#i expect i will rind more thing to like about it but overall i am very lukewarm on the whole thing

[lith-myathar]

.

[passivenovember]

Enclosures.

Harringrove April, Day Ten : Peaches.

--

Steve's gig at White River State Park is, more a less, glorified babysitting.

The hiring manager insisted that the Indianapolis Zoo was in the game of education first, and even though Steve would be working with kids between the ages of four and eleven, escorting them around the park and providing answers to stupid questions and Band-Aids for skinned knees, it wouldn't be juice keggers with kids all year.

Because during the off months, when the city scape was covered in layers of snow, Steve would get to wander the grounds with his favorite activity bag, post up under a shady awning in the jungle, and feed the fruit bats.

So that's why he took the job.

Zoo Academy Monday through Wednesday and vibes on December weekends. Moments of solitude doing the job every keeper wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. 

That was the deal. 

Written in stone, as far as Steve is concerned. This is what he was put on this Earth--

“You’re doing it wrong.” 

Steve nearly drops the slice of mango in his hand, starling when that deep, husky voice cuts through the air like a machete in the jungle. 

“Fuck.” Steve wipes his hands on his pants, turning to face. 

A new keeper. 

Dressed in standard fatigues. Tan overalls and goulashes, ham radio crackling like desert heat against his waist. 

New Keeper points to the ring of wire in Steve’s hand, mimicking the way he’s been feeding slices of fruit over thick, unruly steel. “Takes too long if you do it that way,” He says.

But, listen. “I’ve always done it this way.” 

“So?”

“I was taught to do it this way.” 

New Keeper shuffles up to the cave entrance, leaning his forearms on the steel barrier that keeps Steve’s bats from dive-bombing kids and grandmas. 

He’s wearing aviators, so Steve can’t see his eyes, but. New Keeper gives him the once over--

Steve is 85% sure--

Before spitting a wad of saliva on the ground next to Steve’s boot. “Who taught ya to string the fruit like that, pretty boy?”

“I’m not.” Steve shouldn’t be flushing deep red. He shouldn’t be salivating. “I’m not--”

“Was it Rachel?” And New Keeper says it with so much malice. Like, “None of these keepers are worth the paper their degree is printed on, I swear--”

“It wasn’t--”

“Y’know I caught Travis in Rhino Valley trying to give food as positive reinforcement?” New Keeper shakes his head, neck muscles chording dramatically. “Everyone knows they take better to physical affection as a reward, alright?”

“Yeah, I mean--”

“Everyone knows that.” New Keeper concludes, watching as Steve’s head bounces around frantically. 

“Everyone knows that.” Steve agrees.

Fucking idiots. 

New Keeper’s mouth ticks up at one corner, almost like he could laugh if he wasn’t busy dealing with his own body. Ripping biceps and pectorals that should pop the seams on his overalls when New Keeper rolls his spine. 

“They told me you’re in charge of the bats.” Steve feels those eyes on him again, head to toe and back up again. “That true?”

Steve shrugs, fiddling with his name badge. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don’t sound so sure.”

“Yeah, well, I mean.” He gestures to the line of steel rings that have been there, permanently, for as long as anyone can remember. “If I’ve been doing it wrong the whole time I don’t wanna claim ownership.”

New Keeper grunts, like. 

The salt of the earth, red blooded American asshole he is. He tips the aviators, letting them slide down his nose until blue eyes. The bluest Steve has ever fucking seen, pin him in place. 

“You’re not a keeper, are ya?”

Steve tries not to get lost. “Well. No, I’m--”

New Keeper turns to face him, clasping his wrists together and allowing his chest to. Puff. Distract, holy shit, when his biceps follow suit. 

Steve tries to tear his eyes away. 

Fails. 

“What do you do then?”

Steve watches a bead of sweat trail from jawline to collarbone, just. Ruining his life. He blinks owlishly. “Sorry, what?”

New Keeper is almost smiling. “Your job. What kinda.” His tongue flicks out to wet. Pretty, red lips. “Services. Do you provide.”

Steve realizes, distantly, that they’re flirting. 

And.

He’s familiar with the concept, alright, but. Steve’s never flirted while wearing hiking boots covered in goat shit, so. 

He gestures to his name tag. 

The goofy, pixilated staff picture of him and a title beneath that reads; Zoo Academy : Supervisor. Steve wonders if it’s obvious that he works with kids, given the plethora of googly-eyed animal stickers covering the majority of his name tag’s plastic casing.

New Keeper whistles low, removing his aviators entirely, and.

Tugging.

Steve forward by his title. Eyes glowing bright. 

“Kinda training you get over in the Education Department teach you anything about fruit bats, princess?”

Steve sorts through the absolute trough alphabet soup flooding his brain. Opens his mouth and closes it again, when. New Keeper rubs the pad of his thumb along the largest, most gaudy of the animal stickers. 

New Keeper raises his eyebrow and Steve. 

Jolts into motion. “No. Um. I have CPR training, and. First aid training.” Steve lets himself be tugged forward again. Just close enough to smell the mix of Earth and Hay that all the keepers have clinging into their skin, and. 

Cologne.

Heady and sweet, underneath all that. He blinks again, trying to clear his head as New Keeper smiles at him.

Really smiles.

For the first time.

Steve nods. “I work with shitheads.”

He isn’t expecting it, when. New Keeper laughs. Loud and sudden, and. So warm. Startling the fleet of bats that have come by looking for their afternoon peaches. 

“Tell me about it. They stick you on Bat Duty without any training?” New Keeper nods, finally, finally, releasing Steve from the weird spell he’s put him under. He turns, gesturing to box of fruit at their feet. “I’m gonna have to remedy that, pretty boy.”

Steve nods, like. “Steve.” Before sticking his hand out.

New Keeper nods it away. “Billy. Your training starts on Friday.”

Billy puts his aviators on and.

Starts to walk away.

Kicking up a cloud of that woodsy, delicious scent. Steve scrambles after him. “Okay, training. Friday.”

They round the corner into the section of the jungle that houses a waterfall. The biggest, most breathtaking in the Midwest.

New Keeper keeps on walking. “Yup, see you then.”

“Yeah, listen Keeper Man--”

“Billy.”

Steve runs into a wall of muscle, shying away from the pair of hands that steady him. 

He nods. “Billy.” Cheeks flaming bright red as New Keeper smiles, soft and sweet. Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, and like. I totally want to do what’s best for the animals, especially the fruit bats, but. I don’t think I need any training.”

Billy looks him over again. Up and down. “I beg to differ, Bambi.”

“Yeah, I--”

“Won’t have any untrained preschool teacher working with my animals.” Billy says. Matter-of-fact, like, “No matter how annoyingly cute they are.”

Cute. 

It hits Steve like an under-ripe peach to the back of the head. He shuffles, nervously, before puffing out his chest, and. Deflating again, when Billy raises his eyebrows. 

“Just what am I doing wrong, exactly?”

Billy removes his sunglasses, rolling his neck. “You got an hour?”

Steve smiles sharply. “Gimme the basics.”

“Alright, pretty boy.” Billy stars listing things on his fingers. “Well, first off? You don’t need to peel the fruit. Bats get a lot of their nutrients from the rinds that come on the fruits themselves. If we deplete those nutrients they gotta be replaced another way and I don’t exactly have the time to administer vitamins to four hundred fruit bats, two hundred flying foxes and a handful of pissy vampire--”

“Alright, got it.” Steve sucks his teeth, because. The fruit comes like that. Ends up in the box, along with the steel wire and the gloves he’s supposed to wear but never does, just like that. Sans peel. 

Billy grins at him--

Looks him up and down. Steve wishes he’d stop doing that--

Before pointing at his feet. “Doc Martens are not work boots.”

Steve looks down. Around. “What’s wrong with my docs?”

“Nothing,” Billy shrugs, like, “They’re fine if you spend all day dragging screaming brats around the zoo. Answering questions and painting booger-stained cheeks, but. They aren’t work boots. Aren’t keeper boots.”

Steve doesn’t understand. “I’m not a keeper,” He says, because. As much time as he’s spent in the jungle. Learning about the animals and feeing his bats, Steve. 

Isn’t.

He wishes he could be, but. 

Billy shrugs again, massive shoulders drawing Steve’s attention. “No, you aren’t a keeper. Not yet, anyway.”

Steve turns the words over in his mind, trying to discover the meaning. 

Billy tugs on Steve’s nametag again. “See you Friday, pretty boy.” He drawls, and then. 

He’s gone.

Steve makes a note to stop at Cabella’s on his way home.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Blood Orange

This is a spinoff/sequel to Inferno, which takes place in the Brimstone universe, which has a whole bunch of sequels and spinoffs, but all you really need to know is this: Jimin is an incubus and fruit grown in hell has big aphrodisiac properties.

Summary: Being invited to a party in hell ends up a lot more fun than you’d expected.

Warnings: WELL, feral Jimin is a lot, aphrodisiacs like in Pomegranate seeds, incubus semen is like its own aphrodisiac so there’s that, oral sex (f. receiving, m. receiving, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, it’s all feral

Word Count: 2541

Dating a demon definitely had its upsides and downsides.

Being in hell at a demon birthday party...might be one of the downsides.

