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heliosunny · 9 days ago

Note

Hi, hi, hi!

I know he's not from Honkai but I saw that a long while ago you did a Neuvillette post. So I was wondering if I could get a Neuvillette Lucky Egg?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader

You had never believed in luck. If you did, your life wouldn’t be what it was now—stuck in a tiny apartment with your childhood friend, Melis, who made sure to remind you of every single bad decision you’d ever made. She wasn’t cruel, exactly, but she had a way of making you feel like an idiot.

So when you saw the Lucky Egg Dispenser at the back of a convenience store, promising "A once-in-a-lifetime blessing!", you almost walked past it.

But something about it made you stop.

It looked old, the paint chipped around the edges, but the golden lettering still shimmered under the fluorescent lights. A sign above it read:

"One egg per person. No refunds. Your fate awaits."

It was probably a scam. A cheap plastic trinket inside, or some useless charm. But before you could talk yourself out of it, you fed a few coins into the slot and turned the crank.

Clunk.

A round capsule tumbled into your waiting hands. The plastic casing snapped open, revealing—

An egg?

It was smooth, cool to the touch, and a pale blue color, almost pearlescent. Strange, but… oddly pretty. You turned it over in your hands, half-expecting a hidden button or compartment, but it was just an egg.

Three Days Later

The egg sat on your nightstand for days, untouched. Melis had scoffed when she saw it.

"Really? You wasted money on that?"

You ignored her.

Something in you didn’t want to throw it away.

Then, on the third night, you woke to a soft crack.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you turned toward the sound and saw the egg trembling, thin fractures spreading across its surface. You barely had time to react before the shell split apart, breaking open like a delicate flower and something small tumbled out, landing in the nest of blankets you’d unknowingly made around it.

A child.

No—a dragon.

He looked human, mostly, but too otherworldly to be mistaken for one. His silver hair curled softly around his face, and from his head sprouted two smooth, curved horns. A long, sinuous tail flicked behind him, twitching as he adjusted to his new surroundings.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head—his purple eyes locking onto yours.

"You" he murmured, his voice like distant thunder.

The little dragon boy—because that’s what he was—blinked up at you, his eyes filled with something… old. Too knowing for a child. And yet, he was small, barely bigger than a toddler, his limbs still weak from hatching.

His tail flicked, curling slightly around your wrist where your hand had instinctively moved forward. His warmth seeped into your skin, gentle but noticeable.

"You’re the one who called me here" he said.

"I… I just got an egg from a machine. I didn’t—"

Your heart pounded. This was insane. But the weight of him, the warmth of his tiny body, the way his delicate claws curled into the fabric of your shirt—

He was real. And cute? Extremely cute.

And now he was your responsibility.

The First Day

By morning, you had accepted two things:

You had somehow acquired a baby dragon.

Melis could never find out.

So far, you were lucky. She had left early for work, grumbling about her awful manager, and you had time to figure things out.

Your new… companion had been surprisingly quiet. He sat on your bed, watching you with eerie patience as you gathered whatever food you had—some bread, a few leftover scraps from last night’s dinner.

"Do you eat?" you asked awkwardly, holding out a piece of toast.

He stared at it, then at you. Then, very deliberately, he leaned forward and bit your wrist.

"Ow—!" You yanked your hand back, but he barely broke the skin. It wasn’t an attack, more like… an experiment. His small fangs left the faintest indentations before he pulled away, licking his lips.

"Strange" he murmured. "Your energy tastes different than before."

Your what? You stared at him, but he only blinked, as if you were the one being weird.

"I require no food," he finally said. "I only need you."

The Second Day

By the next morning, he was taller.

Noticeably so.

The clothes you had scrounged together for him—a too-big hoodie and some old shorts—fit better now. His limbs were longer, more proportional. His horns had grown slightly, and his tail swayed behind him with more control.

"You… grew."

"Yes." He looked at you, unbothered. "I told you. I only need you."

What did that mean?

The Third Day

You had a problem.

Not just because your mysterious dragon child was now nearly a teenager overnight, his voice deepening slightly, his presence too much for your small apartment—

But because Melis was starting to notice.

"You’ve been acting weird," she said over dinner, narrowing her eyes. "And why is the place so damn warm? Are you messing with the thermostat again?"

"I haven’t touched it" you lied smoothly, forcing a smile.

Neuvillette—he had given you his name the night before—was hidden in your room. But even then, you swore you could feel him listening.

Melis huffed. "And where’s all the food going? I just bought groceries, and half of it’s gone! I swear, if you’re sneaking in some loser boyfriend—"

"I’m not."

She leaned forward, glaring. "Then what the hell are you hiding?"

Before you could answer, a faint sound came from your bedroom.

Melis’s eyes snapped toward the door.

And then—she stood up.

Your heart stopped.

"What was that?"

She took a step forward.

"Nothing," you blurted out, moving to block her. "Just the wind. Or—"

Melis reached for the doorknob and it swung open on its own.

Neuvillette stood there.

Not as a child. Not even as a teenager.

But taller now. Older.

His horns had grown sharper. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his pupils slit like a predator’s. He tilted his head, looking at Melis like she was something insignificant.

Something inhuman curled in his voice when he spoke:

"You should not be here."

Melis froze.

And for the first time since you had known her—

She looked afraid.

The morning felt strange.

You had woken up groggy, expecting to hear Melis grumbling about the bills, the temperature, or whatever new complaint she had for the day. But instead—silence.

It wasn’t until you shuffled into the kitchen that you noticed the note on the counter.

I’m leaving. Don’t bother looking for me.

The handwriting was hers.

It wasn’t that you’d miss her exactly. She had been exhausting, always watching you like you were one bad decision away from ruining your life. But… leaving without even saying anything? Without fighting first? That wasn’t like her.

You stared at the note a little longer. Something felt off.

But you had work. You didn’t have time to dwell on it.

The moment you left, Neuvillette stirred from where he had been lounging on the couch.

You had grown more comfortable with him—enough that you no longer questioned how much he had changed, or rather, how fast he had changed.

Your strange little friend was gone. It had been easy to remove them, even easier to mimic their writing. You hadn’t suspected a thing.

But… there was something missing.

Even as he sat there, waiting for your return, he felt restless. Hunger, but not for food.

For strength.

Something called to him beyond the walls of your home, something old and brimming with power. He followed it.

He hadn’t expected to find a dungeon.

The entrance was tucked away in the city, hidden beneath the ruins of an abandoned building. The air shimmered with faint, magical energy—ancient, untouched.

The moment he stepped inside, something stirred in the darkness.

A goblin—small, filthy, and sneering.

It laughed when it saw him.

"Hah! A lost little human?" It bared its crooked teeth. "You won’t last a second, boy—"

His claws tore through the creature’s throat before it could finish its sentence.

Warmth flooded his body, like a surge of raw energy. The moment the goblin died, something deep within him awakened. His strength sharpened, his magic expanded, and for the first time—

He understood.

This place was meant to be his.

One by one, the creatures fell.

They thought him weak. Human-like.

They were wrong.

Each battle only made him stronger. Magic pulsed beneath his skin, ancient and limitless. The dungeon itself seemed to acknowledge his strength, bending to his will as he carved his way to the top.

And when he reached the end, when the last beast knelt before him, trembling—

Neuvillette smiled.

He was no longer just an intruder here.

He was the ruler.

And when he returned to you, stepping through your front door like nothing had changed, he was stronger than you could ever imagine.

Dinner felt… strange.

You weren’t sure when it had started, but something about Neuvillette was different now.

It wasn’t just his appearance—though that was the most obvious. He looked fully grown, his body lean and strong, his movements refined. His silver hair was longer now, and his once-uncontrolled tail was nowhere to be seen, no horns, either.

If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he was entirely human.

You swallowed another bite of food, trying not to stare. He wasn’t looking at you anyway—just calmly sipping his drink, completely at ease.

"You work every day" he said suddenly.

"Yeah? That’s normal."

"And what do you do?"

That was an odd question. You had talked about work before, but maybe he was just curious.

"Nothing exciting. Just a regular office job." You shrugged. "It pays the bills."

"I see." His gaze lingered on you, thoughtful. "And the machine? Where did you find it?"

"Machine?"

"The one that brought me to you."

Oh. That machine.

You leaned back in your chair, thinking. "It was at a small convenience store near my office. It looked kind of old, like no one had used it in years. Why?"

"No reason."

You were deep asleep when he left.

The world outside was quiet, the streets bathed in the dim glow of streetlights.

Neuvillette moved silently, his presence blending seamlessly with the shadows as he arrived at the convenience store. The Lucky Egg Dispenser sat in the corner, just as you described.

From a glance, it seemed ordinary.

But when he raised a hand to feel its power, he felt nothing.

No energy. No magic. Just cold, lifeless metal.

His brows furrowed. But then-

A system board flickered to life in front of him, glowing with strange, shifting symbols.

[NAME: NEUVILLETTE] [RANK: ???] [LEVEL: 62] [TITLES: DUNGEON RULER, ???, ???]

So this was the truth behind his existence.

This machine wasn’t just luck. It was something more—something that had brought him to you for a reason.

But what was that reason?

The board flickered again, shifting—

And then, a new line of text appeared.

[NO ADDITIONAL EGGS AVAILABLE]

So… there wouldn’t be another.

There wouldn’t be another like him.

That meant one thing.

You were his.

And there would be no one else.

----

The whispers echoed.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry."

The voice was distant, layered with something ancient, something aching. It wasn’t just words—it was a feeling. A pull deep within his very being, like something forgotten was trying to resurface.

The darkness in his dream twisted—

He woke up. His body jolted upright, breath uneven, sweat clinging to his skin. His heart pounded, the lingering sensation of the voice still curling around his mind.

"Neuvillette?"

His head snapped toward you. You were sitting beside him, your brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you okay?"

You were here. That was all that mattered.

Forcing a smile, he wiped the sweat from his brow. "It was just a dream."

But deep down—he knew it was more than that.

----

Neuvillette had grown stronger, but it still wasn’t enough.

The moment you left for work, he sought more. More power, more understanding—more of what he was meant to become. He followed instinct, the same strange pull that had led him to the dungeon before.

But this time, it led him to water.

A large, secluded lake, untouched by the city's influence. The air here was heavier, richer with something old.

A creature surfaced. A strange otter, sleek and dark-eyed, watching him intently. The creature did not flee. It did not fear him. Instead, it gave a small chuff and turned, swimming toward the center of the lake.

Then—it dived and vanished.

Neuvillette stepped forward, the water lapping at his ankles. Then his knees. Then his waist—

Then, with a final step, he let himself sink.

The water welcomed him.

He found the ruins at the lake’s bottom, hidden beneath the shifting currents. Stone pillars jutted from the depths, covered in carvings that glowed faintly when his fingers traced them.

The moment he touched them, something awakened.

A pulse—deep, rushing power.

And then the water moved. It bent at his will, swirling around his arms, surging through his veins. He lifted a hand, and the currents obeyed. He pushed outward, and the lake trembled.

The sheer force of his ability sent a wave rolling across the surface—too large, too noticeable.

Figures stood on the shore now. He had revealed too much.

It was time to leave.

The house was quiet. Neuvillette sat, fresh from his bath, dressed in a loose white shirt and dark slacks. His hair was still damp, strands falling over his shoulders as he leaned back against the couch.

He was waiting. But the night stretched on, and you did not return.

Not until much later, the door creaked open.

You stumbled inside, your movements slow and unsteady, the unmistakable scent of alcohol clinging to you. Your pupils were blown, your gaze unfocused. Behind you, a man lingered in the doorway.

"Who—"

The man’s smile faltered. "Oh, uh—hey, didn’t know you had a roommate."

His hand was still on your waist.

"I’ll take them now."

The man hesitated, then forced a chuckle. "Come on, I was just—"

Neuvillette moved. Faster than the man could react, he wrenched you from his grasp, pulling you into his arms.

The man stepped back, startled. "Whoa—relax, man. I was just making sure they got home safe—"

"Leave."

"Tch. Whatever, dude." He turned, muttering under his breath as he left.

Neuvillette watched him go.

Then, once you were settled, breathing softly against his chest—

He followed.

The man was still muttering when Neuvillette found him.

He hadn’t gone far—only to the lake’s edge, kicking at the dirt, grumbling about “weird possessive freaks” and “wasted effort.”

He didn’t notice the water stirring.

Didn’t see the way the waves rose.

A sudden wave surging forward. The man barely had time to scream before it dragged him under.

Neuvillette stood at the shore, watching, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

The man thrashed.

Neuvillette lifted a hand.

The water tightened.

Bubbles surfaced, erratic at first—then fewer. Slower. Until, finally—

Nothing.

With a flick of his wrist, the water carried the body further—deep into the lake’s heart, where no one would find it.

At least, not until it was too late.

Three Days Later

"Did you hear?"

You paused mid-sip, blinking. "Hear what?"

Your coworker leaned in, lowering her voice. "They found a body. In the lake. Some guy—totally eaten up. They think he drowned a few days ago."

You set your cup down carefully. "That’s… awful."

"Yeah." She made a face. "I mean, what kind of freaking fish do we have in there?"

----

The weekend arrived with an unbearable heatwave. You had spent the afternoon outside, running errands beneath the scorching sun. By the time you got home, you were practically melting.

