#I’m the only vegetarian in the household and I don’t mind cooking meat for my family when I’m helping out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cetaceans-pls · 4 years

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Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Characters: Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne

Summary:

Revolution and family both run on love and carbohydrates, and you can quote Jason on that.

Or, Jason swings by the Manor to find Alfred stress-cooking his heart out after a fight with Bruce, and over the course of making dumplings, the concept of caring by way of cooking becomes clear.

June got me feeling some kind of way about blatantly showing people you care about how much you care. We’re almost halfway through 2020, so keep on keeping on, and be charitable and kind as often as you possibly can.

Fic in Tumblr under the cut, and here’s my masterlist for more sweet sweet reads:

2020, right?

Jason’s not sure there’s anything left in his tank except for spite; it’s enough to get him out and about making sure that the GCPD watched their fucking step, but even spite is (surprisingly enough) not endless. That’s the hallmark of this most accursed of accursed years; prickly energy up-down his back that leaves him restless, and a complete inability to actually do any fucking thing about any fucking bit of it.

Times like these, there’s really just the one sure-fire way to re-find centre, and if it involves hacking into the family calendar to find just the right time when most everyone’s out of the house, well. There’s a reason Bruce never revoked his access, even if he’s got a second lifetime left to regret his pre-teen e-mail address ( ‘ [email protected] ’, where the w’s are of course for Wonder Woman, and the x’s are for Cool).

It’s a shitty hot June day, depression and distress are heavier in the air even than the choking humidity, and the Manor is quiet and cool in comparison. It’s tomb-like, yeah, but it’s not coffin-like and that makes all the difference. Jason comes in through the front door because he knows the house is mostly empty, and sheds layers as he goes. By the time he reaches the kitchen, he’s a full-grown man in ratty sweats and a sweat-damp undershirt, and Alfred looks up at him with endless warmth. “Why, Master Jason, if you had rung the bell I could have greeted you at the door.”

Jason looks both ways just in case, because this family is full up to the neck in people with horrific timing, before ducking down and pecking Alfred on the cheek; xxwwDangerBirdwwxx is not the only thing that stayed with him from childhood. “Heya, Alfie,” he says, already feeling 15 degrees better than he did outside. “I just let myself in, don’t sweat it. Am I interrupting something?”

He very clearly is. Alfred doesn’t have his coat on, and looks achingly domestic with his shirt sleeves neatly folded up and his soft fuzzy sweater-vest. His hands are a floury mess, kneading dough the size of two Dick-heads, but Alfred’s already moving away to wash his hands and put the kettle on. “Hey, no, you don’t have to, lemme just make my own-”

“Nonsense, Master Jason,” Alfred says, mild-mannered and a thousand times more menacing than Batman at his absolute worst. “It’s no trouble, there’s leftover roast beef from dinner yesterday, it won’t take a moment to make you a snack.”

And in less than said moment, Jason has tea-with-honey-and-milk, and a roast beef sandwich that smells like the dream ideal of every roast beef sandwich. He’s already eating before his brain can tell him to protest Alfred waiting on him, and the appreciative groan comes in right on queue, under a second after that first bite.

There is A Father, A Son, and A Holy Ghost, and they manifest all at once as an elderly British man with the finger strength of a mid-sized mountain gorilla. That dough is being beaten into absolute submission as Alfred gets back into the swing of things, and over the course of the consumption of a sandwich, it becomes a smooth, perfect lump that gets lovingly plopped into a bowl and covered with a damp tea cloth.

Alfred doesn’t ask Jason if there’s something wrong, or if he needs something. The clearest need is obviously the need to be home, and home Jason is, so whatever thing that next goes wrong had best be prepared to face Alfred and his selection of awful terrible knives that line the kitchen. He puts the bowl away on a shady spot on a windowsill and pulls out a mountain of onions instead, and gets to peeling.

Jason pulls out a switchblade from somewhere about his person, blitzes it with the hand sanitiser they’ve all been guilted into bringing with them at any and all times, and starts helping. His kitchen in his ratty apartment is where all the rats in the building like to hold Communion or something, so he’s long since given up having fresh produce around. Happily, vigilanteeism with a side of crime bossing keeps your knife skills sharp, and there’s something alarmingly freeing about peeling and chopping onions while unavoidable tears start up, in a sunny kitchen with your granddad.

“What’re we getting all these onions ready for, anyways?” Jason says, enjoying the excuse to have a stress cry. Alfred doesn’t suffer from waterworks, but that’s because he suffers from chronic dry eyes instead. It's a condition that persists despite every Robin in a long line of Robins buying every eye drop product on the market between them for him to try.

Crying's a funny ol’ thing in the Manor, and it’s also funny that Alfred’s probably seen the most tears despite being the man least capable of them.

“Everyone has been running ragged across the city recently, and I thought that dumplings might be quite a nice treat for dinner tonight. I assume you’ll be joining us, won’t you Master Jason?”

“Of course,” Jason says because there’s no point getting between Alfred and dinner participation. There’s a bigger issue at hand anyways; dumplings are delicious but also obnoxiously difficult to make in any quantity fit to feed Bats and Birds and their oversized appetites. Everybody in the household has a favourite type, but everybody in the household worries when they get their wish, because Alfred only ever makes dumplings for a full meal when he’s stress-cooking out of his mind.

The man can’t even stress-cry while cutting onions, for fuck’s sake.

It’s best to broach the topic with a soft touch, which sucks entire balls because it’s not exactly Jason’s specialty. “So, uh. What dumplings are we making today?”

“Only 3 types,” Alfred says with a hint of apology. “Xiaolongbao, because I wanted to finish up the last batch of stock I made and Master Dick does so enjoy soup dumplings. A side of cheese-and-spinach momos for Master Damian, who has mentioned missing Tibetan food. And seeing as how you’ll be joining us, as many gyoza as these old hands of mine are able to make, Master Jason.”

Okay, cool, so an infinity of endless, delicious potstickers then, all right. What a time to be alive, Jason thinks to himself. “Not making anything special for B, huh?”

