#Pre-programmed cooking settings

[coelex]

You find more information here

[bibliosims]

bonus kalei pics

[katsu28]

home cooked meals & crashed dinner dates

pairing: oscar piastri x verstappen!reader

summary: your plan to finally make good on your promise of a home cooked meal for oscar's first win is thwarted by a certain older brother of yours. (3.1k)

warnings: general swearing, overprotective brother max. this is the long awaited part two to maiden wins & secret meet-ups, but can be read as a stand-alone!

a/n: we interrupt your (semi) regular programming of lando to give you more bf oscar!!! wrote most of this pre baku so no second win unfortunately

Everything is perfect. 

You’ve got Oscar’s favorite pasta dish simmering on the stove, a few appetizers ready on the counter, the table set up nicely for two, and your flat is pretty clean.

All that’s left to do is change into something nice and wait for Oscar to arrive, and your promise of a date night with a home cooked meal for his win will have been fulfilled. 

You’re more excited than anything. You haven’t seen Oscar since Hungary because you’ve both been busy, but you managed to find tonight as one night where neither of you have anywhere else to be, no one else to see. All you want to do is spend time with him and love on him as much as you can while you're alone together. 

The doorbell rings just as soon as you’ve slipped into one of your favorite dresses, and for a moment you’re confused, because Oscar isn’t supposed to be here for another twenty minutes.

And Oscar, bless his heart, is never early. 

You push the thought away as you go to open the door because hey, maybe he’s just as excited to spend time with you as you are with him. It’s the only thing on your mind when you pull it open to greet—

“Max? What’re you—” 

Your brother is nudging past you as soon as the door swings open wide enough, completely ignoring your bewildered state in favor of beelining for your sofa and plopping down onto it. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table in front without a care in the world, settling into the cushions behind him with a loud, relaxed sigh. 

“Um, hello? This isn’t your home, you know! An acknowledgement would be nice before you come barging in. And a warning that you’re coming, but whatever, I guess.” 

He blinks a few times, cocking his head to the side. “Hi. Sorry, I forgot to text, but I figured you’d be home anyways, so…” 

“Right, but I actually have plans soon,” You reply, gesturing vaguely at what you know he knows isn’t your typical staying at home outfit, “as you can see.” 

“Oh, that’s a nice dress,” He hums, motioning for you to do a spin. You don’t humor him with one. Instead you walk over to where he is and shove his dirty shoes off your table, wrinkling your nose at just how annoying he’s being right now. “Bit fancy for a night in though, no?” 

“Thank you. But I’ve got plans,” You say tightly. He gives a firm nod. You wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, so you sigh. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Maxie, but what are you doing here?” 

“Can’t I pay my favorite sister a visit without a reason?” 

You try again, with more urgency this time. “Sure, but any other time would be better.” 

Either Max really needs to get his ears checked, or he’s actively choosing to ignore your words, because he grabs the TV remote off the table, patting the seat next to him as he switches it on. 

“C’mon, watch Love Island with me. I’m three episodes behind and I need to catch up before Charles spoils it for me next time we play padel.” 

Frustrated to no end at his inability to listen, you cast a quick glance at the time. Oscar is meant to arrive increasingly soon, you’re no closer to getting Max out of your flat, and you’re a hair's width away from kicking him out with force. 

“Max, I need you to leave.” 

He chuckles, “Why?” 

“Why? Because I have plans, have you not heard anything I’ve said?” You huff, propping your hands on your hips frustratedly. Max sits up from his slouch, looking from you, over towards the food on the counter, the candles and silverware on the table. 

“Are you expecting someone?” He asks incredulously, brows flying high. “Oh my god, are you having a date over?” 

“Maybe. Okay, yes, so you need to go. Like, now.” 

Max ignores you (again), rising to his feet, mirroring your stance and expression scarily accurately. Sometimes you feel like you were meant to be twins in another life with how similar you are every so often. Then you think that he would’ve probably absorbed you in your mum’s womb had you actually been twins.

“Who is it?” 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, really.” 

“Uh, yes it is! As your brother, it’s my responsibility to make sure whoever my baby sister lets all up in here isn’t a fucking serial killer, for starters.” 

“All up in here? You’re being ridiculous. I’ll have you know I am perfectly capable of doing things on my own, thank you very much.” 

“Uh huh, sure. So what’s their name? What do they do?” 

“Still none of your business!” 

“You’re being evasive.” 

