#Pre-programmed cooking settings

[lymmsweb]

Giving you all my love

🕷pairing : bucky barnes x gn!reader

🕷word count : 1.9k

🕷tags : fluff, comfort, makeout, non sexual intimacy, showering together, pre established relationship

🕷summary : he comes home after a mission away from you that took longer than expected and seeks your comfort, which you are more than happy to give

It was far from unusual that you spent another afternoon in solitude cooking a meal that only you would eat, nonetheless it didn't provide comfort to the worry lingering in the back of your mind. It had been around 2 weeks since you've seen Bucky, a simple infiltration mission he said, it'd only take a couple days he said, it's a low risk operation he said yet here you were alone and hunched over the stove absentmindedly stirring the pot.

You knew he was probably alright, after all he is a highly trained super soldier who wouldn't go down easily without fight and had saved the world on numerous occasions. Communication had been lost between you and him 4 days ago that felt like light years away, it was like your own personal hell. The house felt empty without him, lacking the warmth that you yearned to bask in in those restless nights without his updates. Horrifying thoughts about possible scenarios he might have caught himself up in danced around your head as you moved robotically around the kitchen, there was nothing though that you could do except wait until his return.

You sat down at the dining table pecking away at the food in front of you, the chair felt like a stone slab underneath you and the program playing on the television sounded like white noise to you. Turning your head to face the window you saw clearly the trees that surrounded your house, swaying softly in the wind as the sun slowly set behind them. A little black bird landed on a branch, staying still as its feathers ruffled and seemingly stared back at you. A soft smile tugged at your lips at the thought of it staring at its reflection in the window as if it were checking itself out in a mirror.

"Started without me?" a quiet voice teased as it broke your concentration, you had no time to think before your body involuntarily jolted from the rough and shaky hands wrapping themselves around your shoulders and pulling you close into an embrace. It scared you momentarily as you hadn't heard the door open nor his footsteps but that is what you've learned to accept when dating a highly skilled assassin. The smell of sweat and musk hit your nose as you felt a warm toned body press itself onto your back and the arms around your shoulders tightened, a shaky exhale escaped your lips as you turned to look at your assailant.

Your gaze met his, his pupils so dilated there was only a small blue ring encapsulating them. The bags under his eyes were noticeable, the stress tugging at his face causing small and delicate creases to indent his skin which contrasted the scratches that littered it as if he got into a fight with a cat. You had little time to memorize his face as he slumped onto you and dropped his head onto your shoulder, his dark hair tickling your neck and jaw.

"Bucky?" you choked out as you quickly pushed up against him as you stood up, his heavy frame offering some resistance to this action. The contact was broken momentarily which elicited a soft whine from him, he quickly closed the distance - unceremoniously crashing his lips against yours. He has missed your lips slightly which caused quiet snickers to erupt both of you as he glided his cracked lips against yours. He tilted his head and pushed into you harshly when you opened your mouth slightly to give him better access to you, ravenously exploring your mouth as if it had never been ventured on before. He tasted slightly metallic against your tounge which was weakly fighting back a losing battle against his passionate assault. Bucky's metal arm snaked around your torso and rested his hand on the back of you head and his fingers latched onto your hair as if it were his lifeline, the other arm wrapping itself around you waist and pulling your bodies flush together. In contrast your hands cradled his jaw and rubbed small circles on his cheekbone with your thumb, allowing him to take the lead.

This moment seemed to have lasted forever as it finally took a few minutes to come back to the surface for air, the room seemed to be on fire from the heat emitted between you two. A few inches separated your now swollen lips, his breath smelling vaguely like a strawberry mint whilst he panted for air.

"I missed you so much doll." he hummed quietly against your lips, trying to initiate things further as he peppered more kisses on you. You beamed him a smile as you tilted your head away, increasing the distance between your faces which caused him to reflect back a puzzled look with a slight frown.

"I missed you too baby, what on earth took you so long?" you questioned, the worry hadn't dissipated from your mind as the more you studied his face the evidence of pain inflicted became apparent in the form of bloomed bruises littering his face alongside angry red scratches that clearly became irritated as a result of the intimacy you both indulged in. A low groan replied as he scrunched his face in frustration at the thought of the situation that kept him from you.

"It ended up... we had complications that we..." he trailed off, slowly losing himself in thought. Patience was the key factor the relationship between you two had been as successful as it has been, you didn't pressure him to explain as truth be told all that mattered was that he was back in your arms. Bucky usually came back from missions close to exhausted, not physically but more mentally thanks to the serum running through his veins. Going on missions was all that he knew for the last couple decades which you could only imagine the impact that such a thing would have on someone.

"How about we get you clean? I bet you haven't showered in a while you sick freak." you teased as your hands slid down his toned arms and pried his hands off your body. He rolled his eyes at the faux insult though he became painfully aware of his current physical state. "Only if you join me" he shot back with a fatigued tone, intertwining his hand with yours as you began to lead him to the shared bathroom. He had no concept of personal space as he was almost so close to you he was basically draped on top of you, not that you minded though you could hear him hitting the corners of furniture behind you which would make a normal person wince.

The bathroom was relatively spacious though standard, Bucky didn't have many facial nor body products so your products ended up taking up a lot of the space. When you two had first moved in together you remember the heart attack he almost induced when he revealed he used a 3 in 1 shampoo that also worked as a face wash, needless to say you heavily improved the quality of his self care. A comfortable silence rested between you two. Bucky let go of you hand begrudgingly as he began to undo his tactical gear meanwhile you leaned over to the shower and turned it on, allowing for the water to heat up whilst you two stripped.

"Come here," you motioned him to close the gap which he happily complied to, he had taken off his slim bullet proof vest and his boots already which made you job easier "can i take these off?" you questioned as you softly poked at his top.

"Jesus aren't you forward." he mused as he gazed at your face, squinting slightly "not a lot of guys like that."

You scoffed at the comment and began to pry the shirt off of him which was basically muscle memory by now, it clung onto him slightly due to a thin layer of sweat on him. The shirt was quickly discarded to a corner of the bathroom haphazardly. His torso looked like a warzone, it seemed like there were more blotches of purple and green rather than untainted skin. Absentmindedly you began to trace healed scars that were inflicted upon him whilst he was the Winter Soldier, carefully feathering over the bruises. He noted the concern and sadness contorting your face and raised his hand to caress your cheek, shame washing over him when your glassy eyes looked right back at him. Your eyes then flickered to the huge and jagged scar that rested on the skin where the junction of metal and flesh met, it kind of looked like lightning you noted mentally. He hummed when your lips places small kisses along that scar, you never once judged him for what he underwent despite his constant struggle with accepting who he had been. Your fingers fiddled with his belt, successfully unbuckling it after what you deemed to be an embarrassing amount of time. Prying off his jeans his legs seemed to be in a much better condition than his torso, rather having very small bruises peppered along it.

"You too doll, i did say you were going to join me." he blushed, snapping you out of your thoughts. You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks whilst you separated from him and began to discarded your clothes swiftly. He took in your figure as each layer was stripped off like an artist studying his muse, yet there was not an ounce of lust clouding his eyes - just pure love. Quite frankly he could probably paint you off by heart due to the amount of time he spent studying every curve and crevice of your body. Once you stripped the cold air rushing in from the window was noticeable and uncomfortable, you reached into the shower and sighed as the warm water hit your hand. You hopped in lightly, quickly followed by Bucky that had stripped down to nothing as well. He moaned as the water hit is back, it felt heavenly to his overworked muscles and to finally get the grime off of him.

You got to work quickly, maneuvering him around the shower that was a little too small for the both of you and used his brand new scented shampoo on his hair. He tilted his head in order to not only lean into the physical contact he'd been craving but also to allow you better access for you fingers to work away the blood and oil stuck to his hair. The shampoo foamed up comically giving him a makeshift helmet before you rinsed it away. You gently rubbed the body wash on him, whispering soft apologies each time he tensed underneath your touch, which were quickly shut down by him. However you took the opportunity to also massage his stiff muscles where you could to bring him any sort of relief. Time seemed to pass by as you worked your way down his body and soon turned him around to face you, working away similarly along his front. Bucky sort of looked like a horse sleeping, his arms laying limply on his side, he stood still like a soldier, blinking groggily and even 'resting his eyes' for long minutes at a time. It left you pondering how amusing it was to have the once most feared and deadly myth completely vulnerable underneath your touch as you took care of him.

A/N : this is my very first work after a two year haitus so i'm sorry if its kinda bad!! ugh my obsession with him has been driving me so crazy that i just had to start writing again

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, smut

pairing: atsumu miya x fem!reader

summary: happy birthday, love atsumu

your birthday started in silk sheets.

sunlight filtered soft through gauzy curtains, golden and warm across the hardwood floor of your shared apartment—the one with the faint scent of vanilla still clinging to the walls from your diffuser, the one with the faint scuff marks on the cabinets from when atsumu cooked you anniversary pasta in fuzzy christmas socks and slipped.

he was already awake.

leaning over you, shirtless and golden, hair tousled, smile boyish. sun caught the edge of his chain, his lashes, the swell of his bicep as he held himself above you.

“happy birthday, baby,” he whispered, voice low and sticky with sleep. then he kissed your cheek, your temple, the tip of your nose. “stay here. don’t move.”

and you didn’t.

not when he padded barefoot into the kitchen, not when you heard cabinet doors opening and the soft click of a tray being set down. not when he came back holding said tray—your favorite breakfast, piping hot, with pink tulips arranged in a narrow vase beside the pancakes, and orange juice in a glass with a sugared rim. maple syrup steaming. extra whipped cream.

he’d cleared your schedule. tucked your phone into a drawer. sent out pre-written texts to all your friends, which you’d later discover read, “strict orders from the birthday queen: no texts unless it’s birthday wishes or emergencies.”

he made you eat in bed. hand-fed you strawberries. pressed gentle circles into your lower back as you sat in his lap and chewed.

when you finally rose to go shower, he’d already laid out rose bath salts, clean towels, and a note on the mirror:

“be ready at 7. trust me. wear that dress.”

and you trusted him.

the rest of the day unfolded like a fairytale written in soft pinks.

at noon, the doorbell rang. you opened it to find a courier holding a long white box.

inside: a bouquet so large it had to be tied in two places with satin ribbon. roses, peonies, ranunculus, and freesia, all in shades of blush, cream, and petal-soft pink. the scent alone made your knees weaken.

a card was tucked inside.

thick stock. sharp edges. atsumu’s messy scrawl, almost illegible, like he’d written it fast to keep from chickening out.

“you make everything in my life prettier. you’re it for me.”

you stood there in the hallway, hand to your chest, stunned breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your ribs.

and then came the gifts.

a delicate necklace, dainty gold with your birthstone nestled at the center. matching earrings. a tiny bottle of the perfume you mentioned five months ago in passing, the one you forgot but he didn’t.

he helped you curl your hair.

zipped your dress slow, fingers trailing the length of your back. he pressed a kiss to your shoulder in the mirror and said, “you look like a dream.”

and he looked like he could ruin one.

charcoal suit. open collar. no tie. a black silk shirt, just enough undone to reveal the glint of a gold chain at his throat. rings catching the light. his sleeves pushed just high enough to show the veins in his forearms, where your fingers always liked to rest.

