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madeofitzits · 4 years

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In honor of the impending return of Brooklyn 99, here are 99 reasons that...

1. He was precocious enough to know, at 5 years old, that he wanted to change his name (x)

2. He has a bunch of nicknames: Sandy Amberg, Young Sandwich, etc. but the most endearing one is 'Droidy', his family's name for him (x)

3. He is still super close friends with people he's known since: Elementary School (Chelsea Peretti) (x)...

4. Junior High/High School (Kiv and Jorm) (x)

5. … Summer Camp (Irene Neuwirth) (x)

7. ...and Film School (Chester Tam) (x)

8. Before he met Joanna, he dated other famous ladies but - out of respect - he never discussed it/them (x)

9. He loves turtles and tortoises. When he was a kid, he had a pet turtle that he named 'Squirt' because the first time he held it, it peed on him. His Mom, Margie, accidentally killed Squirt when Andy was at Summer camp... (x)

10. … Maybe this is why, when shooting 'Popstar', Andy fell hard for Maximus (Conner 4 Real's turtle). He says they "had a good thing going" and that he wanted to adopt him. In the end, he decided against it because there are a bunch of coyotes in his neighborhood and he was worried the little guy wouldn't be safe. (Popstar: DVD Commentary)

11. Speaking of his Mom, despite being a super private person, he appeared on 'Finding your Roots' so that he could help her track down her birth family (x)

12. When he succeeded he cried (although we never got to see it on camera) (x)

13. That's because, like all good boys, he loves his Mama which is why - as part of the same episode - he said "My mom is basically the kindest person I know… and many people would corroborate that" (x)

14. Andy's Sisters, Hannie (Johanna) and Darrow, used to make him wear diapers and put his hair in pigtails until he was 5 years old. He says he didn't mind because he just liked that they were paying attention to him (x)

15. That's why he sees his identity in comedy as being 'America's kid brother'. When he was young, he would annoy his sisters until they laughed and he claims to have been replicating that approach to entertainment ever since

16. Although a bunch of his characters have 'Daddy Issues', Andy definitely doesn't. He's super close with his Papa (Joe) and has said "he's a good man" and "the best Dad in the world" (x)

17. Joe was Andy's youth soccer coach and in one scene in 'Hot Rod', Joe's favorite photograph can be seen in the background. It shows a very young Andy posing with a soccer ball, after "scoring the winning goal against Mersey" (x)

18. He's been a loyal Golden State Warriors fan since he was a little kid, living in Oakland (then Berkeley) and, in 2010, he correctly predicted that they would "win a Championship in my lifetime" (x)

19. The proceeds from his Umami Burger ('The Samburger') went to a deafness early detection program in Berkeley. This cause is close to his heart because Margie uses hearing aids and used to work in the special needs program, teaching deaf kids (x)

20. He, Kiv, and Jorm have made multiple donations to their old school district, including $250 000 to its theater program (x)

21. On the subject of The Lonely Island; Andy always goes out of his way to make sure that everyone knows how much he owes to his buddies. For instance, he told Marc Maron, during his WTF appearance, that "I get a lot of credit for what Kiv and Jorm have done" (x)

22. He makes this face when he knows he’s said something naughty…

(Gif credit: @andrewsambags)

23. During his 'Wild Horses' appearance, he said that he can't watch scary movies because they freak him out too much. He told 'Complex' that he's still scared of 'The Shining' (x)...

24. … Similarly, when he was at UC Santa Cruz he worked at the Del Mar movie theater and he had a hard time coping with screenings of 'Species 2' (x)

25. He fell in love with Joanna, the moment he met her, when she greeted him by addressing him as 'Steve the C**t' (x)

26. He listened to 'Ys', everyday for a year, before he and Joanna started dating (x)

27. He bought the original portrait that was used as the basis of the cover art for 'Ys' and gave it to Joanna as a Christmas present, so that she could hang it in her music room (x)

28. He loves birds and goes hiking and birding with Joanna (x)

29. Every new comment he makes about Joanna becomes an instant contender for 'most beautiful thing a person has ever said about their spouse' (x)

30. For example, he readily admits that Jake's iconic heart eyes are the result of him thinking about his amazing wife (x)

31. There are many stories about how incredibly romantic Andy and Joanna's wedding was and Jorm has said that it featured "the most magical vows I've ever heard" (x)

32. The Newsombergs now live in Charlie Chaplin's old house (x)

33. On the Emmys Red Carpet (2015), the year he hosted, they took a momentary break from posing for the world's press to whisper 'I love you' to each other (x)

34. At last year's Vanity Fair party, Andy carried Joanna's purse for her so she could grab a snack (x)

35. He was a semi-permanent fixture in the audience for her recent run of shows for the 'Strings/Keys Incident' tour, even officially confirming his status as the 'President of her Fan Club' (x)

36. He used his Golden Globes monologue to call out the government for framing and murdering the Black Panthers (x)

37. On the Carpet for the Guy's Choice Awards, he called the event "a ridiculous farce", adding that "men already have it so easy - it's insane that there's a show that celebrates them". That makes sense when you consider that he, Kiv and Jorm have made an entire career out of parodying toxic masculinity (x)

38. He once said that only "idiot-ass men" think that women aren't funny (x)

39. He’s been wearing glasses since 7th Grade and he has the most heartbreakingly cute habit of nudging them up his nose, (especially when he wears his Sol Moscot frames) (x)...

40. ... and of rubbing his eyes under them (x)

41. He barely ever wears glasses for roles but he also avoids contacts (because he doesn't like touching his eyeballs) which means he's almost always 'acting blind' (x)

42. He has worn his glasses in character a few times - as 'himself' ('Lady Dynamite'), as 'Paul' ('I Think You Should Leave') and during a very small number of SNL sketches (e.g. during his one appearance in a 'Gilly' with Kristen Wiig) (x)

43. He can't tolerate glare and when that makes him squint it's a sight that's too cute for words (x)

44. He owns about six outfits and has been rotating them for well over a decade (x)

45. He barely ever breaks during shooting/while performing, so when he does it's aggressively adorable. (x), (x)

46. He's a grown ass man who persuades people to come with him to the bathroom because if he goes by himself he'll get lonely (x)

47. He didn't announce he was leaving SNL, until after his last appearance, selflessly choosing not to detract from Kirsten Wiig's huge and emotional send-off (x)

48. He undertook a quest to smell like Lorne Michaels (x)

49. He's ageing like a fine wine (x)

50. To protect their daughter's privacy, Andy and Joanna never announced that they were expecting. They've never released their little girl's name or date of birth and most news outlets still report that they became parents in August 2017 (even though that's inaccurate) (x)

51. Although he's careful not to talk about his daughter often, sometimes he can't keep from gushing about her. For example, when asked about his first year of fatherhood he said: "It’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Just like a beautiful, incredible dream. It has surpassed every expectation I ever had. It’s definitely been very blissful" (x)

52. After their daughter was born, Andy and Joanna spent the first 40 days at home with her (in a practice known as 'confinement'). He's described it as being "a really special time". (x)

53. Andy is famously mild-mannered but, when asked about what triggers his 'Dad claws', he admitted that if anyone attempted to touch his daughter, without permission, he'd "probably sock them hard in the face"…

54. ...Characteristically, he went on to add that he hopes that never happens, since he hasn't been in a fight since 6th Grade (x)

55. Cyndi Lauper was his first celebrity crush and he plays her record ('She's so unusual') for his daughter all the time. (x)

56. His is the very definition of a precious laugh (x)...

57. It's made even more wonderful by the way it makes his voice go high-pitched (x)

58. … and the way it causes his eyebrow to rise involuntarily

59. It's impossible not to smile at his impression of his Mom (x)

60. And laugh at his impression of John Mulaney (x)

61. He was so convinced he wouldn't win the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical, that he didn't prepare a speech. Instead, as he explained to David Letterman, he "just went… and started drinking". The resulting list of improvised 'thank yous' was perfect in every way (x)

62. As producers, Andy, Kiv and Jorm have given life to some amazing projects ('Alone Together', 'Brigsby Bear', 'I Think You Should Leave')...

63. … and gone out of their way to support women in comedy ('Party Over Here', 'PEN15') (x)

64. As well as being a comedy legend, he's a super-talented dramatic actor, who gave the performance of a lifetime in 'Celeste and Jesse Forever' but, after the movie wrapped, and it was time to do press for it, he was straight back to goofing around (x)

65. His lip bite should be illegal (x)

66. Even though he wears the same vanishingly small number of outfits, over and over, he has a vast collection of the most excellent socks (x)

67. He always gives 'editing notes' during his own interviews (x)

68. He has a super sweet and sincere way of thanking interviewers when they compliment him (x)

69. He adjusts his hoodie constantly (x)

70. The two most perfect Jake laughs in b99 are actually real Andy laughs 'https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=W38A_xuXaeg https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sVm9nYrTWRQ

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71. Virtually everyone who has ever worked with Andy has talked about what a wonderful person he is. This explains why so many of them have been involved with more than one of his projects (x)

72. It's not only his colleagues who talk about what a delight he is (x), (x)

73. This lovestruck fool wore his own wife's merch when he went out to dinner (x)

74. No one else uses the word 'dinky' quite like Andy (x). The same goes for 'snacky' (see point 70)

75. He does this with his tongue (x)

76. He still likes to play soccer but his eyesight is so bad that he has to keep his glasses on for it

77. When he lets his gorgeous floofy hair grow a little it sits perfectly over the arms of his glasses (x)

78. He gifted the world with Jakey's little curl (x)

79. At the James Franco Roast, he couldn't bring himself to be mean to anyone except himself (and Jeff Ross, a little!) (x)

80. In fact, he's always been willing to laugh at himself (x) and he still is (x)

81. He changes b99 scripts to make them more feminist (x)

82. Despite their humble insistence that they just benefited from 'good timing', the reality is that Andy, Kiv and Jorm (along with Chris Parnell) revolutionized digital media, when 'Lazy Sunday' popularized YouTube, increasing its traffic by 85% overnight (x)

83. He once attended the Vanity Fair party because his Mom told him to (x)

84. He has an amazing way of subtly but firmly shutting down inappropriate questions, like when this interviewer suggested that Holt being gay was something that could have been played for laughs https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=idQsYQfkR5o

85. He auditioned for SNL at the same time as Bill Hader. Hader thought he'd blown it because Andy had a bunch of props and Bill had none. In the meantime, Andy thought he'd blown it when he saw Hader and realized 'this guy doesn't need any props' (x)

86. His bromance with Seth Meyers is one for the ages (x)

87. Every single second of this video is proof of why Andy, Kiv and Jorm deserve the world (x)

88. He once dragged Mulaney up on stage for SNL Goodnights, even though writers weren't allowed to join in (x)

89. He has a hilarious phobia of pooping anywhere except his own bathroom (x)

90. His beautiful, beautiful, face: His smile (radiant), his eyes (caramel - hella disarming), his ears (adorably asymmetrical), his nose (perfect), His chin (the dimple… *swoon*), his jaw (could cut glass), The 'Sambeard' (another amazing layer of pretty) (x)

91. His body: His butt (x), his thighs, (x) his soft lil tummy (The ‘Sambelly’) (x), his hands. (x), his arms (x), his hips…

(Gif credit: @amystiago /@badpostandy on Twitter)

92. All signs point to the fact that, like Jake, Andy uses his glasses case as a wallet (x)

93. Jake's "cool-cool-cool-cool-cool-cool" is an irl Andy-ism that the writers worked into b99 scripts. What's even better is that Joanna does it, too (x)

94. He has a really good arm and is low key competitive, which is super hot https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e32K_nBDy3Q

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95. He's one half of the cutest Red Carpet pose of all time (x)

96. He barely ever seems to get mad but if angry Jake is anything to go by, maybe he should... (x)

97. He's a huge nerd, who geeks out over GOT, LOTR, 'Star Wars', 'Alien(s)' and anything relating to time travel (x), (x)

98. He has a gorgeous speaking voice, especially when he’s tired or a little sick. (Bonus points for any time he uses the word ‘correct’. See point 30) (x)

99. He’s still so committed to his b99 fans and fam, even after all this time and is as excited as the rest of us that...