“Yeah, well you’re being invasive.” You level Max with a narrow eyed stare, crossing your arms over your chest. He does the same, but god is he much better at it than you. It makes you let out a sigh, digging the heels of your palm against your eyes. “I love you, Maxie, but I know how you get with people I’ve been in relationships with, and this one…he’s special, okay?”

His glare softens at the pure fondness in your tone, posture relaxing, arms dropping. He studies you for a few moments, like he’s gauging whether or not he should continue with his annoyingly overprotective older brother shtick or drop it all together. “Fine. I still want to know his name though. Full name, first and last. Just so I can do a little background research myself, alright?” 

“Oh, I think you know it already,” You mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. 

“What?” 

“Nothing!” You smile at him innocently, shrugging. “Will you go now?” 

Max lets you usher him towards the door, sounding a bit annoyed, but you’ll deal with him later. You’ve still got a bit of time before Oscar’s set to arrive to get Max out, thank goodness. “Yeah, alright. But don’t think I won’t make you call me right after whoever this guy is leaves.” 

“Yeah, sure, of course. Right afterwards, you got it,” You say absentmindedly. You pull open the door for him, well and ready to finally shoo him away—

And then there’s Oscar, one hand reaching for the doorbell, the other clutching a colorful assortment of flowers wrapped in brown paper. 

Fuck. 

Out of all your dates, this just had to be the one time Oscar showed up early.

He’s smiling softly, but as soon as the door swings open and he sees Max standing in front of him, his expression turns into that of a deer in headlights. If you weren’t so all over the place right now, you would’ve found it hilarious. 

“Piastri? What’re you doing here? And why do you have—” Max freezes mid-sentence, eyes ping-ponging between you and Oscar so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if they popped out of his head. “Oh, what the fuck? You’re dating fucking Oscar? And you,” He turns his attention back to the shaken looking Aussie, “you’re dating my sister? What the fuck!” 

“Um…hey, mate. I mean, Max. I mean—hi? Erm, nice to see you too,” Oscar says hesitantly, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck awkwardly. His eyes flick to yours helplessly, begging for a lifeline. 

“Hi, Osc. Don’t mind him, come on in.” You push Max aside with both hands, making room for Oscar to cross the threshold.

Though judging by the slightly nauseous look on his face, Oscar would much rather like to turn around and leave right back the way he came. Max, on the other hand, just stares blankly at the two of you. 

You ease the flowers out of Oscar’s grip, pressing what you hope is a reassuring kiss to his cheek in return. “These are gorgeous.” 

Oscar gives his head a little shake to get himself out of his stupor. “Yeah, I had the florist put together all your favorite flowers.” 

“I love them, thank you. Come with me to the kitchen? The vase is on the top shelf.” You slide your hand into his, tugging him in the direction you want to go and he follows, tearing his wide eyed gaze from Max’s as he stumbles after you. Once you’re safely in the kitchen and out of Max’s earshot, you turn to him. “I am so sorry for springing this onto you without warning, he just showed up like, ten minutes ago and I was just about to get him to leave.” 

“Um, yeah, no it’s—it’s fine. Just caught me off guard a little, is all,” He breathes, bobbing his head. “So he knows about us…?”

“Pretty sure he’s connecting the dots right now, yeah.” You sneak a peek out of the kitchen to see that Max hasn’t moved an inch from his previous position. His body is frozen in place, but you already know his mind is moving a mile a minute. 

You turn back to Oscar, setting aside the flowers on the counter. “I haven’t told him anything else yet, but I think at this point, we might have to. Only if you’re okay with it, though. I can still tell him to fuck off if you want.” 

Oscar’s hands slide up your arms, rubbing your shoulders soothingly, calmly. “I’m okay with it. I’ve had you all to myself the last five months, I’m ready to take the next step in our relationship.” He folds you into his embrace, strong arms wrapping around you tightly. Your cheek presses against the firm, sturdiness of his chest, helping settle you in that way it seemed only he could. “Are you?” 

“‘Course I am,” You say firmly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” 

His lips curve into a small smile, eyes doing that little happy squint thing you love. “Yeah?” 

You kiss him instead of answering, short and sweet, before moving to leave. Max has moved to the living room when you make your way out of the kitchen cautiously with Oscar in tow, and he doesn’t seem to notice you’re both there until you clear your throat. 

His blank gaze flicks to yours, then Oscar behind you before morphing back into the calculating sharpness that you’ve grown accustomed to. 

