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justlemmeadoreyou · 9 months ago

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3. protectively watchful (restaurant owner!harry x chef!reader)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here)

summary: you take up on the mantorship offer, but it creates more tensions and turmoil within you than were before. an incident in the kitchen makes harry go into protective mode, and you can't help but get turned on by this man more and more.

words: 4.8k

warnings: sexual tension (like A LOT), inappropriate behaviour, protective!harry.

***

"You wanted to see me, Chef?"

You gave a light knock on the open door of Harry's office, trying to sound polite and professional. It had been a few weeks since you had that talk with Harry about keeping things strictly business between you two. During that time, he had been a perfect mentor - giving you advice and guidance without any flirting or suggestive comments.

His coaching had really helped improve your cooking skills as you soaked up all his knowledge and experience. You were grateful to have a normal working relationship again, focused solely on culinary training. And yet...you couldn't ignore the faint lingering tension between you, that subtle underlying charge.

Harry looked up from the notebooks on his desk, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile when he saw you. "Ah, there you are. Come on in, have a seat."

You sat down in one of the chairs across from him as Harry neatened up the loose papers into a stack. Up close, you couldn't help noticing how well-fitted his black button-down shirt was, or how his tousled hair looked very touchable.

Firmly reminding yourself this was just a professional meeting, you averted your eyes politely until Harry cleared his throat.

"So as you know, the big Martin gala fundraiser is coming up in a few weeks," he began, shuffling through some folders. "It's one of the biggest events of the year for underprivileged culinary education programs. I'll be preparing the featured dish for their live auction, and I'd love for you to assist me on it."

Your eyes went wide with surprise at this prestigious opportunity. The Martin gala was a hugely famous event in Chicago's culinary scene, attracting all the wealthiest and most notable diners. For an up-and-coming chef to collaborate on the centerpiece dish was an amazing honor and chance to get exposure.

"Wow, yes of course!" you replied enthusiastically. "I would be absolutely honored, Chef. Thank you for this incredible opportunity."

Harry's dimples deepened as he smiled approvingly. "Don't thank me yet. We'll be under a huge spotlight to deliver an amazing showstopper dish. I expect you to rise to the challenge."

You quickly nodded. "You can count on me to give it my absolute best effort. I'm ready to do whatever work is needed."

"Excellent," Harry said in a slightly lower, huskier tone. "That's exactly what I like to hear."

For a moment, his voice had a heated quality that hinted at other situations where your eagerness might be welcome. You ignored the shiver it sent through you, reminding yourself this was strictly business now between you two.

Harry seemed to realize he was skirting the line, as he abruptly straightened up and all hints of flirtation disappeared as he switched fully into mentor mode. "Right, well let me walk you through my basic vision so far..."

You leaned forward attentively as he outlined preliminary ideas for a highly ambitious and avant-garde dish blending molecular gastronomy techniques with classic French cuisine fundamentals. It was wildly cutting-edge, even for a showpiece event like the Martin gala. But the more details Harry provided, the more that same thrill of adrenaline rushed through you whenever presented with a new culinary challenge to conquer.

For the next hour, the two of you bounced ideas back and forth in that unique creative flow state that chefs share. Harry's presence was magnetic, but you refused to get distracted by more physical aspects - like the stretch of his biceps against his crisp sleeves, the hint of toned abs beneath his open collar, or the raspy timbre of his voice dipping into that lower register as he passionately discussed certain techniques.

And oh, his damn tattoos.

No, you sternly told yourself as the conversation began wrapping up. Those days of getting flustered around him were over. Harry had made it clear where you stood, and you fully accepted those boundaries. Anything else was just self-torture.

"...but of course, those are just preliminary thoughts," Harry was saying as he collected the scattered folders into a neat pile. "We'll have plenty of time to refine the details over the next couple weeks."

You nodded, filing away the mental notes you'd taken during the discussion. "Absolutely, Chef. Just let me know whatever you need for prep or testing different ideas to get a head start."

"Will do." With an air of finality, Harry gathered up the pile and rose from his seat. You quickly stood up as well, not wanting him to loom over you in the enclosed space. For a beat, you both hovered awkwardly, the air seeming to thicken between you.

"Well then," Harry said, making no move to step past you towards the door. "I'd say this calls for a drink to celebrate our new collaboration, wouldn't you agree?"

Before you could reply, he turned and went to a small antique cabinet tucked in an alcove you hadn't noticed before. With a practiced hand, Harry selected a heavy glass decanter and two tumblers, placing them on the cabinet and expertly twisting off the stopper.

"Let's go with Lagavulin," he mused aloud, carefully pouring two generous glasses of the amber scotch whisky. "A good Scottish whisky seems appropriate for the occasion."

"I really shouldn't, Chef," you said reflexively, already picturing your lightweight self getting sloppy and unprofessional after even a single drink.

But Harry just chuckled softly. "Loosen up a little. It's a celebration, after all."

He emphasized this by bringing one of the heavy tumblers over and pressing the cool glass into your hand. You frowned down at the coppery liquid, worrying your lower lip uncertainly. But before you could protest further, Harry gently clinked his glass against yours in a silent toast before taking a sizable sip.

The whisky's smoky, peaty aroma seemed to wrap around you intimately. Despite your hesitation, you couldn't help giving an appreciative inhale before taking a small, tentative sip yourself. Bold, layered flavors of vanilla, caramel, and charred oak underscored by an earthy smokiness burst over your tongue. You let out a soft sigh of indulgent pleasure at the decadent taste.

"Good, isn't it?" Harry's gravelly voice made you start slightly. He was watching you with amusement, whisky glass dangling casually from those large, handsome fingers. "It really hits you in the back of the throat, makes you slow down and savor it fully."

You suddenly realized the suggestive implication behind his phrasing and felt a flush of heat bloom across your face and chest. Harry watched the play of emotions flickering over your features with relish before taking another indulgent sip. This time, you noticed the way his full lips pursed delicately to drink, the tiny furrow of concentration between his brows as he savored the flavor before swallowing.

Unconsciously, your eyes tracked the mesmerizing flex of his throat as he swallowed, the hint of stubble grazing along his chiseled jawline. A twinge low in your abdomen accompanied the thought of feeling that scratchy burn of beard between your thighs, that talented mouth working magic elsewhere on your body.

Mortified, you shut down that wayward trail of thought through sheer willpower. Your cheeks grew even hotter as you realized Harry had caught you staring, his own gaze darkly amused.

"Easy there," he murmured huskily, stepping a bit deeper into your personal space. "This dish is a marathon, not a sprint. Best to learn to savor every indulgent morsel along the way."

With a pointed look and arched brow, Harry raised his whisky to those plump lips once more, holding your gaze as he placed the rim against that full lower lip and let out an obscenely gratifying groan of pure delight.

Moments after, the tension had subsided, but the flush and blush that had creeped up your cheeks wasn’t going away anytime soon–you were sure of that.

***

You tried to push aside the lingering thoughts about the “Celebration” that were now implaed into your mind, and the way tiny droplets of the drink remained on his lips till he licked them off with his tongue–

You wanted that tongue to be yours.

Shaking your head, you focused on prepping the ingredients for the evening service. The dinner rush would be starting soon and you needed to have everything ready. As you worked, you were vaguely aware of the dining room filling up with patrons being seated. The sounds and aromas of the bustling kitchen surrounded you in a familiar, comforting way.

You were so engrossed in your tasks that you didn't notice the man approach until he cleared his throat loudly. Looking up, you saw a smartly-dressed diner smiling at you in a way that made you instinctively uncomfortable.

"Well, hello there," he said in a syrupy tone. "I was just admiring the delicious-looking fare over here." He raked an obvious look up and down your body. "The menu selections have my mouth watering already."

