#The Syrup Factory

[londonedge]

Tate and Lyle factory in Plaistow Wharf, Silvertown where more than one million tins of Lyle’s Golden Syrup are made...every month!

A slight departure for LondonEdge in that I have now decide to include industrial sites. The Tate and Lyle's factory in Silvertown in East London is the first.

[articskele]

Some screenshots of truffula fruits because I just think they're neat

[garbagequeer]

only a minute and a half into the new riverdale this is already the most beautiful television ive ever seen

[mumblelard]

one driver was leaning backwards out the window throwing double barrel birds at another he'd just passed. i pictured some basement hacker's first attempt at an autopilot, rattling zip-tied under the dash, but probably it was the passenger, leaned over awkwardly, one hand on his thigh steadying herself and the other hand on the wheel steadying us all

[thelastspeecher]

I don't know WHAT was making the manure mixed with cherry cough syrup smell at the work site I went to today but I would like it to not be there ever again

[theemporium]

What about Max maxplaining Trouble? Like not to Trouble, but about Trouble to someone. He’s just gushing about her or maybe he’s telling someone that no they can’t do “x” b/c that’s not the way Trouble prefers it done. And everyone is just so confused about why Max knows something so random about Trouble.

kinda made this into a wee sick fic but enjoy! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Max, I’m fine.” 

“No, you’re not.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Sorry for taking your health seriously. Now, give Danny the phone.”

If someone told you that Max Verstappen was an overbearing mother hen before you met him, you would have laughed in their face. You had heard many things about him, and that certainly wasn’t one you would have believed. Even in the early stages of your friendship, you would have never really pegged him as the type. He was caring, yes. 

But this? This was a whole new level.

You were sick. Nothing crazy or insane, just a simple flu that left you feeling a bit under the weather and longing for your bed. But apparently to Max, it was equivalent to you being on your deathbed. 

Unfortunately for him, he had to fly out to England for a few meetings at the factory that required his presence. He tried arguing Christian over the phone about it, but ultimately lost that battle and was forced to take his private jet out.

You made the mistake in thinking that you would be able to get a few days of quiet rest to recover. Because only mother hen Max Verstappen would send someone to do exactly what he would do if he was able to stay by your side.

“Did you get her a blanket?”

Daniel tried to suppress his laughter and remain serious as he held your phone in his hand, watching Max on the screen scrutinising every little detail about your setup in your bed.

“Yes, I—”

“You got the wrong blanket,” Max stated bluntly.

You sighed. “Max, it’s fine—”

“Stop saying that, schatz, when it’s not,” Max retorted before his focus returned to the Aussie. “She likes the cream one in the hallway cupboard. Should be on the third shelf.”

Daniel nodded. “Right, got it.” 

“Did you get her medicine?”

“Oh yeah,” Daniel said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I got her some cough syrup from the pharmacy down the—”

“Which flavour?”

“Cherry,” Daniel said.

Max scoffed. “Mate, she hates cherry. You need to get the orange flavoured one.”

“Max,” you groaned as you nuzzled yourself further into the endless amount of pillows your boyfriend had made Daniel surround you in. “Cherry is fine. I just have to take a spoonful once a day, or whatever it is.”

“Three times a day,” Max said, his brows furrowed together. “And you hate artificial cherry flavouring. You said it makes you want to throw up.”

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. 

“I’ll get her the orange flavoured one,” Daniel said with a laugh, finding it adorable how caring Max was. “Anything else, helicopter boyfriend?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Max grumbled. “But yes. I have left menus on the kitchen counter, I’ll send you what she likes and what she wants to get but always refuses until it’s in front of her. Also, there should be a list of movies I sent you that are her comfort movies that you can—”

“This is creepy, Verstappen, it’s like you’re my stalker or something,” you muttered, even if your heart was swooning at the small details he remembered about you.

“Lil’ Maxie just loves his Trouble,” Daniel grinned wildly. “He doesn’t shut up about you. He could probably go on for hours if we let him.”

“More like days,” Max corrected before he continued to explain everything you would need to his friend, whilst you laid there with a fond smile on your face.

.

[peevishpants]

elegy for my cellphone (2020-2024)

In loving memory of Choope Jr, I record its last days:

Jun 29: It fell out of my bag as I boarded the bus in a rush

Jun 29: Panic

Jun 29: I immediately bussed back to find it absolutely wheelblasted by the side of the road

Jun 29: I pronounced it dead and let out a wail of grief

Jun 29: sim card survived. sim card survived!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jun 29: sim card transferred to an old backup phone my mom had... from the days of 16gb storage space

Jun 30: My Morning Alarms On My Presumed Dead Phone Rang Valiantly and Vigilantly

