#insults and food

[octaviasdread]

being friends with international students is like yes i’m with you so much i’m absorbing your native language but no i can’t talk to your parents with this collection of random nouns and insults we’re pretending you don’t use

[theshadowrealmitself]

I like to think that Vulcans who come to understand that Humans just can’t try to process emotions the same way as them, it’s just healthiest to let it out in harmless ways, decide that venting and stuff should be taken just as seriously as Vulcan’s meditation time, and will encourage the Humans around them to complain about what’s upsetting them

People who are used to aloof Vulcans who avoid Humans at all cost running into one comforting a Human

“-and then they said my cheesecake was subpar, and they didn’t even bring a dish!!!”

“The purpose of this event was that every participant brings a food item of sorts, correct?”

“Yeah!!”

“And they did not follow this rule while insulting dishes that were brought?”

“Mostly just my dish but yeah >:(“

“How illogical”

“That’s what I’m saying!!!”

[fanaticalthings]

just another night in gotham

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[izzystizzys]

the thing about being the highest-ranked and most-decorated officer in any GAR/Guard capacity, fox thinks, is that unsurprisingly nobody could give less of a shit or listen to anything he says. it’s not like he earned those medals and recognitions and perfect test scores or anything, now is it, kote?

or, after the zillo beast disaster, the coruscant guard medbay just so happens to be much closer than the GAR one, and surprise surprise, senators don’t want meatdroids to be treated in their facilities after they’ve just protected them with their lives. fox tries to reason against this. fox is unsuccessful, because no one listens to fox.

which is how he finds himself crammed into a corner along with cody, ponds, bly, rex and their jedi, looking out across a medbay which is quite frankly a goddamn disaster rivalling the fight with the zillo beast in proportions. skywalker tries to step out towards one of the medics, and has to be pulled back by the collar of his shirt by amidala, squawking loudly when he’s nearly rammed over by mauler, crucifix and a shrilly screaming crash cart.

it’s not like fox said this would be a bad idea or anything.

“um, vod”, cody begins, unsure, “what’s - is that guy sewing wooley up with thread?!”

meathook, who is in fact sewing wooley up with thread, and looks about as happy about it as his patient, and who fox honestly thought was going to cry when he announced the influx of patients about to descend on them, snaps something about triage over his shoulder at hound, whose arm is decidedly bent in a way it shouldn’t be, jerking his head to gesture at the rickety cot next to cody’s ARC. fox is pretty sure they salvaged the thing from a dumpster. he slaps a bandage on the stitches that fox fears might be from the same dumpster.

“putting those advanced reconnaissance training skills to use, kote”, says fox, who invariably turns into the worst possible version of himself whenever cody opens his mouth within a klick of his vicinity.

skywalker harrumphs, evidently at the end of his impressive patience. “well, why?! hey, trooper! these men need bacta!”

“do they, now? i’m sorry, i hadn’t noticed”, a low voice hisses angrily behind them, and fox is the only one who doesn’t jump on account of he’s too dead inside to be scared of his CMO anymore. a grave error, he’s sure. “i guess i’ll just go pull some out of my ass along with a tank and painkillers, then! hadn’t thought of that yet!”

warcrime, whose eye is twitching and who is holding a bloody saw in visible consideration of using it, pins skywalker with a look that has had shinies all over the guard peeing themselves. “we don’t have any fucking bacta, you absolute numbskull.”

“but that can’t be right”, cody pipes up again, next to a very troubled looking generals kenobi and windu. fox sympathises very much with the patented migraine-glare on windu’s face. “why do you not have any bacta?”

“because i like to smear meiloorun juice all over my patient’s stab wounds, commander”, warcrime says. “it’s a homeopathic medicine thing. because the chancellor refuses to give us any, genius.”

“what?!” skywalker says, bristling. “that can’t be true! he wouldn’t -“ he’s cut off by his comm pinging loudly over the moaning and crying in the medbay, and warcrime leaning close enough to be heard with a whisper.

