#Google Alert - conveyor

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“If You Don’t Look Good, We Don’t Look Good” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Humor, Shameless Smut (I got carried away), Cameo Appearance by Soft!Dom Dean, Unprotected Sex

Word Count: 4200

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

Neither one of you have had to use it – until you get a text from Sam. A case has gone all kinds of awful for Dean. You are not ready for the version of Dean you have to face in the aftermath.

Notes: This is total self-indulgence because I miss This Dean.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Hair Pulling" square.

Image created in Canva (links for photos used - found on Google: Jensen Ackles, Liverpool Comic Con, 2023; Jensen Ackles Photo Shoot

66

You stare, mid-muffin chew, at Sam’s text.

“Fuck me.” A few stray crumbs and a rogue blueberry land on a page of lore you should probably be more careful with. But you can’t be bothered with MOL reference handling procedures at the moment.

This is Red Alert. Defcon 5. Designated Survivor Mode Activated.

You and Sam had decided on a code to use in the most grievous, world-shattering of situations.

Full Dean Meltdown

“Fuck.” There’s no point in continuing to curse to yourself. “Fuck.” But you can’t help it. Neither one of you has ever had to use it before. You’d come close a few times.

The book is forgotten, pushed to the side on the table surface. Your fingers glide over the phone’s keyboard.

Is he alright?!? What happened? Please, tell me this is a joke?

I wouldn’t joke about this. Sam’s words bubble up, line by line. Well, I made the mistake of joking right after it happened. It’s gotten progressively worse the entire drive back. He hasn’t said a single word since we got in the car. IDK what’s gonna happen.

“Fuck.”

Should I evacuate? How much time do I have?

Just pulled into the garage.

Shit, Sam! Do you not understand how a code word for disaster preparedness works? One needs enough time to actually prepare for the disaster!

You wait. More bubbles. Then nothing. Maybe Sam didn’t make it out alive. Maybe you should make a run for it through the war room and up the stairs. Save yourself.

I received some communication. He’s headed straight for the showers. Meet you in the lab.

“A what?”

“Musca.” Sam sighs. “Ever seen ‘The Fly’?”

“On cable years ago, filtered through my fingers.”

Sam continues. “They secrete this sticky goo to build a nest.” His mouth crinkles. “Dean landed in it.”

“The nest?” you ask.

“The goo. A puddle of the stuff. Monster fluids freak him out.”

You shiver in disgust at the thought. “Fuck creature feature fluids. 100% in agreement.”

“So, we tracked the musca to its hideout in an abandoned factory. We split up when we got inside…”

“Why do you always split up?” you ask, following it with a frustrated groan.

Sam purses his lips and then proceeds. “When I found him, he was basically glued to this massive conveyor belt holding the goo like it was a kiddie pool. I had to cut him out of most of his clothes to free him.”

The thought of a half-naked Dean has you shiver for other reasons. “Poor guy,” you add in an effort to express sympathy over your dirty thoughts.

Sam chuckles.

You straighten with worry Sam has figured out your crush on his brother. Ready to dispute any yearnings, you add a grumbly edge to your voice and the question. “What was funny about any of that?”

Sam fists long strands on the right side of his scalp high in the air. “Even his hair got stuck to the belt. I had to hack half of it off.” He fingers his bangs back into effortless waves. “Once we killed it, Dean mumbled, ‘Vidal Sassoon you ain’t, fucker.’”

You shrug, confused. “Well, I mean, I get the trauma from the nasty gnat excretions. But that doesn’t explain why you had to warn of a possible Dean disaster.”  

Sam’s gaze tears from yours to stare at the floor by his boots.

“Sam?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I might have said something like, ‘We can’t all be masterful hunters with glorious locks.’”

You frown. “Sam…”

Sam raises a hand in defense. “Hey, maybe now he’ll finally shut up about my hair being a liability. I mean, hello, I’ve still got mine.”

The temptation to knock on Dean’s bedroom door is great. But you refrain, hiding away in yours instead. He’ll be better in the morning, you decide. Especially if you fry up some bacon.

A light rap of knuckles against mahogany distracts you from the latest show binge on your laptop. You pause the action. “Yeah?”

“Got a minute?” Even with the question, Dean’s tone sounds like a command.

You gulp. “Sure.” Rotating in the seat, your hand grips the top of the backrest. You’ll try to hold the line against the Dean Winchester Offensive.