Jul 1: Like a ghostly cry for help

Jul 2: For 4 Whole Days

Jul 3: At 8:30am, 9:00am, and 10:00am. Pressing the lock/volume up and down buttons randomly seemed to snooze it for 5 minutes at a time, but then it would ring again. Also, after the first day, the alarm noise itself reverted from a familiar tune to what I assume is the factory default, which sounded alien to me. As the days went on, the alarm noise also got more… gurgly? Like its soul was wading through thick syrup

Jul 4: It stopped ringing. I wake up in solitude

Jul 6: Phonelink on my laptop pinged me: Choope Jr is offline and has low battery. Charge it to stay connected

Jul 7: Phonelink stopped trying to connect to it, and finally showed the device as greyed out and offline, and thus, is laid to rest

[nothorses]

sorry but that post you reblogged about "anti egg vegans" being stupid because chickens don't care i feel like is missing the point of most people being vegan due to animal explotation within mass factory farming and not like having some chickens in the backyard or a small farm. the critique is the comodification of animal products to the point of animals not being treated like living beings but as products and so often being put in terrible living conditions because of that. i think whether most vegans see it as capitalism being the real probelm or not the critique should be aimed toward capitalism as a whole, rather than individual people participating in it.

I absolutely agree with critiques of industrial farming, and I believe a lot of folks do feel that way! And I think it's just as silly to pretend that everybody understands the nuance there. I'd say most of the vegans I have encountered are not specifically against industrial agriculture, and are just as vegan when encountering animal products that have been sustainably produced/harvested/whatever as they are with every other animal product. I have had conversations with people who are against honey because it Exploits The Bees, but are perfectly happy to use agave syrup as a replacement regardless of the abundant human rights issues that impact immigrants and people of color in other parts of the world in particular.

I think there are perfectly respectable reasons and ways to be vegan, and it's shitty to assume that any individual person has the Wrong Reasons or a shitty way of going about it based entirely on the fact that they are vegan. I also think it's just as ignorant to pretend that the people who are in it for entirely the wrong reasons don't exist, or even that they aren't, like, fairly common.

I live in an area where it's the norm to ensure all food provided is vegan-friendly unless you know for a fact that it doesn't need to be. I promise you there is absolutely a culture of veganism because it looks or feels good, particularly among white people, and the reason I am frustrated about things like ignorance of the impact of industrial agriculture on human people, and the obsession with "vegan leather" without any mind paid to the environmental impact it has, and the ignorance of our profit history toward indigenous relationships with animal products, is because I constantly meet people who believe those things & it is, y'know. frustrating.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Three

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Domestic Violence.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.8k

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5 Years Prior

The lilac dress you wear flows around your carefully crafted body in effortless waves. It is made from a chiffon fabric you begged your mother for nearly six months to have. Your usual attire consists of heavy satin and lace, and for your eighteenth birthday, you just want to feel happy and light for once. It takes much convincing, but eventually, your mother caves. She needs you to be happy and is willing to give you this one thing. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t gone all out on your chiffon lavender dress.

The color matches your hair perfectly, the stitching is made from the best silver thread Berry can buy, and the ribbon wrapping your waist comes from a silk farm known to be the best in all the Blues. You think it is too much for just a simple birthday, but your mother does what she wants. Events like this give you time to yourself because she is far too busy to monitor your every move.

So you are currently sneaking off to the library to get some reading time in. Your mother always berates you for your habit of keeping your nose in a book, telling you that ladies don’t read, they play music and host tea parties and other social events. While you have been trained in such things, you don’t find the same pleasure in them as you do with reading. There is something about hosting tea parties and socials with the older noble population whom you are not friends with. You don’t have any friends because your mother doesn’t allow you any.

“So controlling,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the door to the great Bonn family library. There is every kind of book you could want in this library; your father is a collector of sorts. With his connections in the merchant guild, he often makes trade deals involving rare books and encyclopedias. Venturing to the nearest aisle, you run your fingers over leather-bound book spines. “What should I read this time? It is my birthday, so maybe something special…”

You further wander, heading in the direction of the books your mother disapproves of you reading. It is mostly books on sea navigation, sailing, and shipbuilding. All information your mother deems irrelevant in your education. Reaching a section that holds a multitude of maps your father is fond of reviewing to find more ports to add to the Bonn empire, you pick up a few scrolls and curiously look at them.

One of the maps is of the Gecko Islands; Syrup Village is circled, and the familiar scrawls of your father’s handwriting dot the area around it. From the brief glances you have gotten of documents and the conversations you’ve overheard, Syrup Village is where all the ships in the Bonn Chestnut Trade Company come from. The ships are well-built and last through the weather of every Blue they cross. Abandoning the maps, you pick up a random book and open it. You are greeted with words and depictions of the construction of a lace factory. You close that book, making a face, and return it to its place on the shelf.

“Rather not,” you comment, moving on in hopes of a more interesting book to read. A few more minutes of wandering and you find a book that certainly piques your interest. It is a book on the politics of the marines, and more specifically, pirates. Your eyebrows rise in interest, and you pluck it from the shelf.

