#dietary plasticity

[kneptoons]

Shoutout to leftists who are too poor/disabled to give back to their community.

Shoutout to leftists who are too poor/disabled to shop at local/small businesses.

Shoutout to leftists who are poor/disabled and have to buy things from Amazon and other megacorps because it’s the most cheap or convenient.

Shoutout to leftists who are too poor/disabled to reduce their environmental footprint because they need the single-use plastics.

Shoutout to leftists who can’t go vegan because of dietary needs, disordered eating, or neurodivergence.

Shoutout to leftists who can’t volunteer or go to community events/protests/noise demonstrations because of inaccessibility.

Shoutout to leftists who can only be politically active online because they’re housebound.

Shoutout to leftists who are disabled and are rarely politically active because they simply don’t have the energy.

Shoutout to leftists who can’t be politically active because they’re under the care of a guardian or are trapped in an abusive situation, and they don’t have control over their finances/belongings.

Shoutout to leftists who can’t read theory, or who have trouble reading theory, but still do their best to learn.

Shoutout to leftists who can’t understand theory at all because of cognitive/intellectual disability.

Shoutout to leftists who want to be more active in their community but can’t because they struggle with anxiety, socializing, or maintaining relationships.

Shoutout to leftists with personality disorders, complex trauma disorders, conduct disorders, OCD, psychosis, and any other leftist whose personality or thoughts often unwillingly go against their beliefs due to a trauma response or chemical imbalance.

Shoutout to leftists who don’t have any “practical” skills that would be needed in a commune (i.e farming, building, sewing)

Shoutout to leftists who are too busy simply trying to survive to even think about being politically active.

Shoutout to leftists who have to always ask for mutual aid but can never give back.

Shoutout to all the leftists who can’t do this and can’t do that and can’t do the things that leftists are “supposed” to do. No one person is perfect.

You aren’t a fake leftist for not being able to do these things. All that matters is that you put in the effort, in whatever way that you can.

It’s not about your abilities as an individual. It’s about our power as a collective.

[pilfappreciator]

Brandi and Bruce’s S/o looking after the bakers dozen on their own, what shenanigans occur?

Anon this is?? Literally so cute what the hell??? Also referring to them as the "bakers dozen" is so genuis sfhjjfdadfggh—

Reader & the Bakers Dozen: babysitting solo

Includes: GN! Reader, mentions of polyamory, mentions of Vacay Lovers, slightly Parental! Reader, the Bakers Dozen

CW: Bruce Jr.

🍪 POV: your partners go off to some fancy convention to promote their business, leaving you to watch after all 13 of their kids. Chaos ensues

🍪 These little shits are already a lot to handle, so when you suddenly find yourself being the only adult in the house responsible for them? Yeah, babes, you've definitely got your hands full

🍪 Luckily, you've spent enught time at the Vacay Lovers household that things are at least a little easier for you lol

🍪 They definitely behave much better for you compared to other babysitters. Partly because you're smoochin their parents (and don't wanna get in trouble), and partly because they genuinely like you :3

🍪 But they're still little shits thru and thru, don't forget that

🍪 If they happen to have school? Chances are Bruce and Brandi already took care of their lunches and stuff before they left, so it'll be up to you to pick them up (WARNING: THE KIDS WILL TRY TO CONVINCE YOU TO GO ORDER AT THE NEAREST FAST FOOD PLACE! Unless you've got money for 13 happy meals, prepare to hit em with a firm refusal). Definitely helps if you blast some music in the van! They've kinda lost interest in Velvet & Veneer after learning the two literally tortured their dad and uncles...

🍪 Play Brozone. They'll go crazy and shout-sing along with Bruce's parts lol

🍪 Later in the day you can expect a few to come up to you for homework help. They might also wanna help with dinner, but fyi there WILL be a mess. Pasta sauce on the floor, flour all over the counters, stains on your clothes— the whole shebang

🍪 Want the least amount of casualties? Just let them set the table (no worries, all the plates and stuff are made of plastic ajdjakkala)

🍪 A few of them have some dietary restrictions tho so keep that in mind!! Luckily, you can always find a list of reminders/examples up on the fridge courtesy of lovely muppet wife Brandi <33

🍪 If the kids don't have school that day, then be prepared. You're gonna have very little time to yourself ://

🍪 Like they've each got their own interests and hobbies to keep them occupied, but sometimes they'll need you to reach somewhere up high, or for you to play tiebreaker/settle an argument, or they honestly just want you to join them for a game of hide and seek which???

🍪 "Aw, you sure you guys don't mind me joining in?"

"Yeah! Just cuz you're old doesn't mean you can't have fun, too!"

"...Gee, thanks :D"

🍪 They're merciless

🍪 They've all got their own set of chores they need to do. Each and everyone will try to worm their way out of them. All of them. Everytime

🍪 Sure, they can be a little hyper sometimes, but they're like 6-8 years old so that's expected. For the most part, they're all pretty chill

🍪 It's Bruce Jr. who you've gotta watch out for

🍪 He is a shit- stirer and I WILL FOREVER STAND BY THAT

🍪 This guy won't hesitate to rally his siblings into whatever plan he's been cookin in that feral little head of his. Prepare yourself because you're MOST DEFINITELY getting pranked. It's like a requirement or something

🍪 One nice thing i have to say about Bruce Jr. is that he's actually pretty resourceful. Like this little dude is using everyday household items like he's staring in his own Home Alone movie AKSJSJAKA—

🍪 Rest assured, tho, none of his pranks are seriously harmful or anything but like... at the end of the day, expect:

1) to be covered in craft supplies

2) your clothes/skin/hair a mess

3) to have one limb stuck in a bucket

4) all of the above

🍪 Honestly I feel like Bruce and Brandi would be surprised if they came back and DIDN'T find you sporting paint-stained clothes or with glitter in your hair. Maybe a few stickers slapped on your forehead??

🍪 The trick to dealing with this little agent of chaos is to either keep him separated from his siblings long enough so he doesn't manage to rope anyone into his schemes, or strike some kinda deal with him. Considering he's got 12 siblings, all of whom you need to be watching over at the same time, chances are the second option is your safest bet

🍪 Chances are he'll ask for something semi-illegal, or at the very least something that DEFINITELY requires adult supervision

🍪 DO NOT LET THIS BOY TALK YOU INTO BUYING ANYTHING RELATED TO FIRE. Seems like an easy task, I know. Unfortunately this little shit enherited his dad's charm so watch out o_o

🍪 He'll settle for a happy meal tho. Hopefully you didn't already cave and take him and his siblings out to eat earlier, otherwise you're spending even more money ajsjakkala

🍪 If any errands need to be run during your time there, you BETTER BELIEVE they're all coming with. You'll need to be incredibly vigilant during this time cuz these kids are even more rowdy in public than they are at home. If you're smart about it, you can turn the whole thing into a game! If everyone manages to grab everything off the grocery list in a certain amount of time or if they're able to find the best quality (but relatively cheap) brand of laundry detergent, then you'll buy each of them candy or something uwu

🍪 You can count on them to be cooperative, but like... bring the family child leash just in case

🍪 Cough cough (Bruce Jr.) cough cough

🍪 MOVIES BEFORE BED! It's a bit of a family tradition in the Vacay Lovers household. Yknow, just some way for the kids to spend time together before the day ends

🍪 You're most definitely gonna be playing tiebreaker when the time comes. All 13 of them have wildly different tastes

🍪 Absolutely no scary movies tho. They'll try to argue that theyre able to handle it, but at the end of the night expect to find yourself under a pile of frightened children who've ctawled into bed with you

🍪 Their collective nightly routine is literally?? So chaotic??? Like all of them are simultaneously trying to squeeze into the same bathroom just to brush their teeth... running in and out of their respective rooms... trying to sneak some extra dessert before bed

🍪 Literally never a quite moment in this household jshskakakam

🍪 You might have to read a few bedtime stories or sing a lullaby—

"Dad does it better"

"Just go to bed, Benji"

—but once they've settled in under the covers? Out like a light. They are unconscious the moment their heads hit their pillows

🍪 You'll probably have a mess (or two... or three) to clean up afterwards, but once they're taken care of? Dishes washed? Counters clean? You're more than welcome to crash on Bruce and Brandi's bed <33

🍪 Said couple returns home the next morning...

🍪 Just to find their kids drawing on your face with marker. Cross your fingers that none of its permanent 💀💀

Hope this was good! I know I call them all little shits BUT I MEAN IT AFFECTIONATELY OKAY AJSJAKA

Ngl I feel like this could have been like... more colorful? Like I was very general about the kids and their behavior as a whole, but now I'm super tempted to make a post describing each of them and all their little quirks! Just something fun to do that'll help me write them better in the future ;3

[cognitivejustice]

Food, fertiliser, fuel … seaweed has been a life force for centuries. On a coastal foraging trip in Pembrokeshire, we discover it’s now behind a new green initiative in Wales

 A happy combination of increased environmental awareness and more people seeking vegan alternatives has taken seaweed mainstream. It’s estimated that the industry in Europe will be worth €30bn by 2030, with seaweed already used for food, plastic alternatives, biofuel, fertiliser and cosmetics. In Asia, it’s always been a dietary staple, but in Welsh cuisine (despite the earliest written record of seaweed eaten here dating from the 12th century), it’s lost favour in recent years

A new collection of chefs and farmers has started to change that. I meet Jonathan Williams the next morning in driving rain at the Freshwater West Beach seaweed hut. A tent-like building that juts bravely into the horizon. This is the last survivor of a group of about 20 that were used to dry seaweed in the early 20th century, and it was this hut that first inspired Williams (the founder of the Pembrokeshire Beach Food Company and the solar-powered seaweed boat kitchen, Cafe Môr) to rediscover a taste for seaweed. Laver seaweed has been eaten in Wales since at least the 17th century.

[totally-sick-blogger]

Sustainability is rarely accessible

This post is dedicated to Audrey, hi king!

Like many people, I think sustainability and taking care of the environment is really important; however, something that I feel isn't talked about enough when discussing ways to be more sustainable is how it's often inaccessible to disabled people and low-income people.