"Neuvillette, I’m back!" You called out as you kicked off your shoes, holding up the bag in your hands.

He emerged from the other room, his expression unreadable as always, but his gaze immediately flicked to what you were holding.

"Ice cream?"

You grinned, pulling out one of the containers. "Figured you'd like something cold. Want to try?"

Neuvillette took it carefully, staring at it as if it were something foreign. But after a small, experimental bite—his pupils dilated slightly.

"…It’s pleasant."

"That’s it? Just ‘pleasant’?"

He hummed, taking another bite, letting it melt slowly on his tongue. His expression remained composed, but you noticed the way he leaned ever so slightly into the sensation, as if savoring it more than he let on.

A rare sight.

You chuckled, opening your own and sitting beside him.

"Guess I’ll take that as a win."

It was later in the day when it happened.

You were standing. Walking. Moving through the house with no real thought, no resistance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

There was something you needed to do.

Something important.

The bathroom door was open. Steam curled from within, the scent of fresh water pulling at you.

You stepped inside.

The moment your foot hit the tile— The trance broke.

You blinked, the haze lifting from your mind. Your breath hitched slightly as you realized you were standing in the doorway, fully clothed, about to step into a warm bath—with Neuvillette sitting in the tub.

His sleeves were rolled up, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders. He was waiting.

And he looked surprisingly unfazed.

"…What am I doing?" you muttered, shaking your head.

Neuvillette tilted his head slightly. "You wanted to shampoo my hair."

What?

"I… wanted to—" You stopped yourself.

That didn’t sound right. That didn’t even feel like something you had decided. But there was no sign of deception in his gaze, no indication that he was lying.

It was weird.

The heat had left you sluggish, and thinking too hard about it made your head hurt.

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "…Whatever. Just—move over."

Neuvillette did, watching in quiet satisfaction as you stepped forward, kneeling beside the tub.

Your fingers combed through his hair, lathering the shampoo, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. His lashes fluttered at the sensation.

You didn’t see the slight curve of his lips. Didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched—resisting the urge to pull you in completely.

----

Your office was always a mess of rushed deadlines and overworked employees. The company thrived on exploitation, squeezing everything it could from its workforce before discarding them like broken tools.

Today was no different.

"Did you see the latest report?" One of your coworkers, Kael, whispered as he slid into the seat beside you. His hands trembled slightly, holding a file.

You sighed, not even bothering to look up from your screen. "Which one? They dump a new crisis on us every hour."

"The dungeon." His voice lowered further. "The one that just appeared."

That caught your attention. You finally glanced at the report in his hands.

A massive fluctuation had been recorded at a previously empty lot on the outskirts of the city. A dungeon had emerged overnight, far more dangerous than expected. The first wave of hunters and warriors sent to clear it had suffered heavy casualties. The survivors reported unusual conditions—monsters that grew stronger after each battle, as if they were learning.

But the company didn't care. They just sent in more people.

"How many deaths so far?" you asked quietly.

Kael hesitated. "Too many."

You stared at the screen, unease curling in your stomach.

Something about this didn’t feel right.

Far beneath the dungeon’s surface, Neuvillette stood in the heart of his domain.

His gaze swept over the carnage left behind—the remnants of another failed attempt. Weapons lay shattered, armor broken, bodies scattered across the cold stone.

He stepped forward.

The air hummed around him, the essence of the fallen swirling into his being.

Another level gained.

"Foolish," he murmured. "They send their people to die… yet they do not realize they are only feeding me."

He exhaled slowly, his body adjusting to the newfound strength.

He was still growing.

And soon—

He would be unstoppable.

----

You barely made it through the front door.

Every muscle in your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones like lead. You dropped your bag, kicking off your shoes with little care as you stumbled further inside.

The damn company had kept you overnight. Again.

Piling up more work, more pressure, more demands—until you were left wrung out and barely functioning. You were too tired to even be angry. All you wanted was sleep.

"You're late."

You managed a weak chuckle. "Tell that to my boss."

He stood near the couch, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. You could feel his displeasure—palpable, simmering. But before you could say anything, he stepped forward, placing a hand on your forehead.

Warmth—no, energy—seeped into you, flowing through every aching limb, easing the tension in your body. It was like stepping into cool water after burning under the sun.

You barely had time to register what he’d done before sleep pulled you under.

Neuvillette watched as you finally rested. Your breathing was slow, steady, free of the exhaustion that had plagued you moments ago.

How many times had they done this to you?

How many times had you come home like this—drained, miserable, struggling just to stay upright?

"This world does not deserve you"

If it was unworthy of your existence—if it continued to break you down—

Then he would rebuild it.

Piece by piece.

A second dungeon appeared—then a third, then dozens more, blooming across the city like festering wounds. What was once a rare phenomenon became unstoppable, warping the landscape into a nightmarish battleground.

From the depths of each dungeon, Neuvillette’s forces emerged.

Creatures of the abyss—twisted beasts, eldritch horrors, dragons that roared with primordial fury. They poured into the streets, overwhelming police, military, and the so-called “heroes” who thought they could reclaim what had already been lost.

The city fell apart within days.

And through it all—Neuvillette watched from above, his eyes as cold and endless as the ocean’s depths.

The world had tried to break you.

Now it was his turn to break the world.

---

You woke up in a different place.

The suffocating weight of exhaustion was gone, but something felt off. The air smelled of rain, fresh and crisp, yet there was an eerie silence outside.

You sat up.

The room was luxurious, but unfamiliar. You swung your legs over the bed—only for the door to open before you could take a step.

"You're awake."

"Where… are we?"

"The outside world is no longer of concern to you. This is our home."

No longer of concern?

You moved toward the window—only to feel an invisible force halt you mid-step.

"There’s no need to leave," Neuvillette murmured. "Everything out there is beneath you now. You only need me."

His fingers brushed against your cheek.

"And I will never let them take you from me again."

"Neuvillette, stop this."

Your voice was firm, but your hands trembled as you pushed against his chest.

"I don’t need protection. I don’t need you to tear everything apart for me. I’m okay."

"Okay?" he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. His hands trailed up your arms, "You were never okay. They drained you. Used you. You just didn’t realize it."

You shook your head, frustration building. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean you get to decide for me!"

He sighed.

"You don’t have to decide anymore."

Before you could react, his hand cupped the side of your neck—then he bit down.

A sharp sting bloomed where his teeth sank into your skin. You gasped out of pain, but he didn’t let go—not until he was certain his mark was there to stay.

When he pulled back, his lips were tinted red.

"Now, even if you run…" He brushed a thumb over the wound, smearing the blood. "I will always find you."

Your vision swam, the pain dulling into something hazy, sluggish. He was doing something.

"Sleep" he whispered. "It’ll hurt less that way."

Your body betrayed you before your mind could protest, the exhaustion swallowing you whole.

Even in sleep, you weren’t safe.

Soft lips traced the curve of your throat, pressing lingering kisses against your skin. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers through your unconscious body, his breath hot against each fresh mark he left.

His hands moved with deliberate reverence, tracing the shape of your collarbone, your shoulders, the delicate lines of your pulse.

"Mine" he murmured between each press of his lips.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette x you #heliosluckyegg

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thoughtportal · 2 months ago

Text

When Simon Bogemann’s hand began cramping around the steering wheel in a claw position on his commute from Geelong to Melbourne, he began to worry.

Bogemann, then 43, was also getting pins and needles in his feet and fingers every night in bed, and while sitting down during short lunch breaks at work.

His GP put it down to a lack of magnesium and recommended a supplement, in addition to the multivitamin he was taking for a chronic condition.

Bogemann was unaware that both capsules contained added vitamin B6, too much of which could lead to the symptoms he was experiencing – a type of nerve damage known as peripheral neuropathy.

The wellness industry’s marketing of over-the-counter vitamins is leading to an increase in the number of people presenting with peripheral neuropathy linked to excessive vitamin B6 in their blood, Australia’s peak body for pathologists has warned.

Dr David Kanowski, a chemical pathologist at Sullivan Nicolaides Pathology in Brisbane, says most people are unaware they are consuming too much of the vitamin.

Bogemann certainly had no idea: “You buy an over-the-counter supplement, you just think that it’s going to be good for you, not bad for you.”

He says it has been a challenge to change his multivitamin to a product without B6.

“One thing that I have learned is that B6 seems to be added, for some reason, to a lot of over-the-counter supplements.”

It is also in some energy drinks, breakfast cereals, and protein and weight loss shakes.

Magnesium tablets, commonly recommended for cramp relief, often contain B6 because it can assist magnesium absorption. But a person who takes two magnesium tablets a day could consume more than 120mg of B6, far exceeding the recommended dietary intake for adults in Australia of 1.3mg to 2mg a day.

It was previously believed that peripheral neuropathy was caused by doses of hundreds of milligrams taken over periods of 12 months or more but cases have been known to occur at levels as low as 21mg.

The initial symptoms include numbness and pins and needles in the feet, which can spread up the legs. Muscle cramps and pain may be felt in the arms and hands.

In 2020 the Therapeutic Goods Administration released a safety advisory warning. Two years later, still concerned about a lack of awareness, the TGA lowered the limit at which products must display a warning label, from 50mg of B6 down to 10mg – and banned products with more than 100mg.skip past newsletter promotion

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Nevertheless, cases have continued to rise. Between January 2020 and October 2024 the TGA received 81 adverse event reports of peripheral neuropathy associated with medicines containing a vitamin B6 ingredient, with most of them reported in the past two years.

Kanowski says advertising on social and other media promotes the idea that taking more vitamins is good for health.

“It’s understood that if you want to counteract bad habits, like smoking or drinking too much, perhaps that can be counterbalanced with vitamins,” he says.

Kanowski says the TGA has been “fairly hands off” unless toxins are in a product.

Fiona Sammut, a dietitian based in Victoria, says it’s a big ask to expect consumers to read and interpret “tiny font” disclaimers and formulations.

People who see claims that vitamins will “boost their energy” may take several supplements thinking they are harmless, she says.

While foods are commonly fortified with vitamins for “specific evidence-based reasons”, such as vitamin B1 fortified bread, Sammut says there’s no similar reason for B6 fortification because there isn’t a high incidence of vitamin B6 deficiency.

Most people get enough B6 in their diets from foods including fish, non-citrus fruits and starchy vegetables, and high intakes of B6 from natural food sources have not been reported to cause adverse effects.

Sarah* had symptoms of peripheral neuropathy for years, but “never thought anything of it”, because she assumed they were related to her Crohn’s disease.

In hindsight, she says, the symptoms began about a year after she began taking a multivitamin that contained 60mg of B6 after weight loss surgery in 2011, in addition to the magnesium which contained 82mg she had been taking for years due to cramps in her legs.

She had been having yearly blood tests at her dietician’s recommendations but it was only in late 2021 that the pathology lab tested for B6 levels and found they were 15 times higher than the recommended range.

In most cases, once B6 levels return to normal, peripheral neuropathy will slowly improve within six to 12 months but in some severe cases it can be irreversible.

Prof Matthew Kiernan, the chief executive of Neuroscience Australia, has described a case he saw in his clinical practice of a 40-year-old patient who was worried he had motor neurone disease before the doctor linked the gym enthusiast’s symptoms to excessive vitamin B6 intake from the supplements he consumed as part of his fitness program.

Kiernan, who diagnosed more patients with peripheral neuropathy after his article on the case was published in the Medical Journal of Australia, believes there should be limits on the number of supplements people can buy because they are unnecessary for people eating a balanced diet.

“None of this is policed,” he says. “So, if you go down to the chemist and go down the vitamin aisle, they’re all there. You can get a whole shopping trolley full of them.”

#article #the guardian #vitamins #health #health and wellness #wellness #vitamin b6 #b6 #neuropathy

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fuqnia · 2 months ago

Note

kenny x gender neutral reader

reader is having a panic attack from sensory overload (bright lights, loud noises, ect), kenny takes off his parka and puts it on them and it acts as a weighted blanket and then he comforts them and calms them down

No worries if you can’t do this request :)

Wrapped in Orange

kenny mccormick x reader insert

☆ A/N | the best way to end the year is writing for kenny... i love him so much 😭 tysm for this request, i hope i didn't butcher anything! ❤️this was also an excuse to write crimson dawn hehe <3

☆ C/W | panic attacks, sensory overload

The South Park Fall Festival was in full swing, buzzing with the kind of energy that could only exist on a crisp autumn evening. Warm string lights zigzagged overhead, draping the bustling square in a golden glow. The air was thick with the scent of caramel apples, roasted nuts, and cinnamon-spiced cider, mingling with the occasional waft of fried dough from a nearby food truck. Everywhere you looked, bright orange pumpkins and cornstalks lined the booths, the decorations carefully toeing the line between charmingly festive and intentionally cheesy.

You wandered through the maze of stalls, sipping from a steaming cup of cider, the warmth spreading through your fingers despite the chill in the air. There was something nostalgic about the Fall Festival, something that always made it feel like a time capsule. The families wrangling kids in oversized coats, the groups of friends laughing over rigged carnival games, even the occasional burst of a balloon popping somewhere in the distance—it all felt like stepping into a moment frozen in time.

You paused at a booth displaying handmade jewelry, the intricate designs glinting under the lights. The vendor smiled at you warmly, and you returned the gesture before continuing on, your gaze shifting to the brightly colored prizes dangling from a nearby game booth.