You’ve never really been informed about pirates; your mother calls them scum, and your father claims they are bad for business and nothing but conniving scoundrels. So you grow up knowing next to nothing about pirates. Walking towards the sitting area within the library, you open the book to a random page which holds a long list of pirates the marines are keeping track of at the time of the print. The main name that stands out, and that is at the top of the list, is Gol D. Roger. But the little symbol next to his name is clearly a mark of death.

“He certainly appears to be important,” you murmur to yourself, looking further down the list of names. You don’t recognize any of them, not that you are well-informed, but still, your mother gets the paper every morning and tuts over the news. You occasionally pick up the same names repeated over and over throughout the years. Pausing in step, you turn the page and just catch the words ‘Warlords’ and ‘Emperors,’ when footsteps have you on high alert. You snap the book shut and hold it behind you as your father appears, a parchment in hand. He pauses in step upon seeing you.

“Linaria, your mother is looking for you,” he speaks before eyeing the hands you hold behind your back. The book now seems like it is made of lead. “Can I presume that the book you are hiding is not one your mother would approve of?”

“It’s just a book,” you argue, arms dropping to your sides. “How exactly is that dangerous to me?”

“Your mother’s decision is your mother’s decision, Linaria,” your father says, not questioning his wife’s authority when it comes to your upbringing. “Hand it over, your mother is expecting you in the tea room.” With a grudging sigh, you do as he asks and head for the exit. Your mother is waiting for you in the tea room? Last you knew, there weren’t any events on this day that involved the tea room. Perhaps she has added an extra item to the agenda. At least you could have your favorite tea since it is your birthday.

Walking swiftly towards the tea parlor, you breeze by several maids and butlers who curtsey and bow to you as you pass. Before entering the tea parlor, you pause to collect yourself. Then, taking a deep breath and straightening your posture, you enter the room. Your mother is sitting on one of the couches, teacup in hand.

“Father said you were looking for me, Mother?” you softly speak, for ladies never raise their voices. She doesn’t turn her head to look at you.

“We have a guest, Linaria.” A guest? Your eyes follow your mother’s gaze to see a marine sitting on the couch opposite her. What is a marine doing at the manor? And one so high-ranking! “Greet our guest,” your mother hisses to you. You clear your throat and turn to the marine.

“Forgive me for not doing so earlier, I am Linaria. Welcome to the manor,” you greet like the perfect daughter your mother wants you to be.

“Thomas Collins, my fair lady, Commodore of the Marines on Kuri Island.” The man, Thomas, answers. “May I offer you a happy birthday? Your mother has sung praises of you and is very excited about this cornerstone in your life.” Your mother is telling praises of you? A shocking thought as she has been nothing but critical of you as of late, but this isn’t a time you can question her motives. Thomas rises from his seat and strides over to you, his figure towering over your small frame.

“Oh, thank you, I am very excited to see where my life takes me,” you tell him, your fingers coming together in front of you and winding together in a nervous habit.

“It would be rude of me to drop by without a gift for such a lovely young woman, and I took it upon myself to prepare something I thought would be fitting for a woman as beautiful as you.” Thomas continues, reaching into his coat and pulling out a slim box.

“Oh, sir, you didn’t need to prepare such a thing,” you say, almost stuttering over your words in surprise. You can feel your mother’s eyes glaring daggers into you for even thinking of refusing such a thing. Nonetheless, you take the slim box from his gloved fingers.

“You are to be the next Lady of the Bonn Chestnut Trade Company; I think you are deserving of your first piece of jewelry.” You open the box to reveal a delicate bracelet with flowers and gems that sparkle. It really is a lovely piece if the flowers hadn’t been roses. You force your face into one of happiness and thank him.

“It is absolutely beautiful; thank you for picking such a wondrous piece,” you reply in faux happiness, fluttering your eyelashes and plastering a smile you’ve perfected over the years. He looks pleased, very pleased by your reaction, and gestures toward the bracelet.

“May I?” he presses, and you, of course, relent, allowing the strange Commodore to carefully wrap the beautiful bracelet around your wrist. Not much is said after that, as Thomas indicates that he has to return to duty and bids his farewell. You don’t dare speak until you are sure that he is long gone.

“Mother, who was that, and why was he here?” you question, turning to your mother still sipping tea. She sighs and lowers the tea to the table in front of her before rising from her seat. Striding over to you, her cold eyes scan you.

“That was Commodore Thomas Collins; he is in charge of the marine base on Kuri Island and the surrounding archipelago.” She informs you, mouth pressed in a tight line. “And you are to be his bride.”

“Bride,” you repeat incredulously, thinking for a moment that you have misheard her. “Mother, what are you speaking of? I do not remember him proposing to me!”

