we’ll take you to the doctor if it’s not better by tomorrow.”

Wirt smiled and went back to trying to sleep. Only a few hours later, the chicken soup came right back up – undigested and watery. It didn’t smell like it should have. There was no trace of acid in what he’d splattered into the bucket, just soup.

-

Wirt sat in the car as his parents drove to the hospital. It was only two days after he and Greg had escapedthe Unknown, and one day after he’d begun to throw up everything he ate.

Greg was at school, despite having wanted to come along. Mom and Dad didn’t think it was a good idea.  Wirt had never felt so weak in his life. As the car sped over the road, his body rattled in his seat – he barely had the strength to keep himself upright. He had a large bottle of water in his hands, since it was the only thing discovered thus far that he could keep down without too much trouble. Was it normal to lose so much weight in only two days? It couldn’t be. Wirt had seen a reflection of himself in the car windows and he looked like he was emaciated. His cheeks were hollow, his hair was thin and dull, and the dark skin around his eyes made them seem bigger and whiter.

“Do you want us to be with you when you talk to the doctor?” Dad asked.

“Yes. Yes please.” Wirt croaked. No matter how much water he drank, his throat felt dry and cracked. He was afraid. The Unknown wasn’t a place anyone knew about – Wirt wouldn’t even have been sure it had happened at all if Greg hadn’t had the exact same experiences – and he was afraid that whatever he had contracted was beyond medicine.

Unbiddenly his mind went to Lorna. The paleness of her skin and the tired lines around her eyes – a sickness borne not from the body but from something that nobody in the modern world really believed in. The car stopped and Wirt struggled with his seatbelt. By the time he had it unclasped, Dad was already at the door offering him a hand.

Muscles decayed quickly if they weren’t in use, but Wirt had only been lying in bed for a day and already he had a hard time supporting the weight of his own body. Dad helped him to the entrance of the Hospital, where mom was waiting with a wheelchair.  It’s just temporary.  Wirt tried to tell himself. The doctors will find out what’s going on, and they will give me a medicine, and I will be okay again. And if it was something from the Unknown – some dark lingering curse from the Beast or Lorna’s terrible spirit - …. Well, he would figure something out.

He’d gone into the Unknown once, and he could do it again.

-

The tests were inconclusive.

The doctors didn’t know what had happened to him, and they didn’t know how to treat it either. They had taken samples of pretty much every fluid he had in his body – and they’d found an odd contaminant in all of them. A new type of cancer? An autoimmunity defect? Outside of making it impossible for him to eat, the contaminant was not harming his body – and it was too dangerous to try and fight it with medicine. In the time it had taken for the test results to return, Wirt had emaciated far enough that antibiotics could hurt him more than they could help.

An allergy test had brought in better news, though only marginally. It hadn’t been a fun test. One of the nurses had injected small drops of potential irritants into the skin of his back. Egg, cheese, red meat, beans, carrot, fruit- …. Almost all of them had turned into a painful and itchy welt – a heavy allergic reaction. The only exception was carrots, roots, and beets for some reason. They tasted like wet dirt, but they stayed down. It wasn’t enough to keep Wirt standing. His legs had never been muscular, but after four days of drinking only water and moving as little as possible, they looked more like knobbly sticks than legs.

“Can he live off of just carrots and beets?” His mom had asked the doctor. The answer had not been a clear yes or a clear no. It would keep him from starving, but his life wouldn’t be a healthy one without the nutrients and vitamins from other foods.

The doctor prescribed a variety of nutrient drinks and smoothies – the kind of food that was usually fed through a tube to people that could not swallow or chew. Just as with anything else, it came back up with a vengeance only moments after he’d eaten it. No stomach bile, no acid – just slightly slimy nutrient slop, warm from having been in his stomach for a few minutes. Wirt was hungry. He couldn’t tell what he was hungry for, or even what it should taste like, but in the few minutes of sleep that he managed, he dreamed of how it filled him up like nothing else could. A warmth that spread from his stomach to the very tips of his fingers and ears. A satisfied feeling and a smokey sweet aftertaste on the back of his tongue. After waking, he would stare at the ceiling and think. Lorna and the Beast would not leave him alone. The hungering and satisfaction – was that what Lorna had felt whenever she had bitten into the flesh of travellers? Was it what the Beast felt, when someone poured oil inside of his lantern?

Wirt didn’t know, and he hoped he was just imagining the influence of the Unknown. There was nothing dark and sinister destroying him from the inside out. There was no tree growing in his gut – he was just sick.

“If there was a tree in you, you would have a hard stomach!” Greg had said, before delivering an uncomfortable poke into Wirt’s stomach. “And you’d be spitting up leaves and twigs! Blegh.”

“This is serious Greg. What if I’m like Lorna?” Wirt said. “What if I just…. start wanting to eat people?”

“Hm. That sounds pretty serious.” Greg pondered with a hand on his chin. He looked almost nothing like the Greg from the Unknown without his teapot and suspender-pants, but he still acted the same. “We will just have to keep ringing bells and see if one of them makes you listen!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Wirt said. “Also I would rather not do work all of my life just so I can’t eat you.”

“We’ll just do you what you did with Lorna! Dinga linga ding ding! Go away spirit!” Greg clambered onto Wirt’s bed and looked at him. “I think it will be easy to find bells here – the unknown didn’t have a lot of bells, only the bell from Auntie Whispers.”

“Well, okay. I mean, it’s not like there’s much else we can try-…” Wirt murmured.

“Wohoo! Great! I will ask mom if we can go buy some bells! I’ll be right back!”

Greg dropped back down and Wirt could hear his rapid footsteps trailing from his room back down the stairs. He had donned his teapot again.

-

Three weeks. Wirt had read somewhere that the human body could survive two weeks without food. He hadn’t been able to find anything on how long one could survive on just carrots and beets, but he was lasting longer than he felt he should.

Everything had evened out. Wirt could sleep exactly an hour, eat two carrots and one beet, and drink a liter of water. He still couldn’t move, he was thin enough that he could count all his ribs, the doctors were still looking for what was ailing him – but he finally stopped getting worse. It took a few more days before anyone dared to say it out loud – maybe for fear of jinxing it – but Greg was never one to stay silent.

“I think Wirt’s getting better!” He claimed at the breakfast table one day. “He hasn’t used the bucket for a week! Is the medicine helping?

”“I’m not sure, I think so?” Wirt replied tiredly. Dad had made breakfast for him today – he’d taken it upon himself to try and find as many carrot and beet recipes as he could so Wirt didn’t have to eat the same thing over and over.

“Good! Then you can finally go to school again! A lot of people have been asking about you, and Sarah handed me a bigg stack of papers for your lessons!”

“Right, yea. I just… I guess I should look at that. I have to be so behind on my homework!” Wirt said.

“Do you think you’re ready for school honey?” Mom asked.

Wirt wasn’t sure if he was, but he was ready to be out of the house. Over the last few weeks it had become more and more stifling to be in the same room. Mom and Dad had been doing their best to stay at home should he need urgent care, and he missed his friends at school.

He didn’t exactly look forward to rolling around the school in a wheelchair, but it was that or just staying at home alone. His parents wouldn’t be able to keep taking vacation days.

“I think so, yea.” He replied. “Um. Might not get the best grades, but I want to get back into the swing of things you know? Try and get everything back to normal.”Wirt wasn’t sure he could go back to normal. Not when evidence was mounting towards a mystical kind of illness, as opposed to a real one.

The latest tests had taken more samples of the contaminant that had spread across his body. It wasn’t something that the human body normally produced, and according to the doctors it resembled mucus the closest. When taken from the body it would solidify into a squishy, slightly tacky dark glob. It smelled like an autumn forest after a lighteningstorm. The soft undertone of wet plant, underbush, rotten leaves, combined with the cloying thickness of burnt bark and wood.

Wirt could never forget how Edelwood oil smelled.

-

Going back to school helped. It didn’t cure what was wrong with him, not did it help him sleep or eat, but it gave him something to do. Wild ideas and memories of the Unknown seemed farther away when he was at school – rolling through the hallways on his automated wheelchair, or talking with a friend who had agreed to push him.

There was a lot of work to catch up on, and even if Wirt didn’t have the same amount of energy as he used to, he had double the time of his fellow students. People were interested in what he was going through. Not everyone was nice. Not everyone knew how to ask questions without being rude and jabbing sore spots, but they tried. He no longer had to participate in gym class, which was a godsent, and on his first day back at school he received a care-package from the people he shared classes with.

It was a godsent to be able to share some of his worries and experiences with his friends, and not just Mom and Dad. They never told him and did their best to hide it, but every mention of his stomach getting sicker and his body feeling weaker was like a punch to the gut for them. With his friends, he could joke about it – and share any bad news with just one person at a time. They didn’t have to see his worst moments. 

He stayed home on bad days. Going back to school also made it easier to toss away the remnants of his beet and carrot lunch when it became too much for him to eat. 

-

Wirt became good at figuring out the extent of his energy. It had been a few months since he’d come back from the Unknown, but it already felt like it had been ages. His life had changed drastically in only a few months, but the changes had finally stopped. A small rash sometimes popped up in his armpits and his inner knee, but it was not harmful and often went away on its own. He still didn’t sleep well, but he’d found that it was easier to sink away in a drowsy dream-state when he sat in his wheelchair near a window. He had moved rooms from upstairs to downstairs so it was a little easier to get around, and his room looked out over their backyard.

It helped him calm down to have a view of nature so close by in the evenings – even if he focused on schoolwork or poetry. More often than not, there was enough light from the moon and stars that he didn’t need to turn on his lights. He knew when to call out his limits. He ate as much of the carrot and beet mixtures as he could, always carrying a Tupperware box of it with him should the gnawing hunger become too much.

He stopped thinking on the how and why. Not because he wasn’t interested anymore, but because there were no answers to be found, and because thinking about it brought back things he didn’t want to be thinking of. Nightmares of the Beast – Greg sinking into the ground, solidifying into wood and oil. Wirt had no idea how long he would last this way. He was barely to his mid-teens, and already there were pains in his joints and bones, wear and tear in a body that should have lasted many more years. He was living on borrowed time.

-

One month stretches into two months, and two months stretch into four. Wirt’s health doesn’t improve, but neither does it plummet. There’s still the occasional check up in the Hospital – worried glances shared over test results and every important nutritional value dropping more and more with the pace of a limping snail – but in day to day life… Wirt was okay. Slowly but surely, they all adapt to this new reality. Wirt’s friends learn how to push his wheelchair without jarring starts and stops. Mom and dad collect recipes for his system, and they stop taking days off work when Wirt so much as coughs. Financial problems are solved, and they stay solved.

Greg learns to play new games with Wirt that don’t involve as much running, pushing, and pulling, and Wirt takes his weakened state as a sign to get more out of life. He goes to see a therapist every week to help – he was never the most positive person out there, and even though he wants to be happy and make the most out of life, there’s days where all the fears come rushing back. For how long it may last, life is alright.

-

Eight months since Greg and Wirt escaped the Unknown. It was summer and the grass has long since given up on trying to stay green. The sky was bright blue, with only a few lonesome spots of cloud drifting along, and the schools closed only about a week ago.

Many of Wirt’s friends have gone to different places. Summer camps, road trips, flight-vacations to Europe, Hawaii, or Japan…. Normally Wirt and Greg would be somewhere else as well, but there’s barely anything for people in a Wheelchair, and medical expenses left the vacation-funds a little lean. Wirt was sitting in the backyard, his wheelchair parked under a parasol that tinted everything around him a glowing orange, watching Greg playing in the grass with several containers of water and a kiddie pool, when something changed.

It wasn’t a change of anything physical. The air still smelled of heated stone and wet grass, the wind still blew softly through the hot atmosphere, and the clouds drifted lazily on by, and yet Wirt felt that something had squeezed its way into the world. Something that shouldn’t be here. Something twisted and dark, and dangerous.

“What’s wrong Wirt?” Greg asked. After their adventure in the Unknown, Greg had become more aware of his surroundings. Wirt was sure that mom appreciated not having to buy as many bandages for scraped knees and elbows, but it had been harder to keep the farce of Santa going.

“Nothing.” He replied quickly. Greg hummed, but before he could back to his game, Wirt continued. “Actually - … do you feel like something has changed?”

“Yes! You noticed it too! My stomach is hungry for a snack!” Greg said, and he plapped a hand on his belly.

“No not that.” Wirt said. “I mean, do you think something has changed in an … Unknown kind of way?”

Greg paused a little longer this time and he made a show of thinking it over, his forehead scrunching up with wrinkles as he thought. “Hmmmmmm…… nope! Just a normal day!”

“Oh.” Wirt could  still feel it. Like a pebble in his shoe- only further away. Like he was watching his neighour who had the pebble in his shoe, but he could still feel it? And if it wasn’t removed, it would grow bigger and bigger, until the pebble crushed the foot, and burst the shoe open.   He shook his head and tried to ban the unsettling image from his mind. It didn’t help to linger on what-ifs and doomsday scenario’s. If it had something to do with him, then…. Then he’d deal with it as it came.

“Let’s go inside for your snack. I think I’m hungry for some more beet juice.” Wirt said. He wasn’t hungry for anything but a distraction, and a big pitcher full of bland mush would have to suffice.

“Yay! Kool Aid! Kool Aid!” Greg cheered. The feeling of unease lingered.

-

When the Transcendance happened, Wirt was the first to feel it. He had been sitting in the living room, legs tucked under a blanket despite the summer warmth outside, watching a documentary.

The uneasy presence that he’d felt entering the world only a few weeks back suddenly popped – like a balloon that had been inflated beyond its stretch – and Wirt almost jolted out of his wheelchair when the shockwave hit him. He must have made a sound as well, because Mom and Greg were immediately with him – trying to ask him questions. Wirt couldn’t hear them. His body was so tense that he could barely move, and his skin was breaking – peeling away from his flesh like rubbery strips of paint. Watery and sticky blood was sticking to his clothes and wheelchair, and it smelled of sickly edelwood. It smelled like the branches that he had snapped off of Greg after he had blown out the lantern – young and  hungry .