The sound of someone shouting your name cut through the din, and you turned to see a familiar figure waving at you from across the square. Stan stood near one of the carnival games, his signature navy beanie pulled low over his ears, holding a soda in one hand. Beside him, Kenny leaned casually against the booth’s counter, his orange hoodie bright against the fall backdrop.

“There you are!” Stan called, his breath visible in the cold air. “We thought you got lost or something.”

“I was just looking around,” you replied, making your way over to them.

Kenny straightened as you approached, his grin lazy and confident. “Good timing. You’re about to witness greatness.” He gestured toward the stack of prizes lining the shelves of the balloon-popping game.

“Greatness, huh?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you leaned against the counter beside him.

Stan snorted. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s already blown, like, ten bucks trying to win something.”

“Ten bucks well spent,” Kenny shot back, grabbing one of the darts from the booth attendant. “It’s called investing in success, Marsh. You should try it sometime.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stan said, smirking as he took a sip of his soda. “Sure.”

Kenny ignored him, turning his attention to the balloons. He aimed with exaggerated precision, squinting like he was lining up a shot that could change the course of history. With a flick of his wrist, the dart flew—and missed the balloon entirely, bouncing off the backboard.

“You’re distracting me,” Kenny said, flashing you a grin that was somehow both charming and exasperated.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, trying to stifle a laugh.

Stan shook his head. “This is painful to watch.”

Kenny threw another dart, and this time, it popped the balloon with a satisfying bang. He turned toward you, his grin widening. “See? Told you I’ve got skills babe.”

“Congratulations,” you said, clapping slowly. “You’ve truly earned your spot in the Balloon Popping Hall of Fame.”

Kenny bowed theatrically, then turned back to the booth attendant, who handed him a small stuffed pumpkin. He spun it in his hands like it was a priceless artifact before holding it out to you.

“For you, my liege,” he said, his voice mockingly chivalrous.

You laughed, taking the plush toy from him. “Wow, my very own pumpkin. How will I ever repay you?”

“By sticking around for the show later,” Kenny replied, his tone shifting from playful to surprisingly sincere. “Crimson Dawn’s hitting the stage in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you said with a smile, hugging the stuffed pumpkin to your chest.

The three of you continued to wander through the festival, and for a while, everything felt perfect. The lights above twinkled like stars, the music from the stage mingling with the laughter of the crowd. Kenny cracked jokes, Stan occasionally chimed in with his deadpan humor, and for a moment, the world seemed as simple and magical as it did when you were a kid.

But then, something shifted.

It started small, barely noticeable at first. The lights, which had seemed warm and inviting, now felt just a little too bright, their glow sharper against the dark sky. The overlapping sounds of the festival—the music, the chatter, the occasional burst of a carnival game—blended into a hum that grew steadily louder, pressing against your temples.

You shook it off, brushing away the faint unease. You were probably just tired.

Kenny was saying something, but his voice seemed farther away than it should have been.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head toward you.

You blinked, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But the feeling didn’t fade.

The crowd around you seemed to thicken, the once-charming chaos of the festival now feeling overwhelming. Every sound felt amplified—the rustle of jackets, the crunch of footsteps, the laughter and chatter blending into an incomprehensible blur. Even the smells, once comforting, felt suffocating now, each scent competing for dominance in a way that made your stomach churn.

Your steps faltered, and you clutched the stuffed pumpkin in your arms as if it could anchor you.

“[Y/N]?” Kenny’s voice was closer now, his usual teasing tone replaced with something softer, more concerned.

You opened your mouth to respond, but your chest felt tight, your breathing shallow.

It’s fine, you told yourself. You just need a second.

But the world around you didn’t stop spinning. The lights blurred, their sharp glow piercing your eyes. The chatter of the crowd became an unintelligible roar, pressing in from all directions. Your pulse raced, a drumbeat of panic pounding in your ears.

Kenny’s voice broke through the haze, sharper now but laced with concern. His hand brushed your arm, light but insistent. “Hey, are you sure you’re good? You’re looking pale as hell.”

You blinked, trying to find your voice, but your breathing was too shaky to form words.

Kenny’s grin disappeared, replaced with a sharp focus that felt unusual for him. He glanced over his shoulder at Stan, catching his attention. “Cover for me,” he said, low but firm. Stan didn’t question it, giving a quick nod before heading backstage.

Kenny turned back to you. “Come on, let’s get out of this mess.” His tone was softer now, and he wrapped an arm securely around your shoulders, guiding you through the crowd. His movements were steady, deliberate, as if shielding you from the chaos.

“It’s too loud, huh? Too much going on?” His words weren’t pushy, just observations. “Let’s find somewhere quiet. You’ll be fine—I promise.”

He didn’t stop until you were seated on a bench near the edge of the festival. Kenny crouched in front of you, resting a hand on your knee while his other hand hovered, ready to steady you. His blue eyes scanned your face, his expression unreadable but serious.

“Okay, look at me,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like this.” He exaggerated a deep breath, making the motion clear. “You’re not gonna faint on me or anything. Just stick with me, alright?”

You tried to follow his lead, but the panic was unrelenting. Your breaths were shallow and erratic, and the dizzy feeling in your head refused to fade.

“Damn it,” Kenny muttered under his breath, glancing around as if the answer might be hiding nearby. His hands came up to gently hold your face, his gloved palms warm against your skin. “Focus on me, not all the noise out there. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, but the panic still clawed at your chest. Despite Kenny’s calm tone, your breathing stayed uneven, and the tension didn’t ease.

Kenny rubbed the back of his neck, his calm exterior cracking slightly. “Okay, plan B.” He stood and reached for your hand, pulling you up with him.

You stumbled slightly but didn’t protest as he led you away from the crowd again. “Stick with me,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “It’s too much out here—we’ll find somewhere better.”

The flashing lights and blaring sounds dimmed as Kenny guided you through the backstage area. His grip on your hand was firm, grounding you with every step. When he reached a small dressing room, he pushed the door open and ushered you inside. The quiet hit you like a wave, the muffled hum of the festival feeling a world away.

“Sit,” Kenny said, nodding toward the worn loveseat in the corner. You sank into the cushions, placing the pumpkin Kenny won for you down gently.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “This is your big performance, and I’m—”

“Stop that,” Kenny interrupted, crouching in front of you again. His expression softened as he met your gaze. “You’re not ruining anything. You think I care about the show right now? Screw that. You’re way more important.”

“But Kenny, you’ve been working on this for weeks,” you stammered, guilt and panic twisting together in your chest. “I don’t want to mess this up for you—”

“You’re not messing up anything,” he said firmly. His hands rested on your knees, steadying you as he leaned closer. “Do you really think I’d ditch you like this? Come on.

His words were meant to comfort, but they only tightened the knot of guilt in your chest. The panic surged again, your breathing quickening as your vision blurred.

“Shit, okay,” Kenny muttered, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. He stood quickly, unzipping his hoodie with one smooth motion. “Here, hold still.”

Before you could question him, Kenny draped the parka over your shoulders, tugging it snugly around you. The thick fabric was heavy, the weight pressing down like an anchor against the swirling chaos in your head.

“It’s probably sweaty or something, but deal with it,” Kenny said, his tone quieter now. He zipped the jacket up gently, pulling the hood over your head. “There. Now you’re like... cocooned or whatever. Better?”

You nodded slightly, the weight and warmth of the jacket working like a shield. The faint scent of Kenny—cheap cologne and campfire smoke—grounded you further. Your breaths began to slow, the pressure in your chest easing.

Kenny knelt back down, one hand still resting on your knee. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice rough but careful. “You’re doing fine. Just take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

You looked at him, his usually sharp grin replaced with something softer. “Thanks,” you murmured.

He shrugged, though his eyes didn’t leave yours. “You’d do the same for me,” he said, his lips quirking into a faint, lopsided smile. “And besides, you look kinda cute in my jacket. Just saying.”

A weak laugh escaped you, and he grinned a little wider. “There we go. Knew I could get you to smile.”

You glanced down, toying with the zipper of his parka where it rested snugly around your shoulders. The fabric was heavy but comforting, like a shield against the chaos outside. After a moment, you looked up at Kenny, hesitant but resolute.

“Can I still watch you play?” you asked softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edges of the jacket.

Kenny’s grin faded, replaced with a skeptical look. “Are you serious? You just had a full-on panic moment out there, and you wanna jump back in?” He crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly. “No way. Not happening.”

“I’ll stay back,” you insisted, your voice small but steady. “I don’t have to be in the crowd. I just... I want to see you. Please?”

He sighed, his arms dropping to his sides as he stared at you for a long moment. “You’re really gonna push this, huh?”

You nodded, holding his gaze despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

Kenny raked a hand through his messy blonde hair, muttering something under his breath. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You looked down, the weight of his disapproval making you shrink slightly. “I just don’t want to miss it. This is important to you.”

Kenny huffed a sharp laugh, crouching in front of you again. “You think I care about a stupid bassline more than I care about you not passing out? Come on, [Y/N]. Don’t make me be the responsible one here—it’s freaking me out.”

That earned a faint smile from you, and he rolled his eyes. “Look,” he said, his tone softening, “you wanna see the show? Fine. But no crowd. I’m not letting you get crushed by a bunch of sweaty festival-goers.”

“How?” you asked, your head tilting slightly.

He stood and offered you a hand. “We’ll sneak you backstage. You can watch from behind the amps or something. You’ll get the best view without risking a meltdown. Deal?”

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded as you took his hand. “Deal.”

Kenny pulled you to your feet, keeping a firm grip on your hand as he guided you through the narrow hallway backstage. The muffled sound of the festival buzzed around you, but the chaos felt a world away with Kenny leading the way.

When you reached a small clearing behind the stage, Kenny gestured toward a stack of equipment cases tucked behind a row of amps. “Here. You’ll be out of the way, but you can still see everything. Pretty sweet setup, right?”

You smiled, your heart warming at the effort he’d gone to for you. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth quirking into a faint grin. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I’m a sucker for that face.”

Before you could respond, one of the stagehands poked their head around the corner. “McCormick! One minute!”

Kenny groaned, tossing his head back dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” he called before turning back to you. His grin softened into something more genuine as he grabbed his bass from a nearby stand. “Stay put, alright? And don’t go wandering off. I’m trusting you to hold down the fort.”

“I’ll behave,” you promised, settling into your spot.

“Good,” he said, slinging the bass strap over his shoulder. As he turned toward the stage, he glanced back, his usual cocky grin flickering back into place. “Enjoy the show, VIP. Try not to fall for me too hard, alright?”

You rolled your eyes, a quiet laugh escaping as he strode onto the stage. The crowd erupted into cheers, the energy surging even from your secluded vantage point.

And as Kenny plucked the first notes on his bass, a faint smile tugged at your lips. Even from the shadows, it was impossible to miss the way he owned the moment—confident, chaotic, and effortlessly cool. The low, steady thrum of his bass anchored the band, a sound that felt grounding in the best way.

Between verses, Stan leaned into his mic, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he glanced toward Kenny. “Alright, everyone give it up for Kenny McCormick on bass,” he said, gesturing lazily. “No parka tonight, folks. Must be hell of a heatwave out here—what is it, like, 30 degrees?”

The crowd chuckled, but Jimmy piped up from the drums, stammering out a sharp jab between beats. “Y-y-yeah, or maybe he sold it for a—f-for a pack of smokes!”

The crowd laughed louder this time, and even Butters chimed in with an awkward giggle. “Aw, well, I think he looks real classy without it!”

Kenny rolled his eyes, leaning into his mic with a sharp smirk. “You guys are hilarious,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Really groundbreaking shit here—can’t wait to see this comedy tour take off. And for the record, Butters, if you think this is classy, I’m worried about what you’re settin’ the bar at.”

Butters turned red as the crowd laughed again, and Stan snorted, shaking his head. “Relax, dude, it’s just weird seeing your scrawny ass without fifty layers of orange wrapping it up. You look like a naked cat.”

Jimmy nearly dropped his drumsticks as he cackled. “M-maybe he lost a bet. Or f-f-finally figured out how zippers work!”

“Fuck all of you,” Kenny shot back, grinning despite himself as he flipped them off with one hand while still playing. The crowd cheered at his response, but Kenny’s sharp blue eyes flicked toward the shadows backstage. His grin softened slightly as he glanced your way, a silent check-in just for you.

You giggled, biting your lip to keep the sound from carrying, and pressed the sleeve of his parka to your mouth. The fabric felt warm and heavy, the weight of it keeping the sharp edges of the world at bay.

The band launched into their next song, Kenny’s bassline thrumming low and steady beneath the melody. The crowd surged with energy, and though the lights still flickered and the noise still echoed, it didn’t feel like too much anymore. With the parka wrapped snugly around you and Kenny just a glance away, everything felt manageable.

The music pounded through the stage, strong and unyielding, and Kenny kept stealing glances at you when he thought no one was looking. Every time his eyes met yours, a flicker of something warmer crossed his face—faint but unmistakable.

Maybe the chaos wasn’t gone, but it didn’t swallow you whole this time. With Kenny anchoring you, the noise and lights softened just enough.

He caught your eye again as the song ended, throwing you a quick wink before returning to his mic. “Alright, let’s hear it for Butters for not tripping over his own feet during that solo,” he said, jerking his thumb toward his bandmate.