The mood takes a turn for the spoilt, goes off faster than tipping a fistful of salt into a cup of milk. “Master Bruce will have whatever is available, and he will enjoy it,” Alfred says frostily, and chops the end off an onion with significantly more force than reasonable.

That’s the answer, then. Christ, what has Bruce done now? “Saw on the schedule that he’s got a board meeting for another couple of hours, Alfred, so you can lay it on me. What happened? Are you okay?”

Alfred looks at him at that, looks at him and smiles the smile he gets every year when he’s inundated with gifts on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day and the arbitrarily set Alfred’s Day (September 8th, as decided by Dick on a whim entire aeons ago), and Jason tries not to feel embarrassed because he’s a whole-ass adult but he doesn’t pretend he’s not pleased to have made the mood ease up. “I’m well, Master Jason, thank you for your concern. I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Master Bruce.” He sighs, and they fall into silence. B brings bad communication out of the best of men, what else is new.

The mound of onions done, Jason is assigned ginger and garlic and potatoes and more things fresh from the garden and greenhouse, while Alfred starts taking his frustration out on a mountain of meat.

Jason’s careful to keep their produce separate, as is Alfred; wouldn’t do to cross-contaminate meat into momos, after all. They work and they work and they work, until all the prep is done and all that’s left is the dough and the stuffing.

The duties get divided like this: Jason gets the cheese and the seasoned spinach to make vegetarian dumplings for Damian, and Alfred gets literally everything else. Despite this, though, Alfred’s sure fingers and devastating dexterity churn out beautifully-shaped dumplings at 4 times Jason’s top speed.

Jason’s got 8 done and Alfred’s putting an entire tray away when Alfred finally breaks their quiet and sighs, looking as old as he is (and isn’t that the most horrifying thing this horrifying year, hey). “Excuse my dour mood, Master Jason. I had an altercation with Master Bruce this morning, regarding his workload and his reluctance to delegate. It grew unfortunately heated, and I turned a blind eye to his extremely broken hand. I did not stop him from leaving the Manor for work." A little additional violence goes into the folding of the current gyoza, and Alfred's lips twist and turn down like a dumpling fold. "Decades I've spent looking after the man. It's alarming how he can still rile me up so."

Isn't that a Universal Truth. Alfred's Angry Gyoza still looks better than Jason's best go at a momo, which is also a Universal Truth. He just needs to try again, till he gets better. Alfred’s good at indirectly teaching patience, and directly practicing it himself, but everyone’s got a line and it’s not the first time somebody’s crossed this one. “It’s his special gift, swear to God. You know what they say, Alfie. Hell really is other people.” Oh, the pleats on this one are looking mighty fine. “Uh, just. How bad a break are we talking about here? What exactly did he do to piss you off this time?”

“He hasn’t had more than 2 hours of sleep a day since, oh, April, I believe. Master Bruce is trying to effect systemic change at both his day-time and night-time jobs, and he has been running on little more than righteous anger and painkillers for weeks. Master Tim has tried to talk him down, as have I, but yesterday he shattered his wrist in a fight with far too many pigs and I found him working down below when I woke up this morning with his hand wrapped up in duct tape.” Alfred sighs, and rubs at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Duct tape and batarangs for splints, Lord help me, because he didn’t want me to worry about the true extent of his injuries.”

And now Bruce is in his civvies with an unknown number of broken bones and a blood opium level that’s over 9000, trying to do good in a no-good world, and all Alfred can do is to become more dumpling machine than man to avoid the deep unpleasantness of it all.

Jason whistles. He thought he’d been having a bad time but at least Alfred was a surefire source of comfort. Alfred’s place to turn to until he’d walked in was just a lump of dough, shit. “Sounds about right for him. But Alfie, how ‘bout you? You’re the one co-ordinating the largest band of crime fighters outside the League, and you’re most of the reason why the man that does co-ordinate the League is even a little bit functioning.” Bruce is a whole entire adult man filled to the brows with idiocy, sure, but… “If everyone’s running ragged you’re gonna be running ragged-est, and if I thought that was the case, we-ell. Duct tape starts looking better and better.”

Alfred looks affronted and gently outraged. “I have been doing just fine, Master Jason. I am not the man running around in costume trying to punch unkindness out of his fellow man. I am just the butler, sitting at home making dumplings, while the master of the household is tripping across the financial district in screaming pain.” Uh oh, here comes another Angry Gyoza, perfectly-shaped and squeezed just a shade too hard.

Jason puts down a slightly-less-crappy momo on his tray, and reaches across the small kitchen table to catch Alfred by the wrist, gentle as anything. “Alfie, I’m saying this as someone who loves you so much I’d literally kill for you,” and boy Jason sure does mean literally, “but hard-headedness is a learned trait, and we got it from B and B got it from you. The man’s an idiot, sure, but sounds like he’s probably at least as worried ‘bout you as you are ‘bout him. Does that sound about right?”

Ah, he really does suck at this whole sweetly-softly thing, but it’s clear once you think to look. Alfred’s game face is in many ways more impenetrable even than a cowl and a mask, but there’re dark circles under his eyes, he’s sallow instead of just pale, and there’s an exhausted stoop to his back that’s usually hidden under a perfectly-tailored suit jacket. Jason’s seeing it now after weeks of work keeping him away from the Manor; if he’d been seeing Alfred like this every day for the past god-knows-how-long, self-care with tape would suddenly seem incredibly appealing.

Alfred looks at his hand, Jason looks at Alfred, and they’re both quiet for a while. Jason thinks he should let go, but he also can’t help but feel that if he does, Alfred’s going to go back to being ‘just the butler’, and that’s not right, not right at all.

In the end, Alfred makes the first move, pulling away just so that he can pat the back of Jason’s hand. “It’s always a pleasant surprise to see how you have grown into such a fine young man,” he says absently, devastatingly. “Especially given the role models you were saddled with. Master Bruce…. may have brought up that I was working more than I should, though he did not come up with a viable alternative.” Alfred rolls his eyes, a rarity in public view. “He tried to give me a curfew; off the comms by midnight, Alfred, that’s the rule.”

