#tgis took way longer than it should

[dissentersbedamned]

MADCOMTOBER DAY FOUR - Hotdog vendor

where else so you think he gets his meat?

art commissions

#🚬.dei.art #madness combat #madcom #hot dog vendor #madcom hot dog vendor #madcomtober #madcomtober 2023 #art #fanart #tgis took way longer than it should

[marcoriccii]

steven yeun & he/him/ demi-man ‷ watch out , jay seong has crash-landed into roswell !! they look 34 years old and celebrate their birthday on july 10th . they are from busan, south korea, reside in jupiter valley and are currently working as a yoga instructor at satellite sports complex. one thing you should know about them is he was in a toothpaste commercial when he was a kid and for years had people singing the jingle at him ”

Name: Jay Seong (born Seong Jae-eun (Korean: 成재은)) Nicknames: None Age: Thirty-four Date of birth: 10th July 1987 Birth place: Busan, South Korea Occupation: Yoga Instructor @ Satellite Sports Complex Romantic/sexual orientation: Heteromantic/heterosexual

ABOUT.

tw: cancer

Born in Busan, South Korea, as Seong Jae-eun (Korean: 成재은),  but moved to Chicago when he was young, his father getting remarried not too long afterwards and as such, he gained two step-siblings on his now step-mothers side.

He became a total drama geek, he was in every school production and constantly taking part in talent shows, as well as heading into the city to attend auditions. It was a passion all of his own, yet he kept at it.

Spent years trying to follow his dream but didn’t manage much other than a toothpaste commercial and a multitude of extra work. (But he was totally that kid from that toothpaste commercial. You know the one, the one with the annoying jingle that everybody always sung when your character was only a kid themselves… yeah, that one). The final nail in the coffin came when he lost out on an audition to one of his best friends who’d only tagged along for a joke.

Decided to try and make it on Broadway instead when he was around 20 and moved to NYC on a whim with barely anything to survive on. He got nowhere and instead worked multiple jobs at coffee shops, diners, etc. Took a long stint at TGI’s in Times Square and kind of lived for interacting with the customers.

Eventually got a job as a city bus tour guide, which apparently he was great at, and also met his soon to be wife.

They launched a family YouTube channel through the channel she already had, along with their two kids Dea and Xavier, and it soon became pretty big, amassing around 2 million subs in the end. Think something like Sacconejolly’s (I’m British, they’re really the only YouTube family I know well and adore lol).

Then Jay got diagnosed with testicular cancer, he pushed the whole family away (those in NYC and back home) and dealt with it himself, going into remission a little over a year later following surgery and chemo. He left the channel to his wife and abandoned it entirely himself, he no longer had any interest. 

Went on a trip to where he was born not long after this (getting to know his mother’s side of the family). He spent time discovering himself, he embraced Buddhism and explored the fact he had some days where he didn’t feel 100% male. That’s when he started to identify as a demiguy. It may have been late in life, but he finally felt at peace.

Got divorced from his wife upon his return, even though they definitely still love one another, and then moved over to Roswell where his family had relocated to. After six months or so he began to share his experiences online through a new blog, although chose instead to train as a yoga teacher for his main profession.

He’s been running classes at the sports complex for the last year or so. 

HEADCANONS.

Can be petty as hell, but is a total goofball and spends his life “playing up to the camera”.

His girls talked him into a buying a dog the last time they visited. He’s named Newt. Jay still has no idea why.

Likes to think he’s mega close to his step-siblings, but still isn’t entirely sure they feel the same way.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Step-siblings.

Ex-wife.

Cousins on his mothers side.

Best friend.

Ex best friend from home.

Close friends.

High school ex.

Ex since arriving in Roswell.

Work colleagues from NYC (TGI’s, etc.).

Neighbours in Jupiter Valley.

Fellow parents (kids are 6 & 8).

People who attend his yoga class.

Fans of the old family YouTube channel.

Hook-ups (NYC before he met his wife or Roswell).

First failed dates (2019+).

Drinking buddies.

Work out buddies.

#roswellintro #☆ jay ( about )

[zevlors-tail]

Hewwo!💕 jk jk. May I request a scnario (or headcanon what is easier for you) of shoto x izuku's older sister!reader. (Since tgis is an xreader blog maybe she is adopted? Ur choice) Maybe she meet him after the sports festival, and the only person that knew about her besides izuku was bakugo, and she is just so sweet and full of the fluffs that make his heart go boom. Sorry if I'm too specific 😅 love you💕

Um, hi! First of all, I am SO very sorry for the amount of time it took me to write this. Like seriously, I try to get things done in order, but for some reason requests have been a bitch to write. Second, I also love you! <3 And third, I love this idea! I hope you don’t mind, but I wrote it so that Izuku’s big sis was biologically related. Also, it’s mostly from Shouto’s point of view. I hope this is okay!

N/N = Nickname

It’s yours! Your quirk, not his!

Midoriya’s words repeated themselves over and over again in Shouto’s head as he trekked down the hall, trying to find the other boy before he left the stadium for the night. Crowds were already filtering into the upper halls to exit after the winners had been officially announced, and he didn’t feel like dealing with the hassle of being asked questions and giving statements about his second place win. Honestly, he could care less about that right now; he had a lot to think about, and most of it revolved around his scum bag father and his new...acquaintance? Rival? Friend? What was Midoriya to him, anyway? They’d almost been complete strangers before the sports festival, but now he felt a sort of connection to the other boy he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was all so...confusing.

“Excuse me-!” Someone bumped into his left shoulder as they whirled past him, clearly in a hurry to get to their destination. “I’m sorry, oh-! Um...” A girl that Shouto didn’t recognize slowed only a little as she turned to apologize, a panicked expression on her face as she walked backwards without watching where she was going. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed one last time before turning around and bolting off, almost knocking over a startled Tokoyami in the process. 

Shouto stared after her dumbfounded, not sure what to make of the situation. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts again after the distraction, but he collected himself and turned to Tokoyami as the other male strode past him.

“Do you know where Midoriya ran off to? I need to speak with him.” 

“Midoriya, hm?” Fumikage paused as he thought about it for a moment. “I believe he was headed in the same direction as that girl, actually.” 

Without so much as a thank you, Shouto started down the hallway again, faster this time now that he knew where he was going. It didn’t take him long at all to catch up to the girl he saw earlier, and he could hear her stumbling her way to her own destination just around the corner, muttering apologies and greetings as she tried to stay out of the way of others. But just as he turned, she seemingly vanished, and he frantically looked around before spotting a rapidly closing door a few feet away. 

There. 

As he inched closer, he heard voices coming from inside; one of which belonged to Midoriya, he was sure, and the other... He tore open the door at the last minute before it could slam shut, barging in on the middle of a conversation between Midoriya and the mystery girl.

“-reckless, baka! Honestly, Izu...” 

“I’m fine, N/N! Recovery Girl fixed me already, and they said I did really well in sur...gery, so-” Midoriya’s voice wavered on the last half of his sentence; clearly he was afraid of the reaction he would get by telling this girl about his injuries. “Anyways, I can hold my own! You don’t always have to worry about me, you know. I can take care of myself now...”

“Surgery!? Oh, Izuku... I know you can, but as your sister, it’s kind of my job to worry about you, whether it makes you embarrassed or not!”

Sister...?

Said sister smacked the top of her brother’s head lightly, earning a light blush and a pitiful “Ow, Y/N!” from her younger sibling. “Careful! My head already has enough bumps and bruises from the festival...”

“Eh, what’s one more from a good scolding? You’ll live, kiddo.” Todoroki would hardly call that a scolding. Even with her playful words, she gently smoothed a hand over his hair, ruffling it in a tender way while gazing at him with concern. “I am proud of you. You’ve come a long way, otoutosan. Just please try to take better care of yourself. I think you nearly killed mom.”

Todoroki took a moment to really look at the two of them. Since when did Midoriya have a sister? It wasn’t like the two of them were close, so he wouldn’t have known anyway, but it came as sort of a shock that not only did Midoriya have a sibling, but they were older than him as well. His prior objective momentarily forgotten, he watched as they interacted with each other, noting how similar their features seemed yet so different at the same time. The two of you shared the same fluffy hair (though Todoroki thought the colors differed), the same nose shape, and of course what he considered to be the trademark of the Midoriya clan: those kind, round, determined eyes that he just couldn’t help but stare into-

“T-Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya broke him out of his thoughts, the greenette staring at him with a puzzled expression from across the room. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you heading home?”

Shouto was no longer sure that he wanted to talk to the other boy. He felt like he had intruded on a private conversation, like he wasn’t wanted here. And if he was being honest, it wasn’t fair of him to dump all of his problems on Midoriya. And now that he was really putting effort and thought into it, he wasn’t sure he was ready to even talk about his struggles at all. Besides...he knew deep down he needed to confront the issue at hand directly, and not just through venting to someone else. But before he could think of an excuse to leave, Midoriya’s sister cut in, clearly reading the tension between the two boys and wanting to ease some of it.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that Todoroki kid, right? I was watching your match with Izuku from the stands; you were amazing out there! You both were. You sure gave Izu a run for his money, huh? That’s saying something, considering my little brother is practically a stubborn bull when he sets his mind to anything. He doesn’t give up until he’s won, so I would say you’ve got quite the talent and willpower!” you said cheerily with a grin. “If you heard anyone screaming during your match, it was probably me. I like to show my support for my fam!” As if to emphasize your point, you slung an arm around your little brother’s shoulders.

Todoroki briefly recalled hearing someone shout Izuku’s name in the distance during their match, but he had been so focused on beating his opponent and being angry at his father that he hadn’t really noticed it at the time. “Mm. So that was you,” he stated plainly.

“Yep! Sure was! Anyways...” You suddenly made direct eye contact with Todoroki, and he swore you were looking right through him as you spoke, “It was nice to meet one of Izu’s friends, finally. I was starting to worry that maybe you guys didn’t exist.” You laughed as Izuku playfully pushed you away in fake annoyance at the halfhearted insult. “Oh, I’m Y/N, by the way! I’m a third year at UA, so you’ll probably see me around this year. I’d love to get to know you more! I think your quirk is super cool, I’ve never seen anything like it!” you gushed.

