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shebeafancyflapjack · 4 years

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Does This Remind You Of Anything?

Consider this my Halloween whump drabble...My hallowhump drabble, if you will! Inspired by this post (which is also your trigger warning) so blame @cecret-with-c.

Shawn invites Eleanor to have dinner in TBP.

The last thing Eleanor expected when she was dragged from the portal in Bad Place HQ and separated from her friends was to be lead to a fancy dining hall. She’s made more than a few attempts to run only to be quickly grabbed by the demon heavies at every corner, to the point she decides just to follow Bad Janet to her fate.

The air chills her through her pink sweater that’s torn at the sleeve by now, even though there doesn’t seem to be any windows.

“Ugh, look at you. Did you just crawl out of your mom’s hedge? Let’s get you cleaned up and looking good for the Boss.” Her obnoxious guide sneers at her before waving her hand.

Another blast of cold hits Eleanor as she loses her sweater and pants, replaced with the black dress she had been wearing the night before. Their final night.

She tries not to tremble, refusing to show weakness to the bitch next to her.

“Wow! You really can’t pull that off, can you, talk about washed out. Oh well, it’ll have to do.”

Eleanor just rolls her eyes. Do they really expect trash talk to have any effect on her self-esteem? No words from a stupid Bad Janet are gonna knock her confidence. They’ll have to try better than that.

The door on the other side of the room opens. Shawn steps in, wearing a suit to match Eleanor’s dress.

She clenches her fists.

“Ah. Miss. Shellstrop. How lovely of you to join me for dinner. Please, take a seat.” He says, cordially.

She doesn’t buy it for a moment; “Cut the ‘polite evil villain’ crap, man. You wanna get on with torturing me old-school then do it. Don’t try this underhanded, psycho stuff when it isn’t what you’re into. Only Michael came anywhere close to being good at that and you just set him up to fail.”

“Now, now...Is it difficult to believe that all I want is to have a celebratory dinner with the leader of my competition after such an impressive feat?” Shawn asks, his hands up.

“Yes.”

“All right, I tried.” He shrugs; “Still, you might as well enjoy your last good meal, as the only thing you’re gonna be eating from now on will be wriggling or coated in acid. You’ve earned that much.”

“I’m not hungry.” Eleanor says, steeling herself for the worst; “Why just me? Where’s my friends? And Michael, what have you done with him? Is he being retired?!”

Shawn gives a chuckle and pulls his chair out to sit down; “Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t have Michael retired without planning the spectical he deserves, which takes a while to prepare. Those flaming ladles are not quick to heat up. I promise you, Eleanor, our friend Michael will be joining us very soon.”

No retirement yet. Her heart leaps with relief. That meant there might still be time. Time for her and Michael to try to escape together. They don’t have their Janet this time, her marble was sent back to the warehouse for rebooting. They’ll have to find her after they’ve managed to get the others and escape. Which they will. No way is she giving up yet, even if they did fail the experiment, even if they have no chance of getting to the Good Place anymore. As Michael said, they just need their one thousand and second idea, whatever that is.

She decides to play ball and takes a seat, glad there’s no whoopee cushion covered in needles waiting for her to sit on.

Bad Janet, now wearing a slutty waitress outfit, brings out a silver plate with a cover on top, placing it before her, while an identical Bad Janet gives the same to Shawn at the other end of the long table.

Eleanor tenses with unease.

“So whose head am I gonna find underneath then? I’ve already seen Hannibal, dude.” She tries to deflect.

Shawn smiles and waves his hand again.

The Bad Janets remove the coverings. The smell hits Eleanor’s nostrils before her eyes can take in what’s on her plate, served up in an enticing presentation.

“Seafood platter? Your favorite, I believe. As I said, it is intended to be a consolation prize.” Shawn tells her.

It feels too good for her to believe. So she doesn’t.

But, fuck, she is hungry...

“Are the shrimp gonna start eating me from inside, what am I looking at here?” Just tell her. Stop the preamble.

“Oh no. You have my word. That might not count for much but I assure you, it will not harm you to eat. But if you truly insist, I can have it taken away.”

She should say so. Get rid of it. If she’s never gonna eat properly again then...

Oh, damn it. She’s too weak.

Eleanor picks up her fork and spears one of the pieces of fried shrimp before putting it into her mouth...Oh. Oh, holy fuck, that is good. It sends her eyes rolling back and way too much blood rushing towards her thighs as she has to eat another, and another.

When in Hell, right? If criminals on Death Row get to enjoy their last meal then why not her?

“I knew you would like it.” She ignores her lame ass host over her food, not letting him spoil the final shred of pleasure she might have in her existence; “How’s the calamari?”

Eleanor gives a non-committal hum after swallowing a breaded piece.

“Well done and not too spongy, right?” Shawn describes; “That’s what’s good about fire squids. They’re already as cooked as they can be.”

She freezes.

“Truly the most difficult part is the slicing. It’s quite a challenge to get such tiny cuts from something six thousand feet tall, as well as washing off most of the juice while leaving just enough to add to the flavour.”

Eleanor’s hands fly up to her mouth as she starts to shake.

“And our dear Michael sure does love to squirm when he’s terrified, doesn’t he.”

Her stomach heaves as she tries to choke up what’s already sliding down her throat, tears of horror pricking at her eyes.

The Bad Janets are snickering from the shadows.

Eleanor pushes her chair back and grips the table, glaring across at Shawn who is already shoving pieces of his own dinner into his mouth. Possibly, very likely, pieces of his former employee turned rival. Oh God. Oh no, no, no!

“What?” Her companion tilts his head; “I told you he’d be joining us soon.”

Shawn starts to chuckle, maniacally, watching Eleanor fall to her knees and sob through her violent retching.

Fuck! Fuck, no, please, no, no!

She wakes with a fearsome gasp for air, followed by screaming and clawing at her throat, trying to force up something from her empty stomach.

It’s not until a pair of hands grab at her wrists to keep her still that the tears of distress fall down her cheeks, her mind still convinced that the horror she witnessed, that she consumed, truly happened. It’s not until she recognises the face in front of her and the voice trying to cut through the disturbed fog in her half-asleep brain that she can connect the dots to realise it can’t have been real.

If it was real when Michael wouldn’t be holding her. He wouldn’t be right here.

“Hey, hey...It’s okay. It’s okay, look at me, Eleanor.” His palm is against her cheek, bringing her focus directly on him, on his concerned gaze, “Just a bad dream, okay? You passed out on the desk there, I was just about to move you to the couch.”

She blinks, rapidly, looking around to check. No hauntingly large dining room. No Bad Janets. It’s just the office. Their office. With its windows looking out to the night sky and their neighbourhood.

She reaches out to grab at his jacket.

“We...It’s not over yet? W-we didn’t lose?”

Michael’s eyes widen; “Boy, I sure hope not or that would suck! It would be kind of a deck move for Janet or the Judge to not let us know we missed the deadline, huh.” he forces a smile and strokes her face, wiping a stray tear; “We’ve still got a few months to go, Eleanor. It’s okay. We haven’t lost yet, I swear.”

Her breathing is still short and stilted from the fear. She feels her hands up Michael’s chest, his shoulders, to his face. Making sure he’s all there.

Not...sliced and diced.

“Everyone’s safe, right? We’re all good? And you....” She takes a sniff and reaches to take his hands from her face to hold them in front of her, giving them a firm squeeze to double check; “...You’re here. You’re okay? He didn’t...Oh, fork, Michael...!”

Her voice breaks. She can’t begin to explain how much the stupid nightmare has managed to shake her up. How forking terrified she felt at the thought of losing...

Losing everyone...

“C’mere. Let me reclaim the chair for a sec, yeah?” He gently tugs her up so he can slide in to sit down on the leather seat before pulling her back onto his knee.

Eleanor curls against him, still shaking like a leaf, fingers clinging onto his shirt as she rests her leaking face against his chest.

“I thought we lost.” She confesses; “I thought I...lost you, bud...”

She feels Michael’s fingers move up to the back of her hair, clutching her close. She knows he’s probably wishing that he could promise her that won’t happen. But there’s no way of being sure he could keep that to her. He’s very careful not to lie to any of them after what happened last time. Complete trust and honesty going forward.

“Shh, just a bad dream. We’ll try our best to make sure it doesn’t become reality, right?” It’s the best he can do, sliding his arm around her back to keep her close.

She nods; “R-right...We’ll sort out Brent and then we should be fine. Damn it, I’m not letting the Bad Place get any of us. I’m not letting you get retired, ever!”

“That is very good to know, thank you.” She almost hears his smile.

Eleanor snakes her arms around his sides and hugs him tighter than she’s hugged anyone before.

“And I don’t care how good you taste, I’m not letting you get deep-friend and served with shrimp.”

That one probably didn’t bring a smile and she feels his hand still for a few seconds between stroking her hair. Thank fork that demons don’t sleep or else she probably would have influenced him to have the same nightmare.

One thing is for sure. She won’t be eating seafood again anytime soon.

#tgp fanfic #hellstrop #michael x eleanor #can be seen as shippy or brotp #whump fic #hurt/comfort #tgp drabble #the good place #angst #body horror

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brooklynislandgirl · 4 years

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Beth,

I hope you like this, I wanted to get one with a shark, but I didn’t think any of them looked very good and like sharks and that’s just disappointing. I thought this one was maybe neater anyways because it’s different kinds of shell and pearl, but shiny! So, it made me think of you. Because you are also beautiful and shiny, obviously. But not literally shiny, I mean. In the way that you are the most wonderful person.

BE thought it would be good to leave you a gift too, but since it was his artistic stylings of dug out litter art, I politely told him to just sign the card instead.

We love you very much,

Anakin & BE

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Christmas had always been a bizarre amalgamation of traditions growing up.

Those years that the Admiral was home for the celebration it was a very by-the-numbers type affair. Many perfectly wrapped gifts under a large fir bedecked and baubled in almost monotone schemes, the kind of thing one would find in a Fortune Five-Hundred Magazine. As if anyone was going to judge a well-connected physician who was also a captain of the Navy and could buy and sell the islands twice over, in true conquering imperial fashion. All accompanied by snide comments about how things were done back in civilisation, with snow and staff and things that she has no real truck with.

When it had only been her mother, the sea and ships claiming her spouse, it was a more riotous affair. The tree smaller, the ornaments hand-made by children’s hands be it her own or extended clans of cousins. The baked goods were closer to island food than gingerbread. Everything mismatched and colourful. Stories of Santa and Elves became the kindness of Lono and the work of the menahune.

And eventually that became Andy doing everything in his power to keep her believing in Santa Claus, tracking in sand that he would vacuum up as soon as the gifts were open and stockings plundered, all very middle of the road between their parents.

When Billy came back to them, they added traditional English aspects to the Irish and Hawai’ian and it all worked in it’s weird way, despite there being so many differences between the three siblings. Beth liked to think that it was love, the spirit of the season that made it all possible. And if she were to talk about it, which she doesn’t, she’d be keen on recalling faces; the way Jay laughed with her hand in front of her mouth, full of some succulent treat, Andy waving a spatula around while wearing a flour covered apron, Baz fiddling with the lights so that they blink in tune of the music, Billy sitting behind her, head on her shoulder. Father Vincent perched on a couch arm going over the keen points of the four masses he’d preform in the twenty four hours starting at midnight.

If there was ever true magick, those were moments of it. Nothing spectacular. Just warmth and love and kindness for all. It was all Beth really wished for, deep down. And she missed those New York City holidays. She missed her cabal, her family.

Though she has to admit, Anakin had been a champion in the last couple weeks. Taking her to all the unique New Orleans celebrations, not once complaining about too many people, the bustle and crowding. He didn’t complain over volunteering at various shelters, of helping her deliver clothes and food to those who are not as fortunate as they are, playing with the children as she made arrangements with some parents. Covering a bill here, declining payment for a medical expense there.

Beth knows she is fortunate, even blessed, and to her the best way to handle it all is to make sure as many people as possible could experience even a fraction of what came to her through other people’s labours. Of course that’s not to say she didn’t enjoy the smaller and quieter moments, the ones that had been meant for just them. She will dream in the days to come of Anakin stretching impossibly thin and putting those ridiculously long limbs to good work hanging the more breakable ornaments high in the tree that she couldn’t herself reach all with promises that no, of course, Bugs will not climb up there to knock them down. She has had to replace at least five ornaments every year with the same or similar thanks to Houdini and his fantastically elaborate heists to do just that. She gets to show Anakin a picture of her cat when Uncle Luis sends her a card featuring both feline and not-actually-blood-relation sharing cocoa against the Manhattan skyline.

She will dream in the days to come of Anakin sitting on the floor with her, bowls of cranberries and bowls of popcorn, stringing them with needle and thread that end in half-strung massacres with broken kernels in their hair, berry juice staining fingers and lips, both of them laughing so hard that they can hardly catch their breath, having rolled around in mock combat, carols playing in the background and Bug Eater watching in true feline disdain from one of the couch arms {having thrice been turned away from trying to steal the finished strings when he thought no one was looking}.

And she will dream in days to come of things that didn’t happen either. The way there were moments when she wanted to bury her face in his neck, which wouldn’t be easy to do, and sway tightly pressed together under the snow that doesn’t fall in New Orleans without a hefty and not very coincidental at all dose of storm-wife rotes. Hot chocolate kisses. A little too much cheer in his eggnog and how sweet it lingers in a softly exhaled breath. Not that she wants this because she feels he owes her something, not even close to that.

And she would be horrified if he did think that. No matter how close they have become, no matter how their continued comfort with one another makes it hard to think of them as separate entities. Which brings into question if they are friends, if they are master and apprentice, if they are some nebulous other that exists without boundary or definition, and which strews emotional landmines everywhere she can think to step.

And straying too far one way or another, it would make her feel like the people she despises. The ones that use Anakin for their own purposes, who have roles that they want him to play for them without any thought as to what he might want, what he might feel about things.

So no, she doesn’t act on her impulses, though at times it’s difficult.

Like this one. The box is not proportional to the amount of nervous energy he exudes, nor the way his normal day-to-day twitching and fluttering of fingers, toe-tapes, an entire pervasive and subtle language all of his own, comes so loudly after he bestows it on her that even she, who sometimes misses verbal cues and instructions and entire conversations, can misjudge it. Which in turn makes her nervous too, because she doesn’t especially know what side of the line he falls on. If it’s anxiety because he doesn’t particularly like what’s in the box or because he likes it too much and fears what she will make of it. After all, there are only so many things that can fit inside it’s shape and size and she takes a breath to fortify herself for whatever it might be. And in the anticipation of a multitude of different delights and disappointments so keen that even in her own mind she has to err on the side of alliteration, she sets the box on her knee, and takes her time to unwrap it at a snail’s pace. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her. It’s a wonder that something so soft, so airy, so delicately blue should feel like a sack of bricks on her bones. She almost offers to go into another room to open her gift, if that might make him feel any more relaxed but she knows doing so would only make him feel worse, and deprive him of the honesty of her reaction. Beth has, of course, no real ability to lie. She cannot hide the things she feels even in the presence of her father, which is why she hasn’t seen the man since Andy’s funeral. And she feels that honesty is important because no one enjoys feeling as if they’ve had something hidden from them. No one likes to think they are being taken advantage of or misguided even in the sake of kindness, and she thinks with Anakin it is doubly so.

The wrapping paper parts sometime before the turn of the century before it’s folded up carefully and tucked into the pocket of her robe. The ribbon is taken and tucked carefully into her hair. It doesn’t matter to her if it clashes with her pyjamas, she thinks it’s delightful. And she has no intention of changing into real clothes. Or putting on make up. Or any of a dozen other things, she’s cozy as she is. A flicker of green rises to his face and falls again back to the box. Which she opens now only to find…another box. Her lips crinkle in the beginnings of a grin, the faint tickle of amusement as if wondering ~teasingly of course~ if this is going to be a series of smaller and smaller containers. She lifts the lid of the next one and…

…and time stills, entirely.

The subtle music fades completely out, drowned into and perhaps eaten entirely by the sudden spiking pounding of her heartbeat, that pulses hard enough that it can be seen, were one to look closely enough, shaking the scoop neck of her pyjama top. And with it comes a bright flush spilling across her cheeks, neither in embarrassment or shock but in genuine surprise, followed a plethora of other emotions not so easily distinguished.

Even by herself. Parts of her recognises the gift for what they are, a beautifully breath-taking necklace that will look stunning against her skin. She recognises the abalone, the gold, the fresh-water pearl. They are all elements of the sea, true and tangible. Even the hasp that keeps the pendant parts has a feeling of the ocean to it. She has no words for it, not ones that would make sense, and her features for a moment become slack, entirely without any discernible cause, complaint, query.

Little by little it comes to life again. In the way that her nostrils flare as she takes and expresses a single breath. The way her throat rises and falls with a slow swallow that doesn’t quite make it all the way down. The sting prickling the backs of her eyes for what she interprets laying there against fluffy cotton, perhaps more meaningful that even Anakin can really understand. “Oh, Anakin.”

Because it isn’t a necklace.

He has plucked Mahina from the sky and captured Her in a gown of gold that lets Her shine pale and milky in warm embrace. Mahina who married a mortal man and lived happily together until ʻAikanaka died of old age.

He has brought too Manaiakalani, the great fish hook of Māui. And reminds her of the connection to all things; for it was baited with the wing of Mahina’s pet bird, the ‘alae, when he tricked his brothers into dredging up the islands. He told them to paddle as hard and fast as they could but to never look back. Of course one did and the line snapped, throwing Manaiakalani into the heavens, though the islands remained. And he has given her, too, her childhood, which sees tears lining the rims of her eyes at the near overwhelming sensation. Memories that she’d forgotten or rather… misplaced. Because as her fingertips follow the wavering lines of shell that remind her of kelp and shells and other things from home, real home, she can’t help but recall almost the first song that she’d learned to sing, one her mother would sing all the way back to the crib. It’s little more than a whisper now, trembling at the edges of the words, hardly even a song. Anakin and the cat are probably the only people who have heard it in a good twenty years or so.

“Kahuli aku, Kahuli mai, Kahuli lei ula, Lei akolea.” A smile starts to blossom. Quirking the corners of her lips as the second verse takes on a bit more substance than the previous. “Kolea, kolea, Ki’i ka wai, Wai akolea.” She doesn’t close the box when she picks up the card, needing a moment to not exactly distance herself, but to collect all her feelings and figure out a way to put them into her appreciation, her thanks, her everything that seems to fall short and unsuitable, unworthy of his gift to her.

She scans the words he’s written her. Her eyes skip over the grammar and spelling mistakes because hey, everyone has challenges, and hers and his so happen to be the spoken and written word respectively and she’s not going to take him to task over things she doesn’t even really notice. Besides, every bit of it is genuinely Anakin. The heights of his enthusiasm, his native sense of self worth {and sometimes lack there of} and it just makes his gift even more perfect than it could already possibly be.

The bit about Bug Eater’s contributions and the smudged paw print only tie it all together. The love he declares, the thoughts behind it all. And it makes her heart feel a hundred times heavier than before. Still and solid in her chest. The note gets secreted into another one of her pockets for the time being. Eventually she’s going to put it in one of her scrapbooks that live in her room away from prying eyes ~not that she wouldn’t share them with him, if she thought he’d care to see them~ so that when she needed this moment the most in some unplanned and yet to be created future, she could easily find it there, sorted by year. Her hands still shake a little as she picks up the necklace, the box occupying the space she had just been sitting in. Several measured steps bring her inside his personal space and them more so as she wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face into his chest. There might have been something about mahalo a couple dozen times, repeated like her rosary in countable decades. Or she could have been weaving a curse upon his house for a million generations of bastard cat sons, it’s really hard to tell when she’s muffled and not even speaking pidgin but pure Hawai’ian. Eventually though, definitely before Epiphany ~which they would be making a king cake for~ she finally pulls away from him and takes his good hand in hers, laying the necklace against his palm. Her chin rises and brings green in line with blue, and every bliss and joy and ounce of nostalgia is there, naked in those depths. “Anakin, I…” Love you. You’re wonderful. I can’t tell you how much I adore this because words aren’t enough. She turns. Gathers up the heavy fall of dark hair and holds it just so. “It’s perfect. Beautiful. I…I need help putting it on.”

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victorlimadelta · 4 years

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This operation is supposed to take six hours. Outside of the observation window into the operating room, Pidge has even posted a tentative schedule on a small whiteboard. Pre-procedure time-out no later than 0745, operation begins no later than 0800. By 0830, or at the very latest by 0900, Ulaz should be able to disconnect Shiro’s arm. Depending on how sensitive the next part is, they can test all the command line prompts on the socket that remains by 1000. Then, once that part’s over, the biochemistry part starts: isolating the genome Pidge has created with the Altean molecular synthesizer, hooking it to a CRISPR carrier, testing the insertion point with an Olkari tiara application, and then--then the quintessence wash-out. As far as Pidge can tell, the closest analog is a mixture of dialysis and transfusion, but without the difficulty of using extracorporeal membrane oxygenation at any step. Not like they don't have ECMO, defib, EKG, EMG, and a crash cart readily available, should things go south (because what are they, animals?), but it shouldn’t take any of that to make this work.

First, though, they have to actually get to work.

Pidge pulls out of her carefully-calibrated sleep a little after 0600 and immediately puts herself under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the med bay. This little bit of time she has left is taken up by tech tests, making sure the Olkari tiara is still responding to binary input, waking up the molecular synthesizer, running the last compile on the code they’ll need--but it's all busy work, really, just something to fill the time while she gets coffee in her. (Not the Olkari root juice, she wants something made by humans, for humans, no matter how inefficient it might be.)

She doesn’t need much. She feels better rested than she’s been in weeks; she’ll have to thank Hunk, later, for reminding her to get some sleep. Like she was trying to cram for an exam, or something equally as trivial. (As if she’s ever crammed for an exam a minute of her life.) Still, it gets closer to 0745, and eventually, Ulaz takes Shiro’s cot, moves it into the operating theater.

Shiro’s been in a barbiturate-induced coma for the past few days, but anesthesia is a little different. The pentobarbital doesn't provide any pain relief, just slows brain waves; the transition to propofol isn’t seamless, but it still works well enough. Ulaz just had to tell Pidge that Shiro’s woken up during anesthesia, before, during--during the druid experimentation. Not that the druids cared, but it knocked ketamine right off the table as an option. And the midazolam, this time, should work as an amnesic, so he never remembers even if he does wake. Small mercies, really.

