#and I can’t eat because nothing tastes good. it’s all dry and bland and I know I’m hungry

[mypoisonedvine]

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 5)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind.  you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: nearly 2.5k

warnings: vague description of a wet dream, some sensual implied stuff (??), 

moodboard and inspiration credit to @evnscvll​

In all your life, you’d never had a wet dream.  Not even in high school when so many of your peers were coping with puberty and budding sexuality in similar ways— not even when you’d wanted to have one about David Kapoor, the cutest guy in senior year who didn’t even know you existed but that you were somehow convinced was going to fall madly in love with you one day.  

It never did work out for you two, but you’d finally managed to have a wet dream.  This one, though, was about Sebastian.

In your dream he had cornered you in the kitchen, kissing you deeply before tossing you onto the table and— well, the rest doesn’t bear repeating.  It was all very ‘discount bin romance novel’ wasn’t it?  The exotic, rugged farm boy roughly taking the formerly-prudish businesswoman in the middle of the house, too deep in the throes of passion to care if someone walking by saw them.

You didn’t find it all that sexy by the time you woke up; moreso just humorous.  That’s preposterous, you thought to yourself, nobody’s ever gonna love me like that.

It was something your husband had said to you once.  You couldn’t even remember what the context was anymore, but clearly it had had an impact on you to be repeating it internally now.  Just last week, Mrs. Alberti had gotten on your case for speaking poorly of yourself.  Clearly, the things you said about yourself to others were nothing against what you said about yourself to yourself.

Your papers had only taken a day to dry, but the ink was pretty severely smudged.  Knowing your publisher wouldn’t accept them in a manuscript, you resolved to retyping the most damaged ones— a good mindless task to do while you pondered your next steps plot-wise.  You’d seen Sebastian less for the past week, and it was no accident; you’d been avoiding him because you were trying to nip this in the bud before it got any worse.  Your divorce isn’t final yet, you need to heal.  This is fantasy, not reality.  You barely know each other.  Your divorce isn’t final.  Your divorce.  Isn’t.  Final.

That was the mantra you found yourself repeating as you retyped the waterlogged sheets; so much for the plot-pondering plan, eh?

You heard someone coming up the stairs, and you knew it was him because the steps were coming too quickly to be Mrs. Alberti.  “Come in,” you instructed before he’d even knocked.  

“Bună ziua,” he greeted as he opened the door, leaning inside.  “Am pregătit cina, ai vrea să mănânci?”

“Hm?” you asked as you turned around in your chair, adjusting your reading glasses.  However, his question became more obvious through context when you saw he had oven mitts and an apron on, and was holding a wooden spoon.  “Oh, um, I’ll be down for dinner in a minute.  Soon.”  You held up a few fingers, hoping he would successfully interpret them into minutes.

“Arăți bine în ochelarii aceia,” he motioned, pointing towards you.

“I’m sorry… what?” you asked, not sure at all what he could be talking about.

“Ochelari. Sunt drăguți,” he re-emphasized, but it was useless as you gave him another confused look.  He sighed, straightening up a bit as he began a new method: “Îmi plac,” he said, pointing to himself and then giving a thumbs up, “ochelarii tăi,” he pointed to you, and then made circles with his fingers and brought them up to his eyes.  

You laughed a little, but you were pretty sure you got what he meant.  “You like my glasses?” you clarified, reaching up to wiggle them on your face a bit.

“Da,” he grinned.  “Pari inteligent.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, and he nodded back as he shut the door and his footsteps faded back into the kitchen.

Once a few more pages had been redone, you gave your hair a quick combing before heading down for dinner with Sebastian.  It smelled a little strange by the time you went downstairs, but when you swung open the door to the kitchen, you were instantly hit with a wave of acidic air, forcing you to wince and cough.  Even that didn’t help much, and you forced your eyes shut as they stung.

“Jesus Christ,” you yelped, “the fuck are you cooking?  Tear gas?!”

“Oțetul te irită?” he asked, not sounding as concerned as you would’ve hoped considering your obvious pain.  It was like you could taste it in the air, and it wasn’t until you managed to open your burning eyes again that you realized what it was: vinegar, in a huge jug right next to the pot he was boiling it in.

“You’re boiling vinegar?” you realized incredulously.  “God, Europeans are fucking weird.”

He just looked back at you with bewildered bemusement.

“In America,” you tried to explain, “we don’t eat vinegar.  We clean our floors with it.”  You pointed to the jug and made a motion meant to indicate scrubbing a surface, and he laughed a little.

“Americanii sunt prea sensibili,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning back to the stove to stir his pot of disinfectant which he apparently planned to serve you as a meal.  “Am avut ciorbă de oțet de când eram copil.”

You’d typically considered yourself an adventurous eater— even with vinegar-pickled things, like kim chi which you’d learned to acquire a taste for— but this one put you to the test.  Considering the smell alone had singed your sinuses, you were nervous what would become of your innocent tastebuds.  But after he served the soup (a dark orange color, so apparently it wasn’t just the boiled vinegar) into a bowl for you and another for himself, you found the taste of it oddly pleasant when you sipped it gently from your hesitant little spoon.

“Vezi, nu e așa de rău,” he smiled gently as he watched you fail to recoil in disgust from the flavor.

“Just like ma used to make, huh?” you chuckled as he ate the soup with incredible speed, even going as far as to lift the bowl to his lips and drink the last few sips that way.

Eating dinner in silence with him was unexpectedly comfortable.  “You wanna know something funny?” you found yourself mumbling aloud.  “I enjoy talking to you more than anyone I ever did back home, and you can’t even understand me.”

His smile softened as he stared back at you, apparently sensing the change in your tone as you spoke.

“See, right there, that’s it: you’re listening to me.  You know it’s useless, you know you won’t be able to tell what I’m talking about, but you’re listening anyways.  Over two billion English speakers on the planet and none of them have listened to me like you do.”

Then you heard yourself, and it was so heart-breaking that you had no choice but to laugh.  It was just a chuckle at first, but then you couldn’t stop it, even when you realized how confused Sebastian would be.  Everything is funnier when you know you shouldn’t laugh, and soon you could barely breathe as tears warmed your eyes from the force of it.

“I’m sorry,” you tried to spit out between your fits of laughter, but it was barely comprehensible anyways.  Sebastian began to laugh with you, if hesitantly and with a hint of confusion.

“De ce râdem?” he asked gently.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, calming down a bit, “I’m sorry I just… I was just imagining what my husband would say, if he knew I was here…” you trailed off as you laughed again, starting over.  “If he knew I was here, falling for someone I’ve never even spoken with.”  You shook your head, resting your face in your hands as you chuckled lightly.  “Oh, he’d hate this.  He’d tell me I was out of my mind.”

With a slow sigh, your laughter subsided as you wiped the wetness from your eyes.  

“He’d be right, but… I don’t really care,” you decided.  “He’s not here.  If he wanted to find me, he would.  And maybe it’s because he’d hate this that I’m having so much goddamn fun doing it.”

When you looked at Sebastian again, his face was serious, yet anything but stern.  Suddenly, you weren’t thinking about your husband anymore.  Of course you logically understood how odd this all was, how impossible it was for you to be slowly finding yourself in love with someone like him, but it felt right, and true, and real.  It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense in every way that mattered.  

“I’ll help you clean,” you offered as you stood up, realizing you’d gotten lost in your train of thought and probably stared at him for a bit too long.  He stood up with you, helping you gather the used dishes and letting you wash them in the sink while he put the remaining soup in the refrigerator as leftovers for another time.  “I’ll cook for you tomorrow,” you promised, “something real bland, like the English cook.”

“Sper că nu intenționați să gătiți pentru mine cândva, nu suport mâncarea occidentală,” he mumbled as he continued to wipe down the countertop with a damp towel.

With the kitchen clean, you knew you should get back to writing your book, but you were compelled instead to read somebody else’s— so, as you slipped onto the couch with one of a few of your favorites that you’d brought with you, Sebastian summoned the same copy of Dracula you’d seen him reading a few times and took the loveseat.  Not much else happened after that, save for you shivering from a draft and him tossing a throw blanket on you.  

“Ce carte citești?” he asked you eventually, breaking the silence.  When you looked up, he was pointing at your book.  “Book?”

“Right,” you laughed, “I taught you that.  My book, uh, it’s good.”  You closed it, leaving your finger inside to mark your place as you showed him the front cover.  “On the Road?  Ever heard of it?”

He just cocked his head to the side.

“Jack Kerouac?” you continued.  “It’s about going on a long journey in search of… freedom.”

“Acesta este cel despre zombi?” he asked.

“Sure,” you nodded, wishing more than ever that you could know what he was saying.  He smiled and got back to his own reading.  Indulging yourself for a moment, you watched his face as it fell into a neutral expression while he read, his eyes trailing along the page as he continued to read.  You didn’t realize it, but when you returned to reading your own book, he got his chance to look at you.

A long day of writing meant you had more than earned an evening to relax by the fire; late summer became early fall, and early fall turned into the need for a fireplace so much faster than you’d anticipated.  The days were temperate, sure, but as the sun began to sink lower, so did the warmth.  You started your evening with a hot shower, though you didn’t let yourself get too greedy with the limited supply of hot water, knowing Sebastian relied on the same supply for his own baths.  When you finished, you dressed yourself in a fluffy lavender robe, feeling especially pampered when you put on a little moisturizer before heading downstairs to cozy up with the fire.  You were already getting chilly, the heat from the shower fading as your wet hair and bare feet cooled you quickly.  Therefore, it was more of a scurry to the fireplace, which you hadn’t expected Sebastian to be tending or you wouldn’t have come down in a robe.  He’d seen you in less (namely, his shirt and nothing else, which was horrifically embarrassing) but something about this felt more intimate, like all your defenses had been washed away in the shower, too.  Didn’t help that he was shirtless, again.  Wasn’t he cold in this weather?!  Must be all that muscle keeping him warm.

“Bună seara,” he greeted.

“Good evening,” you returned.  Stepping closer, you rubbed your hands together as you felt the hot air radiate towards you.  “It’s nice,” you sighed contentedly.

He smiled back at you, moving the logs slightly with the iron poker.  Sparks jumped and fell off as he shifted them, joining the ashes below— you’d always thought fire was so beautiful, even if it was dangerous, and you took in a long breath through your nose to smell the tinge of smokiness in the air.

“Te încălzești?” he asked quietly as he set the poker aside and stood beside you.  You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing through the fabric of the robe to try to warm up a little faster.  Seeing you shiver, he reached out and rubbed your arms for you, which made you tense up slightly before relaxing and breathing out.  “Mai bine?”

You nodded a little, your gaze drifting slightly.  

“Warm?” he asked, making your eyes jump back up to his.  You swallowed dryly as he looked back at you.

“Warm,” you repeated, “yeah.  Good job… when’d you learn that?”

He didn’t answer, watching your hands as they reached out for his arms, finally making delicate contact with his tanned skin before drifting up to his biceps, his shoulders, and finally his chest.  He put his own hands on top of yours and held them there, looking back at you as your heart started to beat rapidly and with no signs of slowing down.  “Warm,” he repeated, only slightly above a whisper.

“Oh yeah,” you agreed hoarsely, “very, very warm…”

He smiled a little; it wasn’t mischievous, it wasn’t conniving or predatory or malicious.  It was subtle but gentle in a way you had absolutely no plan to save yourself from, no protection, no armor, no neutral territory.  There was only heat, so strong that your toes weren’t cold anymore and you didn’t even remember that your hair was still damp.  Not only did you let his heat consume you, but you didn’t even think to stop it, to swallow your desire down, to run away and say goodnight and hide in bed from the icky scary feelings.  No, you looked right back at him and let those eyes pierce right through you, that cold blue changed entirely with the warm firelight reflecting in them.  

“Do you want to come to my room?” you asked slowly.  The words were useless, but a glance back to the stairs that led to your door and back at him asked the same question with much more efficacy.  

He nodded, and you stepped backwards as he followed you: across the house, up the stairs, and to your room.  You opened the door.  He shut it behind you. 

[joshslater]

Breeder

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon. (Repost without the photo from another tumblr post)

I can’t remember the last time I came that much. Pump after pump of cum up his ass, and as I pulled out, one final squirt between his butt cheeks just to make more of an impression. I looked at his tight, pink T-shirt, his tight, leaking asshole, his smooth, slim legs, and his white calf-high Nike socks. “Fuck, I needed this so badly,” I exhaled and threw myself down on the bed next to him. It was my fault he was almost fully dressed, just barely out of his shorts. When we entered his apartment my juices were almost spilling over. We just kicked off our shoes and I started to grope him while we quickly moved to his bedroom. It had been such a stressful couple of weeks with tons of extra hours. Every day I felt drained of all energy the moment I stepped back into my apartment and hadn’t even had the energy to masturbate since… I don’t even remember. A month? More?

“I could tell,” he said, turning his head sideways looking at me. He was cute, even now that post ejaculation clarity had set in. My eyes had landed on him almost immediately once inside the bar. The radiant blue adidas baseball cap that we wore backward on top of his dirty blonde, shaggy hair and boyish face pulled me in. He was thin, so for him to have such tight clothes he probably shopped in the kids’ section. Just what I was looking for. A tiny twink I could just manhandle and drive hard. Kind of made me feel bad now for how one-sided that fuck must have been.

“I’m… It’s just with everything I haven’t been around much lately.” “Hey, don’t worry about it. We got plenty of time, if you want.”

He was still wearing the backward baseball cap as he lied on his front, looking at me with intense eyes. He wasn’t cute. He was gorgeous. Had I spent more time looking at his face than his butt walking to his place and his back being here I would have noticed earlier, but my dick had made all the decisions up until now. God, he must still be leaking cum into his bed given the size of the load I dumped in him. I wanted to tell him, to help him clean up.

He was biting his lip, still piercing me with his look. “Have you ever played puppy?” That came as a surprise. I’ve never understood that kink, and not just because I always top. I know some tops enjoy barking orders to a pup, or even dress up as an alpha dog, but it’s never been a thing I’ve understood nor at all considered.

“Can’t say that I have.” “Wanna try?”

He propped himself up on his arms, knuckles under his chin, elbows into the mattress. He was back to looking sweet and cute. I felt like I kind of owed him, but it’s not like I was doing him a favor either. Worst case it was nothing interesting and I could check another thing off the list.

“Sure, why not.” “Yass. I’ll get the things.”

He jumped out of bed and hurried out of the bedroom. If it wasn’t for the age check at the bar I wouldn’t have guessed him to be over 17. I assume he has a lot of creams in his bathroom and a strict diet. But then I would never miss a day at the gym. Different things are important to different people. “Take off your clothes” he shouts from another room somewhere. I slowly got up, and couldn’t help to look at the wet spot on the bed sheet where his ass had been.

I took off my jeans, my socks, my watch, and my shirt. I was just about to step out of my jockstrap when came back into the bedroom. “Keep that on for now.” I did as he said. This was his scene to direct. “Put these on.” He handed me a pair of leather wrist cuffs. Up until now it wasn’t clear who would play what role, though I had kind of assumed I would play the dog. Was I the dog? Would he also be a dog? I was kind of liking the uncertainty. The leather cuffs were high quality, and about as easy to secure as you could hope for when doing it on yourself. “And these,” he said as he gave me a pair of thigh straps, also leather. They were easy to secure, though I had no idea where this was going. He was rummaging in one of the drawers for something, and finally found a bottle of what I assumed to be lube. He proceeded to squeeze out a generous amount on the butt plug part of a tail plug. I’ve never seen one in person before. The plug part wasn’t that big, but the tail was huge.

“Now, get on all four.” I dropped down onto the floor. I was actually a bit anxious about this. I’m not an anal virgin, but I haven’t done a lot. I don’t even own a dildo myself. He walked behind me and I braced for impact, but he put the plug on a table and picked up something else. He crouched next to me and attached the wrist cuff with the thigh strap using a short chain with two metal clasps. Then he did the same on the other side. I wasn’t really sure what the purpose of the chains was. It would make moving around a bit awkward, but not stopping me from standing up or anything. He then positioned himself behind me and stuck a lubed finger up my ass and begun to wiggle it. “Not used to this, I feel.” He was damn right, but I was determined to take it like a man. He removed his finger and picked up the butt plug

I could feel him press the plug gently against my asshole, probing it lightly, only to then make a surprise, hard push and shove it all in at once. As soon as the sphincter grabbed it and pushed it into place I knew something was wrong. A shudder went like a wave through the body, and I yelped like a hurt puppy, surprising myself. I tried to cover my mouth as a reflex, but my armed yanked my leg, tripped myself despite already being on all four, and face planted on the carpet. “What the fuck!” I wanted to say, but what came out was an inarticulate “Whaaaff”. Getting real scared now I got up on all four again and frantically struggled to stand up, but somehow the body wouldn’t comply. It was like I couldn’t really grasp how to do it. I realized I was whimpering when he began to stroke me, petting my head like the back of a dog. “There, there. Calm down. There is nothing you can do about it now.”

He stood up and stepped away, while I was trying to figure out what was going on. I took a  step forward using my right arm and leg. That worked. I took another step with my left arm and leg. My mind was a whirlwind like I couldn’t focus on anything. I wanted to stand up, but how could you stand up if you are already standing? I let out an “Aooo” of frustration. He was back by my side again with something in his hands. What was his name? Did he ever even tell me his name? “Here, this should make you calmer” He stroked the back of my head a few times, and as much as I hated it, it was soothing. I then felt something cold. He was putting a chain around my neck, and then clasped a leash to it. I don’t know why, but suddenly the noise in my head went silent.

“Good boy!” He stroked my head again. “Let’s go to the door and clean up your mess. Heel!” We started walking out of his bedroom and down his short hallway toward the door.  My shoes laid randomly dropped on the floor, and a third shoe. It was one of his. A bright blue Nike air max shoe. The other one was neatly placed next to a row of other shoes. “Did you do that?” he asked and pointed at his shoe. “Bad puppy! Get it.” I raced ahead and bit into the heel of the shoe. It was still warm and smelled of his foot. It wasn’t that cheesy smell of reused socks or the sour note of workout sweat, but a light, earthy smell of everyday feet. Almost a bit like hay. “You like that?” I realized I was breathing in heavily with my nose in his sneaker, biting the ankle collar. I froze. I felt shame. Like I was doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

“Haha, it’s OK,” he said, and ruffled my hair. He proceeded to grab the other two shoes while I placed his sneaker on the floor and tried to dig my face into the opening. I didn’t get very far, but I manage to lick the inside bottom of the shoe. As it turned moist it released more fragrance. I could imagine him out on the streets, sweating during a hot day. Perhaps dashing to catch a ride. It wasn’t a pungent smell, but it was virile. It was the smell of someone with stamina. Then he stole it from me. “Hey, we have more cleanup to do.” I whined as he placed his shoe next to his other one.

Then he dropped on all four too and displayed his ass for me. “You left a mess here.” He didn’t have to say more as I attacked his butt cheeks with my tongue to clean them from my drying cum. It didn’t take many licks to clean him up around the butt hole. I then proceeded to lick the butt and to try to get my tongue as far up his ass as I could. While the taste was all mine, I kept breathing in his scent. It wasn’t at all as rewarding as the shoe. He was clean, had a citrus and cedar tree cologne, and hadn’t sweated much during our brief sex. I wished I would have worked him up harder. I know I could have made him exhausted from pleasure if I wanted to. He must have been squeezing now because my cum just kept coming out of him.