A friend...so that’s what I am.

Shouto didn’t miss the light pink color dusting your cheeks. Just a moment ago, when the two of you had locked gazes...he had felt something electric. Did you feel it too? His heart beat a little faster at your proposition, his imagination running wild with silly little scenarios; sitting with you at lunch, training with you to improve his fighting style, asking you out on a date, buying you flowers. He was no longer thinking about his struggles or what he was going to face tomorrow; those things didn’t matter anymore. For now, when you met his eyes, it felt like it was only the two of you and Midoriya and nothing and no one else. Even if he had just met you, he was already head over heals for your bubbly spirits, the way you loved your sibling, and the laughs and smiles you seemed to give away so easily. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling he got when he looked at you. You had this air about you; you made the people you were around feel cared for, important, and happy. You were just like your brother in that sense, he supposed.

“Thanks,” he breathed, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear his response. Regardless, you turned back to Izuku and continued on.

“Hey, Izu, we should get going. I’m sure mom is anxious to have you home.”

“Mhm.” Izuku nodded in agreement and went to collect a his things.

“Well, see you around!” You bid Todoroki goodbye and walked past him confidently, a warm smile on your face as you waved.

“Y-Yeah...” Shouto was at a loss for words as he watched you go. 

“I’ll be outside, Izu,” you called over your shoulder, and then you were gone, only rays of sunshine left in your wake. 

“Todoroki.”

“Hm?”

“You’re staring...” Midoriya awkwardly told him.

Shouto didn’t seem phased by his words at all, instead choosing to turn to the green haired male beside him now. 

“We’re friends...right?” he asked, an unfamiliar nervousness saturating his voice.

“If you want to be, then sure. I’d like that.” Midoriya gave him an inviting smile, finally following you out the door and leaving Todoroki to his thoughts.

Yeah, he had a lot to deal with now, but at least he wasn’t alone anymore. He could do this. He would do this. For you, and Izuku, and for himself. He was going to confront life head on and deal with whatever came his way no matter what. 

After all...it was his life. His life, and no one else’s.

I hope this was okay! I realize not much happened between Todoroki and the reader, sorry...this is just where my mind took me. ;w; But since not much happened, I’m considering keeping this on the backburner of my mind for a possible part 2 drabble thing? We shall see.

#todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto #todoroki #x reader #shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto #extra splash of half n half #request #answered #sweater writes #izuku midoriya #Izuku #Midoriya #midoriya izuku #dnarez-mangestsu

[themangoyogurt]

Between 29th & Astoria: The Fire Iron Named Ren

Chapter Two

Kylo Ren begins to push you to your limits at the office. Much to his surprise, you begin to push back.

You quickly realized that although Mr. Ren had little to say to your face, he certainly made up for it in e-mails and text messages. Receiving a free company phone certainly came with strings attached as the shiny black device pinged for the tenth time in the last hour.

Kylo Ren | 10:42 AM | Coffee.

PA3281 | 10:43 AM | What would you like, Mr. Ren?

You rolled your eyes. They really did treat everyone here like faceless droids. They couldn’t even bother to input your real name into the system. Instead, you were regarded as “personal assistant 3281” - PA3281. Sighing, your phone buzzed again.

Kylo Ren | 10:45 AM | Did you not go through orientation with the idiots downstairs?

Ah, fuck! You quickly whipped out the folder Phasma had placed on your desk. Flipping through the sheets, one stuck out. Bullet point after bullet point of information regarding Kylo’s preferences. His dry cleaner, how he took his coffee and which shops he preferred, his mechanic, and other relevant facts to your job as a glorified servant. How could you have missed something so obvious?

Quickly sending a message of apology to Mr. Ren, you scrambled from your seat and shot downstairs as quickly as possible. Pulling up GPS you noticed that the nearest “acceptable” coffee shop was four blocks away. The trip should have been quick, but stumbling down the streets of New York in a panic while wearing stilettos didn’t do you much good. You might as well have been Bambi learning to walk at this point.

Thirty-five minutes later, you burst into the office with a large black Americano in tow. Smoothing down the front of your shirt with one hand, you gave the double doors a sharp rap.

A low baritone drawled, “Enter.”

Taking a sharp breath, you eased the doors open and stepped inside. Your nerves were on edge. You hadn’t actually spoken to your boss face-to-face yet. Kylo was leaning back in his seat staring into a monitor. One hand lazily moved a mouse around while the other thumbed through a leather bound notebook.

“Your coffee, sir.”

Without looking up, he gestured for you to hand him the cup. The moment it reached his hands, he turned to dump it into the trash can next to his desk.

“Sir!” You squeaked in surprise. Your hands began to play with themselves out of nervousness as a heavy air descended upon the room. Still flipping through the pages of his notebook, Kylo replied, “Do you presume that I enjoy drinking cold coffee?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you bump your head and forget the way back to work?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why did it take you so long?”

You nervously shuffled your feet back and forth as you felt Kylo’s harsh gaze take you in for the first time. Shit. You were creating scuff marks on his floor. Your voice was timid as it quietly responded, “Sir, the nearest coffeeshop was four blocks away. I...I had to walk, and in my current uniform...”

His eyes slowly roved up and down your body and your hands clenched as your heard the man scoff, “Your excuses do not interest me.”

Kylo’s eyes maintained a heavy stare for a moment longer before he turned to his computer once again. The sound of clicking filled the awkward silence, and you took that as your cue to leave. Turning your back to the man, you didn’t notice as he looked up once again to gaze in your direction.

His eyes remained unwavering even as your body slipped through the crack of his front door.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

It was well past dinner now, and the streets of Astoria were barren save for one or two poor souls hurrying off the N train at this hour. Despite the exhaustion in your bones, it was this nighttime scene that made you fall in love with New York City. The streets were wet with a sudden summer downpour and they were reflecting the beautiful city lights. Even the sound of a lone cab whizzing by was therapeutic to your ears.

Although the real reason you chose to live in Queens was the simple fact that you couldn’t afford anywhere else, you still fell in love with the borough. The apartments weren’t as high, and it still had a neighborhood feel to it. You even found a great place near the East River, which afforded a stunning view of the New York City skyline.

Kicking down the sidewalk, you finally arrived at your apartment. It was once a three story house, but the owners had converted each floor to an apartment after their boys moved out. The first floor was yours, while your kindly landlord and his wife took the second. The third belonged to two fun, but rowdy, roommates you had recently become friends with. Seeing “P. Dameron and F. Storm” in scratchy script by the buzzer always put a smile on your face.

Your hand loving ran over your own little piece of paper. Your first initial and last name settled prettily next to your roommate’s - “R. Tico”. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. And oh if that wasn’t enough to fill your heart with joy. Quietly unlocking the front door, you stepped into a dimly lit hallway. The corridor ended with a door in the front, and opened up into a staircase to the left.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and your senses were assaulted with the smell of rosemary and thyme mingled with oil and meat.

“Rose, I’m home!”

Shuffling sounded from the kitchen before laughter and groans erupted from the dining area. Peeking around the corner, you saw your roommate and the two upstairs neighbors sitting around a small table. Rose shot up and shimmied her shoulders towards your direction as she chanted, “I win! I win! I win!”

You looped an arm around around the girl’s shoulders and laughed, “What did you win?”

Finn, the taller man, stood and chortled, “We were betting how late your boss would make you stay tonight. Rose bet nine. I was aiming for ten, while Poe was being annoying and bet on nine forty-five.”

Sighing, you pulled the elastic out of your ponytail before running a hand through the soft locks. You moaned, “Well I’m glad that my nightmare is your entertainment.” Pausing for a second, you pushed a finger into Rose’s chest and muttered, “You better split that prize with me!”

She laughed and tugged you into the kitchen as Poe pulled a chair out for you. She gave you a quick hug and teased, “Don’t be mad. I saved you dinner! Plus, the boys are going to treat us to drinks at Sweet Afton, right?”

Rose gave the men a pointed look and they quickly nodded in return. Life in New York was hard, but this ragtag group of individuals was definitely easing the harshness of the city.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Days began to bleed together as the workplace torment grew. You swore that Mr. Ren would randomly throw your coffees away periodically just to keep you on your toes. If it wasn’t the coffee, then he was tossing books against the wall or complaining about how slow you were. Once, he even printed out an e-mail and used red marker to edit the errors before slapping it on your desk.

Of course the bastard would wait until your lunch break to do so. He wanted to make sure that everyone who passed by would see.

Every time the man lashed out, you swore you saw a glint in his eyes. As if he were testing you. Playing with his food. The man loved watching you squirm, and you swore it was some sort of sick game for the egotistical deviant. Wasn’t he supposed to be running an empire? Not fucking around with his assistant.

As each workday passed, he continued to move the line of what was acceptable further and further away. Always testing your limits, and always smirking when you’d relent. Too afraid of losing your job. Too scared of standing up to the dark and foreboding man. Over the course of two months you had already missed Rose’s birthday, the opening night of Finn’s off Broadway play, and countless dinners and drinks. Enough was enough.

It was four in the morning. Four in the fucking morning. Just the thought of chasing down a night bus in your stilettos made you want to run a heel through the back of Mr. Ren’s head. Sure, if you had actual work to do at least you could somehow justify your presence in the office. But every time you’d poke your head into his office and offer coffee or food, he’d snarl in your direction and demand silence. And when you asked if you could be dismissed (since your peace offerings of beverages and other consumable products were rudely rejected), he all but basically lost it.

You were sure that he’d probably have a more productive evening if he hadn’t spent thirty minutes lecturing you on responsibility and “pulling your weight”. Your head fell forward and hit the glass desk underneath as your internally moaned. Apparently standards were low here at First Order, since sitting around at your desk playing solitaire counted as “pulling your weight”. The bottom righthand corner of your computer flickered as 4:38 changed to 4:39.

Fuck. This. Shit.

You were done. You were done with Mr. Ren and the First Order. The money wasn’t worth the abuse of power. You’d rather go back to waiting tables at the TGI Friday’s in Times Square than put up with Mr. Ren. You weren’t a secretary. You were a fucking babysitter. You were going home, and even scary ol’ Mr. Ren wouldn’t have anything to say about it. Quickly gathering up your personal belongings, you stood and stretched before marching towards his sleek black double doors with determination.