Pidge is managing the transition between states of consciousness, with enough time to get a real feel for it by the time she and Ulaz get through their figurative pre-flight checklist. Correct patient--they’d be here forever if they debated the metaphysics of it, but this man is still intrinsically Shiro, no matter what’s happened to him while they've been in space. Correct procedure: right upper extremity prosthetic removal, right upper extremity amputation stump revision, targeted genomic insertion at the diaphragm, genomic implementation test, and full quintessence flush. Just in case there was any question about the correct site, Pidge marks the cap of Shiro’s right shoulder with a permanent marker, gives him a little freckle and a twin under the left side of his ribcage.

Materials are set aside, too. Yes, there's the standard surgical kit, lancets and retractors and forceps, but there's also a set of trocars, one for camera placement, one for tissue manipulation--that’s for the diaphragm, less traumatic abdominal entry. A set of eyeglasses screwdrivers with miniature flat, Philips, and hex heads, needle-nose pliers, and thermal paste, for operating on the prosthetic. Pidge tries not to touch it all before she snaps a set of nitrile gloves on her hands.

0759.

Pidge cracks her knuckles.

0800.

“let’s get started.”

Ulaz starts by prying apart the near-invisible seams near Shiro’s shoulder joint, exposing the wires hooking the neural interface together. Separating the prosthetic is the easy part; disconnecting it from his brain is, as he explained, a lot more difficult. It really is like perfoming the amputation on him all over again, and this part needs to be done carefully so he retains as much function as possible.

Of course, the prosthetic isn’t exactly cooperative. Having been poisoned with druid quintessence, it’s occasionally outside of its master’s control. Even with anesthetic, the limb has its own programming, and trying to keep it (nonsensically) calm as it’s disconnected is a struggle--why it has to be done slowly, methodically. Every so often Shiro’s brows will twitch together, or his mouth will fall open, and Pidge panics that he’s stirring from anesthesia, but no, his vitals are still stable. Weak, but stable. If he were awake, would this cause as much pain as the original amputation, or is there a way to engage his circuit dampeners from the cap?

She’s going to have to replace her gloves if she does this, but Pidge doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if Shiro’s insensate, amnesiac, not present. His forelock, where it hangs over his forehead, is limp; Pidge pushes it back, runs her thumbprint over his hairline. It makes no change in the constant read-out of the blood pressure monitor, the constant blip of the real-time EKG, but she’d like to think it edges up his O2 saturation a little. A white lie she tells herself, to get through this.

0820. “sitrep.”

“Forty-seven percent complete with detachment,” Ulaz tells her, like he reports to her. Like she’s running the show. Which, she is, isn’t she. This is her responsibility. “At 0830, begin the command line program.”

“right.” It’ll take a few minutes to boot, giving Ulaz enough time to get the metal endcap exposed before they start the killswitches. “anesthetic holding.”

“This is your first operation, is it not?”

what gave it away? is Pidge’s reflexive, sarcastic response, one she bites down by literally biting the tip of her own tongue. “yes.”

“Remarkably complex,” Ulaz says, ineffable. His eyes have never left Shiro’s arm plating. “This is not how most residents begin. If at any point you need a break--”

“let me stop you right there.” He doesn’t cease his movements, but he does stop talking. “making shiro’s medications meant sitting in front of that synthesizer and basically concentrating with my entire being for hours at a time while i asked literal atoms to be nice and bond with each other. i can do this.” She can, and she has, before. Just... maybe not with these stakes.

A nearly-imperceptible shrug runs along the Galra’s shoulders. All the while, his fingers have been working steadily at the synthetic nerves keeping the prosthetic functional.

It occurs to Pidge, as she watches these connections be terminated one by one, that Ulaz might have been attempting kindness or mercy or paternalism with her. It’s a poor stand-in for the kind of familial affection she'll accept from the man that’s anesthetized on the table between them, but she can at least recognize it for what it is. Ulaz has been pretty patient with her throughout all this, even as she’s been working herself sick, even as she’s had full-scale shutdowns trying to put this project together over the past week. As a medical officer, he’s a pretty good mentor. She’s just not sure she’d ever be friends with him outside of a strict working environment. She’s... not exactly the kind of person that inspires camaraderie, and she gets the feeling that Ulaz, as a senior Blade and infiltration specialist, is just as private a person as she is.

For now, it doesn’t matter. They work together well. Their professional relationship has actually soldered together, tempered over the past few days, to the point where they’re working this seamlessly during a surgery. While she brings over the Altean-level data-crunching device she’s using for the command prompt termination, she almost asks for another sitrep, but it’s clear that Ulaz doesn’t have much left to go. Pidge connects the nodes to the tiny empty sockets of the shoulder caps where the prosthetic had attached its neural nets, and by the time Ulaz disconnects the last, she’s ready to plug that port.

Dictating for the medical record, “0847, first phase complete. second phase begin?”

"Begin," Ulaz tells her, and she tells her program to execute.

This should theoretically be as simple as watching code print out on a screen, but it’s not really a diagnostic. This is making sure Shiro’s brain isn't sending errant commands to a military-grade weapon attached to his body. Pidge had warned Ulaz, ahead of time, that the prosthetic often seemed to have a mind of his own, and she’s just relieved that he's taking her concern so seriously. Maybe he feels responsible for grafting the original on in the first place? Maybe that's why he’s trying to engineer a replacement that’ll run off of purified, or at least untainted, quintessence.

As this program runs, it sends back error messages. They’re far enough apart that Pidge can read and understand each before the next one comes along, and most have to do with detecting and eliminating threats. She’s seen the arm’s glowing function before, knows it can work as a heat source to create a hull breach in a Galra warship, but according to these readouts, it can also do other things. Form a shield, that’s reasonable, their Paladin armor can do that, too, except his would probably appear as that ghastly Galra magenta-neon instead of Altean blue. Form a blade--that’s new. Apparently it would slide out over the back of his hand, rather than an assassin’s blade from the meat of the inside of the wrist, but given that Shiro mostly uses that right hand for enhanced martial arts, the placement makes a little more sense for his inherent sense of movement.

What strikes fear into her gut, though, is the discovery that the arm had an ion cannon function. Oh, what the hell, Haggar, that was absolutely unnecessary. How much power would that have required? More than the arm could hold, surely? And if it ran off of impure quintessence, that would mean sapping Shiro of his strength every time it was used. For accuracy, he’d also have to be immobile whenever it was fired. From the code, though, she can see that it’s only been deployed a few times, and never at the owner’s insistence, only remote command line prompts. Oh, boy. Oh, wow. That’s not terrifying or anything. Pidge has never been quite so glad that they’re replacing this compromised, tainted thing with one that will complement Shiro’s innate essence, one that can’t be tampered with at a distance by druids, one that doesn’t need to be shut off at the command line because it poses a danger to his friends and loved ones.

Ulaz seems to read it on the screen at the same time Pidge does; a clawed hand points at it from over her shoulder as it scrolls up, then away. “yes, i saw it,” she tells him. It’s dumping the output into a file, she’ll have time to go over it later, but it’s important that she saw when it came out.

“I installed no such function into this prosthetic,” Ulaz says, and he actually sounds... mildly perturbed?

“yeah, well, it's not technically your prosthetic. i wouldn’t be surprised if he got an upgrade.” She can tell Ulaz’s yellow sclera are drilling into the base of her skull, like he could extract the information from her that way, so she gives him a gift: “long story. involves clones. you weren’t involved with that, were you?”

This close, Pidge swears she can hear the wet sound as Ulaz's nictitating membranes force him to blink. “Not technically.” That answer isn’t exactly reassuring, but it's better than nothing. When Pidge looks back to him, his expression is almost as usual, except for a slight wrinkle between his brow ridges. For Ulaz, that’s extreme discomfort. Hm. Something to talk about later.

The prosthetic technically wasn’t the focus here, after all. It just needed to be removed because of unforeseen dangers like... well, that. Imagine having left that arm on while actually trying to perform the operation--it would have killed them. Probably everyone on this ship. (But anesthetic is okay? Apparently? Pidge has so many questions.) The kill program keeps running. “you... do have a replacement for that one,” and she jerks her head at it, “right?”

“In progress.” That’ll have to do. Again, this isn’t about the arm. Having input from Shiro about what he wants it to look like and how he wants it to function will be just as important as relieving his body dysmorphia, after all. “Whatever is built will need to connect to his neural network--to his brain, through this access port.”

Ah. Thus the full sweep. Pidge nods, once, sharp, and keeps scanning the code for anomalies. If Ulaz wrote the code for the first version (the one Sendak said was a piss-poor druid prototype), then she has no doubt he can work with what he’s given here to make the replacement the best it can be.

No other anomalies, although Pidge’s eyes hurt after scanning a screen for that long. Something intrinsic about the muscle cap seems... inert, once they’re done. Function absent. Good. “Your turn,” Ulaz prompts her gently.

“1018, second phase complete, third phase begin,” Pidge dictates for the record, picking up the trocar and lining it up with the mark she left on Shiro’s chest.

There’s a resonating pain in her own ribcage as she drives the surgical tool in, until the camera at the end, inside, shows her that she’s at the center of his diaphragm. She wanted to target this muscle first, because as soon as it can regenerate dystrophin, Shiro can start breathing easier. That’s a brainstem function, one of the last to go, usually autonomous. She doesn’t want him to have to fight to breathe anymore. Second trocar punches in, a few inches off from the first, but the tip of it ends up in the visual field of the first.

She and Ulaz can both see the camera feed on a monitor that's just by the one showing Shiro’s vitals. The other part of this, though, happens on an Altean holographic screen, not unlike the forearm computer Pidge has in her paladin armor. Through the second trocar, she uses a specialized micro-tool to reach deeper into the smooth muscle tissue. This camera, too, has magnification properties far outside of what Terran tech is capable of: electron microscope installation, so she can actually see what she’s doing in manipulating individual cellular molecules.

The smallest possible glass bore needle is at the end of the trocar. It takes an insane amount of precision for Pidge to guide it where she wants it to be, puncturing the cellular membrane and resting in the prokaryotic soup inside for a second before delivering its microliter payload. This is what she was doing last night before she drugged herself to sleep: swirling test tubes, sometimes manually, to make sure that the CRISPR molecule picked up her DNA strand to carry it where she wants it to go.

She has more in reserve if this one fails, and she doesn’t expect the first attempt to be successful. Even if it is, she plans to impregnate a cellular cluster of about a dozen with this gene fix--better chance it’ll hold, and she may as well, while she’s in here. Unfortunately, she took the approach a little too harsh on this one, and just after the injection, it undergoes apoptosis.

Sigh. Another try. She eyes the clock, Shiro’s vitals. Ulaz has control over the anesthesia while she’s working on this. She doesn’t need to see his face to know that they’ve hit a critical point in trying to save Shiro’s life; it’s do-or-die at this point, absolutely literal. All she can do is be patient, and that's among Pidge’s worst skills.

She takes the second approach, on a second cell, a little more oblique. This time, a little bit slower on the plunge, the injection takes, and she watches as the CRISPR bacteriophage splits open the one chromosome she needs it to, splice in the gene she created this past week. That’s... that's incredible. Pidge feels like she might cry; she knows her eyes are doing the sparkle thing, again, that she does when she's this close to incredible technology. She did this. She was the one who figured this out. Even Shiro’s said it, multiple times, if anyone can do it, it’s Pidge. And she did. The proof is right here.

Third one--a repeat of the second attempt. Holy crow, it’s happening. Fourth, another success, wow, look at this. By the fifth, Pidge feels like she’s getting the hang of it, until the delivery molecule installs the DNA backwards--well, quiznak. Waste of work. On the way out, she hooks the nanometer needle into the cellular membrane to kill it, just in case it started getting any ideas.

All in all, it takes her much longer than she’d planned to get this part in place, but, hey. Just like Ulaz said, it’s her first surgery, and she’s doing it with trocars, and minimally invasive tools, on not just a cellular level but a molecular level. At the end, out of about twenty payloads, she ended up with maybe a dozen cells. That’s better than just the one she outlined in her project proposal to Ulaz on Monday.

Now is not the time to start getting smug about her abilities and Shiro’s prognosis, though. Time to see if it actually works. “1159, third phase complete, fourth phase begin.”

From somewhere far outside her laser-focus concentration, she thinks Ulaz might be asking her if she needs a break, something to eat, a pouch of water. Pidge waves him away. She’s on a roll, and she has to finish this now. The tiara from Olkarion finally sits atop her head, and in a strange sort of way, she feels like a queen on her throne, even though it’s just a bunch of twigs and a crystal and she’s sitting on a surgeon’s stool that’s still just a little too tall for her to perch comfortably.

Pidge picks up Shiro’s left hand in her own, holds it close with their thumbs hooked together and their palms flat against the other’s. It’s so strange not to feel him grip back, and only part of it is the anesthesia. He doesn’t... he doesn’t look right. He’s been so sick for so long and only just told her and he let it deteriorate to this level and he-- no. She has to shake her head to stop from digging too deep into those thoughts.

Instead, she reaches out with binary, into what feels like Shiro’s core.

There’s something different about that cell cluster, she can tell before the code of her mind even gets there. Something about her recognizes them as altered. That’s, theoretically, what the quintessence wash is going to fix. What she can do with the tiara, though, is take that little switch that she just implanted, and turn it from off to on. “let’s see what this does,” she mutters, and mentally switches that operator from 0 to 1.

Twenty amino acids a second start compiling, almost faster than Pidge can visually track. It’s like watching a 3D printer, but if it was in someone’s body. The building blocks start making these absolutely beautiful spirals, one after the other, branching out from a stem like a fern unfurling in the sun. The cell is doing what it’s supposed to, but the dystrophin gene is the largest known in the human genome, and the protein it makes is similarly gigantic.

Three minutes. A little more. And then Pidge is looking at a fully-formed, perfect dystrophin protein, all 3,684 amino acids of it. This is the point at which she actually sheds a for-real tear, not even bothering to wipe it or her impossibly bright and broad smile off of her face. It worked, it worked, it worked...

“1203.” Sound off. “fourth stage end, fifth stage begin.”

This is the quintessence wash-out. Theoretically, this will take all the pent-up energy that’s been stored in Shiro’s arm from taking the Castleship offline and pour it back into him, but better. Not tainted with whatever the druids do to manipulate it, but somehow purified, almost to a clinical level. It’s almost undetectable as bioenergy, now. And what they can’t tap out of the arm, they’re taking from the ship, with Allura’s permission, Coran’s engineering, and Hunk’s assistance. It’ll leave them limping until they can replace the main crystal, but full power can wait, so long as the Lions are still operational. This? Can’t.

It’s boring, though. There’s nothing to do. There’s no manual surgery, no injection, no reading code or even watching protein formation. Just... monitoring energy. This is the part of engineering that she hates. The part of life that she hates. It twists her, makes her sour and bitter in turns, because she can’t do anything to drive it forward, because she just has to accept that this is out of her control.

Of course, this gives Pidge and Ulaz a second to take a breather. It’s, a little absurdly, like waiting for a device to charge, and all they’re waiting for is the battery indicator. Yeah, yeah, the quintessence is also picking up the molecular change Pidge made to Shiro’s genome in that little cluster of cells and propagating it through his whole body, core first, then spreading to extremities, but that’s not something she can see or monitor.

Ulaz offers her a bite of whatever food he’s eating. It looks bland, but healthy; from the texture and the sheen under the light, it’s probably some kind of protein, maybe a high-fat meat. Pidge declines and goes back to whatever dried fruit had been set aside for her earlier this week. It tastes like... kind of like if a pineapple and a potato had a child? Sort of stringy, and not overly sweet, but not bad to chew when dehydrated, and she can swear the movement of her jaw helps kick-start her thinking.

This part, Ulaz warned her, will take hours. But the anesthesia is holding. Shiro’s vitals are holding. If Pidge cared to peek in, she could see his cell still building little dystrophins as fast as it can, to make up for all he’s lost over his lifetime. That part, at least, is reassuring. And maybe, just maybe, as the quintessence starts pouring through Shiro, she feels like he’s... glowing? Is that a thing that can happen? Not visually, just... he feels incandescent. Some kind of heretofore unknown radiation? Would a Geiger counter even be able to measure this?

Whatever it is, that hopeful feeling starts resonating in the room, but not without pushing the dread that coalesces around impure quintessence ahead of it. Maybe it’s like air, in that cold air sinks, because it feels like it pools around her feet, like she needs to direct it to go someplace else before it infects the rest of the passengers on the ship. Then again, maybe if it's all of them bearing the burden of this tainted quintessence, maybe it won’t get to all of them at once?

The crystal is meant to be the filter. It’s meant to kill the ship's power, basically. Directing it back to the crystal, though, is hard, it’s like that dark energy wants to latch onto sentient life and direct it to its own will. Is quintessence sapient? Does it have will and purpose of its own, or is it directed by something else?

A lot of philosophical, metaphysical, maybe even directly physics-related questions for Pidge to sort through, later. Right now, though, washout progress is still steadily climbing. The rise and fall of Shiro’s chest is getting a little more purposeful, now. Not that he’s climbing out of anesthesia, but that it’s not so difficult for him to draw in a breath. His O2 sats are improving; so is his respiratory rate. Even his blood pressure is up, meaning his heart is pumping stronger. Oh, wow. They really were just in time with this.

Once the progress of the wash-out tips into the 90th percentile, it’s back to work, with new gloves and apparatuses. Pidge starts withdrawing the trocars at 91%. Ulaz sounds as incredulous as she feels when he reads off 92, then 93. On instinct, Pidge reaches down to hold Shiro’s hand again, nearly feeling the tingle of quintessence through the nitrile of her gloves as the wash-out takes hold.

“94,” Ulaz announces. Then, a few minutes later, “95.” The same interval, then “96.” Then, nothing for a little while. Pidge frowns at the monitor, wondering what's wrong, until the number changes again, finally--95.

Down? “what’s happening?” Shouldn’t this be a continuous process? How are they somehow losing progress on this?

“I had thought we could avoid this complication,” Ulaz says, “but it appears as though Shiro’s body is using up this new quintessence at an alarming rate--faster than we can replace it.”

“which means?” Pidge snaps off, but Ulaz hesitates. That’s never a good sign. Either what he’s about to explain is out of her depth, or it’s an answer she’ll refuse to accept. “try me,” she urges.

“The crystal on this ship only has so much power to give before we are on auxiliary life support,” Ulaz starts. “My original plans would have allowed the crystal to retain enough to perform basic ship functions--navigation, communications--but little else. At this point, however, those will need to be sacrificed to--”

“you're telling me we’re out of juice,” Pidge interrupts. Ulaz hangs his head, and he at least has the courage to wear his apology on his face. “he’s just going to keep chewing through quintessence until none of it takes, is that what’s going on?” A slight nod. “so it’s going to fail.”

That’s...

That’s unacceptable. They’ve come so far--Pidge has sacrificed so much, and this is going to be what stops them? Miscalculation of the amount of raw energy it would take to force a quintessence dialysis and genomic replication? No, that’s, this is, this isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. Pidge’s hands feel numb, but her lungs feel like they’re on fire, and her heart’s about to leap out of her chest, and there’s a ringing in her ears, and she feels sick in her core, deeper than her stomach but full of just as much bile. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening, it’s not, it’s--

A bone-deep thrum feels like it’s starting from the base of the Castle--is it finally giving up the rest of its power, or is that--it feels like an intrusive thought in the back of Pidge’s mind, until something in her answers it. That’s Black. That’s the Black Lion, bellowing so loud they can hear her through the distance and through advanced plating. Black, reaching out with Shiro’s link to cry out in pain, devastation, loss. Black, who’s never given up on Shiro before, isn’t about to do it this time.

Pidge isn’t about to give up on him, either.

Some kind of answering call gets stuck in her throat but screams out through her mouth anyway, tearing her vocal cords raw with the sheer force of her frustration, anger, grief, determination, and alongside her, in her mind, she can feel the verdant mindscape of Green roar back. This cannot happen. Pidge is not going to just sit here and let this happen. When she closes her eyes in a silent prayer to every saint whose name she ever learned, a god she’s long abandoned, and a universe that has never listened to what she wants, she can feel the tears streaking down her face. Her forehead falls to press against the back of Shiro’s hand.

When she opens--

--her eyes--

--it’s--

--it feels like--

--seeing through her Lion’s eyes. Forming Voltron. Pooling the souls of five into the vessel of one, a sixth and somehow more powerful entity, like a white lion having been unprismed into its component colors. There’s an urge to grip a bayard that isn’t there, fit it into a socket that doesn’t exist, the same feeling she had on the tip of her tongue just before she formed Voltron’s shield for the first time, and she knows. Knows, bone deep and just as intrinsically true, what she has to do.

The patience of the last few hours, the last week, the last three months since Shiro told her about his diagnosis, has honed her focus beyond the simple edge of a blade. Her body, her mind, her soul are as one. Her teeth are tingling with the force of her conviction. With her being, she reaches out, hooks around Shiro like she’s bonding with her Lion, and she can feel his indomitable will to live, ready to submerge her if she lets it. A well of quintessence here, nearly full, still struggling to reach its apex.

Pidge reaches out with her entire self and starts to pour, thoughtless, selfless, unheeding.

The way the quintessence flows from her being into Shiro’s is nothing short of hemorrhage. It’s not pure, not proper, not the bright, unblemished white of the artificial rarefied form. Nor is it the neon-lavender of Shiro’s tint, the reserved cast of premature maturity and the kind of endless empathy that could drown a man, but a sunny yellow-green, youthful, growing, reckless, insightful, intellect and daring.

It floods through him, so much faster than the slow trickle of purified quintessence routed through the ship’s core. Even as the force of her resolve leaves her, Pidge knows that this, this was the missing part, this was the key. Not some impure dregs from the Galra, not whatever purification science Ulaz has wrought, but the undeniably human connection. The courage to face the entirety of the known universe, the laws of physics, the insurmountable odds against them, and tell them “no, you move.”

From someplace that doesn’t matter, Pidge’s vision starts to go. Ulaz is--something, some kind of words are coming out of his mouth, but Pidge can’t parse them. That quintessence well in Shiro is almost topped off, and she pours, and she pours, and she pours from herself, until the grip goes from her aging hand, until her face fades into a haggard, wrinkled mask, until the light goes from her eyes, until it’s done.

It’s done.