Abruptly he got up, mid lick. “Aw, you’re so hungry. Puppy needs food,” he said and walked into his small kitchen. I followed as fast I could. He opened the fridge and pulled out a few Tupperware containers, and dumped the contents into a dog bowl. He placed it on the floor. Brown rice, salmon, and broccoli. “There. Eat it all up. Puppy must stay strong for daddy.” I dove headfirst into the bowl and started to munch down the bowl of fridge-cold diet food. I realized I was starving and somehow this bland mush felt really satisfying. I started at a ferocious pace, but as I got down to the last quarter I was beginning to feel full. While grateful for the food, how could daddy know how much I could eat. Daddy? What was this nonsense? He’s a fuck I don’t even know the name of I picked up at a bar to breed. I was the top dog here, the alpha. This had to stop. I should stand up, take my stuff, and go. But I couldn’t stand up. I was already standing up. In frustration I howled.

He came back into the kitchen. I hadn’t even noticed him gone. He was wearing shorts again, but a different kind. Grey sweatpant shorts. He quickly sat himself down on the floor next to me, with crossed legs. He grabbed me and gently but firmly tipped me over so my head fell into his lap. “Puppy having a bad dream?” he asked. He didn’t sound mocking or sarcastic. His hand was stroking me on the side. I whimpered into his sweatpants. I could smell him again, the scent of a viril young man. I borrowed my head into his crouch and breathed heavily. I could smell his dick. Citrus, cedar, and precum. I began to lick the cotton fabric. “Good boy. Good boy.” I did nothing to his dick, but I could feel mine swelling in the jockstrap.

He gently pushed me away from him, got up, and filled another bowl with tap water. He placed it next to the first bowl. Then he held out one hand in front of me. I had to get up on all four from my lying position to see what was in it. Two white pills, one small and round and one larger and longer.  "Here, take these. They will make you stronger and better.“ I sniffed but all I got was his scent. I licked up both pills in one go and plunged my head into the water bowl to get some water to swallow them with.

He got down on the floor with me again, and started to remove the wrist cuffs and thigh straps, all while stroking me on my back. "I don’t think we need these anymore,” he said. I had no idea what he meant. I was just happy he was touching me. My dick was happy too.

“Come, let’s make you ready for the night,” he said, got up and left the kitchen. I got up on all four and did my best to catch up with him. He walked to his bathroom and opened the door. I rushed to get in before him. “Hey, hey,” he lovingly scolded me. He turned on the light and revealed a large bathroom. Shower, bathtub, washing machine, lots of bottles of shampoo and jars with creams, and a large dog cage. “Sit,” he commanded.

I immediately sat down, pushing the tail plug in a bit. I felt a wave, like a shudder going from the ass through the body. He was looking through the large cupboard. “Ah,” he said and pulled out a small jar. He put on a disposable latex glove, and kneeled in front of my. “Let’s take care of that for you,” he said and freed my dick and balls from the jockstrap. He then dipped a few fingers in the jar and begun to massage some ointment all over my dick and balls. I didn’t recognize the faint smell. I could feel my private parts getting warmer, but if that was the salve or just him rubbing me I couldn’t tell. Then he put everything back into the jockstrap. “Let’s marinate that for a while and tomorrow you will last hours.” I didn’t understand him.

Then he went to the cage and opened it. I could see that the floor of the cage was filled with clothes. T-shirts, sweatshirts, shorts, trunks, socks. It all looked like gym clothes, or at last lazy day attire. “Come here, get in your cage.” There was a small part of me that wanted to hesitate, so I didn’t run in but deliberately walked. I could feel my dick and balls heating up as they fully erect rubbed within my jockstrap. As I got close and closer to the cage I could smell it. It somehow made me excited and I sped up my stride the last few steps into the cage. It was just filled with different scents of him. Not citrus or cedar, but him. Socks he had been running in. A T-shirt he had slept in. A pair of sweatpants that had been through a lot. I just kept moving my head all around the cage. In indecision I just laid down and started to wiggle and rub against everything.

He closed and latched the cage door. “Good night, puppy. Dream about fucking me.” He didn’t need to tell me that.

[bigyeshsamurai]

An Avid Foodie’s Guide To Night City

/ / Incoming Transmission / /

< / PART 2: A Hungry South Indian’s Guide to Night City>   

Good day to you beautiful folks in Night City! if you are like me; a disgruntled, hungry, often sad foodie who came to Night City with the hopes of making it Big then this article is for you! That’s right! because you can never hope to conquer the streets of night city on an empty stomach ( assuming you do have one..) . and I'm not talking about Kibble or those nasty Prepacks from All Foods or Synth food that makes you stomach CHURN ( God! I hate the Eezy Beef! ). I'm talking bout fresh food folks (that ought to get your attention!) , what most people may not know is that Fresh food ain't just the luxury of the Elite or the filthy rich. You common sheep too can get to savor the flavors of fresh food in the Streets and beyond that is if you know where to look and only if you have the right connections. ( You guys can thank me later! ). So here is a full day of my eating escapades in Night City.

A brief note on Indian food. Indian Cuisine has a multitude of flavors but  Indians really do like spicy food and most dishes here have a spicy undertone. But there is no dearth of sweet food here. Indian cuisine is a melting pot of varied cultures and that just makes it worthy to be in the market stalls of Night City as well; Spicy, Feisty, sometimes sweet but it  always makes you want to have more! 

1. 8:00 AM < // Wake The F**k Up Samurai! // >

Wake up early and head downtown. There is a very successful little store by the name of Ambrosia. Head over there for the best Kibble you'll ever have in your life time. Now you may thinking “What Kibble? That bland, grainy, dry stuff ? ” Well yes. You see, my friend Laila who runs Ambrosia has cracked the code for making Kibble taste great. The secret? Just add delectable Indian Spice Mix to them but the rest of the process though is pretty much as closed lipped as Arasaka Tower. But who cares? If you want the most nutritious, soft, aromatic and tastiest breakfast yet, give it a go. Truly it is a feast worthy for gods.  

 2. 11:00 AM < // Time For some snacks // >

Well it’s Almost Mid-day and I already feel hungry so I head to Pacifica. I have a good frenemy named Josh there that sells these amazing one of a kind banana chips form South India. The perfect combination of crusty texture, crispy feels, yellowish glow and the glory that is fried food. The Indomitable Fried banana chips. These are available for a very hefty price in the American markets but because you know me and Josh you may get it at a discount. It also comes in a nifty protective package for eating on the go. Just don’t take Jobs from Josh. There is a reason why we are frenemies.    

 3. 2: 00 PM (Nearby Pacifica) < / A drink for every occasion / >

A Merc in Night City can’t function on an empty stomach or low energy levels. Luckily for us, my brothas from the Animals have a solution for that. They have got a great cocktail of muscle building boosters, fresh strawberries, Lime, bananas and vodka, perfect for keeping those gains on the road or while fighting the bad guys. Where do they get these strawberries and Bananas from? Well lets just say they are not just pumped up freaks and they do know a bit about greenhouses too. It is possible to be barely natty in Night City too.  I present thee the drink dubbed “ Strawberry Pump Haze 3XT ”. 

5.  6: 00 PM < // Some more snacks by the Pier // >

In the bustling markets of the piers you will find a small, and very shanty looking store by the name of Singh’s Chow. At first glace it may not be much but in actuality it is a very successful smuggling front for premium Indian Spices. If you are an immigrant Indian like me this is the go to place if you want to bathe in the nosh-talgia of home. [ This was pretty difficult to find but I have my sources ] . Although be warned, they do not take kindly to strangers meddling in their business so it will be good to establish a rapport with them or have an Indian friend recommend you as a customer. It is home to the only place where you’ll find an Indian take on a dumpling or pierogi. It is a sweet dish made with wheat with fillings of coconut, brown sugar and a whole lot of goodness. 

4.  9:00 PM < // To The Afterlife Choombas! // >

Now after a long day of eating, evading the Police, Gangsters and doing Merc jobs it is best to head to the Afterlife to wind down (Albeit with a gun in hand though). For The Men among Boys do yourself a favor and get the Club  Exclusive Johnny Silverhand. Waft in its glory, Get High and Get Moving for we always have some barbeque, steaks and Parottas to burn. 

5. 11:00 PM  < // Somewhere in the Badlands // >

Now because it is the weekend and I have got nothing better to do, I head out to the badlands. A few months ago I had to Win a death race in my pursuit of exploring the tastes of Night City or its Peripheries. Fast forward a month I am now thick friends with a tight knit nomad group that mainly consists of immigrants from India (Name classified). The Fourth Corporate War was not kind to their livelihood and they were forced to settle in the Badlands taking up illegal smuggling from India to the United States and vice-versa. Now these guys are the real deal. they can get access to a lot of Livestock. Don't know how they get it though. Today I was invited to a weekly community barbeques and I offered my services to cook them a proper Indian dish; The Chicken Biriyani . they just had to get the ingredients. Trust me when I say “ Trust the Nomads”  cos they can get any ingredient you want! So here I was preparing the dish in the open flame. Basking under the Night Sky with a few friends I had made along the way. A perfect ending to a perfect day.

< // Tune in Next Time for news on the best chows and drinks in Night City. Next up is a special mystery edition //>

Until then this is Avid Foodie chippin' out !

P.S : 

These dishes are traditionally found in many South Indian homes, and as South Indians can be found almost anywhere around the world (This is a standing joke among us). I thought that maybe Night City too would have its own share of South Indian people. Now the Dishes in their traditional names are given below: 

1. The grainy looking stuff: Its famously known as the Poha 

2. Banana Chips are famously known as Malabar chips. 

3. The Rice with Chicken : Biriyani (This tends to have a lot of variants from place to place)

4. The bite sized dumpling: Unniyappam

I genuinely think that dishes have proved their mettle to be in the market stalls of Night City. 

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Three

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry. (Fluff and slight smut? If you squint? )

Part One Part Two

You woke up at eight-thirty so you could shower and get yourself ready for the day. You blow dried your hair and threw some curls in at the ends. You put on some light makeup, and then rummaged through your closest for something cute, but casual to wear for brunch. You decide on a pair of light, high wasted jeans and a black shirt to tuck into them. You grab your white toms and slip them on. Five after ten Harry texts you letting you know he’s downstairs.

He’s standing outside his car. He has a beanie on over his gorgeous hair, a few curls peeking through. Today he has a white t-shirt on with dark blue jeans. He looked heavenly. You could see more of his tattoos peeking through the white fabric. In the light of day you could tell he really did have a lot. Eagerly, you wrap your arms around his neck to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a squeeze before letting you go.

“G’morning.” He smiles.

“Morning.” He opens the door for you, closes it, and gets in himself. “So, where are we going for brunch?”

“It’s called Rick’s, it’s really good. I like it because it actually has things I can eat.” He laughs. He starts driving towards the restaurant.

“What can a vegan eat for breakfast? I still eat eggs and stuff.”

“Typically, I’ll go for some fruit, potatoes, maybe even a slice of toast. I also eat beans.”

“That sounds good.”

“On any given day though I usually just make a smoothie.”

“I usually do a smoothie too.”

You pull up to the restaurant. He opens your door for you. He’s such a gentleman. When you enter he takes his beanie off and shakes his hair out. Respectful of the establishment too. It’s a seat yourself kind of place, so you find a booth in the back, and sit down.

A waiter comes over and pours you both some coffee and water, and tells you he’ll be back. You both look over the menu. You agree to split a bowl of fruit. You opt for some oatmeal. You don’t like how greasy omelets tend to be at place likes this. Harry orders beans on gluten-free toast. Your food is brought out pretty quickly. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took your first bite of oatmeal.

“Mm, this is perfectly made.”

“Oh good, I’m glad.” He smiles taking a spoon full beans. “So…”

“So?”

“After this I’ll take you to get your car. I’m sure you have things you need to do today, but I was wondering if you had plans tonight?”

“Just had a date with my TV, but I can cancel.” You laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to come to my place. I’d like to cook for you.” Your jaw nearly drops.

“You cook?”

“Sure do. I worked in a bakery as a teenager back in the U.K.”

“Oh, cool. I’d love to do that. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” He winks.

“No really, I hate showing up empty handed.”

“How about you bring a dessert?”

“What can a vegan eat for dessert?”

“Dark chocolate, fruit?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Perfect.”

You both continue to eat. He puts his beanie back on when you get outside. He drives you to your car at Pinz. He gets out to let you out.

“You don’t have to keep doing that.” You say, taking his hand to help you out.

“Sure I do, how would I get a proper hug goodbye in?” He says with a smirk on his face. He wraps his arms around you, and you reciprocate.

“Thank you again for breakfast.” You say into his ear, and give him a nice kiss on the cheek.

“You’re more than welcome.” He says looking at you. His lips press to yours, and you happily kiss him back. This time he breaks the kiss first. “Right, well we could be like this all day, so, um, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yup, what time?” You ask getting into your car.

“Seven?”

“Works for me.”

You stop by the store on your way home. You grab some melting chocolate and some strawberries. When you get home you melt the chocolate and dip the strawberries in it, and pop them in the freezer. You also grabbed some red wine that would taste good with such a dessert. You take the remainder of the day to tidy up, work on some emails, and catch up on a TV show you were desperate to watch on Netflix.

Around five-thirty, you go into your room to look for something to wear. You wanted to look nice, so you decide on a dress. You pull out your navy blue dress that had the buttons down the front. The straps were thick, and it flowed around you down to the midpoint of your thighs. You put on a jean jacket, and slipped your white toms on. Harry texted you his address, and out the door you went with your dessert and wine.

You got to his place promptly at seven. He buzzed you in, and up you went. The door was opened a crack for you. You walked in and closed it behind you.

“Harry?”

“Over here, love.”

He had his back turned to you, as he was just straining some pasta in the sink. He had an apron tied around his waist. He had put a long sleeve button down shirt on, it was blue, not navy though, baby blue. He changed into an unripped pair of black jeans. When he turns around to look at you he rushes over to kiss you on the cheek and take the items out of your full arms.

“That can go in the freezer.” You say pointing to the strawberries. You take your jacket off, and scan his studio apartment.

He had it set up perfectly. The bed was at one end, up against the wall, but still room for someone to walk on both sides of it. In front of the bed was a couch, and in front of that was a coffee table, and a TV mounted to the wall. He had a bureau adjacent to the bed. There was a full bath down a hall way. Opposite the bedroom/living area was a pretty decent sized kitchen. He had a small cart that he used as an island. There was a table that fit four chairs around it. He had camera bags and a giant iMac and desk in the corner next to his bed. He clearly worked at home quite a bit.

“Harry, your place is lovely.” You say walking over to him.

“Thank you. You look beautiful by the way.” You kiss him on the cheek.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“I made black bean pasta, and roasted some vegetables. I’m just making up the plates now.”

“It smells delicious.”

“Please, have a seat. I can open this wine up.”

“The wine will taste better with dessert.” You say sitting down at the table. He had lit two candles and you feel yourself melt a little. He’s romantic.

“Alright, I have some other wine that will go with this particular dish anyways.”

He brings a plate over to you. You notice he had drizzled some olive oil on top. It looked like something someone could get at a restaurant. He sits down adjacent to you, instead of across, much more intimate.

“This looks amazing, Harry, thank you.”

“Of course, I was happy to do it.” He takes out his phone, and you see him go into the Spotify app. He puts on some light music. You smile at him as you take a bite. You can’t help but moan at how delicious the food it.

“This is delicious!”

“I’m so glad you like it. Sometimes that pasta can be bland.” You love the way he says pasta. It sounds so different from the way you say it.

“S’not bland at all. Lots of flavor. And I love what you put on these veggies. Is that paprika?”

“Yes, and a little chili powder. I didn’t want to use too much because I didn’t know if you liked hot food.”

“Love it, I love spicy food. Hot wings used to be my favorite thing when I used to eat meat. Now I do buffalo cauliflower.”

“You make it yourself?”

“Yup.”

“I’d love to try that sometime.”

“Maybe next weekend I could make it for you.”

“You’d make me wait an entire week?” He asks playfully, shoveling some food into his mouth.

“Wednesday is usually my rest day from the gym, if that works for you.”

“Wednesday it is.” He smiles.

You couldn’t believe how often he already wanted to see you. Your second and third date, now technically fourth, were back to back. It was nice to feel wanted for a change. After you two finish eating, Harry insisted he didn’t want you to help clean up, but you insisted you did because he cooked. You decided on you wash, him dry.

“Care to have dessert over by the sofa?”

“Sure.”

You pad over to the couch, and sit down, crossing your legs at the ankle. You hear Harry pop the cork to the wine you brought. You watch as he takes the chocolate covered strawberries, and puts them on a serving plate. He brings two glasses, the wine, and the dessert over. He pours you each a glass of wine.

“Did you make these?” He asks, pointing to the strawberries.

“Sure did.” You take a sip of the sweet wine. “Here.” You pick one up and hold it in front of his mouth. You expect him to take it from you, but instead he just takes a bite. You feel goosebumps raise on your body. He licks his lips after and takes a sip of the wine.

“You were right, this wine is perfect for dessert. That’s a juicy strawberry.” He picks one up and smiles at you, gesturing for you to do the same as him. You nervously lean forward and take a small bite. The chocolate shell cracks off, and falls onto your dress.

“Oh, shit.” You pick it off and place it onto the napkins on the coffee table. “I guess I could’ve done that more gracefully.” You laugh.

“It’s easier if you bite up here.” He shows you where, eating the rest of the strawberry you just bit into. “Here, try again.” He holds up another for you, and you bite where he showed you, this time not making a mess. “Perfectly executed.” You both laugh.

You guzzle down two glasses of wine like it’s nothing. He does the same, but seems less intoxicated than you. The majority of the strawberries have been eaten. You can’t help but stare at the tattoo on his wrist. It’s an anchor, you reach of his hand and trace over it with your index finger.

“Can I look at the others? The ones on your arms?”

“Sure.” He shrugs his shoulders, stands up, and unbuttons his shirt. He reveals a white t-shirt, and places his button down on the bed. He sits back down and lets you examine him. “Some of them have meaning, and others were just for fun. Do you have any?”

“Oh, god no. Something Niall and I have in common, we’re afraid of needles.” You laugh.

“But your belly button is pierced.” He says raising an eyebrow at you. Your cheeks flush. “Sorry, I noticed it last night while we were playing one of the games.” He smiles nervously.

“It’s alright. Sometimes I forget it’s even there. I got it my first year at college. I got drunk with my friends, and I felt like rebelling against my parents, so I got the one piercing my mom told me I couldn’t have.”

“You’d think she would have told you not to get your nipples done or something.” He takes a sip of wine. Your eyes grow wide. “Sorry, does the word nipple bother you?” You feel your cheeks grow hot.

“Um, no. I just…” You look down at yourself. His eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open.

“Wait a second, so you won’t get a tattoo, but you’re telling me that not only do you have your naval pierced, but your nipples as well?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I need to hear this story.”

“It was my junior year of college, and all of my friends and I got them done together. I was afraid, I knew it would hurt way more than this.” You point to your stomach. “So we did a bunch of shots and went down to the parlor. The second one hurt worse since I knew what to expect after the first one.”

“Why was that something your friends all wanted to do?”

“Because not everyone was willing to get a tattoo. I think it was the permanence. Piercings can always be taken out. It was sort of childish. I couldn’t wear a bra for over a week, which is not easy to do when you’re, well, chesty, and they burned so bad. They weren’t infected or anything, it was just like this weird sting. Eventually I got used to it, and now I barely remember they’re there.” You laugh, pouring yourself a third glass of wine. You figure you can always uber home if you need to. You top off Harry’s glass. “Don’t tell Niall though, he only knows about the naval.”