Butters flushed red, muttering into his own mic. “I—I did good, though!”

“Yeah, you did great,” Kenny teased, his smirk widening. “For a guy who looks like his mom made him wear church shoes to the gig.”

The crowd roared with laughter, and Butters let out a high-pitched whine, hiding his face behind his guitar.

From your spot behind the amps, you couldn’t help but laugh. And as you leaned back, hugging Kenny’s parka closer, the tension that had gripped you earlier felt distant, almost silly now. Maybe not everything would be this easy, but with someone like Kenny—sharp-tongued, chaotic, but steady when it mattered—it all felt a little less overwhelming.

You’d be okay.

#south park x reader #south park x y/n #south park oneshot #kenny mccormick x reader #kenny mccormick #sp oneshot #kenny mccormick x y/n

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4harv3y · 1 year ago

Text

UNDERTALE: YELLOW ‘REVIVED! CLOVER’ AU

PART 1

Explanation:

AS WE CAN TELL BY THE CUTSCENES, THAT DYING WITHOUT A SOUL ISNT IMMEDIATE. but slowly, it sorta drains away your energy, but seeing that Clover was literally hunched down during Floweys speech before having ENOUGH energy to drag themselves to position their last death place shows how REALLY strong Clover is. So, assuming that they DIDNT immediately passed away after they positioned themselves for prob a few last breath minutes really made me think.

What if Flowey decided to still keep Clover? They were ‘pals’ Yeah. Flowey decided to let them rest… BBBBBut, what if before Clover used their last breath. Floweys forced a TINY ounce of his determination into them. Making Clover a sort of a walking dying corpse.

Nevertheless, since it is shown that Clover has enough energy to drag themselves without their soul. In their now revived state, they can do simple movements by themselves. It’s just their legs can't balance anymore due to a lack of soul energy, so Flowey helps them with their balance and movements by being their support via using Vines as body strings.

Flowey and Them DO meet Frisk at some point,

Clover genuinely looks so tired which make sense because they literally got their energy sucked out after they lost their soul. Clover now has to drink ANY energy giving drinks or they barely functions for 2 hours (Forced to drink coffee.)

Character Info:

Clover & Flowey

Due to Clover's SOUL already being taken Encased in a capsule (Takes places during OG Undertale.)

Flowey mostly ‘Helps’ with their movements since without a soul, their control over their body are VERY WEAK. Revived! Clover can’t do Shit. Only thinks and blinks (But has enough energy to speak simple words.) of course, they can move their arms with any leftover weak energy. but it will never be enough to resists Flowey's control over their movement and actions.

I also wanted to add a detail that the vines will extend more rapidly and secure/support more, depending on what body part(s) Clover is going to use more effortly just incase of Clover was caught in a fight.

Qna questions that are answered for the lore of this AU:

Question 1. You think the lack of a soul might cause empathy/emotion issues like with flowey? Imagine flowey teaching clover to cope with it.

Answer:

“The answer is, Yeah! But, I have a feeling or a (hc of course) that it still has same affect upon losing your soul, slowly but surely. It would take Clover a few days or maybe one month in the underground to suddenly lose their concept of emotions, since like what happened after they lost their soul.

But Clover probably "tries' to hold onto their emotions to as long as possible, to make sure they don't ended up like flowey (I like to think that they slowly soon starts to act semi-like their genocide counterpart; ruthless and bold.)”

Question 2. Wondering how their friends would interact with how... "kind of alive" their body is. Or heck, how they and their friends would interact with the undertale cast.

Before the aftermath, how would Clover "kind-of live" in the underground? With all of the emotionlessness consuming their days, would they act like some kind of cryptid since they don't want their friends to see them as this... soulless shell.

Answer:

1.) I bet they would interact with Clover by treating them like a glass child (Which would start A LOT of conflicts, especially when the side effect of being soulless could affect their moral Justice as well.), and for the UT cast, it depends on your idea!

2.) Clover went into hiding and lived off caffeine and energy drinks(Or leftover food from their inventory.) But, Flowey being their pal would probably give them food if they don't, And Yeah! Clover became this ‘Cryptic entity’ that tends to lurk around where ‘Injustice or corruption’ happens. I like to see Clover, before the emotionlessness began; Was that Clover USED to be this ‘Peacekeeper’ vigilante. Relating to them acting like this ‘Cryptic’ due to them. Even in OG Undertale, I like to imagine that Clover appears for a short period of time and disappears from Frisk point of view(Like that Flowey Easter egg from the OG UT.)

Question 3. does clover tell flowey what limb or does flowey just know?

Answer:

Well, they used The first one, but until a few days or weeks, they’ve gotten used to it, so Flowey now just knows.

4. What exactly WAS flowey's plan for Clover

Answer:

The only logical and ‘in-character’ thought I had of Flowey’s plan; was that Flowey was going to use Clover against or perhaps use Clover as bait/trick the last human child, and help kill King Asgore. Which backfired.

And I also realized that Clover no longer has their Gun, so I wanted to give Clover a weapon to help ppl while also defending themselves. (Clover is used to range, so they probably suck-ass on melee weapons.)

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the-undeadwriter · 15 days ago

Note

Reader interrupts Dazai’s suicide plans by bursting in and demanding that he help them make and try tumbler famous battery acid spaghetti . They have fun together laughing about how bad it tastes, and Dazai decides to live at least another day.

Video of battery acid spaghetti for reference.

https://youtu.be/aIGthf97xMI?si=chAqFloGD2PQhcZv

Battery acid spaghetti tastes really bad, 0/10 would not recommend…

Warnings: suicidal/self deprecating thoughts, ooc, reader is gn, angst and fluff!

Wordcount: 561!!

Enjoy!!

His apartment is cold and empty. Covered in trash. A lot like him.

He laid on the floor, looking at the pills in his hand. Supposedly painless and quick.

It would have been nice to have another here with him, warmth pressing against his side as their souls slowly left the mortal plain, whispering sweet nothings into the air as their breathing slows and their eyes go dark.

Still, he unclasps the cap on the bottle, pouring a few of the capsules into his hand. He brings his hand to his face, taking a deep breath and—

You burst into his apartment, a small bag slung over your shoulder your presence is stark against the blank walls of his apartment, smile brighter than the stars outside his window.

Right. He gave you a spare key.

He scrambles to hide the pills, dropping them to the floor as he sits up. You brush right past him, towards his small kitchen. “Dazai!” You call out, voice melodic and angelic. “I saw the coolest thing and we need to try it together!!”

He stares at you from his spot on the floor. You set the bag down and glance around the space before staring at him, smile turning hesitant and sheepish. “Unless… unless you’re busy, of course—“

“Not at all, my dearest companion!” He clambers to his feet, his tone saccharine. His smile didn’t properly reach his eyes, but as he stalked closer to you it was easier to pretend. He looks over the ingredients you’ve brought and he can barely stop himself from grimacing. “What exactly are you planning on making?”

You grin, holding up a packet of sour strings. “Battery acid spaghetti.” You say, adorably determined as if the string of words you just said made any sense.

He grins. “Let’s do it.”

It doesn’t take long to make— it’s really just sour strings and energy drink in a bowl. It looks atrocious but you’re both laughing like teenagers.

You hold out a pair of forks, keeping one for yourself as you both scoop up a mouthful of your dish. “Bottoms up!” You cheer, scarfing down the awful mixture.

It takes a second before you’re both gagging. He chokes it down while you run to the sink, sputtering and groaning. “That was awful!” You giggle, wiping your mouth with your hand. He hums in agreement, poking the mass in the bowl with hesitance. “Agreed.”

You plop down beside him again, staring at the atrocity you created. You share a glance with him and giggles bubble up from your chest, doubling over and covering your face.

He watches as you lose your composure, chuckles falling from his lips with ease as he takes in the strange situation. “Why did we do this?” You cackle, tears brimming in your eyes. He shrugs, entirely overjoyed.

You take the bowl into your hands, dumping its contents into the bin. He watches you mutter to yourself as you dump the bowl into the sink, expression soft. He thinks back to the pill bottle still sitting in his living room, and…

He can’t do it.

Not tonight, anyway. You’d feel awful, knowing that he died after you left. Would likely blame yourself, and that’s not what he wanted.

No, he decides, watching as you pull out your phone and order food for the both of you. He won’t go tonight.

For your sake.

#bsd x reader #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd osamu dazai #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #x gn reader #gn!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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sw5w · 3 months ago

Text

Easy

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:23:53 - 00:23:54

Anyone have any guesses who this unnamed Outlander patron lurking in the background behind Immi Danoo and her friends could be? I know it's completely wrong, but I at first thought of Nym and the Feeorin species from Starfighter video game.

At first I thought it was maybe Onyeth Canavar or another Tarnab, but it looks like he has horns or tentacles. And he either has tentacles falling over his shoulders, or ribbed shoulder pads. Here's a larger version lightened even more...

Looking at this again, maybe it's a Klatooinian with a big collar and shoulder pads?

Listing of callouts for search purposes:

• Agira Nyrat • Anakin Skywalker • Artuo Pratuhr • Booton Piton • Civ Sila • Dannl Faytonni • Dixon Just • Immi Danoo • Nardi Shodu • Oakie Dokes • Obi-Wan Kenobi • Reina March • Rosha Vess • Whimper Save • Zam Wesell • Zey Nep

• Unidentified Bith • Unidentified human • Unidentified Kajain'sa'Nikto • Unidentified Outlander patron • Unidentified Sullustan

• Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber • Food and energy capsules • Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber • Toniray wine • Utility belt

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prolifeproliberty · 3 months ago

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10 months on the Carnivore Diet - my results

I know back in January I mentioned in a couple of posts that I was trying out the Carnivore Diet. Back then it was still new, and I was doing a bunch of research. Now I’ve been fully on it for 10 months, and it’s been amazing.

What I’m eating:

Meat (mostly beef and pork/bacon), eggs, butter, some cheese (mostly used as a garnish on eggs). I aim for a fat to protein ratio of between 75/25 and 80/20.

Typical breakfast: bacon and scrambled eggs cooked in bacon fat

Typical lunch: Chomp beef sticks or more recently these Greenridge Farm beef snack sticks from Costco that have really clean ingredients. I’ve also done leftovers and breakfast casseroles.

Typical dinner: Beef burger patties with scrambled eggs

What I’m drinking:

Water with electrolytes, Coffee with heavy cream, occasional low-carb alcohol (red wine, whisky, low or no carb drinks like vodka soda)

Supplements:

Bacopa monnieri (500mg capsule, 1/day) for my ADHD, Codeage beef organ supplement (1 capsule per day) as a multivitamin.

Exercise:

Basically none, outside of some walking and some minor weight lifting (biceps, triceps, squats) - nothing strenuous or consistent. I am working now on getting my walking and weightlifting more consistent, along with incorporating some abdominal exercises.

My results:

Weight lost: 50 lbs

Cycle regularity restored

Significantly lighter menstrual cramps

More energy, less anxiety/depression

Better immune system (still get sick occasionally, but much less frequently)

Biggest victory: my cravings for sugar and carbs went away pretty much entirely after about 2 weeks. I now have no desire to go back to the way I used to eat, making this the first diet I’ve ever tried that I‘ve been able to stick with for more than a few weeks, and certainly the first one I think I could stay on indefinitely.

What made this work for me:

The high fat content of my diet is very satiating, which makes it much easier to say no to carbs/sugary snacks. Also, artificial sweeteners actually make you crave sugar, so I cut those as well when I started the diet in January. I think that made a huge difference.

For context, I had NO ability to moderate carbs and sugar before this diet. I had a huge problem with binge eating sugar, especially if there was “free food” (a party, donuts in the staff lounge, etc). On previous diets, I could always come up with an excuse to eat sugar. Somebody’s birthday, I had a long day, it’s just this once and then I’ll be good, etc.

Now it’s not even a temptation.

How I learned about the diet and did my research:

I started with YouTube videos from people like Steak and Butter Gal. She does a lot of videos with recipes and tips for staying consistent, and she also does a lot of collaborations and interviews with doctors who recommend the diet, such as Dr. Elizabeth Bright. I went into researching the diet more for my hormonal health than for weight loss, and Dr. Bright is the expert on hormonal health (especially for women) and thyroid health.

This lead to more videos from different doctors and reading studies (including studies on the “link” between eating red meat and problems like heart disease and cancer, which were poorly done and don’t show what they claim to show).

How I handle social gatherings and holidays:

Everyone who knows me irl knows about my diet by now, either because they noticed my weight loss or because they’ve seen me eat! This means friends and family who are hosting will often ask me if I can eat certain things they’re planning to serve and will try to accommodate me.

It’s not too tough though because most social gatherings with food include some kind of meat, and it’s often “buffet style” so I can skip things I can’t eat. I generally try to avoid processed foods unless I can check the ingredients and make sure they’re free of preservatives, dextrose, sugar, etc, but one of my “cheats” is eating the meats and cheeses from charcuterie boards at parties.

If I suspect I won’t be able to eat much or I’m just not sure, I’ll often eat before I go so I’m not sitting there hungry. Then as long as there’s something I can eat, I can still participate in the social aspect of eating with friends and family.