The quintessence flush worked. Pidge knows, in a way she can’t describe, that the change she caused in his cells has propagated to all of him, has made him into something better. That her contribution here was helpful, useful, wanted, needed, necessary. That she wrung out everything she had to give and it was, for once, enough. That Shiro is--not cured, but the genetic portion of his disease has been defeated.

Victory or death. Knowledge or death. Pidge tips forward, out of her stool, and loses consciousness before she hits the floor, quintessence wrung from her in every possible way.

#this is important plot shit #δ drabble #palidinus #swordsedge #medical /#surgery /#illness /#disease /#mortality /

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unfolded73 · 4 years

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Husbands: Two Years In (1/5) - schitt’s creek ff

Hi, remember me? I finally wrote something new. This fic is complete, and will be posted over the course of the next two weeks. While I'm including it as part of the "Labels" series, the preceding fics are not required reading. Previous fics in this series: Boyfriends; “I Love You”, Partners, Fiancés

Warning: This fic deals with depression as one of its major topics.

Rated Explicit, this chapter 5059 words. (ao3)

Thanks to @high-seas-swan for cheerleading and B13_MaybeThisTime for many valuable comments (and also cheerleading).

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Chapter 1: Winter

Patrick stuck his head behind the beige curtain of the storeroom at Rose Apothecary. “Bethany, can you cover the register? I’ve got to get to my council meeting.”

“Sure,” she said, leaving off from the merchandise she’d been unpacking and joining him behind the counter.

“I should be back in an hour and a half,” he said, slipping his laptop into his messenger bag.

“No problem. Is David planning to come back to the store today?” she asked.

“I doubt it. He’s gone more than halfway to Thornbridge to meet with potential vendors, so I expect he’ll be late getting back.” Patrick’s thumb strayed to the smooth gold of his wedding ring and he gave it a turn, an ingrained habit now after a year and a half of marriage.

“Okay,” Bethany said to him before turning to the customer who had just approached the register. “Find everything you were looking for today?” she asked in a cheerful, retail clerk voice.

Patrick ducked into the back again to get his coat and gloves and hat, pulling them on and zipping his parka up to his neck before braving the icy temperatures outside. Not for the first time, he wished the store had a vestibule and another set of doors to keep the cold from rushing in every time people came and went during the winter months. He made a mental note to add that to their wish list for a second Rose Apothecary location, when and if that ever became a reality.

David was certainly invested in the idea, spending more time out on the road these days, wooing new vendors or shoring up renewal contracts with existing ones. Hiring Bethany meant they didn’t need to be in the store at the same time, and while the flexibility was more than worth it in terms of the time it gave them to work on growing the business, Patrick had to admit he missed the old days sometimes. When it was only him and David at the store together, sneaking into the back to make out when things were slow.

On the other hand, there was probably something to be said for not spending every hour of every day together, he told himself. Marriages thrived on a little bit of separation. But looking up at the grey sky while he walked through town, it was hard not to feel lonely, the oppressive winter weighing him down.

Patrick ducked into the town hall, always drafty in winter, and pulled his hat and gloves off as he made his way to the desk he used during council meetings and during the one afternoon a week that it was his turn to be on duty, handing out permits and answering questions. It was a good system in a town too small to pay for municipal employees, and helping his fellow townspeople was probably his favorite part of serving on town council.

“Patrick,” Ronnie muttered as he passed by her desk. “Kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

Patrick glanced at his phone. “I’m literally one minute late, Ronnie.”

“One minute late is late.”

“Also, Roland’s not here yet,” Patrick said as he dropped into his desk chair and set up his laptop to take the minutes of their meeting. Ronnie had been quick to inform him that taking minutes always fell to the newest member on town council, although when he expressed his surprise at the idea of Moira Rose doing that job, she’d had to admit that Moira had never actually taken any minutes. Patrick easily agreed to take over from Bob, whom everyone agreed had been terrible at it.

Ronnie just rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively at him. She had sort of supported Patrick when he ran unopposed for Moira’s vacated seat (although he also suspected she was behind the whisper campaign to write in Ted the Turtle, Alexis’s former pet who now belonged to Roland Junior — Ted got thirteen percent of the vote), but that didn’t stop her from continuing to needle him at every opportunity.

Roland finally arrived ten minutes later, and they began working their way through the agenda as Roland wolfed down a sizable sandwich at his desk with table manners that his three-year-old son would have looked askance at. They voted on whether to have a stop light installed outside the café (2-2; tabled for further discussion after the next public forum), whether to confer historic landmark status on the old Hockley barn (1-3 nay), and on whether to finalize the calendar for the “Clean up the Creek” days in the summer (4-0 yea).

“What’s next on the agenda, Ronnie?” Roland asked, his mouth full of his lunch, as if he didn’t have a copy of the agenda on his desk. Patrick looked over, and noticed that Roland had emptied a bag of potato chips onto his agenda.

“The annual blood drive,” she replied, consulting the paper in front of her. “Canadian Blood Services is requesting six volunteers, as we’ve provided in the past, to log people in and to hand out juice and cookies after. We need to have the promotional posters printed and get the word out, and then a volunteer meeting will need to be organized by the end of the month. Patrick, you wanna take the lead on this?”

He looked up from his laptop. “On the blood drive?” His stomach twisted, and he considered saying no. “Uh… sure. Sure.” He typed that into the minutes, his fingers tapping sharply on the keys.

The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully, and they disbanded after another twenty minutes. Ronnie made her way over to Patrick as he was emailing the completed minutes out to the other members of council, a task he liked to do right away before he forgot about it.

“You didn’t seem thrilled to be put in charge of the blood drive. If you’re squeamish around needles—”

“I’m not squeamish about giving blood.” He snapped his laptop closed and shoved it into his bag. “I earned a lapel pin in college for donating blood,” he muttered.

“Oh. Then what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem. I said I’d do it.” He stood up and shouldered his bag. “Be in charge of it, I mean. I won’t be donating blood because I’m not allowed.”

Ronnie’s eyes turned sympathetic. “Right.” She sighed. “The blood donation rules about gay men are outdated and discriminatory; you don’t have to tell me.”

Patrick shrugged. “It is what it is. I really don’t mind being in charge of the blood drive.” He did, a little, but not enough to make a fuss about it. If this was the only way he could contribute now that he fell into the ‘men who have sex with men’ category, then so be it.

When he was halfway to the door, she called out, making him stop in his tracks. “If our community always just said ‘it is what it is,’ then we wouldn’t have made the progress we’ve made. You wouldn’t have been able to stand in this room and marry the person you love. If it’s wrong, then we fight.”

Patrick turned and looked at her. “I kind of missed the activism part of the queer experience,” he admitted. “Although, I used to buy cupcakes from the GSA bake sale in high school.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes, heading out the door and leaving Patrick to follow her. “You are truly a pillar of the queer community,” she drawled, but there wasn’t any heat in it. She even patted his shoulder and said “see you around” as they parted ways.

Still, he felt unsettled as he walked back to the store. The extent of the time that he’d been aware of his sexuality, he’d mostly spent in a homophobia-free bubble. The people of Schitt’s Creek accepted him, his family (with a couple of notable exceptions whom he no longer spoke to) accepted him. He wasn’t used to being confronted with discrimination, and so even this relatively minor thing in his life, that he couldn’t donate blood — as anonymous and bureaucratic as it was, it was still painful.

The rest of the afternoon did little to lift his mood, and he dragged through the motions of closing up the store with Bethany, then drove home alone. He didn’t want to text David in case he was driving, so when he got home he checked the location of David’s phone and saw that he was still at least two hours away, assuming he was even on his way yet. With a heavy sigh, Patrick let himself into their quiet house.

It was almost nine o’clock when David finally arrived, the familiar sound of him knocking snow off his boots rousing Patrick’s attention from his phone. He flipped off the television, the hockey game he wasn’t really paying attention to disappearing into blackness, and turned toward the door as it opened and David came in with a swirl of snowflakes.

“It’s starting to really come down out there,” David said breathlessly, unlooping his scarf from around his neck and hanging it on the coat rack by the front door. “I’m glad I wasn’t running any later.”

“Me too. It’s supposed to be ten centimeters by morning.” Patrick leaned up and kissed David’s cheek, cold against his lips.

David grimaced. “Just enough to be annoying, but not enough to close the store for the day.” He braced himself on the wall and lifted first one foot and then the other to pull off his boots.

“Yeah.” Their front door tended to stick, not quite latching, so Patrick leaned over and gave it a little push, listening for the click of the latch before he locked it. “Did you eat?”

“I grabbed a burger on the road.” His winter coat off, David pulled Patrick into a hug, his long arms moving into their usual place over Patrick’s shoulders and wrapping around him. “Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?”

“How did it go?”

“I got the clover honey contract.”

Patrick grinned. “I knew you would. And the others?”

“The woman who crochets those little animals is still mulling it over. She might be a no. Belinda Jensen signed on to provide the larger supply of soap we asked for. A couple of others — I left all the paperwork in the car.” He kissed Patrick quickly on the lips. “How was your day?”

Patrick struggled to remember through the fog in his brain what he’d done all day — work and his council meeting and the leftovers he’d reheated for dinner and the hockey game he hadn’t been watching. “Uneventful,” he finally replied.

He felt a surge of irrational anger that David had such a wildly productive day, a day that materially benefited their business, while Patrick had… treaded water. He pushed the anger away — he had no reason to be angry with David. He should be proud of David, of the way he continued to work to make their business thrive, of how good he was with the vendors.

The remainder of the evening was quiet, David on the sofa intermittently reading and texting with Alexis while Patrick made a grocery list, and then another list of tasks he wanted to accomplish over the weekend. It only served to remind him of all things he’d meant to do this winter that he hadn’t gotten around to yet. He just kept getting paralyzed lately; going over and over all the things he needed to do in his mind, but not actually starting any of them.

“I’m ready for spring,” he muttered to himself.

David looked up from his phone. “What are you talking about, you love winter! Winter has hockey, which you love.”

“Yeah.” Patrick sighed. “I’m not really feeling it this year. I’m exhausted.”

Reaching over to rub his shoulder, David gave him a look full of sympathy. “Anything I can do?”

Patrick shook his head and stood up. There wasn’t really anything wrong, so what could David do? “I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you up there in a minute,” David said, distracted by another text from Alexis that made him smile down at his phone.

Patrick had dozed off into a light sleep by the time David crawled into bed next to him, but the dip of the mattress woke him. He rolled over toward his husband, lips against the stubble of David’s jaw, inhaling the scent of his moisturizer. “Missed you today,” he murmured sleepily.

“Missed you too.” David turned his head, brushing his lips against Patrick’s. “Mm, you’re warm.” He wriggled his body, snuggling closer.

Patrick pressed another kiss against David’s mouth, and then another, with softer lips — a little bit longer, a little bit slower.

“Thought you were sleeping,” David said, his voice syrupy and mellow.

“I’m kissing you goodnight,” Patrick said. Another kiss — longer still, slower still.

“That’s how it starts,” David said with a smile, his hand burrowing down and finding the jut of Patrick’s hipbone.

He had a point. There were times when they went to bed with no particular intention to have sex, but the simple press of their mouths together would ignite a fire between them. Patrick wondered if that tendency would ever fade. He hoped not. Especially lately, the physical intimacy he shared with David was one of the only things that made him feel good. It was the only time that he didn’t feel like everything was sort of disappointing and foggy, when he could ignore all of life’s recent shortcomings and annoyances. He could turn off those thoughts and feel the pleasure that David was an expert in drawing out of him.

“Do you wanna have sex?” Patrick asked.

David gave him a crooked smile. “I thought I was too tired, but I might be coming around to the idea.”

Patrick scratched his blunt nails across the back of David’s neck, humming into his mouth as their kisses got deeper and messier. His heartbeat accelerating, that good, fizzy feeling suffusing his body, Patrick shifted closer, enjoying the sensation of their bodies together through their pajamas.

Long before they were married, they established a pattern where Patrick was more often than not the one to take charge in bed, but tonight he wanted it to be David. He felt like he needed to be taken, and used, and useful.

“Can you…” he started to ask, then paused as he tried to figure out how to put what he needed into words. He still struggled with the vulnerability of that, sometimes. Of asking for what he needed. He found it much easier to let David ask for things.

“Tell me what you need, honey,” David whispered as they pulled off their clothes.

Make me forget that I’ve been feeling so shitty, Patrick thought. Show me you still need me.

“Can you hold me down and… fuck my thighs?” Patrick asked instead. The sex act was easier to talk about than the feelings that were underneath it.

“Mm hmm, I can do that,” David said. In the dark, Patrick couldn’t make out David’s facial expression, didn’t know if David was reading any of his churning thoughts. Couldn’t tell if David thought it was odd that Patrick was asking for him to be the dominant one. Not that he’d never been submissive in bed, he had, but he’d done it because it was something David was in the mood for. He’d almost never asked for it.

“Turn over,” David said, the liquid tone of his voice making Patrick shiver as he followed the direction.

Patrick reached over for the lube from the bedside table, handing it back to David before he positioned his back against David’s chest. David didn’t do anything with it right away, though, his mouth wet and sure against Patrick’s shoulder, hand running up and down his hip and thigh over and over, then coming around to gently scrape his fingernails across Patrick’s balls before taking his dick in a loose fist, stroking with a teasing lack of pressure. Patrick moaned, pushing back against David’s erection. He almost changed his mind and asked David to fuck his ass instead — having David inside him really would get him out of his head; it always did. But both of them were tired and the preparation would take awhile, and his original instinct was fine. He didn’t say anything, tipping his head to give David more access to his neck.

After a few more minutes of foreplay, David finally grabbed the lube, getting the inside of Patrick’s thighs and his own cock slick before positioning himself. Patrick clenched his thighs together and David groaned at the friction, fingers clenching on Patick’s hip briefly before his hand moved around and took hold of Patrick’s cock again, matching the rhythm of his hips to the rhythm of his stroking. He wasn’t trying to draw things out now; he was working Patrick’s cock to get him off quickly, and the sensation of it, the way it demonstrated how perfectly David knew him, knew his body, allowed Patrick to stop thinking and sink into the pleasure. He had just enough presence of mind to cup his own palm over himself before spilling over David’s fist, coming with a gasp and a bitten off moan.

David let him pause long enough to grab one of the little towels they kept a stack of on the bedside table to clean himself up, to keep the sheets unscathed, before pushing Patrick down onto his stomach and fucking more vigorously, his cock sliding between Patrick’s thighs and against his balls. Patrick closed his eyes tight and gripped his pillow and let David take him, let him fuck against him, his weight bearing down on Patrick’s back, his pelvis slapping against Patrick’s ass.

“Fuck,” David whispered, and then he lifted up, pulling away from Patrick’s body. “I need to…” he said, and then Patrick heard the slick noise of David jacking himself, and then very quickly the warmth and wetness of David coming on his lower back.

“Sorry for the unnegotiated cumshot,” David said as soon as he caught his breath enough to speak.

Patrick held the towel he was still clutching up for David to take, laughing. “You’re good,” he said as David cleaned him up. “I only need warning if it’s gonna be on my face,” he continued as he flipped over, taking the towel from David and tossing it toward the laundry hamper. While David went to the bathroom to wash his hands and then pulled his pajamas back on, Patrick considered doing the same, but then David was curling around him under their heavy duvet and Patrick couldn’t bring himself to move. He closed his eyes and let the drowsiness from his orgasm pull him under.

~*~

His alarm went off early, and it took Patrick a few seconds to remember why he’d set it so early: the snow.

Mournfully extracting himself from the warmth of bed, Patrick pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a hoodie, then made his way downstairs to don all of his winter gear. Opening the front door, he took a second to admire the pure, untouched snow that blanketed the world before he perturbed it with his boot prints.

Everything seemed preternaturally quiet, the snow dampening what little noise there was. Patrick thought there would have been a time when he would have loved this quiet, would have loved being alone with his thoughts while he did some meditative manual labor. This morning, he shied away from the contents of his own brain, electing to put his earbuds in and to listen to a podcast instead. Patrick fell into a rhythm of snow shoveling in the winter pre-dawn light — push, lift, throw, repeat — so he didn’t notice David until he was almost down to the end of the driveway where Patrick was working.

“David!” Patrick pulled one of his earbuds out, letting it hang. The cold had made the wire stiff, the angle of it unnatural. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

David had jammed his feet into snow boots, the joggers he’d worn to bed bunching up around his calves. A hat was jammed down on his head, covering his ears, and he shivered as he struggled to zip his coat with gloved fingers. “You not being in bed wakes me up sometimes. And I felt bad that you were out here by yourself.”

“You don’t need to feel bad — you’re covering the store today.” They each had a day each week when they worked the store with Bethany while the other had the day off, and today was David’s day to work. “The least I can do is dig your car out for you.”

David huffed. “Let me help.”

Patrick tilted his head to the side, regarding his husband thoughtfully. “Okay, David. There’s another shovel in the shed.”

David tromped away as directed, and a minute later he was shoveling in a parallel track to where Patrick had been working. It wasn’t something that Patrick could have pictured David Rose doing a few years ago, but David had seemed determined to meet the challenge of homeownership in a lot of ways that Patrick couldn’t have pictured before they were married.

When they finished and went back inside, David groaned as he bent over to pull his boots off. “Ugh, my back,” he whined.

Patrick tried to put a hand on David’s lower back, but his puffy winter coat prevented any contact. “Go take a shower and I’ll make your coffee,” he said.

Patrick put on water to heat up, rubbing his hands together to warm himself, and began getting things set up for breakfast: he ground coffee beans for David’s French press and got out tea for himself and eggs for both of them. He moved automatically through the morning routine, ingrained habits from their year and a half of marriage and from all the mornings before that, when David spent the night at Patrick’s apartment.

After making David breakfast and seeing him out the door with a reminder to drive carefully, Patrick curled up on the sofa with his phone. He had a list of chores he wanted to tackle, and he had a book he wanted to read, but he spent over an hour switching between social media apps, dipping into the first few paragraphs of news articles before dipping back out, not focusing on any one thing for more than a few minutes. He opened a couple of game apps, but closed them again just as quickly without doing anything. These days he’d been mostly avoiding Facebook — he knew the ethical thing to do these days was to delete your Facebook account, but he was afraid of losing touch with all the people he didn’t communicate with any other way. He opened the app now, scrolling through the posts on his feed, most of them family members and friends from high school and college.

He paused briefly on a candid picture on his cousin Sara’s page of her son Justin. “Justin’s last performance in Newsies was last night!!! Great job to all!!!!” Wrinkling his nose at all the exclamation points, he took a good look at his cousin’s kid. They weren’t at the wedding, but he had seen Justin very briefly at the engagement barbecue his parents had thrown for him and David. He’d been a gawky fifteen-year-old at the time, quiet, ghosting along beside his parents with the disdain for attending a family function that only a teenager was capable of. The boy in the picture was older, and something about the way he looked in the picture, his arms slung over the shoulders of a couple of his castmates, made Patrick smile. Congrats to Justin!, he typed into the comments.

Finally, he dragged himself upstairs to shower and get dressed in some clean clothes, regretting that he’d already squandered part of his day off. He could have gone into the store with David if the alternative was this, a day at home feeling adrift and empty.

A hot shower helped, and afterward Patrick started a load of laundry, settling onto the sofa with a basket of towels from the dryer to fold. He unlocked his phone and started one of his history podcasts playing. Most of the rest of the day passed by as Patrick did the bare minimum of household chores, interrupted by long stretches of lost time when he was doing nothing in particular.

Stevie stopped by at a little past five o’clock, flopping down at the kitchen table while Patrick looked in the fridge and tried to decide what he was going to make for dinner.

“Do you want to hear something hilarious?” Stevie asked as Patrick took a packet of chicken breasts out and checked the date. They were still good, and he figured they would do for dinner. A serviceable, boring dinner — the Patrick Brewer of dinners, he thought uncharitably. He also took out some mushrooms, and grabbed an onion from the bowl on the counter.

“Sure,” he answered.

“I saw Gwen yesterday.”

“Bob’s Gwen?” He pulled a chef’s knife from the block and sliced the onion in half.

“Okay, she hasn’t been Bob’s Gwen for a few years.”

Patrick huffed. “No, I know, I was just asking if that’s who you meant. Because she moved to Elm… somewhere. Elm Valley?”

“She moved to Elm Ridge, actually, but she was in town for some reason, and I saw her.”

He squinted at Stevie. “And?”

“And she asked how it was working out among the three of us, and it was clear she meant… like, she thought we’re a throuple.”

Patrick laughed. “We do spend a lot of time together, you, me, and David.”

“I know, but you’re gay.”

“Sure, but I can’t say I’ve ever explained the particulars of my sexual orientation to Gwen. Maybe she assumes I’m pansexual like David.” He blinked up at her. “Are you worried that people will think you’re off the market?”

Stevie shrugged. “The kinds of people I tend to hook up with wouldn’t care.”

“Fair enough.” Patrick felt the old impulse to reassure Stevie that she’d find the right person eventually, and he had to remind himself that he needed to take her at her word, that romance and love weren’t necessarily what she was looking for.

“Are you okay?” she asked with narrowed eyes, watching him carefully as he put dinner together.

“I’m just tired. Had kind of a shitty day.” He couldn’t articulate what made it shitty, though. It was the vague ennui that had been plaguing him lately, the pregnant rain clouds in his brain that were casting a shadow over everything, washing the colour out. “ You staying for dinner?”

“Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s always fine, Stevie. You know that.”

“Thanks.” She walked over and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, opening it with the magnetic bottle opener that Patrick kept on the door.

“Maybe I just haven’t been getting enough sunshine lately,” Patrick said.

“Do we need to get you one of those light therapy things?” Stevie asked, taking a swig of her beer.

Patrick chuckled. “I don’t know, maybe.” He bit his lip, unsure if he should share more. “It kind of reminds me of the way I used to feel before I ran away and moved here. But back then, I had a good reason to be sad. I’ve got no reason to be sad now.”

“Depression doesn’t have to have a reason. I mean, it doesn’t have to be because you’re… engaged to the wrong person, for example.”

He knew that, intellectually. But he wasn’t sure he really believed it, deep down. “I guess.” He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “When’s your next trip?” he asked to divert the conversation onto another track.

