#put empty cans in the trash

[brownie-pics]

'24.11.4 興福寺、浅茅ヶ原にて

お堂にも、修復工事の現場にも、車や空缶、色づき始めたモミジや木々の間にも、みんなに等しく朝がやって来ました。

･･あっもちろん鹿さんにも🦌

[true-blue-sonic]

A story I wrote just now based on this post, wherein I discuss some headcanons I have about Silver and his survival skills. Specifically around my ideas of how he views cooking and eating in the past! Also an Espilver fic because I love these two <3

Word count: 1493 words

Cooking for two sweet-toothed picky eaters is a challenge every day, but luckily Espio likes cooking.

“So today we are making spaghetti. You’ve had it before, you like it,” the chameleon explains, rummaging around in their little storage in the cabinets for his first ingredient: the garlic. With the cloves rapidly freed the ninja places their encasings, the peels, in their tiny organic waste bucket at the sink. No clutter for him while he is cooking, and besides, finally he has someone who actually listens to the manners he’s trying to teach the entire Chaotix. Silver has truly taken a shine to the kitchen as well, popping in every single day to learn more about food and all its peculiarities, and today is no different.

Behind Espio the hedgehog nods most seriously, peering over at the utensil drawer as Espio grabs the things they’ll need. “I’ll help. What are you doing?” follows, as it has every single day since Espio decided he wouldn’t mind having some company in the kitchen, and the chameleon smiles.

“I’m cutting the garlic so it is small enough to cook with. Normal people use a garlic press for this, but unfortunately we live in a household of lunatics, so I need to use a knife,” he tells the other, deftly cutting the cloves into miniscule cubes. Not an issue for a skilled ninja, and besides, it had been him who insisted kitchen devices like garlic presses were a waste of money anyway. As it stands, he is the only one who ever would make use of it, and the chameleon prefers a swift training of his skill with the blade alongside an opportunity to show off to anyone watching him chop up the food at lightning speed. Charmy can’t use any such tools because he is not allowed to cook, Vector’s culinary prowess limits itself to heating up ramen noodles and ruining pudding, and Silver...

Espio turns around to brag about just how perfectly cut his garlic cubes are, right on time to see his beloved pull his hand out of the organic waste bucket and shove all remnants of the bulb into his mouth.

“...Silver,” the chameleon brings out.

A hum follows amidst odd crunching noises Espio rather would not have lent an ear to.

Standing stupefied the chameleon blinks, having half a mind to push his voice into the tone that occasionally works on Charmy when the bee is misbehaving. “Spit. That. Out.”

The hedgehog in question freezes in his curious chewing, face stuck between a vibe of What In The World Am I Doing intermixed with Why Am I Being Scolded. “Vhwat?” follows muffledly, as Espio places his knife on the cutting board and dives towards the other to grab his chin. “Hmgh- Espwioh!”

“Out,” Espio orders, tensing his hold and puffing up Silver’s cheeks... and his beloved coughs as the whole peel gets spat out indeed, and the writhing in the ninja’s arms stops in favour of staring owlishly at the clump on the counter.

“.......Hm,” follows, somewhat disheartened. “That was, uh...”

“Not something we are supposed to be doing, now is it?” Crossing his arms Espio shoots the hedgehog a worried glare... which grows even more worried as Silver vigorously shakes his head.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Tastes great, Es!”

“...It cannot.”

“No, really! It’s... good.”

“Silver, it is waste. We cannot eat this,” Espio explains, lovingly smacking at Silver’s powers as sparks of cyan reach out for the slightly-drool-covered bulb remnants once more. “You stop that. What are you even doing, going through our waste like a raccoon?”

“Es, you always say we can’t waste food! And that stuff is food!” the disapproving retort comes, though now it is the chameleon’s turn to shake his head.

