#american definition of a salad. i think

[j-esbian]

my teacher in middle school really liked to give us multi-part assignments that branched across subjects, and approximately once a year i remember the one where we were assigned a Maxim and had to do several exercises related to it.

one part was a basic research and reading comprehension exercise, where we had to figure out what the original source was, hunt it down, and figure out what the quote meant in the context in which it appears—except i could not find any kind of source for mine. based on the other quotes I found from this dude, it definitely sounded like something he would have said!! unfortunately, there was no record he had ever said this exact thing, and i felt like i was losing my mind

eventually, i went to my teacher and told her i was having a problem and asked if she could give me a hint. she just let me use someone else's sentence for that one leg of the project. but to this day i still wonder how the hell she even found it and where it came from, because it seems like it literally does not exist outside of the powerpoint she made to introduce the project.

[gunnrblze]

Fo you got Hcs for the ghosts fave foods?

Hmmm, Ghost Boys fav foods. Lemme cook😁 (no pun intended sorry that’s stupid)

Hesh- he definitely seems like a classic cheeseburger all the way kinda guy. fries on the side, possibly even a milkshake.

Logan- idk why but in another hc of mine I think his favorite food is sandwiches. not even a specific kind just any type of sandwich. OR pepperoni pizza lol. very basic palate type of man

Elias- hot dog. most American guy ever and he definitely wants a hot dog with all the toppings. the type to eat too many of them too because “one more would be fine”, typical dad shit

Merrick- hear me out, he seems like a soup type of guy, but a very hearty soup like chili/stew/bean soup/etc. definitely needs garlic bread on the side and wouldn’t be opposed to a salad too

Keegan- i see him really liking Mexican food for some reason. burritos are his favorite but he likes tacos, enchiladas, nachos, etc. corona with a lime wedge to drink

Kick- he seems like he’d enjoy a broad array of different cuisine, the guy that cooks/orders the most random things. i bet his fav food is sushi or pho. could eat an entire sushi platter and then some. he wants sake on the side too

Rorke- this is definitely a big ass steak with mash potatoes on the side kind of man. medium rare cause anything else is horseshit to him. give him a whiskey too and he’s set

[octodrawn]

Cringetober Day 30: Supernatural/Monster Um, Halloween costumes?

Click read more.... if you dare muahahahaha

(it's just why i chose each of their costumes lol)

Let's go in height order

Vinnie- at first I was gonna go with something more generic (vampire, zombie, that type of thing) but then I went on tumblr dot com and saw my mutuals (you know who you are) talking about Vinnie and Scout and was like "i'm not coming up with anything better than this". I think Vinnie would like playing tf2 so its in character. Yeah 100%

Russell- I posted earlier that Russell would either be a tryhard or not try at all at halloween. I decided to go with the latter because I, too, am lazy. In my head, he got all dressed up w/ hair and makeup in a really detailed book accurate version of one of his favorite fictional characters but he got too embarrassed to leave the house like that so he made this 'costume' in like 5 minutes. His friends would have loved his old costume but his brain got the better of him :( there's always next year.

Minka- She loves halloween but time always passes her by before she can get a costume! On the night of the Littlest Pet Shop Employee Halloween Party (tm), she grabbed one of the sheets Russell put down on her apartment's floor and cut some holes into it, and tada! instant sheet ghost. She didn't take it off to drink her punch and got it all over her :(

Pepper- Ok, i'm gonna be honest, I stole this idea from a meme.

but like. she would.

Get it. Cleopatra and Ceasar. but its Ceasar like the salad. Hahahahaahaa

Zoe- Cleopatra. I tried to make her costume more accurate than like a spirit halloween (american halloween costume retailer) cleopatra but it's definitely not authentic at all. If i was doing this for something that wasn't a month long challenge I would put more research into it (really like historical fashion but i have like no time for anything). I would've chosen a different costume but my hilarious ceasar joke :(

Sunil- he is a bee. Bees are scary if you are allergic to them, but I think he looks quite cute :3

And Finally, Penny- I feel like she was the type of kid to go as a princess every year and I don't think she would stop as an adult. Also she's wearing extensions in her hair.

Can you tell I was tired by the end of this?

[thedreadvampy]

The thing is. Bad/gross food is rarely a DISH - when food is bad it's because it's been badly made, whether because of skills or available ingredients. but a dish p much only exists recognisably and has a name because someone likes at least one version of it.

which is to say. there isn't really a way of naming a dish, school of dishes or specific food culture and going EW ISN'T THIS DISH UNILATERALLY CONCEPTUALLY DISGUSTING without denigrating quite a lot of people.

like you don't have to like it in any form. but it's eaten and shared because it's good to a not insubstantial number of people when cooked right.

(and I don't really understand how you approach that with total incuriosity when it's a dish you haven't tried like. ARE rocky mountain oysters good? Maybe! I would very much eat some to find out!!!!)

this is actually something the British food poll did in a way the American ones I've seen haven't really - they described how the food they're imagining is, specifically, badly prepared (grey meat and veggies; unseasoned shepherd's pie). which is wildly tipping the scales by calling it British Food but. like. that is an on point definition of why that food is gross.

(this also applies to American chocolate, which like. Broad category but I think most of us understand this refers to low-cocoa high-sugar chocolate, probably with bucolic acid. so we are being invited to imagine Badly Made Chocolate not. the concept of chocolate)

personally I just think it's very rarely a good or funny idea to shittalk how gross any given food culture is. partly because food is important and culturally evocative for most people, partly because it's very...alienating? to be like WHO COULD EAT SUCH A THING? just because you wouldn't, and largely because to be frank it says more about you than about the food that you have so little imagination or curiosity that you can't imagine why a food might be enjoyable to folks who aren't you.

yes this includes jello salad, I would like to try it. ONCE. if it wasn't appealing to someone it wouldn't be so widespread.

[zahri-melitor]

Batman v Ra's Al Ghul, by Neal Adams: A Bronze Age fever dream of a comic, written in 2019-2021.

Neal Adams caps off his over 50 year career with DC comics by...them letting him write a book for the first time in a decade.

Now, Adams is famous for his Bronze Age artwork, not his writing, and it's deservedly so: this is not the comic you would pick up if you were interested in award winning writing. But I have to say, it's actually something far more fun than 'good writing'.

I think the easiest way to describe the incredibly wild vibes of this title are 'Adams writes a multiverse Bronze Age time travel AU fic', where the cast technically consists of a modern set of characters (Dick is Nightwing and both Tim and Damian are Robin), but all of the characters are drawn, talking and acting like they just walked off a page in 1974 or so.

For assistance, that's: Dick in the yellow with the very 70s black vest; Tim in the blue t-shirt; Damian in the red t-shirt; and Bruce in the suit. You end up keeping track of them in this title by their haircuts.

Bruce and Damian here cannot remember anything about being Batman and Robin; Dick and Tim appear to have shown up with a fantastical story that cannot be proven (as I said, this has INCREDIBLE reality hopping AU vibes).

Some of the characters have been mindwiped. Some of the characters are robot duplicates. A whole list of characters Adams helped create show up largely because he created them (seriously Kirk and Francine Langstrom show up for a couple of pages mostly to give Dick and Tim an airlift into a difficult to reach entrance to the Cave). Nobody sounds particularly in character at any point, but that's not really a problem in this comic, because what it really is is a giant jolt of Bronze Age style writing nostalgia direct to the brainstem.

They don't make comics like this anymore and reading one written in the 2020s like this reinforces why.

Deadman's brother Aaron and sister Zeea show up; his brother is busy pretending to be an alternate Australian version of Batman called Marvin O'Hearn, and his sister is a psychic running around in the most 70s outfit imaginable controlling things and mindwiping Bruce on Ra's orders.

(And yes, if you too just asked 'Boston Brand has siblings???' the answer is 'kinda sorta but definitely not these two', however given Adams was writing Boston in 1968 at one point he's got as much right as anyone else to claim there are additional siblings)

There's a group who PRETEND to be the Court of Owls but secretly are a group of industrialists called The Money who want to control the world via paying for legislators, judges and industry (and yes I realise that sounds exactly like the Court's thing, but Adams was almost 80 when he wrote this, he can have an expy Court if he wants one).

Bruce pretends to be Matches for a good chunk of the back end of this comic and it actually acknowledges that Matches Malone was a real gangster before he died and Bruce stole his identity (something other writers and the fandom often forget), because Adams wants one more spin with the character he designed.

There's also a moment in the sixth issue where one of Ra's pet scientists tries to sell a panel of Gotham execs on a perpetual motion machine based on electrolysis as his replacement for the current Gotham power generators and at this point I lost it giggling at the portrayal of Ra's as a cheap charlatan.

(There is also a sneaky joke that only works if you know what British salad cream is; there's this sequence of the kids talking about Alfred making sandwiches with 'crappy salad dressing' instead of mayonnaise, only this tray has been made with mayo...and it's a hint that Alfred has been replaced by a robot. I laughed; I suspect it might be non-obvious to American audiences)

This is not a comic to read if you are interested in 'main continuity' or 'coherence' or even 'good writing'. However if you want some wild antics that feel like someone's 3am fanfic AU written in pure Bronze Age vibes and to see the last work of one of Ra's Al Ghul's creators? Give it a chance. You'll never be able to predict what's on the next page.

[the-kr8tor]

Also, speaking of Thannksgiving, I don't think Hobie would celebrate it. Especially with all of the injustice done to the Native Americans. However! I do think that this man will devour a plate if you give him one. Or two. Or three.

Hobie can EAT. Even before the spider bite. I mean, it's to be expected since he comes from a poorer background where food is scarce. When food is scarce and other people think it's up for grabs, you have to scarf it down as quickly as possible. which, in turn, leaves one still hungry. I can relate to that, been like that my whole life. Especially if you have a big family.

