#like. i look at it and it's. too thick. too bready. IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE THE TEXTURE OF REGULAR BREAD

[dramatic-dolphin]

when people in austria have the gall to call their "lángos" Authentic Hungarian....... you wish

[a-table-of-fics]

Cull to Adventure, Chapter 8, Draft 1

           Cull let the Zapfish swim out above him as he took a moment to breathe, letting his arms dangle over the ladder rung. Two Zapfish in a day, and he was tired. He wasn’t used to so much action, and he hadn’t had that much peril in forever. The pain he went through wasn’t as bad as that one time, though, so that was something.

           “You coming?” he heard Marie ask, some way above him.

           “Y-yeah,” he nodded, banging his head on the rung above. He rubbed his head with one hand as he climbed the rest of the way with the other.

           “You all right?” Marie asked. “I heard a clang—”

           “I’m fine,” Cull replied, waving a hand reassuringly.

           “Well, okay then,” she nodded, before her face hardened. “Now, about you calling yourself a failure…”

           “F-forget it,” Cull said, turning to look for another kettle.

           “No, we’re not forgetting it,” Marie said, sternly. “I’m not having you go into enemy territory saying that kind of stuff. What even got you thinking that?”

           Agent 4 didn’t answer, instead fidgeting with one of his longer tentacles.

           “It’s that personal, huh?” Marie sighed. “All right, but I don’t wanna hear—”

           “No, no,” Cull sighed. “I g-guess if it’s j-just us…”

           He pointed to his hairstyle.

           “I, uh… I-I…” he started, before taking a deep breath. “This was my fault, okay? I…I didn’t know any better…”

           He stammered and choked before falling silent again.

           “Hey, uh,” Marie started. Cod, she wished Callie was here; she was so much better at this kind of thing. Well, maybe if she tried what Callie once told her, it could help…

           “You know, you still came through,” she tried, giving a small smile. “A failure didn’t just save three Zapfish on his own.”

           The two were interrupted by a loud whining from a huge black Kettle. As they both watched, enough steam built up to lift the lid several feet into the air. After just a few seconds, one last burst of hot air shot it into the stratosphere.

           “Ah,” Marie finally said, lifting a hand to close Cull’s jaw. “That would be an Octoweapon activated.”

           “W-what’s that?”

           “An Octarian war machine of some kind.”

           Cull cringed. Fighting Octarians was one thing, but some kind of tank or artillery?

           “Don’t worry, though,” Marie said, patting him on the back. “They haven’t got a lot of those things, and we’re gonna keep it that way.”

            “Uhh…”

           “I’m sure you can do it! All you gotta do is find the weird giant tentacle you can splat!”

           “…The what?”

           “You can’t miss it. Glaring weak spot.”

           Just hope they didn’t fix that, Marie didn’t say.

           “W-well… okay,” Cull tentatively nodded. “That s-sounds easy enough…”

           “I didn’t say easy,” Marie corrected him. “I just said you could do it. I’ll be sure to watch the thing from here, see if I can help you out, but it’ll be up to you.”

            Cull nodded, looking into the Kettle. He couldn’t see too far into it, but he could hear rhythmic clanging and whirring coming from far below. He swallowed.

           “J-just hope I don’t have to swim too much…”

           With that vote of self-confidence, he dove in, hoping he was ready for whatever came to greet him.

* * *

           Nothing greeted him other than a launchpad in front of him. Looking around, there wasn’t much to see, either. It looked like an abandoned warehouse to him, something he was no stranger to. There were even stickers and paint jobs tagged everywhere, though it looked to Cull like they were all placed by one person. Strange, especially given how much warehouse they would have had to tag.

           He heard a clatter over his headset – apparently Marie had just made it to whatever system she was using to monitor – and she quickly asked, “You ready, Agent 4?”

           After giving an affirmative grunt, he stepped forward, to look at where he was going. He could see the Zapfish in front of him, in another bulb. For some reason, this one was floating in the air above a pond of purple ink. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to reach it once he landed there, but hopefully he could get to the poor thing before the so-called Octoweapon did.

           In any case, he wasn’t going to get anything else done up here, so he walked forward and squidformed into the launchpad.

           The moment he landed, he looked up to see the imprisoned Zapfish descend. He took a couple of tentative steps forward, and he could even see the fish smile as it saw him, giving a small squeak as it did so.

           Cull smiled back, getting his Splattershot out and preparing to make a trail of green to meet it. Before he could, though, he heard bubbling, and stopped.

           Suddenly, an enormous octopus tentacle burst out of the ink, grabbing the Zapfish. The poor thing could barely even scream before its bulb was pulled under by the green-scarred arm. Electricity sparked through the ink, and soon a light burst from the center.

           Cull had already started backing up, but the rumble as… something rose from the depths knocked him off-balance. Even as he landed on his back, he was scrambling to get away, but he soon realized there was nowhere to go – he was on a disk-shaped platform floating above Cod-knows-what. All he could do was watch as some kind of hexagonal cylinder emerged, with green glowing eyes. There was a pair on each face, Cull realized.

           The light faded, and the inky mist dissipated to reveal a behemoth of a machine. Six eyes sneered at Agent 4 behind panes of glass, and the vents either side hissed plenty of steam…

           Wait, was that some kind of oven?

           His suspicions were confirmed as the bread burst out of each door, the faces screaming in unison. Cull felt shaken to his core, and he saw the ink on the floor dry up and flake away instantly. He was just glad that wasn’t him, and he was soon able to get back onto his feet, ready to face this thing.

           “Looks like the tentacle’s on top,” Marie said, as the oven approached.

           Three pairs of green eyes looked at him, but Cull’s attention was pulled to an enormous red robot eye glaring at him, right above the front face. It tracked him as he ran far better than the bread did. The fact that all the mouths were saying something in unison with the same high-pitched voice wasn’t helping ease his mind.

           Suddenly, one of the doors opened, and Cull barely leapt out of the way as the bread shouted, lunging towards him before quickly receding back in. Cull could feel the heat from the bread even as it left. He looked at the trail of ink it left behind, and cringed as he could see a bit of steam coming out of it. The bread gave him a mean sneer from behind the glass as the oven spun.

           “That’s why I don’t eat the end loaves,” Marie joked.

           Cull couldn’t help but snicker at that, but only for a moment as another loaf lunged at him.

           Marie could hear the loaves speak as one through her headset. She only knew a bit of Octo, but it was enough to raise concerns – she heard “…nutrition…ingredient…value…” among words she didn’t understand. That, alongside its open-mouthed charge towards Agent 4, painted a picture that, frankly, she didn’t want Cull seeing. Maybe if she kept things light, that would help more than scaring him with reality.

           “Hope you’re bready to find a way up,” she said, forcing a grin. “It’ll get you out of this jam.”

           She couldn’t help but give a more genuine grin as Cull groaned between dodges.

           Meanwhile, Cull attempted to shoot back at the bread, but even when it was exposed all his ink did was cover the crust in green. It seemed there was nothing he could do about those loaves. Well, nothing other than frustrate them, if the tone of their screeching was any indication.

           As he kept evading lunges, he could feel the ink trail left behind get even hotter. Pink steam rose from some of the later trails. Steam also emerged from the oven itself, and a lot of it. Finally, all of the bread started to screech at once, before they all burst out of the oven. They stayed there, hanging in shock.

           Agent 4 put a tentative hand onto one of the loaves. The crust felt firm, like this was the high-quality bread his old neighbor sold. Of course, this was less nostalgic, as he did have a job to do.

           His ink was still on the side of this one, but he wasn’t sure if he’d have time, so he hoisted himself up by hand, looking for any way to the top.

           Well, he had to ink the sides, and the fact the bread was breathing heavily did not help his discomfort. Hopefully, he could at least make it easier by climbing less wall, so he looked to his left, at one of the higher loaves, and took a running leap.

           He was able to catch the next platform, but only barely, as his hands were slipping and losing a bit of their form in the heat. With some effort, he clambered upwards, leaving bits of green as he stood up. Thankfully, he could still fire his Splattershot, and paint the wall that faced him. Swimming up it was another matter, but he would have to do it somehow.

           He eyed the wall up and down, and realized he didn’t coat the whole wall, instead more or less making a thick line up it. Maybe he could work with this…

           Agent 4 dove into the green, struggling for a moment before a slim white tentacle emerged from the ink, feeling around for half a second before slapping onto the wall. It trailed upward as Cull swam a little bit, and then circled further upwards, helping pull him up. Cull still wasn’t as fast as the average Inkling, but Marie could see he was making his own personal record for swimming up.