The door swings slowly on its hinges. Dean slinks into your space. It’s the opposite of his usual bluster and humorous bellows that lead to inevitable laughter on your end. His slippers shuffle along the tile. He’s wearing roomy sweats and a dark t-shirt that hugs his torso. A folded towel is wedged into the crook of his arm. 

Your brain locks onto two things that appear off about Dean. The first thing totally out of place on the masterpiece before you is the baseball cap.

In the next second, you remember why he’s wearing it. It’s not because he’s undercover as a delivery driver or Fish and Wildlife Game Warden.

Dean does not want you to see his hair in its current state.

The second thing makes your pulse quicken. His beard is… gone. You can’t remember the last time you saw him even close to clean-shaven. You forgot what that sharp jawline used to do to your insides.

“Hey.” You don your best don’t-let-on-to-anything smile.

Dean scrutinizes you as if you are a witness in his rapid-fire way and then huffs. “Son of a bitch told you, didn’t he?”

You decide not to remind Dean he and Sam share the same mother. “He did. I’m sorry. You okay?”

The door clicks shut. “I’ll live. Sam might not see the light of day, though.”

You ignore the murder threat, instead focusing on a new scent in the air. You sniff, nostrils flaring with the deep inhale. Dean smells like he’s working on an amazing beach tan.

He nods at your reaction. “Coconut Oil. I had to use all that was in the kitchen for…” He circles his lower body with a finger and eventually points to the baseball cap.

“Did it do the trick?”

“Better than I hoped. I even got all that nasty shit out of my hair.” His weight shifts from one foot to the other. “But I need a favor.”

“At your disposal.” Still seated, you somersault your hand as if addressing royalty.

That at least cracks a tiny smile into his serious veneer. “I had to take a razor to my hair and cut it pretty short. Can you clean me up in the back?”

You clutch your chest and gasp in the most dramatic fashion you can muster. “You trust me to touch your hair?” 

“I trust you with my life, wiseass.” Dean smirks. “Can the sass and help a guy out, would ya?”

A warmth blossoms in your heart at Dean’s words. The heat spreads to your skin. You wave a hand at the towel and clear your throat. “Those the accouterments?”

Dean quirks a brow and grins. “Croutons?”

“And you call me the wiseass.” You sigh.

He shrugs with a nod in agreement. He drops the towel on the desk and lifts one of the corners to reveal the electric razor inside.

“Okay. Here’s as good a place as any, I suppose.” You rise from your seat, close the laptop, and move it to your dresser.

“You sure? We can go to the bathroom.” He thumbs at the door.

You wave a hand at the chair you vacated, now standing behind it. “Here’s good.”

Dean sits. The wooden chair creaks.

“Towel.”

Dean grabs the razor before passing the towel. You flap the fabric, channel your inner toreador, and let it billow over Dean’s frame like a sail. When it settles, you wrap and tuck it into the back of the collar.

Moments like this are pure indulgence. Getting within close proximity of Dean years ago left your brain unable to process the simplest tasks. Breathing. Blinking. Talking. Eventually, you got a handle on your senses. Now, you could treat yourself to the experience of him on occasion in a myriad of ways. No one had to be the wiser that the mundane helped create many fantasies.

“Razor.”

Dean chuckles, presenting you with the razor over his shoulder. “It’s not surgery.”

“Hey, appreciate the seriousness with which I’m embracing this endeavor.” You step to his left. “Dean?”

He lifts his head to peer up from under the brim of his cap. “Yeah?” His blinks emphasize the question.

All that does is force you to focus on his pretty lashes and the eye color he’s daring you to try and describe in your head. The cheekbones and the manicured five o’clock shadow aren’t helping matters either. You swallow and remember what’s supposed to happen next. “Can’t do much with that hat on your head.”

“Oh. Right.” He sighs. “Just, no laughing, alright?”

You place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze softly in confirmation. “No laughing. Promise.”

Dean exhales. You suck in your lips and hold your breath. He closes his eyes and peels the cap off.

You stare dumbfounded.

“Say whatever you gotta say,” Dean mumbles with scrunched features and shut lids.

Your vision clouds. Heart races. “It’s…”

“Awful,” he interrupts.

“Perfect,” you whisper.

Eyes open at the word. His gaze shoots up to meet yours. “Huh?”