“Of course not, you silly girl, it is an arranged marriage to ensure the success and power of our family and business.” Your jaw nearly drops open.

“You can’t just make decisions about my life like that,” you exclaim, your voice raised and eyes flashing in anger. “I’m not going to marry a man I don’t know and certainly not because you tell me to!”

Your head whips to the side, and you take a stumbling step backward before you even know what happens. Raising a hand to your stinging cheek, you let out a gasp at the sharp pain radiating across your face. You look at your mother, eyes filled with hurt and anger. She points her finger at you.

“You are to do exactly as I tell you, Linaria.” Your mother growls to you, seizing your chin and forcing you to look into her cold eyes. “And that means you will marry.”

Present Day

Sitting on one of the stacked crates, you stare at the little bracelet hanging from your wrist while feeling sick just looking at it. Your other hand reaches for the delicate chain, and you harshly pull on what feels like a shackle until it snaps. Then you throw it as hard as you can over the side of the ship you escaped Kuri Island on. Your wrist hurts from the metal digging into your skin, but at the same time, you feel like a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

The ship gently rocks as it sails, but you find the sway almost comforting while you hold yourself and look out across the water. This is the farthest you’ve ever been from your home, and the salt air is an entirely new experience. Turning your head away from the pristine waters, you find several of the men staring at you. Right, you begged your way onto this ship; you might as well compensate them for the trouble. So you reach back and undo the clasp to your necklace and hold it out.

“Compensation,” you speak, offering the glimmering jewelry piece to them. “It’s worth a lot of Berry, that I know.”

“We don’t want your jewelry, madam,” the red-haired captain, the one who’d effortlessly tossed you over his shoulder and carried you away, speaks. You are pretty sure the others have been calling him Shanks. “But we would like to know what had you fleeing from your own wedding.”

“It was arranged,” you answer, chewing on your lip and twisting your hands together. “I didn’t get a say in it; Mother organized the whole thing to ensure the family business would remain successful and in power.”

“You must be a Bonn then,” Shanks comments, thinking over who has the most power on Kuri Island. The Bonn’s. “Who did she want you to marry?”

“The Commodore.” Several of the pirates let out whistles and shake their heads.

“Don’t blame ya’ for runnin’,” one even comments. “That is one crooked marine.” You rub your tired eyes and sigh.

“I do not wish for you to get wrapped up in my personal business. You can drop me off at the next island. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You are hardly a burden,” Shanks corrects you, eyes scanning your figure more thoroughly now that you aren’t trembling violently from fear. It is clear that you’ve been running for a while when you approach him, but now he can see little nicks and cuts on your skin and smell the metallic tang of blood clinging to your body. “I think you’ve had a long day; you could do for some rest.”

“It’s not even half-past ten.” His eyebrow rises at you, and he nods his chin.

“And you might look the picture of perfection, but even I can tell that you are exhausted. We shall talk more of this tonight; in the meantime, you should get some rest and get out of that dress. It’s very…” Shanks struggles to come up with a word to describe someone as beautiful as you, yet so out of place.

“Ostentatious?” you offer lightly. “You should have seen me with the train. My mother tried to drown me in lace.” Your light jab at your own outfit brings out a couple of chuckles, and the men are glad to see the brief smile upon your face. It is much preferred to your distress.

Shanks has directed you to his own room, for it is the best furnished for a lady such as yourself, and you can have privacy there. After changing out of your dress, you can get some much-needed sleep, and then finally the full picture of the woman he’d helped can be rendered. So as you clutch your arms to your chest and look around the cabin in curiosity, Shanks digs through a chest of spare clothing to find something your size.

You know he is the captain, but he doesn’t stand up to the stereotype you had pictured in your head about what a captain is supposed to be like. The space is sparsely furnished but homely. Maps, artworks, and a few weapons you have never seen before dot the walls, and the quilt thrown over the hanging bed in the corner looks handmade and well-used. For some reason, the sight of a threadbare and well-used homemade quilt comforts you.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much but spare tunics and pants,” Shanks speaks, taking the clothes from his trunk and turning around. He pauses in place, staring at the dirt-riddled and crusty wound on your shoulder. He’d been so shocked by your appearance and beauty he’d overlooked something so critical. “We need to take care of that.”

“Take care of what?” you question, half turning in place with a quizzical look on your face. Shanks sets the clothes on a nearby table and nods to your shoulder.

“You have quite the nasty wound on your shoulder, madam,” Shanks speaks while inspecting torn skin littered with dirt, rocks, and grass. “You must have been running on adrenaline to not be feeling this.”

“I was in a hurry,” you meekly speak, trying not to shiver as soft and gentle fingers prod broken skin.

“I can imagine,” he replies, brows scrunching together. “I don’t think you need stitches; it’s not too deep. But you are going to need it cleaned before it gets infected.”