           Cull didn’t pant from the excruciating swim this time, but more from the heat. Thankfully, he was at the top, and could see the tentacle in front of him. He opened fire, keeping his footing as stable as it could between the oven shaking like mad and his feeling a lot softer and slipperier than normal.

           Finally, the tentacle burst, spewing pink ink everywhere. Cull was already close to slipping, but this deluge was enough to knock him over. He landed on a spongy loaf of screaming bread. As quickly as he could, he leapt off it, making a break for anywhere that wasn’t right next to the mechanical monster.

           “Donut stop!” Marie cheered. “You knead to keep going!”

           Cull couldn’t help but snicker at that, despite everything going on around him. It was short-lived as he saw a new tentacle peeking out above the top of the Octoweapon, and the bread glared at him all over again. What was worse, new things were bursting from the tile walls, revealing more mechanical eyes and massive vents that made it look like it had a crown. As soon as the tentacle sunk into its slot, it blasted way too many ink columns into the air. Agent 4 had no choice but to move closer to the Octo Oven.

           “Mmm, Churros….” Marie joked.

           Cull paused for a moment, looking up at the spiraling Ink Pistons that embedded themselves into the ground. He chuckled, before moving closer to the Octo Oven.

           He was suddenly aware of music that was playing through speakers here, that was getting his ink pumping. It was some kind of weird techno music, with furious guitar strumming over it and incomprehensible vocals. As he dodged the attacks from the Oven, he felt a fresh determination to see it splatted.

           The heat wasn’t doing him any favors, though. His movements were starting to feel sluggish, and the soles of his shoes were starting to stick to the floor. Even his arms felt a little longer, and he could see ink drip from him every so often. He grimaced, trying to keep together long enough to continue fighting.

           Meanwhile, the oven was shouting things at him. Cull thought he could hear the word “cook” in there, but he chalked it up to fighting a giant bread monster. He couldn’t ignore how the loaves were looking at him like they were about to lick their lips, or how the two robotic visors were intensely focused on him, as if they were scanning him.

           “Mar—” he started, realizing his mistake as he dove out of the way again, “Agent 2, y-you know what this th-thing’s deal is?”

           “Er, I do,” Marie replied. “It’s hoping to put Inkopolis in a jam, but it should have loafed us alone!”

           Cull groaned. If all she was going to do was make puns, he wasn’t going to try to encourage her anymore.

           Meanwhile, Marie quickly muted the mic to breathe a sign of relief. That was too close; having Cull know and then panic was the last thing she wanted to happen. At least he had a chance while ignorant.

           Finally, the oven got too hot again, and all the bread launched out to cool off. As it panted, Agent 4 clambered onto the first loaf once more, and cringed at how much of his form was sticking to the bread. He swore he could see some of the loose ink getting absorbed by it.

           No matter; he had to find a way up again. He saw that the huge eyeball had a grid around it, and that meant an easier way up. He went to leap, but his shoes were sticking to the spongy floor beneath him. He reached, straining as hard as he could, but he could barely even reach the vents below, and the heat there certainly wasn’t helping.

           Still, he was able to drag himself up off the platform, and now he was getting a faceful of hot air. He had to fling his arms upwards like he was in squid form – limp, but with good grip. It was awkward, and he was terrified of getting caught in moving parts, but it was the best he could do, with so little control over his own body.

           It actually reminded him of when he was around seven, and he and Soy used their still-not-fully-formed bodies to get to all kinds of places. He remembered his childhood partner-in-crime teaching him how to scale places with their then-loose limbs. The two of them got into all sorts of places they really shouldn’t have. Those were always good times.

           As much as he missed those carefree days, Soy, and having all his tentacles, he was already at the top. No more time for reminiscing.

           It was a good thing the tentacle he was targeting was so large, because his aiming game wasn’t going to be great in these conditions. He tried aiming for the massive green scar on it, but was lucky to be hitting the arm at all. Eventually, though, the tentacle burst, and the oven started to spray pink ink everywhere.

           Stepping back was becoming less of an option. Instinct kicked in, and he squidformed as best he could. Ink pressure built up, and he was just able to launch before he got doused in Octo ink.

           “Good,” Marie said. “But dougn’t get careless or things might go a rye.”

           Cull was upset that he was laughing at these stupid bread puns as he prepared to land. At least it was cut off briefly as he landed with a splat! Besides, it distracted him from how hard kidforming was getting. He was becoming more puddle than Inkling at this point.

            Was it just him, or was the arena far hotter than it was before?

           Meanwhile, there was the sound of metal scraping as plating emerged from the oven, covering bits of the bread before it screamed again. Cull had to focus to not get flung from the roar this time, but he managed to stay on while everything else was cleared of ink.

           “Right,” Marie continued, after a moment of silence. “Hang in there, and the…armored…bread… shouldn’t stop you too much. Just watch for that… um, glazing machine.”

           Cull watched as a pipe emerged from the oven, and several nozzles started pouring a wall of ink. He prepared to run, but that was a tall order as he tripped over his own feet repeatedly. He had to settle for an uncomfortable shamble as he rushed to avoid getting glazed. He shot a sloppy trail of green once he wrapped around the Oven and was reaching a perfectly painted pink floor.

           He and Marie both sighed a relief as the spouts stopped and the pipe rolled back in.

           Agent 4 readied himself; he didn’t know what this thing was planning, but given the way it was spinning and muttering, it was nothing good. He thought he could hear it say something that sounded like “flavor”, but he wrote that off as coincidence.

           He was almost glad it was back to launching its many bread faces at him, albeit far more rapidly. He ducked out of the way of the first, he tripped just in time to dodge the second, but before the third shot out, he found it far too difficult to move, and was punished for it. He closed his eyes and braced himself for a nasty splat.

           Except, that didn’t happen. Sure, he was knocked down, and it hurt, but he was still there. What’s more, he felt a wash of cool green ink over himself. Daring to open an eye, he saw his armor was broken again, and he was able to solidify just a little more in this heat. Not much, but just enough to stand up somewhat normally for once. Just in time, too; the Oven had one more lunge before the bread had to cool off again.

           Cull couldn’t blame it for that; the ink from the armor helped, but it wasn’t enough to beat the heat.

           He tried to clamber onto the metal, but not only was it far hotter than the rest of the Oven, but it was also impossible to get a grip on the inkproof surface in his inky state. So he was back to climbing on weird talking bread. Once again, he swung with loose limbs over the mechanical eye and made it to the top. He hoped this was it as he burst the tentacle one last time.

           Once again, he was able to Squid Jump away, and landed with an awkward splatter.

           “This guy’s toast!” Marie cheered.

           Quietly, Cull cheered too. If the Oven didn’t kill him, any more bread puns would.

           He turned around and saw that the Oven was rumbling once again, but this time, the bread shot out all burnt and charred. The smell of burnt seafood filled the air as the Oven twitched, the panels denting outward. One on the back fell off, and the faces on the bread started to wince from whatever complications their body was going through.

           With one last synchronized scream, the Oven exploded, sending gallons and gallons of green ink everywhere.

           As soon as the ink oozed off the camera, Marie could see the Zapfish, safely encased in an electric bulb in the middle of the platform. But there was no sign of Agent 4. She had seen Agent 3 destroy the Octomaw, and even as that kid was doused in ink, she was still clearly visible.

           “…Agent 4?”

           A mound rose, and gave a blobby thumbs-up.

           She breathed a sigh of relief, watching him try to kidform. He mostly succeeded in flopping around, though.

           “Look, 4,” Marie said, softly. “You might wanna swim until you cool off a bit. Don’t worry, you can take your time.”

           One slow shamble and a Splat Bomb later, Cull had a concerned Zapfish looking over him, and he could see Marie climbing down the ladder to greet him as the platform rose up to greet her.

           “Need a lift?” she asked, casually as ever.

[e-wills-afterhours]

Things You’ve Always Wanted To Ask Your Gyno, But Haven’t

I’m making this post to address a short list of very common questions/comments I address almost daily. This isn’t all-inclusive. The information below is very generalized; I could go off on tangents on every point to include exceptions to the rules, yadda yadda. This post is meant to inform, not diagnose or treat. 