You stiffened, recognizing the overly familiar leer. This wasn't the first time you'd dealt with an obnoxious patron hitting on you. Keeping your expression neutral, you replied in a polite but firm tone. "I'm afraid you'll need to return to the dining room, sir. The kitchen is off-limits to guests."

Rather than taking the hint, the man leaned nonchalantly against your prep station. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I was just hoping you could suggest something...special for me to sample tonight." He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink.

Suppressing a grimace, you turned away to continue your work, hoping he would give up and leave. No such luck. The lech sidled closer until he was nearly pressed against you. "What do you say? I'd love for a tasty little thing like you to--"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen area immediately." Harry's firm baritone cut across the man's words like a whip crack.

You looked up in relief to see your boss standing with arms crossed, jaw clenched as he glared at the offending patron. Even from several feet away, you could sense the potent force of his displeasure rolling off him in waves.

The diner seemed to shrink slightly under Harry's censorious scowl. "Oh, uh, my apologies. I was just trying to get some personal recommendations--"

"The kitchen is off-limits and you're making my staff uncomfortable," Harry interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I won't ask again. Return to your table or you'll be asked to leave the premises."

Looking sufficiently cowed, the lech swiftly retreated with some mumbled apologies. You exhaled slowly, trying to dispel the anxiety brought on by the unpleasant encounter. Harry stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked you over with concern.

"You okay? That asshole didn't go too far, did he?"

You managed a faint smile, oddly touched by the protective edge in his voice. "I'm fine, Chef. Just another boorish customer thinking the uniform is a dinner invitation."

His jaw tightened again as he scowled in the direction the man had gone. "That type of behavior is completely unacceptable. You let me know right away if anyone hassles you like that again, understand?"

Nodding, you found yourself blinking rapidly against the unexpected prickle of grateful tears at having Harry firmly in your corner, despite the complicated dynamics between you lately.

For a long moment, he watched you carefully as if gauging your equilibrium. Then Harry surprised you by reaching out and briefly squeezing your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The warmth of his large hand seeped through your uniform, leaving a tingly imprint even after he pulled away.

"I've got your back, [Y/N]. You focus on doing your job and let me deal with any assholes who get out of line."

The gruff tenderness in his words made your heart do a traitorous little flip in your chest. You nodded again, not trusting your voice enough to respond properly.

With one final pointed look, Harry turned and headed back out to his front-of-house duties. As you watched his broad-shouldered form disappear through the swinging doors of the kitchen, you felt a complicated tangle of gratitude, protectiveness, affection...and yes, a lingering undercurrent of attraction that you couldn't seem to fully extinguish despite your best efforts.

You spent the rest of the dinner service determinedly pushing aside any lingering thoughts about Harry or the earlier incident. Focusing fully on your work was the only way to get through these confusing emotions that had you all over the place..

The rhythm of prepping, plating, and coordinating with the other line cooks settled into a familiar, reassuring routine. The constant flurry of chopping, sautéing, and barked orders provided a sort of meditative escape from your muddled headspace.

By the time the last diner had been served and the kitchen was winding down for the night, you felt pleasantly drained in that satisfying way that comes from a job well done. As you began breaking down your station for cleaning, Harry emerged from his office looking satisfied.

"Excellent work tonight, everyone," he called out in that effortlessly commanding tone. "Front-of-house said the new salmon dish was a huge hit. We'll definitely want to keep that one on the seasonal menu."

A chorus of tired but pleased murmurs went around the kitchen at the praise. Harry's eyes found yours amidst the small crowd, holding your gaze a beat longer than strictly necessary before moving on to the other cooks. You tried not to read too much into it.

With the nightly pep talk concluded, Harry rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white chef's coat, joining everyone in the evening breakdown and cleaning duties. You watched surreptitiously as he expertly broke down one of the grill stations, muscles in his broad forearms flexing enticingly with each efficient movement.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, quickly refocusing on scrubbing down your own prep area. This was exactly the kind of distracted, unprofessional behavior you were trying to avoid lately around Harry.

Despite your best efforts, however, you couldn't fully ignore him moving about the kitchen, checking in with each station to oversee their sanitation. At one point, he paused to examine some utensils that hadn't been properly cleaned, tsking in displeasure before batting them aside to be re-scrubbed.

"That's never going to meet inspection," he chided the sheepish-looking young line cook in his trademark gruff tone. "Do it again, and do it properly this time. We're not running a greasy spoon here."

As much as his uncompromising attitude could be intimidating, you also found it oddly...thrilling to witness Harry taking charge so authoritatively. Not to mention the visual of those powerful hands deftly at work was sending your thoughts in an unprofessional direction yet again.

Sternly redirecting your focus, you turned your back to give the area behind the grill station a thorough scrubbing. You were so engrossed that you nearly jumped out of your skin when Harry's low voice sounded directly in your ear.

"Everything looking good over here?"

You whirled around to find him looming directly behind you, near enough that you could smell the spicy notes of his subtle cologne mingling with the lingering kitchen aromas clinging to him. Up this close, you couldn't help noticing how the top buttons of his coat had come undone at some point, offering a teasing glimpse of the toned chest beneath.

Trying not to stare, you quickly averted your eyes as you nodded. "Y-yes, Chef. All clean on this side."

"Hmm." His assessing gaze slowly raked over your work before returning to your flushed face. The tiniest of smirks played about his lips as if he could read the direction of your thoughts.

"Well, then. Carry on," was all he said before turning and strolling unhurriedly back towards his office, burgundy cargo pants slung enticingly low on those lean hips.

You let out a shaky breath, mentally cursing how easily flustered you still became around this man, no matter how much you tried to enforce boundaries. Resolutely, you refocused on finishing your cleaning tasks, determined to get out of there before any more distracted lapses in professionalism.

By the time the kitchen had been scoured from top to bottom, you were one of the last few staffers remaining. Wearily peeling off your apron, you were just reaching for your bag when Harry reappeared, looking unhurried and relaxed now that the nightly duties were done.

"Heading out?" he asked as you approached, one thick eyebrow raised questioningly.

You stifled a yawn with the back of your hand. "Yeah, I'm beat. Gonna try and get some extra sleep before the morning prep shift tomorrow."

He made a noncommittal sound, falling into step beside you as you headed for the employee exit out back. For a few moments, you walked in silence, oddly aware of the warmth radiating off his body this close to yours.

When he finally spoke, it wasn't at all what you expected. "You did good with that asshole customer earlier."

Your steps faltered slightly at the praise before quickly recovering. "Oh...uh, thanks, Chef. You really didn't need to step in like that."

"The hell I didn't," he countered gruffly. There was an edge to his tone that made the tiny hairs at your nape prickle. "No one treats my staff like piece of meat, especially not in my own goddamn kitchen."

Harry shook his head in disgust at the very idea, causing a lock of mahogany hair to fall rakishly across his furrowed brow in a way that really shouldn't have been as distracting as it was.

Swallowing hard, you refocused on the matter at hand. "I've dealt with guys like that before. Just comes with the territory sometimes, y'know?"

"That doesn't make it acceptable," he insisted, mouth setting into a grim line. You found yourself unable to look away from the sharp angles of his frowning profile, chiseled jaw ticking faintly with irritation, that he tried to mask.

He fixed you with those intense pale eyes, all traces of humor gone. "No one - and I mean no one - gets to treat any of you with disrespect while I'm in charge around here. I won't stand for that shit under my roof."

The ferocity in his tone sent an involuntary shiver rippling through you, though from wariness or...something else entirely, you couldn't say. All you knew was the low, authoritative resonance of Harry's voice carried an unmistakable air of command that raised goosebumps along your arms.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the fact you were walking in such close proximity out of public view. Or hell, maybe it was just the sheer presence of this man who could flip between stern taskmaster and something rawer, more carnal in the blink of an eye.