A lot of "alternative products" aren't viable options for disabled people because of factors such as cost, how easy they are to acquire, or physical accessibility issues.

some examples include:

paper straws and wooden cutlery - I know that for me both of these products give me major sensory issues and as for wooden cutlery I'd also like to note that they're much more difficult to eat with which could cause problems for someone with poor dexterity or fine motor skills.

pre-packaged foods - a lot of disabled people rely on pre-packaged meals and snacks for all kinds of reasons such as sensory issues, having specific safe foods, fatigue, and physically being unable to prepare foods. etc. One example I see often is being told off for buying precut produce because why not "just cut it up themselves" when in reality, some people physically cannot cut it up themselves or don't have enough spoons to make that a priority; not to mention that frozen and pre-cut produce is often cheaper than fresh produce.

medical supplies - A lot the medical supplies that disabled people rely on every day are made up of single use plastics and most of the items aren't meant to be used more than once (though some products can be used for multiple days if cared for properly) that being said, disabled people tend to produce more plastic waste but it's not our faults so we shouldn't be getting flack for it!

Another element of environmental advocacy that a lot of people talk about is veganism; which is of course great thing to practice if that's what works for you but a lot of people (disabled or not) cannot be vegan for dietary reasons. This could be because of allergies, intolerances, restrictions, location, finances, etc. For example, I've got a soy allergy and I've got a friend with a severe nut allergy. This means that neither of us could be fully vegan because the majority of vegan products are made with soy and nuts. I also rely partially on tube feeds for nutrition and as far as I know, there aren't any vegan, soy-free formulas yet (and if there are they're probably absurdly expensive)

This brings me to my final point about cost. A lot of alternative options for vegan and sustainable products are significantly more expensive; making it much harder for people who are already struggling financially to afford those products. Not to mention people who live in food deserts (areas of a city that don't contain grocery stores) or rural areas. There are very low chances that either of those places is going to have specialty food stores or even have alternative options in the few stores that they do have!

In conclusion: stop blaming poor and disabled people for the awful state of our environment and start blaming billionaires and massive corporations!

[mapsontheweb]

Per capita daily microplastic dietary and inhalation uptake rates

Per capita daily MP dietary and inhalation uptake rates at the country level in 109 industrialized and developing countries within Asia, Europe, Africa, and North and South America, focusing on the world’s major coastlines that are affected by plastic pollution. 

Credit: Environmental Science & Technology (2024). DOI: 10.1021/acs.est.4c00010  

[dino-boyo-agere]

Tipps for little ones that are prone to accidents!!

(Obvious cw! for diaper mention)

mainly regarding No. 2 since that's what I deal with pretty much every day.

Which padding might be best?

Finding the right diaper for regular, or even everyday use can be difficult.

Since I regularly go potty normally, I often have to open and close my diapers. I find hook & loop tapes are the most durable option for this.

Pull ups are also easy for that, but they tend to get saggy and they fray really easily, so I'm not a big fan of them.

Cloth back diapers aren't crinkly, so they are more subtle than others.

The thickness of a diaper is not important when you only go number 2 in them, since they don't have to "absorb" liquid, just hold the other stuff, so you can go as thin - and therefore subtle - as you'd like.

Medical diapers are much more affordable than cute ones, but they are also boring.. Drawing on your diapers or putting stickers on them can be a great solution, aswell as a fun crafting project.

How to possibly prevent accidents?

Prevention is not always possible, but those tricks help me sometimes.

Be careful what you eat/ drink. Knowing what dietary constrictions you have and upholding them can be vital. Try avoiding possible triggers for IBS, food intolerances, etc. Especially when you'll be out and about, where having an accident could feel especially upsetting.

Try and figure out the "schedule" of your bowel movements, most people have to go at certain times and in certain intervals after eating. Figuring out your schedule if possible can help you prevent accidents by going to the toilet at the right time precautionary. Finding out your schedule can be done by writing down every time you use the restroom, especially after eating/ drinking, so also note the times of that! Do so for at least one moth to try and figure out a clear pattern.

What do when you had an accident in public?

Having an accident in public can feel upsetting and humiliating, I often get really self-conscious and sad if it happens.. But I have some Tipps that help me deal.

Firstly, here is a tiny tutorial for the cleanest way to "fold" a dirty diaper, to prevent any leaking.

I always carry little diaper bags with me, that I previously filled with a "smell killing powder". → these powders can be bought online or in stores, they are advertised as scent killers, odour eliminating Powder or garbage / diaper bin deodorizing powder. (I use "Geruchs Vernichter" by Dr. Becher) !! don't put the powder in a diaper while/ before wearing it, it's really harmful to the skin !!

The diaper bags are just little plastic bags, there are options to get ones that aren't see through, if you're super self-conscious. Another option is to wrap the bag (or diaper in it) in toilet paper to disguise it. The bags themselves are also available scented!

Carrying air freshener or deodorant may also help you, when you're in a public bathroom and feel self-conscious about the smell.

A fresh diaper, aswell as wet wipes and disposable gloves are also always in my travel bag.

Make a list of positive affirmations & take it with you everywhere.

It's not your fault, you're not broken, you're not icky, you are so valid & these accidents don't change anything about that!! <3

What to wear?

If your shy about wearing diapers, the right clothes may give you comfort.

Baggy clothes to hide them are a great option.

I found hoodies that are long enough to cover up the back areas especially comforting.

Baggy pants in general are great to hide your padding, just make sure to wear a belt so they don't slip of!

I always wear a tugged in shirt or a onesie, so there is no peeking of the diaper when I lean forward.

Wearing a short leggings/ underwear over your diaper might give you a feeling of safety aswell.

That's all I can think of right now, I might update this later though. Everyone is free to add their own tips, tricks or remarks aswell!!

I want you to know that there is nothing sameful or icky about having to wear diapers or simply choosing to wear them for comfort. There is nothing weird about it and you are not broken or less worthy of love for wearing/ needing padding.

You are strong, you got this and I'm so very proud of you for taking care of yourself!

Stay safe, kiddo!

[neosartorya]

So i was thinking about the whole solarpunk chobani oatmilk ad (as depicted here) and a comment someone made in a different post (that I now can't find) where they said something along the lines of (paraphrasing) 'the marketing people at chobani being unable to imagine a future where their brand had ditched single-use containers in favor of a sustainable alternative'. And I started thinking how will food packaging look like in the solarpunk utopia?

Modern food packaging responds (mostly) to the needs of the globalized supply chain, where food products need to be moved great distances without being damaged and while taking up as little space and energy as possible. Packaging also needs to be made of the cheapest materials available, hence the preference for disposable containers made of light materials (cardboard, plastic, aluminium, paper, etc.). You don't want your package to be worth more than what it contains (although with some food products, that is close to being the case).

The comment I referenced earlier suggested using reusable glass containers as an example of a sustainable alternative to single-use containers. That makes sense, and there is historical (and current) precedent for such kinds of food containers. Just ask your parents (or grandparents, I guess) how milk used to be delivered to homes in the good ol' days.

In a more recent example, some places still use reusable (returnable) containers for products such as beer and (even!) Coca-cola, where you pay an initial fee for the container and get reimbursed once you return it, or you can exchange the empty container for a full one by paying the price of the product minus the container fee.

This solution, however, is still within the framework of the global supply chain of modern capitalism. In the solarpunk utopia, the goal would be to reduce (reuse, repair, recycle) the breadth of our current supply chain by prioritizing local consumption and disinsentivizing long-distance trade.

This train of thought led me to the question of wether processed, pre-packaged food would even be a thing in the solarpunk utopia. After all, if we are trying to consume only what is locally sourced, one of the main purposes of preserved (and thus packaged) food goes away. No need for bottled orange juice when you can just go to the commons bin and grab a kilo of fresh oranges to make your own.

Further, once there is no capitalism, the "convenience" angle of processed, packaged food also appears to go away. You don't have to work 9 hours a day, 6 days a week anymore. You have the time and resources necessary to make your own damn fresh orange juice, so why bother with the bottled stuff?

Well for one, not everything is as easy and convenient to do by yourself as orange juice. Fermented foods (cheese, wine, beer, soy sauce, even pickles and yogurt), bread and pastries and cakes, carbonated drinks, jams and marmalade, butter, mayonnaise, cured meats and fish, and (yes) almond milk are all tricky to make properly, take a long time to be made and/or are energy and resource intensive. The need for these kinds of foods will remain as long as we are human and find pleasure in eating and trying new things. Also, the need for mass-produced food does not go away with capitalism, after all we have a population of 10 billion humans with different dietary needs that need to be fed. Food safety standards must still be enforced and probably will be even more stringent when corporate profits are no longer standing in the way of progress.

To add to this, a localized supply chain will make food preservation even more important. After all, if you want your population to survive mostly on what can be produced in a 100 km radius, you will have to prepare for food scarcity. Droughts, floods, earthquakes, blizzards, accidents, and even just regular ol' winter (once we've rescued it from the clutches of climate change) don't care how solar your punk is. They will wreck your food supply and your utopia needs to be ready.

So the need for packaged food will remain. The need for food that can stay in a cupboard undisturbed for months (if not years) and remain edible (and reasonably palatable!) will continue to be there.

With all this in mind... what does food packaging look in our solarpunk utopia? Single-use plastics have gone the way of the dodo, as have single-use paper, cardboard, aluminium, glass, and steel. What has replaced them?

I have some ideas, but this post is already ridiculously long, so I'll save them for later. All I'll say for now is I think glass containers are not the way to go. Glass is heavy, fragile, a poor thermal conductor (so heating and cooling processes with glass containers are energy innefficient), and takes up a lot of space. It is also very resource and energy intensive to produce and recycle (so not the most environmentaly friendly in that regard either).

What does a reusable aluminium container look like? That'd be cool I think.