Hobie will eat like he's never eaten before, especially considering he's British and, well, didn't have a lot of opportunities to explore growing up. I don't think he's had American/African-American style homemade foods. Imagine when he takes a huge bite out of homemade Mac and cheese for the first time. Or maybe homemade collard greens, homenade potato salad, homemade pasta salad, you name it. That man is going into a food coma, the "idis", if you will😂🤚

Lol, sorry for rambling, and to those who don't celebrate this holiday, have a great day regardless. It was a small thought since I'm helping my mother cook for that day😤

I think so too! He'd definitely eat so much that he'd fall into a food coma and wake up on Christmas day 🤣🤣

Ooh that sounds amazing! I've only tried turkey before but damn homemade mac and cheese sounds so good rn!

Have fun!! And eat lots for me ❤️❤️

[plantinghobbies]

Growing Pains

One: On the Day That I Met You

Long time reader, first time poster. This is my first time writing, well almost anything, especially a chaptered fic. The biggest thanks to @solipsisticno1 for being the best beta this newbie could ask for. Would love to hear what you think, thanks for reading!

He clocks her when he first walks in, partially because she’s sat reading a book - in a bar, who does that - but mainly because of what she’s eating – a caprese salad. The menu here has basically been sustaining him since he flew in, which is how he is certain that what she’s eating is not on it. Up until now, the proximity to the studio has largely made up for the lackluster food options. But the sight of fresh produce in this mecca of fried food has him gravitating toward the open stool next to her like a water-starved man to a desert mirage.

While Matty had initially given Jack shit for relocating to a place he’d never heard of – one that seemed diametrically opposed to the big cities that had soundtracked and marked their friendship up until now - he was starting to see Asheville’s appeal. It definitely didn’t have the physical anonymity that London or New York had, that feeling that you could live there your whole life and never even come close to seeing all it had to offer. On the other hand, Matty is pretty sure that he’s covered every inch of this town, walking to clear his head in between writing sessions and dicking around in the studio. He can navigate from his rental to the studio downtown already without Google Maps. Where this kind of familiarity used to bore him, he now finds comfort in it instead. It might be the only thing around him these days that feels impervious to change.

He settles on the bar stool and glances around, still not quite used to the visual onslaught that greets him, even after three weeks. The walls of the otherwise brightly lit bar are absolutely littered from floor to ceiling with signs. And not the street and beer signs that he’s come to associate with American pubs. Instead, aggressively inspirational sayings and pseudo-biblical quotes scream at him from every direction in a variety of sizes and fonts. He can’t tell if it’s ironic or not. He hasn’t wanted to ask for fear of offending someone, an instinct he pats himself on the back for as a sign of significant maturity.

After the bartender leaves with his order, he glances over at her and her mystery salad, drumming his hands on the table as he takes her in. Short, dark hair frames her face and she brings her hand up to bite at her nail, a habit that he can tell from her hand she does often. She looks to be slightly younger than him and for a second, Matty wonders if she’s a fan. That may just be a tiny bit of wishful thinking on his part – he hasn’t been recognized once since he got here and if he’d never admit it but it’s starting to grate on him. He tries to tell himself it’s because he loves the connection he has with his fans, has missed it during their hiatus. But if he’s honest, it’s picking at a worry that he has in the back of his mind, that it’s the first indication of a slide into irrelevance that he’s been bracing himself for since he first heard a crowd roaring for him and his band. And each day that goes by without an impassioned interaction on the sidewalk or request for a selfie in the grocery store, the worry grows bigger.

When her gaze shifts from her book to the clock on the wall, he realizes he’s been staring and averts his eyes quickly in a way that he hopes is not obvious. He briefly considers getting his food to go, shuffling back to the studio or his house to find something to distract from his current thoughts. But he forces “for here” out when he orders his food, knowing that all that awaits him at home is Internet rabbit holes and more wanking than is probably healthy.  

He’s starting to envy the book and her foresight to bring it as the noise around him is overtaken by the noise in his head. He’s trying to get better at being alone with his own thoughts, which is fucking hard when your mind resembles the inside of a tornado, disconnected thoughts spiraling around each other like debris, forever circling the calm of the eye but never reaching it. Jesus, he’s so sick of his own thoughts at this point. He makes it a heroic - by his standards - amount of time before the thoughts in his mind force their way out of his mouth.

“Bloody hell, what is with these signs?!” He mutters.  

Tess hadn’t really been paying attention to the guy next to her, appearing intentionally focused on the thriller she was reading to ward off conversation from anyone she might know. It’d been a tough day at work and she needed time to decompress before her chit-chatty brother realized she was there. When she hears his comment though, she can’t help the snort that escapes her. Real ladylike Tess. Turning to her right, she can tell from the way he sits up straighter as their gaze's meet that he relishes getting a reaction, even if it’s from a complete stranger.

“You know, my brother owns this place and he might not take kindly to that question” she says, expecting embarrassment from him but getting only a smirk back.

“Aaah well that explains your access to off-menu items” he says, nodding to her salad. “I’ve been coming here for weeks and wasn’t sure if they even had a vegetable in the place.”  

“Exclusive for VIPs only.”

“Good to know, had a hunch you were special” he says with a wink, enjoying the slight tinge of pink it brings to her cheeks. “Anyway, I’ve been dying to ask someone about these” he gestures up at the wall “for ages but didn’t want to put my foot in it. Which I obviously just did anyway.” Brown eyes stare back at her, wide-eyed with curiosity and childlike impatience that would be unattractive on another man his age - she’s guessing mid-thirties, maybe forty - but on him seems almost endearing.  

When she doesn’t respond, he prods her. “Well? What’s the story? Is it a gag? I know you Americans love to live, laugh, love and all that but even you have to admit this is a bit much.”  

The words are tumbling out of her mouth before she has a chance to consider the ramifications of prolonging the conversation, which she had been actively avoiding in the first place. “Wait, nobody’s told you?”

He shakes his head slowly, warily. She’s got him, can’t help herself.   “Oook, well..” she hesitates, glancing down at her own food “you know what, another time, don’t want to ruin your dinner.”

“No, no go ahead, it hasn’t even arrived yet” large hands hovering over the empty place setting in front of him.

Looking over her shoulder and leaning into him for dramatic effect, she whispers “Well, it’s not something we like to talk about, been one too many true crime junkies coming through asking questions,” she pauses, eyes trailing over his upper body “but you don’t seem like the type. You seem trustworthy.” He looks thrilled with this absolutely unfounded vote of confidence in his character.

“So, the previous owner, Marge, she was this real battle ax. Didn’t take shit from anyone. Her husband – I forget his name - had run out years before with the next-door neighbor, leaving her alone with their daughter and this bar. When he left, people said he took the last shred of love that she had left. Except when it came to her little girl. You know that saying they use on the news when someone dies tragically, that they ‘lit up a room’? Well, that was Lauren. She was a sweetheart, her and my brother actually dated for years. Until…” the shudder is a little over the top but Tess has always fashioned herself a great story teller.  

Her silence is punctuated only by the slight skid of wood across the floor, his body unconsciously leaning forward and taking the bar stool under him with it as he almost whispers “Until what?”

“Until she was murdered…here” Glancing away, she hears him take in a stilted breath.

“Here? Here as in Asheville?” He blurts out, voice thick with shock.  

“Here as in at this bar” Her knuckles rap agains the wood with every word and he jumps back as if it’s on fire.

“Anyway, Lauren – the daughter - she loved these things” Tess gestures to the walls around them “so every year on the anniversary of her death, Marge bought a new one and put it on the wall. When she died last year and my brother bought the place, it felt wrong to take it down. Like removing a shrine or a cemetery or something, you know?”

He nods slowly, still stuck on what she had said before. “Holy shit, that’s mad!” His eyes gravitate toward the worn wood even as the rest of his body instinctually leans away from it - as if the misfortune that occurred on it was contagious.

“Did they ever catch who did it?” he’s aware of how breathy his voice sounds, that he’s just being nosy now.

“No, but the police think whoever it is was likely a regular. Maybe still is, honestly” her eyes flit around them, sizing up the bodies as if they’ll give themselves away.  

“Jesus, really?!”  

Tess’s gaze comes back to him, assessing him more closely than she had before. She couldn’t ignore his conventional good looks, with a lithe frame that hinted at toned muscles just below and a riotous mop of untamed dark curls on his head. The words cute and sexy float to the front of her mind. Six packs and success didn’t do much for Tess, though she wouldn’t hold it against a guy. But funny, nerdy, personable? Those were like kryptonite for her, a combination that made her weak in ways that were concerning to feminism. And this guy seemed to have them in spades, she thought. Add in the accent and woof… She shook her head subtly to refocus, remembering she had left him in suspense.

For his part, her story is the most interesting thing he’s heard in a while. He’s already thinking about how to mine this for lyrics, the tragic story hidden in the walls of this charming dive bar. They’re staring at each other, and he watches with confusion as a slow, mischievous smirk replaces the grim look on her face.

“No, not really ” there’s a hint of a laugh in her voice “but that would be way cooler than the actual story.” After a quick sip of her Diet Coke, she launches into the truth about the signs, which are her sister-in-law’s doing. Well, sort of. When Sadie and Ben moved into their first house, Sadie’s mother started giving them to her for near every holiday. There was no way they were going in their home, but they didn’t want to offend Becky either. At first, they buried them in the bathroom and the garage but quickly ran out of wall space. Fed up, Sadie threw them in a box and shipped them off to the bar. It’s become a running joke among the regulars to see who can add the “best” one to the collection.

“So that whole story about Marge and Lauren and the murder, that’s all made up?” The pink in her cheeks accentuates her already enticing features as she nods. “Wow, that’s like, proper fucked up - and that’s saying something coming from me” His harsh words are softened by the hint of playfulness in his voice. She clearly enjoyed taking the piss out of him, he kinda digs it. “Is that what you all do for fun in small towns? Just lie around and think up grim tall tales to sell to handsome strangers?”  