“you ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

your heart fluttered. “yeah.”

“then let’s go, birthday girl.”

…

you’d been in his car a thousand times.

but tonight it felt new again. sweeter, glossier, something enchanted in the way the ambient lights glowed soft rose beneath the dash. the starlight ceiling twinkled above your head, spelling out your name the way it always did, every curve custom-programmed, every light a love letter he could never quite say out loud.

he drove with one hand, the other on your thigh, fingers splayed just under the hem of your dress. every time it shifted—every time your leg crossed, or your knee bumped the console, his hand inched higher.

and when you reached for the gps, he tilted the screen away.

“it’s a surprise,” he said, grinning. “but trust me, you’re gonna like it.”

…

he was right.

the restaurant was discreet. you would’ve missed it entirely if not for the warm brass plaque by the door. no flashing signs. no open hours posted. just a single valet who opened the door without asking your name.

inside: candlelight. moody gold walls. ceilings glinting with hand-blown glass fixtures that shimmered like raindrops. the hush of old money. each server moved like they’d been choreographed. each table glowed with an intimacy you couldn’t manufacture.

you felt eyes on you as you entered, but not from everyone.

not the cold, silent couples dissecting their wine pairings or scrolling their phones. just a few men, well-dressed, watches gleaming, who glanced your way as you passed. and then the slow, measured way their dates turned to follow their gaze. lips pursed. expressions unreadable.

atsumu pulled your chair in, hand warm and low on your back.

“everyone here’s jealous of me right now,” he whispered.

you smiled.

the food was ridiculous.

surf and turf skewers, filet that melted, lobster bathed in citrus butter. truffle pasta curled in shallow gold-rimmed bowls. sourdough slices still steaming inside their linen napkin, served with ramekins of whipped brown butter and herbed oil. wine that bloomed on your tongue.

through it all, his leg pressed against yours. his voice in your ear. his fingers traced idle shapes on your inner thigh, dragging just high enough to make you fidget in your seat.

and then came dessert.

you hadn’t ordered anything yet when the lights dimmed.

a soft hush passed through the room. not silence, just quiet surprise.

the server approached with a small pink cake, heart-shaped and shimmery, glitter catching the candlelight like sequins. one candle, flickering bright.

“brought in earlier by your date,” the waiter said, smiling. “lit just for you.”

you blinked, stunned. the table beside you; well-dressed couples, a woman in a slip dress and a man with a titanium watch, sang happy birthday softly. even the older gentleman behind you chimed in.

“take it easy on her tonight,” he muttered to atsumu.

his wife gasped. “steven!”

atsumu just winked.

“i’ll try.”

and squeezed your thigh under the table.

…

the car ride home was not calm.

not with the way his hand kept sliding higher.

“you’ll try, huh?” you teased, breath catching as he slipped a finger beneath your dress hem.

“you’ve got no idea,” he murmured. “been tryin’ since brunch.”

he drove with one hand, the other resting shamelessly on your thigh. your skin was warm. his palm was hotter. his fingers dipped, slow, slow, until you bit your lip and squirmed.

when he pulled into the valet, he practically sprinted to your side. opened the door. kissed your knuckles. hand on your lower back as you walked in, heat pouring off him in waves.

the elevator ride: unbearable. silent. except for the soft cling of metal buttons and the sound of your breath catching when his hand slipped behind you, under your dress, fingers spreading against the bare skin of your ass.

“can’t believe you wore this for me,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “fuck, baby. you’re killin’ me.”

door opened. you barely made it two steps before he spun you into the wall.

“you,” he said, “are so—fuck—so beautiful.”

and then he kissed you.

hard. desperate. like he’d been holding back all night. hands fisting in your dress. lips crashing to yours. he pressed you to the door, grinding against you, letting you feel every inch of him through his slacks.

you gasped. he groaned. lifted you easily and carried you to the bed, tossing you down like a prize.

“keep that dress on,” he said, kneeling. “fuck. i want it on when i make you scream.”

he hiked it up. kissed your thighs. breathed you in. and then—

he buried his face between your legs.

slow at first. long, flat licks that made your stomach clench. then his tongue circled, flicked, sucked. his hands held you firm. he didn’t stop when you gasped. didn’t stop when your thighs shook. didn’t stop when you came the first time, or the second.

“ride my face,” he whispered. “wanna drown in you.”

you did.

you rode him through it, his mouth eager, tongue greedy, hands grabbing at your ass, pulling you down like he needed more. he moaned into your skin like you were everything. and when you came again, he kept going. kissed it out of you. drank it down.

then he flipped you.

dragged you to the mirror.

bent you over the dresser and said, “watch.”

he fucked you slow at first, deep strokes that made you gasp. one hand tangled in your hair, the other steady on your hip. he kissed your shoulder in the glass. told you how good you looked. how tight you were. how perfect.

“this pussy’s mine,” he muttered, breathless. “ain’t lettin’ you go.”

and then he sped up.

and the mirror fogged.

later: you in his lap, his cock deep inside, your arms around his neck, rolling your hips until he whined.

later still: you on your knees, his hands in your hair, tongue dragging over his length as he trembled and came with a choked groan, spilling over your tongue as he muttered your name.

and after: tangled up in his arms, chest against his, lips pressed to his pulse.

“best birthday ever?” he asked.

you nodded. eyes closed. face warm.

“good,” he said, voice soft and smug. “next year’s gonna be even better.”

[brazilian-girl02]

Girl who runs with the wolves

🐺 Imagine: You, a pre-teen, end up on an exchange program at Forks middle school. Next thing you know, you're already at the airport heading to Forks;

🐺 When you arrive at Forks Airport, you are greeted by your foster family with a sign with your name on it. the father of the family introduced himself as Billy Black and his son, a few years older than you, called Jacob Black;

🐺 Billy said he had two other daughters, Rebecca and Rachel, but they weren't in town. they quickly put their bags in the car and went to the Quileute tribe reservation, which the Black family was part of, as soon as they arrived at the house you started to unpack your bags in your new bedroom;

🐺 After you finish setting up your new bedroom, you are introduced to other members of the tribe. you were quickly taken in by Sue Clearwater and her children, Leah and Seth Clearwater;

🐺 You also started spending time with Jacob and his friends, Embry Call and Quil Atera, who introduced you to the tribe's reservation and the city of Forks;

🐺 Billy teaches you a little about mechanics and repairs, in return you watch old movies and music and also hear stories about the tribe. Sue gave you a part-time job at her family's grocery store, she also taught you a little first aid and some Quileute cooking, as well as a little about gardening and the reservation's local plants;

🐺 Leah is the protective big sister, looking out for you and always helping you with your work. Jacob is also protective of you, he takes you everywhere on his motorcycle, from picking you up from school to taking you to town if you want to buy something. Seth was always the youngest, so when you arrived he quickly joined you, as there was less difference between you than the rest, he always tried to be a good role model for you;

🐺 Quil and Embry are the fun brothers, always making jokes and teasing you, but if you feel uncomfortable about something, they will respect that;

🐺 Your first time at the bonfire was when you met the other members, Emily quickly approached you and the others soon followed;

🐺 Sam quickly became attached to you, a serious man getting soft just with you and Emily. Emily always asked you for help in the kitchen, just to have a calmer moment for you to talk;

🐺 Jared joined Embry and Quil, he joined Paul and Jacob in {You}'s group of protectors. Serious Paul warmed up to you, he's willing to join one of his hobbies;

🐺 At school no one messes with you, in fact the other students don't even talk to you properly, but don't worry you have a large group of people to keep you company;

🐺 You only found out about "werewolves" halfway through the school year. Now you have a pack of wolves who don't mind taking you on a walk in the woods,

🐺 If one of the vampires, or cold ones as you know them, approaches you... it doesn't matter if it's the Cullens or some nomadic group, they won't let any of them want to touch you, after all you're the youngest of the pack and the pack stays together.

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

Two posts in the same day! This was the idea that came second in the vote I did, so I decided to do it. I hope you like it 😉

[fancyspeechimpediment]

Thoughts about Danny Phantom - specifically, the Lunch Lady, and why she was so upset about Sam changing the menu

Food Insecurity

Amity Park is apparently set in the Midwest (Illinois if you want to be particular). there are A Lot of Farming Communities here. even a medium city like Amity park appears to be will have a strong rural community. Farming takes up a lot of money, and a lot of it is shipped elsewhere.

also in every-sized midwest towns are people and families barely scraping by, with or without foodstamps. from what i have heard about foodstamps from various friends on foodstamps, the foodstamp program is very picky about what it allows you to aquire (a pre-cooked, ready-to-eat chicken you buy from the deli is not covered by foodstamps. pasta sauce is not covered by food stamps. fresh produce is not covered by foodstamps. these are all examples of "Luxury Items". you must get your fruits and veggies Canned.)

therefore, there was probably a significant number of children who relied on School Lunches to fulfill a significant portion of their dietary requirements - volume wise and nutrient wise. Seeing these children have access to good portions of nutrient-rich food probably brought her joy, especially if she's the one who cooked it and they like her cooking.

meat, if i remember correctly, has more nutrients packed into it than plant matter, has plenty of fat (needed if you are frequently hungry), definitely more protein, and has more calories. Vegetables are important too, for fiber and higher concentrations of specific nutrients, but meat is generally a good all-rounder and baseline.

and then in comes Sam. Sam demanded that the school lunch menu be changed to only plant matter. Sam has rich parents, can afford specialized menus to meet her dietary choice and her body's needs (fat and protein - rich plants)and more than likely has no concept of even the idea of food insecurity. Sam probably didn't think about food allergies or dietary restrictions or other health concerns. She was just kinda stuck on Plants Healthy, Meat Immoral. This new menu would have left too many children hungry. they would be getting fewer calories even if they ate the same volume as before. they would have started losing weight they couldn't afford to lose.

Lunch Lady knew this. Lunch Lady was upset.

((PS. I am probably very wrong and/or outdated on my information about the United States' foodstamp program)

[juuuulez]

📰 | prologue: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes-less chapter (sorry!), Negan x Daughter! Reader, pre/start of apocalypse, violence and minor gore, morally grey reader, mentions of child abuse/neglect.

summary: When the apocalypse breaks loose, you find yourself in companionship with your sport teacher, Mr. Smith.

THIS was so much fun to write!!!! Genuinely my favourite chapter I’ve done so far. Let me know what you all think, because I’d love to do more little tidbits that stray from the original story. But with that in mind, this instalment IS required to understand parts of the fic going forward. Prologue is mandatory…..I’ve just finally done it.

Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 are already out! 5 will return to our regularly scheduled program of Carl and (Y/N) bickering.

You valued consistency.

Doing the same thing, every day.

Even if your life was shit, at least it was consistently shit.

You always knew how to behave. What could just go unpunished. How to enter the house without making a sound. The perfect patterns to ensure your location wasn’t given away. What exactly to say to avoid being hit.