Whatever it was, you felt that subtle spark between you ignite and suddenly, you desperately needed to be alone to process the yearning that flickered to life low in your belly. Before you could consider the impulse further, you were blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.

"Well, thanks again for that. And for the whole mentorship thing too. I, uh...I actually have some errands to run, so I'll just catch you tomorrow morning, 'kay?"

You didn't even give Harry a chance to respond before ducking through the exit, muscles taut with confused tension. As the cool night enveloped you, you drew a deep, shuddering breath in an effort to steady yourself.

Whatever weird atmospheric flux had momentarily enveloped you back there was too dangerous, too distracting from the tenuous balance you and Harry had only just reestablished. No, it was better to put some space between you before things got muddied again.

With a fierceness born of sheer force of will, you wrestled your turbulent, wandering thoughts back under control. You were a professional, with goals to work towards. Getting pulled into Harry's electrifying orbit again would only derail you.

Still, as you hurried to your car, his shape-shifting countenance kept flashing unbidden across your memory - the dazzling smile, the brooding intensity, the simmering promise of authority barely restrained. All of it provided an infuriatingly potent combination that had your body humming with repressed longing despite yourself.

This was going to take more effort than you'd anticipated.

***

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of grueling practice runs and preparation for the Martin gala. You and Harry spent nearly every waking hour in the kitchen, iterating endlessly on his showpiece dish concept.

With the prestigious event date rapidly approaching, any lingering awkwardness or tension between you had been shifted firmly into the background. The shared urgency of perfecting this culinary masterpiece became an all-consuming focus that left little room for anything else.

Still, that didn't stop you from noticing...things.

Like how the sleeves of Harry's whites had an endearing tendency to get shoved up his forearms in a way that displayed those tanned, sinewy muscles to distracting effect as he worked. You definitely didn't linger over the sight of his strong hands deftly wielding a knife, making precise, practiced cuts. And you absolutely did not imagine those dexterous fingers trailing across your skin instead of the cutting board.

At least, that's what you sternly told yourself in an ongoing effort to maintain focus.

For his part, Harry was all business during these preparation sessions - issuing clipped instructions, evaluating ingredients with a critical eye, pushing both of you relentlessly to get every component just right. Only rarely did you catch hints of something more underneath that professional veneer.

Like the time you were bent over a burner, carefully spooning out the orbs of flavored olive oil onto the waiting plate. Harry stepped up behind you to examine your work, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. As he leaned in closer to inspect the delicate orbs, his low murmur caressed the fine hairs at your nape in a way that made you shiver.

"That's it...go nice and slow with a deft touch," he rumbled in that raspy timbre that never failed to send tingles shooting straight to your core.

Heart pounding, you risked a sidelong glance to find his pale eyes already locked on yours, glittering with an intensity that contrasted sharply with his deceptively neutral expression. A charged moment stretched between you as that underlying spark you'd been determinedly ignoring flared, sudden and molten.

Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust, Harry blinked and cleared his throat brusquely. "Carry on, then," he instructed in his normal crisp tone before turning away to focus on another component.

You stood motionless for several heartbeats, fingers clenched around the spoon, skin flushed and tingling in equal measures of arousal and disbelief. Did that really just happen or had the endless hours in the kitchen started affecting your mind?

Too skittish to ponder it further, you dove back into your tasks with even more single-minded focus, the uneasy moment shelved and locked away tight. No matter what fleeting tension arose in isolated pockets, you couldn't afford to unpack it right now - not with the enormity of what was at stake.

The days ticked down in a relentless march until finally, you and Harry stood in the solitude of his spartan office the night before the big event, taking a breather from your marathon final prep session.

An ungodly number of mise en place containers filled every available surface, each holding fussed-over components of the highly elaborate and conceptual dish that would make its debut tomorrow. Harry had pushed you both to your physical and creative limits, drilling the execution repeatedly until he was satisfied you could plate it flawlessly under the anticipated scrutiny.

Now, having quality-checked and prepped every last possible element, there was nothing further to do except rest up and bring your sharpest mental game tomorrow. Harry seemed to deflate slightly as the backdrop of mounting pressure decreased for the first time in weeks.

Propping his hip against the desk with studied nonchalance, he quirked one eyebrow in a sidelong glance. "You ready for this?"

Despite your weariness, you felt that familiar thrill of adrenaline stir at those simple words - as well as a contradictory quiver of nerves. This event was a make-or-break opportunity of the highest magnitude, especially for someone like you just starting out. Either you nailed your responsibilities tomorrow, or it all came crashing down in front of Chicago's most elite gourmands.

Shoving aside the sudden flutters of doubt, you met Harry's inscrutable gaze head-on, straightening your spine. "You know I am. We've put in the work, and this dish is gonna blow them all away."

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his sculpted mouth as he studied you appraisingly. "That's what I like to hear. Just remember - all the technique practice in the world won't mean a thing if you panic out there."

The subtle warning made you bristle defensively, never one to back down from a challenge. "I'm not going to panic," you scoffed. "I eat massive amounts of public pressure like this for breakfast."

Harry's eyes danced with amusement, and not for the first time, it struck you how effortlessly he could switch between imposing and playful. "Is that so?" he drawled easily. "In that case, would you care to make things a bit more interesting?"

Before you could respond, Harry kicked off from the desk in one sinuous motion to prowl closer. Despite your weariness, you felt your heart rate kick up several notches as he invaded your personal space, long body coiled with a loose, predatory grace.

"Let's say we raise the stakes a little," he proposed in a tone of studied nonchalance that was completely belied by the heated glint in his eyes boring into yours. "If you can prove you've got the chops to keep a cool head under fire tomorrow, I'll take you out afterwards to celebrate. Just you and me, anywhere you want to go."

Your mouth went instantly dry at the implications behind his offer. Were those...the unmistakable undertones of flirtation coloring his invitation? After the weeks of him keeping things strictly professional between you, the sudden shift was dizzying - and left you dangerously intrigued.

"And what if I choke?" you heard yourself countering recklessly before you could reconsider. "What do you get out of it then?"

His answering smile was pure blistering sin. "Oh, sweetheart. If that happens...I get to take you out too - but somewhere a bit more private."

Harry paused to let the suggestive proposition linger, backing it up with a slow, heated raking of his pale eyes over your body that left zero doubt as to his implication. Heat bloomed furiously across your cheeks as forbidden images flooded your mind unbidden - flashes of tangled limbs, straining muscle, sweaty exertion of a far different sort...

Then, just like that, the provoking spell was broken. Rocking back on his heels, Harry shrugged one broad shoulder in an easy, dismissive gesture. "But that's not going to happen, is it? You've got all the skills, you've put in the time - no reason to buckle tomorrow."

He threw one final weighted glance in your direction before pivoting on his heel towards the door. "Get some rest. I'll see you at the venue early to do our final walkthrough before we get this show on the road."

And with that parting comment, Harry strode casually out, leaving you rooted there in dumbfounded silence. What the hell had just happened? One moment, you'd merely been steeling yourselves for tomorrow's high stakes challenge - and then suddenly he was issuing some bizarrely flirtatious...proposition.

Or was that really what it was? As you stood there chasing replays of his words, his tone, his body language - the whole previous interaction kept taking on a slinkier, more salacious cast. Like maybe your presence of mind was slipping already, causing you to read into things that weren't really there.

No...no, you decided as you hefted your bag, determined to put it all out of your head for now. Harry was just his usual aggravating self, trying to rile you by dangling some imagined reward or punishment to keep you on your toes before the big event. This whole...suggestive semiflirtation thing was just the product of your own exhausted mind playing tricks.