1. Do you prefer your patients to be clean shaven?

No. I probably get at least one young lady apologizing to me daily about the state of her pubic hair--mainly, that she came to see me with any at all. Let me put your fears to rest: I don’t care about pubes. Having pubic hair is kind of a natural state of adult female genitalia. All I care about is if you are happy with the state of your lady bits yourself, no matter how you groom. I have seen it all: completely bald to full bush. I don’t have a preference on how my patients present to me. Pubic hair only becomes an issue if there is some skin-related problem I need to address; and only if the hair is thick enough to obscure what it is I’m supposed to be looking at. 

2. I’m sexually active. Do I need to have a Pap smear?

That depends on your age. If you are younger than 21, a pelvic exam/Pap smear is not indicated unless you have a specific problem (vaginal symptoms) that would require me to look and assess closer. Even if you are not 21, we would still like to see you annually if you are on birth control just to check-in and make sure you’re not having any issues with it.

3.  I’m on my period and that’s GROSS. I have an issue I need to be seen for, but I have to reschedule my appointment now.

If I were scared of menstrual blood, I would not have dedicated myself to women’s health. Whether or not periods are an issue is a matter of flow. A Pap smear can be inconclusive if there are too many red blood cells present in the specimen, which means you earn a follow-up Pap smear. Who wants to experience THAT twice in year? Also, if I’m going to swab for yeast or BV (which requires analyzing a slide under a microscope), too many red blood cells can be an issue in that case. Otherwise, there’s not much that a light-to-moderate flow is going to prevent me from assessing. 

4. It’s unhealthy to skip periods, right?

That depends. Are you on birth control? If so, periods are not necessary. That’s a big misconception. The only time we get concerned that you are missing periods is if you are NOT on birth control. Then we’re thinking there’s some kind of hormonal imbalance present. You should not go longer than 90 days without a period if you are not on birth control, because we get concerned about something called endometrial hyperplasia. That’s a fancy way of saying uterine lining is building up and just sitting there, increasing a long-term risk of endometrial problems like atypia and cancer.

5. What is my vagina supposed to smell like?

You may laugh, but I get asked this a lot. No odor? Fine. Musty, sweaty odor? Usually fine, especially after a long day in less breathable fabrics. Give her some air and maybe a quick wipe down. Fishy odor? Indicates possible infection, especially if coupled with other vaginal symptoms like unusual discharge, irritation, burning, etc. Sweet, bready odor? You could have a yeast infection, especially if you experience concurrent itching, burning, swelling, and/or thick, clumpy discharge.

6. How am I supposed to clean down there?

Use just a mild soap and water, like a plain Dove or Dial. Avoid a lot of perfumes. Definitely no antibacterial anything in that area. You don’t need to thoroughly clean up inside the vagina either; she cleans herself. It is possible to over-wash her and lead to pH imbalances. Don’t douche. I discourage things like bath bombs, feminine washes, vaginal steaming, etc. All of that stuff can cause more issues, just for the sake of a squeaky-clean rose garden of a vagina. Such a thing does not and should not exist as a standard of vaginal cleanliness and health. The less you mess with her, the happier she generally is.

7. You really don’t care about pubic hair???

No. I really don’t. I promise.

Next up on the blog: Birth Control Breakdown: Your Options

[mellicose]

Anon request: tenth doctor, hands, fluff ❤😍

This is something that’s been brewing in my head for a while - a tender moment between Ten and Wilf before the fall.

The TARDIS hummed melodically in the background. She was showing off for Donna’s grandpa, and the Doctor was a bit irritated at her.

He had told her so many times the reasons why he did what he did, but she gave him her usual green-hued disapproval. Still, what’s done is done, and there was nothing else to be done about it-

“Ey, boy,” Wilf said quietly. 

The Doctor was lost in thought. Dread pressed into his skull like a vise, and no amount of Time Lord logic seemed to diffuse it. Something was coming. Something big. Huge. His hearts fluttered in his chest. He resented the battery acid tang of fear in his mouth. Lately, it’s all he tasted. He hadn’t eaten in days.

“Boy,” he said, patting his shoulder. The Doctor jumped, and gave the old man a fierce look that made him stumble back.

“Doctor,” he said tersely, and kept fiddling with his hyperdimensional defibrillator – it was acting tetchy at the moment. There was something jamming it, but he couldn’t imagine anything so huge as to jam it. At least, not in Earth space.

“Alright. Doctor,” he said, nodding. The Doctor instantly felt guilty for being so harsh. And immediately after, irritated for being guilty. The old man was basically an interloper in a tense battle between him and the Master, and…

...he didn’t know whether he could protect him, properly. It made him vibrate with despair to think that something might happen to Donna’s grandfather. He had already caused enough havoc in her family.

The man pulled off his red cap to expose a shock of white hair. He cleared his throat. The Doctor saw the echo of Donna’s eyes in his, and it made his throat tight.

“So … the TARDIS. The time and relative-

“-Dimension in space, yeah, mate. You got it,” he said impatiently. He was on the metal grating floor near the center column. His coat spread around him on the floor like a sheet. A sheet that Wilf stood on with his dusty oxfords.

“Ye said before this thing has many dimensions folded into it-”

“Infinite dimensions,” the Doctor corrected, and hit a metal pipe with a wrench. The TARDIS hiccuped with disapproval. Wilf’s eyes widened.

“She really is alive, ain’t she?” he said excitedly, looking around. He didn’t dare leave the Doctor’s side for fear he might get lost, and he didn’t want to bother the tall, mysterious alien, but biology forced his hand. “Ahem, er, d’you reckon there’s a toilet for ... em ...?”

The Doctor froze and looked up at him, his face serious. Again, Wilf took a step back, but the Doctor’s intensity came from guilt, not anger. Of course he needed a bathroom. And how long has it been since they’ve been together? At least two days, and he also hadn’t taken a bite.

“The bathroom is over there,” he said, pointing to a dark portico just beyond the heart of the TARDIS. And I’ll take to the kitchen when you get back.”

His eyes followed as the old man nearly ran to the facilities. He felt so … thoughtless. It was Donna who insisted the TARDIS have a toilet available nearby, and not 5 right turns, 2 left turns, and a stairwell away. The edges of his mouth twitched.

“You say you’ve been around humans for ages, but you act like you have no idea about their little foibles, do you?” she said, hands on her hips. “The kitchen’s a hour’s walk away! I hardly want to go on a bloody hike to get my morning cuppa.”

He smiled. Her voice echoed in his brain, brassy and beautiful.

“It’s an adventure. You can discover all the hidden rooms along the way,” the Doctor whispered, and remembered Donna’s rolling eyes.

“A hike. An adventure. Imagine all that nonsense just to get some beans on toast,” she said, and stomped off, to his delight.

He missed her. And having Wilf around was only pricking the old wound.

Wilf came out, his face relaxed. “Thanks, Doctor. I thought I’d have to ask whether there was a rest stop in the Milky Way,” he said, smiling.

“Are you hungry?” the Doctor said, wiping his hands on the end of his coat and standing up.

“I could do with a proper tea,” he said, nodding. “A bit of beans on toast.”

His hearts hurt.

“Follow me,” the Doctor said, and went down the stairs and into a wide hallway.

“I swear I’ve been poking around the control room for hours, and I didn’t see,” Wilf said, looking around in wonder.

“She knows where I want to go, so she makes the crooked ways straight,” the Doctor said, walking fast in front of him. He took a sudden left turn, and his coat snapped smartly behind him. Wilf had to jog to keep up, but he didn’t mind. He was in an alien spaceship, about to eat in an alien kitchen. He wondered whether they called it something else. Did they have those crazy machines that made food out of thin air, like in the sci-fi shows on telly? Was it gonna be exotic, or weird and wonderful-

They turned again, and the Doctor stopped.

“Blimey,” Wilf said, scratching his head. The Doctor smiled. It wasn’t a weird and exotic room. In fact, it looked exactly like their kitchen back home.

“Donna set it up like she wanted,” the Doctor said, and plopped down in an overstuffed chair with green polka dots.

“Did she just?” Wilf said. “I wonder-” he walked to the cabinet by the refrigerator and opened it. He laughed. “Ha! Baked beans!” It was exactly where they kept their canned goods at home. He looked around at the spacious counters, and spied the bread box. There was a bag of bread in, and not the horrible whole wheat dross his daughter usually bought. It was the plain ol’ white pan bread that he and Donna preferred.

