#I was craving some hot apple cider only a couple days ago

[ofbeautsandbeasts]

Aahhh!! I just received your gift @obesessedwbeautiesandbeasts!!! 🤩🥳

Mead is so freakin' cute and I love that they're nonbinary! I think this is my first drink-related Squishmallow! 🥰 Mead's been warmly welcomed into the house by Alexie the Cow and Vlad the Vampire (who also joined my Squish squad in recent weeks) 😆

Thanks so much for this Halloween surprise! 🎃 I'll be sending your card shortly!! 😊

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Apple cider, and any variant of Tucker and Rose you’d like (I know you have a couple lol)

thinky! thank you so much for this prompt. i once again just sort of started another au with it, because i have no self control. i just love putting these two in Situations. or three, rather. wilf showed up in this one, for some reason. hope you enjoy (when you get your internet back, lol)!

read on ao3 here. or send me a prompt here!

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something for nothing

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"Hot," Rose asked, thrusting out her hands, "or cold?"

In each was a paper cup, the left one gently steaming while the older man glanced back and forth between them with his usual consideration.

"That depends. Is it chocolate?"

"Nope."

"Coffee, then?"

"No." She failed to stifle a grin. "Sylvia would have my head and you know it."

An extremely unnatural-looking scowl made its way across his face. "It's not one of those fancy 'steamer' things, is it? Those always end up tasting like plain old spoiled milk."

Rose shook her head in fond impatience. "Just pick one, will you? Or they'll both be cold."

His eyes narrowed beneath his bright yellow bobble hat. "Fine, then. Hot," Wilf finally declared. "But this had better not be like the time you put chewy stuff in my tea."

"Boba," she corrected. "And don't worry, only liquid in there. And some spices, of course."

At this, Wilf took a long inhale, his nose hovering just above the thread of steam. It was endlessly endearing, how dubious he was about the whole exercise.

Then again, she had just been a stranger who walked up and offered him eggnog, that first time.

It had been nearly a year ago, around the holidays, and she'd been leaving after another long, tedious shift at the café across the way. Her manager had given rare permission to close up early after Rose pulled a double, but she'd not taken advantage: instead, she'd satisfied an intense exhaustion-fueled craving for eggnog by whipping it up right there in the shop.

But she'd made a bit too much, and with no one to share it with, she'd spied the old man at his newspaper stall—such a merry figure, like Father Christmas himself in a heavy red-and-white striped scarf, packing up his stacks of paper like gifts bundled in twine. He'd looked so cheerful and so cold, with his red nose and fingerless gloves, that she went out and offered him a cup of still-warm eggnog. He'd kindly offered a copy of Radio Times in trade, and suddenly they were talking like old friends.

That had been the beginning of a ritual which she held to after nearly every shift she worked. She never emerged without two cups of something to share, and he always held aside a paper or magazine he thought she'd like. They didn't always chat, but they did undeniably enjoy one another's company.

Rose thought of him almost like an adopted grandfather.

She watched with amusement as he put his eye to the narrow hole in the lid like it was the lens of a telescope, trying to see the colour of the substance within. She bit down hard on her lip. "What can you see?"

"Not much," Wilf admitted.

"Drink it! I promise there's nothing odd in there—well, too odd, I mean."

He shook his head at her, but he was smiling as he went to take a sip. She waited, holding her breath—and was delighted when his eyes lit up.

"Oh, that's not bad," he proclaimed, "not bad at all!" As he took another sip, Rose finally lifted her own cup to her lips.

Ripe apple, cinnamon, nutmeg—a faint hint of smoke—even cold, it all burst over her tongue, evoking a sense memory disconnected from anything she'd ever personally experienced. It reminded her of campfire nights after crisp autumn days, falling leaves and waning grey skies. Days so perfect they could really only exist in films, or books, or daydreams.

"It's cider, but with a little—something! Very good, Rose," Wilf added warmly. "So, what's the secret?"