#99 reasons to love #andy samberg #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #a masterpost for the best boy there is

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thebreakfastgenie · 4 years

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Food In Star Trek

I have an inordinate number of thoughts about this so I decided to collect them here. Maybe someone will be interested.

There are no replicators in TOS.

Replicators were invented sometime in the decades between TOS an TNG. Technically this is contradicted by the presence of replicators in Discovery, but it’s clearly a mistake on the part of the Discovery writers, and it can be hand-waved as the prototypes being tested on the ultra-advanced USS Discovery and subsequently lost along with other experimental technology like the spore drive.

Instead of replicators TOS has the somewhat less advanced food synthesizers. Food synthesizers are programmed using cards, as seen in “And The Children Shall Lead.” The food eaten on the Enterprise suggests the synthesized food is more limited in both quality and variety than replicated food. In “Charlie X,” Kirk has a conversation with a cook about “synthetic meatloaf,” suggesting that producing synthesized food in mass quantities may also require some level of time and attention (whereas something simple like a chicken sandwich and coffee in “The Trouble With Tribbles” can be easily and readily dispensed). Also, sometimes the food comes out in the form of little multi-colored cubes.

It’s unclear how often food synthesizers are used outside of starships. Non-synthesized food is demonstrated to be widely available on planets and space stations. Some colonies still rely on agriculture, according to the discussion of grain in “The Trouble With Tribbles.” Additionally, Kirk’s friend Tom Leighton claims to have made a scientific breakthrough that could end starvation in “The Conscience of the King,” suggesting this is a more complex matter than simply distributing synthesizers. This may be because synthesizers require a significant amount of energy.

The exact differences between synthesizers and replicators is open to speculation. I believe synthesizers may require some amount of “raw material” in some form, but matter, rather than energy. However, it is also possible synthesizers are essentially early replicators limited to a few pre-programmed options, stored on the cards.

Replicators require significant amounts of energy.

Replicators are a development of transporter technology. They function by converting energy into matter, using the form of matter specified by the user, e.g. “tea, earl grey, hot.” They need energy to operate as well as the energy that is converted into matter, which could be a substantial amount. Voyager establishes that the energy cost of unrestricted replicator use is very great, forcing the crew to institute rations and rely on Neelix’s food when their access to energy sources is limited. Replicators are not truly unlimited, in that they rely on a steady source of energy. A damaged ship or a ship stranded in the Delta Quadrant, or perhaps a colony with limited infrastructure, cannot rely on replicators alone. Starfleet also issues field rations. These rations are likely replicated, but are made prior to missions, rather than supplying an away team with a portable replicator. This could suggest that replicators must be at least a certain size, or that a sufficient portable energy source does not exist.

Non-replicated food

One of the most interesting aspects of food in Star Trek is that, even when unlimited replicator use is available, some people still choose to eat non-replicated food. However, some of this food is made with replicated ingredients. It appears that cooking is fairly popular, for clear social and recreational reasons. During a conversation in an episode of TNG, Keiko expresses surprise not that Miles O’Brien’s mother cooks, but that she uses “real meat.” I believe several episodes imply that by the 24th century, most meat in the Federation is replicated, though sometimes is replicated raw and cooked. I suspect plant-based ingredients are more likely to be non-replicated but I have no textual evidence of this.

Sisko mentions on a few occasions that his father, who owns and operates a restaurant, prefers to use fresh, non-replicated ingredients. Interestingly, not all restaurants do this: Quark’s serves almost exclusively replicated food (though the alcohol is more complicated). Various characters on Star Trek profess to taste a difference between replicated and non-replicated food, and I believe they do. Replicators are incredibly precise devices that match the molecular structure of items. A person could, theoretically, make a perfect recreation of a dish they had cooked by programming the exact patterns from that dish into the replicator. But cooking is unpredictable, with a slight but almost certain variation in molecular structure each time a dish is prepared, even if the exact same recipe is followed. Using non-replicated ingredients adds an additional level of unpredictability. Non-replicated food may not necessarily be “better” but there is a real chemical difference, in addition to the psychological and social differences inherent to the experience of eating non-replicated food.

Restaurants in the age of replicators

The existence of restaurants is absolutely fascinating. Sisko’s in New Orleans obviously provides food prepared by Joseph Sisko. But Quark’s serves replicated food. Starfleet officers living on Deep Space Nine are shown to have replicators in their quarters. Do civilians have them as well? If so, why are they paying Quark for food? Perhaps Quark has proprietary recipes--custom replicator patterns that cannot be easily recreated (anything can theoretically be recreated if the correct pattern is guessed). The Klingon restaurant on the Promenade may be the same way, as Federation replicators may not come with a wide variety of Klingon dishes pre-programmed, and Federation citizens may not know how to create the patterns.

Replicators are not idiot proof!

It’s still possible to get bad food out of a replicator. Ultimately replicators are computers, which means they require the correct commands in order to give the desired results. Tom Paris becomes frustrated in one of the first episodes of Voyager because, despite offering several varieties of tomato soup, the replicator produces soup he doesn’t like. Perhaps if he had been more specific he would have been more satisfied. There is an absolutely maddening variation in the level of specificity used in replicator commands. From “tea, earl grey, hot” to “coffee, double strong double sweet” to people requesting water at specific degrees celsius. One can safely assume that personal replicators can be programmed to recognize consistent shorthand for regular orders, but many of these various commands are given to replicators in public areas or by guests. Presumably replicators will default to a certain version of an item if details are not specified and are also shown to sometimes request additional clarification. There is certainly room for people to create their own unique recipes by making specific requests of a replicator without physically cooking, leading to either good or bad results.

Alcohol

Alcohol can be replicated, as shown in Up The Long Ladder. Presumably restrictions can be placed on this function. However, most of the drinks at 10 Forward are apparently synthehol, which does not induce intoxication (though Guninan does have real alcohol). Apparently synthehol is basically futuristic non-alcoholic beer and distinct from replicated alcohol. I believe the drinks at Quark’s are truly alcohol, though he could probably reduce synthehol if requested. It’s unclear if all forms of alcohol can be replicated, as Quark mentions stocking up on kanar for the Cardassians, and a ban on Romulan ale would be difficult if it could be replicated. (There would be some barriers to replication such as reverse-engineering the replicator pattern, and restrictions could be put in place to prevent replicators from dispensing it, but I imagine these could be fairly easily circumvented).

All in all, food in Star Trek is complicated and very interesting, at least to me.

#star trek #comments welcome

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isoscele · 4 years

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Told you it’d be sporadic. Have an entirely unedited entry for @lumberjanesweek Day Four- AU Day.

*jazz hands* Roanokes in spaceeeeeee!

Once the airlock is securely shut and the crew has been shuttled off to bed in varying states of complaining exhaustion, Jen whirls on Abigail. “Are you out of your mind?”

Abigail looks like the kind of person whose picture was all over the slideshows in Academy lectures. The horror story--what happens when the siren call of deep space gets strong enough to feel in the backs of your teeth, when you let it take you over. Abigail is waxy from years without any kind of sunlight, whittled out by a lack of light or consistent circadian rhythms. The bags under her eyes have their own gravities.

“No one told me they were kids,” Abigail says. Her first words since the safety lock failed. The replicator poured her a thermos of tasteless coffee, but her hands are shaking too bad to hold it. “Rosie didn’t--I thought--”

“You know Rosie?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Another sign of spacesickness: her gaze, flitting all around the cramped cabin, unable to rest for more than a few seconds. Scanning for exits.

Jen sighs, and digs in the icebox for something to do with her hands. “My crew is . . . unorthodox.” She has to choose her words carefully. “Sometimes I wish things were different. But you endangered every one of my girls, and you endangered me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Abigail says. “I just--it has to die. Jen? It can’t hurt anyone else.”

Jen just wants to go to bed. “The protocol for unrecorded extraterrestrial beings requires a committee of seasoned graduates to attempt communication. What you did today could get you locked up for the rest of your life.”

“It hurts people,” Abigail says. “We don’t have time for that bureaucratic bullsh--bull poop, sorry.”

“I’m seventeen,” Jen says, biting down on the familiar exhausted urge to break into laughter. “You can curse around me.”

“The teenage captain of the child crew,” Abigail says quietly. She tries to take a sip of the coffee, winces at the heat. “Jen, is this an adventure story or a tragedy?”

Jen rolls the word tragedy around the edges of her tongue. Abigail, shaky-handed, in Jen’s cockpit, looking for all the world like someone who’s already been chewed up by too many black holes to name. Jen wasn’t supposed to graduate from the Academy for another three years. Most people don’t ask, when they talk to her. “I guess it depends who you ask.”

“Let me guess,” Abigail says. “You tell me if I’m getting it right. Okay?” Without waiting for Jen’s response, she plunges into what is clearly a well-worn narrative. “You’re top of your class at the Academy, but they’ve been pushing back your actual missions for months for reasons you can’t get anyone to tell you. Someone--maybe a friend of a friend, a mentor, even Rosie herself--suggests that you’d be the perfect candidate for the Qiunzella Program, and you sign up because you need the flight hours and it’s not like you’ve got anything else going on. You’re given a skeleton crew of enthusiastic kids whose parents wanted them to have the experience of living on a real certified ship, even if it is the worst bucket of bolts they could find in the hangar. You follow all the programming, meet up three times a day for activities with other ships, keep a constant line of communication with Rosie, and stay well within your boundaries.”

Abigail leans back in her chair, managing to look composed even as it clearly tips her back farther than she expected. “This is the part where I lost the narrative,” she says. “I figure that either something catastrophic happened to pull you off-course, or Rosie didn’t read you the brochure all the way.”

“We’re within boundaries,” Jen says, trying not to chew on the inside of her lip. She knows her tells so much better now, after eight weeks of BS games with Ripley. “Haven’t left the campground.”

“I don’t think it’s your fault,” Abigail says, in a way that makes it very clear whose fault she thinks it is.