Why I don’t eat fruits/vegetables:

I will occasionally have small amounts of vegetables, usually as a garnish (like I do with cheese). I also use medicinal herbs in the form of tinctures, capsules, or teas - though I need them much less often now! However, avoiding vegetables for the most part simplifies the diet, reduces my inflammation, and means I don’t have to count carbs like I would on keto.

The foods I eat all have zero or virtually zero carbs, and I know they won’t mess with my digestion or make me feel bad. It’s simple, it’s easy to follow, and I don’t have any real need or craving for the veggies. Occasionally I’ll have a couple pickle slices with my burger patties at a restaurant or some avocado with my bacon and eggs, but that’s about it. Basically, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Please feel free to ask questions and check out the channels and videos I linked above to learn more!

Starting a new diet is obviously tricky this time of year, but January 1st will be here before you know it. If you’re looking to make a change, maybe this could be the thing that works for you like it did for me!

#carnivore #carnivore diet #weight loss #hormonal health #hormonalhealth #health

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awh-bowie · 5 months ago

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☆⋆｡ beauty boosting food! ☆⋆｡

a healthy diet doesn’t have to be boring or repetitive! i see food (especially smoothies!!) as potions i can tailor towards exactly what i need. this post is to tell you about what i like to call functional foods ✧˖°

୨୧ skin treats ୨୧

feed your skin from within !! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

🍓 berries — packed with antioxidants to keep your skin looking bright. my favs are blueberries, strawberries, and goji berries !!

🥑 avocado — full of healthy fats, helps keep your skin hydrated and soft, reducing the appearance of wrinkles. it can also be used topically! i love it on toast or as a base for smoothies!

🥕 carrots — rich in beta-carotene (a type of vitamin A), carrots can help improve skin tone and even give you a subtle glow. some people even take concentrated capsules to look tanner 0.o

🌿 green tea — high in antioxidants, especially EGCG, green tea can help fight inflammation and reduce acne. it has caffeine so it’s a great morning drink!! ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

୨୧ hair helpers ୨୧

for visibly and structurally healthy hair! ミ☆

🥥 coconut oil — you can add this to smoothies or use it for cooking, and the healthy fats will nourish your hair from the inside out. you can even use it as a hair mask !

🌰 nuts & seeds — they’re full of omega-3 fatty acids and vitamin E, nuts and seeds like almonds, walnuts, chia, and flaxseeds promote hair growth and prevent damage !

🐟 salmon — packed with omega-3s and protein, salmon can make your hair stronger and shinier. it's a beauty superfood! i feed it to my cat to keep her extra shiny ᓚ₍^・ﻌ・^₎

🍳 eggs — eggs are full of biotin and protein, both of which are essential for strong, healthy hair !!

୨୧ brain boosters ୨୧

for focus, memory, and mental clarity, keep your brain beautiful! જ⁀➴

🥑 avocado — besides being a skin and hair hero, avocado also supports brain health with its rich supply of healthy fats and vitamin K. we love a multi-functional food !

🍫 dark chocolate — full of flavonoids, caffeine, and antioxidants, dark chocolate can improve brain function and give you a quick mood lift ⭑.ᐟ

🫐 blueberries — these little berries are packed with antioxidants that protect your brain from aging and boost memory. they’re also antioxidants which i mentioned above ^.^

🐠 fatty fish — fish like salmon, sardines, and mackerel are high in omega-3s, which are key for brain health !

୨୧ healthy body support ୨୧

keep your body strong and healthy to support ur princess lifee ૮ ∩´ᵕ`∩ ྀིა

🍠 sweet potatoes — packed with fiber, vitamins, and minerals, sweet potatoes help with digestion, boost immunity, and keep you full of energy.

🥦 broccoli — this veggie is a powerhouse of vitamins C, K, and folate. it's great for immune support, bone health, and even glowing skin.

🍋 lemon — starting ur day with lemon water can help to aid digestion, boost vitamin C levels, and keep your immune system strong. it's a simple way to give your body some love and is super yummy !

🍄 mushrooms — rich in selenium and antioxidants, mushrooms are amazing for your immune system! just make sure you do your research >.

୨୧ hormone balancers ୨୧

help balance your hormones ≽^-˕-^≼

🌱 flaxseeds — full of lignans, which can help balance estrogen levels, flaxseeds are great for hormone health, especially during the premenstrual period !

🍳 egg yolks — a great source of vitamin D and choline, egg yolks help regulate hormones and keep you feeling balanced !

🥛 almond milk — almonds are a good source of magnesium, which helps control stress hormones like cortisol. plus, it’s a dairy-free option that's easy on digestion !

🍠 maca root — this is a superfood known for balancing hormones, boosting energy, and improving fertility. you can find it in powder form to add to your smoothies or oatmeal.

୨୧ overall self-love ୨୧

you deserve the best! ₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

🍋 lemon — full of vitamin C, which helps with collagen production, lemons can brighten your skin and boost your immune system. i like to start my day with warm lemon water !

🍃 leafy greens — spinach, kale, and other leafy greens are full of vitamins and minerals that detox your body and keep your skin clear ! they’re a great thing to add to smoothies for an extra vitamin boost !

🍍 pineapple — this tropical fruit has enzymes that can aid digestion and give your skin that lit-from-within glow :3

🍯 honey — nature's sweet healer! honey has antibacterial properties, so it’s great for your immune system and can even be used topically for glowing skin. thanks bees !! 🐝˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

#it girl #self concept #self care #that girl #self love #it girl energy #dream girl #dream life #dreamy #hyper femininity #hyper feminine #girly #girl blog #princess #dolly #aesthetic #health & fitness

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love-and-deepspace-wiki · 6 months ago

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E+ Food Technologies

From what I can gather, E+ Food Technologies is an energy drink/stamina item company in Linkon City.

Their "Energy Capsules" are the latest beverage specially crafted for Hunters.

Advertised to "replenish your energy anytime, anywhere!".

Each of the product listings reminds consumers to "please pay attention to the expiration date".

It comes in three different varieties: Light (left), Vigorous (center), and Powerful (right).

Energy Capsule: Light

Restores 30 stamina upon consumption

Energy Capsule: Vigorous

Restores 60 stamina upon consumption

Energy Capsule: Powerful

Restores 100 stamina upon consumption

Personal Thoughts:

I'm curious what flavors they come in and what other beverages they sell! Since these are their "latest" beverages, I feel safe assuming various other preceeded them.

And since the expiration warning is repeatedly reinforced, I wonder what the consequences of drinking an expired one would be

#love and deepspace #lads linkon city #lads zayne #linkon city #lads #love and deepspace zayne #lads akso hospital #linkon central hospital #love and deepspace akso hospital #akso hospital #lads xavier #lads rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace xavier #e+ technologies #lads brands #lads companies

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ha-rinrin · 5 months ago

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Summer of second chances

1st chapter

total word count for the whole series: 40 something k words

total word count for this chapter:3,7k

summary:You return to your small hometown after two years away at college, hoping for a quiet summer to recharge. But the town hasn’t forgotten you, sparking the curiosity of a blue-haired girl who’s eager to unravel the mystery behind the girl who left town.

Back in town

The bus rolls into the station with a loud hiss of air, the brakes squealing in protest as it comes to a halt. You glance out the window, watching the familiar streets of your hometown come into view. The same small shops line the streets, their faded signs untouched by time. It’s like stepping back into a memory—everything looks exactly the way you left it.

You step off the bus, adjusting the bag on your shoulder as the warm, sticky summer air hits you. The smell of saltwater from the nearby ocean mingles with the scents of food from the old diner on the corner, and for a second, you’re reminded of the countless summers you spent here. But it feels different now. After two years away at college, you’ve grown used to the fast pace of the city, the noise, the constant movement. Coming back here feels like pressing pause on all of that.

Your mom had practically begged you to come home for the summer. “You need a break,” she’d said during one of your weekly phone calls. “You’ve been working nonstop for two years—just take some time to relax.” At first, you resisted. How could you relax when you’ve spent the last two years building a near-perfect academic record, lining up internships, and doing everything you could to ensure your future? But as finals week wrapped up and the exhaustion finally hit you, the feeling of just wanting to clear your head became too persistent, and a quiet summer at home started sounding like a pretty good idea.

You’ve only been back in town for a few minutes, but already the slow rhythm of this place is starting to seep in. It’s quieter here, the pace slower, the days longer. You allow yourself to breathe it in, the scent of salt in the air, the sound of the ocean waves in the distance. This place is simple, comfortable. Maybe you can find some peace here after all.

You start walking toward home, the streets looking almost too familiar. There’s the old bookstore where you used to spend hours as a kid, now closed with a faded “For Sale” sign in the window. The ice cream shop is still in business, though the paint on the sign is peeling. You catch a glimpse of the park where you used to meet up with friends after school, though it looks smaller now.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pull it out and see Vi’s name flash across the screen. A small smile tugs at your lips. Vi’s been your best friend since high school—tough, no-nonsense, and always there when you need her. You haven’t seen her in a while, but you’ve kept in touch, texting every now and then.

You answer the call. “Vi! I just got into town.”

“Y/N!” Vi’s voice comes through the phone, full of energy. “It’s about time. How was the trip?”

You shift the bag on your shoulder as you walk, taking a right turn onto the street that leads to your house. “Long. But not too bad. Just happy to finally be back.”

“I bet,” she says. “Feels weird, huh? Being back here after all that time away?”

You glance around at the quiet streets, the houses that look just like they did when you left. “Yeah, everything’s exactly the same. It’s like nothing’s changed.”

“That’s the beauty of this place,” Vi replies with a chuckle. “Stuck in its own little time capsule. How’s your mom? She must be thrilled to have you back.”

You smile at the thought. “She’s probably going to smother me with attention. She’s been counting down the days until I got here.”

Vi laughs. “Classic. So, you got any big plans while you’re here, or are you just going to lounge around and let her spoil you?”

You think about the question for a moment, your eyes drifting to the row of houses along the street. Part of you wants to say you’ll take it easy, spend the summer relaxing. But you know yourself too well. You’re not the type to sit around doing nothing, even if your mom insists it’s what you need.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” you admit. “I told myself I’d try to take it easy, but I’m already thinking about what I can get done this summer.”

“Of course you are,” Vi teases. “You can’t sit still for more than a minute, can you?”

You grin. “What can I say? Old habits die hard.”

“Yeah, I figured. Well, we definitely need to hang out while you’re here. I’m on a weird work schedule, but I’ll make time. Maybe we can grab food at that new taco place everyone’s been talking about.”

You stop at the corner, waiting for a car to pass before crossing the street. “Sounds good to me. It’ll be nice to catch up in person. I feel like it’s been forever.”

“It has,” Vi says, her voice softening. “Too long. You and I need to make up for lost time.”

The idea of getting away from the same old streets for a bit sounds appealing. “Yeah, maybe we should. I could use a break from all this… familiarity.”

Vi laughs on the other end. “Perfect, because I was already thinking of something to shake things up a bit. How about a little party? Nothing crazy, just a few friends, good music, and a chance for you to meet the new crowd I’ve been hanging with.”

You raise an eyebrow, even though she can’t see it. “A party? You know that’s not really my scene, Vi.”

“I know, I know,” she says quickly. “But it won’t be wild. More like a chill get-together. I’ve got some great people I’ve been hanging out with, and I think you’d really hit it off with them. Plus, it’s your first summer back in two years—don’t you think you deserve a little fun?”

You hesitate. A party sounds… a bit much. You’ve barely been back in town for a few hours, and the thought of jumping straight into something social makes you a little nervous. But this is Vi. If anyone knows how to make things relaxed and fun, it’s her.

“All right, a small party could be nice,” you finally concede, though there’s still a flicker of hesitation in your voice. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to meet some new people while I’m here.”

Vi laughs softly, clearly pleased by your answer. “That’s the spirit! Trust me, Y/N, it’s going to be low-key. Nothing crazy. We’ll grab some food, hang out, maybe throw on some music. Besides, you’ve been locked away in books and internships for way too long. It’s time you let loose, even just a little.”

You smile, even though the idea of “letting loose” still feels foreign. “Okay, okay. When is this happening?”

“How about tomorrow night? Gives you some time to settle in, and I can pull a few people together. Say around 8 p.m. at my place?”

“Yeah, that works. I’ll be there.”

“Great! You’re gonna love this crowd. They’re good people. And don’t worry, it’ll be nothing like those wild parties you always avoided in high school,” Vi adds with a chuckle.

You laugh too, feeling more at ease now. “Yeah, I’m counting on that.”

There’s a brief pause before Vi’s voice comes through again, this time softer. “I’m really glad you’re back, Y/N. It’s been too long.”.

You feel a warmth in your chest at her words. "Same here, Vi. I’ve missed you."

"Alright, I’ll let you go. I’m working late tonight, but I’ll text you the details for tomorrow. Can’t wait to catch up properly."

“Sounds good. Talk soon.” You hang up the phone, slipping it back into your pocket as you reach your house.

Standing at the front door, you take a deep breath, feeling the familiar sensation of being home. The old wooden porch creaks beneath your feet as you step inside, the smell of fresh flowers and your mom’s cooking immediately wrapping around you like a blanket.