Gone are the 90s dreamboat bangs he’s been growing out and tending to since 2020. In their place are a couple of directionless inches that need gel after the scrubbing, clipping, and hat matting. The Musca goo must have done most of its damage around the sides and back. In those areas, he’s shaved it short and close, done his best to fashion a fade that you imagine was muscle memory for him even after all these years. You eye the spot at the base of his skull that needs to be cleaned and tapered.  

You’re blinking, fighting back tears, utterly speechless.

Dean stares, total confusion lining his face. “Are you crying? Why the hell are you crying?” He taps the top of his head. “Shit… is it that fucking of a fiasco?”

“No.” You cover your mouth at the possibility a nervous laugh might spill out, which will only irritate him further. Moments pass as you struggle to steady your breath.

“Well, what the hell is it then?”

Dropping the hand covering your mouth, you beam down at him. “It’s you.” You could care less about what you were supposed to do with the razor in your hand. Instead, you perch your ass against the desk so you can lean back and take him in.

Dean’s eyes widen. You’ve seen that look of concern many times. “Yeeaaah. It’s me. Who else would it be? Do I need to get Sam?”

Your head shakes in amazement at the vision. “I haven’t seen this Dean since… damn, since before the pandemic. Since you and Sam made that bet, remember?”

“Gonna have to be a little more specific. Sam and I make lots of bets.”

“The one about you being unable to resist the temptation to take a razor to your hair during lockdown. I don’t even remember what the stakes were.”

Dean contemplates. “Hm. I haven’t got a clue. That was like, what, four years ago.” His lids shade the dark green of his irises. “This Dean?”

You nod. Your breath hitches at the swell of emotions rising. “The guy I first met.”

Dean shifts in the chair and leans forward. Every furrow and crinkle on his face melts away. His eyes appear to double in size as he waits for you to continue.

“My hero.” The whisper is a physical manifestation of how vulnerable and exposed you feel at Dean’s silent interrogation method. You press on. “The one that risked his life to save me… forever ago.”

He lifts one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. “Sam was there, too, you know.”

You laugh. Cheeks warm at the adorably smug reaction. “Yes, you’re right. He was.”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam’s had the exact same haircut for years. I don’t see you crying every time you lay eyes on him. He’s a walking reminder of the guy you first met.”

“But he’s not you.” In your haste to provide an explanation, you realize you’ve said too much.

Dean’s mouth opens a fraction. His brows downturn. He’s working it out in his head in real-time.

You’re terrified.

A new smile forms. You think you spot a blush on his cheeks. “What else do you remember about this Dean?”

You shrug and tear your gaze from his. You don’t want your words to betray you again.

“Hm.” Dean rambles off a laundry list. “A lot of brooding back then, wasn’t there? I was a really good brooder. Hard to figure out? Distant, too, right? Definitely knew what was best for everybody. Stubborn jackass.”

You remain silent.

“Okay, still a stubborn jackass.”

You giggle. He joins in with a chuckle. Your anxiety eases and you find courage to look at him again.

“We’ve all changed in different ways, I guess. You, for example.” Dean gestures in your direction.

You stiffen. This could go many ways. You aren’t ready for any of them.

“You don’t take any of my shit, for one.” He raises a finger. “You're confident. You speak your mind. You have a life outside of these bunker walls.” Four fingers are on display for a while. He smiles and elongates his thumb. “But you still make this your home.”

“Every second of the life I’m able to live is because of you guys. I owe you everything. I’m lucky you let me make this my home.” You reason.

Dean’s smile drops. The open palm clenches into a fist and rests on his thigh. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“You and Sam did all that for me without batting an eye. You didn’t expect anything in return. You and Sam gave me so much more than I could ever repay. You gave me a second chance. You gave me a home.” You shrug and smile. “You became my home.”

He studies the floor and smirks, stating more to himself, “Not the only long-standing bet I’ve lost to Sam today.” Dean inhales and sits tall, focusing back on you. He nods, slow and calculated. “So, perfect, huh?” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get a big head.”

“A little late for that.” He grins and reclines back. “Would you go so far as to say this Dean” – he sweeps his hands in front of his figure in a dramatic gesture – “is irresistible?”

You exhale. “I don’t know if I’d say irresistible.”

He licks his lips. “Whew. Well, that’s good. I mean, otherwise, you’d have the same problem I have.”