[rathayibacter]

There's A World Where The State Has To Plan Your Funeral

a man in a dark room presses a button on a joystick. lights flash on the screen in front of him. the next day, he buys a ticket to fly across the world. he sits in an uncomfortable seat for fourteen hours. sometimes he reads a magazine. sometimes he checks his phone.

he introduces himself to the families involved. sometimes they spit on him. sometimes they cry. sometimes he justifies himself. usually not, though. he listens to requests. he takes notes. he writes a little smaller than usual. he's gonna need a new notebook soon.

he calls funeral homes. he argues over scheduling. they're busy. lots to do, not enough hours in the day. he arranges transportation of the remains. this step isn't always applicable. he goes through their wardrobe. he assembles an outfit. something they would have liked. he asks the family questions about what they would have liked. he sends the outfit to the morgue, for preparations. when applicable.

he writes invitations. he calls distant family members. he makes travel accomidations. he goes through photo albums, provided by the family. he picks out a few. he asks the family for approval. sometimes they say no. sometimes they point out a specific picture. one he missed, or one he couldn't look at. he calls print shops; he prints up large glossy pictures. he calls caterers; he asks for certain substitutions. dietary restrictions. he calls a florist's, orders a few bouquets. orders a wreath. he calls the funeral home again, to make sure everything's all set. he dry-cleans his suit. he writes a few words.

he shows up a few hours before. he helps set up decorations. he hangs the wreath on an easel displaying a large glossy picture near the entrance. sometimes he puts something else up on the easel. an old locket. a sun-faded holy book. a teddy bear with a missing eye. he welcomes the family. he shakes hands. sometimes he holds them while they cry. he waits until everyone's there. he stands at the front of the room. he says a few words. he sits back down. he listens to the family speak. he tries to focus on the words. his tie is choking him. his jacket is constricting his chest. his wedding ring is threatening to break his finger. eventually, it's over. the sensation almost goes away. he stays afterwards. he eats a cold sandwich. it's a little bit wet, the plastic trapping a bit of condensation from the deli meat. he speaks with a few members of the family. a few of them speak to him.

later that day is the burial. he doesn't remember much of the burial. he kept thinking about unrelated things. stupid things. he kept thinking about his friend who got struck by a drunk driver. he kept thinking about how his father used to hit him. he kept thinking about little children, playing in the middle of the street under an open fire hydrant. he keeps thinking about flashes of light. after the funeral, he should go back to his hotel room. it's getting late, and his flight home is in the morning. he considers going back to his hotel room. crawling under the cold sheets. falling asleep. instead, he looks up a street corner on his phone.

he visits the site of the attack. he stands amidst ruins. the rubble is mostly cleared, but a few pieces remain. he imagines that, if he just finished cleaning up, he could find something. find the teddy bear's missing eye, maybe. maybe something else. maybe he would, but it would just look like a button. he thinks about kicking a piece of loose concrete. he doesn't. the next morning, he gets on a plane. he sits in an uncomfortable seat. sometimes he reads a magazine. sometimes he checks his phone.

---

[pumpsoul-oct123]

The Importance of Preparedness: 10 Essential Items for Your Survival Kit

1. Water and Water Filtration

What to Include:

Water: At least one gallon per person per day for at least three days.

Water Filtration System: Portable water filters or purification tablets to ensure you can make any water source potable.

2. Non-Perishable Food

What to Include:

Canned Goods: Fruits, vegetables, and ready-to-eat meals.

Dry Goods: Rice, pasta, cereals, and protein bars.

Specialty Items: Baby formula, pet food, and items for dietary restrictions.

3. First Aid Kit

What to Include:

Basic Supplies: Bandages, antiseptic wipes, adhesive tape, and scissors.

Medications: Pain relievers, antihistamines, and any prescription medications.

Specialized Tools: Tweezers, a digital thermometer, and a CPR mask.

4. Emergency Lighting and Power

What to Include:

Flashlights and Batteries: LED flashlights with extra batteries.

Solar-Powered Lights: Solar lanterns and portable solar chargers for electronic devices.

Hand-Crank Radio: A multi-function radio that can receive weather updates and charge your phone.

5. Shelter and Warmth

What to Include:

Emergency Blankets: Thermal blankets or sleeping bags.

Tarp and Duct Tape: For creating makeshift shelters.

Warm Clothing: Hats, gloves, and extra layers of clothing.

6. Personal Hygiene Items

What to Include:

Sanitation Supplies: Wet wipes, hand sanitizer, and biodegradable soap.

Toiletries: Toothbrushes, toothpaste, and feminine hygiene products.

Waste Bags: Plastic bags for disposing of waste safely.

7. Important Documents

What to Include:

Identification: Copies of passports, driver’s licenses, and Social Security cards.

Medical Information: Health insurance cards, medical records, and prescriptions.

Financial Information: Bank account details, credit card information, and insurance policies.

8. Tools and Supplies

Why It’s Essential: Having the right tools can make a significant difference in an emergency, allowing you to perform necessary repairs, signal for help, or navigate your surroundings.

What to Include:

Multi-Tool: A versatile tool that includes pliers, a knife, and screwdrivers.

Whistle: For signaling for help.

Maps and Compass: Local maps and a compass for navigation if GPS is unavailable.

9. Communication Devices

What to Include:

Cell Phone and Charger: An extra charger or power bank.

Two-Way Radios: Battery-powered radios for communication if cell service is down.

Emergency Contact List: A written list of important phone numbers.

10. Personal Protection Equipment

What to Include:

Face Masks: N95 respirators or other protective masks.

Gloves: Durable work gloves for handling debris.

Protective Clothing: Long-sleeved shirts and pants to protect against exposure.

[saywhatjessie]

I am so mixed up (that I cannot tell you)

Advent Calendar Day 13! (prompts by @raven-cincaide-words) Today’s prompts: Christmas Cleaning | Enemies to Lovers | Kisses Fandom: Ted Lasso - Pairing: RoyJamie 2k[Ao3]

“How the fuck did you get so much of your shit into my house without me noticing?”

“It ain’t your fault! Your eyesight’s gone all funny with age. You can’t be expected to see shit more than 3 inches from your face.”

Roy growled and Jamie winked back. 

Roy had been volunteered by his sister to host his family for the holidays. It was fine: he had the biggest house and guest rooms that could hold his parents for the week of Hanukkah as well as Ruth and Phoebe if they wanted to stay over any of the nights. He was also the best cook and absolutely refused to make latkes in the Little Tikes playset Ruth called a kitchen. So he’d agreed, figuring he could get some plastic to protect his kitchen from oil splatters and just tidy up the living spaces for his family to gather.

He had not realized how much of the surface area in those living spaces was filled with Jamie’s shit.

“When did you even wear this?” Roy asked, holding up bright pin track pants, disgusted. “Why are they here?”

“Wore that when I pulled your bike!” Jamie told him, brightly. He snatched the trackies out of Roy’s hand and shoved them in a giant laundry bag he’d had in his car. “Have you not seen the fan photos? I look well fit. You look like a belland.”

Roy growled, kicking pairs of Jamie’s shoes away from the door.

He supposed that helped explain it. Many times after their early morning training sessions, Roy would let Jamie shower at his place before they headed in to Nelson Road. And also he would come over after training to eat before late night training.

But that still didn’t explain why Jamie had left things here.

“How many bum bags do you have?” Roy asked, incredulous, yanking about three out from between the couch cushions. ”Is there anything even in them? How do you just forget them here?”

“Ooh, I’ve been looking for this one!” Jamie said, excitedly relieving Roy of a bright silver thing. “Well flash, innit?”

“It’s ugly as shit,” Roy told him. “And still doesn’t explain why it’s here.”

Jamie snorted. “I lost this one over a month ago, mate. Maybe start asking yourself why you never clean your place.”

Roy growled again and Jamie rolled his eyes, heading up the stairs.

Roy rumbled quietly to himself. Little prick. Roy cleaned his fucking house.

He went into the kitchen to check the damage on that. He knew his kitchen was absolutely clean – he used it every day – he just wanted to make sure he moved any clutter off the counters so it didn’t catch any stray grease. Hanukkah was the oiliest holiday of the year: thank you Maccabees. 

The kitchen was just how he left it. The stove was clean, the dishes were clean and put away, the floors were swept and at least surface cleaned. He had drawings Phoebe had done hung up on the fridge. Roy sighed in relief: this space, at least, was free of Jamie Tartt.

He started carefully removing the things from the fridge, knowing that those oil droplets could fly and not wanting to ruin any of Phoebe’s work. He took down a couple drawings, photos, Phoebe’s participation ribbon for children’s pole vaulting or whatever. He smiled at them, fondly, as he removed them and gently slid them into an envelope that he’d store safely away in his office until his kitchen could be deep cleaned. 

Then he hit non-Phoebe stuff he’d forgotten he’d put up there. Training schedule. Dietary list. Match calendar. He couldn’t remember why he’d hung those up – it made sense for him to think about these things as a coach but why were they in his kitchen?

And then he saw the ‘Good Boy’ tracker with little golden stars on it and he remembered. Of course. Of course these were for FUCKING Jamie.

The Good Boy tracker was actually a work of genius: nothing made Jamie work harder than the promise of a gold star. He could run that extra kilometer, do a hundred more burpees, and make that fiftieth crossbar kick if Roy promised him a little gold star by the finish. He couldn’t help but smile seeing all the stars proudly stuck to it. It was a nice reminder of how far they’d come.

The calendar and schedule were old so Roy just threw those away. But the dietary list and gold stars went into the envelope. He couldn’t help being a good coach, now, could he?

He moved onto counters once the fridge was clear and was again relieved by the familiarity of it. Roy’s cookbooks got stored in his office with the envelope, his jar of utensils got put in a cabinet, jars of flour and sugar got put in the cabinet as well as the ENTIRE spice rack. 

He hesitated over the salt and pepper shakers. They were little black greyhounds, bought for him for secret santa sometime in the last few years. He loved them so much, he couldn’t stand to put them away. He figured they would be easy enough to clean later.

Roy had just finished stowing everything away and gave the counter one last wipedown when Jamie came into the kitchen hauling his overstuffed laundry bag. He let out a low whistle.

“Fuck, it looks so empty in here.” He noted, frowning at the naked fridge. “What did Phoebe do to piss you off?”

Roy rolled his eyes, turning to wipe down the cabinets. He only wanted to have to get through one layer of grime when this was over. “Her stuff is safe in my office. You’ve never seen a kitchen during Hanukkah, everything gets fucking covered in grease.” He grunted, rubbing his socks against the tile and wondering if it would be worth it to do a deep clean beforehand. “I put away everything I didn’t want to see ruined.”

