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eva-knits12 · 25 days

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Going To Costco with Jake Jensen

It's that time of the month!

It's time for you and Jake to go to Costco.

You get there early to do the cans and bottles,

Jake grabs the SUV sized cart.

You made the list.

Jake, when left to his own devices, will NEVER make a list.

Which is why he spends more money that he intends to.

You show your membership card to the greeter.

First thing's first.

Jake has to look at every computer, every tablet, every phone, and every TV.

Then, Jake sees a few old-school arcade games.

Of course, Jake has to look at every one.

It takes longer than you intended because Jake has to touch and look at every electronic and device.

Eventually, you and Jake make your way to the toilet paper.

But you get a two pack of sweatpants and a two pack of T-shirt.

You basically live in sweats when you're home.

Which Jake finds incredibly sexy and cute.

You go to the bakery section, and get muffins, carrot and chocolate cupcakes.

You and Jake get the toilet paper, the bottled water, and the seltzer water.

You and Jake also get frozen pizza, gluten free chicken nuggets (those are GOOD!), fish sticks, and you even get fruit and veggies.

You get the Cherry Barbecue chips, and you get two bags because they don't last too long between the both of you.

(If you haven't had these, try them. They're good, and they're Michigan made! I'm a Michigander, and I love these things. Cherry barbecue sauce is tasty if you do it right.)

You get granola bars, some chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal bites, even bread, and breakfast bites to have as a mid-morning snack.

You even make sure to get plenty of kibble, wet food, and doggy toys and doggy treats for Mario.

You also get a huge thing of both plain and peanut M & M's, cheese and caramel popcorn (Chicago or Detroit popcorn, depending on which city you are in-I just call it cheese and caramel corn), and Sander's sea salt caramels (another good thing, trust me a jar doesn't last too long in the house, because we ALL eat it, no matter how hard we resist).

You get coffee and vitamins, with a huge pack of Coke and Pepsi for Jake.

Jake pays for the purchase, and you go to the food court and get you and Jake a slice of pizza and some vanilla soft serve.

You put the pizza and soft serve in a box.

You and Jake arrive home, and you put the lunch in the kitchen.

You put the soft serve in the freezer.

You and Jake unload the car.

After you and Jake put everything away, you both change into your sweats, and you even wear one of Jakes really big graphic tees, with on of his hoodies over it.

Jake is in his sweats, graphic tees, and hoodie.

You and Jake have been together for two years, living together for one, so you two dress alike, even though you and Jake both work from home.

Jake literally pretends to be annoyed by it, but he finds this incredibly sexy deep down.

You both eat your pizza.

You grab two bottles of water, and you put some lemonade mix in it.

You both have lemonade.

You then eat your dessert.

After, you two try to watch a movie, but you both fall asleep on the couch.

Jake grabs a blanket, and he covers you both with a blanket.

You both sleep for the rest of the afternoon, and you order Chinese for dinner.

Because screw it, you're both WAY too lazy to cook tonight.

You read your book after you're done, and Jake plays a video game for a bit.

Eventually, you two fall asleep in bed later that night, but after you two have some adult fun time activities.

That's to help burn off lunch and dinner.

You and Jake wouldn't trade this for the world.

#jake jensen #costco #chinese food #costco ice cream #the losers (2010)#pepperoni pizza #lemonade #video games #adult fun #sleeping with your boyfriend

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negative-ease · 4 months

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cast off!

happily i never lost the pineapple buttons for this lil guy.

i really love everything about this yarn. it's Plymouth Yarn Company Worsted Merino Superwash. colorway 61. i'm really into yellows and purples (alone and in combination) right now.

finishing went pretty well. i was able to pick up both button bands on the first try by using the patented j.r. triforce method (hot tea, full stomach, bright light). dealing with button placement & putting them in was way less fiddly than i thought it might be. the slip stitch row around the neck edging i thought was sort of unnecessary until i started it and WOW it reeeeeally adds a nice touch, really really good. kitchenering the armholes took a minute because i couldn't remember if i do it right or left-handed. i did the first one right-handed and i had to keep checking the diagram in stitch n bitch (which i pulled out of the archives for this purpose, listen, this book was overexposed for a REASON, it's so good!) so it was slow going. for the other i tried left-handed and sure enough muscle memory took over immediately i was like... oh... duh... so in the end the only thing i wasn't thrilled about was the job i did closing the holes around the underarm after grafting. (like the holes near the base of a thumb when you make mittens.) it's possible, though not probable, that i go back and redo those...

like fran's sweater, the yarn was purchased ages ago at Lambshoppe in Denver, which is one of my all-time favorite yarn stores. we used to live nearby. it is also near a fantastic detroit-style pizza place (Blue Pan). i miss that neighborhood a lot! i really liked living in Denver.

anyway... this is destined for LA. happy to check it off the list and move on.

#cast off #finishing school #knitting #hand crafted

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dylan-duke · 3 months

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Ryleigh x rutger cute date night in and her brothers crash it

"oh pizza!" ryleigh says as the doorbell rings. she pushes herself up to go answer the door, but before she can even straighten her knees rutger is pushing her back down,

"nuh uh you dont get to move, I'll get the za. you lay here, pick a movie and look pretty," ryleigh sighs and rolls her eyes as rutger jogs off to the front door.

once the couple has there box between them and mean girls playing on the screen they're once again interrupted by the familiar sound of the garage door opening,

"NOOOOGH!" ryleigh groans, "they were supposed to be gone all night," rutger chuckles looking towards the kitchen where the hughes brothers are now entering,

"IS THAT MEAN GIRLS?" jack yells as he runs into the living room,

"no." ryleigh says, "get out. you were supposed to be being dumb in detroit," jack smirks and flops down on the other side of the sectional,

"yah well it was boring," the middle child says, "so we decided to come home,"

#jack hughes #ryleigh hughes #rutger mcgroarty #rutger x ryleigh #rutger mcgroarty x ryleigh hughes #rutger mcgroarty x hughes sister

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satans-helper · 5 months

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Reaching for Stardust - Part XII

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on Wattpad

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: none

A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay. I've been really sick for the past week with no end in sight and have been pretty useless as a result. I didn't want to fall behind in writing, but I also shouldn't leave this hanging any longer. Hope y'all are still enjoying <3

---

“We’re really cramming a ton of stuff into just a few months,” I said to Josh as he packed an overnight bag for another Detroit trip. “Halloween, these bachelor and bachelorette parties, Thanksgiving, Danny’s birthday, Christmas, bridal party, New Years, our wedding. When will it end?” Halloween had passed–blissfully, thankfully. We’d all gotten together for an old-school costume party which, thankfully, Kirsti had hosted. I’d been grateful to feel young again though my sister wasn’t much older than I was. Still, her friends were all the “real” adults I’d imagined myself being when I was a child, with big-people jobs, their own houses, new cars, kids and spouses. At least I was soon going to check one of those things off the list and Josh had his big-person job already.