“I would know if we left the campground,” Jen says, but she can hear the desperation in her own voice. It was fine when her protegés smuggled some Bellerophonian marsupial on board and started feeding it April’s scrunchies and Jen’s spare AAA batteries. It was fine when they got attacked the first time--surely a simulation--and the second time, and the third time when the hole in the hull was so big that they all might have asphyxiated if Jo wasn’t around. It was even fine when they lost communication with Rosie, when the message boards glitched out one by one until even Zodiac, the last holdout, started sending transmissions that were nothing but forty minutes of static.

They even, by some miracle, got to the other side of today. Even Abigail, with her burnt fingers and twenty years of isolation, is sitting in Jen’s ship and drinking from Jen’s Junior Deluxe Space Camp Plus! thermos and looking ridiculously alive for somebody in her position.

But none of this makes sense because Jen knows how to read the fancy compass attached to the console, and she understands star charts better than half the Academy graduates that go on to be bigshot captains, and she would absolutely notice if they left the campground. They haven’t left the campground.

“There’s nothing here,” Jen says. “There should be nothing here. Like--bacteria and stuff maybe, for collection and recording and teaching the kids how to run a gel electrophoresis and enough satellites to run some of the more complex simulations, but this is--it’s like an amusement park. It’s for kids. It’s safe.”

“They said it was safe when I went, too,” Abigail says. “They’ve always said it was safe.”

Jen grips the edge of the table until her knuckles go white. “What are you saying?”

Abigail takes a long draught of coffee. When she sets the cup down, she looks like a shell of a person, waxed-out and still trembling, head to toe, almost imperceptibly. There’s something in her eyes that reminds Jen of the way she looked, lighting the dynamite, the way her eyes were almost silver in the burn of far-off stars, like little oil spills. She’d been crying, tethered to the hull of her tiny pod by one ankle.

“You’re right about one thing,” Abigail says. “You’re still in the campground. Everything else . . .?” She spreads out her hands, a sort of forced casualness. “I think you already know.”

Molly’s just going back to her cabin, listening for the slow shh of the automatic doors, when she sees a glint of blue in the shadows behind the kitchen. She stops.

“Rip,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”

Ripley nods. The movement is so jerky that she almost looks like an old stop-motion movie in the buzz of the ever-faulty halogen lights.

Molly slips out of the hallway. She’s accustomed to moving silently. She wears socks everywhere on the ship, takes each step with a precision that she’s never seen from any of her friends. You can go a galaxy away from home, but something always follows you. She slides an arm around Ripley’s shoulder in a one-armed hug.

“Jen’s talking to Abigail,” Ripley says. Her face, creased with concern, still stained by a black smudge of charcoal. Her teeth are the color of copper nitrate, from the Popsicle she snuck from the cooler when they got back. “I’m making sure Abigail doesn’t explode Jen and try to take over the ship like in Star Jump.”

“Eavesdropping, huh?” Molly draws closer to the door. She can hear Abigail’s voice, the low scratch of it. She can’t hear Jen at all, but there are two silhouettes in the fingernail of light on the tile.

“Bodyguarding,” Ripley corrects firmly.

“Right.” Molly rubs the inside of her wrists. She can still feel the ghost of the Thing’s claws, cold to the touch and exuding exactly the right amount of pressure to hold her without breaking the skin. Mal disappeared into her cabin two hours ago to write a letter to her mom. Molly can’t imagine finding the words to describe what happened today, can’t imagine letting it cross the threshold of the ship. The fear, and the pain, and the anger burning like nothing else does, in space.

“I made hot milk,” Ripley says, “and I was going to look for the chocolate powder but I got distracted.”

“I think it’s behind the popcorn,” Molly says. “I’ll get it, okay?”

They curl up together, as if conserving heat, in the shadow of the tall block of cabinets. The microwave beeps, quiet as if not to disturb the moment. Molly stirs the cocoa with her finger, and listens for the recurring loop of Abigail’s voice.

It has the cadence of a story. One they might never hear.

April and Jo lie side by side on Jo’s bed. April traces the careful lettering of her journal, red cover and a going-away present and really, really nice. The pens bleed through every page, each entry scattered with omens of the next one.

Jo’s half-asleep and trying to keep her ankle elevated. April’s head is on her stomach. They can feel each other’s heartbeats, much too fast and nearly aligned. The old books Jo’s dads tucked into the bottom of her suitcase are half-covered by the sheets, each opened to a different tea-stained page.

April runs one finger down the margins of the bestiary, and the other across the line of Jo’s scalp. With Jo’s arm wrapped around her, she can almost pretend the bruises on her sternum are merit badges. She flips the page, and stops breathing.

“Grootslang,” she whispers, just to feel the word in her mouth. A rubbery, oiled-down taste. Jo shifts, and opens her eyes, brow tight with inherited fear.

Mal wraps her wrists around her ankles. Touches the tips of her knees with her chin. Catalogs every bit of her body, piece by piece, a framed deconstruction.

“God dammit,” she whispers. Outside her wide bay windows, planets glitter like shed scales. “God fucking dammit.”

#lumberjanes #lumberjanes week #my writing

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abalonetea · 4 years

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I MUST KNOW. How does baking work in Starboy? Do they have special sci-fi-y stoves and stuff? Or is it all similar to real life? What are the crew's favourite meals?

Carmelo!!!! Carmelo is the only one out of the main crew with any common sense when it comes to the kitchen.

Egret can handle basic food items, in that way you can cook well enough to keep yourself hungry and not relying on frozen pizza every night.

Jaxon is a scavenger. He’ll eat anything he can get his grubby hands on and is not allowed in the kitchen, at all. The actual cook on the ship, Bazzy, will go on strike if he comes back into her kitchen, thanks.

Rumi, meanwhile, is that one college student that tries to make ramen noodles with gatorade, or the person who forgets to change the filter in the coffee maker and just drinks their hot-milk water anyway.

Bazzy is the official cook, but she’ll occasionally share the kitchen with Carmelo. He’s respectful of her space, and also knows what he’s doing for the most part.

They have replicators, which are very common on newer models of space crafts. These are great for feeding large crews on a budget...but everything has a metallic tang to it, and the replicator can only make pre-programmed recipes. It doesn’t allow for any variation - so those thirty programmed recipes are all it can make, no variations, no taking out one ingredient, no adding anything in.

The bulk of their food stuffs comes from the replicator, but Bazzy is a firm believer of the fact that you can’t keep a crew happy on replicated food. She makes at least half of every meal from scratch in a traditional manner, using older model kitchen ware that they’ve stolen from other ships. Her pie has a special place in Rumi’s heart - it was the first thing that he ate after coming back to himself!

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quesselfships · 4 years

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Fic parts

So like I said I wanted to do that fic with Elnor who I’m not even bonded to yet.

Its really just three scenes, without any transitions between them, so without further ado:

“Guys, she knows me,” Chris sauntered up a farm lane, passing a large sign reading Azteca Calla. “It’s fine, we’re fine.”

The lane was lined with succulents, large blue agave with smaller species filling in the gaps. In the distance, Picard could see corn, along with smaller plants he couldn’t identify at this distance. But the imposing structure behind the house is what caught their eye.

“It’s Mesoamerican,” he said to no one in particular.

“Yeah it’s a temple to Quetzalcoatl.”

“Didn’t Captain Kirk encounter an alien claiming to be Quetzalcoatl?”

“Yeah, don’t mention that to her…”

“The fuck did you bring me this time Rios?” A voice called from the lane, with a rather angry looking woman standing with her arms crossed. Her tattoos shined from the sunscreen she had put on, and Chris just awkwardly waved his hand over the rag-tag group. “We need some supplies…a place to lay low for a little bit.”

She sighed, looking over the group. “I expect help, on the farm. In exchange for room and board, and not asking questions. Dinner is in a couple of hours, you can get settled in the side house, by the temple.”

“You’re the best Lea,” Chris grinned. “My ship…?”

“You can stash it between the corn fields.”

“The best!”

“I made the Tamal very mild,” she said, serving a platter of wrapped vegetables and turkey. She brushed the fringe from her scarf away from her face. “Mild,” she indicated one bowl of salsa, “hot,” the one beside it “and jalapeno,” the final green one. “I grew everything myself.”

Picard produced a bottle of his estate wine from somewhere and poured glasses. “How do you know Captain Rios?”

“He helped me bring supplies for this. It was him who sourced artisans who could create my sculptures.” She cut into a Tamal and drizzled a mix of jalapeno and mild salsas onto it. Elnor mimicked her.

“Aztec reproductions?” Seven cocked her head.

“Not quite. My own original ideas, inspired by sacred art and the Gods. I am a proud Anahuac,” She smiled. “That’s why I studied agriculture in school. Though I can barely keep houseplants alive.”

“You grew all of this?”

She nodded. “Yes, everything I eat here I grow, from the corn and chilies, to the chocolate and tequila. There’s only a few things I import or replicate, and most of it is meat. I don’t know how to butcher.”

“Are the cats bothering you?”

Sybill screamed again and Elnor smiled. “No. Are they all this chatty?”

“No, she’s a special one.” Sybill crawled up into Elnor’s lap and purred. “She likes you.”

“I had never seen a cat before now.”

“We have more living in the temple. They keep the rodents away from the crops.”

“Will you take me?”

“Sure, let’s go,” she extended her hand. Elnor carefully deposited Sybill onto a footrest (much to her anger), and grabbed Lea’s hand.

The temple was more impressive close up, with intricate star patterns and carvings. She pointed to one. “My birth chart, my sacred names and dates, all carved here.”

“It’s beautiful,” he looked around. The lights shone when they walked in the temple, stone echoing underfoot. “The lights look like fire.”

“I made sure they would be programmed like that. It felt more authentic to me. More fitting.”

Some cats, disturbed by the light, got up from their comfy corners and perches to say hello, purring as they rubbed themselves along Lea’s legs. Elnor bent down to pick up a white one with smooth fur. He smiled and pressed his face into her fur. She mruped, and purred, headbutting under his chin.

“Come, I’ll show you the kittens.”

The warm, secluded annex had two mothers with babies. One group seemed to be older, bounding around, and the other with younger ones who were just opening their eyes. The older kittens wobbled forward. “Sit down,” She said, handing him a few treats. “I make these too. They’ll come to you.”

Within moments, Elnor had kittens crawling on him, and the white cat he had picked up earlier was settling into a warm corner, far enough away that the Mamas weren’t upset. They were curious, cuddly and sweet. Elnor loved their soft fur and gentle nuzzles with their wet nose.

After a while, the mother cat called and her kittens came over to drink at the milk bar. They settled in in a row, dozing as they filled up on warm milk. The white cat followed them out, and perched by Elnor’s feet. He looked around at the stone, offerings and candled lined the walls. He could swear there was a scent of copal in the air.

He looked at Lea in the dim light, sparkles glinting from her headscarf, and he couldn’t help but ask, “can I kiss you?”

“Kiss me?”