“I promise you, I will not mention your nipples to him.” You both laugh. He scoots a little closer to you. “Anything else on your body you’d like to tell me about?”

“Nope, I think that’s it.”

You’re feeling bold, and want him even closer to you. You put your hand on his forearm and rub it lightly back and forth. He takes his other hand and tucks some hair behind your hair.

“Come here.” He says, gesturing to have you scoot closer. He puts his hand on your lower back, and you press your hands to chest. Similar to how you were last night at your place.

He leans in, brushing his nose with yours. You kiss him first, and he pulls you in closer. He leans back against the arm of the couch, and your crawl into his lap, putting your legs on either side of him. You finally part your lips for him. He’s slow at first, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. You let out a small moan at the motion. His tongue enters your mouth, and you lightly suck on it, causing him to moan into you. You feel him twitch beneath you. You’re practically hovering over him, but you still feel him shift. His hands move up your back, and pull you closer to his chest. Your hands go straight for his hair as he begins to plaster kisses to your jaw, and then to just under your earlobe. He nips and sucks at the skin.

“Oh, Jesus.” You whisper.

“Wrong name, love.” He says into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

You moan and press your hips down on to him. Not exactly grinding, but there’s no space between you anymore. Your hands tug at his hair as he bites down on the crook up your neck. It was sure to leave a bruise, but right now you didn’t care. Nothing some makeup up and a high enough shirt couldn’t cover up. He lifts his hips to press into you, and you roll on top of him. The vibration of his moan against your neck runs through your whole body. It makes your mind wander to where else his hot breath, nipping, and sucking would feel good. Your eyes burst open. You can’t think like that, not yet.

“Harry.” It comes out as a whimper, so keeps sucking on your neck, getting a good taste of you. You push back on his chest and grab his face in your hands. His pupils are fully blown, you imagine yours are as well. “I like what we’re doing, but our clothes have to stay on, all of them, okay?”

“Of course. Taking your dress off never even crossed my mind.” He smirks at you.

“Sure it didn’t.” You roll your eyes.

“In all seriousness, I want you to feel comfortable, so if I overstep, please don’t be afraid to tell me, okay? We can stop altogether now if you want.”

“I definitely don’t want that.” You kiss him quick. “I’m just not ready to, um…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He smiles. “I’m happy to just make out.”

Your shoulders lower in relief. You kiss him again, this time sticking your tongue in his mouth. They mold together perfectly. You can taste the chocolate and the wine, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t delectable. You could really smell his cologne too, it was intoxicating. You just wanted to berry your face in him. One of his hands slides down to the top of your ass, and gives it gentle squeeze. You lift up a little so he can get a better grip on you. He puts his other hand on your cheek, and laces his fingers in your hair. You moan into his mouth as he starts to suck on your tongue.

You desperately wish you could squeeze your legs together to relieve the pressure that’s been building. You’re certain your panties are soaked at this point. He’s so hard for you, and you want to grind against him to help him relieve his pressure, but you don’t. You know if you start this, you’ll need to finish it. He took a break from your mouth and kissed down to the top of your chest. You knew your skin had to be pink from the alcohol alone. You move to kiss down his neck. You wanted to nip and suck on him the way he did you.

“Oh, fuck.” He says breathless the minute your teeth pinch down on him. He pulls you as close as he possibly can to him. Desperate to feel your breasts against his chest. You start to roll your hips on him, moving back and forth. Your body needs the friction. He grabs your waist to halt your motions. You stop to look at him. His chest is heaving. “If you keep doing this, I’m going to come in my trousers, and I’d rather not make things awkward between us.” He gives you a half smile. You start giggling and rest your forehead on his shoulder. He giggles along with you.

“Guess we should probably cool it for the night then, yeah?”

“I guess that would be the smart choice. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but this couch has a pull out if you’d like to stay. I don’t want to send you in an uber home alone at this time of night, and I’m in no condition to drive.” What time is it anyways?

“That’s awfully sweet, but I’d rather go home. I don’t have a toothbrush or anything here.” You smile. “I know who I can call.”

You get off of Harry, careful not ogle at the strain in his pants. You find your phone and call Niall.

“He said he can be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

You help Harry clean up the dessert and wine glasses. He gives you some water, and you guzzle it down. You two start to kiss again, slowly but with need, when you’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

“That’ll be him.” Harry says. “Use your key, mate!” Niall keys in. You think it’s cute he has a key to his friend’s apartment. Even Niall doesn’t have a key to your place.

“Oi, lad, what did ya do to my friend? Get her so drunk she couldn’t get home?”

“Everything I did was from my own doing.” You slur, putting your jacket on. “Um, I guess I’ll have to come by tomorrow to get my car. I can just uber for that.”

“I can bring ya by here, (y/n).” Niall says. “Harry and I have plans tomorrow anyways.”

“Perfect.” You and Harry smile at each other. He puts his hands in his pockets and gives Niall a look.

“I’ll go wait in the hall so you two can say g’night.”

You pad over to Harry and give me a deep kiss. Something for him to think about. He gives you a light tap on your bottom.

“I had a great time tonight, thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for the amazing dessert.” He bites his bottom lip. “Good night.”

“Night.” You blow a kiss at him as you leave.

Thank god Niall was home, and sober. There’s no way you would’ve been able to get home tonight.

“So, I take it you had a nice night?” He asks, as he peels out of the parking lot.

“Mhm, he’s the best.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For sticking to your not moving too fast thing. Not many women can resist Harry.”

“Trust me, it’s not easy. I gladly would’ve fucked him tonight, but I know it would’ve been too soon.”

“You can do other stuff y’know? He’s a giver, you wouldn’t even have to actually have sex with him.”

“What do you mean he’s a giver?”

Niall holds a hand up and separates two fingers under his chin and makes a licking motion. You scoff and nudge his arm.

“You’re fowl.”

“I’m telling you. I’m sure some heavy petting would be okay to start. You don’t need to hop right on his dick. But you also don’t need to punish yourself.”

“That’s true, and I know I don’t. We’re seeing each other again Wednesday. I’ll see how I feel then.”

[timeagainreviews]

My Series 10 Rewatch: Knock Knock

Hello, my fantastic friends! I am sorry I have been so quiet. I got coronavirus in February and it really wiped out my energy. I am finally starting to bounce back and feel like leaving the house once more. This beautiful Scottish spring we’re having has definitely helped. I also lost my grandpa this week, so I've been all over the place, emotionally. Obviously, such a big pause in the middle of a series 10 rewatch is disruptive, so I would rather just dive back in if it's all the same. When last we were gathered, I was talking about "Thin Ice." Since then, the ice has thawed and I am now up to series 10 episode four- "Knock Knock," by one-time Doctor Who writer Mike Bartlett.

An aspect of Doctor Who which I love about Steven Moffat’s era is that the Doctor and his companions didn’t spend every waking moment of their lives together. Unlike companions of the past, who basically left behind their family lives to galavant across time and space, the companions of the Moffat era had home lives. Not only did this make for some humorous moments, such as the Doctor landing his TARDIS in Clara’s bedroom on date night, it also set up the characters for something of an actual life. "Knock Knock," uses this separation of worlds to establish one of its central themes- can you have a normal life with the Doctor? 

Being a poor student in London, Bill is forced to look for a flat with a group of people she only sort of knows. This is your typical group of students, eclectic and young. The biggest commonality they have is they can’t afford a place on their own. One of the ways in which this makes the episode suffer is that none of them has much chemistry together. However, it does enable Bartlett to explore deeper concepts, such as the fear of meeting new people. Our characters are forced to deal with a deadly situation with people who are basically strangers. 

The other commonality they have is Bill’s mate, Shireen. I got momentarily excited the first time I heard her name, but only because I thought it was going to be Rose’s best mate Shareen. Also, it would mean that Rose and Shareen had like a 10 year age difference, which would be weird. Shireen is a bubbly sort that seems gung-ho about everyone getting on. This doesn’t stop 90% of their interactions from being a total cringefest. Not one of these characters is particularly likeable. Pavel, the musician of the group, and the one character with maybe a bit of culture becomes a wall pretty early on, so it’s a bland time from there on out. But that’s getting a bit ahead of ourselves. 

After a montage of disappointing flats ("Oh my god, the toilet is is what room?") the gang stands defeated. But like a beacon of light, comes a glimmer of hope in the form of John, a man who clearly prowls the streets for groups of youths. The gang is willing to overlook the obvious stranger danger about John because he has something they need- a giant house at a reasonable price. It’s another one of those deeper concepts being explored here that I think Doctor Who does so well. The show operates well when it preys upon basic fears. In this case, it’s the fear of the creepy landlord. The fear that your home life may be dictated by a creepy man who carries a tuning fork and forbids you to enter certain parts of the house like it’s Beauty and the Beast. 

 Arriving as if to say "No, Bill, you can’t have a normal life," is the Doctor. After using his TARDIS to move her belongings, Bill is quick to send him off. She even foregoes the traditional six-pack of beer and pizza, the universal payment for friends helping one move house. Of course, the moment the Doctor enters the derelict abode, his Time Lord senses are pinging. The Doctor isn't just an embarrassing "grandfather," type, but also a threat to any semblance of a normal life Bill can hope to have. As I said, this is familiar territory in the Moffat era. A funny side effect of the Doctor's attempts at allowing his companions to live normal lives is it only adds to the sharp contrast between both existences. Perhaps this is immersion therapy on the Doctor's behalf. Letting his friend remember what the world is actually like so as to not disassociate her from her own time and place. Or perhaps it is the Doctor softening the blow of eventually losing his friend.

The Doctor leaves long enough for two things to happen. Firstly, Pavel is listening to some music and suddenly is eaten by the house. Nobody seems to notice. Secondly, the new housemates have a bit of a games night for their first night at 11 Cardinal Road. There's no cellphone reception and the house is nowhere near up to code. I applaud them for trying to build up these characters, but it never really gels. Their merriment is cut short after hearing a noise in the kitchen. Scooby-Doo style, Bill leads them to the pantry where she finds the Doctor never actually left. They decide to head to bed, but the Doctor decides he's going to stay up with Felicity and Harry and listen to music. He also reminds Bill to maybe check on Pavel who has not been seen all day.

Now back in the sitting room, the gang is surprised to find John present. He addresses their problems with the amenities and waxes strange about having a daughter to look after. The Doctor asks John who the Prime Minister is, but he is unable to answer. Before they can ask more questions, John disappears down the hallway, but not before sounding his tuning fork against the wood. On her way to bed, Bill has the most cringe conversation with her new housemate, Paul. Paul fancies Bill. Bill fancies girls. I get that they may have wanted a scene where Bill flat out says to the audience that she's gay, but Paul comes off as super creepy. I wouldn't have an issue with this, but I feel like we're meant to find Paul endearing. It's hard for me to place what exactly they were going for in this scene. Paul, mate, you just met her. You just moved in together. Maybe let the paint dry first.

Luckily, like a shot from the dark, the plot saves us from having to stand in the hallway of awkwardness. Paul, having gone to his room, screams. Thinking he's having a laugh, Bill and Shireen go knocking on his door, only to find the return knock sounding across the hallway wall. The house begins to creak and shudder while doors slam shut. It's like something from a haunted house movie. In many ways, it follows a familiar trope from Doctor Who. The house haunted by aliens. We've seen it in "Ghost Light," "Hide," or even Edward Grove from "The Chimes of Midnight." Though I would argue that here, there is less grist for the mill. "Knock Knock," is a more stripped back, simple story. And in that way, I find it begins to lose me as the mystery unravels. 

As the housemates run through the house, trying to escape whatever is happening, they find Pavel in a state of flux. Something about the music on his record player skipping has kept him from being completely absorbed by the house. I will say, this is a great bit of body horror on the makeup department's behalf. Everything about Pavel looks like a guy getting eaten by a wall. As it turns out, the tuning fork and the music have more to do with what's going on as the Doctor discovers the house infested with alien lice known as "Dryads." Using his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor is momentarily able to draw the bugs out from the grain of the wood. The Dryad is not your common woodlouse, as it appears to move through wood like water. Even in my second viewing, I found myself wondering if this is kind of cool or kind of dumb. I vacillate between the two. 

In many ways, this is both Doctor Who's greatest strength and its greatest weakness. The surreal nature of a time-travelling police box affords us things like sentient planets, talking chair frogs, and killer mannequins. On the other hand, it gives us farting aliens, gamma radiation in the form of lightning, and the Doctor screaming until a window smashes. I remember reading an Eighth Doctor book where horse people read books on their planet by licking them and tasting the story. Sometimes, Doctor Who is bloody brilliant, and other times, it's bloody embarrassing. But that's partly why I love it. This kind of freedom gives it freshness. One week we get a priest buzzing like a wasp as he talks, the next we get River Song and the Vashta Nerada.

Now, I'm not saying "Knock Knock," is bad, but it is a little dumb. I've already complained about the dopey kids nobody cares about, and the silly aliens that aren't that scary, but the end of this episode is where it really kind of evens itself out. As I said, I vacillate between this being a good and a bad story. We learn that the reason John doesn't want anyone up inside the tower of the house has nothing to do with safety, and everything to do with a dark secret. After discovering the unclaimed belongings of previous occupants over the span of decades, the housemates learn that they are just the latest in a long line of people being fed to the house.

I found the motivation of the Dryads a little hard to understand. It seems weird to me that a woodlouse would want to eat people, but here we are. As it turns out, John has found a way to keep his "daughter," Eliza, alive using the Dryads. After noticing they respond to sonic vibrations, John has been using the tuning fork the make them do his bidding. It's a simple arrangement- he feeds students to the Dryads, the Dryads keep Eliza alive as a wooden woman, hidden away in the tower like some forgotten ghost. Once again, the makeup department has done its job. You genuinely believe Eliza is a woman made from wood. I especially like how they used papery twine for her hair.

They do a good job giving reasons why the housemates can't call for help. No wifi, no reception. But it is hard to imagine that over the course of decades, nobody came looking at this giant house for clues of their missing loved ones. Maybe they did and the house ate them as well. All I know is that it's mighty convenient that not one prospective tenant said to their mum or dad "Hey, I'm moving into a giant house at 11 Cardinal Road." Hell, even the Doctor helped move Bill in. What was John's big plan for when the Doctor came around looking for his "granddaughter?"

By this point, several of the housemates have been eaten by the house. Honestly, I could care less about which ones. I think Paul got his, and of course poor wooden Pavel. Or would that be wooden panel? I can't stress how little I care about these characters. Am I cold? I don't think so. We never see them on the show again. They don't matter in the slightest. With the Dryads closing in, the Doctor and Bill have to think quick. Which is when they realise that the timelines don't match up. If John were Eliza's actual father, he would be long dead. Seeing as he is not also made of wood, they deduce that he is in fact not Eliza's father, but her son. Unable to say goodbye to his ailing mother, John has been preserving her. Eliza has been through so much trauma that she has completely forgotten this fact. It's all rather depressing if I'm honest.

Depressing is okay though. What's Doctor Who without the occasion trudge through misery? Of course, it's not all doom and gloom, as Eliza restores all of the young people, once again leaving me to question why they were eaten in the first place. Were they transmuted into energy and simply recombined? It's the best explanation we're going to get, which is fine. David Suchet gives a powerful performance as he begs his mother not to end their lives. His performance is, by far, one of the strongest elements of this episode. Eliza and John are both overtaken by the Dryads, who are off presumably forever. I suppose the threat of Dryads is no longer looming now that their puppet master is no longer pulling their strings.

All in all, I find myself without much to say about this episode. It's not bad, but it's not a banger either. Even writing this review has been a bit of a slog. I find myself hard-pressed to really have any strong feelings one way or the other, and sometimes, that's just how it is. I will say it is the brownest episode of Doctor Who I’ve seen since the ‘70s. The BBC really knew how to dull down colour back then. Sigh... The best I can say about "Knock Knock," is that it's fine, really. There's nothing really wrong with it other than being kind of dull. I think if they'd have tried harder to make the characters more relatable it could have helped. Not every villain needs to be the new Daleks or Weeping Angels. Unlike some of the other episodes in my series ten rewatch, my opinion on this episode has changed very little. I would be as equally surprised to hear someone say this episode was terrible as I would be to hear it's their favourite. This is the kind of Doctor Who you can have on in the background. 

Much like we followed the lacklustre "The Unicorn and the Wasp," with the transcendent "Silence in the Library," I am very excited for the next episode in my rewatch- "Oxygen." Another anti-capitalist romp in the vein of "Smile," is just what I need right now. Now that I am back and feeling up to writing again, you should expect to see a bit more output. I wanted to cover the BBC's Youtube Dalek series, of which I have not watched a single frame. I've been putting it off because I wanted to talk about it on here. I have a few non-review articles in mind, but I don't like to promise too much. What I am saying is that you can expect more, soon! Take care!

[lifeofclonewars]

Time to Fix Some Hives

Also available on AO3. Link on my page so this still shows up in tags.

I’m not sure how this got as long as it did. Part 3 of the Pun Wars, but can be read alone.

Summary: “Hey, was Prime allergic to anything?” Fives asked casually.

“I don’t think so," Kix replied, swiping through a datapad. "But if so, the Kaminoans probably engineered it away. Why?”

“Uh, I think I might’ve gotten it.”

“Fives! Vod!" Kix looked like his blood pressure just skyrocketed. He let out a sound that didn’t quite sound human.

-

In which Fives gets some hives and Kix has to fix it.

-----

Food in the GAR was something to be discussed. Or maybe not. Ration sticks were varying degrees of bland and dry. The mess hall meals had some flavor but, after weeks in hyperspace or in orbit, had the same monotony as ration bars. If someone wanted good food, they’d have to wait for leave. Unless, of course, they took the method that involved not-quite regulations breaking.

Somehow, though, every once in a while, a shipment of supplies would bring in something to liven up meals. A small bundle of juicemelons here, some shuuras there. Once, somehow, some varos, which had led to a large celebration and special dessert. Whenever command was able to get some brightness to the meals in shipments, it was a cause to rejoice. However they managed to sort it out, they received eternal thanks for it. 

The latest shipment had included such a treat, if breakfast was anything to go by.  Fives grinned when he saw the options for the day. Stacks of space waffles and various toppings were available. Sitting neatly labeled, easy to grab, was muja sauce. They hadn’t had muja fruit before, so it would be exciting to see how this tasted. 

With a tray full of food, Fives plopped himself down next to Tup. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Tup responded, already digging into his food.

Fives spared a peep at his brother’s plate. “How’s the muja sauce?”

“Pretty good. A tad sweeter than I expected.” 

Fives nodded and set to eating, first eating the bland porridge that was required for vitamins or whatever. He and Tup chatted amicably, recounting the pandemonium that had come from a training game Rex had attempted the previous afternoon. It went well until Focus had— unlike his name suggested— gotten sidetracked and blew up a dummy droid; it was all downhill from there. 

Porridge gone, Fives moved onto the space waffles. Tup hadn’t been kidding: the mujas were the sweetest fruit he’d tasted. 

He must have made a face, as Tup laughed. “See? I wasn’t exaggerating.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Fives said. The waffle itself must’ve been dry; his throat was suddenly a shade scratchy. Eh, so maybe the waffles suffered in favor of the sauce. It wasn’t too big of a deal. A sip of water solved it, anyway. 