“Small town?! Come on new guy! Asheville is a city thank you very much” Tess is indignant - she’s not this town’s biggest fan but she’s from here, she’s earned the right to make fun of it. Asheville is like her fourth sibling – she mocks it mercilessly, but if someone else talks shit about it, the gloves are off.

“Please. London, where I live, is a city. Manchester, where I’m from, has 500,000 people in it. That’s a city. This….” He shrugs and trails off, gesturing around him as if it was obvious.  

Exasperation is evident on her face. It’s adorable, he thinks, surprising himself with the thought.  

“You clearly just haven’t availed yourself of all this city” she emphasizes the word “has to offer.”

“Is that an invitation to show me around?” The comment is punctuated by a flit of his eyes across her frame that she should find skeezy but is somehow hot. Tess’s friends often remind her that her flirtation index is not the best on a good day – girl, you wouldn’t register a guy was flirting with you if he tattooed it on his naked chest, Fern often said - and especially not when it’s been this long. Well, fuck you Fern, even I picked up on this.

But just because she knows it’s happening doesn’t mean she knows how to respond to it. His comment jolts through her, sparking excitement and then almost immediate anxiety as she struggles with what to do next. Playing it cool isn’t Tess’s list of strengths – understatement of the century, she thinks - and she’s painfully aware of the time passing by where she’s failed to cobble together even a simple response. Matty senses the shift in her mood, goes to change the subject but gets interrupted by his food being delivered.

In the end, faced with flirt or flee, Tess choose’s flee. She takes advantage of the momentary distraction his dinner provides to extricate herself, gathering her book and sliding off the stool. The abruptness of her departure doesn’t sit right with him, it’s not a reaction he’s used to these days – and yes, he’s aware of how much of an absolute wanker that makes him sound like. He doesn’t think it’s something he said but he can’t seem to be too careful these days. With a polish he typically reserves for his professional persona, he tests the waters with a final comment.

“Nice talking to you,” he says to her back as she puts on her jacket.

“Yea, you too, have a good night,” she throws over her shoulder without even a glance back. Ok, based on that he’s at least 75% sure she’s not rushing off to shit talk him on Instagram for daring to wink at her without her consent. He thought she’d been into their conversation? He misses the days when his knee jerk response to interactions wasn’t to play out how it could be perceived online. Plus, she wouldn’t have wished him a good night if she was pissed off, right?

This last thought gives him some comfort, but he’s still left with a feeling he can’t put his finger on. It follows him home and fucks with his sleep. George would tell him he was obsessing, take the piss with the rest of the guys – but they weren’t here. And that was the problem, wasn’t it. It’s then - as he’s staring at the shadows the moon casts on the ceiling of his expansive bedroom – that he’s able to put a label to the dull itch that’s plagued him since he watched her leave. Loneliness. He hadn’t been alone this long for at least twenty years, since the start of the band. And Jack helped, but their time together was spent mining his feelings – pain, happiness, uncertainty, self-loathing – for lyrics, which was his passion but also really fucking draining. His conversation with her – god, he was such a simp, he didn’t even know her name – had felt fun, carefree, familiar. Easy. He hadn’t had that since he arrived here, probably since he hugged the boys goodbye backstage after the final show. And, unsurprisingly – addict, after all – he craved the feeling again.

[trivialbob]

During our vacation Sheila hired a guide to take us to really local places to try some food and drink. Ours was a walking tour. Golf cart and bike tours are available too. Next year I want to try the bike version.

We started the evening taking a taxi from our place at the north end of Isla Mujeres to the La Gloria neighborhood. We met up with our guide, Jose.

(much more after the cut)

First stop: Dessert! Jose explained that people were getting too full by the end of the tours and skipping dessert. So now he likes to start with that. I don't like sweets and desserts a lot, so this was definitely the way for me to eat some -- on an empty stomach.

We entered a small courtyard in front of a home. There was a stove and griddle and one four-top table under a tin roof. Our hosts served us flan. It was excellent. This is probably the first time I've finished any dessert in years.

Second stop: This was at a food cart parked in the street. A handwritten sign said "Hay Tamales," which I think means "Here are tamales."

We were served elote, a Mexican street corn salad. The portion was decent-sized and the elote was like comfort food. Had Sheila or I made this at home, it would be the sort of thing I would have left on the stove so I could snack on it all night long.

Had there not been five local people waiting in line, I probably would have broken open the foam cup to lick the bottom after I'd spooned out everything else.

Third stop: Panaderia Emmanuel Bakery. Jose explained that Mexican bakeries are open in the evening, unlike the American ones that open early in the morning. We had our choice of various fresh buns, donuts, and pastries. Sheila and I each selected an item. They were tasty and large. Thank goodness we were able to take home what we couldn't eat. Had we finished the bakery items, we would have been too full to go to the next four stops. (Here is the bakery in a Google Maps picture.)

Fourth stop: This was at a small, outdoor kitchen under a canvas roof. Two women were cooking food. We were served pork carnitas on a fresh bakery roll. I really liked this place. The sandwich was huge, and for real I started to wonder if I could keep eating at the remaining sites. I brought home half of the carnitas that night.

Fifth stop: We entered a small, private bar. It was beautiful inside; my phone just didn't capture a decent shot of it. The pandemic killed business here. The place now is open only for small, special events.

We were here for a mezcal tasting. First we sipped Fandango, accompanied by lime and salt. I loved it. Next we sampled some house mezcal, infused with honey, vanilla, and cinnamon. Here's where things get more interesting. We drank this one with some pinches of a mixture of black pepper, salt, and crickets.

Some might think eating crickets would require a healthy dose of mezcal first. But our drink portions weren't of a size that could make me abandon all caution and agree to something like bungee jumping or swimming with great white sharks. Sheila and I didn't hesitate to try the black, powdery mix.

I would have been fine ending the tour right here, assuming I could keep drinking mezcal with the sides, including the non-vegan one.

Sixth stop: This was at a small, yet traditional bar and restaurant named Chile & maíz. The night we did our tour was the start of Carnival. Many people had gone to the north end of the island for the celebration, leaving this restaurant empty for the evening.

The cook prepared for us chicken tinga sopes. Could the food keep getting better that night? So far, yes. The chicken stew on a fried tortilla was delicious. And filling. Sheila and I got a to-go box for some of it.

Apparently Chile & maíz is fairly new. I checked Google Maps to get a daylight picture (below). The logs that will eventually support a sloped roof are visible, but nothing else indicating a restaurant is being constructed. What we saw last night was very well done.

Seventh stop: Jose brought us to Daria's Delivery. The chef is staring up a new business. So far it is a kitchen on the second floor of a building. There is a commercial cook top, a table with four chairs, and one green bird in a birdcage. As we entered, the chef's adorable young daughter (maybe 4-years-old) came out from the living quarters right behind the table and greeted us with a big smile.

Our final dish of the night was chile relleno which is one of my favorite Mexican foods. Daria's didn't let me down. Very tasty.

During the tour we got to know more about Jose, his restaurant experiences, and his family. At the end he walked with us for a bit. He explained how the food tour supports the local cooks.

The tour was really fun because there's no way at all Sheila and I would have found all these small places on our own. It's not like they all had neon signs.

We ended up quite full. Walking around the La Gloria neighborhood helped burn off a few of those calories. I'm sure I'll return to Isla at some time, and this will be on my to-do list.

[primthegreat]

I love when people confuse the Midwestern accent with a southern accent for the Kent's, I'm from Minnesota, but my grandparents were from South Carolina so, while my vocabulary is filled with the "opes" and "yeah no yeahs" of the world it does take me a second to pronounce oil and caramel.

Someone once referred to the Midwestern accent as the "saltine cracker of American accents" and that is SO TRUE there's nothing too special about it, just small phrases and stuff

I think "ain't" is just universally used, but there's lots of differences between the Midwest and the southern states, I mean, take a look at our barbecues alone.

Clark knows how to gut a deer, and when people visit the farm during deer season there's at least one hanging from a tree or in the garage

Ma Kent would be making the best tater tot hot dish but Clark would be having that as a meal for at least a WEEK

Don't get me started on crock pot meals, could feed an army and still have leftovers.

Tornados are fun and Clark definitely went out to play in them wearing a swimsuit as a kid

It takes 20 minutes to say goodbye for Clark, he just keeps talking as you try to get away

Fruit salad, not just mixed fruits but the one with marshmallows and whipped cream.

[h2-so-4]

AIT or Aryan Invasion Theory (debunked): A superior "race" of white, horse-riding Aryans invaded the areas of the inferior and primitive Indus Valley population, which included the Dravidians (but actually no one said that the IVC was a pure, dark-skinned Dravidian civilization so idk where that idea came from), and civilized them.

AMT or Aryan Migration Theory: A group of usually horse and chariot-riding nomads and pastoralists usually called the Aryans migrated from the Indo-Iranian region to India and mingled PEACEFULLY with the population of the late Indus Valley population (who were already highly advanced, as we know), by which time the IVC was beginning to collapse, possibly due to change of climate and rain patterns (still not sure yet), and hence the people were abandoning these settlements spreading across the subcontinent. These Indo-Aryans on arriving mixed with this population and shared their genetics, art and culture with each other, which led to the introduction of Sanskrit and Vedic culture in India.

To any leftist who keep regurgitating the former busted myth, please stop. You look stupid. And to any rightist who keep using AMT as AIT to debunk it, they're not the same. These two theories have a sky-ground difference.

The previous one makes Aryans look evil. That they were some high-level royalty who invaded India. But, in fact, they were regular people, regular migrants, just how every migration used to happen 3000-4000 years ago. Like I said, most of them were nomadic settlers.