Jamie hummed in understanding but then scowled at the stove. “Well I guess fuck me, then. If you hated the little greyhounds, you didn’t have to use them.”

Roy frowned back, turning to look at the stove. Right, the salt and pepper shakers.

“Oh, no, I–”

“They weren’t easy to find, you know,” Jamie said, slouching against the wall and folding his arms, defensively. “Greyhounds ain’t exactly a friendly shape for salt and pepper. And no one makes things black you like it so it took a long fucking time to find something you could use in your kitchen that you would like and would remind you of your team. Like I spent ages on this shit so if you don’t like them, re-gift them to Higgins or something, I’m sure his wife would use them.”

And Roy remembers, oh fuck. Right. Jamie had been his secret santa that year. He’d loved the gift so much but had hated Jamie so he’d completely divorced the two from each other in his head. He’d forgotten completely.

He looked back at Jamie, his anger, and didn’t actually think he deserved it. “I do use them. You’ve seen me cook with them. I use them every fucking day.”

“Well how do I know you’re not just using them to make fun of me? You didn’t think they were worth saving or whatever.”

“How would using them be making fun of you?”

“I don’t know, maybe to remind me how unimportant they are? How pathetic it was for me to try so hard to get you a present?”

“Why would I even do that? I didn’t even remember they were from you!”

And that was the wrong thing to say.

Jamie’s head jerked back, his face going completely frozen even while Roy could hear a soft gasp being sucked in through his teeth.

Then, before Roy could react, Jamie’s teeth clicked together, his jaw tense, and he nodded. “Right. My mistake. Why would you remember?”

He heaved his laundry over his shoulder and nodded again. “Happy holidays, Roy.”

“Wait, no, fuck.” Roy scrambled around his kitchen island, his socks skidding a bit as he ran into Jamie gripping his arm. “I love those fucking salt shakers.”

Jamie snorted, turning enough so Roy could see him roll his eyes. “Right.”

“No, I do!” Roy said, desperation making his voice hoarse. “It makes me happy every time I look at them. I couldn’t bear putting them away. I told myself they would be worth cleaning by hand myself after the holidays.”

Jamie kept frowning, his eyes narrowed in mistrust.

Roy growled, pulling Jamie back and shoving him in a chair at the kitchen island.

“I’m not fucking lying,” He grumbled. “I forgot you gave them to me because I loved them too much to think they came from you. I sublimated it.”

Now Jamie’s eyes were confused. “Like the Beatles? The yellow sublimate?”

“That’s submarine you goddamn numpty.” Roy sighed, leaning his weight on the island. “Sublimate. Like repress or some shit.”

Jamie made a soft noise of understanding but looked away from Roy.

Roy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Fuck.” He said, banging his fist on the island. Jamie didn’t jump. “I should have known it was you, though.” Roy sighed. “After Uncle’s Day. Should have known you’d have gotten me another one of my favorite presents.”

“Yeah?” Jamie said, his eyes getting some of their lightness back. “More than those custom trainers from Beckham?”

Roy rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop his relieved smile. “More than the goddamn sunglasses from Elton Fucking John.”

Jamie gasped, the sound much more welcoming than the last one. “You’ve got sunglasses from Elton John? Why haven’t I seen them?”

“Because I don’t trust you with them, I already have to lock my trophy room when you come over to make sure you don’t masturbate into my old jerseys.”

Jamie choked, going bright red. Roy huffed a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s fine. I’ve got no use for more trophies: things I lock in a room and never get to look at.” He pointed at the stove. “Those little shakers are with me every day. So thank you, Jamie. For the gift. I don’t know if I thanked you properly for them at the time.”

Jamie swallowed, still bright red and avoiding Roy’s eyes. “No, but you well hated me at the time so–” He shrugged, the laundry bag sliding off his shoulders and back onto the floor.

Roy grunted, putting a hand under Jamie’s chin and tilting it back.

Jamie’s eyes looked up at him, wide from shock. Whether from Roy’s earnestness or the fact Roy was touching him so softly, he couldn’t be sure.

And he couldn't think about it or he was going to lose his nerve.

He leaned forward and kissed Jamie softly on the mouth. Roy could hear the breath halt in Jamie’s body, the muscles in his back and neck tensing in surprise, but his mouth was loose, accepting Roy without protest and pressing back like it was as natural as blinking.

Roy pulled back just enough so he could say. “Thank you, Jamie. Really. You’re a good boy.”

Jamie squeaked, his eyes still wide and his body moving toward Roy like Jamie was fighting not to chase Roy’s lips.

Roy just smiled, leaning in to kiss him again once, very quickly, before pulling away completely.

“Why don’t I make us some supper?” Roy asked, turning back to his kitchen. “Reward for cleaning up before my parents get here.”

It took a look time and several unsuccessful attempts at speech before Jamie said. “You shouldn’t cook, you just cleaned the kitchen. Why don’t we get takeaway?”

Roy looked at him, nodding again in approval and delighting at Jamie nervously looking away. “Good, yeah.” He bit back a smile as Jamie squeaked again. “I could use a kebab.”

[astramachina]

Weekends are sacred days for fathers and their school-aged daughters. Hospitals are holy spaces for fathers bringing sons into the world. An old, refurbished building is a mausoleum for the bastard of both.

She's a lively little critter, and every lively little critter deserves a perfectly balanced breakfast to keep them going on all cylinders.

While everything is good in moderation is the Emily household motto, Henry admits his dietary restrictions where Charlotte is concerned are a bit stricter than most. Eggs, bacon, home-style potatoes, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice is a perfect combination for a bean sprout elementary schooler setting her classmates to shame during the Math Olympics. Breakfast of champions, that.

But it is the weekend, and weekends are sacred for anyone who's of school age. Henry remembers getting up with the sun during his preteen years, desperate to make Saturday last because Sunday sermons kept him indoors too long. The rooster would cry and his shoes would be halfway on, ready to grab his bike and ride into town to meet up with friends.

Charlotte is too young to be heading out by herself, but Henry knows what she likes best. She's also been feeling under the weather, so why not overindulge her?

"You are not going to believe this," Henry says, setting down a plastic bowl and pouring into it a heaping serving of Lucky Charms. "Are you ready?" He uncaps the milk bottle and begins to pour, lifting it to create a dramatic waterfall that splatters droplets over the table. "If you swirl it around, it turns the milk blue. Like magic."

In reality, the milk turns an ugly gray.

Chapter one of three is now up on AO3.

rated T for canonical character death and discussions of grief, trauma, and child abandonment.

[gallusrostromegalus]

TPOFATGIF: Per the last ask, what dietary issues does the rest of the crew have? Anyone allergic to peanuts and complain loudly about the price of epipens?

Tristan is allergic to celery, which is actually one of the most common allergies in the world by population, but it's localized almost entirely to people of Swiss, Austrian and Polish descent. He's only reactive to some of the compounds so far hasn't had a severe reaction but he knows he's on thin ice and that it could get worse at any point, and then he's in real trouble- Despite it being a common allergy, it's not legally required for companies to list it in allergen information, and celery oil or celery seed is in a TON of things like potato chips and food seasoning.

Yugi is borderline lactose-intolerant and can do cheese and yogurt but not milk, but this does not stop him.

Bakura has got a literal curse that prevents him from eating "The flesh of any plant or animal" without getting seriously ill or maybe even dying, but what counts as "Flesh", "Plant" or "Animal" is determined by the ever-shifting law of the Fairy Courts so his "safe" foods can change on him at random without warning, but so far "Mushrooms and other Fungi", "This foodstuff has been so heavily processed it's more like plastic than any of it's original organic components" and "Blend it until it's too liquid to be 'flesh'" have been working for him so far. Boy lives on a Mushroom, twinkie and horrorterror smoothie diet, which is a large contributing factor to why hes Like That (TM).

Odion can't stand the taste or smell of bananas. One of his baby brother's staple foods. The man suffers.

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 7: Candlelight

Summary: Ghost spends the night

Author's note: Before I do anything more, a special thank you to @onomatobooyah for mentioning my fic to someone else! When I got the notification that I was tagged in a comment I thought "Oh boy another p*rn bot" and cried for a good 5 minutes when I realized what it was 😭

word count: 4.4k

If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!

Next chapter is here!

Content Warning: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence

Ghost stood under the stream of lukewarm water coming from the showerhead above his tilted head. Anymore cold and he might as well stand outside beneath the endless rain. He could hear a staccato cadence of footsteps climbing the stairs while he peeled off his rain-drenched clothes that clung to his skin, followed by the thud of a door closing. He felt confined in a house that provided ample distance and space for the both of them and her furry companion. Still, being able to hear her movements on the second floor made him feel like he was still too close.

-----

Andra came out of her own shower shivering. She had read that ice-cold shock baths help regulate the nervous system and, in some cases, improve a person’s anxiety levels. Well, she didn’t have a tub of ice to submerge herself in, so a shower on the coldest setting she could handle would have to do.

Still, the crewneck two sizes too big felt too tight against her skin, her sweatpants stuck to her legs and her toes felt numb from the cold. She sat at the edge of her bed for a few minutes while she warmed up and towel dried her hair. The swipe of Sammy’s tongue against Andra’s hand startled her out of her frazzled thoughts, and she gave Sammy a loving rub to the underside of her maw.

“Crap.” Andra realized Ghost’s jacket was leaving a damp spot on her duvet to the right of her. She got up, abandoning the towel on her chaise lounge and decided to take it downstairs to let it dry on the coat rack by the front door.

The stairs creaked with two different patterns of feet as she walked down in a pair of fuzzy, black socks, just in time to catch Ghost walking out of the bathroom.

There’s no way it went unnoticed with how her eyes practically did a pat down like she was airport security. He had more tattoos on his right leg, a sight only possible due to his basketball shorts. His gray PT shirt with the name ‘RILEY’ across his shoulder blades was just as tight on him as the sopping wet shirt he had on beforehand, all accompanied with his trademark skull balaclava.

Say something, for the love of all gods. “Was the water pressure okay?” Andra was ready for lightning to take her out. If a god exists, it’ll strike me down now.

His eyes squinted from a grin. “Solid.” Ghost reached out for the jacket draped over her arm. “I can take that for you.”