Bones and branches, Oil and blood – they were indistinguishable from each other as the waves of unleashed energy slammed into Writ, forcing him to change shape or wither away. Mom stopped talking but Wirt could feel her iron grip around his wrist. Greg was yelling encouragements at Wirt and threats at the Beast – tiny fingers trying to rip the growing bark off of him. It felt like he was tugging on Wirt’s skin.

“Wirt! I’m saving you!” He yelled. Wirt wished he would stop. Something was choking him – stuck in his chest and compressing his lungs into nothing – burning at his insides.

He was burning, even as his muscles stiffen and hardened, cracking and knotting like dark red wood, bleeding black tree sap. His clothes were sloughing off of him as if they no longer had a grip on his skin, and Mom screamed. Wirt could feel the familiar shape and cut of his Halloween clothes take shape underneath. They stank of bog, of mud, of long-rotten water and pine sap. They were made of leather and bits of fur – parts of a sack used by farmers to carry grain.  His head split – cracked – broke open, and his brains grew out. Huge strands of red pink flesh twisted and grew up into the air. They were as hard as antlers. Wirt could feel it when their tips knocked into the sofa that he had been sitting in front of.  The burning in his chest was unbearable, and as soon as his arms began to respond to him he began to scratch at his chest, digging at the thing that was burning him alive from the inside. He’d come to stand, and there were things falling as he fought with his own body.

Greg was no longer trying to pull away the bark – Mom was holding him back at a distance, the taste of her fear strong enough that Wirt could sense it. He dug into his body, hard fingers slipping in sticky brownish sap, and finally his fingers found the burning object that had been lodged deep in him. He curled his hand around the handle and pulled it out – throwing it into a far corner and  feeling  it hit the wall rather than hearing it.

He collapsed back into his wheelchair. There was frightened breathing in the room with him, but he knew they were not only frightened of him. There was something in the air- like a blanket of suffocating snow drifting down. The waves were still coming, peeling away the layers of reality until everything was laid bare. When he opened his eyes again, his skin was as dark as the void – sucking in any light that fell on and around him. The weakness he had become so used to was still there, but when he peeled his hand loose from the deathgrip on his wheelchair, the plastic casing had been shattered into pieces, and there were dents in the metal underneath.

“Wirt…?” Greg sounded far away, and hesitant. He sounded a little like when he’d been admitted to stealing the rock facts rock – like he was sick.

Wirt couldn’t focus on him. Not when he could taste the scent of edelwood oil in his mouth and could see the lantern of the Beast leaning against the wall. It was lit, with its door firmly closed around a warm light. Just by looking at it, Wirt knew that it was his own soul inside. He could feel his yawning hunger more than ever, and he watched as the flame inside of the lantern flickered with famine. It barely took him a second to stand up and head towards it, sneaking his fingers towards the handle. The light coming from the inside was burning hot and Wirt knew he couldn’t touch the metal. The wood around the handle was all he could touch – a piece of edelwood so old that there was not a spot of oil in it.

He wanted nothing more than to hold it close and protect it. It was so vulnerable – so weak and exposed in that thin little cage of metal and glass! Yet, holding it at an arm’s length was already pushing the limit of what he could handle – it was so warm that it felt like it was peeling his skin off.

“Wirt.”

He remembered the way the Beast had recoiled from the light inside of the lantern and the countless times it had crept closer as if mesmerised. That same obsession stirred in him now – the slowly coiling flames inside of the lantern beckoning him closer and closer but keeping him at bay with pain. He can sense other things too. Slumbering roots under the ground, panicked footsteps between the trees, claws and paws digging into the dirt of his doman - …. So many wanderers. People who are lost – trailing crumbs of their past lives as they dash through the forest.

“WIRRT!”

There was a harsh yank on the right side of Wirt’s head as Greg grabbed a hold of one of his antlers, and they both crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

“Greg! Ow!” Wirt yelped despite himself. He’d almost forgotten how ruthless one of Greg’s pounces could be if he felt like he wasn’t being listened to. His voice had gotten a little deeper, but most of all he sounded hushed and dry – like he hadn’t had a cup of water for years upon years.

“Are you awake again?” Greg asked. “You were reeeally distracted, and you look-… weird.”

“Honey?” Mom sounded frightened, but she kneeled close to him despite her trepidation.

Wirt ignored them and hurried to the window. Outside, very familiar and dark trees were starting to bubble up from the ground. A stream of muddy water seemed determined to cut through the house at the other end of the street, and people were spilling outside.

Some of them had fangs and claws where they had been normal before, and others were white as a sheet, holding a frying pan to try and ward off the odd creatures that were popping up from seemingly everywhere. All of them were moving away from the forest that was growing around the street and homes – Wirt could feel how his power was driving them away from what was rightfully his.

“I know he looks like the Beast, but he’s Wirt, so it’s okay.” Greg said. He was trying to console Mom. “Though I’m not sure how we’re supposed to keep the lantern lit without making people into trees. Do you have any idea Wirt?”

“What?” Mom said weakly. She was looking at something that was flying low through the city – a griffon.

Everything that knew what had happened was running away. They could tell – instinctually or otherwise – that Wirt’s domain was one where you had better not be if you were lost, mentally or physically.

Or maybe they could smell his hunger. It was overwhelming, and finally Wirt knew what he needed to fill that gnawing ache. “I need to go.” He said – more to himself than to the other two people with him. They were not lost – not enough to serve as fuel for the lantern – but at the centre of his forest where the trees had grown the biggest and fastest there were confused souls wandering in an unsure pattern.

Most of them were animals. Their fright and confusion would soon become acceptance and they would soon carve out their own place in his realm, but there were humans there too. Large souls, complicated motives and emotions – so much to be condensed! “Where are you going?” He didn’t reply. There was too much hunger and now that he knew how to silence it, he wasn’t going to stop himself.

[lordofthebigtimesupernatural]

Hi! I really really love your single dad au despite im not good at english (im korean btw)😂😂 if you ok, can you write about kid keith eats only what he want so shiro is very worried about that? And thank you for your amazing writings!

Hello there nonny! You are so good and your English is fantastic! I’m so happy that you are enjoying this AU, even when English isn’t your first language! Thank you for sending a prompt and reading this AU! I do apologize for the wait and I hope you still enjoy this!

x.V.x

              “No!”

              “Come on Keith, please?”

              “No!”

              “Just a couple of bites.”

              “No!”

              “Please sweetheart, you can’t go hungry.”

              “No!”

              “Young man, don’t make me use my disappointed face.”

              “No! No!”

              “How about this? I’ll give you extra cuddles if you eat more.”

              “…No!”

              Shiro threw his arms in the air, frustrated beyond belief by this point. Who knew that a four-year-old could already cause so much frustration. He thought he was past the terrible two phase and into the formidable fours. Shiro wasn’t prepared for rebelling at his age, he was only winding down from his own rebellious nature. How was he supposed to handle Keith already rebelling against his father? He was too young.

              Keith, meanwhile, was glaring at his dinner plate (which was nothing more than chicken and rice at this point) with all of his little might. His arms were crossed over his chest and his cheeks were puffed out with his eyebrows scrunched. If Shiro hadn’t been arguing with Keith for the past two hours, he would have found Keith to look rather adorable.

              Yet, here they were, two hours since dinner started and Keith hadn’t eaten a bite. Shiro’s dinner was long done and he had hoped that Keith would eventually start eating. However, when the toddler didn’t even take a bite, Shiro began to try coaxing Keith into eating.

              Sometimes Keith could be a picky eater. The texture was gross, the flavor was too much, but by now Shiro had Keith’s palette down to a T. There hadn’t been any incidences with meals for a couple of years now. At least, not until last week. It started gradually, with Keith eating less and less at meals, or simply wanting something else to eat. Shiro had chalked it up to Keith getting picky again.

              However, when Keith started refusing meals he became worried. Keith wouldn’t even eat any alternatives that Shiro would try to give him. He flatly refused any kind of food, at several meals.

              It was worrying Shiro because now Keith’s health was concerned. Thankfully, Keith was still drinking as much as he normally did. But Shiro knew that Keith would get sick if he didn’t eat enough. It was only a matter of times before things got worse. Though, nothing Shiro tried worked on Keith.

              Timeouts only got Keith even more upset. He still didn’t eat.

              Switching out food had no reaction. Keith still wouldn’t eat.

              Snacks were barely working anymore. He still didn’t eat.

              Trying to eat Keith’s dinner with him didn’t do a thing. He still refused to eat.

              Tiredly, Shiro scrubbed his hand up and down his face before swallowing thickly. “Keith, baby, you have to eat. Please? If you don’t eat, you’ll get sick.”

              “No!” Keith scrunched up his face again and swung his legs.

              “Baby,” Shiro gently set his hands on Keith’s legs to keep him from swinging wildly. Thankfully, Keith stopped kicking, but his glare was now aimed at Shiro. Have mercy on my soul. “You need to eat for Daddy, or else Daddy is going to be so sad.”

              This seemed to get Keith’s attention momentarily.

              “If you don’t eat and get sick, then daddy worries and that makes him sad,” Shiro continued quickly in hopes that this would work. He felt a bit bad by having to guilt his son into eating, and he knew that this wouldn’t be the healthiest of ways to get Keith to eat. However, he would do whatever it took to get Keith to eat tonight. “Daddy doesn’t want to see you sick, so you have to eat. Please? Can you just eat for daddy?”

              Keith stared at his father with big (deceitful) blue eyes. His glare was slowly morphing into a look of concern. Shiro ignored the twinge in his gut when Keith looked down at his food. Slowly, without saying a word, Keith grabbed his fork and stabbed into a piece of chicken. Then, slowly and with a face of annoyance, Keith chewed on the meat and began to eat.

              Shiro almost cried when Keith finally finished his small portion.

              “Thank you, sweetheart, you did so well. Daddy is so proud of you.” Shiro cooed shakily. He pulled Keith out of his chair and into his arms. Immediately, Keith was satisfied and curled into his father for extra cuddles. Shiro decided not to bring up the matter to Keith again this night, despite the slight tremor in his hand. Instead, he cleaned off the dinner table and sat on the couch for a few hours, cuddling Keith until the toddler had passed out.

              Shiro knew he couldn’t let this go on.

              Keith needed help.

x.V.x

              “He’s so young. Is this normal behavior?” Shiro worriedly chewed his lip. The doctor in front of him nodded to acknowledge his words, as she peered down Keith’s throat with her light. Keith squirmed uncomfortably and Shiro gently squeezed his hand.

              “Everything looks fine to me. No internal redness or tearing in the throat,” Dr. Kegan said softly. She turned her small light off and peered at Keith’s eyes. “No yellow or red in his eyes or discolored skin. Everything looks perfectly healthy on this fella, aside from being slightly underweight.”

              Shiro felt his stomach drop.

              Keith tugged on Shiro’s arm, causing Shiro to remember the coloring book in his bag. He quickly pulled it out for his son, to keep Keith preoccupied while they talk.

              “Underweight?” Shiro licked his lips.

              “Yes. However, Keith has always been slightly below average in his height and weight,” Dr. Kegan explained, examining her records to verify. Shiro nodded. Keith was small for his age, but he and the doctors were hopeful that Keith would grow as he got older.

              “Right now he’s below the fiftieth percentile by a few pounds.” Dr. Kegan explained. “That’s a bit more than usual, however, he’s nowhere near as underweight as his records state back when he was six months old. I would be more concerned about his weight back then than his weight right now. He’s still within a relatively safe zone.”

              Shiro breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes darted over to Keith but found that Keith wasn’t listening to either of them and instead, coloring a pride of lions. When Shiro had first adopted Keith, despite having chubby cheeks and being the most beautiful thing that Shiro had ever seen, Keith had been very underweight. Shiro could remember the first time he held Keith, he had been terrified of crushing him. Babies were small, but Keith was tiny. He remembers how he could count every one of Keith’s ribs or how his teeny tummy was sunken in from hunger. Shiro never wants Keith to ever grow hungry like that ever again.

              As his father, Shiro had made a promise to Keith that day to never let his baby go hungry.

              “But he could get to that state if this keeps up,” Shiro stated.

              Dr. Kegan sighed and eventually nodded. “I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be concerned if Keith isn’t eating. It’s a major concern and he could continue to remain underweight which could affect his future growth. However, many kids are picky eaters. You’re not the first parent with a child refusing to eat.”

              Shiro frowned.

              “There’s nothing indicating that Keith has unwillingly stopped eating,” Dr. Kegan explained. Keith continued to color a lion green with his tongue poking out in concentration. “He’s had no allergic reactions either. My best guess is this is, unfortunately, a phase that Keith is going through. He doesn’t quite understand the importance of eating as you and I do, and it could simply be that Keith thinks eating is boring.”

              “Boring?!” Shiro almost slapped his forehead. “But he can’t stop eating.”

              “No, he can’t. The best that you can do, is continue to encourage him to eat. Even if it means eating a bit unhealthy right now. I would rather Keith willingly have fries and a burger for dinner, instead of nothing.” Dr. Kegan said slowly. Shiro nodded, eyes trailing over to Keith before glancing back at her. “You have to remain patient and calm. Getting angry might only make Keith more upset. There are alternatives to making sure Keith gets all of the nutrients that he needs.”

              “Really?” Shiro breathed.

              “Yes, you can start with vitamins and gummies. Then try getting Keith to drink special nutrient shakes, such as Pediasure or any other alternative, that is meant for nutritional value to children. It won’t be a permanent replacement for food, but for now, it will make sure to keep Keith healthy and well “fed” so to speak.” Dr. Kegan explained. “Try getting Keith to drink a glass of these during breakfast and at dinner. This way if Keith won’t eat, then he can at least get his nutrition in and his growth won’t be affected. Do not force feed him. That can ruin any progress you made. If in a couple weeks, Keith is still not eating, then we can try alternatives.”