Sure, later on, the varna system came into existence and this was the beginning of a hierarchical structure in India for the first time (since during the IVC there wasn't any sort of social hierarchy according to current sources). But who's to say it was ONLY the Aryans? Remember. They're NOT a race. They're a particular group of people. And by the time the varna system was introduced already a hell lotta intermixing had happened. Hence it wasn't JUST the Aryans (history and especially anthropological and genetic history is not that black and white LMFAO), because it was a term for 'noble', not some kinda "righteous clan" or something. Idk why people keep thinking of it as a race lol. I thought that was already debunked with the AIT.

As for the indigeneity of the Aryans, technically no one is indigenous. Many of the adivasi and non-adivasi tribes came AFTER the Indus Valley Civilization. So the "who came first" logic doesn't really work at all. (There might've been many that came before as well, who knows. Point is, again, it's all a migration salad at the end of the day)

adjective

indigenous (adjective)

originating or occurring naturally in a particular place; native:

This is the Google definition of indigenous. If we take THIS into account, there would be SEVERAL groups of people involved, instead of just one, like the IVC people, a few of the oldest nomadic tribes, mixed Indo-Aryans, etc. But I'm not gonna call ANYONE indigenous, or not indigenous. Because guess what, none of the humans are really indigenous to any place apart from the African continent. Also the Aryan migration led to the rise of a LOT of genetic subgroups, which was a key factor in leading to the most confusing anthropological history of the Indian subcontinent. It has a fuck ton of genetic markers and groups and subgroups, it's wildly confusing and historians are still trying to figure out every kind of intermixing that has happened. So STOP fighting over who is indigenous or not LMAO. Because guess what, we can never truly assert the indigeneity of a migrant species such as humans. (Yes we do call Native Americans the indigenous people of Americas, or the aboriginals the indigenous people of Australia and the Australasian archipelago, but they were also migrants at some point of time. Now before anyone says I'm disregarding the indigeneity of these groups, I'm not. All I'm saying is that we shouldn't CARE who's indigenous and who's not, because unlike the case of Americas and the Australasian islands, Aryans didn't INVADE India. They were simply another set of migrants, JUST like the IVC people, who also came from the middle-eastern region, and JUST like the adivasi tribes, who migrated from mostly the African and Australasian regions, probably, not sure again.)

I'll link the genetic studies done below because they explain it all way better than I can (and these research papers may also correct some of the incorrect statements I might've unnoticeably or ignorantly made in my own paragraphs so yeah):

Hence, at the end of the day, idk why we're banging our heads on the walls over ONE SIMPLE MIGRATION, which was NOTHING DIFFERENT THAN ANY OTHER MIGRATION. Migrations happen ALL THE TIME. Get over it, BOTH the sides of the political wings, and live in harmony lmao. The Aryans and Dravidians AREN'T RACES. They were just certain groups of REGULAR ass people jeez.

History is a complex subject, and the more evidence we find, the more we would know about our past. I have literally nothing against any of the political wings, but I do want to keep the current theories (which are NOT synonymous to hypotheses btw) and facts straight. I'm once again not saying these facts will never change, because that's not how history works. Maybe in the future, we might find out something completely different about India's past. But remember, whenever we talk about our country's past, we should keep it unbiased, unopinionated, and definitely factual and objective, without including our own views (both political and personal) into it. Interpretations? Sure. But they should remain at ONLY interpretations at best, and only the solid evidences should be claimed as facts.

[yourbravestpigeon]

Grandpa AU - February 2022

“I hope he won’t bring wine.”

“Probably not”, Irene responded, looping her arms around Kai’s chest as he sliced fish into evenly sized slabs. It was a quarter past seven, and he had been preparing dishes for over an hour now.

“I just mean because he didn’t ask me what I was cooking when we met. You shouldn’t bring wine if you don’t know the main course.”

“I don’t think he knows there’s courses.”

“Of course there are.”

She smiled against his back. Kai had seen her eat a lot of takeout trash throughout their relationship, and since they moved in together it felt like he wanted to make up for all the busy work nights where she’d lived off croissants and newspaper kiosk tuna wraps.

“If he brings red wine we could open it for dessert. But definitely not for the main course.”

“He might not bring anything.”

“He could have asked me”, Kai insisted. “It would have been polite to ask.”

“You met him at a gas station.”

“He also didn’t ask how you were doing.” Irene could see the muscles in his arms tense, slicing the fish just a tiny bit harder than necessary.

“What did you talk about?”, she wondered.

Kai stopped mid-motion.

“Nothing in particular…”

-

“It’s a shit movie”, Alberich said, collecting change out of his wallet. “And offensively long.”

Kai all but gasped. He pointed the gas nozzle he was holding at Alberich. “Seven Samurai is an inspired masterpiece.”

“The only reason it’s considered inspired is because it established the genre. But others then did it better.”

“Better?!” Kai gaped, incredulous that the man in front of him was qualified to teach at a university. “Kurosawa did revolutionary work. His raw shooting and the humanity with which he treats his characters-… How dare you imply he got lucky getting there first? There’d be no 'there' without him.”

“Walked so others could fly.” Alberich had finally procured the amount of change he’d been looking for and gathered it in one hand, making his way towards the station building.

“I-…” Kai slammed the gas nozzle into its holder, fighting for words. “Walked?!”

“See you Sunday.”

“Walked?”, Kai shouted after him.

-

At 7:30pm the doorbell rang, and Kai’s eyes narrowed. Walked… What an uncultured doorknob. Thank god they hadn’t gotten round discussing movies at his and Irene’s engagement party, because Kai’s family would have rioted if the biological father of the bride had started spewing such insulting nonsense. Walked, he thought again and opened the door.

“We’re watching Seven Samurai today”, he announced as soon as it was open. “And I’d like to see you point out a single flaw in the actual story telling.” Alberich blinked in mild surprise. He was carrying a red plastic bowl covered with saran wrap, along with a shabby tote bag.

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“That’s funny.” Alberich smiled. “’Cause I actually got you this.” He reached into the bag and wrestled a DVD out of it. It was The Magnificent Seven. The crude Americanization of Seven Samurai spited him from the cover, crass and tasteless.

“How dare you”, Kai threatened quietly, taking a step closer. “How dare you carry this filth over my doorstep…?”

“Hello!” Irene approached from the kitchen holding a jug of water. “Carry what now…?”

She had a smile on her face, but the look in her eyes conveyed a clear message of Quit fucking around or so god help me. Kai grumpily took a step back.

“I brought salad”, Alberich announced, lifting the bowl and stepping into the apartment.

-

Irene glanced at the potato salad she’d been handed. It was storebought and Alberich had done nothing to conceal the fact, but he had transferred it into a proper bowl, so she supposed that counted for something.

“Right, thanks”, she said. “That’ll go well with the Sashimi…”

“You made Sashimi?”

“Kai did.”

Kai was busy glowering at the back of Alberich’s head, so Irene took their guest’s coat instead, trying to cram it on one of the hooks of their overflowing coatrack. It slid right back off, so she just picked it up and flung it on top. She didn’t think he’d mind; she’d been to his apartment and knew his own coatrack was a pile on a chair.

Thankfully the food needed some last touch-ups, which allowed Kai to vanish into the kitchen and cool off from whatever unpleasant exchange had taken place in the seven seconds she’d left the two of them unsupervised. Irene ushered Alberich into their living slash dining room, placing the water jug and salad bowl on the table. Kai had picked out her favorite tablecloth, the one embroidered with little ivy vines that she’d found at a flea market.

“So”, she declared as they sat down, Alberich on the couch and Irene in her favorite armchair. He twisted his head to read the blurb of a book she’d abandoned on one of the couch cushions, and after a few seconds he was with her again.

“So.”

“So. How are things?”

“Good, pretty good. One of my PhD candidates passed his viva exam this week, so that was nice.”

“The Russian guy?”

“He’s Kazakh.”

“Ah.”

There was a brief pause.

“He’s also still single”, Alberich added in German.

“I’m kinda happy with Kai, in case the engagement was no indicator”, Irene replied. She knew Alberich was an absolute dick, but she’d gotten very good at ignoring the unpleasant flavor of his personality. Once she’d realized his opinions didn’t matter to her at all, he’d become something of a weekly comedy skit in her life. Sometimes, when she was unhappy and didn’t have the energy to chat with people who would notice, she even gave him a ring. It was never hard to launch him into a 20-minute string of swear words about any given university employee, and it put her mind off things like a very vulgar Sitcom.

“I’m just saying”, he went on. He was smiling, probably at her Swiss accent, but it was one of the rare instances where it wasn’t with a mocking undertone. “You might find there’s more out there.”

“I’m all set, thanks. And you can stop forwarding me the e-mail addresses of your smartest students, too.”

“You never even gave it another shot with Bradamant.”

“She gaslit the crap outta me, dad.”

Dad. She’d recently started trying it out, letting the word roll off her tongue as if it didn’t launch her into late night philosophical crises. She’d always thought the word held power, held promise. She knew that she didn’t owe him a Dad and that he wasn’t her father. He didn’t even like Kai, for crying out loud. But then Alberich had congratulated her on getting her master’s degree when her real parents hadn’t even seen her e-mail for weeks. And Irene had realized that maybe, pathetically, she was desperate enough to welcome even such thin, second-hand parental love into her life.

Before she could follow that thought into a gloomy rabbit hole Kai popped back into the room. He was handsome as ever, his exquisitely cut shirt making him look like a royal who’d briefly condescended to laying the dining table. He winked at her and she smiled, following him with her eyes as he got out the crystal glasses they used for special occasions. Which, for Kai, was every time they had guests. If it were up to Irene, they’d eat their sashimi off the plates she’d nicked from the uni cafeteria.

“Need any help?”, she offered, but Kai just shook his head, bestowing her with a warm smile. She could feel it spread through her entire chest, the cozy reassurance that always enshrouded him. Kai might not hide his dislike for Alberich, but he knew it was important to her, in some wonky, hard-to-articulate way. She could have kissed him right there, forever.