They both snort at that. No one’s respected curfew in any format at any age in this household, and it’s almost sweet how Bruce nevertheless keeps trying it on child, adult, and parent alike.

“Nevertheless,” Alfred continues, hand still on Jason’s, “it’s a fair point to say that my and Master Bruce’s worrying over each has grown somewhat out of control, and changes need to be made. It… would help to have another pair of hands at the Manor.”

Oh, no. Alfred’s about-turn raises Jason’s suspicions, but it’s too late for him to do anything about it.

“Oh,” Alfred says with an exaggerated sigh, a smile hiding in plain sight, “it would do my old heart good if Master Bruce were to have more assistance during his night-time escapades. And if someone were available to help me cut onions and dice garlic, that would help too.”

Jason’s already fucking sunk, because he’s learned how to say ‘no’ to many things and 'fuck off' to a few more, but he’s never learned how to turn down an Alfred who works harder than most anyone to never ask for more than what his family can give.

He groans, completely trapped. “I’m a grown adult and I’m not moving back home with my family, Alfie, c’mon.”

Alfred pats him again, and goes back to making Jason’s favourite dumplings. “Of course, Master Jason, but that’s no reason why you couldn’t have dinner at home more often. Besides, who will badger and bully Master Bruce into being a more reasonable man if not for you?”

That’s a reasonable ask, because post-resurrection Jason has carved out time in his busy schedule to constantly prod and poke Bruce into being less of an asshole. And if Jason’s willing to go on a murderous rampage at Alfred’s behest, coming by more often to work together and help out isn’t much of an ask at all.

“Stop it, you already know I’m gonna say yes,” Jason grumbles, moving back to his task. “Alfie, you’re the absolute worst manipulator in the entire house, and this house is full of bastards.”

Alfred just laughs quietly, seeming more at ease and at peace than he was at the start. "I'm afraid, sir, I'll have to respectfully disagree. Hell may be other people, but this family, I think, is about as good as it gets."

And really, what's a good comeback to that?

Jason's setting the kitchen table for dinner while Alfred handles the steamer baskets and griddle with tremendous aplomb when the door creeps open timidly. That has Jason immediately on high alert, because nobody in the Manor does anything timidly.

It's Bruce, looking how he looks when he's about to go 3 rounds with the Joker while Killer Croc's nipping at one heel and the Penguin’s gnawing on the other. His right hand is wrapped in a blue cast, strapped to his front in a utilitarian white sling, and his left arm is weighed down with a grocery bag filled to bursting with what looks to be a guilty gift of assorted snacks and baked goods.

(Alfred is a nightmare to shop for; anything from a pet rock to a chef’s knife made of Damascus steel and beaten gold would be received with the same expression of fond long-suffering. Literally the finest analytical minds in the country still don't know if he's a Coke or a Dr. Pepper man, urgh.)

“Hello, Jason,” Bruce greets him, but his eyes are stuck fast on Alfred, calculating and hesitant.

“Hey, B,” Jason calls back, and takes the time to enjoy the sight of the big bad Batman mousily scurrying into the kitchen as he tries to gauge Alfred’s mood. “Went shopping, huh?”

“Just a few things.” Bruce carefully puts the bag on the kitchen counter and stops there, glancing at Alfred’s back warily. “It’s good to see you.”

Where Jason’s stood he can make out Alfred’s extremely indulgent smile, and it’s pretty clear he’s dragging the moment out to let Bruce stew a little. It’s a pretty worthwhile activity, so Jason just goes along with it, even though he can see Bruce tensing up as he sees the endless platters of dumplings and immediately Understands what sort of day Alfred’s been having. “Same, I guess. Your hand okay?”

That perks B right up. In a slightly too-loud voice, like he wants to make sure Alfred hears him, he says, “Could be worse. Leslie had me fixed up, and she’s putting me on strict rest for a week.” Another cautious peek at the stern line of Alfred’s back. “Doctor’s orders, and I have some investigative work to catch up with anyways, so Dick is stepping in for me for a few days.”

Christ, the peace offering couldn’t be made any more blatant if Bruce had come complete with a fruit basket and a Hallmark card of a sad-looking lamb. Jason almost wants to laugh, but he’s starting to feel a bit bad about the surreptitious glances, the uncertain line of the lip. Everyone’s been there, right? Done something a bit dumb and hurt somebody important, unwilling or unable to apologise, and when you try to make up for it it’s just butterflies-in-stomach and cheek-chewing until the other person gives a clear sign that it’s okay, it’s okay, Jaybird, I’m not upset about the car, I’m just glad you’re safe -

Nostalgia’s heavier in the air than the smell of fresh-fried potstickers. Lucky, though, that kindness is probably something you pick up from your parents too, because by the time Jason comes back to the moment Alfred’s already turned to face Bruce, an ice pack in hand. “I am delighted to hear it, sir,” Alfred tells him stiffly, but is gentle as anything as he leads Bruce to a kitchen chair and helps him ice his swollen hand.

The relief that takes over Bruce’s entire face when Alfred finally talks to him is eye-watering in its vulnerability, and the way he melts into the chair under the slightest bit of fussing is, honestly, equal parts sweet and sad.

Alfred must be similarly moved, because he procures a cushion out of thin air for Bruce to rest his arm on so that he can be free of the sling, and takes a moment to just stand there and brush dark hair away from a worn-out face. Bruce is out of it enough that he’s got his eyes closed and he’s just enjoying the careful touch, and Jason wants to scream a little, because how was Alfred surprised he grew up into an okay kind of guy when this was the standard the household set?

“Good man,” Alfred says, and maybe it’s in response to following Dr. Thompkins orders, but it’s pretty hard to misread that really, he just means 'good' in every way a man can be good when he looks at a half-asleep Bruce like that. “I’ll put the kettle on, and you can nibble on some pierogies while we wait for the family to gather, Master Bruce.”