He continued his conversation, irritated when the waffles continued to make his throat scratchy. Try as he might, it was hard to ignore. 

“Hey, vod,” he asked in a lull, “are your waffles making your throat scratchy?”

Tup’s eyebrows furrowed. “No. Are yours?”

Grimacing, he answered, “Yeah. I somehow managed to get the one dry one they made. The sauce and some water helped, though.” 

“That sucks.” 

“I’ll live. You know what does suck?” With that, Fives launched into an explanation of what was rumored to be the Captain’s next training exercise. While it was a rumor, you could never be too careful in preparing for them. The less you could avoid feeling like dying while doing them, the better. 

-----

The rumor turned out to be just a rumor. But, that was because the training exercises ended up even more strenuous than the rumor stated. 

Fives took a breather, leaning against a wall. He watched while some shinies seemed to have mental breakdowns, struggling to keep up to pace but still fighting through. 

Faintly, he realized his arms were itchy. Huh, that was odd. Looking down, his arms appeared slightly red. That hit to the mat he'd taken earlier must've given him a burn. It wasn't anything he couldn't fight through; he was an ARC trooper, after all.

"Doing good, Fives?" Rex called over to him.

He straightened off the wall. "Never better, sir."

"Good. You're next." 

A fast-paced but by no means short spar later, Fives found himself admiring the ceiling lights, the Captain standing over him. Exhausted and beginning to catch his breath, the itch in his arms made itself present once again. 

“Still good, Fives?” Rex offered his hand and Fives took it, standing up. 

“Uh, yeah. I think I got a floor burn and definitely some bruises, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with.”

Rex patted him on the back, taking a glance at Fives’ forearms. “Hmm, make sure a medic looks over it when you can, just in case.”

“Yessir.” With that, Rex dismissed him to the cycle of training and called up the next trooper to spar. 

As he made his way over to the next station, which was sure to increase in intensity, Fives checked out his arms himself. The redness appeared to be a scattering of small bumps across his arms. Some of the bumps were larger than the others. But the fact that there were bumps... maybe it wasn’t floor burn after all. That would explain why it was itching more than stinging. But what else could it be? 

He reached the station. The redness-debacle could be solved later. He’d tell Kix later; there was stuff to be done. 

-----

Sometime after lunch, Fives found himself on a patrol shift in the lower levels of the star destroyer. A gaggle of mechanics, squabbling over something or another, were nearby, seemingly working and not working simultaneously. All he had to do was walk the halls. 

With the time available and no obvious threats around, Fives allowed himself to reflect on what was up with his arms. His blaster slung carefully across his back, he took off his left vambrace, gauntlet, and glove then rolled up his blacks to his elbow. 

The bumps stood out brightly against his skin. A floor burn could not have produced them. The ARC trooper had had many before and none of them had ever looked like this. In fact, it almost looked like… a rash. 

Fives thought back to the bit of medical training ARC training had given him. A potential rash with bumps that were itching. And if he counted the scratchy throat he’d had at breakfast as something other than dry space waffles— well, it all added up. 

It looked like Fives had an allergy to muja fruit. 

Interesting. He put his armor back on and continued along with his patrol. That’d be something to tell Kix later. A crash sounded around the corner and Fives pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Finally, something marginally exciting was happening. Slinging his blaster around, he took off down the corridor. 

-----

Once off patrol, he headed to the medical bay to talk to Kix. That one crash had led to an action-packed end of patrol involving helping some shinies and forgetting about everything else he’d been thinking about. He remembered he needed to talk to the medic but hadn’t the slightest why. Shrugging to himself, he made his way inside.

Kix was stationed at the front desk for the moment, busy with something Fives couldn’t see over the top of the desk. He paused and looked up as the doors closed behind Fives. “Hey, vod,” he greeted.

“Hey, Kix.”

“You’re not here because you sprained something else, are you?” 

Fives smiled at that. “Not this time. No promises for the future, though.” 

His brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since that’s not the case, feel free to talk about anything. I’m trying to avoid paperwork and also answering Jesse’s comm about how many people a hypothetical stunt he might hypothetically pull he will land in here.”

Fives hummed. Soon enough, the brothers were talking about anything and everything that came to mind. Kix began to flick through some of the datapads stacked high next to him. They talked about the craziest reasons for injuries Kix had encountered recently, what they expected from their upcoming campaign, and more. 

Activity around the bay was low. Out in hyperspace for a few weeks between campaigns had let the majority of the injured to heal. The handful of medics on shift shuffled around between beds, chatting and joking with their patients. One or two visitors sat next to their brother’s beds. For once, the atmosphere was light and easy and not clouded with stress and worry. Fives had no problem leaning against the front desk while talking to his brother. 

With the light conversation and calm, Fives’ thoughts drifted back to what he had discovered on patrol.

“Hey, was Prime allergic to anything?” Fives asked casually.

“I don’t think so," Kix replied, swiping through a datapad. "But if so, the Kaminoans probably engineered it away. Why?”

“Uh, I think I might’ve gotten it.”

“Fives! Vod!" Kix looked like his blood pressure just skyrocketed. He let out a sound that didn’t quite sound human.

“Chill, it only made my throat scratchy for a bit. Plus, I got these little bumps but they’re not that bad. I can deal with it.”

The sound came out again, this time even longer and even less human. Kix shot out of his chair and dove for a nearby container, ruffling through the contents, datapad forgotten. Fives stood and watched idly as his brother began to have a breakdown. “Where are the epi-pens for the nat-born officers? Those are kriffing hives, di’kut!”

Oh. Oops.

Kix found what looked like two hypos. “Finally!” he exclaimed and rushed over to Fives, pushing him by the shoulder to the nearest bed. The few people on the other end of the medbay who had looked over when Kix shouted made themselves look busy when Fives sent them an apprehensive glance. Once seated, the medic set the hypos aside and began removing the cuisse on Fives’ leg. 

Fives jerked away. “What are you doing?!”

His brother scowled. “Stay still! I’m treating your allergic reaction, what do you think I’m doing?” 

Once Fives stilled, Kix finished removing the armor and took one of the hypos. Uncapping it, he took it and shoved it into his thigh. He looked up and scowled at Fives before moving to dispose of the hypo properly and grab a new datapad from a shelf. 

“Now we wait for five minutes to see if you need a second one or not.”

“A second one?”

His response made Kix’s eyebrows somehow furrow even closer. “Yes, a second one. You’re lucky that the reaction didn’t get any worse than that. When you ignore a reaction, the mild symptoms can suddenly spiral and can turn into anaphylaxis. And that can kill you, Fives.” 

Fives grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t know it could get worse. At least it didn’t…?” he attempted to reconcile. 

The medic took a deep breath. He then took off Fives’ vambrace, gauntlet, and glove. Inspecting his forearm while pushing the sleeve up, Kix took another breath. “See here, Fives? These are one hundred percent hives. You really thought hives weren’t a big deal?”

“I thought it was floor burn at first,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize they were bumps until I was busy and then things happened and it wasn’t my top priority.”

Kix inclined his head towards the arm he was still grasping. “If this ever happens again, this is your top priority.” He released Fives’ arm, grabbing the hypo that was still sitting on the bed. “This is an EpiPen, and it’ll help you with any future allergic reactions, tayli'bac? Keep this in your utility belt. And when I say keep it there, I mean always, always have it there. Since you have this allergy, you might have others. We’ll need to do a test sometime soon to check since Kamino didn’t test for them because they normally don’t need to. We’ll have to teach you how to use the EpiPen then as well. You’re going to take this more seriously now, right?”

“Right.” Fives took the hypo and placed it into his utility belt promptly. 

“Okay, so I have to update your health file to reflect your allergy. Hold on a minute.” Fives nodded and Kix started to flick through the datapad in his hands. 

After a minute or so, a little beep sounded. “Alright,” Kix said, placing the datapad down on the bed. “That was the five-minute timer. Arm.” Fives obediently held his arm out. Kix took it, gently twisting it back and forth. “The hives are already swelling down. You won’t need a second one.” 

“Great,” Fives stated tentatively.

“Great,” Kix repeated. “Now either sit here quietly or help me figure out if Prime had an allergy to mujas you somehow got.” He handed Fives a datapad he materialized out of nowhere. 

“Shouldn’t you be watching the front desk?” Fives reminded. 

“Shh,” Kix said. “Coric got it when I went for the EpiPens, anyway.” A quick look over Kix’s shoulder confirmed that, yes, Coric had indeed taken the front desk while Kix treated the ARC. “Now get to work.”

-----

“What’s up, vode?” Fives announced his presence, plopping down first his tray and then himself at the table. “Turns out, I have a mutation.”

“WHAT?!” came from three of the four people gathered around. The only one who didn’t react vocally was Kix, who just rolled his eyes from where he sat next to Jesse. If Fives had credits, he would bet that Kix had been waiting for him to say that since they concluded their research earlier.

“What do you mean you have a mutation?!” Tup asked, fork halted halfway to his mouth. “And how did you just find out?!”

“You know how I had a dry waffle this morning?” Tup nodded and Kix snorted. “Turns out, my waffle wasn’t dry. I was having an allergic reaction.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you scarf down space waffles before. What changed?”

Fives smirked and waited a beat to see if his brothers would figure it out on their own. When no one said anything, he continued, "There was muja sauce today."

Another beat. "Oh!" came the three reactions.

Jesse began to laugh. "Your mutation is a muja fruit allergy? That's gotta suck, dude." 

A shrug. "Eh, now that I know, not too much. The mujas were a bit sweet for my taste, anyway." 

Focus grimaced. "You still suck at lying, Fives." Fives scrunched his nose at the scout but otherwise didn't acknowledge his words, taking a tentative bite of what looked suspiciously like something’s liver.

"Yes, an untreated allergy is something to laugh about," Kix groused. When Jesse laughed at his attitude, Kix shot a glare his way. The lieutenant only laughed harder. 

"What happened?" Jesse prompted, evidently sensing a story to be told.

“I can tell you what happened,” Kix grumbled, stabbing a piece of lettuce. “Kaysh mirsh solus, Jess. I can’t emphasize that enough.”

Jesse doubled over cackling, clutching his stomach. He set his other arm on the table and buried his face in it. He struggled to form words for a moment, then finally spit out, “The allergic reaction must’ve killed the rest of them.”

“Wow, thanks,” Fives deadpanned. “To both of you.”

“Anytime.” Kix stabbed another piece of lettuce, giving Fives an unbreakable glare. “If you pull anything like this again, I will check if you really do only have one brain cell left.”

“I expected nothing less.” 

Jesse composed himself and rested his elbows on the table and his head on his hands— he was by far the most amused by this. He was going to get stuff out of this for weeks if he played his cards right. His grin was quite possibly one of the biggest ones Fives had ever seen on a brother. His food, which he hadn’t touched since Fives sat down, sat ignored in front of him still. 

“Okay, but seriously,” Focus cut in, “how did you not know you had an allergy to muja fruit?”

Fives swiveled towards the scout. “How did you manage to blow up a training dummy when your name implies that shouldn’t have happened?” he quipped back. “It’s not like I had muja fruit before, and it’s not like that’s something that they tested for on Kamino. None of us are supposed to have allergies!”

“It’s not like we’ve seen anyone have an allergic reaction before,” Tup pointed out. 

“Fine. Fair point,” Focus conceded. 

Fives pointed at Tup. "Actually, he's right. I first thought I had a floor burn from sparring with the Captain."

"I still don't get how you thought hives were a floor burn," Kix griped.

"At first, Kix. I said at first. Once I got a closer look, I noticed otherwise. I just got busy."

The medic shook his head, rolling his eyes slightly and taking a sip from his water. 

"Anyway," Fives continued, avoiding the meat and picking at a blob next to it, "our little bit of research told us Prime wasn't allergic to muja fruit so it really is a random mutation."

"Maybe someone in Prime's biological family had it?" Tup offered.

"Just because allergies can be genetic doesn't always mean they are," Kix supplied. "I wouldn't be surprised either way." 

"Either way, I don't care," Fives said. "What I do care about is that now I have to suffer through an allergy test just to be safe."

“K'atini. You’re an ARC trooper, you’ve suffered worse.”

Fives scoffed. “Just because I have doesn’t mean I wanted to suffer. Or suffer more, especially because of you.”

The group descended into bickering the way only siblings could. Little did they know, a new and improved version of their conversation would take place a mere two days later when it was revealed that Fives was also allergic to yot beans and chando peppers and severely so to zherries after Kix ran the allergy test. 

--

Mando’a Translations:

Vod: Brother

Di’kut: Idiot

Tayli'bac: Got it? Okay? Understand? (Often very aggressive.) Basically, the Mando'a version of Capisce

Vode: Brothers. Can refer to the clones as a whole or just a group of them

Kaysh mirsh solus: He’s an idiot. Lit. “His brain cell is lonely”

K'atini: Suck it up! Or: It’s only pain! 

Thanks for reading! 

[dashboardcat]

I Try One of Everything at Salt City Market (Part 2)

Remember like 3 weeks ago when I did a write-up of a food hall in my hometown, guaranteed to attract the attention of like, 2 people?  Well, it’s time for more of that! 

Attempt #1

While there wasn’t a line outside this time, the market itself seemed just as busy as it was the day after the grand opening.  I also tried to make a point to take in more of the decor, but I don’t think I really have anything new to add other than the fact that I watched not one but two people struggle to stuff the big paper bags their food came in into the trendy, tiny-opening trash cans.  More importantly, I forgot that like, half of the stands are closed on Mondays, meaning I would have to come back another time to finish my quest. 

ERMA’S ISLAND- Jerk Pork (half portion)- $10

I want to say right off the bat that of all the things I’ve tried from this market, this was hands down the best smelling.  And thankfully, the pork pretty much tasted as good as it smelled.  It was tender and juicy, and the sauce was complex, with a good amount of heat that didn’t overpower the other flavors.  The rice and beans that it came with, on the other hand, was a little bland, but that’s nothing that mixing the sauce into can’t fix.  

Unfortunately, I can never show my face there again, because when the cashier asked me if I wanted the half or whole portion, I said “Yeah,” and made her repeat herself like 3 times.

MAMMA HAI- “Marco Polo” Banh Mi- $10

Yes, that’s pepperoni on a banh mi.

The roll was nice and crusty, and to be honest, that’s like 90% of what makes a good sandwich for me.  Unfortunately, the pickled veggies and cilantro (and this blog is pro-cilantro, get over yourselves, haters) sort of overpowered the pepperoni and the char siu pork, which is a shame because I wanted that pepperoni to shine.  If this was a $5 banh mi, I wouldn’t have a problem with that, but at $10 I would have liked a little more meat, or at least for the already existing meat to make its presence felt.  The pate and mayo kinda also get lost, but do present a bit of richness in about every other bite (and, for another controversial sandwich opinion, I don’t necessarily think that every bite of a sandwich has to have an even distribution of everything, otherwise the flavors sort of just blur together after a while).  Overall, it’s a fairly decent sandwich, but left me longing for something more.  They also have a curry chicken banh mi, maybe that one has a better balance of flavor.

CAKE BAR- Locus Cake- $6.50

One thing about Cake Bar that isn’t made apparent by looking at their stand is that, according to their website, it’s meant to resemble a Vietnamese cafe.  In hindsight, this kinda explains the wide variety of specialty teas (specialteas, if you will) they also had available.

The chocolate cake was moist and had little crispy bits running throughout it.  At first, I thought it was eggshells, because I’m an idiot and always assume the worst.  After picking out an especially large chunk, I realized it was broken up bits of Biscoff cookies! (Further research has shown me that the parent company that makes Biscoff cookies is called Locus, thus, y’know, the name of the cake.  Probably should have put that together sooner, it literally says “Locus” on the cookie, one of which was lodged into the top of the cake.)  The buttercream was surprisingly light, and the caramel on top had the perfect consistency, gooey enough to stay put but not so gooey that it turned into a stringy mess after running your fork through it.  The only negative thing I really have to say about the all-around experience was that the box they used made it kind of difficult to get the slice out of it (as you can see, I ended up just tearing the sides up).

Attempt #2 

Since the market is relatively close to my work, I figured I would drop by after work one day to bang out the rest of the list.

BAGHDAD RESTAURANT- Beef Shawarma- $6.99

At first, I laughed to myself upon seeing it in one of those gas station sub bags.  The laughing faded pretty quickly, though, upon seeing it was, in fact served on a sub roll. I'm not a shawarma expert. maybe that can be an acceptable way to eat it? The beef was well spiced and that perfect sweet spot between tender and still having something to sink your teeth into.  Unfortunately, that’s more or less where my compliments end.  What little sauce the menu promised (just called “sauce,” don’t ask me what it is) has soaked into the bread and completely disappeared, making the whole thing somewhat dry and lackluster.  Also, they didn’t cut it, which was fine with the heartier banh mi’s baguette but with the softer sub roll didn’t have the structural integrity to be picked up whole without a struggle.  My biggest gripe with it is mostly on me, though, as the juice from the pickles tainted most of it with pickle stank, which could have been avoided entirely if I had just ordered it without.  

SOULUTIONS- Mustard and Berbere Fried Chicken ($6) and FIRE MAC ($4)

(Note- the $6 order of chicken comes with 2 of these chicken cutlets, but I carelessly ate one before taking the picture.)

I do want to clear the air here and say that yes, I did accidentally order fried chicken and mac and cheese from both of the soul food places.  I was originally going to get the burger, at my friend’s recommendation, but the menu board by the register suspiciously didn’t have the burger on it, so I panicked and ordered the fried chicken again.  

While the breading was stained yellow from mustard, the honey mustard taste was very subtle.  I also have to admit to not knowing off the top of my head what berbere (I had to google it, it’s an Ethiopian spice blend) tastes like, so i can't tell you if this tasted like that.  But, despite not being especially strong in either of the namesake seasonings, it definitely is a flavorful piece of chicken nonetheless.  Flavors work that way sometimes.

The Fire Mac may not have delivered as strongly on cheese as I may have liked, but it definitely did deliver on the fire, drizzled with a tangy buffalo-esque sauce.  And Topped with crumbled bits of fried chicken skins? Can’t go wrong with that.

JUICE AND FLOWERS- “Root | 12” Juice- $8

Misleading name, I didn’t see any flowers anywhere.  Zero stars. 

The beet and lemon were the most pronounced of the flavors, with the ginger lingering on the palate and, unsurprisingly, the apple and carrot mostly being there to round the whole thing out.  The employee that waited on me was very passionate and knowledgeable about the juice, informing me that 2 pounds of produce had gone into this little bottle, and that it’d have a shelf life of 3-5 days.  Which is good, because I put it back in the fridge after I got home to chill it back down, and then proceeded to forget about it for 3 days.  It’s also a very thick and hearty juice, so it doesn’t feel that weird to only want to drink half a bottle in one sitting and, y’know, make this $8 bottle of juice last a little longer. 

Attempt #3

Knowing fully well that I was going to have a long night shift ahead of me, I decided to check out the Coffee Bar side of the market for what would be my third trip over the course of 5 days.  I feel like I should also point out that the Coffee Bar, as its name literally breaks down as, serves coffee during the day and a full bar at night.  I also noticed during this visit that the Coffee Bar has a patio seating area under construction, cheesy string lights and all, that I am looking forward to.