"An infusion of lapsang souchong while the cider's warming up." She was a little proud of that one. "And all the usual suspects—clove, cinnamon, a tiny bit of anise… I have more," she said, patting her thermos where it stuck out of her messenger bag. She'd planned to take it home and sip it with her feet up in front of the telly, but seeing how eagerly Wilf drank from his cup made her want to share more instead. "Want a refill?"

"Let me see to what I've got first," he said, after another savoring sip. "It's good stuff! Is it going on the menu?"

She scoffed. "Of course not. Nobody around here wants fussy cider. They just want tea, or else coffee, black, no sugar—god, if you only knew how many red eyes I make in a day…"

"Well, it is Westminster," Wilf reasoned, looking around at the street which, while presently quiet, was crowded with buildings still fully lit up at long past six. "There's always some crisis they're perverting."

Rose hesitated. "You mean averting?"

"I meant what I said," he replied with a chuckle. "Takes a lot of energy to play at running the world."

"Yes, well, I just wish they'd get a bit more creative with their drink orders while they do it. Civilisation won't end if one of them branches out and adds a shot of vanilla to their latte! And," she went on, voice hushing dramatically, "then there's the peacoats. They all wear the same bloody shapeless things. What is with that?"

"Speaking of peacoats…" Wilf coughed, clearly covering a laugh. "Evening, Mr. Tucker!"

Rose tripped over her own feet whirling around to see who he was talking to, and then nearly stumbled up again when she saw who it was.

Malcolm Tucker.

The Malcolm Tucker.

The scariest man in British politics, and possibly in Great Britain generally, stood about a foot away from her.

She recognised his face from Wilf's newspapers and the occasional clip on telly: fair eyes, humped nose, harsh lines bracketing a restless mouth, head crowned with tarnished silver hair. Under the flat, unforgiving light of the street lamps, he looked hyperreal. But even someone who didn't know his face would see evidence of his hand everywhere. He ruled the media with it. He puppeted the ministry with it.

And he was shaking Wilf's hand with it.

"Wilf, how the fuck's business?" he greeted, breezing right past her, smiling with the kind of familiarity that couldn't be faked. It even looked sincere. He brushed close enough that she could smell the wool of his coat, and she winced.

"Better, now that your mug's back out of the papers, sir!" Wilf laughed, and strangely, so did Tucker. "What'll it be today? We've got the New Statesman, fresh out this morning. There's an interview with your man, that baldy economist—"

But the other man brushed him off carelessly. "Oh, please, none of that, I'm off the clock."

"What brings you round, then?" For a second, Wilf's eyes darted sheepishly her way, and she could only goggle back in confusion. It was like he didn’t want to give something away, something secret. To Tucker, he said, voice low, "Celebrity Skin?"

Rose's jaw dropped. "Wilf!"

"Now, now, Rose, you can hardly fault the man! Just because he's in government doesn't mean he's made of metal."

"It's not him scandalizing me," she shot back with a laugh. "Wilfred Mott, I learn something new about you every day."

“Got to keep you interested, don't I?” Teasing though his tone was, there was also a glint of genuine pride as he added, “Or else I'll stop getting the best hot drinks in London hand-delivered to me!”

They were so busy sharing smiles that it took her a moment to remember they had audience. A rather intimidating audience. One of his iron-dark eyebrows was arched in something like humour. “That so?” Tucker said, eyeing her up and down.

“She’s more than just a pretty face, she is,” Wilf replied, and she felt herself flush. Whether it was from Wilf’s blunt, overenthusiastic praise or the assessing look she was receiving from the Prime Minister’s media enforcer, she couldn’t tell. “You should—oi, Rose, why don't you give him a little of that cider stuff? Mr. Tucker looks cold. Or maybe that’s just his personality.”

She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, amused by the blatant ribbing. He’d accompanied it with a wink, and Tucker didn’t seem offended. In fact, his smile was back, spreading slowly, like it was foreign to his mouth.