The house feels the same—warm, welcoming, like time hasn’t moved here either. You set your duffel bag down by the door, smiling to yourself. This summer might turn out to be more interesting than you’d expected.

continue in ao3

#jinx/you #jinx x y/n #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #arcane jinx #jinx x fem!reader

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itstobias149 · 1 month ago

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Little Macs Sibling Lore dump

Hey guys! Today I bring you a post made up of a collectionon of random lore drops about Marie through the eyes of Little Mac! I had a lot of fun, I'm sorry its such a long post. I hope you all enjoy it though.

This post contains stuff about my oc, if you don't like oc stuff this post may not be for you and that's okay! This is also based on my own Headcanons and ideas! Everyone has their own interpretation of the boxers and their stories and personlives and that's okay!

“Alright, so Marie’s like, my older sister or whatever, but I swear, she’s basically an old lady trapped in a chubby cutman’s body. She’s out here knitting scarves for nobody, like just endless scarves that pile up in her closet. She’s got this thing for baking cookies at 6 AM—6 AM!—like who wakes up thinking, ‘You know what the world needs right now? Snickerdoodles.’

Oh, and don’t get me started on her tea collection. It’s massive. She’s got every flavor you can think of, like she’s preparing for a tea apocalypse or something. You open her cupboard and BAM! It’s like a botanical garden exploded in there. She’s always watching those weird crime shows too—like, if you ask her about “Murder She Wrote,” she could probably write a dissertation on it.

And you know what really gets me? The puzzles. Marie will sit there at the kitchen table doing jigsaw puzzles for HOURS. Like, she’s got all these guys fawning over her, and she’s over here acting like a grandma just waiting for bingo night. It’s weird, but it’s Marie, y’know? Her card game obsession is just the cherry on top. She’s always trying to rope people into playing Gin Rummy or Canasta. If she doesn’t have anyone to play with, she’ll sit there doing solitaire, shuffling the cards like she’s in a Vegas casino. And don’t even think about beating her—she’s ruthless, calling out rules you’ve never heard of, like, ‘Actually, you can’t play that card because it’s Thursday.’

Marie also has these old-school habits that just make her seem even more like an old grandma, and I mean that in the funniest way possible. First off, she’s always trying to feed everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re hungry or not—she’s like, ‘You’re too skinny, you need to eat.’ She’ll whip out a full meal in five minutes like it’s a magic trick. Fighter? Coach? Cameraman? You mention you are hungry and she just appears with food, where does it come from? Her big beehive?

And the food—oh, the food. Marie’s kitchen always smells like she’s been cooking for a village. She’s making kugel, latkes, stuffed cabbage—you name it. She even learned how to make her own challah, which she insists on braiding perfectly, and don’t even get me started on her chicken soup. It’s practically a cure-all. Got a cold? Soup. Bad day? Soup. Sprained your ankle? Guess what? Soup.

And the guilt trips? Oh, man. Classic Marie. Like if I don’t call her when I’m out late, she hits me with, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll just sit here and wonder if my little brother is alive or in a ditch somewhere.’ I’m like, ‘Marie, I went to the store for five minutes!’ I get it I'm short and I'm only 17, but I've beaten guys that are three times my age and height.

Then there’s her obsession with coupons and deals. She’s not even strapped for cash, but if she gets something full price, she acts like she’s personally betrayed her ancestors. She’s all about ‘Why pay $5 when you could pay $4.75?’

Oh, and holidays? Forget about it. She goes ALL OUT. Passover, Hanukkah, you name it—she’s dragging me to synagogue, making matzo ball soup, and lecturing me on traditions like I’m in Sunday school again. But honestly, it’s kinda nice. Makes things feel like home.

Marie’s just got this old Jewish lady energy, even though she’s… y’know, Marie. It’s like she’s channeling generations of bubbes, but in her own chaotic, lovable way.”

“Oh man, don’t even get me started on Marie’s house. It’s like stepping into a time capsule. She’s got these old decorations everywhere—like, actual antiques. She’s got menorahs that look like they came straight out of the shtetl, ceramic pomegranates, and a hamsa on every other wall. There’s even this weird old clock that doesn’t work, but she won’t get rid of it because ‘it has character.’

And then there’s the singing. If she’s cleaning, cooking, or just puttering around the house, you know she’s gonna be singing something in Yiddish. It’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it half the time. She’ll be scrubbing a pan and humming ‘Tumbalalaika’ or ‘Bei Mir Bistu Shein.’ Sometimes she gets into it and starts belting out like she’s on stage, and I’m just sitting there like, ‘You good, Marie?’

It’s honestly kinda comforting, though. Like, it’s chaotic, but it’s her. I mean, yeah, she’s got this whole grandma vibe, but it just makes the place feel warm and alive. Even if she’s singing so loud the neighbors can hear.”

“Okay, so Marie’s list of grandma activities is endless. Like, she collects random jars and containers. Doesn’t matter if it’s an old pickle jar or a tin from cookies—she’ll clean it out and say something like, ‘You never know when you’ll need a good jar.’ Now her cabinets are full of ‘em, and I swear, half of them are empty.

She’s obsessed with gardening, but not, like, normal plants—she’s growing herbs and weird flowers that I’m convinced nobody’s even heard of. She’ll come in with dirt on her face like, ‘Look, Little Mac, my rosemary’s thriving!’ Meanwhile, I can barely keep a cactus alive.

Oh, and she’s got this thing with handwritten notes. Like, she refuses to use her phone for reminders. Instead, she’ll write down recipes, to-do lists, or random thoughts on little scraps of paper—and they’re everywhere. You’ll find ‘em in her coat pockets, on the fridge, even in the bathroom.

Then there’s her perfume collection, which is wild. She’s got these vintage bottles that look like they came out of a 1920s department store. And the scents? They’re super flowery or musky, like classic grandma fragrances. She’s always dabbing it on her wrists like it’s a ritual, and if you say it’s strong, she’ll just shrug and say, ‘That’s how you know it’s good.’

And her dishes—oh boy. Marie’s got the fanciest plates and bowls, but they’re so old-school they’ve probably been passed down for generations. She’s got these blue and white porcelain plates she only uses for special occasions and some glassware that’s so delicate she practically makes you sign a waiver before touching it. Meanwhile, she’ll serve you cookies on a little tray that looks like it belongs in a museum.

Marie’s collections are a big part of who she is—they tell stories of her past, her culture, and her unique personality. Walking into her apartment is like stepping into a cozy, lived-in museum of sorts. It’s a collection of memories, keepsakes, and things that hold sentimental value. But at the same time, it feels like home, a space that’s warm and inviting despite all the stuff packed into every nook and cranny.

First, there’s her collection of old religious items. You can’t miss them. She’s got candles, menorahs, and even an antique silver kiddush cup that’s been passed down through generations. When she talks about these objects, you can see the reverence in her eyes—they’re not just decorations; they’re links to her family’s past, to the traditions her grandparents carried with them from Europe. She’s got prayer books in Yiddish and Hebrew, their pages yellowed with age, some of them with notes written in the margins. It’s clear that every item in her collection has a story, a memory attached to it.

Then there are her trinkets—lots of small figurines and dolls from different cultures. Some are from her travels, like the little wooden figurines from Slovakia or the hand-painted pottery she bought when she visited Romania. They’re scattered around her living room, on shelves or in glass cabinets, like little time capsules. Each one seems to have a story of where she’s been, who she was with, or something important that happened in her life. Some of the pieces are quirky—like the hand-carved wooden clown from a street market in Prague—but others are so intricate and beautiful, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Marie also collects vintage cookbooks. Old ones, some of them falling apart from how much she’s used them. She’s got this one cookbook that’s a hundred years old, and she’s used it so much that the pages are stained with grease and food marks. She said it belonged to her grandmother, who taught her how to cook all those old-world recipes. Every time I look at it, I can’t help but think about how much history is packed into those pages. You can tell these aren’t just recipes; they’re part of her family’s identity. Whenever she cooks, she’s connecting with her roots, with the women who came before her. It’s like she’s passing the knowledge down, one meal at a time.

There’s also a whole section of her home that’s dedicated to vintage postcards. She’s been collecting them for years—mostly ones from different places she’s been, but also some old ones she’s found at thrift stores or flea markets. They’re mostly from the early 1900s, showing cities, landmarks, and scenes from long ago. I remember her showing me one of New York from the 1920s, and she told me that her great-grandparents used to live in that exact neighborhood. It’s amazing how these little postcards capture a moment in time—like frozen memories of lives that were lived long before we came along.

And then, of course, there’s the collection of old dishes and teacups. She’s got this collection of mismatched, delicate porcelain teacups—most of them from different countries. There’s one that she’s really fond of, a cup with little roses painted on it that she got from a shop in Vienna. She says it reminds her of when she visited the city with her mother, back when things were simpler. Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, she’ll pull out one of her favorite cups, brew a pot of tea, and we’ll sit and chat, letting the time slip by. It’s like she’s recreating those small, intimate moments of her past, making new memories with each cup.

I’ve noticed how Marie’s collections aren’t just about having stuff; they’re a reflection of her life, her history, and her connection to both her Jewish roots and the cultures she’s grown up around. Sometimes, when she’s showing me her collections, it’s like she’s telling me pieces of her story without saying much at all. It’s in the way she talks about the items, the pride in her voice when she tells me the history behind them. It’s almost like these collections are her way of holding onto the past while moving forward—an acknowledgment of where she’s come from, and a way of keeping it all alive.

The coolest part, though, is how she’s started teaching me about her collections, how she’s opened up about the stories behind each item. I’ve learned so much from her—about her family, her heritage, and her way of seeing the world. She’s passed along some of the old cooking techniques from her family’s recipes, the way they used to stretch a meal and make everything from scratch. And every time we cook together, it feels like I’m adding my own little piece to her collection—like I’m a part of her story now, too.

Marie’s collections have this way of connecting the past and present, of honoring where she’s come from while she builds her life here and now. And even though I’m not really a collector, it’s hard not to get caught up in the magic of it all—the way she looks at each item, the pride she takes in preserving these pieces of her life. It’s not just about the things she owns; it’s about the memories they hold, the people they’ve connected her to, and the legacy she’s continuing. It’s a big part of why being with her feels like being part of something so much bigger than just the two of us.

Marie’s collection of old quilts and handmade clothes is probably one of the most personal and heartfelt parts of her home. Each piece is like a patchwork of memories, not just fabric, but moments in time, stories of hands that sewed them, and the love that went into making them. I’ve always been amazed by the way she talks about her quilts—how each stitch feels like it holds a piece of her family’s history.

The quilts are incredible. Some of them are centuries old, handed down from her great-grandmother and others from her mother. They’re faded now, the colors soft and worn, but they’ve got this warmth to them—almost like they still carry the imprint of the hands that created them. I remember the first time I saw them, spread out across her bed like a tapestry of the past. The designs are intricate, sometimes even abstract, and Marie can tell you exactly where each one came from. Some are made from fabric scraps, leftovers from clothes that her family wore, while others are more meticulously designed patterns that took hours to stitch together.

I think what really strikes me about the quilts is the level of care in each one. Marie says her grandmother made them during the tough years when they didn’t have much. They used whatever fabric they could get their hands on—old dresses, scraps from coats, bits of whatever they could salvage—and then she’d sew them all together into something beautiful and functional. It’s not just about making something to keep warm; it’s about creating something from nothing, something that could be passed down, that would be there to tell the family’s story.

Marie’s not only a collector of these quilts—she’s a maker, too. She’s shown me how she still hand-stitches some of the smaller repairs or adds new designs to the older quilts, kind of like preserving them, but also giving them a little life of their own. She told me that it’s part of how she connects with her family, with the women who came before her. Each stitch she adds feels like she’s participating in the same tradition, carrying it on in her own way. I never really understood how something like that could feel so personal, but when you see the care and attention she gives to each piece, it’s hard not to feel the love in it.

And then there are the handmade clothes. Marie’s always been into crafting—knitting, sewing, crocheting. She has this incredible collection of vintage sewing patterns that she’s gotten from all over the world, some dating back to the 1930s. I’ve seen her pull out these old patterns with these beautiful, detailed drawings of women’s dresses, coats, and even accessories, and she’ll talk about how she wants to try them out one day. She’s made everything from wool cardigans to hand-sewn dresses, each one unique, each one a work of art. The fabrics she uses are often vintage, too—like old silk from her travels or linen she picked up at a market in Spain—and she’s so particular about every little detail. I’ve watched her sew late into the night, her hands moving over the fabric with this incredible focus, like she’s channeling the spirit of all the seamstresses in her family.

One of the most special things she’s made, though, is a sweater she knitted for me. She gave it to me last winter, and when I first saw it, I couldn’t believe how much care she’d put into every stitch. The yarn was this deep blue, soft and thick, perfect for the cold weather. I don’t know if she meant for it to be anything more than a simple sweater, but when I put it on, I felt like I was wearing a piece of her heart. I wear it all the time now, especially when it gets cold, and it always makes me feel close to her, like I’m wrapped in her warmth.

What I love most about Marie’s quilts and handmade clothes, though, is how they represent her dedication to the people she loves. It’s not just about creating something beautiful—it’s about making something that lasts, that can be passed down through the generations, just like the quilts and clothes from her ancestors. It’s like she’s making her own legacy, stitch by stitch, and with each quilt she adds to her collection, each sweater she knits, she’s making a piece of history for the future. Even though she’s modern, her love for these handmade creations feels timeless, as though she’s carrying a tradition forward that might otherwise be lost. And every time I see her working on one of her projects, I’m reminded of how much of her heart goes into everything she does.

