#Modern Food Processing Machine

[frymode-food-equipment]

In the fast-paced world of food production, efficiency, safety, and quality are paramount. One of the key components that help manufacturers achieve these goals is food processing equipment. These machines are designed to handle a variety of tasks in the production process, ensuring that food products are produced quickly, consistently, and safely.

[theskinscanapp]

The Skin Scan App Ever scan a QR code? The Skin Scan App scans, photographs then identifies lesions and other common conditions on human skin. The app then recommends treatments, cures, as well as local doctors and dermatologist. #tech #app https://gofund.me/31d4f6b4

[thatonegrimm]

hmmm. perhaps a reader that just. makes a lot of odd noises. birdlike trill-coo when happy. despairing cat yowl when inconvenienced. "...wah >:(" when inanimate objects don't work quite right. "disgruntled duck getting kicked across a football field" when startled (yes that is an exact phrase used to describe a noise i have made. ... it's accurate). window squeegee/hyena laugh. etc lol

Thank you for the request! This was honestly the highlight of my day. Here you go! 💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader — Makes Weird Noises

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🧿 Jinu 

You let out a small, satisfied trill as you slid into the booth across from Jinu. The café was quiet, with only soft lo-fi playing, but your birdlike coo practically echoed.

Jinu glanced up from the menu and blinked slowly. "...Was that joy?"

"Mm-hmm!" You did it again, the sound lifting at the end like a songbird discovering a new branch.

He nodded solemnly, as if filing it under ‘You Noises: Happy.’ "Cool. I liked that one. Very...fluffy."

You preened slightly—literally, shoulders rising like you had wings. But moments later, your straw refused to puncture the boba cup lid. After three tries and a sideways stab that made the plastic just bend inwards, you let out a full-bodied, “WAH >:(”

Jinu didn’t even flinch. “Do you want me to—?”

You stabbed it with victorious violence. “NO. I’M A MODERN GIRL. I FIGHT MY OWN BATTLES.”

"...Okay. That one was anger, right?"

You raised an eyebrow. “Disappointment. With a betrayal undertone.”

He nodded again, jotting something in the margin of his lyric notebook. You peeked.

Under your name, he’d written:

🐦 = happy 😿 = cup betrayal 🦆💥 = ??

You didn’t even want to ask what the last one was for.

--------------------

💪 Abby

You were reaching for a bowl in the top cabinet when the rice cooker beeped unexpectedly behind you.

Your noise of alarm—somewhere between a goose being stepped on and a demon being exorcised—rattled the spice rack.

Abby dropped the sweet potato he was peeling.

“Sweetie???” He rushed in like the apartment was on fire, only to find you holding the bowl in both hands and looking sheepish. “...Did it bite you?”

“No, it startled me!”

He exhaled deeply, one hand over his heart. “I thought the stove exploded. Or you saw a ghost. Or Mystery.”

“That wasn’t even my worst noise,” you mumbled.

Abby narrowed his eyes, stepping closer with a mock sternness. “Your worst noise would kill a lesser man.”

“I could do the cat yowl.”

“Please don’t,” he said, cupping your face gently and shaking his head. “I love you, but I have fight-or-flight, and I will trip over this table trying to protect you from whatever made that sound.”

You grinned mischievously. “What about the duck one?”

He went pale. “Absolutely not. That’s the one that made Baby scream.”

--------------------

📚 Mystery

You trilled brightly when the vending machine actually gave you two bags of chips instead of one.

Mystery, who had been walking two silent paces behind you, blinked once. Then slowly tilted his head—curious. Not concerned. Not amused. Just...processing.

“Did you...chirp?” he asked after a long pause.

You beamed. “It’s my lucky-noise!”

He considered this in silence.

Then you tried to open the chip bag and it ripped clean down the middle, sending crumbs flying. You made a despairing sound so bone-deep it echoed in the underground parking lot—like a dying cat in an opera.

Mystery crouched instantly. “Was that...pain? Are you hurt?”

“No,” you muttered, holding up the carnage. “Just...snack loss.”

Another beat. “Do you always do that when food dies?”

You gave a solemn nod.

He held your wrist gently, lips twitching. “Okay. I think I like the chip bag death wail. But only in parking garages. Good acoustics.”

You laughed—an unholy noise that sounded like a window squeegee in a wind tunnel crossed with a hyena. Mystery went completely still. Like a wild animal trying to decide if the bush was laughing at him.

Eventually he said, "...You are fascinating."

And somehow that felt like the highest compliment in the world.

--------------------

💋 Romance 

“WAH >:(”

Romance looked up from the vanity mirror with faux-horror. “Oh no! Not the cup again?”

You held the makeup compact upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. “It’s EMPTY but it LOOKED full. This is betrayal. This is war.”

Romance dramatically gasped and echoed, “Wah >:(” with a flourish of his hands and a fluttery spin. “Was that good?”

You tried to look unimpressed but your squeegee laugh escaped you like a breaking kettle. “I hate you,” you wheezed.

“Nooo, you wah-love me,” he teased, scooting close and nuzzling your shoulder. “Make the bird noise. C’mon. Give me the coo.”

You made it, soft and pleased and gentle, almost reflexively.

He gasped again—faux-swooning this time. “There it is! You’re like a romantic pigeon. My dove. My feathered angel of mood sound effects.”

“I’m gonna make the duck one next.”

He paused mid-swoon. “...Wait. Is that the one that sounds like a mallard got drop-kicked into a pond?”

You nodded slowly, smiling.

He put his hands up like he was backing away from a bomb. “Nope. That one’s cursed. That one scared Abby into prayer.”

--------------------

🔥 Baby 

You tripped over the corner of the rug and made The Noise™.

The disgruntled duck. The yelping-squawk-gasp that echoed off the walls and made nearby dogs bark.

Baby froze mid-sip of his boba, lower lip trembling.

“...That was the duck, huh?” he said slowly.

You groaned into the floor. “Yes. The stupid rug tried to end me.”

He nodded solemnly. “A tragic betrayal.”

You pushed yourself upright and glared. “Why aren’t you helping me up?”

“I’m emotionally processing,” he said, and then immediately burst into laughter—the kind of laugh that made him curl in half and slap the couch. “You made the noise. Like, the whole noise. I thought you were doing a bit. Are you okay??”

You sat up and pouted. “You’re supposed to protect me.”

“I am protecting you,” he wheezed. “I’m protecting your right to be the funniest human alive.”

You made a low growl in your throat—something new.

He paused. “Wait. What’s that one mean?”

“Baby. It means I’m gonna tackle you.”

He didn’t even run. He just screamed and said, “DO THE BIRD NOISE FIRST.”

--------------------

M-List

[4rticbolt]

Card DECLINED |Master-List|

Monster Trio+Law x Reader, crack, fluff, modern-au, everyone’s poor.

!Established-Relationship!

Summary: They take you on a date, and their card declines. Head-cannons/Drabble. A/N: Rewritten version! I may or may not have been satisfied with the original—so here you go >:). Word Count: 1,465 words - 364 each

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

Luffy

* All of his money? 100% spent on fast-food. He holds a Guinness World Record for the most food eaten—period.

* You’re date’s most likely in a thrift store, having a competition to see who could find the coolest thing. Naturally, Luffy found an item that wasn’t even for sale… and you found something weirdly cheap.

* So, as you placed your trinket of the counter—he offered to pay. Which of course backfired.

“Oh, here—wait! I’ll get that for you.”

“Are you sure? It’s only a few bucks Luffy, I don’t mind.”

“Nope! I pay. My treat.”

* As soon as he checked the card—it didn’t go through. He was incredibly confused, jamming it back in atleast another 20 times.

* “Hey, why’s it not working?! Mr—I think your machines broken!”

* “No… sir, that’s your card. It says insufficient funds...”

* “Huh?”

* It’ll take a moment. Let him process.

* But as soon as it does, he’d apologize and laugh it off. A tad embarrassed, a little pink—but more blaming his card than anything.

* He’d judge it to bits, laughing casually as he slammed it back in his shabby wallet.

* “…Thanks a lot, I was supposed to make a good impression!”

* (As if it was the cards fault. Much less a 10 dollar ring.)

* You’d pay, and he’d go about your date like nothing happened. Which consisted of walking around town, meeting up with friends—getting into trouble, yk— the normal.

* But when you’re distracted—walking up ahead, he’d hit Nami up for a quick Venmo. Which she’d automatically decline.

* So, finding a few crumpled bucks on the ground, he substituted it for something very… Luffy.

* He dragged you into another random store, sneaking off to find something while you were left to your devices.

* Luff ended up getting a cute little hot wheels for free, of course out of pity from the cashier. (Which he was oblivious to.)

* “Is this for your girl?”

* “Shishi, yep! She’s awesome, I just wanted to get her something.”

* (Initiate awkward pause.)

* “Uh-huh.” the cashier slides it back, plopping it in his hand. “For free.”

* “Wait—really?? You’re awesome—thanks, I owe you!”

* “Oh, it’s fine. Just a few bucks.”

* (Money doesn’t have meaning to Luffy. Only actions, kindness, and food.)

* Later, walking you home, he giddily hugged from behind, kissing your cheek with glowing excitement.

* "Here, look at what I got it! Awesome right?”

* “Aww… wait, it’s actually kinda cute.”

* You ended up putting it on your shelf to cherish it.