Firmly shoving aside all unsettling thoughts, you focused on the immediate challenge awaiting tomorrow. You would plate Harry's showpiece dish to absolute perfection, prove yourself under the brightest lights, and decisively seize this career-making opportunity.

Everything else could be dealt with later.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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thehivemindsys · 1 month ago

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Eddie Gluskin Headcanons because I cannot stop thinking about him and im bored

Happy holidays, I usually just am not happy during this time of year so I’m pushing down my emotions and writing angst. Enjoy. Tw: Self harm, CSA, rape, misogyny, violence, typical outlast stuff.

-Eddie hates bathing and has to be physically restrained if the doctors wish to get him clean. This is mainly due to his CSA, as Eddie was attacked a lot while he was in the shower-but it is also due to him feeling uncomfortable with being nude for long periods of time.

-Eddie hates dogs. His family had a dog that was specifically trained to bite him if he commanded it to. Eddie doesn’t own any pets, really, and believes that cats are too “feminine” for him.

-During his initial murder spree, Eddie killed around 34 people-men and women, who he all gave the definition of “bride” to. He was found not guilty by reason of insanity, and was sent to Mount Massive Asylum. For a time, he actually had a proper psychologist before he was eventually signed up for the Walrider program after he attacked the wrong guard.

-Eddie has diagnosed Schizophrenia, BPD, psychosis, and could possibly qualify for a DID diagnosis.

-Eddie could possibly qualify for DID because he has a few seperate personality states: a younger version of himself, trapped within his childhood, “The Groom,” the dominant personality states, and a version of himself that is haunted by his trauma, and rather prefers to be alone. Though it is unclear if this is DID or just due to his BPD (he does dissociate from reality quite often, though).

-Eddie’s favorite movie growing up was Sleeping Beauty, and often quotes it to the best of his memory. He believes that Prince Phillip is the perfect depiction of a devoted husband, and Aurora is the most beautiful woman in the world.

-Sketching and tailoring are his favorite hobbies. He most often draws women in goregous dresses, and has a very traditional Disney-like style to his artwork.

-Eddie believes that it is the 1950s and is incapable of perceiving the current year as it is. He writes things like computers, camcorders, and cellphones off as “advanced space-age technology.” Don’t ever ask him to operate a computer because he would have absolutely no idea how to do it.

-If Eddie could comprehend the concept of a trans person, he would for sure be a supporter-due to his psychosis and delusions, however, he couldn’t comprehend it even if he tried. He can’t even comprehend that he may be gay.

-Eddie may have targeted women before the asylum, but once he was incarcerated, he practically exclusively targeted men-even when there was a female presence in the asylum, he didn’t attack them nearly as much as he did the men.

-Eddie is actually a pretty damn good chef. He has to be, considering his only qualification for a good “wife” is that “she” has to be alive and breathing. (Even then…)

-Eddie has a love for salted caramels.

-Eddie has a hard time keeping his anger in check, and rarely keeps his hands to himself. He was transferred to an isolation cell after he groped a guard, and he was never really allowed out of maximum security afterwards. This, plus other forms of inhumane treatment at the hands of Murkoff, eventually led to his mental health getting worse and his transfer to the Walrider program once it was deemed that he was “too far gone.”

-Eddie may be a charasmatic, boisterous man but deep down, he is suffering from crippling lonliness and deep seated insecurities that will likely never fully go away.

-Eddie did self harm before he was transferred to Mount Massive.

-Eddie’s best friend in the asylum is Frank Manera canonically, but he does have a rather good relationship with many of the Variants, including The Twins and Chris Walker. He and Frank used to have cells right next to one another, and communicated through a hole in the wall.

#outlast 1 #outlast whistleblower #outlast #eddie gluskin #frank manera #chris walker #outlast headcanons

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yacuam-fanarts · 4 months ago

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Day 30: Future AU / Next Generation

Don't take this too seriously, it was the last day and I didn't know what to do.

Complete information under cut ⬇️

~ 12 years later since the last episode of season 4:

Leonardo follows his father's steps and becomes the sensei of the Hamato Clan. The dojo is now open for anyone, mutant or not, who want to become a ninja and is willing to protect the inocent and use what they've learned for good. He also still teaching April when she has time after college so she can become a more experienced kunoichi.

Sometimes he likes to meditate in the forest and comunicate with Splinter spiritually.

Raphael becomes a night vigilante to stop the regular criminals that are always running the streets but nobody notices. It's what he always wanted to do. He says he likes to work alone but sometimes he miss when him and his brothers stopped the bad guys together, now they still do but not as often, so he spends most of the time training or hanging out with Mona Lisa when she's on earth, and sometimes joins the Mutanimals to patrol the city. He's also training Chompy so now that he's bigger he knows how to defend himself and others if they run into trouble.

He's trying yo find new hobbies, he discovered that he likes to draw pigeons and helps him calm down.

Donatello works part time as a scientist for the Utrom Council, but he also has his own proyects like rebuilding Metalhead's body and try to perfection the retromutagen so he can bring Timothy back to his human form. That aside from the many gadgets he plans to build.

He barely has any free time now but he does what he can to spend more time with his brothers and friends.

Michelangelo was a bit lost for a couple of years, he didn't know what to do since they defeated Shredder so he would just hang around with Mondo and the Mutanimals or go skateboard.

But when he remembered how much he liked cooking he decided to become a real chef, after being rejected for every other restaurant in New York he asked Murakami San to let him work at his restaurant, Murakami happily accepted and teached him all that he knew about cooking. Later Mikey decided to make his own cooking program with Icecream Kitty and it got very popular, especially between mutants. Because of this, Murakami's restaurant ended up getting so many new clients but it was pretty clear that Icecream Kitty was the star of the show.

@12yearsoftmnt2012

#12yearsoftmnt2012 #tmntember #tmntember2024 #tmnt2012artchallenge #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 future AU

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royalchildreneurope · 1 month ago

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Prince Gabriel of Belgium at the Saint-Cyr Military Academy (AMSCC) where he is undergoing a five-month training program at the academy, at the Coëtquidan military camp in Guer, France -December 9th 2024.

📷 : Académie militaire de Saint-Cyr Coëtquidan - Sergent-Chef Guillaume MUKENDI/armée de Terre/Défense.

#prince gabriel #prince gabriel of belgium #belgian royal family #belgium #2024 #december 2024 #saint cyr military academy #france #france 2024 #royal children #my edit

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 17 days ago

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My running list of Questions for MeGain's so-called Friends:

Q-Who wears a wardrobe to match the pantry props in a rented kitchen?

Q-Who resembles Cardi B?

Q-After YEARS of reading "constructive criticism" about her ridiculous ree-coat-a on toast, who refused to learn how to use a knife?

Q-Who lied about her height?

Q-Who chose to wear this color green for in-law Christening photos?

Q-Who cooks like this?

Q-What are you doing Abigail?

Q-Why does your friend insist on posing like she's the star of a horror flick?

Q-What does this look say?

Q-Does it seem right that your friend was paid to merch the identities of her pets & children for megflix?

Q-Why does she stage other people's children to like her?

Q- Would you purchase a half baked doughnut?

Q-Would you purchase foccacia that looks like a brick instead of a sponge?

Q-Can you all see what we see->a copycat🧐

Q-Why is this photo considered a tribute to a pet when no one can even see his face?

Q-Also, why do you repeatedly allow your "friend" to wear unflattering dresses & shoes?

MM rarely had any comments on her Instagram and at that time her comments were always turned "on." She was also known to purchase followers.

Q-Jamie:

were you one of her few followers while she worked as a soap opera actress who was nearly married to a Chef named Cory?

did you even hear about her blog or Instagram when she was sleeping with Chef Cory?

Have you taken time to read the archived posts?

Are you aware that she was cheating on Chef Cory while stalking Sparry?