The Doctor watched him navigate the kitchen familiarly, getting a pot to warm the beans, and fetching the cheese from the icebox. He stared in it, and grabbed a packet of raspberries, Donna’s favorite.

“When’s the last time you stocked the icebox?” Wilf said. The raspberries were in perfect condition, although Donna had been back for ages.

“I assure you, they’re perfectly good, as is everything else in there,” the Doctor said, standing and popping one in his mouth. He loved them too. What a funky little fruit – both tender and crunchy with seeds.

“But, how?” Wilf said, closing the icebox and turning on the stove.

“Time stops in the icebox,” the Doctor said simply, as if it wasn’t the strangest concept Wilf had ever heard until that moment.

“What did you say?”

“When you put something in the icebox, it’s as if you’re suspending it in time. It’s a great way to preserve leftovers, I’ll tell you that,” he said, eating another raspberry.

“So … those berries could’ve been in there since...”

“I think they were here since before my regeneration,” the Doctor said, grabbing the whole packet and sitting back down. “They taste like the 80’s.”

Wilf looked at the bag of bread. “And this?”

The Doctor furrowed his brow. “No, that’s all Donna. She loved her buttered toast.”

The beans bubbled on the fob as he popped two slices of bread in the toaster.

“And what do you eat?” Wilf said.

“My metabolism’s different, so I don’t need to eat like you,” he said, his mouth still pink with raspberry juice. “But I could eat like you. I love a good English breakfast. Eggs and bacon and a cheeky sausage? It’s the best,” he said, patting his flat belly. “Especially after a good sleep.”

“But I suppose you don’t do much of that either,” Wilf said, looking at him curiously. It had been two days, and the alien had not stopped.

“Nah,” the Doctor said, tipping his head to the side. “But it’s lovely sometimes. Helps pass the time,” he said, and polished off the last raspberry. He bounded up and stared into the pot. “Tea up soon?”

“You’d like some? I’ll toast more bread,” Wilf said, smiling.

“Might as well,” the Doctor said, giving him his first smile. “It’s dreadful eating alone.”

Wilf burst into laughter. “You know it! So does my Donna!”

The Doctor took off his coat and hung it up in the hook by the door. He wore his usual dusty brown suit. He sat at the table as Wilf buttered toast at the counter. He loved the sound of buttering toast – that  delicious bready grindgrindgrind as you work the butter deep into the bread, and way it melts and gleams temptingly on the uneven brown surface, softening it just slightly. He especially loved dipping it in a milky tea, and seeing the butter form glass bubbles on the surface…

Tea!

“I’m make us a cuppa,” the Doctor said, jogging to the cupboard where Donna kept the teabags. “It’s a miraculous thing, tea. Real brain food.”

“I agree. Morning’s not the same without one – or a couple,” Wilf said, spooning the steaming beans on a piece of toast with a couple thick slices of cheddar on them. “D’you take cheese?”

“Nah,” the Doctor said. “Just butter. Loads of butter,” he said, looking over the old man’s shoulder as the kettle started to boil on the fob. Wilf spread a generous knob on a piece of toast, and the Doctor’s left eyebrow rose as he was about to put down the knife.

“You want more?” Wilf said, refraining from a chuckle.

“Yes! It should be butter on toast, not toast with butter,” the Doctor said, rolling back on his heels. “Don’t be shy, man. I’ll work it off.”

“That you will, boy,” Wilf said, and buttered until creamy pools of the stuff formed on the craggy surface of the bread. The kettle screamed, and the Doctor jumped into action, grabbing cups and teabags and milk and sugar and cream and lemon-

Did he take lemon in his tea? He couldn’t remember. It was nice to have, just in case.

He put it all at the table and waited for Wilf to bring them their banquet. Wilf placed a steaming plate in front of him.

“There ye go, boy-er, Doctor. Tuck in,” he said, and sat opposite him.

“I’ll do the tea,” the Doctor said, pouring the steaming water into the large, apple-red cups. They waited a few beats as the water swirled amber around the teabags, then began to prepare it how they like. The Doctor added everything at the table. He hadn’t eaten in ages, and he was suddenly ravenous. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a cuppa. Perhaps a few days. Maybe 3000 years. Who knew.

Wilf watched him manically pour and squeeze and stir in silence as he ate. He was so young. A looker, to be honest. He wondered whether Donna ever thought so too. There was no way to ask now, anyway. The Doctor slurped loudly at his ridiculous cuppa, then started in on the toast. He ate like a teenager, barely chewing. He inhaled the plate, and looked hopefully at Wilf’s.

Wilf pushed the half eaten plate across the table.

“Ta,” the Doctor said, and ate. Wilf waited patiently, and kept his face neutral as the Doctor finished every bit, then licked both plates.

“Hit the spot, did it?” the old man said.

“Didn’t think I liked cheese,” the Doctor said frowning pensively. “But I think I do. Good stuff.”

Wilf sipped the warm tea. “Now that me belly’s not rumbling, it got me to thinking,” Wilf said.

“What about?” the Doctor said, slinging his long legs over the arm of his chair.

“This place – all the stories – you are extraordinary. It’s like a dream, but it’s real. A ship with endless dimensions, and fully fitted kitchen-”

“You should see the bathing pools,” the Doctor interrupted. “One of them has tiny, carnivorous fennic fish – they eat dead skin, so when you get in they tickle you, and you come out gleaming,” he said with a grin. Martha thought it was a laugh-” the light suddenly went out from his eyes, and he seemed to deflate into the chair.

“Doctor,” Wilf said. He waited for him to come back into himself.

“Yes?” the alien said.

“How could Donna forget the unforgettable? I could live a thousand years and not forget even this. Sitting with you here, in this magic box, eating beans on toast. Not in a million years.”

The Doctor’s jaw muscles tightened, and his brown eyes twitched with emotion. He leaned forward and fiddled with the teacup. Then, surprisingly, he reached over and pressed his fingertips into Wilf’s temples. His touch was gentle, and his fingertips were still hot from holding the cup.

Wilf remained still. His long, pale fingers looked so human. Masculine. He wondered whether it was just a façade, like some of the sci-fi shows. Maybe he looked strange and wonderful, and his spiky hair and long, lean form was just an image he projected into his brain-

“It’s not a projected image,” the Doctor said, shaking his head. He withdrew, and stared at his hands. “I really look this way. Now. It might be a thousand years or a day, and I will look different.”

Wilf’s heart was going triple time. “You can read minds?” he said, stuffing his knit cap onto his head, seemingly for protection. The Doctor chuckled.

“A little. Well, yes. But I haven’t been able to read psyonic waves through thin air for a number of regenerations, so you don’t won’t be needing the hat,” he said, pulling it off and handing it to him.

“Oh. Right then,” he said, flushing.

“Psyonic waves?” Wilf said.

“For human beings and many, many other species, consciousness isn’t quite what it feels like. In its essence, your thoughts are electrical impulses shooting off in your brain. And not only that. Emotions. Memories. It’s all stored in your biological computer, and sadly, can be manipulated.”

Wilf nodded slowly. “Biological computer. It makes sense,” he said.

“I don’t mean to diminish the vast and wonderful twists and turns of human consciousness and their capacity for being absolutely brilliant, but … it is what it is.”

“Yeh,” the old man said.

“When I realized Donna was in danger, I simply … deleted certain things from her biological computer. For her safety ... as well as her sanity,” he said haltingly. He felt like he was confessing a crime. He didn’t mention certain protection protocols he might’ve added to her DNA, but the old man didn’t need to know everything.

“Deleted?” he repeated, nodding. “Did it hurt?”

“Only for a nanosecond. A bright burst, and she was safe,” he said, swallowing hard. He missed her sarcastic mouth and her endlessly kind heart. He was so dreadfully, tragically lonely. He had nothing but the beans and toast in his belly and a grim outlook of his immediate future. She would make him feel better by teasing him about his moping. She would poke at him and laugh her laugh and convince him to go on a visit to M’adelixis 7, where they had the best cream floats in the galaxy, and all would be well for a while.

But he didn’t have it. He didn’t have her. And he was tired, no, absolutely exhausted of losing.

“You’re shaking, Doctor,” Wilf said, putting his hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” the Doctor said abruptly, and shook his hand off. He wouldn’t be able to hold it together if this man, with the echo of Donna’s cornflower blue eyes, kept giving him a sympathetic look.