Zoro:

* Sake and horrible money management was his downfall. He’s minimalistic, but his alcohol sure wasn’t.

* Regardless, you’d think Zoro’s love for booze was a turn off, but he was a responsible drinker and never put you in danger.

* Besides, he didn’t get drunk easy. And on rare occasions he’d ease up into your arms.

* On his date, he’d had taken you out for drinks, and for the first time in awhile he actually paid… though it didn’t go through.

* Much like Luffy—he’d try again, not confused, but out of sheer will it’d work. When the bartender told him there were “insufficient funds,” he’d be in denial, blushing beet red.

* “I don't know what you're talking about, it's gotta be your damn machine..."

* Nope. Not slick. Not at all.

* Royally, he knew he’d fucked up. Because what kinda guy doesn’t pay for the drinks on a date—HE invited them too?!’

* With a casual shrug, you passed the money over—dousing his worries.

* “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

* Yeah. Zoro knew why he liked you. He was relieved, and ever so grateful—he just didn’t know how to show it.

* “Oi, You didn't have to do that..."

* “I really did, what else were you gonna pay with?”

* An hour or so later, he’d drove you safely home, and the whole thing had been forgotten about. Which was much preferred.

* Zoro wouldn’t pay you back immediately, but when he did… It was in his own sweet chaotic way.

* After work, he’d stopped by your house with dinner. However, you’d just gotten out of the shower in a towel—making him even more flustered.

* (Zoro never did well with thanks.)

* “Hey uh, hi…” his stifled a cough, eyes trailing.

* “Zoro—woah! Hello! What are you doing here?”

* “Yeah—sorry. I know. I didn’t call. I just thought I’d just drop by with dinner, Sanji made extra. And I know you like his cooking.”

* “Oh—that’s… really sweet. Actually, thank you. Would you like to come in? Here, let me just go get dressed—“

* (For the rest of that night, Zoro couldn’t get that image of you out of his mind. Under his calm demeanor, he was worked up more than he’d admit.)

Sanji:

* I physically cannot see this man's card declining, so he’d probably used the wrong one...

* Anyway—for the sake of this head-cannon: he’d taken you out to dinner, enjoying a romantic ocean view… and when it happened. Oh. It happened.

* His freak out would be subtle, but there would be signs. He’d be subconsciously tapping his arm, mind blank with anxiety as the waiter told him it wouldn’t go through.

* “I’m sorry, what?” (He’d be in definite denial.)

* However, as soon as you offered to pay—he’d shut it down. Sanji wouldn’t dare let you pay for this, let alone a dinner he’d taken you too. He spoiled you like no other—so forget asking.

* “No—no, it’s alright sweetheart. I have everything handled.”

* (He didn’t, but he’ll act like he does.)

* Sanji believes in women putting their feet up, so he’d rather search the floors for pennies.

* However, after some reassurance and his inability to pay, he’d give in.

* “Sanji, it’s okay. If it means that much to you, you can just pay me back. Don’t worry.”

* He would worry, and he’d pay you back extra. From bouquets, to chocolates, and a home-made fancy dinner—hed go overboard.

* (But when does he not?)

* You’d would think it was overkill—as it was. But to him, that kinda thing is something he’d do on a daily basis. Any sliver of kindness given, he’d soak up like a sponge and reciprocat it tenfold.

* He was a believer of princess treatment.

* “Mon Amour, thank you for the other night. And thank you for joining me for dinner, it meant the world.“

* “I am so very lucky to have you, Mon chéri—here, I got you these…”

* (Cue the nosy neighbor watching him kneel in-front of you like he’s proposing.)

* Newsflash, he’s not. He just has a big heart.

* “Oh—Sanji, thank you… this is uh—a lot. Not complaining, I love it, I just—I wasn’t expecting you tonight—“

* (You’d be momentarily stunned, because what kinda guy does this? You’re not complaining, but you’re definitely cautious.)

Law:

* Law’s a somewhat responsible colledge student who’s learning to be a surgeon, so this? Would be detrimental to his ego and dignity.

* This happened once, and only once. NEVER again.

* He’s a total fanboy, and is a sucker for action figures + comics and mangas—which isn’t cheap. So… you can assume where this is going.

* It was the end of semester, and he took you out to lunch unaware of the tuition fees that clashed with a figurine he bought.

* He took you out for lunch, finally having some free time, but realizing too late what had happened.

* The waiter had handed him back his card and he stilled, before telling them to try it again. It didn’t make a difference, and the chick told him flat out he needed a different form of payment…

* Law would loathe the moment, feeling second-hand embarrassment for miles.

* However, as you overheard and offered to pay—just happy to be there with him… his expression darkened. Broodingly.

“It’s alright. I have cash.” Law’s voice was strained, grumbling. Wishing it happened any other time than this.

* He would pay, and you would would up going to his house to hang out; binge watching horror movies… which he was strangely interested in.

* Yet you were absolutely terrified of, much to his amusement. He cracked a smile watching you hide in his shoulder as the movie progressed, too afraid of the rising tension.

* (You ended up watching some stupid cartoon to the brighten the night)

* Ultimately, Law would forever remember that date, watching his guilty spending habits with a sour expression.

* The possibility of that happening again kept him up at night.

* It would stick with him, but what lingered more was your unhesitant reaction. He hadn’t seen you that happy in awhile, even something as simple at lunch.

* As you lay in his arms, his mind would travel over these things—tenderly brushing your hair back.

* Yes, he was a busy person, but he could always make time. Every minute with you mattered, and he missed you just as much in moments like these.

[kotoryba]

#I have an idea but no time: what if "cultivation" in MDZS world really means... "farming"?

Based on this post: @dramatic-dolphin , I think you view things in the right direction! 😁❤️

Modern AU, where five powerful agricultural corporations practically rule the life of the country, dividing the workforce and resources for the best food production:

Cloud Recesses Inc. in Gusu — organic vegetables, strictly no pesticides, no chemical fertilisers; only straw mulching, complementary crops, attracting of natural predators for pests (ladybugs and other entomophagous predators), natural irrigation etc. Centuries-long history of family business, no outside high-level management at all. Organised the famous agricultural academy, where share the knowledge about organic farming.

Lotus Cove Company in Yunmeng — fisheries, lotus growing, for seeds, roots and making the dyes (famous "Yunmeng Lotus Purple), river pearls and others; the company unites many small local farms and proposes them the processing and manufacturing of finished products and logistics. Regular searches of new initiative talents for company from local residents, but they keep the controlling stake in the main family.

Jin Golden Carp Corp. in Lanling - floristic and orchard business, have huge greenhouses with exotic fruits; M&A the lands from small landlords and enterprises by cheap prices and in general lead the tons of leasing and funding financial operations. Not clean reputation, but the huge PR&GR and legal departments helps with this a lot.

Butcher's Saber Ent. in Qinghe — meat and dairy production mostly. They propose the best salaries on local workforce market and due to that acquire a strong loyalty among the residents — but have severe corporation policies about the industrial espionage and thefts . And also BS Ent. has the strictest (except Cloud Recesses Inc.) safety standards for all product cycle.

Wen LLC in Qishan — broiler poultry farming, second big competitor of meat production after BS Ent. in region; breeding of new sorts and seed selling business (here we have uncontrollable usage of GMO, chemicals and pharmaceutical products, but all experiments keeps in secret from public). Due to the excessive usage of pesticides and fertilisation, they faced with pollution and soil depletion, therefore actively expanding their cultivation areas by raider attacks and property fraud. Payed the good salaries but have a catastrophic penalty system for keeping the mouths shut, but you must be Wen for obtaining even the middle management position.

Maybe the story begins, where the prominent student WWX (who thinks about agricultural technologies in non-traditional way, for example — builds robots and automatisation programs for harvesters machines, searches the solutions in nano-biology and something similar) entered the Gusu Lan academy as a part of sharing experience delegation from Lotus Cove.

Or from the moment, when Wens decided to attack their competitors, using the false accusations about owners, cyberattacks, sabotage and brute force?

Or when the little WWX's innovative company in the most infertile lands of Burial Mounds became way too bottleneck due to progressive researches of someone's brilliant mind, that the other big corporations collectively decided to wip the unwanted competitor from the market at all?

Maybe in the classic way, when WWX, who was in a coma for thirteen years after a huge fire in his laboratory, received the organ transplant and new face from unknown beneficiary — and waked up? With clear suspicions who was really behind this incident that also killed his shijie and her husband? Now he's unrecognisable for his friends and enemies and can investigate the case freely. Maybe, the little help from LWJ, the second heir of Cloud Recesses Inc., could be useful? They were just-step-before-good-friends in his previous life...

Do you know, guys, that there are real wars in agricultural business nowadays? Maybe, they are even more dangerous, than in imaginary magical world of jianhu...

[exhaled-spirals]

« This is what happens when we allow so many of our previously private actions to be enclosed by corporate tech platforms whose founders said they were about connecting us but were always about extracting from us. The process of enclosure, of carrying out our activities within these private platforms, changes us, including how we relate to one another and the underlying purpose of those relations. This goes back to early forms of enclosure, beginning in the Middle Ages. When common lands in England were transformed into privately held commodities surrounded by hedges and fences, the land became something else: its role was no longer to benefit the community—with shared access to communal grazing, food, and firewood—but to increase crop yields and therefore profits for individual landowners. Once physically and legally enclosed, the soil began to be treated as a machine, whose role was to be as productive as possible.