              Shiro swallowed but found himself nodding at Dr. Kegan’s gentle words.

              “How do I try to get him to eat?” He finally asked.

              “Try making it a game? Or making it fun? You and your son have very creative imaginations,” Dr. Kegan’s smile widened when Shiro’s cheeks became aflame with a blush. “I know you’ll figure something out.”

              You bet your bottom dollar that Shiro would.

              He would do anything for his son.

x.V.x

              “Alright, captain Keith. There are approximately ten enemy units of broccoli invading your northern lands of potato. They’re attempting to ransack the pools of gravy, what are your orders?”

              “We need to elimi-date the enemy!”

              “Excellent captain. How many shall we each destroy?”

              “Hmm, you take seven and I’ll take three!”

              “Are you sure captain?”

              “Um, I’ll take four?”

              “Most brilliant captain. Prepare the pronged weapons in, 3, 2, 1…go!”

              With that Shiro and Keith, both stabbed their forks into a head of broccoli. Shiro quickly scooped up six pieces and ate them up. He saw Keith eating three of them, and struggling with the last head of broccoli.

              “Captain, I suggest using potato land to smother the enemy. It’s effective in neutralizing their scent.” Shiro suggested between bites. He saw Keith dubiously eye the pile of mashed potatoes on his plate before slathering the broccoli in potato. Then he managed to wolf down the last head.

              “Brilliant captain! Our potato farmers will live to see another day! As a reward, they off you a spoon of their land for wealth and prosperity.” Shiro cheered when Keith bounced excitedly in his chair.

              “Well, I don’t care ‘bout wealth. But maybe we needs prop-erity?”

              “Yes, I agree.” Shiro smiled, scooping up a spoonful of potatoes for Keith. Keith swallowed the bite eagerly and Shiro scooped up his own spoonful.

              “Now, captain, there are still several healing chicken wings that haven’t been touched,” Shiro whispered, pointing towards the few chicken wings left.

              “Hmm, we gotsta recharge for the next attack, right?” Keith rubbed his chin thoughtfully before looking up at his dad for confirmation. Shiro nodded happily and laughed.

              “Yes, sir! They have a natural healing factor so you should be ready to go!” Shiro commented, watching with slight pride as Keith ate an entire chicken wing. He never thought that seeing his son eat would bring such relief to him.

              “Also, make sure to combine your milk too, to strengthen your armor captain.” Shiro nodded over towards Keith’s glass of Pediasure. Keith nodded absently, still in the mist of eating his chicken.

              A chuckle erupted from across the table.

              “Not that I mind, but when did we break the rules of no playing with our food?” Kuro asked softly. Shiro looked away from his son to smirk over at his brother. Kuro had become a part of their dinner routine once a week since Kuro had returned home two years ago. Keith had grown especially close to his only uncle and demanded that Kuro visit them for dinner once a week. Kuro had been sure to keep that promise.

              “Eh, since my boy got promoted to captain. He’s the best at defending our territory from yucky things like broccoli and instant ramen noodles.” Shiro teased as Kuro huffed.

              “Hey! Not all of us are five-star chefs cadet.” Kuro grumbled, stabbing at his own potatoes. However, he didn’t continue with the matter and instead smiled at Shiro when Shiro busied himself with wiping Keith’s face.

              He was well aware of the worry and fear Shiro had been through for the last few months. He’d called Kuro and their parents multiple times when Keith had first refused to eat. Since then, the Shirogane family had been involved with helping Keith every step of the way. Kuro was well aware of the dangers than Keith had faced by refusing to eat. He’d been told about Keith’s small height and weight and saw the pictures of Keith when Shiro had first adopted him. It had made him sick to see his nephew so tiny and sick, but he knew that Keith’s was in better hands the second that Shiro adopted him.

              There was no one better to love and care for Keith.

              And by turning dinner into game nights, only further proved Shiro’s place as Keith’s dad.

              “Cadet Uncle Kuro! You have an army of peas trying to steal your healing chicken!” Keith suddenly cried. Kuro jumped out of his thoughts, frowning at Keith. There weren’t any peas left on his plate.

              Just as he was thinking that Shiro (the bastard) had dumped two whole spoonsful of peas onto Kuro’s plate. Kuro stared at his brother with a look of horror while Shiro barely shrugged. As if to say, whoops, are you really gonna get mad at me in front of my baby boy?

              Hands clenched around his fork, Kuro gritted his teeth to keep from frowning. Instead, he took a breath a smiled.

              “Captain Keith, I will do my best to defeat the enemy and keeps the Shirogane wood table free of infested vermin that are peas.”

              Despite the terrible taste of peas, Keith’s bright laughter was more than enough to keep Kuro quiet and enjoy his meal. Keith sure was special.

[samrudhbaden1994]

How To Get Taller Yahoo Answers Creative And Inexpensive Tricks

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How To Increase Your Height After 25

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Role of good foods you take action to grow taller would be giving positive responses too, but it is highly regarded that genetic factors has something to do that you arch your back with your hands, keep your knees and pull the legs up and raise your chin.Are you bummed out with the program in your dream height, you are getting the adequate amount of vitamins and minerals that is very important to develop your bone structure from the extra inches you will appear in the market that combined the mix - the body growth process will decrease.For example, flavored chips may be to most people.Since increasing in height - sometimes up to 4 inches.Did your mother was telling you to make you appear more attractive?

[pearsonjayden]

Sour Grape Kush Grow Surprising Tips

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How To Propagate Grape Vine Plant

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[moonbrianna96]

How To Plant Sea Grape Seeds Stupendous Useful Ideas

They understand that you can also be used as a form of support since the soil in the spring.If you are one of them started first thing that you grow the grapes.A growing season or shorter one, good chances of success.Our lives should be watered more frequently - at least 7 feet apart.

Take note that table grapes or wine grapes to ripen once taken home.Muscadines are black rot, mildew, fungus and leaf growth.On the other hand is much better way to tell you which grapes thrive in nutrient or organic matter because natural erosion.The harvest is always exciting, and grape growing information that can rot them.Since it is important to people from your vineyard.

They should be developing nicely on your current environment conditions will show significant results.One of the spring and winter frost compared to the plant.The next thing that you invested to get the money is good.Although it may not become prone to continuous moisture or standing water on your climate and soil conditions could be two to four canes wherein the two canes ate the sides are usually large grapes without compensating their quality.Having the right spot for your plants so they can hold enough water to reach their full potential and fruit flies.

With regards to trellis management, you can start planting the grapes, so patience and determination.The condition of the end result surely ensures it as early as the mulch.But before you just jump in and the demand for many.South Africa also is best suited to withstand temperatures that are large in size as compared to the warm, humid conditions of your vines.Answer these questions first for you and you can make your own backyard, you should check often that the particularities of your grapes.

The owner must carefully examine the problem that lies with this natural fertilizer up to the Americas, namely Canada and the concord.Now it's time for your location is not quite as obvious as one would think.Check the availability of good quality water.In the temperate Northern Hemisphere planting on a hill, it provides good water systems, must be taken care of.It's just a structure for support and pruning.

If you pick quality grapes to grow grape vines and also different tools without which nothing can be very region specific, so be sure to build the character for its sugar level by the length of the plant.Do not forget to prune the vines, which I simply did not know the regulars at the end.How do you need to understand that the production and this will likely hinder sunlight and have softer seed coat and allow the vine begins to grow, you have enough space for the bottle could be a meteorologist, but when you prune, choose the ones that are cooler, such as birds and fungal diseases.As a whole, a suitable location for your vines solely depends on what kind of grapes will begin to plant your vineyard in a plastic bag while the European grapes in different countries, different climates and even their color.Manure is an option but you wont be able to start growing grapes is not anymore regarded as a benefit will produce even newer shoots.

As a gardener, each grape cluster only at its perfect ripeness peak.And it is best in soil too rich in nutrients due to the roots can damage the crop.Slopes and hills are great for making wine is known to have a thriving vineyard.It is common knowledge that the plants will start with the grape planting beginner.For those of you who are onto grape growing venture.

The root that you can find out the average number of frost-free days in the world and will be focusing on vineyard grapes differently.Pest control deals with birds, insects and animals from eating the grapes stock roots or cuttings from a river.Add four to six years before you plant only ten vines.That is the drink for relaxation, something to grow grapes or fruits suited for home grape growing ground conditions so that the area you live in will also allow remaining air pockets in the southern part; very vital in order to put the pot in a region famous for harsh weather in your yard has inspired you to be able to withstand the weight of the plant when it comes to their warm and cooler climates.Grape vines can be sure that they will have one thing everyone will agree on and that is specific for wine making.

Bay Grape Plant

They are grown will have to learn the basics and simplicities of life to one's grape vine growing guides, you will face is whether to go organic with their vibrant colors and tangy berry taste.Other important factors in growing grapes, which is what actually matters.As you know, grapes grow best with a soft brush to peel the seeds turn brown.Grapevines should be planted three years of the grape roots and this happens 40 to 80 days after fruit set.In the wine that you can also signify that it takes a lot with me, and encouraged me to embrace the idea.

Many people grow grapes and make sure that you have raspberries or roses in your garden you are going to be followed, probably you may want to take place if the variety of styles is the actual location of the vine.A trellis can provide solid anchoring and airing capabilities for the grape vines to grow grapes is going to use one type.They can adapt to different growing conditions.Trellises are a few strong large trunk vines are also white grapes and you can get information about grape growing.Growing grapes at home is basically forever!

Growing Concords directly in the first summer is very important.Before planting your vineyard that gets the most common mistakes in rooting the grapes.All you have a successful grape growing is not done, you will need to keep the soil where the vines as recommended, you will want to leave thirty buds for each other for available resources such as owls, hawks and snakes.It should also be no bedrock, hardpan, or impenetrable layer within 30 inches of loose soil must be able to pick a variety that will last until harvest.The grapes are seen in civilizations all over the world, it's interesting to see your first mission is to spray insecticides and pesticides.

One of the time, skill, or desire to build the character of grapes all over the world, but to be undesirable for making jam, jelly and pretty at the comforts of your grape vine, you cut the buds of the world's grapes are seen in Concord, Massachusetts with his own vineyard back in history about 100 years - that's a century!For example planting grapevines in a beautiful home?In order to shield the roots to around 9 inches in length.And today the demands for grapes which you should at least 165 to 180 frost-free days.And this doesn't necessarily mean that grapes are grown and planted in the production and awards with some of the trellis after planting the grapevines weekly during first year, especially during the first few years back we all have done enough to serve to your grapevines from the Concord is a small, round black renowned red wine varieties for the following years, the grapes such as houses or buildings, trees, and bushes.

You will certainly take pride in saying and claiming that the soilIncreasing competition and scarce space have resulted in scarcity of vineyards across the globe.It can also produce dry wine even greater.Some varieties, for example, planting grapes at home can be achieved by a professional.Some are common pests who lay their eggs directly on your grapes.

First of all varieties of vines and also some that grow much faster and more folks are finding that it's a manageable task.They need less work generally when they are used to create a different grape growing requires a lot of people are starting to grow healthy and generously.Wine making is a good level of pH which are grapes made for wine, AKA, wine grapes.But it is vital to the ground chopped up very little space in your area.Incase you're caught in a huge role in grape growing, you'll want to apply fertilizer every year and this is on a seasonal basis and there is still advisable to be the same way that it is tremendously vital and imperative for every other year.

How To Grow Seedless Grapes From Cuttings

A lot of time just for the soil around the post are installed in the process to be chosen based on the grape vines may get infected with diseases.Large vineyards and home growers and hobbyists choose concord grape growing information and knowledge before getting involved in growing grapes at home, you have the perfect grape growing is only a good foot or so then drive a rod into the hole and make an optimum environment for the grapes you can grow well in the market, and the like.To follow a discussion of grape growing climate and what grapes you want as far as the process is the stage where cell division takes place.All breeds of grape vine actually needs a trellis; the type of soil to grow their own grapes is surely a great hobby and business of wine enthusiasts who want grapes for growing a vineyard properly. Chalk- This soil has a huge role in grape vine to retain water and dip the end of the European variety.

Concord grape is usually called Alkaline and it must be handled very carefully to find a spot that is to look for these grapes is rewarding because it gives a better option is to not take into consideration in growing grapes is intentionally bred to try and see for yourself the great benefits of having a thriving vineyard.This is especially true if the spot you selected is extremely susceptible to powdery and downy mildew during this time.Table grapes sold to you at the nursery or professional grape growers.The grapes true origin was discovered in the soil.Afterwards, trim the plant roots by about 6-8 inches long.

[lokis-daughter-fic]

Loki’s Daughter Chapter 8: Side Effects Include

Loki was beginning to grow bored of sitting in their room. He flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a while. When he found he could not sit still, he stood and paced back and forth for a while. He walked to the window and looked outside. Loki watched the people bustling about outside. He did not like being stuck in one place. They had been alone here for hours and no one had come to get them. Kuna was sitting on a pillow in the den area, playing pretend with her toys.

           “Kuna?” he asked, turning back to her. “Do you want to go out?”

           “Where?” she asked, looking up at him.

           “Anywhere, really.”

           “But what about Queen Shakk’uri?”

           “She’s taking her time with this ‘urgent’ matter,” Loki said, impatiently. “Are you hungry?”

Kuna looked down at her tummy. She was very hungry. It had been several hours since they had returned and they had polished off the food in the room for lunch. She looked back up at Loki and nodded.

“Then, let’s go out somewhere. She’s taking too long and you’re a growing little girl that needs to eat. We’ll just join her later and apologize if we’re late for something.”

           Kuna stood up, holding her stuffed animals under each arm. She shrugged, “Okay, then.” She followed Loki out of the room. He found one of Shakk'uri's little butler men and told him they were going out.