“So, just a quick touch and everything’s gone,” Wilf said as he tidied up. He gave the Doctor a sidelong glance. “You didn’t mess about with anything earlier?” He nearly dropped a teacup. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but-

“No,” the Doctor said. “And I didn’t see much. Just that thought about the aliens on television,” he said, giving him a crooked grin. Wilf walked up to him and took his hand in his.

“Lookit that,” he said, studying the Doctor’s large hands. “Just a touch is all it took.”

The Doctor gently stepped back and put his hands in his pocket. Wilf went back to washing up.

“Doctor?” he said softly.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Donna trusted you, so I trust you. But I don’t need to forget any more than I already have,” he said. “I’m old, and and I live on memories.” He wiped his hands with a tea towel and slung it over his shoulder. “You felt Donna needed to forget, and she has. She’s happy now, and I’m grateful to you. But I don’t wanna forget. Don’t make me forget,” Wilf said, and his eyes gleamed with tears.

“Don’t you worry, old man,” he said, patting his shoulder. “If Donna trusted you, I do too. You won’t say a word about all you’ve seen, will you?”

“Now’t,” Wilf said, shaking his head vigorously. “But what a story I won’t tell. An alien in a box that travels through time! What a yarn.”

“Good,” the Doctor said, kicking the floor with his scuffed sneakers and smiling wistfully. “Good man.”

[ain-t-bovvered]

Out of Heaven’s Reach 5

EDITED by @waywardbaby

Pairings: Castiel X Angel Reader

Characters : Castiel , Dean , Sam , some nasty ass curse.

Summary: When the boys hit the 4th dead end, Castiel knew they were on the road to give up, maybe it was time to ask heaven for help, there must be some of his brother or sister who didn’t wanted him dead.

Warnings:not really, there will be some smutty time, but not just yet.

Part 1  Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

5.

First thing I felt was pain.

Pain?

Eyes opened, vision was blurry and dark. Why was this dark? Have I been sleeping?

Slowly I felt a tingling sensation running along my arms and legs as I came to consciousness, the burning pain on my chest was still stubbornly present.

I tried to cure myself, but nothing happened, the hand felt not the skin but a coarse fabric wrapped tight around the chest, confused I looked down at the dark red stain that covered it.

Startled I tried to sit up only to have my breath taken away by the stinging pain of stretching skin

I must have made a sound because the door busted open and the vessel of my friend hastily made its way to me.

“I’d avoid moving for now Y/N” a gentle hand pushed me down,” but I’m glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Castiel?” I watched him confused. I couldn’t see any indication of what he really was “Is...Is that you?” I asked confused, seeing only his container staring back at me.

He must have read something because he sighed and sat down on the bed. I felt the mattress sinking down under his weight, mine slightly rolling toward him as the covers I was tangled in, tightened around me.

“Don’t you remember?”

I try to concentrate, trying to recall the last few hours.  I remembered light, so much light coming towards me, no wait… flowing out of me to his abdomen... Ignoring the new painful feeling, I sat up again and grabbed his coat, opening it and tugging at his jacket and shirt. He stopped me with both hands, bringing them down in my lap.

“I’m fine, Y/N.” I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. “I suppose I should be thanking you.” he paused and, squeezing his hands over mine, he bent his head, looking at me in the eyes. “That was very stupid and reckless.” he paused, lips trembling with an angry snarl. “Why?”

I suddenly felt like the blood running through the body flew to the face, if nothing else gave me indication of his nature, his eyes shone with wrath. I flinched back.

“Am I...”

“Human? ...yes as of now you are”

He released my hands and I raised them in front of me as if I’ve seen them for the first time. I tested their flexibility, stretching the fingers as far as possible, and their strength squeezing them in fists.

I was not pleased with how they felt and I definitely was not further pleased by the pain flaring up as I pressed my chest.

“...This is vexing”

“Well…” he said moving my hand away, “that’s what being human feels like most of the time”

“What’s the recovery time of this body?” I grabbed his arm as he helped me out of bed.

“Although being extended, the cuts aren’t that deep. Sam assured me that in a week, or so, you’ll be fine.”

I shake my head when he motioned me to sit down. I actually don’t want to move, every step I take or when I even breathe, it hurts. Turning my head around I catch my reflection and all I can see is the girl I possessed, no shadow of wings, no traces of grace, there is nothing angelic about the body looking back at me. Like the light has been turned off. I can’t look at that.

Sharply, I lower my gaze away from those human eyes, focusing on my injuries; the dressing is smeared with old blood and it doesn’t look like there is a new clean one around. It goes all around the back, stopping right under the breasts.  I’m not wearing anything else apart from the same pants I had before.

“W-who did the dressing?” Feeling ...distressed and...exposed, I covered my chest with arms as I winced at the sting before turning to look at Castiel.

Walking quickly past me, he avoids my gaze as he picks up the t-shirt they gave me when I first got here; fidgeting with it, still not meeting my eyes.

“I…I did” he said scratching his head and stretching his shoulder.

I inexplicably feel relieved and horrified at the same time, and still that damn hot sensation spreads out from my neck to the cheeks.

“Oh...ehm...you, you did a fine job. Thanks”

His eyes caught mine and a sheepish smile light them up, “you...aah, you are welcome, Y/N”, lifting the t-shirt he waved it at me, “you probably want to cover up a bit”

“...strangely I do”.

The arms went in smoothly, but when I had to get the shirt pass the head, things got complicated and painful, I tried to bend forward but nothing really helped, and I think some of the cuts reopened.

“You need help? “He asked concerned.

“No…” his question made me feel all sorts of stupid, but that shirt just wouldn’t cooperate, “ …Yes”, I said pathetically, letting the shirt fall off the arms and into his outstretched hands, that draped it on his forearm.

I slowly raised my arms, his hands guiding, I could feel his fingertips across the skin, my skin, as they skimmed up, leaving a hot buzzing trail.

My vision was obstructed by the t-shirt fabric as it slid down, finding some resistance with the head part. My hair was still tied up, he reached behind and gave the fabric a sharp tug, freeing, allowing the shirt to pass down my vision.

Blue eyes was all I could see, hot breath was all lips felt, storm and light was all I smelled.

As a human now, I sensed as a human would.

There were reasons why angels rarely came to earth, the sixth human sense being one of them. Even not knowing or not understanding what we were, the humans could feel, perceive that we were different in some way. Angels were creatures of war, pure energy and created to carry on God’s and only God’s will. Humans are not designed to contain us entirely.

We can recognize one another when occupying vessels because our true essence seeps through, winning over the human soul.

Oh, what they must feel standing close to an occupied vessel, our grace and all that unrestrained energy. Most of them feel uncomfortable or an imminent sense of danger while others are attracted to it. And those are the dangerous ones and we must keep our distance.

Imagine sensing this powerful energy, this...pull, dragging you to a specific person, you know, you feel it’s dangerous, you know you should be afraid, but you aren't and you chase it for the thrill it gives you, because all that your mind tells you is to run, but your body and soul are sucked into this powerful black hole of holy light and it’s never enough.

Even with the knowledge of who I was and who he was, this body...my body reacted as expected. Chasing that energy I leaned into him as he started to step back.

“Y/N...what” he babbled as I closed my eyes and touched his chin with my forehead, my skin danced at the scratch of his light stubble, face nuzzling across his cheeks, reaching under his ear. My hands gripped the lapels of his coat, bringing him closer, eliciting a sharp intake of air from him. I could sense his arm hovering around my shoulders uncertain of what to do. He reached a decision when I felt him relaxing but before he could touch me the door opened again.

“Hey Cass, how is she doin-” the voice of the younger brother came to a sharp halt, “uhm....should I..should I come back later?”

There was a laugh hidden in there somewhere, but I didn’t care. 

 “Sam…” Castiel tensed under my touch and squeezing my shoulders, he gently pushed me back, “she’s---she is fine now, I was just getting her to move around a bit”,

“Yeah...buddy, maybe it’s too soon for that kinda excitement,” another voice said,

I opened my eyes annoyed and looked over at the older Winchester’s face poking out behind his brother, 

“Oooh yikes, she’s not happy you cockblocked her, Sammy” he said with a smirk.

“Uhm, right, sorry about that” Sam said amused.

 Later I managed to sit down on a chair; the mess I remembered in the library was nowhere to be seen, like it never happened. A steaming plate of some kind of rounded fluffy flatbread was placed in front of me.

“What’s this?” I asked confused.