So, too, with our online activities, where our relationships and conversations are our modern-day yields, designed to harvest ever more data. As with corn and soy grown in great monocrops, quality and individuality are sacrificed in favor of standardization and homogenization, even when homogenization takes the form of individuals all competing to stand out as quirky and utterly unique. This is why The Matrix and its sequels have proved such enduring metaphorical landscapes for understanding the digital age: it’s not just the red pills and blue pills. In The Matrix, humans, living their lives in synthetic pods, are mere food for machines. Many of us suspect that we, too, have become machine food.

And, in a way, we have. As Richard Seymour writes in his blistering 2019 dissection of social media, The Twittering Machine, we think we are interacting—writing and singing and dancing and talking— with one another, “our friends, professional colleagues, celebrities, politicians, royals, terrorists, porn actors—anyone we like. We are not interacting with them, however, but with the machine. We write to it, and it passes on the message for us, after keeping a record of the data.” »

— Naomi Klein, Doppelganger

[a-minke-whales-tale]

Life in a Tank

I often like to imagine how my life back in the water would be.

I know in many ways my life will be entirely unrecognisable to how I live now. Much of my days will be spent swimming in a circle, whichever direction or pattern I happen to decide (which will probably be clockwise just given how I tend to swim around pools), confined to a fairly small pool (though even 15-25 meters of most tanks is plenty comfortable). Even in the suit I will experience many things as any other whale would like interacting with my trainers to check the suit and for feeding. Hopefully I would have some bits of interacting and enrichment. I would really like to have a window in my tank to look through to watch the humans and it would as well be nice to be with other cetaceans, whether those are my podmates or cetaceans that did not have -this- done to them. But still if the humans did not want me out publicly and kept me in a separate tank in the back I would be okay with that as well, though then I would probably require a bit more enrichment from my humans. If the humans wanted me to perform for them I think I would really enjoy that process, both the training and the shows and it would certainly give me something to do.

There are certainly things I will gain, namely that I will have my body back and see and experience the world as a whale and interact with others as a whale. Human life and the human world, at least in modern times and where I live, can certainly be said to be both stimulating and comfortable, though stressful. I would of course lose my various human luxuries, the soft bed on which I sleep and the warm blankets I wrap myself in, the seemingly endless supply of entertainment, and the humans' tasty food, and the ability to simply wander wherever if I fancy. The amount of stimulation in the human world is overwhelming though and I use it heavily to distract from the pain of human life. I may not lay in a normal bed, but I may have a mat to sleep on in my tank or have the water simply surround me floating. And though I will miss many of the humans' tasty foods, in truth I already can have so few of them and steadily eat a more cetacean diet. And though I have been walking much more lately, I cannot say I have so much wanderlust.

There are some things I would lose that really could not be mitigated, I would lose the work that has occupied so much of my life, and even if it was forced to me, it still carries quite a bit of joy, but more importantly I would lose the connection with my family and friends. I think they could accept my returning to the water even if they could not understand, my mother in particular as she does know of at least some of the whale things and my hopes to swim again, though perhaps not the extent. I am fortunate the humans I was assigned to have been extremely kind to me. I would miss them very much, and I am sure they would miss me even more. If I were on display maybe sometimes they could come to the marine park and watch me perform and swim around. I hope they would see that I was happy and comfortable and free as I can be in this life under the humans, and I hope that would make them happy to know I am okay. I would miss them very much.

And yet for how radically different my life would be, very many things would be the same. I will still have periods of being bored as I swim around, I will still have points I will become agitated or frustrated, and I will still have moments of joy shared with others, be they human, or cetacean. I would still have to obey my humans though now in more cetacean ways instead of as a machine to design things for them, and perhaps if I am lucky I can at times have some ability to say no. I will have others that I form bonds with and I will still have sadness and confusion when one disappears and I do not understand why.

I think I would be happy in that life. I wish to live and be treated as any other captive cetacean, for better and for worse. There are very many comforts I would give up returning to the water, but still what I gain would be so much more. I would be me again, and though I will always be captive to the humans, in that tank I would be free. I do not think I have illusions of how tank life will be, and that first bit settling it away from the constant stimulation and comfort of the human world will be difficult, but that I still pursue it anyway and want to return to the water does give me more assuredness in what I am as to most people my hopes and desires are unfathomable. But someday, I will swim again, forever.

Ik worstel en ik kom boven. Zwem ver, zwem vrij, kleine walvis, zwem voor altijd.

~ Kala

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

Good Omens Fanfic Recs - part 2# June 2025 🥳🩷

Multichapterfics

98] Under my skin (E) by @ilikeblue

Aziraphale runs a publishing company with his half brother Gabriel - apart from that, there is nothing they have in common. He is bone-achingly lonely, with Anathema being his only friend. When she slips him the number of an escort, he is just being polite by taking it - right? But after another horrible birthday he decides to take the plunge. 🌶️💓 Art by @zamolodchikohyeah

A nice and kind of pretty woman style fic, low on angst and high on feelings! My 3 story of this author and I decided to simply read all and everything they ever wrote in the GO-universe!

99] Deluded (M) by @di-42

Aaaaahwww, you gonna love this one! Human Au, in which Aziraphale only does relationships, while Crowley only does ONS. They are both not very successful with their ways, which might be the reason why Maggie sets them up for a blind date. Which Crowley only accepts to be polite, never ever would he be thinking about changing his mind. ... Really, Crowley? 😉

I read this story on a sunny afternoon on my balcony and my neighbours must have thought me crazy, because I had to laugh so much. The banter is hilarious! 😂

I am ever so glad to know @di-42 personally and am honoured to be her sometimes-beta. 🤓 She also shares a LOT of fanfic recs, practically all of the time, so please go find her on tumblr and follow her!

100] On a dark and stormy night (E) by @tawnyontumblr

Human Au, in which Viscount Eastgate lives alone in the crumbling family estate, writing novels with (at that times) embarrassingly explicit scenes. On a dark and stormy night, Miss Antonia Crowley seeks refuge in his house. They don't seem to like each other ... 😉

101] Not a mounted dildo but a fucking machine (E) by @naromoreau and @summerofspock

Human AU. Beeing roommates since Uni, Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves stuck inside during lockdown. While Crowley experiences withdrawal-symptoms from not beeing able to have sex, Aziraphale - being a virgin - is getting itchy, because his online-date seems set on "physical experiences" soon. Them both being straight, there seems no harm in some ... let´s call it "teaching lessons" - can there? 🤦‍♀️😁🌶️🌶️🌶️

My Goodness, who would have thought they could even be more ignorant about what´s going on! Hot Hot Hot!

102] This is not my beautiful house (T) by @the-written-wyrm

Crawly wakes up in a place he doesn´t know - a rectangle filled with lots of other rectangels. His hair is cut short, he is wearing ridiculous clothes and there is an angel calling him Crowley. What the heck is going on? 🤓

I really liked this story - what would happen, if Crowley didn´t know Aziraphale - would they fall in love again? Spoiler-alert: of course. Crowley discovering the modern world is hilarious!

103] 24 hours (I've waited my whole life) (E) by @createserenity

Human Au. When there's a knock on Aziraphale s door the morning of his 40th birthday, he is grumbling. But opening the door there is not the expected food delivery, but a handsome stranger waiting to entertain him for 24 hours. Turns out, it's Anathema's gift to Aziraphale.😎

Well, another story with one of them being a sex worker - seems I have a type! 😅

Oneshots

104] Sugar we're going down (E) by @depraveddame

Crowley is sick of shaving and goes to a queer friendly studio to try out sugaring. The technician with the blond halo seems to be helping the process as much as the pain. Crowley is in for so much more than he expected ... 🌶️🌶️🌶️ Mind the tags!

Series: Allure

105] The Allure of Correction (E) by @ajconstantine

Human AU: Crowley is the butler to Viscount Fell and wants to please. One might he accidentally drops a glas of wine - this behaviour needs to be corrected. 👋 A short little Oneshot to start of their voyage.

106] The Allure of Desire (E) by @ajconstantine

The story continues: it´s been a whole year, since they first crossed the invisible line. They both cherish each other dearly, but Crowley is very aware of his position in life. He will never be anything more than a butler, a person of no rank. So when Aziraphale wants to make them an "us", Crowley can´t see a way. 💔 They will find their happy end of course! Both stories can be read as stand-alone, the series is not marked as finished.

Hope you enjoy the list, pls share the love with kudos, comments and shares! 🤗

Follow along for short summaries and recs on the books i read🩷 The numbers are for funsies - i want to count my reads throughout 2025.

I only read finished stories and one-shots. You will find no WIPs in here. Also you will only find happy or at least hopeful endings here - i couldn´t handle anything else.

Also i try to find every author here on tumblr to link-to, but some times i am out of luck. If you happen to know them, please tell them, write to me in the comments or DM me and i will update the post!

Ratings in ()

Fanfiction is my happyplace 🩷

PS: if you´re interested in GO-recs, here is the overview of all of my recs so far!

[incorrectbatfam]

Batfam as made-up facts

Dick: The biggest biohazard in public swimming pools isn't the kid that peed in it, but rather the body oil from all the swimmers accumulating over time. Not only is oil not neutralized by pool chemicals such as chlorine, but it also floats to the surface and is the first thing you make contact with when you jump in the water. This is why a lot of public pools ask people to shower beforehand.

