#rice processing machine

[sona-machinery]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨! Get ready to explore Rice Milling Solutions and advanced Grain Processing Machinery at the Mookambika Rice & Grains Tech Expo 2025! Join us from 14th to 16th February and stay ahead in the industry. 📍 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞: Defence Expo Ground, Sector 18, Vrindavan Colony, Lucknow, U.P. 🔹 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐨.: Hall-1, SP-4

[secondbuy]

Rice processing and milling machines

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[sodaneko]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 (𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟒: 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞

♫ Adrienne Lenker - Angels

I don't really like you, I just wanna kiss you I don't know how to love you, but somedays, I miss you Oh I just wanna see you there, sleeping on my floor With the ache inside to ride the mighty wind and nothing more

✰ 𝐜𝐰: discovering more y/n lore in this one. implied child neglect (no detailed description), brief death mention but in a more lighthearted way (if that still squicks you skip the 8th slide of the convo between Makki & y/n) written part between the handwritten collage and SMAU parts.

⭅ back to m.list

Another sold out night. The lively sea of voices is slowly quieting down, familiar and new faces going either home or out dancing for the night. Onigiri Miya attracts all kinds of people, there’s a plate for everyone. He wouldn’t want it any other way. At the end of day, everyone needs to eat, no matter their background or story. And if they all collide in the tiny universe of his shop, even better.

There’s only around a handful people left when Osamu starts his nightly routine of cleaning and preparing for tomorrow. Ever since he opened his own shop, he understands his old captain a little better. Repetition, perseverance, and diligence–it does feel good. Helps him to unwind after a long day of shaping rice balls, mincing ingredients and ringing up orders. Wherever a hand is needed, he is there.

“It’s on the house,” Osamu says smiling, placing two cold bottles of ramune on the counter where Bokuto and Akaashi are sitting, huddled together like two lovebirds.

It’s the same spot where he saw her crying, her hands jittery when she wiped her cheeks, obviously flustered but unable to stop the tears from falling either. He could see how hard she tried to hold them back, the small wobble of her bottom lip, the clenching and unclenching of her fists. How she still took photos of her plate, clearly knowing which angle and lightning was best, practiced. The small gleam of excitement despite everything in her glassy eyes. Her palms pressed together in a silent gesture of appreciation after she finished her meal. Osamu couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t her first time holding her crown up like this, when everything inside of her was cracking. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking about her ever since. 

Not when he ran after her to find her on the empty playground, dimly lit by the light of the vending machine. Not when she hesitantly accepted the brown paper bag he shoved into her still trembling hands. Not when she kind of magically pulled out a box of the tastiest sweet treat he ever had in his entire life, her voice suddenly more calm once she started rambling about the process of making it.

Osamu felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t fathom in words, like an invisible pull inside of him.

Had he been upset over her bad review? Maybe a little. But whatever hint of annoyance he felt when reading it over his morning tea quickly vanished once he dove deeper into her blog. There was so much love between every line she wrote. She was witty and smart and always a little hungry; for life and the next plate in front of her. He found himself nodding along when she shared about her experience in culinary school and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of deep admiration for her openness about mental health and the cruel sides of working in food service. Osamu knew best how grueling it can be, striving to do better. 

Three whole days. That’s how long it took him to read through her entire blog, more than ten years of her life. He read it over breakfast, in between short breaks at work, leaning against the backdoor while waiting for the daily delivery, at night when he brushed his teeth. Several times he told himself that he should just close the damn tab, that it was just a drunk and petty review and that they’ll never cross paths again.

Here lay the problem though–he wanted to see her again. 

Preferably when she was not upset over something (or worse: him), but honestly any scenario would do. The cap she forgot at his shop is now hanging from his coat rack at home, silently greeting him every night after work. He can’t help but wonder if she’ll really come around again one day to pick it up. Osamu was no dick, just a little petty himself, and he'd send the cap off with her roommate Akaashi if there was no way in hell that she’d ever return to Osaka again. But when she unblocked and followed him on Twitter the other night, that must have been a glimmer of hope, right? Even though she’s been mostly hostile so far in her replies.

But they’d get there. 

Some day.

Probably.

“Samu? Saaamuuuu?” 

Osamu blinks out of his daze and realizes that not only has he been polishing the same glass for five minutes straight now, but Bokuto is also leaning over the counter, shoving a phone under Osamu’s nose for him to see. He throws the kitchen towel over his shoulder and takes it, eyes on the bright screen. 

“Look, look,” Bokuto urges him with a grin while Akaashi next to him smiles a bit more subtle, but knowingly. “Keiji just talked about how they were having a barbeque a few days ago on their rooftop. Y/N prepared a feast for them, see?”

The photo is bright and colorful, a whole arrangement of various small plates assembled on the table, each holding some delicacy. Dips, grilled veggies, pita (which looks like it was handmade), olives, stuffed peppers, a small cheese platter, cut fruit, pastel purple drinks (lavender syrup, Osamu remembers)... but what Osamu ends up zooming in is not the food but her, sitting at the table with the sleeves of her oversized shirt rolled up casually and smiling brighter than the late summer sun–wearing his cap.

No. No, no, no. 

His heart did not just skip a beat, no fucking way. 

Oh, he was in deep. 

“She won’t admit it, but she likes it,” Akaashi says as if he read Osamu’s thoughts. He hands the phone back to him and a small voice in the back of his head is tempted to ask for the photo, just so he can stare at it a little longer (for the food, he lies to himself), but he knows she wouldn’t want that. Osamu is not sure if he wants it, either. It doesn’t feel right. Maybe he can get her an Onigiri Miya shirt as well as a matching apron and snap his own photo one day, and then… 

Fuck.

What was he even thinking?

But the stupid, wide smile on his face just won’t falter.

✽ 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫…

like i said, this chapter is a love letter to Makki in disguise

y/n would spend all big holidays at the Hanamaki family home, even her own birthday would be celebrated there lovingly

she has gone no contact with her birth family after she graduated from high school

the cooking TV show has been one of the most stressful events in her entire life and she still can't watch clips from it without wanting to die from cringe (she did really great though)

her approach to anything in life is a constant "oh shit oh no oh bad bad bad" and "fuck it we ball" and it amazingly works for her. most of the time.

y/n always leaves some money on the table when she's gone for longer than 24h because she is afraid the food in the fridge might not be enough (it's always enough)

no one of the roommates knows where the Hello Kitty condoms came from but they've been a staple in this household ever since

also a first Osamu POV!! i was waiting to finally write this

Akaashi is PLOTTING isn't he

y/n was very tempted to deep fry the cap but then came to the conclusion that it would be a waste of oil probably

or maybe she's just lying to herself. we'll get more into this later

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@brithedemonspawn @gigiiiiislife @yuminako @notverymarley @krissiekris

@wyrcan @kentocalls @simp-simp-no-mi @uncovered-mad-man @honey-deku

@yukichan67 @dailyakira @nu-suave @zq13 @morgan-lowell

@ellouisa17 @toges-cough-syrup

send me an ask or dm to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

[souliebird]

[[addict]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating Explicit

summary: Your life revolves around Matt. His does not revolve around you

Or: depression skews reality

wordcount: 5k

tags: depression, explicit sexual content, blood, angst, p in v sex, oral (male receiving)

---

Monday

You wake up alone. 

This is of no surprise to you, and you force yourself out of bed despite your desire to bury yourself into your covers and stay there. 

You stumble into the kitchen, feeling bleary and still half-asleep, and start the process of making coffee. You dump still warm grounds into the trash before filling the basket with your preferred blend and starting the little machine. You wash the mug lingering in the sink, then start making your breakfast. 

You don't need to think about your routine as you do it - you've done it hundreds and hundreds of times. You just do it. 

Coffee. Bagel. Orange. 

You watch the morning news highlights, listening but not taking in the various stories that flash on your screen. Fighting in Paris, all sorts of elections, Hollywood, and political scandals - it all washes over you without leaving an impression. None of it matters to you. None of it concerns anything Matt would be involved in.

Once you finish your small meal, you clean it up and switch your laptop over to your work VPN. 

It is nothing glorious. You translate legal documents from English into Spanish as a contractor for a handful of firms around the city. Very rarely is it anything of interest - a majority of it is human resources based - but it makes good money, and you don't need to commute. You stay in the apartment most of the day, trying your best to make it into a home.

As you think over word choice, you do chores. Laundry gets hauled down to the basement, the sink and shower get a deep clean to wash away any trace of blood, and you write out a grocery list. You dust and air out the apartment between paragraphs. You don't exchange many emails. You don't get any calls.

The hours pass in silence until your phone alerts you it is a quarter after five. You shut down your VPN and return to the kitchen. Chicken, rice, and vegetables will be tonight's dinner - you know it is a favorite and you've worked out the unspoken schedule to know this is the ideal day to serve it. You work quietly, half focusing on your knife work and half zoning out. 

Five minutes to the hour, the door to the apartment opens and Matt is home. 

“That smells wonderful, sweetheart,” he says as a greeting, dropping his things off at the front door. You can hear his practical movements as he puts everything in its right spot. 

“It should be done in ten minutes,” is your soft reply. That is just enough time for him to get settled in and drink about one third of a beer. It took you a few weeks to get the scheduling down right, but now you have it down to an art for various recipes. “How was your day?”

Without completely breaking attorney-client privilege, he tells you about the ongoings at the office and catches you up on whatever happened with Foggy and Karen over the weekend. As he does, he loosens his tie and takes a seat at the table. You place an ice-cold open bottle in front of him without fanfare, then flit back to the kitchen. 

Dinner switches the conversation to Daredevil. Matt tells you his plan for the night and you silently convert his words into future actions for yourself. He's going out with Jessica, which means more surveillance than fighting. You'll need to have ibuprofen ready, as spying tends to stress his senses rather than his body. 

You get a kiss before he goes to do his pre-Devil work out and another before he ascends the stairs to go into the night. He tells you not to stay up, but it's part of the script and you both know you'll be waiting for him right where he left you. 

Tuesday

“Foggy isn't going to believe me,” Matt grumbles as you gently pat concealer around his eye, covering the blooming bruise.  

“It's just absurd enough to be believable.”

“But it's the truth,” he huffs before his lips turn into a pout, “How does it look?”

You step back and examine the man in front of you. He has the start of a massive black eye and you can't help but feel bad for him. For once, this is not a Devil related injury - there was a freak accident with the shower. The water pressure in the building has somehow been cranked to maximum and your poor pipes are not equipped for that - the threads holding them together are barely there. They had no chance against suddenly being slammed into and there was no way Matt could have been prepared for the shower head to shoot off the wall and right into his face. 

You frown and your mood must shift because he deflates, “Foggy is not going to believe you.”

You set the makeup you specifically got to cover up his nightly hobby aside and push Matt's coffee towards him. He takes a long sip from it before throwing his head back with a groan.

“I've been doing so well,” he complains. There is some sort of swear jar-esque deal the two of them have going on about Matt's bruises, but you don't know all of the details. You do know Matt's lost a fair bit of money from it, though.

You pat his shoulder sympathetically before getting up and heading towards the kitchen to finish packing up his meals for the day, “This doesn't count.” 