“Food” said the older Winchester with his mouth already full.

“I don’t need it” I responded mechanically bending over the plate to inspect the ‘food’ these humans liked so much. The sweet, bready, hot smell hit my nose and ...what the, what was that? I asked myself looking down, after a strange noise and vibration came from my body.

“I guess you are hungry now, here pour this over” Sam slid a bottle of a thick, ambery liquid across the table.

Castiel, sitting across from me, watched as I analysed how much to pour over, from the brother’s plates and chose a middle solution. Something between just a touch and drowning the food in sticky stuff.

I’ve tasted food before. It was disgusting, so I don’t really look forward to this.

Looking at Sam and how he was eating it, I picked up knife and fork , slicing through the fluffy pile of stuff. Raising the chunk of food, dribbling in what they told me was maple syrup, and questioning how the humans could eat tree juice, to my nose I first sniffed it. Nothing too crazy, honestly. Then my mouth closed and as soon as it touched my tongue, an explosion of tastes and textures assaulted me. The chewy softness of the bread and the rich sweet stickiness of the syrup made me forget myself and the others in the room. Is this how Adam and Eve felt, as they tasted the forbidden fruit? Does all the human food taste like this? I guess diseases, fatigue, pain and mortality seemed a bargain in exchange for the gift of the 5 senses.

“So...how are you?” someone asked for the third time after clearing their voice as I tried to process what was happening in my mouth.

I looked up, feeling annoyed.

“...human”

“Oh...uhm, and how does that feel?” Sam, right, Sam was the one who asked.

“ Weak” I snarled back before stuffing my face with that delicious stickiness and I soon realized I was having problem getting it all down.  

“Someone’s cranky“Dean chanted, placing in front of me a fuming mug. I looked down on it, still chewing. The smell was strong and strangely soothing, this was the drink most humans found addicting but I always thought it looked like dirty, mud water.

Throat started to feel tight so I just grabbed the thing and took a big sip, regretting it immediately. It felt like the scorching flames of Sodom and Gomorrah just found their way down my mouth, burning everything in their way to the stomach and my eyes started watering.

Castiel just glared at a laughing Dean while sliding a bottle of water to me.

“Can…can” I tried to speak, my voice coming out hoarse and strained, “...can we just find a way to-” I took another sip of water, “...break this damn curse so--”

“Yeah yeah we were already working on it” Dean managed to say, recovering from his laugh.

“--so I can smite you all” I finished.

@curly-haired-disaster @ilovetvshowsblog @maimalfoi  @marilynnlew @mariekoukie6661  @wayward-and-worn @thewinchestertales @raelady1184 @mah1c @sculptorofbeginnings @spnskinnyballs @starfirerules @missjenniferb @hunterswearingplaid  @theangelwinchester @missihart23 @weathergirl83 @ravenhg @soloarcana @itsstillnotwhatyouthink  @ackleholicwinchester  @daskleinevolk @demonic-impala  @choosemyname @lydklein1 @imperfxctlydean @dawnreadsfic  @angeltardisbow @castiel-saved-me-from-myself @dont-you-dare-say-misha @julesthequirky @youhaveaguineapigwhere @shows-up-naked-covered-in-bees @only-a-nerd

[simonalkenmayer]

I've only ever tasted alcohol a few times, mostly wines, and I've never taken to it. Up until recently that didn't bother me, but between continuing my history major and reading some of your posts, I can't help but feel that I'm missing out on some level. Do you have any recommendations for someone interested in trying alcohol?

I can’t decide if you’re asking for liquor recommendations by type, or if you wish to have notes on how to taste alcohol or what to look for. So I will provide both, I suppose.

Alcohol has no real effect on me, so my only reason to drink it is flavor. This means that I often do things called “flights”. A flight involves several types of an alcohol, usually ranging in age, complexity-- or in the case of wines--styles of manufacture. These type of tastings or side by side comparisons can truly help you cultivate a palate utilizing small serving sizes.

I don’t know your tastes, but allow me, if you will, to suggest you not begin with cocktails. For some, they are a good gateway, but often, because they are composed of mixes of alcohols and flavors, they can mask the taste of alcohol, or give improper ideas of what the true alcohol tastes like

I’d recommend beginning with beer. Why? Because it is simple in construction and likely the very first form of alcohol. It’s important that you know, going in, that just because you don’t like one beer does not mean you won’t like others. There are more styles of beer than you can shake a stick at. You can get beers that are fruity, light, delicate, sour, sweet, dark, bready, earthy, beers with infusions, beers that are so thick you’ll think you’re drinking a milk shake. There is tremendous diversity. You can pair a beer to anything, same as wine, and so if you think you don’t like beer, then you haven’t met the right beer.

Begin by learning some styles of beer, then trying a few in each style so that you can get a feel for your tastes. I do not like IPA. An IPA is a very strongly hopped beer. Hops are a plant additive originally put into beer to help preserve it in transport. I remember beer before it and so for me it’s unnecessary, but according to international law, it cannot be called a beer without hops. I find this obnoxious, but what can I do? An IPA is highest in hops. I can appreciate them, very well, as they can have floral notes, banana like flavors from the yeasts and so forth, but to me, the stark bitterness of the hops utterly destroys a beer’s natural flavor. But that is just my taste, which I’ve learned about myself through trying hundreds of hopped beers and learning that there are styles of modern beer making I despise. I learned it through testing.

So yes, pick a range of styles and try within those categories. A few lagers, a few ales, a few porters, stouts, pilsners, and so on. You can look up lists of styles and what they might taste like to get an idea of where to start. If you enjoy things like sour candy or lemonade, I recommend you do eventually try sour beers. If you like coffee, then you must try porters and stouts. Do you see?

Each beer will have the overall, composed flavor, which I tend to think of as a chorus of singers. If the beer is well crafted, no one voice will be too loud. As you sip it, see if you can pick out each singer, however, by their tone alone. Some beers will have a strong taste of bread, some will have notes of toasted oats, some dark chocolate, some light fruits like lemon. Pick out the flavors as if solving a logic puzzle, following whatever (if any) tasting notes are provided on what to expect.

Now, once you’ve delved into beer and gotten a feel for its tremendous complexity, you can move on to wine. This, to me, is a very reasonable progression of flavor types.

Again, wines range entirely. Styles and grape types make for a fascinating study. You can have wines that taste like raw meat, wines that have heavy spice-like profiles, some that have green vegetables very heavily present, some that are syrupy and sweet. You can find fizzy wines and dark wines like ink. Learn what you like. The one rule of thumb I will give you is that when learning what wine should taste like, never pay less than $10/bottle. If buying by the glass in a bar or restaurant, understand that the cheapest wines are served by the glass and you’ve no idea how long it’s been open. This is important. Wine oxidizes swiftly, and within even a day, some cheaper wines begin to taste like vinegar. You’ll eventually gain an understanding of things that make a wine undrinkable, like being “corked” or too oxidized, but for now, try a few within each category.

There are whites and reds, generally speaking, and again there is tremendous diversity. Reds tend to be dense in certain flavors like berries, spices, dust (dust is an important tasting note) meaty flavors, and so forth. Whites tend to be bready, mineral like limestone, buttery, green. Some sweeter wines tend to be fizzy, and this is due to secondary fermentation in good wine, not them adding fizz. If you get a cheap champagne, it is not bottle fermented and is merely an alcoholic soda, so I recommend staying away from truly cheap champagne. Again, utilize the “chorus” metaphor when drinking wines and see what flavors you can pick out that harmonize into the finished product.

Once you’ve got a good feel for wine, you can delve into spirits.

I recommend you gain an understanding of how spirits are distilled, that can be mapped over each new spirit as you encounter it. Most are made in quite similar ways, with a few odd alterations here and there to produce the finished product. For example, gin is essentially made the same way as vodka, being a distilled mash of fermented substance (true vodka is made by fermenting potato, while gin is more of a grain alcohol). This distillate is then redistilled with herbs and other botanicals, always including some concentration of juniper berries. The botanicals infuse into the spirit, giving gin a light, herbal, and fruity quality. Bourbon, is a specific ratio of corn and rye, which is fermented, then distilled. It comes out clear and high proof. It’s then put into a specific kind of wooden barrel (always new) which has been toasted on the inside to varying degrees. As the alcohol ages within the barrel, it pulls flavor and color from the wood. This is why bourbon is the color it is, and why it has specific tasting notes like caramel, smoke, spices. Some spirits are quite clean and simple at first glance, like vodka, and yet have tremendous complexity, but only side by side comparisons tend to reveal these to novices of the human sort.