You drop the razor on the desk and cross your hands over your chest. “What problem would that be?”

A heated gaze, beginning at your socked feet, rakes over you with his answer. “How much I find every fucking thing about you irresistible. You could shave your head and wear a potato sack, and I’d still have to keep my feelings in check.” You're practically on fire by the time his eyes lock with yours. “Every goddamn second of every day I’m around you.”

“This would be one of those times I don’t take any of your shit,” you scoff and squint back.

It’s his turn to clutch his hand to his chest. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re having a little too much fun at the expense of my soul-baring.”

“Wanna bet?” 

Dean’s voiced that question countless times. Tonight, though, certainty laces his words.

He seems to take your silence as the only needed response. “Kiss me.”

“Wh-hat?”

“If you think you can resist, kiss me, and it’s a one-and-done.” His brows lift. “But if you can’t… Well, I might not leave this room anytime soon.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wager. More like a dare.” You straighten your stance. “Besides, you’re assuming…”

He grumbles out an interruption, “Sounds like somebody’s stalling.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

“Maybe we both take the armor off for a night. Take a chance on something that could be awesome.” Dean posits. His hands rub the cloth atop his thighs. “I can make it awesome.” The tone is low and promising. “If it helps, I’m this Dean tonight. We can worry about that Dean tomorrow.” He smiles, reaches a hand out to you, and nods in encouragement.

He’s struggling to play it cool, keep his emotions in check. You’ve seen this Dean before. He’s inhaling and exhaling fast through his nose. His jaw clenches and it cracks your resolve even further.

You drop your shield and let this Dean win you over. 

You melt, wrapping your fingers over his. This Dean’s touch electrifies every cell and awakens every dormant hope you had put to rest. He tugs you into his space. His lead forces the parting of your legs in order for his thigh to slot between. You hover. Your chin drops to your chest while his chin tips up high to hold your gaze. His body heat pulses off him like a vibrational energy. “Kiss me.” It’s the sweetest and softest request you’ve ever heard this Dean utter.

Your fingers trace along the freshly shaved hair over his right ear. It’s slippery and smooth in one direction, scritch-scratchy in the other. You can study every battle scar on this handsome canvas. No bangs of curtains or overgrown beard can hide them from you now. 

His lips part and release a deep sigh. Your fingers slip down his neck. Warm hands rest on the curve of your hips.

“I won’t be able to resist you,” you whisper.

“Good,” he hums. He’s guiding you with a firm grip to straddle his thigh. Then, there’s an encouraging push with a large palm and splayed fingers against the middle of your back. The sweet smell of coconut hits. Your gaze zones onto that bowed top lip. The way the plump bottom one parts from it to grant entrance.

Dean huffs an impatient groan you are all too familiar with. “You don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” you tease.

“More like a warning.” His voice is gruff and deep.

You hold back a moan at the sound, then dip down and do as you’re told.

Everything about the kiss is eager and rushed. Together you’re a tangle of limbs and fever pitch need. You’re pressed tight and right to his body - all muscle-tense and trigger-ready. His lips respond in kind to your every brush, swipe, and nudge for more and more.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he murmurs through the kiss.

You gasp in satisfaction at the intention. 

His lips skim to your jaw, under your ear, then down your neck. “I gotta know that’s what you want.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Another hum thrums against your skin. You shiver as fingers creep under the hem of your t-shirt. His nose nuzzles along the frayed v-neck collar. He cups your breasts under the fabric. A thumb and finger twists one of your nipples even more erect. Teeth scraping and tongue lapping over the other fabric-covered nipple draw a strained moan out of your throat.

Soon the shirt is tugged hastily over your head for removal. Then you feel his mouth and hands all over your breasts again, unencumbered.

You’re a panting, heaving mess riding his thigh like you’re on an X-rated carousel. You arch your chest into his face. He’s slurping and sucking your nerve endings into the stratosphere. He pops a tit out of his mouth long enough to order, “Yeah, come for me so I can fuck that nice wet pussy.”

Dean staring at you, commanding you to come for him, is the tipping point you need to orgasm hard and fast.

“Yeah.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and clamps his mouth to yours. “Gonna feel so good around my cock.” He steals every gasp of air you expel with his inhales.

You’re tingling all over. He peels you off his thigh to sandwich his standing body to yours. He towers over you. He’s stiff and erect in his sweats, pressed into your lower tummy. His hands sweep up and down the channel of your spine.