If you weren't "cheering" her on then, why now?

Eight (8) years have passed since viewers and producers rejected dozens of Meghan Markle's culinary screen tests.

Q-What culinary achievements occurred for the soap opera actress from 2014 to 2025 that would suddenly qualify her as TALENT for ANY culinary or celebrity related shows?

she traded in her romantic partnership with a trained Chef for an unemployable spare prince

she traded in her career as a D-list soap opera actress for seventy-two (72) "working" days in a family run enterprise

when it became too difficult, she quit the family enterprise, exactly five (5) years ago

So Jamie (and other so-called friends), please enlighten us on her five (5) years of culinary accomplishments that suddenly make her personality & talents endearing to those same producers & viewers who previously found her meh, blah &/or unlikeable?

did she secretly attend and graduate from a food science or culinary arts academic program?

did she live on a working farm?

did she secretly launch and run a culinary business?

did she secretly operate an ice cream truck?

Jamie, you were enlisted by NOprah to be her mentor, but you didn't do your homework. You are blithely unaware of who she was BEFORE the BRF, and you are certainly misguided and misinformed about those 72 days in the BRF.

All the magic of television cannot deliver her from a narcissistic personality disorder. You too will learn the hard way: "walk with the wise and grow wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm."

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mysteryshoptls · 11 months ago

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SR Jack Howl - Apprentice Chef Vignette

"Master Chef"

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Jack Version ～Let's Make Macaron 1～

Ghost Chef: Alright, so let's get started on making macarons. Are you ready, Jack-kun?

Jack: Yessir! Ready to go!

Ghost Chef: First, we make the meringue. Chilled egg whites give a more consistent foam, you see. We'll want to work quickly.

Jack: Right. Do I use the eggshells to separate the egg whites from the yolk? I see that done on TV a lot.

Ghost Chef: That's one way to do it, but… This time we'll just crack the eggs into a bowl and remove the yolk with a ladle, just to be safe.

Ghost Chef: If the yolk mixes in with the egg whites, then the meringue won't be able to foam up. Do your best to not break the yolk sac.

Jack: Can't break them… right. So I gotta work fast and delicately.

[tap, tap… crack]

Jack: Nice, a clean break. Next, I'll use the ladle and pull out the egg yolk into a different bowl…

Jack: …

Ghost Chef: Wh-What a scary face… But that just shows how much he's trying to focus. I'll just stay silent watch over him.

Jack: Whew… Somehow I got the yolk out without breaking it. Next I just have to turn the egg whites into foam, right?

Ghost Chef: Yup. Be careful, though, because if you don't get it foamy enough, the batter won't puff up properly when you bake it.

Jack: If it doesn't puff up, then it won't make that little round shape… So this is super important to take care of.

Ghost Chef: Correct! Alright then, use that whisk and whip it up good. Make sure to add granulated sugar as needed, too.

Jack: …It's really starting to get some stiff peaks. Chef, is this good enough for the meringue?

Ghost Chef: Yup, looks perfect for making macarons. Next, we'll start the macaronage process.

Jack: Macronage? That's the first time I've ever heard that word…

Ghost Chef: We'll sieve the ground almonds and powdered sugar together into the meringue, while folding in the peaks.

Jack: We're just gonna destroy the foam after going through all that whisking? Making pastries is weird…

Ghost Chef: If we were making something soft like a cake, then we wouldn't ruin the foam.

Jack: Oh, I see, it depends on what's being made.

Ghost Chef: That being said, I'm not saying we're going to completely ruin it, so be a little gentle. Next, add in about a third of the flour.

Jack: So, to fold in the foam… I guess the best way would be to mix it from the outside in.

Jack: I have to watch my strength, too… Urgh, this really take a lot of focus… But I think the meringue is slowly stiffening up.

Ghost Chef: You're doing great. Now add in the rest of the flour until the batter can stretch out into ribbons.

Jack: Got it. Carefully… Carefully… Don't put too much strength into it…

Jack: Whenever I pull up on the batter, it just falls in globs back into the bow. Guess it's not ready yet.

Jack: Just a little more… But I gotta make sure I don't overdo it…

Jack: …

Ghost Chef: Jack-kun has another scary look on his face… I guess he just gets a mean mug when he's focusing.

Jack: …Whew, I finally finished squeezing out the shells. They look about the same size.

Jack: Chef, we have to leave them to dry now, right?

Ghost Chef: Yup. You looked like you were really working hard there… Are you tired at all?

Jack: This is nothing. I'm always working out, so.

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Jack Version ～Let's Make Macaron 2～

Jack: Great, the white chocolate ganache is done too. Now I just gotta wait for the shells to finish baking.

Ghost Chef: You wanted to take this class so you could make meals that would help with your training regimen, right?

Ghost Chef: Was it disappointing to learn it was going to be a sweets-making program this time around?

Jack: …Honestly, it was.

Jack: But that didn't mean I was going to slack in any class I choose to take.

Jack: And I bet once I learn how to make other kinds of sweets, it'll come in handy for all sorts of things…

Jack: Nothing's lost by learning stuff. Since I signed up for this, I'm going to throw my all into it.

Ghost Chef: You're such a diligent kid… Just from the way you carry yourself, I know you'll take this class seriously!

Ghost Chef: Oh, you know. We have some time, so why don't I teach you some recipes of sweets with protein in them?

Jack: Really? I'd really appreciate that!

Jack: Looks like the macaron shells are done baking. I sure hope they came out good…

Jack: …Most of them all have cracks running through them. What went wrong?

Ghost Chef: It could have been any number of things; maybe the meringue wasn't whisked enough, or there wasn't the right amount of macaronage, or the shells didn't dry long enough…

Ghost Chef: The amount of time the oven had preheated, as well as the temperature of the oven could have affected it as well.

Jack: There's really that many ways it could have gone wrong!?

Ghost Chef: Macarons are a pretty tricky pastry to make, you know. You just have to make them over and over again to learn how to make them right.

Jack: So failure's just a part of the experience, huh. I'll make sure I do it better next time.

Ghost Chef: That's the spirit! But first, we need to finish up this ordered batch.

Jack: Right. This one is too large because I gripped the piping bag too strong… This one just looks terrible.

Jack: Relative to the others, I think the only ones that were actually cooked through and we can use is this one… and this one?

Jack: So then I pipe the white chocolate ganache filling onto one of the shells…

Jack: And I take another macaron shell and sandwich the ganache…

Ghost Chef: Aah, there goes that intense look again!

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Ace: Gah, you're telling me Jack made my order of macarons!?

Jack: You're telling me that Ace of all people is my judge? Looks like I got saddled with an annoying one.

Ace: Totally can't see you making macarons. That's super hilarious.

Jack: Tch, you think you're so funny. Here, have your macarons. Hurry and eat up.

Ace: Woah! These have so many cracks they're falling apart! Are they really macarons!?

Ace: Out of today's possible dishes, this was what I wanted the most, but… Did I make a mistake choosing this…?

Jack: Grr… The way he's saying it pisses me off, but I can't really deny how it looks…

Ace: Well, whatever, guess I'll eat it… Hm? Y'know, one of these actually looks okay.

Jack: Most of them were pretty well cracked… I tried to assemble the ones that still looked okay relative to the others.

Ace: Uh-huh. Then I guess I'll start with this one.

Ace: [chew, chew]… Hm? Oh? It's actually not bad.

Jack: Yeah, yeah… Wait, did you just say it's not bad?

Ace: The pastry is pretty crisp, and the cream sandwiched inside is pretty smooth… I mean, it tastes like I'd expect a macaron to taste, I guess?

Ace: I guess when it comes to this one, you're on the right track? Although you did have to go through way too many macarons to get one success.