Andra looked down at it before handing it over. “I was going to hang it up so it could dry. Oh, did you happen to put your wet clothes in the wash? It’s behind the sliding door in the bathroom.” She was rambling at this point to diffuse the nerves knotting her stomach.

Ghost looked to the darkened bathroom. “No, I’ll go ahead and do that.”

“I’ll warm up some water on the kettle and grab us some food.” Andra walked past him and headed for the kitchen, Sammy in tow. Ghost’s heavy footsteps made his announcement, joining her in the kitchen. “Do you have any dietary restrictions? I have leftover pot roast from yesterday with some white rice.”

“No, I’ll have what you’re havin’.” Ghost opened the refrigerator door. “Is it this container?” He pointed to the big plastic Tupperware container on the second shelf.

Andra glanced over. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about it, you can sit down and give your feet a rest.”

“Let me do something, doll.” Ghost shut the fridge door and started searching cabinets. There he goes again calling her that; a heat simmered in her lower belly from the way he said it. Andra crouched down to the cabinet in front of her and pulled out a pot. “Here, you can reheat it in here.”

The two of them prepared the leftover meal together, working in tandem as Ghost explores the layout of the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and let out a breathy chuckle. “You have every kind of tea imaginable in here.”

“I like having variety.” Andra reaches for the box labeled with the flavor honey vanilla chamomile. “Take your pick.”

With the kettle boiling, Andra retrieves two mugs, plopping her tea bag in one of them with the string hanging off the side. Ghost reaches for the kettle before she can and pours for both of them.

He was close enough for Andra to detect the scent of his bodywash. The kitchen had never felt smaller before.

“Storm’s bad enough out there to cause a power outage.” Ghost broke the palpable silence as he peered out the window above the kitchen sink. There was still a lightning show going on out there.

Andra started pulling out bowls and utensils for the food. “If it does, I have plenty of candles in the hallway closet.” She brought over the servings of pot roast to the little dinette set in the nook beside the kitchen. They sat down together across from one another, the sound of torrential rain waterfalling on the farmhouse overtaking the silence. It was enough to create its own background noise, like a sleep soundtrack Andra sometimes listens to.

At the same time, the two of them stretched out their legs beneath the table, and upon feeling one another, Ghost jolted back in retreat as if she was a bolt of lightning. They exchanged glances, their eyes communicating a non-verbal apology.

Andra shamefully watched Ghost fist the fabric of his balaclava at his neck and bring it up over his mouth, stopping at the tip of his nose. She had caught a glimpse of his face earlier in the day, but now she was taking in the features that have always been hidden from her.

Wholly chiseled jawline, batman… Andra dipped her head in an attempt to focus on the food in front of her, but her eyes flicked back up while he started to dig in. The parts of his face she could see had a five o-clock shadow of stubble ready to grow, will most likely be there by the morning, his chin was dimpled – gods, save her – and a white scar slashed through the right side of his mouth. There was another scar on the side of his left cheek that disappeared underneath the fabric of his mask.

Andra was no better than a Victorian-age man peeping his first ankle. No one’s facial movements and features have been so interesting before until now. She had to memorize what she could see in fear that it would be the first and last time she’d ever see any part of him again.

“Did you learn how to cook on your own?” Ghost asked, seemingly oblivious to Andra’s ogling eyes.

His timbre voice made Andra drop her spoon in her bowl with a clang as she looked away. The first instinct screamed at her to ask about his scars, but she was thankful for the opportunity to veer her thoughts away from anything other than his marble-carved jawline. “My grandmother when she was still alive, and my dad, and whatever recipes I find online.” Her jittery fingers recovered her fork from the bowl. “Do you cook?”

Ghost wipes his mouth with a napkin, muffling a laugh. “Hardly. I cook simple meals just to meet macros and protein intake, so it’s nice tasting something with flavor for once.”

Andra thought of something else as she swallowed her last bite. “You spent a lot of time in the chow hall, I’m assuming, when you were active duty?”

He sat up straight with a head tilt as his gaze focused elsewhere, recalling years and years of memories. “When I first joined the Royal Air Force, yeah. Then I trained to join the SAS boys, and when I was assigned to task forces, we would take turns cooking meals every evening. Soap - Johnny can’t cook for shit,” Andra smiled like she already knew that, “Gaz was the better one out of all of us.”

Her eyebrow twitched at the name; she heard Johnny talk about Gaz before, but it wasn’t coming to her. “Do you keep in touch with anyone else other than Johnny?”

“Yeah, a few of us catch up a few times outta the year when our schedules align.” His relaxed posture had Andra softly smiling. His legs had stretched out once more, accepting the gentle brush against her foot, then her leg.

She was doing something right today, and it was chasing away her own butterflies and the anxiety the storm had initially created. The thunder wasn’t as frequent, but the rain continued to trickle down the nearest window Andra could see.

Sammy was laying right beside Ghost’s chair, resting her empty head on her paws in a peaceful snooze.

The moment the both of them got up to start cleaning up, she got up as well and wagged her tail in hopes that she would be getting scraps. Ghost looked to Andra, mask concealing him once more, and reached out for her bowl. “I’m cleanin’ up.”

Ghost said it like a declaration that she was not going to change, so she bashfully handed her dish over. “Alright, baby, there’s a little bit left for you.” She scraped the bottom of the pot into Sammy’s dog bowl, her tail smacking Andra’s foot with rapid speed as she sat patiently. “Go ahead.”

Sammy helped herself while Andra brought the last dirty dish to the sink where Ghost was scrubbing at the bowls and tea mugs. The evening was still young; Andra racked her mind for an idea of what they should do with the rest of their time before going to sleep.

After cleaning up, they all relocated to the living room. Ghost paced leisurely around the walkways of the room. He was observing the Halloween decorations adorning the walls, the shelves, and the coffee table. “You’re ready for the holiday, I see.”

“Where people decorate for Christmas right at the beginning of November, I decorate for Halloween on August first.” It was Andra’s tradition, one that she never had the pleasure of showing to others since there weren’t opportunities for hosting at her house. “I hit the costume stores as soon as they open every year, and whatever I find is added to my obscene amount of Halloween decorations I have.”

Ghost picked up the skull-shaped amethyst crystal on one of the shelves, weighing it in his palm. “You could take someone out with this, Christ.” Ghost gently placed it back down and walked back to where he left his bag sitting beside the couch. He picked it up and started rummaging through it. “I threw our books in here before running inside.

Andra’s eyes lit up and accepted the book Ghost chose from his warm hands. “I’m glad you did! I wanted to start reading it tonight.” In truth, she couldn’t think of anything better than buddy reading with Ghost. Yeah, her weekend evenings were a riot.

Ghost sat on one end of the couch, Sammy sat beside him and did two twirls before plopping down. Andra took up the opposite side, curling her legs beneath her and placed a torch light she pulled out of a utility drawer from the kitchen in case the lights did happen to go out. She opened the book up to the author’s note page.

Changes were made to the text in order to protect the work of a unit which continues to play a key role in the fight against terrorism.

“Oh shit.” Andra whispered to herself. Ghost picked an anecdotal story. She looked at the front cover once more to see the author’s name to keep it in the forefront of her thoughts while she reads.

Ghost shifted on the couch cushions, making himself comfortable as he held the book in one hand, his thumb splaying the pages apart. The fabric of his mask made it difficult for Andra to get a peek at his expression, but from what she could tell he was settling into the read as much as she was about to.

They read for what felt like a few hours. Andra shifted every now and then to try and find a new position to get comfortable, as all readers do. Ghost was as still as a statue, the only movement from him was the flip of a page every few minutes. Andra tried peering over to see where he was in the story, only catching a glimpse of the page number if she squinted ever so. A furry German Shepherd was keeping her from getting any closer. Sammy even had the audacity to perch her head on Ghost’s thigh.

Girl, if you only knew how lucky you are.

It’s like her canine companion knew her thoughts; her tail started to tickle Andra’s arm with its little flutters.

With Ghost’s free hand, he rubbed Sammy’s coat along her side before resting his arm on the back of the couch, his hand sitting right behind Andra’s head.

She rolled her lips between her teeth and inhaled through her nose. What were the last three paragraphs about? She retained nothing, even though she swore she read the same sentence three times over.

VRRT-VRRT. Andra’s phone vibrated against the wooden top of the coffee table. Her face immediately heated when she saw who the message was from. On a social media messenger no less since anyone overseas could only communicate with her that way.

Isabella: Andrew made bail, we don’t need your help.

Andra couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. Her eyes traveled to the time in the upper lefthand corner of the screen. “Hey, it’s already eight.” She turned her head to look at Ghost, and Sammy crawled off the couch with a big stretch. “I usually go to bed in the next thirty minutes, want me to set up the pullout couch for you?”

Ghost was about to dog ear the page he left off on, but Andra quickly handed him one of her bookmarks that sat on her coffee table for instances like these. She knew this would come in handy. He slid the bookmark between the pages and set the book on top of hers. “Sure, I’ll move the table aside.”

Andra got up and shuffled to the hallway closet to retrieve the spare pillow and blanket for her guests. She could hear the scuffing movement of the coffee table being moved across the floor. As she was closing the door, Ghost came to retrieve the items in her hands when the lights began to flicker. Then completely went out.

A flash of lightning lit up the entire house for half a second.

The shatter of breaking glass was loud in her ears.

It had both of them dropping to the floor, a hand muffled the scream Andra let out. Sammy barked in a panic, rushing to Andra and Ghost. She breathed heavily from her nose, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. The onset of hyperventilation.

Ghost’s soft shushes got through to her, his hand moved from her mouth and brushed her hair. “Stay here.”

Andra could feel an absence in front of her; Ghost wasn’t there anymore, but Sammy was beside her, licking her to calm both of them down.

She could hear the sound of a zipper being pulled, the rustle of Ghost removing something from his bag. A weapon? A gun? It made the most sense in her mind. Another flash of lightning went off, long enough for her to see Ghost crouched in front of the couch, a pistol in one hand and a torch crossed over in the other. A soldier – no, a warrior - taking stance like he’s never forgotten his days and nights in service.

A wave of security washed over her. She was coming down from the fear and anxiety, her mind beginning to rationalize that she was safe from whatever had happened.