“We’ll have the sashimi as the main course”, Kai started explaining as he laid out cutlery. “It’s a bit unusual, but I got some excellent quality fish on the market, so it should really be the star of the meal. If you’d please sit down – the filet is best when served freshly cut.”

“Thanks”, Alberich said, raising his performance as a guest from a C- to a C.

“Is it fine if I mix the wasabi directly into the soy sauce?”

“Not unless you want me to crap my guts out in your bathroom”, Alberich said, lowering his performance as a guest from a C to a D.

Kai blinked. “So no, then…”

And so they sat down, with barely a minute passing until Kai started distributing dishes all over the table. He insisted they cleanse their pallets after the entrée, to allow for the fine flavors of the fish to come through. Then he brought out the huge central plate, cutest enthusiasm bubbling from his every movement.

“Here we’ve got Bluefin tuna topped with ginger”, he started, “Then some nice kingfish, and, of course, classic salmon. For the salmon I went with the traditional way of preparation as well as a more contemporary marinade, so let me know what you think.”

“I thought you weren’t Japanese”, Alberich remarked, looking at the spread of fine dining in front of him. Irene had seen him eat lobster but had also seen him eat a banana that was almost liquid, so she could never really pinpoint how refined the man’s tastebuds actually were. Vale had once pointed out that his body showed signs of slight childhood malnutrition, but Irene hadn’t yet asked. Didn’t quite know what to ask, actually.

“I’m not from Japan, no”, Kai answered with a visibly strained smile. “I enjoy their cuisine nonetheless.”

Irene could see a thought bubble pop up over Alberich’s head that read snob, and one above Kai’s head that said tactless. Instead of addressing either – they both weren’t completely wrong – Irene grabbed her chopsticks and started tucking in. She noticed the wasabi was placed at the other end of the table, far away from their guest.

Kai carried the conversation for the main part of the meal by narrating each food on the table, raving about authentic ingredients and flavor balances and knives so sharp they could split hairs. Alberich didn’t care enough about the topic to weigh in but made an appropriate amount of Ah and Huh noises, while Irene fell in love with her fiancé all over again. He was so charmingly silly, and unashamed of being passionate. She thought of the bulk of Sherlock Holmes fanfiction hidden in the very depths of her laptop and wondered if there’d come a day she wouldn’t be embarrassed about it anymore.

An hour later the last spoon of dessert had been swallowed and they started cleaning plates off the table. She’d had surprising amounts of fun towards the end, when the conversation had taken them from recipes to medieval recipe books to medieval printing techniques. It was one more reminder how much she missed classes, and by the time they were done loading the dishwater she’d promised Alberich she’d start attending a few lectures as a guest auditor again.

“I’ll e-mail you my recommendations”, Alberich said as he made for the hallway. “The computational linguistics department is making some big leaps at the moment.”

“As long as they aren’t held by your PhD bachelor”, she joked. “Thank you for coming, it was nice.”

“My pleasure.”

“Do you want to take your salad back home with you?”

Kai popped his head out of the kitchen, face set in strict lines.

“Actually, Irene, I invited him to stay for a movie.”

“Did you now?” Irene wasn’t stupid. If Kai had issued an invite of any sort, it had been in the course of some spat. She also wasn’t delusional enough to hope for them to bond over a movie night: Kai’s face was active war, eyes set on his target.

“It’s late”, the target evaded, “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“Oh, I insist”, Kai interjected, blindly grabbing the next best thing out of their snack cabinet. He handed Alberich a pack of mint chocs.

“Why don’t you put those in a bowl while I turn on the movie.”

Alberich looked at her; she wasn’t sure if he was asking for her permission or hoping for her to intervene. Irene eyed him, her partner, and the mint chocs.

“I’m going to bed”, she sighed and walked away.

-----

Based on @withlovebinnie 's comic *and* their cinephile Kai headcanon! I had a lot of fun with it :D

[clatterbane]

About to try some of my own inaugural batch of homemade vanilla ice cream, made the lazy way using some of that commercial pouring custard!

Seemed like a good time now that it's firmed up well in the freezer, and my blood sugar has gone back down from a late supper.

Made using the ice cream freezer attachment that Mr. C also decided to pick up to go with the stand mixer. We hadn't actually tried it out yet (though I had vaguely been thinking about it), until he got a brainstorm the other day and picked up some ingredients including a couple of cartons of the vaniljsås, washed the ice cream maker, and stuck the base into the freezer.

He made a smaller low effort test batch last night, using just a carton of the custard and an eyeballed splash of cream. It tasted good, if a little light on the sweetness. But, the texture left something to be desired--especially after it froze up completely in the freezer afterward. Definitely good for a first attempt.

That still went fast enough that I decided to get the (still very cold!) thing washed and back into the freezer last night, to be ready to play around with it myself this evening.

So, I also went for a tweaked version of the same basic approach. Being the person I am, I worked with a couple.of ice cream recipe calculators on the web to get a better idea of ingredient proportions to aim for and why--and then just winged it with some packaged custard thrown in.

The base recipe I settled on:

150ml whole milk, warmed in the microwave at around lunchtime with 100g of extra sugar dissolved into it (then covered and stuck in the fridge to chill)

200ml custard (hey, may as well count that as milk plus some bonus stabilizers!)

Heavy cream to top the measuring cup up to a UK pint/close enough to 600ml total

Around 1/3 tsp. extra vanilla extract

Small pinch of salt

Still pretty simple, but that thinned it out some and brought the milkfat/sugar roughly into recommended ranges for mouthfeel and freezing qualities. Still a tad light on the sugar, but the finished ice cream tasted plenty sweet to me. It did also freeze a little hard, so I may need to play around some more.

It looked like a good quantity of ice cream mix for that size of freezer bowl, which does seem to turn out a decent two-person batch.

Some in the disconcerting interior color bowl, with some store brand sauce at the ready! That type is basically like runnier Nutella, and not surprisingly worked really well on the vanilla. Without palm oil, before self-righteous randos crawl up into my notes.

This did also freeze up a little hard and slightly crystally, which may have been partly because it could have used a few more minutes in the ice cream maker before I put it into that potato salad tub and froze if the rest of the way. I think it really was a little too soft, but patience really isn't my strong suit.

Mr. C ate a pretty big bowl before he went to bed, while it was still at the soft serve stage (after at least 45 minutes in our really cold freezer), and seemed to enjoy it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Next time up, I am tempted to go more complicated and try for a fairly simple blueberry cheesecake flavor, using some cream cheese and frozen berries.

I also want to try to make some serviceable good old American style sherbet, since you just can't find it elsewhere. Haven't eaten any for at least 15 years now. (The straight orange ice cream you can get here is pretty damned good, though. And I bet it would make at least as good a float with ginger ale or 7-Up.) I do suspect the whole texture thing may be trickier, without industrial ingredients and equipment.

Chocolate is another to-do, but at least it is way easier to find good plain chocolate ice cream without chunks of gluteny brownies and shit in stores here than it was in the UK.

In the somewhat near future, I also want to play around with some other sweeteners including erythritol to make something lower carb, but sticking to easier mode with all sugary stuff until I get more experience working with that. With all the milkfat and some protein to help buffer the carbs, ice cream is relatively easy on my blood sugar anyway. Seems to be a pretty common thing, at least for T1s. I may have actually overshot the insulin for that bowl, so it may be another little snack soon.

But, good investment--even if it did take us a while to finally start using it!

[spiderfreedom]

not gonna effortpost about this today because I gotta get work done but real short

I notice this argument being used all the time: "you can't make a definition of 'woman' that does not exclude some people that we call women. therefore, the only good definition for 'women' that includes all people we call woman is 'people who identify as woman.'"

and the thing is, philosophically, "you can't make a definition of {thing} that does not exclude some examples we also call {thing}" is something that applies to almost every category! it's literally a whole philosophical problem of "what is the definition of a chair?" didn't we have a whole meme about how nobody can even agree on what a sandwich is?

it's not something unique to women, tables, horses, sandwiches, salads, or anything else. it is a problem of language itself.

you can apply the exact same argument to other categories: "how do you define 'blackness' without excluding some people we call 'black'?" if you're american, maybe you will use the one-drop rule, in which case halsey is black and anyone who had a single black ancestor four generations ago. but is that actually how we use the word black? does that capture something meaningful about being black in america? how about being black in the world?

let's go further: "how do you define 'transgender' without excluding some people we call 'transgender'?" within the transgender community, there is no real agreement on what it means to be transgender! beyond a vague sense of "identifying as the gender society assigned to you", but even that can be challenged. if a cis (female) woman takes testosterone, starts hanging around trans women, calling herself a trans woman, is confused for a trans woman by the people that she talks to, experiences oppression on the basis of being perceived as a trans woman... can she be considered a trans woman, despite being female?

ultimately "how do you define things" is a philosophy of language question more than anything else. perfect definitions that encapsulate sets neatly do not exist, because the terms we use are socially contingent. when people came up with the word 'table', they didn't also create a logically rigorous definition for it. they just said 'well, this thing here is a table.' and then people argue about the edge cases. because also, nobody actually agrees on the members of sets of every single word!! just like how we all have different ideas of what is and isn't a sandwich!

that's the other thing, people already disagree about what words refer to. someone who has the 5ARD intersex condition has testes but may be raised and socialized as girl because their parents think their genitals kinda look like a vulva. is this person a 'girl/woman'? people are not sure... which makes sense... because it is an edge case. is a stool a chair? is a hotdog a sandwich? is an open sandwich a sandwich? the further you get from the 'prototype', the more people are going to be disagree.

so the entire question 'what is a woman' is just an exercise in confusing philosophy of language framed as saying something very meaningful about the social category of woman. it is not! it is a problem of language that we cannot define 'woman' or 'chair' or 'salad' or 'horse' or 'gamer' in a rigorous way. it is nothing inherent to women, chairs, salads, horses, or gamers.