It was routine, comfortable. You permanently lived on the edge, waiting. Listening, watching. Observing those around you.

As routine, you were late. It was becoming quite the pattern, but you couldn’t help it. The bus ran late. Or, you suppose… if it ran late every day, then it was on schedule. Maybe you should start catching an earlier bus.

Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Second period, Tuesday.

Sport.

Now, you didn’t necessarily dislike sport. But you didn’t really love it, either.

The uniform always made you feel insecure. Which, at the ripe age of 13, doesn’t seem to be an emotion your peers are experiencing yet. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it than you are. It’s also incredibly performative, sport, which you hate. Being singled out, going one by one, choosing teams. All of it was terrible.

You didn’t mind your teacher.

Which, went a long way, considering you disliked most people who resided within these buildings. Teachers and students alike.

But Mr. Smith was nice. To you, at least. And to everyone. He was loud, had too much energy, but you didn’t mind. It just meant that he cared about his job.

You absentmindedly tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, the fabric wrapped around your arms to make up for the breezy garment of the girls tank top. It made you look different, set you apart. You hated that.

Regardless, you fall in line with the others.

Baseball.

Granted, you’ve never played baseball before. Sure, you’d watched it, on the small occasion that you were allowed to stay with a friend. It was a vivid memory. Watching from the hallway, over her father’s shoulder, whilst she was asleep.

You wished that your father liked sports. Or maybe cooking. Or collecting things, cleaning things, fixing things. Anything.

It’s almost the end of class, you’re standing at the back of the line. Three kids, then two, then just one. You. The others are standing on the bleachers, already collecting their equipment, preparing for break.

“Batter-up.” Mr. Smith says, though you don’t understand the colloquialism. Nonetheless, you move forward, accepting the bat from the previous student. Another is further down the field. Bowler, you presume.

The metal bat is cold between your fingers, clenched in your dominant hand. It’s heavy, but not an unmanageable amount, just enough to keep you aware of it. There’s weight to the swing, weight on your arm, shoulder. It takes a moment to find your footing.

But when you do, the other student has already thrown the ball. It’s hurdling towards you, faster than comfortable. Spinning through the air with a distinct whizz, perfectly curved, heavy. Dangerous.

It’s instinctual. Your body twists, landing a hit on the spherical object with laser accuracy, the impact ringing in your ears as it soars away, towards the end of the pitch.

Your head snaps in the opposite direction, recalling the match you’d silently observed years ago. There are beige bases in the grass, thin plates. The bat falls from your grip, hitting the ground with a thud, and you move to start running.

It only takes a few steps before reality clicks in, and you realise the feat is pointless. Nobody else is playing. There is no-one to catch your ball, to cheer and clap. Everybody has already begun to leave. They didn’t watch you, didn’t continue the game. Three seconds tick over before the bell rings, releasing the crowd of children awaiting their freedom.

Suddenly the summer breeze is too hot, the sleeves of your shirt itching, sticking to your skin. The tank is too tight. It hugs your body in the wrong way, vulnerable, at their mercy. And yet, you are unseen in a similar manner, and there’s an inkling of you that wants to be judged, simply to say you’d been recognised.

You’re collecting your things, and by that, putting your muddied sneakers into a plastic bag and slipping on new ones. There are footsteps behind you. Heavy, easily identifiable as an adult. You have impeccable hearing.

Before he can announce himself, you’ve turned. There’s always been respect in your tone when conversing with teachers, well aware of the authority they hold, despite your frequent disagreeable on their methods.

“Never mentioned you were good at baseball.” Mr. Smith quips, already packing up the equipment left behind from the lesson into a large bag. Those concrete-hard balls, the plastic bases, the metal bats.

“I’ve never played, sir.” You tell him, flashing that usual, awkward smile that doesn’t really count as a smile, but just the pursing of your lips. An attempt at civility from somebody too irreversibly damaged for their age.

“Well, we’ve got a team running,” He continues to speak whilst organising, and though he does not look at you, your attention is drawn. “Could come find you later, give you the permission slip.”

That bursts your bubble. There’s no chance in hell that you could persuade your father to sign it. There was forging the signature, but this game would run in after-school hours, an extra curricular. You wouldn’t be allowed.

“I dunno,” You shrug in premature defeat, slinging the bag over your shoulder, coming to stand at the feet of the bleachers. “Not really a team player. Wouldn’t fit in with the older girls.”

Though there’s no visible indication, it’s obvious that Mr. Smith disregards this as a valid excuse. Which, it definitely isn’t, but it’s the little statement you tell yourself in order to feel less shitty about missing an opportunity.

“How about I get you the slip, and then you’ve got the option?” It’s said as a question, but clearly isn’t, as he’s then reaching into the duffel bag and pulling out one of those heavy, metal bats.

He holds it out to you, and you have no choice but to take it.

“Get some practise in before the weekend.”

Then Mr. Smith is leaving, and you’re left standing there, on the muddy field. The second bell rings out.

You’re late.

Now, this habitual lateness may not be all so coincidental.

Tardiness was handled rather vigorously in the seventh grade, for whatever reason. You didn’t understand.

But it hasn’t taken too long into the year to crack the metaphorical code. Detention was mandated for wrongdoings, ergo, another hour before you had to be home.

You’d take detention over home any day of the week.

So it was unsurprising when you ended up there this afternoon, settling into your usual spot near the back. There were a other kids, the typical troublemakers, and a few poor souls who genuinely had misfortune befall them.

Mrs. Hagerty, the librarian, overlooked detention. She was old and slow, grey hair, grey lips. Grey… skin. Well, she looked half-dead, which was saying something. You weren’t surprised, though it was a little suspicious how she hadn’t chastised you for bringing the baseball bat into the room.

It sat propped up against your desk.

Despite your adamancy against pointless procedures, public humiliation, gossip, and assholes in charge, you were quite good at school. English, primarily, was your strong suit. Reading, writing. All of it.

The peace that you’d carefully crafted was interrupted roughly halfway into the lesson. Or, babysitting session, as Mrs. Hagerty was yet to look up from her desk. Talk about worlds easiest job.

You still remembered that day, even now. Years later.

At the time, Mr. Smith was nothing but your sport teacher, someone with authority who you detested less than most other figures. A reasonable constant in your life, so far.

Now, he was Negan. Everything to you, in a way. Alike to how you were everything to him. Though you didn’t know it then, this was the day that he’d consume an entirely different part of your mind, forging a new identity that would terrorise, ravage, and torment communities.

But in the same breath, protect you, help raise you, construct an entire empire with you as the sun. Though you’d never succumb to the hive mind, you were not Negan. But you certainly were his.

Nonetheless, it all started within that room. The detention room.

“Permission slip.” Negan announced, placing the small pink paper on the desk in front of you. He attempted to keep his voice hushed, mindful of the other students who were meant to be studying, but appeared more to be sleeping.

Now that it was out of school hours, and he was likely printing, Negan wore reading glasses. Later, you would mock him for these, making comments about him being old.

It always awarded you with that same distinct look of warning. Yet, it never made you feel threatened, but appreciated. Seen.

You slide the permission slip closer, reading the small black writing. In the same motion, you fish out a pen, jotting down cursive letters in the underlined section.

You slide it back.

“I can’t take this,” Negan points out with a sign, gazing down at the signature that is obviously not one of your parents. “You’re really making me go back, and print another one?”

This causes you to roll your eyes, “So I can take it home and do the same thing? That just wastes both of our time… our you could take it now.”

However, he won’t budge. “It’s policy. Go home, get it signed. I don’t need to know how.”

Though you feign annoyance, the insinuation made you want to smile. Turns out, Negan knew more than he was letting on. Gossip spread across faculty quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to deduct your… poor living situation.

The long sleeves, the turtle necks, the gloves. Jeans in summer. Never a parent to attention parent-teacher conferences.

He’s about to turn and leave, when there’s a slight commotion at the front of the room.

One of the younger students, Jasmin, is talking to Mrs. Hogarty in a hushed voice. Goody-two-shoes.

When she gets no response, the student only continues talking, trying to elicit a reaction from the teacher that has otherwise remained silent. In an irreversible mistake, Jasmin reaches out, gently waving her tanned hand in front of glazed over eyes.

Mrs. Hogarty lunges at her, finally in motion, chubby hands gripping at the forearm of the girl and taking a bite from plush skin. Blood spurts from the wound, Jasmin screams in horror, alike to the rest of the few misdemeanours in the room.

Everyone is in motion. Some try to help Jasmin, others flee. You’re stuck. Truth is, though you boast agility, you’ve never been in a situation like this. Your mouth gapes like a fish, open, closed, searching for something to say, to do. A reaction befitting of this complete, disgusting travesty.

“C’mon, up. Let’s go.” Negan is talking to you, you realise. It’s like everything finally clicks back into motion, the water no longer clogging your ears, making everything muffled and distant. This is reality.

You scramble from the chair, grabbing books, pencils, hastily shoving them into your little brown bag.

But there’s a hand on your shoulder, urging you forward, towards the exit sitting towards the back of the classroom. “Leave it, no time.” Negan is telling you, helping you off the floor. Before the two of you can make a break for it, your hands clasp around the metal baseball bat.

It swings at your side as you leave the building, feet padding against the concrete of the pavement. It’s strangely… desolate. There is no increasing urgency, nobody around. It almost makes you question whether what happened was real. But you’re still walking, forward, away.

“Shouldn’t we help her?” You ask, to which Negan finally stops to look back at you. His brows furrow, confused, so you clarify. “Jasmin.”

“No, no, there isn’t any helping her,” He clarifies, talking slowly to try and get the idea in your head. “I read about this shit online, it’s in other countries. Europe. They aren’t people anymore.”

You don’t quite catch on, understand the severity of his words. But it makes sense. No person would act like that. Your feet begin to move again, travelling the familiar path.

“Hey, where are you going?” Negan calls out, and it’s only now that you become aware of the distance between you. Your head snaps into the direction of the bus stop, a silent answer, and Negan seems to deduct your intentions. He nods in the opposite direction. “C’mon.”

You obey, needing to skip in order to catch up with his longer strides. The bat is still clenched in your dominant hand, cold metal occasionally making contact with the side of your leg. It’s heavy, but you’re getting used to it.

As you approach the car park, the sun beats down, warming the asphalt. A few paces away is Negan’s truck, but before that, another person you quickly identify as an older student.

Stringy hair, grey skin, dull eyes. Arms reaching out, wandering aimlessly. The animated corpse seems to have some semblance of consciousness, as it spots you, limping over.

Preemptively, you take a step back, that familiar feeling of panic flooding your system at an unavoidable danger. Luckily, Negan appears to be significantly more composed than you are, as he’s reaching back for something. Extending a hand to you.

When you don’t react, he whistles, a high-pitched noise that instantly gets your attention. You did not know it yet, but this would become a familiar constant in your life. Nonetheless, you catch onto what he meant, letting the metal bat fall into his extended hand.

“Are you gonna…?” You don’t finish your question, as you’re unsure what exactly you think may happen. There’s a small part of you that doesn’t want to know.