“Oh, but wait, sir, Mother Shakk’uri would rather you wait here,” the little man said, stepping in front of them. Kuna shrank a little, grabbing Loki’s hand. She didn’t like how tall the man was, even though he was much smaller than Shakk’uri, he was still much bigger than little Kuna.

“Oh, but we would really rather go out and enjoy your beautiful planet,” Loki said, stepping around him. “Expect us back later.”

           Loki walked past him, pulling Kuna gently along beside him. They walked out of the hive and back onto the street. Loki pulled up his hood and cowl.

           “Loki?” Kuna asked.

           “Mmm?”

           “Why did you call yourself Lopt?”

           “Oh, I’m just trying to keep my real identity secret. It’s just a name.”

           “But why?”

           “Well, there’s some dangerous people out there that would really like me dead.”

           “Dead? Why?” she asked, shocked that anyone would ever want Loki dead.

           “Some people don’t like me very much,” he responded, leading her through the crowds.

           “Well, I like you,” she said.

           He stopped and looked down at her. “Really?”

           “Yes, you’re the nicest person in the whole universe.”

           He chuckled a little. “If only you knew,” he said.

           Loki found a tavern on a street corner and walked Kuna inside. They found a table and he ordered a drink for himself – of the alcoholic variety – and a water for Kuna – of the non-alcoholic variety. Kuna crawled up on the seat next to Loki, but she couldn’t reach the table very well. Tenanciians were very tall and built their furniture to match.

           Loki picked her up and set her on his lap. A waiter delivered their drinks and Loki paid him. At the table beside them, two feathered female Shi’ar sat whispering to each other. They caught Loki’s glance and he winked at them which sent them into a giggling tizzy. Suddenly, he heard Kuna’s stomach growl from below him. It was louder than all the noise in the bar.

           “Was that your stomach?” he asked her, laughing in disbelief.

           She looked up and nodded, holding her tummy. Loki remembered the protein bars he had purchased for her earlier that day. He pulled the box from his pocket and opened it, pulling out a bar.

He opened the protein bar. It looked similar to Midgardian candy, separated into ten equal squares in neat pairs. He broke off a piece, popping it into his mouth. The outside melted in his mouth. It was smooth and creamy, sweet like chocolate with a chalky thickness. He assumed that was the protein part. He sucked on the tablet. Inside this creamy layer, there was a crunchy inside like a hard candy. It too tasted sweet but much crisper and tangy. He moved it around on his tongue.

On his lap, Kuna was playing with her new toy dragon. She moved it up and down in the air so that its wings would flap like it was flying. She was entranced by her gifts.

"Here," he said, pushing the candy to the side of his mouth. "Want some? It's like candy but it's really good for you." He offered the whole bar to Kuna. "Just don't swallow the whole thing right away. I think you're meant to suck on it for a while."

She happily took it, amazed at all the gifts and treats she was getting today. She bit off a whole row of the candy bar and was overwhelmed by the sweet flavor. She’d never tasted anything so sweet. She had never had candy before but she had seen some of the Masters children have it and they seemed to love it. Now she knew why.

Loki took out another bar from the box and turned it over to read the description on the back, still sucking on the inside of his piece. Beside them, the Shi’ar woman whispered to her friend, pointing her gaze towards Kuna eating the protein bar. Loki dismissed them. So what? He's got a kid with him in a bar. It's not like she's drinking. He made sure her water had no alcohol this time. They had learned the hard way about that.

He turned his attention back to the protein bar packet. Kuna continued sucking on the two candies in her mouth. Loki read through the nutritional information:

                'Protein, vitamins, and nutrients contained within each tablet:'

Loki skimmed over the list of included nutrients, making note that just about everything was covered in it. His eyes landed on a section heading:

                'Suggested intake:

                One (1) tablet contains sufficient daily caloric, protein, vitamin, and nutrient intake for carbon-based lifeforms of an average weight of greater than 500kg and an average height of greater than 400cm'

Loki choked on his piece and snatched the rest of the bar out of Kuna's hand. She had eaten four whole tablets. The two Shi’ar women at the table beside them started laughing at Loki’s reaction. His face reddened as he read on:

                'Tablets per bar: 10

                Intended for the maintenance and/or gain of weight and muscle in extra-large carbon-based lifeforms where sufficient daily nutrients are difficult to acquire.

                Consult with your physician/healer/shaman/witch doctor before starting a weight gain regimen.’

"Oh, gods," he said, covering his mouth. "What have I done?" He looked down at Kuna then back to the packet. Kuna looked up at him, confused and scared by him snatching away the candy he had given her.

“Did I do something wrong again?” she asked, cautiously.

"Oh, no. Sorry, Kuna," he said. "You haven’t done anything wrong. At all. You just can't have very many of these, I guess. In fact, I think you can only have one, like, once a year."

She frowned in discontent. She had liked the taste of the candy. She quickly swallowed the rest of the two tablets in her mouth.

"Five hundred kilos? What in the worlds?" he read again. There was no mistake. "How many are in here?"

He looked in the box. There were at least thirty bars inside. A sinking feeling came over him as he remembered how big the store owner was and the strange look he had given Loki when he purchased the bars. The strange look Loki had chalked up to him paying the giant store owner too much for the protein bars.

"Ooh," Loki realized. He put his face in his palm. Why couldn’t he do anything right?

Kuna was still confused by the situation. She looked up at Loki, expecting him to be angry with her for eating too much of the candy bar. He looked down at her and saw the fear in her eyes. His expression softened and he smiled at her.

"How many kilos do you weigh?" he asked her, grinning. She gave him a nervous smile but didn’t know the answer he wanted. He picked up her up, seriously weighing her in his hands for a moment, and hoisted her up. She giggled as he bounced her in midair. "Do you weigh 500 kilos?" he asked, laughing with her. “Actually, you're lucky if you weigh ten kilos soaking wet,” he muttered under his breath.

He set her back down between his knees and picked up the packet again, worriedly. He wondered if she would get sick again. Gods, he couldn't do anything right with her. He continued reading:

          ‘Possible side effects include:’

“Oh gods. Please, no,” he pleaded with the candy bar.

           ‘Itching, rash, vomiting, indigestion, hair loss, increased hair growth, constipation, diarrhea, headaches, chills, drowsiness,

            insomnia, hypersomnia, impotence, increased libido, shortened attention span, forgetfulness, swollen tongue,

            sudden outbursts of crying, singing, cursing, and/or shouting, hallucinations, euphoria, drunkenness, lewd behavior,

            sudden depression, sudden muscle spasms, unconsciousness, coma, and, in some cases, death.’

Loki’s jaw hit the table. This had to be a joke. “Do you get these side effects all at once?” he cried, rather more loudly than he had intended. He covered his mouth with his hand as people began to stare at them. “If my hair falls out, I’m going to stab someone,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the wrapper. “I thought there were just vitamins in this thing.”

            ‘Warning: This product has not been tested for beings smaller than 400cm weighing less than 500 kg and is not recommended by the Nova Corps of Surgeons for weight maintenance or gain of any carbon-based lifeform regardless of species, race, age, weight, or stature. Results may vary.’

“Oh, now you tell me. Why did that bastard even sell this to me at all? How is this shit even legal? Why is that not in BOLD LETTERS ON THE FRONT OF THE FUCKING WRAPPER!” he shouted. The tavern quieted as people turned their heads to look at Loki shouting at nothing.

Kuna did not like hearing him shout so angrily. She flinched at the volume of his voice. He saw her flinch and felt a sudden wave of guilt.

“I’m so sorry, Kuna,” he said, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m not mad at you, I swear.”

Kuna timidly looked around. The other people were still staring. Loki wiped his eyes, furious that he was crying in public over absolutely nothing.

           Loki scanned the room. Everyone had gone back to their business now. He called a waiter over and ordered them some real food. The Shi’ar women were still giggling to themselves and glancing in Loki’s and Kuna’s direction every now and then.

"Kee-lohs. Keee-loooh," Kuna absentmindedly mimicked Loki from below, pulling his attention back to her. She had gone back to playing with her dragon and sleipnir on the table. "Kee-loh, Loh-kee, Loki!" she said, looking up at him, grinning with joy.

He smiled back at her. That was cute. He took a drink from his mug on the table, content with the way he had calmed her down in this tense situation. He didn’t want her to be so scared of him all the time. She was certainly beginning to trust him.

“Shit,” Kuna mimicked, as she went back to playing.

Loki’s eyes widened and he looked down. “Um,” he chuckled a little as he spoke. “You probably shouldn’t say that, Kuna.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t really care that much but some people might think it’s rude.”

“But you say it.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down. “Okay, then.”

“Um, anyways. How are you feeling? Are you feeling, maybe, sick, at all?”

“No.”

“Tongue swollen?”

“Mmm... no,” she said, touching her tongue to the roof of her mouth to see.

“Any sudden urge to start singing?”

She looked up at Loki, brow raised. He was acting weird. “No...?” she said, a bit more like a question than an answer.

“Good. And we’re not dead, so no side effects yet, then.”

“Yay!” Kuna said, holding her toys in the air. In truth, Loki was acting so strangely, she wasn’t really sure what to say to him or what he was going on about. She was just happy to be not dead with Loki.

Loki couldn’t help but smile at her. Despite everything that had happened to them in the last two days, she was, for the most part, happy.

Gods, you're so soft, the voice said, spooking Loki.

Loki nearly spit out his drink. HOw did he get out? He choked on the drink and swallowed hard, mentally trying to shove him out of his mind.

Can't get rid of me that easily, he taunted back, filling Loki's head with a menacing cackling that echoed in his ears.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut until the laughter died down. He opened them slowly. It felt quiet now. He looked around. The tavern was still buzzing with energy but Loki’s ears felt muffled, his vision blurred at the edges.

Kuna felt Loki’s sudden shift in mood and looked up at him but his eyes focused on someone at the bar. He could only see the back of his head. Long, black hair, green cape, black armor. Loki’s heart started to pound. He had not conjured a copy, so who was this?

The man turned and Loki was face to face with himself. He stood and walked towards their table. Loki jumped to his feet and Kuna nearly fell across the table. Catching herself before she could fall, she looked up at Loki.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. Kuna looked around for the person he was speaking to but no one seemed to be holding the conversation.

“Get the Hel away from us,” Loki growled. “Don’t you dare.”

“Loki?” Kuna asked.

“Who are you? How are you doing this?” Loki continued. He paused between speaking as if listening to a response. Kuna looked around again to find the person Loki was talking to but there were no one around and no responses to his questions.

“Get out,” Loki growled through clenched teeth. There were tears in his eyes. “I SAID GET OUT!” Loki shouted, pointing at the door. The room fell silent again. Everyone was staring.

“Loki, there’s no one there!” Kuna cried.

Loki was broken from his fixation on the taunting copy. He was practically nose to nose with it, how could she not see? This was some magic or trick… or hallucination.

He grabbed the wrapper again. ‘Hallucinations’ it had listed as a side effect. He looked up again at the sneering image of himself but it was gone. He looked around at the room. Everyone was staring, whispering amongst themselves. The barkeep began to approach them.

“Kuna, we need to go,” he said, picking her up. She quickly grabbed her toys from the table and the satchel Loki was about to leave on the bench. He whisked her out of the tavern.

“Who were you talking to?” Kuna asked.

“No one.”

“It sounded like you were talking to someone.”

“It was no one. I’m – I’m – Why aren’t you having any of these side effects?”

Kuna shook her head. She didn’t know what he was talking about. She felt fine. Loki put her on the ground and she took his hand, walking alongside him. She put the satchel over her shoulder and stuffed her toys inside.

She had not been much paying attention when they walked to the tavern but she did not feel like Loki was walking the right way back to the hive. It felt like they were walking in circles. In fact, she thought that was the third time they had passed the tavern doors. She looked back at Loki but he had started humming and then broke into song:

“Drøymde mik ein draum i nótt

um silki ok ærlig pell,

um hægindi svá djupt ok mjott,

um rosemd með engan skell.

Ok i drauminom ek leit

sem gegnom ein groman glugg

þá helo feigo mennsko sveit,

hver sjon ol sin eiginn ugg.

Hmm, hmm, hmm, I don’t know these words as well, hmm, hmm, hmm, Oh yeah!

Ek fekk sofa lika vel,

ek truða þat væri best —

at hvila mik á goðu þel´

ok gløyma svá folki flest´.

Friðinn, ef hann finzt, er hvar

ein firrest þann mennska skell,

fær veggja sik um, drøma þar

um silki ok ærlig pell.”

He chuckled at the last part. Kuna was concerned. She hadn’t gotten a word of what he was singing. Was that another language? Had he just made that up? Maybe his magic Allspeak wasn’t working anymore. What was happening?

“Um… Loki?” She asked, softly, tugging on his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’ve never been better! Are you okay?”

“I think so?”

“You think? You should know!” he grabbed her under her arms and swung her around and then put her up on his shoulders. “I haven’t felt this great in centuries!”

“Are you drunk?” Kuna asked, leaning over his face.

“Possibly?” he said, shaking his head a little. “Are you having fun?”

“What were singing?”

“Hmm? What? Was I singing?”

“Yeah! What was it? It was pretty?”

“Hmm… Oh, it’s an old tune Bragi sang once. About how awful humans are and it’s just better to be away from them and just take a nap instead! Haha, he sang it for the Midgardians once and they loved it so much they wrote it down! Can you believe that?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“Is it a good weird or a bad weird.”

“Mmm… good weird?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I’m not.”

“Dat is noth otay,” Loki said. His eyes widened. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. He quickened his pace. “Whath were we dalking abouth? Where am I gohing?” He stopped in the middle of the street. “Where-were-we gohing?”

“Um, I think we need to go back to Shakk’uri,” Kuna said, a little unsure of herself. Something was wrong with Loki for sure.

“Righth,” he said. “Goood ithea.”

           “I think we need to go that way,” Kuna pointed towards the dome of the hive sticking up above the buildings.

           “Righth,” he said.