Jason: Making new memories is simply the process of our brains creating and reinforcing new neural connections. Traumatic or impactful events see denser myelination in the hippocampus (brain's memory center) and it's theorized that when we die and our "life flashes before our eyes," there's more activity in those denser regions leading to more vivid images of those moments.

Tim: Klondike's Equation is one of the lesser-known unsolved mysteries in math. It's a branch of calculus that takes Olivar's Laws of four-dimensional derivatives and creates a paradoxal equation by which the right half of it cannot be fully written if the left half is unsolved, but the left half needs values from the right in order to be computed.

Damian: The oldest interactive/roleplaying game dates back to the ancient Sumerians, according to records. It consisted of a theater of clay puppets that the audience would chime in with how they should act. It was often performed at bars or taverns during holidays with stories themed around mythical deities or fables.

Duke: In 1982, Bill Watterson brought to Archie Comics a standalone concept of a child hero and a sentient animal companion. However, he was rejected in favor of the up-and-coming Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles story. After shopping around at companies and getting lots of rejections, Watterson finally found his big break with Andrews McMeel Publishing, cementing his place in comic history with the cult classic Calvin and Hobbes.

Cullen: The smallest readable book ever made is 12 nanometers long by 8 nanometers wide. It was engineered by four particle physics grad students at the University of Vienna and contains the first passage of the Bible across six microscopic pages.

Stephanie: Most aerosol cans use both oxygen and carbon dioxide as the aerosolizing agent, which is why you're told never to spray them near an open flame. However, for food (like whipped cream or spray cheese), nitrogen is used instead. This is to prevent perishable food from oxidizing and for preservation as nitrogen helps maintain a cooler inner temperature.

Cassandra: The most plausible explanation for the legendary chupacabra was proposed by a team of anthropologists in Oaxaca. Essentially, it combines the theories of mass hysteria with the existence of a similar creature that went extinct in early Mesoamerican history. As accounts of this now-extinct creature was passed down, the image of it was slowly distorted. The modern chupacabra legend likely arose in a period of mass hysteria during political and economical insecurity.

Barbara: Traditional computer programs can be broken down into a series of if-then commands by which a condition is given and the program must respond according to the parameters. However, machine learning algorithms use an expanded version of this, known colloquially as if-then-but-because-however. The "if-then" stipulates the parameters, the "but" is for modifiers, the "because" is for generating explanations (usually pulled from a database of other works unfortunately), and the "however" is for exceptions that may rise over the course of running the program.

Harper: Ambidextrous people actually struggle the most when it comes to the drums. Most drum setups and tabs (sheet music) are designed with right-handedness as a default. Left-handed people can simply flip it around it for themselves. However, ambidextrous players have been found to struggle with the asymmetry of the instrument. That's why, among professional rock drummers, only 6% are ambidextrous compared to the 18% of lefties and 76% of righties.

Carrie: Although it feels like our lungs are burning after holding our breath for a while, the sensation actually originates from our inflated diaphragm pressing against our lungs. Since there are more nerve endings around our lungs than our diaphragm, we interpret the feeling higher than where it actually occurs.

Kate: During the war of 1812, a group of nine Canadian men known as the False Damsels donned women's attire to act as spies against the Americans. Of the nine, four of them reportedly continued crossdressing after the war and one of them started going by Margaret a few months later and remained unmarried for 20 years until they moved to Portugal with an unknown courter.

Alfred: In 1757, the British government attempted to train livestock, such as cows and chickens, to spy on domestic threats (such as anti-monarchists). However, this project never took off due to a regional outbreak of avian flu combined with the takeoff of the Industrial Revolution and new inventions that rendered animal labor obsolete.

Selina: Coffees and wines contain a bitter compound called tannins, and the ability to taste them is genetically determined. Capsaicin can be seen analogously. Some people inherit a gene that allows them to detect capsaicin fully, so when they eat a pepper, all they get is the heat and little to no flavor. Conversely, others have a gene where the heat is "muted" and they can better distinguish the flavors between two spicy foods.

Bruce: There is a correlation between one's taste in food and expectation of others. According to a 2019 Harvard study, people who reported preferring more simultaneous flavors in their food were 26% harsher in an activity where they had to grade students' mock essays.

[loganwritesprobably]

Anniversary Prank (P. & S.)

Writer's month day 1 - restaurant

Synopsis: It's your anniversary, and your boyfriends were left to plan it Tags/Warnings: Shachi/GN!Reader/Penguin, modern AU, fluff, established relationship, date goes a little wrong, but everyone laughs about it Word Count: 1222

Find Mimi's day 1 here - Bucky Barnes/F!Reader, chemicals

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide

You had mentioned months ago about the new restaurant you wanted to try, knowing that your anniversary was coming up. The boys aren't stupid, they knew well enough that it was a hint, and that you were indirectly asking to go there for a meal as an anniversary date. They noted it down in their shared calendar, planned everything, even bought you a special outfit for the occasion, knowing that the place was a little fancier than the sort of places you frequented.

And they completely forgot to make a reservation. Not their finest moments.

"You know we love you right?" Shachi asked, hanging off one of your arms.

"We didn't forget on purpose." Penguin assured, hanging off the other. You laughed, because the entire situation was so uniquely them that you couldn't do anything else. They'd even bought you new shoes, and gone to the trouble of hiding the entire plan for you for months just so you could be surprised. It wasn't that they didn't care, they showed that through their actions, but they are.. stupid. Unfortunately for you, that is exactly your type.

You leaned over to press a kiss to each of their foreheads, then reached out to grab the outfit they'd picked out for you despite the original plan being ruined.

"I have an idea. Go get ready, same thing you would've worn if things were going to plan." You told them with a little smirk that made the two men look at each other with some mild concern, before shrugging. They could trust you - whether they were trusting that you'd make a fool of them both was another question.

When they emerged, Penguin had to reach out to manually close Shachi's jaw, though both of them were stunned by just how amazing you looked.

"We should dress you more often." Penguin commented, and you rolled your eyes. You couldn't deny that they'd done an amazing job, but if you let them design your entire closet you were fairly sure it would be empty. Followed by some sort of joke about 100% off the price. Yet, you loved them anyway, perhaps because of it.

"If at any point you want to put your tongues back in your mouths, we have somewhere to be." You said, quickly pushing your phone into your pocket, uber already on its way.

"We'll follow you." Shachi confirmed. Stepping up beside you to link his arm with one of yours, then Penguin followed suit. One of the benefits of dating best friends was that they understood each other in a way many people would never understand someone else, and so they did things in sync, perfectly matched, which meant double of the amazing treatment you got. You were incredibly lucky to have them, and you knew it.

That didn't stop you from wanting to embarrass them just a little. So, when the uber pulled up outside of a McDonald's, Shachi had been about to ask the driver if he'd gotten the address wrong when you thanked the man instead and got out. They both followed you without question of course, then watched as the uber drove away.

"Are we walking the rest of the way?" Penguin asked.

"No. We're having fancy McDonald's." You said with a shrug. There was a brief pause before you decided to head inside, whether or not they'd fully processed what was happening. You stepped up to one of the ordering machines, and began to order what you wanted. The boys followed you a short while later, and added their own food to the order, with Shachi tapping his card before anyone else had a chance to do so.

You'd opted to pick up the food from the counter rather than get table service, sending Shachi and Penguin up the stairs to find a table. Mostly so you could make everything just that little bit more silly. When one of the staff asked about your formal dress, you explained the situation to her, and your plan, at which point she winked and simply said 'leave it to me'. So you did.

A few minutes later, she returned with your tray of food, except everything looked just a little neater than usual, like more care was taken to ensure it looked like the promotional photographs. From your small backpack you pulled paper plates and plastic utensils, and between the two of you the tray was set to look like three more sit down restaurant style meals, rather than cheap fast food. You laughed together, taking a long moment to compose yourself. Then, the woman took your plastic glasses you'd brought from home to fill with your drinks of choice. When everything was ready, you thanked her profusely and gave her a small cash tip before heading up the stairs to find your lovers.

You saw them before they saw you, and you found yourself incredibly glad the staff member had suggested propping your phone up on the tray to film their reactions. They looked so handsome in their suits, you just wanted to devour them. You made a mental note to ask about that after dinner.

When they did finally see you, they once again were rendered speechless, mouths hanging open to stare at the entire set up.

"What- what have you done?" Penguin asked, already starting to break down in laughter.

"Are those real cups?" Shachi questioned, pushing himself up over the table to get closer, before promptly leaning just a little too far and falling back down into his chair, just narrowly avoiding hitting his head.

"Well, we were supposed to have a nice meal, so I made this into one." You said casually, as if there was nothing unusual about what you'd done. Like you did this every day.

"It looks so good what did you do to it?" asked Penguin, leaning in to inspect his burger as if it was some sort of alien object.

“One of the staff members asked what was happening, so I explained everything, and she helped me out. Made sure everything looked real nice.” You told them, rounding the table to sit down at the third of four seats around a square table.

“You are insane.”

“And we love you for it.” The three of you laughed together as you carefully shuffled over full paper plates from the tray to the table, not needing to talk to enjoy your time together. You did, however, talk extensively over dinner anyway. You didn’t need to talk, but all of you enjoyed it quite significantly. All three of you drove Law insane with all your talking.

“Happy anniversary, boys.” You said as the three of you began the walk home, eager to walk off just how full you felt after each having an ice cream for dessert.