“Tenshi, you are incorrect. When preparing ingredients, there simply are some parts that cannot be eaten. Those have to be thrown away. And that includes the bulb of the garlic; we can only eat the cloves I’ve been cutting.” But it does explain some things he’s wondered about ever since Silver has joined their household, the chameleon muses; namely how the hedgehog often seems two seconds away from rummaging through any bin, eats everything, has become Charmy’s number one plate cleaner when the bee doesn’t want to finish his dinner, and seems to hold some very odd opinions around eating. “And you are not in the ruined future anymore,” Espio adds more gently as Silver opens his mouth for a protest. “I know this might seem like a strange thought, but this is how it works here. Uh, just like how we cook food too, and don’t eat it raw. You found that strange too, right?”

“That is because it is,” the pointed response follows, though mercifully Silver’s eyes drift away from the garlic peels towards Espio’s minced cubes the chameleon still has not been able to brag about. “So I can’t eat those like that either,” gets added slowly, Espio shaking his head with a laugh.

“No, you cannot, that would be nasty... even if I think you actually might be able to but that means I don’t have enough for the recipe and I need to cut more. Speaking of, it’s very nice cubes, is it not?”

Crouching in front of the counter, Espio’s hand at the ready to intercept in case his beloved gets any ideas about giving the garlic a small nibble all the same, Silver studies it. “Tiny,” his verdict is. “...Can’t I just eat one? Just to try it? Maybe it’s great.”

“Just as great as the peel, hm?” Espio can’t help but tease, lifting up one bit of minced garlic with the tip of the knife so Silver’s powers can grab it... and promptly the chameleon laughs at how Silver’s face falls the very moment the stuff enters his mouth, into a look of pure, allicin-induced unhappiness. Living in a ruined future also has given the hedgehog little idea about flavours other than nasty and gross, but that does mean many things can be overwhelming for him, even if said hedgehog merely swallows and pushes a smile on his face once more.

“It’s nice, Es.”

“Liar,” the ninja easily retorts with a smirk.

A deep sigh follows. “A little,” Silver laments, flopping himself against Espio. “Eating food is weird. Never could have thought something like eating would be so complicated.”

“You’ll get used to it in no time.” Fingers moving up to give Silver an encouraging stroke over his quills the chameleon muffles another laugh at the way his psychic’s nose wrinkles. The stench of garlic is clear on his gloves as Espio gives them a whiff himself; not suitable for supporting caresses, that much is certain. “How about you help me with using this garlic to make a very tasty dish, then? You liked the spaghetti the last time,” he proposes as a peace offer instead.

Ears perking up Silver nods vigorously, Espio grabbing a pan from the cabinets. “Fill this for two-thirds with water and place it on the stove, I’ll handle the fire. And after that, grab the spaghetti. We can put it in when the water is warm enough.”

“Will do!” the chipper response comes, garliccy drama seemingly already forgotten as Silver darts away to the sink and Espio uses his distraction to swiftly swipe the garlic peel right into the closable trash can. His perfectly minced and sadly-not-very-appreciated cubes of garlic end up in another pan, alongside the tomato sauce and the package of discounted vegetables... before Espio freezes at a peculiar noise.

“Silver,” the ninja calls out warningly over his shoulder at the crunching sounds of his beloved nibbling a string of uncooked spaghetti, a laugh merely following.

“This one is nice, Es.”

With a flick of the lighter the stove gets turned on, Espio shaking his head as he wrenches the package of noodles from the other’s hands. “Incorrigible, you. Will you try to drink the sauce next if I leave you here unattended?”

“It does look tasty,” the prompt response follows alongside Silver’s golden gaze curiously studying that pan in question, and Espio can only laugh as he quickly intercepts and directs his beloved towards the kitchen chairs instead; from here on there is little the hedgehog can do anyway, as Espio doesn’t want to let him too close to a lit stove yet, and thus his role falls back to being his cheerful encouraging self that makes cooking just a bit more enjoyable. Incorrigible or not, Espio wouldn’t want to have Silver any other way, and besides, it’s nice to finally not have to deal with a picky eater to cook for...

But perhaps he does need to explain the differences between food and waste a bit more clearly, just in case.

Not needing to cook for a picky eater means nothing if he needs to fish Silver out of every trash can because of that, after all.

Author’s notes:

Not originally planned but this fic goes out to my absolute barbarian friend who just monched uncooked spaghetti straight from the packaging while I was scolding her in abject horror, luv you <3

I hope you enjoyed reading!