Jack: You just gotta say it in an annoying way, huh… But that means I pass, right?

Ghost Chef: Good job. This is the result of all your hard work, Jack-kun!

Jack: Thanks, sir.

Ace: So what's with you looking all happy about that? I'm tellin' ya, only one of them is good.

Jack: I know. But I know what I need to do. I'll make better ones next time.

Jack: I'll definitely make some perfect macarons before I finish this Master Chef course!

Requested by @sakurakudo.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jack howl #ace trappola #twst jack #twst ace #twst translation #twst masterchef

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soulfoodshonali · 1 year ago

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#Atopic Dermatitis Diet #Eczema Diet Plan #Personal Health Coach Mumbai #Macrobiotic Cooking Class #Macrobiotic Cooking Courses #Chef Training Program #Cooking Workshop for Chefs #Chef Coaching Mumbai #Chef Cooking Class Mumbai

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ehh-is-the-name · 29 days ago

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reposting this from Pinterest 'cause it makes me ill.

This dynamic makes me AOUGHHH. I will say after the show ended I haven't thought too much about them, aside from the passing "thank fuck they're free," but I feel like this isn't quite it.

As an angst lover, tearing these too apart would be, a chef's estranged kiss, but as I break down what 3gs is saying here. I just can't help but feel like it wouldn't stay like this. At some point, maybe between learning what Mephone has done and everything, 3gs might feel this way. The anger of being forever in the mental shadow of someone who could be considered worse than you is real...They're both technically pretty fuckin bad now that think about it. One aided in colonizing and destabilising a whole society and the other created and traumatized like 30 people. Both are pretty bad.

I love this and hate this dynamic for them- I love the meeple plot point so much you don't understand oh my fuckign god

Text from img under the cut:

As I delve deeper into your activities, I realize more and more how immersed you are in your grief. I feel anger towards you, because you had the opportunity to be saved, unlike me. Fear is the only thing I live by. I am the consequence of a deep fear of mistakes, I erased my sanity for the sake of your existence. You are the logical outcome of my sacrifices. You and I are alike. Both shells with an artificial soul, our emotions and feelings are not caused by chemical reactions of the mind, but are predetermined by a built-up program inside us. We are the product of experiments conducted by Meeple organization under the leadership of Steve Cobs. Our creation is aimed at ensuring his future and success. But the perfection of our creator is limitless, he will never be able to admit to himself that he is weak. Easily get influenced by your fears, your hatred. Steve Cobs is afraid to look at me after my failure, because my failure is his burden. He was responsible for ensuring my capabilities, he trained me and guided me into action. But I failed and felt the disappointment of Cobs. Looking at me, our creator comes up with the idea that he is not perfect, because he left me to suffer mental anguish in the dark places of his office. I literally became the embodiment of his nightmares. But you are a gift from heaven, a godlike creation. Your capabilities are equal to the higher powers. Steve Cobs is obsessed with the fact of your existence, he feeds on everything you live on. You are perfect, truly perfect with your embedded qualities. You have directed your gift to compensate for your emptiness, and your emptiness is due to your stay in Meeple. There you realized what it feels like to think that your existence is meant for the well-being of your creator, you are just a goal, a thing and a machine. All conscious Meeple products have survived this devaluation of their own importance. Everyone had to put up with it, except you. You've got the same rotten fate that guided Steve Cobs. You created people, conscious people, and cursed their lives for years to come. They didn't even know that you were the cause of their troubles. You condemned them to torture in order for them to fulfill the purpose of playing the role of participants in your show, which you organized to prove to Cobs that you are something more than just a machine. You continued the activities of your tormentor, completely copying his behavior. You... you selfish asshole have never been able to comprehend the full weight of the damage done to your own reality. You and I are both doomed, but I am doomed because my mental integrity was destroyed not by my will. And you are a careless infantile and a victim of your own troubles, you are to blame for your moral ruin. It is sad to see that you will never, again, never be able to rely on reality, you disgusts me. You are driven by fear, just like your creator.

#did I ever say here that I love morally grey characters?#I love morally grey characters.#they both have their reasons for what they did but I don't think it justifies anything #in the same breath #meeple on top! I LOVE THE MEEPLE PLOT!!#pinterest #inanimate insanity #ii mephone4 #ii mephone3gs #meeple ii #ehh exaggerates #if ANYONE sees this post as hate towards op's hc I'M KILLING YOU #DON'T YOU DARE MISINTERPRET ME!!#I'M SHARING IT HERE BECAUSE I LOVE IT AND THINK IT'S A GOOD THOUGHT PEICE RRAAAAAHHHH

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fanellifest · 10 months ago

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Who Was Joe Fanelli?

The Joe-verview

Joe Fanelli (c. April 12, 1954 – June 3, 1993) was an American from Franklin, Massachusetts; an ex-boyfriend of Freddie’s; later, his very dear friend; later still, his nurse/caregiver.

Joe and Freddie met in 1978, and their relationship lasted until they broke up some time in 1979. Afterwards, Joe continued to live in the UK—working as a professional chef in several London restaurants, including September and Provan’s—with his residency arrangements as a non-UK Citizen (likely via a work visa) being secured in effort by Freddie himself.

Likely stemming from the stressful nature of his relationship with Freddie—which included uprooting his entire life to a foreign country—and also the prevalence of drinking in the culture of professional chefs, Joe developed an alcohol dependency as a coping mechanism. According to Peter Freestone, by the time Joe had been hired full time to reside in Garden Lodge in 1985, he had gotten sober and sought new solace in regularly going to the gym. He also was “a dedicated vegan” as written by Brian in Queen in 3-D.

Consider this the Hot Girl Comeback that follows the Bad Bitch Fumble.

In addition to his professional culinary training and workout habits, Joe also found a hobby in computers, teaching himself how they worked, how to write programs (including coding a version of Countdown which could be played at home), and familiarizing himself with the internet during his efforts to research HIV/AIDS information.

Said research was of particular importance as Joe, along with Peter Freestone, became one of Freddie’s caregivers all the while dealing with his own HIV/AIDS diagnosis.

With regards to personality, Joe is described by Peter Freestone as “highly intelligent,” having “a positive nature,” and “prepared to argue anything, stand up for whatever.” Jim Hutton wrote in Mercury and Me that Joe had “a cautious approach to people and life,” and recalled the following event which possibly provides insight to the dynamics of Freddie and Joe’s working relationship/friendship, and definitely gets a laugh:

Joe was standing by the sink in the kitchen and Freddie was sitting at the table looking very stern. ‘And you’re fired, too!’ Freddie snapped at me. ‘Pardon?’ I said. ‘You can’t sack Jim,’ Joe told Freddie with a gloriously smug expression. ‘Why not?’ he snapped. ‘Because he doesn’t work for you!’ he said. ‘Oh, no he doesn’t, does he?’ Freddie replied.

There are several anecdotes about or involving Joe in many of the published memoirs written by those close to Freddie, and we’ll hopefully be able to share some of those here soon.

More in-depth posts about many of these topics—Joe’s relationship with Freddie, his job with Queen on tour, his role at Garden Lodge—will be coming with more specifics!

It says a lot regarding Joe’s character, about the type of person he was, to make several life changes and to also reconnect with an ex after a less-than-ideal falling out, repairing a friendship that lasted the remainder of their lives. As one of the lesser-known people in Freddie’s orbit, we hope this post helped you get to know Joe Fanelli a bit better.

What is remembered lives.

#the joe-verview #joe fanelli #fanellifest2024

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bluecollarmcandtf · 11 months ago

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Meet the Kitchen Kens!

That's right! Your favorite life-sized playthings are available in packs of two now! That means you can get two Kens for the price of one, and boy are these guys worth the money!