“Happy anniversary babe.” Shachi replied with a grin, leaning in to gently bump your head with his as a sign of affection.

“Happy anniversary, lover.” Penguin then said, reaching out to pluck a hair from your shoulder, which he promptly attempted to leave on Shachi instead.

“How do we feel about another course at home?” You asked with a small smirk, and when they turned hungry eyes on you, you took off running, laughing loudly as they chased after you, eager to catch you and get home.

Tag List: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @queenmimi2817 @fanaticsnail @mermaniaa

If you'd like to tip me you can head over to my Kofi

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I'm sorry that you're going through this. It sounds terrible.

How does a machine make your bones feel like jam? What do you mean, "like jam"? What helps while you're in the machine?

You lamented the lack of a "no downers" Tumblr option before. Is there any kind of fun internet thing your followers could curate for you?

thank you for actually asking me about the Big Machine

so a modern radiation therapy machine looks like this:

It is actually kind of hard to communicate the scale of this thing. It's the size of most people's living rooms, and the whole thing rotates around you. You feel like you're trying to dock with the international space station.

Actually being in the machine doesn't feel like anything. You lay down, they take your boob out of your hospital gown and align the lasers to these little tattoos they've put on your chest and sides, they leave the room, Vivaldi plays for about 5 minutes while things beep and buzz and the space station revolves a few times, and then you're free to get dressed and go home.

Then - in my experience, as someone who is, apparently, "a real outlier" in terms of how sensitive I am to radiation - about 30 minutes later, on the subway ride home, you start to feel extremely bad. Shaky, weak, exhausted, stabbing pains all over the boob, and just an overall feeling of, like...internal griminess. Like there's grit gumming up everything on your insides. You feel wobbly, like your bones have turned to jelly. It feels a little like food poisoning, but without the nausea, if you've ever had that experience. Just that jittery, feverish, whole-body feeling of something being very wrong.

That feeling persists for 4-5 hours, then starts to taper down; but it never tapers down completely, so every day (and you go in for radiation every day, except for weekends) it builds up a little bit more. So on Monday, you feel like shit for a couple of hours, but you shake it off by dinner time; but by Friday, you're dragging yourself through every step of the process and then you get home and pass out for 14 hours.

It's weird, too, because it's not like there's anything that the doctors can do to make it better. Like, they can't give you a different treatment, or give you less radiation. There's a set amount of radiation you need to receive over a set amount of time to be sure that they've killed all the cancer, and the alternative to radiation is cancer, so you're getting radiation. The radiologist was sympathetic to how hard I've been taking it, but all she could really do is remind me that it's temporary. All of the effects of the radiation will be out of my system a week or two after the treatment ends, so like. Knuckle down, camper, it is what it is.

Y'all are sweet to ask if there's anything you can do, but honestly, not really. I vent a bit about this stuff on Tumblr because I don't want my friends and family to have to hear about how tough this is. Sending the occasional nice message or little question is appreciated! It gives me something to think about that isn't cancer.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

What do you think about Catherine's general approach to royal life? What are the things she's done well and can do better?

For the most part, Kate adapted well and she has a good strategy for royalling.

The only thing she can better (and the only thing she should have done differently) is work. There needs to be more. Point blank. Bar none.

But it’s a tough line to straddle. For instance, consider all these "buts" to Kate's workload:

She didn’t need to churn out Anne and Charles numbers, but she should’ve been within a football kick’s distance of Sophie’s numbers. But at the same time, she can’t really outwork her husband, the actual blood royal, who wasn’t really doing much royal work in the first place because he was a SAR pilot, first in Wales and then in East Anglia.

But also, that overlapped with being pregnant and having babies and toddlers. And, well, Kate’s only constitutional role (if we can even call it that) is to produce heir and spare for the monarchy’s future...so technically her job is to make those babies and ensure they grow up to adulthood.

But also, modern society has been trained to expect a certain level and standard of work for individuals in the royal family.

But also, modern society has developed this requirement that the only work that matters by individuals in the royal family is the work that they do in the public arena and nothing else counts.

So respecting that Kate wants to stay home and raise her children, and all these other "buts", how does she do more work?

Option 1 is to aim for quantity - pick up more public engagements. The kids are in school now. There's no reason why Kate can't have a public engagement three days a week in something like a 1:2 schedule - where one of her workdays aims for quality (e.g. an hours-long focused visit that she prefers or an away day) and the other two workdays are smaller, shorter more bread-and-butter type engagements.

Option 2, if she prefers to stay close to home, then she needs to peel the curtain back on her work and let us see all the behind-the-scenes stuff she's doing to prepare for, or in addition to, the public engagements. Because there's a lot of it that we do not see.

I’ll use my line of work as a fed for an example - when you think of “federal spending,” you probably think of things like FBI investigations, social security checks, taxes, TSA airport security, food inspectors. That’s the “front line” of federal spending. But behind all of those people are a crapton of other people and spending that make sure those front-line employees have what they need to do their jobs. For example - that FBI agent needs someone to process their timecards so they can get paid, pay the electric bill for their office so they have a place to work, maintain their company-owned vehicle so they can go where they need to during investigations, train them on gun safety, maintain their IT and fix problems with their computers, collect and process evidence, write and issue subpoenas, research case law, file their case paperwork, make sure the toilets work in their office buildings and they have drinkable water, collect their trash, ensure the locks work on their evidence storage so no one can tamper with it, make sure their gun and ammo storage is in secure access-restricted facilities, buy them new furniture when their chairs break, get them new badges and safety equipment, etc.

In other words, the average American citizen only sees Agent Seeley Booth driving around DC in his black SUV. They don't see, or comprehend, the entire machine that makes it so Agent Booth can even sit in that car in the first place.

And that's kinda what's going on with Kate and royalling. There’s a lot of boring, dry pieces going into Kate’s public engagements that we don’t see and if she just peeled the curtain back so we could see what she’s doing - the calls she has with her patronages, the reports she reads, the meetings she has, the letters she writes - then her workload increases significantly, all without leaving the comforts of Adelaide Cottage. The problem here though is that KP needs to show us that this is happening, instead of just telling us that it's happening. That's videos, press releases, photographs, Court Circular reports.

To use the US for another example - there's a reason why Trump is always having press conferences and photocalls in the Oval Office; it's to show that he's working. I'm not saying KP needs to schedule daily press conferences for Kate at Windsor Castle, but they do need to show her working more. Use the red box strategy (which KP was doing during early pandemic days) of releasing photos of Kate working from her home office.

Option 3 - if it's really a matter of Kate not wanting to be far from home because of the kids, then add virtual events back to her diary. I know, virtual events aren't the same as in-person events, but that's the point: virtual events eliminate long-distance travel and increase her flexibility. So for example, she can Zoom with Welsh Guards deployed abroad or military families who live overseas or meet with Commonwealth baby banks to learn about their mission and then follow up with in-person events when they're traveling again. Those kind of events can also build continuity and create opportunity for when she's traveling again because she'll have already made those connections.

Or restrict her public appearances to the local Berkshire area and pack her schedule with bread-and-butter work - local charities, local hospitals, local garden shops, local tourism sites, local nursing homes, local police, local museums, local art studios, local families, local military, local schools - but therein is the problem. KP's strategic plan involves mapping William and Kate's work exclusively to their signature charitable priorities; mental health, early years, and conservation. They want everything to connect to that work in the Royal Foundation that they exclude, and eschew, everything else. Detrimentally so, at times.

Option 4, if Kate doesn't really want to work, then fine. She doesn't have to work. Her constitutional role is to make sure those babies grow up. But then stop wearing new clothes when she does make public appearances and start recycling her wardrobe. Stop telling us she's working oh-so-hard from home. Stop telling us she's "keen" to do all these things.

But there's a lot more insofar as "work" that Kate can, and should, be doing now. There are ways to boost her workload without having to sacrifice, or compromise, the time with her family and it's kind of...mindnumbing, a little, how much KP refuses to adapt their workplans as the kids' needs evolve. The kids right now are 12, 9, and 7 but the way KP carries on about it, you'd think they're still 3, 2, and 1. And unfortunately, that's establishing an expectation that KP will still be planning William and Kate's work around the kids needing them when the kids are away at college.

[beardedmrbean]

During the summer of 2020, I worked as a consultant for multiple progressive DA candidates backed by George Soros and his foundation. In the places where they won, these DAs have since done immeasurable damage to the local communities. They failed to prosecute offenders, especially surrounding drug use and distribution, and allowed crime to run rampant, hurting communities of color the most—the very people they were supposedly trying to help.

Far from progressive, these Soros-backed DAs did more to hurt progressives than anything the Right has managed; to everyday Americans, the term "progressive" now conjures up images of fentanyl overdoses, crime, defecation in the streets, and riots.

I feel remorse for the work I did on these campaigns. The Soros money that was contributed to progressive DA races would have been better spent on supportive housing, mental health services, and recovery programs. Police need resources to arrest and imprison drug dealers and end open-air drug use. This is just common sense.

Unfortunately, the Soroses are just the tip of the iceberg.

I spent years fundraising for Democrats. I raised millions of dollars. And in the process, I routinely saw and heard about inappropriate relationships between donors and candidates that would bust anyone's bubble about the independence of our leaders. There is an entire donor ecosystem working against the interests of regular Americans—and it's the one top Democrats are swimming in.