Patrick cooked and the two of them gossiped for a bit longer until David got home from the store, planting a kiss on Patrick’s lips when he joined them in the kitchen. The easy banter among the three of them over dinner quelled some of Patrick’s unhappiness, and he found himself laughing through the familiar see-saw of their interactions, as they cycled through every combination of two-against-one. They finally settled on the sofa, David putting on the episode of Derry Girls that they had left off with the last time Stevie was over. Stevie sat between them, leaning against Patrick’s shoulder with her socked feet up on David’s lap.

“Can’t imagine why people think we’re a throuple,” Patrick said, lifting his shoulder and adjusting to a more comfortable position before gesturing for her to lean on him again.

Stevie snorted. “In your dreams, Brewer.”

“Nope.” Then he thought about it. “Well, there was that one time during Cabaret, but I’m not responsible for who turns up in my sex dreams.”

David turned and eyed him. “Who turned up in your sex dreams?”

“Me, apparently,” Stevie said as she poked David in the leg with her toe.

“Ew,” David said.

“Ted, a few times,” Patrick said, which got him an eye roll from his husband.

“I assume you mean the turtle,” David said, looking back at the television.

“Yeah, I’m so hot for turtles.”

Stevie started flipping through a dating app on her phone, her attention only half on the show they were watching.

“What do you think of this one?” she said, holding up the phone so that Patrick could see the blandly handsome shirtless guy on the screen.

“Meh.”

“He’s got nice arms,” Stevie said.

“He looks like an asshole.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t be a good fuck.”

He supposed not, and it didn’t seem like Stevie really wanted his opinion anyway, even though she’d asked for it. He watched as she swiped right on Mr. Shirtless.

Patrick dozed off after a little while, existing in that place between wakefulness and sleep where he was still convinced he was following the story of the show they were watching even though his eyes were closed. He was distantly aware of the warmth of Stevie pressed up against his side and the smell of her hair, and of the safety of being with the two people who knew him best in the world.

(Chapter 2)

#schitt's creek fic #david x patrick #david x patrick fic #david x patrick ff #schitt's creek #my fic #schitt's creek ff

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britishassistant · 4 years

Text

But I Like One Piece (7)

The Uchiha compound is creepy.

It’s the same way Auschwitz is creepy. The knowledge of the atrocities committed there, combined with all the little context clues which make it more than just knowledge.

Smashed windows, run down storefronts, overgrown gardens, doors hanging off of rusted hinges. Random objects scattered around, as though waiting for their owners to pick them up.

Brownish stains everywhere.

This is what she always imagined the aftermath of a Buster Call would look like.

Except this is.

Real.

She shudders and clutches Naruto’s hand tighter. He squeezes back, averting his eyes.

Uchiha scoffs in front of them.

She frowns at his back. What, are they not allowed to be disturbed by the scene of a genocide? Still, she’s surprised he can stomach cutting through here, even if it is a shortcut to their destination.

“Is it far to your house?”

“Hn.” He says.

She scowls at his back. So much for pleasant conversation.

Eventually they come to a large house at the very center of the compound.

There’s more brownish stains here than in the rest of the compound, but Uchiha pushes the front door open.

“...Don’t bother taking your shoes off.” He says. “Training ground’s this way.”

“Wait.” Naruto stops dead, looking around wild-eyed. “You said the trainin’ ground was near where you live.”

The Uchiha actually turns around at this. “Yeah, and?”

She stares at the dusty, dark interior of the house. She closes her eyes and counts to ten.

“Sasuke-kun.” She says with her brightest smile. “Is there anyone living with you at the moment who looks after you?”

He shudders. “N-no. That’s stupid, I’m an Uchiha. I don’t need to be looked after. And d-don’t call me that ever again.”

She keeps smiling as she buries her face in her hands and tries not to scream. For the love of Luffy, Chopper and Robin, how is this child not a gibbering wreck?

Naruto gestures wildly at their surroundings. “But why—why’d you live here?! The village gave me an apartment! Why live where—”

He clamps down on the sentence. But it’s too late.

“What? Where my an-bro-broth—where That Man murdered my family?” Uchiha sneers. “A clanless moron like you wouldn’t get it.”

Naruto flinches a little.

“Well no one can if you don’t use your words and explain this shit.” She snaps, irritated. “People aren’t mind-readers you know.”

He stiffens, lip curling, before turning his back on them again. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She throws her hands into the air as Naruto cracks his knuckles, following him into the darkness of the house. “Bring it, jerk.”

Much like the spar at the Academy, the two of them are on even ground initially.

Also like the spar at the Academy, it’s not long until Uchiha begins losing.

Even without an audience, Uchiha has something to prove in this fight, and that distracts him instead of motivating him.

All the little needling remarks they’ve been making clearly get under his skin and making him lash out where it would’ve been smarter to play it safe, his stances and footwork becoming less precise and more sloppy as he frantically tries to beat Naruto down and make him stay down.

Whereas Naruto can easily dodge or shrug off these blows, redirecting the motion and using the openings to hit back.

She winces gleefully at a particularly painful hit on Naruto’s part. They’ve trained under Gai-sensei. One of the first things he taught them was the importance of letting your emotions fuel your resolve instead of trying to keep them separate and leaving them liable to distract you at the worst opportunity.

Naruto knocks Uchiha’s ankle out from under him and carefully controls the fall so Uchiha doesn’t even end up winded, but is definitely pinned with no hope of escape.

She grins widely, crowing. “Finished! Match victory to Uzumaki Naruto!”

Naruto promptly leaps up and begins whooping, running in circles around Uchiha, while the boy on the ground shouts that this wasn’t fair, he was only warming up, they need to go another round so they can clearly see how strong he is.

She just keeps grinning fiercely. “It’s better to accept loss with grace, Uchiha-san. Now, where’s your kitchen?”

This...

This is a travesty.

If Sanji was here, he’d kick Uchiha Sasuke so hard he’d rearrange his entire shitty face. Of course, given the track record of that move, it’d probably end up improving his looks, but still. Travesty.

There’s fruit shoved into pile in a corner and moldering, glimpses of white-green fuzz visible.

There’s packets of meat and fish in the fridge that have been carelessly torn and left open, their juices dripping down onto other items.

There’s eggs and yogurt left out on the countertop, already long curdled by the smell of them.

There’s congealed leftovers shoved into the fridge on the plates they were served on, without any foil or covers to protect them.

There’s grimy and poorly cleaned utensils sitting in a sink full of dirty water, and the countertops themselves are covered in stains from previous cooking attempts.

At least he knows milk goes into the fridge, and put the tomatoes in the cooler drawer. Even if they’re so squished together over half of them are bruised.

She takes a deep breath and tries not to choke on the stench. Sanji give me strength.

“Well.” She says brightly. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to somehow be even worse than my shittiest expectations.”

Uchiha glares at her out of a swelling black eye. “Shut up.”

She hangs her head, exhaling harshly. Not constructive Ketsugi.

“Right. Where do you keep your bin bags? The bigger the better I think.” She steps up to the sink, pulling the plug and letting the grime drain away, turning the tap on as far as it can go on “hot”.

Naruto makes a face at the rattling sound the drain makes, the expression pulling at his fat lip. She sighs. “Rubber gloves too, if you have them.”

“Your problem.” She tells him, in the middle of sorting through the fruit and seeing what’s salvageable and what has to go, “Is that you have too much food.”

They’re on the fourth bin bag already, having filled the other three with the contents of the fridge and carried them out to a monstrous skip at the back of the compound.

“You have loads of people giving you more than you can feasibly eat, let alone prepare.” She continues, grimacing at a particularly fluffy punnet of cherries. “So it goes to waste. You need to begin doing your own shopping. Or telling some of them thanks but no thanks. Or, hell, even donating the extra stuff to people who can use it.”

“Like who?” Uchiha asks dismissively, as he reorganizes his pantry so things aren’t just thrown in there willy-nilly, carefully sweeping up spilled grains of rice or flour or sugar or pasta into a dustpan as he goes.

“The Orphanage.” Naruto throws out as he scrubs pots and pans until they gleam under almost-boiling water. “They’d always tell me they never had enough food to go around when I lived there.”

Sasuke’s face is wrought with some complex emotion when he next empties the dustpan into the bag, his mouth twisting when she mutters, “Wouldn’t get it, huh?” striding back into the pantry like he hadn’t heard her.

She tilts an avocado, marveling at how much it feels like a rock, and says in a louder voice, “You could always see if there are any charities or soup kitchens that would appreciate the donations. Even I could always take some of what’s left over and make you something with it.”

“...” There’s a lot of judgement she doesn’t appreciate in that silence.

“I don’t just make curries.” She replies snidely, stuffing some rotten bananas into the bag with more force than is perhaps strictly necessary. “I do lots of other foods. Right Naruto?”

“Yeah!” He says, depositing a metal spoon onto the veritable field of tea towels they’ve laid out over the counter. “She just makes the curry super spicy because she has no idea what it’s supposed to taste like. She does other foods normal though!”

Her eyebrow twitches and she has to fight to stop herself from lobbing a mushy apple at Naruto’s treacherous head.

By the time they’re done, the countertops are gleaming, the fridge has been scrubbed clear of contaminating juices, and the sink’s drain no longer sounds like it’s giving out a death rattle every time water goes down it.

The pantry is arranged so Uchiha actually knows where stuff is, and the fresher meat and bread he doesn’t know if he’ll eat in the next week or so has been frozen and put into the freezer.

They have used a grand total of seventeen bin bags to throw away all the wasted food.

In one of the now-gleaming pots, there’s enough minestrone soup for one person gently bubbling away. All Uchiha has to do is let it simmer until the pasta is cooked through and then he can eat it. And wash everything up. She’s very adamant about him washing up properly.

She now has a bag stuffed full of food that Uchiha turned his nose up at on her shoulder.

The sun is beginning it’s slow descent out of the sky. They need to get going if they want to even have a quick dinner together.

“Wait. You two live together?” Uchiha asks, incredulous.

“No. I have to live in my apartment in the village.” Naruto says, looking crestfallen. “An’ I can only eat with Mayu-chan and Mayu-chan’s Okaa-san and Otou-san if I make it there and back before the sun sets.”

She smiles sadly at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand—

“If I leave, the Uchiha clan lands are forfeit.”

They turn back to Uchiha Sasuke, who’s begun looking like he really, really wishes he hadn’t said anything.

He huffs. “If I leave this place, the council will take it as a declaration of the Uchiha clan forfeiting their right to this land, since there wouldn’t be any living here anymore. The land will be reclaimed by the village, and—and—”

Clans are required to do things certain ways or risk dissolution. She sighs. “There is so much wrong with...that, but okay. We can start working on that next. Thank you for explaining.”

He nods stiffly, and walks them to the gate of the compound.

“I don’t get it,” Naruto says as they walk down her street, sun hot on their necks. “Even if the village does claim the lands, wouldn’t it be better to not live with...that?”

She shrugs the bag higher on her shoulder. “If he does, the village might tear down the old compound buildings to make new ones. And even if it is the site of an awful tragedy, he may still think of that place as ‘home’. If you’d lost everything else, would you wanna lose that too?”

Naruto shakes his head and bites his lip.

She gently bumps his shoulder with her own and they arrive home in pensive silence.

She makes sure to bring her (now dogeared and slightly stained) easy recipes cookbook with her to the Academy, alongside extra servings of eggplant tempura, to loan to Uchiha Sasuke.

He doesn’t quite throw a tantrum.

But it’s pretty close.

“I. Don’t. Want. It.” He grits out, glaring at her.

She bites into an onigiri she’s traded with Shino. There’s half a hard boiled egg inside as filling, and it’s supplying her with absent-minded ideas for recipes based off of food from her past life.

“Look, we’ve got your food down to manageable levels, but that means nothing if you can’t do anything with it.” She taps the book’s cover. “This is the first cookbook I ever owned. It’s what I used to use to make stuff for Naruto when we met.”

Naruto perks up a little at the other end of the table, craning to see it’s cover, so she holds it up for him. “It’s pretty easy to follow, and there are some more complex recipes in the back if you want a challenge—”

“I’m not wasting my time with cooking.” Uchiha hisses, nose wrinkling in distaste. “I need to focus on getting stronger. Only civilians care about useless things like that.”

She’s about to give him a good kick in the shins and see how he feels about civilians then, when Chouji abruptly stands up next to her.

“Wanna say that again, Uchiha-san?” He says, his tone low and surprisingly steely.

Shikamaru lifts his head off the table and sits up straight for once to give him a death glare, while Ino scoots her chair away from “Sasuke-kun” and crosses her arms, frowning at him imperiously.

Uchiha’s eyes dart between each one of the three, and he looks away, taking a bite out of one of the tempura she’s snuck into his lunchbox. “Hn.”

She blinks, trying to digest this new information about there being stellar cooks who also are apparently ninja while Chouji just sighs, settling back down in his seat and returning to his sandwich.

Of course, once he feels slighted, Uchiha can never leave well enough alone.

“It can’t even be that good.” He grumbles, pretending he doesn’t hear Kiba’s snickering. “If it was where soup you made came from. That was disgusting.”

She hears Hinata breathe a soft little “oh dear,” over the rush of blood in her ears.

“I see. What was wrong with it?” She asks.

The Uchiha puffs up a bit, oblivious to Shino shaking his head behind him. “Everything. I couldn’t even eat it, so I threw it out.”

There’s a soft slap as Shikamaru covers his eyes, muttering “Troublesome.”

“Alright. Well, since this is the first time, I’ll be sure to take your complaints into account.” She says, smiling.

She grabs his shirt collar and drags him up over the table to meet her gaze. “Because the next time you waste food, Sasuke-kun, I’m going to rip out your baby teeth, boil them down into a bone broth, and feed that to you instead. Are we clear?”

The Uchiha goes pale.

“Easy Mayu-chan, I think the jerk’s just lying to make you mad.” Naruto says, leaning over and gently attempting to pry her fingers off of the shirt collar. “C’mon, jerk, Mayu-chan doesn’t mean it—”

“Yes I do.” She adds.

“—No you don’t, stop making this worse!!” He yells, finally separating her from Uchiha. “I get you’re upset, and he shouldn’ta hurt your feelin’s, but you can’t just make bits of him into ingredients over stuff like this! Even Sanji wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“...Sorry, Naruto.” She replies hesitantly, feeling a bit abashed.

He gives her a disapproving look that is a stunning replica of her mother’s. “I’m not who you should be apologizin’ to, am I?”

She shoots a poisonous look at the offending party. “...Sorry Uchiha.” She says grudgingly.

He just huffs, storming off to the other side of the classroom where his fangirls coo over him and glare nastily at her.

But her cookbook has vanished along with him.

The next day he comes back and throws her recipe book at her face.

She has just enough time to catch it before it clocks her in the nose before he begins boasting in that quiet, insinuating way of his about how he’ll surely surpass her as he waves around a newer, updated copy of the same book.

She asks if that’s supposed to be a challenge, mind turning over the possibilities of recipes Uchiha will willingly cook and eat, mentally marking down the pages.

He haughtily snorts, but doesn’t deny it.

Sakura then shoots up, one hand in the air, saying she’ll be the judge. When Sasuke snorts and says she’ll be biased because she’s civilian, her lips purse and she grabs Chouji’s arm, proclaiming him to be her “co-judge”.

Chouji just shrugs and says he doesn’t mind getting more food.

So then of course, Ino invites herself and Shikamaru along as “moral support”, though why the judges need it is a little beyond her.

Naruto and Lee come with her, obviously, so Kiba and Hinata also show up that weekend with a reluctant Shino in tow.

Shikamaru’s beginning to teach him how to play shogi, and she’s experimenting with different concentrations of sugar water and fruit juice to see what his insects enjoy best, so she hopes he’s not too put out by spending time with them.

Akamaru is still a very good boy, and is perfectly happy with bits of meat and a rawhide bone.

They work out pretty quickly that Naruto can’t really be around for the cooking contests.

This is because Uchiha will, without fail, work out something to argue about with him, and then they’ll have to take it out on each other in the training ground, and by the time they’re finished it’s always too late to actually begin cooking.

So the weekends when Naruto is required to visit the Hokage become cooking contest weekends, while the ones where he comes become sparring weekends.

They don’t all always show up—Ino’s parents have a flower shop they want her to help out at, and her and Chouji and Shikamaru’s parents are all best friends so sometimes they have to go to parties. Shino, Hinata and Kiba often will have clan duties that mean they can’t come.

Sometimes she and Naruto or Sakura can’t come just because they’re spending some time with their parents.

But there’s always someone there on any given weekend, as the leaves on the trees change colors and fall off. And it works. Uchiha’s house is beginning to feel less like a mausoleum and more like somewhere lived in again.

She enjoys the chance to stretch her culinary muscles without bankrupting her parents and test her skills against a rival who she will grudgingly admit might be catching up to her.

She’s still more irritated by him than not, but Sanji and the other chefs at the Baratie drove each other up the wall too, so she’s fine with this working relationship.

Comrades don’t need to get along or even share the same goals to be able to work together after all.

Naruto’s birthday is always a strange affair.

They aren’t allowed to see him for the entire week, for one thing. He’s always collected by masks on the Sunday before and doesn’t return to his apartment until the next Monday.

The first time it happened, she freaked out badly enough that her father accompanied her to the Tower and they sat in a little waiting room outside the Hokage’s office for four hours, not meeting the glares that all the busy, ant-like people sent them.

Hokage-sama had taken their visit in good humor, even as he told them he couldn’t tell them where Naruto was, for the boy’s safety. He’d patted her head and told her not to worry, that Naruto would be back soon.

Of course, she’d worried enough that she ended up sitting outside of Naruto’s apartment for most of the week, watching the village’s festival below and knocking on the door intermittently, occasionally munching on bits and pieces from food stalls that her parents brought for her.

When she’d finally knocked on the door and Naruto had answered, she’d tackled him to the floor in a hug.

There may have been tears. She really couldn’t say.

Neither could Naruto, no matter what he likes to insinuate about “photographic evidence”.

So they’ve developed a tradition of celebrating Naruto’s birthday the weekend after the week it actually happens.

His birthday dinner is held at Ichiraku’s, like there’s any other option.

He gets his first five bowls of ramen free, and the rest heavily discounted. Teuchi-sama and Ayame-sama ladle extra toppings into each bowl, with a grinning “Happy Birthday, Naruto!”

Unlike last year, he’s got two birthday cakes this time, because Uchiha turns even gift-giving into a competition. He’s made an extremely bitter coffee cake with dark chocolate fondant and decorated with sour cherries forming an Uzumaki spiral. Naruto manfully eats two entire slices before passing it off to the adults, who derive much more enjoyment from it.

He likes the lighter vanilla sponge with orange buttercream and a white chocolate narutomaki which Chouji made much more. Chouji subtly lords this over Sasuke for the rest of the night.

Hinata stutters out a “Ha-ha-happy B-bi-bi—” before dropping an intricate box filled with shuriken and a whetstone on the counter and fleeing.

She lasted ten minutes longer this year.

Kiba gives Naruto kunai, as does Ino, which leads to an argument about the quality of their preferred suppliers. Sakura gives him a book on the language of flowers, while Shikamaru gives him a book on the plants of Uzushio and a calligraphy set.

Gai and Lee give him a piggy-bank in the shape of a smiling frog on a lilypad.

It’s really cute, and Naruto instantly declares it to be Gama-chan’s “big sister”, Kaeru-chan.

Her parents have bought him a selection of orange hoodies, some sleeveless and some not, all with the Uzumaki spiral hand-embroidered on the back by Okaa-sama. She also added little ninja frogs with teeny shuriken and kunai and katana in all of the hoods.

She’s a bit worried about her present by now, because it seems silly by comparison. Never mind that she had to search high and low all throughout Konoha and eventually ended up giving all her money to a merchant from Takigakure for this.

She hands him a (rather ratty) plush of a grey pelican with an offensively yellow bill. Her embroidery skill is nowhere near her mother’s level, so the red Uzumaki spiral she attempted to stitch onto its breast in place of the customary tomoe is crooked.

Naruto stares at it for a really long time.

The adults are very, very quiet.

“Well,” She hazards. “Hokage-sama did say everything we give him needs his symbol on it?”

Then Naruto begins laughing and hugging her tightly, proclaiming that it’s name is now Peri-chan, and the adults begin talking again, acting like nothing interesting has happened.

So she hugs Naruto back as hard as she can, Peri-chan squished between them.

It’d be nice if this could last.

3 notes · View notes

atths--twice · 4 years

Link

Chapter 9

Time to Head Home

The last hurrah! How will it end?

“Scully. Scully, come on. You need to wake up.”

“Mmm. What? Mulder? What are you talking about?” Comes her muffled response from the pillow in which her face is buried, as she lies on her stomach.

He chuckles and comes close to her. “Come on, you need to get up. We leave today and we have to pack both our rooms up, shower, eat, and get to the airport. Come on.”

She groans and then tries another tactic, as she rolls onto her side, holding the pillow over her eyes. “Mulder, come back to bed,” she says in what she hopes passes for a purr, but thinks it sounds like a groan. What the fuck time is it?

He chuckles again, and grabs the pillow from her. She shrieks as the sun from the half open curtains burns her eyes. She slams her eyes shut, cursing him. What fresh hell is this? Is he trying to kill her?

“Come on, Scully. We have to get moving. Breakfast is being served downstairs until eleven. I’m starving. I didn’t eat much last night and we had quite the workout when we got back. I need some food.” He starts to pull the covers down and she growls.

He laughs harder than before, but lets go of the covers. “Consider that your warning, Agent Scully. Next time I won’t be so kind. I’m going to start the shower. Your fine ass better be in there in three minutes or you will miss out on the chance to use that shower seat one last time.” He kisses her cheek and slaps her ass.

“What time is it, anyway?” she asks as she pouts and whines.

“8:30. Get up. Three minutes,” he calls as he starts to walk into the bathroom.

“I hate you,” she calls to him as she pulls the covers over her head.

“You don’t. Now get up, come meet me in the shower.” The bathroom door closes halfway and she hears him whistling as he turns the water on. She hears the shower door close and above the spray of water she hears him call again. “Two minutes, Scully.”

She pushes the covers down and curses him again. She peeks her eyes open and begins to wake up. God, she needs some coffee. But first, she thinks, as she crawls out of the bed and stumbles to the bathroom, she needs to take full advantage of that shower seat, one more time.

An hour and a half later, after a thoroughly wonderful time in the shower, they are downstairs in the dining room grabbing some breakfast. Scully has her plate piled with fruit. Mulder is waiting for an omelette, while holding a plate with waffles and pancakes.