“Not sure that's a good idea, actually,” she said.

“Why not?” asked Tucker, locking eyes with her for the first time. There was just something about his face; she knew she ought to be intimidated by him—and maybe she was, a little—but she was at least equally fascinated. He looked just like a man, ordinary.

Except not.

His gaze was too intense for that. Like it was used to cutting right through people. All day, people with glazed-over eyes muttered orders at her—barely seemed to even notice her. It was a startling change, to feel so… observed.

She blinked. “Do you usually risk drinks from strangers?”

“You're saying you wouldn't, if you were me?”

“If I were you—there’s an idea,” she dared with a breathless laugh. “If I were you, we probably wouldn't have quite so many bald, boring blokes in office. And things would probably get a bit more West Wing. But I wouldn't risk poisoning, no.”

“You're clever, then.” The smile that played around his mouth was a shade off the one he’d offered Wilf, but she liked it all the same. “Cleverer than me.” Her eyebrows jumped, and the corners of his lips only ticked higher. “I'd love a warm drink, if you can spare one. It's been a… very long day.”

And she didn’t know quite how, or why, or anything at all, but her hands just started moving on their own, sliding down the strap of her bag to the pouch with her thermos. She was actually going to share her drink with the Hitman of Downing Street, the thing that lurked under the beds of the ministers she saw on television.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

“Easy, now,” Tucker drily warned. “No sudden moves. I might get clever.”

She chuffed a laugh. “Not likely.” But she slowed anyway, attention bouncing momentarily to Wilf—who was watching their exchange with a rapt and wildly amused expression—before she turned back to Tucker.

His eyes were more reflective of the colour of the sky than she’d ever imagined eyes could be. So blue and grey that it was like looking through the clearest water at the river stones beneath.

She couldn't quite shake off the observation—couldn't manage an appropriate amount of detachment as she withdrew the thermos and twisted it open. Concentrated steam burst free, smelling sweet and enticingly sharp, and she extended the mug out to him.

He took it. And when their fingers brushed over the warm metal, it hit her.

Attraction.

What she was feeling was attraction.

Her first thought was oh, Mum’s going to brick herself if I tell her. Which, of course, Rose wouldn’t. After Jimmy Stone and the complete fiasco he’d created in her life as a teenager, she knew better. But what would Jackie Tyler say about Malcolm bloody Tucker? He'd been working in politics for practically half Rose’s lifetime.

She could just imagine her mum's face, the repulsion and horror, and the picture was incongruous enough that it successfully pulled Rose out of her stupor. She withdrew her hand, feeling the cold snap of air instantly, more fiercely than she might have.

With a tense eye, she watched him lift the thermos to his lips. Watched him drink, slow and contemplative. He didn't seem particularly slow or contemplative by nature, so it must have been for her benefit. Her fingers made fists, which she wedged into her coat pockets.

He took another sip. Then proclaimed, “That's very good. Is that tea I taste?”

Her smile bloomed without thought or permission. “Secret recipe,” she said. “Now you owe me four pounds fifty.”

Those eyebrows leapt again before resettling even lower than before. He looked very intent. “You charge our mutual friend,” and here, he glanced at Wilf, “for cider, too, or is it just me who pays for the privilege?”

“Well, you know what your sort say—no such thing as a free lunch. Or cider,” she added, realising exactly what was about to come out of her mouth and doing nothing at all to stop it. “Wilf pays me back in magazines and good conversation. So what'll you give me, Malcolm Tucker?”

And god, she was actually doing it. She was flirting with him.

Beside her, Wilf was laughing into his fist. Part of her was embarrassed—or would be later—that she was making a fool of herself in front of the old man. He’d certainly rub her nose in it the next time she popped out with a drink. That was just what family did.

But there was another part of her, a much deeper and more untameable part, which insisted on saying, What the hell? Why not?