Consider the long-time friendship between Kamala Harris and billionaire donor Laurene Powell Jobs, the widow of Steve Jobs. The New York Times described the women as being so close that they've gone on vacation together and consider each other family. Powell Jobs sat in Harris' exclusive friends and family suite at the DNC last month. She was also instrumental in getting Biden to step down to clear the way for Harris; one of her top aides circulated a polling memo to other key influential donors that allegedly showed Biden's inability to win.

It was another example of a megadonor overcoming the will of the people—and making things worse for voters. Now that the Kool-Aid from the DNC is wearing off, people are waking up to the realities of an untested candidate. Harris is barely beating Biden in key swing state polls, dodges questions from the press, and continually gaffes answers on significant policy issues. She can barely answer basic questions about her plans for regular people in friendly encounters with people like Oprah.

This is what happens when a candidate is anointed by donors and not selected by voters.

Or take Reid Hoffman, co-founder of LinkedIn. He is a megadonor—a "big fish" as we would call him behind the scenes—and is expected to spend up to $100 million to ensure that Vice President Kamala Harris beats former President Donald Trump in the presidential election. But Hoffman has an agenda: He has publicly called for the resignation of FTC Chairwoman Lina Khan, who Hoffman said is "at war with American business."

The reality is somewhat different: Khan has been one of the only lifelines for working people in the modern Democratic machine. She stood up for workers' rights by banning non-compete agreements and led efforts to block major mergers of grocery stores like the Kroger-Albertsons, which would have resulted in higher food prices and hurt union workers.

If Hoffman is successful in his public campaign to replace Khan, he will further cement the Democrats as the party of the wealthy, the powerful, and corporate elite. I won't be surprised when he gets the job done.

Another name I've seen pop up many times in my years fundraising for progressive candidates is the San Francisco based Democratic donor and influencer Steve Phillips. Phillips has written books that focus heavily on the importance of race in politics, with titles like Brown Is the New White: How the Demographic Revolution Has Created a New American Majority and How We Win the Civil War: Securing a Multiracial Democracy and Ending White Supremacy for Good.

Yet, Donald Trump is on track to secure more support from minority voters, especially Black men, than any other Republican in generations. It's becoming increasingly clear that the real divide is the one separating the college educated from the working class of all races. But Phillips and others like him continue to focus exclusively on race—and you can see the direct impact this has on Democratic politicians, who talk much more about things like "equity" than they do about the class divide.

It's out of touch with the pulse of the country and deeply alienating to working-class voters who were once stalwart Democrats.

Unfortunately, the Democrats aren't getting the message. Last week, Alexander Soros posted images at his opulent New York mansion on X with Harris' VP pick, Tim Walz.

Is this how you convince people you're the party of the people? By posing with a billionaire nepo baby while Americans struggle to pay for groceries?

Some Democrats surely know how damaging such a photo is to their flailing brand. But Soros has so much power and influence that no one would dare tell him to take the photo down.

Internally, the Democrats know that like the photo of Walz with Alex Sorors, the Soros-funded criminal justice policies have been an embarrassing failure from an outcome, messaging, and public perception standpoint. They also know that Reid Hoffman and Laurene Powell Jobs do not have the best interests of regular Americans at heart—but they will continue to cower to them anyway.

Forget "Kamala is Brat" or the "Joy!" campaign. The image of Soros with Walz perfectly encapsulates the Democrats' real vibe these days—the unfettered influence the donors have over this party and the lives they've destroyed in the process.

[persephinae]

OK SO - SUPPLYCHAIN!!

Supply Chain is what happens in modern society when you want to get your goods to market.

It's not just the factory, it's the people assembling it, it's the people packaging it, it's the people shipping it, it's the people selling it, it's the people marketing it, it's the people stocking it on shelves.

it's the people that created the programs you would use to track everything: your supply, your demand, your shipping, your orders, your invoicing, your accounting.

it's the people that manage inventory, it's the people that manage parts for repairs in any part of this process.

Supply Chain is a web that really factually covers the globe and is interconnected to every port.

Supply Chain is studying the process of how we create things, how we package things, how we ship things, and how we can improve processes.

Supply Chain when done right is seamless, no missed deliveries, no missing stock, customer can grab the item right off the shelf - from widgets to food.

Supply Chain is people, and when you lose sight of that the whole thing comes toppling down. It's many hands assembling not only the product, but the machines that make the product, the trucks and ships that ship the product.

I talked so much i had to convert the audio file to a video (excerpt from my earlier Night Watch post)

Little wheels must spin so that the machine can turn.

[cillslover]

Not hungry // Part 19

PLEASE PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING!!

Pairing: Modern day Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Warnings: heavy mentions of an eating disorder, mentions of weight loss/body dysmorphia, emotional distancing, mental health themes, anxiety, food avoidance, internalised guilt, angst, slight hints at self-harm (non-graphic), intrusive negative thoughts. Mentions of self-hate and unhealthy coping mechanisms, Heavy hurt/comfort themes, purging, heavy drinking, serious injuries, medical trauma, hospital setting, invasive medical procedures, strong language, head injury.

Summary: Tommy spent weeks waiting for her to wake. When she finally does, the weight of everything left unspoken threatens to break them both.

────────────────────

The hospital room had fallen into its usual late afternoon hush.

The machines hummed softly. The sun was slipping below the skyline, casting long golden beams through the blinds, warming the pale sheets, dancing across Y/N’s still face. The IV dripped at its rhythm. Steady. Slow. The heart monitor beeped, calm and even.

And Thomas Shelby sat in the same chair he’d occupied every day for nearly three weeks.

He looked nothing like the man who once commanded rooms with a single glance. His shirt was creased, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His waistcoat hung open, no tie, no cigarette. Just his hand, wrapped tightly around hers.

He hadn’t moved in hours.

His thumb traced over her knuckles as if trying to memorize them. His free hand rested over his mouth, jaw tight, eyes bloodshot. He hadn’t spoken in the last hour, just breathed, slowly, quietly, like he was afraid his voice would shatter her.

A sigh left him. Broken and quiet.

“Come back to me,” he murmured, just loud enough for the air between them to catch it. “You’ve made your point, love. I get it. I’ll never push again. Just open your eyes.”

He watched her face for the thousandth time. For the thousandth time, nothing.

But then—

His hand twitched.

Or... was that hers?

He blinked. Sat up straighter.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

He leaned forward, heart thundering. Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe he was losing his mind. He’d done that before. Seen ghosts. Heard voices.

But then—her fingers moved again.

Slight. Barely there. A flicker.

“Y/N,” he said louder this time, voice caught between command and prayer. He stood abruptly, dragging the chair with him as he clutched her hand with both of his. “That’s it, love. You with me?”

Her eyelids fluttered.

His breath caught.

And then her head turned, only slightly. Her mouth opened, dry, cracking.

“Y/N—hey—hey, look at me,” he whispered, cupping her cheek now, heart in his throat. “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re with me.”

Her eyes opened slowly.

Blinking. Confused. Blinded by the low sun. And terrified.

She gasped sharply—there was a tube down her throat. Her hands jerked upward instinctively to rip it out.

“No, no—don’t—don’t touch it,” Tommy said quickly, gently holding her arms. “I need to call someone—stay with me.”

But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t leave her, not even for a second. He stood frozen, one hand on her cheek, the other cradling the back of her head.

“Breathe, sweetheart. You’re okay. It’s just the tube. You’re gonna be alright. You’re back.”

Her eyes were wild now, chest heaving, alarm bells going off on the machines. Her panic set everything into motion.

A nurse had clearly seen it on the monitors because the door burst open.

“Call the doctor!” she yelled to someone behind her. “She’s awake!”

Two more nurses rushed in, then a doctor, coat flaring behind him.

Thomas didn’t move, even as they crowded around the bed.

“She’s disoriented,” one nurse said, “elevated heart rate.”

“She’s trying to fight the tube,” another warned.

“We’re going to remove the ventilator now,” the doctor said calmly to her as he adjusted gloves, speaking as though she could process it all.

“She’s terrified,” Tommy growled, not taking his hand off her head. “Hurry the fuck up.”

The doctor gave him a look but didn’t argue. A nurse pulled out the suction. Another braced Y/N’s shoulder.

“On three—”

Y/N gagged as the tube slid up and out of her throat, and then she was coughing, violently, her entire body shaking. Tommy moved forward and steadied her shoulders, whispering her name, over and over.

“It’s alright. You’re alright now. It’s done.”

Her breathing was ragged. Her eyes watered. But she was awake.

She was awake.

And Thomas Shelby dropped his forehead to hers, whispering something no one else could hear.

----

The machines had quieted. The nurses were gone. The light outside was fading into early evening, casting long blue shadows across the sterile white room.

Y/N lay in the hospital bed, pale, trembling, propped up on too many pillows. Her eyes flicked across the unfamiliar walls, then down at her arms—tubes, IV lines, tape stuck across her skin.

“What… what is this?” she rasped, voice hoarse from the tube.

Tommy sat beside her, his hand still on her thigh. “It’s alright,” he said softly, watching her with a careful intensity, like she might disappear again if he blinked.

Her breaths came sharp, jagged.

She looked down at her arm again. The clear fluid dripping into her vein.

Her eyes widened.

“No. No—no, no, no—Tommy—what the fuck is this?” Her voice cracked but she fought through it.

