Green Chile With Everything

Oh man, I would kill for some sopaipillas right now. All hot and fresh right out of the oil, crisp and puffy and drizzled with sweet honey, that would be the greatest thing ever. But the ones here in California are mostly rubbish. D: I've have to get my dad to let me make some when I get home. And maybe some tortillas, since he's got my tortilla press and I know my grandma gave him a big bag of masa. And some carne adovada, god.

...I need to stop reading Wikipedia food articles when I'm hungry.

I Blame TVTropes For This

I love quiet, lazy Sundays. Especially quiet, lazy Sundays on a holiday when I know I don't have to get up in the morning and go to class. It's a rather pleasant thing to sleep in until absurd hours and spend half the day doing nothing much at all.

What I did do today:

1. Watch Doctor Who - finally watched Utopia/Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords all the way through. Is my favoritest of all things, since I am fond of Jack Harkness, secret rebellion against totalitarian regimes, and Doctor/Master subtext, which this arc just screams with. And the Simm!Master is not exactly hard on the eyes, so there's that. But the scene where he dies in the Doctor's arms is...OW MY HEART. Be more tragically in love, poor boys.
   
   While I was looking for Master/Doctor stuff, I found this clip, which is pretty much the greatest thing ever. All the context I know is that the Master is...now an android. And living on the TARDIS. With the Doctor. And they have a shared answering machine message. Yes.



2. Write Star Trek fic. I am so ashamed of myself! I held out as long as I could, but there is just no resisting the sheer cuteness of Chekov. This is one of the story ideas I mentioned a few days ago, the one where Chekov is being picked on by engineers and Sulu tries to teach him fencing so he can defend himself. And then they make out.
   
   Excerpt:
   
   “If they were harassing you…” he starts. Chekov shakes his head hard; the tips of his ears are bright red, and his curls look like someone had yanked them, and Sulu has to push back the sudden urge to reach out and smooth them down again.
   
   “Is nothing,” Chekov says, in a voice that sounds almost normal. “I can handle. But thank you.” The sudden smile he flashes him is so bright he feels parts of himself lighting up in response.
   
   “Where were you going?” Sulu asks.
   
   “The transporter room. Mr. Scott is on duty and he has manual he promised lend me, article on warp theory. Very kind, yes?”
   
   Sulu thinks for a moment, longingly, of his bed, but it passes. “Come on, then,” he finds himself saying. “I was going that way, we can walk together. You can tell me about these articles Scotty’s going to lend you.”
   
   He doesn’t understand half of what Chekov babbles as they walk, most of the math far over his head, but he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he listens to the kid bubble over with enthusiasm, eyes wide and excited, hands weaving complex shapes in the air. He’s never seen someone so unapologetically in love with what they do, even in Starfleet; it’s that, and not, he tells himself, the sight of long-fingered hands and tight, graceful steps that makes his stomach flutter.