(but what about science?) good question, what about science? science tries to operate differently from the way laypeople talk about things. scientists take common words, like 'energy', and give them different, more rigorous definitions in order to try to figure something out about the world. for laypeople, 'energy' is something vague and diffuse. for physicists, 'energy' is the force that causes things to move, and its behavior is described by certain mathematical models.

similarly, laypeople may take 'woman' to mean 'a person with breasts and vulva/vagina', but a biologist may have a more rigorous definition of 'female': 'producing large gametes.' this is useful because it helps us see commonalities between creatures that may look really different, like flowers, bedbugs, asparaguses, cats, and humans - all very different creatures where sex looks different, but still have a distinction between 'producing large gametes' and 'producing small gametes' - there's no intermediate gamete. biologists have a different word for what people/animals look like, and that is 'phenotype.' when a parent looks at a child with 5ARD condition, they see the child has no visible penis and thus 'looks 'looks female.' a biologist would say that the child's sex is male (because they have the reproductive equipment to produce sperm, and none of the reproductive equipment to produce ova) but that their phenotype is ambiguous. sex is a binary variable, but human development is a long process where are a lot can happen, and so sexual phenotypes are not variable.

so already we're pretty far from the lay definition, because laypeople don't have the same idea of what sex is as scientists do, and don't distinguish between someone's sex and their appearance - for them, the sex is the appearance. who is right? it depends on what you want to do. scientists want to discover meaningful things about nature, and their definitions are far more useful than the layperson's for that purpose. which definitions are useful is also socially determined - we may feel sympathy for the child with 5ARD, told they were a girl their whole life, but who learns that they have testes. should we continue to treat this child as a girl/woman, or should we encourage them to view themselves as a boy/man? that is a social, cultural, legal argument, not a scientific one. the biological truth is the same regardless of the social, cultural, legal arguments, but there may be a compelling case to act differently. that's on us as humans to decide!

so yeah I'm just tired of hearing the same damn arguments over and over again. "what is a woman? is someone with CAIS a woman? is someone with 5ARD? what if we take a young non-intersex male and give them female hormones?" like this will never take us to where we want to go because it's a philosophy of language question disguised as a scientific one. the real question is, what are we talking about and which definitions will help us in that? if you believe that female people are exploited on the basis of their female bodily functions, then obviously you want to bring attention to that by using the word 'female'! if you want to focus on feminine socialization, then it may be useful to bring up cases of people who may not technically be female but were still raised as them, like Erika/Erik Schinegger, a male (possibly with 5ARD) who was raised as a girl and believed he was a girl for most of his youth.

trying to make a single catchy response to a question of what is 'x' is never going to satisfy everyone, because it cannot, because language is imperfect and real life is messy. scientists try to cut nature at the joints, but their cuts may not look like laypeople's! (and don't get me started on scientists disagreeing on what is a joint and what is not, metaphorically.)

and at its worst, when chasing an ironclad definition, you get bizarre answers that seem detached from reality, like saying 'people with CAIS condition are genotypically male and have underdeveloped testes, so we should treat them as males'. they may be reproductive males, but they have a female phenotype, and are raised as girls, and are literally unreceptive to testosterone - to treat them as 'men' on the basis of developmental or reproductive sex certainly seems to be missing something very important from the picture! see below: a person with Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome (CAIS):

does it really make sense to say this person is a man due to her having testes, which technically makes her reproductively male? is that capturing reality? or are you trying to force reality to fit into your definition because you're afraid that if you cannot create a perfect definition of 'woman', that we will never be able to talk about biology and female oppression?

tl;dr: questions like 'what is a woman' are designed to be time-wasters because they are not actually answerable because language sucks. argue for your operative definition, your context, and move on. and don't be afraid to change definitions based on the context... sometimes reproductive sex is relevant, sometimes phenotype is more important, sometimes socialization is more relevant. this is not weakness, it's recognizing that reality is not so rigid and sometimes you must use a different model to get the understanding you want.

[f0point5]

On the liking Logan as an American thing

At first it was ironically liking him, just playing up the whole American thing and all as a joke.

But he’s been very endearing over the course of the season. The sitting in the rain and all the close ups of him being sad definitely helped in his likeability.

Also his recent articles and videos. Him talking about not knowing if salad was okay for the thanksgiving table and not having been home for thanksgiving in so long tugged at the heart strings. Which I think plays into why so many American fans weren’t his fans in the beginning— he hasn’t been racing in American junior series, he’s spent most of his life racing in Europe because he wanted to get to f1 so it makes sense that Americans didn’t know about him.

And then he talked about how he’s felt like an outsider this year due to being an American.

Yeah I saw him saying he doesn’t feel welcome as an American, which is interesting to me because this year when he started I was a bit like…what is a polar bear doing In texas 😂

I think maybe with how much negativity there is around the races in Miami and Las Vegas as well it seems like American culture is very much viewed as like, antithetical to the DNA of F1.

As I said, I started feeling a bit bad for him after the rain shot because like, really, imagine missing so much of your family life, your childhood, all to achieve this dream and that’s the way it’s going. It’s unfortunate

[age-of-greta]

The Moon

The Moon represents illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself.

Author’s note: hi!! welcome back to The Moon! No posting schedule, but all parts will be posted on Wednesdays at midnight EST. This chapter is… whew! Just enjoy!!

Parings: Sam x reader & Jake x reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption, sexual content, smut, minors DNI

Word count: 3.6k

PART 9:

Things were weird.

Not necessarily in a bad way, just strange.

It had been about two weeks since the camping trip and you and Sam had naturally escalated your relationship- if you could call it that. You two were together anytime that the both of you were free. In fact Margo had become incredibly suspicious that something was going on with a guy, but you denied. Sam stayed over at your place a few times, but you didn’t stay at his. You two had kissed, a lot, and he even stayed in the same bed as you. But that was all that had occurred. You were increasingly cautious for obvious reasons, but Sam never pushed you or made you feel uncomfortable. He was content to kiss you and hold you while you binged whatever shows or movies. It never felt awkward or forced, but it was still something that you couldn’t articulate.

You were expecting Sam at any moment now. He told you he would be right over as soon as their session ended. You had fixed yourself up, eager to see him. When you heard that knock on your door you felt a bit giddy inside.

“Hey pretty lady, can I come in?” Sam says, greeting you with a smile.

You smile back. “Of course you can.”

“So I was thinking.” Sam states, following you into your living room.

You snicker. “Uh-oh. That’s a dangerous thing.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I would like to take you on a proper date. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that idea.”

“Great- go get ready?”

Your face twists up in mild shock. “Now?”

Sam chuckles. “Yes, now. I’ll sit here and wait as long as you need.”

“What’s the attire?” You ask.

“Something comfortable. I promise I’ll take you somewhere fancy in the morning, but tonight just wear something you’re comfortable in.”

**

You ended up going with light wash jeans with ripped knees, a white tank crop top, a pair of nude platform sandals, and a lot of gold jewelry. You put a few curls in your hair, added a fair amount of makeup, and spritzed yourself down in perfume. It had taken about 40 minutes, but Sam waited patiently the whole time.

“Okay, I think I’m ready.” You say, stepping out of your room.

Sam stood up and put his hands in his pockets. “You look beautiful, as always.”

You approached him with a smile. “Thank you.”

Sam tilts your chin up and gives you a sweet kiss. “Ready?”

“Let’s go Sammy.”

**

You couldn’t contain your elation when Sam pulled up outside of Dave & Busters.

“Sam! Oh my god. This already is going to be the best date I’ve ever been on.” You say with a laugh.

“I’m actually really glad you said that. I was a little nervous that maybe you might think it was cheesy or something.” Sam says.

You shake your head. “Not at all. It’s perfect.”

Then you two head inside and grab a table. You got a round of beers, mozzarella sticks, and two salads.

“These are the best mozzarella sticks I think I’ve ever had.” Sam says, breaking one apart to reveal the cheese pull.

You laughed. “I’m glad you enjoy them. They are good. But they’re definitely the frozen ones that they’ve stuck in a fryer.”

“The art of American food.” Sam says with a smirk.

“What a fine art it is. I hope you’re ready to get destroyed in skee ball by the way.” You say, stabbing your lettuce.

Sam’s face lights up at that. “Oh you’re on babe.”

That was the first time Sam had really used that word or any of it's kind with you. That made your stomach feel excited.

Once you two had finished up, you made your way to the game room. Sam got a card with a considerable amount of money on it. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“What? I don’t play around here Birdie.” He said with a smile. “Now take me to the skee ball games.”

**

“You fucker!” You yell with a laugh.

Sam smiles with pride. “I’ll take my crown now.”

You two had just finished an intense session of skee ball and Sam had won on a last lucky shot in the 1000 hole.

“You know what, I submit. Good game.” You say extending your hand out.

“Aw what a good sport. C’mere.” Sam says, pulling you into a hug. “Anything else you want me to beat your ass in?”

You break the hug. “Okay Mr. Cocky! Consider the good sport gone. This is war now.”

Sam belts out laughter at that. “No no. I wave the white flag. Let’s work together so we can get some tootsie rolls in the prize shop.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Oh wow Sammy. Tootsie rolls just for me?”

Sam smirks. “You bet baby. If you keep on batting your eyes like that I’ll buy you the whole damn company.”

You shake your head and laugh. “Come on, let’s find the games with the most tickets.”

**

You were giddy. You felt butterflies and you also had a few tequila sodas. You were leaving with a bag full of goodies and your hand in Sam’s hand. Truthfully this had been such a fun “first” date. It was pure fun and most importantly you got to be yourself. You got to laugh with Sam, joke with Sam, and look at Sam. Everyday you felt yourself growing closer and closer to him. But after today you felt your heart swell in a way you had never before.

“Let me get the door for you my lady.” Sam says, opening his car door for you.

“Why thank you good sir.” You say, climbing in.

Sam took the bag of prizes and put it in the backseat, then climbed in the driver’s side.