“Very well,” you sigh. “Thank you for informing me. I will take care of that.” Shanks can’t help but snort at your words.

“And how do you plan on tending to it yourself?” The scathing look you shoot over your shoulder makes Shanks’ smile widen, for he doubts you even realize you are giving him such a look.

“I am already intruding as it were,” you snip out, crossing your arms.

“And you are my guest,” Shanks enunciates. “As long as you are on my ship, you shall be treated as such. Now please, take a seat; this won’t take long.”

You really don’t want to, for you already feel like you are intruding enough just by asking for passage off Kuri Island… but his gentle eyes are insistent. But not in a bad way. So your protest dies down on your tongue, and you do as he so gently asks.

Date Published: 11/19/23

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[heavenlybackside]

This Day In History May 8 1886 American pharmacist John S. Pemberton developed Coca-Cola, a drink he originally billed as a cure-all tonic.

On May 8, 1886, Dr. John Stith Pemberton invented Coca-Cola, forever changing the history of eating habits around the world. The drink’s name refers to two of its original ingredients: coca leaves and kola nuts (a source of caffeine). Since he was a pharmacist from Atlanta he had access to a variety of chemicals and natural ingredients. One day, he prepared a dark coloured liquid and decided to take it to his shop, Jacobs' Pharmacy, to mix it with carbonated water. At this point, a test was needed. So he had the customers of the pharmacy taste it, who greatly appreciated the delicious and refreshing drink. From that day Pemberton put the forerunner of the current Coca-Cola on sale at five cents a glass as a takeaway drink.

The logo as we know it today was invented and designed by Frank M. Robinson, Dr. Pemberton's accountant, who thought that the two Cs would have made a nice advertising logo. The Coca-Cola brand - written in its famous italics font - was born with a first advertising campaign dedicated to the drink appeared in the newspaper The Atlanta Journal, inviting citizens to try this "popular new take-out drink". The advertising campaign for the product launch appeared on the first awnings of the shops, on which the words "Drink Coca-Cola" stood out. But the beginnings were not exciting: in the first year they sold just about nine glasses a day.

In 1887 John Pemberton registered the copyright of Coca-Cola Syrup and Extract with the US Patent Office. A year later, disheartened by the lack of success of his invention and never fully convinced - and aware - of the drink's potential, he gradually sold the company's shares to various partners. Shortly before his death, he sold the rest of Coca-Cola to Asa G. Candler who bought back the shares of other holders until he acquired complete control of the company.

Together with his brother - John S. Candler - Frank Robinson - John Pemberton's former partner - and two other partners, Mr. Candler opened The Coca-Cola Company, with a start-up capital of $100,000. They invested a lot in marketing with free coupons, promotions, souvenir fans, calendars, clocks, cup holders and so on. He did everything to advertise the brand and make it famous. In 1894 the first factory was born, in Dallas, Texas and a year later Candler made a famous announcement: "Today Coca-Cola is drunk in every state and territory of the United States". Under Candler’s leadership, sales rose from about 9,000 gallons of syrup in 1890 to 370,877 gallons in 1900.

[aidaronan]

That mug post going around just has me imagining quiet(ish) weekend mornings at the Munson trailer.

During the work/school week, Uncle Wayne stays up after he gets home from the night shift. Like a good chunk of teenagers with ADHD, Eddie stays up too late and, as a result, has never met an alarm he can't sleep through. So Wayne makes sure he gets his boy up so he won't miss school.

Wayne has to eat anyway, so it's nothing for him to also make sure Eddie has a good breakfast, even if it's sometimes a bit non-traditional. Eddie never complains if he's handed a bowl of spaghetti, and Wayne doesn't exactly hate occasionally having bacon and pancakes for "dinner." On the weekends, things are slightly less chaotic. If Eddie is home, Wayne gives him an extra hour or so to sleep in. He knows from trial and error that if Eddie doesn't keep a consistent schedule 90% of the time, things get ugly. Plus, Eddie likes being up for the cartoons.

The result is a routine of its own. On Saturday mornings, Wayne brews a small pot of decaf coffee for himself. It's enough for two cups, so he drinks one from one of his many Garfield mugs, then starts a small pot of regular coffee as soon as he pours the second. Wayne wakes Eddie right when that pot is done, ventures out to get the morning paper, then cracks it open. He reads it from beginning to end while Eddie rummages around, fixing his own coffee in his favorite Star Wars mug, loading it with enough sugar to start a candy factory.

Wayne usually stays quiet until Eddie's fully awake, but he pipes up every now and then to fill Eddie in on something important. "Looks like someone's selling a Marshall amplifier." Wayne doesn't cook on the weekends, so Eddie is halfway into the freezer on the hunt for blueberry waffles when Wayne chuckles. "What?" Eddie yawns, holding a vigil over the toaster, syrup bottle at the ready. "Oh, it's just the funny pages. That Garfield again. Cat's got his whole head stuck in a water glass." Eddie sits down across from him and toasts him with his coffee. In an hour or so, Wayne will go to bed. He'll put in ear plugs so Eddie can watch his favorite cartoons, sitting cross-legged on the floor like he's still the boy who used to visit, like he's still the boy who showed up five years back with buzzed hair and fear in his eyes.