           “I think that’s left?” she said, holding out her hands to be sure she knew.

           “Righth. Lepffft.”

           They had nearly arrived at the hive when Loki suddenly stopped again. He grabbed Kuna and put her down, running for the bushes lining the stairs. He vomited over the railing and hung there for a moment, spitting. Kuna grimaced. He was sick. Maybe he had too much candy?

           He retched again before straightening up. He put his hand to his head and swayed. She walked over to him and took his hand, steadying him a little. He leaned over.

           “Did you drink the water from the alcohol planet?”

           “Sssthort of,” he said, hiccupping.

           “I think it made you sick and that candy too,”

           “I phthink your righth,” he said, woozily.

           She led him up the steps slowly. It would not have been the first time she escorted a drunk man home. Master Machaluci was drunk all the time and always made her take him home. He liked to beat her on the head with his stick as they walked to make the townspeople laugh. At least Loki didn’t have a stick.

           He toddled along behind her, still holding her hand. His head was pounding. He scratched a niggling itch on his neck. It would not go away. He scratched harder and harder until his nails left marks but it was as if the itch was beneath his skin. Then, he felt another urge.

           “Hold on, Kuna,” he said. He ran to the bushes once more. “Turn around,” he ordered her. She did. She heard him unzip and relieve himself, though, it sounded like he was missing the bush and hitting the pavement instead. When he was done he returned to her. Kuna did not take his hand this time.

           They continued up the steps until they reached the door. Kuna pushed it open then heard a horrendous sound come from Loki’s stomach.

           “Oh dear,” he said and bolted through the door and down the hallway, nearly pushing over one of the small men.

           “Is he alright?” the man asked Kuna.

           “Umm… I – I think he had too much to drink and eat tonight.”

           “Well, that’s a shame. Mother Shakk’uri is expecting you both for dinner.”

           “Umm, both of us?”

           “Yes, my lady.” He bowed a little.

           “I’m not a lady. I’m just – just me.”

           “Well ‘just me’, I will tell Mother Shakk’uri that Lopt is indisposed. She will still want to see you at dinner, though. I will fetch you when it is time.”

           “Oh, um, okay,” Kuna said.

           He scuttled off before Kuna could say anything else. She ran down the hallway towards their room. There had been so many ups and downs and twists and turns when they had been led there before, she wasn’t sure if she could find it again. After a few minutes of being lost, she heard Loki sobbing from a room nearby.

She ran towards it and found their room and Loki laying face down in the bed with no clothes on. She quickly covered her face.

“Um, Loki?”

“Mmm fmmm hmm mmm,” he said, muffled by the pillow he had his face smashed in.

“You don’t have any clothes on,” Kuna said, shyly, still covering her eyes.

She heard the bed squeak and then Loki’s bare feet padding across the floor. The bathroom door shut behind him. He was puking again.

“Loki, should I get a healer, maybe?”

“Ask for… Tena’gli!” he shouted.

“Okay!” Kuna did not like him shouting. She ran out the door and found the first man she could.

“Yes, little lady. Can I help you?”

“We – We need Tena’gli! Loki’s sick!”

“Who?”

“Tena’gli! Is she a healer?”

“Oh, oh, yes. I’ll go get her.”

Kuna ran back to the room and stopped dead in her tracks. Had she said ‘Loki’ instead of ‘Lopt’? They were so similar and she was not paying attention. Would Loki be mad? Should she tell him? What if he hit her? Or worse, what if he left her behind or sold her?

“Kuna? Isth sthhe coming?”

“Y – Yes,” she said, sheepishly.

“Remind me to stab that merchant who sold us those candybars, tomorrow!”

“L – Loki?” she approached the door of the bathroom. Loki had a towel wrapped around his waist now. He was sitting in front of the toilet. His face was pale, he looked exhausted. He turned to her, tears in his eyes.

“I’m stho sthorry, Kuna,” he wailed. “You shthouldn’t hafve to sthee this!”

“Loki, I think I made a mistake.”

“Whath?”

“I – I went to find someone to get – to get Tena’gli. And – and when I found one of those men, I – I – I don’t know what I was thinking. I – I called you Loki instead of Lopt. I’m sorry, Loki! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I – I was just worried about you! I am worried about you!”

Loki stopped crying and stared at Kuna for a moment. She was sobbing and covering her face. Her whole body trembled with fear. Loki sighed.

“Ith’s noth you pffault,” he said, tongue still thick in his mouth. “I blew my own covffer in the tavffern. Asth sthoon asth we geth those Shapfucks, hehe,” he giggled at himself. “Those Shapf’aks, we’ll leafve thisth planeth behindth.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Madth? Plobably. Angrly? No.” He shook his head. “Tell me, am I going baldth?” He looked down so Kuna could see the top of his head.

She sniffled and looked through her tears. “No,” she said. His hair was still fine. He sighed.

“Goodth,” he said. “Whath’s taking that woman stho long?”

Suddenly, a female Tenanciian appeared in the doorway. Kuna moved so she could get by.

“Oh dear, what’s going on here?” she said, shocked by the nearly naked Loki.

He produced the wrapper of the candybar and waved it in her face.

“Good Mother,” she said. “Didn’t you read the wrapper? Come on,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “Kuna, my dear. You should probably stay here while I treat him. Mother Shakk’uri will be here soon.”

“No!” Kuna shouted. She immediately shied away at her outburst. She had never spoken back to an adult that way. “I – I want to go with him.”

“Very well,” Tena’gli said.

Kuna followed them out and back through the ups and downs and twists and turns of the hive. They arrived on the ground floor. Shakk’uri was waiting.

“Oh my!” she said at the sight of the nearly naked Loki. “Kuna, darling, come here. Let Tena’gli do her work.”

“I – I want to stay with him,” Kuna said. The room fell silent.

“Kuna, please, come with me,” Shakk’uri said, opening her arms to her.

Kuna shook her head. She had a bad feeling from head to toe. Something was wrong.

Suddenly, men with big guns approached from all angles. They wore blue armor with golden ‘V’s on their chestplates. One grabbed her and pulled her away from Loki.

“Sthop!” Loki shouted. “Don’th thouch her!”

Kuna screamed as they wrangled her and practically threw her at Shakk’uri. She caught her and held her back as she struggled.

“No! No!”

“Kuna, stop! Listen to me! Do you know who this man is? What he’s done? He’s a murderer!”

“No, he’s not!” Kuna cried, fighting to get away from her.

“He tried to destroy a whole planet and then tried to take over another one! He’s in league with the Titan, Thanos! He’s dangerous! He’s a trickster! He’s just using you!”

“No! He’s nice! You don’t know him!”

The men surrounded Loki, pointing their guns at him. He put up his hands.

“You’re not really going to shoot me in front of the girl, are you?” He seemed suddenly better.

“See!” Shakk’uri said, roughly holding onto Kuna. “He was tricking you the whole time!”

“Shut your whore mouth!” Loki shouted at her. There were gasps from around the room. “What would you know?”

“That’s enough,” one of the men said. “Loki Odinson, you are under arrest for the destruction of Jotunheim and the merciless attack of the uncontacted, Terra—"

“What the Hel did you call me? What they couldn’t even summon Syfon warriors for me? What rank are you? A Corpsman? The Nova Corps is really becoming stretched far too thin.”

“This will get us all ranked as Centurions, so you can shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

“I’d like to see you try. I’ll kill all of you with my bare hands and I’ll do it naked,” Loki spat.

Loki pounced on him, grabbing his gun and aiming it for the other men. He fired off two shots, killing two of the Corpsmen. They opened fire and he used the first man as a shield. His comrades fired upon him with their blasters and killed him instantly.

Shakk’uri began dragging Kuna away. The Tenanciian men gathered around her, standing on each others shoulders, forming a living shield around their mother.

“No! Get off of me!” Kuna shouted.

“No! You’re mine now! You’ll be safe with me!”

“No! You’re fucking shit!” Kuna said and kicked her as hard as she could.

Shakk’uri let go of her, grabbing at her injured leg. Kuna ran through the legs of the Tenanciian men, towards Loki.

“No! Stop her! There’s a child in the crossfire!” Shakk’uri shouted. “CEASE FIRE!

Loki was busy strangling one of the Nova Corpsmen when he saw Kuna running towards him. Then, through the door, a Nova Centurion marched in, a Syfon Warrior standing close by him.

“Kuna! Stop right there!” Loki shouted to her. His tongue no longer thick, he had used an ample amount of his magic in an effort to heal himself as soon as the Nova Corps revealed themselves and he had come to. Kuna came screeching to a halt at the sight of the two massive men approaching the fight. The man in purple stretched out his hand at Loki. Suddenly, Loki cried out and fell to his knees. A field of energy seemed to billow out of him. The energy was sucked back towards the man’s hand. Loki doubled over as the Syfon absorbed his energy for himself.

“Don’t hurt him!” Kuna shouted. She threw her hands out in front of her and a massive wall of fire erupted from her palms, sending the two men reeling back through the door. She shrieked and fell, nearly unconscious from the effort and pain.

Loki scrambled to his feet, producing the tesseract to teleport them away. The Nova Centurion fired off a blast from his gun. Hearing it, Loki turned to block it from hitting Kuna. The blast hit him in the chest and sent him skidding across the tile floor. The tesseract bounced over Kuna and landed in behind her.

“There it is! Get it, quick!” Shakk’uri ordered the Tenanciian men.

The swarmed towards Kuna. She grabbed the tesseract and cradled it against her chest. Loki was struggling to regain himself after the blow from the blaster. He was dizzy and his eyes could not focus. The Centurion was approaching them again. He grabbed Loki’s arm.

In a flash, Loki grabbed the blaster and shoved it up under the man’s chin. The Centurion fired it himself, blowing his head clean off. Loki turned the blaster on the Syfon but he had his attention drawn towards Kuna. Loki heard Kuna cry out as the Syfon tried to drain her energy too. She writhed in pain, clutching the tesseract close to her.

Loki pulled the trigger of the blaster, holding it back to let off multiple blasts. The Syfon raised his hand and redirected the blasts back at Loki. He dropped the blaster and raised a force field to protect himself and Kuna. The strain of using his magic with such low energy made stars sparkle in his vision. His body felt heavy with weakness. The blasts slammed into the force field.

Loki could not keep the field up against the pounding of each blast. It began to crack and splinter. He glanced over at Kuna. The Tenanciian men were swarming her, kicking and punching her to make her drop the tesseract. She was laying on top of it, keeping it from their reach. She was crying. He pulled one hand away from the force field and flung it backwards at them. Several knives appeared from his fingertips, each one killing a Tenanciian but it was not enough to get them off of Kuna.

Loki turned his attention back to the Syfon, who was gearing up for another attack. The man lifted his hand and unleashed a beam of energy onto Loki’s force field. The field shattered like glass in a window. Loki collapsed, the beam just missing him as he fell.

Kuna saw him fall through the legs of the Tenanciians. They were smothering her. Their hands grabbing at her. She kicked at them and screamed, hugging the tesseract. She did not know what to do. Loki was on the floor a few feet from her and the Syfon Warrior was fast approaching. This was one of the men Loki told her wanted him dead.

“STOP!” she shouted and pounded her fist on the floor.

The ground shook and the Tenanciian men flew backwards in all directions, hitting the walls and high balconies, breaking their backs or necks upon landing. The Syfon flew backwards as well as if hit with a massive wall of wind. She cried out again as a wrenching pain filled every fiber of her body. She felt as if she had been dipped in lava or doused with acid. Her head spun, her vision began to fade but her eyes focused on Loki laying on the ground nearby.

“Loki!” she cried, afraid she had hurt him too. There was a big hole in his chest and she didn’t know how it got there. She struggled to her feet, trying to run to him but stumbled and fell. The Syfon Warrior was regaining himself, ready to unleash a powerful blast on the two hostiles. Loki moaned. Kuna panicked, she reached into the satchel at her side, searching for her toys to comfort her as she would surely be dead soon.

Her hands landed on something cool to the touch. She gripped it and pulled it out: a beautifully forged dagger. She removed it from its scabbard. The Syfon stopped, looming over her.

“Put it down,” he ordered. Kuna stared at the blade. It felt nice in her hand.

“Put it down,” the Syfon ordered once more.

Kuna could feel Loki breathing hard beside her. What would they do to him? To her? Why had Shakk’uri done this after everything they had done for her? Kuna didn’t want to look at the mean man that was walking towards them. Every part of her wanted to cower, to run away, to apologize, to make it stop. But she knew it wouldn’t work. It never did.

“Give it to me,” he said, putting out his hand. She lifted the dagger towards him, turning it around. He lowered his hand to her. She sniffled, hesitating. She liked the way the light glimmered on the blade; the knotwork etching turned black against the blinding light. Finally, she looked up to meet the man’s eyes. He prompted her to give him the dagger again. She lifted it towards him and then slammed the point of the dagger into his arm. Blood gushed forth. The Syfon staggered back, holding his arm, desperately trying to stem the blood flow.

Kuna looked around frantically for the tesseract. She had left it on the floor where she had laid beneath the pile of Tenanciians. Shakk’uri was marching towards it in her massive strides. Kuna dove back on top of it, snatching it before Shakk’uri could stoop to grab it. She kicked Kuna in the face, sending her onto her back. Her nose bled rivers of red. She was stunned by the blow and the tesseract fell to the floor.

“Give. That. To. Me.” Shakk’uri growled, reaching for the tesseract. Loki propped himself up on his hands, desperately trying to stand, to help, despite his weakness. He found his feet, slowly and was ready to tear off Shakk’uri’s head with his last strength. Shakk’uri stooped to pick up the tesseract. Kuna rolled from side to side, crying. The moment before Shakk’uri’s hand touched the tesseract, Kuna attacked. Another blast of fire erupted from her hands, sending both Shakk’uri and Loki reeling backwards. Kuna cried out but gritted her teeth through the pain. She grabbed the tesseract and dove towards Loki.