“Will you tell that to Foggy?”

“I'll tell that to Foggy,” you promise.

You see him get up in the corner of your eye and disappear back into the bedroom to get dressed for work and you can't help but sigh. You'll give Matt's friends a heads up text so they don't freak out on him. Misunderstandings are bound to happen otherwise and they'll probably all have a laugh about it once the Devil's Pride is soothed.

You finish up packing lunch, a midday snack, and the ingredients for a hearty protein shake. Matt will be going to the gym right after work today, then from there will go out as the Devil. You aren't keen on him carrying his black suit around in his gym bag, but it's not something you're going to argue with him about. 

With how busy the office has been lately; he's been a bit scatterbrained about the smaller things. 

You've convinced him to at least drop off his bag on the roof as he starts his patrol, so he doesn't leave his day clothes at Fogwell’s overnight. You'll go up and collect them at some point, so they don't end up staying up there and getting forgotten about. 

You won't see Matt again until he comes home to sleep. 

You hope you'll be able to figure out how to fix the shower by then.

Wednesday

You put away the last of the clean dishes, then turn to face the apartment in front of you.

It's a beautiful day and light is streaming in through the windows, highlighting how stark everything is. Your laptop is waiting for you on the table, along with a mental list of things you need to get done today. 

But you don't want to. 

You don't want to do any of it. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to think. You don't want to feel. 

You just don't want to. 

So you wipe your hands on a dish towel, then make a bee line right back to bed and crawl in. You curl on your side, place your phone on Matt's pillow, close your eyes, and just Don't. 

You drift in and out until your bladder starts to demand you get up, so you do. You use the restroom then return to bed, checking your messages as you settle back in. 

There's one from Matt, asking if you would like Thai for dinner. You have no will to think about what you'd like to eat - honestly you don't want anything - so you tell him that Thai sounds great. You double check your alarm is set, then return to your nothingness. 

It's easy to get lost in Blankness. It's nice to not feel anything. The crushing negativity you are so used to is gone and all your disgusting thoughts are silent. 

You don't simmer in doubt that every action is wrong. 

You don't question why your life revolves around Matt. You don't think about how you would crumble without him or how he'd be fine without you. 

You don't consider what love is to him and how deeply rooted it is in just staying. You don't wonder if he just doesn't want to be alone again. 

You don't feel completely consumed in your feelings. 

You just are. 

Sometimes, you wish you could stay like this forever - suspended in emptiness. 

But then your alarm goes off and you have to be human again. 

You check your messages to make sure you really did get a text about dinner, then finally drag yourself to go shower.

You have to be presentable before Matt returns. 

He doesn't comment on your still wet hair or lack of conversation. You eat in mostly silence, occasionally commenting about the food. 

Karen calls as you're gathering up leftovers to go into the fridge. Whatever she has to say to Matt has him swearing and going to the wardrobe to start getting his suit out. You don't ask what is wrong, you simply gather up the dress shirt he tosses towards the couch as he begins to change. 

He doesn't kiss you as he rushes up the stairs.

He doesn't tell you to not wait up. 

The door slams shut as he disappears into his own Darkness, and you sit on the couch to await his return.

There is no silence. The city mocks you with each siren, scream, and honk. 

Thursday

You're putting away groceries when your phone alerts you to a text. 

It's from Matt and simply states, “I hate baseball bats.”

A small noise of sympathy comes up from your chest. He had gotten a few good whacks with one last night to the point he let you wrap his chest. Luckily, nothing had been broken, but it had not been a pretty sight. 

You've already put the ice packs in the freezer for when he gets home. You don't think he'll be going out tonight if he's actually admitting he is in pain. 

Maybe you can listen to the next few chapters of the audio book you've started together instead. The thought makes your stomach turn in a nervous hopeful way. 

You return his message with an inside joke of sorts, typing out the words, “Baseball bat emoji. Heart break emoji.”

He replies back seconds later with, “Sad face emoji.” 

It pulls a little smile to your lips, and you think about Matt dictating the text to his phone for the next hour. 

Friday

“You smell so good,” he purrs as he nuzzles against your neck, his scruff scratching you just lightly. 

You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and you can practically feel his pleased hum in your chest. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, pushing under to barely just feel your skin. He's got you crowded against the front door, so all of him overwhelms you while he teases.

He's been like this all night. As soon as you stepped into Josie's, he had his hands all over you - your thigh, your lower back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He's only had two beers, but they have loosened up his tense shoulders quite a bit. 

You know what he wants and you're more than happy to indulge. You've been craving his touch. His attention. 

You don't care if it's a quickie before he leaves you to belong to Hell's Kitchen again, you just need something from him.

Anything. 

You dig your nails into the shoulder of his suit jacket and whine out your inner desires, knowing he'll give in when he's like this, “want to get on my knees for you.”

He moans in response, grinding against you to let you know how much he also wants that, and you lower yourself down to be trapped between him and the door. Skilled hands make quick work of his belt, and you don't bother to push his pants and briefs down. You get his half hard cock free of its confines only to swallow it.

Above you, Matt throws his head back his head, gritting out a long low, “Fuck.” 

You give him no time to adjust, knowing exactly what he likes in these moments, and begin to work him over. One hand grips his tree trunk of a thigh and the other loosely circles around the base of his cock - the first keeps you steady and the second from him slipping out of you. 

You focus on his head, pushing your tongue up as he slides out of the depths of your throat, then swirling it before you begin to suckle. He buries his fingers into your hair, swearing more, as you do so. That only encourages you and you begin to pump him as you work to get him to full hardness.

His musk is dotted with the saltines of precum, and your mouth begins to water. You do nothing to stop the drool gathering in the corners of your mouth and let it spill out as you enjoy yourself. 

Self-control is out of the question - the moment Matt’s hips begin to twitch, you encourage it, tugging at his thigh. He doesn't need to be told twice. 

You close your eyes and relax your jaw as he starts to fuck your throat. 

All of you becomes encompassed in him. He's all you feel, all you smell, all you taste, all you hear. 

He grunts and groans as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady so you can't chase him as you want to. You want to be held down; his cock buried deep in your throat until the heaviness of him is imprinted on your tongue. You want him to coat your insides with him, so you never forget his taste. 

You want him to use you and that's exactly what he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he chants, and you don't want him to stop. He's not ruthless, but he isn't kind with it, barely giving you a chance to breathe between each movement, and making your brain start to blink in and out of awareness.

You feel him start to twitch and pulse along your tongue and you whine in distress around him. 

You don't want this to end so soon. You need him. You need this. 

Before you can process what is happening, Matt is pulling you back up into standing and directly turning you to face the door. Your brain automatically clicks with what he is doing, and you scramble to undo your pants. You barely get them unbuttoned before he is yanking them and your panties down your thighs. 

You arch your back with anticipation as he lines himself up. You expect him to tease you, to rub the head of his cock over you to spread around the juices you've soaked your panties with, but he doesn't. He pushes into you in one smooth motion and your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He grabs you by the throat from behind, just under your chin, and turns his hand so he can also stick two of his fingers into your mouth and continue to make you drool. You're practically pinned to the door as he slams into you over and over, hitting that sweet spot each time. 

“So fucking wet,” he growls into your ear, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision go spotty. “About to cum from just sucking on my cock. Don't even need to touch you, do I? You'd be happy being my little cock warmer.”

You would. You yearn for it - sitting under his desk while he works, keeping him happy. You just want to be with him. You need him. 

You need him. 

He breathes your name, then demands, “Cum on my cock.” 

Saturday

Matt has taken the spot at the dining table while you've curled up on the couch. You both have your respective workstations set up and have been buried in reading for hours. 

A strange, pleasant calm has washed over you and wrapped you up in a lightness.

These are the days you dream of.

Soft, quiet mornings where you can just be with Matt - there's no distractions or chaos or vigilantism. It is just the two of you, together. 

Whenever he has gotten up to get something, on his way back to his seat - he always makes sure to check in on you all and it sends your brain into an absolute tizzy. Acknowledgement from him makes you feel warm in so many ways. You don't think you could ever get enough of the way he says your name when he wants your attention. It's like an angel’s song - or the Devil's. 

You know it won't last long - he has a meeting with Foggy after lunch to meet some people who can't meet during the week - so you bask in what you have. You've been stealing glances all morning because you love to watch him work. He gets this little crease between his brow when he's listening to a transcript, and it really is the cutest thing. You just want to go over and kiss it and remind him to relax his forehead. 

But you know he's so very busy and you don't want to distract him with something so silly. He barely has enough time in the day as it is, between all the ways he helps the people of Hell's Kitchen, and lately he's just been adding more and more to his plate - more clients, more patrols, more everything except you. 

You aren't jealous. You know how needed he is and you are grateful to be in his life at all. You get to be the one to take care of him and be in his bed at the end of the night, even if you spend many of those nights alone. 

It just makes moments like these so much sweeter. 

So, when he gets up again and heads to the kitchen, you can't help but turn and watch him. He starts another pot of coffee, and your eyes just go heart shaped as you admire how his shoulders move under his shirt. 

“Anything interesting?” He asks with a bit of cockiness, and you know he's aware you aren't focused on your work.

You place your chin on the back of the couch and hum, “This company has one of the best sick leave policies I've ever seen. Think I might quit my job and go raise plants in Arizona.” 

Matt snorts at your answer and teases, “Do you know anything about raising plants?”

“For three weeks guaranteed paid vacation and two paid sick days a month, I'll learn.” 

He turns to face you, tilting his head to one side in disbelief, “Two paid sick days a month? What is the catch?”

You nod, then pretend to huff, “You have to live in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” Matt makes a face of disgust, and you laugh into your hand, a smile blooming across your face, “That's why I'm only considering.”

“I'm glad, I'd prefer it if you stay here. I'd miss you too much if you were in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” 

You spend the rest of the day practically glowing over Matt admitting he'd miss you. The words will live in your heart and head forever.

Sunday

You've never been stalked and hunted by a wild animal, but this is what you imagine it would feel like. 

The Devil has come home earlier than expected and it looks like he crawled his way out of Hell. He's in his black suit, or what's left of it, and is covered in his own blood. His nose is dripping, probably broken, staining his mouth red. His shirt is barely hanging together and various fresh shallow cuts litter his torso. His Muay Thai ropes are dirty with grime and what you expect to be others’ blood.

He slowly came down the stairs from the roof then began to circle around the couch, each step deliberate and calculating, and he has not let up. 

The air in the room is so heavy. You can't breathe because you don't have a protocol for this. You can't tell if he's angry or upset - he hasn't said a word and he's not expressing himself in any way, but Danger is exuding from him. 

You sit straight backed on the couch as the Devil continues his path around you, his head tilting in different directions ever so slightly. You don't know if he's tracking something or waiting for some sign. You can't tell when he's like this. 

Finally, he stops in the spot halfway between the couch and the bedroom, only partially angled towards you. He begins to undo the ropes stabilizing his wrists, letting them drop to the ground without acknowledgment. You watch them like they are snakes, ready to slither at you with an attack. His gloves quickly join the pile, but then he raises a hand towards you, palm up like he wants you to take it.