“Well, my love, it will never end,” Josh told me while he folded a pair of pants. “Life is a series of wonderful adventures, holidays and surprises.”

“It’s a lot,” I replied.

Josh looked at me and frowned a little. “Are you stressed? This is supposed to be a fun night for you. I want you to have fun.”

“No, no, I’m excited,” I insisted, which was the earnest truth. “A chill sleepover with the girls is honestly just what I want. I can’t even remember the last time any of us did that.”

The frown turned to a smile. “Are you going to gossip about all of us?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

The smile grew even brighter, Josh’s entire face lighting up. No matter the season, no matter how dark the sky became, he always had such a beautiful glow about him. “Good. What are you going to eat?”

“Junk food. Lots of it,” I said, reaching for a shirt that was lying on the bed to fold myself. “No bar food for us.”

“I already know I’m going to–” Josh paused, looking up as he waved his hand around, searching for a word. “Expand by the time our wedding arrives. Maybe that’s the real problem with all these excursions one after the other.”

“You’d look hot with a few extra pounds,” I assured him. “Don’t worry about it. But I really have to worry about fitting into that dress.”

“No worries for either of us. Not about that.” Josh waved his hand again flippantly, resuming packing his bag. “Unimportant.”

I sat down on the bed to watch him. “Fair enough. Not gonna worry about it,” I said, though the thought of abruptly not fitting into my wedding dress filled me with enough dread to promise myself that I’d take it easy on the Doritos and Little Debbie cakes later.

Josh, Jake, Sam and Danny commenced their bar crawl that night while I drove myself over to Jane’s to meet her, Bev and Kirsti for our sleepover. After I dropped my bag in the living room, I went into Jane’s cozy kitchen and saw that she’d taken a page from Jake’s book–instead of the bags and boxes of junk and comfort food lazily peppered around, she’d laid everything out in a contrasting, elegant way.

“You are so cute,” I said, eyeing the Ho-Hos and Zebra Cakes that had been unwrapped and plated in an alternating pattern on a funky black and white curved platter.

“Thank you,” Jane said with a smile, handing Bev a bag of pizza rolls, then she gave an exaggerated bow. “And welcome to your bachelorette party on a budget. It can still be kind of fancy, I think.”

Bev scooted past her to turn on the oven. “So we’ve got pizza rolls, mac and cheese bites which I’m gonna do in the air fryer, mozzarella sticks and Bagel Bites.” She gave me a mock-exasperated look. “Put on the sweatpants, girlies.”

I opened the freezer to peek. “Wow, two types of pizza snacks indeed. We really are living large tonight.”

“Where’s your sister?” Jane asked, unraveling champagne glasses from tissue paper. “She’s bringing the booze, right?”

“Jane, you didn’t need to buy those,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Kirsti could have brought glasses along with the champagne. So, yeah, she’s in charge of alcohol.”

Kirsti showed up right as the pizza rolls were coming out of the oven, coming to the rescue with two bottles of champagne, three bottles of wine and a 24-rack of seltzers. I laughed incredulously at her haul that was fit for maybe more like a sorority party.

“Well, it’s a party,” my sister stressed, handing off the huge box of seltzers to me. “And based on the amount of alcohol that was consumed during my Halloween party, I thought it was necessary.”

“Kirsti, you literally forced us all to do shots,” Bev noted, an amused smile on her face while she watched Kirsti unload all the alcohol into the fridge, minus the two bottles of champagne which she kept on the counter.

“Forced. Right,” Kirsti replied with a little scoff, shaking her head. “No, it’s totally fine. None of you threw up. That’s all I can ask for.”

I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms, trying to rifle through memories. “Didn’t your coworker Ben throw up on the porch?”

Kirsti laughed. “He’s such an idiot.”

“We know the type,” Bev chirped.

We eventually all settled onto the floor of Jane’s living room, which she’d covered with various throw blankets and pillows, with our glasses of champagne. Each of the girls had given me a separate toast–Kirsti had a long one, full of nothing but well wishes for Josh and I and one that I figured was a practice for her maid of honor speech. Bev tossed in her trademark humor and wit with her heartwarming adoration, of course reminding all of us of the troubled beginning Josh and I had had thanks to my own stubbornness. Jane’s might have been the sweetest of all though because her intrinsic sweetness rolled through every word and facial expression, a gentle light in her eyes while she spoke. All of it almost made me cry, but the tears subsided when Bev suddenly showered me with penis-shaped confetti.

“Congratulations, beautiful bride!” she said with a boisterous laugh, leaving me perplexed in the phallus-rain.

“This–” I began, holding a palmful of it. “Where did you even get this? Do we have a sex shop here I’m unaware of?”

“I ordered it,” Bev told me with a smirk. “I ordered many things.”

“She even ordered–” Jane began, then Bev held a hand out to stop her.

“No! Don’t spoil the rest of the surprises,” she warned, then clinked my glass with hers. “Cheers, babe. I promise I won’t pull any of this shit at the wedding.”

“Appreciate it,” I told her. I was wondering what Josh and the boys were doing and hoping Sam hadn’t mirrored Bev’s actions with pussy confetti, but it seemed probable, especially if they’d spent even a minute talking since my birthday night.

The evening progressed easily with laidback drinking and fun, lighthearted games. But when we all started to get more and more tipsy, Bev proposed we play a “lie detector” game, which involved two of us taking turns facing one another, one asking a question and having to determine if the other’s answer was actually true. As the bride-to-be, I got in the hot seat first with Bev facing me, a devilish grin on her lips while she swirled the wine in her glass.

The nervous smirk on my own face was involuntary. “Do your worst,” I told her before taking a sip of my seltzer.