Luckily, Negan provided little answers. “Go around and get in the truck.” He tells you, instructs you, and you listen simply because you trust him. Which, in this day and age, is dangerous.

You busy yourself with the seatbelt in order not to watch, able to mentally fill in the blanks as to the measure that Negan was taking. It made sense, you supposed. They weren’t alive anymore, couldn’t feel. Only wanted to hurt other people. Therefore, they needed to be put down.

There’s a clang as he places the baseball bat in the back of the truck, getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. You watch this interest, unable to remember the last time somebody drove you anywhere. Never, if you recall correctly.

Thankful, Negan opts to ignore the way you inspect his every movement, like a little bird. Or a startled cat.

“Your address?” He requests, already making a start down the street that he would presume lead towards your house. It snaps you out of the little daze, face scrunching up.

“No, gross. I can’t give you my address,” You say in a matter-of-fact tone, as if the idea of completely insane. “You could be a predator, for all I know. That’s private information.”

Negan gives you that look again, the same one when you’d forged the signature. He can’t quite understand you. “Why would I work in a school if I was a predator? Tell me, how would I get that job.”

You shrug, “Maybe because that’s exactly what you want.”

He becomes fed up with your inane accusation, rolling his eyes. Yet, despite the attitude you’ve adopted, he does not get frustrated with you. “Address, now. I’m takin’ you home.”

There’s a large part of you that doesn’t even want to go home, yet you obey, providing Negan with your address to which he turns down the proper street. Luckily, you don’t live too far from school… or, unlucky, you suppose. For it isn’t long until you’re pulling into your driveway.

You get out, footsteps cautious against the pavement. A few meters away is an older lady, half alive, clinging to the path with desperate hands despite the concave appearance of her head. Your neighbour. She groans upon noticing you, but her legs are broken, and cannot move forward.

Remembering earlier, you move backwards towards the truck, fishing out the metal bat. It’s shiny metallic end is caked with reddish blood, stringing bits of decomposing guts hanging from it.

You can only make it a step forward until Negan is holding your shoulder again, pushing you in the opposite direction, towards the house. “Nope. Just leave her, she ain’t hurting anyone.”

Usually, you would detest being controlled. Told what to do. The shadow of an adult so close behind you, watching, letting their hands intrude on your space. But you didn’t feel threatened by Negan, which was odd. You weren’t going to complain about it, that’s for sure.

You ascend up the shallow stairs, coming to a stop in front of the door. When you reach out, pressing on the doorhandle, you’re shocked to find that it simply swings open, already sitting ajar. Dread fills your body.

It’s not that fearful, sickly dread that you get when you know you’ve done something wrong, and are awaiting the inevitable consequences. No, its.. different. You’ve felt it very few times before. Concern, worry. Knowing that something is wrong, and you cannot stop it.

Nonetheless, you enter the house. It’s in its familiar state, which provides a slight comfort to you, but Negan finds himself taken aback. It’s practically a mess. Every surface has something on it, whether it be pointless junk, or the garbage of bottles and cans. A few areas remain spotless, like the kitchen counter, and the bin remains empty and carefully tucked away.

It’s clear that you upkeep the small areas which you require for your autonomy. The rest of the place? Not your problem. It’s no wonder you don’t like being there.

As you pat further down the hallway, Negan draws his attention to the entrance. There’s a large bookshelf, though the books are dusty, likely long since actually used. A few slots are unusually empty, indicating that you’ve taken some to keep elsewhere.

But it’s the top shelf that draws his attention. Two photographs, positioned around thirty centimetres apart, with two respective urns behind them. One significantly smaller. Mother and daughter, he recognises. Mother and baby, actually.

It’s apparent that this is the home of a family that’s lost half of its inhabitance. He can’t help but wonder, is this the fate that will befall him, come Lucille’s death? Hopefully not. Nothing like this.

“Dad?”

Negan regains his sense of reality, curiosity piked as you’re speaking down the hall. He moves further into the space, standing in the kitchen as he observes you, there on the porch.

You stand near the doorway, that bat still hanging from one hand. In front of you, a figure, sitting down. Next to him, a half-empty case of beers. Part of Negan becomes increasingly alert, aware, prepared to avoid letting any harm befall you. A harm that you’re likely accustomed to.

There’s no response.

“C’mon. Just say something.” You urge, sounding utterly defeated. And yet, your father gives no response, despite the impending doom blanketing the situation.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand. The vicious, red welt on your fathers neck gives it away, jagged and seeping blood that stains his already unkept shirt. It’s a matter of time, at this point. You’d like to extract at least one, genuine conversation. Absolutely anything before he disappears forever.

That isn’t seeming very likely.

Your eyes drift around the yard, welling with tears not of sadness, but frustration. This is it? You are to become an orphan, the world is ending, and your piece-of-shit father won’t even look at you? In this moment, you wished he was angry.

You wished he would yell at you.

Pin you against the wall by your neck.

Bruise you. Beat you.

Anything other than this.

“I made the baseball team.” You tell him, another futile attempt to elicit any sort of reaction. Pride, maybe. Congratulate his young daughter for her achievement. Even the smallest hint of recognition would go a long way, pull you from this spiral you’ve begun to succumb to.

And what does he do?

He scoffs.

His arm lifts, taking another swig of the near empty bottle.

Finally, you’ve gotten your sign. A signal, a hint. The divine intervention that sets everything straight, reminds you of your place in this world. Just enough attention to keep you subdued, but satisfied. Complacent.

Anger overtakes you before you’re even aware of these emotions, wielding a surprising amount of strength for a pre-pubescent girl. You want to scream and shout and hurt him.

So you do.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, really. Unplanned, messily executed. But would you have done it again? Certainly.

You cannot feel remorse for causing pain to a man who’s soul died long ago. Died with your mother, died with your infant sister. Tried to kill yours along with it all.

It’s already happened before you can understand.

There’s a distinct soreness in your shoulder, strained from swinging the metal baseball bat with such force. There are little blisters forming on your palms from how tight you’re gripping, clawing, clenching around the handle. The movement has shifted your whole body, but you don’t look down.

You don’t acknowledge the mess you’ve made.

Blood splattered across the wooden porch, some even hitting the adjacent fence. Skull broken, concave. Oozing sticky red.

The glass bottle rolls down the steps. Clink, clink, clink. It hits the plush grass, silenced.

It was inevitable, anyway. Whether to the virus, or your own hands, your father was going to die.

It was a mercy-kill, at best.

Vengeance at worst.

But that didn’t matter anymore, because when you turned around, he was there.

Negan.

Standing in the kitchen, watching you through the open door. He didn’t appear horrified, or disgusted. Maybe unsettled, sure. There was a darkness within you that he recognised, understood. Sure, he didn’t put it there, but over the years he would cultivate it, guide you. Raise you as somebody who would never be taken advantage of again.

Untouchable.

[grappleghosts]

AEW Feels Like a 90's Sitcom (And Why That's A Good Thing)

There's been something bugging me about "All Elite Wrestling" lately.

For weeks now, there's been a certain nostalgia to the twice-a-week program that I just haven't been able to place.

It's a living, breathing anecdote to good old 90's nostalgia.

The Ensemble Cast & Formula:

Sitcoms rely on a diverse cast of characters to strike a balance and keep people coming back every week. Amidst the brand's high-octane matches and fiery promos, its structure and storytelling truly revive what I loved about 90's television.

Each member of its expansive roster have such distinct personalities that at times, I wish we'd see more of. Nonetheless, AEW captures a close - if not the exact formula of "alternative media."

A hallmark of 90’s sitcoms was their ability to tell self-contained stories while also weaving in larger arcs. The 'All Elite' employ a similar approach. They tie in broader narratives with an oddly .. complex 'comedy gold' that we look forward to every week.

The Roster & Their Sitcom Counterparts:

It's easy to see how AEW's larger than life stars are worthy of their own "90's intro parody". Think as if "Too Many Cooks" & "Full House" had their own twisted and dysfunctional reboot.

As much as I'd love to analyze the entire roster, I'm not that insane.

1.) Maxwell Jacob Friedman (MJF) & Frasier Crane.

Frasier Crane and MJF are performers who thrive on attention and validation. Undoubtedly, two sides to the exact same coin.

(Years on TV: 1993-2004)

Similar Traits:

A taste for theatrics: While Frasier Crane's life is filled with his own dramatic blunders - MJF shamelessly brings the drama with him wherever he goes.

Overconfidence: Both men radiate a bold self-assurance. They each have a knack for flaunting their intellectual prowess. Utilizing more than a touch of arrogance along the way.

Self Absorption: MJF's famous line, "I am better than you in every single way, and you know it," is self explanatory. Frasier's ego is rooted in culture, but they both take pride in setting impossible standards.

At the end of the day;

Frasier Crane and MJF are showmen who crave the spotlight. They wield their sharp humor, charm, and over-sized egos in fancy suits.

2.) Harley Cameron & Kimmy Gibbler

(Years on TV/Pre-reboot: 1987-1995)

Main. Character. Energy.

I know that they're seen as 'secondary characters', BUT they are far from it. Both of their antics are pivotal for comedic relief but beautifully displays their strengths.

Similar Traits:

Unapologetically Quirky: Whilst they may seem unconventional or out-of-place, without their humor the main plot would be much more dull.

Confident: This is the cornerstone of why I believe this comparison fits. They are unshakably self-assured. Never failing to speak their minds and express themselves in oddball ways. While unconventional, there's never a staleness and always a level of unpredictability.

Thrive Under The Spotlight: Often inserting themselves into conversations or situations, Harley and Kimmy immediately take center stage. No matter how brief it may seem.

These two gals are important to the equation.

They bring a natural enhancement- like salt to sweet, to the dynamics of those they’re on screen with.

3.) The Learning Tree (Jericho, Bill & Keith) & The Simpson's bully squad (Jimbo, Dolph & Kearney.)

Same energy:

Hierarchy, plain and simple.

Both of these trios are notorious shit starters and troublemakers.

Similar Traits:

Unconventional Leadership: Let's be honest, in their own ways both Jericho and Jimbo pull the strings in their own ways. With an aura of cartoonish coolness and love of immaturity? The shoe indeed fits. Jericho’s mentorship of Big Bill and Bryan Keith? Strangely mirrors Jimbo’s informal guidance of Dolph and Kearney. AEW is by all means their proverbial 'playground'.

The Enforcer: Big Bill and Kearney take their places on the field solely as 'the muscle' here. They both step in to reinforce the groups utter intimidation and sheer dominance. Not a thought goes on behind their eyes though, honestly.

The Rising Star: Bryan Keith and Dolph are both the mostly silent yet hungry types in their respective groups. Under their mentorships, they have the most to prove but show equal promise. These two bring a well rounded energy needed to complete their units. The groups arguably wouldn't be the same without them.

The dynamics are eerily striking once you put them under a microscope.

Well, that was a journey. Huh?

I could honestly make this idea an entire series. It was difficult enough to narrow down the list to cover.

I'd definitely want to hear YOUR thoughts on these comparisons.