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

at this point im not even mad or irritated at my roomates anymore im just fascinated by them. everyday they do something insane and i start thinking abt what the fuck must b going on in their lives that they live like this. im studying them

[theradicalace]

me: hm okay this bus doesn't come for another ten minutes but i finished my soda already. i think i'll go throw it away in the trash can over there

google maps: so you got on the bus? you got on the bus, right? you got on the bus 10 minutes before it got here and now it's traveling at half a mile an hour? that's what's happening? i'll tell you how many stops you've got left :)

[jedi-bird]

I have decided had at least for a while, Tuesday's shall be my me days. There's a lot of things I could do today, but I'm going to ignore them all in favor of writing for a bit. All hail the me days.

[milo-is-rambling]

So sleepy. Body hurts. Painted for five hours straight. Brain melty

[safyresky]

You know, I'm laying here annoyed at the noisy garbage truck across the street, despite being awake for an hour already, and thinking to myself wow!! They sure do get their garbage collected an inordinate amount! But tbh that's probably A) our fault and B) a good thing

[thebibliosphere]

I feel like Bruce Wayne projects the kind of amiable playboy 'fun' vibe that he'd be the type of celebrity that certain interviewers feel comfortable surprising with puppies.

You know the kind of shows I mean.

The late-night talk show situations where they're making benign small talk with their smiling guest, and there's a segment where animals get brought out, usually to talk about some sort of ecological relief effort.

So you're watching your trash TV talk show late at night, and you get to watch billionaire pretty boy Bruce Wayne be begrudgingly talked into holding a (relatively) harmless creature which inevitably gets a lot of delighted shrieks from the audience as it starts being a lot more active than the handler promised. And to his credit, Bruce doesn't flinch, he doesn't freak out. But his eyes are a little wide, and his voice a little tight as the smile on his face takes on a slight rictus quality before he's inevitably rescued by an apologetic handler who is also laughing because they all know there was no real danger, it was just funny to put Bruce, who is an undeniable good sport and already laughing along, out of his comfort zone for the sake of charity.

Meanwhile, up in the Justice League headquarters, several founding members of the League are wondering how fast they can get a fake Oscar award shipped to the space station because fuck off. Absolutely fuck off, Bruce. Where the fuck did he study? Juilliard? (Probably.)

(Clark ends up going to a novelty store during the commercial break. It's faster than trying to get anything shipped, even with the infrastructure Bats built for them. He finds it several days later taped to his console in a conspicuously empty briefing room. It's gaudy and awful, the words "Best Actor" engraved on the plaque. No one's around to see him smile. No one comments when it vanishes. Everyone thinks it's been yeeted out an airlock. Dick absolutely comments when it shows up in the manor, stashed in one of the trophy cases that sprung up for all the bat kids' school awards. Bruce has no idea how it got there. Must have been Alfred. (It was not.))

Anyway, consider, for your amusement, Bruce Wayne getting highjacked on The Gotham Toight Show with a handful of wriggling puppies and, for a split second, not having to pretend he's delighted to be there.

[awkward-teabag]

So if you share a computer and don't have separate accounts, you risk someone else getting your passwords.

If you cross a country's border, they can go through it all.

Likewise, the cops can go through it all.

It can potentially take up an obscene amount of space and you won't know it until you get a low-space warning or try to install something larger than the space available given the frequency and size of the images this takes.

Microsoft says it's stored locally and you can delete them but is that actually the case?

It automatically whitelists everything except DRM'd content or private browser tabs for Chromium browsers (fuck you if you use Firefox I guess) so people have to manually go through and blacklist things like banking websites as otherwise it will record your login credentials for those.

Even if the images aren't sent to Microsoft, how is the data from the AI being transmitted and stored given the type of AI they purport to be using would have a database too big to fit in 50GB (the minimum requirement to enable it).

It's a security and safety nightmare, particularly if you share a computer with an abuser who's remotely tech savvy, travel between countries, or deal with/potentially will deal with cops.