“Okay,” Bev said slowly, looking up to the ceiling for a moment before she looked into my eyes, daring and definitely drunker than I was. “Did you think about breaking up with Josh when he told you about the SCAD interview?”

“Not for a second,” was my instant answer, the absolute truth. Bev’s nod solidified that.

“Yeah, I believe it,” she said, then brought the glass to her lips again. “Guess I gotta drink. I should’ve thought of something better.”

It was my turn with Jane next and there was one thing I was quite curious about, given how reserved she often was and how I’d seen the crush on Jake bloom in real time. “Did you really not sleep with Jake the night of my birthday?”

She laughed a little. “I really didn’t. We made out and stuff, but–”

“And stuff,” Bev echoed with a laugh of her own.

“I believe her,” I announced, taking a drink. “How’s anyone supposed to get an answer that’s actually a lie? I feel like we all know each other too well for that or we’re just not being mean enough or something.”

“It has to be really embarrassing,” Kirsti said. “And now I’m up.”

Bev was up against her, sitting cross-legged on a square pillow. Kirsti being in the hot seat did make me a little nervous. We hadn’t had a true heart to heart in a while–it was Josh who I shared everything with, who I always went to first about everything even if it was painful. Especially if it was painful, actually. And when Bev asked if Kirsti was upset about her younger sister getting married first, her face didn’t match her answer at all.

The room became silent, tense and awkward. Bev looked at me sheepishly, bringing the wine glass closer to her body as if she could hide behind it. “Oh. Well–”

“It’s okay,” I said, but was it? My sister was entitled to her feelings and I thought I could understand, but I wish I’d talked to her about all of this so much more deeply before we got here. I didn’t want her to feel slighted by the universe or jealous of me or lesser than or anything negative at all. Suddenly my mind was spinning, and not from the alcohol.

“I think we all imagine our lives working out differently than they actually end up,” Kirsti said, far more sober and able to speak distinctly than the rest of us. Except my buzz felt abruptly yanked into the atmosphere, leaving me drained with no good reason.

“We’re all single and hot,” Bev said. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“No, of course not,” Kirsti said. She laughed softly and the familiar sound eased my fears a bit. “I’m just starting to feel really old.”

“You’re not,” Jane offered, always one of the most genuine, kind people out there no matter what level of intoxication she was at. “None of us are and you know what? I think we’re all gonna find our perfect matches one day even if it takes a little longer.”

I was still quiet, trying to process as best I could with so much champagne, wine and hard seltzer in my system. Kirsti turned to me: “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. It’s not any deal. It just got me thinking.”

“It’s okay, really,” I said again, because it was. “I’d probably feel the same if I were you.”

We all moved past it easily enough, diving back into games, drinks and snacks until I felt stuffed to the gills. But I also felt like a cloud hung over the rest of the night, right over Kirsti and I. Why hadn’t I even considered her feelings about this until Bev asked? Why hadn’t we really talked? The kicker was, of course, that I was just bursting with a need to tell Josh all about this when I should have been talking to her. So when Bev and Jane crowded the bathroom to get ready for bed, I sat back down with my sister in the living room.

“I hate that you’ve been feeling this way,” I told her. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you about it before. I feel like I’ve done nothing but talk about myself and the wedding for so long now and that’s gotta be annoying as fuck.”

“It’s not annoying. This is what happens,” Kirsti assured me. “If it’s ever my turn, it’ll be the same thing.”

I shifted on the couch, still feeling like I couldn’t find the right words. “We’ve been drifting apart more and more. Suddenly I see that and I don’t like it.”

Kirsti’s expression hardened into protection mode: “Well, when I learned Josh wanted to take you away to a completely different state, I didn’t like that.”

I sighed. “Me either.”

“Listen–everything’s been building up to this thing. The wedding. That’s what’s supposed to happen. That’s what you want to happen, right?”

“Yeah.”

Kirsti leaned back against the arm of the couch. “So don’t worry about me. I’m a little jealous, that’s all. I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere in my own love life, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t either. It’s not like, the 1800s or whatever when the oldest has to get married first.”

“I know. But yeah, I get it,” I told her, suddenly exhausted and wishing we could rewind, just go back to the fun, silly games and forget we ever drifted apart at all. “It’s a lot for everyone to deal with, I think. But I really need you there, okay? I can’t do this without you.”

That got a little smile. It was what I needed. “You could. All you need is Josh.”

I shook my head. “Not true. I need all of you guys. Always. Forever.”

Bev appeared, carrying that tray of mini, pre-packaged cakes. “You did say something about a commune before. Maybe we should go for it.”

“Josh would love that,” I said, my mind meandering back to my beloved boy. “At this point, I’m very open to it. We could all be one big, happy family.”

Jane came into the room and sat down on the floor below me. “They’re definitely drunk right now,” she said, holding her phone out to show me a text from Jake, which was just a picture, no text to provide any concrete context. It was him and Sam looming over the camera, Jake so close you could only see the top half of his face, Sam grinning next to him and holding a beer. It was adorable. I loved it. I could see that she did, too.

Kirsti clapped her hands together and stood up. “Okay, let’s get this party going again. I didn’t mean to bring anyone down.” She pointed dramatically at each one of us, so lively, as if the alcohol had hit her out of nowhere. “I love all of you and this wedding is going to be amazing and no one is going to sleep yet..”

I pulled out my own phone to see if Josh had texted me and indeed he had. He had sent me a picture of him and Danny, Danny’s arm slung over his shoulders as Josh slumped over a counter, a tall cocktail in front of his face. How lucky, I thought, to have found such magical, silly, wonderful people to share life with.

When the rest of the surprises commenced, I was reminded again of that luck, drunk and growing more and more flushed and bewildered with each stupid but potentially useful gift I’d been given by my friends.

I dangled up a pair of fuzzy handcuffs that Jane had given to me, wrapped up so nicely in a sophisticated cream-colored box complete with a bow. “Really?”

“Oh come on. I feel like you guys would be into that,” she said, giggling, then addressed the other two girls. “Am I wrong?”

“Nah, not wrong,” Bev chimed in, pouring herself more wine. “Josh definitely seems like a bit of a sub.” I was not sober enough to pull up my defenses, and my silent and red-faced answer was testament to that. Bev started to laugh, pointing at me: “See! I’m totally right. Shit, you gotta give us some details now.”

