#i ordered double cheese and double the other sort of cheese and double sauce and double onions and also tuna and meatballs

[mikazuki-juuichi]

Food Tour (Such terrible hatred extra)

Fourth drabble written while recovering. Hope you all like!

*

H Drabble 4: Food Tour.

By: Yawar.

Fandom: In continuity with my "Such terrible hatred".

**

0: Date.

The brown horse repeated the plan, almost lingering on each syllable. "Food Tour. Across two weeks in the City. In lieu of a vacation proper?"

"That's right," said his roly-poly fox. "Sice we can't quite afford a trip to the beach like the others and neither of us feels like spending another spring break with our families --why not have some fun of our own, in our own way?"

'The others' were only four of the neighbors --Shen and Eduardo off to Acapulco, Roberto and Benito to Veracruz --but the point kinda stood. And the plan sounded, well, feasible. Visiting each of their favorite food spots, taking turns. Leaving space to calculate expenses, and so that neither of them got sick from over-eating or drinking. A two-week date, basically.

"Okay --let's do it!" was the only thing left to said. "Whose choice first?!"

**

1: Burger Bar Joint.

Next evening, the first choice; David's. A relatively fancy neighborhood. Roma, downtown, within walkind distance of their Zona Rosa. Tucked between two expensive fanchises --but the 'BBJ' looked more like an old fashioned 80's place, all red tiles and industrial decoration.

The waiters knew David pretty well. It seemed he used to be a regular here, not that long ago. So they got a nice double table, well iluminated, in full view of the bar. David ordered for them --two specials to share.

Fried cheese balls covered in panko, with a white sauce to dip in. Melty and hot!

Cheese fingers in a lettuce bed, with arrabiata sauce to dip in --and this was just the entrée!

To wash it doewn, one alcholic drink, one not, both still to share. A large glass of Dr. Pepper with a scoop of lemon ice cream floating in it. And a vanilla malt shake with Frangelico.

It all mixed into a heady cloud --Moctezuma wondered if they'd fall into a food coma here and now.

"Darling," he said. "Next one's gonna be a salad place."

"Sounds good to me!" said a chipper David, offering a loopy yet friendly smile. "But first, the main event --burgers!"

A regular-sized one and a huge one, both split down the middle.

The first, fried chicken breast, mayonnaise, shredded lettuce, tomatoes. Yummy, simple and good!

The second was a thick beef patty, caramelized onion rings, fried potato chips --and a fried egg, dripping yolk into the whole thing! Well, good thing Mexico City had never had salmonella cases!

"My God!!" Moctezuma both cheered and wailed. "It'd make a perfect last meal!"

David chuckled. "Can't wait to try your salad place! Be a good respite," he said between satisfied bites.

**

2: Monte Kailas.

Two days later here they were --South of the city, Univerity district. The neighborhood known as Ciudad Universitaria. But at his hour, early afternoon, most of the students and teachers are safely locked in class, so it's easier to find a place to eat.

This one was a floor and a half tall, decorated kinda like a waterfall oasis. All white, minty green, bright and filled with plastic plants.

"Found this when I worked as a courier," Moctezuma explained. "Nice and not too expensive, nor too filling! Let's see now." It's his turn to order for them.

First, a large jar of watermelon juice topped with all sort of shredded berries. Refreshing, suprisingly sweet!

Tiny sandwiches. Baked multigrain bread, cream cheese, avocado, cherry tomatoes --and what tastes like honey mustard, lightly applied.

"I guess it's more for horses?" Moctezuma quips.

"No --we foxes were omnivorous back in the prehistoric days, they say," David half-jests back.

And after this tiny treat --salads!

A tiny but spectacular Caprese. Medallions of fresh white cheese sprinkled with pesto and assorted pepper slices.

And a big one, the house special. An explosion of green and yellow vegetables and fruits --mango, yellow apple, celery, green apple, guava, melon, tortilla chips, and even assorted seeds! All dipped in an incredible cilantro mayonnaise!

"I see what you love about this!!" David let out. He chewed the mango and pepper together, savoring the mix of sweet and spicy. "It's a whole meal course in a few dishes!"

Moctezuma grinned at him, reaching under the table to quickly pat his boyfriend's tight. Washing down a big bite with more ice-cold watermelon juice. When he finished gulping the sweet nectar down, he said: "What've you got planned next? More meat mountains?"

"Not at all! But it'll be powerful, you'll see!"

**

3. Quesadillas Abuelita Coni.

Off to the opposite side of the city, the North. Another academic district, Politécnico.

Tucked between a planetarium and an old cinema that is now used as a pseudo-museum. A tiny yet cozy place with small wooden tables and wicker chairs. Barely a floor tall.

"And it only serves quesadillas?" Moctezuma inquired, looking around.

"Yes, but what quesadillas!" Quietly, David added: "The drinks are nothing special --but even so, you'll see!"

For one thing, the meal was deep-fried to a crispy brown --the aroma was both mouth and eye watering.

Order: Two plain string cheese, two potatoes and cheese, two ham slice and cheese. Accompained by the house jalapeño sauce and by an order of half-cream. To wash it down --plain juice boxes, grape and apple.

Hot and greasy o yes --but oh! So, so creamy and it mixed incredibly well with both cream and sauce!

"NO, okay!" said Moctezuma. "I can see how addictive this could be!"

"I think I actually did get hooked up on these for a bit!" David replied halfway through a generous bite. "Had to force myself to cut back to once a month max. By the way, have you seen the other tables?"

Everyone around, to a T it seemed, was having something of a food orgasm. Eyes rolled back, tails wagging or at least curly.

Moctezuma nearly hooted. "Then, for my next choice --dessert!"

**

4. Helado Oscuro.

South of the city again... a little more to the East. Past second-hand bookstores, and a huge theatre. Coyoacán neighborhood. Next to a more famous but horribly expensive restaurant ("Grossly expensive!" said Moctezuma) --and then here it is, a dark small place that's easy to miss at first. Literally painted black inside, but with bright fluorecent lights overhead and purple vynil chairs. And very bright menus advertising all sorts of artisanal ice cream flavors.

Not a singe conventional one! Sangria. Doll kiss. Rum and coke. Rose petal. Rosé wine. Starfruit. And that's barely the top of the menú!

What to get, how could one possibly choose? But Moctezuma already thought of that: "Sampler. A tiny spoonful of --every flavor!"

David had braced himself for both a sugar rush and a brain freeze. No... so many of the flavors are savory --or even sour! And explosion of chilly flavors... The aftertaste was unique, too --good thing they have free sparkling water to wash it all down. And that was just the first row of the samples.  

**

5. Tacos El Paisa.

More to the West no, in the frontier between two very different neighborhoods, La Raza and Azcapotzalco. Now there's several taco places in these two blocks as a matter of fact. But this one is unmissable. Full to the brim, each formica table full of enthusiastic clients. And yet somehow they get a table very fast.

Two identical orders, very specific ones. Three tacos al pastor in corn tortillas, two steak and cheese in flour tortillas. Two tepaches to wash it down --a mildly alcoholic pineapple drink. Why this? Because these are too small to share, have to be tasted in full.

Pastor! Slowly roasted seasoned pork, pineapple, cilantro, onion, lemon drops. Grease dripping everwhere. Scrumptious! Steak! White cheese melting into the steak bits, cushioned by the thick tortilla. And the fruity tepache helps it all go down smoothly.

"Same order again?" says an amused Moctezuma, winking.

"Up to you," David winks back. "Once you get the first taste you can choose your own rhytm!"

"Speaking of that... I think I know the next choice. Hope you don't mind getting up early, though."

He doesn't, even if the ambience here calls for a long night. It's all so jolly, so warm. Then again, no one stays here for that long, or they'd pig out so to speak.

**

6. El Diletto.

Indeed: Barely dawn and they are on the way for breakfast. Where? North of the city, residential neighborhood Lindavista, about an hour from home by public transportation. Had to take the early subway train fueled only by insant coffee and half a toast each.

Here is the place, just opening now in fact. It looks like a tiny bar behind a newstand? Ah, no, up to the second story... on to a beautiful roof garden surrounded by rubber palm leaves. Very few tables, about half of them occupied by families. For them, a tiny black one with a view of the still idle street below.

Curious order: Green juice, black coffee, couple pastries to share, polvorón de naranja. Bacon and cheese omelette, sprinkled with sliced cherry tomatoes and arugula. Per Moctezuma's instructions, cut a slice of the omelette, gather it in torta bread, sprinkle a bit of green sauce on top...

"Whoah!" David lets out. "How's it so many flavors at once?"

"Chef's secret," says Moctezuma in between pleased bites. "Now, try the rest."

Bittersweet juice, firm sugary pastry, stout coffee. Smoother than David expected. "Did you use to come here with your family?" he asks.

Moctezuma shakes his head no. "This used to have live music, and a friend got the gig a couple times. But the samplers we got, love!"

"Samplers..." David says the word like a revelation, tasting it. He knows what his next choice is --dinner this time.

**

7. Dave's Pizza Tortas.

Very different choice for sure. This one is located in the converted basement of a housing complex deep on the other side of the City, in a blue-collar neighborhood, Pedregal. Said former basement has become something of a street  food market. All small stalls and so, so many deep-fried and sugary aromas floating up to them. Heading to a a well-lit one on the left corner, wading amongst the sea of people.

Soon they are sharing an even smaller table than last time. White formica, just outside the glare of the white halogen lamps. Two fruit soda bottles. Paper plate colding an enormous torta split in two. Big plastic bowl filled to the brim with spaghetti, topped with thick ham slices.

David and Moctezuma swirl their plastic forks in the hot, orange pasta.

"The funny part is that I usually order this as take-out," says David. "So I thought that coming directly to the source would be... I dunno, an experience. Also these are, not kidding... Mighty. Very, very filling, see..."

"No kidding indeed," says Moctezuma after slurping a couple strands. "I can tell by the amount of grease alone."

The flavor has a neat quality. It somehow expands as they chew. And then the ham slices reveal fresh avocado underneath. It all mixes into a surprisingly balanced bite. The soda is at first glance nothing special. But it's the rare kind that is not too bubbly, not two sweet. Doesn't sting the tip of one's tongue. Then, the torta. Warm, soft bread. Well-cooked meat --pork, sausage-- cheese --both string and cheddar--, bean paste, cream. One festive bite, that's the word for it!

But it *is* most definitely filling. This one they are not actually able to finish in site, have to take some of it to go.

Which amuses David. "And to think I used to gorge on these all by myself every so many lonely nights! You know, it's so much better shared like this..."

Moctezuma reaches for David's hand. Holds it. Squeezes it. "I do know it."

And so that leaves only one possible choice for the next and last place.

**

8. Pizza Amore.

This tiny little place in Zona Rosa, steps away from Nicho's bar... where they had their first date. When they first met, that one unforgettable night that extended all the way to the morning...

So, four slices of whatever was ready, any beverages... and it's all perfect.  Sausage, peperoni, olives, mushrooms. Basic cokes.

"So..." David ventures when they get out into the chilly afternoon. He zips up his fleece-lined jacket. "What do you think? Not bad for a vacation substitute?"

Moctezuma meanwhile seems impervious to the weather in his long-sleeved button-up shirt. "Substitute?" He places an arm around David's shoulders, draws him close. "Darling, it was the best vacation of all time!"

So they remain, close as toast and butter, all the way back home.

**

[explode-this]

This week in Grown Up Victories™️, I made vegetarian “enchiladas”—really more of a wet burrito situation really—on Monday, including the sauce! The filling was sweet potato and black bean with some onions and bell peppers. Daylight Saving really fucked up my routine (I like to go out right at sunset because it’s cooler and I guess I’m some kind of wannabe vampire who hisses at direct sunlight) so I had to figure out my way around it in terms of timing so dinner wasn’t at like, 9pm, but I did it. Leftovers last night and then today I’m making chickpea curry. I did my Stupid Mental Health Walk in the morning so I wouldn’t have all of Monday’s obstacles to hurdle, AND I remembered to soak dried chickpeas so I wouldn’t have to use canned! They’re cooking right now and I have all of the other ingredients sorted. I have to break down recipes ahead of time so I don’t get halfway through a thing and then realize I missed an ingredient or didn’t chop a thing or whatever. I’m breaking out of the veggie-chili-or-minestrone rut! Hooray! Bonus: this also means I’m skipping mid-week takeout which makes me feel better about Friday night pizza (which, already being cheap, ends up being cheaper considering it’s dinner, breakfast, and then lunch or dinner).

All that and I’ve finally streamlined the grocery shopping process so I only go once a week. I’ve turned into my mother because I’m using a spreadsheet that I print and then highlight so I’m not constantly racking my brains for what I might need to pick up. I actually may have overtaken my mother in the Spreadsheet Girlie™️ department by not only organizing it into categories sections but ordering everything by aisle numbers so there won’t be any doubling back. My whole thing is I have to get in and I have to get OUT. No dawdling, no criss-crossing the store for shit, and if I don’t buy enough cheese, that’s on me because I’m not going to the store for one thing and coming out with impulse purchases.

(Hell yeah I’m giving myself a gold star)

[casspurrjoybell-33]

Wreckless - Sweet Suite

*Warning Adult Content*

Emmett

A suite... sure... try the fanciest suite in town.

"Are you kidding me?" I ask as we go in.

There's a kitchen, and entire living room with huge double doors looking over the water, a balcony, and of course an amazing bedroom and bathroom.

"There wasn't much available, Emmett."

I'm not sure whether he means he wanted a nicer place or one a little bit more normal and I'm afraid to ask.

Instead I go out onto the balcony and that's when I lose my damn mind.

'Seriously? How? Huh?'

Is that a jacuzzi?

I walk out onto the deck because it's too damn big to be a balcony even if we are on the top floor and look at the view.

Only random vowels come out of my mouth so I give up and plop onto the lounge chair.

"I'll sleep out here, you can have the rest of the room."

I tell Finnegan when he sits in the chair next to me.

"Nope, not happening but we can lay out here all afternoon if you really want to."

"I want. Very much."

A nap is calling my name but I'm also starving.

"Need some food first."

"I'll get the menu."

Hot damn, we don't even have to leave this room.

Honestly, I don't feel the need to but I will take Finnegan to the beach if he wants to go.

Maybe we'll go out for dinner afterwards.

Whatever he wants, I'm really here for the ride.

This is what he wanted and needs and I'm gonna let him lead.

"I want a cheese plate and their house salad, please."

He holds the menu out to me and I take it but I only understand about three quarters of the words.

'What's an aoili? A tapenade?'

Well, it's hard to ruin crab cakes so I'm gonna order them anyway.

He's inside unpacking when I finish the call.

"Twenty minutes, darling."

"Great, thank you."

He looks a little bit lost or overwhelmed and I am too but I'm sure it's for different reasons.

He decides to try out the bed and lies down.

"Oh nice, this will do."

"Want a nap? You can get one after you eat and then we can do whatever you want."

"That sounds really good but I think I'll make some coffee instead. I don't want to sleep the weekend away."

Coffee it is.

There's a fancy Keurig type machine here so two cups of coffee is easy.

I pour mine over ice and sip it until lunch arrives.

Apparently those fancy things are a sauce and some sort of spread.

I'm not sure which is which but they're both delicious on my crab cakes.

Finnegan has been quiet but I'm not pushing the conversation because he may just need time to decompress.

I really don't know what's best at this point.

"I know you want to chill on the deck but can we go to the beach later? At least for a walk?"

"Of course darling, we can go now. We can swim, build a castle, whatever."

"But the deck?"

"It'll be here when we get back." 

Might be a good way to spend an hour or two after dinner.

"Thanks Emmett. I appreciate you coming with me, especially last minute. Work is just... Well I don't want to think about it until Monday. I feel like everything is going wrong since we left here two weeks ago and maybe part of me thinks it'll be better now that we're back."

I've felt that way too but he had a much harder time with the burglary than I did and I don't want to imagine what's going on at work.

I tell myself that it can't be too bad or he wouldn't be able get away.

I have no doubt he's busy but nothing is on fire and that's probably as good as it'll get for a while longer.

"I'm going to change."

That's when I realize that I didn't answer him.

"Finnegan? Sorry, I was in dream land. Things back in Baltimore will get better but I understand what you mean, this is a safe space for you and heck, for me too a little bit and I'm glad we're back."

I give him a minute but I need to change too and it's nothing I haven't seen before.

He's standing in front of the dresser holding his rainbow trunks in one hand and his sharks in the other.

I hate that I feel so awkward.

Am I allowed to say anything?

To help him decide?

He tosses the sharks down, then picks them back up again.

"I'm being ridiculous. This is not an important decision."

He puts them both on top of the dresser, spins them around and mixes them up and then picks one.

Ah, his eyes are closed.

He's so funny.

"Rainbow it is."

"Never a bad choice in Rehoboth."

We have matching red trunks that we bought last time and I put mine on. 

They're a bit shorter than I would usually choose but Finnegan had been fairly insistent.

"Damn, those are nice on you, Emmett."

"Thanks. I'm glad you approve. We need to get you some sunscreen. I brought the sand toys, should we bring them?"

"You did?"

"Of course. Is that a 'yes'?" 

Finally, a smile.

A quick nod and then he's off, dashing into the living room.

It's taking him longer than I expected but I'm pretty sure that 'Little Finn's going to make an appearance. 

Maybe we can have a lesson tonight, it's been awhile. 

Damn, that sounds really good. 

Really really good. 

I think I need to be in 'Dom-mode' as much as he needs to be 'Little Finn'.

God I'm turned on, maybe he'll be willing to get off before we head out. 

I want to tell him to come suck my cock but we're not there right now. 

I also don't want to ask because treating him like Finnegan is gonna hold him back. 

I take a deep breath and blow it slowly out of my mouth. 

Watching him prance around in just shorts all afternoon is going to kill me... Kill.

"Emmett?"

"Yeah darling?"

"You okay?"

Him noticing sort of jolts me out of my head and I walk over and grab my backpack. 

"Of course. You ready?"

"Yeah."

He takes my hand as soon as we're in the hallway and I give his a squeeze. 

"We have to buy some sunscreen first and then we'll hit the beach, okay?"

"I know, stupid sun. Can we hurry?"

"It won't take long, I'm sure the hotel gift shop has some." 

As fancy as this place is, we could probably request someone spritz us. 

"Okay."

It's going to be okay. 

This is just what we needed.

[thiscastielhasflown]

day three of day two of j&kcreatorfest (with @expectingtofly)— prompts: movie night or baking dean just wants to watch brokeback mountain in peace and cas is there to enjoy the emotional roller coaster ride. (2.1k) [does contain spoilers of the movie's plot, you have been warned]

"Okay choose — Midnight Cowboy or Brokeback Mountain?"

Cas looks directly at Dean who is standing in front of him holding two DVDs and smiling wide with eagerness. To celebrate and commemorate their first Pride Month official out together, both collectively decided to watch a different LGBTQ+ themed movie every night during June (if at all possible).

Rather than the Winchester/Leahy family's normal Tuesday night movie routine, Sam and Eileen were more than willing to change up their usual viewing schedule — even helping to prepare and order movies unavailable to be streamed. But sadly this night coincided with their short weekend getaway trip up to Donna's cabin for a needed change in scenery from the bleak walls of the bunker. No matter how good the movie choice was going to be for those nights, nothing compares to either couple getting some alone time together.

Cas and Dean are left alone to watch a movie in the newly renovated 'Dean Cave' — now including a larger sectional couch (to fit everyone more comfortably), an LED monogrammed neon light of Dean's nickname from Cas, 'Titan', along with new pictures hung up from a recent family photoshoot, and a new stereo sound system all set up by Dean earlier that day.

While Dean was busy with that, Cas was in the kitchen trying out a homemade sourdough pretzel dough recipe — made with his own fermented starter — along with a batch of double-chocolate chunk brownies with lines of caramel crisscrossing across the top as their movie viewing snack for the night.

"I thought we were watching the Trixie Mattel documentary."

"I know we agreed on that, but I'm more into a gay cowboy sort of mood tonight. You feel me?"

Cas blinks, "I haven't felt you yet."

"Cas, it's a figure of speech. Stay on track. Which one do you want to watch?"

"Isn't Trixie a gay Western icon as anyway?"

Dean hesitates, "Well, I would say not exactly. Maybe because of her music style and love for Dolly—"

"Parton, we've listened to her music before," Cas interrupts.

Dean smiles, "Yes we have. We've listened to Trixie too. So I guess it depends on who you ask if they’d categorize her as a modern gay Western icon in the drag business. We're sidetracked, please just pick one."

"Okay, sorry. How about the one with the happier ending."

Dean pauses to think, "I don't think either end up happy."

"Then the one where someone doesn't die."

Dean pauses again, "I...do believe someone dies in both of them."

"Then what are the differences?"

"To be honest, there really aren't that many," Dean laughs it off, "They both take place within the same 1960s setting, even though Brokeback was made in 2004. There are two main male characters in both, who aren't close in the beginning but end up so by the end. Um. The biggest difference is that Brokeback actually takes place in Western-type locations, where Midnight Cowboy setting is in New York. Is any of this helping in your decision process?"

"To be honest, not really," Cas stands up from the couch and adjusts his shirt, "Well, you go ahead and make the final decision, okay? Let me go grab the pretzels and brownies from the kitchen while you get it set up. Want a beer?"

"Yes, please. Can you bring extra cheese sauce too?" Dean answers.

"Of course, nacho or cheddar?"

A sparkle glazes over Dean's eyes as he looks at Cas, a smirk making its way across his lips, "How about both?"

"Sure can," Cas leans in to give Dean a kiss on the cheek, brushing his hand up against the other man's shoulder, "Be right back."

Dean watches Cas walk out of the room with a smug look on his face, admiring his love before bending down in front of the TV console and turning on the DVD player to give it time to boot up. He looks back and forth between either movie case, still unable to pick one over the other. Sighing, he ends up picking Brokeback Mountain, knowing deep down that Cas would most likely end up enjoy watching it more.

As he stands back up holding the DVD player remote in his hand, he hears the sound of Cas walking down in the hallway near the mancave’s door. They've been together so long at this point, but even the slightest presence of Cas will still make a butterfly giddiness erupt inside of Dean.

"Right on time as always," Dean puts down the remote after pushing 'play', grabbing the plate and beer held out to him by Cas.

He holds it up to his nose and breathes in the mingling smells of delicious food, "You really outdid yourself on this one."

Cas blushes from the compliment before pulling his own plate closer to him, breaking off a piece of the brownie and slipping it into his mouth, "Glad to know you approve."

Dean winks and takes a bite of his own, letting out a tiny moan of satisfaction from the taste, "Did you put sea salt in this?"

"I'm surprised you noticed, it was one of my secret ingredients I added in. Thought it would go well with the caramel."

"Your intuition was right, this is delicious," Dean takes another large bite and lets the flavors melt over his tongue.

At this point in the movie, Jack and Ennis sit at the bar drinking together, getting the chance to have the last bit of freedom before heading up to the mountain to work. This reminds Dean of the many times he's shared a drink with Cas before they assumed the worst would happen, losing each other. Yet those moments have now become ones he'll never forget.

