Hey everyone! Food devs here with the long awaited 2.0 update. Without further ado here are the changes.
+spicy foods are now part of the “hot” category and can no longer avoid this category by specing purely into aggressive flavor
+all calzones now include the sauce inside them to avoid unnecessary dipping
+bananas now have clearly defined peeling points
+removed drying factor from salt water to make it a hydration drink again
+buffed amount of time scrambled eggs will stay hot in open air
+by popular demand we have made it so nutcrackers now also work on coconuts
+we felt the gutting process was two confusing to newer players so now all fish and crustaceans rapidly expel their bones and organs upon being heated
+banana skin now possess a more satisfying crunch to persuade player choice and make the banana meta more even
-microwave foods now have a maximum 20% chance of failure to avoid over centralizing the meta
-watermelons water content has been nerfed in order to bring it more in line with other melons
-fixed a bug that allowed celery to be consumed without calorie gain
-increased the ingredient requirement for cereal to bring it more in line with other soups
-fixed a glitch that allowed users to eat ramen with two knives instead of chopsticks
-fixed a glitch that allowed hotdogs to be eaten from the ends, users will now start in the middle as intended
-fixed a glitch that made Chex Mix the only cereal that could be consumed without milk
Every one here at Food is working really hard to bring you quality mouth watering content so be on the lookout for future updates!
“In college I had a physics professor who wrote the date and time in red marker on a sheet of white paper and then lit the paper on fire and placed it on a metallic mesh basket on the lab table where it burned to ashes. He asked us whether or not the information on the paper was destroyed and not recoverable, and of course we were wrong, because physics tells us that information is never lost, not even in a black hole, and that what is seemingly destroyed is, in fact, retrievable. In that burning paper the markings of ink on the page are preserved in the way the flame flickers and the smoke curls. Wildly distorted to the point of chaos, the information is nonetheless not dead. Nothing, really, dies. Nothing dies. Nothing dies.”
— Nicholas Rombes, The Absolution of Roberto Acestes Laing (via bobschofield)
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.
And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.
And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.
And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.
(Aaron Freeman, “Planning Ahead Can Make A Difference In The End”)
You don’t need a reason to not like a ship. You don’t need a reason not to ship a ship, canon or otherwise. You don’t have to prove it’s “problematic” or “abusive” or any of that shit.
You’re allowed to just not like it. You can literally just say “eh, I don’t like it, it’s just not my thing” and that’s valid. You don’t have to explain it or excuse it. Just say you don’t like it and move the fuck on, for fuck’s sake.
Hi! I would love if you could write something for supercorp with “I hope our kid takes after you.”. Thank you!
some v domestic supercorp from the prompt list! (happiness 12 I believe)
"I hope our kid takes after you."
Lena’s not quite sure when Kara’s kitchen became her own.
She knows where every dish is, knows where Kara keeps her spices, her utensils, her canned goods. There are things in the fridge that are hers, crackers in the cupboard that Kara bought because she likes them. It’s possible she knows Kara’s kitchen better than she knows her own, at this point, considers it as much hers as she does Kara’s.
She rarely cooks at her apartment. She tells herself she doesn’t have the time, opting for takeout or frozen meals instead. But it’s become something of a routine to cook at Kara’s, and often several nights a week finds them holed up in Kara’s kitchen, trying new recipes and arguing about vegetables. It was an easy transition from their old routine of weekly restaurant or bar hangouts—just one night where Lena was too tired to go out and Kara suggested this instead of calling off the occasion completely.
Somewhere along the way, it became their new normal.
Lena’s standing at the stove, stirring a pot of lentil curry. It’s one of the only completely vegan dishes that she can convince Kara to eat, so she makes it as often as she can whenever she cooks. Outside, the November wind moans, blowing uneven patters of rain across the windows of Kara’s kitchen. It’s warm and dry inside, though, the air spiced by the stew, the kitchen lights soft and orange. The radio’s on, faintly playing ABBA songs, and Lena hums quietly along as she stirs. At the sink, Kara washes the dishes as Lena dirties them, her hair tied back in a messy bun at the nape of her neck.
The song ends, and the next one begins: Andante, Andante, in its sweet swinging rhythm.
“Oh, I love this song,” Lena says, swaying as she stirs. She abandons the curry when the lyrics begin, still holding the wooden spoon as she spins slowly around the kitchen to the rhythm, holding out her arms as though dancing with an invisible partner.