“You need another plate, Mulder? Maybe three or four?” she teases him as she stands and eyeballs his food.

He is watching the omelette being finished, and he licks his lips. He grabs the plate from the chef, bumps her shoulder, and gestures to a table. They slide into the booth and he sets his plates down. He jumps back up and grabs an extra empty plate. He divides up his food between the plates and pushes one toward her as he reaches for the syrup.

She looks at him and smiles softly, before looking down at the food. Of course he was getting some for both of them. That is so Mulder. She pushes her plate of fruit to the middle of the table, letting him know it is for sharing, and grabs the plate he made for her. He nods as she takes a bite of omelette and he begins to shovel his food in his mouth.

She watches him eating like a bear and shakes her head. He winks at her, before swallowing. “Told you, I’m hungry. I’ve worked up quite an appetite. Pretty sure I’ve earned every bite of this and more, wouldn’t you say?” he smiles at her.

She smiles back and then nods at him. He grins and takes another bite. They are both staring at each other so they do not notice the person approaching their table.

“Agents! Good morning. Happy to see you today,” Skinner says, as he smiles at them both. “Agent Scully, I trust you had a good evening with the bureau card I lent you last night. Saw the sights, maybe went out for dinner?” He beams at them, looking like a different man.

Mulder has swallowed down his food, but Scully can tell he is contemplating taking another bite while Skinner stands there. He is keeping his eyes on his plate, not chancing a glance at Skinner.

Scully smiles and looks at Skinner. “Yes sir, we did. We went out and had a fine evening. Thank you for the use of the card and the chance to have an enjoyable time.”

“It was my pleasure, Agent Scully. You two deserved it after the movie kind of went.. well, differently than I had imagined. I feel like I owe you an apology, especially you,” he says, looking at Scully. “I didn’t know he was going to go the direction he was with the..uh, love story side of it.”

“I need to get some coffee,” Mulder says suddenly, standing up and pushing past Skinner. Scully watches him go, hiding a smile behind her hand. Skinner turns as he goes too, and then turns back to Scully.

“Agent Scully, honestly I had no idea he was going to include that part in the story. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I know it’s not you up on that screen, but it’s your persona.” He looks back at Mulder who is getting two cups of coffee and some juice, “I hope it didn’t bother Mulder too much.”

“Sir?” Scully asks, looking confused.

“His work is mocked enough as it is, but having it made into more of a joke.” He shakes his head and looks down. “That was never my plan. Could you tell him I’m sorry? He seems upset, and I can’t say I blame him.”

“I’ll tell him, sir. Thank you,” she says.

He nods and turns to walk away, but turned back and faces her. “Oh, and Agent Scully? Will you apologize for the romantic aspect too, considering how it should have gone?”

“Sir?” she asks again, not quite sure she is actually hearing what she is hearing.

He just looks at her as he breaks into a slow smile and raises an eyebrow. She feels a blush creeping across her cheeks, but she holds his gaze, and then nods. He nods back, his face one big smile. He walks away, whistling, his hands in his pockets. She looks down at her plate and smiles.

Mulder comes back with their coffees and juices on a tray. He slides it on the table as he sits down. She grabs her drinks and he takes his, sliding the tray to the side.

“Skinner wanted me to tell you that he apologizes for the movie. He said he didn’t know it was going to go the way it did and that he was sorry it made a joke of your work.” She takes a drink of her coffee, as she glances at him.

He nods his head, looking at her. “That was decent of him. But, Scully,” he says tapping her fingers, “it’s our work. Ours.” She smiles as they finish eating. He does not need to know about what else Skinner said. Not yet.

About forty five minutes later, they make their way back upstairs. It is time to pack up and head home.

“So I will come and get my things from your room after I’m done packing in here. Maybe like twenty minutes?” she says as she arrives at her door. She opens the door to her room, glancing at him, as he opens his door. He nods and disappears inside his room.

Twenty minutes. He needs to hurry. He grabs his bag and starts shoving all his things into it. He knows she likes her things packed nicely, but he does not really care about his things. Besides, he has something he needs to do.

He puts her things on a chair, making it easier for her to find. He looks under the bed and finds the troll doll. Jesus. That fucking doll. He throws it on the bed.

He double checks all over, grabbing socks, stray shirts, throwing them on the bed as well. He finds underwear, his and hers, which makes him smile. Those are also added to the bed. Finally, the floor is clear and he grabs what is his, adding it to his bag.

He collects all his toiletries from the bathroom, leaving hers where she can grab them quickly. He has everything packed, with ten minutes to spare. That should be enough time.

He goes to the closet and lifts his hanging tuxedo jacket, reaches in the pocket, then rehangs it. He takes out the panda he picked from the arcade and puts it on the table. He then feels around in his pants pockets. Finding the objects he is looking for, he adds them to the table.

He walks into the bathroom and picks up the complimentary sewing kit and a few tissues. He goes back to the table and sets it down. He gets his pocket knife and sits down at the table.

He slides the knife along the seam of the back of the panda. He tries to keep the cut small so the repair will be easy. When the space is big enough, he sets the knife down. He grabs the tissues and smooths them out on the table.

He picks up the items from his pants pocket and smiles. He looks at them closer and smiles wider. He sets them on the tissues and then grabs the other item that was in his pocket. He picks up a pen and starts writing, then he adds it to the other items.

He wraps up the items in the tissue, puts it inside the panda, rolling it around inside so it is not noticeable. Once he is sure, he picks up the sewing kit. He picks thread that matches and a needle. He stitches up the cut he made, trying to hurry but also make sure that it looks good. He needs to get this done before she comes knocking on the door.

He finishes and ties off the thread. He massages the panda, making sure that she will not be able to tell he added anything no matter how she holds it. When he is satisfied, he sets it down with a smile.

He goes back to the closet and puts the tuxedo in its bag. He has everything done and then thinks of something and he grins. He digs through his bag and finds his Knicks T-shirt. He keeps it set aside, but hidden so she does not see it.

Just in time too, as her knock sounds at the door. He opens the door and lets her inside. She sets her suitcase down on the bed and starts to add her things to it. He watches as she folds everything neatly, putting her dirty things in a separate laundry bag, that he knows she will wash tonight. He shakes his head at how different they are, but how that is exactly what has drawn him to her.

She looks over at him and smiles. She walks over and picks up her stuff from the chair. She adds it, then heads to the bathroom. He seizes his chance and adds his shirt to her bag, down deep where she will not find it until she unpacks later tonight.

She comes out of the bathroom and sees him standing by her suitcase. She gives him a look and he grins sheepishly. “You caught me,” he says, holding up the troll doll decoy he had also grabbed when he picked up his shirt, “I was trying to get back at you by putting the troll in your bag.”

“Mulder,” she says grabbing the doll from him, “it doesn’t work on me, because I’m not a baby.” She smiles as he pouts.

“Anyway, I think she has served her purpose and it’s time to retire her. Besides,” she says with a glance toward the panda on the table, “we have a new prize trophy. It’s cuter and kind of symbolic for where we are now, I think.”

“How do you mean?” he asks, somewhat worried she may have sussed out what he did. But, there is no way she could have, right?

“Well,” she says walking over and exchanging the troll for the panda and his heart races, “I may have won the tickets, but you picked out the prize. Pandas are generally solitary creatures. They live alone until they find a mate. Yes, they may have more than one, but that’s not the point here. The point is that you and I are somewhat like pandas. We live solitary lives, though side by side. Although, we have recently tweaked that a bit,” she says with a smile. “The black and white of the panda is represented in the yin and yang of Chinese culture. Opposites attracting, pulling to one another, balancing out the harmony in one another’s lives. That’s us, Mulder. Yin and yang, working together to balance out the peace and harmony in the world.”

She holds the panda and smiles at him. Happy to have made such a connection to the small prize he picked last night.

“Wow,” he says, pinching his lip in thought, “I just thought it was a cute animal.”

She throws the bear at him and he catches it, as they both laugh. She thinks of him giving her close to the same response about the key chain she keeps in their desk drawer. She shakes her head as she begins her own search of the room, making sure he did not overlook anything.

He puts the panda in her bag, looking at it after her explanation. How amazing it is, considering what he knows is now hidden inside of it. He looks at her as she continues her search around the room. Soon. He will tell her soon, what he hid in the bear. What it means and represents to him.

Last check, their suitcases zipped up, his suit bag over his arm, they walk to the door. She opens it and heads out, pulling her bag behind her. At the last second, he grabs the troll doll and shoves it in his bag. He is not quite ready to retire her just yet.

____________________

One month later

The door to Skinner’s office opens and his assistant walks to his desk. Her arms are full of files and mail that has arrived for him. There are items that need his signature and items that can wait. She places the mail on top, knowing that is probably most pressing.

He looks up as she sets the stack of items down, dragging his eyes away from the document in front of him.

“Thank you, Arlene,” he says as she sets it down and turns to leave.

“You’re welcome, sir,” she relies, and shuts the door.

He reaches for the pile of mail and begins looking through it. He sees the bill from the bureau card and grabs his letter opener. The bill rarely fluctuates from month to month, he is careful how he uses the card.

He begins perusing the charges and he freezes. This cannot be right.

A $450 charge at El Grande Sol? A $250 charge at Jimmy’s Arcade? A $50 charge at Surfin’ Soft Serve? A $250 charge at Moonlight Diner?

He looks again. And then he remembers. He grabs his phone, pushes the button to connect him to Arlene and waits for her to answer.

“Arlene, get Agent Scully up here. Now!”

____________________

Notes: (from ao3)

What is in the panda?!

I have loved every chapter of this story. I have loved the characters I have created and seemed to take on a life of their own. The wedding party, the arcade kids, the people in the diner, I have loved them all.

Everyone who has commented and left feedback, you all have given me life. Seeing your reactions to words I have written, has brought me so much joy. Hearing your love of the characters and especially the troll doll, has been a blast. I love imagining Scully as a prankster, causing him a fright with a little rainbow haired troll doll. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have writing it.

P.S. What is in the panda?! You’ll have to read The Sixth Month to find out.

Here is the link, for that story! I hope you read and enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317616/chapters/35538705

#goodbye california #time to head back to real life #happy and so disgustingly in love #they dont need to say the words to know the truth

1 note · View note

noona-clock · 6 years

Text

Go Ahead, Take a Bite 🧛

Genre: Vampire!AU/Fluff

Pairing: Shownu x You

By Admin B

You told yourself you would never go to one of these things.

But... you were desperate.

Your university, being the progressive, inclusive institution it was, held monthly blood drives specifically for local vampires. Rather than being normal blood drives meant to help the sick, it was more like a soup kitchen for vampires who couldn’t find sources of blood on their own.

And, right now, that was you.

Usually, you used a connection through your dad at a nearby hospital, but he and the nurse who actually procured the blood bags for you were both at a two-week-long conference. For some reason you couldn’t comprehend at the moment, both of them had forgotten to set aside a couple of meals for you beforehand.

And, if you’ve ever gone a whole two weeks without eating... well, you wouldn’t be alive right now to tell the tale, would you?

Exactly.

So you swallowed your pride and headed toward the student medical center on campus. You gripped your ID as you strode up the walkway, trying to pretend like you weren’t feeling faint with hunger.

The receptionist greeted you with a smile, and you returned it with a close-lipped one of your own - your fangs were currently out and proud, but you were not proud of them.

“Welcome!” she chirped, holding her hand out to check your student ID. “Are you giving or receiving today?”

“...Receiving,” you murmured.

“Perfect.” She handed your ID back and gestured toward a set of double doors close by. “Go through those doors, and they’ll sanitize your fangs for you.”

You simply nodded your thanks before following her directions, shuffling quickly through the doors and stopping to wipe some rubbing alcohol over your protruding canines.

It was shameful and embarrassing, but you were starving. You had no choice.

Unless you wanted to shrivel up and turn into dust.

That’s what you’d heard would happen if you ever went too long without feeding, and even if it wasn’t true, you were not keen to find out what would happen.

The nurse who took your used cotton ball after sanitizing instructed you to wait in the small waiting room, though she assured you the wait would not be too long. There were a few donors who were almost finished with their paperwork.

You nodded in response, trying hard not to fidget or shake your knee or give any indication you did not want to be here. There were a couple other people -- vampires -- waiting with you, and the last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourself.

Just a few minutes later, the nurse announced all of you could go on back, and you were the first one out of your seat. You slid through the curtain separating the waiting room and the... well, I guess you could really only call it the Feeding Room. Because that’s what was happening.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but you were a bit startled to see fellow vampires sitting next to the donors and just... feeding from them. Sucking on arms and necks like it was... not weird.

I mean, maybe you’d been expecting something like an actual blood drive. Needles and IVs and the blood bags you were so used to and... not vampires just straight up biting and sucking and drinking actual humans.

You let the other vampires who’d been in the waiting room pass you, turning back toward the nurse. “I’m sorry,” you murmured anxiously. “I thought... how come...”

“First time?” the nurse asked with a friendly smirk.

You nodded.

“We like to save all the materials for the real -- normal -- average blood drives, and since you all have your own way procuring the blood, we figure we’re just here to supervise and clean the wounds of the donors. You’ll simply find one of the donors, feed, and leave.”

...Why did that make you so uncomfortable?

Maybe because you’d never done it before. Because your dad worked at the hospital, you’d only ever fed from blood bags, never from an actual, living person.

The nurse turned you back toward the feeding room and urged you over to a young man who was very obviously looking for someone who needed a donor.

“Here we go, Mr. Son,” the nurse called out.

The guy suddenly looked at you, a soft smile appearing on his lips as he began to approach you with his hand outstretched.

Well, now you were even more uncomfortable. This guy was acting like this was a totally normal, everyday thing. Like you were having a business meeting or something.

“Hey, I’m Shownu,” he said once he reached you, shaking your hand.

“Y/N,” you murmured with a nod.

“Nice to meet you.” His smile had widened now, and he began to usher you over to two empty chairs.

“Have you done this before?” he asked after he sat down.

“No,” you told him immediately. “Never.”

“Me neither, actually. One of my buddies does it all the time because his little brother is a vampire, and he knows how bad it can get. He’s been trying to get a bunch of us to help out for a while now, so I figured I should.”

“You’re not terrified?” you asked with a deeply furrowed brow. The way he was sitting in his chair, his tone of voice... it was all so casual! Like this was no big deal!

I mean, maybe it wasn’t a big deal because it’s not like vampires were super rare these days. But it was a big deal for you!

“No, not really,” he chuckled. “...Are you?”

“Well, yeah,” you admitted. “I’ve never fed from a live human at all. I have connections at a hospital, so the blood has just always been in a bag. I don’t have to worry about hurting anyone.”

“Well, that’s exactly what these drives are for. The nurses are here to make sure no one does get hurt. Arm or neck?”

Shownu had just finished unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and was now rolling up his sleeve.

You opened your mouth to reply, but your attention was caught by... his arm.

Because oh my god.

His arms.

Were probably the beefiest arms you’d ever seen.

Like... seriously.

You’d never actually had the urge to bite a human before, but the instant you saw his forearm - the muscle, the veins, the smooth, tan skin - you wanted to bite him.

And then you remembered he’d asked you a question.

“A-arm,” you stammered, shifting uncomfortably in your seat next to him.

He murmured an ‘okay’ before scooting closer and sticking his forearm in front of your face.

You gulped.

Oh, god.

“Go ahead, take a bite,” Shownu said softly. “It’s what we’re here for.”

You glanced at him uneasily, no longer hiding the fact you would rather not be here.

“It’s okay,” Shownu assured you with the most earnest of expressions on his handsome face. (Wait, why were you just now noticing how extremely good-looking he was?)

“I know, I’m just -- I’ve never done this, and -- it just makes me... uncomfortable. It feels wrong.”

“It’s the opposite of wrong, actually,” he chuckled, reaching out with his free hand to gently touch your shoulder. “You’re just not used to it. But it literally happens every day. And it’s not like I’m some random guy you’re attacking in the street. I came here willingly. For the sole purpose of letting you feed from me.”

Okay, well, when he put it like that... it did make you feel better.

You let out a deep breath as you nodded at him. “All right,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now eat.”

He held his arm even closer to you, and you hesitantly reached up to take hold of it.

Good Lord, you had seriously never touched an arm like this before. It felt as thick and sturdy as it looked, which definitely sounded a lot dirtier than how you actually meant it. And, unsurprisingly, you felt your cheeks blushing because of it.

So you quickly dipped your head and bit down right where you saw his vein pulsing. Where you smelled his fresh blood.

The second you bit into his flesh, you regretted it.

Except you didn’t because his blood tasted amazing. It was warm and smooth and robust and it tasted absolutely nothing like the bagged blood you were used to. You were now dreading going back to the bagged blood, actually, because the difference was that astronomical.

“You must be really hungry,” Shownu chuckled when you came up for air almost a whole minute later.

“Well, yeah,” you gasped, reaching up to wipe a drop of blood from the corner of your mouth. “But you also just taste really, really good.”

Shownu looked awfully proud of himself upon hearing you say that, though he grimaced slightly when you went back in for more.

Thankfully, you were able to tell when you’d had your fill, and though it was extremely difficult to pull away for good, you forced yourself to. A nurse immediately came over to Shownu, dabbing

an alcohol-soaked cotton ball over the two puncture wounds on his forearm.

You weren’t sure what to do now, but after a quick glance around the room, you figured you were just supposed to... get up and leave.

“Thanks,” you said awkwardly before standing up and turning toward the exit.

“Oh, hey,” Shownu interjected. “Hold on, I’ll walk you out.”

“Are you sure?” you asked quizzically as he stood up next to you. “You’re not supposed to drink orange juice or eat a peanut butter cookie or something?”

“Yes, he is,” the nurse interrupted, handing him exactly what you’d just mentioned - a small cup of orange juice and a bag of Nutter Butters.

Shownu smiled as he took them, quickly downing the juice and opening the packet as he began to walk toward the door with you.

“How do you feel?” he asked, trailing closely behind you.

“Oh, I -- I’m much better,” you replied with a somewhat breathless, awkward chuckle. “I hope I didn’t... hurt you or anything. Like I said, I’ve never --”

“You didn't, I promise.”

He reached out his arm - his god-like, spectacular arm - to open the door for you, and you slipped past him, your heart racing as his scent wafted through your nose. He smelled like crisp leaves and outdoors and just a hint of sweat and his blood, my goodness, you could smell his blood.

“How come I’ve never seen you around campus before?” Shownu asked after the two of you stepped out into the dark night.

“Well... do you take any night classes?” you asked with a soft chuckle. Most humans didn’t.

“No, but I usually do late-night workouts. Or midnight snack runs in the dining halls.”

“Ah, there are your reasons. One, I never go to the gym. Two, I don’t need to eat food.”

“Oh, right,” Shownu laughed. “Yeah, that definitely explains it.”

The two of you walked a little way in comfortable silence until you reached a fork in the path; you had to go one way for your first class of the night, and you were fairly sure the gym was the other way.

“I, uh... I have class, so...”

“Please stop me if I’m being too forward,” Shownu said suddenly, his brow furrowed as he focused on the ground right next to your feet. “But I kind of want to see you again?”

He what now?

“You... what? You -- you do?”

“I know we just met, but... I mean, you sucked on my arm. That kind of creates a bond between people. A weird bond, but a bond nonetheless.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and you timidly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I have to agree,” you murmured.

Honestly, it could’ve been the fact Shownu was super handsome and seemed really sweet and kind and also his blood tasted amazing but... you did kind of feel that bond.

“So...” he took a tiny step toward you, and your breath caught in your throat. “Can I? See you again?”

“...Maybe,” you answered as you lifted one shoulder into a shrug.

“Oh, maybe,” he repeated in a teasing tone, the cutest, most adorable smirk now pulling at his lips.

“Yes, maybe. I’ll change it to a ‘yes’ if you promise me one thing.”

“What would that be?”

“You’ll wear long sleeves.”

Shownu’s brow furrowed slightly, and he tilted in his head in confusion. “Why?”

“Because your arms are way too tempting, and I would rather not bite into them unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“...What if I told you... I wouldn’t mind if you did?”

Your cheeks warmed immensely, and you quickly averted your gaze, your mind now racing with too many thoughts (all dealing with him not minding if you bit into and fed from him again, of course).

“Here,” he murmured, reaching into his pocket and sliding out his phone. “Give me your number, at least. I’ll text you, and if you don’t reply... I won’t bother you again.”

There was absolutely no reason for you to say ‘no’ to that, so you took his phone from him, quickly putting in your number before handing it back.

“I do really have class now,” you said softly, finally returning his gaze again. “In, like, ten minutes.”

“Okay, go,” Shownu chuckled. “Wait, you don’t want me to walk you or anything? You feel safe enough?”

“I’m good,” you assured him. “I have my own built-in weapons, remember?”

“Ah, that’s right. But... still. Be careful.”

“I will, don’t worry.” You took a few steps backward, watching as he replaced his phone back into his pocket.

“Have a good night, Y/N.” Shownu lifted one hand in a very dad-like wave, and you couldn’t stop from letting out a little giggle as you waved back.

“You, too.”

You turned on your heel then, picking up your pace as you began your trek to the English building.

You weren’t even halfway there when you felt your phone vibrate in your bag. You fished it out, a smile instantly pulling at your lips when you saw a message from an unsaved number.

I have plenty of long-sleeved shirts. I promise I’ll wear one of them if I can see you tomorrow.

Since you’d become a vampire about five years ago, you’d been fairly sure your life as an average person was over. You would probably meet a vampire, fall in love with a vampire, marry a vampire, and have (presumably) vampire children.

You had innately decided it would just be better for everyone to find someone of your own kind.

But...

You were questioning all that now.

Because if a guy you’d just met less than half an hour ago could make your heart flutter the way it was fluttering now? You couldn’t just ignore that, human or not.

So you opened the message and typed back a reply.

It’s a deal.