Literal definition of spyware:

Also From Microsoft’s own FAQ: "Note that Recall does not perform content moderation. It will not hide information such as passwords or financial account numbers. ����

[dromaeo-sauridae]

i feel like im going fucking crazy

[actual-corpse]

Being a sexy beast who tries their best to spoil his cats is an awful lot of work for such a small woman.

[nomaishuttle]

i dont actually dislike my job sometimes its frustrating (management -_-) however its the easiest way to say Sometimes on my breaks i feel like id rather die than go back 2 work

[hairmetal666]

Steve wins the bat plush at a fair when he's seven. He doesn't care about bats, but it's the prize for making all five baskets in the basketball game, so he gets the little bat. Its eyes are a little crooked and one wing is slightly smaller than the other, but it being lopsided sort of makes it cuter.

He and his dad, they're supposed to be going on rides now, but his dad's pager keeps going off. He puts Steve next to a funnel cake stand, tells him not to move, and goes in search of a pay phone. Fifteen minutes pass, and Steve is bored under the flashing lights and tinkling music. He wants to play not sit and wait.

Eventually, he drifts back towards the midway, watches the people rushing by, searches for a sign of his dad's return. His attention is caught by another boy at the basketball booth. He has to be about Steve's age, with a mop of dark curls on top of his head and a jean jacket that's slightly too big, sleeves flopping over his hands as he lines up his shots.

This boy, he's terrible at basketball. Every shot is too high or too short or goes wide, but he's trying. Even from this distance, Steve can see how hard he's trying. He uses up his five balls, fishes into his jacket pocket for more money, and gets five more.

He misses every shot. This time, when he goes back for more money, he comes up empty. Steve thinks he sees his lip shaking.

A man, one in a leather jacket and boots that Steve thinks look mean, comes up to the boy, drops a heavy hand on his shoulder. He's too far away to hear the conversation, assumes the boy asks to play again and the man's response is a shaken head and a tight smile. They walk away from the games, right towards Steve, who slinks back to the side of the midway, not wanting to be caught staring.

"What was it you wanted? That stupid bat? Just another piece of trash you wanna bring in my house." Steve hears as they pass.

The boy nods, but keeps his eyes down and to the side.

He feels bad then. Felt bad before, but now he looks at his own bat, at its funny eyes and poorly attached wings, and wishes he could hand it over to the boy who really wants it. Steve almost does, then, makes to go after them, but his dad appears, dropping a hand to Steve's shoulder and saying, "ready to hit those rides?" And he knows the opportunity is gone, knows his dad will say it's too soft, not what men do.

Steve manages to lose himself for a while in the swirling lights and funhouse music and carnival rides, forget about the little bat in his back pocket and the boy who wanted one so desperately. But then his dad's pager goes off some more, he goes back to the pay phone, and Steve ducks into the low brick building that houses the bathrooms.

His eyes immediately land on the same boy from the basketball game. His eyes are red, face damp, obviously from tears, and Steve just--

"Here." He shoves the bat into the boy's chest.

For a second, the brownest eyes Steve's ever seen widen at him, before narrowing in a harsh glare, the boy's teeth barred.

"Why?" He snarls.

Steve thinks he may regret every choice that led him to this but he says, he says, "Because I want you to have it."

The boy blinks a few times, hand reaching out to gently pinch the bat's smallest wing. "You sure?"

Steve nods and the bat is slowly withdrawn from his grasp.

"No takesies-backsies?"

"It's yours."

The boy looks at the bat in awe, and Steve says, "see? It already looks happier with you."

The boy's beaming smile is cut-off by a voice calling from the door, "you in there,? I ain't got time to be waiting for your boohooing."

"Coming!" The boy carefully tucks the bat into an inner pocket of his jacket. "Thank you," he whispers, eyes big and glistening and happy, before he disappears out the door.

---

13 years later, give or take a few months, and Steve stands in the cracked shell of a bisected trailer, rummaging through what remains of a life well-lived, searching for anything whole. He's already found a few undamaged mugs and clean hats, but this room--it took a lot of damage. The brunt of it, really. Some sick sort of joke, after everything.

It's mostly rubble in here, scraps of fabric; slivers of notebook paper, magazine, poster; crumbled shards of vinyl and cassette plastic. A few times he comes across the disembodied limb of one of those dnd figures, and something weird happens to his throat.