“You’re dehydrated,” he said gently, “your body’s—”

“You brought me here?” she snapped, trying to sit up fully. Her arms were weak, and the monitor beeped faster.

“Easy—easy, love,” he moved closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you fainted. You hit your head.”

“I fainted?” she repeated, blinking fast. “You brought me to the fucking hospital because I fainted? Are you insane?!”

“You weren’t breathing properly, Y/N,” Tommy replied, his tone still low, but strained at the edges. “You hit your head hard. You’ve been unconscious. For three weeks.”

She froze.

The air turned to stone around her.

“What?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You were in a coma,” he said, forcing the words out slowly, like saying them too fast might make them real again. “Three weeks.”

Her bottom lip trembled, but her eyes burned—not with fear.

With rage.

“No,” she said firmly. “No. You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

Her head snapped back to the IV bag. “You let them feed me,” she said, horror blooming in her voice. “You let them fucking feed me, Tommy.”

He blinked. “What—”

“You let them pump shit into my veins. Calories. Glucose. You let them undo everything.”

His face paled. “You nearly died—”

“I don’t care!” she shrieked, trying to pull the line from her arm. “Get it out. Get it out, Tommy!”

He lunged forward, grabbing her wrist before she could tear at the tape. “Stop—stop it—Y/N, please.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she spat, eyes brimming with furious tears. “I can feel it. I can feel the fat crawling back onto my skin—God—how could you do this to me?!”

“You were dying.”

“I was fine.”

“No, you weren’t,” Tommy said, his voice finally rising. He stood up, looming over the bed, his hands shaking. “You were fucking broken, and pretending you weren’t. I watched you slip away and I did nothing, and now that I’m trying, you’re punishing me for saving your life?!”

She stared at him, panting.

“You’re a fucking traitor,” she whispered. “You knew I didn’t want this. And you let them—you let them feed me.”

His jaw clenched. “You weren’t conscious. You couldn’t speak. You think I was gonna stand there and let them bury you, eh? Watch them lower your body into the ground because you didn’t want to eat?”

Her lip trembled. “I hate you.”

He flinched.

The words hit harder than anything Arthur could ever throw at him in the ring.

“I hate you,” she repeated, quieter now, teeth clenched. “You ruined everything. Everything I worked for. I’m disgusting. I was finally—finally starting to look—”

She stopped herself, but he heard it.

“Look what?” he said bitterly. “Like you were vanishing?”

Her chest rose and fell, faster now. The monitor beside her beeped erratically.

“I can’t breathe,” she whispered.

Tommy sat again, this time slower, calmer, pressing a hand gently against her shoulder. “Alright,” he murmured. “Deep breath. Come on. Look at me. I’m right here.”

She didn’t look at him.

Her eyes stayed glued to her arm. To the IV. To the number on the monitor. To the swelling panic in her gut.

“I can’t—I can’t do this—”

“You already are,” he said. “You’re here. You’re alive.”

She turned to him, finally. Her eyes weren’t angry anymore.

They were terrified.

“Why didn’t you let me go?” she asked, the words like glass in her throat. “You should’ve just… let me go.”

Tommy swallowed. His throat bobbed once. Then twice.

He reached forward and cupped the side of her face, thumbing away a tear.

“Because I love you,” he said. “And if you died, Y/N… if you left me—I wouldn’t have made it through the week.”

She closed her eyes. A single tear slid down her temple.

He kissed her forehead. “I know you hate me right now. That’s alright. I’ll take it. I’ll take all of it, if it means you’re still here.”

She didn’t reply. Her body trembled beneath the sheets.

Tommy leaned forward, forehead to hers.

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’ll stay right here. No doctors. No nurses. Just me.”

He held her as she shook and cried and hated him—and as part of her, so small and buried she couldn’t even hear it yet, began to feel something else.

Safe.

[kittynugg]

chapter 2 of A Little Dilemma is out!

<- prev . . . 2 . . . next ->

words: 2,872

(also hey maybe reblog this if you like it :> just sayin it helps me spread my words to the world)

Ford limped into the kitchen with a heaved sigh, flanked of course by a panicked Soos.

“Dude, I’m just saying, but when you just poof into a little baby I promise me and Mister Pines are gonna take care of you,” assured the well-meaning man who just happened to be pushing every button Ford had.

He jerked open the fridge, casting a “I could kill you in fifty different ways and hide your body in twice as many places at the same time” glare at Soos who still didn’t get the message, and took out a can of soda. “You’ve said that eleven times in the past fifteen minutes.”

And this had been going on for two hours. Two. Hours.

He bumped the fridge shut with his elbow and hobbled past Soos. Unsurprisingly, he followed him all the way to the couch, the place he’d been for most of the day. And Soos, Soos had been there most of the day as well. Waiting for something to happen. He’d even closed down the shack for the day! ..Honestly Ford didn’t mind that, that just meant he didn’t have to explain “yes, I do have a laboratory in my basement which is accessible via this vending machine but that’s none of your business” to six different tourists.

But he did mind Soos breathing down his neck when he was just trying to drink some damned Pitt!

He settled down on the couch again, remote in-hand, (character development!) and turned up the volume to drown out Soos’ continued reassurances. He’d actually made a game out of the infomercials, and hence had decided to keep them on. The goal was to guess what they were advertising before it was outright said.

“ARE YOU TIRED OF THE CRUSHING WEIGHT OF EXISTENCE CONSTANTLY BORING DOWN ON YOU!?” The TV crackled.

..What was this one? Prozac?

“COME TO MAMA MISFORTUNE’S TRAVELING CARNIVAL, IN GRAVITY FALLS UNTIL MONTH’S END! THE PERFECT DISTRACTION FROM YOUR MODERN WOES!” 

Oh. The fair. Well, now that he knew he’d already been there the ad was just annoying, so he changed the channel. A documentary about how jellybeans were made came on by chance.

Now that was something he could ignore both Soos and the crushing weight of existence with.

And ignore, he did. 

It was fascinating, apparently Jelly Belly used natural ingredients whenever possible! So.. Hey, wasn’t there a dog food one? And.. barf?

He chose not to think about that. But the process was a marvel! First they poured a slurry of corn syrup, sugar, corn starch and “do you feel any younger yet Mister–”

“Soos!” Barked Ford, whipping in Soos’ direction. “Can you please let me enjoy my mindless entertainment in peace!?” He slapped a hand to his face.

Soos, of course, decided to act like a confused puppy about it! His shoulder hunched and he took a couple of steps back. “I was just tryna make sure you’re okay, dawg..”

Okay, he was done with this!

“It is tap water,” he sighed shakily. “I’ve found the actual fountain of youth. Trust me when I say that that vial has never gone near it.” A circular gesture was made with his finger vaguely near Soos’ pocket where he believed the vial to be. “I am.. Getting close to begging here.” And he was not going to let Soos push him to that point!

It actually looked like at least one neuron fired in Soos’ brain, and a faint smile spread across his face. “You’re sure, dude?” Hearing him not immediately reject Ford’s assurance was like a breath of fresh air. Ford nodded frantically.

“Yes! One hundred percent sure! Nothing is going to come of this, I promise.”

“But what if there’s, like, a tap of youth?”

That one made him do a double-take. Surely that singular functional braincell Soos had was trying its best, h– okay maybe he was being a little harsh now. He mentally vowed to stop insulting Soos. “There is no tap of youth, Soos.” He answered simply, then took a deep breath. In quickly, out slowly. Activate that parasympathetic nervous system before you have a heart attack. “Satisfied?”

“Alright, dawg, I trust you. You’re, like, the smartest dude I know anyway!” Soos chortled, facepalming. That was.. Surprisingly easy. “Dude, I don’t even know why I was so worried. Gonna start sounding like you or Dipper soon. No offense, dude.”

STOP SAYING “DUDE” IN EVERY SENTEN- 

Ford sighed. “Oh, none taken. I know we can be awfully paranoid.” Keep the peace, Stanford, you just got him to potentially leave you alone. “Speaking of which, have you seen him and Mabel?” A glance around returned no information. Wonderful.

“They just went in the kitchen! Hey, are you starting to smell smoke too or is it just me? ..Because I do this weird thing sometimes where I just smell smoke out of nowhere.. Is that some creepy paranormal thing?” Soos wiggled his fingers for emphasis, and Ford’s expression blanked at the sight of smoke starting to waft from the kitchen. “I’unno, dude, kinda suspicious.. And are you seeing that smoke comin’ out of the kitchen? Crazy coinciden-”

He was cut short by Ford jumping to his feet and sprinting into the kitchen. Dipper and Mabel were there, alright, coughing and frantically fanning at the smoke billowing from a pot on the stove. Because stars forbid he sat down for five minutes without something happening. On a habit he couldn’t remember building but couldn’t remember not having, his eyes scanned them for any injuries. 

They were fine at first glance (incredibly scrutinizing stare, actually), but sort of just stared back at him with the wide eyes of a couple of kids who had been caught. Dipper froze mid-panic, then slowly turned to Mabel. “..who’s taking the fall this time,” he whispered as if Ford wasn’t right there.

“I call not it.” Mabel hissed back. Ford was not impressed. He stood against the doorframe, arms crossed and fingers tapping impatiently against his sweater, sure to hover his injured foot off the ground ever-so-slightly because running on an injured ankle made it worse?