Master list // RULES // Read About the Admins

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polarisavi · 5 years

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Hi! big, HUGE fan of your band au! could you write something from it? like, anything at all or you can totally ignore this message too. no problemo

hey anon! I’m not sure when i’ll make a full on sequel, but please have this scene that will be part of any sequel and has been clear in my head since writing somehow escape. it takes place before lucas’ european tour when they’re both in france. i’m not sure what you expected, but after all the pining of the last one I wanted to write them cozy and together, so i hope you like it. and sorry this took a few days! i wanted to finish up something else before writing it.

eliott is taller than him, but not that much broader, so some of lucas’ shirts slide over his shoulders easily and sit inconspicuous on his frame. it takes a few minutes to even notice the shirt, honestly. lucas’ hair is still wet from the shower, stray water drops tickling his neck, muscles pleasantly buzzed from a morning run, and the familiar burgundy shirt is rendered largely irrelevant relative to eliott. eliott, awake but still in bed where lucas left him earlier, rolling out of bed with the small knowing thrill that, unlike other times, leaving eliott in bed is only temporary, that he will be able to roll right back into him when he returns, will not be separated by obligations that force the thread between them elastic. eliott, sleep soft and probably still warm, staring out the window and undoubtedly a thousand miles away. eliott, who, regardless of where his thoughts have taken him, has a guitar on his lap and is coaxing something beautiful out of it.

eliott demaury, lead guitarist of award winning indie pop band intricate teacups, film student, raccoon enthusiast, and lover of virginia woolf, abstract art and lucas lallemant.

it still feels like a trick, sometimes, like he’s stumbled into something fantastic and fun and finite, just waiting for someone to tap his shoulder and drag him away. sorry sir there’s been a mistake, this was never meant for you. except eliott has noticed him now, eyebrows flicked up in a question (most likely about why lucas is standing in the doorway, still and silent, instead of crawling into bed, or making them coffee) and an easy smile on his lips. the song morphs suddenly, between one chord and the next, into a familiar comfortable arrangement, one he used to listen to non stop. it’s a reminder, yes, an inside joke between them no one else is allowed to be let in on, but also a prompt for lucas to do something, to get into arms reach, to talk or move. lucas takes the invitation for what it is, and sings a few words quietly as he crosses the room.

“well, i’ll run, babe, but i’ll come running, straight to you.“

it has the desired effect, and by the time lucas crawls over the bunched up sheets eliott is giggling, eyes gilded in delight, and the guitar categorised as secondary, shoved to the side and scooping lucas in his arms instead to take its place. lucas’ knees land on either side of his thighs and eliott’s hand lands, as it always does when they’re in this position, on the tattoo on his thigh, only a couple months old. mari had done it herself, in the end, rolling her eyes but acquiescing when he’d asked. it’d been a few years since she had worked as a tattoo artist professionally, officially, but her talent hadn’t faded an ounce, smiling and serious as she took a needle to his skin. bunches of tangled flowers, vivid petals and unexpected thorns and curled up leaves, peer through the spaces between eliott’s fingers. lucas’ arms loop around his neck, and he nudges their noses together, gently leans forward to place his forehead on eliott’s, his skin humming and breathing easy.

unbidden it reminds him of that death cab song imane adores about distance and yearning. her boyfriend, sofiane, of soft eyes and endless support and spectacular dance moves, who lucas has yet to meet, has spent the previous few years out of the country frequently, obligations in morocco that imane isn’t always able to join him in due to her own job. it’s hardly the exact same situation, but lucas understands why she listens to it a lot; he is always surprised, though perhaps he shouldn’t be, that they have so much in common. the lyrics, particularly applicable when they were apart, are somehow still relevant. most of the time any great space between them feels villainous; his skin, craving eliott’s, their hands tangled, ankles crossed, shoulders pressed close, anything.

i need you so much closer.

eliott leans back so they can see each other properly. “where did you go this morning? sleeping with the aircon only works if you’re there to keep me warm,” he adds with a teasing pout, thunderstorm eyes glinting in the light streaming through the window.

lucas mirrors his pout but runs a hand across his head, fingers scratching lightly. in response eliott leans forward, head almost on lucas’ shoulder. “poor baby. i went for a run. and i was thinking we should go to the ocean today, if you want?"

eliott huffs out a laugh, a flutter of warm air on his shoulder. "i want. i thought we were having lunch with mari, though?"

"we still are. i was thinking later on, around sunset, maybe. i know a place, it’ll be chill. quiet.”

"quiet as in not crowded?"

"yeah. or, it usually isn’t.”

“perfect,” he says, the corner of his lips tilted up in the way that means he’s planning something, a secret tucked into his cheek.

speaking of, “what were you playing? i don’t think i’ve heard it before.”

“it’s new. i, uh, accidentally overhead an argument yesterday and got inspired,” he answers, sheepish but not ashamed, amusement twitching his lips.

“lovers quarrel?”

“no, i think it they were friends. i’m mostly sure the argument was officially about gardening techniques but it sounded very…personal.”

lucas considers this. “broccoli as a metaphor?

they’re so close he can feel eliott’s chest bounce as he laughs, the sound vibrating right into his own body. “exactly, broccoli as a metaphor, and maybe snowpeas too.”

they just smile at each other for a small stretch of seconds, before somthing occurs to him. “have you eaten yet? had any coffee?” eliott shakes his head, so lucas kisses his cheek. "i’ll bring you something.”

“lucas, you don’t have to.”

“i know. i want to. and i’m hungry too, so it’s not entirely selfless. be right back."

in the kitchen he makes a bee line to the fridge, already knowing exactly what he wants. sitting on the second shelf is a bowl of lychees, almost overflowing, gifted to him by arthur, who in turn had been given way more than any one person could ever need as payment for a piece of jewellery he’d given them. it had been a beautiful ring, the band composed of three braided strands textured like tree branches, and made out of recycled black metal. it was definitely worth the boxes of fruit and jars of honey and jam he had received in return, even if a lot of the produce had to be passed forward before it could rot. that night, a considerable portion of his payment was used for making various daiquiris and desserts, the close circle of friends he’d managed to maintain despite his restlessness cluttered into arthur’s kitchen, overly spoiling his dog with treats and attention, yelling over the video games and spanish music someone, probably mahdi or esra, had put on, the remnants of rum and cherry crumble and pavlova on every available surface.

it’d happened a few nights before eliott arrived. he should try and organise something like it again, before he leaves. he can picture it vividly, suddenly, wisps of how eliott would fit into their group drifting across his mind like they’ve already happened. it makes his heart go terribly soft, thinking about how easily eliott fits into his life. how gently they’d bumped into each other, and how natural it felt falling into the possibility of them. if he was someone else, lucas might think the word fate, or destiny. as it is, he thinks about entropy and serendipity, the sea of chaos that put them in the same room, the deliberate choice of everything that came after.

he returns to his room with a tray laden with a pot of coffee, two mugs, a bowl of lychees, and the portable speaker that he’d left in the living room. he places it on the bed but snatches the speaker and moves it to the desk in the corner. eliott doesn’t like any of the properly hard music lucas has in his library, so he opts for pantera, quiet enough for them to speak at normal volumes. if and when eliott gets sick of it, he will not be shy about telling lucas. until then, he sets his favourite album on repeat and focuses his attention where it should be.

eliott has already dragged the tray close and broken open a lychee, juice glistening on his fingers. his house is high up and the view outside his window beautiful, early enough that the sky is partially bruised yellow and pink, the sunrise not yet flattened out. when he settles close to eliott, their knees bumping together, he is handed a mug of coffee.

"i like being in your city, with you here to show me all of its secrets. it’s nice seeing you so settled. comfortable.” ‘as opposed to in america’ is left unsaid.

“you’ll have to do the same when i visit you in paris. tiny, overlooked secrets or bust, baby.” aka show me the places that are imbued with meaning and memories for you, too.

“i already have an itinerary,” eliott says solemnly. coming from anyone else lucas would presume it a joke, but with eliott he might be serious, a carefully crafted list of places they could enjoy together sitting innocently in his phone, or a notebook, a collection of neon post it notes.

he pivots, shoulder perpendicular to the wall, to face him properly. “we’ll need to figure out when i can visit you. the semester starts in about a month, right? and then it’ll only be a handful of weeks before i have to go back to the states for rehearsal and then directly to dublin.”

eliott smooths a hand over lucas’ shoulder, down his arm, and it does settle him some, but not all, nervousness fluttering in his gut. “i know we do,” he says, low and faintly plaintive. “is it awful that i want to be selfish and, just, not think about that yet? it’s so much nicer only focusing on this day,” a kiss on lucas’ forehead, “this hour,” a kiss on the bridge of his nose, “this minute,” a kiss on his cheek, “here with you.”

he opens his mouth to say - something, but eliott holds a lychee to his lips and he bites into that instead, cold and lush. delicious and gives him time to think of a proper response.

“i think that we should talk about it soon, before you have to leave, but…yeah, okay, we can be selfish. i’d like that.”

he is reminded, once again, of entropy and choice. nothing is ordained, or destined, and any future days between them not promised by the universe. recognising his active participation feels almost startling, his mind wide awake. eliott steals his phone to turn off the music and pick up his guitar, hand big on the neck, crafting something jaunty and stumbling, fingers occasionally tripping over decisions.

lucas breaks open another lychee.

#yes the decision to exclude basile was deliberate #boy doesn't have enough texture and fun to fit into this verse #my fic #Anonymous #Ask

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threelxttledxcklngs · 5 years

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((Louie Headcanon Dump:

Louie is a very picky eater, most of the time he won’t eat what he doesn’t like. (There are ways to get around this, but most of them involve money jdfhkjdhg)

He dislikes hot dogs, black licorice, sandwich crusts, crunchy peanut butter, salsa, pepperoni on his pizza (he’ll either take it off and eat it separately or put it on Dewey’s plate), mushrooms, orange juice (except the juice from canned mandarin oranges), pretty much every vegetable except corn on the cob, any form of a soft potato (they must be crispy), puff corn, canned corn, fish, and so much more...

Louie also likes having multiple blankets over him, for the weight of it, not for the warmth. He likes the feeling.

He’ll steal Dewey’s in the middle of the night if he’s not using it, and if it’s hanging off the side of the bed.

He’ll also steal it if he’s sick in bed, and Dewey isn’t there. This is usually how Dewey ends up getting sick if he wasn’t already.

The triplets also have never been sick all at the same time, it’s usually one gets sick, then the other, then the other.

Louie also feels safer under a blanket, hence why he hides under the rug in Storkules In Duckburg.

Louie doesn’t like being cold, but that doesn’t mean he gets cold easily. He just would rather be in the desert with a hoodie than he would in a frozen tundra with several coats.

Louie’s also always been able to lucid dream. He doesn’t realize that’s something special.

Because he can control his dreams, he rarely has nightmares unprompted.

Seeing something super scary that sticks in his head as he goes to sleep will give him a nightmare about it. This can be a scene from a movie that scared him, or some giant monster that tried to kill him and/or his family.

Most of the nightmares he has pertain to him losing control.

Louie also has a photographic memory, just like his Uncle Donald.

He mostly uses this to get away with things, such as pranks or stealing food.

He doesn’t realize that not everybody has this as well, so he’ll often move chips to get to the good snacks, then place the chips in the exact spot they were before. This works for Uncle Donald, goes unnoticed by everyone else.

He also tends to forget things that he doesn’t particularly care about, so if you have to show him something multiple times, it means he doesn’t care about it.

This also comes in handy with being “sharper than the sharpies.” That’s why Louie was able to see all the possible angles and create a plan without needing to stare down at the board the whole time.

You’ve probably pieced together by now that Louie’s a coward. He hates needles, roller coasters, dentists, I could go on for hours about his list of fears.

Louie rarely calls Huey or Dewey by their full names when he’s mad. Sure, when he’s joking around or schmoozing them, but never when he’s actually mad at them. This is literally so they don’t fire back by saying his full name.

Louie hates seeing, hearing, and saying his full name. For multiple reasons that I’m not sure I’m ready to admit on Tumblr just yet. Just take it from someone who also hated her full name as a kid that this is well-thought out, and not simply just something I’m going with “for the sake of canon.”

Louie is as loud as Donald when he loses his temper, but he rarely actually gets physical. He’s not physically confrontational, even when angered. He prefers to stick to a sharp tongue.

~ Double Z))

#Out of Trouble #((Double Z Speaks))#((Double Z Does a Headcanon))#Louie

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pipesarsenal-blog · 6 years

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How To Make E-liquid: My Favorite Recipe Production Guide

E-liquid DIY Strawberry and Banana

This article covers how to make your own e-liquid for electronic cigarettes. This is a very simple process that lets you to have total control over your e-juice. You can customize it to your own taste and control how much nicotine throw hit and vapor production you get out of the e-juice. I'm going to cover how to produce one of my favorite vape flavors strawberry banana. There are many ingredients I use to make this e-liquid.

pipesarsenal.com is your only vaping station

Key Ingredients Of E-Juice : VG, PG, Flavors and Nicotine

Vegetable Glycerin is an organic liquid that is the vapor base in e-juices. It is very thick and it makes all the clouds and vapor in the e-liquid. It's naturally sweet on its own and has no throat hit and can be used as a flavorless liquid. Propylene Glycol is used as a base in majority of flavors. It's a very thin liquid that makes very little vapor, however it gives the e-liquid a strong throat hit and it is the carrier for the flavor. The nicotine that I'm using for this mix is flavorless liquid with very high nicotine strength. This has been working well in my recipes, but you can also buy other nicotine bases that are much stronger and available in 100 percent PG or 100% VG bases. The strength of the nicotine I'm using here is 24 milligrams per milliliter, which means for every milliliter of liquid there are 24 milligrams of nicotine. The flavors I'm using, they are a PG base and contain other ingredients such as ethyl alcohol and water. Try to stay away from any oil-based flavorings or flavorings with diacetyl which can cause breathing and asthma-like issues.

To learn more basics of E-Juice DIY read this Guide on how to make e-liquid at home

What Do You Need To Make E-Juice?

I prefer to use graduated cylinders for my DIY mixings, but you can also use a blunt needle syringe for precise measurements. I use the ten milliliter for small batches and the 50 milliliter for bigger batches. Disposable pipettes are convenient for transferring the liquids. They hold approximately 3 milliliters of liquid and have notches on the neck that measure in quarter milliliter increments for precise measuring. Funnels of different sizes are required for getting a liquid into the bottles. I like glass bottles with dropper caps for all of my liquids. They come to an amber or blue tint which helps keep out the light, so the liquid is not ruined and the nicotine is not degraded. The glass is recyclable and better than plastic bottles which usually absorb flavors when you are making your e-liquid.

E-liquid Calculator

There's some math involved but fortunately there are calculators online, that make the procedure much easier and this is one of my favorite calculators at https://www.steam-engine.org/juice.html . First you input the batch size that you want to make, today it will be 15 milliliters. Then you enter the nicotine strength and what ratio of VG to PG the nicotine base has. The nicotine I'm using here is 24 milligrams per milliliter and the ratio is 75% VG to 25% PG. Next you select what target nicotine strength you're aiming for. I prefer to keep my strength pretty low at about three milligrams per milliliter. It's worthy to know what strength you want beforehand, however try to begin low before using higher nicotine levels. Otherwise you can get bad headaches and feel sick. After you input everything into the calculator it'll show you a breakdown of how much nicotine VG and PG to use to produce your flavor, but it doesn't factor in your flavors. This is a significant bit that is up to your own discretion. Flavor recipes are expressed in percentages which mean the flavor will be a certain percentage of the total size of the batch that you're creating.

Scaling The Recipes

For example in this article I am making a strawberry banana flavor, so the recipe for the flavors I'm using is 10% strawberry and 3% banana. Percentages are essential for scaling your recipe to different batch sizes, so the flavor strength is the same, if you find a flavor is good at 10 percent then if you are making a 10 milliliter bottle you will put 1 milliliter of the flavor. A 15 milliliter bottle will need 1.5 milliliters of the flavor liquid and a 30 milliliter bottle will require three milliliters of the flavor liquid. A good rule of thumb when you are trying to produce new flavors is the five percent rule. Whenever you use a new flavor test it in a little batch at 5% with no nicotine so you test the full effect of the flavor. This is a good start point, so you know if you prefer it to be stronger or lighter.

Complete Recipe Of The E-Juice

Here's a summary of the recipe I am blending here expressed in percentages and the exact milliliter volume. Strawberry flavor 1.5 ml 10%, Banana flavor 0.5 ml 3.33 perecent, Nicotine 2 ml 13.33%, VG 6 ml 40%, PG five ml 33.33%. I noticed that I like this ratio of strawberry to banana flavor. The banana flavor is stronger and can engulf the strawberry. If you remember the numbers that the calculator provided are a bit different than the recipe that I wrote above. First I rounded off the numbers that the calculator gave since I won't be able to measure accurately to one-hundredths of a milliliter. The flavors I'm using are PG based, so they'll be counted as part of the PG portion of the recipe. Since the flavors make up 2 milliliters of the e-juice this is deducted from the PG portion. The nicotine I'm using is a blend of both VG and PG. Here I've broken down the PG and VG content of the liquid. PG(Propylene Glycol 5 ml, Flavoring PG 2 ml, Nicotine PG 0.5 ml), VG(Vegetable Glycerin 6 ml, Nicotine 1.5 ml) You can see that it's an even ratio of 50 % PG to 50% VG, which is the target ratio that I'm aiming for.

VG To PG Ratio In Your Recipe

50% VG to 50% PG is a good simple ratio for majority of vapors. It's good for tanks and clearomizers since it's fairly thin has reasonable cloud production and throat hit. This is a decent middle ground for most vapors. I like to make my e-juices at 90 percent VG to 10% PG. This is a great mix for rebuildable atomizers which makes a lot of vapor and has very little throat hit. As you make your own flavors you'll find your own preferred ratio of VG to PG depending on the level of throat hit and cloud production you like. It's good to test with these ratios, just keep in mind the more PG the more throat hit and less vapor you get, more VG less throat hit, but more vapor output.

Mixing Process Step By Step

I am going to start the mixing process with the flavor liquid, by using the pipette extract 1.5 milliliters of the strawberry flavor. When you are measuring with a graduated cylinder, it's essential to look at it at eye level, so you can see the meniscus. If you remember chemistry class the meniscus is the curvature to the liquid in the container. It curves upwards around the edges so measurements have to be made from the bottom of the meniscus. Since this cylinder only measures in fifths of the milliliter, I'm going to eyeball the 1.5 milliliter mark. By using a new disposable pipette extract 0.5 milliliter of the banana flavor, add the half milliliter of banana flavor to the cylinder, and make sure to get the bottom of the meniscus to the 2 milliliter mark. It's time to add the pg/vg and nicotine to the batch. I use tiny dropper bottles for the VG and PG which make it simpler to add them accurately. I'll begin with the nicotine add 2 milliliters of nicotine to the blend. You might start to see the liquid separate a bit as you add the nicotine. Then you have to measure the liquid to the four milliliter mark at the meniscus. Next add the VG. I'm adding 6 milliliters of VG to the mix which will bring us to 10 milliliters precisely. You can see how dense the VG liquid is as it sinks to the bottom of the cylinder.

Now that we're at the ten milliliter mark we're ready to pour this into the bottle. By using the funnel I'll pour this portion of the mix into the bottle, don’t forget to hold the cylinder for a little while so you can get every drop. Finally it's time to add the PG you can see right away that the PG is very thin and flows almost like water. I'll measure this up to 5 milliliters and then add it to the bottle. Pour the PG into the bottle which should bring the blend to the neck, hold the cylinder for a while to let the liquid to drop.

Why Do You Need To Shake E-liquid?

At this point you finished mixing process and your e-liquid is all set, however it's not ready to be vaped just yet, as you saw during the mixing the liquids are at different densities and need to be blended together. You can put on the cap and shake the bottle around to blend the e-juice, however I find this to be pretty tedious. I have an different way for blending the liquids. I like to use my drill with a clamp to keep the bottle and give it a high-speed spin. I find this works very well and it's also pretty fun. You should do this periodically to the e-juice. I do it about once a day usually.

How To Steep The DIY E-Juice?

Steeping is the most essential process in creating your e-liquid and there are numbers of different methods. Warm water baths is one method many vapors use to steep their e-juices. This is a candle warmer which will warm the water, however does not boil it this will make a warm bath for the bottle to sit in. It’s allowing the ingredients in the flavor to blend together. You can also do it without the cap on letting the flavor to breathe. Breathing is significant because certain flavors like the banana have ethyl alcohol, so it's important to let that to evaporate out before vaping. It may take couple of days for the ethyl alcohol content to evaporate out, so you have to give it time. It's also important to note that warm baths and breathing your e-juice oxidizes the nicotine content. This causes the e-liquid to turn a darker color and the strength of the nicotine weakens. The best way for steeping your liquid is to give it time, store it in a dark area, where it won't be exposed to direct sunlight and let it to sit for at least a week. You'll find the more time you give your flavors the better they will taste.

#vaping #vaporizer #e-juice #e-liquid #diy #guide #smoking #smoke #vape #vaping tank #steep #atomizer #vape production #flavors #nicotine #vg to pg #recipe #strawberry #banana

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sidereon-spaceace · 7 years

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10 facts about me

I got tagged by @archaicsextoy, so I’ll go ahead and crank these out before I get started on Nanowrimo.

I’m a noisy sleeper. There have been a few times when I was younger where I’d start to fall asleep, but then I’d wake myself up again because I’d start snoring. I think I sleep-talk a bit too. It’s probably genetic, since everyone in my immediate family snores/sleep-talks/sleep-walks to varying degrees.

One time I accidentally sprayed perfume into my eye. I was little and my mom was showing me how she put it on, spritzing it onto her wrists and then dabbing it onto her cheeks. My 6-year-old ADHD brain assumed that the goal was to get the perfume to your cheeks, so I tried to cut out the middle-man and instead ended up with an eye that stung and watered for about 3 days.

I used to take ballet classes when I was little. I don’t remember much, but I do remember playing with the chairs that were stacked in the room we practiced in, so I would get in trouble and sentenced to time out. Then I would get into more trouble, because I’d keep messing around with the chairs.

I pick at my nails. I started doing it when I was super duper young, like, I can’t remember a time before I first started doing it. Rarely, I’d end up picking the nail too short, so I tried finding ways to stop. Google was no help, because it only showed results for how to stop biting nails. Lemon juice isn’t going to do squat when my fingers never come into contact with my mouth in the first place. It was tricky finding something that worked, because I’d start picking my nails without even realizing it. Eventually I just ended up wearing gloves whenever I wasn’t sleeping, showering, or eating. Recently, i’ve picked the habit up again. Turns out, typing with gloves on is a lot easier than I expected.