“This Dean’s got a lot to make up for.” His tongue licks at your lips. “But I gotta be inside you right now.”

You nod. “You got five seconds to get me naked and on that bed.”

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester is not up for a challenge.

The chair behind him is now careening towards the bedroom door on all four legs. You scream-giggle as he lifts you into the air while he twirls, then tosses you onto the mattress, bouncing at the impact.

The sound of the chair crashing and toppling into a corner does nothing to distract you from watching Dean tunnel out of his t-shirt, kick off his slippers, and hopscotch out of his pants and boxers. His hard, thick cock springs to attention.

Fuck. You want every inch of that deep inside you.

He hooks his fingers onto the hem of your pants and manages to pull your socks off along with them. Kneeing onto the bed, he croons, “Been wanting you for so long, baby.”

Your head falls back into the cushion of the mattress, woozy from Dean’s actions and confession. “Probably been wanting you longer.”

Your panties are off and tossed over his shoulder next. “You don’t gotta wait anymore.” He grips under your knees and drags you to him. He slides over the wet heat of your folds and hisses, “Wanna fuck you without a condom.”

You whimper, “Just fuck me already.”

He smiles, grabs his cock – that must be fitted with a pussy homing device – and pistons into your entrance without any further mother fucking ado.

You gasp at the searing heat and sharp pain of him stretching you open. But he doesn’t stop fucking you. He’s minding how your facial features accept the brunt of each thrust and the agonizing slow release of his cock. Over and over. His descent is just as slow as he fucks. But eventually, your legs clamp around his waist and he wraps you in an embrace. Chests plastered together, moaning into each other’s mouths.

Your fingers inch into what remains of his bangs. You pull at the hair and Dean groans out, “Yeah.”

It’s lovely and languid for however long you both have the patience. The feel of him everywhere and inside is something you don’t ever want to end. But there’s a second orgasm building. The thought of Dean spilling into you has your walls clench in impatience around his cock.

“Fuck,” he grunts, face tucked along your neck. You lift your head up to enjoy the view of his undulating back and curvy ass clenching and raising as his fucking gains momentum. You pull at his hair again. “Fuuuck.”

He stills, turns to stone, and you feel his cock pulse and warmth spill inside. Moments later, a hand wedges between your bodies to thumb your clit and trigger your second orgasm.

You cry out his name.

“I got you, baby,” Dean whispers into your ear. And he does. Not letting go and practically swaddling you with his body. The sexiest weighted blanket on the planet.

You smile and stroke – instead of pulling – at his hair. “Who’s got me exactly? This Dean or That Dean?”

He sighs, sounding winded. “You get all the versions. Whether you like it or not.”

“I’d like that very much.”

He leans back to stare at you. “Yeah?” He’s red and flushed and the happiest you’ve ever seen him. “Even if I grow my hair out again?”

You nod. “Yeah. More for me to pull.”

Dean groans and flops to his back beside you, chuckling.

You listen to the rhythm of your collective breathing slow down and regulate. His fingers brush along the flesh of your thigh. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, you said something about losing two bets to Sam today. What was the other one?”

“Asshole told me you had a thing for me years ago. Let’s hold off on telling him he was right, or I’m doing his laundry for an entire year.”

“I don’t think we have to tell him anything, Dean. I’m pretty sure he heard everything.”

“Hm. You’re right.” He’s up on an elbow, staring down at you. “Maybe text him that code thing? That might get him out of the bunker for a while.”

You blink. “Code?”

“Don’t play coy now.” Dean shakes his head. “But what’s the ‘66’ mean?”

You bite your lip.

He waits.

“It was Sam’s idea.”

He waits.

“The 66 Seals.” 

Dean cringes.

You shrug. “Too soon?”

“And he says I have a twisted sense of humor.” Dean yawns. He finds the edge of the comforter you both are lying atop and tosses it over your naked bodies. “So, will you still clean me up in the back? Maybe wait until morning, though?”

“Absolutely.” You snuggle into his chest, secure that Dean will wake up next to you in the morning. “If you don’t look good, we don’t look good.”