After all, this would probably be her only chance to tease one of the most powerful men in England. The prospect of pushing him, even a little, felt dangerous, rebellious. Deliciously improbable. And if there was a little extortion involved, well—he was hardly a man with clean hands.

One of those hands, she noted, slid into the pocket of that ridiculous peacoat—which was, she could admit, beginning to grow on her a little; it contrasted sharply against his skin and hair, so pale and severe—and he withdrew something small and white and rectangular. He extended it to her, but before she could take it, his hand snapped back. He seemed on the verge of smiling again.

Then, tipping back his head, he took another long drink from the thermos. A long, long drink.

She grinned, watching his throat bob. The bastard was draining the mug. Getting his money’s worth, she supposed.

She found she didn't mind. Her evening was shaping up to be substantially different than she’d expected.

Only when he'd finished with a faint hum of appreciation and returned the thermos did he give over the proffered card. It was simple, unremarkable white cardstock with crisp black text.

Malcolm Tucker

Director of Communications for the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom

10 Downing Street, Westminster, London

Below were two phone numbers. One was crossed out, the smudged ink suggesting he’d done so recently. The second number was indicated as his personal line, and her breath caught. Was he mad, handing out this information to a veritable stranger? Did he know the trouble she could make for him if she started, say, making copies and handing them out with every cup of coffee she sold to his more politically repellant enemies? Of which there were many?

“Don't get clever,” he warned her, and there was a trace of real threat there. She felt it. It made her spine straighten and something senselessly warm unfurl in her belly. Then he said, mildly, “Call it an IOU.”

She looked up at the man before her and wondered if he was mad—or perhaps just fearless—or possibly, she guessed with a tilt of her head, he was lonely.

But whatever he was—and however much she needed to get her head checked for being so intrigued by it—there was only one way to find out.

Rose slipped the card into the back pocket of her denims, meeting his unwavering eyes the whole time, smiling to herself. She bit down on the tip of her tongue to prevent it spreading.

“Well,” she said, trying to sound tough, “it’s not exactly four pounds fifty. But it’ll do.”

Tucker smirked. And—oh, yeah, she thought. Mum’s definitely gonna lose it.

[mangohealth]

My 13 Favorite Low-Carb Foods (and 3 to Avoid)

Finding low-carb foods that actually taste good and aren’t chock full of fake, chemical-laden ingredients is a tough pursuit—one I’ve been on since I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes nearly twenty years ago. But I never gave up! And now I’m going to share a few of my favorite products and recipes that will help you keep your carb intake low, keep your tastebuds happy, and fill your body with mostly whole, real delicious food!

Soft & Fluffy Bread Rolls from The Diet Doctor (recipe)

These are a staple in my house. I eat two or  to three small rolls every day and let me tell you, not only do I not need insulin for them (unless I melt some chocolate chips on top in the microwave), they also make your digestive tract sing thanks to all that fiber. While you may have to do a little shopping around to get the right ingredients (I highly recommend ordering Anthony’s almond flour and psyllium husk on Amazon for a good price), once you make them the first time, they become really easy. I make a double batch every few weeks and store them in the fridge and freezer so I can eat them every day!

Edamame Fettuccine Pasta from Seapoint Farms (product)

I’ve tried a lot of low-carb pastas. And there are a few good ones out there, but...this one is the best. First of all, you could eat half the box and only consume 22 grams of non-starchy carbs after subtracting the dietary fiber. The texture, the taste, the fact that you can’t over-cook it and accidentally turn it into mush—it’s just so good.  Even my stubborn father-in-law ate it and loved it! Honestly, I won’t bother buying any of my former low-carb pasta choices because this one is so exceptional.