Pushing it open, you stepped into the darkened room with as much courage as possible. The man was sitting with his back to you as he stared out the window at the skyline. The sun was just barely dancing over the cityscape, and for a second it seemed as if Mr. Ren was sleeping.

“Have you come back to annoy me with another useless suggestion?”

“No, Mr. Ren.”

“Then I suggest you return to your desk where you belong.”

“No, Mr. Ren.”

He suddenly swiveled around with a force strong enough to create whiplash. His eyes darkened as he stood to consider you. Your back was straightened as you tightly clutched onto the handles of your bag.

“Excuse me?”

You took a slow breath and prayed for your voice to remain steady even if your hands were shaking. Breathing out, you plainly stated, “With all due respect, I do not ‘belong’ at my desk, Mr. Ren. While I am happy to assist you to my fullest capabilities during working hours, I must draw a line at four in the morning. You do not own me, Mr. Ren. If you’re looking for someone to control and mistreat, then unfortunately I am not the woman for you. I am taking my leave now, and I will return tomorrow morning at eight in the morning sharp. Goodnight, Mr. Ren.”

He remained motionless as you squarely maintained eye contact. With no rebuttal in sight, you gave him one last nod before turning on your heel and marching right out of the room. Meanwhile, a lopsided smile tugged at Kylo’s lips as excitement danced in his chest. He knew there was fire in there somewhere. And it delighted the man to no end knowing that he was the source of pulling that foreign emotion out of your timid nature.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren x you #reader insert #B29&A

[diamondgore]

Do you think you could do Bobby/Hank with #8??? I will forever be in your debt!

I know we’re best friends and all, but could you maybe be my date to my cousin’s wedding to prove to my judgmental relatives that I can find love and that I won’t be alone for the rest of my life.

note: i may have gone just a little bit overboard dslgkj 

Bobby’s riding the tail of an anxiety attack. He felt his skin become warm, a sensation he hadn’t felt since he was fifteen. Not that the attacks of his neurosises didn’t come often, but they never came with hot flashes that made his cheeks prickly and red. He could almost swear it was an allergic reaction. The fact that he was wearing a three piece suit wasn’t helping.

He wants to it peel his skin off, as he pulled off his tie. That sounded much more pleasant than watching his friend Marv get married.

To his parents, Marv was the daughter they never had. She was the daughter that they wanted Bobby to be, but he had never fulfilled it. For that reason, Bobby’s father was walking her down the aisle, he’d always been a second father to Marv so it only seemed fair as her own father had passed. And G-d, was Bobby jealous.

He’d knew from the start that he had been a disappointment to his parents, in more ways than one. He was a mutant, a gay and an accountant. Well, the last one wasn’t too bad, but they certainly wished he had gotten a job that would be more fulfilling! Whatever the hell that meant!

“Robert? You’ve been in there for a long time.” Hank stated. It wasn’t directed at Bobby directly, as much as it was Hank musing out loud. Bobby never spent that long in the bathroom with the door open.

“Bobby. Please call me Bobby in front of the guests.” Bobby said with a strained voice as he stared at his bright red face in the mirror. He looked awful, not fit enough to give the wedding toast at the reception, even though he’d written one of the best pieces of stand up comedy in the twenty-first century in his opinion. However, having the breakdown thirty minutes prior to the ceremony was a lot better than having one during. That was at least something he could look forward too.

“Of course.” Hank said, and then walked towards the bathroom. Hank was fully dressed in a red crushed velvet suit. He was wearing gold rings on his furry blue fingers, and he might as well have stolen the show from the bride. If it wasn’t the fact that Hank was so garishly dressed that would steal it, it would be the fact that he was an eight-hundred pound furry blue man. He never really seemed to struggle with how he looked, and fully accepted it.

Looking at Hank’s reflection in the bathroom mirror as he stood outside the door, Bobby briefly wondered why he had asked Hank to be his date to be his date, rather than literally anyone else who didn’t look so blue. He could’ve asked, Warren or Jean or Scott, but the complication of the fact that they were dead probably set him off that course.

Who was Bobby kidding—even with all those options, he would’ve still chosen Hank, time and time over. While most of his friend group seemed to become more mature and jaded, Hank had kept that jovial holly from his youth. He was the only one Bobby could openly banter with, without getting his feelings hurt. Was the reason Bobby having an anxiety attack the wedding or the fact that he had purposely chosen Hank as his date?

“You look ill.” Hank said, leaning against the door. Bobby swore he could hear it creek underneath his weight.

“I’m fine.” Bobby breathed out. His throat was so dry, he’d never really felt this dehydrated before, and this was including the time he was only a head of ice in the middle of the desert. “I just need—“ Bobby clutched his chest and groaned. This was worse than having a heart attack. He turned around and closed his eyes, leaning against the sink.

Hank took that as an excuse to walk in and check on Bobby. He pressed his giant blue hands against Bobby’s bright red neck and face.

“Hot flashes? That’s a first.” Hank stated quietly. “You’re warm.”

“Yeah, I really hope I’m not going through menopause.” Bobby stated, trying to lighten the mood. However the joke’s delivery was terrible through his labored breath.

Hank played along. “I feel like that would be in the realm of the improbable, but I suppose it could happen.” Hank hummed, continuing to exam Bobby’s face, and then taking his pulse with his fingers. “Would be the first case I’ve ever seen in a man. Perhaps we’d make medical history?”

Bobby liked that Hank didn’t force him to talk about his feelings, or whatever bullshit breathing exercises most people made him do.

“Aren’t I already a medical anomaly?” Bobby asked, a little more relaxed as he felt Hank’s hands slowly compress his shoulders.

“Yes, usually people with no brain don’t live till adulthood, but you seem to have beat the record.” Hank said, serious and deadpan. His delivery made Bobby break out into laughter.

Bobby was now not shaking with anxiety and panic, but with laughter. Hank still had his hands on both of his shoulders, but Hank was laughing too. His chortling was deep and breathy. Once Bobby had recomposed himself enough he smacked Hank with the back of his hand in the stomach.

“That was mean.” He faux frowned, scrunching up his face in an over-exaggerated way.

“You’ve said meaner things to me.”

“But they’re usually true, furball.” Bobby said, as Hank let go of him. He felt a lot better now that Hank had sort of walked him through another panic attack. It was the first time he had done it in a very long time.

The knot in his chest loosened, and he no longer felt like he was wearing a noose. He was sort of thankful that he chose Hank to be his date now.

“I needed that.” Bobby said and then played with his thumbs, avoiding eye contact with Hank. It was far more comfortable to avoid it when possible.

“You’re like a spring,” Hank said, “You get so worked up it’s like you supercoil and compress yourself so tightly you just explode. I’ve been expecting it happen for a while now. I’m glad I caught you. Instead of letting you go through it on your own.”

Bobby slouched forward and pressed his head fully into Hank’s chest, and frowned honestly this time. “G-d, this wedding is going to suck.”

Hank smelled sweet, like honeysuckle. It was the first time in a long time where he didn’t smell like a dog.

“All weddings are terrible.” Hank said. “Do you think Marv sprung for those little sausage rolls?”

“Like the ones we had at Scott and Jean’s wedding?” Bobby tilted his head to the side. Yes, it was awful that both Hank and Bobby were ditched by their dates back then, but the catering was excellent. Warren had paid for it, and Bobby and Hank drowned their sorrows in terribly made cosmopolitans and sausage rolls. This wasn’t the first time Hank and Bobby had become each other’s wedding dates. “Those were good.”

“They were delicious.” Hank nodded, he paused for a moment in thought. “If the idea of this wedding threw you into a panic attack, perhaps we should just leave? I’m sure Marv will understand if I come down with a sudden unknown illness.” Hank suggested.

“She’s pretty understanding. She has a normal family, and I’m sure I could just send my speech to my dad.”

“But I was still promised a free meal, that was part of the deal of being dragged all the way to long island. So how are we going to work around that?”

Bobby couldn’t think of a better plan. “I think the TGI Friday’s on Main has the endless appetizers deal, that should fill your endless black hole of a stomach.”

#concenrs #hank mccoy #bobby drake #icebeast #xmen #drabble #im sorry i can never stick 100% to the prompt #and i really hope it was this eight not the other one #Anonymous

[gorthol-mormegil]

The Barring of the Gate to Nekyia and the Fall of Sariza of the Roads

So this is a fic that sparked from an idea I had that Vaenia, ya know the porn flick, was actually a trashy corruption of an ancient asari romantic legend regarding an primordial republic's leading political family's final matrician and the captain of their guard during a time where a tyrant seized control through a coup.

Longer four part story short the captain, Benria, is killed by the tyrant's captain after they fled for their lives and the rest of the third book is spent searching for Piares to beg for her soul, contained in a magic device,  to be re-housed. The captain eventually atarts to catch up with the small band they had managed to scrape together just as they find the entrance to Nekyia, Piares' city in the polar caps. 

Sarizia, the last wandering knight of an even older kingdom, and a prototype of old Justicar codes of conduct, thats esentially an entire living heroic tradition herself, counsels the matrician to leave her behind.

Given tgis is the third thing I've ever wrote for pleasure that I've actually completed and it was all typed on an extremely frustrating phone keyboard, I would love to know everyone's thoughts on how this work holds up to someone other than the author.

Notes:

The dictators actual name is so close to the word tyrant in most Thessian languages that is sometimes an exercise in futility to try and parse out tyrant and Tyrant from old texts with any degree of certanity. For clairity, sanity and tradition she's refered to by her title alone in most translations.

The sel is an old Thessian measurement equal to about 14.67 inches or 37.08 centimeters.

"These bones know battlefields my liege-" spake Sarizia, "-here at the gate a single spear, even one as rusted as this, could seem legion to those who try and cross her. They know also that the riders were but a herald for a fast aproaching columun that we cannot outrun but only delay."

The exile chewed on the elder matriarch's words, still trying to find a way to cast stones under Velan's cart without loss. Soon, she sighed, her metral bent in acepptance of the need.