It takes a beat before Dean responds with a teasing smack to the back of your head, followed by a kiss on your forehead. “Wiseass.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester fan fiction #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut

[saltygilmores]

THOUGHTS WHILE WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS: APPLICATION ANXIETY (SEASON 3, EPISODE 3, PART 3)

Luke marches next door to confront Taylor about his malt shop scheme. I love Luke giving Taylor a good smack down. This episode is so chock full of verbal smack downs, I'm positively giddy.

He's not wrong you know. I fully believe there is a dark side to The Hollow. I wish to one day explore it in my unrated spinoff chock full of swearing and gritty realism and Naked Adult Jess titled...The Hollow.

How creepy is it that Taylor has surveillance cameras all over town? Also, I think I can be forgiven for wrongly assuming Taylor was going to show Luke a picture of Jess. He's chosen to use a couple of skateboarders as an example of moral decay in Stars Hollow when Jess and Shane were macking it against a tree in front of hundreds of people in broad daylight at a festival HE was overseeing. That's funny. I’m glad Taylor decided to leave Jess alone and turn a blind eye to the furious public groping. I'm thinking since Jess could use a couple of friends he should introduce himself to these skateboarders. I think he would fit in nicely. "You want to open up a soda shop next to the diner? Taylor, no, no, no. Every day from now until the end of my life, I am going to come in here saying "Taylor, no." When I die, I'm gonna be frozen next to Ted Williams, and when they find the cure to what I died of and unfreeze me, my first words will be "How's Ted?" followed closely by, "Taylor, no." Another glorious Nuclear Rant! Hey, I actually understood that Ted Williams reference! Umm. Let me have this article unpack it because this post is going to go wildly off script if I attempt to do it myself. Ted Williams' decapitated head was cryonically preserved in a Frankenstein-like plan to resurrect him in the future

Here's what Lorelai is reading (the magazine is dated August 23-30, 2002).

Lorelai informs Rory that she met with Charleston and he suggested Rory meet with a Harvard graduate for an alumni dinner...Aw crud, I remember that. That whole thing where Rory goes to a very awkward dinner with a bunch of intellectual dorks then she goes upstairs to find some girl putting on a bunny costume, and then the bunny gives her life advice about being yourself and not following the crowd or something.

Hey Dave.

Stop it AmyShermanPalladino. Just stop it. *grumbles and googles* Danny Davies Gans (October 25, 1956 – May 1, 2009) was an American singer, comedian and vocal impressionist. Gans was a performer on the Las Vegas Strip and the surrounding area, where he was billed as "The Man of Many Voices."  This was in reference to Lorelai impersonating Rory's voice on the phone.

And now, time for the alumni dinner.

She has a digital organizer. That's how we're supposed to know she's really rich.

Lorelai makes a joke about how she thinks the brother and sister in the family are having sex with each other. Welp. At dinner with the Harvard Dorks, Rory and Lorelai exchange looks when the father implores his supposedly incestuous children not to "Fight over the breast." What is happening? Mom and Dad won't talk about Carol (the bunny). The dad is kinda Richard-Esque. The next several minutes is just an excrutiangly long game of Harvard Dork Family Playing Trivia at the dinner table and would you look at that, Lorelai feels like a fish out of the water for not understanding anything they're referencing. HA, HA! NOW YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS!

Look at all the kooky crap on the walls. It looks like a TGI Friday's. And she's dressed as a 50's car hop. We already know this girl (Carol) is going to be so quirky. Rory thinks this chick is pretty keen and appreciates her taste in music. Spoiler alert: Rory does not make a new friend. Bunny Carol is Fun and Cute and Quirky and Not Like Other Girls and she intends to make it known that Rory is nothing more than a Harvard Sheep. Baaaa.

If only Rory could be a bunny/waitress like Carol and not stuck on The conveyor belt of Expectations, then she'd truly be happy. Well, who knows, since the journalism degree obviously didn't pan out, maybe at one point she did. There's a big hole in the Gilmore Girls timeline between 2007-2016. LOL @ Rory waiting tables or entertaining children for a living. Even April waited tables at Luke’s and she was like, 12 or something. I don’t remember. Anyway I made myself laugh just now. Rory: I've dreamt of Harvard since I was 4. Bunny Carol: LOL, a lot of little kids dream about that, right after meeting Harry Potter. This bunny is downright vicious.

Getting screen shots of that giant pencil to make jokes about how Rory is always holding oversized props that are vaguely penis-like is the only reason I ever venture into season 7.