He nodded, stepping closer. His hand was warm on her cheek and she felt her leg shake. She had noticed him, young and tall and handsome. Slender, lithe…things that she liked. “I’d like to kiss you.”

His lips were soft on hers, and his hair tickled her cheeks where it fell forward. She reached for his hand and entwined her fingers. She felt the stars carved in her temple glitter with delight. She couldn’t remember the last time she was kissed like this, with tenderness and sweetness and a hint of innocence.

He pulled away; cheeks tinged green with blush. “Thank you,” he said in a whisper.

Next part will be under a jump for smut. I really hope I did ok. I’ve never written a trans character before so like. I tried.

“Ah, fuck,” she said. It was early morning, but she couldn’t sleep. There was a festival coming up and that always made her wonky. But she noticed her hydroponics were running dry. She made her way to the en suite to get some water, fixing her ponytail with a yawn. She kicked aside a few clothes, probably clean but maybe dirty, and got the water.

Exiting the bathroom, she held the bottle of water but then dropped it with a gasp.

“It’s okay, it’s just me,” Elnor said. “I heard something, I thought you were in trouble.”

Forgetting the water, she scrambled to her bathroom door and snatched the first scarf she could, wrapping it around her head like a loose hood. “It’s okay, you just startled me.”

Elnor had stooped down and was mopping up the bit of water that spilled from the cap that wasn’t screwed on too tight. “I’m sorry if I offended you.” He nodded towards the scarf.

“No, it’s okay. It was an accident.” She crossed her arms, tugging her oversized shirt down a little. She was conscious of how bizarre it was to make sure her hair was covered, but she was pretty sure that if she turned her back, he would be able to see the bottoms of her ass cheeks hanging out from her boy shorts.

“I feel bad,” he said. “Can I make it up to you?”

“You don’t need to Elnor, really.” She pulled her scarf off. “It’s just hair. And while I haven’t done much to it in six months…” She smoothed the wispies. “I’ve been grey for half my life. I just don’t like showing it to strangers. It’s more of a comfort thing than anything.”

He nodded, “I have something like that too. Can I show you?”

“Sure.”

He stared untying the sash at this waist.

“Elnor, no, what are you doing?”

He sloughed off his robe to his waist, and traced thin scars under his pectoral muscles. “Double mastectomy,” he said, then turned to his side. “And unfortunately, I had to have my hysterectomy this way. I had a cyst so it couldn’t be done vaginally.”

“I had no idea,” she said.

“I haven’t had all the surgery, it’s hard to get on Vashti. I feel good about this body now, so I don’t know what I’ll do in the future.”

“Thank you for telling me. It makes my hair thing seem way less important.” She chuckled.

“It’s not, not at all.” He pulled his robe back up, but kept it loose. “Why are you up so early anyway? The sun isn’t up yet.”

“I don’t know. Couldn’t sleep I guess.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, and patted for him to join. Sybill jumped up from the basket of clothes and took it as an invitation for her. Elnor grinned and picked her up, placing her on his lap to pet her while he listened. “There’s a holiday coming up and I never sleep well before them. This is one I don’t really care for anyway.”

“Why?”

“It puts a lot of emphasis on sex, but I celebrate it alone. I try to make it about growth and purification, but everyone in the community talks about some muscular guy who was channeling a god and how they fucked in front of a bonfire.”

“So why don’t you do that?”

“It’s not my style. I want to know someone before I jumped into bed with them.” She laughed and sat crossed legged, facing him, “current company withstanding.”

“I don’t know if we’ll be here when your festival happens, but do you want to try it before?”

“What, you’re going to channel a god for me? Should we get the bonfire in my laundry or my paddle plant?”

“Maybe without that part,” he said softly. “But the other part…”

She smiled, “you want to be some muscular guy for me?”

“I think I’d like that.” He deposited the cat back into the laundry basket, and scooted closer, shucking his robe off all the way now. He wore loose fitting shorts, and was flushed from his navel to his chest. His kisses were softer than they were at the temple, more hesitant but with more hunger and passion.

She put her hand on his hip and raked her nails softly against his firm flesh. She felt his heart pound under her hand, while he slipped one of his hands under her shirt, hiking it up to expose her breasts. He rubbed his thumb over one nipple until it peaked and he trailed kisses along her soft jaw and neck. She whimpered when he broke contact to tear her shirt off, tossing it aside and kissing along her chest again.

She dragged her hand down his shorts to the mound between his legs. It was jarring at first, to not feel a solid mass, but her fingers still managed to tease through the fabric. She could feel the warmth, the wetness growing.

“I want to suck you off,” she moaned. “I want to have your cock in my mouth.”

He shuddered, quickly getting off the bed and out of the shorts. She crawled to the end of the bed to allow him to drape himself on her pillows. She settled down between his legs, against his thigh. She kissed and licked at his skin, using her fingers to gather his own wetness and spread it around his cock, which was now filling out. She followed her fingers with her tongue, swirling it around and taking it all the way into her mouth.

He moaned, leaning back into the pillows and shifting his hips. His eyes squeezed shut as he panted, feeling the pressure build. He wanted to buck into her mouth, but stilled himself. “Finger me too,” he whispered. “Please.”

She paused her sucking to lick her fingers, pressing them into him and hooking them up. His anatomy was different from humans, it took a moment for her to find the spot inside of him to make him gasp and let out a low moan. She grinned and resumed her sucking. She could feel him squeeze around her, and his hand found its way to her hair.

“Fuck,” he panted out. “Fuck, I’m close.”

She stroked her fingers faster, harder, stimulating his cock from the outside as well as the inside. He was panting and gasping as he kicked out his one leg gushing around her fingers. He whimpered with overstimulation as she pulled her fingers out to lick them clean.

She resettled herself on his chest, and kissed the mastectomy scars. He was still panting, leaning his cheek on the top of her head.

“What about you?” He asked.

“Later,” she pulled the blanket up over them. “Sleep time now. Round two later.”

#tag: elnor #what am I doing?#I can't even

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trekkele · 6 years

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Coffee Shop

There's this little coffee shop a few minutes away from campus called Chardmore Road. They have mismatched chairs and wooden tables and it always smells like blueberry muffins and (obviously) Brazilian coffee beans.

It close enough to campus that it's worth walking over but far enough that most Cadets won't bother since the library has replicators.

Uhura loves it. It has that quiet buzz of people just existing in the same place as her, not interacting or speaking, just a dozen people ... being.

They also make the best caramel hot chocolate.

But today, somehow, every table is taken, padd textbooks spread out over the old synthwood and Cadets hunched over them, most barely noticing their drinks.

She's annoyed. She just wanted some blueberry tea and cookies, preferably snickerdoodles, and to figure out why her translation software was getting stuck on this Moamenite pre-reconstruction scripture. She wrote this section of code 3 times for her assignment and it still wasn't working.

Of course, with today's luck, there was one open seat. Half the table was covered in napkins and paper and padds, equations scribbled everywhere. There was a cup perched between the warp core theorem of maximum velocity and the differential appliance of physical mass. And, waving a stylus above it all, pen tucked behind his left ear, was Jim Kirk.

She debated it for about 2 minutes, padd and cookies and tea in hand. But she was tired and frustrated and hadn't spoken to him since they'd first met. All she knew where the half-dozen rumors that buzzed around whenever his name came up, and she was too tired right now to even wonder whether any where true.

If he annoys me, she figured, I'll just slap him this time.

She wouldn't. She really wouldn't. But it was a nice thought. Comforting, almost. She refused to think about how she couldn't just slap this dumb code into working properly.

"This seat isn't taken?"

It came out like a statement, and honestly, Uhura was past caring about diplomacy and olive branches. The answering hum, she decided, was on a pitch that indicated yes and she sat down, opened her coding program and promptly forgot who was across the table.

Half an hour later and she wasn't any closer to an answer. Damn it this should be working she used this code for the three other languages in her training module why was it giving her nonsense instead of the creation-fairy tale she knew was the documents text???

"It's conjugating instead of substituting the verbs."

She must have been complaining out loud, which meant she was way more tired than she had thought. But more importantly, Jim Kirk had muttered from across the table, without looking up from his third (fourth??) cup of passion fruit tea, (and who thought James Kirk would be a tea drinker?) still scribbling on a padd.

She blinked at him, looked down at her code, and blinked again.

"No that's too simple. I would have caught that, I know how Moamenite verbs work, " reviewing the code as she spoke, she realized that he was ... actually onto something, the code she wrote was as close to universal as possible, but her first three languages has been far more similar than the fourth...

"Huh".

"Yeah Moamenites a bitch on verbal substitution, that's a blueberry tea, right? I'm getting a refill, you want honey or sugar"

"Honey" was all she managed to blurt out, but nobody learns 14 languages before graduating high school without being more than a little observant.

She watched him maneuver through the tables with the two cups in hand, leaning over every now and than to point out something in someone's notes.

Nyota had had two interactions with Jim Kirk -

He had hit on her the first time they met, and seemed absurdly proud when he made her laugh the next day.

He shared a table with her for a half hour before saying anything, and only spoke to help her with a problem and to refill her drink.

She found the second far more intriguing than the first, but drank her blueberry tea and offered him a cookie. Right now, she figured she had more than enough time to figure him out after exams.

#this brotp is gonna be the death of me #look at these two #starfleet academy #academy fic #Nyota Uhura #James T. Kirk #star trek aos #star trek #why aren't there more fics of these two tho #my fics #trekkele writes

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majorkirastan · 6 years

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hi i posted about this a while back but i’ve edited it a bit and this time i’m uploading it properly!

Hopes and Dreams (Kiradax, 1,612 words)

Summary: Jadzia wishes that Kira would notice her obvious crush. Kira wishes that Bajor could be returned to its former glory. Both of them get their wish.

No content warnings apply.

The runabout is quiet, but comfortably so. The engines hum, low and throbbing, but they are so constant that they are almost unnoticed. Jadzia leans over in her chair and keys in coordinates, pushing her seat backwards to check the navigational array. Beside her, Kira is curled up on a standard-issue cot; her breathing is slow and steady, and Dax is going through her routines just a little bit slower than usual, in an attempt not to wake up her sleeping friend. Jadzia frowns at the monitor - there's an anomaly of some kind up ahead. She halts the runabout, and the hum of the engine shifts to a whine. Kira stirs, just a little, her breath jolting as she shifts in her sleep.

Kira is beautiful in the dim light of the runabout, Jadzia thinks. Her hair is ruffled, ever so slightly, and her face is perhaps the most tranquil it’s been since she first transferred to the station. Jadzia stares at the sleeping woman for just a beat too long, contemplating the arc of the Bajoran nose as a faint blush spreads over her cheeks, the tips of her ears. She's lost in thought when the console beeps, and she turns back to the viewscreen, biting her cheek and silently cursing herself for getting distracted. There is the anomaly, up ahead, and it is much more incongruent than it ought to have been. It is a planet where there should be empty space. There is no sun, no other planets in the vicinity, but there is a single, lonely planet. Jadzia scans the surface, nose wrinkling as she notes the familiar concentrations of elements. She reluctantly reaches a hand over to shake Kira awake. Kira’s eyes fly open, panic crossing her face for the briefest moment, and then she blinks a few times, sitting up as her eyes adjust to the harsh light of the runabout.