Are you tired of slaving away in the kitchen all night just to end up with a mediocre meal? Do you wish you had one big strong man to cook you the finest dinners and another to clean up the mess? Well, look no further than Chef Ken and Dishwasher Alan! We promise these guys will meet your every need in the kitchen, and they'll do it all with a smile on their handsome faces.

These men belong in the kitchen. Ken knows his place is at the stovetop, spatula in hand, and Alan will always be waiting at the sink with a sponge and a can-do attitude. It doesn't matter if it's a midnight snack or a midmorning brunch, they'll be primed and ready for your order. The knowledge of several five-star chefs has been programmed into Ken's head, and Alan is trained to scrub your dishes until you can see your face sparkling in its reflection!

Buy Ken and Alan now! You'll never find two men more dedicated to serving you in the kitchen, but stayed tuned...

This is just the first set in our new line of Ken and Alan combos. Get ready for these pals to take on even more fun and useful careers...

#meet ken #servant #male asfr #gay ai art

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deeper-x-deeper · 14 days ago

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Kink rating: droneification & free use

Oh God You Don't Even Know

(for both)

except I'm sure y'all do know from my posts lmao I LOVE drone stuff since I'm a huge nerd about tech. I love programming my drones with unique triggers so much. and free use is just *chefs kiss*

and free use is one of those things I go both ways on, wouldn't mind being passed around but I also love having an opportunity to show off a well trained subject

#personal thoughts #hypnosis #dronification #cnc free use #ask game

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mariacallous · 4 months ago

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In mid-September, Russians at War, a documentary by the Russian Canadian filmmaker Anastasia Trofimova, was supposed to be screened at the Toronto International Film Festival. At the last minute, after protests from the Ukrainian community and the office of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, the festival first pulled the picture, only to return it to the program a week later.

What made the documentary so controversial was that, although many films have chronicled the devastation caused by Russia’s ongoing invasion of Ukraine, including the Oscar-winning 20 Days in Mariupol, Trofimova’s work focused on the invaders. The filmmaker, embedded with a Russian unit for seven months, humanized Moscow’s troops as lost, confused, and disheveled. The men joke, miss their families, and even criticize the Russian government, though they never speak against Putin. A love-on-the-front-lines plot trains the viewer’s sympathy on the soldiers, even while the film avoids any reference to atrocities committed by Russian forces in Ukraine.

So is Russians at War a propaganda film, as its Ukrainian critics argue? Financed in part by the Canada Media Fund and produced in partnership with Ontario’s public broadcaster TVO, Russians at War avoids the trope of “Russian savior liberates ancestral lands from NATO invaders” that is typical of Kremlin propaganda. But all of Trofimova’s previous documentaries, filmed in Syria, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Iraq, were made for RT—the Kremlin’s global propaganda network. In an interview with Deadline, Trofimova claimed that she embedded with a Russian unit without any military authorization, and just “stuck around.” In a country where a Wall Street Journal reporter gets sentenced to 16 years for merely handling a piece of paper, an independent filmmaker roaming the front lines, filming military installations, and interviewing soldiers without facing repercussions raises questions. Trofimova did not respond to a request for comment for this article.

One thing that the confused response to Russians at War makes clear is that eight years after the revelation that Moscow attempted to influence a U.S. presidential election, most Westerners still don’t really know how Russian propaganda campaigns work. Americans have become familiar with AI botnets, salaried trolls tweeting in broken English about Texas secession, deranged Russian TV hosts calling for a nuclear strike on New York, and alt-right has-beens. But what to make of a French and Canadian documentary, tucked between Pharrell’s Lego-animated film and a Q&A with Zoe Saldaña, that seems cozy with the Russian military and blurs the line between entertainment and politics?

Here is a clue: The Kremlin’s information war in the West is reminiscent of the one it fought—and won—on the home front. I know this because I was in that earlier war, and, regrettably, I fought on the wrong side.

I began working for Kremlin-linked media during my junior year in college. At the time, the Russian government was apparently hoping that by leveraging high energy prices, it could regain a bit of the influence it had lost after the Cold War. The state called this being an “energy superpower.” In practice, high oil and gas prices abroad translated into more Michelin chefs, German cars, and Italian suits for the select few at home.

In 2005, a close friend introduced me to Konstantin Rykov, known as the godfather of the Russian internet and, later, the man who revolutionized digital propaganda in Russia. In 1998, he launched a website called fuck.ru, which included a provocative magazine and mixed Moscow nightlife, humor, and art. With a blend of pop culture and media savvy, Rykov built an empire of news websites, tabloids, and even online games.

Rykov’s latest endeavor at the time of our meeting was The Bourgeois Journal, a glossy luxury-lifestyle magazine aimed at Russia’s affluent class. He hired me to head up the St. Petersburg bureau, not because of my background in student journalism, but in large part because I grew up in Boston, meaning that I was fluent in English and, apparently, the ways of the West. During my interview (a sushi-and-vodka breakfast), the word Kremlin never came up.

Rykov made the Journal available, for free, only at the most exclusive restaurants, gyms, private clinics, and five-star hotels. Inside, between ads for Richard Mille watches and prime London real estate, were interviews with figures such as Vladimir Medinsky and Alexander Dugin—now the ideologues behind Russia’s war in Ukraine. In a single issue, you could read a review of a restaurant located in a 15th-century building in Maastricht, an essay about the West’s fear of a strong Russia, and a report from Art Basel. The Bourgeois Journal used luxury to mask propaganda aimed at Russia’s elite.

Like many people working in Russian propaganda at the time, I didn’t agree with the narrative that my publication was spreading. And, as most people in propaganda will tell you, I was simply doing my job. I was there a little over a year—selling ads, reviewing restaurants, and occasionally interviewing a Western celebrity. The tedious essays on Russia’s place in the world were outweighed by the benefits of running a magazine for the rich: private palaces, private parties, and escapes to the Caribbean sun—something that the birthplace of Dostoyevsky had little of.

After the success of The Bourgeois Journal, Rykov launched Russia.ru, the country’s first online television network, in 2007. Here, pro-Kremlin news ran alongside obscene reality shows, attracting nearly 2.5 million viewers a month. The network’s slogan, “Glory to Russia”—now a battle cry in Russia’s war in Ukraine—demonstrated just how seamlessly Rykov blended patriotism with entertainment to reach an enormous audience.

Building on this, Rykov introduced ZaPutina (“For Putin”), a movement designed to help Vladimir Putin secure an unconstitutional third term. The project included an online platform that aggregated news from various sources, including original reporting from its own correspondents; a ZaPutina campaign bus to take Kremlin-loyal bloggers across the country; and attractive women—proto-influencers—who attended press conferences, introducing themselves by name and their outlet (“For Putin”) before asking their questions.

My biggest contribution to Russian propaganda came in 2009. By then, Russia was positioning itself as an inventive, Western-oriented economy. Vladislav Surkov—an adman, a poet, a columnist, and a Kremlin ideologue—dubbed this period one of “managed democracy,” which will likely be remembered as the midpoint between Russia’s post-Soviet anarchy and its modern-day fascism. Political parties were numerous, but all controlled from the Kremlin, as was almost every form of media. Yet the country sought a veneer of freedom. That’s where Honest Monday came in—a prime-time talk show that I co-created, wrote, and co-produced.

Our remit was to reach the sorts of viewers who ignored the in-your-face messaging of broadcast talk shows. Each week, the Kremlin assigned these shows a topic it wanted highlighted, and most would comply in a very blunt fashion: Do this, vote for that, Russia’s great. With a young host and a flashy studio modeled on French TV, Honest Monday took a different approach. Every week, I wrote up a summary of the left, center, and right perspectives on the topic we were given; I also delineated a viewpoint that reflected the Kremlin’s stance on the matter and sketched a justification for why this view was better than the other three. The producers would then scour the country for guests whose views reflected each of the three perspectives. The three speakers—politicians, celebrities, or pundits—had to defend their stance to, say, a factory worker we flew in from Siberia whose experience was relevant to the topic we covered. The debates were real, many of them heated, and with views contradicting the Kremlin’s. Still, the house always won.