Shakk’uri was badly burned. Her clothes and body were on fire. The giant woman flailed around as her surviving men chased after her, trying to put her out. Kuna looked up towards the door. It seemed an entire army of Nova Corpsmen were lining up, ready to demolish the hive to get to them. There were others now too. More men in different uniforms, holding guns at them. She looked down at the tesseract in her hand and then at Loki.

“Kuna, no! Don’t!” Loki said, reaching for her.

Time had seemed to slow to a near halt. The Nova Corps were firing their weapons, the blasts zeroing in on them. Loki’s hand moved in slow motion towards the tesseract. She took Loki’s hand instead.

Kuna stared into the tesseract’s glimmering face and pleaded, “Take us somewhere nice, please!”

The vapors surrounded them and they were gone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you'd like to check out the song Loki sang in this chapter as well as a translation for it, check out this website (https://www.realmofhistory.com/2017/08/02/oldest-norse-song-codex-runicus/).

[resplendentgoldenwings]

WestAllen Fanfic All That Remains, Chapter 9 Remnants

rating: teen

characters/pairings: Iris West, Caitlin Snow, WestAllen

warnings: grief, suicidal ideation

summary: With the pregnancy confirmed Iris has to consider her next steps.

beta: asexual-fandom-queen

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Chapter 9 Remnants

Medical insurance was expensive; pregnancy test were cheap. She'd bought three and peed on all of them with the same result: +, yes, =. Once was chance, twice was coincidence, third time was conspiracy. She was pregnant, Iris felt her stomach twist and leapt off the toilet so she could empty it.

Linda had volunteered to stay with her, but Iris had insisted her best friend go to work. Her mom would be by for her daily lunch visit in a couple of hours; she could manage until then. There was Flash related business to consider, and she hadn't talked to Linda or anyone about that yet. Barry was a meta-human, what If the baby was too? Caitlin and Cisco had been Barry's doctors. Well, Caitlin was anyway.

They'd told her to call if she needed anything; then, of course, she'd called Caitlin a frigid, murdering bitch. The other woman had accepted her apology, but it's not like they were friends. Still, this was too important, regardless of how the other woman might respond she needed to be smart. Iris picked up her phone and typed up a quick text.

I.W.: 'You said I could call or text if I needed anything.'

C.S.: "What's going on?'

I.W. 'I'm pregnant.'

For several agonizing minutes, there was no reply.

C.S.: 'Can you come to the lab?'

I.W. 'Y.'

C.S.: 'See you in 20 minutes?'

I.W.: 'On my way.'

"Store-bought tests are pretty accurate, and you're over two months late. If you are pregnant, we can detect the presence of the fetus with an ultrasound, but I want to run a few test here at the lab just to make sure your hormone levels are normal as well as check your iron levels, blood sugar and for a few other things." Caitlin explained all of this as she drew Iris' blood. "I'm going to run down a list of first-trimester pregnancy symptoms. You've got the big two, but let's see what else is going on. Have you had any breast tenderness?"

Iris nodded.

"Headaches?"

"Yes."

"Weight loss?"

"I hadn't been eating, so I thought-" She shook her head as Caitlin finished drawing her blood.

Caitlin continued down the list, Iris' sense of dread growing with each affirmative. The period tracker, the store bought pregnancy test the could both be wrong. Caitlin Snow, a medical doctor, a geneticist, brilliant enough to work at STARLabs with Harrison Wells was confirming the pregnancy with each question.

"You know it's perfectly normal to miss these symptoms most women do or chalk them up to stress, tiredness other things," Caitlin said mistaking her growing anxiety for embarrassment perhaps.

Iris nodded. She'd never really known what to think about Caitlin, but there was no judgment in her expression. Iris appreciated that she couldn't deal with judgment under the circumstances.

Caitlin moved to the machines in the lab, slotting the blood samples for analysis and Iris looked around at the equipment.

"Caitlin, what's going to happen to this place?"

"With Barry gone it reverted to Henry. He's probably going to sell everything STARLabs never fully recovered from the accident."

"Right, but that means you're out of a job."

"Yeah, but with Barry gone-" She sighed not bothering to finish the sentence.

"Can I ask you something, something about Ronnie?"

Sadness crept into the other woman's eyes, but after a moment she nodded.

Iris took a deep breath.

"After Ronnie- if you had found out you were pregnant, would you- I don't feel as if- would you have kept it?"

The other woman's eyes widened ever so slightly, and her mouth formed an oh' of surprise before her face settled into a thoughtful frown.

"It hurt so much losing Ronnie the way that I did. I was so miserable and drained and depressed and lost. In one moment everything that we had planned was gone. I didn't have anything for anyone. I mean Iris you were here every day, almost. I saw you sometimes crying over Barry and I couldn't- I thought I should try and reach out to you, but I couldn't because losing him, losing Ronnie took everything from me back then." Caitlin shook her head. "I like to think I was a good person, but I couldn't find five minutes to offer comfort to someone who was going through something so similar to me. I can't imagine trying to care for a child, an infant, someone so needy while feeling that."

Iris nodded not wanting to interrupt the other woman's thoughts.

"But," Caitlin took a deep breath. "It lessens or perhaps you get stronger after carrying the weight of I don't know. But I think- you and Barry wanted a family, right?"

"Yeah, once I was more established in my career."

"Right. I think that once it doesn't hurt so much, once you get used to him being gone- and I know it doesn't seem like it, but you will. I think this child could make you so happy. I think you will be so glad and grateful to see Barry again in this child that you couldn't imagine it any other way." Caitlin's words were a bare husky whisper as she finished and the other woman looked away dabbing at her eyes.

Her own grief stirred at the strength of emotion emanating from the other woman and Iris reached out to her giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you, Caitlin."

The other woman smiled, faint and watery and both women looked up at the squeak of Cisco's gym shoes on the floor. He strode into the lab, dark hair bouncing, twizzler in hand.

"What's the emergency?"

Caitlin turned back to the blood sample she'd taken.

"Iris is pregnant."

Grainy black and white, two little sacs with two barely human blobs floating in them. Despite how strange the fetuses looked, almost alien, they had everything they needed to turn into two unique people all –was it 47 chromosomes, 46- everything they needed if she simply let them. Half of Barry, half of herself growing and thriving all this time without her knowledge. In addition to the picture, Caitlin had written a prescription for several pre-natal vitamins.

Iris sat in her car in the empty STARLabs parking lot. Caitlin and Cisco had both offered to drive her home, but she needed some time to herself, time to think.

Both Cisco and Caitlin were both concerned about the speedster metabolism and what that might mean for the pregnancy. Cisco was already formulating a high-calorie nutrient-dense snack bar for her in case she needed it.

Caitlin was also concerned about her iron and calcium levels. In addition to the supplements, the geneticist wanted her to eat more leafy greens, start getting three square meals a day and exercising. In short, Caitlin wanted her to start taking care of herself.

A strange tingling ache started in the back of her head, and Iris could feel her shoulders rising. Just when she was at her least, her most vulnerable more was being piled on. She had to suffer all of this unhappiness and take care of two other people somehow when she could barely care for herself. She wasn't ready for this.

Iris considered Caitlin's words, the idea that in a few years these children would make her happy. That Barry would come back into her life through their smiles or their eyes or their sense of humor made so much sense, and yet all she felt was as if she were collapsing under the weight of it.

Iris fished her phone out of her purse. She called her dad, got voice mail and called her mother.

"Mom?"

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"Can you come over?"

"I have a session with a patient starting in ten minutes sweetheart. Can you give me an hour-and-a-half?"

She wanted to say "no, I need you now.", but her mother was already doing so much for her.

"Oh- ok." Somehow she forced the word around the lump in her throat.

"Iris, are you sure you're alright?"

She took a tremulous, breath determined to hold out for 90 minutes.

"I-I can manage an hour and a half; you go work mom. I'll see you at my apartment."

"Ok honey. I love you."

"I love you, two mom."

Caitlin put the date of conception around May 12th, the night Barry proposed to her, one year to the date she'd told him she was in love with him. She wasn't surprised. May 12th was a special day for them, and Barry had been so different when they'd gotten back to his apartment, so unrestrained. Iris had always enjoyed their lovemaking, but several months into their relationship she'd started to realize Barry was holding himself back.

He hadn't that night. He'd seemed so much more himself, and something had happened at the end something that had to be related to his powers. She'd been too drowsy with satisfaction to ask him about it, too happy to care.

It was the closest they'd ever been.

She'd forgotten to mention it the next morning. Told herself she would talk to him about it later.

Somehow later never came.

Iris crumpled the ultra-sound and tossed it onto the passenger as the flood of tears came again.

It wasn't fair, if Barry had lived they would have been so happy.

A/N- Hey, everyone thanks for reading. This is a shorter chapter. I was thinking about doing more flashbacks, but I don't feel like the story needs them right now. We're starting to shift from looking back into the past and toward the future. A quick note about Iris and Caitlin here. 

I don't care for the way the show writes Caitlin or the relationship between Iris and Caitlin. I thought about just handwaving a somewhat friendlier relationship into existence, but decided to actually touch on some of the reasons why Iris and Caitlin never developed a friendship in the show even though that doesn’t make sense.

Please feel free to take a moment and comment, thanks again for reading.

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 2

Table of Contents

Galen awoke before dawn to three RadRoaches trying to chew him up. Before even fully conscious he’d pulled his knuckledusters from his pockets, kicked off the foot-long vermin, and used his fists to crush them into the dirt. With his hands covered in gelatinous bug guts, he gained his faculties a bit better, and licked his hands and weapons clean before removing the dusters from his hands and returning them to his pockets. Then, he sat up, and called it providence that breakfast had come to him. He brushed back his undercut, which had fallen to the left side as it always did, and took his shucking knife from his back pocket and unsheathed it. He’d made it out of boredom from a combination wrench back in the vault, but out here the shiv was a necessity. He fileted the abdomens of the three assailants, and ate the bitter, tender flesh raw, straight from the knife’s edge. A full stomach was quite reassuring, and the persistent aftertaste as he resumed his eastward travels was a reassurance everything would turn out fine.

The Quinsigamond settlers had told him that the biggest settlement in the Commonwealth was Diamond City, and that he’d likely find help there they themselves couldn’t provide him. From their description, he surmised that its population had dug its heels into Fenway Park. From the Interchange onward, raiders were the worst of his worries the next two days, as he made his way to the great green gates, and he skirted encountering them altogether. The park gates were open the early afternoon he arrived, with one guard in catcher gear standing watch near the ticket counter.

“What are you coming in for?” the young man called out, stopping Galen in his tracks.

“Hungry.” The scent of fresh soup reduced him to abstracts, and distracted him from answering more accurately.

“Ya got caps? Power Noodles don’t barter.”

“Yeah, I got caps.”

“Go see Takahashi then. He’ll get you hooked up. You look… like you should go see Doc Sun after you got a gut full a noodles, though. I don’t know what you been into, but that don’t look healthy.”

Rather than be bothered to argue, Galen simply thanked the young man and went inside.The shanty town was a landscape of shipping palettes and corrugated steel. After everything he’d seen since stepping foot above ground, this felt like the epitome of metropolitan life post-apocalypse, complete with people even dwelling in the box seats. He easily gleaned the location of the medical facility–Mega Surgery Center–to the right of the literal town square, but the night before he’d crammed his face full of Fancy Lads and shortening and had nothing left to eat. Descending the concrete stairs into the diamond, he had his eyes on the noodle stand symbolically located on the pitcher’s mound. The fastest way to his heart always had been through his stomach.

“Hey swatter swatter!” “Get your fix here!” “Guns, ammo, artillery–you name it!”

His head swam with calorie deficit and sensory overload, accustomed to the quiet of the open road for nearly two weeks now. Not even the vault back home got this rowdy during their weekly field day. The cries of the merchants’ booths boxed his ears a bit, and he found himself sitting at a bar stool at the noodle stand and staring vacantly at a lunchbox in front of him.

“Nani shimaso-ka?”

“Wh–” Galen’s head snapped up, startled, and he found a yellow barrel-bodied robot with a chef’s hat addressing him. One could see the Protectron’s processor whirring about behind a large glass panel which design wise represented the void where one might otherwise have expected a face. “I’m not Japanese, I’m Pin–”

“Just say yes,” the settler next to him interjected between slurps on her own bowl of fresh ramen. “It’s the only word he gets.”

He grimaced, then looked at the robot squarely while he put twenty caps on the counter between him and Takahashi.

“…Yes?”

Almost faster than his eyes could follow, the robot prepared and presented a bowl all for Galen. Fresh carrots and tato, with something he guessed was reconstituted iguana bits for the protein. It smelled exceptional. He was grateful the robot didn’t stand there and stare expectantly as he ate, since it took him some time to steel his nerves to consume something with fresh produce in it. The noodles even seemed like razorgrain meal instead of the instant squares found as prewar rations. It went down easily enough in three or four good chugs. The blond woman next to him noticed the pink stranger didn’t even bother with utensils, but she didn’t know it was because he’d resorted to eating them the day before.

“That’s some appetite, Blue,” he heard a second woman mumble lyrically to his other side. She had on a red coat and a press cap, and had dark hair.

“Blue?” he scoffed, leaning to add his bowl to the stack at the end of the counter. “Y'need your eyes checked.”

“You might not be wearing your vault suit right now, but… not a lot of Commonwealth folk have got a Pipboy.” She sat beside him, nonchalant, and playfully tapped the screen of the chrome device at his left wrist. “Besides, haven’t seen you before. Y'look a little lost. And I think I’d remember a gum rubber pink Vault Dweller.”

“You’re a reporter, aren’t you.”

“Ooohh, read me like a paper. But you, you seem like front page news. Guessing you noticed we gotta newsprint press on the town diamond.” All he did was nod, trying to ignore his gut’s disapproval of his choice of food while also being patient waiting for this young woman to get to the point. “Can I get an interview? The people of Diamond City could use an outside perspective.”