[falconearring]

Hello Falcon, first off LOVE you're AU and designs, their so unique. I was just curious and I don't think anyone's ever asked this but.. What did everyone do before the Apocalypse? Aside from Scar which you already answered. :)

Hi hi! So happy to hear you're enjoying! I think here and there I've mentioned bits and pieces of some character's pre-apocalypse lives, but never all at once. Here's a comprehensive list of everybody's prior occupations, with some supplementary info for the characters that I've thought about the most.

Etho worked on an industrial farm. He was mainly tasked with planting and harvesting vegetables, and other miscellaneous labor tasks. When he wasn't working, he spent much of his time with Cleo and Bdubs. He's notorious for leaving his flip phone on the kitchen counter in his apartment when he goes out for the day, so it can be a bit difficult to get a hold of him. In general, he's pretty content with his life, and enjoys the routine his job offers.

Joel sort of just goes through the motions. He works a number of minimum wage jobs during his adult years, and doesn't really do much else. It isn't until the apocalypse, when he starts to meet new people and he realizes being lonely sucked. If you ask him, though, he's never felt lonely in his entire life-that would just be silly.

Grian spends his late childhood learning how to cook in a local restaurant. The owner and staff look after him best they can, but despite their hospitality, he resolves one day to grab as much cash as possible and head to a seaside town to start his early adult life. There he finds a small funeral home, and lands an apprenticeship only because they could really use the help and the owner themselves isn’t particularly concerned if they have to cut corners. It isn’t long before his inexperience starts to cause problems, and he takes off yet again when it comes to light the name he had been going by was stolen from an obituary a few cities over. He continues as he was, from place to place and name to name. It’s become somewhat routine for him to cheat every person he comes into contact with, in some way shape or form.

Scar, as we discussed in this post, has an extensive criminal history. Him and Grian somewhat deserve each other in that regard.

Cleo does a lot of crafting in their free time. I don't think I ever decided what she does for work, but on the side she does jewelry making, pottery, crotchet and a bit of sewing. She often sells some of what she makes, or gifts it to friends.

Bdubs does a trades program and is just starting out doing construction work. He takes up drawing as a hobby, mainly life drawing. His two best friends are his whole entire world, baby! He somewhat struggles with his independence, and usually wants to spend his time with Etho and Cleo.

Martyn is a hypnotherapist who specializes in past and future life progressions/regressions. He also claims to be a surgeon, but it's unclear what kind or when exactly he got a PhD.

Bigb was a racecar driver. Later in his career, he switched from cars to offroad motorcycle racing. He fell in love with modifying bikes and became a really knowledgeable mechanic.

Tango was a paramedic. Not much time for anything, but when he can he usually would meet up with some of his buddies to play board games.

Ren worked at the saw mill where Etho's friends are set up. At the time, he was living in a cabin in the woods not far from his work. He was somewhat of a hermit, and he has all sorts of woodsy knowledge and equipment at the ready.

Impulse has a bachelors of engineering and worked as an electrician for a few years. Loved his job, loved having to take out all his piercings most days a lot less. He's always been very close with his brother, Skizz, and they meet up often.

Skizz worked a 9-5 office job, and genuinely could not be any happier about it. He's the type of person to make extra time to exercise, or wake up early just to have some quiet time.

Pearl was an art student on exchange from Australia. She has a passion for installation pieces and painting. Some of her work is a bit strange.

Mumbo was a programmer. What did he program? I don't know. I'm sorry Mumbo fans. If it's any consolation he is so disoriented and so scared and so stressed.

Jimmy lived on a small farm with his family. It was all he knew growing up, and it was all he really knew going into adulthood.

Lizzie had a part time job at an aquarium in her town. She gave tours and sometimes did workshops with the kids where she did aquatic themed arts and crafts.

Scott.... I have a hard time imagining what he was up to before everything happened. Who can say for sure what he did in his spare time? (<- the guy who is writing the AU and can't think of an answer)

Hopefully this is helpful! Sorry some of it is more sparse than other parts. Take care, thank you for reading ^_^

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Vil Schoenheit - Apprentice Chef Vignette

"Master Chef"

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Vil Version ～Let's Make Chocolate Cake 1～

Ghost Chef: I know you said you wanted to take the Master Chef course so you can appear on a cooking show…

Ghost Chef: But I can only teach you how to cook. I don't know anything about television programming.

Vil: I completely understand that. My purpose here is only to strengthen my cooking prowess.

Vil: As I learn the proper techniques and gain experience, each movement I make will start to naturally refine, wouldn't you say?

Ghost Chef: I get it. I feel a bit better after hearing that, Vil-kun. Alright, let's get started on a Chocolate Cake!

Vil: A classic pastry, everyone's favorite. I suppose I should pre-heat the oven.

Ghost Chef: Oh, nicely done. Set it to 180°C.

Vil: Set it for 180°C and… It's now pre-heating. So then, I'll start the prep now.

Ghost Chef: Crack open the eggs into the bowl, then add the granulated sugar. Mix it thoroughly until it's white and thick.

Vil: I understand. Now that I'm taking a look at the ingredients before me, I see that we'll be using a lot more granulated sugar than I had expected.

Vil: It reminds me of the first time I made dressing, I was taken aback by the amount of oil needed for it…

Vil: Unless you make it yourself, there's no telling what kind and how much of certain ingredients are in a dish.

[mixes batter]

Vil: I've been stirring and letting it take in oxygen… It's starting to become fluffy and white.

Ghost Chef: Look at you, moving your hands and speaking at the same time. Is that something you'd have to do on those TV shows?

Vil: That's right. If all I do is cook silently, that would be completely uninteresting, wouldn't you say?

Vil: On top of that, my own pride wouldn't let me appear as though I lack the know-how.

Ghost Chef: Hmmm, that's pretty rough… Alright, go ahead and stir in the cocoa powder and wheat flour.

Vil: I see they're already mixed together. Now I'll just sift it properly so there are no lumps…

Ghost Chef: Nice, well done. Mix it all well together with the rubber spatula as if you're trying to slice it.

Vil: I just need to scoop the batter from the bottom of the bowl and make sure it evenly blends together… Baking cake is much more laborious than I thought.

Vil: Everything has been tidied up, and I've finished making the apricot jam for the cake.

Ghost Chef: The cake sponge has probably cooled enough by now. Try popping it out from the mold.

Vil: Right. …The cake slid out of the mold just like the recipe said it would. Very nice.

Ghost Chef: Alright, now pour the apricot jam you made earlier onto the surface.

Ghost Chef: And spread it evenly across all sides with a palette knife.

Vil: So a thin layer of the jam is spread over the sponge-like surface, to help smooth it out.

Vil: This is exactly how it would be preparing to apply makeup.

Vil: Especially if I think of the jam as the primer, and the chocolate as the foundation.

Ghost Chef: Ahaha. That's an interesting way to put it. Now, let's make the chocolate glaçage.

Ghost Chef: Put the chocolate in the bowl and melt it by immersing the bowl in hot water.

Vil: And then I stir it with the rubber spatula like so… It's starting to melt from around the edges.

Vil: As the chocolate warms, its sweet scent starts to pervade the air.

Ghost Chef: Heh, maybe that aroma will even be trailing out of this kitchen.

Ghost Chef: Oh, looks like the chocolate has all melted. Next, immerse the bottom of the bowl in cold water.

Vil: We just melted it, and now you want me to cool it?

Ghost Chef: Yep. By applying heat and cold repetitively, the cocoa butter in the chocolate can crystallize.

Ghost Chef: When you temper in this way, you can make a velvety rich chocolate glaçage.

Vil: I understand. I'll make sure that this cake is enveloped by the most gorgeous chocolate glaçage you've ever seen.

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Vil Version ～Let's Make Chocolate Cake 2～

Vil: So, we lower the temperature of the chocolate by immersing it in cold water… and then warm it before it hardens?

Ghost Chef: That's right. And don't let up on the stirring. The slightest change in temperature can affect it.

Vil: I can't allow myself to get distracted one bit, hm. I need to be able to continue conversation even while concentrating on the task at hand.

[tempers chocolate]

Ghost Chef: Wow. Tempering is a pretty difficult task, but you did pretty good for your first time!

Vil: Temperature management is just as important in potionology, you see. Even a 1°C difference can transform a potion into poison.

Ghost Chef: I see. I guess your potionology knowledge came in handy, then.

Vil: There's also the way the recipe needs to be fully understood and followed to the letter and the ingredients need to be carefully prepared, measured and mixed in…

Vil: As well as how everything needs to be thoroughly blended together until the desired outcome is realized… Potions and baking have much in common.

Vil: Those who have a penchant for potions and poisons could have what it takes to be a pâtisserie.

Ghost Chef: I-I think it's a little scary to think about how the ability to craft poisons could help bake sweets.

Vil: Joking aside… How does the chocolate glaçage look now?

Ghost Chef: Perfect. That's all you'll need for the tempering. Time to finish the cake!

Ghost Chef: The trick here is to take the palette knife and spread the chocolate before it cools and hardens completely.

Vil: To present a beautiful cake, the chocolate must be uniformly spread over the total surface.

Vil: I only need to think of it as though I am applying foundation after having used primer on the face already.

Vil: Alright, I'm ready to pour the glaçage now.

Vil: The cake sponge is now completely covered in the glaçage. Now I'll use the palette knife as if it were a make-up spatula…

Vil: …LIKE THIS!

Ghost Chef: A-Amazing! Usually, we'll get amateurs overusing the palette knife and leaving lines everywhere, but…

Ghost Chef: You've not a single wasteful movement! What a beautiful display…

Vil: Heh, done to perfection. This is my masterpiece, combining techniques from both make up and potionology.

Ghost Chef: It looks so smooth and shiny and beautiful. It would be a shame to cut into it.

Vil: I fully agree… But I suppose we must head to the judging venue momentarily.

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Idia: I thought I'd just order a choco cake to get a quick sugar high but then… Next thing I know, I'm dragged into this mess...

Vil: So, my judge is Idia, I see. I'm rather surprised you ordered the chocolate cake.

Idia: HIEE! N-N-N-NO WAY, VIL-SHI!?

Idia: Th-There's no way I'm getting out of this without an earful no matter what I say. I'll just smash the like button, so can I go…?

Vil: Stop thinking and tell me what you honestly think. Here, have a taste.

Idia: I-I just need to eat and get this over with… [chew, chew]…

Idia: …I…I g-guess… it's good…?

Idia: Tho this is just a singular opinion… It in no way guarantees or endorses the actual flavor of the product…

Ghost Chef: Uhh, right, so I guess that's a passing grade then. Good job, Vil-kun.

Vil: Indeed, thank you. But more importantly…

Idia: Y-YOU'RE THE ONE WHO ASKED ME TO JUDGE, WHAT DO YOU MEAN MORE IMPORTANTLY!?

Vil: I wonder how I looked while cooking. Let's check the camera footage.

Ghost Chef: …Ah! You recorded yourself with your smartphone while cooking!? I didn't even notice!!