Was there something out there? No, it was just the force of lightning that broke the window, wasn’t it? She was in the safety of her farmhouse, where no one could possibly get to them. The road was obstructed by a fallen tree.

The light of Ghost’s torch startled her. His pistol was pointed downwards to the ground, finger away from the trigger. “A rock broke through your kitchen window.”

A rock? Andra got up onto her feet, the closer she got to Ghost the clearer she could see him. His shirt was a darker shade of gray, as if it got wet. He went outside. Shit… she didn’t even hear his movements, or the door opening.

“How big of a rock are we talking about?” Ghost led her to the kitchen. It had to be pretty fucking big for it to have –

Wholly shit.

It was about as big as half of a brick. The kind of rock that people throw into windows with notes attached to them to let them know they were on someone’s list. Her eyes bugged wide.

“The storm picked that up?” Andra was trying to rationalize it in her head. Or maybe a strike of lighting hit the ground and sent it flying into her window…

Ghost shook his head. “There’s no way. It’s got weight to it.” He stepped around the broken glass and kicked it, sending it sliding across the tiled floor. It hit the wall beside the back door a little harder than she expected.

She let out a nervous scoff. “No one would be crazy enough to be out in this storm just to be pulling pranks, especially all the way out here. Even so, the road’s blocked.”

His silence brought her no reassurance. He started to look for something to patch up the window, the torch sitting on the table facing up to light up the room. He pulled out one of her kitchen trash bags and used a pocketknife to cut down its seams. “That won’t stop someone from getting out here.”

Andra wished he had just stayed quiet instead. “What are you trying to say?” Her heart was racing in her chest, and her fingertips tingled.

“Let’s get this covered first.” Ghost avoided her question and held the cut out bag up to the window. “We need to tape this.”

“Okay.” Andra pulled the roll of duct tape out of the utility drawer and started to unravel piece after piece. Once the makeshift cover was secured over the broken window, Andra started sweeping up the broken glass. It was a miracle none of the shards punctured her socks, still, to play it safe she discarded the pair into the bin with the dustpan of broken glass.

Andra lit a few candles in the living room to give them some light. Ghost sat there with his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes reflecting a storm as ravenous as the one outside.

“Why do you think someone threw a rock into my window?” Andra sat on the edge of the coffee table.

He finally looked to her. “That day we went into the woods, I spotted a group’s worth of footprints off the beaten path we were on.”

She waited for him to continue his explanation, but it didn’t stop her from theorizing scenarios.

Ghost’s hands clenched into fists. “And lately, a car with stolen license plates have been driving down the road several times in the past few months.”

Her insides went cold, she was glad she was already sitting down. “Wait, you knew about this for months and now you’ve decided to tell me?”

His eyes softened with guilt. “I had every intention of telling you about the first incident at a later time, I just never got the chance –“

“Because you cut me off.”

The silence was so loud, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. “Yeah.”

Anger and something like betrayal was churning in her chest. It had her gnawing on the inside of her cheeks. She didn’t want to be angry with him, not after she just got him back. Her tongue swiped her lower lip to get rid of the dryness bothering her. “Do you suspect someone is after me? Or you?” She failed to hold back the implicating tone in her voice.

Andra was afraid to look away from Ghost’s stare, afraid that he was going to detect her fear. He was good, and it didn’t surprise her. Ghost straightened himself and rolled his shoulders, giving him an intimidating appearance. “Are you worried that someone might be after you?”

Fuck. Her mouth opened then closed once more before answering. “There were people who had beef with me, but they wouldn’t go out of their way to track me down.”

Andra felt like throwing up. It wasn’t a lie, she wouldn’t lie to Ghost. But what about him? He wasn’t being very forthcoming with her, either. In fact, he evaded her question and turned it back around on her. “I asked if you think someone was after you, and you didn’t answer.”

Now it was his turn to freeze up on her. His shoulders became tense. “I don’t know.”

Her eyebrows went up. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

Andra flinched. Regret glazed his eyes for how bitter that answer came out. Ghost sighed, bowing his head to avoid her wounded gaze. It wasn’t the first time she’s heard him shut down the conversation before, the first time being about his family. There was a wall between them when it came to his past, but his was far thicker and higher than hers.

She had no right pushing him for answers while she concealed her own secrets as well.

“I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”

Her heart ached. No, not again. He was distancing himself, but this time it was from pre-conceived notions that the both of them had no clue was true. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. Her words were stuck in her throat. So, she swallowed with a head nod and went upstairs.

-----

Andra snoozed her alarm twice. Sleep evaded her for majority of the night, and when she thought it finally came, the power came back on around three in the morning. With a disgruntled groan, she turned the lights off and laid in the dark of her room.

Now she was struggling to get out of bed with hardly any rest. She had to get ready; Johnny already sent his usual ‘on the way’ message, so he was going to be met with the obstacle of the fallen tree. She had thrown on a black and white flannel and an unwashed pair of jeans, brushed her teeth and threw her hair up in a tie.

The living room was empty by the time she came downstairs. The foldout couch was put away, the blanket folded neatly with the pillow sitting on top. She checked to see if the makeshift cover on the kitchen window held up through the night, and it did. She made a mental note to herself to call her insurance. Should she make a police report as well? It was probably a good idea to see if there were any signs of a person being out there first.

Ghost stuck to his word and was out of the house first thing.

-----

Something was off with Andra, Johnny could detect it in the way she forced a smile every time she talked to a customer. It faded once no one was around. She was quiet with him and shook her head with an unsatisfied sound coming from her when she checked her phone.

“You’re off today, lass.” Johnny started. “I figured after the evening you had with company, you would be a wee bit chipper.”

  “I guess Ghost didn’t tell you what happened.” She slipped her phone in her back pocket and sat in her foldout chair.

Johnny leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “No.”

She was avoiding his eyes. “The day at Lyme Park was really good. Everything was super nice until a rock went and shattered my window in the kitchen.”

His head tipped up and his eyes shut for a moment. “And he panicked, I’m assuming.”

“Well, we both did.” Andra explained. “It was kind of weird how the power went out and then the rock came through the window. But he texted me just now to let me know he called up someone to go repair it and he foot the bill for me.”

Johnny nodded his head. “Typical Simon.”

Andra rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Now I feel like he’s trying to push me away again because he thinks someone did it rather than some freak accident-“

“Wait, he told you that?” Johnny stood up straight, his hands falling to his sides.

“In so many words, yeah. Then he told me that someone has been through the woods of my property, and there’s been a vehicle with mismatched plates driving down our road.”

Johnny turned away from her and pretended to prep paper bags. “That’s a new one…”

There was a beat of silence before Andra grabbed his arm to turn him back to her. “You knew about the first incident?” Oh shit, she wasn’t happy about that.

He grimaced. “Sorry, lass. He did tell me to keep a lookout when I am there and when I’m with you at the market.”

She threw her hands up in disbelief, this time she gave him her back. “Unbelievable, you men.”

“Simon didn’t want you scared about something that might not be an issue,” Johnny tried to justify. “His PTSD tends to send him into overdrive at things like this.”

“Now there’s been a new incident to add onto the list, though.” Andra started to pack up her stall now that it was noon.

Johnny grabbed the chair in her hand to make her take pause to look at him. “These coincidences aren’t incidents, we have no proof of someone bothering either you or Simon. Don’t let his anxiety get to you, it’s gonna be fine.”

Her sad eyes locked onto him, telling him that she was just as shaken up as Simon probably is. And he wanted to know what has haunted her for her to remain that way.

----------

And that is the end of Act 1! Thank you to everyone that has stuck around with me so far, and thank you to my new readers that took a chance on my fic as well! I'm going to be taking a brief break from writing to avoid burning myself out again, it won't be as long as the last time. I do intend on posting a filler chapter like I was contemplating, but I do want to give myself some time away from the keyboard and enjoy other things.

I'll be seeing y'all again soon <3

[sweet7simple]

Dratchrod where they live on a planet after everything happens.

Its a nice cabin that fits them and then some.

Roddy plants a nice large garden away from the cabin not sure if the two like them but they’re so into it and they are so surprised that Rodimus loves flowers and knows how to plant and tend to them.

They get to see a side of Rodimus he doesn’t really like showing and they love it!

I’m thinking of him planting cyber fruits and vegetables that he makes fuel with and they come back home every cycle starving for his food. He’s a really good cook and they can’t get enough. He’ll do dishes from his culture and theres and its always good.

Idk i was supposed to make it so they gift him plants because they want to show they love him but then i got lost in the rambles and building the scenario lol

I hope this is okay if not i won’t leave an ask like this again.

@cozzzynook, you can ask me almost anything. Just so you know, though, I also got lost in the rambles really bad while writing this. As in, I wrote most of this response, then came all the way back to reread your prompt, and realized that I missed some of your main points. I hope you can forgive me and that this still pleases you.

This raises interesting questions because it implies that the Cybertronians have their own version of fruit and that they derive some nutritional value from them, or that they fulfill some dietary need. Or, like how humans enjoy high-fat, high-sugar foods, maybe cyber fruit is actually unhealthy for them in large quantities, but it just tastes so damn good that the fruit is addictive.

If energon was the life blood of Cybertron, then it's possible that what we are going to call "fruit" for simplicity's sake were actually these units of cells that filled up with energon, or an energon derivative, or maybe the cells filled up with some other fluid as a chemical reaction with acid rain, or so on. No matter what, when we say "fruit", I am imagining a variety of capsules that, if cracked open, have a network of cells that are filled with some sort of fuel that Cybertronians can eat. When I say "cells", it might be easier to just imagine a bee's honeycomb. A honeycomb is actually just a collection of hexagonal cells that are used to store eggs and honey. For the outer shell of these fruits, we're not talking about banana peels and coconut husks and apple skins - we're talking about thin, bendable sheets of metal that unfurl as the fruit fills with whatever fluid the fruit is designed to let in. Or we're talking about different kinds of elastic or hard plastics. The thinner the outer shell, the more likely you are to determine the readiness of the fruit by the change in color. The harder (less transparent) the outer shell, the more likely you are to determine the readiness of the fruit by how heavy it is.