I dropped the cuffs back into the box and placed the lid on top. “No, no details. You guys don’t deserve it.” As the noise of protest chimed around me, I ignored it and reached for a small pink bag. “This one better be good,” I said and, really, it was–a bottle of edible body oil and a bottle of peach-flavored lube.

“There’s no excuse not to use those,” Kirsti said, trying to stifle laughter behind her drink, and I turned to stare at her, open-mouthed with so much surprise that my own older sister could be so raunchy like Bev and Jane. She let out a real laugh then. “Don’t look at me like that! You told me Josh just loves when you give him massages.”

Bev and Jane both broke out into laughter; I dropped the bottles back into the bag. “Okay, yes, he does,” I admitted. “His shoulders get tight, you know.” That just elicited more laughter so I moved onto the next bag, quickly revealing a pair of nipple clamps. I stared at them for a moment before covering my face with my hand, sighing heavily. “Ladies–are you serious?”

“I’m telling ya,” Bev said, leaning into Jane hard, gesturing to me with a very drunk hand that was holding that diabolical glass of wine. “Sub vibes. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“We like it both ways,” I grumbled but when Bev looked way too satisfied with that not entirely accurate answer, I corrected myself. “No one is a sub or a dom! Jeez.” I huffed, shaking my head. “But you know what? I’m gonna ask Josh to try these for real.”

“He’s got a nice rack,” Kirsti said casually and with a little shrug.

Jane tilted her head and nodded in agreement; Bev raised her eyebrows at me, smirking: “See? I was right.”

---

Tagging: @jjwasneverhere @bizzielisteningtogreta @clairesjointshurt @sanguinebats @lightsofthe-living-gvf @starbuggie @sparrowofrhiannon

If you'd like to be tagging in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

#greta van fleet #gvf #gvf fan fiction #josh kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka x reader #jake kiszka #jake gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #sam kiszka #sam gvf #lfs #rfs

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qwerty-between-the-lines · 7 months

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Leo does cooking

Hephaestus TV announcer: Welcome to Chef Leo's Kitchen Antics. We take you live to the kitchen at Camp Half-Blood. Now... here is... Chef Leo Valdez!

(canned applause plays as Leo comes out waving with a grin)

Leo: Welcome back to Chef Leo's. I'm totally fixing you up with tacos, burgers, casseroles, cookies, you name it...

(canned applause)

Leo: Today I'm going to demonstrate how we demigods get meat good and tender. Then we'll be baking a pizza casserole and finishing it off with fresh juice. Now, I have here a couple of steaks. You'll probably want to use a meat mallet, but if you happen to have super strength like us demigods, there is a shorter way.

(Leo pulls tray with steaks in front of him.

Leo: (makes a fist) First, the trick is to think about someone or something who really ticks you off. For me, that's Gaea. Then you want to punch the meat hard, but not so hard it becomes a pancake. Just pretend that your kind of slowly dishing out punishment to your enemies. Like so...

(Leo gives steak three calculated punches in different spots)

Leo: ...and now our steak is tenderized, so let's move on to our juice. I have here some oranges and some pineapples. I recommend doing your oranges first. You can just twist the oranges. Almost like you're wringing them out.

Leo: (wringing out seven oranges in a blender) For me it kind of helps to think about some monster I've fought, and how much I'd like to twist their neck.

Leo: (Leo twisting last orange) We met these wild cyclopes in Detroit once. Every time I think about it, I just wanna, but enough of that.

(Leo grabs pineapple)

Leo: Then for cutting the pineapple, you can use a large cleaving knife, or canned pineapple chunks will also do. Of course, if you were watching a few weeks ago and you ordered Chef Leo's Wonder Slicer, this will be almost effortless for you.

(Leo places pineapple aside)

Leo: (dumping bowl of pineapples in blender) I pre-sliced these just before the show. They're still good and fresh. Our oranges are already juiced, so you only need to run the blender for about fifteen seconds, though I suggest longer. It'll give your juice a nice pureed pineapple texture. Now for our casserole.

(Leo pulls over a casserole dish)

Leo: The fantastic thing about doing pizza this way is you don't have to go through the trouble of making a dough. You can enjoy pizza in a casserole without all those preservatives and fillers you'll get from a restaurant pizza. I'll be doing classic pepperoni, but you can use any of the toppings you'd prefer on a pizza. Now I don't suggest trying some of the things you'll be seeing me do in this segment unless you have fire powers, and you're good at controlling them. First, I'll start with fresh oregano.

(Leo holds hand over oregano)

Leo: The effect we're going for is dry enough to crumble. I kind of have a very light flame going across the palm of my hand, that I'm holding just above the oregano to give it enough heat to dehydrate. I'm being very careful not to set this oregano on fire. You can use a dehydrating oven on a medium low setting, or just use storebought oregano seasoning if that's easier for you.

Leo: Alright, I'm taking my hand away. I give my dehydrated oregano a few forceful, well-aimed karate chops. Kooowah!

Leo: As you can see, the oregano now has a perfect almost powdery texture. I'm going to dump my oregano in this bowl and add in some marinara sauce. I prefer Demeter's Harvest marinara, but you can use whatever you're used to. Add a few pinches of salt. Give your marinara mix a stir and place it aside.

Leo: Again, do not try this at home unless you have well-controlled fire powers.

(Leo sticks his pointer finger into a pot of elbow noodles and water)

Leo: Most of you will probably just want to boil them on a stove. If you have fire powers, you can ignite a flame on the end of the finger that will set them to boiling very quickly, as you can see here. I'm giving them the maximum amount of heat without them scorching or falling apart.

(Leo removes finger)

Leo: I'll just chop up this pepperoni with my Wonder Slicer.

(Knife starts chopping on its own with perfect precision)

Leo: With that done, we want to pour our elbow noodles into the casserole dish first. Then we want to layer that with our marinara blend, which we'll layer with our pepperoni. Finally - we'll add a blend of mozzarella and parmesan to the top. I like to go wild with mine and cover it.

(Leo stretches out hands over dish. Flames begin hitting the top of the casserole)

Leo: You'll want to bake it at 250 degrees for about 10-15 minutes. This will go great with your juice and steak. You'll have a nice satisfying dinner ready to go.