“Ready?” He asked as he cranked the car.

You smile at him blissfully. “Thank you for taking me. I had the best time.”

Sam grins ear to ear at that. “Thank you for coming with me.” He tucks a small piece of hair behind your ear. “Birdie, you’re so beautiful. I mean that in every way.”

You start to feel a bit bashful and bite your lip. “I think you are too Sammy.”

“Can I kiss you?” Sam asks, softly.

You nod.

Then his warm lips are on you. Your hand moves over to his chest while he grips your face and your hip. Fuck.

You felt a little bold so you parted your lips and slightly slipped your tongue in his mouth. You were greeted with his own and felt a squeeze on your hip. Things were getting very heated, but you realized you were still in a parking lot. You slowly pulled away.

“Take me home?”

Sam cleared his throat a little and nodded fastly.

The whole entire way back to your cottage Sam had a grip on your upper thigh. Periodically lightly squeezing and rubbing you. That was all the edging you could take. You knew exactly what was going to happen as soon as you both got inside and that lit fireworks inside of you. The anticipation sat like a lump in your throat.

When he finally pulled in it felt like it had been a million years. You both got out and Sam laced his fingers with yours. You fumbled with your keys and unlocked your door. Why did you feel nervous? It was Sam. Then it dawned on you. It was Sam. You never thought you would cross any threshold with him, but now you wanted to- badly.

As soon as you got inside you wrapped your arms around his neck and the kissing ensued. It was way more aggressive than the normal soft kisses. Sam’s hands were planted firmly on your hips, but when you lightly bit his lip he groaned a little and shifted his hands towards your ass. That ignited a fire in you and you wanted more. You shuffled towards your room and shut the door, then your lips were on his again. You kicked off your shoes and started to slip off his shirt. Once his shirt was off he looked down at you, trying to read you.

“Are you sure you want to-“ he starts.

You look up at him and bite your lip. “I want you to fuck me.”

Sam’s mouth falls agape slightly at that. He’s absolutely flabbergasted at either what you just said or how you just said it. You see him take a sharp inhale before he says. “Yes ma’am.”

Then his hands are all over you. Before you know it you were both stripped down to your undergarments. Sam’s lips traveled down to your neck as you laid down on your bed. You let out slightly moans when his teeth would graze your collarbone. Sam continued his descent. While his hands rubbed around your waist. He licked a hot stripe down your stomach which caused you to shudder. Then he spent at least five minutes teasing you. He rubbed your upper thighs, kissed them, quickly ran his thumb over your clothed center. You were squirming each time, but tried to keep your composure.

“You’re so beautiful.” Sam said in between kisses as he slid your panties down.

You arched your back slightly as your breath hitched.

Sam takes his fingers and lightly begins rubbing them over your clit while still kissing your thighs.

Soft moans slip past your lips and they frequent more often when Sam’s lips meet your center. His fingers dip into you while his mouth is focused on your sweet spot.

“Fuck.” You say softly before a deep inhale.

Sam hums at you which brings a different sensation. After a few minutes of bliss you feel yourself beginning to shake and Sam can too.

“Sam- I’m gonna- fuck.” You squeaked out.

“I know baby I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl.” Sam coos.

That was all you needed before that wave of pleasure washed over you. It was euphoric as you screwed your eyes shut and rode out your orgasm.

When you came back to your senses Sam was still right there. Kissing you through everything. He came up and lightly kissed your lips a few times. It was so tenderly sweet. Which is something that was unexpected at first. The passion. Sam is itching for release of his own, but he’s still going as slowly as he was before. You grab Sam’s bare back and lightly scratch at it, giving him the okay that he can fuck you now.

“Do I need a condom?” He asks, lightly.

You shake your head. “Birth control.”

He kisses you again then slips into you and groans out- as do you. He gets a nice rhythm going, but you want him to have more. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life and it was time to put in the same effort. In a swift motion you switched him off of you and climbed onto him. You sank down on him and used your hand to brace yourself on his chest.

“Goddamn.” Sam said with a moan.

One of his hands was guiding your back while the other slipped up around your stomach and breasts. He was mesmerized watching you lightly rock yourself on him. His eyes never left you, it was intense. But god it was so hot. You had never felt sexier than in this moment. You began to build momentum and your movements became faster. Sam was coming undone and his hips were bucking back into you. His hands were now both wrapped about your hips keeping you locked into place. Moans were coming out of your mouth and Sam’s.

“I’m not going to last much longer, baby. Fuck you feel so fucking good.” Sam said, an octave higher than normal.

That caused you to squeeze around him and moan. “Sammy- right there- don’t stop.”

Calling him that in this situation lit a fire that you could see. He was holding back the floodgates at this point, but he was determined to make you come again.

“Right there baby? How’s that feel?” He cooed.

You were there.

“Yes fuck Sammy. Sammy-“ You moaned as your body locked up. He was right behind you. His mouth fell open as moans fell out. You tightened around him and felt his release. He squeezed your hips tightly and your head fell back. Sweat, expletives, and sex filled the air.

When you gained consciousness again, you slipped down onto him. You hadn’t realized it, but his legs were shaking. Sam pulled you into his side and stroked your hair while you both tried to breathe regularly again.

“Shower?” You finally said looking up at Sam.

He smiled warmly at you and kissed your head before nodding.

Then he fucked you again in the shower.

**

You awoke the next morning barely clothed, wrapped in Sam’s arms. You were so giddy reminiscing on the night before, you felt like you could vomit rainbows. Sam was still sleeping, so you quietly slipped out of bed. You went to your bathroom and took in your appearance. You had purplish love bites over your collarbones and a few on your breasts. You traced them and it felt electric. You couldn’t help but smile. You were smitten. You freshened up and slapped on some light makeup and touched up your hair. Then made way to your kitchen to make you and Sam coffee. Shortly after you felt arms wrap around from behind you and a kiss placed on your neck. You melted into his touch.

“Good morning.” He purred into your ear.

“Good morning Sammy.” You responded cheerfully.

You turned around and planted a kiss on his lips, he tasted like mint toothpaste. He had freshened up for you too.

“Can I take you to breakfast?” He asked.

“Hmm I was just making us coffee. But I suppose that would be alright.”

Sam smirked at you. “Finish making your coffee love. I’ll wait.”

He looked so damn good in the mornings. It gave you an idea that waking up like this everyday wouldn’t be so bad.

**

Sam led you down the streets of Nashville with your fingers intertwined with his. He made good on his promise and brought you somewhere fancy. It was a cute brunch spot. You wore a blue and white floral dress with puffy sleeves and white heels. Sam told you how pretty you looked at least a dozen times. You two sat outside and soaked up sunshine while smiling at one another.

“Can I be candid with you Birdie?” Sam asks.

You nod your head. “Of course.”

He smacks his lips together. “I really like you. I mean really like you. I would like to explore this further, if that’s okay with you.”

You smile at him. “I like you too. What does exploring further look like to you?”

He pauses for a moment. “I want to date you, exclusively you.”

“Okay, yes exclusively.” You say back softly with a smile.

He grins ear to ear and then the waiter comes up and takes your orders. You felt content just staring at Sam all day. Being near him felt like being near sunshine- he made you warm and happy. When you were with him it was impossible to think of anyone else. Truthfully he had snuck up on you. But you were so glad that he did.

After brunch Sam took you to an early movie before dropping you off back at your apartment. He had a recording session this afternoon and you wanted to clean your apartment. Before you parted ways he walked you up to your doorstep and kissed you, then made plans to see you later.

You walked inside and smiled, standing with your back planted at your door.

“Um, what the actual fuck?”

You jumped out of your skin when you saw Margo sitting slack jawed on your couch.

“Oh fuck! Margo! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!” You exclaimed.

She jumped up. “I broke in with my spare key because I wanted to surprise you with smoothies, but then you weren’t here. I started to leave but then I heard voices outside and then I saw it with my own eyes. Sam? Sam?”

You bite down on your cheek. You hadn’t told anyone about you and Sam yet. “Yeah, well it’s new.”

“Sam? I swear to God I thought it was going to be you and Jake. I knew you were sneaking around with someone and I thought it was Jake. But Sam? What?”

You flinch at his name. He hadn’t been in your mind in a while. “I know it might seem strange. But Sam and I have been spending a lot of time together this summer. I really like him Margo.”

She looks at you for a minute. “I can see that and I’m happy for you. But why didn’t you tell me?”

You huff. “Honestly, it snuck up on me. I didn’t anticipate it- it just happened.”

Margo laughed. “Well good for you. Based on how you’re acting, he fucked your brains out didn’t he?”

You gasp and laugh at the same time. “Shut up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Okay enough! Can we have our smoothies and you catch me up on you while I clean?” You ask.

“Smooth at changing the subject. But yes I’ll accept because I'm a narcissist.” She jokes.

That was one person down who knows about you and Sam, only the whole world to go.

**

“Coming!” You yelled, throwing down your oven mitts. You fluffed your hair before approaching the door.

It had been a few days since your “exclusively” conversation and you two had been inseparable. He had stayed with you almost every night and he would leave in the mornings so you could work. Then usually return around dinner time.

Currently, you were cooking dinner for you and Sam. Tofu vegetable stir-fry. You had insisted on this because Sam has given you grief about the taste of tofu. You were excited to prove him wrong, but more excited just to see him. You beamed a smile when you opened the door, but it wasn’t Sam.

“Hey stranger.” Danny said, stepping inside.

You made a face, but fixed it fast. “Hi Danny, come on in.” You say sarcastically.

He chuckled. “Thank you. You don’t look too excited to see me, cousin.”

You shake your head. “It’s always a pleasure to be in your company. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Oh come on. How many times have I just showed up unannounced?”

You shrug. “Fair.”

“I came with a purpose today however. I wanted to come by and invite you to the Fourth of July party this Saturday. It’s at our house collectively, but it’s really Josh and I throwing it. When I say Josh, I mean he’s in control of the fireworks and alcohol.”