"You speak truth Sarizia. But how long can this pass be held against Velan's thrust?"

The warrior paused lost in clouds of memory and battles past; perhaps wishing for long ago winds to push against her back in that dark defile. To those gathered she seemed as stone. Tapping Aiglo once upon the rock she straightened and her gaze was lifted to the fog cast road behind:

"Once I could say none could pass my shield here and that it would take many weeks for them to find a crack. Yet my crest has withered from those heights now, all I can offer to you is a garuntee that you would find a way to the depths of Nekyia and perhaps a solution to both you and your bond's problems," With those words Sarizia turned to gird herself in panoply for the last trumpet call.

Turning to the small band Ontia felt the yoke of a world upon her shoulders and even as Mythixila's voice began she silenced it with a wave. There was no time for even a small forum among the dust, she was a general conserving the bulk of her strength for more more favorable ground instead of a matrician vying for agreement in that desperate hour. With a tremor the fellowship turned away from the hero of their youth onto the shadowed bridge leading deeper into cold darkness. Clutching Benria to her heart she strode forward to Piares fog hidden halls.

---

Sarizia Road Walker, long legend closing, took Sanaris' helm from her pack as the footfalls of her companions faded into a place where only her spirit would see. Smiling at the empty metal she spoke words to it like wayward child returned to their mother's tomb after a life spent apart. No one could hear that confession in that place of bones, the cold north wind blowing at her back bearing sole witness to the beginning of a final duty an apprentince gave to the master. But before long Velan found the portal and those words exchanged still ring in the aurals of those who seek strength in old bones.

"Who stands here?"

"It is I: the judge of Aethan, the hooded friend, slayer of the Hound of Timatha, the defender of the unheard and last Iurisar of Thenos."

"Speak you name or stand aside."

"What shall you do if I say my mother given name?"

"That will be detemined matriarch. But you risk my wrath if you vex us further."

Sarizia laughed, a hoarse note among the gathering gloom, "Very well impatient one, but you should know it well by now. For my name comes crying from the lips of those you burn out of home, those whose right to consensus is stolen from them by fear of knives in-"

"Enough of this. Your *name* you isolent old fool!"

"SARIZIA ELESSARA IS THE NAME I WAS GIVEN," she bellowed like Kurinith's trumpet given form, "THE SAME ONE YOUR MATRIARCHS SPOKE OF AS A MEMORY OF THEIR YOUTH IF YOU HAD EVER DEIGNED TO LISTEN TO THEM. I STAND HERE FOR HOUSE T'NUVIAS AND THEIR JUST CAUSE. NAUGHT BUT THE GODESSES THEMSELVES WILL MOVE ME FROM THIS DOOR."

"You? *You*? You are old and pale. Submit to wisdom and your death will be swifter."

"MY AGE IS NO BARRIER WITH UNBLOODED WRETCHES SUCH AS YOU. STAND BY YOUR BOAST IF YOU DARE."

With a shout Velan's van surged forward toward the brightly shining figure before them. Fifteen times they came upon Sarizia and fifteen times they where cast back and each time she repulsed the she beat her shield once with Aiglo like a great brass drum that sounded like the heavens opening upon the plain. Wrath was her point and fury her biotics in that melee, with each attempt Velan's band quailed sooner and sooner for the Road Walker's eyes and blood ran with new fire that was stoked by each body that crumpled before her stroke and lay as testament to her fell skill. After the fifteenth time Velan called a halt to the slaughter, for none could withstand the furor contained in the blows Sarizia gave for long and did nothing but grow the number beneath Sarizia's boots.

Sensing the reluctance before her Sarizia laughed again as they pulled away from the doom that stood before them in the growing twilight. She rested herself on Aiglo for a breath and beheld the charnel pit grown before her; bowing her head once in scorn she tore the armor off her right breast and cried:

"Come now, my heart is bared to you. Surely one among your mighty numbers can find their way around my shield?"

Oh, if Velan's heart was not bent onto dark paths and darker treacheries Sarizia's tale would not end in defiance and pain; curse her heart. Curse treachery in any form.

Rage fired Velan's nerves at the barb, without a thought the trumpet call for a charge was sounded and the black heart herself surged at the fore of that new tide. Crashing on Sarizia's aegis Velan redoubled the call but it was like a child trying to shout down a hurricane. There Sarizia's talent was tested to it's utmost as it always is before the end comes. Nonetheless Sarizia, true to her words, gave not but a half sel to the throng before her like it was the Bronze Legion itself holding the gate to Piares realm.

Oh how Aiglo reaped a harvest in that final twilight; a loyal servant to a end so near. Keen was it's ice like tip and it whispered through air like the finger of Athame casting judgement. Oh how her silvered helm caught Parnitha's last light upon it's brow like a beacon of hope in fog clouded times. Oh how it shined.

With time came some measure of twisted reason in Velan's poisonous mind: she could not assail the gate with strength of force unless a full banner of the Tyrant's hand was brought to bear. Withdrawing once again across the violet painted clay she whispered words of treachary to a liuetenant and as they reassembled Velan lingered between the lines. Casting her arms into the signal of tethnamostra she called:

"I remember your name now o great Sarizia Elessara and I know now the legends of your prowess are but dew compared tp the ocean. I call you to grapple to stem the purposeless loss of maiden blood. Avail over me and you will be troubled no more, submit to me and your oath to Lady T'nuvias will be forgetten for a newer road. This I swear on Tevura's name as true."

One last time the firey laughter of youth flew from Sarizia's throat as she upheld her arms in answer before turning to the straps and buckles of her panoply for feckless vigor rushed in her veins in that hour. Blind she was to the truest depths of malice lurking in some hearts even after a lifetime and a half, if she only had a glimse much heartache could be undone. Finishing she rose to her full height, standing tall among the gore pit around like a lighthouse before a wine dark temptest. Undetered by age she strode forward to a place equisdistant between Velan amd her goal.

"I accept, though my heart fears oil beneath the waters. No matter though, for even unlimbered I am match for your guard. Come, subdue me if you can."

Long they grappled, new thews almost even against memories of countless matches and rightous hatred. Far into the dawn's light the two strove against each other; battering their foe with blows that would shatter any other body like aged kindling but neither breaking off. Oh, how it was like the sparring of titans in that cold dell. At the hour the wertas' crow could be heard on some faraway plain Velan saw a chance for her wretched gambit to start and sprung past Sarizia's guard with a leap toward the stone where Aiglo lay; seizing the mighty spear she, curse the demon's heart to the four winds, lashed at Sarizia's eye's darkening half the world with a single stroke. Stumbling back at the venom unleashed at her Sarizia gave a howl that sounded through Nekyia's dark halls to those who she had given her utmost to protect and incensed almost beyond reason she charged the villian like a avalanche at it's zenith. Velan, twist tounged, nearly shrank from the wrath of the Colossus of Dilzana come for her. Oh, if she had listened to that voice. Wading in herself, Velan took blows now that pulped bone to marrow before finding a gap among the fury. Ramming forth Aiglo with all her strength Velan pierced through Sarizia side. Aiglo, shivered and malused, burst in Velan's hand, perhaps as a final token apology to the one who carried her over long highways by wounding the aggresor with many shards.

Yet still Sarizia was the better there and those around her quailed at the furor of the wounded matriarch. But fog soon took from her the greater part of her strength and they bound her with chains to imprison her waning might. So Sarizia, her deeds uncountable, did fall under the gentle press of a northern wind - though she lingered long in the Tyrant's grasp until she cast herself from Vaenia's highest tower to the quiet stones of the plazas below.

When the dead were carted away the steel of the fallen were cast into a cairn eight sels high in hopes their deeds would crumble to dust given time. Many years later the abandoned shields, their bronze rent and torn, were pulled from that defile for part in the new bell that hung opposite the great common hall of Vaenia; to serve as a watch and alarm for those who would follow in the Tyrant's shadow. Of Sanaris' helm Calmasa, granddaughter of Lieratha, braved the chasm's rock to untold depths to retrieve it from gloom it was thrown in order that it's splendor would not be lost. Aiglo, faithful to her bearer's cause after parting, soon shone bright on Benria's belt as she scaled the walls of her home to smite the Tyrant with fury unending. Velan Dark Heart met her judgement the soonest, in those twisting cyclopean halls so jealously guarded by spirits even more terrible than she.

#mass effect #fan fiction #OCs galore #quite literally no canon characters appear #asari #spot the references

[micaramel]

I recently went skiing inside one of Dubai's huge malls, home to the Middle East's first indoor ski slope.

It was $57 for two hours on the slopes, which included ski clothes, skis, poles, and a helmet.

The feeling of walking from the desert heat, into the mall, and on to the snow was bizarre. I was also very conscious of being in a shopping mall — rather than on a mountain.

The experience was thrilling and the snow was smooth, but there was only really one slope, which meant that I was actually considering leaving a quarter of the time into my session.

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Dubai is known as an over-the-top city. That being the case, its desert ski slope inside a shopping center, with real snow, is pretty on-brand.

I decided to check it out on a recent trip, to find out what it's like to go from desert heat of more than 85 degrees Fahrenheit (30 degrees Celsius) to a sub-zero fake mountain.

It was certainly an interesting comparison between regular Alpine skiing somewhere like France, and the way Dubai has managed to create an artificial equivalent in one of the least snowy places on earth.

However, the novelty of this marvel wore off quicker than I expected. Here's what it was like.

Ski Dubai is part of its Mall of the Emirates, one of several enormous shopping centers in the country. The mall itself is pretty fancy, filled with designer brands and decorated with artworks and the flag of the United Arab Emirates.

The ski slope itself looks pretty strange as you approach, sticking out and up into the air.

From the general mall you can see insider its wintery zone through huge windows. Lots of people were taking pictures.

Here's the way in.

I had a heap of options for how to spend my day there, including bobsledding, meeting penguins, and skiing or snowboarding lessons. I went for the simplest one: a pass for two hours of skiing, which cost $57.

I was handed my ski pass, which again included some promotion for the penguins. Because I wasn't doing lessons, I had to sign a form to say I knew how to ski.