He confirms his intentions with a low, “Come here.”

You're worried and confused with how he is behaving, but you don't dare disobey the Devil. 

You slip out of your seat and make your way to him in silence, reaching to take his hand when you get close enough. To your surprise, he brings it up to his face and places a light kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point. 

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, voice low and laced with an unsaid promise. 

A shiver runs up your spine and you manage to answer, breathing out, “Matt Murdock. Daredevil.” 

He pulls his lips back into a snarl and you fear you've got the question wrong somehow. 

Keeping your hand in his, he steps towards you, one achingly slow step at a time, until you are practically chest to chest. He dips his head and brushes the tip of his nose against your neck. You can hear him inhale. 

“I hear their frightened little whispers. I hear what they call me - not just the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. King of Hell - this is my territory and I protect it with a ferocity,” he whispers into your skin. You close your eyes and try to keep your breathing from going shaky. 

It is not just fear and confusion coursing through you now. His words, his rasping, is going straight to your cunt. You haven't encountered The Devil in so long you've forgotten what it does to you.

He presses his free hand against your lower back, moving you so you are flush against him. Your hand goes to his chest, just under his shoulder where his shirt is still intact and not sticky with who knows what. 

“Do you know what that makes you?” he growls against you and all you can do is shake your head.

You don't interact with many people, and you doubt anyone in Hell's Kitchen is talking about you. 

You are of no interest to anyone. 

The Devil bumps his nose against your earlobe before giving it a light nibble and telling you, “My Queen of Hell.”

Air catches in your throat and it feels like your entire being short circuits. What does he mean, you're his Queen? 

You've never done anything to deserve such a title, but you aren't going to disagree with him. If he wants to call you this, you will relish in it. 

As you are still trying to process things, you are suddenly lifted into the air by your thighs, and you have to quickly wrap your legs around the Devil so you don't start flailing. Like you weigh absolutely nothing, you are carried to the bedroom and with care you do not expect, laid out on the bed. 

The Devil, mask, boots, batons, and all, crawls over you, going straight for your throat. He starts with his lips but quickly dissolves into dragging his tongue and teeth wherever he can get. It's slow, methodical, like he has a goal with his lavishing. 

You don't care about his intention - you are melting into the bed under him, desperate for him to not stop. Whatever he is doing, whatever has got him in this mood, you want more of it. 

Hesitantly, fearing you might disrupt the atmosphere, you wrap your arms around the body above you, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to silently encourage more attention to your neck. He obliges and teeth scraping against you turns into biting. He wastes no time in leaving his first mark on you, then another, and another. 

“You're mine,” he tells you as he starts on the other side of your throat, “Belong to me. You're mine.” 

You arch at the words, cunt clenching around nothing. He is correct. You are his - you've belonged to him the moment you met, and you will until the day you die. 

He is your everything.

“I'm yours,” you agree, barely above a whisper. 

The Devil drags his lips from your neck only to crash them into yours. It's like being pulled under by a wave - a force you can only just accept and go with. He tastes like smoke and copper, but you don't care. You only want more.

You want to be consumed. 

And it feels like that is what he does. You kiss until you feel like you can't possibly breathe any longer, then he is pulling away to start moving down your body. He pushes your shirt up to start a trail of kisses and bites towards your stomach.

“My Queen,” he growls, and you can only throw your head back with pleasure at his words, his actions, “My Persephone. Mine. Whatever you want, it's yours. Anything. Give you Fisk's head on a platter. Or do you want his heart? I'll rip out his throat with my teeth for you.”

You want to comment it looks like he already has, with the state he came in in, but all you can manage to say is the truth.

“I just want you.” 

Your shirt is pulled off and tossed to the side before he is on you again, biting at your lips as he does what you want. He grinds his cock into you, and you can feel just how hard he is. You tug at the remains of his shirt, and it is also quickly discarded. 

You can feel him moving over you, probably trying to get out of the rest of his armor, but you don't pay attention. All your focus is on the way his mouth is moving with yours - dominating and controlling and firm but in no way actually hurting you. 

Nothing to ever hurt you. 

When he pulls back, he does so enough to sit up. 

You whine at the loss of his touch, but it is balanced when he finally removes his mask, and you can see his beautiful face again. 

It's a little sick, but you like him like this - bruised and battered and bloody. You like the physical reminders of who he is and what he is capable of. 

You reach up to press your hands to the mottled skin around his ribs, still healing from the baseball bat. He hisses at the contact, but his now free cock gives a violent twitch. You know which reaction to trust. 

Your sleep shorts and panties are unceremoniously removed, and you and the Devil are left nude. You are hauled up to be on your knees with him and once again you are held against his chest. He cups your jaw with both hands and kisses you firmly.

“Take such good care of me,” he mumbles between nips and bites, “Let me take care of you, my Queen.”

You want that. 

You want that.

 You want him to take care of you - to focus on you - to be his everything. You desperately nod against him, shaky whispers of “please” coming from you. 

He lays you back down and guides himself into you with far more care than you'd expect in the moment. It's steady until he's fully sheathed in you, then he is over you again, burying his face into your neck. 

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

He starts moving then, slow, steady, and deep, like he's trying to savor every roll of his hips. 

It's heady and with the way he's back to worshiping your neck, you're quick to sink into a place of pure bliss only he can send you. 

He starts to mumble against you as he devours you. You hear catches of your name and ‘my Queen’ and ‘mine’, but you hear something about Sin and love and need. Your brain refuses to link the words together and you don't need it to understand them right now. 

You just need Him. 

You roll your head to the side so he can dig his teeth into a new spot and through half lidded eyes, you spot the mirror you've added into the room. Using it, you watch the Devil make love to you, his body half shrouded by shadows. 

He's so fucking beautiful.

As your thighs begin to tremble and pressure builds up in your core, you notice smears of darkness on your face, your neck, and your arms.

It is the same darkness that the Devil is drenched in. 

He's covered you in his blood. 

You're coated with him. 

Inside and out.

The realization sends you over the edge and you scream his name for all your subjects to hear.

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you.

a/n:

I see this with multiple interpretations ;)

a/n2: theres not a baseball bat emoji

[copperbadge]

If you have the spoons for it, can you share the rice cooker mac and cheese process? I have a rice cooker and I like mac and cheese, but I haven't figured out quite how to get one from the other.

Well, bear in mind this is a recipe that came with the machine so it's tailored for the machine, which is a mini cooker with a fairly wide base. I would be extremely cautious putting milk into a rice cooker unless you either know it's okay or are willing to risk the pan finding out when the milk burns.

Recipe behind the cut!

For the Dash mini cooker, the recipe is:

1 cup uncooked macaroni

3/4 cup chicken stock

1/4 cup milk

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese

1/4 cup part skim mozzarella cheese

(I just used 3/4 cup mixed cheddar-jack shreds for this, came out fine)

1/2 tbsp butter

Place the pasta, stock, milk, and salt in the cooker and stir; cover with the lid and start the cook cycle. Because I am wary of milk in an automated cooker situation, I did this when I knew I could keep an eye on it.

Cook until all of the liquid is absorbed. I gave it one or two stirs throughout the cooking, and you will note it's "until liquid is absorbed" not "until the cooking cycle is done". As soon as the liquid is absorbed, remove the lid and add cheese and butter and stir well.

Replace the lid and cook until the cycle is complete. I didn't do this -- I watched it until I started to smell toasting cheese and then gave it a stir and quickly pulled the pan out of the cooker. If I'd left it until the cook cycle finished, it would have burned the cheese to the bottom of the pan.

So yeah, it's not necessarily more convenient than just doing it on the stove, though I think it is a little bit faster. The problem is just...dairy's heat sensitivity combined with the uncertain temperature level and regulation of a rice cooker.

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

Guys. Guys I experienced an honest-to-God miracle just now. I’m shaking with wonder for realsies, it’s amazing!

So I gave up on the whole kitniyot mishigas years ago. We live in the 21st century, not the 19th, society as a whole has gotten waaaaay better at keeping foodstuffs separate, and globalization has made staples from all over more common for everyone everywhere. So what’s the point? I know the difference between rice and wheat. And the Rabbinical Assembly ruled in favor of eating kitniyot some years ago anyway. I have permission from God Themself to jam corn down my mouth hole and you better believe that I intend to abuse those privileges.

But of course, as my fellow American kitniyot eaters can testify, all this gleeful nomming comes to a screeching halt when it comes to processed foods. Sure, chickpeas are solid, but what if chametz got in the chummus-making machines?? You need a kosher l’pesach hechsher on your chummus! But because the American Jewry is so Ashkenazi, there’s no infrastructure for kitniyot goods. Every Pesach, there’s only a few pesadik chummus containers on the section and I’m pretty sure they’re all imported from Israel. You wouldn’t believe how fast they fly off the shelves.

Anyways, I live in a small city with an equally small Jewish community. Two synagogues, one Chabad house, no kosher grocery store, and teeny-tiny kosher sections in almost all supermarkets (if at all). You know the drill. Still, I went down to my local grocery because I thought I didn’t buy enough matzah and was hoping more had come in at the start of the week. And LOOK WHAT I FOUND:

I’m gonna eat the FUCK out of this tahini.

[mydearsnooopy]

My ideal routine in Japan would be structured, purposeful, and self-empowering. I crave efficiency, mental and intellectual stimulation, independence, and control. I hope this can be an inspiration to plan out your routine in your ideal destination!

5:30 AM – 8:00 AM | Morning Discipline & Prime the Mind

Wake up in a clean, minimal ryokan or capsule hotel: There’s something profound about waking up before the world moves. At 5:30 AM, Tokyo is hushed and efficient. The chaos hasn’t started yet—and that’s exactly when I want to start. The air feels crisp, almost untouched, as the city slowly stirs to life. I grab a quick coffee from a vending machine, its warmth cutting through the cool morning. The streets are nearly empty, save for a few early risers and delivery workers. This is the perfect time to wander, to soak in the quiet beauty of Tokyo before its energy surges.

essential skin care, clean outfit, stretch in silence: I take a moment to stretch in silence, letting my mind settle and my body prepare for the day ahead. I'm not the type of person to have a 15-step skincare routine; I like a basic and efficient routine. After, I am most likely to wear an academic, androgynous, minimalist outfit catering to my personal style that I got from a Japanese thrift store.

1:30 PM – 4:30 PM | Intellectual Deep Dive & Tactical Exploration

Every morning has a target. I don’t wander; I hunt insights. On Monday, I go to Miraikan. Study exhibits on AI, robotics, and space; take notes on Japan’s vision of the future. On Tuesday, I will analyze philosophy in Kyoto’s gardens. On Wednesday, I visit some of the best of Japan's Brutalist buildings. I treat each location like a case study.

Eat quietly at a minimal spot (a soba bar or bento cafe): Journal about what I learned that day, After lunch, I might take a stroll through a nearby park or visit a local art gallery. These moments of leisure are vital for recharging my mind and sparking new ideas. They remind me of the beauty that exists in everyday life and the importance of taking time to enjoy it.