The soft touch of a hand against his face pulls Dean's eyeline from the movie, Cas reeling him into a deep kiss, their lips melding into each other creating a familiar yet comfortable feeling.

Before letting anything escalate Dean pulls back and faces his head back towards the TV, reaching up to wipe off his bottom lip softly, "Watch the movie, you're going to miss a good part."

Cas pulls away and pouts, giving him one last peck on the neck before returning fully to the boundaries of his seat.

Dean turns his head back again to Cas and reaches out for his hand, weaving their fingers together, "Hey don't do that, all I wanna do is watch the movie. We can do plenty of that later."

"Fine, fine," Cas mocks, grabbing a piece of the soft pretzel and dips it in the cheese, shoving it in his mouth with a hint of annoyance.

They manage to in silence to watch the movie a little longer before Cas speaks up again, "So...what exactly is going on?"

Dean clears his throat, "Well, Jack and Ennis got their orders to go up to the mountain to go work with the sheep and they're still trying to get used to each other. Testing out the ropes, trying to work together as a team."

"Are you sure they fall in love? They definitely don't very seem into each other at the moment."

Dean takes a sip of his beer, "Love happens in mysterious ways Cas, just like us. It is never as easy as we think, especially when two people don't really get along, to begin with."

"We got along just fine, what are you talking about?"

The only thing Dean does when he hears Cas make that statement is laugh, downing another large gulp of his beer.

Cas tilts his head, "Why are you laughing?"

"Your memory must be skewed now that you're human. Don't you remember threatening my life multiple times? Trust me, you and Uriel were a couple of dicks for the majority of that early time."

"I've changed a lot since then."

Dean smiles and squeezes Cas' hand, "We've both changed a lot. Us, being here like this, is the ending we both deserve. For them, it was much harder of a situation. Their free will isn't as fluid as the ones we take for granted."

"You're not telling me—" Cas sits back with wide eyes, trying to formulate the future plot points in his head.

"I'm not going to spoil anything from the movie, you're going to have to watch it yourself to find out yourself," Dean mimics zipping his lips and turning a key to lock it, "My lips are sealed.”

A sudden vibration erupts from Dean's back, shoving his hand into it and pulling out his phone to see Sam's picture contact picture lit up (from a drunken Halloween night dressed up in a Chewbacca costume, minus the head, with a herbal cigarette dangling between his lips), swiping to answer, "Hey Sammy, what's going on?"

"Hey-uh-hi, are you busy right now?" Sam asks in a mildly frantic tone of voice over the phone.

"Well—" Dean signals to Cas to pause the movie, "It is movie night like you know, but I can talk. Everything going okay?"

"No, yeah, everything is fine. Do you know how to treat a spider bite?"

Dean coughs slightly in surprise, "Are you telling me you already managed to get a spider bite?"

Cas, overhearing the conversation holds a hand up to his mouth to help suppress the giggling he's unable to prevent himself from doing.

"Yeah, um, neither Eileen and I can remember if it's supposed to be a cold or warm compress."

Dean shakes his head and lets out a chuckle, "Did you just drunkenly call me, to ask me, how to treat a spider bite less than 24 hours after leaving here?"

"Yes Dean, do you have the answer or not?"

"Go get some ice and makeshift ice pack. For the swelling. Any other questions?"

Sam pauses not answering right away, Dean hears the sound of rustling and clanking of ice in the background, "No that should be it. Thank you."

"Yep, you're welcome. Bye," Dean hangs up before Sam can say anything else.

"I'm sorry for all of the distractions tonight Dean, I really am. I know how much you wanted to watch this movie," Cas puts a hand on his shoulder, slightly massaging at the tense muscle underneath Dean's favorite Led Zeppelin shirt.

"It's fine Cas, we can stop the movie if you want. Maybe pick it back up tomorrow?"

"Why can't we continue watching it? If we have to pause again, then we pause again. Anyway, you have me interested in learning what will happen.”

“Alright, we’ll continue.”

Thankfully, no one else bothers them for the rest of the movie. Even when Cas was confused in certain sections, he reminded quiet and attentively watched, quickly becoming attached to the characters and the blossoming (and losing) love between them. When the credits begin to roll, Dean looks over to see Cas crying, tears streaming down his face, and biting on his bottom lip to possibly contain his emotions.

"Cas, what's wrong?"

"The jacket...Jack was the one who took the jacket that Ennis thought he forget on the mountain. He took it and kept it for all those years. And now...with Jack gone..." Cas leans in towards Dean, who wraps his arms around his shoulder in comfort, pressing little kisses on the top of his head. He lets Cas cry, holding onto him tight.

When Cas feels ready enough to pull away, Dean reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, "What’s wrong Cas?"

"It just reminds me of us. When you kept my coat, the symbolism of keeping an article of clothing when your loved one is gone. In this case—" Cas sucks in a deep breath, bottom lip quivering, "Ennis lost Jack, his soulmate. But no matter how many times you've lost me, I've always come back. I wish that could have been the same for them."

"Oh, babe..." Dean pulls Cas into a kiss, strong and supportive, "They got to share their love while they could, and even though things could have been different, that was the ending destined for the."

"Why couldn’t they have ended up together?"

"Just how their cards were played, nothing we can change about it.”

Cas sighs, rubbing away his remaining leftover tears, "This really is a goddamn bitch of a unsatisfactory situation."

Dean can't help himself from laugh out of happiness, "That was a pretty good usage of that phrase, glad to know you picked up on it."

"Oh, it's going to be my go-to now, along with 'I wish I knew how to quit you’."

"Sounds to me like you liked the movie. Well, I do have an idea," Dean stands up from the couch and reaches for Cas' hand, pulling him up to a standing position, "How about we go start something? Sound good to you?"

[mithrilhearts]

wuehehe 1, 7, 8 and 23 and know i’m eyeballing your answer to seven very closely 👀

Okayyyy okayyyy....

1. chipotle order?

I do tacos, burritos, or a bowl! Depending on how I'm feeling. Steak, white rice, pinto beans, sour cream and cheese - I have my own taco sauce I like to put on everything at home, so I keep it basic, but delicious.

7. what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

Oh man, it's been so long since I've been to an aquarium of any sort. I know I always liked looking for the little clown fish like Finding Nemo when I was younger, but I think if I were to go to one NOW, I'd be looking for the jellyfish, any turtles, and rays (sting, manta, you name it), I find them fascinating.

8. do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home?

After work I always change into something else because....hair is itchy. Usually it's my pajamas, but if it's still early in the day, just lazy pants and a t-shirt will

23. do you wear jewelry?

I always have my cartilage piercings in - double helix on one ear, and an industrial piercing on the other. Other than that, if I do it's rings. I love rings. I often forget I have jewelry, but if it's a REALLY special occasion, I might throw on a necklace. Otherwise, keep it simple.

[angrylizardjacket]

dirtbags // 3: Charlotte

Summary: High school AU, 1985, Winter. The year’s off to a strange start as Charlotte and her friends find out that not only does Lola work at the new diner that opened up in town, but her dad owns it! Charlotte humbles Nikki in a very un-Charlotte manor, and Vince’s parents decide to host an English exchange student in an attempt to give him a good role model; instead, they get Razzle.

A/N: 8466 words. Do I care too much about this AU? Yes. as always, for my dears @misscharlottelee and @newyeareva ft. a softer world quotes

the city sometimes feels like a movie set. maybe this is the big scene. maybe i can be an extra at least.

Charlotte’s only a few practice hours away from being able to get her provisional license, and she berates her past self for not getting it sooner, especially not when her Winter Break has been kind of a shit-show and she’d rather tear off her own arms than ride in Tommy’s shitbox of a car with Vince Neil. 

Since his blowout house party, Vince had essentially been grounded for the rest of the school year, had his car privileges revoked, and the only people his parents apparently trusted him to hang around with outside of school, were Tommy, Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach. Tommy was delighted. The girls, unsurprisingly, were not. Vince himself was downright somber, and had sulked for the remainder of the semester, and well into the break.

He had been in a particularly sour mood since last night, New Year’s Eve, when his parents had announced they were going to be hosting an exchange student from England for six months. Vince is convinced it’s an attempt to give him some sort of role model his own age, and spent most of his parents’ New Year’s Eve party ranting to Tommy and the girls while they played cards in his basement.

Her saving grace is Eileen, of course, who’s father had bought her mother a shiny, new car for Christmas, and had given Eileen the keys to her mother’s old station wagon. 

“It’s kinda dumb that we’re taking two cars,” Peach, Eileen’s little sister, pipes up from the back seat, hands fiddling in her lap. It’s New Year’s Day, and while their various parents were sleeping off their hangovers, they’d suggested the kids check out the new diner that was opening today. Vince jumped at the suggestion of freedom, and everyone was in agreement, but Eileen and Charlotte took Peach in Eileen’s car the moment Vince slid into Tommy’s front seat, holding the flyer he’d gotten at the mall that told them all about the diner’s opening day, “just saying, we could all fit in one.” But she’s met with silence, “are you going to be mad at him forever?” She finally sighs.

“Yes.” Both Charlotte and Eileen answer automatically. Peach sighs as dramatically as she’s able, and sinks as low into the seat as she can. Charlotte turns on the radio, and hums along to something familiar, but that she doesn’t quite recognize, staring out the front window at the back of Tommy’s car. Vince turns around in the front seat and flips them off.

“I’m gonna ram them,” Eileen says, with absolute sincerity and serenity, leveling an intense glare at where Vince was now waving.

“Don’t,” Charlotte advises, equally level.

“I don’t get why you’re still mad, I’m not even mad,” Peach huffed, pouting. Charlotte and Eileen share a look; at sixteen years old, Peach was top of almost all of her math and science classes, but she was still a teenage girl, and an absolute fool for a blonde boy who made her cry. Charlotte knew that feeling all too well, but thankfully she’d moved on from the ‘wondering why she wasn’t enough’ stage to the ‘realizing her ex is a cheating douchebag and it was never her fault’ stage. She really hopes Peach can move on to ‘realizing Vince made her cry and hasn’t even tried to change since then and deserved to get his car keyed’ stage quickly.

The diner was bustling when they arrived, a large decal on the inside of window, black, thick and flowing lettering, outlined in gold, reading Leo’s. Through the window, several booths were already filled, as were a host of the stools along the counter. It looked warm inside, inviting in golds, yellows, peaches and oranges, neon signs and rusted street signs, band and comic book memorabilia, and photos. Behind the counter -

Lola. Smiling.

“I’m freezing my butt off, can we go in?” Peach asks, hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parker, the only person who did not recognize the girl currently pouring coffee for an elderly gentleman at the counter. 

Inside, the diner is warm, filled with the sounds pleasant chatter, and of the Beatles coming from a cherry wood jukebox in the corner.

“Lola!” Tommy can’t help himself, lighting up at the sight of her, and once Lola finishes pouring her customer coffee, she looks to their confused little group, and waves.

“Find yourselves a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment,” she calls back, smiling bright and wide, hair tied back with a bright, red bandana. 

The teens do as they’re told, pulling off jackets and gloves and scarves, sliding into a booth by the window, looking around, wrapped up in the smell of warm food, and the confusion of Lola’s presence, and completely unfamiliar demeanor. There’s an uncertain kind of quiet among them, having just expected to spend lunch at a cool new diner, but this has shift everything, only Peach, blissfully unaware of who Lola even was, seemed at ease, rearranging the sugar packets in their little holder.

Lola comes by with menus, and cups, and a pitcher of water for the table, looking pristine and put together in a tight, black blouse, skirt, and scuffed black combat boots, little peach-coloured apron tied around her waist. She pulls a notebook and pen from the pocket of the apron, looking around at them all, as if finally taking a moment to assess the situation.

Charlotte picked up a menu.

“You work here?” Tommy asked, and Lola confirms brightly, but doesn’t give any further details. She does, however, thank them all for coming, and recommend a few of her favourites.

“I’m also partial to The Lola, for obvious reasons,” she gives an actual laugh at that, as if implying one of the burgers was named after her was giving away too much information, and Charlotte was quickly scouring the menu.

Beef patty, double bacon, American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and a home-made smokey maple-barbeque sauce, on a toasted bun.

“The menu’s kind of misleading,” Lola admits, moving to look down over Charlotte’s shoulder as she was reading, “all the patties are home made too, with Leo’s signature blend of herbs and spices.” That asked more questions than it answered. No-one’s quite sure what to say.

“Can I get a milkshake?” Peach pipes up, and Lola’s smile grew wide as she asked what flavour, “chocolate, please, and do you have curly fries or regular?”

“Hand cut,” Lola tells her proudly, but that means very little to Peach, who’s just glad to be having food, “still need time to think?” Lola asks the rest, and they all give her awkward, quiet smiles and nods. 

Lola leaves, heading back to the counter, and the moment she’s gone, the whole table explodes with whispered confusion, leaning in, asking questions and not getting any answers. 

“You guys are being super fucking weird,” Peach hisses loudly at them all, while Charlotte and Tommy argue about how the other should have known. Eileen, quietly delighted by the chaos, demands to know if anyone else thinks Lola might secretly have a twin, and Vince, who’s had the least contact with her aside from Peach, is babbling about how it’s weird to see Lola so chipper; their mutual confusion is enough to set aside Eileen and Charlotte’s hatred of him, at least for the moment. 

When Peach demands they explain what they’re all whisper-shouting about, disturbing the booth behind her, they all quiet down, and Tommy and Eileen take it in turns explaining their full understanding of Lola. Charlotte takes the time to actually look around the diner now that she was inside.

There’s two other waitress, one behind the counter, the other always moving on about the various tables and booths on one side, making sure the customers are happy and food and drinks are delivered, both in the same outfit as Lola, though with varying footwear. 

The view to the kitchen is unobstructed behind the counter, a half wall where meals ready to be delivered were sat, but a clear view to where three people in the kitchen, two by the grills and fryers, turned away; a broad-shouldered man towering over the grill with the longest hair Charlotte’s ever seen braided neatly down his back, and a comparatively shorter man, also with far shorter hair, though enough to be pulled up into a messy pony tail. The shorter man’s working the fryer, and putting together burgers as the taller man cooked up their various ingredients. There was also a strangely familiar kid with a mop of dark, curly hair washing dishes on the other side of the kitchen, barely visible.

Lola worked diligently, smiling and chatting away; she collected dishes, and ferried meals, and handed out slices of desert from the cute, multi-tiered desserts display on the counter. When she came back, milkshake in one hand, basket of fries in the other, Peach is fully caught up on each of her friend’s short but confusing histories with her, and blurts out -

“You’re Lola?” Injecting new meaning into the words, into the name, as if anyone else at their entire school had the same name. Lola’s smile goes a little tight as she places the fries and the milkshake before the redhead. Standing back up, she taps her nametag, which reads Lola, with little flowers drawn around it, and confirms, though it’s clear she’s more on edge than she was before.

“You guys ready to order?” She asks, still trying to keep up her chipper attitude, pulling out her notebook again. Everyone’s quieter this time, looking over the menu and finally deciding on food.

“My mom heard the owner was a chef, is that true?” Tommy asks, looking up from the menu to Lola again, and the tense set of her shoulders loosens considerably at the question.

“Leo is a chef,” Lola nodded, grinning broadly, “trained at the Culinary Institute of America back in the sixties, and worked his way up to being the head chef of Parker House in Boston, which I know probably doesn’t mean much to you guys, but it’s,” Lola laughs a little struggling to describe it, “it’s fine dining at it’s finest, but for the past twelve years, he’s been running Leo’s in Salem, and now he’s here, still using all that fine dining training for the anyone who wants a good meal at a good price.”

“Is that something they have you memorize in training?” Vince says, a little awed, and Lola gives a strange little smile.

“Leo’s my dad.”

Everything kind of fell into place after that, finally making sense, and the gang’s confusion quickly shifted to understanding, and the air around the table seemed to clear. It was easier after that, the teens in the booth ordering quickly, and the chatter picked up to a normal level as she moved away, shouting their order back to the kitchen once she was back at the counter.

She doesn’t spend much time at their table, still in charge of waitressing half of the tables and booths, but she always gives them a nod as she passes, and their meals are being delivered efficiently, so there’s no reason to complain.

The food itself, for diner food, is nothing short of spectacular, which kind of just raises more questions - why if Leo can cook food that tastes this good, and with all the experience he evidentially has, would he open a diner in suburban LA, and not a high-end restaurant? But it feels kind of intrusive to ask, so Charlotte simply enjoys her food, and her friends’ company.

Up until Vince starts complaining about the exchange student again.

“His name’s Nicholas, he shows up in a week, and mom’s making me clear out the basement so he can sleep there,” he’s despondently poking his milkshake with one of his fries, head propped up on one hand, “I’ve been asking for years if I could move into the basement, and this fucking Nicholas just gets it?” His whole expression scrunches up at the thought, and he angrily eats his fry.

“Wait, so the issue isn’t that you have to clean up the basement, it’s that he gets to use it as a bedroom and you don’t?” Charlotte frowned, lowering her own burger, “why would you even want to sleep in the basement?”

“Privacy!” Vince throws his hands in the air, eyes wide, “Tammi keeps complaining about getting cramps in the back of my car, but my bedroom walls are paper thin,” he huffs, “I need my own space.”

“Tammi?” Peach asks, her voice high and almost painfully chipper, “Tammi Frisk? She scored the winning goal in the softball final, right?” She’s not looking at Vince, when Charlotte looks over to her, she’s looking at her plate of fries, pushing the few left around without eating any, smiling in a way that’s clearly forced.

“You were at the softball final?” Tommy asked, frowning slightly. Peach did not look up.

“For the school paper,” she explained, voice still strange.

“You’re still with Tammi Frisk?” Eileen asks, making sure the disgust is clear in her voice as she draws the table’s attention away from the clearly uncomfortable Peach. Charlotte’s lip curled; she wanted to make sure her expression was as judgmental as possible when Vince turned back to her. 

It’s not that she cared about who he was dating, she was mostly apathetic to Tammi, and knew little more about her than the fact that she was on the softball team, but Charlotte knew Vince had been dating Tammi when he’d decided to crush Peach’s heart publicly at the start of the last semester.

Neither Peach nor Eileen had told any of them exactly how, but apparently Eileen’s hatred was well warranted, both against Vince, and according to Eileen, Tammi too.

Vince, immediately sensing Eileen’s shift in tone, and seeing the look on her face, frowns.

“Kind of,” he responds flatly, and his gaze flicks to Peach, “not really,” he backtracks, and his indignation at the whole situation seems to fizzle out with a sigh, and he slouches, going back to paying attention to his burger, “she’s sort of hanging out with one of the second-string football guys, but they’re not... and we’re not really...” he trails off, despondent once more.

At least Vince seemed to be self-aware of the fact that he was an asshole to Peach, at least he had the decency to feel bad about it. Why he kept inviting Peach to hang out, despite the fact that he knew Eileen, who hated his guts, would come along too - invited or not - baffled Charlotte. 

Tommy was his friend, and a guy, Charlotte was a cheerleader and technically popular, and so was usually begrudgingly invited too, but Peach, sweet Peach, recent Science Fair Winner, junior reporter for the school paper, treasurer for the AV Club, by all accounts ‘a nerd’ when judged by her interests, was still on the guest list of Vince Neil’s life, even if he wouldn’t admit that out loud. 

It kind of made Charlotte want to punch him in the face.

But that’s not news.

“I hope the English exchange student is a decent influence on you,” Charlotte tells him. Vince scowls.

“You sound like my parents.”

you make me want to pretend to be a better man.

Now that school has started back up, Vince has thankfully had his car privileges returned, and Charlotte can return to not glowering in the back seat of Tommy’s car when he picks her up on the way to school, and drops her home on the days they both have practice. 

But it’s Wednesday, first week back, and he’s uncharacteristically quiet. Usually he’s babbling about practice, or cheerleaders he thinks are pretty, or Lola, but today, he meets Charlotte in the carpark, leaning against the trunk of his car, hands in his pockets, quiet. It’s decidedly unnerving.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” Charlotte asks, yanking the passenger door open once he unlocks it, sliding into the seat and putting her bag by her feet.

“Nothing,” Tommy voice betrays the lie, the thoughts so clearly on his mind that he was trying to avoid talking about. Charlotte won’t push him, if he wanted to tell her, he would, and he usually does, “put on some music, will you?” And Charlotte obligingly opens the glove compartment in front of her to look through the collection of 8track tapes he keeps in there, several of which had been Christmas gifts from Charlotte herself.

Feet on the dashboard, Charlotte’s more than content listening to Bon Jovi, bopping her head to the beat, when Tommy finally finds the words for his thoughts.

“Lola and Nikki Sixx are friends.” 

Up until now, Charlotte was under the impression that Tommy, like her, thought Nikki and Lola would be great as friends, Tommy’s current tone implies otherwise. 

“Is that not good?” Charlotte’s careful about her words, still not sure where Tommy’s hesitation was coming from.

“No, they make sense,” he’s quick to try and backtrack, words spilling from him almost too fast, “they make sense as friends.” He deliberates, before asking, “Charlie, you’re not friends with Nikki Sixx are you?” And it sounds like he already knows the answer. Charlotte hesitates.

“He keeps bothering me during my free periods, I wouldn’t exactly call us friends -”

“He called you Charlie,” its deadpan and accusatory in equal measure, and Charlotte shrinks back into her seat as Tommy keeps talking, “he called me ‘Charlie’s cousin’. It was weird.”

“I thought you wanted to be his friend -” she tries, right as they pull up to a red light, and Tommy fixes her with an unamused look, the only expression that makes him seem older than his years.

“Did you tell him I was obsessed with him?”

“No!” Charlotte snaps, automatically defensive.

“Because I’m not -”

“I never said - I told him you were a fan! That’s all! Like Duff was!” Charlotte tries to clear up, and Tommy looks back at the road, though this time he thankfully looks more pensive than angry. Only Bon Jovi cuts through the tense air between them for the rest of the drive back to Charlotte’s house, and when Tommy pulls up outside, he doesn’t say anything to her when she gets out. 

The next day, like clockwork, fifteen minutes into her free period, Nikki Sixx comes climbing over the school’s fence, into the garden Charlotte had been trying to force herself to study in. In all honesty, she’d been waiting for him, picking at her nail polish beneath the table and reading the same sentence in Moby Dick over and over again.

“Miss Lee,” Nikki nods to her, a little gruffer than usual, “you seem more tense than usual; I can help you with that if you want,” but he still manages to smirk his way through an unsubtle come-on, and Charlotte rolls her eyes, not in the mood for their usual banter.

“I’d rather sit on a cactus,” she tells him icily, without even a teasing edge. Nikki’s eyebrows shoot up at the hostility, and he puts the packet of cigarettes that he’d about to offer her on the table, knowing she’d turn them down anyway, “I thought people weren’t meant to know that we know each other.”

“What people do?” Nikki frowned, raising his lighter to the cigarette between his lips, “is this about yesterday? I talked to your cousin, big deal. Everyone knows you two are related, and everyone knows you,” he looks pointedly to the embroidered logo on her cheer uniform, “I wasn’t even looking for him -”

“Dude,” Charlotte felt as though she was about to tear her hair out, “you called me Charlie to him, people don’t just call me that!”