Leo: (smiles) Until I see you again, here on Chef Leo's!

#books #movies #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo hoo toa #leo valdez #demigods #fire #hephaestus #cooking #chef #text post

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deathcupcake · 1 month

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San Antonio and Austin, Texas, February 2024: Food, drink, and museums.

Blanton Museum of Art

Dia De Los Muertos Museum

Black's BBQ

Via 313 (Detroit) Pizza

Tlahco Mexican Kitchen

Weathered Souls

Busted Sandal

Dutch Brothers

Big Red

#san antonio #austin #still life with fennec #still life with rose #still life with cupcake

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griseldabanks · 6 months

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Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Requested by GracielleGrace

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human Characters: Hank and Connor Prompt: "Dude. It's three in the morning."

WARNING: Major spoilers for Connor's storyline under the cut!

Connor stepped up onto the porch and hesitated, finger poised 2.3 centimeters away from the doorbell.

>>RING DOORBELL?

>>DO NOT RING DOORBELL?

He wasn't used to indecision. For his entire existence, the path ahead had been clearly laid out in front of him by his programming and CyberLife's directives. But ever since he had become a deviant, Connor had discovered the terrifying world of choices. He could no longer consult his computer code to determine priorities. Now he had to decide on those for himself.

How did humans manage to face a million choices like this every day without their brains melting? Well, that was why he stood on Hank Anderson's porch, after all.

>>RING DOORBELL – [1 POSSIBLE BRANCH] HANK WILL BE ANGRY

> HANK WILL REFUSE TO SPEAK [12.728% LIKELIHOOD]

> HANK WILL ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION [87.272% LIKELIHOOD]

>>DO NOT RING DOORBELL – [230498596 POSSIBLE BRANCHES]

In the end, perhaps the choice wasn't as hard to make as he'd originally thought. So, after hesitating for 1.84 seconds, Connor pressed the doorbell.

A cacophony of low, booming barks met the loud, grating sound of the doorbell, punctuated by muffled curses and sounds of sleepy protest. A fond smile found its way to Connor's mouth.

Connor could hear the shuffling sounds of Hank stumbling over to the door, then a moment of silence as he peered through the peephole. A muttered curse, the sound of locks clicking, and then the door swung open.

“Dude. It's three in the morning.”

“I apologize for disturbing you at such an hour,” Connor said, falling back on habit and the protocols he'd developed for interacting with Hank. “I can, of course, wait until a more appropriate time....”

“Oh, shut up and get inside,” Hank growled, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him through the door.

As Hank locked the front door again, Connor scanned his surroundings.

>>>MUTED TV (LOCAL NEWS CHANNEL)

>>>EMPTY BEER BOTTLES

>>>HALF-FINISHED PIZZA (PEPPERONI, CHEESE-STUFFED CRUST)

>>>CRUMPLED BLANKET ON COUCH

{CONCLUSION: HANK WAS SLEEPING ON COUCH}

Connor eyed Hank, who was dressed in sweat pants and a stained white T-shirt, yawning as he rubbed his bleary eyes. His heart rate and his bloodshot eyes indicated he hadn't been getting much sleep—but then, that was the way he'd looked the entire time Connor had known him. At least most of the alcohol seemed to have moved through his system by—

A nudge against his leg brought Connor's attention down to Sumo pawing at him. Sinking down to one knee, Connor obligingly ran his fingers through the huge St. Bernard's thick fur.

“Before you get into whatever was so pressing you had to see me,” Hank grumbled, “I'm gonna hit the head.”

“Of course.”

While waiting for Hank, Connor moved into the kitchen. He was relieved to note that the revolver he'd seen the one other time he'd been here was nowhere in sight.

Yes. Relief. Connor analyzed the sensation, putting a name to the innumerable figures and calculations racing through his brain. An assessment of the probable outcomes posed by the presence of the gun, weighed against the branches of possibility that opened up to them now, because of its absence.

A heady thing, emotion. Connor was glad the more logical side of his brain, that had been trying to suppress and hide the deviance for so long, had faded into the background. He...He liked being able to feel. Not just simulating emotions and projecting them, but feeling them. On the inside.

“Something tells me I'm gonna want coffee for this.”

Connor turned towards the familiar grumbling voice. He watched Hank open a cupboard and pull out a mug that said I Can't Fix Stupid, But I Can Arrest It. He emptied a carafe filled with coffee from the coffee maker that analysis indicated had been sitting there for two days, slid the mug into the microwave, and stood rubbing his eyes while the microwave hummed.

“I would like to apologize again for—“

Hank held up a single finger—not the middle one, which probability would have predicted—and stopped Connor mid-sentence.

>>INSIST?

>>WAIT?

Connor folded his hands and chose patience. Not just because it was what his Hank Anderson Protocol indicated, but because he didn't want to bother Hank any more than necessary. If any of this was truly necessary.

Hank pulled out his cup of coffee, took a sip, then grimaced. Anticipating him based on previous trends, Connor produced the sugar from behind a mass of empty beer bottles on the table, and handed it to him as soon as Hank began to look around for it. Instead of thanks, he only gave Connor a grudging sort of grunt.

Once Hank had dumped an unhealthy amount of sugar into his coffee and dragged out a chair to sit at the kitchen table, he sighed and said, “Go ahead and sit down, I guess.”

Connor obliged, perching on the edge of the chair and sitting up straight, while Hank slouched over his steaming mug of coffee. Hank peered up at him through messy strands of grey hair.

“You look weird without the uniform.”

Looking down at himself, Connor considered the emotion speeding through his circuits. Was that...self-consciousness? He wore jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, as well as a wool cap that he could pull down far enough to cover the LED on his temple. “I...I don't work for CyberLife anymore, Lieutenant. I used these when I went undercover to Jericho, so I simply....”

Hank waved a hand dismissively. “Hey, I didn't say you look bad. Just weird. But then, you've always looked weird.”

He wasn't smiling, but Connor zeroed in on the minute shifts in the muscles of Hank's face, the way the folds of skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled, the barely-detectable upturn of his lips. To a stranger, it might mean nothing, but Connor had hours upon hours of reference for this particular man, and he could tell in a nanosecond that, though the words sounded insulting, Hank was happy.