“Where are we?”

Her words are slurred, just a little, and Dax laughs, raising her eyebrows.

“We’re in the Gamma Quadrant, remember? Delivering supplies to the Tellarians?”

She points at the screen, flourishing for dramatic effect.

“And that, my friend, is a planet that seems to have gone rogue.”

Kira frowns, considering the planet. “Looks kind of like Bajor. It could be from another dimension, or maybe it was under some kind of cloak, or maybe our sensors couldn’t read it?” She yawns, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot, and walks over to the replicator - perhaps ‘stumbles’ would be a better synonym - leaning against the wall as she orders a raktajino. The machine whirrs to life, and the coffee materializes. Kira rapidly picks up the mug, blowing on the coffee to cool it down. Jadzia watches, smiling at the way Kira puffs out her cheeks. It’s familiar, endearing, even. It makes her heart swell, not that she’d admit it. She'd be perfectly content to stay here forever, in this moment, watching one of her closest friends burn her tongue on a scalding hot drink.

“You gonna beam down?”

Kira’s voice interrupts the string of thoughts racing around Dax’s head; the Trill quickly wipes the smile from her face, chewing on her lip in a way that she hopes looks thoughtful and not thirsty.

“It could be dangerous.” She ponders for a beat longer. “Although, when has that ever stopped me in the past?”

This time, Kira is the one to smile. “I’ll come with you,” she says. “Don’t want you running off with any more random citizens.”

It’s a joke, of course - a dig at Jadzia’s habit of romancing any alien she can find - but somehow, it feels a bit more meaningful, perhaps a touch of….jealousy? Jadzia internally smacks herself. She’s projecting again. She gives her head an imperceptible shake, as if to rid it of the rapturous blush she can feel creeping across her cheeks again. She turns her head in a movement she's hoping looks natural and waggles her eyebrows at Kira.

“Well, as long as you’re with me, how could I possibly do such a ridiculous thing?”

Her mouth quirks into a smile as she delivers the line. She knows that Kira can hear the jest in her voice; she can only hope that she’s not broadcasting anything more personal in her tone. It's a friendly rapport, banter, says the voice in the back of her head. Nothing more. But Kira laughs, a real laugh, and Jadzia’s heart beats just a little bit faster. She quickly turns away and begins pressing buttons on the control panel, guiding their runabout to safety, programming it to tell the Captain where they are, checking the atmosphere and the coordinates and the power they’ll need to make it to the planet’s surface. It's not unwarranted - it's protocol, and it's a necessary step before they transport to a foreign planet. But still, the timing is just a touch off, and it's clear that she's using the console as an excuse to hide her face. She steps back, giving the screen another once-over, before stepping onto the transporter pad. Kira hops up next to her, sighing reluctantly as she puts her coffee back into the replicator. Dax is the one to give the command, her voice suddenly loud in the near-silence of the runabout.

“Two to beam down.”

They flicker out of existence.

Somewhere, on the planet below them, they shimmer into creation, born anew of atoms and molecules and sudden desert heat. They blink, the two of them, in the harsh light. There shouldn’t be such brightness, Jadzia thinks confusedly, because there is no star; but it doesn’t seem important, not right now. Kira’s hand flies up to her forehead, trying and failing in shielding her eyes, while Dax simply squints into the sun, her brow wrinkling. She is genetically predisposed to adapt quickly to the bright conditions, she supposes, and it is only a few seconds before her eyes adjust. And then - she is not quite sure if they have in fact adjusted, because she is staring out at the city in front of them, a metropolis of impossible size that seems to go on for forever. Rounded buildings and tall spires and houses built into hills are covering every inch of land in view. They are on a hill, and as Jadzia turns her head, she takes in the city upon city upon city that spreads over the horizon. It seems impossible.

A moment later, she hears Kira gasp as she finally begins to take in the landscape before her. She spins, slowly, eyes wandering over the jumble of metal and stone and unidentifiable building material. She is smiling, faintly, and Jadzia has to do everything in her power to keep from staring, because in the daylight, the Major’s hair is golden and radiant and soft, and it frames her face in something that is almost a halo. She looks like an angel, and for some reason, there are tears forming in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks, and her hands go up to her chest. Dax doesn’t understand the emotions spreading over the Bajoran's face, until she hears Kira whisper, softly, “It’s home.” And then she remembers, all in a rush, that this is what Bajor looked like, before the occupation and the strip mining, before the slave camps, before it was left a hollow shell. Kira is sobbing now, quietly, hands clutched to her chest, her face an inscrutable blend of joy and loss, and Jadzia doesn’t know what to do. Seven lifetimes, and she has no idea what to say. So she doesn’t say anything. She puts a hand out, tentatively, and rests it on Kira’s arm, and Kira smiles at her, angelic, beautiful, and her face is streaked with tears but she’s beaming, the happiest that perhaps she’s ever been. The sun is bright, but her smile is brighter, and she throws herself forward, pulling Jadzia into a hug. They stand there, holding tight to each other, and the galaxy seems to slow around them.

They pull apart, after a long, hesitant moment, and then they look at each other. Both of them are golden in the light, the joy, they are transcendent and Kira reaches up a hand to Dax’s cheek to wipe away tears that Jadzia hadn’t realized that she had been crying.

“Kira. Nerys. I—”

“I know,” Kira whispers, and as Jadzia stares into the eyes of the woman she cares about more than anything else in the quadrant she finds them staring back, damp with tears, glistening in the light, and she understands everything.

"You're beautiful," says Jadzia, the words falling from her lips without her even needing to think them. It's the truth. It's always been the truth. "You're so beautiful."

Kira smiles, covering her mouth with one hand, embarrassed at the compliment, and if Jadzia didn't know better she'd think the woman was giggling.

"Thank you," she breathes. "You're beautiful too. You've always been so, so beautiful."

And then Kira leans in, and Jadzia's heart is racing, and they meet in the middle, their lips saying everything that their voices could not. It's soft at first, tentative, and Jadzia isn't quite sure whether the giddiness is Kira's or her own. This isn’t how she had imagined their first kiss, not at all, but it’s perfect, and as she traces the outline of Kira’s cheek with the tips of her fingers she knows that this moment will stay with her always, no matter how many lives will come after this, because she has never felt more in love in any of her many lives.

#my fic #kiradax #deep space nine #jadzia dax #kira nerys

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fbismostunwanted1158 · 7 years

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Are you still taking second person prompts? I just saw you might still be taking second person prompts. If you are...everyone on Voyager remarks upon your resemblance to Captain Janeway and you know it's affecting your romantic prospects on board so you decide to secretly offer yourself to Chakotay as an intimate physical substitute. You dim the lights and tell him to pretend--you don't mind.

Okay, anon. This morphed into something crazy. And AWESOME. Thank you! I hope you’re not disappointed. NSFW. Obviously. It’s me…

Try as you might, there’s nothing you can do. Your eyes,hair, skin, build, everything; they’re also hers. Crew members gawk, jokes aretossed around the mess hall, and Tom Paris gives you a mock salute from time totime. You got into a heated argument with Harry the other day and actual fearregistered in his eyes.

The latest hilarity to ensue must be the greatest so far onthis seemingly endless journey home. You decided last week that you werecutting your hair, that was it, you’d had enough. Then, what happened? Youcaught sight of the Captain in the mess and there it was. Your new hairstyle.Right there. Staring back at you. She nods her head in a friendly gesture andyou return it, quickly ducking the several sneering snickers directed towardyou.

“Nice haircut, Beth.” Theirlaughter sours the tea and toast you gather from the replicator. You toss itviolently straight into the recycler and strained silence falls over the room.Embarrassed beyond belief, you about face and march straight back through the doors.

Rolling your eyes in exasperation as another ensign winks inyour direction, you continue down the hall; your dour mood weighting itself inthe stomp of your boots down the corridor. Instead of smiles, the faces ofthose that meet you avoid your heated glare and find something interesting onthe bulkheads to focus on.

You turn the corner and run directly into a solid chest. Ittakes you by surprise and knocks you straight to the ground. Bracing yourselfagainst Starfleet issue carpet, you bat at the hands that attempt to right you.

“I don’t. Need. Help,”you cough against the recycled air slowly returning to your stricken lungs.Warm firm hands grasp you anyway and pull you effortlessly to your feet.Growling in frustration, you look up to give this man handler a piece of yourmind and—

“Commander! I-I-uhm…,”he smiles brightly, nearly blinding you. Damn it, he’s beautiful. The sparklein his dark eyes takes your breath once more and concern settles into hiseyebrows.

“Are you alright, Neilson?” Holy shit, he knows who you are? Of course, he knows who you are. He’sthe First Officer! Ah! He asked you a question! SPEAK! UGH!

“Y-yes, sir. I am so sor–,” he moves his hands up from yourelbows and brings them to rest on your shoulders.

“Nothing to apologize for. Are you alright? You look a bitpale.”

“Ah,” you chuckle, “Artificial lighting. I’ll be fine. Justoff to Engineering to repair a few relays.”

“Didn’t you just come from a full shift, Lieutenant?”

“W-well, yes. There is still so much to–,” he shakes hishead and smiles.

“No more work for the evening. You look like you could usesome rest,” there’s something in his expression that you’ve never seen beforeand his intense inspection of your face is causing a blush to tint your cheeks.Yet again, you’ve never really spent thatmuch time staring at the Commander’s face. Okay, yes you have.

He suddenly breaks eye contact, removing his hands from youand putting them behind his back. The unease is palpable. He clears his throatand you both speak at the same time.

“Have you—“ “’I’m so—“

He laughs. Actually laughs. It’s wonderful. It comes fromsomewhere deep in his chest and rises to caress your ears with its gentle lilt.There’s no stopping the smile that forces its way on your mouth.

“It’s alright. There’s no need to apologize. I was justabout to ask you if you’ve had dinner.”

He waits patiently for your response, which is seriouslylacking at this point in time. Your brain stumbles to form a complete sentenceand something ridiculous slips out.

“I…uhh…erm…just came—I can’t go in there again.”

“Where?”

“The…mess, sir.”

“Why is that?”

“This…,” a deep sigh leaves you as you gesture to your newhairstyle. His gaze returns and sweeps over you. He grins deviously and appearsto be holding back his comments. After careful deliberation, he speaks.

“There is a remarkable resemblance,” his eyes return toyours briefly before closely examining your face, “Facial structure, skin tone,eye color, build; you could definitely fool some. Yet, your hair is a shade ortwo darker, she has at least three inches on you, “he pauses, taking in abreath, “And you have freckles. So does the Captain, but yours are morepronounced. How do you do that with the absence of sunlight?”

The scrutiny that your melanin deposits are under is quiteunsettling. Your blush reaches a whole new level. Freckles? Really? And he’stelling me I’m short? Am I dreaming? Is this even real?