“well, he would, and if you don’t believe me, there’s a holorecording of him telling marshal commander fox why biological weapons on the homefront have lower priority and therefore half rations of everything. now get out of my medbay or find out why they named me warcrime, sir.”

amidala, the collective braincell holder for both her husband and the senate combined (on occasion), tugs him out of the way of warcrime’s bonesaw and ire. fox, who very much enjoys not being the primary target of a medic for once, unfortunately also has to be the adult in the room. “sirs, a transfer to the GAR barracks medbay might be a preferable- AH, MOTHERFU-“

“get him, stabby!”, rabid whoops from where he’s resetting thire’s nose, who echoes a much more nasal and muffled, “go, ftabby!”

“get kriffing FUCKED, stabby, you absolute-“, fox seethes, trying to swipe for the medic’s head and nearly planting one on cody instead by accident, who unfortunately manages to evade the swing fox is admittedly projecting very obviously on account of the sedation hypo jammed into his flank.

“medbay rules, sir”, stabby calls, dancing away towards mauler and his crash cart, while someone bumps something solid and flat against the backs of fox’s thighs that he can’t help but tumble back on, already seeing two codys and blys dancing around his vision. “commander fox protocol dictates he is to be helped to sleep as often as possible, sir.”

“a desperate but well-founded measure, i’m sure”, kenobi of all people agrees, and fox waves an unsteady hand in what might be the general’s direction to the sound of cody’s scandalized gasp. “as you were, officer… stabby.”

“traitors”, fox slurs, just as his com-unit begins to ping with an urgent notification. before he can try and answer it, warcrime has ripped it off his arm and flung it somewhere out of his sight. eh, it probably wasn’t anything THAT important, fox thinks. and if he wakes up two days later to a near-hysteric meathook kissing the glass casing of the guard’s brand new bacta tank over and over again, he decides to just roll over and go back to sleep.

[lastoneout]

I think the best thing about NileRed's videos where he turns weird things into food is the sheer difference between his skills as a chemist and his skills as a chef. I mean he's def improving, but it's SO funny to see someone spend weeks or months turning plastic gloves into nordihydrocapsaicin only to put it in the saddest hot sauce recipe you've ever seen made in a tiny little blender. It's never not hilarious for him to get to the end of huge project and have this very specific chemical only to approach the food part like "eh whatever this should work" like it kills me, it's never not funny.

I do appreciate that the only thing that did turn out correctly was the chocolate and the american cheese because making both of those is way closer to chemistry than most cooking imo, so that tracks, but everything else...it's just amazing, I just can't get enough of his garbage food. It's everything.

[cupophrogs]

Please tell me Drew has given CatNap the finger, or some other sort of insult. (That might've almost ended in death.) Shame the last thing he sees won't be Drew's fabulous Minecraft Creeper (Aw man.) boxers. Ú-Ù

Absolutely.

“I think I took a few years off my life, I laughed so hard! Ah… stuff’s funny as hell, I’ll tell you what.”

[aha-chuu]

I find it so amusing that Alhaitham's "least favourite food" voiceline is this:

Which, like, A) doesn't actually say anything about his tastes, and B) nerd.

But then his signature dish is this:

Derived from this:

He LITERALLY just took a stew, a "soup-like" dish, fried it into a pie(?) so that he could eat it like pizza while reading.

(and for my Kavetham/Haikaveh girlies out there, the signature says "contemplation" on top. Which really feels like Alhaitham's passive aggressive way of telling Kaveh to think things through more.)

[saccharinescorpion]

imagine being Maple and being obsessed with the idea of becoming a queen and having your DORK of a big sister be the one in your family to get the name “Reina”

[kuroananosanji]

I’ve mentioned on my priv twt that Zoro calls Sanji “廚子” (chu zi) in the Chinese translation and that somehow sounds… romantic? “Cook” or コック in English/Japanese sounds like just your average nickname among dudebros but 廚子 sounds like something you’d call your wife (if you’re some grumpy old man). Maybe it’s coz Chinese people have a habit of calling their spouses insulting nicknames (see: 臭婆娘、老婆子 which are just variations of “old hag”😭), so we can’t help but interpret zosan as some boomer “ol’ ball and chain” couple