I am making this all up as I go and there is every possibility that there already exist Cybertronian fruit and I just don't know about it. In which case, I am a fool, but I am a fool having fun.

Let's keep in mind that, when the energon stops flowing through Cybertron, most of this fruit dies. The circuit trees rust and the web groves rot. The fruit that might survive this hellscape are the fruits that depend on either rust or acid rain to grow - and that's if there are places where acid rain is still falling. Chances are, though, even these fruits don't last much longer.

These fruits also wouldn't replace the importance of energon in a bot's diet - they would just work alongside that staple fuel, or be considered unnecessary, but highly desirable snacks. Humans enjoy eating bananas and apples and oranges and peaches, but fruits don't replace our other dietary needs and too much fruit can actually have too much sugar for you.

This is all background for the ask, but the first question I had when I saw your prompt was, "how do I make a Cybertronian eat fruit if they're giant robots?" The answer is to make is to define what a fruit would be on Cybertron.

Before I get to the prompt, I want to talk about our mangosteen.

I have never tasted this fruit, I have no idea what special tricks there are to eating this fruit, but this is more or less what I think some Cybertronian fruit would look like based off the thick shell and the seeds - except I imagine that the shell is a type of plastic that starts out as a very dense marble and then is pushed outward as the cells become engorged. The seeds of this mangosteen would be fully engorged cells. Maybe the walls of the cells are only permeable to energon, or maybe they're made of up some chemical that reacts to acid rain and what filters through is some kind of coolant that is beneficial to bots, or maybe these fruits are solar powered and there's some self-replicating circuitry inside that expands as it builds and they're affectionately called "bytes" (like "bites", hah, see?) and they're crunchy.

Sorry, I got too involved in the pseudo-science of it.

So the thing is, on the Lost Light, there's a vertical farm, which just means that there's this indoor space where food is being grown on shelves. This vertical farm lets the Lost Light develop dietary supplements and additives that go through what we might think of as a "growth phase" and require care to reach their final phase. The care for any two fruits might be different. The frigus have their own artificial environment that lets them filter through acid rain and engorge their cells with coolant (I'm calling this "frigus" as that's the Latin word for "cold"). The circuit trees with their bytes don't require much more than a slow and steady trickle of energon to fuel their self-replicating nanotechnology. The supposed easiest fruit to grow, the fusa has a plastic outer shell with soft plastic needles extending out of it. It stores energon in a plate at its base and that energon is drawn up into the cells through filters when the fusa is dry. When the cells are full, they actually pop through a pore in the fusa and stick out like dark pink orbs. The energon is so concentrated and sweet from the filtration system that they're considered delicacies. The problme is, the fusa is very slow to fill their cells. If you try to drown them in energon, the cells swell up too fast and rip. If you're not trying to grow them for fruit, though, they're very easy. They can go long periods of time without fuel and can get solar power to work their filtration system from almost any source of light.

Rodimus receives a fusa and lets it die because, what the frag is he supposed to do with it? Teach it tricks? "Now, fusa, sit! Good production plant!" He's not interested.

Not until Ratchet sees the dried out husk of the fusa, shakes his helm, and says, "I bet you couldn't keep a plant alive even if you wanted to."

And Rodimus is contrary, so he goes, "Oh, yeah? What are you willing to bet?"

And Ratchet says, "It's a bet you'll lose, you sure you want to take it?"

"Bring it!"

So Ratchet bets that if Rodimus can't keep his next fusa alive until it fruits that Rodimus has to take an emergency first aid class with him ("What does First Aid have to do with any of this?" "Hah hah, and that's why I want you to come to a class.")

Rodimus says that he can and, when he does, Ratchet has to do that thing he likes with his mouth and the spray paint and the interface aids (plural). Ratchet likes doing that anyway, but he pretends to grumble his way through the deal so that Rodimus feels like it's actually a fair bet and he doesn't win either way.

So Rodimus picks up another fusa! And it dies. The cells rip because he tries to fuel it too fast. So Rodimus goes to an emergency first aid class where Ratchet is his teacher and he makes the class unbearable for everyone (there are maybe six or seven other crew members there) by flirting outrageously with Ratchet.

"Hey, teacher, I think I needs a servos-on demonstration."

"For frag's sake, Rodimus."

Ratchet thinks that's the end of it, but now Rodimus is determined, okay? He doesn't like being wrong. He doesn't like being bad at something he actually wants to be good at. He doesn't like that he failed at something that he thought was going to be easy.

So he gets another fusa (he has to sign an agreement with dietary techs saying that he will reimburse them for the loss if it also dies and if he returns for any other production plants). The dietary techs are helpful enough to give him a datapad loaded with instructions on how to develop production plants and the instructions for the fusa are fairly short and easy to follow (Step one: Do not overfuel). Rodimus doesn't read it because that's a waste of his time, he'll just feel his way through the process, do what feels right.

He has to reimburse the dietary techs. It's a heft trade. He plops down with the datapad and groans and moans his way through the pages for the fusa and it takes him hours because he keeps letting himself get distracted. He hates reading, is the problem. Once he actually finishes reading about the fusa, he realizes he doesn't remember anything he read (a brain module is very good at saving memories, but he's so used to dumping his short-term memory whenever he's listening to lectures or reading that he did it again without even realizing it). He's furious and finds an instructional video instead. That helps.

He gets another fusa and tries again. It lives. It takes a long time, okay? It takes the Cybertronian equivalent of years, but it lives. And the day comes when he walks into the hab suite he shares with his mates and there's this tiny, dark pink bud shooting out of his fusa and he doesn't hesitate. He carries his fusa throughout the whole ship, showing off his accomplishment. He did it. He produced a fruit! He's practically giddy every cycle he watches the fruit grow rounder and rounder until it sags off the side of the production plant under its own weight. He plucks it off and punctures the thin, plastic capsule and the cells inside are so swollen and slippery in his servos. He shared the cells with his mates and it's. It's a moment for him.

It's a moment to watch Drift and Ratchet enjoy, even savor, something he nurtured for so long. They're overflowing with praise for him and what he's developed. Drift shutters his optics as he chews slowly, rocking back and forth on his pedes as he lets the thick, concentrated energon drain down his fuel intake.

"It's incredible, Roddy."

Ratchet tries to bite his in half and accidentally squirts it across his face and down his chest. He makes a sound of mourning at his own loss and hastily shoves the rest in his mouth as he tries to scrap up the sticky fuel and lick it off his digits.

Rodimus proceeds to help him clean up with his glossa.

It's great. It's incredible. Rodimus doesn't have to develop his fusa anymore - he's proven that he can do it. But he does because watching Drift and Ratchet enjoy his fruits is probably one of the most erotic and fulfilling things he's seen in a long time.

So while he's growing a fusa, he hustles back over to the vertical farms to see what else he can develop.

(He tries to argue that he's grown a fusa now! He can handle the hardest production plant they have. He wants the production plant with the tastiest, juiciest, messiest fruit! They have to be the messiest so he can lick them off his mates again. The dietary techs are all, you didn't have to say all that out loud and, no. Here's the next easiest production plant to develop after a fusa.)

It goes on like that for a long time where he picks up a plant from the vertical farms to grow fruit for his mates, suffers a setback because he doesn't actually know how to develop this particular production plant, and then he deigns to watch an instruction video before going back to the vertical farms to get another one. The vertical farms rack up a lot of favors from him due to his failures, but that's not the point. The point is that, sooner or later, Rodimus ends up with a forest in his hab suite and most energon meals are supplemented with fruit he developed himself. Drift and Ratchet sometimes try to help, but his production plants are his and if they help, then it feels like it takes away from the gift of fueling them himself, so, no, they're not allowed to touch. Besides, he's the plant tech now (unofficially), they might destroy his production plants! Trust him, he knows what he's doing. No, Drift, don't fuel my fusa, you'll rip the cells. No, Ratchet, don't change the microplastic medium for my mini fragrance tree, you might upset the root network and then the fragrance fruits will fall off before they're full and they'll taste bad.

Drift and Ratchet are, at first, surprised. Then they learn to live in a jungle of which they're not allowed to touch anything until Rodimus hands them a fruit and tells them to enjoy it. If they don't praise Rodimus enough, Rodimus donates the production plant back to the vertical farms. If they're not groaning like they're in a pornovid, Rodimus considers a fruit a failure.

Problem is, once they're groaning like they're in a pornovid to let Rodimus know that they like this fruit so please keep developing it, don't send it away, Rodimus gets revved up. So then they're distracted doing other things.

So sometimes Ratchet looks at the fruit they offer in the mess hall alongside their energon rations and has this uncontrollable response where he starts getting hot and he curses Rodimus quietly as he quickly looks in a different direction. It's not every time, but it's often enough.

Drift doesn't even bother going to the mess hall anymore. There's nothing the dietary techs can offer him that he can't get from their hab suite.

Rodimus is a very proficient plant tech by the time Drift brings him a mini circuit tree to develop.

"You want bytes?" Rodimus asks, grimacing.

"Oh," Drift goes, suddenly a little uncertain. "You don't enjoy bytes?"

"I mean, they're just crunchy. They don't taste like much and they scratch up my dentae." Then he sees the disappointment on Drift's face. "But, hey, if you like bytes, sure. Gimme it, I'm going to produce the best bytes you've ever tasted. Drift Jr. can go right here." He sets the tree down with one servo as he looks up instruction videos on a datapad in his other.

"Drift Jr.?" Drift asks, amused.

"Yep! Since it's going to be all yours, it might as well be named after you."

"Thank you, Roddy. Is there anything I can do to thank you for this?" He's being flirty.

"Yeah, if you can get the techs to give you an abstergo for me, that'd be great. They keep telling me they don't have enough to hand out to a production plant killer like me, which is just not true, I haven't killed a production plant in - wait, wait, you were flirting with me, no, come back, I want to change my answer -"

Drift does pick up an abstergo (think a production plant with vegetables full of washer fluid) for him and playfully denies his other less innocent requests.

Ratchet thinks this is a great idea and also brings Rodimus a production plant. Rodimus is quick to ask for a scandalous favor, all saucy grin and glowing optics.

Ratchet leans in real close and says against his mouth, "I'll do that as soon as I've had my first gold bar."