The entrance area was filled with gift shops and a winter sports store. This part felt like being in the mountains.

You can bring your own gear — but Ski Dubai assumes you won't have it, and equipment rental is part of the price.

Everyone gets the same type general type of ski, with different types to match your height, ability, and style of skiing.

I was asked for my shoe size, and an attendant got my boots and fitted them to a pair of skis for me.

If the boots don't fit well, you can switch them. Mine felt a little too large, but not so much that I felt like I needed to change them.

Then I gave my sizes for jackets, pants, and socks and got changed.

A weird point is that the outfit had no proper pockets. I kept my phone, somewhat awkwardly, in a wrist pocket meant for your ski pass, which interfered a little with scanning the pass when I needed it.

Then it was up an escalator and out into the snow. The slope stretched up above me, turning slightly so that I couldn't see the very top.

The temperature insider was around 25 F (-4 C).

I considered wearing a hoodie as an extra layer between my t-shirt and the Ski Dubai jacket, but it turned out that I didn't need it.

I took the chair lift up, and checked out the slopes below. There was a mix of skill levels — some people were clearly first-timers, alongside some really competent skiers and boarders.

I went on Friday — the start of the UAE's weekend. However, the slope turned out to not be very busy. Here is the longest line I saw for the lift.

I often had a comfy, 4-person chair to myself.

There are two stops: an easy slope from the middle station, or a longer run from the top.

Finally, it was time to ski!

The slopes definitely looked bigger from up here. The track starts as one wide slope, which splits into two further down.

The snow was really smooth and had none of the problems that come with outdoor conditions, like icy patches and rocks.

I was a little concerned, and guilty, about the environmental impact of the place. Ski Dubai says the facility "only consumes as little energy as an average sized hotel."

At the split in the slope, "experts" were meant to go down one side...

... with a slow lane on the other. In practice they did not seem that different.

The skiing felt great — I'd not been on a ski slope for almost a year, and it was both fun and surreal to get to do so in the Middle East.

However — the run is pretty short, nothing compared to a real mountain. It takes about a minute to get up. For a reasonably experienced skier, it will take much less than that to get down.

I also tried Ski Dubai's two drag lifts — a different type of life that pulls you up via a pole. They are quicker than using the chairlift, but not as relaxing.

One lift takes you right past a TGI Fridays.

I went in later: here is the same view from the other side.

After about 30 minutes, another skier asked me aloud what there was to do for the other 90 minutes. It was a good point

One part of the slope had a snow park, with ramps and jumps. I spent some time there, but it was quite busy with younger kids. Instead I worked on my technique and tried to see how fast I could go.

After a few more runs, I still had 80 minutes to go, and was stuck for ideas for how to spend my time.

However, skiing like I did was not the only option. Ski Dubai has fenced-off areas where beginners can take lessons.

There are lots of options, but a one-hour group lesson for beginners cost 255 AED ($69) per person — again with equipment included.

There was also another area where people could have fun inside a plastic Zorb Ball. I avoided that.

I even spotted people with no skis or boards who were just there to ride the lifts and check out the snow.

This invigorated me to get back on the slopes.

I ultimately left with about 20 minutes to go, after pretty thoroughly doing all the skiing I could. I changed, got my stuff out of my locker, and put Ski Dubai's clothes and equipment in their bins.

Going back to the desert heat from the mall felt even stranger than going in. It's easy to spend your time in taxis, metros, and shops that have air conditioning in Dubai, completely forgetting the heat around you.

I was happy with my skiing experience, though I think Ski Dubai should considering offering a one-hour pass for lots of people. For first-timers, the novelty definitely makes it worth a trip.

from Design http://bit.ly/2Le9LJw

#micaramel

[greatdrams]

The Great British Bar Hunt. Part Two: Reading

Reading’s great. There, I’ve said it. (The town East of London, not the bibliophilic activity, should there be confusion. Though I actually love both.)

I’ve been here a year now, and in honesty I had my doubts to begin with. Descriptions I heard prior to moving featured “grey”, “dull”, “functional”, and “close to Slough”.

Happily, those descriptions must have been conjured by people who hadn’t spent any meaningful time in Reading, or who hadn’t been bothered to look around properly. (Though it is close to Slough). Because thanks to the superb food blog Edible Reading, and the discovery of a drinking companion whose alcohol tastes were as small-‘c’-catholic as my own, I’ve rather got to know my new home town. And you know what? I like it.

But it doesn’t really have a whisky bar.

Ok, caveat: it has The Purple Turtle. And I’m still not sure what to make of that place, but you can read about a previous misadventure here. The problem is, it has a superb selection of US whiskey...but I’m really not sure who goes there to drink it. Other than me that one time.

It just isn’t the sort of place you go for a quiet drop of something fancy. Because – and I must be blunt here – if I’m having something fancy, I’d quite like to be sober for it. And if you go into the Turtle sober then may God have mercy on your soul.

But I wanted to be proven wrong. I wanted to discover some tucked-away gem where exciting whiskies and creative cocktails were just waiting to dazzle and mildly befuddle me. An online perusal didn’t raise my hopes much – both Slug and Lettuce and TGI Friday’s were suggested by Dr Google.

So instead I picked the brains of my Reading-drink-scene consigliere, Liv, and a rain blattered Sunday afternoon saw the two of us make our way to a place called Caffeine & Cocktails...

Caffeine & Cocktails

5, The Walk, King’s Road, Reading. RG1 2HG

Might as well get something straight right away. This is not a whisk(e)y bar. It has 13 or 14 bottles, some of which, such as Nikka From The Barrel and Rittenhouse 100 proof, I rate very highly. But nothing that a mildly enthusiastic whiskonaut won’t have stumbled upon before. Put it this way: I don’t have the wallet to be a collector. But even my collection is bigger than Caffeine & Cocktails’

That aside, it’s a nice place to sit. Fairly high roofed, which alongside the glass-panelled walls give the impression of airy spaciousness. I’ve never been to C&C to eat (or indeed drink caffeine) before, but my understanding is that they’re pretty good in both respects.

Oh, and they have Happy Hour on Cocktails a lot.

From Monday to Saturday between 4pm and 7pm, and for the whole day on Sunday a good range of Cocktails are just £4 each. This being the South of England, that works out around the price of a pint, and I make that pretty good value. (The cocktails, not the pints – don’t get me started on the price of pints in the South.)

Should you venture to C&C outside of Happy Hour (saying “Hour” seems to really undersell them incidentally!) their cocktails range from about £7.50 to £8.50. That’s the same range that last month’s Jenny’s and Berry & Rye worked in, and which I’m coming to think of as “appropriate value for a decent cocktail.” Because I don’t live in London.

There’s a broad selection, including a double page spread featuring caffeine-based cocktails, which seems appropriate. Oh, and for what it’s worth, C&C wins many points from me for their cocktail name puns!

Anyhow – to business. I opted for a Tom Collins, not wanting to go too hard at 3pm on a Sunday, and Liv picked a Bellini. (They have several Bellini options – Liv had peach.)

This may not be the usual thing to comment on in a bar review, but I ought probably to mention in passing that the graffiti in the toilets may not be to your taste. Liv thought the offerings in the ladies’ was pretty funny; the writing in the gents’ is a little sexist for my taste. Takes all sorts, I know, but seems a little unnecessary. Happily it’s confined to the toilets, and I suppose you can always just cross your legs...

The cocktails on arrival were well worth £4 each. My Tom Collins was just the right side of too sharp, which is exactly the level I like. Liv’s Bellini was...a Bellini. In honesty, they always leave me a little cold. The overall verdict was that we probably wouldn’t want to pay £7.50 for them, but at Happy Hour prices no complaints whatsoever.

Our visit was short and sweet – a little like the Bellini. It’s a nice place to sit; I’ve never been at what you might call ‘peak time’, but I’d definitely recommend stopping by during Happy Hour. If you’re after the upper echelons of mixology, or a challenging and bewildering range of Aqua Vitae, however, you may want to look elsewhere.

Which is what we did next, in the shape of Cerise Bar, at the Forbury Hotel.

  Cerise Bar

The Forbury Hotel, 26 The Forbury, Reading. RG1 3EJ.

I’ve been to Cerise before, for my birthday meal last year, and can confirm that the food there is smashing. My mother rated her dessert the best she’d ever eaten, which is high praise indeed.

It is, however, not somewhere you go when you’re after saving a few pennies. Its website claims that it is becoming “the place to be seen outside London,” which rather says it all. The interior – and staff – are very smart indeed; Liv and I aren’t exactly scruffy, but we felt pretty underdressed until a chap helpfully bowled in sporting a hoodie.

The restaurant is slightly separate from the bar, and there’s a particularly comfy-looking lounge into which you can take your drinks, should you feel so inclined. Their outdoor area is also worth mentioning, as it’s a gorgeous place to sit, with a high wall and a fountain. It’s even covered during the rain, and sufficiently heated to make it almost worth sitting outside in the winter.

That being said, to get into it, you have to go through the restaurant. That wasn’t a problem on this occasion, as it was still a little early for diners, but I’d feel slightly awkward swinging through, Old Fashioned in hand, if groups of people were tucking into their grouse. (Other fine dining options are available.) But perhaps that’s just me.

I say Old Fashioned because that’s what I ordered, whilst Liv opted for an Espresso Martini. And here I encountered a quibble. The menu doesn’t specify which whiskey they use in their Old Fashioned, and when I placed the order the barman asked me if I had a preference.

Now I know this is my fault. I know that the cheap answer here is “just the house one, please”. But that’d be a little dull, so instead I opted for Knob Creek. What I hadn’t accounted for was quite how expensive the Knob Creek would be, compared to whichever their standard bourbon is.

Which brings me neatly to the selection and prices of their whiskies. Size-wise, it’s medium, to medium-light. It’s not a whisk(e)y-focussed bar, but the bottles they have include some interesting juice: Dalmore 25, Talisker 18, Yamazaki 12, Hibiki 17 etc.

But their pricings are absolutely all over the place. There’s no consistency to the markup; Yamazaki 12, which costs about £90+ online is £9 for a single. That’s not bad. Talisker 18, however, which with very little effort you can pick up for £70 a bottle, they charge £19 a throw for. I did the maths, and that’s about a 700% markup. And those are just two examples.