That wakes Bruce right back up. “Are they-”

“Filled with cheese and potatoes, sir, of course. Why would I make anything but your favourite?” Alfred sniffs like he’s offended, but he’s still smiling as he pats Bruce on the shoulder before heading back to counter and Bruce’s bag of apologroceries.

He fishes out a beautiful red-and-white bakery box, and looks legitimately impressed. “Oh, my, Master Bruce. How did you find Bakewell tarts in Gotham? I haven’t had any in years, and I must confess to being partial to them.”

“Cross-referenced the ingredients of every perishable snack item available in the UK against the fresh produce that you buy often enough to be a statistically significant indicator of preference,” Bruce says around a yawn, like he’s not being absolutely insane right now. “Sorted it into an alphabetized list and sourced them from across the tri-state area. Letters A through to J are in that bag, but-,” another yawn, like Alfred and pierogies are the only thing keeping him going, “-but I’m glad I found you something you liked, Alfred.”

Jason just sits there, committing to memory that Alfie likes whatever the hell a Bakewell is, that he also somehow managed to make an entire dumpling series without Jason noticing, that Bruce fuckin’ Wayne’s favourite dump has cheesy mash stuffing, and that this is how to show care and affection when words are damn hard to get out. He sighs, because he has to fucking sigh, because now he’s so goddamn stricken over how love is inherent in groceries, and it’s so embarrassing how he absolutely, 100% would obliterate a nation in the name of the two men in this quiet little kitchen in the cursed year of our Lord, 2020.

When Alfred does return from the stove bearing a plate of piping hot pierogies for Bruce and gyoza for Jason, he feels OP enough to rip into the throat of the cruelty inherent in this world with his bare fucking teeth, and right after dinner, he really fucking will.

(Revolution and family both run love and carbohydrates, and you can quote him on that).

a/n: i don’t legitimately think anybody reads fic on tumblr bc i definitely loathe doing it so i mostly just write this to 1. soundboard myself and 2. wish that you’re doing okay just in case you did make it here. what a year of agonies, but the hope is that it’ll be 2021 and when you look back you think, oh, those were growing pains, and the world is tangibly better for having weathered it.

that’s the hope.

#batman #jason todd #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #jay & alfie #alfie & b #batfam #spoilers: this is just several thousand words of me thinking about what it means to look out for someone you care about #god cannot believe i went down the bathole and it's not the tech or the detectiving or the fighting that got me #it's just me consistently crying over the concept of familial bonds

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jeonsdear · 5 years

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Hi, can I first say happy pride !! I hope you’re happy and well. My question is, do you have any tips on eating healthy? I have a bad habit of eating lots of sugar and I never have the energy to make healthy dinner. Honestly my discipline is nonexistent. Whenever I see something unhealthy I rarely think “oh I shouldn’t eat it”, and if I do think that then my response is that I don’t care, eating it this one time isn’t bad. It’s a endless circle and I’m really uncomfortable in my own skin :(((

Happy pride to you too, love! I will put it under a read more so people who are triggered by food/diet stuff won’t have to read it

Sugar is a little devil, for it conditions your body to crave and need it. Chances are you grew up in a household where sugar was a common ingredient in your food and therefore your body got addicted to it. And while I’m not a supporter of fully banning sugar from your life (how boring would that be) I would suggest simply eating a lot more fruit. Fruits, as healthy as they are, have a lot of natural sugar and while some people seem to think that’s bad (please imagine me rolling my eyes) it is still a very healthy alternative to satisfy your sugar needs with.

Human bodies need sugar and I’m all for learning intuitive eating! Humans have forgotten that their bodies signalizes them what it needs. We don’t listen to it. Whether it comes to hunger signs, thirst signs, or specific nutritions we might need right now. That includes the need for chocolate when we’re feeling emotionally exhausted for example. Do you eat when you’re hungry or do you eat just because you want to?

–> Here is a very effective, informative and kind guide to what cravings mean and how you can deal with them in a healthy and compassionate manner.

–> And here is a visual grid of what your cravings mean, what it has to do with your mood and what you can eat to satisfy them. Then figure out what you actually like (SEASON YOUR VEGGIES HUN).

Another thing is, keep in mind eating healthy should still be fun and tasty for you. If you don’t like avocados you don’t have to eat them. If you’re vegetarian you don’t have to eat chicken breasts. We don’t always have a lot of time to cook so some people prefer to pre-cook for a whole week on a Sunday. Try if that’s something that works for you! Especially for dinner. If you’d rather not do that, pick easy and fast recipes for Dinner. You don’t have to be in the kitchen for 2 hours to make something healthy. Here are links for recipes: breakfast, lunch, dinner.

–> Healthy basic grocery list

Another option can be simply altering your usual meals! Let’s say you love to eat pasta. Great! Carbs aren’t your enemy. It’s all about portion and your choice of sauce. Instead of buying a pre-packed one, start making your own with tomatoes and minced meat. If you like to eat bread in the mornings then welcome to the club - but instead of putting Nutella on it opt for an egg. Substitute butter with margarine.

Since you said your discipline is close to non-existent: I’ve gotten myself into a routine of refraining from eating sweets and chocolate during the weekdays but allowing myself to eat all that when I’m out with friends or simply having coffee and cake with my family on the weekends. If you go cold-turkey and cut out anything unhealthy (which honestly no human being should do that food is fun) you will binge and overeat at some point. So rather plan certain meals in your week where you’re allowed to indulge so you know you’re not restricting!