Hank is happy to see me. Connor found himself smiling back. Not a carefully-calculated response intended to elicit a particular outcome. No. Just pure instinct.

With a snort, Hank took another gulp of coffee. “Okay, okay. Are you gonna sit there grinning like an idiot all night, or are you gonna tell me why this couldn't wait till morning?”

“Of course.” Connor pulled up the three versions of this conversation he'd already drafted in his mind...then he took another look at Hank, and deleted them. Spontaneity had always reached him more effectively than anything rehearsed.

Lacing his fingers together, Connor leaned forward and rested his elbows gingerly on the grubby table. “The fact of the matter is, Lieutenant—“

“Hank.”

Connor stopped. None of his calculations had predicted this.

Hank rolled his eyes and downed another gulp of coffee. “Just call me Hank, okay? Easier that way.”

“Very well...Hank.” A flurry of code skimmed through his brain in response to this unexpected shift, but he would have to analyze it later. “As I'm sure you know, negotiations have begun to cede a portion of land to androids to use as a place to live in peace.”

“Yeah, I've been watching the news. Saw your ugly mug a few times,” he added with a faint smirk, “standing next to your leader.”

Connor nodded. “Markus and several delegates have been chosen to go to Washington, D.C., to meet with the President. I will also be part of the delegation.”

With a muttered curse and a chuckle, Hank looked him up and down. “Well, look at you. Just a few days ago, you were chasing down low-lifes with me, and now you're meeting the President herself! Surprised you bothered to come give me the time of day.”

“That's just the thing, Hank,” Connor said slowly. “We leave at 6:00 sharp, but I wanted to speak to you before I leave.”

He began running calculations of Hank's possible responses, the likely outcomes for different things he could say, but then he closed his fists and aborted those calculations before they could be completed. He had already made the decision to come here and ask this question; there was no sense in second-guessing it now.

“I don't know what to do with my life now, Hank. And I wanted to...ask for your advice.”

Eyebrows raised, Hank sat back in his chair. “You're asking me for life advice?” He looked around the room, as if to point out its general lack of order and cleanliness.

But Connor didn't take his eyes off Hank's face. “I was developed as a prototype investigator by CyberLife. I was assigned to investigate cases of android deviants with you. My mission, my sole purpose in life, was to put an end to deviancy and protect CyberLife and its assets. But then...look what happened.” He opened his hands and looked at them, though of course there were no visible differences between him and a Connor model fresh off the assembly line. “Now I'm a deviant.”

“Well, it sounds like you've got your work cut out for you, setting up the new android state or whatever. So what's the holdup?”

Connor frowned, his mind running down the same pathways he'd been mulling over for the past few days. “That's a job for politicians. Leaders. Visionaries, like Markus. I know the reason I was chosen for the delegation was primarily that I have specialized programming that will help me protect the others. Androids programmed for housekeeping or medical care will not be prepared for potential snipers, after all.”

Hank swirled the last of his coffee around his cup. “But you're not just a security android, either. You worried about what you'll do after you get back?”

“I was designed to be a detective,” Connor said quietly, “and I know I'm not bound by my design anymore, but....”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

Connor searched himself, but all he found was a mess of 1's and 0's, an endless labyrinth of code that led nowhere. “I...I don't know.”

“Okay. I know you haven't exactly been alive that long, but when were you the happiest? What were you doing? Where were you?” Hank raised his mug to drain it.

It took approximately 0.000001 seconds to retrieve the memory. “In the Eden Club.”

Hank choked on his coffee. Connor immediately got to his feet and slapped his hand against Hank's back with carefully modulated force to dislodge anything caught in his windpipe.

When he had control over his breathing again, Hank looked up at Connor with streaming eyes. “The Eden Club? Seriously?”

“Yes,” Connor said, trying to understand such an emotional reaction to his words. “Investigating the scene of the crime...tracking down the deviants...both of our skills complementing each other...it was quite...fulfilling.”

Hank gave him a look Connor interpreted as 'unimpressed.' “And the half-naked androids pole-dancing right in front of you had nothing to do with it.”

The clues clicked together in Connor's mind, and he finally understood. “Physical attraction and sexual acts were not part of my programming, Hank,” he said, taking his seat again. “Such things would distract me from my mission. Though I suppose I could learn....”

“Never mind,” Hank said sharply, holding up a hand to stop him. “Forget I asked. So what you're saying is you like murder investigations.”

“It's what I was made for, and it's where my skills lie,” Connor said, nodding. “But...more than that...I enjoyed investigating them with a partner. I've carried out investigations on my own, but...they were always more satisfactory when I was with you.”

Connor wasn't sure he understood the expression on Hank's face. He looked...pleased and displeased at the same time. Perhaps he was trying to pretend he didn't have a small smile on his face, though it was plain to see. Human emotions could be very complicated sometimes.

“I think...I would like to continue investigating crimes,” Connor said slowly. “And...I would like to be your partner.”

Hank grunted. “Well, I doubt Detroit PD would even look at your resume, after everything that's happened. Maybe androids like you will take over all our jobs eventually, but it ain't gonna happen anytime soon.”

“Yes.” Connor nodded, mind whirring away at the problem. “Overall, the tide of public opinion has been turning in favor of androids in light of our non-violent protest...but there are still many people who fear or even hate androids.”

“Some of them might change their minds,” Hank said quietly.

Connor's mental circuits brought up a memory dated only a few days ago. The day he'd infiltrated CyberLife, and Hank had recognized him for who he was, even alongside a non-deviant Connor who looked identical to him. The man who hated androids, looking into his eyes and seeing the humanity there.

“Some won't,” Connor said. “I fear the rate of crimes against androids will rise exponentially, particularly before laws are put in place and enforced.”

Hank leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Even though he didn't have an LED indicating his mind processing what Connor had said, he thought he could almost see Hank's thoughts ticking away behind his eyes. “Sounds like you folks need law enforcement of your own.”

“Indeed.” Their eyes met, and Connor smiled. He could be wrong, but he thought perhaps their thoughts ran along the same lines. “Perhaps that's where my future lies.”

Hank nodded, acting nonchalant though another wry smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Sounds like a good place to start. But you know...you're a prototype. There aren't a whole lot of other Connors out there, and who's to say they'd all want to be detectives too, when you give them that choice? So it's going to take you a while to get this android police force off the ground.”