4:30 PM – 6:00 PM | Reflective Transition & Tactical Planning

As the afternoon transitions into evening, I carve out time for productive solitude. This is when I reflect, strategize, and plan for the future. I find a quiet café or a library, an atmosphere that fosters focus. With a cup of matcha or hojicha by my side, I delve into my personal projects or professional goals. Around this time, I might head to a serene yet functional gym in Tokyo. Alternatively, I could participate in a martial arts class, such as kendo or aikido, immersing myself in the discipline and philosophy behind these practices.

I also use this time to plan the next day meticulously. Whether it’s mapping out the logistics of visiting a cultural site, scheduling work or study sessions, or noting down books or articles to read, this planning phase is essential. It allows me to maintain control and ensures that each day has purpose and direction.

6:00 PM – 8:00 PM | Culinary Simplicity & Evening Calm

Back at my accommodation, I prepare a minimalist but satisfying meal—perhaps a fresh salad, miso soup, or rice with grilled fish. Cooking in a small, functional kitchen feels meditative, and I enjoy the process as much as the result. I eat slowly, savoring each bite, while reflecting on the day’s experiences. If I’m not in the mood to cook, I might visit a quiet izakaya or a cozy soup shop nearby, enjoying the ambiance of the space.

8:00 PM – 10:00 PM | Solitude & Creative Play

By this time, the city outside begins to wind down, and so do I. I retreat to my room, dim the lights, and create a cozy atmosphere. I put on a jazz record or some other music, letting the sound wash over me. This is my time for creative play—building a space-themed LEGO set, sketching ideas in a notebook, or even writing down thoughts and plans for the future. The tactile nature of these activities feels grounding and satisfying, allowing me to unwind in a way that’s both productive and restorative.

10:00 PM – 11:00 PM | Wind Down & Prepare for Tomorrow

As the day comes to a close, I focus on winding down my mind and body. I take a warm shower, enjoying the sensation of the water washing away the day’s stresses. My evening skincare routine is quick and efficient, just enough to feel refreshed. Before bed, I might read a few pages of a book—something thought-provoking with darker themes but not too heavy—or listen to a relaxing podcast. By 11:00 PM, I’m in bed, ready to recharge and prepare for another purposeful day ahead.

This structured yet flexible routine allows me to balance productivity and leisure, independence and connection, stimulation and tranquility, all while embracing the unique rhythm of life in Japan.

[lowspoonsgourmet]

The easiest best two to three days of food for one person I know of. A flexible modular recipe. This is going to sound high work at times due to how broadly I am writing this, it is not as bad as the vagueness and intentional broadness makes it sound signed a person who has frequently accidentally had sleep for dinner after being unable to make it too damn much.

Rice cooker needed.

Ingredients:

Rice (any), lentils or beans optional (one or two cans), frozen vegetable mix (any and in as much quantity as you want, I like potato, carrot, peas, and corn you like what you like)

Sauces (teriyaki sauce and kewpie mayonnaise is what I swear by because of how easy they are to manage and pour and how well they compliment the food and each other but use whatever you own and can stomach or nothing at all, extra points for one having some fat), seasonings (curry powder and salt is my standard, really the salt is enough) Oil

Additional protein (tuna, cheese, ham, chicken tendies, shredded chicken, tofu, more beans, egg, mushroom, setian, nutritional yeast, you do you, two seperate sources for the different days useful)

In to the rice cooker, put two cups rice with water in proportion, one or two cans lentils or beans if using (strain and quickly rinse them if you can, if not just pour out as much of the liquid as possible and dump), and a lot of frozen vegetable mix in whatever variety you have on hand/like. It's going to look like a lot. That's because it is. This is good. Add more vegetables. Two cups of rice makes more than you think so it's very hard to add too many vegetables to this if you're at least neutral on vegetables. Let the rice cooker cook. It's going to take a while so do whatever.

This is now a mostly complete meal if you add fat and salt, so the teriyaki and kewpie in my version. The additional protein will make it more filling and better in general, so adding a low effort one

Turn off the keep warm on the rice cooker and dump out the leftovers on a plate or something. Or not and just put the whole pot away. Leave in fridge overnight.

If you're ambitious/need variety reheat by frying with a different seasoning and secondary protein source #2 for best results. It's all already cooked so you just need to add the extras and to have it be warm. If you want to then use the fried rice in multiple meals, it reheats in the microwave better than the unfried. If you're not, reheat in the microwave with extras and enjoy that yesterday you making food for today you really helped out today you.

This provides two days of main meal food that are both very presentable and flavoursome, and are sufficiently different to each other it takes a long time to get sick of/makes it easier to feel like you're "doing well". I have had friends compliment me on how nice I am eating despite being in states that would usually leave me struggling to make myself food that mildly disgusts or concerns them. It dirties the rice cooker bowl and paddle, one eating bowl and utensils, one plate (optional), and a frying pan (optional). Most of those I just rinse out or soak not wash properly tbh, it's not like it has cheese to scrub off if you don't use it. This whole process takes about five minutes of active prep and clean up both days. The worst pitfalls I have found with it are getting too ambitious on the secondary protein for day 1 and eventually just having nothing, which I fixed for me by switching to canned tuna or shredded chicken, forgetting or otherwise failing to empty or turn off the heating of the rice cooker, and getting overwhelmed having to use the stove at all day 2 and avoiding the nice but optional upgrade.

I hope this is helpful for someone out there, I know how often most of these from around the place sound "oh my god you think that's simple??" But, and I say this as one of you, the backbone of this is having the machine that boils carbs boil a bunch of carbs for you and cramming as much of a "complete" or "fancy" meal's prep in to that process as possible then finishing with stuff you just pour, drop, or slice in.

Sounds helpful

[theplutodeity]

I Just Fell in Love With a War [CH-3]

Summary: Maybe you shouldn't have made eye-contact with that creature behind the door yesterday.

Notes: At the end.

WORD COUNT: 5.7K

MAIN PAGE CHAPTER 2 <- OR -> Chapter 4

Sitting in your bed, you scrolled on twitter to see if there were any new album releases from your favourite artists or new games. You remember there was one that was released on June 4th– or was it the 5th?– but you were too busy to see what it was. 

Speaking of busy, it’s been a few days since you've talked to your neighbours. Mainly because you were trying to avoid too many interactions with them. For all you know, they could start asking you to join dinners, or go to some shady area that they call a fun place, or even hang out with them for a whole day. 

The bakery day with Caesium and Crackle was more than enough, and then getting chills up your spine when you made eye contact with– assumably– their cousin? You needed a break.

Thankfully, none of them had your number so they couldn’t text and ask where you were or what you were up to. You got a few texts from your friends so you had just texted them back a few minutes ago. The bakery was lively as usual, and now you’re just at home. You didn’t want to go to sleep since it was 10pm and nothing’s really happened to exhaust you. 

Out of nowhere, your stomach rumbled. Reminding you that you haven’t had dinner. So, you got up and walked down the stairs, going around the island and grabbing a bag of rice out of your lower cabinet and pouring it into the sieve you had. You felt like having fried rice, maybe shrimp fried rice specifically. Your friend made it for you a while back, and now you’re craving it. 

After washing the rice, you poured it all into the rice cooker and made sure to add water into it as well, making sure to put the appropriate ratio. Then closed the lid and made sure you pressed the button that starts the machine. Last time, you forgot to, and ended up having to wait even longer.

You were about to go grab the shrimps in the freezer, but you heard a weird noise near you. Specifically at the front door. You paused for a few seconds, waiting for the noise to come back, but you didn’t hear anything. 

Shrugging it off, you opened the freezer and pulled the shrimp packet out of it, grabbing frozen corn, peas & rice before closing the door. You placed the ingredients down and grabbed some garlic, green onions and eggs as well. 

Grabbing a pan as well, you put it onto the stove and put some vegetable oil and sesame oil before putting the shrimps into the pan, cooking it over medium-high heat. After about a minute and a half– maybe closer to two minutes than half– you flipped the shrimps over. 

You decided to grab your phone and put on some music, it was a bit eerie with how quiet it is. That and the random noise you heard earlier. 

Putting on your favourite party playlist, you hit shuffle and let the music play as it willed. The first song that it chose was ‘Don’t Stop the Party’ by Pitbull, ft. TJR. You grinned and put the volume higher.

Grabbing a plate quickly– and after rinsing– you put it down near the stove and transferred the shrimps into it. You realised you forgot to cut the green onion, so you quickly got to work.

You noticed the rice hadn't finished cooking, so you turned the heat off and waited for the rice to finish cooking. It might ruin the process, but who cares, you’re the only one eating. You never complained about your own food.  

Busy listening to your music, you didn’t know the slow knock against the glass doors to your backyard. ‘nor did you notice the threat at that door, the curtains were drawn over that area, hiding them.

You were having your own concert, harmonizing to the near end of ‘Can’t Hold Us’ as if you were an actual singer. Truth be told, you can harmonize, but you aren't used to it anymore. The last time you actually sang was in choir in primary school.

Suddenly a loud bang hit the glass door, and you snapped your head towards the offending sound. Hesitantly turning off your music. You shouldn’t go near the sound— you should call the police, what if it’s an intruder? You slowly walked towards the door. Pushing the curtains to the side…

To be met by a cat? 

You stared down at it before opening the glass door and crouching down, giggling.

“Can’t believe I got scared by a cat, you're so cute!” You pet the cat, it was a black one with… pretty sharp fangs. Their fangs were slightly poking out of its mouth, but then something caught your eye. The collar.

The cat seemed pretty tame and used to touch, so it’s no surprise that it’s a pet. You used your finger to bring up their cat tag.

‘Doomfanger’, well, the name fits? Fangs were the most prominent feature on the cat. You turned it around to see if there was a name or number—

‘CAESIUM SERIF, CALL HERE IF LOST’ with a bunch of numbers following… This was Caesium’s cat?

“and I can’t believe that you fell for bait that easily.” Followed by a dark voice, you slowly looked up to see a skeleton that had a bigger size than the other skeletons that looked like him. At first, he looked like Comic, but you noticed his eye— then the hole in his head— Then the bone about to slam down at you.

You launched backwards, the flight bit of ‘fight or flight’ kicking in immediately. Eyes widening, you scrambled to get up as he tore the bone back out of your floor. The cat left as soon as the violence began.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, looking back up at him. You could sense the intent to kill. You immediately bolted upstairs, to your room. The large skeleton followed behind, the thrill filling him up with fulfillment.

Running to your room, you locked your door, frantically looking around for something to push in front of it. You shoved your dressing table right in front of it. Right after, you rushed towards your phone and grabbed it. Your hands were shaking like you were insane, trying to type in the emergency number.

Suddenly you heard a crack in your door, whipping your head around, you were just on time to see a large bone pierce through the wood of your door. You screamed as you backed up towards your window. The bone stabbed through a few times before it made a hole, a red eye peeking through. 

“guess you could say you make me feel hole .” He chuckled, you looked behind yourself— at your window… Could you…?