Idia: His eyes are just glued to that video… Despite deleting my comment from his IRL feed…

Vil: There doesn't seem to be many issues with how I do any of the basic techniques, like breaking eggs, or mixing the batter.

Vil: The issue is with tempering. I was so focused on the task that I couldn't spare a single glance towards the camera…

Vil: My conversation level dropped immensely. It seems I still have much to improve on.

Vil: Not only do I need to present my food beautifully, but myself as well.

Requested by @sakurakudo and @dare-to-walk-alone.

[artbyblastweave]

i dont know anything about fallout except its a wild west postnuclear survivor game and there’s a jaunty lil dude who’s always giving you a thumbsup? Anyway i would love to know your thoughts on water collection/distribution and/or the economy of mended stuff.

sorry your brain is on the brink

In the context of fallout? The post-nuclear Water economy is the backbone of three different games; the plot of the first involves you getting kicked out of your fancy underground Bunker City in order to find replacement parts for the water filtration system, and the rudimentary post-apocalyptic society you explore uses a currency backed on the water standard (in lieu of the Gold Standard- one bottlecap for one bottle of water.). Water Merchants (those with access to water towers, etc) are power players in the nascent political ecosystem. The (not-very-well-considered) plot of the third game involves trying to get a widespread water purification program working for the DC area. And the central conflict of New Vegas (sometimes referred to as "the really good one,") consists of the local powers brawling over control of the still-functional Hoover Dam due to the control it would provide over the regions freshwater and electricity supply.

I liked New Vegas's take on the scavenged-equipment economy the best. The setting shift to Nevada (previous games by the same writing team being in California) is in part meant to reflect that people back west have simply run out of old-world materials to scavenge, and are now back to living in actual cities that they build out of novel materials, eating food they grow and cook- which makes for a boring place to set a game, hence the shift to the "frontier" of Vegas, where you'll encounter neo-western "prospectors" (scavengers) looking for new claims to tap for pre-war resources to supplement what re-industrialized society can produce. Many of the weapons and armor-sets you use and fight against are encountered in a mad-max style environment, but many of them aren't implausibly-still-in-use antiques- they're being manufactured by a largely off-screen 21st-century-styled liberal-democratic society that's rebuilt enough to redevelop mass consumption and arms conglomerates, the negative externalities of which are spilling out to affect those on the frontier.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Sunday Service

First Lady of Private Garden Instagram AU

Liked by jackharlow, saweetie, theestallion, urbanwyatt, jaysontatum, druski2funny, privategarden, and 1,286,004 others

y/ninsta: I'm Backkkkkkkkkkkk. Did you miss me? Sunday Service dropping Friday. Pre save it now! 😘💕

normani: well it's about damn time! saweetie: we stan. what paprika gonna say about this one? blancahood: PAPRIKA?!?! HELPPPPPPPPPP theestallion: can't wait for this, I know my good sis is about to EAT y/ninsta: saweetie you are a hot ass mess and you know it lmao dualipa: glad to see that jackharlow is letting you out the house more these days jackharlow: now why am I in it? dualipa don't start with me today, my kids got me stressed out enough and you are NOT helping claybornharlow: produced by the one and only little baby saweetie: y/ninsta I call it like I see it. We make pretty bitch music and there's nothing but talent on this end. can't say the same thing about her. Tryna throw shade and I'm about to throw the whole damn rainforest. don't come for my bestie who isn't thinking about you jackandy/naremyparents: MUVA is backkkkkkk!!! dualipa: jackharlow send them my way and I guarantee you that they are about to be on their best behavior jackharlow: dualipa not with the youngest one starting to bite people y/ninsta: jackharlow AHT AHT! she was probably hungry and we know you can't cook. not too much on my youngest now. druski2funny: I knew from the beginning that those triplets were going to be problem children y/ninsta: druski2funny leave my babies aloneeeee the only problem child I have is jackharlow jessicakelce: saweetie said what she said and ate and left no crumbs y/ninsta: saweetie only one of us is going to be here for the long run and it's the one who's married to jackharlow 😜 allthingsy/n: talk yo shit mamas, at least we know you can back it up jackharlow: everyday I stray further and further from knowing what peace feels like and not you calling me a problem child smh saweetie: y/ninsta OOP let her know! between her and the girl that has a daddy with no neck, they coming for the wrong person urbanwyatt: saweetie NOT THE DADDY WITH NO NECK quiiso: 😭😭😭😭😭😭 y/ninsta: jackharlow love you smush 😘

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, taylorrooks, saweetie, 2forwoyne, cardib, sza, and 2,065,139 others

y/ninsta: every time yall book me with them hoes it's gon be big drama 🤭🤭

blancahood: here for the pettiness and the pettiness only y/ninsta: blancahood I'm innocent sis saweetie: y/ninsta well I'm not. STREAM SUNDAY SERVICE!!!! 2forwoyne: GET IN THE BOOTH BITCH theestallion: hard work and grinding pays off. what a luxury it is to shoot up the charts by being a tik tok rapper without actual talent. when I see her imma tell her to freestyle on the spot. jessicakelce: theestallion don't set yourself up to be disappointed like that lmao cardib: yall messy in these comments and I'M HERE FOR IT allthingsy/n: one thing's for sure and two thing's for certain, y/ninsta's girls are always going to have her back sza: now we all know y/ninsta can fight and I would never want to be on the receiving end soooo good luck with that lol y/ninsta: sza that is the old me! I'm mature now! jackharlow: y/ninsta this morning you tried to fight the delivery guy because he dropped your package y/ninsta: jackharlow he damn near threw that shit. it had FRAGILE written on it and he was acting like he couldn't read. not my damn fault. he was asking for it. jackharlow: ladies and gentlemen, my wife y/ninsta urbanwyatt: y/ninsta I fully support your actions jackharlow: urbanwyatt DON'T ENCOURAGE HER claybornharlow: y/ninsta I support you too, forever and always y/ninsta: the people love me, jackharlow get with the program jackharlow: y/ninsta just terrorizing me since day one smh y/ninsta: jackharlow would it help if I told you that your money paid for what was in the package? jackharlow: beat his ass

Liked by jackharlow, saweetie, neelamthadhani, urbanwyatt, normani, champagnepapi, theshaderoom, and 2,816,002 others

y/ninsta: when you ask your husband to send you a selfie because you miss him. Look at my pookie 🥹

I love you long time big baby 😘💕

jackharlow: 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈 jaysontatum: he knows where home is y/ninsta: jayson, don't you muthafuckin start with me urbanwyatt: the girlies are fightinggggggggg druski2funny: wait, what about me?! y/ninsta: keyword: HUSBAND. as in he's MINE. go and find yall own smh jackharlow: y/ninsta remember that one time you told me to try and return you without the receipt? the receipt being our marriage certificate that you tried to set on fire when you were drunk? y/ninsta: jackharlow that is my past and therefore I do not live there anymore saweetie: lmaooooooooo urbanwyatt: all I remember is her having matches and running with them as jackharlow was jumping over couches to try and stop her. good times. jackharlow: urbanwyatt you would encourage this smh urbanwyatt: jackharlow that's my bestie and imma stick beside her jackharlow: urbanwyatt AND I'M NOT? urbanwyatt: jackharlow you are, I just love to see her terrorizing you jackharlow: smh it be your own first born y/ninsta: two more days until I get to see my big babyyyyyyy jackharlow: you better be ready for me 👀 y/ninsta: jackharlow if you stay ready, you ain't gotta get ready 👀

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, cardib, taylorrooks, generationnow, shloob_, softtcurse, blancahood, and 1,843,951 others

y/ninsta: oh look, it's my husband 😍😍😍

You are such a dad now and that's what the outfit is giving lmao jackharlow 🤣🤣

jackharlow: these damn kids got me fighting for my life smh y/ninsta: jackharlow and yet you want more? jackharlow: y/ninsta we're having a basketball team y/ninsta: jackharlow in what universe and with whose vagina? saweetie: you gonna fold one way or another. you always do. y/ninsta: saweetie don't encourage him urbanwyatt: the fact that he was almost late because of baby number three y/ninsta: urbanwyatt she is the no limit soldier lmao jack can't tell her no because she looks like him, but acts like me dualipa: y/ninsta if you need me to save you, blink twice jessicakelce: dualipa lmaooooooo jackharlow: dualipa you, y/ninsta, claybornharlow and my kids be the reason I'm stressed all the time and I don't like it claybornharlow: I am literally just sitting here minding my business jackharlow: claybornharlow THIS TIME and this is a rare occurrence y/ninsta: cut it out you two! smh, I'm already raising enough children between my triplets, jack, my pets, and pg 2forwoyne: now what did we do this time?! y/ninsta: 2forwoyne idk, but I'll find out soon enough because I always do jackharlow: y/ninsta not you calling me one of the children again y/ninsta: jackharlow a mother's job is never done, maggieharlow BACK ME UP maggieharlow: y/ninsta I did what I could with him, and he's your responsibility now lol jackharlow: not yall throwing me under the bus smh saweetie: jackharlow they more so catapulted you lmao

[strangegutz]

i still don't 100% understand how much one is allowed to put their blorbos into the Heartbreak Gulch-verse, but. what sorta rules would there be for making a CompanDroid character. if other people can even make one. asking for a friend

I'll write up a more formal rundown eventually, but I'll warn you, if you make a CompanDroid, there will probably be something that comes up later that'll negate what you made!

First off, they're uncommon. They were very expensive, and haven't been made for roughly 60 years. Eddie is a pretty old ComDro at 83, he was pre-ordered and number 13 off the line. He's also in great working condition for his age, part of turning to crime was a necessity to afford repairs and maintenance.

There's 26 set models, 13 men and 13 women, one for each letter of the alphabet. A male, B female, so on. Not all are planned out, so there's your wiggle room for design. They were modeled in pairs, and modeled after various celebrities. For example, Model E's, which is what Eddie is, were modeled after a heartthrob Mexican actor, and the Model F counterpart was a Mexican Miss Universe winner. G and H are older folks, G taking the likeness of a children's programming host, and H a cooking show host. I haven't pinned down specific roles for others, but have looks in mind, like A & B being very Ken and Barbie looking bombshells. They range from young adult to elderly.

There were standard and deluxe editions. Standard models are unable to eat, drink, smoke, have sex, other bodily functions. Deluxe versions add all of that. Some models did not have a deluxe option. Deluxe upgrade kits were also available- Eddie himself had an after-party upgrade.

ETA: There's some variations in hairstyles as well- for example, Eddie looks different than a base Model E because his buyer paid extra for an option to have him resemble a role his face-sake played in a western film- hence the very cowboy facial hair

That's all I can think of for now! Run wild and free with your blorbos, just keep in mind how little I've put out there and how much can change haha

[mymistakewriting]

911 Lone Star: 126 & Culture

Hi, this post has been in the works for... a while. I got about halfway through it, got sick, and then looked it back over and scrapped the entire thing to restart because I couldn't find my train of thought again. It happens, and unfortunately it caused this to take far longer than I would have ever liked for it to.