“I apologize. I’ve made you uncomfortable. Don’t let anyonedictate your actions. People will take a chance to find anything to entertainthemselves,” he moves around you and returns to his intended path, “Let me knowif there’s any more trouble.” Oh, God. He’sleaving? Wait.

“Wait,” theCommander halts and turns at your call.

“Yes?”

“O-our last shore leave.” Jesus, what are you doing?

“Two weeks ago. Yes, what about it?”

“Th-at’s how. I, uh. My freckles. Been this way since I waslittle. I’m out in the sun for a second and they just…,” the courage to finishthis stupid thought evaporates from you. Why?Why couldn’t you have just let him go?

He processes what you’ve said; smile returning to soften hisfeatures. Your insides melt instantly and he steps back to where you’re rootedto the deck.

“Would you be comfortable accompanying me to my quarters fordinner? No one there to bother you. I have a vegetable vindaloo programmed thatI have been looking forward to all day. I’m sure there’s enough for two.”

That sounds amazing. You’ve heard wonderful things about theCommander’s cooking. But, his quarters?! You can’t even call him by his firstname; let alone having any businessin his quarters! Everything in you is screaming against the answer about toleave your mouth, yet you let curiosity get the best of your logic.

“That sounds…perfect. If you wouldn’t mind any company,”relief floods his body and his arm makes a sweeping gesture for you to proceedhim down the hallway. Complying happily, you instantly feel the heat radiatingfrom his body beside you. Close besideyou. Why does he need to walk nearly on top of you? The width of thecorridor is more than accommodating; you wouldn’t have the broad protection ofhis proximity leave you for anything.

The absence of conversation on the way to his quarters issurprisingly comfortable. You haven’t felt this calm around a member of theopposite sex in long time. In fact, this is the first social call you’ve beenon in a while. It feels nice, easy, warm—no.This is the Commander.

He keys in the code to open his door and you are envelopedin the dark heady scent of him. The tingle of the spice and sandalwood travelsstraight to the molten heat of your belly. And to think he’s going to serve youvindaloo.

“Would you like a drink? I have some cider, some wine fromour last shore leave.”

“That wine is amazing!I really loved that little–.”

“The little vineyard by the cove. Yes, it was beautiful. Ithought I caught you there,” he reaches for the bottle and retrieves twoglasses from his table. Two glasses. He only has two. Oh, God. They’re for him and—

“If I recall,” he hands you a healthy glass, “you were therefor quite a while. Alone. No one else wanted to come along?”

You take a large drink of the bold sweet alcohol, girdingyourself to make it through the night with some of your dignity left intact. Heleaves the question to hang in the air; reaching for the replicator panel, theCommander drinks from his own glass, tapping away at the controls.

“You…noticed that I was by myself?”

“Who wouldn’t notice an attractive young woman sitting nearthe beach with nothing but a padd to keep her company?”

Attractive. Jesus. Didit just get warmer in here? What in the hell is going on? Taking another swig,you press on. Give it all you’ve got.

“How do you know I wasn’t waiting for someone?”

“No one ever showed up. I can’t believe that any man in hisright mind would stand you up,” he turns to pierce you with a heated gaze. Theroom begins to shrink around you; breathing is becoming an issue.

“Commander? I—maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,” you setthe glass half empty on the table and start for the door. Just before you reachthe sensor, he blocks your path. A look of disappointment on his face.

“I apologize. I was out of line. Forgive me. Please, call meChakotay when we’re off duty. This ship is too far from Federation space for usto not have a life outside of ship’s business,” his last statement seems to bedirected more to himself than you.

Instinct tells you to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder,reassure him that his small talk is not the cause of your hesitancy. You tampdown that inner voice and find that you’ve both opted to stare openly into thedepths of one another’s eyes.

Warm fingers brush the hair from your face, his rough palmcoming to rest against your face. You let your eyes slip closed; so slowly youbreathe, in fear that any harsh movement will startle the moment. Soft lipsquest against yours, unsure in their pressure; your mouth opens to welcome himand his movements gain purpose.

Tongues snake together, lazily tracing, acquainting theother of preferences. He draws your bottom lip between his teeth and his handspull you closer at the moan you let escape into his hot mouth. The lower halfof your body molds to his and you feel an impressive erection resting againstyour belly.

Liquid heat pools in your panties and your hands travel downto tangle in the short hair at the nape of his neck. He hums and leans back,just enough to press his forehead against yours, watching you lick your wetswollen lips. Breaths mingle, chests heave, time stops.

“Tell me to stop. I need–,” your finger traces around tosettle over his lips, silencing him.

“I-If I tell you to stop…I’d regret it for the rest of mylife.”

He kisses your finger and brings your hand to rest over hisheart; nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing deeply.

“Mmmm…are you still hungry,” his deep mumble against yousends shivers across your body. A large hand slips down your back and massagesboldly at your ass. You groan, leaning into his accommodating embrace.

“Not for curry…”

“Perhaps I could interest you in some dessert,” the handgroping your ass slides between your legs to brush against your center. Thiscauses you to step wider and give him better access.

“Oh, God. Yes…please…”the throaty whine that leaves your throat is so ridiculous, you feel likeyou’re in a damn holonovel. This is wrong. Sowrong. But, shit. That pressurehe’s putting on your clit is exquisite.

“Spirits, you’re beautiful, Elizabeth. Absolutely breathtaking,” he captures your mouth and proceeds toturn you to a quivering mess in his arms. You’re grasping at his biceps to keepfrom dropping to the floor and he hauls you against his chest in one deftmovement.

No one ever calls you ‘Elizabeth’, except for your mother.The way that it rolls from his tongue, swimming on the rich honey of his voice;it melts you, warming your everywhere.

His powerful body rotates and he sets you firmly on thetable, standing between your legs. After taking another thorough inventory ofyour teeth, his fingers work at the fasteners of your jacket and turtleneck.Some sense seeps back into the foreground of your consciousness.

“Mmmm…w-wait,” hisface raises from your jaw and his hands rest over your clothed breasts, “I need to know one thing.”

“Anything,” hekisses your nose; regarding you with tender eyes, his hands rub soothingly upand down your arms, “What is it?”

“Is it—Is it because I look like her,” the question leaves you in a rush, you’re suddenly breathless.His hands cup your face, his expression takes on an air of seriousness.

“No. Initially—yes,” you attempt to hide and his fingers onyour chin bring you back to him, “The more I watched you, the further in love Ifell. Now, I see you. Your humor,talent, dazzling smile, the way you smell your tea before you take each drink,”you both chuckle at your idiosyncrasy.

“I’ve done that for a long time. Who knows why–,” his lipsseal yours, swallowing the rest of your babbling.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for weeks,” he runs his tonguealong your jaw and down the muscles of your neck. It’s provocative and you letthe whimper flow from you, grasping at his head, pulling him closer.

Now you’re down to your bra, bare from the waste up; hefeels you shiver against the cool air of his cabin. As he strokes your back togenerate warmth, he calls to the computer to change the temperature of theroom. As stupid as it sounds, this is the most anyone has done for you in months, maybe even a year. The caringgesture swells inside your chest and morphs into pure passion.

No longer an innocent bystander, you take action, threadingyour fingers through his hair and you change the angle of his head and open hismouth to you. Sucking greedily at his lips, gnashing teeth, he snarls andgrowls against you; the fabric of your bra is ripped away and your nipplesharden at the sudden temperature change.

He cups each breast, weighing it as he breaks away to starehungrily at them. You’ve been told before that you’re a ‘bit larger’ thanaverage. Judging by the dark sparkle in his eyes, he is thinking the samething. Throwing caution to the wind, you firmly guide his face to your chestand he takes the hint, closing his mouth greedily over a waiting nipple.

The fire he’s blazing across you burns straight through toyour already throbbing cunt. You haven’t been this wet in your life; this man is intoxicating,overloading every one of your senses. Watching him is just as erotic as thesensations he’s creating; his other hand fondles your unattended breast,readying it for his mouth.

You sigh, low and long, your head thrown back as you leavehim to his work. Running your fingernails over his scalp, massaging at the hardmuscles of his neck and shoulders. He is wearing entirely too many layers. Youbring your hands around and press against him. His mouth pops off your tit witha wet smack and he looks right at you.

“I need you naked.Now.”

He drops a kiss to each of your breasts and one to your lipsbefore pulling your legs around his hips, working his hands under your ass. Youget the hint and settle against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders,tucking your face into the warmth of his neck.

The heat in your belly makes it’s way to your heart; you snuggleimpossibly closer into him. His hold on you makes you feel safe, protected,loved. He lays you gently onto his bed; your arms recline over your head as hewatches you concentrate on his body.

He is lean, long, hard; the muscles of his chest and abdomenripple under soft caramel skin as he unfastens his trousers and pushes themslowly down his thighs. You rub your thighs together anxiously at the sight ofhis erection twitching under the thin material of his briefs.

Answering your prayers, he hooks his thumbs under theelastic of his waist band and releases himself with a hiss. Your hands travelover your breasts and tickle your belly as you reach for your own pants. Hethumbs the glistening head of his cock; your hips raise to let your pants andunderwear down your legs.

He pulls them off the rest of the way, depositing your bootsand socks on the floor, kissing his way up the arch of your foot. His tonguetickles your ankle, tracing up your leg, running flat and slow along your innerthigh. He opens your legs to him and breathes hot air over the tight wetness ofyour sex.

“Gods,” he runshis finger through your lips, opening you, “Sowet.”

Your hands grasp at his hair and he grunts, swirling histongue over your swollen clit. His hands massage your thighs and ass as he sucksand nips at your cunt. You feel him press a finger into you, a fresh rush ofwetness lubricates him as he pumps into you slowly.

“So tight. Mmm…that’sit. Ride. Take me.”

You rock against his thrusts, pulling his head up your body;he nuzzles your breasts before claiming your mouth. He’s wet and slippery withyou and you taste it on his tongue. Adding a second finger, his thumb rubsdelicately around your clit.

You shudder and shake; he’s nibbling on your neck, lickingyour collar bone, feasting on your breasts. It feels like he’s everywhere withthe masterful way he works your body. It sings as you writhe under him; yourmuscles ripple tightly with the return of his fingers deep inside you.

Gasping and clawing at his back, your orgasm tears throughyou; the surprising force of it taking your breath away. You open your eyes tosee him watching your pleasure play across your face; his fingers continue tomove carefully inside you, riding out your aftershocks.

“You’re amazing,” yourlips slowly war with his, tongues tangling, his hand roams your torso. You bitehis lip, pulling it into your mouth and he ruts his erection against your slickthrobbing slit.

“Oh, yes. Please.”

“Tell me. Tell me whatyou want,” he pants into your mouth; hand guiding his cock over your clit.You press down into him, hooking your legs around his thighs. He groans deeply,mouth to your ear, his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Is this what youwant,” you feel him push into you slowly, cunt rippling deliciously aroundthe hard and heavy cock. A moan leaves you in a rush, your legs are beingpressed back as he sinks into you down to the hilt.