“Plenty of people call you that! That leggy redhead you’re always hanging around calls you Charlie -”

“My friends call me that -” Charlotte snaps, “and I know you know that’s Eileen Austen.” And Nikki’s wearing a dreamy look, like he’s thinking unholy thoughts about Eileen as Charlotte speaks, before snapping out of it as the first of her words register like a bucket of ice water to the face.

“I’ve called you Charlie before. To your face.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Charlotte tells him dryly, crossing her arms, “it’s less effort if I don’t correct you. We’re so not friends that I don’t even care about correcting you.” Back when this school year started, Charlotte wouldn’t have dreamed saying half the nasty shit she’s thrown at Nikki Sixx, and at some point she may have to confront the idea that being around him has made her meaner, “but did you tell my cousin that I told you he was obsessed with you? Because I never -”

“I said I was glad he was a fan!” Nikki scowled, sitting back and glowering at her across the table, “all I wanted was to ask Lola if she wanted to sit on the roof with the rest of the smokers, and your fuckin’ yappy, dumbass of a cousin -”

Punching someone in the face hurts a lot more than Charlotte had been anticipating, but it’s worth it to see Nikki toppling backwards off of the picnic bench and onto the cold grass. His cigarette lies some few feet away while he lays groaning, clutching his cheek, and Charlotte’s standing, leaning, thighs pressed against the picnic table for support as she’s staring down at him, breathing heavy through her nose while the adrenaline rushes through her system.

“What the fuck, Charlie?”

“Don’t talk shit about Tommy,” her heart’s thundering in her chest, she can feel the blood rushing in her ears, and when she looks at her hand, she sees the skin of one of her knuckles has split enough to draw blood, “he has done fucking nothing to you apart from support you, and think you’re really fucking cool, for whatever dumbass reason, so don’t you dare talk shit about him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nikki groaned, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath after being winded so thoroughly, hand still cradling his cheek. That’s how Charlotte leaves him, slinging her bag onto her shoulder, and stalking towards the library to finish the rest of her free period in peace.

When Tommy drives Charlotte, Eileen, and Peach home after school that day, he’s quiet once again, but it somehow feels completely different to the oppressively accusatory air of the day before. The three girls were chattering away, trying to plan a trip to the mall for the upcoming weekend, and only when Peach and Eileen were waving goodbye in the rearview mirror did Tommy speak up.

“Did you punch Nikki Sixx in the face?” There’s a smile in her cousin’s voice, and Charlotte’s not quite sure how to react.

“I had good reason to,” she says, carefully guarded.

“He said you guys were friends, and then he thanked me for being coming to the gig a while back; told me he’d asked you to bring me specifically,” Tommy’s tone was oozing pride, and if Charlotte had been looking at him, and not frowning out the window, she would have seen how he was all but preening.

“He told you all that?” Charlotte’s anger at her memory’s of the morning’s altercation was fading fast.

“He hung out with me and Lola by the carpark for lunch,” Tommy paused, snorting a laugh, “didn’t want his buddies to find out a cheerleader gave him a black eye.”

“I - what? No I didn’t...” Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and finally she looked at her cousin’s beaming face.

“You definitely did; Lola laughed at him for a full ten minutes because of it.”

“Serves him right,” Charlotte said, with a begrudging little smile.

Nikki sits with Tommy and Lola on Friday too, which Tommy is delighted to inform Charlotte on Saturday while he’s driving them both to Vince’s, where his parents have invited them over to meet the exchange student. Nicholas.

He arrived on Wednesday, but Vince’s parents have given him the rest of the week to settle in, and had invited around the few friends Vince has that they deem to be a positive influence, if only so he knew a few faces around school. 

Charlotte had been picturing some over-gelled boarding-school boy, used to itchy uniforms and strict rules, and about to get a good deal of culture shock hanging around Vince and the rest of their motley little pack, but when Charlotte brings this speculation up in the car, Tommy’s quick to dismiss it. Vince, from the little Tommy had spoken to him in the past two days, was over the moon, claimed that Nicholas - Vince had called him Razzle - was amazing. If Charlotte felt an quiet sense of foreboding at that sentiment, she felt it was justified.

The first thing either of them hear after being directed down to the basement by Vince’s mother, is Alice Cooper playing almost obnoxiously loud; Charlotte’s not sure why, but it eases something in her chest. 

Nicholas’s - Razzle’s? - room, first and foremost, is possibly the coolest bedroom Charlotte’s ever been in. He’s decked it out with movie and band posters, though most of the band’s she’s never heard of. There’s string-lights above a desk, a bed crammed into one corner with a bright duvet, and even a sofa, and a few beanbags all crowded around a low, wooden table that had mostly been taken up with a record player, which is where they found their friends. 

The name Razzle suited him, Charlotte considered, as she took in the newcomer’s appearance, all spiked up dark hair and ostentatious clothing, animatedly telling a story while Peach and Vince hung onto his every word. He looked almost wild, like collection of half-thought ideas all vying to become a reality through the texture of his clothes, the height of his hair, the hint of amusement that tailed his words, the passion shining in the blue of his eyes when they flicked to look at her and her cousin, standing on the stairs and watching him.

His words grow quiet as he takes them in, as if waiting for something to happen, for someone to introduce them.

“You must be Charlie and Tommy!” His accent, thick and bright, made her nickname sound so familiar on his lips.

“Charlotte,” Vince corrects, giving a surprisingly respectful nod to Charlotte, who tries to shrug nonchalantly.

“Charlie’s fine. You’re,” and Charlotte hesitates for a moment, ignoring Vince’s eyeroll, “Razzle, right?” Razzle’s smile is blinding at her immediate use of the nickname, and he waves them in.

Peach throws Tommy a cushion from the sofa when he asks, and he settles himself on the floor next to Vince, while Peach and Eileen squeeze over to make room for Charlotte on the sofa clearly only made for two people.

“I was just telling these guys ‘bout my band’s very first gig, ‘nd how I had to sneak out just to get there,” Razzle settled back into his own beanbag, hands out and ready to return to his story, eyes still shining with anticipation at the memory, or possibly just glad to have an audience. 

Oh, Charlotte thought, looking at this boy she barely knew, already fighting off a smile in the face of his infectious enthusiasm, maybe Vince was becoming a better judge of character.

“You’re in a band?” Tommy’s eyes light up, and Charlotte gives her cousin a fond smile; Razzle has already won his seal of approval.

we need more good crazy. it'd be nice to watch the news, and think, 'that's fucking insane', but feel a little jealous instead of just alone.

Heather hasn’t been glowering as much at lunch, and the rumour is that it’s because she’s getting laid. Well, it’s less of a rumour to Charlotte, since Heather confirmed as much to the rest of the cheer squad when one of the girls asked her, but she’s being coy and secretive about who she’s with, which is the really weird part; Heather won’t say, and no-one’s coming forward, and lord knows that most guys at their school would jump at the opportunity to claim they’re banging the Vice Captain of the Cheerleading Squad. 

But Charlotte knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead just smiles back when Heather gives her a sunny smile in the cafeteria.

Tommy is less than thrilled with the news when Charlotte brings it up in the car after school. Nikki’s still sitting with him and Lola during lunch, despite his bruising going down considerably over the weekend, and Tommy is equal parts delighted and uncomfortable, for reasons he can’t seem to put into words. 

“At least Pam’s single,” he says it with as much of a dreamy sigh as he can manage, though it comes out more forlorn than anything else. Charlotte pets his shoulder, and reminds him that so is over half the squad; he perks up a little at that. 

They pull into Mick’s gas station, and Charlotte waves to Mick and Lola, who are sitting on the step by the door sharing a cigarette. Lola waves back.

“Meant to give this to you,” Lola says to Charlotte, still sitting while Mick begrudgingly heads inside. Tommy follows him in, not needing to fill up the tank, but rather just looking to drown his sorrows regarding Heather in a jumbo slurpee. Outside, Charlotte waits with her hands in her pockets, giving Lola an amused smile, watching as the dark haired girl pulls a pin off of the jacket she practically lives in, and hands it over.

It’s a piece of black card stock cut into the shape of a star, barely an inch in diameter, taped to a safety pin. It say Punched Nikki Sixx in silver pen, one of the points of the star already a little bit crumpled. 

“You’re a little bit punk, so you get a pin,” Lola tells her, smiling around her cigarette, looking quietly pleased, and perhaps even a little bit proud; whether of herself or of Charlotte, Charlotte can’t tell, but it still makes her flush.

“I thought Nikki didn’t want anyone knowing that a cheerleader gave him a black eye,” Charlotte mused, looking at the little pin, and Lola’s face scrunched up, expression falling.

“So? Who gives a shit?” She shrugs, looking away tone having shifted to almost forcibly neutral in an instant, “wear the pin or don’t, I don’t care.” Lola stands with a groan, without giving Charlotte a chance to respond, and calls to Mick that she’s heading to the diner. Mick waves, Tommy calls out a farewell, and Charlotte frowns, wondering what just happened.

“I hate that,” Nikki says flatly, the moment he spots the pin where Charlotte’s fixed it to the strap of her backpack. There’s no hard feelings between them after last week’s altercation, thankfully, though they don’t talk about it. If Charlotte’s glad that he still showed up, if she’s realised she may, in fact, enjoy his company, she keeps that information to herself.

“Lola made it for me,” Charlotte tells him. Nikki leans in, squinting at the handmade pin.

“Of course she did,” he sighs, leaning back. Surprisingly, there’s quiet between them for a few, long moments; maybe, Charlotte considers, this will be one of those mornings where Nikki uses their time together to catch up on sleep, and Charlotte can actually use her free period for it’s intended, study-related purpose, but then Nikki sighs like he wants her to ask what’s wrong.

So she does.

“I need a new band.”

“I can’t help you.”

“I know,” Nikki nods with resignation, “I was gonna ask this guy I work with, Slash, he plays guitar, but he’s already in one -”

“Wait, you don’t mean Duff’s friend Saul Hudson, do you?” Charlotte frowned, intrigued despite the stab of anger she felt at the mere mention of her ex. Nikki seemed taken aback by her question.

“You know Duff McKagan?”

“I dated him for a year and a half,” Charlotte finds herself suddenly very interested in drawing connecting triangles in the back of her notebook, not looking at Nikki, who’s quietly processing this information.

“He’s in a band now,” and neither of them seem to be quite sure why he offered that information, but they both let is hang between them for a moment.

“Makes sense,” Charlotte nods, tone flat, “with Saul - Slash?”

“Yeah,” is all Nikki has to say.

“Slash is a good kid, I always liked him,” Charlotte offered, and finally she looks up, “Tommy plays drums.”

“Marching band isn’t exactly -” Nikki begins, but Charlotte’s shaking her head.

“No, like, legit drums,” she enthuses, “his parents fixed up their whole garage to make it sound proof for him,” but she doesn’t want Nikki to think she’s pushing her cousin on him too hard, not after last week, so she sits back, and crosses her arms, trying to play it cool, “I mean, you can ask him yourself, see if he’s any good.” She shrugs, but Nikki looks like he’s already considering it. 

“How many musicians do you know, Charlie?” He finally asks, giving her a faint, amused smile.

“Probably too many,” Charlotte responds with a longsuffering smile, before her mind turns to the things Tommy himself had told her, “I heard you and Lola are getting along; what’d I tell you?” She teased, and much to her surprise, what she could see of Nikki’s face, for his hair, was turning pink.

“She’s a bitch; you know she’s a bitch, right?” He asks, but he’s grinning, all sharp and dangerously amused.

“I knew you guys would get along,” Charlotte gives a pleased little sigh, as if she’d manufactured their whole friendship herself. Nikki rolls his eyes at her, and the bell goes.

Tommy, as it turns out, thinks they’re sleeping together, at least that’s what he tells Charlotte when they’re on their way to Leo’s after school to meet up with Vince, Razzle, Peach, and Eileen. The news of Nikki and Lola’s potential affair surprises Charlotte at first, but after a moment of consideration, she thinks she should have seen it coming. 

Tommy’s reasoning is that they’ve become friends far quicker than he’d realised, and Nikki’s always giving Lola lifts after work, like they’re going in the same direction, even though he’d pretty sure Nikki doesn’t live near Leo’s. It also turns out that that was what had been bothering him about Nikki and Lola being friends; he still tries to insist he doesn’t have a crush on Lola, but he and Charlotte both know that’s mostly a lie.

So Charlotte can see how conflicted he is when he tells her that Nikki’s looking to start a new band, and that he asked about Tommy possibly playing drums. A beat of silence follows, and then, without looking away from the road, Tommy mutters a quiet thanks, knowing without asking that Charlotte had been the one to recommend him. Charlotte leans over and bumps her forehead against his shoulder in unspoken acknowledgment. 

“Duff’s in a band,” Charlotte’s voice is soft and a little unreadable.

“Sorry,” Tommy mutters, tone somber like it’s the worst news in the world, “we could throw rotten tomatoes at him?” He suggested, at the mental picture alone was enough to make Charlotte laugh, “or is that just in the movies?”

“I think that’s just in the movies,” Charlotte says, amid giggles, “besides, the rest of his band doesn’t deserve that.”

In the week that Razzle’s been in LA, Vince and his family have taken him to several, sophisticated restaurants in the vicinity, and Razzle had apparently loved them all; Leo’s was no different. He was sitting across from Charlotte in the booth, at the end of the table, reading the menu intently as the others chattered away about their day, making noises of intrigue every time he spotted something new he wanted to try. His knee knocked hers under the table, but it barely seemed to register, so engrossed in the menu that he muttered the faintest apology.

“Afternoon, guys, welcome,” Lola at work never failed to startle Charlotte, despite the fact that she’d been here once already since the first time. At least her chipper introduction seemed to bring Razzle back to reality. 

“Hi, yes - oh! I know you!” Razzle lit up at the sight of Lola, and the rest of the gathered teens watched with interest, trying not to give away how intrigued they were to see Lola’s reaction, “Miss Honky Cat, you work here?”

What?

“Alright, Razzle, you found me, did you wanna order something?” Lola says, with a good-natured eyeroll, and an easy grin, hip cocked to one side. Razzle asks her what she recommends, and orders that, and then the rest of them, who had been sitting in stunned silence, are quick to order for themselves.

When she leaves, it’s mere moments before Tommy asks what that was all about, and Razzle’s eyes go wide.

“That’s Lola, innit? From school? She’s in my music class, was playing Honky Cat on the piano in the second music room, the Elton song, you know, when we had some free this morning,” he explained, confused, “she called me Rocketman when I picked what she’d been playing, but I told her my name’s Razzle.” 

“You’re an enigma,” ironically, it’s Eileen who says this, wearing a fond little smile, while Razzle just looked bemused.

“I think it’s the accent, chicks fuckin’ love it,” Vince pipes up, smirking, and Razzle tries to hide his own pleased little grin since he can’t very well deny it, “Pam was all over him in Phys Ed yesterday -”

“We were just having a conversation -” Razzle was quickly turning red, while Vince clutched at his arm, putting on a high voice, twirling his blonde hair around one finger as he pretended to be Pam.

“Oh Nicholas, tell me more about The Clash, please, I want to know more!” He ended with a fake moan, which had Eileen and Peach laughing, while Razzle grabbed Charlotte’s hand and exaggeratedly mouthed ‘help me’. 

“Pam’s into Razzle?” Tommy groaned, breaking the moment, falling dejectedly against Vince, who was already leaning pretty heavily on Razzle, who was then ejected from his seat and onto the floor, while Vince was draped over where he was just sitting, and Tommy was draped over Vince, “I’m gonna die alone.”

Despite Tommy’s despair, the rest of the table was greatly amused.

Thankfully for Razzle, it wasn’t a far fall, and he’d held tight to Charlotte’s hand, so at least he hadn’t ended up flat on his back, and Charlotte gave him an apologetic grin as she helped him to his feet. He lets go to dust himself off, and it’s here Charlotte notices his maroon, velvet pants, and black and white leather shoes with their little heel.

“Fancy threads,” Charlotte points out, notes of approval in her voice. Razzle makes a move to straightening a jacket he’s not wearing, and clicks his heels together, drawing the attention of the rest of the table to his shoes, of which they all make various noises of approval, or at least interest.

“I dress to impress,” and judging by his tone, if he were as crass as Vince or Nikki, he would have winked, but Charlotte’s kind of glad he refrained. He then shoves Vince, and by extension Tommy, back up to a sitting position, retaking his seat across from Charlotte, this time purposefully knocking his knee against hers.

Charlotte’s glad that Lola’s back with their drinks, so she can look at something that’s not Razzle’s sunny smile, because she doesn’t want to think about how pretty it makes him look. Stupid, British, band boy and his stupid, blue eyes.

But then she’s looking at Lola, and all she can remember is Tommy’s dejected expression when he told her that Lola and Nikki were possibly sleeping together, and Nikki’s half-hidden, bashful grin when he calls a bitch with a kind of fondness that Charlotte had never heard from him before. The urge to protect her cousin, from harm, from heartbreak, is carved into her bones, but part of her knows it would him hurt more to let him keep falling for Lola when she’d never really end up catching him. Suddenly staring into the depths of her soda became the safest option.

i have loved since you. but when the new paint gets scratched, there you are underneath.

Heather, of all people, is holding a party, and she tries to limit the amount of people she tells - the squad and her friends were the first to be invited - but of course, the guest list spirals out of control, and it’s exactly one and a half days before Tommy’s mooning over the fact that he’s been invited to a party at an actual cheerleader’s house.

“Dude, you’re killing me here,” Charlotte tells him at lunch; she’s finally sitting with him, Lola, and Nikki, though Nikki’s late. Heather had coyly asked her to ask Vince to bring Razzle - the cute English guy, specifically - and Charlotte had picked up her bag and left. Something about Heather in a good mood was worse than when she was being catty.

“You don’t count, you’re my cousin,” Tommy waived her off, and Lola snorted a laugh from where she was laying in the grass, using her backpack as a pillow. “You going?” Tommy pokes Lola in the ribs and she smacks his hand away, but makes an affirmative noise, and throws her arm over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Something about how that makes Tommy smile, almost pleased, has worry sinking heavy in Charlotte’s gut. 

“Heather asked me to ask Vince to invite Razzle,” Charlotte’s not quite sure why she says it, or why it makes Lola bark a laugh of her own, but at least it get’s Tommy’s mind off of last time he and Lola were at a party.

“Of course -” Tommy sighs, but then, in the very same breath, he lights up like a lightbulb, “wait! If Heather’s preoccupied with Razzle, and Pam’s going, then I -” he turned sharply to Charlotte, eyes wide, “is Pam seeing anyone?” Charlotte gives him an amused, but longsuffering look, shaking her head.

“You gonna put the moves on her?” Lola’s smirking, and Tommy’s steadily turning red, but refusing to be embarrassed.

“It’s now or never, you know? She’s graduating in a few months, will go to college and date some meathead, college footballer, this is my chance,” he enthused, and Charlotte pet his shoulder in solidarity. 

Nikki joins them halfway through lunch, right as Lola and Charlotte find themselves playing angel and devil on Tommy’s shoulders regarding how he should dress for the party. Charlotte’s firmly of the opinion that he should be be wearing bright, eye-catching things - “Come on, you know Pam likes those new-wave guys!” - while Lola was adamantly recommending to go all-out punk. 

“Don’t ask Nikki’s opinion, you know who he’s going to side with,” Charlotte implored, and as if to prove a point, Nikki throws his bag to the side, and lays down with his head pillowed on Lola’s stomach. 

“Because Nikki has taste,” Lola throws her arm above her head, into the grass, neck at an awkward angle as she looks, wide-eyed to Tommy. 

“Thank you,” Nikki grumbles, and immediately closes his eyes, “what are we arguing about?” A pause, then, “and why is Charlie here?”

“Heather asked Charlie to bring Razz to the party next weekend,” Tommy says, the words sounding rote off his tongue, before he gets into the meat of the argument, laying himself back in the grass. Somehow it makes Charlotte feel left out, being the only one left marginally upright, and she slouches a little lower against the fence. 

Tommy explains his conundrum, and much to everyone’s surprise, Nikki refrains from giving his opinion, sighting that he has no clue what Pam would like, and that he’s not taking the fall if Tommy looks like a dickhead and crashes and burns while talking to, arguably, the most popular girl in school.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole,” Tommy groans, without really thinking, and as the realization and subsequent horror took over his expression, Lola barked a laugh, and even Nikki was grinning.

The moment was surprisingly light, Tommy’s face buried in his hands, though he’s now hiding a smile, and Charlotte is surprised at how easy it is to smile and laugh here, these people accepting her presence without another thought. The politics of the cafeteria make it all feel so foreign, but Tommy said ‘Charlie’s sitting here now’ and Nikki and Lola took it in stride.

And later, Eileen will ask her where she was at lunch, will go on to sigh and roll her eyes as she recounts barely sitting through five minutes of the cheerleaders buzzing like cheerful, little hornets, discussing who would be at the party, and how they would coordinate their outfits. She’d spent another five minutes with the swim team, who spent the entire time picking apart her backstroke technique since she ‘finally decided to join them’.

“This is why I don’t sit with them,” Eileen had frowned, sitting in the McDonalds carpark, absentmindedly violating her soda with it’s straw out of frustration, Charlotte, wide-eyed, quietly eats her terrible, oily fries, and lets Eileen vent, “if I have to listen to one more five-am-gym-going-wannabe-sports-scholarship tell me my form is off, I’m going to go full Carrie-At-The-Prom at our next meet,” Eileen warned, and reached over to snatch a fry. Very few people were ever privy to Eileen’s frustration, as the redhead seemed to do a rather good job of bottling it up, but Charlotte personally felt honored that her friend could be so honest around her.

“I was thinking of joining yearbook, maybe? Or the school paper with...” a strange moment of hesitation, “with Peach,” Eileen paused, taking a long moment to think, and take a sip of her drink, eyes glass as she stared out at the highway as cars passed before them, “auditions for the school play are on Friday,” she adds, like she’s seriously considering it, “it’s Singin’ In The Rain, Keanu actually suggested I should audition.” The idea that Keanu and Eileen have talked enough for him to suggest that she audition for a musical and for her to serious consider it is kind of baffling; Charlotte doesn’t process the meaning behind any of this now, however, just files it away in the back of her mind for later.

“Macy moved to Portland over the Summer,” Charlotte feigns seriousness with her suggestion instead, trying not to give away how amused she is, already anticipating Eileen’s response, “we’re holding cheer tryouts to replace her on Tuesday,” Eileen’s expression is already souring, almost comedically disgusted at Charlotte’s implied suggestion, though she lets the blonde finish, “you were the best bottom-right to the pyramid we’ve ever had,” she said, barely stifling giggles as Eileen turns to her.

“I’d rather die,” her lip curled, and Charlotte leaned over the center console of the minivan to press her forehead against Eileen’s shoulder, and Eileen reaches up with her free hand to scratch gently at Charlotte’s scalp, before bursting out with, “and my form’s not even bad! The coach loves me, Charlie, she loves me, they just think they’re better than me, bunch of clique-y, insular, webbed-toe bitches.”