That's later though. For the time being, Wayne folds the newspaper and picks up a pencil. "Hmm. Six letters, home to Norse Gods." Eddie chews and swallows faster than a dog given a pork chop just so he can blurt out, "Asgard! It's Asgard."

Wayne smiles and writes it down with care. He holds no illusions. He knows life could be better. He also knows it could be much worse. After all, he reads the papers. Besides, sitting with his boy on an easy Saturday morning, well...

How could he not think that life is plenty fine?

[sourtomatola]

(Taking candy for a Fool AU Info)

Introducing "Taking candy for a Fool" Y/n, a Private investigator who has been hired by FAzbears competitors.

What do they want investigated you ask? Why, the only thing the company could care about of course!

Fazbears most Exclusive, expensive, and rare candy of all,

Fazbear's Sunnydrop and Moondrop!!

This unique Candy is highly sought after, and has a waitlist for about a year. The company Y/N was hired by, wants to get their hands on some to reverse engineer to make their own, believing there is no way that the creatures who shed them are the only way to make them.

Considering the wait list however, they are feeling impatient and have asked Y/N to get their hands on maybe leftover pieces, or even the broken ones that are bound to happen. Once that the company can't sell but certainly won't give away.

Y/N decides to start by joining the tours.

They come sporadically, making sure to not seem obviously investigating or obsessing over the factory and it's inhabitants.

Once they feel confident in searching deeper into the factory, they make their move to slip away form the tour, keeping their badge to have the excuse of wandering from the tour group.

Naturally, they find their way to the Candy creatures and watch over them, staying hidden until midnight in hopes of kindly asking to break off just a couple pieces of the drops on their wrists. They appear to be clothes of sorts after all.

Then Harvest time happens.

Thats when they see the Moondrops and Sunnydrops form from the creatures tears. One of the harvesters kept a bag near their faces to catch the rounding solid tears that fell from the poor creature's eyes.

Y/N Hides again when the harvest is over, and the workers leave the Candy creatures to their own devices. From the ceiling, two tubes that drip, what looked like Syrup (probably corn syrup), dangle just in reach of the recently broken beings.

Y/N considers their options as they watch these poor creature drink and heal, barely staying upright as they lean on one another.

Next

[thelikesofus]

ring the bells

9-1-1 on Fox | Buddie | 5k words | Coffee Shop AU | alternative first meeting, fluff, getting together, first kiss, meet-cute

Written for @ronordmann's Reverse Prompt Challenge. Thank you so much Ro for inspiring me to try writing something out of my comfort zone with this fic <3

"Order for Evan!" 

If ever Buck was to die of happiness it would be in this moment. For hours he has been craving, yearning for some sort of hot, sugary drink. It started with a call to a chocolate factory and ended with an empty milk carton in the firehouse refrigerator and an apologetic look on Chimney's face. 

As soon as Buck got off his forty-eight-hour shift he had made a beeline for the nearest cafe. It was not his usual, he would typically stop at the coffee shop closer to his apartment on his way to work, but this place wasn't busy and Buck is desperate for a sugar hit.

It's because he's so desperate that Buck is taking the first mouthful as he's walking out of the store. 

He anticipates the smooth cream and sweet syrup, the spice of cinnamon to balance it all out but the mouthful slides over his tongue like hot, bitter tar and lands in the bottom of his stomach like a rock. 

"God–what the?" He sticks his tongue out and tries to rid his mouth of the taste. That is definitely not the coffee that he ordered. 

For a brief moment, Buck considers that maybe the universe just knew that he actually wanted black coffee but then decides that that's stupid and the universe is wrong this time because he definitely really wanted the drink he thought he ordered. 

So, against every ex-hospitality worker fiber of his being, he turns back to the counter and gets the attention of the barista that served him 'his' drink. 

"Hi there," he starts as brightly as he can for seven o’clock in the morning. "I'm so sorry to do this but I think you've given me the wrong drink. I ordered a caramel latte with cinnamon but this is, well, black."

"Oh!" The barista looks shocked for a second as he checks the order dockets on the counter in front of her. "I'm so sorry, I must have–."

"Given him mine." An unfamiliar voice sounds from next to Buck and when he turns he finds what is potentially the most beautiful man in all of the greater Los Angeles area. 

The barista nods. "Yes, I'm so sorry. I will remake them both right away."

The man eyes Buck's outstretched hand oddly before saying, "No need." He looks at Buck and Buck's sleep-deprived brain almost gets lost in the chocolate of his eyes. "Do you have any diseases I should know about?"