You didn’t have time to think as you heard your door knob break, and the skeleton slam against the door. He managed to begin moving the dressing table away from the door. You quickly pushed the window up, looking if someone— anyone— was awake and able to help. You grabbed your phone with you and jumped from the window, a fucking horrible mistake as you felt something in your body break, but the adrenaline didn’t let you process. You laid flat on the floor and took a few seconds to get up, the shock stilling your body but you forced yourself to get up.

The skeleton following you had successfully broke through your door, but didn’t see you. He looked outside the window and found you getting up and beginning to run. Muttering a small ‘ fuck ’ he rushed back down.

You spotted someone right before you were about to bolt down the street. You couldn’t stop in someone’s house, so you yelled a loud ‘HEY!’ and they turned around. It was Anaia. 

Your eyes widened, and so did hers, she seemed to recognize your distress and the way your sleeve was cut. You hadn’t noticed that the bone had grazed your arm when you dodged his first hit.

She was in front of the skeleton’s house, but she stopped herself from entering for you.

“Anaia— please!! Call for help, there’s a fucking maniac—“ you paused as you immediately felt that insane aura you got from the skeleton when you looked at him first. Whipping your head around, you ran. You couldn’t use your phone while running away because there was a chance you could trip and let him catch up.

You bolted down the street, praying that your legs didn’t fail you. You used to do some sports in high school but you never continued them. Your body wasn’t used to the exercise anymore— but it didn’t let you slow down. It forced you to keep running from him. 

You didn’t want to die.

“slow down— it’s rude to run from a friend, ya know?!” You were right, he was already following behind. Your hair whipped around while you ran, you tried figuring out how to lose him. 

Turning left, you entered an alleyway you knew didn’t have a dead end. It led to the markets and even at this time, there would be people roaming about. You knew there were some troublesome teens and genuinely dangerous adults, but they weren’t the type to turn away when someone was about to die.

In the end, they still had good morals when it came to the people in this town. Sure, they had their fights with one another, but they never let someone die in this town unless it was by a natural cause. Everyone was close with each other.

But you could be wrong, you were naive. You are naive. You opened a door for a fucking cat and now you’re here running from a murderer.

Suddenly, a wall of bones burst up from the ground, causing you to stop in your place. You heard the grunts of the murderer you were running away from become louder.

“y’know, you should pay for the fact you made a starving man run. you shouldn’t be acting like this, I just wanted to know if we’re friends, kid.” He spoke as if you two were friendly acquaintances, you slowly turned your head around, not speaking.

“don’t look at me like that. a guy’s gotta do what he has to do. and honestly, this wouldn’t have happened to you if that other neighbour was still around.” He sighed, scratching his chin with his phalange, you backed up and your back hit the wall of bones 

“I ain’t regretting this, that’s for sure. gotta kill the asshole who made me run miles. no hard feelings. ” He inched towards you, you felt your heartbeat race. All you could do was watch, but you still wanted to scream. You could still find help if you just tried . 

So you screamed, with all your might. You screamed until your own ears rang, until your voice became hoarse, until the psycho in front of you looked confused by your voice. You weren’t going to die with your voice still stuck in your throat.

You lived a mediocre life, nobody saw you more than a pushover. They saw you as a polite little girl. Never as someone who had their own feelings, urges and desires. 

Crackhead rolled his single eye..light? it looked more like an eye than the eye lights you saw on the other skeletons.

You put your arms up to defend your face as he got ready to slam the thigh bone he had in hand down onto you. 

But the blow never came, instead replacing a loud sound of two cracks. 

Your eyes opened in surprise, seeing the skeleton you talked to at the dinner. Palace. 

He had a sharp weapon of his own, it was like a bone but shaped like a broad sword. The middle of the sword broke but he slid his bare skeletal hand over the sword, fixing it with some of the bone marrow that came out.

“Must you cause so much trouble? You’ve just arrived a few nights ago, Cracks .” Palace rolled his eyes, as he kept his hands on each side of the sword. One on the sharp edge, and one on the handle. ‘Cracks’ slammed his weapon down on Palace’s sword– right in the middle– with more force than before, his grin was lopsided and full of irritation.

“thought i told ya to not call me that.” ‘Cracks’ reminded, pushing his weapon down even harder, they were different heights. ‘Cracks’ was taller than you, that’s for sure, but he was taller than Palace too. You and Palace were similar in heights, just an inch difference. 

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers, can they? And I think we all can tell–” Palace grunted as he loosened his defense for a second before doubling his strength and forcing the skeleton backwards. “You’re dirtier than a filthy beggar.” You could tell that it was a double-sided insult, something darker meant by it. 

Because Cracks seemed like he was about to kill Palace, with how he was about to slam the– now sharper and cracked– bone into Palace’s skull. However, there was an array of bones that surrounded him, caging the beast. 

“MY GOODNESS! I THOUGHT WE AGREED TO TALK IT OUT, ERRR.. PLACEHOLDER NAME!” Rus rushed in, his left hand spread open as three layers of bones– that acted as walls– caged Cracks. A few more skeletons had popped up, and the wall Cracks had made faded away. There was a skeleton with a white shirt and blue scarf wrapped around his neck, swaying in the wind. It looked a bit like a cape.

“MISS (NAME)! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” He rushed over to you, he knew your name but you didn’t know his. You nodded as your knees finally gave out when he turned away to look at Cracks. You sat on the floor with your knees tucked under your bottom, your hands running through your hair. 

Palace left your side to talk to Caesium, who came a bit later. 

A hand touched your back, you flinched violently but looked up to see Anaia’s worried expression.

“Are you okay? I immediately told the household you were in trouble– I’m so sorry about Cracks.” She talked to you softly, crouched down to your level. You stared at her, on the edge of tears as everything flooded into your system. You almost got fucking killed . 

You took a breathy exhale and nodded. You couldn’t cry here. Not in front of all these people.

No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t be a crybaby. It was instinct. You just couldn’t . 

You stayed kneeled on the floor as Anaia got up and petted your head before walking over to the skeleton that asked if you were alright, and Palace walked back over to you when he finished his conversation with Caesium. He grabbed your arm and pulled you up abruptly.

“I’ll take you home.” He stated, brushing your sleeve off for any dust, you winced as he roughly brushed it down. It wasn’t the arm that got a graze, but the one you roughly landed on. Palace suddenly looked up at you when you had given a reaction to his touch. His eyebrows furrowed.

Looking around, it seemed like everyone was busy talking and figuring out what to do– and Cracks seemed to be joking around now. It was insane to you, how could he switch that easily..?

Palace gently pushed your back to indicate for you to start walking. So you did. When you walked past the people that were there, your saviour grabbed the back of your shirt.

“Keep your mouth shut for the next few seconds.” And you didn’t hesitate to do so, you didn’t have any plans to even talk. Suddenly, it fell like you were falling. The same feeling you got when you woke up from a dream you fell in. It felt scary. 

Then, you were in front of your home within seconds. You were shocked at how you were miles away and now you’re here, but amazement wasn’t the right word. Could Cracks have done that? Was he playing with you?

“oh my god– ‘ey! belt whip and chef!” You heard a voice from your ride, and you looked at where it came from. Fuck. You really didn’t want to talk to any more skeletons now. Call it racist, but the red ringlight in Crackle’s eye reminded you of Crack already– fuck even the damn name reminded you of him!

Suddenly gripping Palace’s arm– out of instinct to find something to shield you– he had gotten the memo. He also found similarities immediately when the filthy skeleton had come out last night. So he figured you might be a bit freaked out right now. 

A lot freaked out would be a better way to say it. 

Looking at Crackle, he seemed confused by how you acted before the skeleton looked back at Palace. The latter tapped the side of his skull, near his eyelights. Crackle’s eye sockets widened, realising what he meant. 

“shit. er. my bad, chef.” Crackle quickly rubbed his eye sockets with his hands, squeezing his eye sockets shut for a second before opening them. His eyelights were white now– he had both eyelights now, instead of having just his left eye. 

“what th’ fuck even happened? i heard Anaia yellin’ in the house and next i know more than half of everybody’s gone, i see chef’s window wide open but i got’ta chance to see the door in there shattered and– the fuck even happened???” Crackle rambled for a few seconds, using his hands to gesture and picture a lot of his words. You were blankly staring for a while, hell, why the fuck were you standing around here for?

Your room’s door was broken, the backyard door was still open– bugs could be coming into your house– the food you were making… You didn’t even get to eat . Your dressing table was probably broken too– was the flooring broken? He had slammed that shit weapon of his into the floor.

Palace sighed and waved Crackle off. 

“Do you not see how terrible she looks? She almost got killed, Crackle.” That had stilled the skeleton, his eyes widening. As if he couldn’t believe it, then, the cogs in his head began turning and his hand slapped over his mouth. 

“no fuckin’ way, did that big guy do it? i knew it was weird that he wanted to check the garden–” 

“ You’re the reason why that nutcase got into my house?” You interrupted Crackle. He looked at you, slowly furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. 

“not– no, i just–” He tried to figure out what to say.

“Actually, fuck that. Why the hell is a murderer living with you guys? The fuck? I thought you were a lawyer? Aren’t you breaking the law by hiding a fucking murderer??” You yelled, on the border of crashing out. You seriously shouldn’t have even talked to these assholes, because of it, you almost got killed by– by their cousin??

“I personally don’t tend to him. If I could I would ship him to another place... As if anybody would even want him in their country.” Palace muttered, clearing his throat, he wanted to get off this topic before you endured any more stress. “Now, would you like to go to the hospital now, or tomorrow?” He asked, glancing down to both your arms before back at you. Crackle followed that movement and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw one of your sleeves and… Well he didn’t know what’s wrong with your other arm, he couldn’t see your skin.

“Now…” You sighed, you had a feeling you broke your arm, it was hurting a lot, but for some reason: you couldn’t find the voice to complain about it. To be honest, your voice was hoarse, you might’ve killed your voice when you screamed for help. Nobody mentioned it though.

“Right.” He nodded, before pulling his phone out and texting someone with one hand. Then, all of a sudden, Slim had come out of nowhere. He had a long black parka, similar to Crackle’s, but the hood was over his head. Looking at you, then Palace, he gave a small wave. You didn’t return it.

“He’ll take us both.” Palace explained vaguely, grabbing Slim’s left arm, gesturing for you to do the same. 

“‘ay can I join y–” Crackle immediately shut up, seeing the look on Palace’s face. Maybe not a good time, then… “...neva’ mind. you guys stay safe or whateva’.” He gave him a brief wave, grumbling about something, probably cursing out Palace.

“Slim.” Palace called, his younger brother nodded and within seconds you were in the hospital. This didn’t look like the one you knew of, though. It was one of the hospitals out of town. 

You didn’t ask questions, and they didn’t prompt you to ask any, so you all went through the process. You had come up with an excuse for the reason why you were so roughed up, saying the three of you went to mess around in the forest that was up hill but you tripped and injured yourself. 

The nurse believed it easily, nodding. He gave a small nod towards Slim, who reciprocated it. Seems like they’ve been here before, or they know each other.

The process of getting checked up, then being given a cast for your injured arm was quick. There was a monster doctor that said the cast had a magical property that helps both monsters and humans heal faster. It normally goes faster for monsters since they have pre-existing magic in their body– so it feeds into the magic that exists in their body to help heal their bones– but it’s slightly longer for humans. But better than the normal casts. 