The words hang in the air, a surprising outburst from the usually reserved and thoughtful girl.

“Do they really have webbed toes?” Charlotte asks, turning so her temple still pressed against the soft cashmere of Eileen’s sweater, but she was following the ginger’s gaze out to the highway ahead. Eileen gives a tired, little laugh, as if her outburst had left her exhausted.

“No.”

Charlotte wants more than anything to ask her what’s wrong, but knows better than anyone that Eileen only says exactly what she wants someone else to know. Instead, she offers her fries silently. Eileen takes one.

“Peach and I got into a fight today,” voice barely above a whisper, Eileen follows her words with a sigh, and suddenly her out of character frustration made complete, and utter sense. For all that she’s known both Peach and Eileen, Charlotte has never known their altercations to be quick or painless affairs, “Vince invited her to Heather’s party.”

“He invited her himself?” Charlotte’s not sure what the issue is beyond their general dislike of Vince, but if Vince himself is starting to possibly change, then it’s hard to see the issue. 

“Yeah,” Eileen seems to know what Charlotte’s thinking, and pauses to find the right words, “I don’t trust him, and I don’t know how she can trust him either.” There’s a quality to her voice that Charlotte’s only heard rarely; uncertainty, “and I don’t want her going to Heather’s party, I barely want to go myself, and what if she drinks, and what if she does terrible things she regrets -?” Eileen cuts herself off, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head back against the headrest.

“I get it,” Charlotte says, so gentle, so understanding, but Eileen’s still quiet.

“She’s my little sister, Charlie,” Eileen sighed, “and it’s like our parents couldn’t care less, so I have to protect her, and I have to keep her from the guy she thinks is the love of her life, and I have to be the one to always remind her of all the shitty things he’s done and remind her that life isn’t a goddamn fairytale.” She sounds close to tears, soda cup between her knees and hands clutching, white knuckled, at the steering wheel, or else she may have been tearing her hair out. 

There was a shake in her voice, tight and exhausted in equal measure, like the words had sat, unspoken, pressed against her teeth, for far longer than Charlotte had realized she’d been thinking them. Charlotte rests her hand on Eileen’s. 

“She loves you more than anyone else in the world, you know that right? She’s just sixteen, you know all the drama and shit we went through last year -”

“I can’t watch her go through what you went through with Duff,” the words escaped Eileen in a rush, and she clamps her mouth shut, sitting forward in the driver’s seat, lips pressed into a thin line, as Charlotte’s heart sank in her chest, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I know what you mean,” Charlotte sat back in her own seat, nodding dejectedly, fiddling with her bracelet. 

“You... Charlie, you know you’re my best friend, and I love you, and seeing you in pain with no way to help,” Eileen’s hands slid down the sides of the steering wheel as she forced herself to relax, though her words have Charlotte’s heart swelling with fondness, “it fucking killed me,” she admitted, leaning back, letting her shoulders sags with the weight of her words, like the weight of the world, and as she leaned back, she looked to Charlotte, so unguarded, so sincere, “I can’t let Vince break Peach’s heart like that.”

Eileen has always looked and seemed older than her seventeen years, but it’s strange to see her like this, to be reminded that she holds within her this unassuming duality. To protect is her first instinct, herself, her feelings, her friends, her family, but she’s still so young, just a kid; she still deserves to be protected too.

“I’m so tired,” Eileen murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands, now folded in her lap, and she huffs a humorless laugh, “I’m seventeen, Charlie, I’m fucking tired of feeling thirty.”

[eeveedel]

chubby actor louis (pt 1)

Hi all, as you might be able to tell from the non-title, this is just a little fic I whipped together based on an au we’ve been discussing on my blog this week! I do want to eventually do more parts, but I want to see how people react to this part first. 

please note this fic deal with weight gain kink/fetish. it is heavy on food and weight talk. if any of that content bothers or triggers you, this will not be the story for you. 

this is criminally under-edited, so I apologize lol. but uhhhh enjoy! 

--

“Remind me what this is for, exactly.”

Harry was standing in the living room, swinging his car keys around one finger, and watching Louis as he laid on the couch, belly on the cushions, feet in the air, and enough In N Out to feed three people spread out on their coffee table.

“I told you last week,” Louis sighed, “This is for work.”

He was currently holding a double cheese burger, the thing already half-eaten, and there was pink sauce at the corner of his mouth.

Harry had seen Louis prep for plenty of TV and movie roles in the decade they had known each other, but none of his prep work had ever looked like this.

“How, again?” Harry asked as he watched Louis take another generous bite of his food. The other man chewed and swallowed, and then spoke, although his eyes were still on the food rather than Harry.

“I’m playing some Edwardian noble or something, and like, I have to look rich for that era, and everyone rich was kind of fat,” Louis said, “So. I have to gain twenty pounds.”

Harry stopped swinging his keys, instead catching and holding them in his palm.

“Twenty pounds,” Harry repeated.

“Well. Twenty to thirty. We’re aiming low to start. But I start prep today, so, yeah. Burgers!” Louis said. He took another bite of his burger, groaning, “God, that’s good. I forgot how good these are.”

He uncrossed and re-crossed his ankles behind him, kicking his feet a bit as he ate more of his burger. He looked up at Harry, sauce still on his mouth and his mouth full, like a chipmunk.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re cute,” Harrys supplied, offering him a small smile, “It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Louis smiled, “I kind of forget how good food can be when it’s not all quinoa, you know? I think this’ll be fun.”

He kept munching on his burger, and Harry glanced over at the pile of food on the table. Something in his stomach stirred – not hunger, not envy for the food, but something else he couldn’t pinpoint.

“Well, just pace yourself,” he offered. It was weak advice, and Louis laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Harry just nodded, still fixated on his boyfriend eating.

Louis was small, he had always been small, and he was in amazing shape. Even now, laid flat on the couch, Harry could see the definition of his muscles in his arms, legs, and along the exposed edges of his stomach where his shirt had rucked up. Harry couldn’t even picture what he would look like with twenty extra pounds. It seemed more fathomable for Louis to sprout a pair of wings than to gain that much weight.

“Do you want take out for dinner?” he asked, “I was going to cook but maybe that’ll be easier, so you can get whatever you want.”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Louis said, “Can we get Chinese? I want dumplings. And crab meat ragoon. And lo mein. Oh, and eggrolls. So many fucking eggrolls.”

“Are you still going to have room?” Harry asked, “You ordered three burgers and three helpings of cheese fries.”

“And I have a milkshake in the freezer!” Louis said cheerfully, “And honestly, I didn’t realize how fucking hungry I was until I ate this stuff. I think I’ve been starving for the last decade, holy shit.”

“Well,” Harry said, “It’s good you’re happy.”

Louis just hummed and nodded. He had polished off his burger, and he eagerly reached for the next one, unwrapping the silver foil on the burger like he was a child and this was his most anticipated Christmas present.

“I’m going to do some work upstairs,” Harry said, “Just let me know when you want dinner, okay?”

“Kay,” Louis mumbled around the burger in his mouth, “Love you!”

Harry nodded and then came over, giving Louis a quick kiss on the head before he left the room, heading for the main staircase.

He still had a weird feeling in his stomach, but that he could figure out later.

--

Harry noticed Louis’s – and by extension, his -- daily routine changing a bit quicker than he had anticipated.

For the last several years, they had each woken up at the same time to work out together and later have breakfast – shared veggie juices and granola, usually – the backyard together. It had been one of their things. He remember once a couple years ago some gossip rag had profiled them as one of Hollywood’s fit power couples. He had found that funny, because he always knew that Louis didn’t love working out. He just liked routine, and he liked that they had something to do together.  

But now that Louis was on his new assignment, Harry woke up and worked out alone while Louis slept in. Then, usually, by the time Harry had worked out, made breakfast, cleaned up the dishes, and sat down to answer his emails, Louis would roll out of bed and sit down next to him to eat a giant bowl of one of the many sugary cereals that had appeared in their cabinet.

“Morning, babe,” Harry would always say, “Did you sleep okay?”

“So fucking well,” Louis would agree through a mouthful of food. After he was done eating he would give Harry a kiss and then go to the living room to watch TV or read his lines. Harry would find them sprawled there for hours in just his sweatpants, sometimes napping, or having a snack, or just lazily watching the TV. Louis was a “go, go, go” type of person, Harry knew that. He liked having tasks, and he never gave himself a break.

“I’m glad you’re getting time to relax,” Harry said one afternoon while watching Louis unwrap the two fried chicken sandwiches he had ordered for lunch.

“Thanks, baby,” Louis had given him a smile and then focused on his food.

Maybe, Harry realized that week, Louis was fully relaxing. This was just another one of his goals. He was dedicating himself to a part, as well, and this part involved him pushing his body in different ways.

A week into Louis’s role preparation, Harry found him on the couch, as usual. There was some sort of HBO documentary playing, and he was eating orange chicken straight out of the carton, using chopstick skills Harry didn’t know he had.

He was also fiddling on his phone as he ate, his eyes still occasionally flickering to the TV.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Just placing another order,” Louis said, and then promptly deposited more chicken into his mouth.

“Another order?” Harry asked, lifting his brows in spite of himself.

“Yeah, this documentary is about McDonald’s, like, the business side of it or whatever – did you hear about this Monopoly thing that happened in the nineties, it’s fucked – but anyways, it put me in the mood for a burger.”

“You want a burger?” Harry parroted.

“And fries, obviously. Oh, maybe a milkshake. Do you want an iced coffee or something?”

“How are you still hungry?” Harry asked. In addition to the orange chicken carton in Louis’s lap, there was also a a bag of eggrolls on the table, and Harry had seen a big container of wonton soup in the fridge.

“Well, I’ll just have a few more bites of this chicken and then when the food comes I’ll be hungry again,” Louis said, still flicking through his phone. “Oh, man, haven’t had an apple pie from there in years. If I order two will you have one? There’s a sale.”

Harry didn’t answer at first, instead he just looked at Louis. He was dressed in his sweatpants, as usual, and no shirt. He had been going at this for a week now, not exercising and barely getting up from the couch and stuffing his face with whatever fatty or sugary thing he wanted. He liked nearly the same, unless Harry really paid attention. And he was paying attention now. Louis was still small, he had been so trim before that he was probably a little bit underweight. His stomach was still flat but it looked soft now, compared to his usual ripped definition. His face also looked a bit bloated, but that might just have been have the sodium. But Harry kept feeling like his eyes were playing tricks on him, that there was new weight and curves on Louis’s body that hadn’t been there days before.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Lou?” Harry asked cautiously, “With how much you’re having?”

“It’s temporary,” Louis huffed, “Come on, I told you this. Now leave me alone, I’m working.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed, “You’ll let me know, though, if you need something?”

“Sure,” Louis said, “Now. You want coffee? Apple pie? What? I’m ordering now.”

“I’m okay, baby,” Harry allowed, “But have whatever you want. You deserve it.”

Louis shot him a bright smile – were his cheeks rounder than usual? – and then went back to his phone.

An hour later Harry found Louis sleeping on the couch, a hand over his belly and the coffee table scattering with burger wrappers, fries and pie containers, and milkshake cups.

Harry quietly cleaned it up and went into the next room, trying to collect his thoughts that were far more racing for his liking.

--

“Harry,” Louis proudly declared the next week, “Guess what.”

They were sitting at the dinner table, Harry with a kale and pine nut salad and Louis with a silver container of take out pasta that the menu said could feed three people.

“What, babe?” Harry asked.

“I’m 152!” Louis exclaimed, “I gained seven pounds! So I’m, like, a third of the way done.”

Harry tried very hard not to let his face give away too much, as there was now heat growing in his belly. It had decided to arrive every time Louis talked about his weight or food now, and had become a confusing if not entirely unwelcome presence in Harry’s life.

“That’s great, baby,” Harry said, “It’s been, what, about two weeks?”

“Yeah, a pound every two days,” Louis grinned, “Isn’t  that good? I’m making such good progress.”

“You are,” Harry agreed. He was keeping his voice neutral, like a long-lost relative was telling him about their son’s sudden interest in baseball. Louis seemed to pick up on this, and pouted a little.

“Are you still worried about this?” Louis sighed, “That this isn’t good for me or whatever?”

“I’m not worried,” Harry said. And he wasn’t. Quite the opposite, really. And he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that yet.

“Because I talked to the doctor and everything, he says it’s fine,” Louis said. He heaped more pasta – cheesy penne dripping in fatty looking red sauce and chunks of beef – onto his fork and waved it around. “Well, he said it was fine if I took it slow and ate balanced meals, like still having lots of vegetables and lean protein and stuff.”

He stuffed the pasta into his mouth, and then looked into the tin of noodles.

“Hm,” he said, “Maybe I should work on that a little more. Like, the balanced stuff.”

“I can make you some stuff,” Harry offered, “Like that salmon you like. Or ratatouille. I can just give you a bigger portion.”

“Oh, that would be good,” Louis nodded, “Might take you up on that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice light again, “I mean, you’ve been having a lot of take out, and I’d love to cook something for you.”

Louis laughed, shaking his head.

“You’d have to make two versions,” Louis said, “Make mine with butter and salt and stuff.”

Harry swallowed, his throat a bit dry. He had maybe been thinking about that a bit too much. Easy dinners where he could swap out veggies and whole grains for himself and put more processed calories into Louis’s.

For Louis’s job, of course, just for that.

“I could up with something,” Harry said.

Louis offered him a smile and then reached out a hand, prodding at where Harry’s own hand was folded next to his plate.

“Thanks, babe,” Louis said, “And hey, I appreciate you being supportive of all this. I know it’s a little weird.”

“No problem,” Harry said softly.

Louis’s hand left his own, and the other man tucked back into his meal.

Harry was staring again, calculating, observing. Louis was wearing a shirt now, and his loose, around-the-house jeans, so he couldn’t see all of his body. But his face was dusted with softness, and there was a small, barely noticeable curve behind the fabric of his shirt that had never been there before.

As Louis tucked into more and more of pasta, his face became a bit pinched, though he kept eating. And then, slowly, Louis reached down, pushed up the hem of his shirt, and unbuttoned his jeans.

His face lightened as he did, an appreciative little breathe leaving his lips, and then he kept going with his feast, his other hand still cradling his bloated stomach as he ate.

Harry had to figure out an excuse to leave the table before that warm feeling in his stomach traveled any further south, and he would have a lot of explaining to do.

--

The weeks wore on, and Harry grew to admit to himself that he very much liked Louis’s assignment.

One night, when Louis was in bed with a tub of ice cream and a Netflix drama, Harry had been doing work in the living room, looking up some fabric prices for a new project at the studio, and his focus had shifted. He started doing some googling, and that lead to some reading, a few embarrassing quizzes, and one or two pornos, and by the time Harry had climbed into bed with a dozing, sticky-mouthed Louis, he had come to accept that he had a full on fetish for his boyfriend getting fatter.

He didn’t really want to admit it. After all, even though Louis seemed to be having fun, as far as Harry knew this was still just a job for him. He didn’t Louis to think he was weird; they had been together for so long, it would really suck for Louis to kick him out over a recently discovered fat kink. They had plenty of other bedroom thrills he could occupy himself that didn’t have to be…this.

So Harry stayed quiet, and just observed.

But that was getting harder, because Louis was getting rapidly and noticeably bigger.

He had gained ten pounds now, and it showed. He had a healthy curve to his belly and some fat on his cheeks. His collarbones looked less sharp, his hips were curvier, and his ass looked impressively delicious, a nice, happy hill that sat thick in his sweatpants. He was closer to an average weight for his height, but in contrast to the Louis Harry had known for years, who had a set of abs and toned arms and got asked about his exercise regime on the red carpet, it was a sudden shift.

Louis hadn’t asked Harry to cook for him yet, so Harry carried on with his meal plans of roasted vegetables and roasted fish and grains for himself while Louis kept indulging in whatever he wanted. They had a system that worked, even if it involved Harry trying to push down his real feelings.

Until, of course, Louis made it harder.

“Babe?” Louis called one afternoon. He was in the master bedroom, and Harry was stitching together a muslin design in his office. His usual sewing playlist was on and he was in his zone, so he was annoyed for a moment, but then melted back until his usual, unrelenting fondness for his boy.

“Yeah?” he returned.

“I need your help!” Louis called.

“Alright, one second,” Harry replied. He stood up, taking off his glasses, and went down the hall to their room. He didn’t know what he expected, exactly, but when he walked in, he was greeted by Louis, shirtless, and struggling to button his skinny jeans.

Harry stood in the doorway for a second, just watching, until Louis lifted his head and offering a sheepish smile.

“These are kind of tight,” Louis said, “I shouldn’t have bought them this close cut, anyways.”

“Oh?” Harry choked out. He couldn’t stop looking at how the crease of Louis’s belly pushed out against the flaps he was forcing together.

“Yeah,” Louis sighed, “Come help me.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Harry said. He was babbling a little, he knew that, but he still came around to Louis.

“Hold onto the back of my jeans and pull,” Louis instructed. Harry did so, grabbing the loops of Louis’s jeans. He gave them a tug, which got them a little higher over Louis’s hips. The other man struggled with the button. Louis was huffing a bit, trying to get his new belly, as small as it was, into his old jeans that had been tight even on his old body.

Harry tried to tug again, and Louis groaned and yanked at the tabs again. He seemed close to getting them to close, but when he moved to pull the button into the loops, the tabs flew apart. Louis huffed, relaxing his body, his stomach puffing out.

“One more time?” he asked Harry, his voice high.

“Okay,” Harry managed. He felt hot all over, watching Louis wriggle and struggle with his jeans, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

He grabbed the jeans in a different spot, at the hem rather than by the loops, and pulled a bit harder. He heard Louis take in a loud breath and then move fast, quickly buttoning up the jeans. He exhaled and then went to do up the zipper, fully getting the jeans on. But his breath out sounded labored, like his jeans were still holding him hostage.

“Thanks, baby,” Louis said, and turned around to give Harry a kiss.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, “Call me if you need anything else.”

He touched Louis’s side, his skin soft and warm, and then quickly left the room, back to his study where he could calm down with Sufjan Stevens and his sewing machine.

When Louis came back a few hours later, Harry noticed he was wearing a different pair jeans than the ones he had shoved on earlier. But he decided not to ask him about it.

--

By the time Louis was fifteen pounds heavier than when he had started, Harry was starting to lose it a little.

Every night he laid next to his boyfriend, and they were still having sex and showering together and enjoying their usual fun, but it was becoming harder for Harry to keep his eyes and hands off Louis’s jiggling belly and thighs, or to not spend his afternoon kissing Louis’s rounding cheeks.

His boyfriend was more stunning than ever, and Harry was too much of a coward to tell him that.

On one particular afternoon, Harry was staying home doing some spring cleaning while Louis was out at a meeting with the director and some of the main cast members for the movie he was prepping for. Usually Louis found these meetings boring but enjoyable enough, so Harry expectedly him to be an alright mood when he came back.

Instead, Louis slammed the front door closed, his teeth set straight as he walked in.

“God, fuck,” Louis cursed loudly.

Harry was cleaning in the kitchen, and he froze, rag in one hand and spray bottle in the other.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Harry asked.

“The fucking director said he’s not happy with my look,” Louis said, throwing up his hands to make air quotes at the last words, “I told him I’m not done gaining weight yet but he said that twenty pounds isn’t going to work anymore. He wants at least thirty. So I have to gain another fifteen pounds in the next few months.”

He brought his hands down, settling them on his noticeably plusher hips. He really was looking so good these days. And this news was music to Harry’s kinky ears, but it was clearly upsetting to Louis.

“Well that shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Harry said, “You gained fifteen pounds in just over a month. Surely you can do the last half, too.”

“I’m hitting a plateau,” Louis groaned, “I gained only a pound this week and I’ve been eating just like a normally have.”

He settled his hands as he said this, manhandling the softness, and groaned.

“God, I didn’t think getting fat would be this hard,” he sighed.

Harry blinked, something clicking together smoothly in his brain at hearing Louis say that little three letter word.

“You know, honey,” Harry said slowly, “I think I could help.”

“No, I can do it myself,” Louis said quickly, “It’s my body and my job, I can – “

“Louis,” Harry cut in. Louis seemed surprised at the interruption, and Harry realized that his voice had been a bit strong. “I’m – I should tell you something.”

“What?”

Harry nervous scrubbed at a patch of the countertop that was already gleaming.

“So, um, I was doing some research…”

“Oh, god, Harry,” Louis huffed, “What did you do now?”

Harry was quiet, and tapped his fingers over top of the rag on the counter.  

“Okay, so, I think I have a fetish. A fetish for you gaining weight.”

Louis just looked at him, and Harry rushed on.

“Like, I didn’t realize, but I’ve been really – turned on seeing you do all this in the last month. And I think you look so fucking good, and I – I’d like to be a part of it, I think.”

He took a long breath when he was done, and Louis was still just staring at him.

Eventually, the other man spoke.

“Well,” Louis said slowly, “That’s. Convenient.”

He laughed, then, not malicious, but light and happy, and it made the tension in Harry’s body unspool.

“I mean, listen, I don’t know if I’m into this,” Louis said, gesturing to his stomach, “I’m doing this for a job and I’ve only really thought about it that way. But…if you’re into it, maybe…maybe you can help the process go a bit smoother.”

“I’d like that,” Harry said, “Seriously, I can cook for you, and weight and measure you and make sure you’re on track with what the director wants, and maybe we could…experiment a bit. And if you don’t like it then we never do this again after you finish your job.”

He paused for a minute, and looked at Louis hopefully.

“What do you think?” Harry said, and he hated how breathless he sounded.

Louis was quiet for a minute, and Harry’s anxious brain spun a thousand and one scenarios in that silence – that Louis was going to slap him in the face, pack a bag, quit this movie and lose the weight just to personally spite Harry.

But instead, Louis came around to the other side of the counter and gave Harry a long kiss. Harry kissed back, a bit confused but happy for the touch.

When Louis pulled back, he was grinning, and his eyes were glinting.

“So,” Louis said, “What are you making me for dinner?”

[randomnameless]

Interesting FE16 world-building (?) tidbits, found through food and menus

or i was hungry : the post

Nabateans have no taste, Zanado fruit is described as “inedible” but apparently golden Zanado fruit is rad, so idk. Is it a Zanado fruit specially harvested for human tastes?

Saghert & Cream :  “ A baked confection with Noa fruit cream and a currant reduction, often enjoyed as a dessert at family gatherings.”

Noa fruit --> smthg smthg Noa, and Noa’s crest is apparently making Constance able to grow flowers (or to make plants bloom)? Are Noa fruits specific to Western Adrestia, or are they found everywhere? But since it’s a common dessert enjoyed at “family gatherings” I suppose Noa fruits are kind of common and/or not that expensive. Noa crested people make a lot of fruits and control the production of Noa fruits in the continent? But even if they have a monopoly on Noa fruits they think it’s more profitable to sell them at a rather low price than to treat it as a delicacy?

Sweet Bun Trio : “ Traditional pastries from Faerghus, known for their subtle sweetness. The dough is made with eggs and sugar.”