Buck stops short. "I'm–. What?" 

"Diseases." The man says—like that it is a normal thing to ask a stranger. "Are you contagious or anything? I'm in a rush."

"Ah, no. I don't think so."

"Good. I'll just take this one then." And then he reaches for the coffee that is not Buck's coffee but is in Buck's hand and Buck is too baffled to do anything but let him take it. The man disappears from the cafe and Buck is left standing at the counter with his arm still outstretched towards the barista who looks just as confused but shakes herself out of it faster than Buck does.

"I'll remake yours now." He says briskly. "Won't be a minute."

"Ah, yeah. Thanks." Buck mumbles dumbly and turns to see the man's retreating back disappear around the corner. 

The barista hands him a new cup a few moments later along with a five-dollar bill, obviously intending to refund him for the mistake, but he tucks it straight into her tip jar, thank you kindly, and then leaves, the bell ringing behind him as he goes.

Continue on AO3

[garbagequeer]

DIFFERENT #bethel? ben button of sacrificing yourself to the gargoyle king / fiy daytime hallucinations are a symptom of paranoid schizophrenia but listen have an awesome day 😁 you will NEVER be her (bisexual betty cooper)

[delilahcalicocat]

♡~Always Here~♡

{Rating: Is there a circus in town? Cause Holy f*cking sh!t that's alot of fluff!}

{Warnings: Fem!Reader, Falling Asleep on FaceTime, Reader wearing Cody's nightmare factory Hoodie, Crying, Panic}

{Trigger warning: Animal Death}

{Pairing: Cody Rhodes x Fem!reader}

~Summary: Cody was busy on the road, and Y/N was on leave to take care of her sick cat, and she finds herself wanting Cody to be there with her..~

——————————🥑——————————–

[Y/N's POV:]

Cody was out on the road, I was back home because C/N (Cat Name) had fallen ill a few weeks ago, and he wasn't doing so good...

C/N was in his pet bed, napping as he would usually be doing at 11:00pm. I went to wake him up for his medicine, I tapped C/N gently to find him not awakening...

No.. this couldn't be happening- C/N....didn't... die... did he?

I kept tapping the cat, he didn't wake up at all. I panicked heavily..

I FaceTimed Cody, a sobby mess..

"What's Wrong Starlight? What happened back home?" He asked me

"C-C/N is... D-Dead... Cody!" I sobbed out

"Oh... Starlight, I'm sorry.." He spoke

"Can.. I borrow your hoodie for the night?" I asked Cody

"Of course starlight" He Said

I had already put the poor kitten in a temporary coffin until y'know we could have him... cremated ⚱.

So I grabbed his hoodie and put it on, I laid down and kept speaking with Cody.

"So what happened with Finn and JD?" I asked

"So, Finn was cracking jokes to everyone backstage. And JD was drinking a water because he just fought in a match, so Finn made the joke, and JD spat water all over himself" He said

"Haha, that's so funny Codes. So like anything else happen while you were backstage?" I spoke

"Roman Cracked a Smile after Jimmy made a funny picture in his head, and Seth was a cackly mess at the end of the night too" he said

Wow, Cody made me so happy.. I had a contagious smile as right after i smiled he smiled, we kept on talking, we talked for over 2 hours, I found myself on almost the third hour.. Falling asleep, I eventually fell asleep.. and Cody Noticed it.

"Haha, talk to you later Starlight.. hope you have a good night of sleep" He smiled and then hung up

I dropped my phone straight on my chest. I think that's how he realized I was out cold, that or it was my light light snoring

[Dream]

I ran around a sugary, Candy like world.. it was pastel colors and candy everywhere, I wandered into a Licorice forest. It was raspberry flavored licorice, I ran through the forest until I ran into a giant lollipop. The beaches were ice cream and caramel syrup, which seemed weird to me, but okay- I walked onto the Sprinkle Covered Ice Cream Sand. It was softer than I thought..

[Y/N's POV:]

I woke up at like 8:30am, a little later than usual, but it was a Friday so It couldn't hurt to get a little extra sleep, but I woke up to Cody coming in the house...

I'm so happy he's back home now...

——————————🧁——————————–

Tag list: {comment if you'd like to be added}

[katy-133]

Rick Sanchez Showing Signs of ASD for 30 Images

(Re-posting this from a previous reblog I posted in. For organisational purposes.)

(Using some notes from CDC.gov and NHS.uk)

“People with [autism spectrum disorder (ASD)] often have problems with social communication and interaction, and restricted or repetitive behaviors or interests. People with ASD may also have different ways of learning, moving, or paying attention. It is important to note that some people without ASD might also have some of these symptoms.” - Signs and Symptoms of Autism Spectrum Disorder, CDC.gov

Similar to the above quote, some of the below examples can be explained through Doylist (meta) explanations (for example, Rick usually wears the same clothes because that's a common trope in animation, due to asset limitations and marketing/merchandise reasons).