Edible Cookie Dough from Lions Pack (product)

This peanut butter based “dough” is scary delicious. And sure, if you eat the whole jar, the carb count isn’t low anymore, but if you keep this tucked in the fridge for a spoonful (or two) after dinner each night as your “dessert,” the carb content is wonderfully low for something that tastes like a strawberry poptart or a s’more or a cinnamon roll or...Oreos!! Every flavor is gluten-free and vegan, and the flavor options are endless. It’s not cheap, but if it helps you stay on track and avoid the real Oreos, it might become a worthwhile staple in your home.

Bread, Bagels and More...from The Great Low-Carb Bread Company (product)

I love everything this company makes, but am especially impressed by the bagels -- which even my husband liked. Their breads are soft, fluffy, and look and taste like bread. Their low-carb recipe secrets focus primarily on a highly effective combination of oat fiber, almond flour, flax meal, and stevia. Did I mention many of their products are also gluten-free? Their hamburger buns and pastas won’t take away from enjoying those classic meals. They even have low-carb soft-pretzels. You’ve gotta check these out. Delicious, I promise!

Discover Chocolate from Discover Confectionery (product)

Oh, this stuff is good. Many of their flavors are deliciously unique (probably because this is a UK-based product), and it tastes and feels and looks like real chocolate! An entire bar will deliver about 13 grams of low-impact carbs, and is filled with real food ingredients--not chemicals and fake junk. The only flaw of this product is the price.

Flaxseed Muffin in a Mug from a variety of sources (recipe)

This muffin is one of my morning go-to recipes. It takes less than 5 minutes to make a single serving. It’s full of real ingredients, super healthy fats, lots of fiber, and sometimes...chocolate chips! Mix ingredients in a dry coffee mug. Microwave for 70 seconds. Pop it out onto a plate. Cut into 3 slices and add a little butter or...whatever! My favorite version of this includes a tablespoon of chocolate chips to get my chocolate fix without breaking the “carb bank.”

Quest Protein Bars from Quest Nutrition (product)

While I wouldn’t want to encourage using protein bars as a meal replacement (‘cause let’s be honest, they are definitely not made of “whole” food ingredients), these are a great go-to if you’re trying to avoid real desserts, or when you need on-the-go “Oh, my gosh, I’m starving” kind of food from the bottom of your bag. They come in a billion flavors, including birthday cake, cookies ‘n cream, and cinnamon roll. After subtracting the fiber, the remaining carbs are pretty low-impact, and they’re plenty satisfying.

Spiralized Veggies from a variety of sources (product)

Even if you don’t have the “as seen on TV” veggie spiralizer, you can buy pre-spiralized zucchini and carrots to make a your own low-carb “pasta.” (Yes, carrots contain some carbs, but hose carbs are coming from a source that’s a whole food, high in fiber, and packed with essential vitamins.) You can find them in the fresh produce aisle at your grocery store, or in the freezer section at Trader Joe’s, along with frozen cauliflower rice. Simply throw them in a large saute pan with a little oil, add some herbs or sauce, and you have a low-carb and super healthy “pasta” dish.

Really, Really Easy Breadsticks from Kirbies Cravings (recipe)

Ditch the starchy breadsticks and even the pizza crust and make this effortless zero-carb flatbread instead. Literally, you just toss eggs, cheese and herbs into a food processor. Zap zap zap. Pour that batter onto parchment paper in a cookie pan. Bake. Voila! 

Chia Seeds from a variety of sources (product)

Chia seeds are definitely trendy these days, but for a good reason: you can make delicious breakfast or dessert pudding with this little seed from Mexico. Soak in just a couple tablespoons overnight in your milk of choice (low-carb milks like coconut or almond would be ideal), and by morning you’ll find you have a thick cup full of chia seed pudding that only contains about 1 gram of carb after subtracting the fiber. You can make it sweeter with your preferred alternative sweetener, or jazz it up with a little peanut butter and a tablespoon of real chocolate chips. Checkout more easy recipe ideas from GnomGnom.