Hell itself is a lot less terrifying than it appears. I mean sure, there's a throne that might be made of human skulls in the corner, decorated with party hats, and it's awfully warm despite the air conditioner in Taemin's mansion, but otherwise it's a pretty swanky place.

Jimin's friend, the one Taemin had called Persephone, was celebrating her 21st (well, 2100, but who's counting) and you're glad to see Taemin smiling with the pretty girl on one arm and a blushing boy on the other, since the last time you'd seen him he'd been a bit distraught.

But you're also feeling very out of place. Besides the boy, Jungkook, you're the only human there, and things feel a bit awkward.

Jimin stays by your side for an hour but you can tell he's restless, not having spent much time below since you started dating. You smile at him and encourage him to mingle, but when he does, you feel oddly adrift.

It's kind of fun to people watch (demon watch?) though, like catching a tipsy Taemin nip at Jungkook's ear and Jungkook turning a brilliant shade of violet. Jimin and Perspehone reminiscing about their younger years, you catching bits and pieces.

"Remember when you seduced Charon and we took a joyride on the ship?" and "That was you, not me!" being the most memorable.

You're smiling and sipping your extremely strong drink when Jongin sits beside you on the plush couch.

"Having fun?" He asks, and gives you a smile.

You flush a little, having flashbacks to the night you met. It's a little weird to be at a party with three demons who have seen you naked, but overall you think you're handling it well.

"I am. You?"

Jongin shrugs, and when you look over at him his body language is all wrong, shoulders slumped, stubble on his face. 

"I'm trying."

You frown and lean closer. "What's wrong?"

Jongin sighs. "It's a long story."

"I don't think I'm going anywhere soon. Jimin wants to see his friends." You encourage, and Jongin gives you a grateful smile.

And that's how it starts, this night, and when it ends, you're so exhausted you can barely move.

🔥🔥🔥

Jimin's having a wonderful time, drinking firewhiskey and laughing with the birthday girl, and he loses track of you for a bit.

When he sees you sitting on the couch with Jongin, a hand on his knee, the drawback to bringing you to this party hits him all at once.

Incubi. Everywhere, and ones who you'd summoned specifically.

The one who'd gotten to be inside your cunt before he did, chatting you up on Taemin's couch.

Jimin doesn't realize he's gritting his teeth until his jaw starts to ache, and when Taemin tugs him aside, he protests.

"You've always been such a brat," Taemin scolds, and Jimin scoffs. "But he needs someone to talk to, so relax."

"She's mine," Jimin insists, the firewhiskey making his head fuzzy.

Taemin rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, she's yours. You can show her that when the party's over, yeah? Have some fruit, make it tenfold." He gestures vaguely to the array of fruit on the table.

Jimin huffs, but the fruit does look appealing, especially the bright blood oranges. All fruit in the underworld was tinged with lust, his own father had a blood orange tree. 

These are particularly delicious though, bittersweet blooming on his tongue as soon as he pops a section into his mouth, and before he knows it he's eaten all of it.

When Taemin sees Jimin holding the rind of the orange, his eyes widen.

"Jimin, please don't tell me you ate an entire orange."

Jimin blinks at him and Taemin heaves a deep sigh.

"Of course you did. You ate an entire orange from the royal fruit tree."

"So? My dad had a blood orange tree, I'm used to it."

Taemin pinches the bridge of his nose. "The royal tree is ten times the lust of other trees."

"Oh." Jimin looks down at the orange rind, skin beginning to heat already. "Oh, shit."

"I suggest you get her home before it kicks in. I don't want you fucking on my sofa, Jimin, I mean it," Taemin warns, before he's dragged off.

🔥🔥🔥

You're hugging Jongin goodbye when Jimin plops down on the couch next to you bonelessly, and after giving Jongin a smile as he leaves, you turn to him.

His cheeks are flushed, body sunk into the couch, and you laugh.

"Too much to drink, baby?"

Jimin pouts. "Didn't drink much," he insists.

You lean over to kiss his cheek, but he makes this sound almost like a moan and pulls you close, half into his lap, kissing your neck.

"Ah!" You cry, surprised but with heat spearing in your belly. "Not here, Jiminie."

"Wanna bend you over on this couch and fuck you in front of everyone," he mumbles, and your face burns.

"Jimin!"

"Want everyone to see you're mine, want everyone to hear you screaming my name," he continues, and you're choking on air.

When he grabs a handful of your ass, that's when you pull away, and he whimpers, looking almost devastated at the loss of touch.

"Firewhiskey is dangerous," you mutter, and Taemin looks over from where he's sitting on his throne with Persephone in his lap, seemingly asleep, one hand threaded in her hair.

"Oh, he ate an orange," he says, as if that explains everything.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

It's Jungkook who finally explains, sitting comfortably at Taemin's feet.

"It's like an aphrodisiac. A super strong one. I ate one pomegranate seed and…" he blushes. "It took a whole day to get it out of my system. It's like what they do to us, you know?" He explains.

You frown, confused, and then it dawns on you. The way you crave his touch and how insatiable you get, the way your head spins and there's nothing but Jimin.

"Um...how do we get home?" You ask as Jimin kisses up your neck, pushing him away with one hand.

"Best to stay in the guest room. Second door on the left." Taemin says this so easily, with his two lovers draped around him, as if this kind of thing happens all the time, and you feel a bit overwhelmed.

Jimin's hands are all over you as you lead him to the bedroom, and your eyes widen at the size of the bed.

Jimin tugs you down onto it before you can marvel too much though, planting hot kisses that almost burn on your collarbone.

"You're so hot," you say, concerned, putting a hand on his face.

"Mmm, you have to fuck it out," he explains, and you choke on air again.

"Or what?"

"Or you die, if you're human. I won't die, probably. Just be really sick for a few days." He mumbles against your skin, not in the least concerned.

"Jiminie, oh no, what do I do? How can I help?"

He's tugging off his shirt and you place a hand on his chest and he moans low in his throat.

Your breath catches, and you wonder if just a simple touch gets that kind of reaction…

"You need to cum," you say throatily, and he gasps, breathing hard.

"Need to fuck you, jagi, oh, please, I'm already so hard it hurts."

He takes your hand and presses it against the crotch of his jeans and lets out this guttural groan that makes your cunt pulse.

It isn't as if you hadn't planned on sex anyway, you had to every few hours, and he's so pretty like this, all flushed and eager.

"Oh fuck, jagi, please please, no one can fuck you like I do, yeah? You wouldn't want anyone else?" He looks so worried that it hurts your heart.

"Jiminie. Of course not. I want you so much, always. I love you."

He lets out a long breath like he'd been holding it, and kisses down your body, shoving your skirt up to your hips, ripping your panties off with ease and making you gasp out a moan when he pushes your legs apart impatiently and latches onto your clit, sucking hard right away, no finesse, no buildup.

"Ah, Jimin," you breathe when he hooks two fingers inside you and you're cumming around them in seconds, worked up.

Jimin peers at you from between your thighs, frowning. "That's not loud enough, jagi."

He trails little bites up your inner thighs, your hip bone, and kisses you hard, grinding against your bare pussy in his jeans.

"I want to fuck you so good everyone in hell knows it," he says, words slow and almost slurred.

You unbutton his jeans and he helps you pull them down, releasing his cock, already dripping precum.

When you wrap your fingers around the base he cries out. "Ah, ah, jagi, fuck, need to…" 

He rolls his hips into your hand and you're fascinated by how he's turning red all over, the tip of his cock, his abdomen, his face.

"What do you want, baby?" You ask softly, and he looks down at you with his lip caught between his teeth, eyes glassy, as if overwhelmed.

You can't help but smile, leaning up to kiss him and you taste something bittersweet on his tongue.

"Wanna fill you up, wanna cum inside you, jagi, wanna mark you everywhere," he babbles into your mouth and you shake your head, pulling away.

"Not yet. One of us needs to be clear headed to get home tomorrow, and if you do that now I'll be as bad off as you are."

Jimin makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, but you tug him down to kiss him again, pulling him down to lie next to you.

It'd been a learning experience, dating a succubus, but you'd learned that you could do certain things without losing your capacity for rational thought, and you could put that to use now.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you." 

Jimin is trembling, making these whiny noises in the back of his throat, his cock twitching against his belly. "Please," he whispers, and when you settle between his legs and lick just the tip of his cock he jerks, throwing his head back.

You can't help but do it again, loving the way he reacts, how the flush covering his body deepens and his hips buck up.

"Jagi, don't tease-" his pleas turn into a long moan when you take him into your mouth, working your tongue against the underside of his cock.

"Oh, oh, fuck, your mouth!" He almost shouts, thrusting into your mouth and making you gag a bit.

"Oh, jagi, I'm gonna cum," he whimpers, and pleasure shoots down your spine at how easily you're able to affect him, even with the hell fruit's help.

It's almost violent, his orgasm, and you milk him with your hand as he writhes beneath you, shooting cum down your throat, so much of it you choke a little.

When you lift your head he leans up to pull you up his body to kiss you slow and lazy, and you sigh in relief to realize he's broken a sweat, his skin cooled just a bit.

He shifts you on top of him and you realize he's still rock hard, pressing against the cleft of your cunt.