“I mean, it was your idea. You can’t just call not it when it was your fault in the first place.” Logic and reason, Ford was rooting for Dipper on this one. He wasn’t exactly planning on scolding either of them, though, just waiting for them to finish their routine so he could clean up the mess. He was the adult, after all, being injured didn’t change that.

Mabel blew a raspberry at him. “I just di- he’s watching us by the way but I just did!” They both looked back at Ford and his.. Disappointed father stance against the doorframe, then Dipper cleared his throat and stepped in front of Mabel.

“We were just–” he began, folding his hands, but Ford silenced him with a raised hand.

He muttered in a steady tone, “save it. Are either of you hurt?” They were subjected to another quick examination, his eyes darting over them before Mabel responded.

“Uh, we didn’t really get far enough to get hurt..” She cast a wary glance toward the pot as Ford limped over to shut off the stove and waved away the smoke. 

Dipper added, “but we did get far enough to completely obliterate that pot,” as Ford squinted into the charred bottom of the pot. There were a few bones resting in the bottom. 

Concerning. In fact, all he could say to that was, “ho.. How?” with a baffled look at Dipper and Mabel. He carefully picked up the dish by the handles and set it in the sink to deal with later, then leaned against the counter and lifted his foot slightly. Ouf, he could feel a headache coming on already.. “What were you even attempting to.. Cremate?”

“Food,” the younger twins said in unison, then Dipper branched off. “We thought you’d like it if we cooked something nice..”

The only thing you cooked is your chances of entering this kitchen without supervision again, Ford thought, whatever was in that pot is far beyond “cooked”.

“Ah, a pot of bones,” Ford commented dryly, but added a chuckle in case the kids didn’t realize he was joking. 

Dipper leaned over the sink with a playful smirk and pointed into the pot. “I mean, there’s also some ash in there if you look really closely.”

“And glitter!” Mabel added in a chirp, and all of a sudden Ford’s cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling.

He knelt down (awkwardly and painfully) to ruffle Mabel’s hair and rolled his eyes. “Of course there’s glitter, how could you forget glitter?” Then his expression dropped. ..Hold on a minute. “You were going to feed me glitter?”

Instead of explaining themselves, the kids each grabbed one of his hands and pulled him out of the room.

“Don’t worry about it!”

“We can handle the mess!”

“You need rest, Grunkle Ford!”

“Yeah, you’re hurt!”

They both reassured quickly before pushing him back onto the couch. Mabel scampered off to make the kitchen worse– I mean clean it, and Dipper lingered in the living room to fuss over his Grunkle. “You’ve gotta keep it elevated,” he reminded in a murmur as he lifted Ford’s foot onto the arm of the couch. “And what did I say about moving around?”

Ford cast a glare at the ceiling. His eye twitched. “Not for at least two days unless I absolutely have to.” He grumpily quoted what Dipper had told him an hour after he and Mabel got home. Knowing him, he probably spent that hour researching how to care for sprained ankles. Very sweet, but also a little bothersome because he was getting high and mighty advice from a child. “But this time–”

“Mabel and I had it under control! No buts, just..” Dipper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Give yourself a break for once, okay?” Oh, great, now he was preaching it. The one person he thought was on his side had switched up on him. Wanted him to “rest”.

And yet he had no choice but to listen.

Begrudgingly.

So like any functional adult that wasn’t him, he shifted to make himself comfortable, turned his head toward the TV, shifted again because laying like that hurt his neck, let Dipper adjust his injured foot again, shifted, grumbled incoherently for the sake of grumbling, couldn’t reach the remote, and decided he couldn’t do this.

“I can’t do this.” His brows knitted together as he spoke. “I’m not.. Equipped for relaxation, Dipper.”

A muttered, “oh my god” from Dipper was not lost on him but he chose not to comment. “..okay. Compromise, then. Be stressed, but from a supine position.” That was.. Possible.

Ford crossed his arms and squared his jaw. He knew stress. He knew stress well. This was easy. He swung his legs off the couch to pace–

“Grunkle Ford! Lay! Down!” Scolded Dipper, causing him to flinch back into his original lying position. Yelled at by a child! At least that made being stressed easier! ..and a little harder as Dipper settled down on the couch by him to watch the TV. “Literally just.. Stare at the TV and do nothing. Grunkle Stan does it all the time, you’ll pick it up.”

He. Wasn’t. Stanley. Instead of saying that he decided to just sigh and look back at the television himself. “There’s nothing interesting on,” he complained, more of an excuse than anything. “Your Grunkle Stan thinks The Duchess Approves is quality television, he’ll watch anything.”

“Not anything, he won’t watch any more Dream Boy High with Mabel.” Ford watched as his nephew strained to reach the remote, nearly falling off the couch in the process. “But!” He tossed the remote in his hand with a flourish as if he didn’t almost just faceplant into the carpet. “We live in the future.” The remote clicked as he pressed a button on it, then Disney+ opened.

Hm, right, you can put applications on the TV. He forgot that sometimes. “We really do live in the future..” he whispered in astonishment. 

“Let’s see, uh.. What’s something you’ll like..” Dipper thought out loud, scrolling through the selection of movies. ”Bambi? Too old. Uh.. Frozen? ..ehhh.. You wouldn’t like Inside Ou– oh!” He stopped on a movie called Big Hero 6. Ford wasn’t so sure about it, considering the big marshmallow guy on the cover.. Promo art thing, but the child was excited about it and damn his paternal instincts.

So, of course, he lied! “It looks interesting,” he stated. “Go on, play it. I can tell you want to.” 

Grinning, Dipper put on the movie and they watched.

----

“Have I been perfect? No!” Aunt Cass ranted as she walked toward the building, nephews in tow. “Do I know anything about children? No!” She moved to unlock the door. “Should I have picked up a book on parenting!? Probably!”

Ford gestured with a hand toward the screen. “I can relate to this,” he stated blankly, eliciting a chuckle from Dipper. It was true. He had no idea how those kids hadn’t died yet under his and Stan’s care.

And.. they kept watching. A quick summary:

“Oh, there’s the marshmallow guy.”

“The whole ‘invention getting a person into college’ thing hits just a bit too close to home.”

“TADASHI NOOOOOOOOOO”

And so on. The ending? Pure agony. 10/10. He was wrong about not being interested. Stan and Mabel had joined them sometime during the movie and Mabel had long since made herself comfortable on top of his chest. 

“Is that all I am to you?” Ford complained without any real bite in his voice. “A cushion?”

Mabel giggled in response, “you were gonna get up if I didn’t! I’m helping!” Then shifted to hug him and pulled Stan into it as well. “You and Grunkle Stan are the best cushions, anyway.”

“Quit bein’ sappy, Mabel.” Stan grumbled, though he hid most of his emotions beneath that gruff shell that was completely transparent to Ford. He was clearly trying not to cry. “I can’t take that right now.” He sniffed.

Dipper leaned over to look at him, pausing the credits with the push of a button. “Are you.. Crying?” 

“Wow, would you look at that!” Stan whipped to his feet and enthusiastically pointed at the clock, reading 11:34. “It’s half an hour past your bedtime!” Instead of acknowledging Dipper and Mabel’s groans and protests, he nudged them toward the stairs with a grumpy, “eh!”

Then he turned to Ford with the same stern look. Why did that make him nervous?

“You too, Ford,” the dreaded words came out flatly, like they had no meaning. Ford shot him a glare as an unspoken no. “Don’t gimme that look. You need sleep if you wanna get better.” Stan knelt to nudge his shoulder. “Dipper told me everything.”

Oh, what a rat! ..Not actually he would never say that about his nephew. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look like he wasn’t about to hoodwink his way out of.. “Bedtime”. Eugh. “You know I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to, I’m not tired whatsoev-”

A bottle of red gummies was slammed into the coffee table in front of him, causing him to flinch back and go silent. “..you were saying?” His twin gave an unimpressed look. 

“Is that melatonin?” Asked Ford, clearly reading the “melatonin” label and knowing damn well it was melatonin. “In- In gummy form, nonetheless?” Being the pragmatic problem-solver he was, he’d already developed a plan. Stall for as long as possible. “Hey, wait– how long have you had those?”

As Stan opened the bottle and shook two gummies out, he realized it might be a little late to just rant about neurochemicals until he got bored and left. “Eat,” he ordered curtly and dumped them into his hand. “They’re pretty good, honestly.”

“You didn’t answer my-”

“Stop stalling.”

Ford let out a similar groan to those of Dipper and Mabel after being told to go to bed, then shoved the gummies into his mouth.

Hm. They weren’t bad.. Strawberry with a hint of some kind of chemical. Spicy in a weird way, but it was better than you’d expect a medication to taste.

“You know, I normally get my sugar-right-before-bed fix in via jellybeans,” he commented. Popping gummies just to sleep at night. Gummies. He couldn’t believe this. 

Stan wasn’t impressed, brows lowered and a hand on his hip. “Sugar in something that’s supposed to put you to sleep would be stupid.” He closed up the bottle and shook it. “These don’t have sugar. Anyway, yeah, go to sleep.”

Ford let out a soft sigh as Stan ruffled his hair, blinked up at him a couple of times when he pulled his hand away, then watched as he undid the brace around his ankle (Dipper must have informed him that he wasn’t supposed to wear it in his sleep) and walked out of the room. He reached back in to turn off the light and called, “night, Ford.” 

“..Goodnight, Stanley,” he murmured in response and turned over to go to sleep, figuring he had no other choice.