Fruity Pebbles Latte- $6

Against my best judgement, I got it “for here” for the sake of the pic, even though a.) I had to break my rule of not eating in places because this fucking pandemic isn’t over yet and b.) I was nervous about being late for work the whole time (I did, in fact, get there on time).  As I waited, I could see their secret recipe fruity pebbles milk sitting on the counter.  It was, in fact, fruity pebbles and milk.  

I didn’t really think the Fruity Pebbles would work with the espresso, having had been burned before by places that just dump them onto things with no regard of the flavor profile just for the sake of the burst of color.  But, somehow… it did work.  Maybe it’s because cereal milk is never quite as strong as some might hope, but the subtle fruitiness of the milk played well with the chocolatey notes in the espresso.  The espresso itself probably also had the best crema on it that I’ve ever seen on a latte (and yes, I had to google the pretentious espresso-snob term for the foam that floats to the top).

Also shoutout to the pour over, which on their menu board is priced at "4-ish"

I’m so glad I’m living with my parents again at the moment.  Otherwise, this whole thing would’ve been like, a month’s worth of my food budget.

[bae-science]

❥,+,✘

❥: barefoot, sleepy wanderings

✘: forehead kisses

+: being led back to bed with patient whispers

TW: light blood, surgeries, mentions of hospital setting, needles, portrayal of OCD, vomiting

When people hear that Vanessa was diagnosed at five years old, they assume she doesn’t remember the experience. Her brain wasn’t developed enough. Other memories have clouded it over. Things got blocked out for being too frightening for a small child to deal with.

They’re all wrong, of course. She wishes they weren’t.

The experience isn’t totally crystallized in a perfect sequence of events; she doesn’t know exactly how her parents noticed her disorientation, weight loss, and difficulty with toilet training. She can’t remember the faces of the nurses who took care of her, or the doctor that tried to gently explain how drastically her life had changed forever. She doesn’t even know the title of the binder the social worker gave her parents on Type 1. Probably something ridiculous, though, since it was a pediatric ward. Sometimes she wonders if hospitals have crack teams specifically for that.

She remembers the IV, though. The way she couldn’t stop thinking about the way it lay under her skin, putting things inside her body she couldn’t see or understand, and the image of blood pooling underneath the clear tape from all the times she bent her elbow. Her mind looped the thoughts over and over again, expanding like a dense mass of black cotton that would, later in her life, prove persistent, and open to other topics of obsession. How she seemed to never be able to get warm. The exhaustion from being woken several times a night to be pricked and poked and sent back to bed for a few more measly hours of sleep, until the parade of doctors began anew. The blurry vision that seemed to take months to fade.

It seems almost comical, after twelve years of this, when a routine trip to the dentist reveals that her wisdom teeth are coming in wrong. The issue is so laughably common, so often played for jokes with laughing gas and woozy patients spouting nonsense before the anesthetic wears off, that Vanessa almost has trouble developing anxieties about the whole thing.

It’s then of course she’s informed about her own personal risk factors. The anesthesia could send her blood sugar either way: low because of the blood loss and healing required during the surgery, or high because of the adrenaline and falling asleep during the daytime. She’ll need to calculate her ratios, test her blood sugars, and monitor herself and her food while still recovering from the procedure. It makes a knot swell in her stomach as the dentist talks on, growing so large and choking that she nearly sprints for the car as her mother takes care of the paperwork, slamming the door and curling into the passenger seat to scream at the top of her lungs.

That night, Vanessa has to check the stove burners three times before she feels safe enough to go to bed. 

Karla, bless her heart, doesn’t quite understand, but Hermann does. He tells her how he felt going under, and which over the counter painkillers help and hinder sleep. They go out and purchase an electric blanket to drape over her pillow, hoping the heat will help any pain in her jaw, and both him and Karla declare they’ll be sleeping over several nights while she recovers, Vanessa not even given a chance to dissuade them. She’s never loved her friends more.

Hermann’s correct in that she barely remembers nearly the whole hour before the assistant slips an IV in, Vanessa clenching down her jaw to steady her breathing. The drive home, too, is a blurry haze of aches and the wooziness that comes with hovering just above the lower end of her blood sugar bracket. They pass by a McDonald’s hanging just on the outskirts of the city, gripping to the slow crawl of modernity by its fingernails, and Vanessa thinks of her classmate Rebecca, who boasted two years ago after getting her own wisdom teeth removed that she ate nothing but ice cream for a week afterwards. The gauze in her mouth is sticky and bland. Her stomach growls. 

Hermann and Karla are sitting on the porch steps when they pull in, overnight bags and cane sprawled beside them. Karla leaps to her feet before Vanessa’s mother is even parked, opening the passenger side door and taking her hand. Even with no small amount of anesthesia in her system, Vanessa still feels her heart skip a beat at Karla’s slim, cool fingers closing around hers.

“How are you feeling?” she asks anxiously, sliding her other hand around Vanessa’s waist and helping her up the steps. “Are you hungry? What hurts? Hermann,” she snaps, “get the Ibuprofen; I told you to have it out already!”

Hermann shoots Vanessa a look, and she gives a weak chuckle. The gauze in her mouth prevents any real speaking, but he understands. 

“She’s not dying, Karla,” he says, holding open the door as Karla hurries her inside. Vanessa’s mother and Hermann follow after them, and after instructing the twins to call for her if they need anything, gives Vanessa a careful hug and kisses her forehead. Karla looks as if every second Vanessa isn’t tucked into bed like a sardine and being fussed over is causing her personal agony. 

“‘c’n wohlk,” Vanessa mumbles, tongue refusing to shape the words right, but the gentle way Karla guides her up the stairs and down the hallway to her bedroom makes something soft and funny flutter in her chest. It’s been happening more often lately; this rush of discomforting elation whenever Karla shines that focused, diligent attention on her.

Hermann, seeming to sense that this is his role now, holds open her bedroom door and fetches her water bottle from the desk to bring it over. Karla pulls back the covers and eases Vanessa to sit down, kneeling to untie her sneakers. The world still hums with a muted fuzziness, but the sight gives Vanessa a brief, powerful urge to run her hand through Karla’s short, choppy curls. She wonders what it would feel like clipped and uniform, in the buzzcut she’s seen her admire on so many men. 

Karla pulls her shoes, then socks off, and Vanessa crawls under her comforter and places the side of her jaw most painful at the moment onto the electric blanket. She fumbles for the switch to turn it on, but Karla brushes her hand aside and puts it on medium. “There,” she says with an air of frazzled satisfaction. “Right. Now Hermann and I will be right here, and we’ll wake you every two hours if we need to to take your medication. You’re supposed to alternate Ibuprofen and Advil, and you can drink and eat but only liquids at the moment.” She turns to Hermann with the sharpness of a military general. “Hermann, get the soup out. We made soup,” she clarifies. “Well, I did. Hermann’s a horrible cook. Are you hungry?”

Vanessa shakes her head as best she can, swallowing spit that tastes like iron. “’m okay. Th’nk y’.”

Karla pulls out her desk chair for Hermann to take a seat, then sets a cluster of Vanessa’s throw pillows on the floor next to the bed. She leans back against the side and looks up at Vanessa, face craned so far back it’s nearly upside down. “Are you okay?”

Vanessa nods into the pillow, letting one hand dangle down off the bed. Karla catches it without missing a beat and runs a finger over the tops of her knuckles. “Mmhm.” She’s hungry; no breakfast besides a glass of water for the first dose of medication, but can’t find the energy to even consider calculating how much insulin she needs, especially when she’s so sedentary. Sleep, however, is a tantalizing prospect so close to going low, and Vanessa is out the second her eyes close again.

She wakes excruciatingly thirsty, disoriented and heart pounding. Her body is the kind of overheated she recognizes as a telltale sign of a high, and panic races through her as she tries to push herself up and search for her bag.

It’s not there.

Vanessa’s breath catches, and she slides her hands over the jumble of books and empty plastic cups and pens on her bedside table. Where the fuck is her bag? She needs her bag; she needs to find out how high she is; never mind that she doesn’t know she’ll hold her finger steady enough to prick it, or insert the strip into the meter, but she needs her insulin because she’s hot, and exhausted, and her numbers are definitely so, so bad right now.

She stumbles out of bed and towards the door, catching herself on the doorframe briefly before fear propels her forward. Maybe she left it in the bathroom? Did she go to the bathroom? She might need to if she’s over 240; oh God, if she’s over 200 she’ll just stick her head in the bathtub and turn on the faucet because that is way, way too high, and if her numbers are too high her A1C will be bad, and if her A1C is bad then she’s doing it all wrong and failing diabetes, which is definitely something that is possible to do, and her stomach twists with anxiety so badly at the thought of her beautiful, perfect 5.7 going up even a percentage that she barely makes it to the toilet before dry heaving.

Pure bile, void of anything else from her empty stomach, splatters her tongue and the inside of the bowl, and Vanessa presses her face against the cool porcelain before the stench of bleach makes her retch again. She hears footsteps just outside, barely processing the sound of the door opening wider over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

“Vanessa--?” Karla asks, before seeing the scene before her and rushing to her side. She puts a hand on each shoulder and immediately begins rubbing them soothingly, a sensation that does a surprisingly good deal to steady Vanessa’s pulse. 

She gags out, “High,” the last of bloody gauze finally falling into the toilet, and Karla nods against the back of her neck.

“Hermann!” she calls, “Hermann, get her kit! On the desk! Put a strip in the meter and new lancet!”

Oh, thinks Vanessa, that’s where it went, but Hermann is already clacking down the hall towards them. He quickly sets his cane on the bathroom counter and prepares the meter, then hands it and the lancet to Karla, who in turn hands Vanessa a tissue.

“Here,” she says gently, “for your mouth. May I see your hand?”

Vanessa clumsily wipes the acid from her chin and holds out a shaking hand, letting Karla take her pinky with careful fingers and prick it on the lowest setting she can. The pain is dulled there as well, thankfully, but the countdown as the meter processes her blood makes Vanessa’s stomach swoop.

When it shows 122, she frowns.

“But... ‘m hot,” she says, leaning back against the side of the bathtub. Karla hands the supplies back to Hermann and resumes rubbing her shoulders. 

“Well you were lying on a heating bad under a bunch of blankets, ‘Ness. That might have something to do with it.”

“Thirsty?” Vanessa adds. Hermann makes a startled face and quickly leaves, returning with her water bottle. As she takes it and swallows a few grateful mouthfuls, he raises an eyebrow.

“Dry mouth from anesthesia is a common side effect. You really should be drinking regularly, especially since you weren’t able to for several hours.” He takes his cane from the counter and shifts his weight to it. “Come on. You should go back to bed.”

Vanessa tilts her head back against the rim of the tub and lets out a long, shaky sigh. “Yeah. Okay. Gimme a sec.”

She lets herself lean into the feeling of Karla’s hands on her skin, the chilled lip of the tub on her neck, and hears Hermann move to lean against the doorframe. Karla never pauses for a moment. 

“You’re alright,” she murmurs, her head just brushing Vanessa’s hair. “We’re right here. You’re alright.”

She takes another breath, then nods. “’Kay. Let’s go.”

[chimbbles]

anybody ever thinks about doctor!hendery? because that’s the first thing that popped into my mind the second I saw him

T/W: mentions of blood, and I'm sorry I keep bringing up tetanus I don't mean to mock it or anything

it wasn’t a big deal, but the constant ringing in your head was getting harder to differentiate between a migraine and your incessant worries building up

days ago you were fixing up a shelf from ikea, your roommate having suggested you guys get a proper apparatus to house your various clutters

both of you went at it for the whole night, after coming home from a long day’s worth of work and neither of you denied the tiny spark of regret for getting something you can’t really handle at 1am in the morning

at last, the cheap metal frame is up, a job well done rewarded by crashing into the couch and dozing off right there

morning came and the shelf was thoroughly forgotten, even with its huge size propped right in front you

the effect of the iconic, “I’m late for work”

throwing yourself off the couch you ignored your hard work and skidded past absentmindedly, until it reminded you with a nasty gash in the shower

if your pinky toe was stinging in the water, it felt way worse when soap ran down your body

you had to stop and check, clenching your teeth at the act of rinsing off the soap to get a good look, and voila 

a fresh cut just below your cuticle, long and crimson till it reaches the joint

you definitely don’t have time for this

so you slap on some antibacterial cream, stick on a band-aid and call it class one first aid with 5 minutes till work starts

the day was: bad

not only you had to run, your shoes covered your wounded toe and you honestly doubt it does more to protect rather than harm it

your boss was obviously not impressed, and you’re stuck with a self appointed adult detention with a foul, cold sandwich titled gruesome lunch; at the set venue of your cubicle

having been reminded by the constant ache on your toe, you made it a point to text your roommate, informing them you two had built a death machine

they, however, took the joke a little too literally, and from the moment after lunch, they kept texting you to get it checked out

“what if it’s tetanus?”

“you could die from an infection!”

“are you sure the cream isn’t expired?”

“did you apply it properly”

“get it checked out you might be at risk”

and that’s why you’re here man no pun intended

where once again, things weren’t this serious, and were blew out of proportion

your self appointed detention unfortunately lasted for days, long as your boss was happy, and your punishment was a huge project with a short deadline

you pulled overtime for a straight 3 days now, and the projects almost there, just one day left

the all-nighter you suffered through proved efficient when you finished the project at near 5am in the morning, rumours of company ghosts no longer scare you when you roam amongst them as a comrad 

your zombified limbs pack up by themselves, brain too damaged from the cups of coffee chugged down your throat at the ungodly hours

your roommate’s nagging makes its appearance again, buzzing through your brain like a broken record

“you could have tetanus, it’s metal!”

you remember there’s a hospital on the route back home, so why not? staying up longer it doesn’t quite matter at this point

the reception desk threw a fit when they heard you connect the words ‘tetanus’ and ‘a few days ago’

that’s how you end up in line at the ER, instead of the intended clinic visit

it’s eerily chilly, with the bland white walls staring back at you

without you knowing it; the whirring of the busy machines and clinking of metal appliances lulls your tired figure to sleep, head leaning back and mouth open in a silent snore

“oh my goodness they blacked out”

“we need help here!”

within seconds your body was hauled onto a stretcher and pulled away in a whim, straight into a private room with an unsuspecting doctor

“came in saying they might have tetanus and the wound’s a few days old. ER’s full from a car crash and they just blacked out in the hall,”

“temperature’s rising, I think the fever started to set in, if you could take a look first dr.wong-”

“sure, sure”

‘dr.wong’ rounds the edge of his table to plant himself beside you, and you think the only regret you don’t have for the night is seeing his handsome face

he reads the thermometer before plucking the pen lodged at the opening of his white coat,

“okay, I need you to focus on this pen, follow it with your eyes, alright?”

of course he doesn’t wait for your agreement before waving the pen in front of you, and your slow brain can’t receive stimuli that well while it’s raving on caffeine 

“I’m getting slow response, fetch the vaccine now,”

one of the nurses hurriedly leaves the room, leaving one to stay and help the doctor,

he picks up the stethoscope from his desk and plugs the two ends into his ears, “alright, I need you to breathe for me,”

“and check the wound, please”

the nurse nods and springs into action, and your brain-- finally-- comes back to life

your grab the hand that’s holding the metal plate with both of yours, surprising him and making him go wide-eyed

but what do you say???

it could be tetanus but you don’t feel unwell at all, and you really, really don’t want a pissed off nurse to glare at you for the false alarm

also, you don’t want anyone to look at your ugly toes

“are you okay? does it hurt?”

the nurse stops taking off your shoe at the mention of pain, and waits for further instructions from the doctor

you bite down the embarrassment for your lame excuse, and gesture roughly to your throat, “....water”

they both share a concerned look, before the nurse moves and heads towards the door with a “I’ll be right back doctor”

now that you’re left with him alone, you feel less anxious about the whole situation, and sit up properly to talk to him

“I don’t have tetanus,”

you can see him processing your words before he lets out a hearty chuckle, “having tetanus isn’t illegal or contagious, we won’t throw you in quarantine,”

“no, no, I told them I don’t think it’s tetanus, it’s merely a cut from metal-- yes, but it’s not infected or anything, I just came here for a confirmation,”

he pauses to mull over your words, before taking off your shoe and tugging at your socks,

“I’m fine, really, I think this was a mistake-”

your socks successfully comes off, and he’s tentatively ripping your band-aid off, trying not to provoke the wound any further

when the wrapping comes off, he’s not too impressed by his present, which you think he fully expects a nasty, nasty wound, with yellow mucus oozing out from the opening and rotten flesh scent-- instead of a clean, clear, thread sized cut

“and I didn’t black out, I’m just very tired and the coffee’s not helping,”

he looks up from your foot and seems so confused, so you do him a favour to explain at the best your brain allows you to

by the time the nurse is back, you two had ran through a quick summary of your activities for the past few days, and her cup of water is the perfect solution to a real, dry throat

“patient does not have tetanus, a false alarm, but they’re still gonna require a shot, just in case,”

he gestures to your foot and she looks fairly annoyed, but says nothing at the presence of a doctor

she excuses herself to help out outside, and dr.wong sits back at his desk to wait for the vaccine, while you lay your head down to rest

“I think she hates me,”

he laughs, “nah, we just haven’t had a tetanus case in a while, I think she got too worked up,”

the other nurse comes back with your vaccine, and helps clean up your arm for the injection, “you’re not scared of needles, are you?”

you can taste the amusement in the air, tension lifted and light in the air thanks to his teasing, “patient does not have an infection, but is taking a shot for proper measures, and the high body temp is caused from lack of sleep for days, and a slightly inflamed liver, does not require further care, but a follow up is needed in a month’s time,”

the nurse scribbles your prescription while he stabs your arm with the long needle, and you try your best not to panic

after the nurse leaves the room, you two are left alone once again, and the ambiguous question hangs in the air, “am I allowed to leave now?”

he peers up from his book, “yes, but it’s 5:37am now, and my shift ends at 6; if you could stay a bit longer,” he trails off,

he senses your confusion and hurriedly explains himself, “I’m trying to avoid having breakfast with someone, and I’m no longer needed for emergency cases, it would be nice to have some peace and quiet,”

“you could take a nap-- I’ll wake you at 6,”

“can you put in a good word for me with the nurses?”

“deal.”

“can we eat breakfast too?” words kind of jumbled up from your fatigue

he takes a bit longer to respond, and by the time he does, you don’t hear it-- having already fallen asleep on the white stretcher,

“sure, that’ll be nice.”

[phcking-detective]

9. Positive Reinforcement

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 9/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: hospitals, hurt/comfort, domestic, Nines takes care of Gavin, caring Dom Nines, Gavin has a mood swing / shouting episode but there’s no partner abuse, using BDSM instead of therapy (not recommended btw)

Link on AO3

***

Hospitals suck ass.

Gavin repeats this mantra to himself like one of those meditation techniques. It's not enough to block out how his hip keeps slipping between the three chairs he's trying to lay on horizontally or how fucking cold it is in nothing but jeans and Nines' stupid fucking Cyberlife jacket or the bright fucking florescent—

"Detective."

Gavin squints up at Nines' sudden appearance like he's looking at a miracle—inherently suspicious and wondering what the fucking catch is. He's woozy and tired and somehow also hungry, the nurse took four tries to find his vein, and Tina didn't answer any of his calls from the courtesy phone because who the hell answers phone calls?

"What are you doing?" Nines asks in the sort of tone normally reserved for walking in on someone trying to suck their own dick.

Not that Gavin's ever tried.

"I'm sleeping, fuck off."

"On three separate chairs?"