“Alright,” hemurmurs in question; you adjust to his size, nodding in affirmation.

“How do you like it?” Experimentalthrusts cause your toes to curl, heels urging him at the firm globes of hisass.

“H-ha-rd. Deep. Uhng.Yes. Oh! God! Chakotay,” finally, his name falls from your lips and itcalls his attention to your face. He grins, kissing you passionately whilefucking you into the mattress.

It’s the best sex of your life; every nerve ending isfiring, electricity skittering across your goose flesh, bursting in a searingthrob in your cunt.

Chakotay’s tongue slides along your own in counterpoint tothe steady pounding his hips are giving you. You revel in the feeling of hisbody covering you, protecting you, warming you, loving you. Hanging on to the sweaty softness of his shoulderblades, the thoughts running through your mind send you into a second series ofspasms.

He grunts hotly against your ear as your inner muscles milkhis cock for all it’s worth; drawing him deeper, waiting for him to fill you.The rhythm of his thrusts stutter and he cradles your body as he spurts, thewarmth spreading beyond your womb right to your soul.

You cling to him, something welling up inside you,threatening to break. Tears burn at the back of your eyes and a sob bursts fromyour chest. Immediately, his eyes are on you, examining, he pulls out and youwhine at the loss of contact.

“Are you hurt? What’s wrong,” hands brush the hair from yourface, firm fingers under your chin bring you to brown eyes filled with worry.He rolls to lay beside you, taking stock of your body, running hands over you.

“Shhh,” he hushes, “Breathe. Deep breaths.” Tears begin anewas he gently traces your features, pulling you to rest on his chest. Warm handsmassage at your lower back, soothing you with the thunder of his heartbeatbeneath your ear.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I,” he kisses the top of your head,his tone anxious.

“N-no. I just–,” you gasp in for air, “I…ha-ven’t b-beenthis close to an-nyone in a long ti-me,” he hums and it reverberates throughyour whole body.

“In my lifetime, I’ve had my share of sex,” you huff out alaugh and he chuckles in response, “There are few instances where my spirit hasfelt a connection.”

He pauses and combs through your hair; you can feel hishesitancy.

“I felt it too,” yourwhisper flows over his broad chest. He holds you tighter and your stomach rumblespainfully.

“I felt that. I doremember promising you some dinner,” laughter erupts from the both of you andhe brings you to sit up with him. You lay in the embrace of his arm, staring upinto his shining eyes. He kisses you once more and moves to get up.

“Stay right here. I’ll bring you a bowl,” his shapely assdisappears out the door and you snuggle deeper into his sheets, inhaling hisscent.

“What are you doingtomorrow night,” the deep voice calls from the other room.

“Nothing special,” you reply. He rounds the corner, twobowls of vindaloo, completely nude. He is the picture of perfection.

“Dinner again?”

“Certainly,” the bowl is deposited in your waiting hands,“As long as I can have dessert first.”

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flatheadfilms-blog · 7 years

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Blade Runner 2049

BR2049 reminded me a bit of Minority Report, a bit of Her and a bit of something in the Star Wars universe. Based on that I should love this movie, because I love all of those movies. But I didn't.

One movie it didn't remind me of was Blade Runner. Even though Harrison Ford reprises his role as Decker and it exists in a Los Angeles that is reminiscent of the one in the OG BR it doesn't feel like it at all. Although it is about a replicant who may actually have a soul, or at least have the ability to develop one, this movie had no heart.

Yes it does have some very cool sets, and it's lighting is quite impressive. It has a few fun scenes. The scene I enjoyed most was the fight scene in a theater that featured a bizarre hologram Elvis singing and working the room. But that's kind where my positive feelings about the film end.

The villains were ineffective and bland. Jared Leto was a genius billionaire holed up in his facility that has beautiful but completely unmotivated lighting and design. He had very distracting hair and eye contacts which were intended the be creepy I think. But he didn't spark fear or intrigue. His expressionless henchwoman reminded me of the T1000 in her singular motivation and allegiance. But she was dull. And anyone watching the film knew that there was no way she would prevail in the end. She existed to provide some information and add some complications to the plot.

Ryan Gosling's character was kind of sexy, but so is every character played by Gosling. Because the man is hot. BR2049 definitely tried to even squelch that one treat for us. To illustrate his replicant nature he is never shown smiling. But unlike other non smiling roles robotic heroes (The Terminator for example) Gosling's character isn't particularly charming or compelling. The most interst provoking aspect of his character is wondering whether he could be the one replicant to be "born" rather than created - thus meaning he is a miracle and has a soul. You don't wonder it so much because It's a fascinating question but because you want to see how he would react to that revelation - because you want to see him react to something for god sake!

The depictions of women in the film were problematic and flat.

There was Gosling's boss, the head of the LAPD, played by Robin Wright. She didn't have much to do and in theory portraying a woman in the powerful position at work would be good. But she seems tired and weak, as though the job has burdened her too much. And she clearly has a soft spot for Gosling, covering for him when she knows he's gone rogue, and showing up at his house one night to have a drink.

There is the replicant henchwoman. Her devotion and purpose is to serve Leto's character. One would assume it's because he created her, but anything beyond that is unclear. We don't see her getting anything out of the deal besides nice clothes and very precise haircut.

And there is Joi, Gosling's girlfriend. She is very similar to Scarlett Johanssen's role in her, an AI companion. But in this case she is also a hologram so we can see her. The actress is very beautiful but looking at her in this role she looked like an Anime sex doll, which was kind of uncomfortable. She exists for one reason, to be purchased by people for companionship and sexual fantasies. She clearly loves Gosling and is committed to him, but it's unclear if she is programmed to develop these feelings or if she is developing feelings beyond her programming. In the end it doesn't matter because she is killed in an anti-climactic way and Gosling doesn't really seem to be that affected -- because his face doesn't emote.

I don't think it's even worth it to compare the two Blade Runners, but since that is the obvious things to do I will say the OG is definitely the better film.

It's smart, creative, innovative, and the characters were fresh and memorable. And it was sexy in a smart way.

#film review #blade runner 2049

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alisemartinez91 · 4 years

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ssteezyy · 7 years

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Why Does Your Cat’s Tongue Feel Like Sandpaper?

This post contains affiliate links*

Cat anatomy is endlessly fascinating to me. Cats have some unique anatomical abilities that they share with no other species, and this is true for their tongue as well. That sandpaper sensation is caused by what is one of nature’s perfect designs: the cat’s tongue allows her to groom and to consume her prey.

Anatomy of the cat’s tongue

The cat’s tongue is covered with tiny, backward facing barbs called papillae. These papillae are made from keratin, the same substance that is found in human fingernails. These papillae account for the rough sensation you feel when your cat licks you. They’re designed to help the cat collect dirt, debris and and loose hair from her coat while grooming. They also help the cat pull meat off her prey’s bones.

Alexis Neol, a researcher at Georgia Tech, was so fascinated by her cat Murphy’s tongue that she decided to study cat tongues by creating a model that replicates the tiny barbs. She scanned a specimen of a cat tongue and 3D printed out the structure at 400 percent scale. “

Staying clean is a matter of survival

The cat’s tongue is a more efficient grooming tool than any comb or brush. The individual spines are even shaped like miniature cat claws with a very sharp end,” Noel said. “They’re able to penetrate any sort of tangle or knot, and tease it apart.” Noel then put the artificial cat’s tongue through it’s paces inside a machine that drags the model across a patch of fake fur. To clean a traditional hair brush, you need to pluck the hairs out from between the bristles. Noel’s cat tongue model was much easier to clean: She simply ran her finger across the surface in the same direction as the spines. (Source: PBS Newshour)

Even though our house cats don’t have to use their tongues to pull meat off their prey, you’ll still notice them grooming thoroughly after each meal. Post meal grooming is a remnant of cats’ wild origin, where staying clean is a survival strategy: removing all traces of the scent of her meal will prevent other prey in the area to be alerted to the cat’s presence, and will also prevent potential predators from scenting the cat.

Grooming also helps the cat keep cool in hot weather.

Grooming for comfort

Grooming can also be a self-soothing mechanism. Some cats will resort to grooming when they’re nervous or anxious. Unfortunately, this behavior is sometimes taking to such an extreme that they will groom off all their fur on parts of their body. This excessive grooming is also called psychogenic alopecia (alopecia means hair loss). Cat guardians often don’t actually see the cat doing this, they just notice the bald patches. The cause of excessive grooming can be physical or behavioral.

The tongue helps cats drink

The tongue is also instrumental in helping cats drink. A few years ago, researches at MIT conducted a study into the physical dynamics of how cats drink. They studied high-speed video of cats to show how they flick the surface of water with the topside of the tip of their tongues. According to the researchers, the top surface of the cat’s tongue is the only surface to touch the liquid. Cats, unlike dogs, aren’t dipping their tongues into the liquid like ladles. Instead, the cat’s lapping mechanism is far more subtle and elegant. The smooth tip of the tongue barely brushes the surface of the liquid before the cat rapidly draws its tongue back up. As it does so, a column of liquid forms between the moving tongue and the liquid’s surface. The cat then closes its mouth, pinching off the top of the column for a nice drink, while keeping its chin dry.

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Cats can’t taste sweets

Cats have fewer taste buds than humans, and they can’t taste sweets. For those cats that do like sweets, this habit has most likely been created by feeding species-inappropriate foods that are too high in carbohydrates and sugars.

A candy shaped like cat tongues

There is a candy that is shaped like a cat’s tongue called Katzenzungen. Katzenzungen is the German word for “cat’s tongues.” As a child, this was my favorite candy, and it wasn’t because of what it tasted like. The candy itself is really not all that exciting: it’s just really good German milk chocolate, in the shape of a cat’s tongue – well, sort of shaped like a cat’s tongue, anyway. No, it was the box that it came in that I loved, and as a child I would collect the boxes and use them as keepsakes. This was long before I ever had a cat in my life (as some of you know, I didn’t get my first cat until I was in my twenties), and now I can’t help but wonder whether these beautifully packaged chocolates contributed to the beginning of my love affair with cats. You can actually get this candy from Amazon, and after writing this post, I just had to order a box for old times’ sake!

*FTC Disclosure: The Conscious Cat is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for sites to earn advertising fees by advertising and linking to products on Amazon and affiliated sites. This means that if you decide to purchase through any of our links, we get a small commission. We only spread the word about products and services we’ve either used or would use ourselves.

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epchapman89 · 7 years

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Tim Wendelboe Talks Noma Mexico, La Marzocco Cafe Residency

Think you’ve got a pretty busy life? Try talking to Tim Wendelboe. The 2003 World Barista Champion and entrepreneur is redefining busy here in 2017. To wit, right now he’s overseeing a cafe update to the eponymous coffee brand he manages in Oslo, helping move the roasting operations of that brand into a brand new roasting facility, and regularly traveling back and forth to Colombia to work on the farm he purchased there in 2015, Finca El Suelo.

And he’s preparing for his coffee to be served at Noma Mexico. And he’s the next roaster in residency at the La Marzocco Cafe in Seattle, launching tomorrow.