Cocktails took a little longer than anticipated, given the bar was relatively empty at the time. That being said, they were very good. Ironically, having been fussy about the whiskey in my Old Fashioned, I actually preferred Liv’s Espresso Martini. But both were excellent.

The thing is though, they weren’t any better than those at Berry & Rye, covered last month. And they were considerably more expensive. Once the 10% discretionary service charge had been added, the two came to just shy of £27. That’s more or less what I paid for a round of four in Liverpool.

It’s unquestionably a lovely place to sit, Cerise. The food is stunning and the drinks are very well made. But the bar prices are inconsistent, and I’m simply not sure that you always get your money’s worth. Happily they have a menu which details the selection – something none of the Liverpool bars offered – but you do need it, because otherwise there’s a chance you’ll end up burned.

I’ll probably go back, because there aren’t many restaurants like it in Reading. And I’ll probably have a cocktail with my meal. But if I’m asked what my spirit preference is, I’ll probably just say “just the house one, please,” next time. And for a spirits enthusiast that’s a pretty sad admission.

Liv and I left it at that for the evening, as the third bar I wanted to inspect doesn’t open on Sunday. So at this point we flash forward to Thursday evening to find me back in town centre after work, and heading for Milk.

  Milk Bar

8, Merchants Place, Reading. RG1 1DT.

Milk is my favourite bar in Reading. It actually leads a double life, because during the day it is Shed, which holds a special place in my heart for making My Favourite Sandwich In All The World.

But come evening the ciabattas are cordoned off, the outrageously good Jerk Chicken refrigerated, and the building throws on its cowl to become the spirits bar Reading needs.

Unfortunately for me, that spirit is Rum.

In a parallel universe I suppose there is an Adam who sets out his stall as The Rum Pilgrim. That Adam would go to Milk and say “yes, my search is over. This is the bar I wanted Reading to have.”

Because it’s a fantastic place. Usually busy, but seldom overcrowded; the staff are brilliant; service, despite the number of cocktails being made, is efficient and friendly, and their Rum selection is indeed prodigious in breadth and variety.

But wasted on me. There may come a time when neat Rum and I set aside our differences and become bedfellows, but it is not this day. An hour of sugar and Caribbean exoticism, but it is not this day. This day I am the Whisky Pilgrim, and Rum doesn’t quite do it for me.

They do have whiskies. Indeed they offer a ‘Rum and Whisky Wednesday’ service, with discounts and everything. (Which begs the question: why was I there on a Thursday?) Occasionally they get brand ambassadors in, which means that from time to time something more interesting appears on the shelves. (Or rather, lurks behind the first row of bottles; whisky visibility is set to “foggy” at Milk – not much tiering I’m afraid.) But again, the 20-bottle-strong bunch at Château Wellsy is – forgive my bragging – superior.

Milk’s cocktails are also decent. Rum-focussed, of course, but other spirits, whisk(e)y included, get a page each. Prices largely sit around the Caffeine & Cocktails mark, and to this taster the quality is slightly higher. But I fancied something neat, and opted for a Balvenie 14. Which, needless to say, is finished in Rum casks. Call it my concession...

  So: drinking in Reading.

Hmm.

On the one hand, a good night out is to be had. Something carefully selected and pretty well made in Cerise to begin with, followed by what’s left of Happy Hour at C&C. Then on to Milk for its fantastic ambience and friendly feel. Hell, I might even give Rum another chance sometime.

The thing is, I can have a good night just by going to The Allied Arms, which is a really first-rate pub in the town centre. But that’s not really the point of The Great British Bar Hunt.

I’m after a place with an exciting and broad whisky selection; with decent prices, and perhaps a good cocktail range. I’m after somewhere I’d pop into two or three times a week if I lived close by, spend a few hours there each time and gradually get to know the bottles and the staff. I’m after places that prove London doesn’t have a monopoly on interesting drinks.

A few onths ago a few whisky friends from The Smoke had made their way west and asked for bar recommendations since I wasn’t around in person. I wanted to send them to Milk – I genuinely think it’s the best bar in Reading. But these chaps wanted a whisk(e)y range, so with a heavy heart I directed them to The Purple Turtle.

Because however incongruous it seems at half past one on Saturday morning amidst the mingling whiffs of Jäger and sweat and bad judgement, Turtle has Reading’s premier whisk(e)y selection. It just does. Some of the Bourbons and Ryes there are first rate; prices are very reasonable, and the range is vast and growing.

I want to take that range and re-house it in Milk. I want Reading to have a chilled out bar somewhere that I can make my own, excitedly point friends towards, and continuously explore. But it just doesn’t.

So perhaps the answer is to go to The Turtle at the time of day and week that you feel least inclined to drink whisk(e)y. To specify that you don’t want your double to be served in a pint glass, and to quietly and solitarily enjoy the liquid treasures on offer.

But somehow that doesn’t quite seem like strong consumer advice.

Sorry Reading – I still think you’re great. But nowhere’s perfect.

Cheers!

[gallery type="rectangular" ids="23679,23680,23681,23682,23683,23684,23685,23686"]

The post The Great British Bar Hunt. Part Two: Reading appeared first on GreatDrams.

from GreatDrams http://ift.tt/2lJsL7y Adam Wells

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2020 Forecast for Restaurants: 5 Trends to Watch

The days when restaurants could get by doing the bare minimum—offering big plates of mediocre food at reasonable prices—are gone. Consumers expect a lot more from today’s restaurateurs, from ethically-sourced ingredients to hand-crafted meals to experiential dining.

While today’s social media-saturated environment can make the restaurant industry hyper-competitive, it can also make it more rewarding. If small business owners stay on top of what consumers want, they can go from one food truck to viral nationwide chain in no time. Here are the top restaurant trends to watch for in 2020.

1. Increased Labor Costs

From line cooks to hosts and servers, the restaurant industry relies heavily on minimum wage employees. At least 7 states have already passed laws to phase in a $15 minimum wage as early as 2020. The Raise the Wage Act, which would raise the federal minimum wage to $15 by 2025, passed in the House but died in the Senate. However, future attempts are certainly possible after the 2020 elections.

Either way, historic lows in unemployment mean that low-skill employees have more negotiating power than ever, and business owners need to compete for the best workers by offering higher wages and better benefits. All of which means that business owners in the restaurant industry should prepare to deal with higher labor costs in 2020.

2. Ethically-Guided Food Choices

The 2010s were a decade of increasing consciousness surrounding what we eat, and business owners can expect this ethically-driven attitude toward food choices to come to a head in 2020. Slapping an ‘organic’ label on the chicken is no longer good enough. Consumers are worried about a wide array of issues, from pesticides, hormones, and environmentally harmful crops to cultural appropriation to labor rights for agricultural workers.

While veganism is increasingly popular, “flexitarians,” or plant-based diets that include the occasional animal product, are also on the rise. Offering vegan and vegetarian menus is no longer relegated to niche businesses—they’re a must for restaurants that want to compete in today’s market.

3. Quality, Health-Oriented Ingredients without the Steep Price

In addition to ethical concerns, consumers are also increasingly health- and wellness-oriented. They want to see fresh, natural, additive-free ingredients and more plant-based options. However, weight loss is no longer the main focus—overall wellness is. This shift has triggered the rise of trendy superfoods and herbs and spices with niche health and wellness benefits. From kale and pomegranate to moringa and turmeric, these fads are constantly changing. Restaurant owners shouldn’t feel like they need to drastically change their menu every month to keep up, but offering seasonal specials is a great way to incorporate the latest ingredient craze.

Consumers are also more interested in consuming food that uses high-quality ingredients. Artisan cheeses, hand-crafted meats, and super fresh produce will continue to attract diners in 2020. That being said, today’s consumers are also more wallet-conscious than they were a few years ago, spending less now even as their incomes are increasing. Food brands that can strike a balance between quality and affordability will come out on top.

4. Localization, Specialization, and Ambiance Are Key

Casual dining chains like Applebee’s, TGI Fridays, and Ruby Tuesday suffered in recent years. Their reputation for serving big portions of high-calorie, low-quality food is certainly part of the story, but there are a few other factors at play.

Low wages and busy schedules aren’t one of those factors. Millennials love eating out—they value restaurant spending more than any other generation. What they don’t love are chains, which is great news for small businesses. They’re not big on the idea of big chains that do a little bit of everything, offering quantity and variety over quality. Instead, they prefer specialization. Rather than eating at a restaurant that has tacos, pad thai, and burgers all on the same menu, they like to go to an authentic Mexican spot for tacos, a Thai restaurant for their curry needs, and a burger joint for a big, greasy bacon cheeseburger.

Finally, there’s nothing millennials love more than a good atmosphere—something that chains like Applebee’s and Ruby Tuesday objectively fail at providing. When they dine out, younger generations want an experience. If there’s no experience to be had, diners might as well just order delivery from their phones. From themed restaurants to Instagram-worthy design to live music, there are plenty of ways to push your restaurant beyond the pragmatic to offer diners something memorable.

5. Fast Food with Personality

The death of casual dining chains doesn’t mean that consumers are done with fast food. On the contrary, fast food offers convenience, and convenience is still king. Today’s consumers are still willing to put aside preferences for local businesses and health-conscious foods in the name of convenience. The buzz surrounding chains like Taco Bell, Shake Shack, Chipotle, and Popeye’s, all of which have a cult-like following on social media, is evidence. The main thing that differentiates successful fast food from chains that are shutting their doors is that they engage with their customers.

Showcasing local ingredients and businesses in your cuisine is one way to give each location its own personality and engage with the local community. Even fast-food restaurants can do this. Shake Shack, for example, tends to offer specialty “concretes,” a frozen custard treat, featuring local ingredients. Their Istanbul location features pistachio concretes, while the Atlanta Shake Shack has a s’mores concrete that incorporates dark chocolate chunks from famous Atlanta chocolatier Cacao Atlanta.