"You know what?" Gavin sits up and stabs a finger against the android's steel fucking stomach. "I'm tired, I don't have a phone or my wallet, I can't pay for a cab, Tina isn't answering, and I don't—"  

The finger-stabs turn into punches.

"Have. Any. Other. Friends!"

Nines stands there, letting Gavin punch him until the bruised knuckles aren't worth it anymore. The waiting room starts to sway. Fuck, he really needs a snack or something right now. One free cookie and a juice box just isn't going to cut it.

"Here."

The inside of the jacket suddenly begins to warm up. Nice to know it could have done that the entire FUCKING time. Nines also produces Gavin's cellphone from his pants' pocket and offers it to him. Gavin snatches it back and stares at the screen.

"Can't phcking read this," he mutters.

Nines produces his headphones too. When all Gavin does is take them back and hold them stupidly in his other hand, Nines crouches down in front of him. His fucking head hurts so bad, Gavin actually sits quietly and doesn't complain while Nines plugs in the headphones and then puts the earbuds inside his ears.

Your jacket is at the dry cleaners. Nines' voice sounds in his head at a mercifully low volume. I have brought your truck and ordered you a large number five meal with a strawberry milkshake.

Gavin slumps forward and lets his head rest on Nines' shoulder so he doesn't cry. He punches the android's arm and chest a few more times for good measure. It doesn't even crinkle his fancy black dress shirt. Nines stays perfectly still and allows this too.

Your food is becoming cold, detective.

Gavin grunts. He'll get up in a second.

Nines decides he'll get up right now. Those ridiculous fucking yaoi hands grabbing his thighs is the only warning he gets before he's hoisted in the air and held against Nines' chest. Which—fuck, that's hot, but not here!

"Fuck off tin can, leggo!"

Gavin puts up a fight against his partner's gay shit because there are people watching. He can see them right over Nines' shoulder, the nurse at the front desk and the six other people in the waiting room. Yeah, shit's a lot better for gay people now, but that doesn't mean he wants the entire hospital to know what a bottom bitch he is.

"Don't fucking hold me like a fucking child," he complains as they reach the automatic doors.

A second later, Nines shifts him into his arms bridal style, like that's any better.

"Hold me like a man, god damn it!"

Then he's slung over Nines' shoulder in a fireman's hold. Between the giving blood wooziness and suddenly being upside down, he has to stop yelling and just focus on breathing for a second. The rush of cold air when they get out to the parking lot helps.

Even better, when he opens his eyes again, he's greeted by an up-close view of Nines' ass in tight dress pants. Best of all are the thick, powerful thighs right beneath it, marching away. A little bit lower, and he could just bury his face between those thighs and suffocate the way God intended.

Car tires crunch against the asphalt in front of them and Gavin's pretty sure he recognizes the blurry, upside-down image of his truck between Nines' legs. Has the automated driving feature always been capable of being remote controlled, or is that just some freaky shit that Nines did to it?

He doesn't get a chance to think any more about it before he's flipped upright, set inside his truck, and buckled into the passenger's seat like a toddler. It's a miracle he hasn't dropped his phone or had his headphones ripped out of his ears yet.

"I hate you," he tells Nines, just to make sure the android knows.

Nines takes the bag of fast food off the dash and sets it in his lap.

Occupy your mouth.

Gavin makes a face at him. Why's everything he say have to sound so ominously dominating? The passenger door shuts in his face before he can think of something smarter than I'll occupy your mouth though, so he settles for grabbing his milkshake and making loud slurping noises. Nines gets in on the driver's side and immediately takes the milkshake from him, so he counts it as a success. He's too hungry and tired of hurting his hands to try hitting him for it, so he digs into the food bag.

A large number five, fried chicken club sandwich, none of that stupid special sauce, extra ketchup.

Gavin really can't help the moan he makes when he bites into it. But there's only so much toxic masculinity even he can handle, and he'll moan like a bitch if he wants to moan like a bitch. As long as it's just the two of them.

"Mmphfgh. So."

Swallow.

Shit. Fuck, his headphones are still in. Gavin rolls his eyes to try to shake off how he jumped, but he does still swallow his bite before talking again.

"How'd you know to come get me? Tina never answered."

I know the location of the Henry Ford Medical Center, detective.

"Yeah, but who told you to come get me?"

It was an independent decision.

Gavin takes another huge bite of his sandwich to think that over. Some ketchup squirts out the other side onto his fingers, and he sucks it off as obnoxiously loud as possible. Nines flashes red in his peripheral vision. Well, he can't actually see the LED because it's on the wrong side, but he can see his partner's reflection in the driver's side window.

"You find the perp loitering nearby?" he finally asks.

No.

Gavin tries to think of any other reason Nines would come get him but comes up empty.

"So, why did you …?"

He takes another long drink of his milkshake to avoid putting whatever this is into words. Take care of me makes him sound like a child and do the nicest shit anyone's done for me in years (or maybe ever) just sounds pathetic.

We need to get back to work. Humans need food after donating blood. Your jacket needed to be cleaned.

All right, those are simple explanations. Yeah. Maybe that's just how Nines sees it. He doesn't have a social module, so he was probably just solving a series of problems, completing his task list or whatever. Not like. Actually caring.

Except then Nines turns and says out loud with soul-searing intensity, "You are my partner."

Gavin does the only reasonable thing and stuffs an entire handful of fries in his mouth so he doesn't have to look at those pretty blue eyes staring at him like he's important. Or do some gay shit, like cry.

He's not going to cry. It's just been a long day, that's all. He makes the mistake of looking at the dashboard clock.

11:36 am

Fuck.

***

(9 hours later …)

Mmm warm good smell. Food smell. Gavin takes another greedy inhale and feels the warm thing touch his lips. He instinctively takes a bite before he even finishes waking up. It tastes good and kind of chewy, if a little bland. He snuffles and licks the fingers that fed it to h—

Wait, fucking whom'st fingers is he licking right now?

"Fascinating."

Gavin swats the hand away and glares up at Nines hovering over him. "What the fuck did you just make me eat?"

Nines cocks his head to the side. He looks more like a creepy animatronic owl than the cute puppy eyes Connor gives when he does it.

"Can you not tell?" the android asks.

"Can you blow me?"

"I tried that on a banana," Nines says casually, as if that mental image makes any kind of sense.

"Whuh—wh—"

Gavin smacks his lips together and tries to figure out what his mouth tastes like right now. Kind of … cheesy? Like pasta maybe, but without any flavor. Whatever he swallowed was dry at least, so no sauce or anything.

"Why?"

"To know if I could," Nines replies. "My combat protocols automatically activated and my jaw locked shut."

"OK, so you can't eat bananas, but what the fuck did I eat?" Gavin demands.

"Technically, I did eat the banana," Nines says. "Partially. My jaw snapped shut after taking a bite of it inside my oral cavity."

Gavin's dick starts listening to the conversation. It's because of karma and maybe some sort of android fucking witchcraft that now his dick gets hard listening to the bitchiest most stuck up Alexa ever say the words "oral cavity."

Of course Nines notices the reaction right away. Because fuck his whole entire life, that's why. Nines stares down at his crotch and Gavin can practically hear a zzzzzz as his eyes zoom in on his traitor dick.

"Fascinating."

"Tell me what you fucking fed me or I swear to God, I'll—"

"One cheese ravioli."

Gavin stares at him. "A cheese … did it even have sauce?"

"No, I washed that off."

Gavin opens his mouth, stares harder at that completely serious face, and shuts it again. He pinches the bridge of his nose instead, rubbing over the thick gnarl of scar tissue there.  

"Why …"

But that's all he can bring himself to say. For once, Nines is the one who has no trouble with speaking.

"So it wouldn't drip on the carpet," he says, like that's obvious.

"You really think a bit of Prego is gonna be the worst this carpet's ever seen?" Gavin asks.

Nines' face darkens into a scowl that would be terrifying if Gavin didn't know this was his version of pouting. "Do not remind me. I have deleted fifty-seven analysis reports this last hour alone."

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Well, why'd you feed me a cheese ravioli?"

"To save the beef ravioli as a higher value treat."

Gavin looks him over. His left arm hangs down casually by his side, but his hand presses slightly behind his crouched thigh. It looks like he's holding something in one of those magician's grip that makes his hand appear loose and open while something is secretly tucked into his palm.

"You may have the beef ravioli if you sit at the table," Nines tells him.

He stands up and takes a few steps backwards toward the kitchen, raising up his hand to reveal the ravioli. Gavin gets off the couch and marches toward him to kick his ass, but the android matches his pace exactly to step backwards until they're right next to the table. He opens his mouth to start yelling, which immediately proves to be a mistake.

Nines shoves the ravioli directly into his open mouth. Gavin automatically bites down, but the android's reflexes are too quick for him, and he gets his fingers clear before being bitten. Instead, Gavin only bites into delicious beefy filling.

And he would spit it out. He really would, right onto Nines' perfectly shined shoes.

Except it's been a long ass day filled with paperwork about what happened with the reporter and no other goddamn leads and he has no idea how late it is since he fell asleep on the couch, but it's definitely past suppertime and he's hungry as fuck.

(Also, maybe he remembers the consequences of the last time he tried to spit at Nines, and his traitor-dick needs to Shut Up about that.)

Gavin chews the beef ravioli with the angriest face he can muster. It doesn't help that it's really fucking good, way better than the takeout and ramen he usually lives on. Nines opens the lid of the to go box sitting on the kitchen table, and the best smell his trash apartment has ever encountered steams out.

Gavin sits his angry ass down and starts to eat. Fuck him if he's going to waste good food. Most of the ravioli is beef, but there's some cheese-filled ones too, mixed in with the rest in a thick meaty sauce. Nines sits in the seat across the table to stare at him while he eats. Fucking creeper. Always one step behind him, staring at him, following him back home like they're friends or something.

"Why the fuck are you still here?" he deliberately asks with his mouth full.

"Juarez is currently our best lead to identifying the shooter," Nines answers. "As she may wake from her coma at any time, it is most efficient for me to stay with you in the event we are called during off duty hours."

Gavin chews his food. His partner is real fucking good at coming up with totally logical answers that he can't argue against without looking stupid even though he just knows that's bullshit.

"Whatever," he says. "I'm not paying you back for this. Or the chicken sandwich."

Nines keeps staring at him with those blank, lizard eyes. "I did not ask you to."

Gavin pushes back his chair and slams his hands on the table, yelling "Fuck you!" before he even knows what hits him. His moods are like that sometimes.

Nines doesn't even blink.

Usually, that sort of shit would just set him off even more. The lack of response sure as hell drove him to push harder and harder when they first got assigned as partners. Now Gavin just feels stupid, shouting at someone just sitting there.

Stupid. Fuck, he always does this shit. He knows this. He <i>knows</i> this.

"I don't …" Gavin forces himself to exhale slowly out through his teeth, gripping the edge of the table so he doesn't throw something. "Need. Your charity."

Stupid stupid stupid.

"You are my partner," Nines says.

Monotone. Four words and not a single inflection. When Gavin finally makes himself look up from panting at the grain of the fake-wooden table, Nines' face is just as blank. It should probably trigger some sort of uncanny valley lurch in his stomach, but without any micro-expressions for his brain goblins to pick up on and start screeching about, Gavin's anger starts slipping away like resin on tarp.

He looks back down at the table so he doesn't have to see his partner's face.

"If you cannot accept your own rule that partners look out for each other, consider this an investment to ensure you are recovered for our next shift tomorrow."

Gavin exhales again. Then inhales. Stupid. Exhale. At least he didn't throw anything. Inhale. This time.

"Also, I am applying Pavlovian training to encourage behaviors convenient to me."

Gavin sits back down and rubs both hands through his hair. "You're dog training me?"

"Positive reinforce—"

"You can't fix this," Gavin growls out, then gestures to himself and the kitchen at large. "This! Me. Anyone can read a fucking psychology book, dipshit—I already know what's wrong with me. If I could just good behavior myself into getting better, I would have done it already."

Nines' composure finally breaks as he blinks. "I am not a KL-nine-hundred unit, detective. I have absolutely no intention of—"

Gavin groans because he knows the air quotes are coming. Nines looks him dead in the eyes and does them anyway.

"—'fixing' you."

"I hate you."

"I only want to encourage relevant behaviors," Nines continues without acknowledging the outburst. "Such as doing your own paperwork rather than playing games on your phone."

Gavin grunts and manages to take another bite now that he's settled down some. Sure, maybe he'd been dumping all his paperwork on Nines now that the android has proven he knows how to do it properly. But he gets it done way faster and trying to make letters hold still on a bright ass computer screen gives him the worst headaches. God, he probably needs reading glasses at this point but he'd rather his entire head split open than wear that kind of shit at the station.

"Listening to my input at crime scenes."

"Hhegh," Gavin says around a mouth full of beef.

"Basic table manners."

Gavin swallows. "Hey. Fuck off, I do listen to you. I have been, so don't fucking sit there and try to tell me—"

"You have been," Nines says.

Gavin stops with his mouth hanging open. Dammit, he was just getting good and pissed off again, and then the bastard goes and agrees with him. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? It's definitely a trap. Like sarcasm, or some sort of passive aggressive ...

Something.

"Throughout our current case, you have taken note of my input," Nines says. "I was not implying otherwise, simply that I would start rewarding you for doing so."

Gavin narrows his eyes at him. "Yeah? Why?"

"I was forced to work with other humans at the Juarez residence." Nines finally finds some inflection to say other humans like he means radioactive screaming toddlers. "It was not ideal. And while I certainly will not beg for your continued cooperation, I am not above bribery as a means to ensure I can do my work in peace rather than relying on … the kindness of your heart."

Gavin grunts again and goes back to his food. Eating slightly cold ravioli is easier than making eye contact with his partner right now. He might have been a teensy bit better lately, but obviously he's not some kind of android rights activist. If Nines is worried he's going to flip back to being an asshole on a whim or a bad day or because other people were watching, well.

That's pretty fucking fair, to be honest.

"Dog training though?" he mutters after a minute. "Really?"

"I have read many human psychology books." Nines pauses, then adds, "Dipshit."

Gavin snorts and lets the insult pass.

"I can recite them. I understand the words. But they are merely words to me," Nines admits slowly. "Dog training books are much more simple."

"Is this a kink thing?"

Nines rolls his eyes. "Gavin, would you care to explain to me in honest and personal detail why offering food triggered such an immediate and violent reaction? Please include at least three references to your childhood."

Gavin shoves more ravioli in his mouth and smacks as loudly as possible as he chews.

"Then perhaps you would prefer a simpler way of relating to one another," Nines speaks over the noise. "No emotional sharing, no childhood details, no sad sob stories about what made you like this. You behave, you get food. That is all."

"What if I don't behave?" Gavin immediately challenges.

"Then you do not receive any food or treats."

"You gonna punish me, sir?"

Nines glares down his perfectly sculpted nose at him. "If you had listened to my explanation on the benefits of positive reinforcement, you would already know why it is the more effective training method."

Gavin resists the urge to repeat thE MorE eFFeCtIve TrAInInG MeTHoD back at him.

"Also," Nines continues. "You are far too much of a needy little painslut to be truly punished by corporeal means."

Gavin focuses very hard on mopping up the rest of the meat sauce with his side of garlic bread instead of answering that. Even when they know better, he's never met a Dom he couldn't piss off into beating the shit out of him just like he wanted. Technically, if they're counting their little "scene" in the DPD's men's bathroom, Nines hasn't proven himself to be an exception, either.

"Well." He stands up and leaves the mess on the table. "Good luck with your totally not a kink pet play. I'm gonna go watch funny youtube videos until my brain dies."

"Cat videos?" Nines asks as he passes him, raising one perfect eyebrow. "Am I to assume those are not also a pet play ki—"

Gavin flips him off and slams his bedroom door shut.

***

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

by the way, Nines totally posted a video of himself feeding asleep-Gavin the ravioli to his blog and it has a weird overly formal title like Human (36M) Instinctively Eats Ravioli During the Course of REM Sleep. all of his posts are like that because they’re meant to be “educational” “”experiments”” and the text posts are just black text on a white background

meanwhile, Connor’s blog consists exclusively of super cute pictures featuring either him and Hank on dates or cuddling on the couch, and Sumo of course. Nines thinks it’s disgusting and dumb and is lowkey (actually highkey) upset that Connor’s blog gets way more views than his

It isn’t even educational!! >:(

[these-are-the-first-steps]

TATFS’s strategies for surviving illness with no health insurance- a long post

DISCLAIMER: I am NOT a doctor, nor do I have any medical background. I’m just someone who spent a chunk of their time being too poor to see a doctor and scared to death and managed to figure out some basic things that worked, so consume and apply the following text using your own discretion.

So as someone who has spent a scary enough chunk of their adult life uninsured, I’d like to share with you fine folks my own personal general strategy for effectively fighting off nasty illness and avoiding a doctor as much as is reasonable. I’ve sucked out the beginnings of full-on upper respiratory infections with OTC meds before with my own combos and also some tips from pharmacists who took pity on me back in the day. The bare basics are as follows- 1) dry up what’s starting up in there

2) flush it out and keep flushing so it can’t take up residence again.

3) stop fevers that either get too high or refuse to break on their own (fevers are your body trying to kill the bad stuff, and I’ve experimented with letting low grade ones run their course, but if they get too high or don’t seem to ever break, you gotta stop ‘em.)

You can do this with three main things-

1) some sort of decongestant/antihistamine (used to use sudafed (pseudoephedrine) but now use 24h claritin (Loratadine) dissolve tabs- bonus in that it should still be on the shelves. no one’s panic buying allergy meds!). This will start to dry it up. (If you are in a risk group for glaucoma/have eye pressure concerns, cut yourself off after 7 days max for claritin. There’s nothing on the box to suggest it, but I did two weeks once, started getting suspicious, went to the eye doc, and I was on the line. 7 days is a safe cut off, though, and you should be good by then anyway.) 2) guaifenesin (aka mucinex)- super cheap stuff, has no known interactions with anything to my knowledge, and it’s probably the most harmless drug ever created. This is gonna break up all the bad shit and flush it all out so long as you keep up lots of liquids. 3) take TYLENOL (acetaminophen) for fever and/or pain from sinus pressure. And only tylenol. NSAIDs aren’t going to help you and may actually make things worse, especially with corona according to an article headline I saw. whatever, they don’t touch that shit anyway. Tylenol breaks fevers and that’s all you need to know. Deceptively simple, but it’s legit. Once you’re on this stuff, you have three main responsibilities- 1) DRINK LIQUIDS. I like buying 32floz or 1000 ml bottles of water or some mellow tasting sports drink (stay away from stuff with heavy dyes, it’s just bad for your guts. gatorade has plenty of light colored transparent drink flavors. Pocari Sweat saved me from a hospital trip once) because then I know that if I finish the bottle, I drank plenty of liquids that day. Yes you’re gonna piss yourself- that’s the point. Your nose will probably run a bit more, too- that’s the point. Time to flush the gunk out! 2) EAT THREE MEALS A DAY. Guess what’s worth investing in? Your health. Eat breakfast. Eat a bowl of soup with crackers for lunch. Eat something solid that’ll stick to you for dinner. You’re sitting around but your body is burning extra fuel to fight off illness, so feed it!! You’ll notice pretty quickly how much better you feel almost magically after having eaten a good soup for lunch. Throw caution to the wind and feed yourself. 3) STAY STILL. Most of us are stuck indoors anyway what with lockdowns and all that bullshit, but just stay still. Camp out in your room or your couch or something for a change of scenery. Doing work that makes you move a lot or heavy chores will run your body down when it’s trying to fix you up. You’ll get better faster if you just sit still, watch a little tv, and play video games/knit/crochet/something to occupy your hands. Even when you start to feel a lot better, give it a few days- you’re still fighting it, so don’t mess up the progress. Just chill, and relax.