I swear there was a fourth penis prop because I referenced that pencil not long ago and can’t find it now.

Take that, Crusty!

Sure, Lorelai is easy to please. Unless you date someone she doesn’t like, or you talk to your grandparents, or you invite your grandparents to a thing, or you take the advice of your grandparents, or you conspire with your grandparents to help your mother financially, or you consider a college that your grandparents suggest, or you consider other colleges besides the best ones, or your quarter on a string goes missing, or your friend gets you into a car accident, or you break up with Dean and suddenly there’s no one around to pleasure her sexually anymore… Otherwise Lorelai is super chill.

Things googled while watching gilmore girls: Ted Williams, Entertainment Weekly Gangs of New York, Danny Gans, How Much Did A PalmPilot Cost, Could A Palm Pilot Make Calls, Inflation Calculator (to calculate the price of a Palm Pilot in today's money, which could be between $400-$700)

#gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 3 #application anxiety #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #luke danes #taylor doose #Luke Vs Taylor Verbal Smackdown

[cookerypokery]

Food Coma Alert: My Mouth-Watering Journey Through Japan Will Leave You Hungry for More!

Are you there, lard? It's me, Chlever.

Many things have transpired since my last post here. Marriages were marriaged. Pandemics were paninied. Clevers were reunited for a few glorious months in the bay area. And most recently, honeymoons were mooned in Japan, place of delicious foodstuffs, amusing onomatopoeia, and dear friends, best enjoyed together.

Come along with me and relish in the choicest of meal memories, in no particular order:

Konbini onigiri If heaven exists, I am 99% certain it is a Japanese convenience store. Whether it be cold beer, hot mugicha, grape gummies, crunchy savory snackies, fluffy baked goods, ice cream novelties, or a steaming bowl of oden (more on this later), you can find it all at the konbini. But the crown jewel of the konbini has to be the plentiful onigiri rice balls; so good that Brian often wondered aloud if we should "just grab a couple extra for the road", as if there weren't konbini and thus more onigiri on every corner. I always thought my favorite was the tuna mayo, but the salt flake salmon wrestled its way to top-tier status this trip. 10/10, would howmf again.

Ekiben No doubt you have heard of the incredible train system in Japan, and the bullet train shinkansen that puts American public transportation to shame. It is one of the greatest joys of traveling in Japan, and as an experience, is elevated greatly by the tasty tradition of the ekiben, or train bento. These packaged delicacies can be found at any shinkansen station, displayed such that you can inspect their contents (sushi! shumai! gyukatsu! potato salad! kabocha! pickles galore!) and select whichever combination suits your fancy. Traveling with a fellow gourmand allows for more sampling, and perhaps selection of a third ekiben to share...which is precisely what we did. These ekiben were purchased at Ueno station in Tokyo to be enjoyed on the train trip to Kusatsu Onsen, in Gunma. 10/10 get in my mouth.

Things on sticks What is it about skewering morsels that makes them so dang delicious!!! Of course there's yakitori and kushiyaki abundant at any izakaya: skewers of chicken and beef (and cartilage, livers, hearts, etc) — all tenderly roasted over a binchotan charcoal grill and infused with salty smoky savoriness. Or the classic mitarashi-dango grilled mochi dipped in a sweet soy goo. But a first for me this trip were mochiyaki senbei, which we nibbled along the streets of Kusatsu Onsen. These skewered rice crackers were crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside, both sweet and savory, containing multitudes. Things on sticks categorically I'd give a 9/10, only because we were weenies about eating a lot of cartilage.

Tenpura + Zarusoba As fans of CP will know, I have been to Japan twice before in my life, and that first trip was back in the era of mapquest and carrier pigeons. But my memory for delicious food is unfailing, so when we planned to visit Arashiyama — of bamboo forest fame — memories of slurping soba overlooking the hozugawa river came wafting from my past. Did I remember the restaurant's name? Certainly not. But through retracing steps on google maps street view, and then creeping on restaurant photos, I managed to hone in on Arashiyama Yoshimura, the exact spot where a young chlev had noshed those many years ago. So obviously we had to go back with friends Cassie and Miki in tow, and as luck would have it we sat in the same exact spot and ordered the same exact lunch set: mixed tenpura with zarusoba (cold dipping soba), with a little bowl of rice, pickles, and chirimen on the side. It was a beautiful day, and as the sunlight sparkled off the river and shone through the delicately translucent tenpura, I marveled at just how good life is. 100/10, go out of your way to eat this meal.