You’re the one to break the silence. “So…I’m sure you have questions.” 

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it,” He grumbles. 

One thing about your brother, he talks a lot. A real motormouth, so to speak. And right now, he’s got a lot to talk about. He even slips into Dutch for a few minutes at some point, not even noticing when you lean over towards Oscar to translate for him. 

Soon enough you realize he isn’t even talking about your relationship anymore, but has somehow moved on to the faults of his own, which is a whole other can of worms that you really don’t care to discuss. Part of you feels like Max might be projecting a little bit, but you’ll worry about those problems later. 

It isn’t until he loops back around to the topic at hand grumbling something along the lines of you making a mistake by dating Oscar that you stop him with a glare and some choice words of your own. 

“I’m not going to sit here and let you judge me, Max. I am an adult, I don’t have to explain anything to you, let alone who I choose to be in a relationship with,” You say firmly. You’ll lay everything out plain and simple for your brother, who is usually one of the most observant people you know, so things are as clear as possible going forward. “I love Oscar, and there’s nothing you can say that will change that, so you need to find a way to be okay with this.” 

You’re too busy taking a stand against Max’s stubborn nature to notice Oscar right now, but if you had been paying any ounce of attention to him, you would’ve seen his lips quirk up into a wide grin, the straightening of his hunched shoulders. 

He’s pleased, to say the least. For a guy known by the world as being extremely flat and composed, he's nothing but expressive when it comes to you. 

Max, however, does notice the changes in Oscar’s demeanor. The crease between his brows lessens, because shit, he’s never seen Oscar Piastri smile that big before. Never seen Oscar look at anyone the way he’s looking at you now, even as you continue to lecture Max about boundaries. 

“Fucking hell,” He says, dragging a hand back through his hair. It gets you to pause, raising an expectant brow at him. “You’re right. I’m being a total asshole brother, aren’t I?” 

“Yes, you are,” You say pointedly, arms crossed. He drops down onto the couch behind him, hunching over and propping his chin up in his palm with a heavy sigh. 

Guilt tinges at you a little bit at the sight. You know Max means well. He loves you and wants you to be happy, but he gets a little too overprotective of you sometimes. It’s been that way since you were kids. He was away for races a lot, so when he was there he tended to overcompensate. 

You sigh, sitting down next to him. “You’ve always watched out for me, and I’ll always be grateful for everything you’ve done to protect me, but I’m not a little girl anymore, Maxie. It’s time to let me do things on my own.” 

“You’re making me sound so old right now and I hate it,” Max huffs dramatically. “But you have a point. You’re not a little girl anymore, but you’ll always be my little sister.” 

“And you’ll always be my big brother.” 

Max presses his lips into a thin line. “Guess I should leave now, huh?”

You nod faux seriously, patting his knee. He sighs, drags himself to his feet, sticks out his hand towards Oscar for a begrudgingly firm shake before he goes. Then he stops in his tracks about halfway to the front door, whirling around to face Oscar again.

“If you hurt her…well, I won’t even have to kick your ass, because she’ll have already done it for me,” He warns, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.

You fight a smile, because even though you know Oscar would never hurt you, you’re secretly pleased your brother recognizes that you can handle yourself. 

The Australian boy nods solemnly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Don’t really know him all that well, huh?” Max teases, the first time he’s looked anything but downright distressed since discovering you’re dating Oscar. You offer him a guilty smile that he rolls his eyes playfully at as he pulls the door open. “Breakfast tomorrow? I’d like to know more about how absolutely fucking blind I’ve been to not know you’ve been seeing Oscar this whole time.” 

“Breakfast sounds good,” You chuckle. “Now for the hundredth time, please leave. I’ve got a date.” 

You let out the biggest sigh in the world as soon as the door slams shut, a little exhausted at the emotional roller coaster you’ve just been on. All this because you wanted to cook your boyfriend a nice meal for a special occasion. 

Oscar’s found his way to the sofa, inviting arms open, soft smile on his face. You plop down next to him with a groan.

You’re only now noticing he’s worn your favorite shirt today, the dark one that hugs his biceps just right and makes the cozy warmth of his brown eyes pop. 

“Reckon that went rather well.”

You scoff, both amused and skeptical. “Seriously?” 

“Well, in my head, I thought he was gonna punch me in the face, so…yeah, I don’t think it went too bad. All things considered.” 