You scoff a laugh. “Fireworks and alcohol. Fantastic, I'll be there.”

Danny walks past your kitchen and stops. “Smells good. You’re cooking?”

You hum in response.

“Birdie, are you expecting someone?” He asks, suspiciously.

You felt tongue tied and began to feel a little frantic. Sam would be here at any moment.

“Yeah- I uh-“ You started.

Danny lets out a loud laugh. “Hey I’m just fucking with you. I know Sam is probably on his way.”

You furrow your brows and cross your arms. “He told you?”

Danny shakes his head. “No, but it wasn’t hard to put together. Sam has been very absent lately, so have you. I knew you two had become close, but when I saw the way you guys interacted on the camping trip I got suspicious.” He laughs a little. “Then you’ve got Sam showing up to sessions giddy as hell, leaving sessions and not coming home, and I’m the only one who notices.”

You decided to stay quiet and plead the fifth.

“Y’know it’s funny.” Danny states smirking at himself.

“What?” You question.

“Well growing up Sam always had the biggest crush on you. I mean the biggest crush on you. But he never said anything because we always thought you would end up with Jake. It’s just funny how things turn out.”

That made your heart flutter. Sam had been crushing on you your whole childhood, but you never noticed.

Your attention diverts to your door when you hear a knock. Shit, he’s here.

You open the door and there he stands as pretty as ever, but with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He leans in to kiss you as you melt into him. But as soon as that moment flees, you’re hyper aware that Danny is there.

“Hi babe. It smells fantastic in here. These are for you.” He says with a cheery smile extending the flowers to you as he walks inside.

“Um- Sam.” You say, but then he walks in more and freezes when he sees Danny.

Danny is standing there with the biggest smirk on his face. “Nice flowers Sam!”

Sam turns to look at you and you just shrug awkwardly.

“Well, shit. This isn’t how I wanted you guys to find out.” Sam says, breaking the silence.

Danny laughs. “No no. It’s just me. Listen, can we just skip all of the weirdness? I miss hanging out with you guys. I guess I’ll just have to third wheel it now.”

“Sounds good to me. Come make your plate.” You say heading to your kitchen to put your flowers in a vase.

Danny and Sam say a few words to each other and laugh, but you can’t hear it. Then they’re in the kitchen with you.

“Oh god. Fucking tofu Birdie?” Danny exclaims.

Sam chuckles. “Right?”

That now made two people that knew about you and Sam.

**

• thank you for reading :)

[fun-k-board]

Some extra information on my universe's Sinister Six members.

First post here

I'm tempted to do entire fics on them but- I need to stop before I start overwhelming myself and getting too excited.

Doctor Olivia Odell

Likes - She's always had a strange fascination with ballet, always adores any dances that include sea themes, or long flowy silk.

Dislikes - Any vehicles, cars, helicopters, even bicycles make her nervous and uncomfortable because she has no control. Olivia used to walk everywhere, now, her tentacle situation can help with that.

Favourite food - Fruits, specifically strawberries and blueberries, she loves salads because they can be so diverse with what foods are included.

Least favourite food - Anything spicy, she's always preferred colder foods, and so something hot in temperature let alone flavour is just not her thing.

How does she text? - Usually her texts have very good grammar, even in crisis, she doesn't text often and prefers to use emails in which they're very professional and well structured.

Nationality - English.

What does she think of her fellow Sinister Six members? -

I... Have mixed feelings on the Green Goblin, I believe that his obsession with perfecting... Whatever he was trying to do, was rather immature, and not well thought out, but, I can understand his need for scientific discovery.

Frederick? His connections are useful, and his dedication to his family is admirable, but it gets in the way. He has a soft spot for those younger than him, which, to be fair, is a lot of people.

Marlene is far too bright, my eyes sting just looking at them. They're also very young and unsure. Their powers, however? Now, that's interesting.

Miguel, much like Frederick, has family issues that are too distracting, but, at least he's much more willing to be a firm leader and get the job done.

Mysterio... What do I say about Mysterio?... He's... His illusions are definitely useful...

Norman Osborn

Likes - He likes shiny objects, anything that can spin, and screams. They're loud, they drown out the voices.

Dislikes - Those two boys... He can't remember how he knows them, but he knows it's painful to see them.

Favourite food - Steak.

Least favourite food - Anything with too much grease.

How does he text? - Doesn't bother to check for spelling errors, punctuation, or grammar, and he's barely coherent. Yet, he insists on texting the Sinister Six group chat regularly.

Nationality - American.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Pretty hair, like little tentacles.

Sand is irritating, all over my skin... He does it on purpose, I know it.

Bright, loud... Perfect to listen to... Not fun to talk to.

Too quiet... He reminds me of... Of...

Shiny, I like the helmet, it spins.

Frederick Miller

Likes - Playing dolls with his daughter, he can't afford much, but his wife passed down a dollhouse with some cute little wooden peg dolls that they play with after school.

Dislikes - Soft beds, he's always preferred a hard surface to sleep on, maybe that's why his back is so horrible.

Favourite food - He likes cereal. It's cheap, the most important meal of the day, they give you a lot of what you need, plus, you can add anything to it.

Least favourite food - Honestly? Anything with an expensive price tag, the cheaper, the better it tastes.

How does he text? - He can't actually write too well and so uses the speech to text feature, it makes his texts get misunderstood regularly.

Nationality - American.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Olivia is strange, she's not a bad co-worker but she's intense. I don't know if she likes me, and I don't know if I like her. At the end of the day, she's just another criminal I gotta work with.

Uh... That guy...? Green Goblin, was it? He's... He's definitely a... Uhm... Person...?

Marlene reminds me of my kid, they're bright, fun, and honestly? I feel bad for them, they shouldn't be in this business, at all, from what they've told me, it was a complete accident.

Miguel, he's strict, commanding, but that's until you share a beer with the guy. He's damaged, I feel for him. Although, that doesn't make me like waking up at five AM any more.

I don't like how Mysterio acts around Marlene. He's just... Weird... At least his technology is useful.

Marlene Diegel

Likes - Ballet and classical music, they're very important to the history of theatre and the entertainment industry in general.

Dislikes - Dull colours and costumes that aren't flashy, in their opinion, if you're going to be a villain you may as well dress the part.

Favourite food - Cake, the ones with heavy icing and cherries on top.

Least favourite food - Chicken, especially with bones in it.

How do they text? - Lots of emoticons and exclamation / quotation marks, they're never professional texting even when it's about a serious mission.

Nationality - German.

What do they think of their fellow Sinister Six members?

I wish I was as smart as Olivia, I admire her, really, but she's honestly not very fun to be around. She's quiet, and kinda boring, but at least her tentacles can hold stuff for me.

Green Goblin gives me the creeps, he's literally green, I thought he was some kind of alien at first. I can't imagine purposefully doing that to yourself.

Frederick is nice to me, I don't know why, but he feels like my dad, or my brother, or just my friend, even if we never get to sit down and talk much, I always enjoy when we do.

Miguel also reminds me of my dad, but how he actually was, and not the feeling of a dad. He's very strict and he kinda scares me sometimes, but he's not doing it in a bad way, or at least I don't think he is?

Mysterio's got a fish bowl for a head, I admire the flair, especially the cape, but it is a little ridiculous, and that's coming from somebody with lighting patterns all over their clothes. There's something about him though, I can't place my finger on it!

Miguel Dominguez

Likes - Taking videos and photos, he originally wanted to be a photographer before joining the army, and he's never managed to get back into the hobby professionally.

Dislikes - Watching sports, he despises how boring it is and how you aren't even doing anything while watching.

Favourite food - Pizza, specifically with jalapenos, barbeque sauce and pineapple, it adds a spicy kick and an interesting flavour combination, which boosts his energy.

Least favourite food - Spaghetti, it was his wife's favourite, even the smell makes him sick to his stomach.

How does he text? - He uses emojis a lot and isn't well versed in how people typically use them, so tends to come off as strange. Very good grammar, but occasionally he will sacrifice a bullet point or capital letter once and a while.

Nationality - Mexican.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Olivia's smart, she put this scorpion tail on me, but, I know what it looks like when someone is being told to do something. That's all I'm sharing.

Green Goblin's more like a pet than a human, why would a man reduce himself to such an animalistic state of mind is beyond me. At least he follows orders, I suppose.

Frederick is a good, hardworking, man. Despite how he acts at first, he is very family centered, and I feel as if we both have an understanding of our relationship as co-workers.

I don't think Marlene's cut out for this line of work.

I appreciate Mysterio and his illusions, the technology is impressive, and he's even added advancements to my tail on more than one occasion. But, he's a bit too... Eccentric, for our missions.

Quinlan Blanchfield

Likes - Baking, specifically after a long day of working behind the stage, the lights, the music, it all gives him a rush, and baking cools him down.

Dislikes - The colour blue, it's always just annoyed him, it's too soft.

Favourite food - Cokie dough, and cookies, but, he's working on trying to convince Olivia to help him find a way to safely consume cookie dough, so far she's uninterested.

Least favourite food - Anything that's salty, he never adds salt to his baking, no matter how much it'll improve it.

How does he text? - Uses words that any regular person would need a dictionary to decipher, he's never had a spelling error or incorrect grammar, yet he also uses emojis occasionally.

Nationality - French.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Olivia is impressive, her advancements are far beyond any others, and I'm not just saying that because her boss funds us and our living situations.

Green Goblin interests me, his state of mind, or lack thereof, his costume, everything is such a point of intrigue, I can't wait to learn more when he starts to regain his memories.

The sand guy? He's annoying, I'm starting to think he's spilling sand into my costume on purpose.

Marlene...? No comment.

Miguel is a great leader, he's strong, strict, everything about him is intense, I admire him, I really do, but his schedules and god, the diet? Don't get me started.