Here are some bonus tips:

1) ECHINACEA TEA. Drinking echinacea tea is actually something the last doctor I saw recommended to me. Maybe do a cup once a day while you’re feeling badly. I wouldn’t do it as a once a day for the rest of your life sort of thing, but once a week is probably fine when you’re healthy. It helps boost your immune system.

2) Dissolvable zinc tablets. Now these were sold out last time I went to the store, but I think they’re great. They’re white tablets that come in a few flavors and you’re to let them dissolve completely. No chewing. Zinc has been shown in peer-reviewed scientific studies to hinder virus replication in the body, which is great. For this reason, it’s best to start the tablets the moment you get the feeling you might be getting sick to head things off and lessen the effects of the future illness, but do what you can. They take about 15mins to dissolve in your mouth. If you follow the directions to the T on the back of the box, you’ll notice by about day three that your tastebuds have sort of taken a vacation and food tastes a bit bland, but that’s just zinc for you and it all goes back to normal after a couple days of not taking them. Remember that the tablets work for viruses, not bacterial illnesses (although zinc can also be good for sore throats in general).

3) Multivitamins can’t hurt, and you can also easily cut half a lemon, squeeze it in a mug, dump a bunch of honey in there, and pour boiling water over it for a tasty, vitamin C-rich drink. HOWEVER, if you have serious, serious heavy gunk in your lungs, please stick to ice chips and avoid hot drinks. Ice chips were a miracle idea some desperate victorians figured out that actually started saving their kids from dying from dyptheria. I’m not saying give up warm drinks entirely, but ice chips can help significantly.

With all this said: Listen to your intuition and your gut and if you feel like nothing is getting better, have had unnerving scares with phlegm, etc. just suck it up and go see a doctor!! No matter what, you living is the most important thing on earth, so if things start to feel like they’re out of your control, don’t think about it, just go.

Luckily as far as corona is concerned, the majority of folks below the age of 40 will have mild to no symptoms at all, which...in and of itself is rather creepy, but take what you can get. As it’s something that also seems to like to cause upper respiratory infections, these above tips and experiences, developed when I myself had the beginnings of an upper respiratory infection, are hopefully useful, especially to folks who don’t have insurance during this spooky time. 

JUST TO REITERATE: I am not a doctor and the above is just to share what I do personally during times of severe to moderate illness with no health insurance. It’s up to you to decide what’s the best strategy for you.

Take care of yourselves out there, guys. We’ll be alright and this’ll blow over soon. <3

[ooops-i-arted]

May I ask about your thoughts on Rise of Skywalker?

You may indeed because I have Feelings and need Catharsis.  I’ll just start with general thoughts and put specific spoilers under the cut.

Edit:  I had a cut but it did not work??  Spoilers are marked in bold!!

I mean, it exceeded my expectations.  Of course, my expectations were “It can’t be worse than TLJ, right?  Who am I kidding, of course it could be” so…take that with a grain of salt.  I wasn’t bored out of my mind like I was during TLJ at least.

It felt like watching fanfiction tbh.  Like someone watched The Force Awakens and couldn’t wait for the rest so wrote their own Episode 8 and 9, but you can’t find where they posted the Episode 8 so you just have to go off context clues.  And it’s uh, typical fanfic quality but it’s still vaguely interesting enough to keep your attention even though it’s not your ideal standard of fic.

Also there is a plot hole/ass pull/that’s not how the Force works moment literally every ten minutes.  Like it loops around from being annoying to incredible to straight up ballsy.  If you are annoyed by that sort of thing, hoo boy, prepare yourself now because you’re gonna need it.

Look I feel mostly okay/somewhat positively right now but that’s because I want to try and get something positive out of it.  I wanted more from it than I got.  It was not good and I know it.  We deserved better.  Rey and Finn deserved better.  Han and Luke and Leia deserved better.  Kylo deserved worse.

John Williams did not have to go that hard with the soundtrack but he did and that’s why he’s the best composer ever.  It’s stunning and more than we deserve.

--SPOILERS AHEAD, DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPECIFIC SPOILERS--

So when I said “straight up ballsy” with ass pulls I mean literally the first thing you see is “Palpatine’s not dead!” and then they never really explain it.  It’s incredible.  You have literal billions you could spend on budget and like….you write typical fanfic quality work.  Like I can’t even be mad, it just so incredulous I just get stuck in the wow stage and can’t move on to annoyance let alone anger yet.

At least they don’t do my boy Palpatine dirty.  He’s there.  He’s evil.  He’s the biggest ham in the galaxy.  He says “Do it!”  I am a simple girl with simple wants and this, at least, satisfied me.

The new trio actually ACTS AS A TRIO!!!  It’s honestly what made parts of this movie watchable.  Rey, Finn, and Poe are friends and they trust each other and they work together.  They don’t always agree but they are a team.

I for one love Threepio’s endless bitching and he gets lots of good lines.  ALSO HE DOESN’T DIE, THANK THE FORCE.  HE’S OKAY AT THE END!

You know who else doesn’t die??  Lando and Chewie!!  I was very concerned but they make it!

There’s no Mando cameo that I saw so I like to think that Mando is happily raising baby Yoda safely somewhere were he can eat lots of frogs.  Aunt Cara and Grandpa Kuiil visit on weekends.  (Alternatively, Mando got Lando’s call and just answered “Can’t you see the baby on board sign, do I look like I can go into battle???” then hands the baby a real toy that isn’t a choking hazard.)

Finn does not train as a Jedi because no reason but is blatantly Force-sensitive, operating on “a feeling” several times like Jedi are explicitly shown to do in other films.  John Boyega and Finn deserved so much better.

Especially because every single Rey/Finn scene is Finn supporting Rey, believing in her, helping her even though she’s struggling mentally a huge amount through the entire film.  There is so much friendship and trust there (and definitely a strong case for Finnrey) and it’s awesome.

It especially contrasts the fact that every single scene between Rey and Kylo is rapey, creepy, assault-y.  Rey is literally being assaulted by Kylo mentally and physically.

If you’re reading spoilers I assume you want to know…. there is a Reylo kiss.  A dry, bland, chemistry-less Reylo kiss that was so forgettable I couldn’t even be that mad about it, because the film acts like it never happened after.

But I’m still mad because I will never, as long as I live, remember refusing to hope or believe that the new films would have a girl be the main character.  And I’ll never ever forget looking up at the big screen on TFA night, in my Rey costume, watching her pick up that lightsaber and be the hero!  There was a Jedi on the screen who looked like me!  A Jedi who was a girl just like me!  And if I, a grown-ass 26-year-old woman felt that way, can you imagine how little girls watching that movie must’ve felt??  And now those same little girls watched Rey kiss the man who continuously stalked, harassed, and abused her.  Fuck whoever approved that.  May every Lego find your feet.

But I refuse to let the trilogy take Rey from me.  I love her, and if nothing else, she is the protagonist again.  She’s driven and proactive.  She wants to do the right thing but struggles to do it and it’s very human of her.  She may have incredible power but she doubts herself and wants to check herself.  But at the same time she also has kickass fight moves, is daring and badass.  So I got that, at least.  I adore her and she deserved so much better.

(Don’t get me wrong, Finn did too and I am definitely mad little black boys don’t get to see themselves as a Jedi hero onscreen, but Rey is really personal to me.)

Kylo is awful.  They don’t have the balls to make him a full villain but his ~redemption~ is weak and not really justified.  Every time he comes on screen he just drains any interest out of the film.  And he takes FOREVER to finally die.

The whole theater burst into laughter at his death scene though.  It wasn’t tragic at all, it was stupid.  Vindication tastes so sweet.

The worst thing though is that Leia dies to save him.  This greasy-ass womp rat is literally the reason the OT trio is dead.  They all died because of him.  Disney threw away Han, Leia, and Luke and all we got was fucking Kylo Ren.

Also they retcon “Leia trained as a Jedi the whole time!” but she puts away her saber because she had a vision about it being involved in the death of her son.  So not only does Leia die for Kylo, we never see her as a Jedi because of him either.

Although Leia training Rey was actually really cool, as was her having a saber.  (You know what would’ve been cooler?  Besides the Thrawn trilogy?  Actually seeing her as a Jedi.)

I don’t have a problem with Rey taking on the Skywalker name personally.  If Han, Luke, and Leia were in-character the whole time they totally would’ve adopted her and raised her to grow beyond her roots as Palpatine’s grandchild.  And she was positively impacted by Luke and Leia Skywalker so it felt like a spiritual adoption to me?  But ymmv and I’m definitely biased.  As I mentioned before, Rey has a special place in my heart and I’d originally hoped she’d be a Skywalker or Solo.

The worst part of this movie is that is that Palpatine has, presumably, canonically fucked.

Although honestly I don’t buy that, it seems way more likely he cloned himself and raised one as his son (”Hmm, that Jango had the right idea”) because we know how much he loves cloning.

Tl;dr I watched it once and that was Enough.  I’ll buy the soundtrack for sure, and a Black Series RoS Rey to go with my other two Reys, but probably not the DVD.  I’ve seen it and it’s time to return to obsessing over the Mandalorian and Baby Yoda again.

[bentonpena]

Tofu Freaking Rules

Tofu Freaking Rules https://bit.ly/350TvUV

We need to talk about tofu. As Beyond Meat and Impossible Burger mania sweeps the globe, the OG vegan protein is getting left behind—and I, for one, hate to see it. If you’re serious about reducing your reliance on animal products, tofu has the potential to change your diet—and life—for the better.

To some extent, I get why so many people, particularly American meat-eaters, are resistant to the entire concept of tofu. Western culture has ruthlessly (and racist-ly) slandered the humble soy-based protein for as long as we’ve known about it, so a lot of us were basically programmed from birth to think it’s garbage.

I’m begging you to reconsider. When correctly prepared, tofu is a textural marvel, running the gamut from delicate and custardy to deep-fried and crunchy. Its unmatched flavor-absorbing powers make it a total chameleon; it truly can be anything you want it to be. I’ve loved tofu my whole meat-eating life, and I’m here to convert the naysayers. Welcome to my Tofu Manifesto.

You’re probably thinking about tofu all wrong

The biggest, wrongest tofu misconception is that it’s strictly a meat substitute. Sure, it can be that if it needs to—but tofu’s closest animal protein analog is actually the egg. On their own, eggs are bland; it’s their ability to morph into a staggering array of forms and textures that makes them so special. However you like your eggs—fried crisp with lacy edges, scrambled soft with lots of butter, or cooked into a puffy, tender frittata—I’m willing to bet your preferences come down to texture rather than flavor.

The same is true for tofu, which is why I’m skeptical when people insist they don’t like how it tastes. Soft and silken tofu has a more noticeable soy milk vibe than the firm stuff, but for the most part, it adds no flavor whatsoever to a dish. Tofu only tastes as good as the sauce it’s served in—texture is basically the whole point.

It’s embarrassingly easy to make tofu taste amazing

Contrary to popular assumption, delicious tofu takes barely any work at all. In fact, all the usual hacks try way too hard: Pressing takes forever (and freezing even longer); marinating often yields profoundly mediocre results; a cornstarch dredge too easily sogs out. None of these techniques work particularly well on medium-to-soft tofu, and with the exception of marinating, they also offer absolutely nothing in the way of seasoning.

For all of these reasons and more, the salt water trick is the only tofu hack worth knowing. Hot, salty water is a tofu prep triple threat: It dehydrates firm tofu so it crisps up quickly, sets super-fragile soft tofu so it doesn’t fall apart, and seasons everything through and through. It also adds as much work to your dinner prep as boiling pasta. I’ll get into the specific techniques in a bit; for now, just know that the salt water hack promoted tofu from something I’d buy occasionally to a legit, can’t-live-without-it staple.

If you remain unmoved, I’ve collected my favorite tofu products and preparations in one place, starting with the most hater-friendly ones. This isn’t a recipe post—it’s all about the technique. (Where applicable, I’ll link to specific recipes that I used and explain how I adjusted them to work with tofu, with the hope that you’ll soon be doing the same.)

Even hardline skeptics love fried tofu puffs

Tofu puffs are cheap, delicious, deep-fried flavor sponges that need zero prep; in other words, they’re easy to love. You can toss them whole into curries and stews for a fun textural element, but I strongly recommend taking 30 seconds to slice them in half. With their honeycomb-like interiors exposed, these puffy little nuggets soak up sauce like nobody’s business—without compromising their crispiness.

To show them off, I made my favorite Maangchi recipe—cheese buldak, or fire chicken with cheese—with halved tofu puffs instead of chicken breast.

Those two ingredients are obviously nothing alike, but the swap totally works thanks to the insanely powerful sauce. Red-hot both in color and spice level, surprisingly sweet, and with enough fresh ginger and garlic to put hair on your chest, it more than picks up the slack for something as bland as chicken breast or unseasoned tofu. Having made this dish with chicken dozens of times, I have to say—I prefer the puffs. Even when saturated with sauce, they stay light and puffy, which is the perfect contrast to the ultra-chewy texture of sliced rice cakes and melted mozzarella.

Pressed tofu does (most of) the prep work for you

As the name implies, pressed tofu has already been pressed to remove most of its moisture, resulting in a pleasantly toothsome texture. You can buy it pre-seasoned with soy sauce and five spice powder, but I like it plain so I can season it however I like.

Here, I whipped up a vaguely Spam-inspired mixture of roughly 2 tablespoons each of soy sauce and sugar, plus a teaspoon of garlic powder and a few shakes of smoky hot sauce (El Yucateco Black Label Reserve for life). I added some cubed pressed tofu and let everyone hang out about 20 minutes, flipping them around halfway through. You don’t need much marinade; a shallow layer is plenty.

I then used it to bulk up a super basic batch of fried rice with ginger, garlic, carrots, and frozen peas. The cubes got nicely crispy and charred on the edges, and were just what I needed to add some substance to a huge bowl of fried carbs.

Unseasoned pressed tofu also makes great vegan “paneer:” Cube it up and marinate in lemon juice with a few pinches of salt for 30 minutes, or longer if you have the time. As with regular paneer, you can pan-fry the tofu or leave it alone; either way, you’ll be surprised at how closely the marinated tofu mimics the texture and flavor of the real thing.

Medium-to-firm tofu needs a little TLC

This range of the tofu spectrum is the most recognizable and the least immediately appealing. I mean, just look at this:

In my experience, the variations between medium, firm, and extra-firm tofu are pretty meaningless, and I use them all interchangeably. Left uncooked, they all have a texture best described as “rubbery,” with no discernible flavor at all. Their highest calling is getting crispy in a hot skillet and doused in a flavorful sauce.

All you need to make crunchy pan-fried tofu is salt water, a good nonstick pan, and all of 20-30 minutes. That’s it. Here’s my usual procedure for a standard 1-pound block.

Before I do any other ingredient prep, I bring 2-3 cups of salted water and 2 teaspoons of table salt to a strong boil in a saucepan. Then I cut the heat, slide in my tofu, and let it sit while I prepare the rest of the recipe. After 15-20 minutes, I drain off the water and either pat the tofu dry on clean towels or leave it in the colander until I need it.

To get that crispy surface going, I coat my big cast-iron skillet with a thin layer of neutral oil and heat it over medium-high. I then add the tofu, spread it into an even layer, and leave it completely alone for at least 5 minutes.

Once the edges start to brown, I flip it over and do the same on the other side.

Boom. Done. Obviously, I used crumbled tofu here—it’s my favorite—but this works just as well with cubes, slabs, triangles, or any other shape you can dream up.

Don’t sleep on crumbled tofu

I know I said that tofu isn’t a meat substitute, but crispy tofu crumbles get really fucking close. In many cases, I prefer them to meat because they hold their shape—and a surprising amount of crunch—even when simmered for a long time. Sure, they don’t give you the specific richness you get with ground pork or beef, but with the right recipe you won’t miss it at all.

Speaking of the right recipe, Bon Appétit Test Kitchen director Chris Morocco’s spicy sweet sambal pork noodles are flawless—but, despite the name, I’ve actually never made them with meat. I only had tofu the first time I made them, and they turned out so well that I’m fine with never learning how they taste with pork.

I make the recipe exactly as written, except—obviously—I leave the pork out. Instead, I fry up soaked, crumbled firm tofu in a separate skillet while the sauce simmers, then dump ‘em in and toss everything together with cooked noodles. This cuts at least 30 minutes off the cook time without compromising on anything except porkiness, which I promise won’t even register.

You can also use tofu crumbles like ground beef. I usually throw in some minced onion and garlic in once the tofu is nice and crispy, then cook it down with a little tomato paste, taco seasoning, and cheap beer if I’ve got it.

It’s not beefy, exactly, but it tastes incredible in its own right—and makes a killer vegan-friendly crunchwrap filling.

You can roast tofu, too

Maybe you’d rather not spray your stovetop with oil in the name of crispy tofu. In that case, roasted tofu is for you. The results are directly comparable to pan-frying—they just take a little longer to get there.

Start with soaked, drained tofu, preferably cut into triangles or flat slabs so they’re easy to flip. Arrange on a clean towel and let them dry out while your oven preheats to 450ºF.

If you like, cut a vegetable of your choice into similarly-sized pieces and toss them with a tablespoon or two of neutral oil; I’m using kabocha squash here.

Place a sheet pan on the lowest oven rack. After about 3 minutes, add 2-3 tablespoons of neutral oil to the pan, put it back in the oven, and heat for another minute or two. Carefully transfer the tofu and vegetables to the hot oiled pan, return to the bottom rack, and roast for at least 20 minutes. Flip everything over and roast for another 15-20 minutes, until the tofu is super crispy on both sides and the vegetables are browned and soft.

You can eat the whole shebang straight off the pan—perhaps drizzled with spicy peanut sauce or chili oil—but I added mine to a quick curry made with Maesri panang curry paste, palm sugar, and coconut milk. (Maesri is the only brand I’ve found that doesn’t use shrimp paste or fish sauce; if you usually avoid prepared curry paste for allergy or vegan reasons, give it a try.)

To be completely honest, the kabocha was a miss—the flesh was too dry, and the skin was super tough. The crispy roasted tofu, however, slapped. They can’t all be bangers; such is the nature of experimentation.

When you feel ready, silken tofu is there for you

The next stop on our tour de tofu is the most controversial, misunderstood one yet: Soft or silken tofu. Yes, it’s bland. Unseasoned coagulated soy milk isn’t going to blow your mind with super-concentrated umami or whatever. But when prepared correctly, soft tofu is more than just delicious—it’s absolutely sublime. I will go to bat for it all day long, and I would love to tell you why.

The dish that changed my mind about silken tofu came from Biwa, a now-closed izakaya-style bar in Portland. It was deceptively simple: A whole block of chilled silken tofu drizzled with sweet soy sauce and topped with bias-cut scallions, fistfuls of toasted sesame seeds, and paper-thin bonito shavings. I ordered it every time, and my friends would always be like—“Cold tofu? Why?” But if I could convince them to take a bite, they’d understand. It was like eating a deeply savory panna cotta.

Unfortunately, my dearly departed Tofu Slab is no more—and my attempts to recreate it have been so unsuccessful that I’m forced to settle for the next best thing: Salt water-soaked silken tofu mounded on hot white rice and drowned in chili oil, soy sauce, and black vinegar.