I can relate to feeling uncomfortable in your skin so all I can tell you is that you are what you eat. It’s honestly true. I feel a LOT better when I eat my veggies and fruits, mentally and physically. I think you have to do it for a little bit of time for you to feel that too and then you automatically tend to eat healthier! And remember, it takes 25 days for a habit to become routine. So I think you need to experience how you feel when you eat healthy for a bit for your brain to be like ‘oh I actually feel so much better??? let’s pick the vegetable pan over the fries’

Just for illustrating purposes this is what I usually eat during the weekdays (I’ll include three options but I obviously only eat one of them):

Morning:1. Milk coffee, two eggs (often scrambled), a slice of bread2. Milk coffee, banana, muesli with either milk or plain joghurt3. Milk coffee, green smoothie

Lunch:1. I only ever eat salad to be honest. But I vary the type of salad! Whatever I have at home or when I’m at Uni I buy a salad to-go. (I LOVE salads I don’t have to force myself ahaha)

Dinner:This varies a lot. I usually eat warm for dinner. Pasta for example (:p). But I eat early dinners so my last meal is always before half past 6. I just eat smaller portions. When I don’t feel in the mood for anything I sometimes just eat bread or something (I’m german we love our bread).+ tea

Snacks:If I’m hungry between meals I chop peppers or cucumbers, eat nuts or apples and pears

All in all I try to listen to my body. I eat when my stomach rumbles and when I feel like I crave carbs, I eat carbs. When I feel like I want to eat a tomato I eat one. But I also try not to eat when I’m not hungry. Oh and I drink A LOT of water. Keep in mind I’m not a dietician I’m just speaking from experiences of years of dieting and losing weight, binge eating and distorted eating habits.

Good luck to you!!!

#qa #anons #Anonymous

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pokefort · 3 years

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Chapter 13 (TW for Drug mention)

After a hard week of work, Jeremy felt like he had been run over by a couple of trains. His legs were sore, and his lungs were full of dust. All of the mercs were stretched out on a couch, watching some silly movie that they had voted on. It was about these cannibalistic grandmas, the movie was in black and white, that was how old it was. It was dark outside, the base was lit with only some fairy lights that had been hung around. Slowly, it was becoming a livable home and not just some state-of-the-art prison.

“Alrighty fellas, grub is up!” He heard a southern voice call, it was their engineer. He came from the steel district, he had metal arms, and he levitated instead of walking. Scout didn’t know that much about him, only that he enjoyed playing the guitar and eating meat. A sweet-smelling aroma filled the air, he had cooked two separate dishes, a vegetarian and a meat dish. Everybody made themselves a plate, it smelled delicious. It was veggie and meat enchiladas, they were seasoned and filled to the brim with well-primed ingredients. He had never seen this meal before, as this was a meal commonly found in the ground district. They all sat down at the table.

“Hey, Engi, you said that you were from the steel district, right?” Jeremy asked

“Yeah, I was born and raised there. Never left it before, at least outside of this job”

“Well, did you make this at home? This isn’t a steel meal as far as I know”

“I had a grandpa from the ground district, he was fit to live in either ground or steel. He lived in the ground district his whole life, but he moved to the steel district when the war broke out. He died a long time ago, but he taught me a lot of his recipes, he was a good man.” Engi spoke eccentrically, his eyes almost sparkling in excitement.

“I was born a couple of years before the war broke out, and everybody got separated. I was lucky to be in the normal district, with normal parents. I’m happy I didn’t have to lose my family” Scout murmured, noticing that the spy looked sad with mention about losing his family.

“ Heavy was born in normal district, but I lived in ice district for most of my life. I was brought to fighting, I haven’t seen my family yet” He looked upset and solemn, everybody here had been affected by the war in one way or another. Some didn’t show it as much, but they were all old enough to have lived through the separation. Scout was the youngest one there, and he was also the youngest among his 7 brothers. He had been born among them before the war, he knew all of them, but they all evolved and went to other districts. He was the last one left in his household for a couple of years. His mother and father were alone now, he wondered how they were doing.

The Demoman came around, passing out alcohol, nobody declined.

“Aye, you’re over the drinking age, right?” he teased

“I’m way over the drinking age man!” Scout flared, taking a beer and taking a glug from it. He struggled to swallow it down, it tasted gross. They all laughed at him, making Jeremy flush and look away. He noticed everybody took an easy swig, so he copied them. Faking that he liked it.

“That other blu spy kinda sucks” Jeremy murmured, taking a bit of his food

“Aye, he injects himself with his poison to get high. Seen ‘im do it' Mick replied gently.

“He does? Lucky, I wish I could just get high off of myself” he replied

“It’s actually very harmful to his health, based on what I’ve heard, he can’t eat acidic foods. Since he’s increased the PH of his stomach acid so much, he can’t raise it any higher. Otherwise, he’ll burn right through himself” The medic explained, dressed in business casual.

“Man, okay never mind, maybe it’s for the best that I don’t get high off of myself, “ He said through a mouthful of food, finishing his plate in a final bite. “Hey, da weekend is here. Maybe we could do something dis weekend? Little bonding perhaps?” Scout questioned.

“I'm not sure, do not trust large dragon yet”

“Vell, as fun as that sounds, i have to do a checkup every veekend, make sure that respwan isn’t doing any damage to you”

“Alright fine den, was just looking for some fun around here, jeez” He stood up, placing his plate in the sink before exiting the room. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t as home-y as he thought it was. And, maybe he didn’t like it here as much as he’s willing to admit. They were very harsh speaking to the boy for the most part, and Jeremy didn’t understand. He was just a young boy, a fast young boy. He placed himself into his beanbag, sighing in frustration and throwing his head back. Jeremy sat non-complacent with his thoughts for a couple minutes, then he jumped up when he had an idea.

“Ey!! I’ll just go to Mick!! He likes me!” He cheered before sprinting out of his room, he exited base and ran to the campervan. He could see Mick on the roof, he seemed like he was concentrating on the strange glow around him. It was a dark purple, he had his quills levitating in it. Jeremy watched in awe, when he heard a shout emulate from the owl. Suddenly, the quills sprang to life, hitting various targets in the desert-scape. The strange aura did not leave the arrows, it infected the targets, latching them to the ground where the moonlight did not hit the earth. The owl let out a satisfied streak of coos, then the magic aura brought back his projectiles, it was beautiful.