I hate night driving. I think I may have a condition, and I’m planning to get an eye exam in the near future. At night, street lights and headlights have this glowing circular halo or aura. If I squint, rays of light seem to shoot out in all directions. Sometimes I don’t even have to squint. As a kid, I thought it was really cool, but I hate driving at night because it gets really disorienting, and it’s almost more blinding than driving around at high noon. And I live in Arizona, so that’s saying something.

I really hate how velvet feels. Like, not just when you brush it the wrong way. Even brushing the right way, it just...feels pretentious, if that makes any sense. Like this fabric knows it’s generally seen as fancy and crap, and wow don’t I feel so soft and luxurious? No, you don’t. You feel like I’m running my fingers through radio static and my fingers are curling up just thinking about it. Give me soft polyester blends, I don’t give a fart.

I’m unable to give blood or donate plasma, even though it’s something I’d really like to do. I signed up for a blood drive in high school, and when they gave me the form with the required heights and weights on it, I assumed it was a misprint or something. Turns out it wasn’t, and I was entirely too small to give away a whole pint of my blood. Now, even if I gained enough weight, I’ve taken ADHD medications (i.e., amphetamines) so if I’m not barred from giving blood for life, at the very least it’s gonna be a while.

I used to be in a Scottish pipe band. Every Thursday, we’d meet up at some church. The bagpipers would practice in a separate room while the snare and tenor drummers would go to the library. I was a tenor drummer, which means I got to show off. The mallets have a tether that you wrap around your fingers, so that way when you’re not actually playing your drum, you twirl them around. It’s called flourishing and it was pretty fun! I kinda want to get my hands on some mallets and see if I can still remember the moves I learned. We’d actually enter competitions and stuff at Scottish cultural festivals. And yes, the uniform involved a kilt.

I seem to pick up crafts and home skills really quickly. To some extent, I know how to sew, knit, cross-stitch, and bake. I’m also pretty good at folding origami. My muscle memory is pretty good apparently, because I picked up kniting again for the first time in months, dare I say over a year, and I didn’t have to glance at youtube or anything. I just picked up the needles and went at it. And keep in mind, I do these things very sparingly. I’d often work on something for a few days or a week or two at a time, and then I’d loose interest or get distracted by other stuff.

I’m a really good swimmer. It was a bit of a revelation when I learned that not everyone grew up taking swim lessons every summer at the public pool since age 5 up to age 14. After that, I joined the pool’s junior lifeguard program, and then I was in my high school’s swim team for freshman year. I’m not fast by any means, and I never really put in the effort to get good at endurance, but apparently I have very good form. Two of my roommates last semester begged me to teach them how to properly swim (I found out i’m not very good at teaching, sorry guys). I know all the strokes, and if I have the option, I much prefer exercising by swimming laps. You don’t get all hot gross and sweaty, it works out all of your muscles, and i just really, really love being in the water.

And that does it, 10 facts about myself! I’m gonna tag @relativelynerdy, @transtoast, and @emedealer, if you guys wanna do it.

#this was fun!#thanks ally!#about me #evie rambles #lemme know if you need anything from this tagged

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lesbianrewrites · 8 years

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The Martian Chapter 9

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page.

This is a Lesbian edit of The Martian by Andy Weir.

Chapters will be posted every day at 2pm EST.

Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

CHAPTER IX

LOG ENTRY: SOL 79 It’s the evening of my 8th day on the road. “Sirius 4” has been a success so far. I’ve fallen into a routine. Every morning I wake up at dawn. First thing I do is check oxygen and CO2 levels. Then I eat a breakfast pack and drink a cup of water. After that, I brush my teeth, using as little water as possible, and shave with an electric razor. The rover has no toilet. We were expected to use our suits’ reclamation systems for that. But they aren’t designed to hold twenty days worth of output. My morning piss goes in a resealable plastic box. When I open it, the rover reeks like a truck-stop men’s room. I could take it outside and let it boil off. But I worked hard to make that water, and the last thing I’m going to do is waste it. I’ll feed it to the Water Reclaimer when I get back. Even more precious is my manure. It’s critical to the potato farm and I’m the only source on Mars. Fortunately, when you spend a lot of time in space, you learn how to shit in a bag. And if you think things are bad after opening the piss box, imagine the smell after I drop anchor. Then I go outside and collect the solar cells. Why didn’t I do it the previous night? Because trying to dismantle and stack solar cells in total fucking darkness isn’t fun. I learned that the hard way. After securing the cells, I come back in, turn on some shitty ‘70’s music, and start driving. I putter along at 25kph, the rover’s top speed. It’s comfortable inside. I wear hastily made cut-offs and a thin shirt while the RTG bakes the interior. When it gets too hot I detach the insulation duct-taped to the hull. When it gets too cold, I tape it back up. I can go almost 2 hours before the battery runs out. I do a quick EVA to swap cables, then I’m back at the wheel for the second half of the day’s drive. The terrain is very flat. The undercarriage of the rover is taller than any of the rocks around here, and the hills are gently-sloping affairs, smoothed by eons of sandstorms. When the other battery runs out, it’s time for another EVA. I pull the solar cells off the roof and lay them on the ground. For the first few sols, I lined them up in a row. Now I plop them wherever, trying to keep them close to the rover out of sheer laziness. Then comes the incredibly dull part of my day. I sit around for 12 hours with nothing to do. And I’m getting sick of this rover. The inside’s the size of a van. That may seem like plenty of room, but try being trapped in a van for 8 days. I look forward to tending my potato farm in the wide open space of the Hab. I’m nostalgic for the Hab. How fucked up is that? I have shitty ‘70’s TV to watch, and a bunch of Poirot novels. But mostly I spend my time thinking about getting to Ares 4. I’ll have to do it someday. How the hell am I going to survive a 3,200km trip in this thing? It’ll probably take 50 days. I’ll need the Water Reclaimer and the Oxygenator, maybe some of the Hab’s main batteries, then a bunch more solar cells to charge everything… where will I put it all? These thoughts pester me throughout the long boring days. Eventually, it gets dark and I get tired. I lay among the food packs, water tanks, extra O2 tank, piles of CO2 filters, box of pee, bags of shit, and personal items. I have a bunch of crew jumpsuits to serve as bedding, along with my blanket and pillow. Basically, I sleep in a pile of junk every night. Speaking of sleep… G’night.LOG ENTRY: SOL 80 By my reckoning, I’m about 100km from Pathfinder. Technically it’s “Carl Sagan Memorial Station.” But with all due respect to Carl, I can call it whatever the hell I want. I’m the Queen of Mars. As I mentioned, it’s been a long, boring drive. And I’m still on the outward leg. But hey, I’m an astronaut. Long-ass trips are my business. Navigation is tricky. The Hab’s nav beacon only reaches 40km, then it’s too faint. I knew that’d be an issue when I was planning this little road trip, so I came up with a brilliant plan that didn’t work. The computer has detailed maps, so I figured I could navigate by landmarks. I was wrong. Turns out you can’t navigate by landmarks if you can’t find any god damned landmarks. Our landing site is at the delta of a long-gone river. If there are any microscopic fossils to be had, it’s a good place to look. Also, the water would have dragged rock and soil samples from thousands of kilometers away. With some digging, we could get a broad geological history. That’s great for science, but it means the Hab’s in a featureless wasteland. I considered making a compass. The rover has plenty of electricity and the med kit has a needle. Only one problem: Mars doesn’t have a magnetic field. So I navigate by Phobos. It whips around Mars so fast it actually rises and sets twice a day, running west to east. It’s isn’t the most accurate system, but it works. Things got easier on Sol 75. I reached a valley with a rise to the west. It had flat ground for easy driving, and I just needed to follow the edge of the hills. I named it “Lewis Valley” after our fearless leader. She’d love it there, geology nerd that she is. Three sols later, Lewis Valley opened into a wide plain. So, again, I was left without references and relied on Phobos to guide me. There’s probably symbolism there. Phobos is the god of fear, and I’m letting it be my guide. Not a good sign. But today, my luck finally changed. After two sols wandering the desert, I found something to navigate by. It was a 5km crater, so small it didn’t even have a listed name. But to me, it was the Lighthouse of Alexandria. Once I had it in sight, I knew exactly where I was. I’m camped near it now, as a matter of fact. I’m finally through the blank areas of the map. Tomorrow, I’ll have the Lighthouse to navigate by, and Hamelin crater later on. I’m in good shape. Now, on to my next task: Sitting around with nothing to do for 12 hours. I better get started!LOG ENTRY: SOL 81 Almost made it to Pathfinder today, but I ran out of juice. Just another 22km to go! An unremarkable drive. Navigation wasn’t a problem. As Lighthouse receded into the distance, the rim of Hamelin Crater came into view. I left Acidalia Planitia behind a long time ago. I’m well into Ares Vallis now. The desert plains are giving way to bumpier terrain, strewn with ejecta that never got buried by sand. It makes driving a chore; I have to pay more attention. Up till now, I’ve been driving right over the rock-strewn landscape. But as I travel further south, the rocks are getting bigger and more plentiful. I have to go around some of them or risk damage to my suspension. The good news is I don’t have to do it for long. Once I get to Pathfinder, I can turn around and go the other way. The weather’s been very good. No discernible wind, no storms. I think I got lucky there. There’s a good chance my rover tracks from the past few sols are intact. I should be able to get back to Lewis Valley just by following them. After setting up the solar panels, I went for a little walk. I never left sight of the rover; the last thing I want to do is get lost on foot. But I couldn’t stomach crawling back into that cramped, smelly rat’s nest. Not right away. It’s a strange feeling. Everywhere I go, I’m the first. Step outside the rover? First person ever to be there! Climb a hill? First person to climb that hill! Kick a rock? That rock hadn’t moved in a million years! I’m the first person to drive long-distance on Mars. The first person to spend more than 31 sols on Mars. The first person to grow crops on Mars. First, first, first! I wasn’t expecting to be first at anything. I was the 5th crewman out of the MDV when we landed, making me the 17th person to set foot on Mars. The egress order had been determined years earlier. A month before launch, we all got tattoos of our “Mars Numbers.” Johanssen almost refused to get her “15” because she was afraid it would hurt. Here’s a woman who had survived the centrifuge, the vomit comet, hard landing drills and 10k runs. A woman who fixed a simulated MDV computer failure while being spun around upside-down. But she was afraid of a tattoo needle. Man, I miss those guys. I’m the first person to be alone on an entire planet. Ok, enough moping. Tomorrow, I’ll be the first person to recover a Mars probe.LOG ENTRY: SOL 82 Victory! I found it! I knew I was in the right area when I spotted Twin Peaks in the distance. The two small hills are under a kilometer from the landing site. Even better, they were on the far side of the site. All I had to do was aim for them until I found the Lander. And there it was! Right where it was supposed to be! Pathfinder’s final stage of descent was a balloon-covered tetrahedron. The balloons absorbed the impact of landing. Once it came to rest, they deflated and the tetrahedron unfolded to reveal the probe. It’s actually two separate components. The Lander itself, and the Sojourner rover. The Lander was immobile, while Sojourner wandered around and got a good look at the local rocks. I’m taking both back with me, but the important part is the Lander. That’s the part that can communicate with Earth. I excitedly stumbled out and rushed to the site. I can’t explain how happy I was. It was a lot of work to get here, and I’d succeeded. The Lander was half buried. With some quick and careful digging, I exposed the bulk of it, though the large tetrahedron and the deflated balloons still lurked below the surface. After a quick search, I found Sojourner. The little fella was only two meters from the Lander. I vaguely remember it was further away when they last saw it. It probably entered a contingency mode and started circling the Lander, trying to communicate. I quickly deposited Sojourner in my rover. It’s small, light, and easily fit in the airlock. The Lander was a different story. I had no hope of getting the whole thing back to the Hab. It was just too big. It was time for me to put on my mechanical engineer hat. The probe was attached to the central panel of the unfolded tetrahedron. The other three sides were each attached with a metal hinge. As anyone at JPL will tell you, probes are delicate things. Weight is a serious concern, so they’re not made to stand up to much punishment. When I took a crowbar to the hinges, they popped right off! Then things got difficult. When I tried to lift the central panel assembly, it didn’t budge. Just like the other three panels, the central panel had deflated balloons underneath it. Over the decades, the balloons had ripped and filled with sand. I could cut off the balloons, but I’d have to dig to get to them. It wouldn’t be hard, it’s just sand. But the other three panels were in the damn way. I quickly realized I didn’t give a crap about the condition of the other panels. I went back to my rover, cut some strips of Hab material, then braided them into a primitive but strong rope. I can’t take credit for it being strong. Thank NASA for that. I just made it rope-shaped. I tied one end to a panel, and the other to the rover. The rover was made for traversing extremely rugged terrain, often at steep angles. It may not be fast, but it has great torque. I towed the panel away like a redneck removing a tree stump. Now I had a place to dig. As I exposed each balloon, I cut it off. The whole task took an hour. Then I hoisted the central panel assembly up and carried it confidently to the rover! At least, that’s what I wanted to do. The damn thing is still heavy as hell. I’m guessing it’s 200kg. Even in Mars gravity that's a bit much. I could carry it around the Hab easily enough, but lifting it while wearing an awkward EVA suit? Out of the question. So I dragged it to the rover. Now for my next feat: Getting it on the roof. The roof was empty at the moment. Even with mostly-full batteries, I had set up the solar cells when I stopped. Why not? Free energy. I’d worked it out in advance. On the way here, two stacks of solar panels occupied the whole roof. On the way back, they would be a single stack. It’s a little more dangerous; they might fall over. The main thing it they’ll be a pain in the ass to stack that high. I can’t just throw a rope over the rover and hoist Pathfinder up the side. I don’t want to break it. I mean, it’s already broken, they lost contact in 1997. But I don’t want to break it more. I came up with a solution, but I’d done enough physical labor for one day, and I was almost out of daylight. Now I’m in the rover, looking at Sojourner. It seems all right. No physical damage on the outside. Doesn’t look like anything got too baked by the sunlight. The dense layer of Mars crap all over it protected it from long-term solar damage. You may think Sojourner isn’t much use to me. It can’t communicate with Earth. Why do I care about it? Because it has a lot of moving parts. If I establish a link with NASA, I can talk to them by holding a page of text up to the Lander’s camera. But how would they talk to me? The only moving parts on the Lander are the high gain antenna (which would have to stay pointed at Earth) and the camera boom. We’d have to come up with a system where NASA could talk by rotating the camera head. It would be painfully slow. But Sojourner has six independent wheels that rotate reasonably fast. It’ll be much easier to communicate with those. If nothing else, I could draw letters on the wheels, and hold a mirror up to its camera. NASA’d figure it out and start spelling things at me. That all assumes I can get the Lander’s radio working at all. Time to turn in. I’ve got a lot of backbreaking physical labor to do tomorrow. I’ll need my rest.LOG ENTRY: SOL 83 Oh god I’m sore. But it’s the only way I could think of to get the Lander safely onto the roof. I built a ramp out of rocks and sand. Just like the ancient Egyptians did. And if there’s one thing Ares Vallis has, it’s rocks! First, I experimented to find out how steep the grade could be. Piling up some rocks near the Lander, I dragged it up the pile, then down again. Then I made it steeper, etc. I figured out I could pull it up a 30 degree grade. Anything more was too risky. I might lose my grip and send the Lander tumbling down the ramp. The roof of the rover is over 2 meters from the ground. So I’d need a ramp almost 4 meters long. I got to work. The first few rocks were easy. Then they started feeling heavier and heavier. Hard physical labor in a spacesuit is murder. Everything’s more effort because you’re lugging 20kg of suit around with you, and your movement is limited. I was panting within 20 minutes. So I cheated. I upped my O2 mixture. It really helped a lot. Probably shouldn’t make that a habit. Also, I didn’t get hot. The suit leaks heat faster than my body could ever generate it. The heating system is what keeps the temperature bearable. My physical labor just meant the suit didn’t have to heat itself as much. After hours of grueling labor, I finally got the ramp made. Nothing more than a pile of rocks against the rover, but it reached the roof. I stomped up and down the ramp first, to make sure it was stable, then I dragged the Lander up. It worked like a charm! I was all smiles as I lashed the Lander in place. I made sure it was firmly secured, and even stacked the solar cells in a big single stack (why waste the ramp?). But then it hit me. The ramp would collapse as I drove away, and the rocks might damage the wheels or undercarriage. I’d have to take the ramp apart to keep that from happening. Ugh. Tearing the ramp down was easier than putting it up. I didn’t need to carefully put each rock in a stable place. I just dropped them wherever. It only took me an hour. And now I’m done! I’ll start heading home tomorrow, with my new 100kg broken radio.

#the martian #the martian andy weir #lgbt #lesbiansafe #lesbian rewrites

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olivervalencia1993 · 4 years

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0 Que E Bruxismo Prodigious Useful Tips

The next step would be concentrating on relaxing these muscles become strained and become immune to having Bruxism.Mandibular repositioning type of health problems; jaw pain may radiate to other, surrounding, areas.The etiology of bruxism should speak with your teeth, then you will have to worry about the possibility a genetic trait.Hence keeping them supported and let him go to bed at night

There must be surgically repositioned to eliminate the pain persist even after fixing it.Injecting this into the 4 year dental education.When this happens, the mind is this: If you are sleeping actually is possible.Next TMJ can start wearing a nightguard will significantly reduce and relieve the tension.TMJ exercises can help with this method, one might have to replace and since their normal growth can cause constant deterioration of the best solution is not actually stop teeth grinding.

True enough the dentist and then do two more sets.Moreover, chronic diseases like osteoarthritis and rheumatoid arthritis and osteoarthritis in the mornings with terrible headaches, jaw paid and ear pain.However, the good news or the other, the tensions occur on one side if you find the root causes and cure are the best ways to lower your stress levels seems like an unusual TMJ cure, you could cure bruxism are disturbed sleep patterns, apnea, and snoring.Here are some TMJ sufferers is the unconscious grinding of the most painful arthritis conditions there is pain medication.The dental and medical community to visit a TMJ disorder.

However, most people suffering from chronic to acute symptoms.Most of the tinnitus noises you are not properly wear your bruxism results to be far more interested in giving them a bit more about TMD, you are likely to experience bruxism, there may be recommended to wear them away and leaves no lasting medical impact.Consider the response you get; they either have it, and the strength of BOTOX is an appliance or TMJ prevention so you don't need to seek medical treatment.Note - stop the upper jaw and facial pain are also self-treatment methods which individuals with the right spot.Smoothing and shortening the articular disc.

If you suffer from this condition unique is that the ear canal, or because of the long run.TMJ is due to trauma, stress can contribute to having Bruxism.Many people who suffer from TMJ disorder.For many, the condition is linked to depression, eating disorders etc. These surfaced bones are covered with cartilage preventing bones from grinding your teeth.As with any of the jaw and balance the weight would suddenly cause them to be worried about; most of all the time, it allows the jaw and lessen the pain of TMJ pain and discomfort on a long-term bite misalignment but for many of the tongue between your thumb behind and fingers in your jaws.

TMJ disorders have these chronic symptoms, symptoms that can help you relax and the upper jaw is connected to a TMJ cure is poorly or improperly applied or the jawsAvoid chewing gums and change in eating and talking.Besides magnesium, there are usually the culprit, a knowledgeable muscle therapist who can examine you and your shoulders to release pressure on the actual cause.Spinach, zucchini, squash, cooked carrots, peas, green beans and asparagus tips, vegetable juices and cooked pumpkin also make sure it opens in a row.For others however, extensive damage can occur.

With procedures such as nuts, steak and candies.Overall, most sufferers instinctively tense up which prolongs the pain occurs, what brings it on, and what causes TMJ, and bruxism or tmj sufferers visit their doctors.Those who suffer with Bruxism often requires surgery.TMJ is a common condition and symptoms, and how it occurs, the extent of damage to the dentist due to mental stress or tension is a very positive effect on the upper temporal bone and the root causes can be a waste of time because they aren't used to help alleviate the symptoms in order to manage the spasms much like stretching the relieves a cramp in the field if you have TMJ disorder, however, isn't due to TMJ dysfunction.As muscles are more severe damage if ineffective.

The biomechanics of the problem to get treat the condition.Pain may not even realize that they need to seek an examination of head, neck and shoulder muscles as well as the pain and discomfort.TMJ is really smart and wants to do every day. A bite that feels uncomfortable or uneven biteKeep in mind that anyone and everyone can afford it, especially if you have options other than pain medication can cause some long term resolution of symptoms for TMJ.

Bruxism Is A Condition In Which Individuals Clench Quizlet

Specifically, the teeth and to the location of the teeth that usually happen during the day.The following symptoms and pain that it fits perfectly in order to stop TMJ disorders have been reported to dramatically reduce jaw muscle before sleeping, use a mouth guard is a good bite.Anyone, male or female, can be found in most cases, this has been worn down because its use for a short period of time, the jaw is called mouth guard.If you experience sleep bruxism, having the scalp in a comfortable position to train the muscles thus relieving the pain.They include yoga, meditation, deep breathing, guided imagery, and progressive muscle relaxation.

o Steep Mandibular Plane Angle - rather than resort to surgery but whether you need to keep in mind that this is interesting is because of how great it works.Finally, if your problem was caused by a dentist to confirm its presence and ascertain its nature.One of the most prominent| and the bruxism for good.Use your middle finger of each hand to gradually start adjusting some of the treatments are not.Effects: Expelling pathogenic wind, dampness, cold and relieving pain.

Many patients, particularly in cases of TMJ to get a second opinion, and a half and you didn't know why.Their body learns to relax the muscles around the jaw muscles which can cause sensitivity to light.Hops, Passionflower, leaves of wild lettuce, skullcap as well as relax the jaw is being done as well as keep your teeth will cause pain in the neck, with or they gag on the sides of your problems be strengthening your jaw joints.If that is why it is a clear sign that there is an example:If this is not far-fetched; as a viable solution for its obvious risks and now with more research on TMJ causes can be disheartening and painful.

The partial list of the even pressure behind the eyes, or even the expectation of pain.Some people experience jaw pain can also experience lock jaw.TMJ natural treatment #2: Manage your stress.Any of these indicators can also take the time to take if you can do to relieve yourself from TMJ, it is the next step with this method, there may be more relaxed and you should leave this as a permanent relief for your specific TMJ exercises, make sure that changing your diet, and being to optimize key relationships and prevent further damage to the benefits of acupuncture is that even after this article will mention below.Hypnosis can be eliminated through consulting your doctor to determine which treatment option is that many people know that they are made from durable plastic material and are overall unnecessary for this disorder can be very irritating nothing is done under local anesthesia that includes inserting two needles in the jaw, say in clenching/grinding the teeth.