I’m not complaining. The salt water, once again, is key: It turns a cold, slimy block of tofu into a piping-hot savory custard, which is the perfect canvas for condiments. Sure, there’s not much in the way of textural contrast, but the softness is so comforting and nice that I think a crunchy element would actually defeat the purpose. It’s a delicious, balanced, reasonably nutritious meal you can throw together in the time it takes to cook a pot of rice.

Putting it all together: All-tofu mapo tofu

Neglecting to mention mapo tofu in an article about tofu is basically journalistic malpractice. The iconic Sichuanese tofu dish is rich, meaty, spicy, funky, sour, and savory all at once—and slicked with lip-numbing Sichuan peppercorn oil for good measure. It’s a top 3 dish for me; I make it all the time, usually using Maggie Zhu’s recipe from the Omnivore’s Cookbook.

Being a big vegetable fan, I’ve experimented with using minced veg—eggplant, mushrooms, and even carrots—in place of the traditional ground meat. But this time, I decided to follow my vision and make a variant I’m calling “Oops! All Tofu.” I approached this recipe just like the sambal noodles, swapping crispy tofu crumbles in for the ground pork—but this time, I also soaked some cubed soft tofu in a fresh pot of salt water while the sauce simmered away.

This was one of the most delicious things I’ve ever made. The nubbins of soft tofu were literally melt-in-your-mouth tender, while the crispy crumbles turned downright meaty as they soaked up the spicy, salty, rich sauce. It made me even more certain of all of the (correct) tofu opinions I just laid out before you and, if you’ll let it, it has the power to convert you too.

Internet via Lifehacker https://bit.ly/2VwWgKq April 24, 2020 at 12:01PM

[pinkevilbobdoesthings]

IT HALLOWEEN MONTH!!! Have monster!! Here’s “Hard Work and Science”.

Jester woke up with a groan. Her everything hurt. Every muscle, every joint, every nerve, and every inch of skin was sore. Not in a “oh please let the sweet kiss of death release me from this agony” way, but more in an “all I want in life is a hot bath” way. She tried to open her eyes, but the room was too bright. “Nnngh,” she moaned. Trying to get up, she found that her arms were strapped down to her bed. No, it was too firm to be her bed.

“Oh,” someone said. It was more of a sudden intake of breath than a word. Whoever it was mumbled something to themself.

“Mmmnngh, what’s going on?” Jester asked squinting to try to see where she was, but it was still too bright.

“You’re sentient,” the voice said like he could scarcely believe it.

Jester tugged at the straps again. “I’m what?”

“You’re sentient. You’re an intelligent being capable of independent thought.”

“Well, yeah, why wouldn’t I be? Um, can you do something about the lights?” Jester asked.

“Oh, ja, here. I shouldn’t be surprised that you have some light sensitivity.”

Cracking an eye open, Jester found that the room was a lot more bearable. She looked around to see a sterile room. It looked almost looked like a hospital room, but there were all sorts of cages along the wall. “Where are we? Why am I strapped down?”

“Oh, this is my, well, I guess you’d call it my operating room.” The owner of the voice stepped closer. He looked like he was in his mid thirties and had long messy ginger hair. Dark circles hung under his blue eyes and almost looked like bruises against his pale skin. He wore a ratty old lab coat and a blue scarf that had seen much better days. With more sleep and a better coat, he could be handsome though. “As for the straps, they’re to keep you from accidentally pulling out your IV.”

“Oh, that makes sense, I guess. Wait, IV? What happened?” Jester asked. She tried to remember the day before, but it was a blur. The last thing she could remember was that she was spending the day with her mom.

The man turned away and rubbed his arm. His fingers and part of his right hand were all tinged black like a piece of wood that was partially burnt, and his arms were pocked with old puncture marks. “There was a car accident, Miss Lavorre. You were thrown from 50 feet out the window. They nearly didn’t find you.”

Jester leaned forward straining at the straps. “My mom! What happened to my mom?!”

“Marion Lavorre is alive and well. She sustained some bruising and lacerations, but they’ve already healed,” he said.

“Where is she? Can I go see her?” Jester asked.

The man shook his head. “She’s at home most likely, and unfortunately, you can’t see her.”

“Why not?” Jester demanded. “She must be worried sick. My mom needs me.”

“Miss Lavorre, you must believe me when I tell you that that’s an impossible request,” he said.

Tears began to well up in Jester’s eyes. She pulled at the straps holding her wrists down. “You don’t get it! She needs me!”

He let out a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Miss Lavorre, your mother has known about your death for the last three months. I don’t think showing up at her door would do either of you any good.”

Jester froze. “Death?” That made no sense. She was alive. She was breathing. There was no way she was dead.

“Yes, death. You died in the car crash. The reanimation of dead tissue is a complicated process, but one that I’ve managed to accomplish,” the man said. He said it blandly like it wasn’t a big deal.

It made no sense. There was no way he was telling the truth. Jester yanked at the strap on her right arm one more time and tore it off the bed along with a chunk of the bed. She stared at it.

“Could you do that before?”

Jester shook her head.

“A marked increase of strength of then. I didn’t even consider the possibility.” The man rubbed his stubbly chin. “How do you feel?”

Jester stared at him for a long moment and then began to cry. It was all too much and none of it made any sense. Sloppy tears poured down her cheeks.

Gentle hands removed the strap from her left hand. “Ah, I see your eyes are still capable of lubricat-” He stopped. “I’m sorry, I should start over. My name’s Caleb Widogast.”

“I’m Jester,” she said rubbing her eyes. She stopped and stared at her hands. They were completely blue. Jester looked at Caleb hoping for an explanation.

“I see you noticed.” Caleb looked away. “It was an unforeseen side effect. I was hoping to bring you back without any noticeable changes.”

Jester gripped the thin blanket that covered her. “Why did you do this to me?”

“Why? Because -” Caleb paused and looked down at his strangely tinted hands. “Because you were what I needed to prove my hypothesis. I’m sorry, but I had no noble reason in bringing you back.”

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

Caleb sat down at the edge of the bed. “I’m not cruel. You can stay here. I need to keep track of your vitals anyways.”

Jester looked around the stark and clinical room. It was enough to make her cry again.

“Or you could have my room. It’s not like I sleep much anyways. Though, I don’t know how much you’ll need to sleep now. Frumpkins 1, 3, 4, and 7 sleep much less than they did when they were alive, but Frumpkins 2, 5, and 8 sleep the same amount and Frumpkin 6 sleeps much more.” Caleb rambled talking with his hands animatedly. If Jester met him in a different situation, she would’ve been more curious about him, but all she wanted was to go home. He seemed to notice her and stopped. “Wait, here.” Going over to the cages, Caleb opened one and pulled out a small bengal cat. “This is the first Frumpkin. He died two years ago, came back a year and a half ago, and is my best boy.” Gently, he put Frumpkin onto Jester’s lap.

The cat purred loudly and kneaded Jester’s lap. She stroked the cat’s fur. “Is this a test or something? Do I still like animals?”

“I don’t know if you like cats in the first place, Miss Lavorre. I’m just not very good at people. Frumpkin’s better at helping them than I am,” Caleb said staring down at the foot at the bed. “I was hoping that he could help you.” And all at once he wasn’t a strange, distant mad scientist, but someone small and lost.

“He’s a very good boy,” Jester said.

Caleb nodded. “Ja, and he prefers having his chin scritched to his ears.”

Jester scratched under Frumpkin’s chin earning an even louder purr. “You didn’t think through this whole bringing me back to life thing did you?”

“Nein, I’m starting to notice that I haven’t. Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

Jester gave him her best smile under the circumstances. “I’ll have to be.”

Caleb frowned looking at her. “I won’t be upset if you’re mad at me.”

“I don’t like being mad at people.” Jester continued to scratch Frumpkin. “Besides, being mad at you doesn’t change anything.”

“Still, if there’s I can do for you,” Caleb said.

Jester looked up from Frumpkin. “I am kind of hungry.”

“Oh, ja. I’ve got something for that. Just wait a moment,” Caleb said over his shoulder as he left the room.

Jester watched as he left and then lifted Frumpkin off of her lap. “I’m sorry, but I have to check something.” With a deep breath steeling her nerves, Jester lifted the blanket off to look at the rest of her. A plain cotton hospital gown covered her. Caleb probably put it on her and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Her legs were the same blue as her arms. More concerning the large cuts held together by stitches. There were two on her left leg and one on her right. She checked her arms and found more stitches right below her left shoulder. “I guess I’m like Frankenstien now, right Frumpkin?”

“Actually, Frankenstein’s monster was made up of parts from multiple sources. All of you is Miss Jester Lavorre,” Caleb said as he came back in. “If we were to compare you to a work of fiction, the test subjects from Re-Animator would be more accurate.”

“Oh,” Jester said softly. “How long will these take to heal?”

Caleb set down two plates on the little rolling table next to Jester’s bed. “I don’t know if they will heal. Some of the Frumpkins have maintained their ability to heal, but not all of them.” Jester stared at him in horror, but he didn’t seem to notice it. “Now, I don’t know what your stomach can handle yet and I don’t expect you to eat all of this, but it’s all easy to digest.”

On the larger plate was a clumpy pile of rice, some partially squished pieces of banana, and a baggy of apple slices. The other plate just had two pieces of dry toast. It wasn’t the most appetizing looking meal, but Jester wasn’t going to complain. She took a bite of apple and grimaced. It tasted waxy and flavorless, but she put on a smile anyways. “Thank you, but um dry toast?”

“It’s easy on the stomach, but I guess you’re right about it not being the most appealing. Here.” He ducked behind a counter and came back up with a jar of peanut butter and a water bottle. “We’ll just add enough to make it easier to eat.” Caleb then added what must’ve been the thinnest layer of peanut butter known to mankind.

“Thanks.” Jester added two bits of banana and an apple slice to make a smiley face. It was happier than she felt and failed to improve her mood. She took a bite trying not to cry. Instead she changed the subject. “Why do your hands look like that?”

Caleb’s face turned red and he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. “Just an experiment that went poorly.”

“Sorry,” Jester said picking at her rice.

“It’s nothing to apologize for. Curiosity is important.” He put on a pair of gloves and pulled out a notebook. “How is it? Does it taste like what it did when you were alive?”

“I don’t know,” Jester said shrugging. She didn’t want to think about the possibility of the problem being in her tongue and not the bland food Caleb gave her. “I mean I guess it’s rice and toast.”

“Hmmm,” Caleb said jotting something down.

Jester tried to eat a few more bites, but her heart just wasn’t in it. Pushing the table aside, she looked over at Caleb. “Can I ask for something?”

“Ja, of course.”

“Can I have a mirror? To see what I look like?” Part of her was scared to see, but she had to know.

Caleb paled but nodded. He must’ve realized that she was going to want one as he grabbed a mirror off the counter. “You sustained some lacerations on your face, but they’re not as severe as the ones on your body and I was able to close them with surgical glue.“ Not looking at her, he handed her the mirror.

Jester held mirror for a long minute before raising it up to look in it. Looking would just make this nightmare all the more real, but she couldn’t avoid it forever. With a count to three, she brought up the mirror and gasped. “My freckles are blue!”

“Ja, they are,” Caleb agreed.

“That’s actually really cute.” Her hair was also blue too. Jester had always wanted to dye her hair that color.

Caleb nodded with a slight blush. “Ja.”

On further inspection, Jester still looked like her. The dimples on her cheeks still crinkled when she smiled and her eyes were still violet. Little bandages now graced her face though and must’ve covered the cuts Caleb mentioned. “Are these Captain Tusktooth bandages?”

“Ja, they were what I could find,” Caleb said looking away. “I wanted to make sure your facial lacerations were protected.” It was actually kinda sweet in a weird awkward way.

“Thanks. And I like the bandages. Captain Tusktooth is a lot better than a lot of people give it credit for.”

Caleb nodded. “Ja, it’s a great story and the animation is amazing.” His flat voice lost some of its monotone.

Jester grinned and leaned forward. “I know! Like that fight between Captain Tusktooth and Avantika was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The new season’s going to start soon,” Caleb said. “I can’t wait for new episodes. I had the first three seasons on repeat while working on you.” He frowned. “I probably shouldn’t phrase it like that.”

Jester sat back. “Yeah. But, um, could we watch the new episodes together?”

“You’d want to?” Caleb asked. “With me?”

“I mean sure. It’s more fun to watch with somebody and it’s not like I have anywhere else to watch it,” Jester said.

“Oh right.” He looked almost disappointed. “If you don’t want to stay here, I’d understand.”

Jester bit her lip. “Do I have anywhere else to go?”

“You have a point there, but I’d help you find one. After I confirm that you are stable, of course.”

Jester gave it some thought. “I might take you up on that offer.”

Caleb looked almost disappointed but nodded. “Ja. Please understand that I don’t want you to feel trapped here.”

She already felt trapped in her own skin, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she just smiled at Caleb. If the gloves meant anything, maybe Caleb felt trapped too. Jester knew that she shouldn’t but she liked the idea of not being the only one who felt that way.

“If you need anything or have any questions, you can ask me,” Caleb said.

Jester gave it some thought. “Caleb, you said that you brought me back to prove a hypothesis. What was that hypothesis?”

He gave her the saddest smile in the world rubbing his arms. “Just that nothing can truly be lost forever. There’s something I need to take care of, but Frumpkin can keep you company.” Caleb gave her one last glance and left.

Frumpkin jumped up on Jester’s lap. She scratched his head. “Your owner is very strange.” And kind in his odd way. Jester wasn’t sure what to make of him yet, but she knew that she’d have all the time she needed to. “And who knows, Frumpkin? Maybe this will be fun.”

__________________________

Notes:

So yeah, I tried to make this a multi-chapter fic, but it just wasn't working. So one shot.

The title comes from "Live"by Paul and Storm.

[auncyen]

Overload, pt 2

Pt 1

[braincoins]

Thor and Loki go to Cheesecake Factory

((I’m going to make a little tweak to this because I haven’t been to Cheesecake Factory very often. My most recent visit was last year, and the visit before that... was many years prior. Also, I don’t like cheesecake? So, basically, I don’t know enough about this restaurant (or its signature food) to write it. So I chose another popular restaurant chain... and I feel I might owe you an apology for the one I chose, Pix. >_>))

“It’s not much of a garden, despite the bad paintings of fruit,” Loki muttered, eyeing the small bar area and the bland decor.

His brother was signing autographs, and Loki sighed heavily and wondered if he’d be allowed to get a glass of wine at the bar or if they’d scream at the mere sight of him. But, so far, no one seemed to be paying him any attention, so distracted were they by Thor’s mere presence. Some things never change. He walked over to the bar. 

The woman behind the bar smiled politely at him. “Yes, sir, what ca-...?”

“Something old, red, and dry.”

She paused and looked at him. “Well, we have a lot of those. But first I’m going to need to see ID.”

He blinked at her. “Eye Dee?”

“Identification. We have to card anyone who looks like they’re under 40, so...”

“You require me to identify myself before you will serve me?” He tossed his hair back. “And if I were to say ‘Loki of Asgard’?” He’d actually take some frightened screaming at this point, if for no other reason than that it meant he’d been recognized... even if that recognition wasn’t all that good a thing anymore.

The bartender chuckled. “Yeah, okay, great, Mr. Asgard, but I still need to see your ID.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t think I understa-...”

“Brother, there you are!” Thor’s hand fell to his shoulder. “Come, they’re showing us to our table.”

“OH, you’re with Thor?” The bartender’s smile brightened.

“Yes. Does that mean I can get a drink?”

“Not without ID, no, but that’s SUPER cool.”

He sighed. “Okay,” he said to his brother, “let’s get to our table.”

They were shown to a table at the back and assured they’d have privacy and a personal server. 

“Can we have wine with our meals?” Loki asked the Midgardian.

“Of course! You’re over 21, right?”

He regarded the human man and replied dryly, “A bit, yes.”

“Do you have beer?” Thor asked.

“The drinks list is right there,” the man said, nodding at a small book, “along with appetizers and desserts. Your server will be with you momentarily.”

Thor reached for the book, but Loki snatched it before he had a chance. “I’ve been trying to order a drink longer than you have.”

“Midgard does have some strange rules,” Thor agreed. “But see, no one’s even blinked an eye at you so far. It’s not that bad.”

“This isn’t New York.”

“Exactly. That’s why we’re here. Well, that and the endless breadsticks.”

Loki looked up from the list of wines. “Endless?”

Thor grinned and grabbed the book away from him. “So they claim.”

“I get the feeling we’re going to put that to the test.”

And they did. They very much did. Breadsticks, soup, and salad were all supposed to be endless, and they each ordered some pasta to go with it. Loki took a single bite of his “portobello ravioli” and shoved it away in disgust, declaring that entrails would taste better than this, but Thor shoveled fettuccine alfredo into his mouth until it was gone.

He’d had better salad, for that matter, but the zuppa toscana and breadsticks were actually quite good (if a bit salty). The fresh cheese on both salad and soup helped quite a lot, and he did enjoy the lemon cream cake he got a slice of. Thor ordered the zeppoli and made quite a mess of powdered sugar and chocolate sauce and still they both demanded more breadsticks.

They were there for hours, eating, drinking, reminiscing over the old days together, when they were still friends and brothers and there was still some sort of trust between them - a trust they were working hard to rebuild now.

Finally, it came down to a single breadstick in the basket between them. Thor eyed it and looked over to him. “You should eat it.”

“I can’t,” Loki groaned. “If I have another bite, I will explode like a fire giant shoved a sword in me.”

“Brother.”

“Too soon?”

“A bit. Anyway, I can’t eat it.”

“YOU can’t eat it? You, the Mighty Thor? I once saw you eat nearly half the royal livestock.”

“I did not!” he laughed.

“It seemed like it at the time!” he shot back with another chuckle. “And I absolutely cannot eat that breadstick.”

“We have to eat it or they won’t bring us more.”

“Why would we want more when we can’t even eat this last breadstick?!”

“Because we’re testing their ‘endless’ claim!”

“You dated a scientist for too long,” Loki told him.

“You were all for this experiment.”

He shook his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that sometimes there is nothing to be gained from reckless challenges.”

“I have yet to back down from any challenge!” Thor declared.

Their debate was interrupted by their server, who cleared her throat uncertainly. “I’m sorry, but we are going to need to close soon...”

“Oh, I’m sorry. When does this garden of olives close?” Loki asked.

“Uh... it’s just Olive Garden and technically? Three hours ago.”

“Oh.” Thor cleared his throat. “Well then, we shall trouble you no more.” He stood and pulled out a stack of small green papers. “Midgardian currency.” He pushed half the stack at the server. “Is this sufficient?”

Her eyes went wide. “Uhh...”

“What am I saying? We kept you so late. Here.” He gave her the rest of the stack as well. “Come, brother. Honor demands we stop here.”

“Oh, yes, honor.” He stood with a groan. “Not because we’re full.”

“No, of course not. I could eat another dozen breadsticks at least!”

“I could eat two dozen. If we could stay.”

“Of course. But we can’t.”

“No, it’s rude now. Let’s just go.” He stopped and smiled at the server. “Thank you for your service.”

“You’re... welcome.” She blinked at them both.

They headed to the front and Loki waited until the doors closed - and locked - behind him before he said, quietly, “I feel like I’ll never eat again.”

“Race you to the bathroom?” And Thor took off.

“NO FAIR WHEN YOU CAN FLY!”