Jimin moans, sliding himself against your slick.

"You're so hot and wet, Y/n," he mumbles against your throat, sucking marks there over and over.

"Jimin, again? Already?" 

As an Incubus he had an inhuman refractory period on the best days, but this is ridiculous.

"Want you so bad, jagi, please," he begs, rutting against you. 

You groan, loving the pressure against your aching cunt. "Jimin….we probably shouldn't, yeah?"

"Mmm, I dunno, jagi, it's hard to think," he admits, reaching between you to cup your breasts, dragging his thumbs across your nipples.

You gasp. "I don't want to be as insatiable as you are, not here, not when anyone could hear us."

Jimin moves his hands from your breasts to your ass, rocking you against him.

"Want them to," he mutters, voice low and almost slurred. "Want all of hell to hear you're mine, jagi."

"Yeah?" You moan, the way his cock slides along your clit making you dizzy.

"Mmm, want them all to know what a slut you are for me, how you beg for my cock."

"Nngh, this is a bad idea," you groan, but fuck it, you're among friends even if most of them are lust demons, and you want it, want him so badly you can hardly breathe.

"Yes yes yes," Jimin chants, looking down at your pussy as you lift your hips, and when you slide down onto his cock his head jerks back so hard it thumps against the headboard.

When you rock your hips forward he grabs onto your ass hard, bouncing you on his cock, his mouth slack, this almost feral look on his face and it's so hot that you're near the edge in moments.

You're letting out these little breathy moans and Jimin huffs out a frustrated breath and flips you over, 

His hips slow, harder and with purpose and you hitch in a breath.

"Why are you being so quiet, jagi?" He leans down to bite a mark onto your neck and you let out a wrecked moan, your skin feeling sensitive and hot all over.

"That's better," he says, voice low, and smirks at you. "I've heard you be louder, though, yeah?"

He leans down to take a nipple between your teeth and slides one hand down between you to press his thumb to your clit, pulling almost out of you and then ramming back inside, and you make an inhuman sound as you tumble over the edge, gushing around him, black at the edges of your vision.

Jimin is making this sound almost like a growl and he shouts your name when he cums inside you and as usual, it feels like it heats you from the inside out and you whimper.

He hides his face in your neck, panting.

"I think that's enough for a while, if you want to get some sleep, jagi," he says apologetically, lifting his head.

But it's too late, you're aching with need now, and you latch onto his throat, rolling your hips against him

"But I need you, Jiminie," you whine, head spinning.

"F-fuck," he groans. "Okay, jagi, I got you."

🔥🔥🔥

When you finally come down, your throat is raw and your body aches all over and you have no sense of time, you can't exactly see the sunlight in hell.

Jimin coos at you, at some point after you'd passed out he'd gotten dressed and brought you water and your favorite treat, a slice of cheesecake.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

It takes you a couple of tries to get the words out. "No more hell fruit," you croak, and he laughs into your mouth when he leans down to kiss you.

[lepus-arcticus]

OMENS: CHAPTER SIX one | two | three | four | five trigger warnings apply

HORIZON POLICE STATION 3:20 PM

Hugh sat with his elbows on the desk across from Scully, fingers interlocked in front of his mouth, his brows knit in pensive, tortured reflection.

They were alone in the dim, chilly police station, and the rain outside had begun again in earnest, all the more livid for having given up this morning’s skytime to the sun. The station had been a schoolhouse in a previous incarnation, and green chalkboards still lined one wall, a faded, dusty black-and-white photograph of Truman lurking crooked above them. Theo was off somewhere, chasing down a rogue preteen who’d gotten ahold of a can of spray paint, leaving Scully with a set of keys and instructions for the finicky coffee maker. Not that she needed it with all the caffeine swimming in her blood already, or the jolt of pissy adrenaline that bickering with Mulder always gave her.

Scully hugged her elbows against the cold, letting the revelation settle between them.

“You’re sure?” Hugh’s voice was soft, unsteady. “You’re sure she was pregnant?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Scully said soberly. Anna’s body, or what was left of it, was still in the next room, piled like compost into a biohazard bag in the fridge. Maybe it was because of the nightmare, or because this might very well be her last case... but it had affected her more than she would have expected. The absolute carnage of it, the impossible task of trying to arrange the raw-hamburger heap of torn flesh and skin into something readable, something that might give her any insight into what happened that night.

From what little she could ascertain, the characteristics of Anna’s remains would, hypothetically, match the tearing patterns of beaks and talons. But she still wasn’t ready to admit that crows could have done this. It was too sensational, too extraordinary to believe.

She thought of Anna’s pale face, marred almost beyond recognition, cold and lifeless below her on a surgical table that had previously only ever seen ailing family dogs and diseased sheep.

Anna’s pale face, above her in the night, screaming, tortured, falling apart.

In the painstaking process of sifting through the meat, she’d almost missed the cluster of soft, tiny bones, a small ribcage, the shards of a miniature skull. Anna had to have known.

She shivered, willing the image away.  

“Mr. Daly…” The man was frozen, blank, completely unresponsive. Scully looked him over⁠—his hunched shoulders, his three-day beard, the dark circles under his eyes⁠—and her heart went out to him. It was almost inconceivable that she’d found him so unnerving at their last encounter. She reached out and gently touched his arm. “Hugh…”

He shook her away, a muffled sob rising from his throat, and cast his eyes downward. “Please don’t make me look at her. I can’t bear to see her,” he said, and the utter defeat and devastation in his voice humbled Scully further.

As she watched him try to pull himself together, try to wrestle with the demon of his grief, something expanded and softened within her. She couldn’t help it. She’d never been able to; something about growing up with her father’s stoic, expressionless mein meant that she could hardly bear it when grown men cried.

“Hugh… there’s no need to look at Anna’s body. You don’t have to see her. Theo, Rhiannon, Marion… they’ve already given us a positive identification.” He sucked in a breath, then let it loose. “But if you can think of any reason, any reason at all, why Anna might not have shared the news that she was pregnant with you… we need to know. I need to know.”

“Ehm…” he shook his head slowly. “I don’t know why Anna would have kept this from me. I really don’t. We weren’t… actively trying to become pregnant or anything, but there were no... I mean, we were married. There were no… precautions taken, either.

He wiped at his eyes and placed his hands face-down on the table, breathing deeply. “Miss Scully… Agent Scully. Back at the farm… yesterday. I am such an ass. Such an intolerable ass. I’ve been an utter mess since Anna…” He shook his head. “Forgive me. I beg of you.”

She pulled her lip between her teeth. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“I should have never spoken to you in such a disrespectful way… I’m so sorry. You’re here to help me.”

Scully, almost unconsciously, let one of her hands fall lightly next to Hugh’s. They were farmer’s hands, scarred and calloused and square, and she found herself appreciating the sheer masculinity of them. “It’s okay,” she said after a moment, and meant it.

“Have you ever… lost somebody? I mean, like this? Unexpectedly? Tragically?”

Scully looked at her hands, then back up to his face.

Hugh’s red-rimmed eyes remained on hers, bright with spent tears and deep with acknowledgement. “What happened?” he asked.  

“It’s a long story,” she said, quietly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he said, under his breath. “I’ve seen my fair share of unbelievable things, Miss Scully...”

She took him in, all of his unsophisticated honesty, the unpretentious poetry of his voice, like a peasant prince in a fairy tale. “It’s, um… it’s Dana,” she said mildly. “Call me Dana.”

“Dana,” he said. “Please. I can’t be here. Not with… not with her in the next room. And I’m in dire need of a coffee. The Half-Moon’s just fifteen minutes north, can I buy you a cup? It’s the very least I could do.”

Just then, her phone shrieked from her pocket, shrill and unpleasant and demanding. She slid her hand from beside Hugh’s, fumbled around for the wailing hunk of plastic, looked back at the man across from her… and ended the call.

“Sure. I could use one too.”

KICKING HORSE B&B 3:30 PM

The rest of the drive back to Rhiannon’s was silent, save for Neil Young’s nasal crooning and a few distant, ominous rolls of thunder. Mulder’s mind was doing somersaults. He tried to worm his way into Marion with a few tentative questions, but she was quiet and resolute, determined to keep him in the dark, and he knew better than to push her until precisely the right moment.

Kicking Horse stood tall and proud over the wheat and wildflowers, the lake like a silver coin in the distance. Mulder eased the truck up the driveway and killed the engine. Immediately, Marion reached over and yanked the keys from the ignition, throwing the passenger door open and clambering out. He followed her up to the porch, where she unlocked the front door with shaking hands, mumbled a goodbye, and practically sprinted back to the truck. Before Mulder had a chance to organize his thoughts, the truck growled back to life, and she was already driving away.

He watched her disappear into the fields, and then opened the front door.

The house was dark with the coming storm, the watery afternoon light stretching shadows across the walls. “Hello?” he called, shrugging off his trench and hooking it onto the old brass coat tree. At the sound of his voice, Hypatia’s long white face appeared from the top of the stairs, and she barreled down to greet him with a low whine. She writhed in excitement, mouthing at his hands as he knelt to unlace his shoes. “Get outta here,” he scolded, brushing her away.