And seeing as the LS section of the 911 fandom isn't usually rabid, I don't feel as much need to issue the typical "hey if it looks like I'm hating on a character, I'm not, I've got source material for any criticism of a character" thing, but this particular post does come with the additional comment of: this is discussing culture. As such, I've tried to do my research and approach the topics with care, but if I misrepresent something, I would love corrections - just please be respectful when offering them. I'm always happy to learn about other cultures.

As an additional note, to any who celebrate: Ramadan Mabarak!

Without further ado, onto the content.

First and foremost, I'd like to pay mention to the original culture of the 126 pre-Owen. It's a firehouse in Austin, Texas. It's steeped in your standard Southern Culture. This is a culture I'm very familiar with, as someone who's spent their entire life in the deep south. Judd and how he and Grace approach things will absolutely be the reference points I make for those unfamiliar with the culture, as they're the ones representing that within the 126 community and extended families.

Judd and Grace are deeply religious (yes, Judd has his hangups and he's lost his faith a time or two, but it happens), but they're religious in the way Christians are truly meant to be. They don't force their beliefs on others for all that I guarantee you they have a prayer list. They're absolutely church on Sunday, sunrise service on Easter, community outreach programs and all.

Grace approaches things in the way of "may I pray for / with you" when things get hard. Her faith is a foundational pillar and a relatively unshakable one at that. She's also the one that taught those in the 126 that weren't from the South just how diverse a meaning "bless your heart" has. She's also the leading figure of "there's nothing scarier than an angry southern lady".

Judd, on the other hand, doesn't lean religious due to his own personal relationship with it. He's the side of Southern Culture that's all acts of service to be neighborly, remembers everyone's names that he can. He's the guy you call when you get stuck on a backroad somewhere and need a lift, or if you need a hand setting something up.

I also believe that Judd's particular brand of Southern Hospitality extended to him looking into the cultures being brought in with the new members of the 126 so that he could start learning and support his new family members - don't tell me that man didn't ask Marjan if she wanted the rest of them to fast alongside her during Ramadan the second he learned it was a thing. I'll call you a liar.

I also believe he was the one that put the time and effort into ensuring the firehouse only ever shopped local or at halal markets. Man's got a list in his phone that he double and triple checked to make sure they never brought anything into that firehouse that someone couldn't eat. They all eat the same thing when they cook, he's made sure of it.

Additionally, Carlos' close proximity to the 126 means he also brings in the mix of Southern and Mexican heritage. Food is a love language to him, and he absolutely brings meals in on the hard shifts when he isn't also working.

TK being jewish on his mother's side also brings in some interesting dynamics. While canon suggests he doesn't actively observe that part of his culture aside from a few small nods, I do fully believe he rarely breaks the habit of eating kosher. No pork is allowed at the firehouse due to this (a loss that Judd certainly mourned). But he doesn't bring in a lot of cultural influence other than food restrictions. Occasionally, prayer does come up with him - I do fully believe that is something he uses outside of just when he's dying of hypothermia, thank you.

Marjan probably has the heaviest cultural impact on the firehouse. The team has certainly helped her find safe spots to set up for her daily prayers, they share iftar with her when at work for it so she doesn't break her fast alone during Ramadan.

Additionally! I fully believe Nancy and Captain Vega keep extra magents and pins in their lockers / office respectively because hijab accessories are SUPER hard to keep up with.

Obviously, there's other cultural habits, and some of them come from varying places because the 126 has someone from pretty much every corner of the country, but it's hard to cover everything to detail.

Basically, the 126 is both a family and a cultural safe haven within the community, and I really do think that's beautiful. And while I certainly have my issues with Owen Strand as a character, I think he did wonderfully at putting together such a diverse team to create that community.

[rachelbethhines]

Things That I Use To Help Manage My ADHD and Executive Dysfunction

1. To Do Lists

I know, I know.

Making a list is boring. I lose the paper. I forget to make the to do list.

Believe me, I know.

I've been there, but trust me it does help once you get into the habit.

Here's some tips on how to get started

Try making your list in a digital app or a document file so you don't lose it

Sticky notes in a place you're sure to see them

An erasable board like a marker board or a chalkboard that you keep up in a specific place and never move. Like on the wall or the fridge.

Put "make 'to do' list" on the to do list so you don't forget to do it

Set aside a certain time to fill out or check off the list each day. Consistency is key.

Use calendars, alarms, and timers liberally to keep track of appointments and to manage your time so you don't hyper-focus on something to the determinant of more important things

But be flexible for things that don't have deadlines or appointments. Don't beat yourself up if something doesn't get done, just add it back onto the list for next time

2. Randomizers

Part of the problem with executive dysfunction is being overwhelmed by choice. So I keep a few randomizer websites booked marked that I use regularly

Wheel pickers

List randomizers

Random number generators

Like I keep my list of projects on a wheel picker app. And my chores that I don't have deadlines for on another. When making my to do list I'll spin the wheel to pick the project or chore that I'm going to work on that day.

I do the same when picking out albums to listen to or movies to watch so I don't go doom scrolling while wasting time deciding.

3. Meal Planning

Similar to the above, I take one day out of the week to draw up my meal plan for the next week.

Use this time to take stock of your pantry and fridge. What needs to get used up?

Anything special you want to fix over the week or weekend? Save the recipes to a document or leave a bookmark in your cookbook

Overwhelmed with choices or just don't know what to do with certain ingredients? Try a randomizer or an app like supercook to come up with ideas.

After you've taken inventory of your kitchen and figured out any special recipes you want to make, go ahead and fill out your grocery list

Set aside time on your to do list for shopping, meal prep, and cooking through out the week.

Pre-plan what days/times you are going to eat out or get takeout and work that into the meal plan/budget

Budget not only your money but also your time. How long will this recipe take to prep/cook? How much effort will it require of me? Is there any shortcuts I can take to make things easier, like buying my veggies already diced?

Try using an app to keep track of your meal plan, grocery list, and recipes so that they're all in one place

4. Mental Health Apps

I like Booster Buddy, but it's no longer supported for newer devices. I have also used Finch. But at the end of the day it doesn't matter which app you choose.

The point of having a program dedicated for mental health is to have a handy way to check in on yourself and see how you are feeling. Many apps will offer visual cues to allow you to break down your motivation and energy levels.

This will help give you a guideline for the day so you don't stretch yourself too thin.

A good app will also offer little suggestions and tips to help improve your mood or provide genteel reminders for small things that help with self care.

But most importantly it will help you spot patterns over time so you can better notice ongoing problems or see gradual changes as you get better.

5. Finding and Avoiding What Triggers My Dissociation

This is the hardest one.

I suffer from Maladaptive Daydreaming on top everything else which only makes my ADD and Executive Dysfunction even worse.

For others it maybe obsessive compulsion or a tendency to hyper-focus.

Things that I found that can be triggers are boredom, anxiety, isolation, health/dietary complications, and even the weather.

So here's some things I noticed that help

Set aside a certain time during the day to read/watch the news and then ignore it for the rest of the day. Yes be informed, but don't obsess.

Get your news from actual reputable news sources and not social media! Avoid algorithms feeding you negativity.

If you want to be more politically active schedule time for it, get involved with actual charities or political organizations, and then go about your regular business afterwards

Limit social media time. For me it's mornings before work for about 30mins, and then maybe an hour after work.

Curate your online experience. Block what you need to. Unfollow who you see fit. Social media should be fun not stressful.

Talk to other people! Make plans to hang out on weekends or call/text someone during the weekday. Try to make contact with another human being in some form everyday for at least a few mins, even if it's just online in a discord chat.

Have a book or notepad handy for when you get bored at work. Read, write, or draw during your downtime so you don't start staring off into space.

Keep a short list of fun things to do handy if you feel bored at home.

Set aside time to daydream/worry/plan/meditate/decompress. You need to mentally unwind at some point. The goal is to have that time per-planned so that it doesn't distract from other needed tasks. Getting into a routine with that time will also help.

Eating enough iron/vitamin C/protein ect. Food is energy and you need energy to focus. Meal planning will help with this.

TAKE YOUR MEDS!!!

Sometimes the weather will make you groggy, irritated, or anxious. There's not much you can do about this other than to accept it and just try your best.

You can however plan for bad weather ahead of time. Go to the National Weather site to find out about upcoming weather in your area and to figure what you need to be prepared for it. Try getting into the habit of doing this regularly.

[lets-try-some-writing]

has optimus ever been horribly sick before? (other than cybonic plague)

Short answer. Yes. I am primarily an angst writer, of course my dear blorbo has suffered from illness.

═════════════════

Before and during the war as a general rule, Optimus never really got sick. His health was always kept as a top priority while he served under Alpha Trion and he was swarmed by medics enough during the war to ensure most plague could not touch him. That said, there were two instances where he was ill that were worthy of note, one pre war and one during.

Back when he was not yet a Prime, Orion only travelled to secure locations if he travelled at all. He was an archivist, he did not go into the dark and gritty parts of Cybertron. If he made journeys, it was to other archives across Cybertron to collect and corroborate data. His firewalls and immune systems were specialized to handle the viruses found amongst the middle and high caste mecha. He could quite easily walk off a software attack, system glitches, and all sorts of other viruses intended to weaken the fine and sensitive parts of a mech. But the things that targeted hardware and the frame as a whole? He was not at all prepared for those when he made his trip down to Kaon for the first time.

He was so focused on speaking and coming to agreements with Megatronus that when his venting started to sputter and he felt cold, it came as quite a surprise. He tried to ignore it, being far too enthralled with speaking with the mech he had been looking up to that when he finally collapsed after attempting to get up, he was left in shock. Megatronus saw the signs of ventilation failure and thankfully booked Orion to the nearest medical center with Orion offering paperwork as needed to allow the gladiator to move as needed.

By the time Orion actually made it to the hospital, he was already beginning to suffer from full ventilation failure. He spent the next three cycles confined to a berth hooked up to both a heater and a set of ventilators. His frame was unable to regulate its own temperature as his immune system fought off the virus attacking his systems. It was its own form of agony and he could barely move without feeling as though he were cooking alive or being frozen to death. There was no comfortable middle for Orion Pax. Thankfully Megatronus came to visit him in the hospital after forcing his way in. The gladiator apologized for Orion's situation to which the archivist laughed. Orion should have known better than to visit a new city state without getting proper firewalls installed. He made that quite clear, and soon enough, despite Orion feeling like total slag and hardly being able to speak without wheezing, he and Megatronus has a pleasant time discussing everything and anything as they were before Orion grew ill.

Orion had to wear a ventilation filter over his vents and had a heater strapped to his back that was similarly fitted over his vents for a stellar cycle afterward. However it was of little consequence as the situation repeated itself but in reverse around a vorn after the incident when Megatronus came to visit Iacon and got a nasty case of protocol override virus attacks. The gladiator was lift reeling and Orion was there all throughout to converse with him and make light jokes regarding his own prior stint will illness in Kaon.