In the far corner there's half of a dresser collapsed into itself, and he shuffles through the debris to see what he can find. There's something, soft and black, just the edge of it, peaking out from under half of a drawer face. He pulls it out, careful as can be and it's--it's a plush bat. It's a little dirty, but unharmed, though its eyes are a little wonky, and one wing is smaller than the other.

He holds it and he stares and he has to brace himself against the wall. It can't be--it's not the same one--but he remembers those big brown eyes and the curls and--

"Harrington," a warm, rich voice calls from what's left of the hallway. "You get lost in there?"

Eddie shuffles in, slow, careful with his crutches. And it--it took so long, months and months of convalesce and physical therapy, still physical therapy, but he's here. He's alive. He's perfect. And the something blooming between them, it's not spoken yet, but it's there, growing, and now, now--

"Oh my god, you found Lilith! I thought she was toast."

"Lilith?" He's still cradling the little lopsided bat in his hands, but moves closer to hand it over to Eddie.

"Yes, Lilith." Eddie takes the bat, presses it to his chest. "The first boy I ever loved gave her to me."

His heart turns over in his chest and when he swallows his throat clicks. Eddie doesn't notice, he's smiling softly at the bat, at Lilith, but then, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"First boy you ever loved?" He says. He thinks he sounds normal.

Somehow, Eddie's smile grows even softer. "Yeah. Roan County Fair, years ago. Tried to win her, but--" he clicks his tongue--"never had great hand-eye coordination. And then this kid just gave her to me out of nowhere. I used to think I was going to marry him."

"And now?"

Eddie laughs. "I grew up, Steve."

And for a second, he doesn't know what to say, but then, "I was right then, huh? That she'd be happier with you."

He stares at Steve, those same big brown eyes, wide and glistening. "Steve that was--Steve?" Eddie presses a hand over his mouth, overcome, before launching himself into Steve's arms. The crutches clatter to the floor, but Steve has him, will always have him, no matter what.

"I can't believe you kept her," Steve whispers.

"God, I carry her everywhere. She's Corroded Coffin's mascot, and you--Steve, I can't believe that was you."

"Surprise," he bumps Eddie's forehead with his.

They hold each other in the center of the destruction, but none of that matters right now, not when it feels like every moment since they very first met as children was leading them to this.

From the other half of the trailer, they hear footsteps, chattering, Wayne and Robin and Dustin, but Steve wants this to last a little longer.

"So, marriage...that still off the table?"

Eddie laughs softly, nuzzles his face against Steve's neck. "Are you kidding, sweetheart? No way I'm letting you go."

[augustinewrites]

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

[gender-trash]

one of the first things i noticed after moving into ~*~my house~*~ is that (probably because it's on a street that gets a lot of pedestrian traffic to/from the nearby corner store) a lot of people were tossing litter into the front garden bed. liquor bottles and vapes and plastic wrappers and the like. which, you know, gross, please don't do that, we live in a society, but also where the fuck else are you supposed to put it? there's no city trash cans on this street.

and, well, we were tearing out most of the plants in those front beds anyway because the previous owner of the house made some very odd garden decisions ("endless landscaping" the house listing said, and if by "endless" they meant the sheer quantity of biomass that needs removed, they were right) and we want to put in more drought-tolerant native plants, so i went online and spent about $100 on a large sturdy outdoor trash can and set it up in front of my house. (quite cheap as house-related purchases go; i spent $100 on gravel last week.)

guess how many liquor bottles i've had to pick out of my garden since then? ZERO. and it's really convenient for ME when i'm coming home with an empty boba, or opening mail out by the mailbox, or picking up the yard a little bit. and according to @combat-epistemologist (who does more yard work than i do) people walking past have actually thanked us for installing the trash can, which is extremely cool. i did a civic service!! i made my neighborhood better!!! i'm helping :D

[bathrobe-wizard]

110% a rant post i need to scream into the void before deleting but

I am so fucking tired of living like a 1950's housewife, and I really wish I could afford to keep my house without a roommate or working 2 jobs.