With that in mind:

Bad sensory, overstimulation: Rick preferring to eat just noodles (possibly due to texture/taste aversion), instead of having what everyone else in the family is having.

Getting very upset if someone touches or gets too close: Rick pushing Morty away when Morty runs up to hug him.

Stimming (repetitive performance of certain physical movements or vocalisations) by moving his fists in a celebratory shaking motion in multiple episodes.

Gets upset by minor changes. Rick getting mad at Morty for changing the position of his car seat, refusing to leave a dangerous situation until it's re-adjusted.

Rick: "Wait, did you f**k with my seat settings?!"

Having the same routine every day and getting very anxious if it changes: Rick being upset that Morty is busy and can't go on an adventure with him (like in a typical episode).

Gastrointestinal issues (for example, constipation). An episode focuses on Rick needing to go to a custom planet (that felt safe and secluded) to use the toilet and feeling great distress upon learning that someone else found the planet.

Has a safe food that is seeked out for comfort. Rick likes wafers. He's seen getting them from the kitchen in multiple episodes, Beth makes sure the house is stocked with them, and the Citadel of Ricks even has its own factory to produce them.

Referencing good sensory: Rick talking in detail about pancakes covered in syrup, not wanting the pancakes to go bad.

Rick: "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got pancakes back home with syrup on top of them. They're about to hit that critical point of syrup absorption that turns the cakes into a gross paste. And I hate to get all Andy Rooney about it, but I think we all like fluffy discs of cake with syrup on top!"

And Rick enjoying pancakes in S1E10 and S4E2:

Has obsessive interests. Rick becoming hyper-focused on giant mecha collecting and Morty reminding him to not go overboard on his new hyperfixation.

Morty: "Sometimes, enough is... ?" Rick: (Sadly) "Sometimes enough is enough."

Liking to plan things carefully before doing them: Rick keeping various helpful inventions in his lab coat just in case he needs them later (Vindicators episode).

Infodumping (to excitedly share a large amount of information about a highly-focused subject or passion at one time, usually in great detail and length).

Finding it hard to talk about feelings: Rick having hesitation in apologising and explaining his thoughts and feelings to Jerry.

Rick: "If I'm genuinely cool, I should be able to love you. Which I... therefore do."

Avoids or does not keep eye contact: Rick looking away or breaking eye contact with Morty. Image set of Morty calling him out:

Rick breaking eye contact while lying to Morty:

Having a preferred outfit to wear each day (can be cause of sensory issues). Rick wearing the same blue shirt for over 40 years (we see in flashbacks that it was brighter and has faded with time).

Unusual speech patterns, such as stuttering. Rick's stuttering decreases as seasons progress.

Vocal stimming (when someone repeats a specific sound or phrase to produce sensory stimulation). Some autistic children find it easier to make up their own words. Rick repeatedly saying, "wubba lubba dub dub." He will also repeat his own words (echolalia) immediately afterwards.

Delay edecholalia, scripting (when someone "saves" exact phrases and uses them later to make social situations easier). Rick (in The Ricks Must Be Crazy) remembers Morty's comment, "that just sounds like slavery with extra steps" and uses it later to try and win an argument with another scientist.

Not picking up social cues, finding it hard to understand what others are thinking or feeling. Rick making a joke and then realising the other person is in too much distress to laugh with him (has done this with both Morty and Jerry).

Rick: "You're not laughing?" (Expression changes upon realising) "Oh, right. You're dying."

Unconventional grief response, "inappropriate" facial expressions, lack of fear: Rick reacting to burying himself in a less uneasy way than Morty.

"To the point" style of social interaction. Rick often speaks bluntly and is seen as rude by other characters in response.

Rick: "Everyone, f**k off. Morty, I need your help."

Has a terrible memory but can remember ridiculously difficult information if it interests him. Rick forgets his portal gun and leaves it behind, but can remember the formula for various chemical reactions without using a reference (ending of M.Night Shaym-Aliens!).

And finally...

President Curtis referencing Rick's neurodivergency:

Rick's comment:

Rick: "I'm not touching that thing,"

Rick finding a roundabout way to let Morty know that he (Rick) also has ASD:

Rick: "Is this game popular with autistic people?" Morty: "Why would you say something like that?" Rick: "Because I'm starting to love it."

Wish I could have added more examples, but 30 images is Tumblr's current post limit.

(I understand that the potential meme joke by OP is that the "NOT YOU" image is of Rick from season 1, versus his markedly changed characterisation in season 5-onwards, that focused more on coding Rick as neurodivergent.)

I hope this has been in some part educational for a few readers. Happy Autism Acceptance Month.

But now for the disclaimer bit: Don't take it from me, learn more about ASD.