“And in the meantime,” Connor finished for him, “I'll need some help to manage the caseload.”

Hank's half-smile turned into a full grin. “You wouldn't happen to be accepting job applications from humans, would you?”

“You know, Hank, I just might.”

#let me count the ways #ask games #detroit: become human #hank anderson #connor #deviant!connor #post-game #this one took quite a while to write because i was trying to figure out how to write from the pov of a machine #and it ended up being the longest of all of these so far as a result #also it was tricky figuring out how to write my way around all the profanity that should be peppering hank's speech #hopefully not too ooc! ^^'

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sasquapossum · 1 year

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Gotta say, we’re eating well around here since I took over the kitchen. (Not by choice BTW.) Here are some of my specialties.

Parmesan crusted fish (originally sole, but I like tilapia better; it’s also cheaper and AFAIK more ecologically correct). We call it “feesh” for some reason.

My finally-perfected “Milwaukee style” pizza (Detroit style with curds instead of traditional “brick” cheese, and sometimes kielbasa).

Awesome Chowder (chicken, bacon, corn).

Various roasted vegetables. Parsnips are better than you think. Yesterday I ate four-day-old roasted Brussels sprouts and they were delicious.

Salad or slaw with my Asian-inspired dressing (if you’ve been to Starbird Chicken you know the one) and cashews.

There’s also a rotating list of dishes that are either inherently less special, or that I haven’t developed to the same level. Still working on the perfect brisket, for example. Tonight we had “beanie weenie” which is a pretty boring “white people food” kind of thing usually, but gets a lot more interesting with real onion (Vidalia, fully cooked) and leftover double-smoked bacon. And of course some locally sourced anadama bread to go with it.

In related news, I wonder why my weight keeps creeping up.

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toarmina-pizza · 2 years

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d3mon-ology · 8 months

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On Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah and Finding Roaches in Your Apartment During a Black-Out:

This is the third time this year I have lost power for multiple days. For all of Metro-Detroit, our energy is serviced by a singular company: DTE Energy. As of August 25th, their stock prices went up by 0.47%. Their yearly revenue is approximately 19 million dollars. This summer, they decided to raise their rates. There is no other choice for us — it is DTE or bust. We were still vocal about the hike in prices, commenting on the proposal’s official posting, You want to raise our bills because you’ve already fixed our infrastructure? Then why did I spend almost a week without power this February? Or something of a similar rhetoric. This summer, some people reported that they began paying 4-digit monthly bills. Personally, my bill jumped from $50 to $170.

For those who do not live in Michigan, please know our summer has been the mildest and weirdest one I’ve experienced. It is August, typically the hottest, most humid time of year, and it has been overcast, wet, and cold, like it is November already. The past two days have brought us terrifying, violent storms where lightning cracked. I thought we’d lose power that first night. Instead, it was the strip of apartments facing ours. I remembered thinking, Finally! This winter, my strip of apartments lost power first and was fixed last. I thought it fair, almost, that they lost power and we got to keep ours. Our neighborhood, clearly zoned for low-income housing and apartments, was always the last to get power back, but instead of paranoia about this resonating me, it was the idea that DTE chose to bless the other apartments. As though a couple hundred dollars in rent per month was the determining factor of who deserved heat in the winter or light in the summer.

So I rejoice our luck — we got to keep our light, our air. Until yesterday morning, when I woke in a sticky sweat to silence and a depthless black. Having always been afraid of the dark, I scrambled for my phone. I tried my lamp, though I knew exactly what had happened. I got up to look out the window at the rain, and I grumbled at the sight of the other strip’s twinkling porch lights. I couldn’t help but resent them, which my neighbor noted later when she lent me her flashlight.

I reported our outage on my DTE app. I tried to go back to bed, but I am in the midst my biannual, irrational fear that mice and cockroaches were infesting my kitchen. Making homes out of my stove or the empty pizza box we left out because we didn’t want to throw it out in the rain. The pitch black only worsened this, so I waited for the sun to rise with my phone’s flash light on and my battery draining. It occurred to me then how soft and plushy I was, how I would not survive long without the accoutrements of my life. Or maybe I would, I thought, and I would have to just get over myself. Become a heroine of my own design.

So my mind wandered in the early morning, looking out for the first sign of light. Eventually, before I fell asleep, I thought of the book assigned for this semester’s course: Americanah by Chimamanda Adichie.

The lives of Ifemelu and Obinze have been eye-opening and a delight to read. Their romance was, in my opinion, a bit spottily rendered, but I didn’t care about their romance. I enjoyed Ifemelu’s portrayal. Adichie avoided a pitfall many Western authors, even the most bra-burning, Bechtel-testing, still fall prey to: the madonna-whore complex. Ife was a woman who was sexual, who had desires beyond men but who saw them as another delight in the wealth of life’s bounty. Following her middle-class Nigerian life and her immigration to America and then return home, I thought Ife so refreshing to read, relatable but also wholly unique in her perspective. She was human, but there was also something a bit invincible about her. It was not that she was able to overcome anything, but rather that she never once wallowed in her weakness. She found something else to sustain her, and I admired that quality. It made her my favorite character, honestly. Reading her story was like reading the life story of a family friend you considered an older, more enlightened aunt who had traveled the world and treated you like a sister.

In particular, she was unfazed by roaches during her first night in Brooklyn, noting that if she had been at home in Lagos she would’ve gotten the broom and killed the fucker without much thought at all. But she didn’t, claiming this American roach as different, as though the weight of a new country had softened that brazen edge to her.

This moment in the book came to me when I finally gave up on sleep. I dressed in the dark, and I decided I was going to drive around. My phone was nearly a corpse, and frankly, I just wanted to sit somewhere and watch my Webkinz iceberg video in peace. I didn’t want to think about mice scratching to escape my pillowcase, roaches emerging from under my sink, or bed bugs, which my coworker recently got and who I, selfishly, worried had given them to me. More so, I was tired of that unhinged feeling that repeated intrusive thoughts instills in me. Like if I did see any of these things, I would be hallucinating, and it would go beyond just idle superstition into a territory where in-patient seems mighty necessary.