[57sfinest]

kim is such a funny little guy like he emphasizes how little the rcm salary is when you ask about it (5500 reál annually- 460/mo) but here he is with his nice electronic sports watch and his little instant camera and his fancy revolutionary cosplay for plainclothes and he's living in the GRIH which can't be cheap and he's got his fancy little mnemotechnique notebooks which are like the moleskine of elysium i guess and his fancy little ballpoints that he does NOT want to share with you which i bet is because they cost him like a week of salary. and this is the rcm he's not getting stipends for supplies or watches or housing or probably even the gas for the kineema. poor as fuck but he is going to buy himself his little treats god damn it. if he lived in our world you know he'd be out getting himself a $9 vanilla soy milk half caf dirty chai iced latte every morning on the way to the station and eating instant noodles every night to claw out room in the budget for it

[soaked-ghost]

was worried nightmare might get lonely so I gave him employees

I chose a ghost and a scrapped enemy for him for veeeeeeeery special reasons hihihi

[one-time-i-dreamt]

My kitchen was filled with a bunch of baked potatoes but I was only allowed to eat a plastic cup full of corn so I went upstairs and hid under a blanket for some reason, then a ghost threw off my blanket and called me a little bitch and told me to eat a potato. It felt so real I actually got up and went downstairs to eat a potato before I realized that it was just a dream.

[juniper-clan]

Slickclaw as a human would look like Joey Richter from Team Starkid and you can’t tell me otherwise

[random-lil-illing]

part two to my last post because im only allowed 10 images per post :(

[goodday-goodmorn]

Little blurb that’s been sitting in my Docs for while based on @auspicioustidings idea from a while ago now i think— But yeah! I’be got like zero motivation to continue this- butttttt i liked the scene a lot so it shall be seen now! (Plus it’s Mhari’s Birthday!!! Happy Birthday Mhari! :> Even though i’m a few hours late into the day Hope you’re having a wonderful birth celebration!)

Based on a a scene i cooked up where reader finally gets caught by none other than the Ghost himself:

The weight of a gun in your hand is familiar.

So is the quiet sounds of a break in. You point at the door, watching, waiting. Like clockwork it creaks open, and there he is.

“Don’t move.”

You say sharply. Making the gun in your hand well known to the intruder.

Silence. He stares at you, you stare back. How many times have you done this dance? Tense words and a dashing messy escape. (The poorly wrapped bandages around your abdomen throb answering you question for you. Too many then.)

You sigh, and lower the gun.

He doesn’t even look suprised.

With a soft, Thump! ,you plop backwards onto the bed, arms outstretched. The gun is still in your hand but it’s dead weight. (Just like you.)

“…You’re not gonna ever stop are you?”

It’s said up at the shitty hotel ceiling. Hushed in the darkness of the room.

“No.”

He says it so simply.

You hum, pulling your knees and legs up onto the bed and rolling over. Back facing him, on your side. You snag a plushie on the way, hugging it close to your chest and settling your chin atop its head.

“Well shit. Turn all my red flags to white then, i give up.”

Defeated. Hushed. Tired. It sounds so unlike your normal voice. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

There’s a dip in the bed, true to his namesake- he was silent as he walked to sit. You haven’t even heard him.

“…Who did your bandages?” Gruff bastard with his gruff voice. Sounding way too passive for talking with you, an enemy, his target actually. He should be barking orders and threats to you, you’ve heard the way he speaks on a mission before, all bite and harsh. But he shows none of that tension now. Not a lick of hostility.

“Who do you think?” You snort out, tucking your face into the head of the plushie and vehemently ignoring him.

“Kid, you need help. You can’t survive on your own.” Straight to business it seems.

Without even turning to look at him, you halfheartedly raise your middle finger.

He sighs.

Silence. Blissful, damning, silence. You’ve no more fight left to give and he knows it. Months on the run, months of constant near death escapes, months of being hunted like a dog. You’re tired. So tired.