Taco Bell is a prime example of how chain restaurants can build a brand around a magnetic personality, all the way down to their “think outside the bun” slogan. They used their “4th meal” (the meal between dinner and breakfast) campaign to win over younger generations as the place to chow down after a fun night out. Then, they took that a step further by opening Taco Bell Cantinas in select cities, which offer custom menus, shareable appetizers, and alcoholic beverages. Most recently, Taco Bell opened a pop-up resort in Palm Springs called The Bell Palm Springs – A Taco Bell Hotel & Resort. Reservations sold out within minutes.

Trends can feel fickle sometimes, but restaurant owners would be amiss to ignore them altogether. Listen to your customers, and they’ll reward you.

The post 2020 Forecast for Restaurants: 5 Trends to Watch appeared first on Lendio.

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[nocturnalimpression]

This is gonna be a long post so sorry in advance, but it's 2am and dysphoria is hitting me hard, so I figure it's the perfect time for a story. This story will contain BRIEF and non detailed mentions of suicide, but I find it to be a happy story over all.

Alright so, I am currently 20 years old. I came out at 17, but looking back, I've always kind of known that I was trans. I remember being really young, I'm talking maybe 5-7 years old, hanging out with boys in my neighbourhood and feeling out of place. The only time I really felt comfortable and truly happy was when I was with my best friend.

She and I grew up together. Literally. We were born a few months apart, but our mothers had been friends since high school. They were both mothers to us, and we saw eachother as siblings. We were friends since the day we were able to create memories.

I remember being around 6 years old. My friend, who will be refered to as A, and I were playing in the dirt in her backyard. I don't remember exactly what we were doing, but there was a lull in thw action of whatever game we were playing. A was standing beside me pretending to cook or something, and I was just kind of standing there silently thinking, something I did often and still do. I vividly recall looking up at A and thinking "she's so fun and I'm always happy with her. Why don't I feel like that with boys?"

(Obviously my thoughts weren't that clear at that age, but that's the basic gist of what was going through my head)

Fast forward a year or two. I'm with my male friend in his backyard. He lived across the street from me, ans had a massive fort/treehouse type thing. We were walking from his back door toward the fort, and this feeling came over me. I started to wonder if he ever felt the same way I did about relating more to girls than boys. My young, dumb, anxiety filled brain wanted to ask him, but didn't know quite how to go about it without sounding stupid. Somehow I settled on "Hey _____? Do you ever wonder what it's like to be a girl?"

Tgis os the point where, when I look back on these early years, I wonder if what he said paved the way for my internalized fear of my own feelings.

He reaponded with a simple, but powerful, "No. Why would I want to be a girl? Girls are stupid! Why, do you want to be a girl?"

Not wanting to embaress myself, I said something to the tune of "Haha no I was just messing with you."

In hindsight, that was probably the moment I disconnected from reality, because from that day on, I started to become something that I'm not sure I can ever quite recover from. I started doubting myself constantly, and hating myself for every thought I had that didn't match up with what the other boys were like.

In elementary school, I had this constant feeling that I was outside myself. Like I was watching a puppet version of me living out my life. I felt like I had zero control over everything and anything that happened. I would get bullied for dumb stuff, like being German or having a higher voice than the other boys. I never really felt hurt by anything, because no matter how brutal the other kids could be, it didn't feel like they were saying/doing anything to ME. They were attacking this version of me that wasn't actually me. I started to develop a talent for lying and acting.

I still saw A fairly often, but nowhere near as often as I wanted. When I was around her, I felt like she would grab the real me and pull me back into my body. I wish I'd shown her how much I appreciated and needed her, because come high school, we stopped hanging out all together.

Suddenly, my only anchor to reality was gone, and I was permanently dissociated. My lying got worse, or better in a way. My parents would tell me constantly that I should enroll in the drama classes and become an actor because of my "natural talent". I wanted too, and I probably could've done something great had I listened to them. Instead, I listened to my guy friends, who told me drama and acting was girly and gay. Clearly I wanted to avoid those titles, as the last time I expressed my interest in femininity, it didn't exactly go too well.

So, my link to reality is gone, I'm in a permanent state of dissociation, I secretly hate myself, and I can make people believe just about anything I tell them. A recipe for disaster if I ever saw one.

I know, I know, not a very happy story. Just sit tight a little longer. This story gets a lot worse before it starts to get better, but it DOES get better.

I'm now around 14 years old. All my friends think I'm on drugs at all times, and I've begun to develop a serious case of depression, while my anxiety has grown exponentially worse. My high school bullies love to practice their insults on me, since my only response was laughter, hiding the pain I really felt from everyone. I took up smoking cigarettes, and regularly put my body through any kind of abuse I could. I would run full speed into brick walls, get people to hit me with the biggest sticks they could find, set my clothes on fire during lunch hour. You name it. Why? Partially for the laughter and attention it got me, bust mostly, secretly, to punish myself anytime I had thoughts that I deemed wrong.

Then, a small miracle. One of the bullies I mentioned previously, came out to everyone as bisexual. My school was incredibly intollerent, violent, and hateful. Especially towards lgbt peeps. But all of a sudden, one of the most popular boys in the school, not just our grade, admits that he is bisexual, and everyone is completely fine with it.

Before, I felt like I was drowning in the sea, caught in a raging storm, but suddenly there was a raft. Tge storm was still raging, maybe even growing, but at least I had something to grab onto.

And boy did I grab tight. About a month after the boy came out, I went camping with my (new) best friend. He was a brother to me, and had seen me on the rare occasion that I came back to reality from the dissociation and lies. I came out to him on that trip. Not as trans, I didn't even know that transgender was a thing yet. No, I came out as bisexual. I will truly never forget that conversation.

We were walking along a river in the forest, looking for lizards and snakes and the like. There was a brief moment of silence between us, something that rarely happened, and without thinking, I heard myself say "I have to tell you something."

Immediately I started panicking, thinking of anything I could say aside from what I knew was about to fall out of my mouth. Foetunately, I wasn't quick enough, and as soon as he turned around, I basically vomitted the words "I'm bisexual."

Now, technically that was true, but I didn't know that yet. I was freaking out, as we had both made some honestly horrible jokes at the expense of the gay community. He was quiet for a few seconds, which felt like days, but eventually he looked my dead in the eyes and said, "Well, I guess I'm not homophobic anymore."

His words, combined with the genuine care in his smile made me want to fucking cry. And I did, later that night. I hugged him, and just to put him at ease, made a joke that I will not repeat, because it was disgusting and horrible, but it was exactly what we both needed in the moment.

A few months later, I came out as full out gay to our entire friend group. This clearly was not the case, and I knew it was a lie. By then I had realized that I am in fact bisexual, but remember, I am still in the midst of that raging storm of lies and hate. My basic thinking was:

I feel most comfortable around girls.

Girls like boys.

If I like boys, girls will want to hang out with me.

I do like boys, but also girls.

I can pretend to only like boys very easily.

And so I did. Admittedly I went way overboard in the first few weeks. I had never actually met a gay guy, so all I had to go off of was the stereotype we all made fun of back then. After the first 2 or 3 weeks of trial and error, I had everyone, including family and teachers, fully believing I was gay as fuck. And my plan, kind of worked perfectly. My best friend, the one from the camping trip, got a girlfriend, and she ended up spending more time with me than him. She introduced me to her friends, which opened a world that had previously been unknown to me or any of the boys I knew.

High school boys were immature, rude, competitive, and aggressive. High school girls, however, were so incredibly diverse. Every girl I met was different in nearly every way, but had a sense of familiarity with eachother. My depression vanished in a matter of days. My raging storm calmed to a light breeze. These girls would paint my nails and convinced me to give up the buzz cut in favour of the long hair I had always wanted. They introduced me to makeup and music other than rap. The artists showed me the beauty of drawing, and the drama girls taught me how to truly hone my lying into acting. I felt at home with them.

Unfortunately, but predictably, my plan backfired, and crumbled like a brick house in the path of a tornado. After about a year, the "light breeze" began to pick up speed again. I started hating myself more than ever. I was so damn close to what I'd always wanted, but I realised the closer I got that rather than my path to happiness being clear, there was a glass wall in my way. I was allowed to embrace the femininity that I once had to hide, but I was sti'll just another boy to those girls. I wasn't truly one of them as I wanted so desperatly to be. Worst of all, I had started catching feelings for a girl, but couldn't possibly act on them or express them at all without ruining not only the illusion, but all the friendships I had just finally found.

I'll save you the details, but in short, all this came to a point and I ended up attempting suicide. I was sent to a psychiatric ward, and my friendships, both male and female, began to erode.

Instead of watching everything I lied so hard to achieve turn to dust, I decide to use my new acting abilities (sharpened in drama classes that the girls talked me into) to fool the doctors, nurses, and psychiatrists into letting me out before a single one of my issues had been addressed.

Don't ask me how I managed it, because I still don't have a clue, but I did it. I somehow managed to convince everyone I was perfectly fine, and was released after only a week and a half. This was the first in a line of horrible mistakes made by yours truly.

So, I return to school. I expect I'll have to tell everyone why i missed a week and a half of school, and showed up with a mostly true story. I never got to use my story, however, because my school counselor had already managed to inform the entire school that I was "suicidal and extremely depressed". While that was true, that is the furthest from how I wanted everyone to find out.

To save time, I'll skip over the events that took place in those few weeks, to my second admittance to the ward. This time, I was filled with rage and wanted not only my own death, but the death of anyone who got on my nerves. This is when my anger issues started to take root.

My raging storm had developed into a devastating hurricane, and my raft was torn to splinters. Only this time, I wasn't at the mercy of the storm, I was the storm. At one point, the ward staff had to call 3 security gaurds in to get me to return to my room without anyone being injured. I was so lost in my rage and hatred that I milked the shit out of it, and got off the idea that 3 buff ass dudes were needed to return my 90 lbs butt to my room out of fear that I was actually going to make an attempt on someones life. Not my proudest moment to be sure. This is when my friendships were nearly all dying, if not already dead. I ended up making some friends in the ward, who helped me get to place mentally where the staff felt I was safe to be released.