It was about 12am when you guys got out of the hospital. You felt… Weird.

As if this all was a dream and you were going to wake up. Looking up at the sky, you stared at one star that shone brighter than the others. Slim followed your movement while Palace was doing something on his phone, you didn’t check what though, you honestly couldn’t give a fuck.

“Would you like to go home, or grab something to eat?” Palace asked, looking at you. You muttered to have the latter, and he nodded. There was a place that was still open, so you all went there, it was a fast food restaurant. Sitting down, Slim offered to go to the screens and just order it. You gave him your order and Palace just said he’d take a drink, it looked like Slim already knew what he meant and he skittered off.

You and the short skeleton just sat in silence, he sat across from you, but you both were next to the massive window. 

“Um. Thanks for saving me, by the way. I would’ve been split in half if it wasn’t for you, haha.” Awkwardly thanking him, you used your less injured hand to scratch the spot in front of your ear. Palace didn’t look away from his hands on the table for a moment, but his eye lights went up to look at you, his head unmoving. 

“It’s hard to ignore a shrill scream like yours.” He stated, his left hand playing with his right hand. Now that you think of it, he was bleeding– or the skeletal equivalent of bleeding– when he was defending you.

Your hand reached his right hand, flipping it so his palm was facing up. You were right, there was a massive gash on his hand. Palace ripped his hand away from you, his eyes wide open. However, there wasn’t shock on his face, it was more like anger. 

“Do not touch me.” He stated, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair. It’s weird how he and Caesium sat in a chair similarly. Same amount of slouch– which was a tiny bit– and crossing their arms. Clearing your throat, you nodded awkwardly. Slouching into your own chair, maybe you should fix that habit, checking on people unnecessarily. 

“I understand you might think we are friends , however, that is not the case.” This caught your attention, so you looked at him in the eyes, him returning your gaze. “In this world, it’s give and take. I gave you the chance of survival, you owe me your life .” Maybe it was your head, but for a second, it felt like he was threatening you. 

“Right.. Um. What do I ‘owe you’ then?” You asked, internally, you began to understand Crackle. Mainly because you were cursing Palace out in your head, you just survived a murderer and now he’s making sure you know you owe him shit for saving your life? Maybe being sliced was a good idea. You just met this guy a week or so ago.

“We’ll see.” He ended it there, his brother came back with your food and Palace’s drink, he got himself some fries. You ate your food happily, to be fair, you’ve been starving. Now, you just felt tired of it all. You felt a tap on your hand. Looking up, you saw it was Slim that tapped you.

You were about to look at Palace, because that’s what Slim did last time he tapped near you, but this time the golden-toothed skeleton offered you a fry. 

For some reason, that began to lift up your mood. How could a soggy fry make you feel better? From a weirdly quiet guy, no less. Taking the fry from between his index and thumb. Slim seemed happy and just kept eating his food, Palace didn’t even glance at what the two of you were doing, busy in his own thoughts.

You would be the same, but Slim seemed to loop you back into whatever he was doing. At some point, he managed to tie two fries together..??? You were a bit confused on how he did it, but you clapped nonetheless. He seemed comfortable just doing random shit instead of talking, and so did you.

Soon, you finished your food. Palace finished his drink, and Slim finished his fries– save for the ones that he kept in between his teeth to represent his inner walrus. He was adamant on keeping them in his mouth. None of you stopped him though.

Slim helped blip the two of you back to your house. 

You stared at your house, your heartbeat beginning to race slightly. It unnerved you to go in. Hell, to even step foot in your own garden. 

A heavy hand fell down onto your shoulder, nudging you slightly. You looked to your side and saw Slim silently encouraging you to go in. But when you looked down at the grass– the same patch of grass that you ran onto when Cracks was chasing you– you saw how ruined it looked, you looked at your front door and saw it was slammed open. Probably by Cracks when he realised you were about to escape…

Slim had recognised the face of defeat and sorrow on your face, the look of fear. It was all mixed around on your face. He looked at Palace, who was on your other side, for permission. Palace simply nodded, and Slim grabbed you gently by the wrist before walking forward slowly.

“What are you doing..?” You asked, slowly following. Palace was right behind you. Your heartbeat quickened, not because of any romantic feelings, but fear. Were they planning something? Why the both of them? Was this all a ruse?

“inside…” Slim muttered, going up the steps. But froze when he heard something fall in your home. You froze as well, backing up in fear. Palace had stopped you by placing his hand on your back, patting you before opting to go forward. Slim let his older brother go, knowing he was much more qualified to recognise and deal with danger. 

When Palace stepped into the house, and looked to where the sound came from. His face morphed from stern to disbelief. He looked all around the house, chuckling before waving the two of you in.

Slim made sure to step in front of you, walking ahead before his gloomy face turned into absolute amazement. He ushered you in with a smile on his face, and you did.

When you walked in, your eyes widened like theirs. Your house was spotless somehow, nothing looked like it was broken on the first floor.

“WELL? WHAT DO YOU THINK!” Rus asked, a bit nervous. Your head pivoted to the right, where Rus had just dropped a soccer ball by accident… It looked deflated too. You didn’t care though, you were shocked by the fact you were gone for only an hour and he managed to fix up your first floor?? Alone??

“This is– I’m so grateful, Rus! Did you do this alone? It looks great!” You exclaimed, absolutely joyful, which Rus returned tenfold when he realised you weren’t irritated by him touching your stuff. 

“ALONE? NO! JAY HELPED ME!! JAAAYYY!!” Rus suddenly yelled, suddenly Jay appeared– it was the skeleton who asked if you were alright when Cracks was caught. 

“MWEHEHEH!! JAY IS HERE! HELLO (NAME)! I FIXED YOUR DOOR!... UHM. BUT YOUR DRESSING TABLE IS BROKEN. I’M NOT IN WOODWORKS SO..” Jay scratched his nape as he sighed, a bit guilty but Rus patted his shoulder, to which helped Jay get back on track. 

“I’M SO SORRY ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED WITH CRACKS TODAY!” He began, a genuinely guilty look on his face. “YOU SEE– UM… IF YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT WHAT TO DO… LIKE LEGAL ISSUES..” Jay glanced at Palace, “THEN YOU CAN COME OVER IN THE MORNING TOMORROW! WHEN MOST OF US ARE OUT AND IT’LL JUST BE RUS, PALACE, AND I! AND MAYBE SLIM..?” Jay looked over at Slim this time, who shook his head. 

“job stuff.” He replied, pocketing his hands. Jay nodded and looked back at you.

“JUST US THREE THEN!” He slapped his hands together, grinning even wider. Rus nodded frantically. 

“YES!!! DON’T WORRY ABOUT CRACKS TOMORROW, WE’VE DEALT WITH HIM!” The first thing that popped up in your head was murder, but they didn’t seem to be the type to do that..? 

You nodded slowly, scratching the back of your neck. After a bit of chitter chatter between all of you, Jay and Rus had to go due to them needing some sleep after all this. You watched them go, but Palace and Slim were still standing next to you.

“I suppose we must go too. It’s getting too late.” Palace gave you a brief nod before looking at Slim who gave you a quick wave before following Palace near the door.

“Wait!” You cringed immediately how loud you said it, as if you were some movie character. But it worked, the both of them turning around– almost in sync, how cool– and waiting for you to say what you needed. Palace looked a bit impatient but Slim seemed fine. 

“Could I get your numbers..? Uh, just… In case something happens again.” You explained yourself, Palace nodded after a few seconds. Making a grabby-grabby motion, and you immediately knew what he wanted. Putting your phone into his hand after you opened the contacts section of the phone app.

He was typing before pressing ‘done’, handing your phone off to his brother– who did the same. Then Slim returned your phone back to you. You glanced down at it before looking back at them, they were already halfway out the door.

“Goodbye, (Name). See you tomorrow morning.” Palace had given you a half-assed goodbye, not bothering to turn towards you. Slim contrasted him easily, waving at you with both of his hands, waving his arms around before catching up to his elder brother.

You smiled at Slim’s behaviour before closing the door. He was kind of similar to Rus with how he acted, but again, not so similar. You didn’t want to think about it so you quickly went upstairs, a bit cautious out of fear. You saw your door surprisingly with no hole and the knob was fixed. Talk about a real professional.

Looking inside, you saw your dressing table in a corner but some of the drawers were put next to it, that's probably what Jay meant. It was fucked. You sighed, and grabbed your pillow and blanket.

You didn’t really feel safe in your room, or anywhere right now. So you opted to go to your favourite spot, from the day you bought this house till now. It was the attic that you allowed nobody into. Kicking a certain part of the wall, the trapdoor fell loose. You jumped up and grabbed the edge of the retractable ladder and pulled it down.

It was a struggle to climb up with one arm and with items you needed, but you figured it out eventually. Placing the stuff you needed next to the trap door, you pressed a button on the side of the top part of the ladder which caused it to start retracting itself. 

Then, closed the little door and clambered onto the inflatable mattress you had brought up when you found this place. You had made this your second bedroom, for when times were rough and you needed to escape. 

For some reason, you had relief and safety rush into your body when you looked up at the window that was on the other side of the attic. Laying down on your bed, you could get a perfect view of the moon. 

Slowly, the moon’s lullaby began to flood your ears. The sound of rustling leaves and weak wind pushing against the window lulled you to sleep, as if it was trying to tell you that you were finally safe.

However, in your dreams… You had dreamt of Cracks, but he wasn’t the main focus. But this much more beastly character was, teeth split towards different directions, stained red and pink, and you assume he liked keeping his mouth open… Or he had a dislocated jaw. 

Moving a lot in your sleep, you eventually fell into a deep sleep. 

But you best pray you don’t die tomorrow.

END NOTES!

OK! I think you've met everyone so far.. So here's the list

Undertale SANS - Comic

Undertale PAPYRUS - Rus

Underswap SANS - Jay

Underswap PAPYRUS - Zen

Underfell SANS - Crackle

Underfell PAPYUS - Caesium

Swapfell (RED) SANS - Palace

Swapfell (RED) PAPYRUS - Slim

temporary names:

HORRORTALE SANS - "Cracks"

HORRORTALE PAPYRUS - "Cape" (?? they're [read: i'm] bad at naming skeletons)

I didn't want the horrortale sans to be cuddly in this fic, I wanted him to actually be a monster.. BUT!! Angst coming next chapter! I don't know what you would call this chapter though, angst? hurt/comfort? no clue!!

Anyways people who wanted Swapfell Indigo & Dancetale will get their wishes soon!! Just stick around for a bit longer...

VOTING RESULTS:

Horrortale: 6

Swapfell (INDIGO): 2

Dancetale: 1

OTHER: 0

Happy weekend! Updates every Saturday OR Sunday. Not both, lol.

[fuck-customers]

Sorry this is WAY longer than I thought it was gonna be, but I apparently have a lot more to complain about than I thought.

I have this coworker, T, who just fucking hates me for literally no fucking reason ?? The only thing I can think of is that I'm engaged to someone else she doesn't like in the store, and I ask her to take like. a single step more so I know that the dishes she's sometimes fucking THROWING at me are actually dirty and not going to be reused.