“Everything is happening all at once,” he tells me, with a certain winking understatement. Just one of the above projects would be enough to fell most mortals, but some live for the chaos—or at the very least can make the most of it.

At Noma Mexico, Wendelboe’s coffee—100% sourced from Chiapas—will be part of chef Rene Redzepi & Co’ s multi-course tasting menu of traditional Mexican ingredients and natural wines from around the world, served in an outdoor restaurant setting described as “nestled between the jungle and the Caribbean Sea.” Tickets were priced at $600 USD and sold out in just three and a half hours.

Meanwhile at Wendelboe’s upcoming La Marzocco Cafe residency, the roaster’s Oslo cafe menu has been painstakingly recreated, right down to the cups—yes, they’re shipping ceramics over from Oslo. That means delicately roasted Scandinavian-style coffees, including offerings from revered producers like Elias Roa and Marysabel Caballero. Fussy Seattle coffee drinkers—your Niles Crane types—take note: As in their Oslo cafe, there will be no soy on offer during Wendelboe’s takeover. Allergic to milk? Drink your coffee black.

Somehow, somewhere in the middle of it all, Wendelboe spoke with Sprudge co-founder Jordan Michelman about these projects and more. They spoke digitally from Oslo, Norway and Portland, Oregon.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Hey Tim, and thanks for taking a moment to speak with Sprudge. Tell us more about your plans for residency at La Marzocco Cafe in Seattle. Who will be overseeing the program?

Stephanie Holm is there to train them—she’s there implementing the project, and she’s our bar manager and store manager here in Oslo. She’s been with the company for six years.

When did plans first get put in motion for this residency with the LM Cafe team?

We started talking about it with La Marzocco before they even opened—that was last year. But I can be slow at answering emails at times, and so we really finalized the schedule in August of last year.

Stephanie Holm will be overseeing the residency, but will you be able to see it for yourself?

Unfortunately, no. We’re moving the roaster out of my store right now into a new space, and things just don’t happen if I’m not here. I also have to focus more on my farm in Colombia—I’ll be there during our residency period, and we’re also doing Noma in Mexico during this time so I might have to go back there as well. Everything is happening all at once.

I have many Noma questions but first let me ask—what’s up with the new roasting space?

Andreas Hertzberg, who used to work for Solberg & Hansen, he’s now the CEO of Nordic Approach, and he bought a building in east Oslo that’s 10 minutes away from our store. In the first floor will be our new roastery, in the second floor our offices, and then in the third and fourth Nordic Approach will have their offices. It will be like a joint coffee building for Oslo.

Will there be a cafe onsite?

No, we’re just going to produce there. We’re taking out the roaster from our cafe and putting in new seats.

For this residency in Seattle, are you trying to recreate the Tim Wendelboe Oslo cafe experience in Seattle?

Their cafe is very different compared to ours—it’s huge, and that makes it difficult to replicate the atmosphere. But for drinks, we’re trying to do the drinks just as we do in Oslo. We’ll do an Aeropress black coffee menu with four different coffees. We’ll also offer an Aeropress taste flight—ideally it is for two people to purchase it and share, and they can taste it with some guidance from one of the baristas. We actually sent over the same cups we use for black coffee as we use in our cafe. And then for milk drinks, they’ll be made the same way as we do in Oslo, where the biggest size is just an 8oz latte. I hope it will be well received. We try and make the coffees taste more like coffee so you have to add less milk.

How do you prepare the team in Seattle for that conversation?

Well, that’s why Stephanie is there now, to really talk with the baristas and train them on how we talk about coffees to our guests. We aren’t going to serve an Americano because that’s not the best way to represent our coffee—we feel it’s better to serve an Aeropress. It’s a matter of trying to convince the customer why we do something our way. It’s about explaining it and saying, “This week it’s a little different, so perhaps try this” — and then we recommend something that’s similar to an Americano.

Also, Stephanie was tasting the milk alternatives, and we decided to just go with organic whole milk.

So there will be no milk alternatives offered?

No, unfortunately not. The reasoning is we’re trying to focus on the coffee flavor, so something like sweetened soy milk, it kind of disappears. We’d suggest our guests would try black coffee instead, and if a guest wants something sweet to drink, our roast style enhances sweet and is quite light, so it’s more approachable to taste.

I would love to be a fly on the wall that first day.

I would too! Let’s hope that it goes well. We haven’t had any problems in Norway…

Well, Seattle is not Oslo.

I know that. We don’t have a big vegan scene here in Oslo, and we don’t really have a big soy milk scene, except perhaps on the west side of Oslo where people think things like milk and soy are the worst things you can put in your body. I would argue instead that genetically modified soy milk might not be the best thing you can consume.

Which coffees will you be serving in Seattle?

We’ll have fresh crop from Finca Tamana in Colombia, as well as a Sidamo that’s still tasting great, and we might have some Kenyan coffee—we’re running out—but there’s some coffee from Nacimiento in Honduras that we won Nordic Roaster Forum with, and also some Java variety coffee from the Caballeros. It’s a one-month residency so we might change some coffees out.

Tim Wendelboe with Elias Roa (left) at Finca Tamana.

How long does it take to ship roasted coffee from Oslo to Seattle?

4 days. But last week our coffee was stopped by the FDA, and I had to spend a week reasoning with them, but it was just released today. That’s what they’ll use for the first week, then we’ll ship every second week fresh coffee. We nitrogen flush so it’s not an issue with freshness. It actually benefits from not being so fresh.

Will retail bags of this coffee be available for sale at the cafe?

Yes, and we’re participating in the newly launched Espresso Subscription through La Marzocco Home as well.

Which coffees will be served as espresso?

We’ll do two different ones—Tamana espresso from Colombia, designed for milk drinks, with a sweet and heavy body, and then Hunkute from Sidamo, which is quite bright and floral and fruity. Those aren’t in demitasse but in cups that we prefer to drink from.

So really this residency is about coming over, and doing what you do in Oslo for a month in Seattle.

That’s what we’re trying to do, yes, and that’s what (LM Cafe director) Amy Hattemer wanted us to do as well—to be as similar as possible to what we do in Oslo.

Wendelboe’s cafe in Oslo.

Let’s shift gears—you were just in Mexico helping set up the Noma coffee service there, yes?

Yes, I was there 3 full days, plus more in Chiapas.

What coffees will be served at Noma Mexico?

We’re working with Jesús Salazar in Chiapas. We got a lot of samples sent, to try and find the best green coffee for Noma that I know they would be happy with. I cupped them here in Norway and didn’t know any of the people, and had contacted a lot of different people in Mexico to try, but the coffees from Jesús really stood out, and I wanted to work with him.

I visited him in Chiapas just a week ago, and we cupped through 30 different samples representing one bag lots each, and I selected the ones we needed for Noma. I tried a lot of great coffees—I found more great coffees than I needed—and then spent the rest of my time working on roast profiles so we could create the consistency Noma needs.

So all the coffee for Noma Mexico will be roasted there, and not in Oslo?

Yes, everything is done locally. It makes more sense in terms of local stability.

Who manages the roasting in Mexico?

Jesus’ partner, Claudia Pedraza Salazar. We worked together during my visit, roasting all night actually, and I worked with her to help develop some roast logs, based on tasting the coffees the day after. The roaster they had was pretty easy to adjust so I think they’ll be able to follow the logs quite well, and that’s the idea. I will continuously be having the dialogue with Noma as well as with Jesús and Claudia, so I can stay involved from afar.

What will drinks service look like at Noma Mexico?

Several different drinks will be served, including a warm filter coffee—that one might not be very popular because it is very hot there, and the restaurant is literally on the beach.

Well, I want to drink a hot coffee on the beach.

Oh really? Well, we are also making drinks with ice, using hot coffees that we cool down before adding syrups. I’m not sure if I should be telling you any of this, but there’s one drink we’re making that’s very refreshing, made with sour orange, honey, and a filter coffee that’s cooled down, served in a glass.

Almost cocktail style?

Yeah. And then, of course, we’re doing espresso with a different Mexican coffee, one that’s tasting like ripe berries, really really nice. That’ll be served on its own, plus there will be a cold version that I really can’t talk about yet, but it tastes so good. There will be 4 drinks total.

What kind of gear will Noma Mexico have for coffee?

A La Marzocco Volcano grinder and Linea PB 2-group espresso machine. We’re serving for 140 people a day plus the staff, and those chefs drink a lot of espresso, and they need a big machine. For filter, we’re using Hario V60 to brew on.

I’m curious—since you’re working only with coffees from Mexico, will sommelier Mads Kleppe use only Mexican natural wines, like Bichi Wines?

[Laughs] No, but a big part of the menu will be. He’s been working with some producers there for natural wines—I tasted a few, and some of it is really good, but it won’t be an 100% Mexican wine list. Some will come from France and so on, and hopefully they will arrive in time—they’ve had some trouble with customs.

Will you head back to Mexico to oversee the coffee program’s launch?

They really want me to go eat there. They’re kind of insisting actually. I really don’t have time for it but we’ll see, and also if they need some help for coffee. We’ll see, but I’m kind of hoping they don’t.

Well I know the whole thing will be a dogpile of thirsty American journalists, but if you need someone who knows coffee to come check it out, I’d love to join you.

[Laughs] Yeah, okay. I worked with Mads on the program and they’re well-trained, so I’m confident it’ll be good. It’ll be really great and I’m happy with it. I have to say—I didn’t expect to find some great coffees in Mexico. Every Mexican coffee I’ve tasted in the past has been average in quality, but the coffees I found for this project were very good.

Perhaps like in Brazil, Mexico’s coffee reputation could be changing. Might this become a regular thing, for Tim Wendelboe to begin offering Mexican coffees?

I’m planning to get some bags sent to Norway so I can present some of our Noma coffees, and I will be sending them to 108 in Copenhagen. The volumes are very small but, in the future, hopefully it’s something we can improve on.

What do you think has changed in Mexico, to help start overcoming the stigma around Mexican coffee quality?

The biggest thing is simple, which is that people like Jesús Salazar are working to improve quality. Normally it just takes a couple of people to start working on it, just a couple of producers are needed to improve quality and show what is possible to their neighbors. That’s it—the coffees has probably always been there, and the ones we’ve bought are old varieties bought by long-held farms, so it’s just a matter of starting to work towards better quality. Jesús is doing that small scale for his own coffee shops, but the coffee scene in Mexico is very collaborative and working together to create something better.

Anything else you’d like to share?

No, I should be going. I’m going on a date with my wife tonight; we haven’t seen each other in a month.

Have a lovely time and thank you.

Tim Wendelboe’s residency at La Marzocco Cafe begins Tuesday, March 21st and concludes May 1st. La Marzocco Cafe is located at 472 1st Ave N in Seattle, WA with hours daily. Visit their official website for hours and more information.

Jordan Michelman is a co-founder and editor at Sprudge Media Network, and a contributor at Willamette Week. Read more Jordan Michelman on Sprudge.

Images courtesy of Tim Wendelboe.

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