Kara turns to watch her, grinning and leaning her elbows back on the edge of the sink, and Lena reaches for one of her sud-soaked hands as she passes by. Kara laughs and stumbles after her. She ducks under Lena’s arm in a messy spin and then pulls herself close, her other hand finding Lena’s hip. They waltz around the kitchen, Kara lifting her arm to spin Lena this time as she sings along to the few words of the song she knows, Andante, Andante.
It’s the kind of moment in time that stretches, unhurried and unimportant but sweet like honey. The kind of moment where it feels like there’s nowhere and no one else in the world.
“You’re so perfect,” says Kara, smiling as they sway together. “I hope our kids take after you, some day.”
Lena hums, the swell of joy warm and soft in her chest. Kara’s hand sits comfortable on her hip as the music swells, too, and they sing along and laugh and spin around and around in the warm bubble of their kitchen in a way that feels infinite, in a way that seeps light into every dark corner.
The song ends, and Lena breaks away, dragging her hand away from Kara’s slowly until only their fingertips touch and then break apart, reaching for each other across empty air. She laughs, turning back to her curry. It takes until Kara, doing dishes again, drops a bowl and curses softly for her to register the words properly.
“Kara?” she says, hands freezing on the lid of the rice she’s putting on.
“Mmhm?”
“What was that you said? When we were dancing?”
Kara looks up at her, confused. She seems to struggle to remember for a moment, and then her face brightens. “Oh! I said I hope our kids take after you. You, know, because you’re perfect, and everything. I want them to be just like you. Sweet and smart and fun and kind.”
“Okay,” says Lena. “Right. That’s what I thought you said.”
“Great.” Kara turns back to her dishes.
“Kara?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t see anything… weird about that statement?”
Kara’s hands pause in the sink, and she looks up, nodding her head slightly as though replaying the words in her mind. Then her eyes go wide.
She says, “Oh my god.”
“Yeah.”
Kara claps a dripping hand to her mouth. “I said… and I haven’t even…”
“Our kids,” Lena says. “Our kids.” She grins, and there’s something in her chest expanding, growing warm and bright and alive. “When were you planning to tell me I knocked you up, Miss Danvers?”
“Shut up,” laughs Kara. “Fuck.”
“One thing, Kara.”
“Yeah?”
“People who want kids together are usually married. Or at least dating.”
“Generally, yes, I think that’s a fair statement.” She’s turned around again to look at Lena, leaning back on the counter with a sweet smile on her face. Lena props her spoon up on the inside of the pot and moves to stand in front of her, her fingers grazing across Kara’s forearms.
“Is that a dream of yours?” she asks. “Having kids with me one day? Something you think about it when you’re falling asleep? Growing old and… becoming grandparents and… waking up together every morning, forever?”
And Lena isn’t sure whose late-night fantasy she’s describing, because it’s a dream that’s come to her, too, in the delirious, half-awake moments where she let herself believe it possible.
Kara’s arms drape around her waist, pulling her closer so they’re pressed together, Lena’s hands curled against her chest. “Sometimes,” she whispers.
“I didn’t know you felt that way, darling.”
“Didn’t you, though?” Kara smiles softly. “We do this multiple times a week, you basically live here. Everyone’s half convinced we’re dating already. I’d probably spend every night like this, if I could.”
Lena brushes a hand across her cheek, thinking that she could easily fall into nights like this for the rest of her life, and murmurs, “So would I.” When Kara leans into her palm, she adds, “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for kids yet, though.”
“We could start smaller,” says Kara.
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“I think, usually, before they think about having children together, people start with a kiss.”
“Oh, is that so?” says Lena.
“Yup. That’s step one.”
“A kiss.” Lena studies Kara’s features from an inch away, lets her fingers roam feather soft across them: the set of her blue eyes, the flutter of her fair eyelashes, the divot of a scar beside her eyebrow. She runs her thumb over Kara’s lips. “I think I could manage that.”
They have a penchant for doing things out of order, thinks Lena. Because it’s after they’ve been doing something like dating for years, after she’s learned every nook of Kara’s home and heart like they’re her own, after they’ve discussed having children and growing old together, that they share their first kiss.
Her hands slide into Kara’s hair as she sinks into it, like the final piece of a puzzle piece falling into place, and they kiss to the background track of rain on the windowpanes, the fan on the stove, ABBA still singing in the background.
On the stove, the rice bubbles over, long forgotten.
tangentwithtanner
2087
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germansingergirl
yousharknotpass
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