Kaitenzushi Did you know that conveyor belt sushi is not simply fun but it is also delicious?! Whether at a more local spot where the sushiyasan sits at the center of a sushi merry-go-round, or at a high-tech chain (like sushiro or kurasushi) where you order via tablet and your freshly prepared bites are shot directly to your table by sushi bullet train, kaitenzushi is both dinner and a show. Brian and I especially loved our meal at sushiro, where they tally up your final bill by counting the number of plates you end up with. 200/10 because that’s how many plates we ate.

Japanese breakfast Topping Brian's list of excited-to-eats, We enjoyed washoku asagohan a few times over the course of our trip. There is something just so comforting about a hot bowl of rice, pickles, and a perfectly grilled piece of fish first thing. Standout of all breakfasts was the buffet we enjoyed at our onsen hotel in Kyoto, Renka no yu onyado, which included all the above and more; entirely too much food for 8am, but dammit if we weren't going to sample as much as we could reasonably fit into our happy bellies! 10/10 duh!!!

I fear this post is getting too long so I will try and restrain myself.

Oden Some may say stinky? Plain? The food of the masses? I say delicious! Comforting! A clear stew with simmered daikon, tofu, shirataki, konyaku, carrots that I used to get at 7-11 and eat for lunch as a college student. Good friend Yoko treated us to the real deal at a wonderful obanzai restaurant in Kyoto called Shunsai Imari; kyoto home-cookin’ at it’s finest, 9.99/10 because there was no hot n spicy mustard to go with it.

501 Horai Butaman Fluffy!!! Filled with savory moist porky bits!! Served with a tiny lil packet of firey mustard!! These buns are bliss. You know it’s 10/10.

Ichigo daifuku Take the best dessert, manju mochi with anko red bean paste, and somehow make it even better by wedging a single perfect strawberry in there too. 8/10 because I managed to drop part of the strawberry in mine.

Okonomiyaki Perhaps the food I was most excited for Brian to experience, as we make "okonomiyaki" frequently at home in California. Where Dalby-style okonomiyaki are 95% veggies held together by the barest whisper of batter, Japanese okonomiyaki are dense savory pancakes stuffed with veg, meat, and noodles, with an egg cracked on top, mayo drizzle, and dancing flakes of katsuobushi. Cue homer simpson drool auughraahhhghhhghhhh. Brian says “7/10, could use more cabbage”

Tonkatsu A favorite from college days at Kansai Gaidai U, the chain Katsukura did not disappoint — slanging hot ‘n’ crispity cutlets of pork atop a mound of thinly shaved cabbage, and hot barley rice on the side. They give you as much cabbage as you want! Go wild! We certainly did! 10/10.

Matcha parfait We could not in good conscience leave without enjoying a novelty dessert, and the Rirakkuma cafe in Arashiyama did not disappoint. How delightful when things are both adorable AND delicious?! This matcha parfait had it all — alternating layers of anko bean paste, ice cream, and flaky cereal, all topped with an emoji-perfect dango 🍡 and pillowy marshmallow bear. 8/10 because that large green object was a tasteless rusk, thus a missed opportunity.

I'm sure we did other things on our trip besides eat, but what I will remember most fondly are the memories made around the table. The generosity, the laughs we shared over plates of tsukune-cheese, and tipsy debates on the many onomatopoeia for "crunchy" — from the カリカリ karikari crackle of a fried fish or chicken skin, to the パリパリ paripari crunch of a lacy gyoza, to the コリコリ korikori snap of a pickled cuke, or the サクサク sakusaku crispness of tenpura*. I crunched them all, dear reader. And I hope to crunch them again some day soon.

(*Despite the sheer volume of onomatopoeia, I recommend using them in conversation with reckless abandon, as mistakes will amuse and delight your drinking buddies.)

(PS - I asked AI to write the title for this blog post. The other options under consideration were: "Crunching Through Japan: A Deliciously Gluttonous Adventure"

"Japan: Where I Ate My Body Weight in Deliciousness and Lived to Tell the Tale"

"From Ekiben to Euphoria: A Foodie Adventure in Japan"

"Relishing the Culinary Delights of Japan: A Foodie's Journey")

#karikari paripari sakusaku