Important to note : this is made with Noa fruits (lel) and Albinean berries. So, traditionaly, Faerghus traded with Albinea to get fruits to fill their donuts/buns? Otoh, if the taste is rumoured to be subtle, Sylvain apparently doesn’t find it so awesome because he has that infamous “food from my own country sucks”. And yet he still like Faerghus’s sweet buns, so...

Pheasant Roast with Berry Sauce : “ Well-roasted Fodlan pheasant drizzled with a berry reduction sauce”.

Again, made with Albinean berries. Are they sweet or sour? Pheasants are eaten by a majority of nobles, but some commoners like it too, Raph (duh), Mercedes, Cyril and Flayn.

Peach Sorbet : “ A sorbet made with thin slices of magically frozen peach, dusted with bean flour”.

Made with, uh, peaches, and chickpeas (?).

Here comes Fodlan’s magic, in that world, people waste i mean use magic to bake/make funny food. If peaches are “magically frozen” then they musn’t be “naturally frozen” (well...) so this dish wasn’t originally from Faerghus. Maybe it’s an Adrestian delicacy and imperial mages are used, during peaceful times, as hired freezers?

Beast Meat Teppanyaki : “ A dish that tastes like wilderness. Thick slices of meat covered with Noa fruit and grilled on a hotplate”

Here another menu graced by House Nuvelle’s graces

Otoh, “beast meat” like... are they using meat from the various monsters? Or, worse, demonic beasts? But then, given what they used to be... not so odd to note, no nabatean likes this meal

Pickled Rabbit Skewers : “ Hunks of rabbit meat are pickled in bacchus, skewered, and roasted over an open flame to create this flavorful dish”

Finally someone cooking something with wine i mean��- The only other mention of bacchus we had in the game was in the description of the Feast in Rhea’s trashy novel, apparently “fine bacchus” comes from Boramas, a territory of the Empire not that far from Enbarr. Given how Faerghus’ climate seems a bit too cold for wine, it must grow in the alliance/empire. So this dish is a southern (well) one?

Daphnel Stew :  “Minced poultry and onions boiled with salt. The simple recipe lets high-quality ingredients speak for themselves.”

We have high-quality ingredients in Daphnel, like Raddest Chicken (tm) and Best Salt (tm)? Or onions, you can’t cook without onions.

Or was Daphnel a great cook back in the day? Idk. Still, the alliance seems to be proud of their local products? First Count Gloucester with his sheep, and now Daphnel and their salt - i mean poultry! No one’s famous for their salt, save for, maybe, the guys from Bergliez with the Kingdom and the Alliance said “thks bye” to Adrestia

Gronder Meat Skewers : “ Fatty hunks of Gronder fox cooked slowly on skewers. The meat is magically aged for a full flavor.”

??? Fodlan people eat foxes? Ingredient list requires “wild game” and onions, but still... We all know how Guinivere’s baby fox would have ended then, or an AU where Kaden pops up in Fodlan.

However, here’s the second instance where Magic is used to alter an ingredient’s flavour. How do they “magically” age meat? Can that spell be used on living things to make them decay? It is a Hel “lite”?

Apparently, Cichol was rumoured to have blessed the Gronder Fields with good harvests, but randoms were tired to eat bread every day so they wanted to eat foxes. Not so oddly enough (?) Nabateans aren’t fond of that dish.

Derdriu-Style Fried Pheasant :  “ Pheasant meat is pounded flat and fried. Can be served as a sort of sandwich, with cheese between two strips of meat.”

Fried chicken comes from the Alliance people, and from Derdriu that is to say, from the Riegans. They created fast food, or KFC’s Double Down.

Edel made a wise choice in attacking them and removing the Riegans from the continent in CF

Interesting to note, Hanneman, Manuela and Seteth are fond of this. You cannot write a modern AU without them ordering something at KFC now, you cannot.

Vegetable Pasta Salad : “Pasta with a blend of fresh vegetables from various regions of Fódlan. This popular dish sells out almost instantly.”

Much more healthy! And also more popular? Everyone loves pasta! And does it mean everyone in Fodlan makes their own version of this dish with their local variants (cabbage in Faerghus?) or there are trading routes in the continent where Faerghus’ cabbage can be easily bought by Dude Von Random in the Empire if he wants to eat that salad?

Onion Gratin Soup :  “ Onions stewed with white trout and baked with a layer of cheese on top. Will warm you up from the inside out.”

The trout. Why the trout. Given how nearly everyone from Faerghus is fond of this dish (Linhardt and Marianne are the only non-kingdom students to like it) I’d say it comes from the North, and I remember Gautier being a famous place for “Gautier Cheese”. Also a dish that warms you from the inside would be conceived in a place where it’s cold? Or it’s some sort of comfort food.

Country-Style Red Turnip Plate :  “ A balanced meal including red turnip and verona stew, red turnip salad, and sautéed red turnip with garlic.”

Mostly appreciated by Imperial students, this meal looks healthy, again. Maybe they have a lot of turnips in the Empire, idk. Cichol mixed beetroots and turnips and thought they could give sugar to the empire with all those beetroots but welp they have a crapton of turnip fields now and you can’t make anything with turnips but those silly humans still found a way to accomodate them?

Vegetable Stir-Fry : “A dish of dried tomatoes, cabbage, chickpeas, and other vegetables, stir-fried with eggs. Nutritious and very filling. “

Not specifically tied to a country. tomatoes would suggest it doesn’t come from Faerghus though. But cabbage? Or it’s some sort of fusion food. Sounds tasty though (unlike the turnip salad)

Grilled Herring : “ Herring caught off the coast of Albinea, shredded and grilled in an earthenware pot with sliced turnips.”

what is wrong with the devs and their love for turnips

This dish uses herring from Albinea, so, unless Fodlanese fishers regularly hang out near a foreign nation’s shores to fish, they must trade. I don’t know if Albinean herring is expensive or if Garreg Mach uses a lot of its budget on Albinean herrings but I suppose there’s at least a main line of supply for this kind of fish.

First you trade fish, next we have exchange students from Albinea

Fish and Bean Soup :  “ A soup made by simmering white trout and chickpeas. A simple yet wholesome dish.”

Only Faerghus students love this meal (and Marianne). It seems plain but if Word of God says it’s wholesome, who am i to criticize?

Fruit and Herring Tart : “ A baked tart with stewed herring and Noa fruit mixed into the batter. Popular in Enbarr, the Imperial Capital.”

To contrast with the previous dish, this pie sounds complicated to make and is, of course, popular in Enbarr. You could make a caricature out of this. Oddly enough, no BE student is fond of this dish. Lorenz is though, previsibly.

Fisherman’s Bounty : “ Freshly-caught fish are cut into chunks and stewed together to make this hearty dish.”

Sponsorised by Indech since it requires a Teutates Loach. Flayn likes it. You only need fish and fish to make this dish which is, uh... well. Dedue’s the only guy to like this.

Fish Sandwich : “A simple dish. Airmid pike is pickled in vinegar and served with cabbage between two slices of bread.“

You average random sandwich, with pickled fish. Petra and Manu are the only non BL people to like this but now that i think about it, since it has cabbage, it must be a dish from Faerghus ? Or Faerghus exports cabbage to the rest of the world, and the rest of the world came up with this idea for a sandwich.

Two-Fish Saute : “Two types of fish are cut into strips and sauteed in butter. This lavish meal hails from Embarr, the Imperial Capital.”

It needs Caledonian Gar and Albinean Herring. Of course it’s lavish, it comes from Embarr. A lot of people are fond of this, Lorenz included, of course. Oddly enough, Leonie likes it too so it musn’t be that expensive?

Bourgeois Pike : “ A gourmet fish dish with Airmid pike, vegetables, and a sprinkle of expensive spices. Popular among nobles.”

It doesn’t come from Enbarr??

It needs a carrot and Airmid Pike. Dedue, Seteth and Manu are the only commoners fond of this dish, but I wonder what are those expensive spices needed. Saffron? Does it even exist in Fodlan? And why is it considered a gourmet dish? The ingredients aren’t that rare.

Calling it now, between Sitri’s resting place, the coffin where Seiros’s supposed to have been laid to rest and the storage room where Rhea does her monthly maintanance for golems, there is a specific room in the Monastery where randoms look after jerky, to make sure it ages properly and doesn’t develop mold or something like that.

Sautéed Jerky : “Jerky aged in the monastery and sautéed for a delightfully salty flavor. A perfect snack to go with your favorite drink.”

Now, Dimitri’s fond of this dish, but since he can’t taste it can it really be said he likes it? OTOH, Hubert likes it too, so our local evil chancelor drinks coffee while munching on chicken jerky. I still don’t understand why chickpeas are needed though.

Spicy Fish and Turnip Stew : “ Spicy stew made with Teutates loach and turnips. The monastery’s unique recipe features spices from Dagda.”

Turnip again

This dish has different local variations, given how the monastery’s one uses spices from Dagda. Is it because Garreg Mach can import spices from Dagda and the other places in Fodlan cannot or aren’t allowed, or because whoever is in charge of the meals in the monastery thought the turnip would taste good with Dagdan spices? Idk. Petra likes it, but Shamir isn’t particulary fond of this dish.

Sweet and Salty Whitefish Sauté : “ Whitefish is coated in spices and sautéed with dried tomatoes to bring out an addictive salty-sweet flavor.”

Dried tomatoes aren’t “sundried tomatoes” so maybe it’s an oversight, or there is a process (magical or just using an over) to dry tomatoes in Fodlan. This dish is exclusively liked by members of the BL house. Teutates is in Faerghus, but given how the climate is harsh, I don’t think tomatoes grow there? Or maybe they had some sort of magical greenhouses?

Super-Spicy Fish Dango : “ A light snack, popular in the Empire. Small, spicy balls of fried dough packed with white trout and dried tomato.”

This is the opposite of a gourmet or a lavish dish, but it is enjoyed in the Empire and not exclusively in Enbarr. Oddly enough, Hanneman is the only Adrestian fond of this. Leonie and Ingrid are fond of it, is it cheap? Given how it’s a snack and popular, I’d say it is.

c’est un acras de truite à la tomate?

Sautéed Pheasant and Eggs : “Thin slices of bird meat and shredded cabbage, mixed with scrambled eggs and sautéed spices. Invention of a certain noble.”

“a certain noble” WHO??

Ferdie’s fond of it, but I can’t see Aegir peeps inventing meals, and given the ingredients used, I cannot pinpoint an origin. It sounds like a snack. Claude is fond of it.

Garreg Mach Meat Pie : “A crispy-brown pie packed with tomatoes, cheese, and tender chunks of meat.” 

... This is totally comfort food, isn’t it?

Fittingly enough, Manuela is fond of it. Maybe she eats those pies when she has a hangover or something. OTOH, if it wasn’t evident enough with the previous recipes, Garreg Mach develops its own gastronomy, different from what we could find in the Alliance, the Kingdom or the Empire. I actually wonder how they are supplied with food, is everything made in the monastery or are they importing stuff from other places in Fodlan? Since they have Dagdan spices, they also import from Dagda or they grow their own brand of Dagdan spices?

Cheesy Verona Stew : “A rich dish consisting of verona and sautéed Teutates loach. These ingredients are boiled and served with two kinds of melted cheese.”

Dimitri is fond of this dish with all the reservations i expressed above. Hanneman is the only Adrestian fond of this dish, but damn, two melted cheeses in a fish dish? Is it a fish fondue or something?

Pickled Seafood and Vegetables : “A Dagdan dish of raw fish and turnips pickled in a vinegar-based seasoning liquid. Rarely eaten in Fodlan.”

It may be rarely eaten in Fodlan but a lot of students and staff members like this dish! Shamir isn’t part of them, but Hubert is. Since it’s pointed out here, raw fish sounds to be something only people in Dagda eat, or at least, Fodlanese randoms do not eat raw fish. So the pickled fish used in the fish sandwich is actually cooked fish? They made pickles from cooked things? Odd.

Gautier Cheese Gratin : “A gratin of bird meat topped with heaps of Gautier cheese, which is famous for its low fat content. It has a unique flavor.”

Low fat content cheese what kind of insanity - this uses a Noa fruit, even if Nuvelle and Gautier are geographically opposed if you look at a Fodlan map. But whoever invented this dish thought it’d be nice to put a Noa fruit in it, so why not. Dimitri’s fond of it, actually can it be that he likes whatever is cooked with cheese?

dimitri is a cheese lover so automatically dimitri = best lord

Cabbage and Herring Stew : “ Cabbage and Albinean herring stewed whole. The fish guts lend this hearty dish a superbly bitter kick.”

Again thanks to Albinean exports, Hubert can eat his bitter stew. Lorenz is fond of it too, just like Flayn, Manu and Hanneman. i don’t have a lot of things to say about this dish

Scrambled Eggs with Vegetables : “ Fried eggs mixed with tomatoes, cabbage, and chickpeas along with other vegetables and legumes. A highly nutritious dish.”

Again with the joke about hangover food, but Manu likes this “highly nutritious” dish. Given how it is enjoyed by various students across Fodlan, I’d say this dish isn’t tied to one region, but is actually eaten everywhere in the continent.

that’s it no more dishes

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 10

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online. Day 271: Work was dominated by Qfiniti again, including a meeting with Jon and staff from the States, where I found my self taking control to get the next steps in process (and then, Dave Stewart, the SCCM engineer fucked off and put an OOO message on Teams telling me he’s off until Tuesday (it’s Thursday)...and I am off on Monday!) But, I have to say this project does float my boat. Got a text message and then a call from PCH for another laser eye appt this coming Monday at 12.30pm. I mentioned to the lady that phoned that I will have to square it with work (I won’t, but she doesn’t know that) as I can’t afford to lose my job - it just seems the hospital, while under pressue with the admin and the clinic availability - I get it! - just aren’t seeing the issues for the patients. Plus, Peterborough has been declared a Tier 3 from Sunday under the new lockdown scheme, the highest tier. Great...I really want to travel to a highly infected area! managed to find an online booze shop that does Gordon’s and Famous Grouse and will deliver beforee Chrimbo, so I’ve placed the order for dad and Rita’s gift. I spoke with Dad today, he hasn’t heard about his vaccination yet which is a surprise (he’s in the first draft being over 80)

Day 272: Typing on day 273. Work was that manic shit at the end of the dya when I’ve got time off. I am only off on Moday but still had to tie up loose ends, complictaed further by Jon being off next week and Sueanne off this week and the Qfiniti project! In the evening I only mamaged three beers. I ate too much. Plus my sugars were all over the place and way too high! I ordered a torch a couple of days ago (£17), it arrived today. It takes rechargeable batteries or 3 AAAs. Apparently, to get the best performance (i.e. brightness) you need the rechargeable batteries in it, so i charged ‘em. Fucking hell, I’m glad I did - it’s brighter than the sun. It opens up my late walks in winter, for sure.

Day 273: While it was a very late (but sober) night yesterday (gone 4am before lights out) I was up before midday. Usual walking etc. plus gave the bathroom a clean (albeit with wipes, but I did mop the floor - and used the water to also mop the kitchen). Now I am about to stick a pizza in the oven, plus wedges (to have with microwaveable chip shop curry sauce) and watch This Is 40 which is coincidentally on telly tonight - the coincidence being clips of it are on TikTok a lot right now. I am on my second beer and am going to have a smoke right now as well. Lastly for this entry, I have been using my AudioPro speaker today, it pisses me off it’s not WiFi capable but, thru Bt, it does sound fucking good - revisiting James works very well to demonstrate the speaker’s prowess.

Day 274: I have another Paypal a/c. I have been getting emails to my standard gmail account from Paypal saying they are going to charge me £9 for an inactive account which I have been largely ignoring since my paypal a/c has a specific email address. Anyway, I tried to log in, after a password reset and, hey presto, I do have another one, with £35 in it, having just been fleeced of £9 for the aforementioned inactivity, fuckers. It’s registered with the old Market Place address and phone. When I try to transfer the £35 to my card, it wants to confim it’s me by calling the phone, which I can’t amend. Oh, and you can’t contact Paypal direct. Fuck knows what to do! Other than that, usual Sunday, a tad more relaxed since I have tomorrow off, but not that much now I have an eye appointment in Tier 4 Peterborough (it’s been up’d from tier 3)! Up at 1.30 pm (I watched This is 40 and The Guvners last night with lots of beer), feeling worse for wear but, stair climb and a 6 miler acheived!

Day 275: I was at the hospital for 3 hours. The laser clinic didn’t start until 1.30pm so, why my appointment was at 12.20, not even the consultant could understand. 15 minutes of lasering - horrible but I am used to it. It took so long it pretty much fucked my day off up completely. I got a Christmas card from Karen, in the actual post, so, a mail shot. It’s depressing.

Day 276: Back to work and it’s definitely in wind down mode. I’ve decided to compile a list of things I have done this year. It will be on the postive side, such as all the steps I’ve walked and getting an article published about my photography, but it will also include randon facts like getting bitten by a dig twice and not having a haircut. I’ll get it done so I can post in at new year, hopefully be a little inspiring, a little silly and a lot of showing off!

Day 277: Work, again, was quiet. It’s fucking pissing down now, as I type at 21:50, and has been all day. It’s causing havoc and there’s flooding everywhere. I could walk down St. Peter’s Road tonight ‘cos of it (had to go up New Road, Springfield Road, down Latham Road). Soaked a lunhtime and tonight! With a new variant of Coronavirus, France stopped frieght crossing the border. That’s now been resolved but tyeh back log has/is affecting certain food stocks in the shops, of which, fresh veg might affect me for Christams dinner (I plan to do a chicken breast with stuffing, pigs in blankets, yorkshire pud and shed loads of veg. I’ll nip to Co-Op tomorrow morning and see what’s vaialble. It’s a half day at work ‘cos of Christmas Eve, so I can nip out somewhere in the car if need be, as ong as the flooding has subsided. Or I could just get shitfaced and have burgers and pizza.

Day 278: Christmas Eve. Sueanne let me finish at 11.00am so, very shortly thereafter, off for a walk I went; it turned out to be a stop/start affair - flooding as the Nene had burst its banks, ended up doing more of a circuit round town. Bumped into Andy Smith (and his son) and, after that, Ash and Denise. Ended up doing just under 11.5km in 2 and a half hours.Knackered! As I type, I have a chilli on the stove, beer on the go, all the veg and chicken breast bought with no shortages, as feared, for tomorrow’s lunch and looking forward to eating. getting drunk, smoking, listening to music, watching telly....all over the next two/three days.

Day 279: I don’t even remember going to bed last night. As a direct result I got out of bed at 2.30pm. I couldn’t even be bothered with Christmas dinner, let alone anything else like exercise. I’m just about to have chilli for dinner (it’s 8.10pm). Watch some telly then try an go to sleep before midnight. No booze! I did talk to dad earlier. Day 280: Typing on day 281. A better, more productive day. Up @11.00am exercise and walk as usual, although the walk was a different route due to flooding. In the evening I could hear ‘storm Bella’ raging, so windy! I cooked a christmas dinner of sorts, chicken breast with Thyme, all the veg, roasted spuds and parsnip, stuffing (a first for me, albeit co-op stuffing mix), Yorkshie and pigs in blankets. It was smashing! A few beers and The Hitman’s Bodyguard, alays a fun watch. A better day, as I say, but I am feeling particular deflated this Christmas. Day 281: Typing on day 282. I realised, about mid afternoon, that Monday (tomorrow) is a bank holiday so no work. It was a great realisation but, also, worrying that it dawned on my like I’m an old person! Nevertheless, a nice long walk - bumped into Baz & Kate and had a nice long chat, then El & Camila, Aaron and Eva for another, shorter chat. I also saw Denise & Ash along the way. Fog video called later in the evening for a chat too (he told me how he fell asleep at the dinner table, fuck he makes me laugh - unwittingly - when I need it most!) A regular social fest! A repeat of last night’s dinner and a few beers - it was a good day albeit I am in a proper low ebb.

Day 282: Up at midday after a 4am-er. A very long walk (1.75 hours) and a hodge podge dinner (remaining chilli, roasted spuds and peppers, steamed cauliflower and runner beans, grated cheese) - it’s nearly ready, I’ll type the review tomorrow. I realise that this is the first time in 21 Christmases that I have at least talked to K. Is that connected to my mood slump? I reckon so. So, as that fact dawned on me, I then considered, should it be the case next Christmas, it will not be the first in along time and, as such, more manageable....fuck knows how I manage to accentuate any little positive but, thank goodness I do. Day 283: Work was a sedate affair today, fuck all to do really. Sueanne is now follwing me on Insta...I shall invetsigate on how to exclude posts to individuals, methinks. Tea, last night, was fucking lovely. More of the same tonight-ish - currently I am roasting spuds, peppers, garlic, chillies, tomatoes - it’ll all go with left over pigs-in-blankets (5) and a burger. I’ll have bisto beef with mustard on it. I can’t wait! Day 284: Typing on day 285. That meal was fucking lush! Checked on the car todfay and it would not start. Something is draining the battery so I will have to give it a run every day until I can get Julian to sort it. So, I WhatsApp’d Karen to borrow the portable starter. She dropped it off for me. We had the briefest of chats at the doorstep, first time we’ve spoken in weeks. She mentioned my hair! Day 285: NYE. I have just got back from walking to Cottersock and back. I would not have been able to do so without my new torch! I finished and published my double letter quiz on FB, including to the Virtual Pub group and the Oundle Chatter. It’s had some good feedback, I’m rather proud of it. I am going to make chicken casserole now (with dumplings - a first for me, I even bought some flour), have some beers and get a bit stoned. Before that, I am going to finish off my list of things I’ve done this year, including steps wlaked and hours listening on Spotify. I am quite proud of that list too.

Day 286: I fucked the dumplings up, added too much water, so that didn’t happen but the chicken casserole was good, just about to finish it for tea tonight. I also had pizza last night and went to bed at 5am. I have had a lot of good feedback on my list of 2020 achievements. I proud of it. K sent a happy new WhatsApp last night, around 00.30.

Day 287: No booze last night, so I was up before the alarm today (about 10.00am) Two walks, one on my own, another with Fog with a couple of beers. I fucking loved it! Watching datrts (World champs semi finals - been texting Dan while the first one has been on). Going to watch The Aviator later...I’ve not seen it before which surprises me. Why it surprises me I do not know, since I know I haven’t seen it. How the fuck can I be surprised by a fact I’m completely aware of? Day 288: I didn’t watch The Aviator ‘cos Logan Luck was on at 11:55pm on ITV4. Great fildm...I can’t believe that I very nearly paid for it (rent from Sky or Amazon). A late one last night and quite pissed. Thinking about it, having afew beers with Fog in the afternoon made it quite a long sesh for me! Up at just gone midday today, nice long walk (Cotterstock) which was mde long by a painful right ankle - I must have turned or twiested slightly sometime. Still, it survived. Back to work tomorrow - Chrimbo and New Year all done and dusted for the 55th time in my life!

Day 289: First day back at work of 2021. Boris announces another full lockdown in England (there’s a new strain of Covid19 which is seeing huge numbers of infections every day, over 50,000 per day).