It started with my fiance (whose a manager, taking a demotion soon but still gonna be higher than regular crew) like. having to go wash his hands before serving a customer, and he looked over to T, who wasn't doing anything, jerked his head back at the line, and was like 'can you take over that?'. he only jerked his head because his hands were covered in soap and water, and he's not gonna be flinging that towards food?

BUT APPARENTLY him asking her to DO HER FUCKING JOB was SO Horrible that she literally went into the hallway by the office and started SOBBING at another manager about how he's SO mean, and SO horrible, and she's just gonna quit because everyone hates her (true but we're pretty fucking nice to her considering the shit she's pulled)

And she's just hated him since. Hated a manager for telling her to do her fucking job. It's stupid.

And now, I'm here, I'm the nighttime dishwasher, and there is literally only ONE FUCKING THING I ask of my coworkers to make my life easier: take two extra fucking steps and put your dishes on my dish cart rather than on the middle prep table. And i'm being literal with two extra steps. Maybe two.

People put shit on the prep table they're planning on reusing all the time, so I can't be sure if it's ACTUALLY dirty of if they're gonna put more fuckin beans into the bean pan. So I ask of this ONE FUCKING THING in order to make it sure in my brain (autism moment lol) of what is clean and what is dirty. Some other people go above and beyond and pre-sort my dishes a bit so it's easier on my when I come in (like my fiance, who tries to pre-sort, and do some dishes himself before I get there, since technically the store is 'supposed' to run without my position at all)

One ask. It's really, genuinely, not that hard, and EVERYONE else seems fine with it. The exchange often just goes like this

they put a pan on the corner of the prep table. I glance over as they go to leave and go 'all the way over on the dish cart please'. they stop, look back, then go 'oh yeah okay' and put the dish on the cart and then DO IT EVERY TIME AFTER. it's so fuckin easy.

There are exceptions to the rule ! the dish cart isn't huge ! the hotel pans and the rice pots (and some bowls) are too damn big. I give the exception to that, ebcause if the rice pot is on the middle prep table, then it's def dirty. it never goes there otherwise.

T however just. refuses. She's so fucking bitchy about it. Like, she just walks away, and flat out ignores me when I ask. And I leave the fucking dishes there. I've gotten that okay from managers to leave it there, because I don't fucking know. It usually ends up being someone else coming back and putting it on the dishcart when they notice it's out of place. She just refuses.

She's thrown shit. at my fucking dishpit. Not from the other side of the room, but she doesn't put things down, she tosses them onto my dishcart, I hear them fucking slide. And she never says a word to me. She refuses to even ask me to move out of her way, she'll throw things around me rather than ask. I've literally been in the process of moving out of her way, ebcause I saw her coming around the corner, and she's tosses a squeegee past me rather than wait another fucking SECOND for me to squish up against the dish machine so she could get the fucking squeegee in it's right spot.

And even ! one time ! i wasn't doing dishes, I was marinating steak (a process that involves three layers of gloves, and apparently should involve goggles but we don't have those) and she came by and fuckin. tossed a lid down the prep table (where i am MARINATING UNCOOKED STEAK, AND YOU THREW A FUCKING DIRTY LID, THANK GOD IT DIDN'T TOUCH ANYTHING OR WE'D HAVE TO THROW AWAY THE FUCKING STEAK(mexican fast food build your own resturant is very strict on health things)) and I was like 'on the dish cart please!' and she looks back at me (covered in fuckin sauce, raw meat in a bowl in front of me, i literally CANT touch anything else because it's either gonna get this spicy ass marinade on other shit or contaminate my fucking gloves) and goes "You've got it :) :) :)"

and like. I was already frustrated because I wasn't even supposed to be doing steak and that just got dropped on me. and I'm a frustrated crier. So I'm crying in my fucking dishpit. Not sobbing, just angry, tears down the face, silent shit, right? And one of my managers notices, tries to ask if I'm okay, tries to help calm me down, whatever, and she asks if there's anything she can do, and I just 'Get T to respect me even the tiniest fucking bit'

and I assume that the manager went up to talk to her? because she came back at some point and was like "I don't have a problem with you, I dunno if you do, I used to with your girlfriend, but I don't, we talked it out, you can just say something to me if there's an issue" like girl have I not been doing that this whole time? and also peep the fucking misgendering of my fiance there, that I couldn't even fuckin correct cause I was so fucking overwhelmed I was nonverbal.

then same day, she somehow 'forgot' to count me into tips and didn't even offer to recount them. I missed out on tips that fucking day, because the other guy left before I could ask him, and she just :) at me about it. Laughed in my fucking face about 'forgetting' me. And the manager (same as before) doesn't even think she forgot me, and that manager is the only one that fucking LIKES T. Literally the only one. And she's sure that T did it on fucking purpose.

What's worse is managers aren't allowed to touch tips, they're not even really allowed to handle disputes about it. They're not allowed to even MENTION them. Which is stupid as fuck, but rolls my eyes, whatever. It's why I'm kinda glad my fiance is taking the demotion, cause then he's gonna be crew and he can call her bullshit tf out whenever.

Like going into work with her, I'm so fucking vigilant that she's not gonna count me in tips. I'm fully gonna be like 'well alright, let's go gather them back up and I can recount them then :3 it's alright, don't you worry your pretty little head about it, i can do it :3 I need tips after all !!!!!!!'

i hope i'm the next person she goes into the hallway and sobs about and threatens to quit. GOOD. QUIT. THE GENERAL MANAGER IS LITERALLY WAITING FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO FUCKING FIRE YOU. GET THE FUCK OUT ALREADY AND MAKE OUR LIVES A MILLION TIMES EASIER.

sorry for the length again, I just. rolls my eyes forever. T is a fucking bitch. we have like so many people eyes on the fuckin ball staring at her whenever she comes nears the tip jar. This isnt' the first time we've had problems with it, and it's to the point the GM might have to take the tip jar away from shifts she's on. Bitch.

Posted by admin Rodney

[apeekintothepantry]

Happy Pokémon Day! February 27th is the anniversary of the first two Pokémon games’ release in Japan, and it’s a minor holiday in my house, as a fun excuse to make Pokémon inspired food, watch some Pokémon shows or movies (we’re going to watch Netflix’s new Pokémon Concierge this year!), and get excited about upcoming games and releases. This year, we’re making a Pokémon Sword and Shield inspired burger-steak curry and I’m making a dessert from the Pokémon Cookbook by Victoria Rosenthal. It’s one of my favorite fandom cookbooks – all the recipes are vegetarian or vegan, to get around the awkward question of where does the meat in the Pokémon universe come from?

But that’s not all we’re making! Ever since Nicki and Isabel were released, I’ve been dying to do a post about them and Pokémon’s infamous “Jelly Filled Doughnuts”, better – and more accurately! – known as onigiri.

Pokémon was released in the United States in 1998 via two Gameboy games: Pokémon Red and Pokémon Blue. The games quickly caught on to be one of the biggest pop culture phenomenon of the late 90’s and early 00’s, and as a kid at the heart of this explosion, I can’t overstate how much of a big deal it was. One of the great things about Pokémon – and probably why it has such lasting, widespread appeal – is that there are so many ways to interact with the franchise, and the marketing doesn’t skew hugely towards one gender or the other. Cool, tough Pokémon like Charizard got pretty similar billing to cute, pink Pokémon like Jigglypuff, and there were so many options for potential favorites that it was easy for any kid to find some creature to attach themselves to.

One of my petty complaints with Nicki and Isabel’s collection and books is the almost complete lack of mention of Pokémon and other anime that was really popular among kids in 1999. I know AG probably didn’t want to shell out for licensing deals with Nintendo or The Pokémon Company, but their stories just don’t feel accurate without discussing their prized binder of Pokémon cards or begging their parents to take them to see the Pokémon movie in theaters. Maybe the authors were just a little too old to get caught up in Pokémania?

I’ve also always thought its close overlap with the Beanie Babies crazy helped get millennial children like me very into the “gotta catch ‘em all” aspect of the franchise. Is this why I’m such a crazy toy collector as an adult? Who knows.

The Pokémon anime was one of the main ways kids like me got hooked on the franchise, because not everyone was allowed to have a Gameboy of their own (me), and not everyone liked video games, but even if you didn’t like video games, the cartoon might appeal to you. Although it was far from the first Japanese cartoon to air on US television, Pokémon was one of if not the first truly mainstream favorites of the 1990’s. 4Kids, the company in charge of dubbing the show into English, decided that American kids wouldn’t understand or be open to certain aspects of the show that reflected its Japanese roots, and so made a lot of strange choices in rewriting the script. One of the most notorious was deciding Brock’s rice balls were actually jelly filled doughnuts:

Onigiri – also known as omusubi or nigirimeshi – are balls of rice with a variety of fillings inside. They’re often compared to sandwiches, as an easy, quick, cheap meal or snack that combines carbs and other ingredients. While the concept of taking a rice ball and stuffing it full of other tasty treats goes way back to ancient Japan, the triangle shape became popular in the 1980’s thanks to a new machine that automated the filling process. Further developments over the last 40 years have created unique ways to prepackage onigiri without making the nori wrapping sticky. The ones we made were an attempt at recreating the “Hawaiian” (spam and pineapple) rice balls from our favorite food hall back in DC. One of my favorite pandemic indulgences was getting take out from the food hall, which often included a sampler of some of my favorite onigiri, and I haven’t been able to find anything close to similar where we are now. One of the many reasons I’m excited to move!

Even as a kid, I wasn’t convinced the food in the anime was fried dough with fruit jelly inside, because they sure look like rice. I also think 4Kids didn’t anticipate that Pokémon’s widespread popularity would inspire many of its fans – including me – to become absolutely obsessed with Japanese food and culture. I would’ve been more excited if they’d just been straight with me and shown more Japanese food on the show, and then probably begged my parents to make it or take me to a restaurant that made it. While I can’t confidently cite numbers of how many other people were first exposed to Japanese culture and food through Pokémon and franchises like it, I do think it’s a bit of a missed opportunity to highlight how things like this exposed kids like Nicki and Isabel to parts of a culture outside their own!

[sona-machinery]

Congratulations to Sri Vinayaka Agro Industries on the grand inauguration of their 6TPH Rice Mill Plant at Telangana! 🌾🎉 We’re proud to be a part of this successful project.

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Landless Workers’ Movement prepares for Agrarian Reform Fair to celebrate healthy food production

With over 500 tons of poison-free food and reiterating that it is possible to produce healthy food to fight hunger, more than a thousand peasants from all over Brazil are holding the 5th edition of the National Agrarian Reform Fair, organized by the Landless Rural Workers’ Movement (MST, in Portuguese) between May 8 and 11, at Água Branca Park, in the city of São Paulo.

The most recent episode of Bem Viver, one of BdF’s online shows, features the preparations of families encamped and settled in agrarian reform areas in 23 Brazilian states, organized through collectives, cooperatives, and agro-industries. These families will present society with a variety of more than 1,800 types of products, including fresh, processed, and organic food.