You will learn what you like within each category of spirit. 

Once you have mastered all the various beer, wine, and spirits...you can now truly appreciate cocktails and what they do with the spirits. When I say cocktails, I’m not discussing the variety served at college parties to get one as intoxicated as possible with or without appreciating the cheap components inside. I’m talking finely tuned symphonies of taste. Some cocktails are simple, with a spirit and perhaps one or two additives. Some are complex in unholy ways and can involve things like egg whites, which make a drink thick and foamy, but smooth like a glass of milk. Some can include herbal elements like rosemary or sage. And so forth.

Learn which spirit you like best and then try cocktails that do creative things with it.

That is my recommendation for how to begin enjoying alcohol. You will learn a great deal, but never fear, this knowledge makes you an asset in any group setting, and often opens doors for me which would otherwise be shut. 

Now there are some people who might find the above very “elitist”, or misuse the word “Pretentious” to describe any large scale and well-assembled knowledge of such a thing. They are wrong, and rude, but the basis of the criticism is valid--they presume that alcohol need not be understood or its history unraveled to enjoy it. That is true. They can leap straight into things like long island iced teas, or red bull and jaeger and find it fun and tolerable in flavor. They use alcohol to have a good time, not to enjoy the complexity. Understand me, I have nothing whatsoever against human using alcohol like a drug that happens to be tasty. That simply isn’t how I’ve used it. For me it is all flavor and the process of manufacture. So those are the things I focus on. If you simply want to get drunk, then allow me to suggest you adhere to drinks made with clear grain-based alcohols, and always order a double. There is nothing wrong with this, but also nothing “elitist” or “snobby” about the opposite.

If you have the inclination to acquire a knowledge base and examine complexity, however, the above ought to be of service.

[dontshootmespence]

Coercion - 13

@coveofmemories​ @reiding-and-writing​ @myxomatosis-s​ @skeletoresinthebasement​ @passionate-hedgehog​ @camigt1999​ @eideticenticement​ @ultrarebelheart​ @remember-me-forever-silent-angel​ @mishamgos​ @matthewgublers​ @tinyplanet-explorers​  

You are just about to start your new job at the BAU after years of working to get there, when a man you don’t know approaches you with an evil plan and knowledge of every sordid detail of your past. What will you do? Will you give into the man’s demands? Or will you be able to find another way out?

                                                              ----

A gasp ripped through your chest as your eyes popped open. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” Emily said, placing her hand on your arm. “You’re okay.”

Frantically, you looked around the room. Everyone was there, looks of relief painting their tired faces – in stark contrast to yours. Last you remembered, you were cold, warm blood seeping from the hole in what was apparently your arm.

When you glanced to the side, you caught sight of the white bandage. Underneath, you saw a faint tinge of red. “How bad was it?” you asked, placing your hand over the bandage.

“The bullet nicked your brachial artery,” Hotch said, pushing off of the wall and walking toward your side. “You lost a lot of blood, but they patched you up in surgery.”

You allowed your hand to float off of your arm and fall to your side. “Ashton,” you exclaimed, your eyes widening in recognition. “What happened to Ashton?”

“In custody.” Rossi smiled in your direction from his chair in the corner of the room. “Awaiting transport back to the states with us.”

You took a deep breath in. First, you smiled, sighing heavily as what felt like the weight of the world falling off your shoulders. But then you clutched at your throat, the tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you tried to take a deep breath. “Would you guys mind giving me a moment alone?” you asked shakily. They were apprehensive, considering the last time you were alone in a hospital, you had to be watched in order to not take your own life, but when you asked a second time, they agreed.

Slowly but surely, they filed out of the room. The shaking breaths inside you threatened to barge their way out, but you held them in. Spencer was the last one out. He nodded in your direction, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he closed the blinds on his way out. He knew what was coming and knew you wanted privacy to do it 

With the door closed and the blinds shuttered, you let it all out. You pulled your hospital gown up to muffle your screams and cries. Everyone knew what was happening, but you didn’t want the entire hospital hearing you. It was over. He was caught. You could finally start to heal. 

The tears that had pricked at your eyes streamed like hot lava down the sides of your face. Over and over again, you wiped them off, feeling them burn your skin, but they just kept flowing. “Oh my god,” you sobbed out loud.  “It’s over. It’s finally over.” You smiled to yourself, kicking up and down like a child on Christmas morning. When you moved, it rustled your arm, causing a dull pain to emanate its way up your skull, but you didn’t care. You could get into therapy again. You could make amends with your friends. It was finally okay to start that.

For another few minutes, you allowed everything that had been building up over the past month to escape you. Everything hurt. Your body, the tears, every negative emotion you’d had for weeks, but it was okay; you were cleansing your body of the past, and shortly, you had exhausted yourself into some much needed sleep.

---

It was another two hours before you woke from your cry fest. Again, when you awoke, the team was there, having let themselves back in after you’d fallen asleep.  “Hey,” Spencer said softly, “You’re gonna be discharged tomorrow.”

When you got back, Ashton was going to be questioned. “Hotch,” you said. “Can I-?” 

“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. “We’ll be watching outside, but yes.”

The first genuine smile you’d cracked in ages spread across your face. “I’ve got lots of questions.”

A small chuckle resounded from the rest of your team and for a few moments you just reveled in what you assumed was a feeling of peace – contentment. “Hey guys,” Morgan said, turning around to the rest of the team. “Mind if I have a moment alone with Y/N?”

Well, that was nerve-wracking. What could he want to talk to you about? Spencer must’ve noticed the apprehension on your face, because he shot you a glance. “You’re not gonna kill her, are you Morgan?” 

He chuckled. “No, I’m not. I just wanna talk.”

You gave everyone a nod that it was okay to leave, so they did. The tension of not knowing what he wanted to say was weighing heavily on you, so you decided to be the one to break the ice. “So, what’s up, Derek?”

He swallowed hard. “Why did you jump in front of me?” 

In his mind, it must’ve seemed like an honest question, but to you it was so simple. “Because, Derek, after everything that’s happened, the thing’s I’ve done, the circumstances that have befallen me, this team, through it all, I’ve loved you all. I mean it when I say that I was put in a bad position. I chose Spencer because I was…I am in love with him, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t, that I don’t, love every single one of you. I saw you about to get shot, so I jumped. Because I care.” After a few moments of thick silence, you looked up again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said. “What is it?” 

“What would you have done in my shoes?”

A small huff of air escaped his nose as he contemplated your question. More accurately, he tried to form the right words. “If I came where you came from, and was given the ultimatum that you were given, I would’ve chosen Savannah…I’ve been thinking about it…and I think the reason I acted the way I did is because like you, I wouldn’t have thought twice about saving the woman I love. And I think that angers me.”

“Why?”

His eyes opened slightly. “Why? Because I’m an officer of the law. I’m supposed to protect people.”

“But you’re also a man, a husband. You’re almost a father.” You understood what he meant - why he was conflicted, but you were sure in your decision. “Some people make work their lives. Some people make their families their lives. Some people are able to balance both, and you do, but at the end of the day, even though this job in large defines you, you are a husband and father-to-be….just as I was a girlfriend, madly in love with the man of her dreams. Some might have the ability to always do what is right by the law…but honestly, I don’t think I’ve met one of them yet.”

Derek pushed his tongue against his bottom lip. “I just think the fact that I would’ve made the same decision just as quickly angered me. And since you actually did it, that angered me. Because it was so close to home. Like suddenly someone could try and make me decide something so horrific.”

“Can’t make this shit up,” you laughed. It elicited the same response from Derek and he placed his hand on yours. “Do you think you can forgive me? Can you see that this is never what I wanted?”

“I can see it’s never what you wanted,” he said. “And I think I can forgive you. I’m going to be honest with you though, I may end up being snappy now and then.”

Although you hadn’t know him that long, you knew enough from Spencer that Derek was the type to hold a grudge – get a little hostile. “You? Snappy? Noooo.”

“Shut up,” he snickered. A few moments later, he got up from his chair. “I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee, you want anything?”

As you inhaled, you caught the scent of something bready and delicious. “There’s some kind of sandwich I keep smelling and I want it. I haven’t actually felt like eating in a month, so I could eat a horse right now.” 