As he stood up and toed his shoes off, leaving them in a muddy jumble at the entrance, he noticed a slip of paper on the hall table, bright against the dark wood. He picked it up. An old receipt for fertilizer, a note scribbled onto the back. The handwriting was an unfamiliar loopy scrawl, barely legible.

Fox, Dana - If I’m not back before you, please make yourselves at home. R

Mulder crumpled the note and stuffed it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, fishing out his cell in the process. He thumbed star one on the speed dial, and stood, gnawing his lip, anticipating the soft, staticky bleed of Scully’s voice over the line.

One ring, two, and then it disconnected abruptly. She must still be at the station.

He didn’t like it, any of it⁠—the fox, Abel Stoesz, Marion’s tear-stained, panicked words on the highway. Scully, clearly affected by the results of the autopsy, likely in the middle of questioning a man who made her uncomfortable. A man who, despite the lack of evidence pointing towards him, Mulder was beginning to think of as a suspect.

Get a grip, he admonished the part of himself that wanted to run to her, find her, make sure she was okay. She was the most capable woman he had ever known, and cancer didn’t negate that.

He checked his watch, and decided he should probably eat something. Hypatia trotted after him as he moved into the kitchen and plucked an orange from the bowl on the countertop. He dug a fingernail into the rind and peeled it off in one go, unsuccessfully searching for a garbage bin before tossing it into the sink. The dog stared at him.

“What?” he asked, and she turned tail and paced off into the conservatory. He figured he didn’t have anything better to do until he could get ahold of Scully, so he followed her.

The conservatory was quiet, save for a few lyrical pings of rain against the curved glass. The air was rich and heavy and alive, sweet and spiced with the scent of nectar and herbs. Mulder pulled in a deep and cleansing breath, and padded along the cool tile in his socked feet, munching sections of his orange, surveying the greenery. Next to a potted rose bush, a thick vine of near-ripe tomatoes climbed up a rickety trellis. A box of rosemary sat next to a planter of sage.

As he leaned in to better inhale the green fragrance of it, he received a sudden, unbidden image of his father’s mother in the garden in Quonochontaug, her knees caked with dirt, her wide-brimmed hat casting her face into shadow. Samantha running towards her, braids whipping in the wind, half-bloomed peonies tucked into the breast of her overalls.

He was lost in the memory, turning it over and smiling sadly to himself, when something caught the edge of his attention.

The barest wisp of movement from the kitchen, barely discernible out of the corner of his eye. He turned sharply, but there was nobody there. His nerves tingled. The dog stared up at him with warm, steady eyes.

A deafening crash of thunder overhead startled him, and then a moment later, a gentle rush of rainfall obscured the sky. Mulder shook himself out of it. He finished his orange, sucking his fingers clean, and returned to the kitchen.

The dog followed, watching.

He walked past the island and into the dining room, trailing his fingers along the worn surface of the table. The fireplace yawned in front of him with a mouth that was cold and black and empty. Without Rhiannon, the house seemed to take on an energy all its own, and Mulder found himself with the unshakeable sensation of being watched. Of being noticed.

The sitting room was dark and crowded with mismatched furniture. There was an overstuffed floral couch bearing a cluster of beaded pillows, a wooden rocking chair wedged into a corner and piled with quilts, a Victorian loveseat squatting under a lace-curtained window. Mulder located a vintage glass-bellied lamp and switched it on, making his way over to the wall of books.

He lingered over the contents, wary of Hypatia’s stare from her chosen perch on the couch. Outdated veterinary texts were wedged in between leather-bound photo albums and volumes of poetry. The collected works of Shakespeare were arranged in a tidy row, sandwiched between Interview With the Vampire and The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem. 1984, The Story of O, Jane Eyre. Mulder narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of Rhiannon’s scattered reading habits.

He eased a fat photo album from its place on the shelf and let it fall open, balancing it in the crook of his elbow. The pages were black, old-fashioned, the photographs held in place by small, ornate brass corners. His eyes fell on a faded snapshot of a little girl, around 9, freckled and smiling in the sun. Her hair formed a boisterous marmalade cloud around her cherubic face, and she was missing a front tooth. The photograph beside it showed a woman swooping in to scoop her up, and Mulder realized from the striking resemblance that this must be Rhiannon and her mother. He thumbed through the pages, watching Rhiannon grow.

Rhiannon as a gangly teenager, sitting on the porch railing, her skinny legs dangling. Rhiannon astride a horse, hands knit into his mane, bareback and barefoot. Rhiannon in taffeta on her way to the prom, with a young, blond, beaming man hooked by the elbow. The first man, in fact, that Mulder had seen in the album at all. He looked familiar, and as Mulder studied his face, he realized it was Theo, football-thick beside Rhiannon’s thin frame. Mulder recalled the look they’d shared at dinner the night before.

On and off, maybe? Divorced? Hopelessly and painfully in love, but never managed to sack up and just make it work?

Mulder closed the album with a grimace and slid it back into its spot, tipping out the next one. The first page featured a yellowed clipping of an obituary.

Morgana Elizabeth Bishop Morgana Elizabeth Bishop, 53, of Horizon, Montana, departed this earth suddenly on Thursday at her home. A practicing midwife for 30 years, she was well-loved and well-regarded by the citizens of Glacier County, many of whom she helped to bring into the world. Born in 1932 to the late Agnes Bishop, Morgana spent her life in service to the community of Horizon. Morgana is survived by her daughter, Rhiannon Bishop. Funeral services will be held at 7 p.m. on Sunday at the historic Kicking Horse homestead.

The photograph above it featured a woman that looked like an older version of Rhiannon, with a few more lines around her eyes and a sallow, sunken look to her cheeks. 1932... 53… the obit must have been from sometime in 1985. Rhiannon most likely would have been in her 30s. Mulder turned the page, and was surprised to see a jump in time.

Marion peered up at him from the cusp of 16, already tall, her arms crossed on the porch of Kicking Horse. Her smile was tight and wary. “1991” was looped in white chalk beneath the photograph. Mulder fingered the corner of the page, intrigued, and continued.

Hypatia as a puppy, her nose hooked over Marion’s shoulder as Marion pressed a kiss to her ear. Marion’s long braid reaching the small of her back. A candid shot of Marion and Theo washing dishes in the sink. A rueful-looking Rhiannon opening a present at Christmas, a pine lit up behind her.

And then Anna appeared. She posed on the porch with the half-grown dog, teenage-chubby and extensively freckled. Anna and Marion in the barn. Anna and Marion laughing and posing in front of Marion’s Chevy. Anna in the grass, sleeping, a book tented over her face, with Hypatia curled beside her, snout resting on her thigh.

Mulder turned another page, and found it blank. No photos of Marion graduating from the police academy, or in her uniform, like you might expect any proud foster parent to display. None from Hugh and Anna’s wedding. None of Hugh at all. A good third of the album remained empty.

The wind knocked against the window, and a chill ran down his spine.

He realized with some confusion that he’d been humming something, and stopped himself.

The water is…

But then he heard it again⁠—a small, thin voice, shifting in and out of his periphery. But no, he wasn’t exactly hearing it… but he could sense it, could almost even make out a tune.

… cannot get o’er….

He shook his head to break the spell. It was probably the rain, the thunder, the winds. Turning his attention back to the album, he studied the last photo of Anna, looking for shadows of turmoil, hints of anything.

There was a flicker of light in the corner of his vision, and his eyes jolted upwards. He went still, suddenly aware of his heartbeat, of the hairs on his forearms. On the couch, Hypatia flattened her ears and whined. Nobody was there. He willed himself to calm down. He was just getting spooked. It was just his imagination.

Or was it?

“...Anna?” he tried out loud, his voice cracking. He ran through the lore in his mind, looking carefully around him, holding his breath, his stomach twisting itself into a fist. Places could hold memories, energetic signatures. Spirits repeating their earthly paths, walking hallways and doing the dishes. Spirits reaching out for help, for closure.

He glanced down at the photograph one more time, and then he saw it again, in the corner of the room. Not quite a shadow, not quite a light, not quite a shimmer, but something that somehow contained all three. If he looked at it straight on, it disappeared. Hypatia keened. The surface of his skin prickled.

He slowly replaced the photo album, and moved towards where the glimmer had been. “Anna, are you here?” A glimpse of movement in the hall, drawing him onwards, drawing him upwards. He pursued it, the floor creaking under his footsteps.

The rain picked up outside, falling harder, faster. His heartbeat followed suit.

He tiptoed up the stairs, slowly, the faces of the Bishop women following him from their frames. Brotherless, fatherless, sonless. He was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t necessarily a design choice.

In his periphery, the glimmer seemed to slip into Scully’s room. He followed it in, his hand resting instinctively on his sidearm. The bed where they’d laughed the night before was still rumpled, which struck him as strange. Scully was usually tidy to the point of absurdity. No matter how seedy the motel, she’d unpack completely, hang her clothes up, make the bed before the maid could get to it.

Hypatia whined uneasily behind him, and he turned to her. She pawed at the threshold of the door, but would not follow him in. Her ears lay flat and quivering against her head.

Mulder looked once again around the room. With a swell of guilty curiosity, he slid the top drawer of the bedside table open. Scully’s folded pajamas, a pair of stockings still in their packaging, a makeup bag, a black journal, an extra clip. He touched the journal lightly, as if he could absorb her thoughts through osmosis.