Day 290: Something is up with my right foot, the little toe pad. It’s bloody sore. If it gets any worse it’ll affect my walking and exercise. I phoned Anne Bennison to talk about it, she just wants me to go and see her which i donlt want to do if poss, pandemic and all that.

Day 291: Wearing my sandals instead of the M&S slippers and my foot/toepad is already feeling bteer. However, I did inspect my Merrell boots, just in case, and the sole on te right is really worn down, in just three months. I have sent a WhatsApp to CotswoldOutdoors, where I got them from....let’s see what they say! It’s all kicking off i  the US - pro Trump protestors have storm the Capitol Building, where congrees was being held. Only in ‘Merica.

Day 292: Busy at work with rolling out Qfiniti - all that project work was pretty much for fuck all since the SCCM package has to hand held. It’s feckin’ freezing today, below freezing, slippy af on my walks. I have been shopping tonight, £106 in Corby Tesco. That does include 8 cans of sapporo.

Day 293: The fracas at Capitol Hill on Wednesday left 5 dead, it looks like Trump will be impeached. He’s already said he’ll not attend Biden’s inauguration. In a fucking world gone mad, it’s another level of madness. It’s really cold -3℃ tonight, more of the same tomorrow. Makes for brisk walks. I’ve just had chicken balti pie and chips for tea. It was so nice that I burnt the roof of my fucking gob. I’m on the Sapporo and about to have a smoke then watch Jack Reacher. I’ve (kinda) earnt after the first 5 day week for a while.

Day 294: Well, last night saw another late one...5am by the time I :went to sleep. Up at 2pm today with no instention of any exercise or walking or housework or fuck all, really. But, I did my exercises and a 9 mile walk. While I walked I came across Banners, quick 15 min chat and listed to Stage by David Bowie. He’s all over the radio right now as it’s his death’s anniversary tomorrow and his birthday yesterday. It’s a fucking good live album. A few beers tonight, eating trash, watching FA Cup highlights then End of Watch later.  Posh played today (first time in a while due to Covid infections) drew away to (shitty) Lincoln 1-1. Good point as Posh were down to ten men after 67 mins for a second yellow for handball in the area. Lincoln missed the pen. Fucking funny. Chorley, the non leaguers who knocked Posh out in round 2 of the FA Cup, beat Derby in round 3 today (albeit derby fielded an academy side of 11 first timers due to Covid ) - a great day for them!

Day 295: Up at 2pm swearing blind I’d not walk or exercise (again!) but, of course I did. I’ve done over 25 miles this w/e! End of Watch was brilliant last night. Well worth a rewatch, so emotional. I am making butter chicken as I type. I’ve added extra onion, garlic and, of course, chillies. It’s the spiciest butter chicken I have ever tasted! 

Day 296: One of those frustrating days at work when no problem of request I try to resolve goes without a hitch. After a 7km walk in the evening, took the car for a spin and cleaned the bathroom. Fucking knackered. It’s 11:30pm and I’m in bed typing this on the iPad! despite getting up so late, I feel knackered. 11pm bedtime for me, I reckon.

Day 297: Fucking busy at work, the States rolled out a new Okta trust policy and it caused mayhem. Meant my evening walk didn’t start ‘til gone 6pm. When I got back, clened the hall and stairs, made chilli (which I am about to have for tea (gone 10.15pm!) and showered. I’m, again, fucking knackered! Posh played Portsmouth in the EFL Trophy 3rd round at home. Won 5-1. Nice.

Day 298: Had an electrician rouind for the EICR cetrt. He was here until 2pm and it was a pain in the arse, having to work upstairs plus, with having to cut the electricity, all the smart devices lost their settings. And it was freezing up there.

Day 299: Work was impossibly infuriating. Not one pc remote session went to plan! It was pissing down a lunchtime during my walk but, I have to say, the cheap TargetDry coat copes fine in heavy rain for short periods. Everywhere is flooding again even though the rain turned to sleet. By my evening walk, it was dry but bloody cold. Then, when I got in I cleaned the kitchen and mopped the floor and the bathroom’s as well. I fucking done in! Chatted to dad today - same as ever!

Day 300: What a fucking work at week! I am so glad it’s Friday. To celebrate, I ordered new walking boots: Scarpas £121!

[for-a-flower]

Grillby’s

           As Frisk entered a dark cave system, his pace slowed as he observed the area.  Walls were moist and stalactites hung from the ceiling.  He spotted that scaled, yellow monster kid again.  He was standing by a waterfall that flowed into a dark abyss to the right of the path.  The young monster noticed Frisk enter the cave and rushed toward him with a big smile.  "Yo!  Are you sneaking out to see her too?" he asked Frisk.

           "Uh . . ."  Frisk glanced to the left.  There was another wooden station here and it was currently occupied by Sans.  Frisk wasn’t sure who the monster kid was talking about but decided to agree anyway.  "Yeah," he said.

           The creature smiled.  "Awesome!  She's the coolest, right?!"

           "Wait . . . are you talking about Undyne?"

           He nodded.  "Yeah!  I wanna be just like her when I grow up!"  The dinosaur creature inched closer to Frisk and whispered something with a nervous look on his face.  "Hey, don't tell my parents I'm here, haha.”

           “I won’t,” said Frisk.

           The monster’s face lit up with a smile again.  “Cool!  Thanks!”  He returned to the ledge along the right of the path and continued to stare into darkness below.  Frisk stepped closer to get a look as well.  It was unclear how far down this drop was.

           As Frisk stood there looking over the shoulder of the young monster, a soft voice whispered in his ear from behind.  “Push him.”  Frisk stepped away from the edge, spinning around to look behind him.  No one was there.  He was sure that wasn’t his imagination.  For a second he had felt a presence, however briefly . . . but a presence nonetheless.  Fear and confusion was setting in again.  Even though he was sure this hadn’t been a reflection of his own thoughts, he had killed Toriel and he hadn’t thought he was capable of that either.  The child backed away from the young monster, trembling.  He backed into the rock wall behind him, nearly bumping a tall blue flower that had grown here.  Heart racing, he lowered his head and covered his face.

           "Hey kid," said a calm voice to the right.  Frisk jumped, lifting his head suddenly.  Sans stood behind his station, smiling back as usual.  Still recovering from the fright of the whisper, Frisk stared at the short skeleton.  "You okay?" said Sans.  Frisk continued to stare.  Sans eyed him carefully then shrugged.  "What?  Haven't you seen a guy with two jobs before?"

           "Uh, no . . . not really," Frisk said.  His voice had escaped shaky and weak.

           Sans glanced away.  "Fortunately, two jobs means twice as many legally-required breaks."  He laughed a little, directing his attention back to Frisk.  "I'm going to Grillby's.  Wanna come?"

           Frisk smirked and nodded.  "Sure.  I'm pretty hungry," he said.

           "Well, if you insist . . . I'll pry myself away from my work."  Sans stood then stepped from behind the stand.

           "But . . . this was your idea,” said Frisk

           Sans shrugged.  "Yeah?"  He motioned Frisk to follow him deeper into the tunnel ahead.  "Over here.  I know a shortcut."  Frisk followed him into the shadows.  It was pitch black but he continued by following the sound of Sans' footsteps.  He heard the sound of a door opening which suddenly revealed the warm light of Grillby's restaurant.  Frisk looked down.  He and Sans were standing only a couple steps inside the front door.  Frisk spun around to look behind them.  The door was closed.  Outside snow fluttered silently by the window.  The human's mouth dropped open.  He glanced back at Sans.  "Fast shortcut, huh?" Sans said.

           "How did you . . ."

           Sans turned around without answering the question.  He walked passed tables as he led Frisk toward a counter at the back.  "Hey, everyone," he said.  The monsters inside looked up from their plates of food.  There were several dogs, a rabbit creature, and something else with a lot of teeth.

           "Hey, Sans!" barked one of the dogs.

           "Hi, Sans," said another.

           "Hiya, Sansy!" the rabbit said.  Sans reached the back shortly before Frisk.  The skeleton glanced at a strange fish creature, who leaned on the left side of the counter.

           The old fish monster greeted him.  "Hey Sans, weren't you just here for breakfast a few minutes ago?"  Frisk kept his distance from this other monster.  There was an odd, fishy smell emanating from his location.

           Sans shook his head.  "Nah, I haven't had breakfast in at least half an hour.  You must be thinking of brunch," he said.  Following this comment, nearly everyone present laughed or chuckled.  Frisk smirked.  Sans glanced at the child, directing his attention toward two empty stools at the counter.  "Here, get comfy."  Frisk and Sans approached the chairs to take a seat.  Frisk’s posture stiffened when the sound of a whoopee cushion was heard beneath him.  He glanced to the right at Sans, eyes narrowed.  The skeleton chuckled.  "Whoops.  Watch where you sit," he said.  "Sometimes weirdos put whoopee cushions on the seats."

           Frisk slipped off the stool and picked up the whoopee cushion.  He tossed it to Sans, who caught it in his left hand.  "Did you just call yourself a weirdo?" Frisk asked as he took a seat again.

           Sans held up a hand.  “Whoa, now.  Who said I put that there?”

           “You’re the only one close enough and it wasn’t there two seconds ago,” Frisk said.  “Also, that’s the same one you shook my hand with earlier.”

           Sans laughed as he slipped the object into a pocket of his coat.  "In that case . . . I guess I did just call myself a weirdo."  Frisk smiled and shook his head.  "Anyway, let's order," said Sans.  He waved at a fire monster in a suit, who stood behind the counter.  "Whaddya want, kid?  Fries or a burger?"

           "A burger sounds good," said Frisk.

           "Hm . . . it does."  Sans glanced at the fire monster.  "Grillby, we'll take a double order of burgers."  Grillby nodded then promptly disappeared through a door at the back to prepare the food.  An awkward silence followed as Sans scratched his head.  Several seconds passed before he said anything more.  "So, uh . . . what do you think of my brother?" said Sans.

           "He's cool.  A very . . . interesting person," said Frisk.

           Sans nodded.  "Glad ya think so.  You'd be cool too if you wore that outfit every day.  He'd only take that thing off if he absolutely had to."  The skeleton shrugged.  "Oh well.  At least he washes it."  He snickered.  "And by that I mean, he wears it in the shower."  Frisk smirked at the thought.  Grillby entered and approached the counter with two plates of food.  "Here comes the grub," said Sans.  Grillby set the burgers in front of them.  Frisk took a moment to observe the food, lifting the top bun of the burger.  It was literally just a bun and meat, no lettuce or cheese, or sauce.  Sans lifted a bottle of ketchup and offered it to the child.  "Want some ketchup?" he asked.

           "Sure."  Frisk took the bottle.

           Sans winked.  "Bone-appetit."

           Frisk tipped the bottle upside down and squeezed.  To his dismay, the cap popped off and ketchup poured uncontrollably onto his food.  Frisk stared as the entire content of the bottle was emptied onto his burger.  He sighed then dropped the empty bottle on the counter.  "That went well," he said.

           "Whoops," said Sans.

           Frisk glanced over.  The skeleton had a nervous sort of look on his face.  Frisk gave an annoyed glare.  "This doesn't have anything to do with you, does it?"

           Sans shrugged.  "Eh, forget about it.  You can have mine."  He scooted his plate closer to Frisk.  "I'm not hungry anyway," he said.

           Frisk accepted the burger.  "Thanks."  He picked it up and took a bite.  It was surprisingly good even without toppings.

           Sans was silent for several seconds more.  Frisk could tell something was bothering him and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out what.  "Anyway," Sans said.  "Cool or not, you have to agree Papyrus tries really hard."

           Frisk nodded and responded with his mouth full.  "He does."

           "Like how he keeps trying to be part of the Royal Guard.  One day, he went to the house of the head of the Royal Guard and begged her to let him be in it."

           Frisk swallowed.  "What happened?"  He took another bite of the burger as he listened to Sans' reply.

           "Of course, she shut the door on him because it was midnight.  But the next day, she woke up and saw him still waiting there.  Seeing his dedication, she decided to give him warrior training.  It's, uh, still a work in progress," said Sans.  He looked away again.  Another awkward pause accompanied the next few minutes while Frisk ate.

           While peering straight ahead, Sans finally broke the silence with a more serious tone of voice.  "Oh yeah.  I wanted to ask you something," he said.  Frisk froze, burger still in his hand.  He felt panic slowly creeping in.  He dreaded to hear what Sans was going to say.  Had he found out about Toriel somehow?  Sans leaned closer to Frisk.  "Have you ever heard of a talking flower?" he asked.

           Frisk was somewhat relieved to hear this question.  He set down the burger and nodded.  "Yes," he said.  "One tried to kill me when I woke up in the underground."

           Sans narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  " . . . yeah.  Anyway . . . I'm talking about the Echo Flower.  They're all over the marsh.  Say something to them, and they'll repeat it over and over."

           "Uh . . . why are you telling me this?"

           "Well, Papyrus told me something interesting the other day.  Sometimes . . . when no one else is around . . . a flower appears and whispers things to him.  Flattery . . . advice . . . encouragement . . . predictions.  Weird, huh?" asked Sans.  Frisk nodded slowly.  "Someone must be using an Echo Flower to play a trick on him.  Keep an eye out, okay?"

           "I will," said Frisk.

           "Thanks."  Frisk reached for his burger again when Sans added something in a much lower and darker tone of voice.  "The little yellow one . . . he can't be trusted."

           Frisk paused to glance at Sans.  "I know."

           "Okay, kid.  Just warning ya," said Sans.  He stood from the chair and stepped back.  "Welp.  That was a long break.  I can't believe I let ya pull me away from work for that long."

           Frisk turned around to face him.  "What?  You wanted to."

           "Oh, by the way.  I'm flat broke.  Can you foot the bill?  It's just ten thousand gold," said Sans.

           Frisk stared.  "No?"

           Sans laughed.  "Just kidding."  He glanced passed Frisk.  "Put it on my tab, Grillby."  Grillby nodded.  Sans started toward the door but paused to look back at Frisk.  "By the way . . . I was going to say something, but I forgot."  Sans winked then stepped out into the snow, shutting the door behind him.  Frisk sighed and continued eating his burger.  He really wanted to know what else Sans had meant to tell him now.  If Sans knew Flowey couldn’t be trusted, maybe he knew more about him than he let on.  It was odd though.  Both Sans and Flowey had said the other couldn’t be trusted.  Surely only one of them was telling the truth . . . right?

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Full Chapter List

[toddlazarski]

The Best Bites of 2019

Shepherd Express

2019. The year before, hopefully. The prologue to 2020’s change, maybe. God or Kali or whomever you wish to charge with these sorts of responsibilities, willing. The end of the beginning of the end of discord, the endless fire, the storms and dread, the corruption of soul we’ve all learned to live with over the past few years that feel like a lifetime.

In Milwaukee, 2019 was the year we were rewarded the Democratic National Convention, and the year we immediately tried to grapple with how we would handle hosting the Democratic National Convention. It was the year, as if we were Austin, as if we were Portland, as if we were ourselves a plucky place of progressivism and forward-thinking, our very own food truck park opened. And, at the same time, it was the year it became impossible to log onto any social media without being inundated by hems and haws and shouting-at-cloud mewls that the city suddenly had legal electric scooters on the street. It was the year Syrian civil war refugees opened a Mitchell Street gem of kefta and baba ghanoush and good nature at the most destination-worthy restaurant in town. And it was the year a racially-charged acid attack occurred against a Latino man entering a southside taqueria. It was the year Sherman Phoenix rose, literally, out of the ashes of the 2016 Sherman Park riots. An opening that barely preceded Milwaukee becoming the first city to name racism a public health crisis.        

For me, calorically, it was also a calendar stretch of one step up and one back. It was a time of too many fancy burgers, of swearing off fancy burgers, and then reading about The Diplomat’s Diplomac, and then the Birch & Butcher happy hour special, and then the other one with the ampersand (Glass & Griddle). It was the time of swearing off meat entirely, tempering that to limiting meat, trying to go “Impossible” meat, then realizing my daughter had never been to Sobelman’s. A frigid Monday, empty dining room, impossibly cheery waitress and a jalapeno and three cheese-smashed double patty was all that it took to fall back off the wagon. Or is it on the wagon? Either way, it was also the summer that felt like I spent half of, at least, inside a car with intermittently functioning AC, pit-sweating, contemplating which tiny to-go plastic container of bright green or dark red or burnt orange sauce to douse on yet another pastor taco. I ate at every taco truck in the city in ‘19, or tried, or got close, maybe. Out of curiosity. Out of assignment. But as much so out of moral obligation, as some kind of personal corrector to the current tenor of division, of strife, of unease. And as a reminder of comfort, of the spicy, dangerous, gaseous whiff of hope.  

Here are some of the other ways I’ll remember ‘19.    

13. Italian Beef - Rosati’s

I grew up in the hyper-regionally-specific sandwich heaven of Buffalo, NY. There a “beef on weck” order from near any corner bar or grocer or butcher will yield a horseradish-spiked roast beef stack piled within a crusty German baker concoction known as a kimmelweck—a roll topped with caraway seeds and coarse salt grains of the likes you might use on your sidewalk in February. Whether it’s a little bit drippy or dry, it will likely singe sinuses, bloviate with beefiness, finish with unnecessary and addictively enjoyable sodium-ness. Everywhere that isn’t there, you can find Western New York ex-pats gathered in some corner of some bar, Bills hatted, commiserating, whispering of favorites from places with foreign-sounding names like Schwabl’s, bemoaning the wonder of why it’s so hard. But there’s a difference between hard and unknown. 

Here, Chicago’s Italian beef is another simple, but under-served regional sandwich delicacy. Offering even an apt representation of the au-jus-dripping bombs that can be found on every other corner in our big city neighbor to the south would be itself somehow singular. Rosati’s is a Chicago chain that serves just such a purpose. 

Of course, aesthetically or on paper, there’s not much list-worthy about a soaked Italian hoagie roll, barely holding it’s earthy contents, leaking greasy debris all over wax paper like it was an old Saab who’s main attribute was character. But then you get closer: it’s a living sandwich form of a closeup on an Arby’s commercial, with infinite folds of beef wedged like an overfull linen closet, so bursting with folded towels you’re afraid to open the door. The thin rug of plasticky, half-melted mozz is optional. Though the glossy, shimmering hot giardiniera should be mandatory, with its oil-slickening and bright, peppy pickled punch.   

But this is still a package of lizard brain enjoyment, of Ditka-esque machismo, with an essence and soul that is all two-fisted, garclicky pigout. It’s the perfect brown meal when you’ve had too many, when it’s too cold, when football is on, when it is followed by a slice of either thin or deep dish—both also apt Chicago representations here. Enjoy life and don’t be ashamed. You can love an Italian beef and still, later, after you swallow, sing along to “the Bears still suck.” 

12. Sloppy Johnny - Boo Boo’s

A 6-buck price tag and a name that harkens cafeteria appetites and Adam Sandler jams doesn’t really inspire notions of much other than a nostalgic budget lunch.    

But then you see one on the table in front of you, alongside the inspired rotating roster of obscure hot sauce bottles, and ideally next to a steaming bowl of creamy onion-cheddar soup. The sandwich, which derives from a New York City bodega specialty known as a chopped cheese, comes in a fresh-baked, beautiful baguette—crusty outside, pillowy inside—which houses barely visible meat, all the scrags seductively tucked under blankety rivulets of piping white cheddar and pickled peppers and rumors of mushrooms. While I used to come to this address for whiz-spattered ribeye, the Johnny is a bit perplexing in its polish. It is fat guy food all cleaned up, as button-down and put-together a presentation of chopped beef indulgence as might exist in town. 

Giving the flat-topped package a second to cool off is the only challenge. Along with the lack of alcohol to wash it down, or assuage said wait. But there seems to be no other shortcomings to the lunch, or anything about the quirky, aggressively friendly spot that replaced and immediately made us all forget the Walker’s Point Philly Way. The sister biz of nextdoor Soup Brothers, Boo Boo’s shows the Milwaukee Soup Nazi’s comfort food flavor rigor and peculiar touch extends neatly to the realm of sandwiches. 

11. Carbonara - Zarletti

It’s hard to balance summer in Milwaukee. There’s an at-once need to makeup for six months of living in a place where it hurts your lungs to breath natural air with an overwhelming roster of stuff to do. Of stuff to do outside. One solution might be doing something of calendar noteworthiness with a level of relaxed removal. For me I’ve found an annual tradition of attending Bastille Days’ nighttime 5K. Yet instead of stretching and putting on too-short shorts, I park myself at a table on Milwaukee Street, sip a Negroni, spoon roasted lamb and perperonata onto charry bread, and await a big, hearty pasta while watching the more ambitious sweatily charge toward a finish line and away from their true appetites.  

Zarletti’s sidewalk cafe on a summer night can feel very European, very sophisticated, well-heeled. But the carbonara is at it’s core quite basic. Yes, it is the embodiment of those aspects of Roman food anyone recently back from the Old Country will annoy listeners with: simplicity, freshness. Egg, Pecorino Romano, garlic, onion. Here too there is a vomitorium-like abundance of sauteed pancetta. And a reminder of how that perfect deep bowl of al dente can somehow hit all the comfort points of all the different life epochs: childhood mac n’ cheesiness, first apartment spaghetti nights, that trip to Italy. And now, in the night’s growing darkness and fanfare, it’s a special new tradition to feel apart from the race, and part of a different one—finishing every last salty morsel of piggy meat before my stomach says to stop.

10. Tacos de carbon, desebrada, chorizo, pescado - El Tsunami

I’m not entirely sure the silky, sour creamy, Serrano-based light green emulsified salsa found about so many southside taquerias is homemade—such is the ubiquity. And, at this point in our relationship, I’ve gone too far to ask. So, I will continue to happily, ignorantly, scoop and spurt over every possible meatstuff served between National and the Airport, from 35th to the Lake.  

Of these, the fare at El Tsunami holds a special sort of siren song sway, pulling me past La Canoa, away from my beloved Chicken Palace. In fact, of the two locations of Tsunami, this is the one without alcohol. And the fact it is still somehow preferred should be all the endorsement necessary. The petite counter-focused diner always feels like a happier, spicier Edward Hopper vision, especially with snow falling and cozy smoke plumes billowing about from the flattop that seems to be always full of approaching-happy meat. 

In taco form, an order of carbon yields smoky, charcoal-forward, tiny-diced and juice-spurting nodules. The desebrada is a chocolatey, shreddy deep-stewed beef, with the depth and earthiness of the kind of thing grandma might cook when it’s cold out, when she hasn’t seen you in a while, when she got up real early, even by her standards, to start. The chorizo balances salty, greasy, satisfying pork bombast with foodie subtlety—what is that? Cinnamon? The pescado makes fish fries seem benign, lacking abundantly in tortillas and salsa. 

There are other routes—the diablo sauce, a color only seen in dangerously fast and tiny sports cars, is a special coat for any fish dish. But it is the tacos, cilantro-y and satisfying, that remain the supreme vessel for green salsa dousing. And, either way, I’m leaving with some to go: a few containers of verde, just enough to carry a little Tsunami with me back home, to the fridge, enough to pull me through the far too many non-taqueria meals of life. 