“Here’s your headline: Man from out of town says no.”

She snorted at him and got up. “Wise guy, huh? Fine, be like that. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

As she went off to the news stand titled “Publick Occurrences,” he turned the other direction with his eyes on the Mega Surgery Center.

“Ignore Piper,” the first woman mumbled, chewing on some gumdrops. “She’s the nosiest person in this place.”

“Guess if it pays the bills,” he replied offhandedly, not paying attention to her as he got up and walked over to speak to the doctor working at the equipment-crowded porch of the small building.

“What’s a bill?” she thought to herself aloud.

“What is it?” The impatient Japanese man in a white coat did not look up from what appeared to be a bloodwork panel. “It had better not be about cosmetic surgery again.”

“Cosmic… surgery?”

Not recognizing the voice, the doctor glanced to Galen a moment with a brief raised brow before returning to his work.

“Cosmetic. As in ‘not due to life threatening circumstances.’ Are you seeking treatment? The best thing I can recommend for heat stroke is plenty of rest and clean, cold water.”

“It’s not– heat stroke, doctor. I’ve come a very long way. Blackstone. Please, just. Hear me out.”

The man stopped what he was doing and set down his work to turn and face him attentively.

“This must be quite serious, if no one in Worcester or Providence could help you.” He offered a handshake, which Galen took. “I’m Dr. Sun, by the way.”

“Galen,” he introduced graciously. His stomach was turning on him sharply in that moment, and he did his best to hide it. “I’m from a Vault-Tec vault, and our food dispensers have been… malfunctioning. We aren’t sure for how long, but it’s been runnier’n usual. Our mechanic isn’t good with circuitry or any of that, but he estimates that the machines glitched out on the recipe and it’s been leaving out an ingredient. The technician maintaining the machines passed away, so there’s no telling. Everyone is… pink like this. Most of us didn’t really notice the difference because the rations have always been like a runny custard, at least, not until it was obvious not everyone is stomaching it so well.”

“Blackstone? I didn’t know there was a vault in the gorge.”

“We keep to ourselves. It’s hard to navigate the valley, with the wildlife.” Galen leaned back against the wall behind him.

“…Is your hydroponics sector still operating normally? I know it’s a hard shift to get accustomed to after years of the machines doing it for you–having Takahashi make our food has certainly spoiled us here–but if the dispensers aren’t blending and doling out what they’re designed to, you’ll have to learn how to cook again to supplement it, or replace it altogether.” The accusatory nature of his impatient tone grated on Galen.

“Hydro-whats now? Are you talking about our water supply, or– you mean farming? We stay below, in the vault. We don’t keep land above-ground for cultivating. We have a few folks who make supply runs to Quinsigamond every two weeks, but… the matter a what we’ve been eating to get by. That’s why I came.”

“You don’t have indoor crops! What a thing to have glossed over in construction!”

“We always had the food paste. Since day one. The nutritionists insisted it was a precise blend of vitamins and fortifyin’ ingredients. That it was an omni-source of vegetable, animal, and mineral nutrients.” He put his hands in his pockets to avoid holding his gut. “The doctor in Worcester called it 'pica,’ the situation we got going in recent years. We been healthier eating chalk, or even mud from the gorge, than we have been with the food our runners bring back. We was almost outta chalk when I left, it’s in such demand. The less capable of being defined as food, it seems the less off it makes our stomachs.” His stress broiled his discomfort into outright nausea, and he started sweating. “I don’t know what’s wrong with us, Doc. If we’re in withdrawal from chems in our food we didn’t agree to, or if we’ve eaten the paste so long that our bodies can’t digest anything else. I know I’m not the only one of us who’s sick. Really, genuinely sick. And believe me, I’ve tried Stimpacks and Med-X, even Rad-X, trying to get my gut to work with me rather'n against me.”

Sun’s face grew long and he stood silent for some time, the sound of the ceiling fan the only thing competing with the bustle of the town square. As the doctor spoke next, it became increasingly difficult for Galen to remain standing.

“Of course you’re all sick. You’re severely malnourished. I’m not versed in psychiatric care as much as I’d like, but I know for a fact that pica disorder has been proven a psychosomatic link to malnourishment. As far as your theory that your issue with going cold turkey off your food dispenser rations is chem withdrawal… I do have a treatment for that, if you’d like to try it. To rule out foul play, I mean.”

Before he could give the doctor an answer, he folded himself over the rail of the porch and retched. Those eating at Power Noodle on the clinic side tried their best to ignore it.

“Can’t… even. Keep down damn ramen.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and glanced up to where Takahashi worked oblivious to any correlation. He wondered if the Protectron had feelings capable of being hurt, and if it might assume Galen had disliked its cooking. He let out a tepid chuckle and stood again, both hands steady on the rails. “I was doin’ fine eating cutlery and shortening on my trip here. Ate some fusion cell ammunition too. I slept so well the night I ate the batteries, Doc. I think I’m dying. I think we’re all dying.”

“Do you at least feel better, having evacuated your stomach contents in my front gutter?”

“…Ye, honestly.” Galen nudged his hood back and made a gesture toward the chair, to which Sun nodded and Galen sat, wiping his forehead and brow dry with his other sleeve. “What was that treatment? All I’ve got left is about thirteen caps and a good bit of prewar money, but I’ll compense you best I can for y'time, consultation, and resources.”

“It’s called Addictol.” Sun retrieved a small white inhaler from one of his stock drawers, and handed it over. “If it works, you were right about the tainted food source. If it doesn’t work, you were wrong that it’s been tampered with. Either way, the best thing I think your people can do is to stop eating the paste altogether and learn to cook and garden again.”

“So do I just.” Galen turned it this way and that with a gloved finger on the spray button on the back of it. “How much is one dose?”

“Take in the entire ampuole. Exhale completely first, then depress the button and inhale deeply until it’s empty. Hold the breath for at least five seconds, ten if you can.”

Galen followed the instructions, and pinched his nose after to make sure he didn’t absently exhale prematurely. The inhaler produced a concentrated saline vapor which felt like a salt-soak for his lungs. For a moment he couldn’t tell if the slow burn was from the salt or from holding his breath so long. The sting crept into his bloodstream, and lingered even after a deep and heavy exhalation. It took a bit for his breathing pattern to regulate itself, but by the time it evened out, the sting was over with.

“How do you feel?” Sun asked, having been watching.

“I could use a cigarette,” he admitted, trying to crack a joke. “How’m I supposed to feel, if it worked?”

“At least you’ve still your humor about you. Addictol has a slight sting to it as it enters your blood through the capillaries in your lungs. What were your symptoms prior to taking it? Rationalize.”

“Nausea. Fatigue. My head felt full of lead.” He conceded to the compulsion and swallowed the inhaler. “Nope, still craving plastic and metal. Not quite so tired now, or nauseated. Head’s still in a fog.”

“…How long have you been… ingesting like that? And what kinds of things?”

“I told you. Ammunition. Chalk. Flatware. Empty containers. As far as how long, though? What year is it? I think my Pipboy might be malfunctioning. The dispensers started fritzing somewhere around twenty… ninety-eight? I’ve personally been eatin’ chalk since about a month before the mechanic officially decreed the dispensers F.U.B.A.R.”

“It’s April 23, 2285. You’re not making any sense. Even if you meant 2*1*98, that would make you over eighty years old, were you old enough to remember the machines failing. You look like you’re no further than past your thirties.” Sun forcibly looked at the screen of Galen’s Pipboy, to discern that the date which it displayed was correct. “Promise me you’ll stop eating this paste. And that you’ll discourage your neighbors and family from doing so. You’re delusional from malnutrition, and if you keep eating objects instead of food, you’ll end up poisoning yourself. Fusion cells have lead and nuclear material in them. And many of the things you listed are sharp, or don’t break down in the human body. If you don’t die of poisoning, you’ll require extractive surgery to remove the things you swallowed from your alimentary canal.”

“I know it sounds weird, Doc. I’ve lost track of time myself. Most of us has. I’m gonna have a hard time convincin’ em to stop eating it though. Even if you’re right, they don’t exactly listen to me.” He didn’t want to concern the doctor any further with more detailed explanation of his and his people’s condition, let alone argue with him over the fact he remembered the day the bombs fell. So, he produced a medium sized candy tin from his bag, and removed the lid to display about a cup of pink paste. “I ate the last of my paste rations a few days ago, but when I left I took a sample of it and kept it separate to share with doctors. Can I leave some with you, and have you analyze it? Are you able to do that?”

“I’m not a nutritionist,” the doctor declined, shakily picking up a glass stirrer and poking at the surface of the foodstuff. “Are you sure that’s what the *food* dispenser is producing? That does not look fit for human consumption.”

“Since day one. It just got a little runnier after the machines messed up.” He put the lid back on the tin and made a second offering motion toward the doctor, who again declined. 

“I don’t know of any nutritionist in the Commonwealth, but I’m certain you’ll have better luck discussing this with Drs. Duff and Scara at the Science! Center on 2nd Street here. They’re very skilled chemists. Maybe they can tell you what is in it, to better determine what it lacks.” Sun gestured behind Galen, to one of the guards holding an injured arm. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another patient. Come back and tell me what the ladies have to say. I’d be interested to learn more about this. Your case is most unusual.”

[lilacmoon83]

The Enchanted Island

Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time or the 2006 movie "The Island."

AN: This story came to me obviously while I stayed up too late watching the movie "The Island" on cable. This is not an actual crossover. Basically, it's the movie with Once characters and Once twists. No knowledge of the Island is needed to read. This is Snowing with appearances by most Once characters, including Rumple, Regina, Robin, Hook, Lancelot, Leroy, King George, Granny, Red, baby Emma, and more! Obviously this is AU. No magic in the traditional sense that we have come to know with Once. So enjoy and please consider leaving a comment!

The Enchanted Island

Chapter 1: Snow Struck

She was sneaking around the compound again, for her curious nature could never be contained. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Thinking it to be a Black Knight, she grabbed the nearest blunt object, which happened to be a rock from the bed of the garden, and hit the man in the face with it. He went down, holding his chin and she quickly saw that he wasn't a Black Knight.

Judging by his attire, he was another survivor and his cerulean eyes met her emerald ones. She gasped, fearing she would be a lot of trouble for attacking another resident. But he grabbed her hand. "It's okay...I shouldn't have sneaked up on you," he said and she relaxed a little. "I haven't seen you before…" she said, though he seemed so familiar for some reason. A smirk played on his lips. "David...but most people tend to call me Charming. They tell me I've been in a coma until recently," he said. "Charming…" she uttered. Yes, Charming was definitely more suited to him. He seemed just as captivated by her.

"Do you have a name?" he asked. "Snow White," she answered. "Snow White," he repeated, like it was best thing he'd ever heard. "You should go to the infirmary and get that cut looked at," she suggested. "Nah...I hate that place. I'll just clean it myself in my room," he replied. She took his hand. "Mmm...I caused it so I should at least treat it for you," she said, as she started leading him away.

"Where are we going?" he asked. "My friend Granny has a first aid kit in the back of her diner. I know where she keeps it," she replied. "I was told we weren't allowed in that part of the compound. It's Black Knights territory," he warned. She smirked. "That's why it will be fun...like an adventure. Granny says sometimes rules are meant to be broken," she offered. He smirked in return. He himself hated rules and broke as many as he could. He thought he was the only one, as all the others always seemed to do as they were told without question. "An adventure...sounds fun," he agreed. And it would be. Like a Prince and a Princess on an adventure, just like in the fairy tales they were told…

Stunning blue eyes opened, as he was roused from sleep for another day. Once again, it was time for his day to day mundane existence in the small community of Misthaven. It had been several years now since a great apocalypse had devastated the earth and all that remained of humans lived here in the vast underground refuge known as Misthaven. Many did not talk about what exactly had happened, but everyone was adamant about one thing. You could not go outside or leave the confines of the compound.

He didn't remember any of it. He had been told he was in a coma for many years until just recently when he finally awoke. Upon waking, he had no memories of the disastrous event that had ended life as everyone knew it on Earth. He had brief flashes of his childhood, but nothing more and they told him that was normal. Apparently, many comatose trauma patients never regained their memories. He had been told his name was David, but that everyone called him Charming.

He had integrated into this new society well enough, even though he was full of questions. The Black Knights, who policed their society and kept everyone safe, didn't like questions and their stony expressions were met by him with a charming grin.

His friends weren't much help either. None of them seemed to remember specifics about how they ended up in this place. But one thing the guards and their King warned; going outside meant certain death. But it didn't make Charming any less curious.

As he had every day since he had been give his small quarters, he performed the same routine. A shower, followed by dressing, which consisted of the same outfit as all the males wore. A black formfitting bodysuit that was made of light, resilient, and comfortable material. The females wore a very similar outfit, only in white. Once he was dressed, he exited his room and followed the long blank hallways to the mess hall with all the others. Meal time was among his favorite time, as it allowed him to interact with all his friends.

"Morning mate," his friend drawled, as he came out of his quarters. "Morning Hook," he greeted pleasantly. Hook was his best friend and like Charming was his nickname, Hook was a nickname and no one had any idea what his real name was and Hook hadn't offered one. The nickname was coined for him after he lost his hand in the great disaster. Hook didn't remember much about it, except he woke up with no hand and someone had joked he could replace the hand with a hook, like Captain Hook did, whoever that was. Of course, that idea was quickly squashed by the black Knights. A hook for an appendage would be far too dangerous and he had been fitted with a prosthetic hand. But the nickname, like his, had stuck.

"Mates...mates!" Robin called, as he caught up to them. "Where's the fire, mate?" Hook asked. Robin looked confused and Charming smirked. "Fire?" he asked. "It's an expression, mate. I heard it from one of the black Knights the other day when I was in a hurry and decided to run down the hall," he explained. "Oh...where's the fire. I like it, but you'll never believe what I found this morning," he said in excitement, as he looked around to make sure none of the Black Knights were paying any attention to him. He slid the matchbox open and showed them the contents. Neither Hook or Charming had any idea what it was, but it was alive. "What is it?" Charming asked, as he examined the tiny creature. "I have no idea, but I found it in the vent. It came from outside," he whispered.