Until Jeremy stepped on a cactus

Jeremy screamed in pain, jumping up into the air. Mick panicked, nearly falling off his campervan and into the dust.

“Bloody ‘ell!! You scared me there boy…” Mick said, then cooed sadly. “You okay there boy?”

“There's some freaking plant in me!! Ow!!” Jeremy replied. The owl flew to him, helping him back up.

“Those are called cactus spines roo, come in me van, i’ll help you get them out” He offered, gently grabbing Jeremys paws. The feathers were still warm and soft, so Jeremy focused on them. Mick opened his doro to the camper. Inside, there was faint light emanating from some lamps. He had maps hung up all over his walls, and their were souvenirs from many a district, hanging on the walls and on shelves.

“You have a nice place here Mick- ur, ‘Sniper’” Jeremy corrected himself.

“Its me only home, so i try to keep it in good shape” Mick responded, sitting Jeremy down on a bench. Sniper grabbed a pair of tweezers, and the night slowly faded into jeremys yowling…

An hour later, scout exited the van with a freshly unpricked paw. He was sent back to base, as Mick had wanted to sleep. By the doors of the base, sat an angry fox.

#TF2 #Pokemon #Crossover #Fanfiction #tw drug mention #PokeFort

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notesfromcenter · 6 years

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Motherhood: A Consideration of Moderation

“Why is your wife so intense?” asked my husband’s class of graduate students. He had just finished describing my response to their request of a pre-discussion lecture on a particular text. I admit I had a strong reaction, but one I am still willing to defend. Students should learn how to confront material, formulate questions, and through discourse come to meaning. (I have a favorite line from the movie State and Main: “Everybody makes their own fun. If you don't make it yourself, it isn't fun. It's entertainment.” Analogously, there’s no passivity in learning.) Even if knowledge can be conveyed, wisdom can not. My husband reported my outrage (which is a hyperbolic way of stating my case, but I suppose it makes for a better story.) Their response is not an unfamiliar one. I often have strong, and I’m not proud to say, black-and-white responses to situations. Not that my responses don’t respect a gray area, but they do so in a decidedly adamant way.

It has occurred to me that having recently been pregnant and having a baby have noticeably tempered this tendency. For example, my dietary habits. A vegetarian for 27 years, I now eat meat. All meat. I especially love steaks and hamburgers. I fed my son grass fed steaks just today for breakfast. As I considered these facts this morning, both my so-called intensity and this laissez-faire approach to my new diet, it occurred to me that they bear a relationship between the ongoing theme of one vs many that has emerged over and over again in the quest for femaleness and identity more generally. Provisionally, I considered whether the domain of femaleness is generated in part by the bodily entanglement required by motherhood.* I suppose it is trite to talk about how a mother shares her body with someone else in pregnancy, and even to talk about a so-called fourth trimester (and beyond), which I now fully understand. My selfhood is indeed moderated, quite literally by someone else’s. I am not me. Not entirely at any rate.

A friend recently remarked that it must be exhausting being a mother, the constant consideration of another being’s needs. Although I am certainly exhausted, my relationship to my son’s needs is not one of active consideration any more than I consider what I’d like for dinner. I won’t draw the comparison between the consideration of my own respiration, or better yet, my heartbeat, because his needs are not quite so automatic, but they are firmly in the territory of sustenance, of biological imperatives. There is a diffusion of identity, of ego, that comes with sharing your body with someone else. Extending it into autonomous space inhabited by another will, another ego.

I’m sure there are plenty of examples of this physical extension. As I sat in a group Vipassana meditation session, I marveled that someone else’s sneeze, across the room, should send such waves of feeling through my body. It really is as simple as an adrenaline rush from being startled. But, regardless of how I describe it to myself, the bottom line is that I’m very affected by others, who are ostensibly outside of myself.

I continued this musing as I walked my four dogs this morning, baby strapped to my chest. I experienced the slow growing rage that accompanies these walks, the subtle sensory onslaught, the gauntlet of perils that besiege the springtime morning. So let my description to follow sound less like a rant and more like an meditative investigation of my bodily response to this routine. It begins trying to leave the apartment, gathering the coats, definitely the baby’s and sometimes all four dogs. A process no one is particularly keen on, making the challenge of lifting everyone’s spirits while completing tasks they’d rather not, all the more daunting. So it’s coats, baby carrier, leashes, bags for poop, house keys, and cell phone. I try to time this so that there is minimal time for either animals or baby to grow cranky from overheating while finishing the rest of the routine. I also try to minimize the number of squats I do holding a twenty pound baby, for fear of an increasingly long day ahead. Then, it is getting down the five flights of stairs and two doors (heavy ones that open towards me and threaten closing on dog tails and noses.) All of this trying to watch my steps amidst a tangle of leashes. I cannot see ahead of me as I step out of the door, not onto a landing, but down another short flight of steps, often occupied by neighbors sitting and trying to enjoy their morning when I come, pack in hand, bursting towards the sidewalk propelled by four urgent bladders. The wild card: will I happen upon a passing dog inciting this already precarious circus act into complete chaotic lunging, barking, and frantic snapping tethered only by the deep breathes as I attempt to keep my balance and some semblance of equanimity. Now, if all of this goes as smoothly as possible, it is none-the-less accompanied with the kind of hypervigilence that knows, bodily, how tenuous any calm. The rest of the mile and a half journey is about the same. A woman passes by, “You’ve got a lot going on,” she remarks. A not uncommon observation. (Although, thank you to the young woman who remarked to her friends, that lady is the MVP - she’s got four dogs and a baby!) Varying degrees of weather related events punctuated by squatting to pick up dog feces in what I’ve learned is called a hell strip, although, if I want to be more romantic about it, I could refer to as the road verge. When it is permanently littered with dog feces, cigarette butts and other trash in various states of matter, and I squat (remember that twenty pound, squirming baby), four dogs attached, clothing skimming the ground, it kind of feels more like a hell strip to be honest. I’ll give you one more image, congestion, both human and canine, on both sides of the sidewalk approaching as I maintain this delicate balancing act. I try to take refuge in traffic to let others pass as I wait to resume our morning walk on the sidewalk. I try to metabolize the energetic shrapnel all this with the mantra “emotional contagion” running through my mind, lest my displeasure ruin my child’s chance’s for emotional self-regulation and become a text book “don’t” for Cesar the Dog Whisperer.