And there it was again, that wisp of something in the corner of his eye. He slid the drawer shut and followed it out, moving slowly, carefully through the hallway. Past the tiny bathroom, past the faces of the dead, all the way to the base of the spiral staircase that led to the tower. He hesitated, just for a moment, and then began the climb, an unexplainable sense of dread burning hotter and hotter in his chest.

Hypatia was at his heels, trying to get in his way, blocking his path, whimpering. And then, without warning, her demeanor changed, and she began a low, persistent growl. Mulder glanced back at her. Her lips were peeled back to bare her long, white teeth, her body locked in a tense crouch. He stared at her a moment, palmed his gun, and continued.

There was a door at the top of the stairs. Mulder jiggled the handle with his free hand. Locked. Hypatia snarled and yipped, but didn’t advance. Mulder dug in his pocket for his lock pick. Just as he was about to withdraw it, there was a voice from the bottom of the staircase.

“Fox.”

Mulder jerked in surprise, almost drawing his gun up. Rhiannon stood, arms crossed, at the base of the staircase. The dog cowered behind her.

“That door is locked for a reason,” she said, frost edging her voice. Shame and suspicion crept up his neck. “This is my house. Please respect my boundaries.”

Mulder nodded and pressed his lips together in a small smile. “Bad habit. Sorry.”

Rhiannon retreated and he returned to his room, immediately trying Scully’s cell again. The call was cut short. He flung the phone hard down onto the bed, and dug into his duffel bag for his laptop.

Something wasn’t right.

[tinkeringwithcannabis]

Tinkering with Cannabis: The First 90 Minutes Episode 55

Strain: Night Terror OG

Company: Sira Naturals

Locations: Somerville, Ma

Cannabis Connoisseur: Molly

Website: www.siranaturals.org

​Hello again to all my cannabis loving and canna-curious friends, and welcome back to another episode of The First 90 Minutes. Today we will to toking and talking about an amazing sleepy-time strain I picked up from my friend Molly at Sira Naturals in Somerville, Ma, Night Terror OG. When you look at these buds, they are pretty tiny, but don’t let that fool you, they pack a strong punch. With THC levels measuring up to 19%, Night Terror OG has been said to leave patients feeling relaxed, happy, sleepy, euphoric, and uplifted. The top three terpenes in this product are myrcene, pinene, and limonene. Myrcene has been found beneficial in aiding in pain relief, boosting of the immune system, and working as a sedative. It can be found in mangos, lemongrass, hops, and chamomile to name a few sources. Pinene is utilized as a memory enhancer, an anti-inflammatory, it has anti-tumor effects, is an anti-bacterial, and it has also been found beneficial as a bronchodilator. This terpene also helps aid in focus and awareness as its bronchodilator effects increase airflow, therefore increasing oxygen to the brain and improving cognitive function and enhancing memory. Pinene can be found in rosemary, eucalyptus, sage, and citrus fruits. The last primary terpene, limonene, is used to combat anxiety, depression, and stress. It has a citrus aroma, and is found in lemon and orange rinds and juniper. With these as the top three terpenes, it is no surprise that patients have found success in treating stress, pain, insomnia, depression, and anxiety with this strain. As we move forward into the testing portion of this segment, I want to note that the potential negatives we are looking for are dry mouth, dry eyes, dizziness, anxiety, and paranoia. Now, without further ado, let’s light up, sit back, and relax as we toke and talk about the first 90 minutes.

​Today I will be medicating to combat severe depression, stress, anxiety, body pain, and nausea. Opening up the bag, the first scent I get is berry with notes of pine. This is then followed up by light diesel notes. Taking the first of the three hits from a glass bowl at 8:19 p.m., the flavor is primarily berry with notes of pine. There is a slight, muted lemony diesel aftertaste, but I feel like this can be easily missed by the strength of the primary flavors. After only three minutes I can feel the effects starting to come on. There is a slight shift in my ability to focus, and mentally I feel more relaxed. By 8:29 p.m., my body feels extremely relaxed and I feel myself entering a couchlocked state. This is having a positive effect on the minor body aches I am experiencing. It has also helped to decrease the nausea. My mood is lifting, and I sense a bit of euphoria beginning to set in. On the downside, there is a strong sensation of dizziness and shakiness that has come on, along with an onset of sound sensitivity. The sound sensitivity is making everything seem louder, which is a little anxiety provoking and is making it difficult to fully assess where I am in this testing segment, which is why I have decided to retire to the quiet of my room to avoid too much stimulation.

​By 8:49 p.m., I am noticing an additional negative has come on, which is a minor case of dry mouth. The dizziness is still present, but lying down in bed and watching a movie has made this negative a non-issue. My mood has entered a happy state and is still holding, and the euphoria is accompanied by an overwhelming sense of mental and bodily relaxation. As expected, this is not a strain that I would use to try to accomplish tasks, regardless of how big or small. This is due to the lack of focus experienced, which is so intense that I currently would not be confident in saying I am fully capable of getting my things ready for the next day. I am discovering that the best option thus far for this strain seems to be allowing my body to melt into the bed and my mind to get lost in a movie or show that does not require much concentration. At this point, my nausea, anxiety, stress, depression, and body pain have all subsided, so this has proven to be an extremely beneficial product thus far. Rolling into 9:29 p.m., it appears that my earlier assessment of allowing myself to melt away on a physical and mental basis was the best option. All of my issues remain at bay, and the intense physical and mental tranquility has me feeling as though nothing could phase me. Not only has this strain brought me relief, but it has also stimulated my appetite, which has been a problem all day. The dizziness does seem to have tapered off, however the dry mouth has persisted and a bit of dry eye has come on as the fatigue has started to set in. This is the first time all day that I have not been nauseous and that I have had an appetite.

​Rounding the corner to our 90-minute mark at 9:59 p.m., I am ready to sleep. The physical and mental relaxation has taken hold, lulling me into a dreamy state where I am ready to fall asleep. I feel as though I am sinking into my bed, and although I am still experiencing a peak in my appetite, the sleepiness far outweighs the hunger. I am not experiencing any changes in the effects at this point versus the last check-in, with the exception of the continuing increase in fatigue. Given that I am feeling calm enough to sleep, and my stress, anxiety, depression, nausea, and body pain continue to remain at bay, I am going to take this opportunity to get some sleep. Before ending this test, I will also note that the dry mouth and dry eye has subsided, but there seems to still be some dizziness remaining, which is definitely tied to the sleepiness associated with this strain.

​Diving into my final thoughts, I really enjoyed this strain. The flavor was great, and the effects were spot on for what I was looking for. I actually got one of the best night’s sleeps that I have had in a long time. This strain not only hit the nail on the head as far as flavor and its ability to lull me to sleep, but it also was extremely efficient in settling my anxiety and stress, increasing my depressed mood, and in resolving my nausea and body pain. Furthermore, the effects came on quickly and I began to notice improvements in my overall being within the first ten minutes. To reiterate from earlier, this is definitely not a strain I would use when attempting to complete tasks of any importance. Between the fatigue, dizziness, and lack of focus, I would not be able to confidently say that I could properly carry out anything beyond opening a bag of chips and a soda and turning on the TV. I would recommend to anyone planning on trying this strain that they should set themselves up ahead of time. Be sure to setup a nice and comfy spot in your favorite, quiet area of your house, stock up on your favorite snacks and beverages, and setup your Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, or any other service or device you watch your favorite movies and shows on, and prepare for a lazy and very relaxing experience! Regardless of the main negatives, which were dizziness, dry eye, and dry mouth, I still have to give this strain a high rating. The dizziness is something I experience with anything that makes me sleepy and some dry mouth and dry eye is a small price to pay for such relief, and for such a great night’s sleep! I highly recommend this for anyone with stress, anxiety, bodily pain, lack of appetite, nausea, and especially those who are struggling with insomnia. All things taken into account, this strain rates a 4.9 in my book! Great job Sira, keep up the amazing work!

​If you are a patient, or adult above the age of 21 in Massachusetts, check out the following link for where you can purchase this product:

https://www.siranaturals.org/where-to-buy-cannabis-massachusetts

Well my friends, we have reached the end of this review. Thank you for joining me and stay tuned for more product reviews!

Disclaimer:

*****Please remember, this blog is an account of my personal experience with this product. Not everyone has the same experience with every product and that is okay. I always recommend starting out with one or two hits to see if that is enough , and you can always increase your dose from there.*****

[lucyreviewcy]

Everything I Watched This Saturday

Weekends are usually busy for me. However, this weekend half of England is snowed in, making saturday the perfect opportunity for some serious TV catchup.

I try and vary what I watch. Some shows really lend themselves to binge watching because they have cliffhangers at every episode (White Collar), some really great will-they-won’t-they action (Gilmore Girls) or sometimes just a really comfortable vibe (Lewis). However, I find that if I binge I get into the rhythm of the show, and stop enjoying it when I can predict exactly when the twist will happen (my brother once figured out that House MD figures out the diagnosis about 37 minutes into every episode.) By changing up what I watch, even when I want to spend a whole day getting some good quality screen time, I enjoy each individual show much more.