“Ya know, Torture isn’t an effective way of getting info outta someone: statistically speaking.”

“We’re not gonna torture you.”

“But you do want that info don’t you?”

More silence.

You hum knowingly.

“And what happens after you get your precious information? You’ll kill me? Maim me like all the other fuckers who end up in your shit list?”

“No. Never.”

He says it with such ferocity it almost takes you by surprise for a second. If you were to be facing him, you would see the hardness of his eyes. The pure conviction swarming in his gaze.

“Not you. Never you.”

…

Finally you turn to him, feeling far too much like a young little kid on the playground who just can’t understand-

“Why?”

Something in his gaze softness. He wants to tell you this because he cares. The team cares. All of them- that they saw you, a prickly, panicked little bird in over their head and flying blind- but he knows it an answer you won’t accept. One you won’t understand. Not at this stage. Not yet. You don’t believe in words, you’ve been lied too far too many times for that.

So he says something you will believe. A watered down version of the truth that feels like such a disservice to everything that makes up your very being.

“You’re interesting.”

You seem to digest his words. Turning them over and thinking in that little head of yours.

‘How long is that interest gonna last?’

That's what you want to say. You want to scream at the top of your lungs that he doesn’t want you. No one does. He’ll get sick of your brashness eventually- he’ll learn and grow used to your tricks. And when your spontaneity grows old, you know what’ll happen.

But you don’t.

You say nothing except—

“…Can I at least pack my bags? …please?”

He knows you don’t have much to pack. He also knows you’re one tricky, flighty little bird. However, he heard your small plea, sees the defeated look in your eyes, the way your hand is so lax around the gun.

Gently, oh so gently, he takes the gun from your hand. You don’t even try and fight him.

“Sorry little bird. Can’t trust you to pack.”

The sad look on your face nearly makes him reconsider. But he can’t risk you getting away again. Not when you’re so easy to catch right now. So vulnerable.

“Can’t you restrain me and then i’ll tell you what to pack?”

That, he can do.

“Up.”

Commands come so naturally to him. You’re almost jealous at how easily they fall from his lips.

Like the old defeated dog you are, you listen, sitting up and presenting your hands to him to restrain. You don’t meet his eyes.

He takes no chances, you are securely bound with a pair of handcuffs. He tugs on them, standing you up and nudging you to the common area of your hotel room. It’s a sizable room, a nice hotel, though truthfully you hadn't really been thinking when you booked it. Brain to frazzled and exhausted to think about anything beyond a clean bed and a hot shower.

The lights are flicked on by his gloved hands, flooding your vision. You hiss blinking and adjusting while he nudges you to the center of the room, down into your knees.

“What am I looking for here, bird?”

Your gaze flicks to him, then to the corner of the room, a vent right by a little corner desk with a lamp.

He follows your gaze and then, (with one last hard look towards you that screams ‘stay’), he walks over. Inside the vent is a crumpled up backpack, old and raggedy. It looks out of place amongst the clean cream colors of the hotel amenities.

He prods at the thing, trained caution. (You don’t blame him after your last stunt with explosives.)

Unceremoniously he opens up the bag and dumps all its contents on the floor. You wince, watching your whole life be scattered on the ground.

A journal, a thermal blanket, a lighter, cash, USB sticks, Your laptop in its thick padded casing (thank god), stolen hotel amenities, nicotine patches, several pill bottles, a half empty water bottle, a pocket knife, bullets…

Your own personal little horde of trinkets.

“Was that necessary…?” You mutter, as he stuffs some stuff back into the bag.

“Can’t blame me for bein’ cautious.”

“Well- i could.”

He turns to look at you. Just… stares at you, all you can see is his eyes at that dreadful mask, boring into yours. He doesn’t need to say anything. You both know you could but you never. Been through too much to really blame him.

You’ve saved his life before, even though he was hunting you. You both know you would never blame him for doing his job. Not at this point.

(Just as he would never blame you for running.)

[cadathecat]

bread review- pretzel edition 🥨

smells good,, do want,, too chewy,, can't eat..

2/10.. big sad..