This is a portrait of my body. Fully dispersed by 9 AM.

Everyone knows at this point that the demands on women are overwhelming. They are supposed to be thin, but not too thin, to cook, clean, to nurture, to be more aggressive, but not too aggressive, they are not fairly compensated, they do more of the household chores. Maternity care and family leave is abysmal. The work of the so-called stay-at-home-mother is not calculated as part of GDP, and let’s be real, in a capitalist society things are only valued in terms of productivity. This we already know. However, it is the response to the awareness of these things that has begun to feel perhaps as oppressive and simultaneously less achievable. The counter-demands, if you will. We are called to love our bodies as they are, to care about health and not appearance, to embrace imperfection, and to generally act in consciousness of the double standards, the oppression. Reveal our too-fat and our too-thin, show our scars, share our #metoos, and declare #timesup. Any lack of self-acceptance, self-care, self-esteem, or self-advocacy is just another way we can fail. On top of it all, it has been proven that practicing gratitude is how mentally strong people lead healthier lives. If we fall from this high wire, it is surely through our selfishness and mental weakness.

As a palliative, there’s the endless babble about how to find, or more accurately, how to achieve (our character is hence invoked and our success or failure measures our very integrity) the ever-elusive ‘balance.’ Now, let me throw out a suggestion: balance is not desirable. I contend we actually already have balance and we hate it. That’s because balance is a state of perpetual tension. As my grandmother used to say, “think about it.” What we want is actually integration. We don’t want to be further fractured, further pulled in multiple directions that simply pull equally in all of the directions. What we want is to be integrated. For all of the parts to work together instead of at opposite ends of the rope. Is it easier to stand on one leg or two? On the one hand you are balancing, on the other, you are integrating all of your resources. Even our zen is preposterous: Be here, now. Live in the present. Don’t forget to make the maximum contribution to your 401K, your IRA.

There is one final, perhaps ultimate demand: Forge an identity. If my identity is actually moderated by this fundamental dispersion, this inexorable confluence of mutually exclusive imperatives, identity is truly a Sisyphean joke.

Last Saturday, I sat in a group Vipassana meditation. Afterwards, there was a speaker, he said, “the path is not ‘be here now,’” but instead “the path is suffering, this [Vipassana] is a way out.” Finally, the resonance of truth.

Where does that leave me but to embrace my bodily reality for its implicit wisdom. Surely there is power in the invisible extension into space that has become the special place relegated to women, if not by nature then surely by nurture. It seems increasingly important to inhabit that space rather than retreat into a singular, if visible, entity.

*Femaleness does not require motherhood, nor does bodily entanglement require pregnancy. Table the subject. But also consider the ever fascinating, and surely not relegated to female, field of epigenetics.

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bodaciousbogart-blog · 7 years

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Meal Planning - The Struggle and (Hopefully) Succees!

Do you love meal planning? I actually do. There's something very soothing to me about combing through all the recipes I've saved to FB and my phone, as well as thumbing through physical cookbooks in my collection that just fills me with joy. I realize I'm in the minority with this sentiment. But with the internet, meal planning (at least the planning part, the actual execution can be a bit daunting) has really never been easier. You can just google 'meal plans for ______' and you'll get more results than you can shake a fist at.

I DO have some obstacles to work around though and I thought I'd share them here. Maybe you share all of them, or just one or two. My hope is that by sharing them here, my future meal plan posts could inspire others (see end of post for disclaimer though) and also help me stay on track during the rest of the year. So here we go!

Obstacle #1 - I'm on a budget. Probably the least special of this list. I do the majority of the planning and shopping for my household and I try to keep my budget to $100/wk for BP and myself. I definitely will go over that if there are great sales for animal/seafood proteins, but I try to always buy those items in bulk at places like Costco. Being a cooking enthusiast, my spice rack is also usually well stocked so I don't have to invest in spices too often and if a recipe calls for a spice mix, I always google it before purchasing because I almost always have the separate ingredients to put one together—like a tandoori mix or a paleo-version of ranch seasoning. Buying spices can add up but it's a worthwhile investment, especially if you can put together pricey mixes on your own from stuff you already have on hand. What I’m getting at is that using the recipes I’ll share in the coming weeks may not fit within your budget but because of previous purchases they do fit in mine.

Obstacle #2 - I have Type 2 Diabetes. I just found this out about three months ago. I don't take any medication and my numbers are only marginally above being pre-diabetic. I had a great doctor in MN who helped me develop a plan to get things under control and since finding out have dropped about 20lbs. I still have a ways to go and weight loss/maintenance will always be a part of my life but I feel like I'm in a good place with it all. Being diabetic means I have to be VERY mindful of my carb/sugar consumption, so I tend to seek out low-carb-low-sugar types of recipes when meal planning. I still eat carbs. I just try not to overeat them!

Obstacle #3 - I'm allergic to coconut. That means no: coconut flesh, milk, shavings, oil, nada. I also have trouble tolerating too much dairy. These two sensitivities keep me from adhering to either a keto diet or a paleo diet, though I do pull a lot of recipes from both because of the lack/absence of grains and carbs (in both) and dairy (in paleo).

Obstacle #4 - I desire to limit our animal protein consumption. While tofu is relatively low carb, beans are not and when I was a weekday-vegetarian (pescatarian really), I ate A LOT of beans. Now I sub more salads and more seafood into our diet but it can get a little tedious—and both keto and paleo feel very meat-heavy at times.