Toward the end of our first season, the ratings for Honest Monday dipped, and the Kremlin’s tolerance waned. The network introduced a new director. As I recall, he outlined for us his vision of the show’s future: “When the viewers tune in, the first thing they should do is shit themselves.”

The Kremlin instructed us to take aim at the powerless Russian opposition, and in a matter of weeks, the messaging turned into outright bashing of everything that stood against Putin. I resigned—publicly—by sanctimoniously calling the show’s producers and host “Kremlin shills.” A couple of years later, two people connected with the Russian propaganda machine lured me outside and assaulted me in broad daylight (one of them later tweeted that he was motivated by a personal issue rather than a political one). When I hit the ground, half a mile from the Kremlin, I was finally out of the game.

Perhaps Rykov’s greatest contribution to Russian propaganda remains his cadre of media managers and propagandists, who now grace Kremlin corridors (and U.S. Treasury sanctions lists). One such protégé was Vladimir Tabak. Formerly a producer at Russia.ru, he rose to prominence in 2010, when he organized a now-infamous birthday calendar for Putin, featuring 12 female students posing in lingerie and captioned with quotes like “I love you,” “Who else but you?,” and “You’re only better with age.” The calendar, designed to create buzz and cultivate Putin’s image, dominated the news cycle for weeks. In an interview with the model Naomi Campbell, Putin even commented on how much he liked it. Legend has it that Surkov personally approved the project.

Although Tabak’s initial endeavor may have seemed playful, his later efforts illustrate just how insidious his propaganda techniques have become. Since 2020, Tabak has led Dialog, a powerful, Kremlin-affiliated organization tasked with controlling and shaping all social-media narratives in the country. If someone uses social media to criticize, say, the mayor of a small town, Dialog knows about it. According to a joint investigation by the independent Russian outlets Meduza, The Bell, and iStories, the organization took on a significant role during the coronavirus pandemic, virtually monopolizing the flow of COVID-related information in Russia by launching the website Stopkoronavirus.rf as the primary source for daily pandemic updates (the investigation report notes that Dialog denies being associated with this site).

At the height of the pandemic, the Kremlin decided to hold a vote on constitutional amendments that would allow Putin to serve two more terms, and Dialog immediately shifted to encouraging people to go to the polls, downplaying COVID-19 concerns. Later, after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Dialog was reportedly tasked with spreading fake news about the war not just in Russia, but in Ukraine. Some of the narratives included Ukrainian soldiers selling their awards on eBay, high-ranking Ukrainian officials owning expensive property in the European Union, and Kyiv ordering the mobilization of women.

Tabak’s organization has become a key player in Russia’s digital warfare abroad, including in its most recent campaign targeting Western audiences. On September 4, the U.S. Justice Department seized numerous internet domains allegedly involved in Russia’s Doppelganger campaign—an influence operation designed to undermine international support for Ukraine and bolster pro-Russian interests. The domains, many of them made to resemble legitimate news outlets, were linked to Russian companies, including Dialog. According to an unsealed affidavit, the goal of the operation was to spread covert Russian propaganda, manipulate voter sentiment, and influence the 2024 U.S. presidential election.

Doppelganger appears to be a sophisticated operation that used deepfakes, AI, and cybersquatting (registering domains designed to mimic legitimate websites). But the Kremlin’s real innovations were those it employed in Russia in the 1990s; in the West today, it is simply repeating the same playbook using new technology. Washingtonpost.pm, a fake news website created to spread Russian propaganda, was an evolution of the fake newspapers that circulated in Russia during the ’90s ahead of elections. The purpose of those outlets—made to resemble legitimate media but filled with kompromat, gossip, and propaganda—was to get the right people elected.

Since the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Russian propaganda has churned out absurd and repulsive lies, such as that Ukraine has biolabs where NATO scientists are working on a virus that targets Slavic DNA, and that Zelensky, who is Jewish, presides over a neo-Nazi regime. Yet, in a way, it has become honest with itself—at least for the domestic audience. There’s no longer a need for platforms like Russia.ru or The Journal, because the message is clear: This is who we are, and you’re either with us or against us. And yet, the entertainment aspect didn’t disappear. Rather, it was absorbed into the propaganda machine through the Institute for Internet Development.

Founded in 2015 with Kremlin backing, and currently under the direction of the former Journal producer Alexey Goreslavsky, the IID helps direct state funds toward producing everything from box-office releases to YouTube videos, blogs, and video games. With a yearly budget of more than $200 million, it dwarfs any private film studio or streaming platform in Russia.

Since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the institute has become the go-to hub for content. Initially, its output was dull and overtly propagandistic, but that has changed. Its catalog now includes 20/22, a TV series about a soldier fighting in Ukraine and his anti-war girlfriend, as well as A Thug’s Word, a 1980s period piece about a street gang, which became the No. 1 show in Russia and surprisingly popular in Ukraine—much to the dismay of the Ukrainian government. A Thug’s Word contains no politics, no war, and no Putin, yet IID—a propaganda organization—considers it its greatest success, because it legitimized the institute in the world of popular entertainment, which it fought so hard to break into.

One reason Russian propaganda is running circles around the West is that the internet was one of the few domains where the Russian state arrived late, forcing it to co-opt those who understood it. RuNet, the Russian segment of the World Wide Web, was created—and run—by people like Rykov: artsy 20-somethings, filled with cynicism, post-Soviet disillusionment, and a cyberpunk mentality. The collapse of the Soviet Union taught them that truth was whatever they wanted it to be, and that survival was the ultimate goal. The advertising executives, philosophy students, and creatives who once made video art, lewd calendars, and scandalous zines are the same minds who in 2016 said, “Let’s make memes about Hillary Clinton,” and in 2024 suggested using AI to flood X with believable comments. In many ways, this confrontation mirrors what’s happening in Ukraine: This time, however, the West is the massive, unwieldy force being outsmarted by a smaller, more tech-savvy adversary.

The good news is that the Kremlin is a graveyard of talent. In time, every gifted person I knew who went behind its brick walls was devoured by deceit, paranoia, and fear of losing one’s place in the sun. Konstantin Rykov was exceptional at his job, so much so that the Kremlin offered him a seat in the Russian Parliament when he was just 28. He accepted the offer. But being a member of the Duma Committee on Science and High Technologies and the Committee for Support in the Field of Electronic Media wasn’t the same as being the editor of fuck.ru. Despite being involved in some foreign influence operations, Rykov, now 45, hasn’t produced any significant work for Russian audiences since he joined Parliament.

Asked by an audience member in Toronto whether Russia was responsible for the war in Ukraine, Trofimova replied, “I think there are a lot of other factors involved. Yeah, like they are definitely sending troops in to solve whatever grievances there are.” Even if it wasn’t financed by Moscow, Russians at War reminds me of a Rykov production: slick, scandalous, and with a ton of free press. The message the film conveys is that war, not the country that started it, is bad in this scenario. Trofimova seems to portray Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and the astonishing scale of the atrocities it has committed there, as something impersonal and inexorable, like a tsunami: We can only accept it and sympathize with the victims, including Russian soldiers.

I stopped working for the Kremlin long before the Russo-Ukrainian war, and whatever I did as the head of a magazine bureau and as a talk-show producer pales in comparison with what some of my former colleagues are doing today. Still, I know that in every bullet flying toward Ukraine—the country where my parents were born—there’s a small part of me. I wonder if Trofimova sees that she’s part of it, too.

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