“I feel like I’m always apologizing for things lately,” You sigh, letting your head fall onto Oscar’s shoulder. He exhales in the form of a chuckle, lacing his fingers through yours comfortingly. “And for some reason, my brother seems to be a common denominator. So, I apologize about him too, because we both know he’s too stubborn to say it himself.” 

“Seems like stubbornness runs in the family.” 

You knock your knee against Oscar’s without any real force behind it, rolling your eyes playfully. “Funny. Sorry you had to hear me argue with him.” 

“He’s just being an older brother. I get it.” He shrugs nonchalantly, totally unphased. “Plus, you’re kinda hot when you get mad.” 

“Ha! You’re into that?” 

“Guess I am.” 

“I learn something new about you everyday, don’t I?” 

Oscar just grins knowingly at you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I love you too, by the way,” He says later on in the night, when you’re both standing at the kitchen sink. You’re washing dishes from dinner, he’s drying them with a dishcloth.

His tone is completely casual, offhanded, like the way someone might mention how nice the weather is today. 

You blink, brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh?” 

“Earlier, when you were chewing Max out, you said—” He pauses, rubs furiously at a wet spot on the plate clutched in his hands, cheeks going pink. “You said you loved me? Was that just to prove your point, or…” 

If you’re being totally honest, you hadn’t even realized you’d said it. You’ve never shared those three little words with Oscar before, but the more the weight of them sets in, the more you realize it’s true.

You’ve fallen in love with Oscar Piastri without even knowing. 

At the back of your mind, though, you think you’ve known all along. From the first time he’d uttered out an awkward hello in the paddock all those months ago, you were hooked. Since then, being with him was easier than anything else you’ve ever done. Sure, the secrecy and the constant on the go nature that came with being a professional athlete provided a few hurdles, but you like to think you’ve managed to handle them quite well. 

“Uh…hello?” 

Your focus is brought back to real time, where Oscar is looking back at you with a borderline nervous expression gracing his face. 

“Yeah, I do.” You smile warmly. “I love you, Osc.” 

You abandon the sponge clutched in your hand, dropping it in favor of reaching across the dish rack and cradling his cheek in your palm, kissing him gently. 

“Well, that’s a relief. Thought I’d just made a fool of myself right there.” 

He’s got soap suds on his face, one eye scrunched shut at the wetness from your hand, but you think he’s never looked more handsome. He could be wearing the most god awful outfit known to man and you’d still think he’s the best thing you’ve laid eyes on, because you love him and he loves you. 

And really, that’s all you need to feel right where you should be. 

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[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.

[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 😉

[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.

[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.

[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

[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.

[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.

[alltrade]

10 Innovative Kitchen Tools That Will Simplify Your Daily Cooking

Modern kitchen tools are designed to save time, effort, and energy while making your daily cooking experience enjoyable. Here are ten must-have appliances that will revolutionize your kitchen routine.

1. Coffee Machine

Start your day on the right note with a high-quality coffee machine. With options like automatic brewing, programmable settings, and frothing capabilities, you can enjoy cafe-style coffee at home.

Why you need it: Saves time and ensures a perfect brew every morning.

2. Air Fryer

An air fryer is a healthier alternative to traditional frying methods. It uses minimal oil to cook crispy, delicious meals in minutes.

Why you need it: Reduces oil consumption and cooks faster.

3. Smart Oven

Modern ovens come with features like pre-programmed recipes, convection cooking, and smart connectivity for remote control via your smartphone.

Why you need it: Ideal for baking, grilling, and reheating with precision.

4. Electric Tea Maker

Make perfectly brewed tea every time with an electric tea maker. Many models offer temperature settings for different types of tea.

Why you need it: Ensures consistent taste and saves time.

5. Refrigerator

Invest in a refrigerator with advanced features like temperature zones, water dispensers, and energy-saving technology.

Why you need it: Keeps your ingredients fresh and organized.

6. Dishwasher

Modern dishwashers come with multiple wash settings, energy-efficient designs, and noise reduction.

Why you need it: Saves time and ensures hygienically clean dishes.

7. Cooking Range

A versatile cooking range combines a stovetop and oven, offering multiple cooking options in one appliance.

Why you need it: Streamlines cooking tasks and saves kitchen space.

8. Water Dispenser

Stay hydrated with a sleek water dispenser that offers hot, cold, and room-temperature water instantly.

Why you need it: Convenient and ensures easy access to clean drinking water.

9. Floor Care Tools

Keep your kitchen spotless with innovative floor care tools like robotic vacuum cleaners or lightweight stick vacuums.