A month later, I was in a new ward. An adult ward this time. With no one my age to talk to, and having very recently become anti social (the real definition, not asocial or shy, though I am very introverted), I turned to the bookshelf as my only companion. I found a book about lgbt definitions and information, and decided to read it for no real reason. I was skimming through pages rather quickly, not really reading or retaining anything, just sort of looking at the ink on the paper. Eventually a saw a word I had never heard before; Transgender.

My curiosity got the best of me, and I started to read the paragraphs. Almost immediately, I realized that I connected with what I was reading. I read the entire book that night.

The next day, my mom came in for a visit. It was my 17 birthday. The first thing I said to her when she walked into my "room", was "mom? I think I'm transgender."

Without a hint of hesitation, she simply looked at me and said, "okay."

After 17 years of hating myself, doubting myself, and punishing myself for something I didn't understand, my mother was able to accept it immediately. I'm not exaggerating. We spend the day discussing it, and she had absolutely no problem with it at all. She supported me not just from day one, but from minute one. It took her a few months to get used to she/her pronouns, and she did get frustrated at my changing my name every few weeks, but she never stopped supporting me. It's been 3 years since I came out. I have exactly one friend whom I didn't meet until I dropped out of highshool, and I have my mom. And you know what? I'm happy.

I struggle still, obviously, with anger, depression, anxiety, antisocial personality, and now gender dysphoria, but thanks to the two amazing women in my life, I'm working through it all. I'm getting better. And my transition has finally begun.

As a side note:

This story ended up being WAY longer than I originally intended. I started with the intent to only talk about the time I asked my friend if he ever wondered what it was like to be a girl when I was like 7 or something, but it kinda spiraled into my life story. So I want to give a little detail to my friend A from early in the story. We've grown apart and haven't seen eachother in years, but we do still consider eachother friends, and as crazy as it may sound, she came out as a HE around the same time I came out as a SHE. We literally swapped. Neither of us knew the other was trans until well after we came out, so we had a good laugh about it. Life is crazy hunh?

[thisisntjustmsthisisleahsms-blog]

Not the Good Hand.

Having finally gone through the large folder full of my hospital letters, which in retrospect I should have done before starting the blog, I would like to clarify a few things from the previous chapter. The time it took for me to actually get my diagnosis, was quite a bit longer than I’d remembered it being. The date of my second appointment with Dr Gillmore and the official date of my diagnosis was October 2011, nearly a whole year after the resting bitch face incident and even then, it wasn’t a proper diagnosis. It was referred to as a clinically isolated syndrome with demyelination... yeah I have no idea what that means either, but I can tell you now it was NOT an isolated incident.

I’d also just like to correct the hilarity that was me telling you all that I had LEGIONS on my brain.

Legion

 1.    A division of 3,000–6,000 men, including a complement of cavalry, in the ancient Roman army.

 What I meant to put was LESIONS – I do not have a small Roman army pillaging my head. Thanks to mum for pointing that out.

 Lesion

 1.    A region in an organ or tissue which has suffered damage through injury or disease, such as a wound, ulcer, abscess, or tumour.

 Anyway, now that’s all cleared up, where was I?

 The Head Tilt Phenomenon

“I mean, the probability is that this won’t affect you again until much later on in life. You could be in your... mid 40’s maybe, before you have a relapse.”

Please remember this. This statement from Dr Gillmore was the reason I decided that it didn’t matter about the MS, because clearly, I was indestructible. MS? HA! Not going to affect me for another 20 years or so, drop the mic, leave the office, see you in 20.

I thanked Dr Gillmore (although thinking about it I’m not really sure why... do you thank someone for basically giving you a life sentence?) And we left. As we got into the lift to go down to B floor, I remember feeling very non-plussed by the whole thing. If this lead neurology consultant has just told me it’s probably not going to happen again until I’m like 40, it doesn’t really mean anything right now does it? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me and even when it does happen again, it’s only a numb face. Maybe it’ll even out? Give the right hand side a couple of numb weeks? Literally couldn’t hurt and this changes NOTHING.

And that right there guys and girls, that carefree train of thought is why you do NOT make those sorts of off handed comments to stupid teenagers. They will take it for gospel. No amount of the use of the word ‘maybe’ will change that.

To the best of my recollection, we had driven to the appointment. It’s not really relevant, but I know some of you like the little details, a little something to set the scene if you will. We drove home (probably) and I flounced into the house, not a care in the world. I was actually in quite a good mood at this point because I’d started to be able to taste things on both sides of my mouth again; all I was thinking about was eating a bacon cheese burger. And then I saw Dad.

I can only assume that Mum had rang him at some point and given him an update on the situation, because as I walked through the living room door he turned, looked up at me from the sofa and he pulled the most sad, melancholy, disneyesque face I have ever seen to date, it was like looking at Droopy. This is when he tilted his head. Most of you reading this are guilty of doing the head tilt, whether it be in response to a friend whose dog has died or upon discovering that there are no more Oreos left in the cupboard. Both excellent reasons for tilting ones head, however, the amount of times I’ve wanted to slap someone upside their head for tilting it at me in a sort of “oh my God, I’m so sorry, how long have you got left?” kind of way, is unreal. So please, don’t EVER tilt your head at someone who has just told you they are disabled. Yes be considerate and ask questions, but I’m not a fucking puppy stuck in a pipe.

“How are you feeling?”

Well, to be honest with you Dad, I was feeling pretty perplexed. The only time I’d seen his face come even close to how it was on that day, was when he watched Lenny Henry feeding sugar water to a malnourished African child on a previous year’s Red Nose Day. Why is he looking at me like I’m a malnourished African child? I was genuinely confused at the reaction this irrelevant news was receiving. I told him I was fine, asked if anyone wanted a cup of tea and left the room post haste, as mum proceeded to point out to him that everything was fine, I wasn’t dying and that it probably wouldn’t affect me for a very long time. I can’t cope with this shite; I can’t deal with the seemingly soothing voice asking if I’m ok every 5 minutes, whilst looking at me like I’m made of glass. I decided to ring a friend and go for a walk. My apologies to you Louise, I can’t remember the full details of the conversation we had on that particular day, we’ve had a lot of serious conversations and a lot of long walks, they’ve all blended into one. What I can tell you is that there were numerous inappropriate jokes about my gammy face and that we 100% agreed that it was fine and it wouldn’t happen again for a very long time.

BULLSHIT.

The Hangover and The Claw

An unfortunate, yet sometimes comical side effect of MS is the way it likes to tinker with my memory, so my apologies if I have to back track from time to time. Join me, if you will, in attempting to journey back to April 2012. It was an exciting year, we had the London Olympics, Macklemore released Thrift Shop and I was having a cracking time, enjoying a LOT of nights out with various people from my TGI’s crew, only occasionally falling off a wall and/or throwing up into the streets of Derby. It was fucking great! On a side note, I hadn’t told any of my managers about my diagnosis at this point, it wasn’t affecting me and I had no intention of working there until my early 40’s, ABSOLUTELY NOT. But, I digress.

One very hazy morning(ish), having drunk myself to oblivion the night before (never drink Old Rosie at the end of a night, the hangover is just NOT worth it), I peeled my face away from my pillow, stumbled to the bathroom and proceeded to loudly empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl - still in the clothes from the night before. No shame.

Somewhere in between throwing up and trying to figure out why I hadn’t stayed round my friends house as originally planned, I can only assume I was too drunk and had been bundled into a taxi by someone, I became aware that I had pins and needles in my hand – hmm... must have slept on it. No worries, I’ll just shake it off.

Any minute now...

It’s going to wear off... any second...

Well fuck me was I shaking my hand on and off for at least 15 minutes and it did absolutely FUCK ALL. I can assure you if you think you’ve had the worst hangover in the world before now, you haven’t. You add the confusion of a numb hand and a lying bastarding consultant, that’s when you have the right to call it the worst hangover in the world. Mid 40’s my arse you lying prick. This is when the panic set in; picture it, a panicked hangover. It was hideous. I was already throwing up, the panic of my numb hand made me need to throw up more and I was sobbing into a toilet bowl. I cried as the reconstituted rum and coke spilled from my mouth, I tried to catch my breath as the room span around me and looked down at my now lifeless, sick covered hand, in an attempt to have something to look at to stop the spinning. I sobbed as the sight of my gammy hand caused me to projectile across the bathroom floor, not having the time or the attention to detail to stick my head in the toilet. Absolute chaos.

As the days went by, I noticed a definite weakness developing in good old righty. Never called my right hand that before - genuinely never will again. It didn’t feel right to type, but I like the way it looks on a page so. Good ol’ righty was not coping well and bearing in mind that this is my good hand, I started dropping things. To anyone that has just laughed because I referred to it as my ‘good hand’, it was EXACTLY like that. My hand was non-negotiable and had adopted a sort of claw shape, the numbness had crept up into my forearm and I could no longer hold anything without my wrist buckling, if I’d been asked to stir mash it would have been great. I seriously thought at one point, my God, I’m going to turn into a lefty...and no one likes a lefty! On the 17th April, I went to seek advice about my claw at the hospital. I’ve attached a photo of my clinic letter, purely and simply for the fact that they refer to this particular relapse as a MILD one. Looking back now, they were bang on, but at the time I was not impressed about this. Mild?! After the traumatic bathroom incident?! Oh how stupid I was, it was only going to get worse... which is great for all of you because from an outside perspective it just got more entertaining. I was given a weeks’ worth of oral steroids to speed up the recovery process in my hand/arm. I know what you’re thinking, steroids? And the answer is no, I did not get hench. My right arm did not become akin to Popeye’s and I didn’t have veins popping out of my skin. I’ll go into the wonders of steroids next time, oral steroids are no fun but IV steroids are where it’s at. You’ll also get to find out how I faired on 2 numb legs during snowy weather conditions, how I ended up being reviewed on Trip Advisor and the wonders of a drug called Copaxone.

I must apologise for the delayed arrival of blog number 2. Unfortunately for me, just as I decided to start writing a blog about my MS, my MS thought it would be appropriate to give me a numb fucking hand, so the last blog and this one have been written with some difficulty. So actually... I take my apology back because fuck my MS.

Thanks again for reading guys, hope you enjoyed the trials and tribulations of my astounding disability and bear with for number 3!

Leah x