Zucchini Pizza Bites from LowCarbYum (recipe)

Honestly, you don’t even need to know how to read to make these. It’s so easy, and so customizable, too! Chop zucchini into medium-thickness slices and top with a little pasta sauce (check your label closely to avoid buying a high-sugar sauce), a little cheese and 1 slice of pepperoni per slice of zucchini. Pop them in the oven until the cheese is fully melted—delicious low-carb pizza night. Kids will like them. Picky husbands who don’t care about their carb intake will like them. I haven’t offered them to my father-in-law yet, but I bet he might even enjoy them, too!

Romaine Lettuce! No...seriously! Swap it for all bread....

The easiest way to cut the processed, starchy carbs from a sandwich or tacos or even a hamburger is to simply keep a giant stash of romaine lettuce in your fridge at all times. Lay strips of bacon with chopped tomatoes and mayo on romaine for a low-carb BLT. Ditch those corn-laden taco shells and turn Mexican night into a fresh crunchy salad by filling a bowl with fresh crunchy romaine lettuce. Add a little salsa, a little hot sauce, maybe a little more cheese...taco night never tasted so good! (And did you know, romaine lettuce is just as loaded with awesome nutrients as spinach and kale? )

3 “LOW CARB” FOODS TO AVOID

Shirataki Noodles

Okay, some people must love these, but I’m not one of those people. While they don’t contain carbs, these “noodles” are also  void of basically any nutrition whatsoever and come in smelly liquid with an unpleasant taste that takes a lot of rinsing and a lot of sauce to cover up. They also have a texture that makes me feel like I might be accidentally chewing on someone’s ear cartilage. If you’ve never tired, you should...at least once. But don’t surprised if you find yourself needing to make something else for dinner after the first bite.

Julian’s Bakery Breads from Julians Bakery (product)

These seem like a dream come true...before you’ve actually tasted them. I’m sorry to say that these extremely low-carb bread varieties are not only not tasty but even  hard to even swallow. I choked on the first bite, to be honest. They are dry, weirdly textured, and void of any real flavor (at least a flavor you’d enjoy eating). There must be diehard fans out there, because this company has been around for a while...but I’ve never met them.

Diet Soda

Many people will disagree with me on this one, but at least hear me out. A diet soda here and there--let’s say, once a week--is no big deal. But if diet soda has become your go-to source of hydration every day of the week, not only are you consuming a heck of a lot of chemicals, you’re also only going to make your sweet tooth crave more and more sweet things. When I finally quit drinking diet soda, things with no sugar in them at all started tasting deliciously sweet--like flavored seltzer with a dash of apple cider vinegar. There’s also a great deal of conflicting research on the safety of many artificial sweeteners, and on whether or not they may be increasing a person’s insulin resistance, because their bodies to need more insulin, not less.

About the author:

Ginger Vieira has lived with Type 1 diabetes and Celiac disease since 1999, and fibromyalgia since 2014. She is the author of Pregnancy with Type 1 Diabetes, Dealing with Diabetes Burnout, Emotional Eating with Diabetes, and Your Diabetes Science Experiment. Her background includes a B.S. in professional writing, certifications in cognitive coaching, Ashtanga yoga, and personal training, with several records in drug-free powerlifting. She lives in Vermont with her husband, their two daughters, and their dog, Pedro.

If you liked this post, you may also like:

• 5 Healthy Kitchen Shortcuts You Need to Know

• Diagnosis: New Diabetes Doctor Needed

• The Beginner’s Commercial Break Workout

The posts on this blog are for information only. They are neither intended to substitute for a relationship with your doctor or other healthcare provider, nor do they constitute medical or healthcare advice of any kind. Any information in these posts should not be acted upon without consideration of primary source material and professional input from one’s own healthcare providers.

[nothingbutaspaceman-writings]

Raising The Steaks [chapter 1, rough rough draft]

I’m working on a children’s book Gonna post drafts of the first few chapters but will probably make a side blog to post the final drafts.