Why you need it: Maintains a clean and hygienic cooking environment.

10. Garment Steamer

Though not a kitchen tool, a garment steamer ensures you look presentable while hosting guests for dinner.

Why you need it: Quick and efficient wrinkle removal.

Conclusion

These innovative kitchen tools are designed to make your life easier by improving efficiency, reducing effort, and ensuring high-quality results. Whether it’s cooking, cleaning, or serving, these appliances will transform your kitchen into a modern hub of convenience.

Ready to upgrade your kitchen? Explore the latest appliances on Alltrade.ae

[nowtoboldlygo]

new years resolutions 2025

so i absolutely smashed my new years resolutions this year, and i'm beyond excited for even more success in the new year. below is copied from my google doc, with some links adjusted for privacy.

cumulative hours hobbies

cello 🎻🎵 ||| blog tag ||| suzuki cello

in 2025, focus on building motivation and developing capacity for enjoyment à la uncomfortable’s play is not fun by watching leonard bernstein’s young people concerts series and varying positions & keys in practice (per instructor’s advice). memorize scales & suzuki book 1. stretch goal for 2025: join a local amateur orchestra.

drawing 🖊️🎨🖼️ ||| blog tag ||| drawing plan.xlsx ||| DAB patreon

in 2025, set aside fifteen minutes every day for six weeks for drawing, with the goal of making progress on DAB lessons & defining prioritization in relation to other hobbies and goals.

engineering 🧮 ||| blog tag ||| khan academy ||| SR guide

get through all of Khan Academy & Precalculus with Calculus Previews by EOY, start Calculus: Early Transcendentals. go through program map & set up pre-study notes, sketch out outlines to balance with SR guides. inquire about residency waiver at admissions office.

korean 🇰🇷 ||| blog tag ||| CI list ||| lingotrack

remove monthly targets january to june in favor of cementing the new schedule and prioritization.  in july, reinstate hours per month targets with adjusted timeline.

spanish 🇲🇽 ||| blog tag ||| dreaming spanish ||| lingotrack

complete Dreaming Spanish roadmap, with 475 hours of DS videos, 475 of movies/TV, 475 of podcasts/audiobooks, and 75 of conversation (cumulative 1,500 hours) stretch goal for 2025: read fifty books, including chapterbooks & middle grade

specifically over months or years hobbies

book club 📚 ||| goodreads ||| librarything ||| thestorygraph

one meeting per month with the goal of finding a long-term regular membership

camping, hiking 🏕️⛺🚙🥾 ||| poetry ||| birding books

take one clinic, course, or seminar in 2025 from local outdoors club

cooking 🍲🥟🍳🍛 ||| paprika (paid) ||| slow cooking

read through and attempt majority of Start Here by Sohla El-Waylly in 2025

gardening 🌱🪴 ||| indoor garden ||| vegetable gardening

buy a dozen plants, and grow from seed a few plants in 2025

shakespeare in a year 🎭 ||| my schedule

watch all works in a year! movies, live, and recorded stage plays.

tai chi, qigong ☯️🥋

join tai chi classes after winter session, once a week

wood-working 🪵 ||| Orientation Course (paid)

make my workbench!!!!

yoga 🧘 ||| YMCA ||| lectures

52 classes per year!

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Idia Shroud Chef Apprentice Personal Story: Part 1

"Master Chef"

Part 1 (Part 2)

[Kitchen]

Master Chef ― Idia Version ～Let’s Make Stuffed Peppers 1～

Ghost Chef: Alright, well, I'll have you start by making the Stuffed Peppers… Idia-kun, have you ever cooked anything before?

Idia: Eh….........Ah…......Ah…...I haven’t.

Ghost Chef: Oh my, are you nervous? Don't worry, this program is aimed towards amateurs like you. You don't have to tense up like that!

Idia: N-No, this is my default setting…

Idia: Ugh, actually… It's a pain to try to explain it, so I'll just let him think whatever.

Ghost Chef: Idia-kun? Are you alright to continue?

Idia: …Kk.

Ghost Chef: First, prep the sweet bell peppers. Cut off the stem and use your fingers to take out all the seeds and the white bits from inside.

Ghost Chef: It might be a bit hard to remove, but it won't be as tasty if they're left on. Make sure to take them all off.

Idia: What, they want me to cut a round object on a flat surface…? Urrgh, it's not sitting still.