So needless to say, I lost it when I walked into my kitchen and saw a cockroach, grasping a small crumb in between his pinchers. He’d just left the pizza box and was ambling across the floor. Much like Ifemelu, I did not kill it. Unlike her, it was not because I felt defeated or so out of place that to interact with my environment felt sinfully wrong. It was because I had never had to. Despite my history of infestations, roaches had never actually crossed from the ephemeral into the real.

Aristotle, who I fucking hate but has a few things of real merit, said that wisdom comes from experience. That’s why it is so valuable in learning virtue. Having lived on my own at 17, half homeless and without any adult supervision, I have grown to see adulthood as a list of first experiences that are necessary but ultimately shift one’s paradigm with each “first.” When I totaled my first car, I learned the wisdom of not leaving your car in the impound lot for five days, of how it is okay to trust scrappers on occasion when they are sweet boys who give you an extra hundred because they recognized struggle and pitied it when they saw it, and of getting back into a car after you realize how fucking stupid you and other drivers are. Dealing with roaches is another one of those “first” experiences, accompanied by a growth spurt, but much like totaling my car, it’s not one I want to learn how to overcome.

So I panicked. I woke up my partner, told him to come quick, annoyed when it took him a minute to clamber up. By the time he followed me into our small kitchen, the roach was gone. This was when I burst into tears, feeling all the weight of the past 48 hours — the sleeplessness, Ifem’s first days submerged in Americanah, the weeks of paranoia that had crescendoed to a singular moment that confirmed all my worst fears. I had felt inspired by Ifemelu’s resilience, balmed by her depression in those first few American months. Adjusting to a new country and being an adult are such disparate experiences that the Venn diagram between them is two circles, but it is a testament to Adichie’s writing that I found connections nonetheless. Learning the nuances of American English follows the same structure of learning a new “first”: you learn by a series of experiences. I calm down, I stop crying, and I think with hope and dread that this is life. After all, Ifemelu has to relearn the nuances of Lagos life after returning to Nigeria. And the same applies to each reoccurrence of a “first.” Life is a series of wisdoms being gained, and I think this is why I admired Ifemelu’s resilience.

So I look at the roach’s mangled body. I hug my partner, tell him we’re getting a closed-top garbage can tomorrow. “Some spray, too,” I add. I put down some diatomaceous earth. I turn off the flash light, and I watch the window. The sun comes up, and I go to sleep.

#tw // talks of bugs #personal.#real random but I’m exhausted so forgive me.

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motownfiction · 9 months

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red flag

In hindsight, the professor’s love for The Rolling Stones should have been a red flag. But Lucy wasn’t looking for red flags. She was looking for an advisor.

She didn’t realize how tough it was going to be to find an advisor in New York. She’d taken her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in metro Detroit, around where her parents worked, and wherever she went, someone had heard of John and Mary Callaghan. Of course they wanted to work with John and Mary’s daughter. Surely she must be brilliant in her own way.

But that was Detroit. In Manhattan, the names John and Mary Callaghan don’t mean anything. Lucy’s on her own, a stranger amongst the concrete, and she doesn’t know where to begin.

Until she meets the professor.

She’s another woman, probably less than twenty years older than Lucy herself, and she’s cool. She wears a leather jacket, dyed her hair purple once just to say she did, and listens to mostly very cool music (apart from The Rolling Stones, but no one is perfect). She reminds Lucy of Annie Potts in Pretty in Pink. Eccentric, interesting, an excellent mentor. It’s a little too soon for Lucy to ask the professor to be her advisor – a little too soon for Lucy to even be thinking about her dissertation, just a semester into her Ph.D. program – but she’s pretty sure she’ll do it when the semester is over. If they can always have those exhilarating conversations about Chodorow, then Lucy’s pretty sure she’ll be happy forever.

That’s what happiness is, she thinks. Enlightened theoretical conversation.

So, she spends that semester doing exactly that. She reads with a fine-toothed comb to impress the professor – to always have something to say. And she does. The professor always engages Lucy’s work more than anyone else’s in the class. She always uses Lucy’s work as an example of great graduate-level writing, great textual analysis, great understanding of cultural theory. They can spend hours in the professor’s office, laughing at Freud’s absurdities and wondering whether he ever truly had a point. Will jokes that Lucy now prefers the professor to him. He’s wrong, of course. But with the professor, Lucy feels like New York can really be their home. It doesn’t feel like Baudrillard’s nightmares anymore. It feels like a real place where she lives, and she doesn’t have to be afraid of it anymore.

And then Lucy turns in her final essay of the semester.

It’s a psychoanalytical reading of My Cousin Rachel. Of course it is. There’s a semi-incestuous love triangle in that book. What is Lucy supposed to do? Ignore it? She writes the paper feverishly. She pours her heart into it. She doesn’t wash her hair for two days in a row. And when it’s done, the professor tells her it’s terrible. Snobbish. Pretentious. A little bit rude in parts.

She tells Lucy that she’s always been that way. That she was never a good writer. That she never had any good ideas. That if she wanted to pack up and withdraw from the program now, it would be OK. Her daughter would probably be thankful for it.

You spend so much time talking about your daughter, the professor said, as though it was a bad thing. Then again, of course she thinks so. She was “smart enough” not to have children, as she mentioned to Lucy about five seconds before learning she’d been a teen mother.

Lucy nods the whole way through. She thanks the professor for her time (one last stupid, useless kowtow to someone who never cared) and heads for the closest slice of pizza. She doesn’t even care if it’s shitty pizza. She just needs it.

She sits down, and before she can bite into the slice, she hears it. It’s quiet on the kitchen radio, but she hears it.

I’ll never be your beast of burden / My back is broad, but it’s a-hurtin’ …

And at first, Lucy doesn’t think about the professor who just told her she was dumb without ever using the word dumb. She thinks about Steph Armstrong, around eleven or twelve, listening to this song in the parking lot of St. Catherine’s, getting the words wrong. She told Sam, “I’ll never be your pizza burger!” and they all laughed for years. Hell, it makes Lucy laugh now, all the way into the 90s.

But then, she remembers she’s not home. And New York isn’t quite so safe when someone thinks you’re too stupid to be in it.

That’s when Lucy finds herself weeping over a slice of pizza in New York City.

She’s so upset she doesn’t even care if people see.

(part of @nosebleedclub july challenge -- day viii!)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: lucy callaghan #year: 1992

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