Background Info: The protagonist is named Seneca Rhoades. She is 18 and amateur sorceress. She has orange eyes and bright green hair.

“Okay. What next? What next?”

Seneca paced and licked her lips, making clicking noises with her tongue like a clock on coffee. Maybe if she deludes herself into believing time is moving quicker, the thoughts will try to make up for their lax attitude with a pinch of empathy. She slowly angles her neck with both hands until a loud crack emits. Same principle but her brainstem and spinal cord is a knotted garden hose. A burst of inspiration is on the tip of her mind’s tongue. There’s a pained grunt then chuckled sigh.

Seneca poured another snatch of Pop Rocks onto her skinky-blue tongue. With her left hand, she let out a snap as the candy did crackle and a solution did pop into her head.

“Marshmallow!”

Ouija’s ears perked up and his sniffing nose ascended from his hammock. The long furry noodle snaked out of his sleeping space and onto the work space. He arched his neck in curiosity. Exuding enough nosy squirming to get caught in Seneca’s periphery.

“Not for you... I don’t think.” She grabbed her phone and asked, “Can ferrets eat marshmallow?”

“SEARCHING... HMM... NO.”

“Thought so. No treats right now, ya furball.”

Seneca exited the work space and creeped into the kitchen. The clock on the oven read “02:35.”

“That can’t be right.” Seneca checked her phone. “It’s an hour behind again.” She swung open 3 different cabinets, humming inquisitively. No marshmallows. But she does have cereal and hot cocoa mix.

Seneca rips open three cocoa packets and shakes the contents onto a dry cutting board: the bamboo one. She does a supposedly-fastidious skim of a count of the marshmallow pieces then, with a humph, fans the dust with her right hand. Her left one making a claw, her middle and index fingers at almost exact eye level. ”Focus. Focus.” The dust cleared and only sugary bits remained. The torn packets received a quick lick and were sealed back up as if nothing happened. The marshmallows were slid into a small bowl and a full box of cereal was taken back into her workspace.

In an impetuous snack craving, the cereal bag pops. Flakes and marshmallows burst like gravel from a meteorite.

“I meant to do that.” Seneca smirks at Ouija. He isn’t impressed. “The weird plastic! Why make opening a bag so diffi-. Quit judging me.”

As Seneca minces the mini-mallows, she digs her bare hand into the cereal box, flicking the marshmallow bits into the bowl and scattering the grain and oat pieces mostly into her mouth. Ouija is nibbling on the ones spilling to the floor while occasionally hopping onto Seneca’s lap to get the spillage in the wrinkles of her pajamas. She has to keep rolling up her sleeve before digging back into the box. She’s not realizing she could use her opposite arm. Her left sleeve was torn off a few weeks ago. Ouija is wearing it as a makeshift sweater. He likes when they match.

“I’ll go to sleep in a minute. I’ve almost got it.” Ouija keeps nipping at her sleeve in a futile attempt to get her to bed. “Go lie in your hammock or something.” Ouija chitters and lazily scampers into one of Seneca’s balled up hoodies.

“I’m almost done, Ouija.” She looks at her viscous mix. “Why won’t it liquify?” She scoops a dollop with her finger and flicks it until the adhesive mixture splashes into her cup of water. She stares intently. Her eyes watering from concentrating so diligently. The dark burgandy clump sinks and does nothing. Furiously she stirs with a chopstick she just so happened to have  had. The clump refuses to unclump. “Alright then... For Science!” And Seneca takes a healthy swig of the water. “IT JUST TASTE LIKE WATER!” Ouija is startled awake and releases a low hum of a grunt. “Sorry, but what am I doing wrong? I made that jelly last week that makes plain bread taste like a grilled cheese. Why can’t I make a syrup to make this water taste like a root beer float?”

Seneca reaches into a drawer close to the floor and pulls out a vial resembling a glowstick. Crack. Crack. Crack. A thin cyan stream tumbles and splashes along the mixture, freezing it solid instantly.