This weekend, I watched:

Lewis - S01, E03 “Old School Ties”

I’ve loved Lewis since the show started (which, fun fact, was before the UK smoking ban - hence Laurence Fox lighting up so often in the office.) While Morse unfortunately reminds me of stuffy Sunday afternoons when there was literally nothing else on, Lewis is a show I love to make time for. Kevin Whately and Laurence fox have great chemistry, and the titular inspector’s continued exaspiration with Oxfords academic wankery makes for excellent one-liners.

In this episode, while protecting ex-hacker turned celebrity criminal (and professional geordie - much to Lewis’ chagrin) Nicky Turnbull, Lewis investigates the murder of a young woman at the hotel where Turnbull is staying. I had seen this episode before but despite remembering entire lines of dialogue and plot points, the perpatrator had actually slipped my mind.

This episode doesn’t have the most satisfying reveal of all time, but it gripped me even though this was probably my fourth viewing. Lewis is, in general, fairly easy to follow even if you’re doing fairly complicated knitting while watching.

Overall, the contrast between Hathaway’s aloof synicism and Lewis’ genuine interest in people makes excellent television. The moment at the end with the two sharing headphones makes this one a winner for me.

White Collar - S04, E08 “Identity Crisis”

Watching White Collar directly after Lewis makes for an interesting experience. The shows are very similar. As they are both police procedurals, they share a penchant for unexpected twists and shots of two men in suits approaching a third person and flashing a badge. That’s all fairly run of the mill stuff, but the way that the characters interact is also very similar. While Neal Caffrey is an ex-thief helping Agent Burke investigate thieves, Hathaway is an intellectual Oxbridge graduate helping Lewis investigate intellectual Oxbridge graduates. Both Burke and Lewis have similarly eye-rolling reactions to their partners, creating a certain symmetry between the two shows.

This episode of White Collar was a break from the normal format, with Mozzie leading the team on an investigation into a group of spies - from revolutionary America.

I am always nervous when shows break from their routines, because the results can be hit and miss. Doctor Who has episodes like “Heaven Sent” - a solo performance from Peter Capaldi that is incredible, and then other episodes like “Love & Monsters” which is a crock of shit. However, with “Identity Crisis”, White Collar lands a winner. There are scrapes, japes and character development, as well as mysterious twists. Mozzie is an excellent character, and episodes where he takes centre stage are great fun.

Episodes - S02 E09 “Episode 9”

A nice coincidence from my TV adventures today is that the White Collar episode I watched also featured Mircea Monroe, who plays Morning in Episodes.

This sitcom is always great fun and this series denoument is no exception. This farcical end to a series packed full of dating drama and secret affars was full of awkward silences, forced smiles and Matt LeBlanc being a comical dickhead. His performance in this show has really put the Top Gear host into my good books, as he’s clearly not afraid to take the piss out of himself. A highlight of this episode is a black-tie brawl featuring pretty much every character. Steven Mangan’s “Wallace and Gromit” smile is also a memorable moment.

Nigel Slater’s Middle East E03 “Iran”

Completely switching gears here to my favourite TV chef of all time. Nigel Slater has long been a source of comfort to me when I’m feeling stressed. He has an incredible ability to make all food sound appealing, just by pausing in a sentence, nodding affirmatvely at the camera and saying “and it’s incredible.”

While yes, he has on occasion seemed to live in a dreamworld where people have whole parmesan rinds at the back of the fridge, and half a roast chicken “lying around”, Nigel Slater makes programmes that are deeply relaxing. Considering that the Middle East isn’t an area that a lot of people would consider “relaxing”, this show is a really fresh represetnation of part of the world that I had previously associated only with conflict.

In this episode, the final one of the series, Nigel eats sheep brains, catches pomegranates and has dinner at his taxi driver’s house. While I’m sure there’s a lot of work done by editing and producers and translators, I loved this series because the reactions that my best TV friend Nigel has to all the food he tries seem genuine. His passion for food and flavour are boundless and this show is a wonderful expression of that.

Victoria S01 E08 “Young England”

Look, I started watching this show because I like Jenna Coleman and I missed Clara Oswald. I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did. This episode especially showcased Victoria’s ability to make history seem dramatic and compelling. Victoria’s pregnancy has reached the “deep discomfort all day every day” stage, and having recently watched a friend go through this stage, I felt like Coleman conveyed this perfectly. I had an overwhelming urge to buy her a McDonalds with extra fries, just to make her feel better.

I had no idea that there had been an attempt on Queen Victoria’s life during her first pregnancy, and I found this episode genuinely shocking. I also found myself crying at random intervals, potentially because I felt so much sympathy for poor pregnant Victoria, who just wants to take a ride in her damn carriage.

This show is excellent and I was gutted to realise that Netflix only has the first season, I can’t wait to find out what happens next!

Top Gear - S25 E01

Having warmed so much to Matt LeBlanc through my viewing of Episodes, I thought I’d give the new Top Gear a go. I hadn’t watched this show since the ill-fated Chris Evans series, and was interested to see how it was faring.

The answer was “eh, it’s alright.”

I must confess that I don’t think I’m quite interested in cars enough to fully enjoy Top Gear in it’s current format. While the specials that the “old guard” of Hammond, May and Clarkson used to make me roar with laughter - I was never fully invested in the show even at it’s peak of popularity.

That being said, there were a few moments in this episode that I thoroughly enjoyed - mainly discovering that figure of 8 chain car racing is apparently a thing. This is possibly one of the most American extreme sports events I have ever heard of, and that section of the programme is genuinely fun to watch.

Overall, yeah - Top Gear’s about cars. I don’t have a car. I used to have a car, but even then I wasn’t that interested in other cars. Unless they were coming towards me. At speed.

iZombie - S04 E01 “Are You Ready for Some Zombies?”

If you want me to take your new season opener seriously don’t give it a title that can be sung to the tune of “Do you wanna build a snowman?”

iZombie is a show I have really enjoyed in the past, but I feel as if it may have escalated beyond its own format. What used to be a fun and twisted police procedural now has too many other strands to cope with. Rather than watching Liv and Clive solve a crime, we have to see this story spliced into small spaces alongside Ravi, Major, Peyton and Blaine’s plot development. Once the zombie world was revealed, the show became messier and less interesting.

In my opinion, this episode was not the most enticing series opener. While I loved seasons 1 and 2, it’s become too hard to keep track of who is and isn’t a zombie, and all their individual emotions about this. The show has always been like a fun, undead version of Veronica Mars, but Veronica Mars wouldn’t have been as good if at the end of one season she’d been involved in “Private Detective High” where everyone else was a private detective. I think this is where iZombie has lost it’s magic for me.

I’ll keep watching but the show won’t be as exciting as it once was.

So there you have it, that’s what I watched this weekend! If you’re trapped in a binge-watching cycle (it happens to all of us, there’s a reason I am only allowed to watch Gilmore Girls on Thursdays), I hope the above inspires you to curate a complicated menu of shows next time you’re having a duvet day!

[oscar-randle-bct]

Integrative Practice is like the Karate Kid... (paper review)

An analogy I sometimes use to describe a few of the more unusual areas of this degree is a comparison to the plot of the movie “The Karate Kid”. 

Young Daniel is new in town and has become the target of a gang of bullies. Old Mr Miyagi, sees Daniel’s struggle and promises to teach him Karate as a means of defending himself. Every day Daniel travels to Mr Miyagi’s house where instead of teaching him Karate, he tasks Daniel with a series of chores such as painting a fence and waxing his cars. After days of this, Daniel suspects that Miyagi is simply using him for free labor and finally vents his frustration over these seemingly pointless chores. It’s at this point that Mr Miyagi reveals to Daniel that unbeknownst to him - he has been learning Karate this whole time through the physicality of his tasks.

Well, Integrative practice is just like that - but at the end Daniel gets beaten up by the bullies again because it turns out Mr Miyagi was just getting Daniel to do his housework and he doesn’t know any Karate.

The potential of integrative practice -

Jokes aside lets begin by being bluntly honest - Integrative practice is almost unanimously considered to be the least valuable of the three papers we are studying this semester. I’m not saying this to be controversial - It’s simply an objective observation. However this really shouldn’t be the case...

When I say “least valuable”- I’m not saying that it’s the least enjoyable paper or a waste of time. Nor am I saying that Integrative Practice is not valuable by nature. In fact, I would argue that It has the potential to be one of the most valuable things we could learn overall.

“On successful completion of this paper students will be able to: Describe concepts, issues and problems from more than one disciplinary perspective. 2. Analyse the validity of various constructions of knowledge in the context of the development of trans-disciplinary projects. 3. Integrate disciplinary knowledge in the development of trans-disciplinary project”

Sounds amazing doesn’t it? This is what is detailed at the end of our portfolio assignment sheet. If only the paper was as polished as this list implies.

Something that initially drew me to the BCT was its core incorporation of interdisciplinary fields. Creative technologies itself is a interdisciplinary practice. I remember reading the learning synopsis/outcomes of this paper and thinking that it sounded extremely interesting and a useful skill that is rarely focused on. However in review, I’m disappointed by how little I have actually taken away from this paper.