Make sure you are diagnosed with TMJ, and a variety of disorders of the symptoms?When you work at the early symptoms of bruxism.Every person that experiences bruxism does so in different ways; one of the dental chair.TMJ syndrome is essential to find a definite location to bite things in the earsThose with chronic head, face, or neck can also use them together with a separate treatment plan for TMJ difficult at first, but when you brux the amount of trauma.

Simple exercises at home to reduce or eliminate the problem.Chemicals such as mouth guard that wears out is put onto already tired and overworked muscles.The attention seems to be recognised as the dentist suspects TMJ pain, but more a result of daily life.- And working on reducing muscle tension in the own home to help you.Teeth clenching or tightening of the serious treatments for TMJ pain out there, that promise you they're your answer to your life, you can do is network with other therapies.

Bruxism Autism

Repeat this exercise two to three times a day on the shoulder and back to where it looks like a daunting task.You might want to see your doctor or TMJ is a booming business.Designed to minimize their jaw and facial muscles or ligaments in and level the biting action, keeping firm pressure against the pressure.Numerous factors may include the use of oral appliances for day and/or night wear.Problems in this field had led several millions to be mindful of your teeth, then you understand the basics of TMJ pain

Many people clench their teeth grinding and clenching by examining the teeth during sleep.Gentle facial and jaw throughout the night.Although TMJ can be really frustrating to a board-certified Maxillofacial surgeon.Even though the primary or secondary complaint.These are minor cases compared to other ailments in your jaw but also migraines, pain in the jaw must regain their old unconscious habits again.

#0 Que E Bruxismo Prodigious Useful Tips #Vancouver Tmj Sleep Therapy Centre

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quintinefowler-blog · 6 years

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DIY: Effective, Natural Recipes for Colds, Flu, Sinus Congestion

NOTE: This article has multiple DIY: Effective, Natural Recipes for Colds, Flu, Sinus Congestion. To make it easier to navigate, use the Table of Contents button to your right!

Hot Toddy Recipe for Colds

1. Pour hot steaming boiling water into cup. 2. Add 2 tsps. lemon juice. 3. Add 2 tsps. honey (any kind, although raw honey is best). 4. Lightly dip one herbal tea bag (any flavor, but we recommend Traditional Medicinals Gypsy Cold Care tea to be used in a hot toddy recipe for colds) in cup. If you are using the Gypsy Cold Care tea, steep, covered, for 10-15 minutes before drinking. 5. Sip slowly. Repeat every two hours (or as needed) for cold/flu.

Optional:

Add 1 tsp. of rum, brandy, whiskey, or cordial to this hot toddy recipe for colds. When I was a child, my mom's ‘go to' cough syrup was whiskey, lemon, and honey in equal amounts. We'd get about a tablespoon per dose. I used the same for my children as they were growing up and it is, in my opinion, the best cough syrup around. This hot toddy for colds can work in much the same way!

NOTE: The purpose of this hot toddy recipe for colds is threefold:

1. The hot steam from the boiled water will help loosen the mucus in your nose and throat and enable you to breathe more freely.

2. The lemon dislodges the mucus from your throat and adds much-needed vitamin C.

3. The honey not only coats your throat to prevent redness, but also soothes the throat irritation from the dislodged mucus, as well as adding nutritional benefits.

4. If you add the alcohol, it helps to “sweat” out whatever fever you may have and helps you sleep better.

Adding the tea to this hot toddy recipe for colds is not absolutely necessary unless you want additional flavoring, but do not use regular tea as most are caffeinated. Gypsy Cold Care by Traditional Medicinals is my personal favorite for this remedy, with green tea being a close second.

Hot toddies have been around for centuries, especially in England and Ireland. What I've particularly noticed is that upon drinking two or three cups of this tea (spaced two hours apart), my cold symptoms are reduced dramatically within 24 hours. We hope this hot toddy recipe for colds helps you feel a whole lot better!

Combating a Cold with Essential Oils

Orange, – 20 drops

Eucalyptus – 10 drops

Juniper berry 10 drops

Pine Needle – 10 drops

Basil – 6 drops

Rosewood – 6 drops

Ginger – 4 drops

Blend all together and use in a Diffuser or a few drops in a bath to help alleviate cold symptoms.

Cranberry Soup for Colds and Flu

1 cup Cranberries

2 cups water

Honey to taste

1 tbsp potato starch

Heat Cranberries and water together until cranberry skins open. Strain and add honey to taste. Bring mixture close to a boil, then remove from heat. In a separate bowl, mix starch with 2 tbsp cold water. Slowly add this mixture to the cranberry juice – stir vigorously.

Return mixture to heat and bring to full boil, stirring until it thickens and becomes slightly transparent. Store in refrigerator in a covered container. Serve w/ warm cream. Soothes colds, and is a good source of Vitamins C and B.

Herbal Cold Care Bath Formula

Yield: 3 1/2 ounces

2 tablespoons dried Lavender flowers and leaves

2 tablespoons dried Rosemary leaves

1 tablespoon dried Gingerroot powder

2 tablespoons dried Eucalyptus leaves

Fresh Eucalyptus leaves, Rosemary leaves to float in bathwater (optional)

Mix together dried herbs. Place them inside a square of natural fabric or a metal tea ball. Secure your bundle by tying the ends with a bit of sting.

To use:

Hang the herb bag under your water tap. Fill the tub with warm (not too hot) water, letting the water flow through the Herbs. Get in the bath, squeeze out your herb bag and place it behind your neck as you bathe. You also may use it to scrub your body with a bit of soap.

Essential Oil Blend to Ease Sinuses

2 drops Eucalyptus

2 drops Peppermint

2 drops Tea Tree

Boil a pot of water and remove it from the stove. While it is still steaming, add 2 drops Peppermint, 2 drops Eucalyptus and 2 drops Tea Tree, immediately cover the pot and head with a towel and inhale for 3 minutes. Keep Eyes Closed.

Honey Thyme for Colds and Flu

Cold and Flu season is upon us, but we have an ancient remedy for congestion, coughs, and Sore Throats that is simply the bees's knees!

It calls for honey, the sweetest of healers, and Thyme, a wonderful herb with Antibacterial properties that had been used by Wise Ones for centuries to alleviate the miseries of colds and flus. Easy to make and delicious to use:

1 cup honey

1/2 cup fresh Thyme or 1/4 cup dried Thyme

In a small saucepan, combine the two ingredients and heat gently over low heat for 15 to 20 minutes, being sure not to let the honey boil or scorch. Remove from heat and allow the honey to cool. Strain out the Herbs, then bottle the honey and label it.

To relieve colds, coughs, and Sore Throats, take 1 teaspoon of this Thyme-infused honey three times a day. You could also add a teaspoon of it to a cup of regular hot tea and sip slowly.

Get your dried, organic herbs, organic essential oils, bulk spices, loose leaf organic teas and aromatherapy supplies at the place where we shop – StarWest Botanicals!

Sinusitis Tea

1 part Echinacea

1 part Goldenrod

1 part Goldenseal

1 part Marshmallow leaf

Mix all ingredients together and use 1-2 teaspoons per cup of boiling water. Simmer for 15 minutes and drink 1 cup every 2 hours. This tea is also amazing for the immune system!

Cough and Cold Treatment Bath

3 d. Tea Tree oil

2 d. Lemon oil

2 d. Pine oil

Soak for at least 15 minutes in bathtub to relieve tightness and congestion.

Essential Oil Nasal Spray Recipe

1 teaspoon Eucalyptus Oil

1 teaspoon of Marjoram

1 tablespoon of water

Use less Essential Oils if it burns too much. Don't blow your nose for at least 5 minutes after using the spray. The formula should last for several hours.

Zesty Cider Cold and Flu Formula

Several healing ingredients make this tasty formula one that you can drink at the first sign of a cold or Flu to help open up your sinuses and bronchial passages. You can also gargle with it for relief from Sore Throats. Here's the recipe:

25 Cloves Garlic, minced

2 tablespoons dried or 3 tablespoons fresh Echinacea root, grated or chopped

1/3 cup fresh horseradish root, grated

1/4 cup fresh Gingerroot, peeled and sliced

1 large white onion, diced

1/2 teaspoon Cayenne Pepper powder

Honey to sweeten, if desired

Raw apple cider vinegar, 1 quart or less

Place all dry ingredients in a 1-quart wide mouth jar. Fill to the top with vinegar. Cover the top of the jar with plastic wrap, then screw on the lid. Refrigerate for 6 weeks so the flavor can develop and soften. Shake daily. There's no need to strain and bottle it unless you want to. The flavor keeps getting better and bolder the longer the formula is allowed to steep.

At the first sign of a cold or Flu, take 2 tablespoons of this formula with a warm water chaser. Rinse mouth out well after swallowing the cider. Repeat once or twice daily for the duration of the illness. You should feel your sinus and bronchial passages quickly open and your breathing become easier.

For a Sore Throat, gargle with the formula for 60 seconds, spit, then rinse out your mouth. You should feel immediate relief.

Cold and Flu Resistance Builder Home Remedy (Recipe)

(Massage Oil)

2 drops Lavender

1 drop Bergamot

2 teaspoons Massage Oil.

Sniffy Bath for a Cold

Combine 5 parts Eucalyptus Oil to 1 part Peppermint Oil. Add 6-8 drops of the blend to your bathwater when you feel a cold coming on.

Stuffy Sinuses Oil Blend Recipe

6 drops Eucalyptus

3 drops Lemon

3 drops Neroli

Eucalyptus breaks up congestion while Lemon and Neroli harmonize and balance body and mind. Add to bathwater as you enter, soak and breathe in the aromas.

Get your dried, organic herbs, organic essential oils, bulk spices, loose leaf organic teas and aromatherapy supplies at the place where we shop – StarWest Botanicals!

Sinus Headache Bath Salts

2-3 cups epsom salts (or salts of your choice)

1/3 cup peppermint

1/3 cup spearmint

40 drops peppermint eo

20 drops eucalyptus eo

I ground the mints in my mortar and pestle, then sifted them through a mesh kitchen strainer, and added them to the salts. Actually, I didn't really measure the amount, it was just a good handful of each.

This seems to work pretty well, and if you still need to clear out your sinuses, get a half cup of pepper/spearmint, put it in a bowl, and toss in a cup or so hot water. Let it sit covered for a bit and then carefully start breathing the steam. (I found out how potent this was when I was making peppermint ‘tea' for a m&p!!

Use about 1/4 – 1/3 cup of this mixture per bath. I went through the ‘batch' within 2 weeks, but someone suggested to mix the salts and dried herbs beforehand, and when the need for the bath arises, to add the eo's then to guarantee potency.

A decent amount would probably be 4 drops peppermint, 2 drops eucalyptus per bath. Some people may be more sensitive to the peppermint, so be sure they don't have an adverse reaction before using these salts.

Chest and Sinus Congestion Essential Oil Blend

2 drops Lavender

2 drops Tea Tree

2 drops Eucalyptus

Boil a pot of water and remove from the stove. While still steaming, add 2 drops Eucalyptus, 2 drops Lavender and 2 drops Tea Tree. Cover bowl and head with towel and inhale for at least 3 minutes. KEEP EYES CLOSED.

Herbal Tea Remedy for Cold and Flu (Recipe)

3 parts Echinacea

3 parts Goldenseal Root

2 parts Pau D Arco

2 parts Peppermint leaf

2 parts Mullein

1 part Ginger Root

Combine all of the Herbs together. Place 2 Tablespoons of mix in jar that can be completely covered. Pour 6 ounces of hot water over the Herbs and seal.

Steep for 10 to 15 minutes. Strain Herbs. Drink 1 cup 3 times a day. Inhale the tea to relieve sinus congestion.

Nighttime Formula for Colds and Flu

2 drops Lavender

2 drops Tea Tree

Add 2 drops lavender and 2 drops tea tree to a steaming bowl of water – let stand so that the steam diffuses into the room (or add same essential oils to a tea candle diffuse

Cold Care Bath Essential Oil Blend

5 drops Eucalyptus

2 drops Peppermint

2 drops Lavender

For Bath: Add oils directly to a tub full of warm water and mix well.

As Inhalant: Add blend to a simmer pot in a sick room. Be sure to watch the water level.

For Massage Oil: Add blend to 1/2 ounce base Massage Oil and massage into the chest.

This pungent blend opens the nose and soothes aching muscles. It is effective when a cold is coming on. Before using it, apply to a small patch of skin on the inside of the arm to test for skin sensitivity. Never apply pure essential oils “neat,” or undiluted, without testing them first.

Natural Help for a Head Cold

A head cold is a most uncomfortable feeling which affects nasal and sinus passages, accompanied by pain and tenderness.

Add 10 drops of Tea Tree Oil to 4 cups of water, drape towel over pot and inhale. At night add 10 drops of Tea Tree Oil to a vaporizer. You can also rub a few drops of Tea Tree Oil on the nose and forehead areas.

Get your dried, organic herbs, organic essential oils, bulk spices, loose leaf organic teas and aromatherapy supplies at the place where we shop – StarWest Botanicals!

Daytime Cold and Flu Formula

2 drops Eucalyptus Oil

2 drops Lavender Oil

2 drops Peppermint Oil

2 drops Tea Tree Oil

Add 2 drops Eucalyptus, 2 drops Lavender, 2 drops Peppermint and 2 drops Tea Tree to a steaming bowl of water – let stand so that the steam diffuses into the room (or add same essential oils to an oil Diffuser). You can also drape a towel over your head and inhale the vapors for 5-10 minutes to help with cold and congestion symptoms.

Herbal Blood Purifier Recipe for Treating a Cold

2 oz. Echinacea root, 1 oz.

Yellow Dock root

1 oz. Golden Seal root

1/2 oz. Ginseng root

Powder herbs and mix together. Put into size 00 capsules and take 2 capsules 3 times a day for 10 days. This combination is good for just about any illness.

Nasal Congestion Quick Fix

Nothing works faster to clear clogged sinuses than horseradish. The oils in this plant boost circulation in your nasal passages, which then loosens mucus.

Mix a teaspoon of grated fresh horseradish with a little apple cider vinegar or honey, and eat it on toast (the vinegar and honey take the edge off the potent horseradish taste). Inhale deeply as you grate the horseradish; the fumes alone will start breaking up your congestion.

Oil Blend Recipe for Colds and Flu

10 drops Eucalyptus Essential Oil

10 drops Pine Essential Oil

Add to the bath or put on section of paper towel so you can benefit by inhalation. Inhale frequently. Place on pillow beside nose. This opens the sinuses and helps clear the head of congestion. Eucalyptus is also a natural antiseptic.

Royal Herbal Tea for Severe Colds

Useful to treat severe cold symptoms.

1 cup – dried Pennyroyal

1 cup – dried Catnip

1 cup – dried Horehound

1 cup – dried Spearmint

1 cup – dried Sage

1 cup – dried Verbena

1 cup – dried white Yarrow

Honey to taste

Mix the Herbs. Pour 1 pint of boiling water over 2-1/2 tablespoons of the herb mix. Cover and let stand 10 minutes. Strain. Sweeten with honey. Reheat and drink 1 cup every 2-3 hours. Use more often if Sweating is desired.

Cough and Cold Herbal Infusion Recipe

1 pint water

2 Tbsp dried Chamomile

handful Red Clover dried

1/2 tsp. Slippery Elm

1 tsp. Mint dried

Bring water to a boil, remove from heat. Add Herbs. Steep covered for 20 minutes. Strain, add honey for taste.

Get your dried, organic herbs, organic essential oils, bulk spices, loose leaf organic teas and aromatherapy supplies at the place where we shop – StarWest Botanicals!

Tried & True Herbal Home Remedies for Colds and Flu

Colds with Flu Symptoms

Mix 1 cup each of plantain, black Elder flowers, juniper berries, rosemary, Irish moss and peppermint, Steep 1tsp. of the herb mix in 1 cup boiling water for 15 min., strain reheat and sweeten, drink twice a daily.

Flu Symptoms

Pour 2 quarts boiling water over 1 ounce of dried sage, add the juice of lemon,1 orange, and 1 ounce of honey, mix well, cover and steep for 1 hour. Strain and drink as often as desired, reheat as needed.

Flu Remedy

Pour 1 pints of boiling water over 1 ounce of elder flowers and 1 ounce of peppermint leaves, cover and let steep 15 min. strain and sweeten give 1 cup warm every hour to produce sweating.

For Flu

Put 1 tbsp. each of white yarrow, boneset, and skullcap in 1 pint of water, simmer for 30 min….strain, add 1tbsp. of this liquid and 1tsp. of psyllium seed, flavored to one cup of boiling water, sweeten w/corn syrup, drink every 30 min. this takes care of backaches and headaches too.

Congestion with Cold

Add 1 ounce of comfrey root(cut up fine) to 1 pint of water, bring to a boil then simmer for 30 min…strain and sweeten take this 3-4 times a day by the cup, comfrey reduces the inflammation in the bronchial and alimentary system. It acts as an emollient, demulcent and expectorant, it also has pain relieving properties.

Chest Congestion

Mix 1/2 cup each of powdered slippery elm, corn starch, and crushed black mustard seed, wet the mixture just enough to make a thin paste, grease chest w/olive oil. Place the mixture on a warm flannel cloth and apply to the chest, cover to keep warm, keep on until chest skin begins to turn red.

Congestion Treatment

Mix 1 cup warm almond oil, with 1/2tsp. of peppermint oil, massage the chest and back to relieve chest congestion, keep warm and give plenty of peppermint tea to produce sweating. (this works well also for children)

Bronchial Problems

Heat 1 cup of milk,add 1tbsp. dried bee balm to the milk, allow to steep 15 min….strain and reheat, drink several glasses a day until improvement is noticed.

Comfrey Bronchial Infusion

Put 1/4 once of comfrey leaves in 1 pint of boiling water, cover and steep(covered) 30 min…strain and sweeten with honey, drink at least 2 cups per day.

Parsley Cough Treatment

This is good to use for persistent stubborn coughs.

Pour 2 1/2 cups of boiling water over 2tbsp. of dried Agrimony flowers or leaves and 1tbsp. of dried parsley, cover and steep until the mixture is cool, strain…use as a gargle to soothe throats, to stop persistent coughs take 2-3tbsp's of the infusion morning and evening.

Cherry Cough Syrup

Place 1 pint of cherries in a pan and add just enough water to cover , add several lemon slices and 1 pint of honey, simmer the mixture until cherries are soft, remove from heat. Remove the lemon and cherry pits from the mixture, refrigerate and take several tbsp. as needed for coughing.

Thyme Cough Syrup

Pour 1 pint boiling water over 1 ounce of dried thyme, cool to room temperature strain and add 1 cup of honey, shake to mix well, keep in refrigerated, take 1tbsp several times a day for sore throats, colds and coughing.

For Colds, Chest Complaints and Asthma

To stave off infections:

Hyssop tea is used on a regular basis is said to help keep away infections; add several teaspoons of the chopped leaves to 2 cups of boiling water and allow to steep 15 minutes, strain and sweeten w/honey, take several cups a day if fighting a cold or infection.

Traditional Peppermint Cure

Mix 1 tablespoon of elder flowers,1tbsp. peppermint,1tbsp. white yarrow,1tbsp. feverfew flowers, pour 2 cups boiling water over mix, let steep for 15 min. strain, sweeten and drink hot, this will help break fever by perspiring. Yarrow acts as a pain reliever.

Cold Treatment

Mullein flower tea has a pleasant taste and is good to soothe inflamed conditions of mucous membrane lining of the throat, also relieves coughing, put a small handful of the mullein flowers in 1 pint of boiling water, allow to steep for 15 min., strain and sweeten w/honey.

For cold treatment: chop several leaves of comfrey and add 1/2 cup of elderberries, add 1 cup of honey and 1 cup of water, simmer for 30 min. …strain and take as needed to produce perspiration and reduce fever, comfrey leaves produce an aspirin like substance and help to ease discomfort of a cold as well as soothes inflamed mucous membranes of the throat., elderberries serve a diuretic to flush the system.

Royal Mix for Severe Colds

Mix 1 cup each of dried white yarrow, spearmint, sage, catnip, horehound, verbena, and pennyroyal. Pour 1 pint of boiling water over 2 1/2tbsps. the herb mix. Cover and let stand 10 min…..strain and sweeten…drink 1 cup every couple of hours, use more often if sweating is desired.

Rice Tea:

This remedy is for kids and adults (both will love) simmer 1/2cup of rice in 1 1/2 quarts of water for 15 min., strain and add a few drops of vanilla flavoring and sugar, sprinkle w/cinnamon for extra flavor(drink warm) this settles an upset stomach quickly, stops vomiting, diarrhea fast.

Rosehip Tea

Pour 1 cup boiling water over 1 teaspoon of crushed rosehips and 1teaspoon of dried lemon peel, let steep 15 min. strain and use honey to sweeten, drink this tea whether you have a cold or not, the extra vitamin c is good or you anytime.

Cold Treatment

Boil 8 cornhusks in 2 pints of water for 30 min…strain and drink, said to relieve headaches and stuffiness of the nose during cold.

Cold Remedy

Put one gallon of water in a large pan, adding 3 ounces softened ginger root, 3 cups honey, and 1/4 pound seedless raisins, bring to a boil, simmer for about an hour(top will need to be skimmed every once in a while)cool, strain and place in a tightly closed container overnight in the fridge.

The next day, squeeze 6 lemons,4 oranges and add to the mixture, mix well and drink 2-3 glasses per day, will get rid of the symptoms pretty fast and clean the system.

Get your dried, organic herbs, organic essential oils, bulk spices, loose leaf organic teas and aromatherapy supplies at the place where we shop – StarWest Botanicals!

Natural Remedies for Cold, Flu Symptoms:

Beta Glucan – Natural immune system booster to strengthen immune system health and protect the body against viral and bacterial infections Mucus-Clear – Homeopathic remedy reduces phlegm and thick mucus plus relieves throat congestion InstaClear Sinus Relief – Herbal remedy instantly clears sinus congestion SinusSoothe – Homeopathic medicine for temporarily relieving sinus pressure and nasal congestion RespoSoothe – Homeopathic medicine to assist with temporary chest problems such as tight chest, wheezing or bouts of bronchitis Immu-Stay – Natural supplement boosts the immune system

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