“Okay, Ouija. That’s enough for -” The frozen mix began popping like little kernels. “Popcorn? No. These are tiny. Like candy. Well..” She looks at Ouija. He nods. “For Science?” And pops one into her mouth. “They look and feel like jellybeans but taste like vanilla dirt clots. I kinda like it.”

She texts, “Red. Dude, you know how I made that grilled cheese jelly? I tried to do that but with root beer floats for plain water. And I think... I think... I think I just discovered jellybeans. If this was a hundred years ago, I’d be a millionaire. And I’d give them a better name than Jellybeans. I don’t know what, but better.” Send.

“Om, nyum,” Ouija interjects.

“What? I’m a genius! I invented jellybeans.”

“Hmmmmmm.”

“Kinda. People thought the astronauts were crazy too. Brilliance is never recognized right away.”

“...”

“You know what...” She speaks at her phone, “Call Red.”

She looks at Ouija with her “What Now!” eyes.

“...yeah?”

“Red. Red. Red. Did you see my text?”

“Um. No? It’s... 4:30 AM.What is it? The light from the screen is hurting my eyes.”

“I invented candy!”

“Good job.......”

“Right? Yeah. Yeah. Right? I know.” She nods along never breaking eye contact with her ferret. “I know! That’s what I said. Yeah. Go back to sleep. I’ve gotta go be awesome some more. Okay. Okay. Yeah. Night.”

Again. Red never stays awake over the phone. If he spends the night, Seneca always has something to keep him alert. “There’s gotta be a way to send a spell or something over the phone.”

Seneca scoops up Ouija and goes to bed.

Her alarm goes off three hours later.

“Uuuuuuuggggghhhhh...” Snooze.

Her alarm goes off 7 minutes later.

“Uuuuuuuggggghhhhh...” Snooze.

Her alarm goes off 7 minutes later.

“Uuuuuuuggggghhhhh... OW!” Ouija nips her fingertip. “Why?”

A few twists of her fingers and mostly matching clothes slide in front of her bed.

“Good enough.”

Seneca goes to the kitchen to find her jellybeans had been moved. She pops one into her mouth. Cough. Cough. Bitter. Vanilla dirt clots.

“Hmm. I think I’m still grooving on the genius vibes from last night, Ouija.” And she puts the rest of the beans into a coffee grinder then coffee maker.

A few minutes pass and the coffee drips into her color-changing mug.

“For science! In a couple minutes. I’m not burning myself again.”

Ouija and Seneca do some morning exercises, Mostly stretching.

Seneca gets a text from Red. He’s a minute away.

Knock. Knock.

“Red. Welcome.”

“You look dead tired.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’s the creation?”

“Right here! Take a nice long drink?”

“This is actually something right? Not chocolate window cleaner like last time?”

“C’mon. That was one time...like 2 days ago. And look. The coffee table is still spotless.”

“Yeah but it’s got purple splatters.”

“Just drink!”

Sip. Glug... Glug,Glug.Glug

“That’s enough. Good?”

“It’s amazing. It’s refreshing like a soda. Sweet like a treat. But it warms my body like fresh apple cider.”

“Cool I haven’t tried it yet.”

“I swear... If my eyebrows disappear again...”

“C’mon. That was one time...like 4 days ago. And I found them!”

“Brushing the ferret and gluing the clots isn’t finding my eyebrows.”

“Magically gluing,” she says with a flourish of her fingertips. “You can’t even tell.” sip. “Oh. This is good.”

“Where are the beans? If they’re like this, you could start selling energy candy. Ya know? Or even coffee gum.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah!” Red was genuinely excited. “This stuff tastes amazing.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not? Is this more of that witch ethic? I don’t believe that’s even-”

“I wasn’t taking notes!” Seneca’s eyes dart back and forth. “I don’t know what’s in it. Or in what order.”

“Sounds about right. Okay. Let’s go do some algebra.”