Note: This production plant doesn't actually develop gold in any form, but the vegetables, when fully developed taste and look a lot like soft bars of gold. It comes down to chemical reactions and pressure gradients within the outer shell of the fruit.

Rodimus is very determined to develop his production plants well, but especially the production plants that Ratchet and Drift give him.

At some point during the adventures of the Lost Light, they end up in a universe where Cybertron exists, but it's uninhabited. Either Cybertronians left a long time ago or there was some mass extinction event. His scientists are working diligently - and, in Brainstorm's case, with great excitement - to figure it out.

Before Rodimus even realizes it, his crew is settling down. It's not a surprise. The Lost Light has been travelling for an incredible amount of time through dimensions both boring and terribly exciting. No one's talking about decommissioning the Lost Light, but Rodimus and Megatron do eventually make an announcement that they're staying indefinitely to rest and refuel.

They're not planning on staying forever - they're all wanderers at their sparks, adventurers and discoverers and thrill seekers - but it's nice to get to spread out and build their temporary hab units and do their own thing and not live in fear of the hull of their home blowing out and stranding them in the middle of cold, dark space. The Lost Light gets to go through extensive repairs instead of just patchwork repairs and there's flowing energon on the planet for them to stock the ship up with and synthesize energon derivatives with and plenty of land for the dietary techs to farm. Being in a new dimension, they even discover new production plants they've never seen before.

Rodimus, Ratchet, and Drift build their own hab unit by one of the farms (to the horror of those dietary techs who live in fear of Rodimus and his propensity to develop production plants only after he kills one or two first).

Rodimus is thrilled. He has so much land now to spread his garden across. A stressed-out dietary tech even gives him another datapad on thermal-fluid science.

It basically says that some fruits and vegetables taste better when subjected to a high heat environment and other fruits and vegetables become toxic or explode. And then these fruits and vegetables explode, but they taste better after they explode, so just be careful how you expose them to high heat. There's even notes on certain production plants suggesting adding certain minerals or metal flakes to improve their taste or dietary value, or mixing them with the cells of other fruits and vegetables.

Rodimus flips through a few pages, looking at the pictures, and then says with disgust in his voice, "It's a cookbook."

"Well, I'm a doctor, but there's not much difference in repairing a combustor versus cobbling together a combustion appliance," Ratchet says thoughtfully. "And we have the room for one."

"And I can cook," Drift decides, having never actually cooked.

"Absolutely not," Rodimus says. "If anyone's cooking, it's going to be me." They're his production plants, after all. If anyone's playing around with the taste and texture of his fruits and vegetables, it's going to be him.

Ratchet and Drift agree with him (rather amusedly). Ratchet builds in a combustion appliance.

Ratchet builds him another combustion appliance after the first one explodes.

Ratchet builds him another combustion appliance in a completely separate building after the second one catches half the hab unit on fire.

Rodimus watches a lot of instruction videos and roasts some bytes in his free servo for Drift to snack on.

"I don't know why I even need a combustion appliance," he growls to himself. "I combust."

"Of course, Roddy," Drift agrees serenely, helm in Rodimus's lap. He opens his mouth and accepts the smoking hot bytes his mate feeds him with a happy little hum, crunching them loudly as he chews. "And you're very good at combusting."

"I am! This is useless."

"But it would be more convenient if you could use a combustion appliance," Drift continues, almost thoughtfully. "It would be difficult to roast fuel on your own servo and stir with your other. And some of these recipes call for a controlled explosion, which would be dangerous if you're heating it up on your own frame."

"Okay, yeah, I get your point. I have to use a combustion appliance."

"Ratty made this one particularly safe, just for you," Drift assures him. He chews another byte.

"I hate the sound of that," Rodimus tells him. "I can hear it scratching up your dentae."

"But you develop them for me?"

"Well, they make you happy. And they're not hard to develop."

Drift smiles up at him, thin lines of metal silver showing through the white coats of his dentae.

"You're lucky you're cute," Rodimus says down to him.

"Funny, that's what Ratty says about you."

Rodimus eventually figures out how to use the combustion appliance and suddenly, he's not only feeding Ratch and Drift. Now he's got Swerve sneaking in and making off with his leftovers. Megatron invites himself over and brings Minimus with him because Minimus would never deign to ask himself. Whirl pops in with Cyclonus and Tailgate, all, "I've gotta keep Team Whirl fueled, y'know."

Brainstorm says he's coming over to talk about what he and Perceptor are up to in their labs, but he just says big and confusing words while he and Perceptor eat Rodimus's cooking. Rodimus nods along because it sounds very science-y and mumbo jumbo-y and that's how it usually sounds when Brainstorm and Perceptor talk to him.

After they leave, having eaten far more than they actually needed to, Ratchet explains to him that Brainstorm didn't actually say anything they didn't already know.

Rodimus throws up his servos. "Then why were they here?"

Ratchet pointedly sucks down his smoked motor oil and give him an even more pointed look.

"Those fraggers," Rodimus says more to himself than anyone else, servos on his faulds. "Am I just feeding everyone on Cybertron right now?"

"I mean," Drift says, "more or less."

Rodimus imitates outrage, but he's actually quite pleased.

He loves his mates and he loves his crew and doing this for them, developing these production plants and giving them tasty fuel and snacks, feels like a really good way to let them know they're loved.

He saves the best for his mates, though.

[anistarrose]

I can't speak for everyone who's ever said some variation of "Disabilities will still exist under communism," and I'm sure that peeling back the intent of every such person to say it would reveal plenty of capitalist shills, true. But when disabled anti-capitalists such as myself say "Disabilities will still exist under communism," I cannot stress enough that a lot of us actually mean:

Accommodation and societal attitudes may play significant roles in the construction of disability, but are not a systemic "disability on/off switch" — I will remain chronically ill no matter how many sick days and how much free healthcare I have, for example.

An end to capitalism is a necessary condition, but not nearly sufficient condition, for the average disabled person to live with their best possible quality of life.

Corollary to 2: Communism (or any post-capitalist leftist system of your choice) is not necessarily mutually exclusive with systemic ableism.

A world where the hard work of dismantling capitalism is complete is not necessarily a world where the hard work of accommodating disabled people is complete by default.

Notice that none of these are arguments against the benefits, or urgency, of dismantling capitalism. But they are a frankly desperate plea for people to start imagining disabled people existing in their idealized post-capitalist utopias — and start seriously considering what disabled people's lives will look like in that world.

Sure, no one is forced to work a 9-to-5 to survive, and that's genuinely great. Five stars! But are the walkable cities and public transit accessible to wheelchairs and other assistive devices? Are people with allergies to all the environmentally friendly plant proteins still able to eat meat without jumping through hoops to find it, or having to "prove" their dietary need for it? Have medical ableism (and racism, and misogyny, and all other intersections) really been dismantled? Are people allowed to use single-use plastic, in forms that range from straws to syringes?

Are we, the disabled, just the acceptable collateral damage of your environmentally sustainable solarpunk utopia? Or is disabled liberation at least a consideration, but merely as a sidequest?

When I say "Disabilities will still exist under communism," it is not a defense of capitalism. It's a desperate plea for people to understand that overthrowing capitalism isn't the only thing on our plates here. It follows years of realizing the sheer magnitude to which so many leftist movements exclude me and my disabled siblings. It's a plea to start envisioning a future that includes us — a better future, that also gets better for people continuing to have disabilities.

[petalsbleedingbeak666]

Hot take, but veganism is a direct pipeline to ecofascism and as such has no place in Leftist circles.

First, veganism, with its holier-than-thou attitude creates elitism among those who follow it, more often than not accompanied by disdain and straight up contempt for non-vegans (often including pescatarians, vegetarians, fruitarians etc.). This creates division of us-vs-them typical for right-wing circles (and, just by the way, is also the groundstone for building up a genocidal ideology) instead of building a community ans bridging differences typical for leftist ideologies.

Second, vegans often paint the vegan diet as a healthy alternative to other diets (which is, just by the way, false), and also as "green" (which is a lie, too). Hence ecofascism.

Third, consistently with previous points, veganism is an exclusionist ideology, excluding among others

indigenous people, especially Inuits, who are literally dependent of meat income. Not only because there is no other alternative for them in their natural homeland of the Arctic, but mostly because in polar climate, you need shitloads of energy in form of carbohydrates and fats in order to keep your body warm enough to prevent hypothermia. We are talking about a gigantic amount of energy that is literally impossible to gain from non-animal food sources even if there were some in the Arctics for that matter. And before you come swinging at me, yes, I have literally seen vegan assholes telling Inuits to go vegan. To demand Inuits to go vegan means demanding them either to give up their traditional way of life and centuries of cultural heritage, or go extinct by famine. In other words, we are talking about inflicting either cultural, or literal genocide of the Indigenous people of the Arctics.

people with metabollic diseases such as celiacs, but also diabetics, people with food allergies, and other. These people literally cannot live off of the vegan diet. Totally vegan society would be literally incapable of keeping these people alive. We are literally talking about eugenics here.

Fourth, vegans love to falsely claim that their dietary choice is "the natural one", saying bullshit like 'humans only ate meat for a fraction of existence of humankind on a larger scale from Australopithecus'. Not only this omits number of biological and evolutional facts, but it artificially creates the cult of antiquity, typical for all fascist regimes. (Fun fact, our ancestors, especially Homo habilis, literally developed their big brains because of their increased income of meat and particularly bone marrow).

Fifth, vegans clearly ostracize non-vegans out of their circles (see holier-than-thou attitude above), attempt to discredit them, or just straight up accuse them of being liars and murderers without any backup for their claims (because there is no such backup to begin with), dividing into us-vs-them (see point 1).

Sixth, overpopulation myth. No need to say more.

Seventh, veganism claims false ecology of its ideology (using climatic fear of society to fearmonger and to further ostracize "meateaters" and other non-vegans) while in itself being extremely eco-harmful (try look up the alternatives for animal resources, such as "vegan leather", "vegan fur" etc. It's all plastic. While there is an ecological coating instead of culturo-ethnical, this is no different from the Nazi claim of Aryan race and the danger of Untermenschen for its "racial purity".

Thus concluded, veganism is a pipeline to ecofascism and any leftist (punks included) should shy away from it.