Then there’s her knitting addiction. She’s making blankets, socks, and hats for everyone. And she doesn’t just stop at knitting—she crochets too. Sometimes she’ll call me over and be like, ‘Try this on,’ and it’s some oversized sweater that I’m not even sure fits me.

Oh, and Marie LOVES writing letters. Like, actual letters with envelopes and stamps. She’ll sit at the table for hours with her fancy pens, writing to people who probably won’t even write back. She says it’s ‘more personal.’

I’m telling you, she’s basically 80 years old in a younger body. It’s kinda hilarious, but also weirdly comforting.”

“Okay, so I get it—Marie’s an immigrant from Germany, and her late family was super traditional. She’s told me the stories a million times: how they kept kosher, how her mom would light candles every Friday night, and how her dad used to lecture her about the importance of keeping traditions alive. Like, I know where all her quirks come from.

But sometimes I look at her and think, ‘Marie, we’re not in the old country anymore.’ Like, I’m pretty sure nobody else in the WVBA is sitting down to hand-roll kreplach or yelling at the TV in Yiddish when the news is on. And yet, there she is, making gefilte fish from scratch and humming old folk songs while she does it.

I get that her upbringing made her who she is, and I respect it—I really do. But Marie takes it to a whole new level. She’s out here sewing patches onto my clothes, like it’s 1935 and I can’t just buy a new jacket. Or she’ll tell me things like, ‘In my family, we always did this,’ while setting the table with enough food to feed the entire league.

Okay, so yeah, Marie’s got all these old-school habits, but honestly? She’s been teaching me a ton of stuff that’s actually useful. Like, she’s a master at stretching a dollar. I used to think meal prepping was just for fitness buffs, but nope—Marie’s out here making meals that last a week, and they taste better every day. I’ve learned how to make a mean pot of chicken soup, and now I’m the guy everyone calls when they’re sick.

She’s also big on fixing things instead of throwing them out. My gloves were falling apart, and I was ready to toss them, but she showed me how to sew them up. I know, sewing doesn’t sound tough, but you’d be surprised how handy it is when you’re training and gear gets worn out.

And her cooking? It’s like a crash course in survival. She’s teaching me all these recipes that are cheap, filling, and taste amazing—latkes, kugel, even braided challah. She says it’s about ‘taking care of your people,’ and now I feel like I could feed an army if I had to.

She’s even teaching me some Yiddish phrases, which is great for trash-talking in the ring without anyone knowing. Marie says, ‘If you’re gonna call someone a nudnik, at least do it with flair.’

So yeah, she’s old-fashioned, but it’s like having my own personal life coach. I don’t just get a sister—I get a survival guide, a tailor, and a chef all rolled into one.

It’s like she’s stuck between being this old-world Jewish bubbe and a modern-day cutman, and somehow, it works for her. It’s just… sometimes I have to remind her that we’re in New York, not a little shtetl in Germany. It’s funny how people can look at Marie and think she’s just this old, traditional lady, but they don’t always know the full story. I’ve heard her talk about her parents, and honestly, it’s a bit heartbreaking. Her mom and dad, they were born and raised in Germany, and they had that old-school, strict mindset that a lot of people from their generation carried with them. You know, they had lived through a lot—survived the war, rebuilt their lives—and they were determined to keep their family traditions alive, even if that meant keeping a tight grip on Marie. They weren’t bad people, but they were overbearing in a way that you’d only understand if you were raised in a time and place like that.

She was expected to follow the rules, do things the “right” way, and stick to their ideals. It was all about preserving the family name, the old customs, the way things had been passed down from generation to generation. And I get it—her parents went through things most people can’t even imagine. They lived through the worst of history, and their experiences shaped how they viewed the world. They probably just wanted to protect Marie from the chaos that had torn apart their lives and their home. But that didn’t mean she had to stay trapped in that mindset forever.

Marie’s always been this independent spirit, though. She’s got her own opinions, her own ideas about how things should be, and as much as she respected her parents, she didn’t agree with a lot of the things they pushed on her. She loved them, no doubt, but she needed more than just their way of living. It wasn’t until after they passed that Marie felt like she could truly breathe, like she was finally free to make her own choices and live her life on her terms. I think that’s when she really came into her own. That’s when she left Germany and came here, looking for something different, something that would allow her to be herself.

It wasn’t easy, though. Coming to a new country, starting fresh, and breaking away from the expectations her parents had set for her—it was all a huge challenge. But that’s Marie. She’s never been one to back down, and even though she didn’t agree with the way her parents had raised her, she understood where they were coming from. They’d lived through the worst times in history, and for them, that kind of control was just a way of coping with everything they’d lost. But for Marie, it was suffocating. She wasn’t going to live a life defined by fear or by the shadows of the past. She came to us, to America, for freedom—freedom to be who she truly was, to make her own path, and to define her own future.

It wasn’t like she rejected everything they taught her—she still holds onto parts of her heritage, her culture, and the values that shaped her. But she learned that she didn’t have to live under the weight of their rules, and that’s something she’s always fought for. She believes in embracing the past, but she also believes in moving forward, in creating a life that’s her own. That’s why she’s so willing to learn from others, to hear different perspectives, and to understand people from all walks of life. It’s her way of reclaiming her own identity, and I think that’s what makes her so special.

She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that leaving Germany wasn’t just about escaping her parents—it was about finding herself, finding a place where she didn’t have to live in anyone’s shadow. And when she came here, she didn’t just step into the world that awaited her; she built her own life, on her own terms. It’s something I admire a lot about her—she took the lessons from her past, the struggles she went through, and used them to shape the woman she is today. She’s proud of her roots, but she knows she can’t be confined by them. That’s Marie—always pushing forward, always staying true to herself, no matter where she came from or who tried to hold her back.

But outside of her old ways her opinions are pretty modern. She is for the people, for the minorities. You know, sometimes Marie comes off as old-fashioned, especially with the way she carries herself. She’s got her routines—like making sure everyone’s got enough to eat, or making time for her old-school traditions, like keeping the house cozy with homemade quilts or sitting down with a good book. People might look at her and think she’s just this sweet, old lady who’s stuck in the past, but they couldn’t be more wrong. She’s actually one of the most forward-thinking people I know, especially when it comes to social justice.

It might not always look that way, but Marie’s got this fire inside her. She doesn’t just sit back and accept things because “that’s how it’s always been.” If she sees something she thinks is wrong, you can bet she’s going to stand up for it—no matter the situation. She might be the one sitting in a quiet corner at a dinner party, but when it comes to speaking out, she doesn’t hesitate for a second.

I’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with people who try to put others down, especially when it comes to injustice. Whether it’s racism, discrimination, or people being treated unfairly, she’s never afraid to call it out. It’s not always dramatic—she doesn’t make a big scene—but you can feel the power of her words when she does speak up. I remember this one time when a few of the boxers were making some off-hand remarks about someone’s culture, and Marie didn’t let it slide. She didn’t lecture them, but she calmly told them how those kinds of comments were hurtful, how important it was to respect every person’s background, no matter where they come from. The room got quiet, and for a moment, I think everyone realized how much they’d been missing—how easy it was to fall into ignorance if you didn’t stop and think.

Marie’s not the kind of person who makes a big deal about it, but when she stands up for what’s right, people listen. She’s never one to shy away from a conversation, especially if it means standing up for the underdog. I’ve seen her defend workers in the stores she shops at, the people who’ve been overlooked by others. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone cleaning the floors or serving food—Marie sees people as people, and if she feels like they’re not being treated right, she’ll speak up. She’s taught me that being kind and respectful isn’t just about showing love to people who are easy to love—it’s about standing up for the ones who might be forgotten or mistreated, too.

I think part of it comes from the way she was raised—growing up in a tough time and learning that you’ve got to fight for what’s right. It’s a different world now, but Marie’s sense of justice hasn’t changed. She was taught that you stand up for the people who don’t have a voice, that you make sure everyone gets a fair chance. She doesn’t just fight for others when it’s convenient or when it’s easy. She does it because she believes it’s the right thing to do.

And even though she’s old-fashioned in some ways, it’s clear that she’s got a modern heart. She understands the struggles people are going through today, and she’s got a strong opinion about how things should change. Whether it’s talking to one of the boxers about their behavior or stepping up for a cause she believes in, Marie is never one to back down. She may be gentle, but she’s got a backbone made of steel.

It’s honestly kind of amazing to see someone so rooted in tradition still push for progress. She reminds me all the time that standing up for others doesn’t have to be loud or flashy—it’s about doing the right thing even when nobody’s looking. That’s the real power she has: making sure people are treated with dignity and respect, no matter who they are or where they come from. And to me, that makes her more modern than a lot of people I know, despite the fact that she’s into old quilts and listening to language tapes. She’s got a wisdom that comes from experience, and I can’t think of a better role model.

“I mean, I’ve always been Catholic, y’know? It’s kind of in my blood. I’m Hispanic, so that whole church thing was a big part of growing up. Sunday mornings meant heading to church with my mom, and then there’d be the whole family afterwards for a big meal, and of course, we’d say grace before we ate. It’s just… tradition. My mom would make me sit still through the whole mass, even when I wanted to run around as a kid, and she’d always say the rosary with me at night before bed, counting the beads like it was a ritual. I’d pray to the Virgin Mary and Jesus, asking for guidance. It was something I didn’t always get, but it was comforting, like it grounded me in a way. Even if I didn’t understand all the words or the history behind everything, there was this peace in it. Church was a space for me to reset, y’know?

Then, there’s Marie. She’s Jewish—born and raised, and her family’s super traditional. I know she grew up with a lot of the same values, just with a different foundation. Every time I stay with her, I learn a little more about her culture and her faith, and she’s always open to hearing about mine too. I don’t think I ever realized how much I didn’t know about her traditions until she started explaining it. For example, she told me about Shabbat, how every Friday night, she lights candles, says a prayer, and makes everything peaceful for the weekend. It’s such a simple but deep thing, right? She said it’s about setting the tone for the rest of the week—something like that. Honestly, I was kind of surprised by how similar it felt to what we do, except ours is on Sundays. She also explained how lighting the candles is a way to honor the Sabbath, and I thought that was powerful. She said the prayer in Hebrew, and I couldn’t really catch all of it, but the way she said it… there was this calmness to it. I wanted to understand it more.

One night, I asked her about some of the prayers she says before meals, and she told me about the bracha, the blessing over bread. That was something I had never heard of. She said, ‘Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,’ and she explained how it’s this deep connection to what the earth gives us. I liked that. It felt really… connected, you know? Like, appreciating where food comes from, where life comes from. I actually started saying a little prayer in my head after hearing hers, kind of like how we do grace before meals. It wasn’t exactly the same, but the feeling behind it—being thankful, taking a moment to appreciate what we have—it made sense to me. It’s not that different when you really think about it.

She’s even asked me to teach her some of the Catholic traditions, like the rosary. I showed her how we pray with the beads and how the Hail Mary and Our Father are part of our routine. At first, she didn’t really get it—like, ‘Why do you have to repeat so many prayers?’ But as I explained it to her, she seemed to find it interesting. She said something like, ‘It’s kind of like meditating, right? Repeating the words to focus your mind?’ And I guess, in a way, she’s right. It’s not just about the words, but about the mindset. About putting your trust in something bigger than yourself, taking a minute to just breathe and let go.

It’s funny because sometimes we’ll sit together, each of us in our own little world, practicing our faiths in the way we know how, but we never judge each other. Instead, it’s like we’re both learning from one another. I’ll catch her lighting candles, and sometimes, without even thinking, I’ll say a prayer to myself. Or we’ll sit down for a meal, and she’ll say her bracha while I quietly say grace. There’s no conflict, no “this is better than that.” It’s just… respect. We’re different, but there’s a shared understanding that both of our faiths are important parts of who we are.

I remember one day, I was feeling kind of off after training, and Marie noticed. She looked at me and said, ‘Maybe you should say a prayer for strength.’ She didn’t know what I usually do, but I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to explain. I just said, ‘Yeah, I think I will.’ And we both took a moment, in our own ways, to connect with something bigger than us. I said my rosary prayer, and she said one of her own, and it was like, for just a moment, we were both in the same place spiritually.

Honestly, the more we talk about it, the more I realize that faith isn’t just about the specifics of the tradition. It’s about believing in something, having that foundation to stand on when life gets tough. And Marie… she’s shown me that while our religions might look different on the surface, the core of it is the same: love, family, tradition, and a deep appreciation for the life we’ve been given. And, I guess, in that way, we teach each other, without even trying.”

“Man, when I think about how Marie and I have blended our cultures together, it feels like it’s more than just about food or traditions—it’s about a deeper connection. We’re from different worlds, right? Me, with my Hispanic background, raised in a Catholic household, and her, with her Jewish upbringing, coming from a family that holds onto traditions like they’re a lifeline. At first, I didn’t think we’d have that much in common when it came to holidays or meals or anything like that, but as we started sharing more of ourselves with each other, I realized it’s all about finding that space where both of our worlds can exist side by side.