9. Any pizza - San Giorgio

Maybe it’s because I’m not a car guy, and get no thrill from “peeking under the hood,” and not enough of a cook to have much interest in “seeing how the sausage is made,” but I’ve never cared a great deal about the concept of “open kitchen.” They wear aprons, can handle industrial-grade pans, are comfortable working close to a flame—I get it.   

But then I found myself for the first time at San Giorgio’s “pizza bar,” contemplating how beautiful a concept, how perfect a term, when I heard one pizzaiolo, upset about peel placement or arugula quantity or something or another say to the other, “I’ll kill you.” Huh, I thought. They really care. 

While few inside the scene seem to put any stock in the VPN certification (the official delegation delineating true Neopolitan style pizza, regulating everything from oven type, to temp, to how much your dough balls must weigh—yes, it’s a bit ridiculous, and, yes, it’s a cost), all aspects of the pizza pedigree of San Giorgio show just such immense, aggressive, sure, threatening, pursuit of craft. In the Sopranos sense of the word, all ingredients, all dishes, seem to be worthy of respect. 

Try the Quattro Formaggi, a delightfully oily meld of mozz, provola, fontina, and gorgonzola. Or the San Giorgio, bright with arugula and fennel, salty with crispy pancetta, topped, almost unnecessarily, somehow cohesively, with a sunny side egg. Pay plenty of appropriate focus on anything featuring San Marzano tomato carnage. As a gravy it goes well with anything from basil to spicy soppersata. As Instagrammable goopage, it is bright and popping, with no need of a filter, reminiscent of all things you picture of Italy in your mind.   

It all still ties back to the beating heart. And by that, I mean the 900 degree Stefano Ferraro oven, hand-crafted, of course, in Italy. It is a muscular, room-dominating hulk, a ravishing blue-tiled beauty, fire-kissing, turning doughiness halfway to toast, letting the Maillard Effect do its enzyme action work, warming, blackening, making a messy marriage of tomato and cheese. Airy corpuscles form around the crust edge, yielding heartening bites of carb char. It is quick cooking, piping hot delivery for all satisfaction points. What pizza was for us as children, pizza can be for us again, here, downtown on a classy wine-soaked date night or pre-Giannis show.  

On subsequent visits I’ve found myself, while pulling away the first slice, lifting the edge and checking  the undercarriage to admire the cooking and note the sweet char. Each pizza pattern is unique from the last, like the spots on a Jaguar. So, maybe I am into looking under the hood afterall.   

 8. Burger - Foxfire

The last thing anyone needs from the internet is another burger list. Or even a list with burgers on them, ranked, in some kind of personal application of rules and regulations that strives toward objectivity, scientific method, a justification of juiciness pontificating. 

Yet, in 2019 arriving on a listicle is the only validation. And the burger at Foxfire, served Thursday’s out of the back of Hawthorne Coffee, deserves to make listicles that aren’t even covering burgers. So, while Palomino griddles the best sit-down double-digit-dollar burger in town, and Kopp’s remains the heavyweight of gluttonous eat-in-your-car, American Graffitti old-school comfort and mouthfeel joy, Foxfire strikes the perfect balance between craft and simple. The double patty package is reasonably affordable, is cooked basically to temp, is coated with unfussy American cheese. But the availability is limited, enticingly so. It is topped with only pickle and onion. But the counter is suggestively stacked with esoteric hot sauces. It is what to have for workday lunch, generally, in a coffee shop. But the meat crust and luscious give are worthy of foodie discourse, elevated terms like elevated. The duality in a microcosm: the fries here are reminiscent of the stringy, crispy spuds found at McDonald’s; but they can be topped with little-seen Aleppo pepper.    

My grandfather used to say that it is impossible to declare a “best,” that such distinction has to be qualified. He lived in the innocent era before internet lists. And, unfortunately, before being able to try the burger at Foxfire.  

7. Chicken 65 and Garlic Naan - Cafe India

My wife often jokes that I only want to eat food in taco form. And they say all good jokes are based in truth. So it came in handy that my natural instinct for bread-as-vessel kicked in when, aggressively, irresponsibly, I ordered my Chicken 65 “extra hot” at the Bay View Cafe India. Within two fork bites it became clear something, anything, more than water, was needed to extinguish, to buffer, to assuage boiling buds. Garlic naan was handy, was originally used like a starchy tongue sponge, and then, somehow inspired, I packaged all subsequent chicken bites within the cozy, garlicky, craggy confines of the bendable bread. Thus my version of Indian tacos was born. Built out of necessity, maintained out of deliciousness.   

The Chicken 65 has long been my Indian deep-menu go-to. Huge-bite, deep-fried chunks of tender boneless chicken, bathing in fiery, oily, red-orange stew chocked with hunks of pepper and onion and curry leaf. With its shimmering finish and intense afterburn, it’s a dish that often feels like a turmeric-laced Southern Indian version of Nashville chicken. 

Apparently nobody really knows where the dish name came from—some claim the number just refers to the birth year. Others, to either the number of chile peppers or the number of pieces of chicken. It doesn’t matter, historians likely have just had too difficult a time stopping eating, or slurping water, or fanning the mouth. But now at least we all have documentation of the dawn of the Chicken 65 taco.   

6. Chicken Shawarma, Kufta Kabob Sandwich - Pita Palace

Sometimes go-to’s are made by convenience, sometime laziness, maybe it's economics, every now and then it just comes from plain exceptional, ceaseless taste, of the kind you never tire of, week after week, appetite after appetite. When I became Iucky enough to stumble into a house purchase a pita toss from this sprawling Layton Ave chateau of Mediterranean comfort food, the “go-to” calculus began to spin endlessly, like a slowly turning vertical rotisserie.   

From hummus to arayes to lentil soup, all of the counter service spot’s dishes ring true. But it’s the sandwich section that brings me back, never wears out, with cheap, voluminous meat torpedos nestled inside tender, stretchy shrak bread. They are made of tight, but ambitious construction, braced by pickle buttons, onion and tomato wedges. The chicken yields variable cubes and scrags of spitted meat, some crisp, some soft, velvety garlic sauce making the bundle swim, sing. Or there is the kufta kabob, two skewers-worth of beefy, grainy-textured links, slicked with creamy tahini, the whole deal rife with mint, parsley, sumac, and the kind of otherworldliness that you watch Bourdain for a taste of. Kick either up with a side of the piercing, pungent Thai chile garlic sauce, a sauce with a confrontationally acidic spice profile, a flavor reminiscent of little else at all, just this side of a manageable amount of mother-in-law spleen.  

It’s the kind of place you spot from the air on approaches back to General Mitchell, a giant red neon glow of ‘Welcome Home;’ the kind of place your realtor might not mention, but you find it and know your property values will sustain, that it will also salve rote Mondays of yawns and kitchen ennui for years to come. It’s the kind of place you are endlessly happy to live near by, for when you don’t know what to cook, or, really, even when you do.  

5. Xiao Long Bao Dumplings - Momo Mee

“Eat with care” the menu warns, an enticing challenge, like something you might find on a waiver from a restaurant you learned of from “Man vs. Food.” To me it reminds of an internet-learning wormhole of food blogs and Youtubes on where to find the Shanghai delicacy in a back alley shop in Chicago’s Chinatown. And then, more challengingly, more importantly, how to actually eat a dumpling filled with soup. As an experienced Xiao Long Bao taster—twice—I can state the process is mostly so: Put a drop of soy sauce in your soup spoon, lift the dumpling from the top, place in the spoon, nibble a tiny hole in the top as a steam valve, slurp some broth out, and then, when the temp feels right, shoot it like an oyster. Then you sit back and feel worldly, self-satisfied, sated. 

But as long as you don’t puncture and spurt, or, really, as long as you “eat with care,” you are bound to end up happy, letting umami zest and warm salty pork wedges in hand-crafted dough baste the tongue. The disparity of eating this, here, in the base level of a building seemingly still warm from the factory, hits with the arrival of the steaming bamboo basket. Or, really,  with the Schezuan wontons, or the Cantonese claypots—anything you can order amidst the plasticizing Walker’s Point condo sprawl. As the neighborhood loses its soul, it’s character, one more hastily constructed Millennial molehill at a time, Momo Mee more than holds the line.   

4. Alambre - La Flamita

Certainly one of the buzziest events in town this winter would have to be a recent Ash Kitchen takeover, featuring James Beard-nominated Minnesota chef Jorge Guzman. The spot, an open hearth concept from Dan Jacobs and Dan Van Rite, is the new restaurant of the Iron Horse Hotel. The event spotlighted Mexican street food. Yes, at one of the priciest hotels in town. Black beans were $6; rice, a cool $5. And while probably delicious, probably well-intentioned, it sounds a bit like paying Fiserv prices to see a really great high school team: gimmicky at best, condescending at worst, and to any that spend time contemplating what and how we eat, a bit puzzling. If you want taco truck fare, why don’t you go to an actual taco truck? 

That very same Sunday night anyone with the hankering could have taken a short cruise west, on National, and subjected their appetites to La Flamita’s weekly special of one-buck pastor tacos. Cut by a big man with a large knife, direct from the trompo—one of the few of the Lebanese-rooted vertical spits in town—greasy, salty, piggy turns of earthiness are spiked by pineapple hunks, upped by arbol salsa that pokes through each bite like it has something to prove. Or, even better, it being Sunday and a day of fun after all, you could have an alambre. Mix your pastor with asada and with chorizo and with gooping, melting queso, the whole thing congealing into a warm, grandmotherly embrace of a taco mix mash, everything punctuated by peppers and onions. Plopped on top is a steaming baked potato, because they want you to be happy, full.   

It is the ideal meal for someone who can’t decide, yes, but also who wants it all, who won’t settle, who wants to soar, like Costanza on the wings of Pastrami, to an Epicurean taste fete of grease and meat sweat pleasure. But you can also stay comfortably on the street, barely 12 bucks in the hole, with leftovers certainly, alone in the car, beyond judging eyes or the formalities of waiters, to ponder life and appetite decisions, and wonder how many more you have room for. 

3. Tlayuda - La Costena 

If you have little kids you probably go to the Domes 300 times or so per year, or so it seems; and because it’s there, you probably go to Honeydip Donuts across the street maybe just a few times less. Heading south then, passing La Costena and it’s beckoning redness, the HGTV optics of an A-frame mini house-cum-taco truck is refreshing, promising in its cutesiness, alluring if only for the hope of something different. 

And different it is. Start with a pastor, my personal barometer of a taqueria’s worth. So often simple scraps of salted pink pork do the trick, but here it is decidedly less piggy, moister, deeper, somehow more seasoned and cheffy. Or try the asada, a 100-level taco order, but here redolent of butcher freshness, liberal salt, flattop love. Really you can tell from “hola,” by the friendliness, by the slowness, by the perfectly-quoted wait times from the counter man: Costena may well be the premier taco truck in town. 

Then, working your way through the menu, you get here, to a Mexican pizza, a NYC-slice-consistency, corn-shelled ship of salty flavor. The tlayuda is basically begging for you to take a picture, posturing with the bright allure of the flag of our neighbors to the south, popping with the reds of tomato and chipotle salsa, the greens of lettuce, avocado, the whites of queso, svelty sour cream, it all kept grounded by a swab of creamy refrieds, topped by a generous smattering of your carne of choice. Objectively, that choice should be chorizo, the grease-running ground sausage bits so rife with garlic, so equally charry and wet, that it makes any other kind of meat cover seem a bit tepid, a bit too-healthy.   

And sometimes this is how traditions are born, out of a need to get a little person out of the house, out of a desire to let them sleep off dreams of cacti and sausage fruit trees from Namibia in the backseat while dad sates creeping hunger and insoluble curiosity. Such is the joy of family, when you realize even proximity to Sobelman’s, to Oscar’s, can be beat, by this, a whole new world of car-meal, of pizza-esque joy, of something different. Long live the Domes.  

2. Brisket Burger, Hot Chicken Sandwich, Pimento Cheese, Cheese Curds - Palomino

It’s hard to keep track: Where are we all now on Palomino? Are we still mad they raised prices? Disappointed that it’s less bar and more restaurant? Stuck in a provincial mode that makes us yearn for cheap frozen tots and Bingo? Are we upset that they took a look in the mirror, didn’t coast, made an effort, and made their food much, much, much better? Or have we all just kind of forgotten it?  

Maybe I shouldn’t question. Just appreciate the fact I can walk in on a Friday night at 8, find whatever table I want, or a spot at the bar, and order any one or combo of my favorite things to eat in Milwaukee.  

There’s no better way to ruin an appetite and a doctor’s wishes than starting a feast with the curds. Elongated oblong bricks of a battered, sheeny shell, barely housing liquefying magma ooze, seem to get almost transported from fryer to wherever I’m sitting and leaning forward. Such is the temperature, the still oil-shimmering, post-bath promise. Stretchy and rich, airy and crispy, endlessly goopy, it’s a snack only matched in Southern-leaning decadence by the pimento cheese. This is piquant-popped velvetiness, the dream of what grown-up grilled cheese can embody, when plopped atop the accompanying charred toast.  

It takes will, recklessness, irresponsibility to keep going at this point. The hot chicken thigh, barely saddled inside a buttery brioche, is helped by two things: greasy slicks of mayo and house hot sauce aid gullet passage; also the heft is constructed so that if you put it down, it might fall apart. One must push forth, in delicious punishment. Then there is the brisket burger. No other burger in town is so good at avoiding overtopping, overhyping, overpricing, a balance of kitchen art and pleasure. Like it is no big deal: fresh ground meat, American cheese, onion, pickle, silky mayo-y special sauce. Here is what it would feel like if you could sit down at a Bay View bar and eat a Kopp’s masterpiece sided by an IPA on a chill Friday night, where you can also remember your growth-spurt 16-year-old appetite, even while pushing 40.

If there were ever a case to be made for it being OK to find a rut, to never stray or explore, to find your caloric Cheers and never think about going anywhere else, Palomino would lead my argument. 

1. Bahn Mi - Pho Hai Tuyet

There’s rarely a person that borrows my phone that doesn’t make the comment, the note: “You have a Pho Hai Tuyet app?” It’s there, near the front, proudly prominent, a bit out of place near Lyft and Instagram because it’s a by-the-airport dive in a converted fast food shack with endless out-of-commission fish tanks, and, for some reason, a stage. It is also known, has garnered a bit of a cult following for a fat guy sandwich of near-perfection. Or, it was, actually. 

Pho hai shuttered quietly, but inevitably, to anyone who’s been recently, sometime between this past spring and the future of our discontent. Still there was shock to those of us who thought the sandwich would always be there: the big French baguette bed, crispy, succulent pork scrags, garlicky mayo, heaps of cilantro, crispy jalapeno punches.    

To write about it hurts, like a eulogy, where you need to remember the bad and mix it with the strange to paint a picture. As it happens I have a friend who informed me that, once, while eating inside, he could hear something audibly scampering in the ceiling panels. Out of loyalty, out of sandwich-love, I practiced willful ignorance. I have another friend, a writer sort, who sports a Pho Hai polo shirt in his author bio pic. It seems like some sort of hipster ironicism, unless you know how much he loves—loved—the sandwich. And, really, what are we but not physical manifestations of our past meals and meal memories? A collection of those calories and reminisces.

Even as we look ahead, to more eating, to big city, big event pedigree, to maybe ending the national embarrassment, to 2020, to a promise of new vision, as we yearn for responsibility and reason, to, well, to... who knows? Whatever happens, whatever is next, I will never delete my Pho Hai Tuyet app.

[tumblunni]

Today’s pointless fun fact about Bunni! I’m 74 inches tall and apparantly I attract coincidences like flies

You see, I havent ever measured my height since I was in high school, and I’ve just been saying ‘i think i remember it was something like 5′7″‘ cos 74 is my favourite number and I know I’m not 4 foot. But I just had the random impulse to measure myself with a tape measure and apparantly i’m literally 74 inches OKAY WTF Also apparantly in feet that means I’m 6′1″??? EXCUSE ME tfw u accidentally tall

I mean seriously ive never measured my height in like ever, i had no idea! It was like when i was 15 that some random doctor measured it last and i couldnt remember it cos it was never important to me. I always assumed my estimate of 5′7″ was taller than I actually am, I’ve always considered myself completely average height. I knew I was taller than all of my high school friends but i just thought they were short, lol! I mean, i suppose since a lot of them were cis men then I should have realized I was tall by cis woman standards. *shrug* But there were always people my age who were way taller than me so I never considered myself tall. I guess I was like ‘if im not THE TALLEST then I cant be tall at all’. I am medium tall! Yay! I am taller than average but not super tall! Thats good, i wouldnt wanna aim for anything higher cos I dont wanna draw any more attention to myself than I already do with my appearance, lol. Not that you can choose how tall you are tho, i mean it sucks that you can just be born looking ‘weird’ in some way and you have no way to change that. I dunno why height is even classed as a ‘weird’ thing, and stuff like having glasses is ‘weird’ and just... wtf they dont affect anyone why is it a big deal. But still I’m weirdly cheered up to know I was wrong about something, I guess? Even though I didnt want to be tall?? Its just an interesting surprise to know something I assumed for ages was actually wrong and all I had to do was check. Opens my mind to think that maybe other things I think are unchangeable are perhaps not, yknow? As a depressed person I think thats a good thing to remember. I guess I’m lucky I’m a weirdo who gets easily impressed by really random things, its the best remedy for anxiety disorders XD

Anyway im a bit hyperactive and also tired so this post probably makes no sense aaaa ive had too much sugar and pizza and they had this new meatballs soup thing at dominos too??? ive eaten way too much i think im gonna puke but also I’m ENERGY OVERDOSE AAAAA bunni should not be allowed to order pizza! but like let me waste my money on a good meal once a month yo also it was my friend’s birthday earlier this week and I was SO HAPPY that i was able to afford a £40 present for like.. the first year ever! hope that makes up for me being one day late cos of my shitty sense of telling the time omg ITS BEEN A REALLY GOOD WEEK i really love and appreciate my friends and apparantly I’m tall I’m so confused by life right now how can i be tall i thought all my body mass was wasted on becoming fat instead Lol no wonder everyone stares at me in the street if I’m both tall AND fat. and like.. i have blue hair. this actually makes me feel better now, they aint judging me I’m just a natural attention-hog and i cant control it. I FEEL BAD FOR THAT THO! I should try harder to be boring but i did that thru all of high school and i was really looking forward to dyeing my hair aaaa why am i getting sad now man im drunk on pizza WHEN U DONT EAT TH PIZZA OFTEN TH PIZZA IS REALLY TH GOOD also i dont get enough sleepe have a gud day everrybody i think im gonna take a pizza nap even tho its like midday

[sleepyfan-blog]

Oh!! Can I request again? Maybe Barry x Chris with love song??

Fandom: IBVS by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: Christopher Jackson,  Barry Price, IBVS Crue

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,068

Summary: Chris and Barry go on a date

When Isaac had told him that the pizza place close by had karaoke on Friday evenings, Chris had initially been very confused - because when had that happened? But… As he glanced at his boyfriend, a small smile appearing on his face as he thought about it… It did sound like fun, and there was a song that had absolutely gotten stuck in his head for the past few days whenever he saw or thought about Barry… Which was all the time. So maybe if he sung it at Barry it would finally leave him alone. He was pretty sure that Nevin had been to the same place- having probably gone there with Isaac as the two of them were dating and had been for a few months.

Nev was still very suspicious about the fact that the school king  was dating Drew - that the other was only toying with his twin’s affections, but… Chris wasn’t sure about that. Edward actually smiled in public around Drew and had gotten into a couple of fights defending the shorter teen from idiots and assholes so… Chris was willing to give the other the benefit of the doubt. Besides, the other was a reliable help when dealing with the Supernatural Weirdness that occasionally popped up, and they needed all of the allies that they could get.

“Hey… Barry, do you want to go out for pizza? I’ll pay.” Chris offered hopefully, glad that he’d managed to ask before he lost his nerve. Barry was really nice… Great at somehow knowing everything and super smart and handsome… How he’d managed to get the other to go out with him, Chris still had no idea.

“I don’t mind splitting the bill - and I love that place on Smith and Tenth - the one that we can walk to pretty easily. Besides, walking will help us work up an appetite.” Barry responded with a bright grin, getting up, offering the other a hand to help get up for no other reason than because he wanted to. they were currently studying in Chris’s house… Their only hurdle to the date would be… Xavier. If the old man was home, that is.

Chris smiled and took the other’s hand before standing up, gently tugging his boyfriend in close and pressing a light kiss to the other’s lips - knowing that it was a bit of a risk… But His bedroom door was closed, so he should be okay. “Father’s supposed to be out working until late - I’ll leave him a note because I’m only supposed to text or call him for emergencies.” Besides there was almost nothing in the fridge for dinner, anyways.

Barry winced a little at that and nodded “Okay! Hey - do you want to order some wings, or just pizza? I’ve been craving some wings like you wouldn’t believe… The spicier the better.”

“Of course! I love hot wings - and they have some really nice dips for wings and pizza crusts. Speaking of, do you want one of their stuffed crusts, or just regular? I heard that they’ve been doing these cheese and pepperoni-stuffed crusts. i dunno if it’s good or just more grease.” Chris wasn’t the sort of person to just abandon his pizza crusts on his plate, though he did prefer to dip plain crust in either marinara sauce or ranch, rather than just have it dry.

Barry hummed a little as the two of them made their way to the pizza place - with a pit stop to potentially forestall Xavier from banning Barry from the house because he was an over-controlling ass. “I think I’d rather have the garlic bread crust - because the cheese that they use doesn’t always get melty in the oven - or re-solidifies really quickly? Which I don’t particularly enjoy eating.”

“Yeah, good point.” Chris answered with a nod. The two of them walked in a companionable silence, their fingers gently brushing together as they walked side by side to the pizza shop. As was expected at shortly after six pm on a Friday, it was super busy. Edward was serenading a very blushy Drew with a song up on stage - looking very red in the face himself.  Barry snagged them a couple of seats while Cross walked over to the Karaoke machine, rather surprised to find that no one else was signed up to sing just yet. He searched through the list of songs and picked the one that kept bugging him, hesitating for a moment as he chose the version of the song that was a little bit slower and less pop-y. He was just about to walk over to where Barry was sitting when he heard his name called over the intercom.

With a sigh, Chris walked quickly over to the stage and grabbed one of the microphones, double checking that it was working as the piano began playing “It’s been said and done, every beautiful thought’s been already sung… And I guess right now here’s another one.” his voice was shaking a little and it was a bit warbling at first - mostly because there were so many people staring at him… But he focused on Barry, pretending that he was just singing to the other, and his confidence was back. He never claimed to be an amazing singer, but he… He poured his heart out into the cheesy song.

He really did love the other, and as the song came to a close, he glanced away from Barry, unsure as to how the other would really react “Repeat~!” The notes seemed to echo in his head as he put the microphone down and walked off-stage, trying to figure out if he should just go hide or…

“Hey… Chris?” Barry had appeared out of nowhere, there was a blush on his face as well as a huge, goofy grin… “I love you too. That was… That was a really sweet thing to do.” The other moved closer, gently grabbing Chris’s hands and pressing a light kiss to his knuckles.