During the war there was no such levity when it came to illness. Optimus was a Prime and fitted with enough firewalls from the Matrix to keep just about any virus for touching him. But of course, as the Decepticons began their biological warfare program, old firewalls were rendered useless. Optimus was on the frontlines when it happened, and thus he was one of the first to be rendered bedridden by the prototype cybonic plague. It most certainly wasn't lethal, but the mecha who had it were left purging their tanks unable to keep energon down and left in agony as their very energon was corroded. To handle it their energon had to constantly be drained and replaced via IV's to ensure they survived. It was a form of torture, but one Optimus took fairly well all things considered.

He continued to move around and work once the worst of it wore off and merely carried a bucket around with him so that when his systems demanded a purge he could walk off for a moment and do what needed to be done with a degree of grace. He was miserable, but he was functional and carried around an IV and energon pack hooked up to his fuel lines as he worked on internal affairs' as he recovered. All that made the situation better was Bumblebee, who was still very young at the time, drawing Optimus pictures and making him 'get well soon' cards. It was sweet and made enduring the suffering of the prototype virus easier to bear.

[p5x-theories]

Motoha's Confidant

(last updated 4/19/25!)

This post documents the fully filled-in information on Motoha Arai gained through progressing her Confidant! It contains things that could be considered spoilers for her Confidant, as part of the information is a summary of its story.

Motoha is available in the afternoon most days, when it isn’t rainy. Her Confidant is tied to the Proficiency social stat, and level 17 Proficiency is required to fully complete it.

Favorite Presents

(An asterisk (*) marks the special presents added with (and unlocked through) Miyu Sahara’s Confidant, which are liked by all Confidants currently in the game.)

GOAT Baseball Bat An alloy power baseball bat to help players stand out on the field and become baseball stars!

Sports Protective Gear Wearable protective gear used during sports. The black and pink color scheme has won the Fashion Design Award at the Sports Equipment Awards.

GOAT Absorbent Towel Brightly colored, soft, and smooth absorbent towels that quickly absorb and evaporate large amounts of moisture.

GOAT Baseball Glove Made of modified leather for rugged durability, with an unparalleled feel.

GOAT Baseball Uniform Baseball uniforms printed with the team's logo are marketable and priceless collectibles.

Cat Hairpin This kitten-shaped hairpin is very cute.

Heart-Shaped Ring A ring with gemstones arranged in the shape of a heart.

Sumo-Themed Sticker Set This sumo wrestler-themed sticker set contains a variety of popular stickers and is highly collectible.

Guide to Eating While Walking A regularly-published food journal. It mainly introduces various delicacies that are highly talked about in the streets and alleys.

Limited-Edition Keychain* This keychain has a unique shape, and is well-made, but there weren’t many of it produced. It has a certain collector’s value.

Bulk Snacks Value Pack* A combo pack containing a variety of traditional snacks that will remind people of the taste of childhood.

Advanced Essential Oil Combination* A value-for-money set of essential oils, with multiple functions to help you relax your mind and body.

Chestnut Cake* Fragrant chestnut cake with mild sweetness to suit most people’s tastes.

Musical Snow Globe* A snow globe that plays music, and can be shaken gently to make snow fall inside.

Desktop Incense Machine* A household incense machine that is small in size, so it can be placed anywhere.

Everlasting Lily Flower This type of gift is widely beloved by women and represents eternal love. It is a very beautiful and touching gift.

Personal Information

Pre-Version 4.0:

Birthday: April 10th Zodiac Sign: Aries Age: 16 years old Profession: Student Height: 160 cm Weight: Secret...? Blood Type: ?? Interests: Fitness, high-calorie foods Features: Playing baseball

Version 4.0:

Birthday: April 10 Blood Type: O Age: High school second-year Profession: High school student Height: 160cm Weight: I've gained a little weight recently... Favorite Food: Mom's cooking Interests: Training, watching movies Features: I have really good eyesight!

Story

Character Details A second-year high school girl from Kokatsu Academy, and my classmate. She is good at sports in general, and is very popular at our school. She prefers to act intuitively rather than logically, and her academic performance seems to be average.

Personal Data 1 Motoha was selected for a Little League girl's baseball team when she was in elementary school. Her abilities were outstanding, and she was ranked among the Best Nine.

Personal Data 2 At that time, Motoha admired Takeyuki Kiuchi, a fellow baseball player, and regarded him as her idol. She hoped to become as good of a player as Kiuchi in the future. But after meeting Kiuchi in a Little League program, everything changed...

Personal Data 3 Motoha, who was still an elementary school student at the time, hit a fastball thrown by Kiuchi with all her strength, and soon after, Kiuchi announced his retirement from baseball. The media widely publicized that Kiuchi retired due to a physical injury sustained during a Little League program activity. Motoha, still young, believed it was her fault, and never picked up a bat again.

Personal Data 4 It was not until an encounter ten years later that Motoha finally learned the truth about the past. With regrets about everything, and anger at being deceived by Kiuchi and the media, Motoha awakened her Persona.

Personal Data 5 After successfully changing Kiuchi's heart, Motoha joined the Phantom Thieves, and made up her mind to work hard as a member of the team from now on. To this end, she started exercising again, which also included learning how to face baseball again. At Motoha's request, I became her "coach".

Personal Data 6 While accompanying Motoha in retraining, we met her former rival Tamayo Yoshida. Tamayo hoped that Motoha could return to professional baseball, and to that end, issued a challenge for her.

Personal Data 7 In order to defeat Tamayo, Motoha began training arduously. I accidentally discovered that Tamayo was also observing Motoha's constant practice. It turns out that she always admired Motoha, and considered Motoha to be a goal that she had to strive to catch up to...

Personal Data 8 Motoha was so exhausted from practicing that she almost forgot why she started exercising in the first place. Fortunately, she finally remembered her original intention, and in the process, the relationship between Motoha and I gradually changed.

Personal Data 9 After hard training, Motoha met up with Tamayo for their duel, but the result was unexpected... After the match, Motoha praised Tamayo's perseverance and strength, and the two of them, who were once good rivals, united their hearts and became friends who trust each other.

Personal Data 10 Learning to let go of victory and defeat, face reality, and continue working hard, Motoha gained a lot through this experience. Although there will definitely be battles that we can't afford to lose in the future, the rest of the Phantom Thieves and I will definitely stand by Motoha when the time comes.

Voice Lines

Japanese VA: Kaede Hondo | Chinese VA: ZhuQueCheng

(As I can only add up to ten audio files per post, I’ll only include the Japanese lines below! Feel free to ask for the Chinese ones, though.)

My name's Motoha Arai! My Phantom Thief codename is Closer. Once again, nice to meet you!

Me? Hmm... I'm the kind of person who acts as soon as something comes to mind. So on the flip side, I'm not that great at thinking over complicated problems. Hahaha...

I have to do a lot of training to improve my agility in the Metaverse... but, well... today, I worked really hard, so I can go grab a crepe, right? Right?

If I hadn't met you, I'd probably still be dragging my past along with me... So seriously, thank you again. And... let's keep working together going forward!

The Phantom Thieves are probably the only ones who can make people with distorted desires have a change of heart... so I'll keep working hard. In order to help save people like Tomoko, who are being hurt!

I've gotten used to it, but... even now I still think Ruferu is kinda strange when I see him... How should I put it, what's up with that "owl from the Metaverse"...?

Tomoko's my closest friend. We've known each other since we were kids, together in the Little League. She supports me whenever I have a problem, and of course I always want to support her too. So really... we're not just friends, we're best friends!

Confidant-Specific Bonuses

Rank 1 I See It: Unlock the ability to use Third Eye while in the batting cages.

Rank 5 Let's Work Hard Together: When a battle ends with an All Out Attack, the entire team's health will be fully restored (only works with wandering shadows in Palaces and Mementos).

Rank 9 Exercise More: Unlocks higher difficulties and new prizes at the batting cages.

Rank 13 Ready: After visiting a Safe Room, if Highlight energy isn't at 30%, gain Highlight energy up to 30% (only works with wandering shadows in Palaces and Mementos).

Rank 17 Come Here: Unlocks higher difficulties and new prizes at the batting cages.

[tubbsmccracken]

On this day - December 4, 1969

 Chicago Police Assassinate Black Panther Party Leaders Fred Hampton and Mark Clark in Pre-Dawn Raid 

Around 4:30 am on December 4, 1969, plainclothes officers from the Chicago Police Department armed with shotguns and machine guns kicked down the door of the Chicago apartment where several Black Panther Party members were staying and opened fire on them. Though the Party members were asleep at the time and posed no threat, the officers fired over 90 bullets into the apartment, killing Fred Hampton, 21, and Mark Clark, 22—two leaders of the Black Panther Party—and critically wounding four other Party members. Mr. Hampton had been asleep next to his fiancée, who was eight months pregnant when he was killed.

Following Mr. Hampton and Mr. Clark’s assassinations on December 4, seven Panthers at the apartment that night, who had allegedly wounded two officers, were charged with attempted murder. In a statement released after the shooting, Edward Hanrahan, the Cook County state’s attorney who had ordered the violent raid, said: “The immediate, violent, criminal reaction of the occupants in shooting at announced police officers emphasizes the extreme viciousness of the Black Panther Party.”

Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale formed the Black Panther Party for Self Defense in Oakland, California, in 1966. Spurning civil rights tactics of marches, sit-ins, and boycotts, the Black Panther Party was inspired by the self-determination philosophy of Malcolm X and the “Black Power” speeches of Kwame Ture (born Stokely Carmichael). The Party founded youth centers and free breakfast programs, organized legally armed patrols to guard against police brutality in Black neighborhoods, and became popular among Black urban youth as chapters spread throughout the country. In the 1968-69 school year, the Black Panther Party fed as many as 20,000 children.

Despite their goals of community empowerment and self-help, the Party was condemned by President Lyndon B. Johnson and other national leaders. FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover called the group “the most dangerous threat to the internal security of the country” in the late 1960s. The FBI also launched an aggressive counterintelligence program aimed at dismantling the Black Panther Party through misinformation, infiltration, and by facilitating violent attacks against the group.

Just four days after the Chicago shooting, on December 8, the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) violently raided the Black Panther Party’s headquarters in Los Angeles, California. In 1968, as protests were spreading across the country in response to police brutality, the Southern California Chapter of the Black Panther Party formed to help combat the growing threat. The Party established monitoring patrols in Black neighborhoods and worked to ensure police accountability.

On December 8, the LAPD set out to serve a warrant to search Party headquarters at 41st Street and Central Avenue for stolen weapons. Though the warrant was obtained using false information provided by the FBI, police used it as the basis to ambush about twelve Party members inside the building. More than 200 police officers, including the newly militarized Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) team descended on the headquarters, armed with 5,000 rounds of ammunition, gas masks, a helicopter, a tank, and a military-grade grenade. During the coordinated attack, three officers and six members of the Black Panther Party were wounded.LAPD officers arrest Black Panther members during a raid on December 8, 1969.In 1976, five years after the FBI’s counterintelligence program was shut down, a Senate committee concluded that the bureau’s tactics “were indisputably degrading to a free society” and “gave rise to the risk of death and often disregarded the personal rights and dignity of the victims.”