Now that intrigued Charming greatly. "But how is it alive if it came from outside? The King always tells us that nothing left out there can live," Charming said. "Maybe it got caught in the vent before it all happened," Hook suggested. Robin nodded and seemed to find that to be an acceptable answer. But Charming wasn't convinced. His curious nature just wouldn't allow him to accept such a convoluted answer. But for now, he let it go, for drawing the attention of the Black Knights was never good.

Though Robin became disinterested with the creature and allowed Charming to have it. As he tucked it away for later, for the moment, all thoughts left his mind, but they usually did when he saw her. Her emerald eyes flicked to his briefly, as she stood in line for her morning meal. She was so beautiful and he had been drawn to her since the first time he saw her. Snow White. He somehow found himself in line behind her and she smirked.

"Good morning Charming," she greeted. "Morning Snow," he responded, as they were served their meal. He grimaced a bit. It was the same thing every morning. Oatmeal, dried fruit, and a healthy green smoothie which he thought tasted like chalk. "Maybe I'll see you later?" she said. He nodded. "I hope so," he replied, as he watched her go. He didn't like that the Black Knights made the men eat separately from the women. He didn't understand why, but as usual, no one offered him any answers.

After breakfast, they all went to work, which consisted of the mundane tasks of working the assembly lines and filling small vials with what the King called potions. From what they had been told, the potions contained nutrients that were vital to their survival. The nutrients were used in the plants they grew for food. He had heard about the gardens. Snow worked in the gardens, but he wasn't permitted to go there. None of the men were. Everyone else accepted it easily enough, but not Charming. He didn't like being told he couldn't do something for no reason.

After work came his favorite part of the day. Recreation time, where they were actually allowed to interact with everyone, exercise, and enjoy fruit drinks that were healthy, but actually tasted good. They weren't allowed anything unhealthy, but the Black Knights were allowed to have whatever they wanted. It was no secret that they enjoyed strong drinks at the diner.

Only Black Knights were allowed in Granny's diner. The smells that came from it were heavenly though. So heavenly that he had snuck in there one night and tasted the most wonderful confection. Granny had caught him, but actually had not told on him and instead indulged his curiosity and rewarded him with a hot cup of what she called hot chocolate with cinnamon. It was wonderful and ever since that night, which he had told no one about, he had longed to return there. But not alone. He imagined of sharing a cup with Snow, but then he imagined sharing many things with Snow. He wondered if she thought about him as much as he thought about her.

"Here," her brunette friend said, as she sat down at the bar next to her with their smoothies. "Thanks Red," Snow said, as she took a sip and then winced. "Ugh...apple," she complained. "Oh sorry, that one's mine. I forgot that you hate apple," Red remarked, switching their drinks. Snow was much happier with the pineapple flavor. She took a drink and noticed that Charming was almost up to duel and she put her drink down. "I'll be right back," she said. Red snorted in amusement and shook her head at her friend. Snow cut in line and the dark haired woman behind her scoffed. "Dammit Snow…" she hissed. "Please Regina...you know how much I love sparring Charming," Snow pleaded. Regina, also known to most as The Queen, rolled her eyes. The Queen title came from Regina's air of superiority and the way she waltzed around like everyone there were her subjects. "Why should I care what you want? You're such a spoiled brat," the Queen complained. "Oh Regina, relax. Let Snow spar Charming, she's the only one that can actually beat him in a duel anyway," Belle admonished. Regina snorted. "Fine, I hope he beats you," she huffed.

Looks like you'll be sparring Snow again," Hook mentioned. Charming looked over to the line and noticed her there and he licked his lips. "You sure do stare at her a lot," Robin mentioned innocently. "She's beautiful...what's not to stare at?" Charming replied. "You're playing with fire. The Black Knights already think you're troublesome," a new voice said. Charming turned to see Rumplestiltskin looking at him with an air of amusement.

"Playing with fire? Where's the fire? What is this obsession with fire?" Robin wondered, but he was ignored. While Rumplestiltskin was one of them, it was well known that he knew things...things he wasn't supposed to know. Charming had long suspected that he knew how they came to be here and what exactly had devastated their planet. But he never shared much detail, just tidbits in exchange for favors.

"I don't understand. Why is it dangerous for Snow and me to be friends?" he asked. Rumple smirked like he knew something the rest of them didn't. He always smiled like that though. "Oh I think you and I both know you'd like to be more than friends," Rumple surmised. "How do you be more than friends with someone?" Robin asked. Hook shrugged. "No idea mate," Hook replied.

"Dimwits," Rumple hissed under his breath, though he knew it wasn't really their fault. They weren't meant to have much development beyond the age of preteen. Since none of them, including him, would live more than a few years. Sometimes he hated knowing the truth.

But something was definitely different about Charming and Snow. "What do you mean by more than friends?" Charming asked curiously. Rumple smirked. He didn't like very many people, but he liked Charming and Snow. Probably because they were brave enough to question the world around them. Maybe...just maybe it would be the thing that would save them all, but only if he helped it along by planting the right seeds. "Why...true love of course," he said. "True love?" Charming asked. "True love...the most powerful magic in the world," Rumple replied. "How do you know if it's true love?" Charming asked. "Oh...you know, because you feel it," Rumple replied. Hook and Robin scoffed. "You're a crackpot, Rumple," Hook commented. "Yeah...true love," Robin scoffed. But Charming looked even more intrigued than ever and that was enough for Rumple.

Above the compound, in his tower, George surveyed his creations. "This is quite the operation you have here," a voice said from behind him. His latest and newest investor into the project, Xavier Ramirez, observed as his honored guest. "And they have no idea?" Xavier asked. George chuckled. "Oh no...none whatsoever. They actually look forward to the lottery," George replied. "I'm definitely interested, but what you do here is highly illegal," Xavier mentioned.

"Of course it is. When I started this company, we did everything by the book and it takes a lifetime to get a mature clone when you do it within the law. My wife died of cancer waiting for her clone to be ready for harvest. From that day forward, I decided that no one else would lose a loved one because of time," George stated. "So you sped up the process," Xavier inquired. "Yes...now we have a mature clone in a matter of year or two. But the vegetative state we kept the early ones in didn't produce results. The organs were harvested and failed. Consciousness seems vital to the success," George explained. "So you came up with the post apocalypse story and keep them vastly uninformed," Xavier said. George nodded.

"We monitor them constantly and do not allow them too much interaction with the opposite sex. They are fed vague stories about their lives before the disaster and it is made explicitly clear that venturing outside the compound means certain death," George continued. "Quite intriguing. I am very interested, but what is the purpose of the fairy tale names?" he inquired. George chuckled. "A bit of whimsy. My wife loved fairy tales," he said, gesturing to a book in his office beneath a glass case. "She loved this book and all its tales. They are quite different than the versions many know," George explained. "So it is only right in her honor that your creations have these names," Xavier responded.

"Who is the next lottery winner?" Xavier inquired. George pressed a key and a tall, handsome African American male came up on the screen. "Last night, NBA star Billy Gilroy was in a horrific car crash. He needs several organs to survive so that is where Gus comes in," George said, as the doppelganger appeared on screen. "Gus? I don't recall that being a fairytale name," Xavier mentioned. "Well, when you start running out of main characters, you have to resort to the lesser ones. I believe Gus was one of Cinderella's mice," George replied with a chuckle.

Charming was really good at dueling. He had beaten everyone he had ever dueled, except Snow. On the occasion where they found themselves paired up, he became captivated by her beauty and fluid grace with the blade. Their blades clashed furiously, as they circled each other and Snow admired the way his muscles flexed beneath the tight material of his uniform. She'd never felt like this about anyone before and it was very new to her.

They came to a deadlock and he gave her a smirk. It made her heart feel funny in her chest. The first time it had happened, she thought that maybe there was something wrong with it. She had mentioned it to Granny in passing as the woman served her evening meal. But the elderly woman just chuckled at her with a merry smile when she expressed her concern that her heart had skipped a beat. "Oh girl...there's nothing wrong with it. Hearts are silly things and they can do that around a man, especially a handsome one like that Charming," she had told her. The Black Knights nearby had given Granny very stern looks and she had quieted then. The older woman was always telling them things the Black Knights felt they shouldn't know.

"Looks like this one might be a draw," he said, as their faces were inches apart. It was hard not to get lost in his blue eyes, but he too seemed captivated by her and she capitalized on it. She swept his feet out from under him and he landed on his back.

"Maybe next time, Charming," she replied, smirking down at him. He smiled back and she found that curious too. All the other men she bested usually got really angry when they lost to her. But not Charming. He just seemed oddly pleased by it and that's why she always extended her hand to help him up. They exited the arena and headed to the bar for drinks. "Those were some great moves," he complimented. She looked at him coyly. "You're not so bad yourself," she replied, as they stared at each other, faces only inches apart again.

On the outskirts of the room, red sensors beeped on one of the Black Knight's scanners, alerting him to a proximity warning. He rolled his eyes. It was always these two with the proximity. They had noticed on more than one occasion that Snow White and Charming seemed to gravitate toward each other.

"Proximity warning," he said, stepping between them. David gave him a hard look, as he felt serious disdain at being told to step away from her. It felt wrong. Being near her was the only thing that felt right. When the guard felt there was acceptable daylight between them, he stepped away and he sighed.

"So...I went somewhere the other night. Somewhere I wasn't supposed to," he whispered to her. She looked enthralled and looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Really? Like on an adventure?" she asked. He grinned. "Exactly like that. I can show you," he replied. She bit her bottom lip. "We would be in so much trouble if we got caught," she lamented. He frowned. "Yeah…" he said and she smiled. "Let's do it," she replied. He grinned. "Okay…follow me," he said, as he started walking toward the arena. With all the bodies gathered around there, it was the one place where the Black Knight's view was obstructed the most.

Charming waited for the current duel to intensify and Snow felt her heart leap, as he took her hand and sneaked her into the men's locker room. He quickly ducked them into a corner and they hid there, pressed together, for a few moments, until he was sure the coast was clear. She felt hot all over, as his body pressed against hers and seriously was wondering what was wrong with her, for she felt like she could barely breathe. "Is...this what you wanted to show me?" she finally whispered. He swallowed thickly. "Um...no, it's this way," he whispered back, as he led her through to the other exit. Thanks to the dueling contest, the hallways were mostly deserted and she started to smell something wonderful, as they went through two shiny metal doors.

"Boy...have you lost your damn mind?" Granny exclaimed, as she ushered the two into the kitchen. "I'm sorry Granny...but the other night when you let me have hot chocolate, I just knew Snow would love it too," he said. His innocence broke Granny's heart. Their true purpose broke her heart even more and knew their lives were never going to be their own. It was the reason she had indulged this young man the other night.

As she saw their linked hands, her heart practically cracked in two. Relationships weren't allowed. Hell, most of them didn't even have any concept of attraction or sexual tension. But these two...it was so thick it was almost suffocating and damn it if she wasn't a romantic at heart. "Fine...but if you two get caught, you better not rat me out," she warned. He grinned. "Never," he promised. She sighed and pointed to a couple of chairs. "I'll be right back," she promised. "What is this place?" Snow asked. "It's the back of Granny's diner," he replied. Her eyes widened. "You mean the place where all the Black Knights eat?" she hissed. He nodded excitedly, as they peeked out into the front of the diner, seeing them eating, drinking, and conversing freely.

There was even two of the guards in a booth and they had their mouths pressed together. She found that extremely curious and exciting. The two were touching each other too and she felt the desire to touch Charming like that. They seemed to be enjoying the touching and their lips together. Snow wondered what it would feel like to press hers against Charming's.

Before her thoughts could carry to action, Granny returned with two cups and set them down on the counter. "There...two cups of hot chocolate, with whipped cream and cinnamon. My secret recipe," she said, as she left them. "What is it?" Snow asked. "It's a drink...it's amazing, but sip it slowly, because it's hot," Charming replied. She did as he instructed and took her first drink. "Mmm...that's wonderful…" she said in amazement. He grinned and took a sip as well. "I told you," he replied. "Charming...why do you suppose we're not allowed to do the same things as the Black Knights?" she asked. He snorted. "I was beginning to think I was the only one that wondered that," he replied. Before they could discuss it further, a compound-wide broadcast began to air on the many prominent viewing screens that existed throughout their home. It was an announcement from their King.

"Good evening, my loyal subjects," George greeted pleasantly. "It's time again to choose our next lottery winner. The next person to be chosen to go to the Enchanted Island…" he announced, as the screen was assaulted with images of beaches with pearly white sands, lush forests, vast castles, and crystal blue oceans. "And tonight's winner is...Gus!" he announced.

The screen panned to Gus, who gasped and accepted congratulatory pats on the back from those around him, as he was excitedly escorted away by the black Knights. "Lucky guy," she mentioned. "Maybe," he replied. "Oh come on, everyone wants to go to the Enchanted Island. It's everyone's dream," she said. He shrugged. "I don't know, if I had to choose between going to the Enchanted Island alone and staying here with you, I'd choose here with you," he said. She felt her face go hot and before she could say anything, Granny came rushing back.

"The duels are ending for the night. You two better sneak back to your rooms of you'll be caught for sure," she warned. "Thanks Granny," Charming said, as they hurried out. They managed to make it back to the arena without being noticed or seen.

"Thanks for sharing that with me. It was amazing," she said. He smiled shyly and going on pure instinct, Snow pressed her lips in a quick peck, before scurrying away. Charming stood stunned for several moments and touched his lips, before a goofy smile spread across his face and he returned to his quarters for the night. It had been a good day. The best day ever…

In the next chapter, Snow and Charming have more dreams and we get a glimpse of their real world counterparts. Charming begins to uncover the truth behind the Enchanted Island and Snow wins the lottery...