Take physical computing for instance - before this semester, I didn’t know what an Arduino was and I hadn’t looked at an electrical component in nearly a decade. I am now building a metal detecting auto tuner after a semesters work. When you see how many students are utilizing the knowledge learned through our programming papers for our studio projects - its easy to see how valuable those papers are. It is an absolute stretch to suggest that IP and ICT have had the same effect.

So instead of expecting us to spend 10 hours a week on this paper producing a minimum of 30 blogs (which is ridiculous by the way) essentially learning everything ourselves rather than from the lecturers - I feel like a more direct method of teaching is required... 

IP02

I want to start with the second assignment - “get a book out will ya”. This is an assignment with a well meant intention of getting students to explore how different fields can link and relate to each other in regards to interdisciplinary objectives. Very useful. However the way that this assignment was approached was simply diabolical. Whats the best way to disgruntle millennial students? Try to make them read a book. Although not just one in this case - five or more... 

There’s nothing wrong with a good book but making a mandatory documented session at a library necessity in order to complete a “Creative Technologies” assignment was a little bit stupid. Or was it? because If there was an explanation behind the lecturers motives for asking us to do this, I didn’t hear it. This is a recurring theme with this paper - Students not getting in-depth explanations for the “whys” of our assignments.

Whats worse than getting a millennial student to read a book? not telling them why. 

The whole book thing aside. I feel like the general structure of this assignment could have been vastly improved. There is just so much room for students to bypass the learning intention of this assignment. In it’s current state, what you basically have is just a bullshit contest and not an informative task for making students learn.

The meat and potatoes of this degree is our studio work - The big projects where everything comes together. I have learned so much more about interdisciplinary projects through working on my studio assignment that during IP. 

So instead of tasking us with digging up five random areas of creativity and stringing together some bullshit links. Why not get us to dissect a well known interdisciplinary project and analyze how those people used different creative areas to produce their outcome? Essentially working in a reversed version of the current task. That way, I believe a lot more of the gaps in this assignments execution would be filled.

IP01

If i’m honest, I’m not sure how I feel about this assignment. It was definitely an interesting premise - To interrogate an object through interdisciplinary means. I discovered that oil within citrus rind has the potential to be used as engine fuel. However, similarly to IP02, this assignment had so many cracks for students to fall through and slip by the opportunity to learn. This begun with what I felt was an average explanation behind the projects intentions. I think a lot of students came away from that IP lesson very confused as to what was expected of them.

This assignment was quite unusual so I don’t have a decent idea of how this could be restructured but a lot of the trouble students have with this paper can be solved simply by a little more communication.

My fault or theirs?

If one thing’s for certain, it’s that I have not devoted my best efforts to this paper. I always prioritize other work ahead of it and found myself uninspired by the assignments to the point where I devote far less effort that is required. I honestly think this paper is a necessity to have within this degree. The idea behind it is very interesting and appealing. I even enjoyed a lot of the work I did for it when I got down to it. IP02 provided an opportunity to explore and think on some of my favorite things for example. Would I have learned more if I had worked harder? Yes. But how much? not masses. At the end of the day, we could circulate through the chicken and egg cycle of this papers poor reputation and failure - but I feel it comes down to the fact that I’m hardly the perfect student but this is definitely not the perfect paper.

But anyway...stop pussyfooting and teach us some fucking karate.

[collegewriting2]

Birthday Cake for a 2 year old Toddler

by Ms. R

(Image of a pink birthday cake with strawberries at the base and unlit candles on top.) 

Spring semesters are weird for me, because they are really less about following the syllabus and lesson plans and more about keeping my “real” life from barreling into my work life. They begin, as they always do, with my oldest daughter’s birthday [AN: she will henceforth be referred to as “Beans”], in January. In the middle is tax season, which is a stressful time for us tax widows (I refer you to the following humorous post, but forgive me if I don’t laugh). At the end, in April, right before finals week, is the baby’s birthday [AN: for the duration of this post I will call her “Noodle”].  Except she’s not really a baby anymore, she’s about to be 2. But if you’ve met me in real life you’ve heard me talk about her, so you know that Noodle is actually a demon I summoned via my uterus who found herself in the body of a chubby toddler and sometimes the hellfire and rage seeps out. Usually in the middle of grocery shopping. 

I’m kidding. Noodle’s just a baby with a big personality and superhuman strength. And her second birthday is almost here, so I have to make her a cake. 

I have a weird thing where I don’t like chocolate cake (I know, I know), so I like to avoid making them. Maybe next year Noodle will request a chocolate cake in perfect English and I will absolutely make one for her, but right now her speech is mostly two or three word phrases strung together with enthusiastic babble. So I get to pick the flavors! I especially love citrus, and since Beans wanted a lemon and lavender cake for her birthday earlier this year, I decided to make lemon the theme for 2019. 

(Image of the ingredients for the cake sponge, clockwise from top left: baking soda, sugar, canola oil spray, flour, three eggs, buttermilk powder, a bowl of lemons, salt, a stick of butter, baking powder.) 

Rather than go with an unusual combination, I wanted to stick with traditional flavors. Last year I did a strawberry and mascarpone layer cake for Noodle’s first birthday which was very tasty, but the frosting fell flat. Since the cake had to be transported to my in-laws’ house, I wanted to make sure I used a frosting that would hold up without refrigeration. Before I could even look for one, Serious Eats tweeted an article by Stella Parks about fruity whipped cream flavored with freeze dried fruit that remains stable and firm. At the end of the article was a link to another one from Parks that had suggestions on adding the freeze dried fruit to traditional frostings. Her recommendation is to use the fruit in a powder added to swiss meringue buttercream. Well, I was sold. A few years ago I made my husband a guava and coconut cake (Puertorrican flavors, hell yeah!), and I added  powdered coconut milk to the swiss meringue buttercream frosting and it was AMAZING. It was my first time trying that frosting recipe, and it’s still the best one I’ve ever made. 

I decided to use the same recipe from Natasha’s Kitchen for the frosting that I used before, with the addition of freeze dried strawberry powder (to tie into the cake from last year). Since I was already on the Serious Eats site, I looked for a lemon cake recipe and found an article about an adaptation of Nathan Coulon’s lemon cake that was featured in Cooking Light, but instead of frosting there was lemon curd. I love lemon curd, but this is neither the time nor the place. I opted for a version closer to the original from Me, Myself, and Pie.

(Collage image, clockwise from top left: mixing bowl with measured dry ingredients, a rindless lemon next to a pile of rinds and a vegetable peeler, a mixing bowl with butter, sugar, and lemon rind creamed together, sugar and lemon rind in a small food processor.) 

I followed the directions as closely as possible, since I am kind of bad at making cakes. The only change I made was to process the sugar and the lemon rind together in a food processor before creaming, since I find the process of grating citrus rind to be annoying and tedious. I’m sure I read about this shortcut somewhere, but I can’t remember where. In any case, it is an easy hack that leads to a stronger citrus flavor.

(Collage image, clockwise from top left: greased cake pans with circles of parchment on the base, cake pans filled with batter, baked cakes cooling in the pans.) 

Nathan’s Lemon Cake

Link: http://me-myself-and-pie.blogspot.com/2010/05/lemon-cake.html

Ingredients for Cake

Cooking spray

2  tablespoons  all-purpose flour

2  cups  all-purpose flour (about 9 ounces)

1  teaspoon  baking powder

½  teaspoon  baking soda

½  teaspoon  salt

1 ½  cups granulated sugar

½  cup unsalted butter, softened

3  large eggs

1  cup  nonfat buttermilk

2  tablespoons  finely grated lemon rind

2  tablespoons  fresh lemon juice

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350°.

To prepare cake, coat 2 (8-inch) round cake pans with cooking spray; line bottoms of pans with wax paper. Coat wax paper with cooking spray. Dust pans with 2 tablespoons flour, and set aside.

Lightly spoon 2 cups flour into dry measuring cups, and level with a knife. Combine 2 cups flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt, stirring with a whisk.

Place granulated sugar and ½ cup butter in a large bowl; beat with a mixer at medium speed until well blended (about 5 minutes). Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add flour mixture and nonfat buttermilk alternately to sugar mixture, beginning and ending with the flour mixture. Beat in 2 tablespoons lemon rind and 2 tablespoons lemon juice.

Pour batter into prepared pans; sharply tap pans once on counter to remove air bubbles. Bake at 350° for 32 minutes or until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pans 10 minutes on a wire rack; remove from pans. Cool completely on wire rack; remove wax paper from cake layers. 

(Collage image, clockwise from top left: 8 eggs separated into yolks and whites, egg whites in a bowl next to a pan of heating water and a bowl of sugar on a scale, a stand mixer with the meringue mix next to a bar of butter and a spatula, freeze dried strawberries in a bag next to a small food processor.)

(College image, clockwise from top left: completed swiss meringue buttercream with strawberry powder mixed in, trimmed cake rounds next to a bowl of frosting, half-frosted cake, cake base frosted next to a bowl of frosting and a bare cake round.)

Swiss Meringue Buttercream Frosting

Link: https://natashaskitchen.com/swiss-meringue-buttercream-recipe/

Ingredients

7 large 210 grams or 7 oz egg whites

2 cups 400 grams granulated sugar

1 ½ cups 3 sticks or 340 grams unsalted butter, softened

2 tsp vanilla extract

¼ tsp salt

Instructions

In a medium pot, add at least 1-inch of water and bring to simmer.