“I… I’m glad that you liked it…” Cross murmured, blushing a little darker as he followed the other to the table that he’d picked out. He’d just sung about his love for his boyfriend in front a bunch of strangers and his friends. The room was spinning a little but… He was okay. Especially as Barry had scored one of the love seats, so they could snuggle together.

[cherry3point14]

Mine: Ch1 - YOU

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Stalking, beginnings of jealous!Dean Word Count: 4,000 ish. Chapter Summary: Dean meets you. He wants to know more. A/N: At this point my feelings are UGH. I have looked at this too long!

Ao3 if you prefer

This should be my happy place. I’ve been thinking about this for like, a week. But Sam’s bitch face was never part of my plan. He’s overreacting. The line isn’t even that long, there are two tables in front of us when we park up and the line has doubled behind us. That’s not good enough for my brother though. I’m not even sure why he came, before we left he kept saying how we had food in the kitchen. Not that I’m mad about his company. It was a good two-hour drive and I got to spend it with him. It’s been a lifetime since we drove anywhere without finding someone dead at the other end. Vegas week got skipped a few years back and remains a memory. Our lives, in general, get more and more caked in blood and shit. I’m not counting or anything but we deserved a couple of normal hours on the road. Except we’re at a diner so it’s me that deserves this. Sam deserves a trip to a farmers market or something. That’s a problem for tomorrow. Although this place isn’t just a diner; that makes it sound like any other pancake house on any other highway. This is the diner. It’s a gutted gas station turned restaurant that’s the best everything in the state. A well-kept secret. Or at least it had been until the food blogs, that I definitely don’t read, got a hold of it. Now it’s full of beanie wearing douchebags taking pictures of their food, and wannabe cowboys who want to do the same. “Hey, guys. You’re looking at about a thirty-minute wait for a table. Unless you want to sit at the counter?” Her eyes dart about as she talks, between the line behind them to the people already sitting, and back again. There are two seats at the counter and the sight of them sends a shudder rolling over my shoulders. They’re in the middle of everything, of other people already sitting there and I don’t know if I want to eat that badly. Not in the next thirty minutes anyway. For how long I’ve been dreaming about this burger I don’t want to spend the entire time trying not to nudge the guy next to me. Besides those college kids with the corner table are no way going to last half an hour now that their food’s gone. Before I can say any of this Sam opens his giant mouth, “counter’s fine, thanks.” The counter is fine? The counter is anything but fine. The space is too small and I didn’t drive all this way to sit at the goddamn counter during the lunchtime rush. But he’s already taking big moon size steps over there before I get a chance to hiss my opinion at him. Son of a bitch. “You’re a traitor, you know that?” The space I’m supposed to sit in is even smaller now I’m in it. He actually looks shocked by my accusation, “what? You wanted to eat, this is the quickest way to eat.” “I wanted to enjoy my food. This isn’t just lunch, it’s a, um-” I slap my hand on the counter when the word hits me, “it’s an experience Sammy. The sort of experience I’d have liked my feet touching the floor for.” His lips curl up like I’m some sort of amusement for him, “an experience?” Crap. He’s on to me. He’s seen my browsing history. He knows that SouthernFoodGal recommended the place. “Just don’t order rabbit food, ok? Respect the process.” My hand waves in the space between us in the hopes that I can wave away his focus. It actually works. The waitress at the counter is, and this is not an exaggeration, about ninety-eight years old. She’s every road weathered, curly-haired truck stop waitress from the movies. I’m wondering if it’s a legal thing that every diner has to have one. It’s gotta be, right? It can’t be a coincidence. She smiles though, not a plastered on fake one, and she doesn’t comment on my life expectancy as I order their star burger; the heart attack. Sam doesn’t need to comment because I can see his judgment out the corner of my eye, and that’s before I order fries. At the very least he orders a chicken burger instead of salad. Hopefully, he’ll cheer up with some bread in his stomach. The place is buzzing so I’m not sure if we have total privacy or if every word we say will be broadcast. The conversation stays light then. Free of monsters and angels and demons. I get a chance to hear about a book Sam read that wasn’t lore. It’s good to let him talk like this. It reminds me that he’s ok, he’s doing ok. He’s still got this slither of a normal guy left in him as he gushes over the story; that’s enough for me to smile at. The food arrives fast, hot and before Sam has finished talking. It takes two hands to lift my burger since it’s more a stack of food rather than a meal. And yet the beast in my hands isn’t leaking grease all over me. The smell of meat and cheese hits my nose before the food reaches my tongue. All my senses band together for that first bite. “Are you kidding me?” With food swirling around my mouth I still manage a moan. Sam frowns at my plate, then me, “what?” “Look at this!” it’s all about the cross-section so waving it in his direction will surely be enough to explain. Yet Sam’s face stays blank unless you count the sneer he tries to hide, so I swallow all slow and regretfully. The food had to leave my mouth at some point I guess. “This is a work of art. Bacon’s crispy, three different type of cheese, onion rings Sammy. Don’t even get me started on the sauce. This is- shit the pickles have gotta be homemade. This was worth the drive.” That’s probably not as big a compliment as it could be considering how far we drive everywhere for everything. I know what I mean to say though. It’s been a while since I ate food that was more than just fast. This is damn good. “This is pretty good too,” Sam chimes in with much less enthusiasm. Offensively less. I’d be annoyed on behalf of the place except I take another bite and the anger in my gut fades to nothing. Eating the rest of the meal becomes a blur. I'm caught between wanting to swallow it whole and not wanting to finish it at all. Doesn't even matter that I elbowed the guy next to me twice. Too soon our elderly waitress Carol is taking my plate away before she checks her watch. “Y/N,” she shouts through the pass into the kitchen. “Can you watch the counter while I take my ten?” Apparently, it didn’t matter about the lunch rush or the line out the door, Carol was taking her ten. She’s a seasoned waitress who got our order right first time. I appreciate her enough that panic bubbles in my gut for a second. What if this Y/N person brings the wrong pie? The worry is fleeting because then the door swings open with a crash of wood on wood. The sound of your entrance is what catches my attention, you are what keeps it. You step out in your chef whites, rolled at the sleeves and an apron pinning it all at your waist. The apron giving you a figure even in your uniform. I can tell you still want to be proud of your body underneath your pulled back hair and shiny face from the heat of the kitchen. You're sporting an oversized pout, aimed in the direction of the waitress whose name I’ve forgotten by now. “Only if you tell me I’m pretty.” You are pretty. I’d tell you that. You have the kind of soft features that are pretty even if you’re not dolled up and I’m not half drunk. You’re pretty, and then you laugh at your own joke, and like that you’re beautiful. Anybody would have a hard time convincing me I’m not staring straight into the sun. Carol’s voice is scolding if not playful as she shakes her head, “yeah, pretty annoying.” You shoo her away with a waved hand before your face turns hard and serious. Even if you’re only covering for ten minutes you hold yourself like this is most important job you’ve ever had. You survey your kingdom with concern etched on that sweet little face of yours until you lock eyes with me. Quickly softening into an easy smile. Acknowledging my stare as a call for attention. You wanted to come over anyway. I only gave you an excuse. “How was the food guys?” You don’t even glance in Sam’s direction. I like this move. Sam hasn’t looked up from his phone but you don’t want to make a big deal out of coming over here for me. I get it, you don’t want to seem too eager. Which would be easier to pull off if you’d looked away from me yet. “Best burger I’ve had in months.” The smile I flash you is the charming one I reserve for women in bars. You’re not sucking down vodka though so you raise both eyebrows at my review instead. Your hands move to your hips, again bringing my focus to your waist, begging me to steal a glance at your curves. “Only the last few months?” You scoff, “not good enough. I’m taking the gold for best burger of your life or I’m taking nothing.” I would think you’re joking except you have this hard set to your face that’s deadly serious. I’m half sure you’re going to storm off and make me something else right now. It’s only when you don’t move from the spot and your lip finally twitches that a chuckle escapes me, along with a wink. “You’ll have to keep trying then, sweetheart.” Is that a blush on your cheeks, or were they that pink since you left the kitchen? “I didn’t know I had someone with such discerning taste in today or I’d have made you something special.” You have this pucker in your top lip and a flash of something in your eyes, like a fucking promise. I can see you like a challenge and maybe you also want my approval? Maybe you crave it. So, you keep trying, keep working for it, “do you trust me enough to get you something sweet?” Is it sweeter than you, I wonder? “Depends on if you have pie.” You jump back as if a jolt of electricity surged through you. You press a hand to your chest with this grand gesture of mock offense. There’s a sickly over the top southern accent too, “sir I’m offended that you think I didn’t make pie fresh this morning.” Another laugh at your own joke although I’ll be honest, I kind of like that about you already. “Apple and blueberry or cherry bourbon?” Shit. Is this the moment that I’ll remember for the rest of my life? It’s a stupid question. If I could only take one mental picture it would be you coming back from the kitchen. A sway to your hips, two plates, and one fork.

We’d talked while I ate. You'd pretended you were waiting for my critique and I wait until both slices are gone before I give you an inch. The whole time some dick at the other end of the counter is staring at you. Desperately trying to will you into noticing him because what? The asshole wants a refill or something? Being rude to wait staff is shitty enough on a normal day but he shouldn't be staring at you like that. Not that you need to worry about him. He gets a hefty and totally accidental shove on my way out that almost puts him on his ass. I’m not even sure you noticed when Carol came back because you’d stuck around. The din of the diner quietens enough that I catch the nervous hitch in your voice when you’d told me your name. “I’m Y/N by the way,” tumbles out too fast and too quiet, then you’d asked for mine in the same breath. I’d given it to you, my first name anyway. Why are you so relieved? Did you really think I wouldn’t tell you my name? It’s like you haven’t seen you. But see, here’s the thing. I’ve looked out for people before, tried to look out for people, and it’s not been enough. I’ve not been enough. Now I know what I need to do and the lengths I need to go to if I’m going to do protect people. So, checking you out is common sense. It’s a necessary evil to look after myself. You’re beautiful but I need to know if there’s more to you. There’s beautiful in every town. I need to make sure you’re worth all the effort I’m willing to go to. It’s a two-way street too. I get that. You didn’t have to trust me. It’s probably not uncommon for guys to hit on you at work and for you to give out a fake name. That makes it all the sweeter when I type your name into google and boom, there you are. Smiling so wide in your profile pictures that it makes my cheeks ache. You trusted me which begs the question, are you a little bit naive or was that really a blush? I’m nursing a glass, my third, while I moon over my laptop. I’m not normally like this. My interest in looking people up online usually limited to finding a connection between victims. I’m not a big social media guy. For you? Well, it’s a means to an end. This is how I get to see more of your story is all. Lawrence. I almost choke when I see that under ‘hometown’. You were born and raised in Lawrence. In another life, I could have already met you. We’d already be together and today was kismet fixing things on the messed up timeline we’re on. Not that I believe in that shit. Except you make me believe. The deeper I go down the Y/N rabbit hole the more it seems like you’re kind of, sort of, perfect for me. It’s such a mindless action to pour myself another drink while I scroll that it doesn’t even count as glass number four. You were living in New York until about a year ago. Then you moved to Manhattan, Kansas. There’s this picture of you in a car packed tight with boxes, sunglasses, and a big grin. The caption reads, if you can’t live in NYC, try Manhattan! You giggled to yourself while writing that no doubt, I’d stake money on it. There’s no explanation for your move but all your friends liked the post and a bunch of them chime in to say they’ll miss you. I’m interested in what brought you closer, thankful for it. I’ll have to ask you about that one day. Although it’s better that you’re out of the city anyway. “Found anything?” Sam leaves the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand. Upping his water intake is his new thing and he’s so desperately trying to get me on board. Unfortunately, I hold a deeply rooted belief that pissing that much just ain’t natural.

“What?” I snap, still distracted with images of you.

Sam must read it as suspicious because he reels his neck in as quickly as he stuck it out to start the conversation. “Dude, didn’t we talk about keeping the porn to your room?”

My shoulders relax instantly because that’s the simple answer. He thinks it’s hardcore cartoon sex scenes on my screen rather than your Facebook and Instagram. Not that I’m ashamed of you, it’s just better if I keep things under wraps for now. You’ll have to meet Sam eventually. Well, meet him more than the cursory few words you’d offered each other at the diner today. Out of his sight, one hand clicks to open a new tab in case he decides to peer over my shoulder. The fingers of my other hand drag down my face, all the better to appear dazed and confused. “No, I was looking for a case. Nothing out there.” There is something out there. You’re out there. Sam must recognize the tired eyes of someone who’s read too many news articles, though it’s actually too many comments, because he buys what I’m selling. “Guess we’ve got another snow day tomorrow. Any plans?” “Maybe.” The answer is muttered more to myself than him. He must think I’ve gone back to looking for cases. You know, instead of looking for your address.

The first time I drive out and park across the street it’s an accident. I’d been going for a drive to nowhere in particular, only looking to chase the horizon for a while. Long roads and smooth tarmac. Good music and definitely not driving to you. Not even in your direction. I hadn’t been paying attention anyway which is why the drive is so lazy and takes nearly two hours. With a little effort, I’ll get that down to an hour and a half. But again, this wasn’t planned when I first started my engine. If I had planned it I’d have definitely brought more beer. Your quiet little suburb is cute but not nice enough that it’ll break your heart to leave it behind. You live in this one story townhouse and it’s fine. It’s ok. It’s big enough for one person but it’s not a family home or anything. I can practically see your loneliness behind the blue paint on your front door. Your car is, well, I’ll take care of that at some point. It’s a Prius for one thing, and it’s too old to be a good car and too modern to be a classic. Thinking about it you might not even need a car. I can drive you wherever. These are all things I didn’t plan to see or notice, the first time anyway. Because the first time I’m looking at your house I can’t stop asking myself why the bay window doesn’t have blinds. What are you thinking Y/N? This area might seem nice and safe but really, anybody could pull up and watch you. You don’t need to worry about it while I’m outside but I’m not always here; I haven’t always been here. Don’t think I’ll forget about this either, the question is filed away for when I can ask it properly. A conversation for another day. It’s careless is what it is. How can I look after you if you won’t look after yourself? The clear glass does mean I can see you, luckily. You make a mug of something warm to drink while you watch a video on your laptop. Whatever it is makes you throw your head back with laughter until your back hits the sofa behind you. It's a carefree moment that I get to share with you. It's the sort of thing I need to see. These little private moments that show me who you are in a way your Instagram won’t. But it’s the second time I’m outside your house, that’s far more eventful. You haven’t been home from work for long. All you’ve managed is to turn on some music and start singing along while you run a vacuum around the place. My grin is about to damn near break my face watching you. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Everything stops suddenly and then you pick up your phone. That should be explanation enough, a phone call. Except you don’t answer it immediately. You frown at the thing in your hand and my fingers clench the steering wheel a little tighter. Whoever is on the phone burst the bubble we were both living in and I don't appreciate it. You’re all stiff movements and tight lips as you answer. The caller has turned you into a bitter version of yourself. Sweeping anger replaces any happiness you held onto as you storm out of the house. You’re so distracted that you get halfway to your car before you have to backtrack and lock your door. Really, Y/N? No, I don’t blame you. I blame whoever was on the end of that call, they did this to you. They made you careless. The only answers I’ll get are by following you, which at this point is easy enough. It’s early evening and there are enough other cars on the road to hide behind once we make it out of suburbia. It’s a bar you finally pull into. A dive by the looks of it. I can tell that much before I’ve caught up with you. Call it a special skill of mine to recognize bars like this. I’m caught across the street, waiting to cross traffic on a surprisingly busy road. Even from this distance, I see you screech to a halt at the front of the shitty parking lot. Apparently, you haven’t calmed down yet and looking over at the entrance to the bar it’s easy to see why. The sun has barely gone down. It’s not even 6pm. And there’s this guy wandering towards your car with the gait of someone who’s drunk as sin. Each step he takes is another rev of my foot on the gas where I’m trying to get to you. The guy isn’t huge or anything but he’s still bigger than you. He’s bigger and drunk and why isn’t there a fucking gap in this traffic? Finally, I swerve through a gap that isn’t really a gap to the outrage of some dick honking his horn. Not that the noise distracts you or the deadbeat. You stomp towards him with a slam of your drivers' side door and he calls out at the sight of you, “baby, I knew you’d come get me!” He falls in your direction and lands with his mouth on yours, his hands pawing at you. And you might push at his chest but it’s not urgent or defenseless. It’s exasperated. It’s so that you can swipe at his chest and berate him, “get in the car before I change my mind.” What the fuck Y/N? Who is this asshole?

Continue to Chapter 2

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278

[scully-eats-sushi]

Hi! Do you have any tips on being lowcarb? I should for health reasons, but I find it so difficult, especially when it comes to eating out or eating with friends!

Hello Anon. Sorry for the delay in responding. What I’ve found, for me at least, is that eating “sort of low-carb” doesn’t particularly work. I had to be in the mental space where I was ready to commit to it, because it isn’t the easiest thing to adjust to. I wasn’t in that mental space until just the beginning of this year, even though I had wanted to start losing weight for a couple of years, in order to feel more energetic. (I don’t believe in body-shaming, even myself. It wasn’t a looks thing so much as a desire to feel better overall and do better in my taekwondo classes.)

This is how I am doing it this year (and about six years ago as well). When I started, there was a period of adjustment where my body just craved sugar and other carbs. I was always hungry, irritable, and low-energy, for several days. But after that, I craved sugar a lot less. Like, now I can look at something sweet and not have an urge to try it. But those first few days are not easy.

For now, I don’t eat any bread, pasta, beans, potatoes, or almost anything sweetened. I have NO fruit. I have my coffee and tea unsweetened. I eat only a small amount of very dark chocolate, preferably 86% cacao or higher. I eat nuts, hard-boiled eggs or omelettes, cheese, plain unsweetened Greek yogurt (higher fat content makes you feel more full), lots of vegetables, chicken, meat (but limited red meat). I try to drink more water. This is always a hard habit for me to get into. I also have certain energy bars that are lower carb: for me, I use the Kirkland brand (Costco) Protein bars (chocolate chip cookie dough or double chocolate chip flavors) or a couple of other occasional options. Most energy bars have a lot of carbs, so you have to be careful with those. I occasionally drink no-sugar protein shakes. Again, I get these from Costco. 

I do have another trick, thanks to Mr. Sushi, who found it. I take two capsules of Apple Pectin with a tall glass of water about 20-30 minutes before I eat in the morning (and I could do so as well in the evening, but I often forget). We order it online (Amazon and other outlets). It makes you feel fuller, tricking your stomach into thinking it’s having carbs, I think.

Every week or so, I have a small “cheat” so that my body doesn’t go into starvation mode and start holding onto the fat that I’m trying to burn. It isn’t a major cheat, just something like a small amount of frozen yogurt.

When things go well, I will lose a bit during the week, stay about the same or go up a little bit over the weekend, and then repeat the process. It’s completely normal for weight to fluctuate within about a three-pound range where I will plateau for a while, then I’ll lose a few more, and plateau in the new lower range. These plateaus are healthy, because I think the body prefers to get used to establishing a new weight before you start losing again.

If you’re going out to eat, there may be a lot of hidden carbs in your food. For example, sauces on entrees usually have a ton of carbs. You’re also tempted to eat bread, or pasta, more than you might otherwise. Try to stick to salads, fish, chicken, roasted vegetables, some stir fries (again, some sauces might have lots of carbs), etc.

The final thing I would say is that you should shop for the food you want to eat. Remember that it’s a lot easier to say no to it in the grocery store and not buy it than to have it in your house and not eat it. 

Please remember that I’m not a nutritionist, so all of this has worked for me. I can’t say for sure what will work, or what is healthy, for you. I have lost 15 pounds in less than two months. I’m currently at a plateau for over two weeks, but I’m not worried about it. My goal is another 13 pounds by the end of 2019, and I want that to be a new body set-point. Unlike years ago, I know that the number on the scale won’t be super low because I’m also a lot more muscular now, due to martial arts. 

Good luck, Anon, and thanks for the question!

[addierose444]

Spring Break 2022

Happy first day of spring! It is sort of funny that the whole half of the spring semester isn’t technically spring. This past week was the first real spring break of my college years. Okay, we technically had two weeks off during my first year, but they coincided with us being sent home for the remainder of the semester. To read more about that final week on campus, click here. As for my sophomore spring, the pandemic canceled our spring break entirely. My goals for this break were to get some rest and prepare myself for the second half of the semester. While I did get some much-needed sleep, I, unfortunately, messed up my sleep schedule by staying up later than usual and turning off all of my alarms. I also wasn’t nearly as productive as I had planned to be, so I didn’t quite get the full reset I was hoping for. 

For spring break, I returned home to Vermont with a friend from Smith. As usual, I took the train from Northampton to Montpelier. The Northampton train station is within walking distance which is quite convenient. That said, despite being small, I find the train to be very cramped. The one upside compared to driving is that I’m able to work on my computer. On the train ride home, I finished implementing my technology recommendation system for my computational machine learning class. Upon arriving in Montpelier, we went out for a nice dinner at Sarducci's. I ordered the apple salad and the pulled pork macaroni and cheese which were both superb. After dinner, we headed home at which point I was finally able to reunite with my dog Artemis! Despite being pretty tired from the long day, I decided to finish the write-up for my computational machine learning project.

Over the first weekend of break, we got a big snowstorm and as a result, had lots of fluffy snow. Our snow activities included sledding and snowshoeing, both activities I hadn’t done in years. While we did have fun in the snow, I wasn’t too thrilled about returning to wintery weather. The one saving grace was that it wasn’t all that cold. On Sunday morning, the start of daylight savings took us all by complete surprise. (Perhaps another reason why the break wasn’t as restful as I’d intended it to be). Over the course of the week, much of the snow melted away leaving muddy roads in its wake. One thing to know about Vermont is that we have a fifth unofficial season: mud season. Even though I was happy to see the snow go, in actuality the mud was much worse. I’m really happy to be back on campus now as it actually feels like spring here!

Back home I did a little bit of cooking (mostly baking). Specifically, I made burger buns, a burger sauce, and two pies (apple and blueberry). If you are interested in baking (or would like the burger bun and sauce recipes), check out my post on holiday baking. I had success with the pie crusts using Epicurious’s all-butter pie dough recipe. The one change I made was adding a tablespoon of sugar. I also scaled the recipe up by 50% for the two pies rather than doubling it. (Even so, I had extra dough with which I made a mini blueberry galette). Despite not having enough apples for the recipe, the apple pie came out really well. The one other modification I made was brushing the crust with heavy cream instead of an egg wash. For the blueberry pie, I used the tried-and-true recipe from my favorite baking book, Baking Illustrated: A Best Recipe Classic. 

To give my college friend the true Vermont experience, we visited a sugar house and a farm. Our other activities included road walks, dinners with family friends, and a trip to Burlington. All in all, a fun spring break that went by way too fast. The idea of getting back into the swing of classes is a bit daunting and I wish I either had a second week of spring break here on campus and/or that we were starting up a new batch of classes.