“That actually sounds good,” he laughed. “I’ll get me one too. Be back.”

“Derek?”

He turned around. “Yea?”

“Thanks. It means a lot to know that we can work on this.” 

With a nod of his head, he turned to leave again, before stopping in the doorway. “Thanks for jumping in front of me. It’s because of you I get to meet my son.”

--- 

After devouring the sandwich that Morgan brought back for you, visiting hours were almost over. “You guys should get going,” you said, feeling your own eyes get heavy with much-needed sleep.

“We aren’t going anywhere.” Rossi smirked. “We’ll be outside.”

“Go,” you laughed. “I’m going to be passed the fuck out and there’s no need for you all to sleep in chairs when you could spend the night in a cushy Hong Kong hotel courtesy of the FBI.

Hotch, Rossi, Emily and Morgan decided to take you up on your offer, but Spencer and JJ insisted on staying. “You mind if Y/N and I have a moment, Spence?”

“Sure,” he said, “ I’m gonna go grab some waters in case we need them in the middle of the night, and then I’ll be back.” As Spencer left your hospital room, you looked over at JJ. 

After putting her phone back in her pocket, she huffed and sat at your bedside with a strained smile. “Everything okay?” you asked. You couldn’t be more over the moon, but that didn’t mean everyone else felt the same, especially considering you didn’t just ‘get over’ what happened; it would take work.

“Just got off the phone with Will a few minutes ago…”

“Let me guess, he doesn’t like the fact that you’re staying her tonight…with me…” Will didn’t know you as well as JJ did, so you assumed he’d have an issue with JJ giving you the chance to prove yourself. You didn’t really blame Will for his anger; you’d almost taken away his wife and the mother of his children. Work would be required to mend that relationship too.

JJ sighed heavily. “Yea. He says I shouldn’t trust you. Ever. He’s mad.”

“I get that.”

“Yea,” she laughed. “I do too, but I know you better than he does, and although it’s going to take a lot of work, I believe that you were put in the worst possible position imaginable.”

The tears welled up, but you held them back. “Umm...I know you said baby steps, and I’m cool with that, but can I hug you?” Longingly, you looked over at her. You wanted more than anything to say sorry like this, but you hadn’t touched anyone, except Spencer’s hand the other night, so you felt like you needed to ask. 

With a smile, JJ stood up and leaned over you. Your good arm stretched around her and held her tight. “I’m so sorry, JJ. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not that person…I promise.”

“Pushing me out of the way and jumping in front of Morgan, which I told Will about by the way, went a good way to proving that,” she said, sitting on the side of your bed. “We’ll work on it.” She reached down and grabbed your hand, and you moved to the opposite side of the bed so she could sit with you. 

By the time Spencer got back, he smiled. You were fast asleep. And at your side was JJ, asleep as well with her head resting on yours.

[great-jenna-bake-off]

Season 1 Episode 1: Victoria Sandwich

And we’re off! The first-ever technical challenge on GBBO was Mary Berry’s Victoria Sandwich. “Victoria sandwiches” and “Victoria sponges” are often-referenced on the show, but as an American, I had never heard of such a thing before watching. And I had certainly never tasted one. So while the recipe looked simple enough, I was sure that my intrinsic American-ness was bound to screw me up somewhere along the way.

Mary Berry’s Victoria Sandwich Recipe

A Victoria sandwich is just two layers of yellow sponge cake with jam and whipped cream stuffed in the middle. Sounds easy, right? Well right off the bat, I ran into some complications with this recipe. First of all, it (and many other GBBO recipes) calls for “caster sugar.” While watching the show I had always assumed caster sugar was British for powdered sugar, but I have never put powdered sugar into a cake before, so I decided to look it up. Turns out, caster sugar is actually a very finely granulated sugar that is somewhere in between regular granulated sugar and powdered sugar. According to the internet, my two options were to either special order “10x superfine sugar” or grind my own in a food processor, both of which seemed like far too much effort, so I decided to use regular granulated sugar for the cake batter and powdered sugar to sprinkle on top. If my cake turned out a little on the gritty side, the ghost of Mary Berry could rise from my oven and tut at me in distain. 

I was next troubled by the “self-rising flour” ingredient on the list. I’ve seen distinct types of flours in recipes before, but my usual MO is to ignore them and go with good old all-purpose in every situation. But since I’m trying to be a better baker, I actually looked up the significance of self-rising flour. And it’s a good thing I did, because self-rising flour contains baking powder and salt, so without it my cake would have been flat and flavorless. Instead of buying special flour, I just added two extra tablespoons of baking powder and a quarter teaspoon of salt to the recipe. 

With those issues sorted out, I could actually get started on the cake itself. And it was... really easy. This recipe tells you to dump everything in a bowl and mix, which is the kind of easy-clean-up recipe I can get behind. When I poured my batter into my cake pans, I was a little concerned that they seemed underfilled, probably because I was using 9-inch pans instead of the prescribed 8-inch. But I was hopeful that all that extra baking powder would help the cakes rise enough anyway. 

Ready for the oven

While my cakes were in the oven, I decided to revisit the very first episode of GBBO to see how my “competitors” fared during this challenge. 

This is magnificent silverback Paul Hollywood himself explaining that the technical challenge is the most important in his opinion. Yeah right, Paul. We all know the only one that matters is the showstopper round.

Lea here is saying that she’s made quite a few Victoria sandwiches in her day. That makes one of us, girl.

Edd apparently made this very recipe a few weeks before the episode filmed, so he feels pretty confident. (What a suck up.) Two seconds later, he realizes that he forgot to put in the sugar. Take that, Edd! He did however eventually win this challenge, and the entire season as a matter of fact. 

Jonathan’s cakes sink the second he takes them out of the oven. Best tip from this challenge: opening the oven door before the cakes are fully cooked will cause them to sink in the middle due to the sudden change in temperature, so avoid checking on them or taking them out too early. 

After 25 minutes, I felt reasonably confident that my cakes were done, so I took the plunge and opened the oven door. Miraculously, my cakes were golden and sprung back in the middle, and they didn’t sink! Already I’m doing better than Jonathan. I was also pleased that they did rise quite a bit in the oven, so while they might not be quite as thick as intended by the recipe, they’re not pancake thin either. 

Hopefully perfectly baked

I let the cake cool while I whipped up some whipped cream (pun fully intended), and I quickly learned my second lesson of the challenge: why you’re supposed to cool things on a wire baking rack instead of a flat surface like a plate. When it came time to assemble the sandwich, the top of my cake stuck to the plate and a thin layer of cake peeled off. Oh well, nothing some powdered excuse me, icing sugar can’t hide!

Here is Mary Berry’s Victoria Sandwich:

And here’s mine:

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself!

But now it’s time for the real test. While the contestants only have to bring their cakes up to the “gingham altar,” mine had to survive a trip to East Hollywood to face my fearsome judge Matt.

Matt’s review: On first look, the cake was more intimidating than cute. The road was not kind to it, and jam and whipped cream had leaked out the edges like battle scars. This cake didn’t take crap. It was here to deliver vanilla and berry goodness and nothing was going to stop it. Nothing stopped it. It tasted great. The cake matched up really well with the filling, with the sweetness countered appropriately with the breadiness. I’m not sure who to credit here: Jenna or the recipe. I’ll throw the win Jenna’s way. My sweet tooth was appropriately satisfied. To be clear, I’ve never had a cake like this before. Neither had Jenna—I asked—so I didn’t know what to look for. But even so, I still knew something was missing. There wasn’t an oomph, something that would bring me back. [1] I figured out the issue with the final bite. There was a crunch! And that crunch was SO good. I would have loved it if that went all the way through.Moving forward, I’m going to be paying careful attention to the evenness of that bake. If I can annoy Jenna enough about it, maybe the next time I get this cake the entire thing will have that delicious crunch. Still, for the first installment, this was very exciting. I can’t wait for the next one.

[1] I’m not trying to be pretentious, I’m just saying we live in an age where you can order three boxes of Mint Milanos to your doorstep within 15 minutes. The bar for desserts is high, is all. 

Was there a soggy bottom: Nope!

*****

Final thoughts: Yes, Matt included a footnote in his review. I feel Paul Hollywood would approve. Also, I found this recipe to be pretty easy. I thought the cake tasted great and looked nice, but it wasn’t really a challenge. As this is is just round one of 53 though, I’m sure there will be far greater challenges to come.