Obstacle #5 - My partner's dietary needs are different than my own. Firstly, men can tolerate more carbs than women, so even though we're both living the low-carb-life, he stills get to consume more than I do. He's also a giant of a man which, again, means that he requires more fuel for his body. A struggle we share is that if we restrict too much in our diets, we're both prone to snacking after a meal; to avoid that I have to find filling/satisfying recipes which can be harder when you're striving to eliminate/very much limit ingredients like rice and pasta from your General every day diet. TL;DR - he sometimes gets to enjoy a reasonable serving of rice while I'm stuck doubling up on veggies to stay full and it's not always easy to not feel any resentment whatsoever about it.

And lastly, Obstacle #6 - I hate leftovers and repeats. This is a very minor one but still... I try to freeze my leftovers (and when I'm in the planning stage, I try to stick with items I know will hold up well being frozen and reheated). I hate having the same thing two days in a row—any more than that and it's SO HARD to keep food from going to waste. I also don't usually repeat recipes except for a handful of tried-and-true dishes... something that doesn't happen a lot in multi-week meal plans.

These are all things that are helpful to keep in mind when viewing my weekly meal plans for the upcoming February Test Run. I'll try to remember to link this post at the start of each of Meal Plan Posts for reference.

DISCLAIMER TIME: I'd like to make the note that I'm not a doctor or nutritionist or anything like that and so the following Meal Plan Posts are solely for my own recording/journaling/benefit and if you find them helpful, feel free to use some or all of the recipes I'll be sharing... But you know your own body and your own health and your own needs AND ULTIMATELY YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN DANG SELF. I'm so excited for our first Meal Plan Post! Stay tuned!

#fitblr #fitfam #fitness #fat babe gets fit #meal planning #california

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designcompanys-blog · 5 years

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Vegan Food Choices That Can Win Over Relatives At Holiday Time

I recently called a friend to ask how his Thanksgiving was. He is a pretty healthy guy who practices a vegan diet and recently has been leaning towards raw foods. He told me that his Thanksgiving was fine and proudly told me about the raw food dish he made food. Of course I expected to hear details about the social part of his holiday as well, but it turns out he ate his Thanksgiving meal by himself while his family celebrated at his sibling's house.

This was sad and frustrating. My friend eating all by himself was only taking in secondary nutrition. Secondary nutrition is what you call the nutrition most people think of - food, beverages, and nutritional supplements. Primary nutrition is what gives our lives meaning. It's what feeds our soul. It is relationships and hugs from people we love. It is careers, spiritual practice, physical activity, and leisure time - fun, hobbies, entertainment, and rest. Getting together with people we love and nurturing relationships is a vital part of life and benefits us in many ways.

"They don't like my food, and they eat turkey and I don't like to be around that," is what he told me. I could relate to this because that was how things used to be in my house. I would get up on my high horse and preach to everyone that they should eat a certain way. I was frustrated that people didn't like the organic whole food vegan dishes I cooked because I knew they would make them healthy, and that what they were eating was killing them. Of course, there were family members who would comment kindly about the vegan dish brought to the table - but the reality is that they were thinking that it was nothing more than a poor protein vegetable side dish (a dish that does nothing to stimulate any consideration of giving up meat).

The solution to the problem is to lose the "rabbit food" and go with meat substitutes.

Meat substitutes, also known as meat analogs, are vegan food products that look, smell, feel and taste like meat in practically every way. This can be a shock to people. Someone who is used to eating a meat-centered diet, like most Americans, is OK trying meat substitutes, but is turned off by anything that strays from the norm (and appears healthy).

Meat substitutes don't threaten one's culture, identity and traditions, or alienate taste buds with something strange or foreign looking vegan. What's more, they frequently have more protein than the meat they are trying to replicate. There are companies that produce meat substitutes - Garden, Yves, Light Life, Tofurky, and Field Roast to name a few. They make everything from Italian sausage to pepperoni and deli slices - all 100% vegan. They can be found in health food stores, Trader Joe's. And now, more and more traditional food stores are carrying these products. There is also Veggie Brothers which features chef made gourmet vegan dishes, delivered to your door anywhere in the USA and Canada that include meat substitutes like Vegan Chicken Pot Pie.

So how does this solution really work?

Meat substitutes are not extreme. They are not threatening. People try them, and that's a big hurdle. If you are a traditional household holding a festive holiday dinner, a macrobiotic dish or raw food dish is typically not in sync with everything else on the table. Meat substitutes on the other hand can rival the meat-based focal point of the meal. I've seen it many times, and many people have written to me telling me so:

Now, let the magic begin

When people try meat substitutes for the first time they are often amazed. It challenges their old way of thinking: vegans and vegetarians just eat salad.

I have found that when you couple meat substitutes with great information there is a very good chance that a person will make better dietary choices like consuming less meat, or eliminating it completely. Most people are aware that consuming less meat improves health, offers relief to animals, and helps the environment.

If you are on a super healthy diet and adding meat substitutes to your holiday dish is a step down from your nutritionally superior throne, just remember, it can be a step up for the people you love the most. No one says you cannot also bring your super healthy dish. In fact bringing both to the table provides people with a demonstration of where they can start, and where that may lead. I don't know about you, but if someone I love who's been getting F's on their report cards suddenly gets a D, I'm happy for that progress, and I am happy to support them reach an A+ level - at a pace they can handle. But if they never get beyond a D, it's better than an F.

It is my prayer that we recognize the good karma and the good dose of primary nutrition that comes from encouraging people in our lives to move towards a healthier diet. We just need to offer vegan alternatives to the foods they already know, love and enjoy. My friend who had Thanksgiving by himself missed a huge opportunity to help open closed minds and possibly heal a relationship that needed healing. Using meat substitutes, I recently enjoyed my 4th completely Vegetarian Thanksgiving with my slowly converting Italian American Family.

If you are a vegan or an extremely healthy vegetarian, consider bringing foods that are not so extreme to the people who really need to improve their diet the most. And please don't ignore the power that meat substitutes can offer. Let us make an effort the next holiday - whether it is Christmas or the Fourth of July - to use meat substitutes as fun, enjoyable, ways for family members to enjoy the same food, even if its not all the time.

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