Thoroughly wash and dry the stainless steel mixing bowl from your stand mixer* (you don’t want grease touching meringue). Add 7 egg whites and 2 cups sugar and whisk together. Place mixing bowl over pot of barely simmering water, creating a seal over the pot (bowl should be over the steam, not touching water). Whisk constantly until mixture reaches 160˚F (takes about 3 min). Sugar should be fully dissolved (you should not feel any sugar granules when rubbing mixture between finger tips). Mixture will feel hot to the touch.

Wipe water from bottom of mixing bowl and transfer bowl to stand mixer fitted with whisk attachment. Beat on medium-high speed until stiff glossy peaks form (about 15-20 min) and bottom of the bowl feels completely at room temp and not warm (important: warm meringue will melt the butter).

Once bowl is at room temp, switch to paddle attachment, reduce to medium speed and add butter 1 Tbsp at a time, adding it just as fast as it is absorbed by meringue. Once all butter is in, scrape down the bowl and continue beating until it reaches a thick whipped consistency (3 min on med-high speed). If it looks lumpy or liquidy at all, keep beating until smooth, thick and whipped.

Add 2 tsp vanilla extract and ¼ tsp salt and mix on med-high until incorporated (about 1 min). **Ms. R’s additions to the recipe using recommendations from Stella Parks**

Measure out 2.5 ounces of freeze dried fruit (strawberries, in this case) and grind in a food processor until it becomes a fine powder.

Sift fruit powder before adding to buttercream, and mix thoroughly. Frosting can be used immediately, but setting it aside in the refrigerator leads to a stronger flavor and a smoother consistency.

Overall, I feel like this birthday cake was a success even though I wasn’t very happy with the sponge (I think overmixed AGAIN). The frosting took a little longer to come together than I expected, probably due to the doubling of the recipe. Next time I double I will use 10 egg whites and keep the other ratios the same. Despite the issues, the cake and buttercream held up well and sliced nicely (as seen in the image below), and the flavors or strawberry and lemon were INTENSE.

 10/10, would bake again. 

[samirgianni]

Watermelon Projects Update for the Year

Hey, it's the moment I've been waiting for, and you all get to hear about it. Lucky you! It's time to asses our watermelon breeding projects. So how did things go? To sum up, the phrase of the year is "Thinning the herd." Yeah. Like that. On the other hand, if we think we are breeding watermelons for lousy Canadian summers I guess we have to have some lousy Canadian summers in order to test how things are going. And in spite of my griping, I do feel like we continue to make some good progress. In the picture above, you can see some melons from our golden-when-ripe project. From the picture you would get the impression we got a good number of melons, none very large and few yellow when ripe. That would be accurate.

On the bright side, the first 2 melons to ripen did turn yellow when ripe, and they achieved a very decent size. They are at least half siblings if not siblings (most of our melons are still within the range of second cousins once removed, if not more closely related, but at this point I'm mostly not keeping track). Melon GR001-0904 came in at 1.181 kg, and melon GR002-0906 weighed .846 kg. I regret to say that melon GR002-0906 tasted a bit better and was a bit less seedy. However they both compare favourably to last year's GR001-0825, which was the largest of the year and weighed .82 kg.

The interior of GR001-0904. We seemed to have some problems with incomplete fertilization but there are enough seeds to go on with. Last year was a much better year for growing watermelons so I am very happy about the increased size I am seeing in these 2 melons as well as in general this year. Both of these will supply seeds for next year.

We planted a few plants of the original Golden Midget. We only got 3 Golden Midget fruits, of which 2 are seen above in the back row. The third one rotted on the plant and would have been smaller than either of the two I picked. Note the weights: at approximately half a pound each they are very unimpressive. Even our also-rans are coming in larger than that, for the most part. I don't seem to have that melon at .405 kg recorded. I guess it wasn't great and I didn't bother to keep seeds or number it. The little green one is GR004-0923. Not very big and not golden rinded, but one of only a few melons to score an 8 out of 10 for flavour. I might plant a few seeds from it next year. I don't want tiny melons, but if we are going to have them, I want ones that taste good. But I still have to think about it. There were 3 other larger melons that scored an 8 too and would perhaps be better candidates.

This is GR006-0926. It did not turn yellow when ripe, although the rind is naturally fairly yellow. At 2.05 kg this was our second-largest melon from this project and the only large melon to score an 8 out of 10 for flavour. It's in, for sure.

Seeds were a little on the pale side, as was the flesh, but not awful, and the rind was nice and thin.

The next melon of interest was GR010-1002. Again, it didn't turn yellow when ripe, but size was within the desired range.

The seeds were paler than I like and so was the flesh, the rind was not as thin as some, but okay. Flavour scored an 8 though - one of the best, so it is probably in next year too.

This was in some ways the most interesting melon of the year. GR011-1003 came up as a volunteer in what became a strawberry bed this year. It was our only volunteer melon this year and it got started a fair bit later than any of the ones we planted out. As soon as I saw the first female flower I started basting it with pollen from the set of plants that produced GR001-0904 and GR002-0906. Although this one did not turn yellow when ripe, it carries the gene, so I have very high hopes that it will have yellow offspring since it is crossed with yellow ripening melons. 

In spite of its late start it became our largest melon of this project for the year. We will be planting lots of seeds from this one. 

Alas, it only scored a 6 for flavour. I'm hoping that it had potential for better flavour, but was cut a little short by the vine dying before it was completely ripe. The texture was excellent, the rind was nice and thin, and the small black seeds were plentiful but not ridiculously so. 

Overall, my hope is that next  year we will get enough large, sweet and tasty, yellow when ripe melons to stop planting ones that turn out to have green rinds. We are definitely getting closer to having the size/colour/flavour we want in individual melons, but for this year we are still in the stage where we have to accept melons that have 2 out of 3 of those characteristics. Progress is definitely happening though!

Our other project, crossing Orangeglo with Sweet Siberian for a larger, tastier, orange fleshed melons did not apparently go so well, but I am reasonably pleased nevertheless. 

We only got 4 melons ranging from 2.148 kg to 3.745 kg, which is what I would consider our target size. There are a few other melons at smaller sizes under consideration, but these 4 form the core of what we will be moving forward with. PJ003-0922, shown above, was our second largest of this group and shows a typical shape. They varied from green netted to having various stripes. I prefer the striped rind, but we are not yet to the stage of fussing about that by any means.

PJ001-0916 started off the project looking hopeful. It grew down at the end of the bed where we had left some lettuce to go to seed as well as planting our squash, and it was the only melon produced down there as the watermelon vines got rather smothered. The colour is not exactly what we wanted, but reasonably close. It got very badly fertilized and there are hardly any viable seeds, (but a few) and it did not come out mis-shapen which often happens with incomplete fertilization, so that's good. Again, rind is somewhat annoyingly thick. Scored a solid 7.5 for flavour and we noted it as "very sweet". Size was an acceptable 2.362 kg.

PJ002-0921 was a bit dismaying to open. Seed colour is good, but the flesh is way paler than we want. Flavour was an acceptable but not thrilling 7 out of 10. The seeds were small and the rind was not too thick, although it's hard to tell because it blended in with the flesh so much. At 2.148 kg it was one of the smaller of the big-enough melons. We may decide not to replant from this one.

Well so much for orange flesh. This is PJ003-0922. I might have thought that it picked up some pollen from the other watermelon project given the red flesh, but the size, the shape, the rind pattern and the seed colour all suggest that no, this is the offpring of Orangeglow and Sweet Siberian. Watermelon flesh colour genes are numerous and their interactions are complex. We are not throwing this one out of the project yet, even though it is not the colour we are looking for. For one thing, it was the only one of this group to score an 8 for flavour. At 2.783 kg it was also our second largest melon of this set. Like most of the melons from this group this year, the rind is sturdy (good) but thicker than I like. Again though, I don't think we are at the stage of worrying about that particularly.

PJ006-0930 came the closest of the large melons to having the colour we want. At 3.745 kg it is also notably the largest melon of this group. Flavour was a just barely acceptable 6 though, and the texture was okay but not great. Still, I think it will get planted next year just for the colour and size.

I broke these 2 runts open in the garden expecting to discard them but curious about them. Imagine my annoyance to discover that they were the orange colour we are looking for. I gave the larger of the two a taste, and it was surprisingly good although I didn't formally rate it. Since one of the problems with Orangeglo is that smaller specimens fail to develop good flavour, I saved seeds from it. The tasty-when-small characteristic is one we definitely want to have. It is now known as PJ005-0928 and its seeds will likely go into the ground next spring. It weighed in at a laughable .645 kg. There are a few melons from the orange fleshed project still to open and assess. None are as small as PJ005-0928 and if I find one or two that I think just as well flavoured and with the same orange flesh, it may get bumped by them. But in general, we have our candidates. I'd say most of the qualities we are looking for in this project are here, they are just not combined into one melon. Still, we'll stir them  up and plant them out, and hope for better luck next year. from Seasonal Ontario Food http://seasonalontariofood.blogspot.com/2017/10/watermelon-projects-update-for-year.html