I remember the first time I went with Marie to her family’s Shabbat dinner. It was so different from anything I’d ever experienced. The candles, the prayers, the way everyone gathered around the table to share the bread and wine—it felt intimate, spiritual. I had never been part of anything like that before. And I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand all the prayers or the Hebrew, but I could feel something deep, like this connection to the past, to her ancestors. It was like they were carrying on something that meant so much, something that had been passed down for generations. There was such a reverence in the room, a respect for tradition. I felt like an outsider at first, but Marie, she didn’t make me feel that way. She just told me to do what felt right, and that was enough.

And then, she started asking me about my own traditions. I remember the first time I talked about Día de los Muertos with her. She didn’t know much about it—how we honor our loved ones, set up altars with candles, marigolds, and pictures, and how the food, like pan de muerto, is a symbol of life and death coexisting. I could tell it really resonated with her. She asked a million questions, like she was trying to understand the whole concept—not just the rituals, but what it meant to me, how it shaped my perspective on life and death. And I think that’s when I realized: it wasn’t about just explaining a holiday; it was about explaining a part of myself. Sharing that with her felt like we were connecting on a deeper level than I ever imagined.

When we decided to merge our two cultures for Christmas last year, that’s when it really hit me how much we were growing together. I cooked up some tamales, and she made her famous latkes. I swear, she was more excited about my tamales than I was—she was curious about every little detail, asking how I wrapped the masa, what kind of fillings I liked. And when it came time for dinner, we sat down together, and it wasn’t just about eating—it was like a celebration of both our families, both our histories. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that meal was a symbol of us coming together in this space we created—our own little mix of everything.

But it’s not just the meals or the holidays. It’s how we’ve both started weaving bits of each other’s cultures into our everyday lives. Like when Marie would teach me the Yiddish words her grandmother taught her, and I’d throw in some Spanish phrases she didn’t know. Or when we started making room in our lives for both the rosary and the Shabbat candles—one for the end of the week, the other for the beginning. It’s small stuff, but it feels monumental, like we’re building this bridge between us, brick by brick, until the difference between us doesn’t feel so different at all.

And the best part is, we don’t feel like we have to choose one over the other. It’s not about me abandoning my roots or her abandoning hers. It’s about realizing that the beauty of our relationship isn’t in our sameness, but in how we’ve learned to respect and embrace each other’s differences. It’s like each holiday, each meal, each little ritual, is a way to say, ‘I see you. I understand where you come from. And I want to be a part of that.’

We’ve built our own traditions now—ones that mix the old and the new. Like, this past year, we decided to make a whole bunch of different dishes for Thanksgiving. We had the turkey and the stuffing, of course, but we also had marinated brisket, challah bread, and tamales. It was a weird combo at first, but when we sat down to eat, I realized that this—this was the new tradition. It wasn’t just one holiday, one culture, or one history; it was a reflection of both of us, coming together and carving out something that was uniquely ours.

And the deeper I get into all this, the more I realize it’s not about any one meal or prayer—it’s about what those things represent. It’s about learning the sacredness in each other’s customs and realizing that, even though we’re from different backgrounds, we’re both carrying pieces of something bigger. That’s what’s made this whole journey with Marie so special: it’s not just about learning from each other, it’s about creating something new together, something that honors both of our pasts while looking forward to the future we’re building.”

Marie’s always looking for ways to connect with people, even when it’s hard. She’ll invite the other boxers over for dinner or lunch, and it’s not just about feeding them—it’s about sharing something, learning from each other, and seeing if they can break through the barriers that sometimes exist between them. I’ve seen it firsthand. No matter how different the boxers are, or how much tension might be between them, she’ll set a table for everyone. Whether they’re from different parts of the world, speak different languages, or come from different cultures, she’s always trying to create this space where people can connect.

Marie doesn’t expect miracles. She knows she can’t always get along with everyone, and she knows that sometimes, people aren’t going to suddenly become best friends just because there’s food on the table. But she tries anyway. She makes an effort to make sure everyone feels heard, even if it’s not easy. I’ve seen her with Bald Bull and Soda Popinski—those two can barely stand each other, but somehow, at one of Marie’s dinners, the tension fades a little. It’s not like they forget their differences, but it’s like they understand each other a little better. They’ll start talking about their hometowns or their favorite foods, and even if it’s just for that moment, the rivalry takes a backseat.

She’s got this deep need to get to know people, not just as boxers but as individuals. She’s always looking for common ground, always trying to understand where someone’s coming from. It’s not always about speaking the same language; it’s about making the effort, showing respect, and being curious. That’s why you’ll find her listening to language tapes in the car on the way to the gym or before bed. I don’t think she ever stops trying to learn. She’s always listening to lessons in German, Yiddish, Ladino, or Spanish, working on something new to help her communicate better. It’s one of the things I admire most about her—she’s not content just knowing what she knows. She wants to understand more, and she’s willing to put in the work to bridge those gaps.

And even though not everyone gets along, she still believes in the value of that connection. She knows there are going to be days when the boxers clash or when there’s a rough atmosphere in the gym, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to build something different. If she can’t make them all get along, at least she can try to give them the tools to understand each other better. She’s not a miracle worker, but she’s definitely a bridge builder. It’s something small, but it has a big impact. Even if they don’t always see eye to eye, I think they leave her dinners with a little more respect for each other and the cultures they come from.

Sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that mean the most. She doesn’t ask for much in return—she doesn’t expect anyone to suddenly speak fluent Yiddish or learn all about her background in a day. But it’s the effort she puts in, the conversations she sparks, that slowly starts to change things. I think it’s part of who she is—this belief that no matter where someone’s from or how different they seem, there’s always something you can learn from each other. It’s not easy work, and sometimes it feels like it’s not making much of a difference, but she’s always at it, trying to make the world a little smaller, one dinner at a time.

Oh, man, Marie’s definitely had her moments with the language barrier. It’s actually kind of funny how hard she tries, and how sometimes, it just doesn’t go the way she plans.

I remember this one dinner with a few of the boxers—Bald Bull, Soda, and a couple of others. Marie was really excited because she’d been studying a bit of Turkish for a while, trying to connect with Bald Bull more. She had this whole plan to surprise him by speaking a little Turkish when he arrived, and she’d been listening to language tapes for days. So, she’s all pumped, right? The food’s ready, and she says to Bald Bull, “Hoş geldiniz!” (which means “Welcome”), and she’s smiling real big, waiting for his reaction.

Bald Bull just stands there, blinking for a second, and then he says, “What’d you say? Is that a new kind of soup?”

Marie’s face went from excited to totally confused, and we all just started laughing. It turns out she’d gotten one of the phrases wrong. She’d meant to say something welcoming, but it sounded like she was offering him a bowl of something. Bald Bull wasn’t upset, though. He actually laughed, too, and started teasing her about being “fluent in food, not language.”

It was funny, but it also showed just how hard she works to make that connection. She could’ve easily just stuck to speaking English, or German, or whatever she knew best, but no—she’s always pushing herself, trying to speak someone else’s language, even if it doesn’t come out perfectly. And honestly, even though it didn’t go as planned, it meant a lot that she tried. After that, Bald Bull was actually way more open to talking to her, even teaching her some Turkish words. He got a kick out of it, and by the end of the night, everyone was joking around in a mix of languages—English, Yiddish, Turkish, even a little Spanish from me.

Marie’s always learning and pushing herself, but she doesn’t take herself too seriously when things don’t go perfectly. The language barrier’s still there, but she doesn’t let it stop her. That’s just Marie. She’ll stumble, but she’ll keep going, even if it means saying something that makes everyone laugh.

Oh, Marie’s always so thoughtful about these things, so before she gives anyone a hug or that European cheek kiss, she always checks with the management first. She doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable—she’s just naturally affectionate, you know? She’ll ask them, “Is it okay if I greet him this way? I just want to make sure it’s not too much.” She’s got this polite, considerate side that’s honestly kind of funny considering how enthusiastically she greets people.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always go as smoothly as she thinks. I remember one time, Marie had just been told by management that it was fine to greet this new boxer from Eastern Europe with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They’d said it was cool, so Marie went for it—no hesitation. She walks up to the guy, big smile on her face, arms open wide, and as she goes in for the hug, you could see the panic in his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

He tries to awkwardly sidestep her, but Marie’s already there, giving him this big warm hug, and then she quickly plants a kiss on his cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But here’s the thing—this guy doesn’t even know how to react. He turns bright red, completely flustered, and backs up a little like he’s trying to get his bearings. At first, he’s just standing there, looking around like he’s trying to figure out if he’s supposed to do something in return. Is he supposed to kiss her cheek back? Hug her again? What was happening?!

Marie, not missing a beat, just smiles at him and says, “There, see? Wasn’t that easy?” as if it’s a casual, everyday greeting.

But this poor guy? His face goes even redder, and he starts mumbling in a mix of broken English and his native language. He’s flustered, trying to explain he’s not used to the whole European cheek-kiss thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her—it was just, well, a cultural shock. He looks over at the other boxers like he’s hoping for some guidance, but everyone else is trying to hold in their laughter, not wanting to make it worse.

Then, just to add to the comedy of the situation, one of the other guys (who’s seen Marie do this a hundred times) leans over and says, “It’s okay, buddy. Just wait until you get the full Marie treatment—you’ll get used to it!”

It wasn’t that the guy didn’t appreciate the greeting, but the suddenness of it caught him totally off guard. After that, he made a point of giving Marie a little wave every time they passed by, but still kept a bit of a distance—like he wasn’t quite ready for the full embrace yet.

Marie, though? She just laughed it off, completely unaware of how flustered he was, and continued to ask management about the next person she’d be meeting. She never wants to make anyone uncomfortable, but she’s definitely got that big, heart-on-her-sleeve attitude that sometimes takes people by surprise.

Man, when I think about Marie, there’s a lot I could say. She’s definitely not perfect—nobody is, right? She’s got her quirks, her old-school habits, and sometimes, she comes off a little… overbearing. But in a lot of ways, that’s what makes her who she is, and honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

She’s a hugger(sometimes), always going for those big, warm embraces, and the European kiss on the cheek greeting is so her. I’ve seen her catch people off guard with it—guys who aren’t used to that kind of thing. She’ll greet anyone like they’re family, whether it’s Bald Bull, Soda Popinski, or some new guy we’re training with. Sometimes, they’re flustered or confused at first, but they come to appreciate it. She doesn’t judge people, and she doesn’t care where they come from. She just wants to make sure they feel welcomed. And that includes asking management if it’s okay to greet someone that way, making sure no one’s uncomfortable.

Marie’s got a lot of old traditions—she loves her Yiddish, her German roots, and her ethnic foods. She cooks like you’re at your grandma’s house, and she’ll make sure you know every single ingredient in that dish, even if it’s hard to pronounce. And don’t even get me started on how she’s always trying to learn new languages—she’s listening to tapes in the car, studying words late at night, just so she can connect with the guys better. She knows it’s not always going to work, but she tries anyway. Even when there’s a language barrier, she’s trying to make that bridge. It’s like she believes that communication, no matter how imperfect, is key.

She’ll invite boxers over to dinner, even if they’re from different cultures, just to get to know them. Sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it’s a little weird, but she makes it work. I’ve seen her do it—making those cultural exchanges happen, finding something in common, and trying to break down those walls. Even when they don’t get along, she’s there, working her hardest to build some kind of understanding. She doesn’t let differences keep her from trying to make people feel at home, even if it’s a battle sometimes.

Now, I’ve seen the way she handles things with her family, too. Her parents were strict, real traditional—especially with her being Jewish and growing up in Germany. They had a way of thinking that didn’t always mesh with Marie’s need for freedom. She didn’t agree with everything they said or did. When they passed, she left for the U.S. She came here for a new life, for more opportunities, and for the chance to live on her own terms. She didn’t let anyone hold her back, and that took a lot of courage.

She’s got a big heart, but she’s also a fighter in her own right. She stands up for social justice, even when it’s not popular. You don’t always see it, but she’s got that fire. She might not be loud about it, but she’s quietly pushing for what’s right, helping people out in the ways she can.

But yeah, she’s not perfect. Sometimes she’s overbearing, sometimes she’s got her own ways that don’t always make sense to everyone, and sometimes she makes things awkward with her affection or language mishaps. But that’s what makes her Marie. She’s real. She’s stubborn, kind-hearted, and she doesn’t stop trying to make the world a little better—whether it’s through food, hugs, or just taking the time to learn about people. And to me? That’s enough. She’s family, and I’m proud to have her as my sister.

P.S. If you ever find yourself at one of her dinners and you see her pull out a dish that looks like it came straight out of a history book, just smile, nod, and eat it. You’ll be fine—unless it’s one of her experimental Yiddish-Slovak fusion dishes… then just pray you survive the taste test.

P.P.S. If you’re ever wondering why Marie insists on giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek every time you walk through the door, just remember: it’s not because she thinks you need it, it’s because she’s convinced that if she doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget that you’re loved and appreciated. She’s like a walking, talking emotional safety net.

P.P.P.S. And if you’re one of those boxers who’s not into hugs or physical touch? Don’t worry—Marie’s got a backup plan. She’ll give you the warmest, most awkward air hug you’ve ever seen, complete with a look like she’s praying it doesn’t freak you out. Or some cheesy joke. It’s her way of saying, “I respect your boundaries, but also… I really want to hug you, just so you know.”

#punch out #oc #soda popinski #little mac #character blog #punch out oc #Spotify

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