Idia: I don't wanna get hurt in an elective like this. Gotta hold it firmly… Carefully… Carefully…

[chop]

Idia: …Whew, that was scary. K, next is to take out the insides with my fingers, I guess. Urgh… This squishiness suuucks…

Ghost Chef: Take your time and be gentle so as to not damage the produce. However, there is still much more left to do, so don't take too much time.

Idia: Wh-Which is it…!? Do you want me to take my time or hurry up!? Eek, the seeds are stuck to my fingers… This is the worst…

Ghost Chef: Once you've taken out all the seeds, cut the pepper into round slices, 2 cm thick.

Ghost Chef: Make sure to cut them evenly, keep an eye on the thickness of each slice.

Idia: …If you're gonna be that adamant, shouldn't you should pick something other than a knife for this!? A newbie'll definitely make mistakes!?

Ghost Chef: You don't have to put that much thought into it. It's just something to keep in mind.

Idia: Oh, so it's just gotta be close enough? Then say that from the get go…

Ghost Chef: ―Next, you need to make the stuffing that'll go inside. We'll measure out each ingredient as per the recipe and put them in a bowl.

Idia: The stuff I need to measure out are… 1/4 cup of breadcrumbs, 2 tablespoons of milk, an egg… "a pinch" of salt and pepper?

Idia: There it is… "a pinch." Instructions that leave it to the experience and tastes of the one making it that has no repeatability…

Idia: That so frustrating. Let's say I was a pepper aficionado, wouldn't that change the size of that "pinch"???

Ghost Chef: Hmmm. For this recipe, maybe just three shakes of the pepper is enough. All it needs is a "pap, pap, pap" with a quick flick of your wrist.

Idia: Now you're just using sounds to describe it!? Huh, but there's so many ways that could introduce error into the equation, just by the way you snap your wrist; how much force you put into it, your physique, and whatever else.

Ghost Chef: I-I never thought there'd be this many questions about something like this.

Idia: …Haah, whatever. It'll be annoying if I have to stay here longer than I need to, so I'll just shake it however…

Ghost Chef: Still, you sure do notice the smallest things. Are you starting to gain more interest in cooking?

Idia: Uh, no…? Eh? Where'd you get that idea…?

Idia: Uh… I don't really think about food to begin with. Honestly, I tend to forget to eat…

Ghost Chef: Ehh!? I'm sure that would worry your family.

Idia: Well… Yeah, I guess. My kid brother's always trying to push those nutritional health apps…

Idia: When I decided to take this class, I think he said something like, "I hope this'll get you more interested in cooking～"

Ghost Chef: That's a nice brother to have. And? What do you think, now that you're taking the class?

Idia: I get it now, after actually standing here and doing this. It's so inefficient to cook for yourself.

Idia: Just eating's a chore, so cooking on top of that's just a waste of time. Yup, nothing can stand up to those pre-packaged complete nutrition meals.

Ghost Chef: Oh no, did this Master Chef course just backfire!? Oh but, hey look, there's been a ton of recent advances in cookware, you know!

Ghost Chef: There are even pots that'll finish cooking for you if you throw in the necessary ingredients and seasonings!

Idia: Eh… If a pot that useful exists, then why's it necessary to learn how to cook from scratch?

Ghost Chef: No, no, you still need to cut the ingredients, or measure the seasonings yourself, obviously.

Idia: Why's that the only thing that's still gotta be done by hand, then? We can rely on those cooking appliances even more, I'm sure!

Ghost Chef: Do you think so? I think it's already pretty amazing.

Idia: If we're going to have "automated cooking," then it's be great if it'd at least also prepped the ingredients and measured the seasonings.

Idia: Like, just throw everything in the pot, cover it with the lid, wait a bit, and then ta-da, all you gotta do is put it on the plate, that'd be great.

Ghost Chef: If there ever is such a pot, then that might put me out of a job.

Idia: If I were to create an Idia Shroud Cooking Appliance (name pending)… First, I'd make sure to spell out what a "pinch" of something is.

Idia: And to do that, I'll need to collect more data on the actual cooking process.

Idia: And if I'm going to make something to collect that, I'd rather have a pro craft it for me…

Idia: Chef, I'm going to collect the necessary data in order to put together my own cooking appliance, so can I have you finish up the dish?

Ghost Chef: Of course not! I'm pleased that you're starting to get fired up, but you need to finish what you started!

Part 1 (Part 2)

Requested by @rotattooill.