From Camponeses (the Portuguese word for “peasants”) cachaça, a traditional Brazilian alcoholic beverage, produced without chemical fertilizers or pesticides by the Vitória Agricultural Production Cooperative (Copavi) in the state of Paraná, to the roasted rice produced in Maranhão with the support of Chinese machinery, those who visit the fair will be able to get to know and celebrate landless workers’ production in its many forms.

Maria de Jesus is one of the female small farmers from Maranhão state who will be at the fair. She is part of a collective rice farm and is currently the treasurer of the Mixed Cooperative of Agrarian Reform Areas of the Itapecuru Valley (Coopevi, in Portuguese), located in the Cristina Alves Settlement, in the town of Nina Rodrigues, one of MST’s spaces chosen for the testing phase of the Chinese machines donated to Brazilian movements.

Continue reading.

[verycleverboy]

Donald fucked around, we get to find out

Via Narcity: "Starting Tuesday, Canada is slapping new counter-tariffs on U.S. products, targeting $30 billion worth of American goods. And that's just the beginning — Trudeau says an additional $125 billion in tariffs will roll out in the next three weeks if things don't de-escalate."

What follows is the full list of affected American products:

Food & drink

Poultry & eggs — chicken, turkey, goose, duck and their byproducts (fresh, frozen, preserved)

Dairy products — milk, cream, butter, ice cream, yogurt, cheese

Fruits & vegetables — tomatoes, beans, snap peas, citrus fruits, melons, peaches, nectarines, berries

Coffee & tea

Spices & flavourings — pepper, vanilla, dried spices (cinnamon, turmeric, curry, etc.)

Sauces & condiments — soy sauce, ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, salad dressing, peanut and nut butters

Grains & baking essentials — wheat, rye, rice, barley, oats, flour, mixes and doughs

Oils & fats — canola, sunflower, safflower, palm, peanut and nut oils; margarine and butter substitutes

Sugars & sweeteners — honey, cane sugar, beet sugar, maple sugar and syrup, sugar syrups, molasses

Packaged foods — pasta, pizza, bread, cakes, biscuits, cereal-based foods, soup and broth, pickles, gum, candies, chocolate

Supplements — whey powder, casein, fish oil

Beverages & alcohol — orange juice, soda beer, wine, cider, spirits, liqueurs, coolers, bitters

Tobacco products

Raw & processed tobacco — unmanufactured tobacco, tobacco extracts, chewing tobacco, pipe tobacco

Cigarettes & cigars — cigars, cheroots, cigarillos and cigarettes

Nicotine products — vapes, e-cigarettes, nicotine patches and other smokeless tobacco products

Personal care products

Cosmetics & skincare — makeup, nail polish and manicure tools, hair care, deodorants, soaps and cleansers, razors, shaving products, bath products

Electronic tools — electric razors and clippers, hair dryers, curling irons, flatirons

Fragrances — perfumes, room deodorizers

Oral care — toothpaste, dental floss

Paper products — toilet paper, tissues, napkins

Home & office items

Kitchenware — paper and plastic tableware, storage containers, glassware, cutlery and utensils, kitchen knives, scissors

Furniture & home goods — metal, wooden and plastic furniture; chairs; mattresses and bedding; lighting; storage racks

Home textiles — carpets, rugs, blankets, bed linens, table and kitchen linens, curtains, cleaning cloths

Paper & books — stationery, notebooks, memo pads, binders, file folders, carbon sets, albums, printed materials

Office supplies — letter openers, pencil sharpeners

Artwork — paintings, drawings, pastels

Clothing & accessories

Clothing — shirts, pants, dresses, suits, underwear, hosiery, pyjamas, sweaters, activewear, swimwear, outerwear, baby clothes

Activity-specific attire — diving suits, ski suits, protective gear, life jackets, climbing harnesses, work belts, safety headgear, animal saddlery

Accessories — footwear, hats, gloves, scarves, belts, neckties, jewelry

Bags & luggage — handbags, wallets, suitcases, briefcases, backpacks

Electronics & appliances

Household appliances — refrigerators, freezers, dishwashers, washing machines and dryers, stoves, barbecues, fans, humidifiers, vacuum cleaners, fabric steamers

Countertop appliances & kitchen gadgets — blenders, food mixers, juicers, microwaves, grills, rice cookers, coffee makers, toasters

Gaming & entertainment — video game consoles, board games, card games

Vehicles & machinery

Motorcycles & recreational vehicles — motorbikes, sidecars, recreational boats, drones

Yard equipment — snowblowers, lawnmowers

Tools — saws, pliers, wrenches, spanners, hammers, drills, cutting tools, screwdrivers, staple guns, vices, lighters, pneumatic tools, padlocks

Rubber tires

Building materials

Silica & quartz sands

Plastic wall, floor & ceiling coverings

Window and door fixtures — window and door components and frames, shutters, blinds

Bathroom fixtures — plastic and ceramic baths, showers, sinks and wash basins, toilets, bidets, urinals

Plastic packaging

Wood products — planks, chips, veneer sheets, particle board, MDF, fibreboard, laminated wood, posts, beams, floor panels, wood pulp

Cardboard & paper — cartons, boxes, cases, paper bags

Textiles — tarps, tents, canopies, sails, woven fabric

Precious metals & gemstones — diamonds, silver, palladium

Weapons & ammunition

Firearms — pistols, revolvers, rifles, shotguns, air guns

Ammunition — bullets, cartridges, pellets

"Have fun!"

[bokujou-monogatari]

So about this series and localization;

Ok, to start this off let me say I do not work in localization. It's not my department. I -do- work in video game development, but in production management and quality. That said, I work -with- loc teams, know people outside of my workplace that do loc, and have mad respect for the localization profession within the industry.

And, this is all a personal perspective again! I mean no ill intent in what I'm about to say. It's merely observational, and I could have an incorrect understanding and I own up to that in the circumstances!

This is probably going to get a little long, and it's a bit of a nuanced conversation. I appreciate everyone who reads to the end though!

Well, where to begin?

The 90s and early 2000s produced media in which culturally relevant aspects were largely changed to suit the audience taking in the media....but in some cases, that didn't hit the mark at all.

Are you familiar with jelly donuts? A long time example in infamy, Brock Pokemon's Jelly Donuts were a product of a time when localization efforts in western media were wholly focused on providing a digestible media experience to a western - rather, American-focused - audience. (Another example that was shown on the big screen was the original Digimon Movie!)

"But wait! Isn't the point of localization to make things relatable to the target audience?!"

Yyyyes! But there's an asterisk here.

In this case, breaking it down:

Bad localization = "Jelly Donuts", and the art remains unchanged.

Good localization = "rice balls", and the art remains unchanged.

Good localization = "Jelly Donuts", and the post processing changes the art to jelly donuts.

Bad localization in this example strips the intent of the media by pigeonholing a westernized regurgitation without respect to the origin and attempting to call it by another name -- erasing the cultural significance that it provides. Let me explain; A food item that may be a staple in many American (specifically Asian-American) households for ages... Do those households call them jelly donuts? Of course not!

90s and early 2000s media was largely at fault of bad localization with a movement based around the idea that a western audience needed those westernized concepts for the audience to be able to fully relate and immerse themselves in what they were digesting.

In essence, it was easier at the time for someone depicted drinking ramune to actually be "drinking a Coke" in dialogue, because everyone knows coke is a soda/fizzy drink. (That's only an example, and I hope it's understandable!)

On the other hand, -Good- localization either provides an equally significant replacement (such as replacing the art with actual jelly donuts) or calling things what they are outright as they represent a culture portrayed.

To reiterate, good localization does justice to the original tone, atmosphere and intent by either substituting an audience society-based equivalent that makes sense contextually OR by telling the audience exactly what is going on in the media's world context using words that can explain it to the audience while preserving that cultural significance.

"OP I'm not seeing how this relates to Bokumono..."

Well, this series was created in 1996, and localization began in 1996-7. And unfortunately, California-based Natsume Inc. was not exempt from those weird "sanitize it for the American audience" views. In their attempt to "make everyone happy...", there were many things that contributed to a less than ideal localization per game from Natsume.

For a long time, Natsume localization was done largely in part through an outsource localization company called Pole to Win. If you're in the light novel and otome venn diagram of fandoms, you'll know that Pole to Win is pretty damn infamous for its bad loc, cheaper labor based on underpaid and over exploited workers (largely based in SEA), and the heavy usage of and reliance on Machine Translation. Some loc work on games leading up to 2012 was done in-house, but a large reason why we have so many Natsumeisms is due to lack of quality and care in the localization process.

Alongside poor localization efforts and the drive to sanitize content for an American audience, there was extra effort in making the content "family friendly" by removing anything that was "out of the norm" for the time. I don't think I need to explain what that means, but it's what led to things like the removal of the Best Friends system (girl x girl marriage) in DS Cute and Julius in Animal Parade being "a man of average height" in the English dialogue. This family friendly movement applied to other media as well in the same time period, but for the sake of being on topic it largely applied to Natsume's approach in localizing the series.

"So what was lost?"

Well, in addition to what I just said above...

Names which were meant to reflect specific cultures referenced in the games based off of existing world cultures were changed.

For example, a Chinese-based character in Sunshine Islands; English Players know her as Lily. Her true name is スイレン Suiren. (Suiren is the name of a famous Chinese hero of legend, as well as the name of a species of Water Lily!) The name was derived literally, instead of staying as Suiren to reflect her heritage; Lily was the "easier" and "more digestible" translation.

I recently posted translations of Grand Bazaar characters with their true names. Grand Bazaar is VERY largely Danish, with Nordic/Baltic influence from Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, and some bits of Mexico, Greece, Austria-Hungary, and France sprinkled in.

As a result, the names given to characters were from those particular regions. Ivan's true name is Juris (the J is Germanic, pronounced with a Y like You) for instance. The average American isn't going to meet someone called Juris often, however, so the name was changed to "fit".

I'm largely of the opinion that names are sacred and innate parts of the Character Core. A name was given to them for a reason, and it would be like going up to Sasuke from Naruto/Boruto and saying "hey man, I'm just going to call you Steve, ok? Cool."

Since we have changed Localization companies to XSEED, Marvelous' English subsidiary, the quality and care put into the localization has drastically improved.

Names are (usually!) 1:1 counterparts - as in romanized - or their very closest equivalents.

Examples being: Cam from Natsume's Tale of Two Towns loc, who is actually カミル and was localized properly in Story of Seasons 3DS with his true name as Kamill / Dudley from the Friends of Mineral Town remake - whose original name is ダッド (Dadd) and was Doug in the Natsume Loc.

Dialogue throughout the game now reflects original tones and intent with some embellished flair here in there, but never to remove - only to add!

I'm not going to get into a conversation about censors and ESRB ratings at this time (Blue Bar to Cafe type of example), but I'm so glad that we have reached a point where we no longer have totally misrepresented cultural aspects in the games.

[icantalk710]

Bit of a heavier day today; grandma was de-intubated and passed away maybe 20 mins later after breathing on her own, which was long enough for her to know she had her family at her side voicing and crying their love for her. I was relatively prepared for this because her health had been trending negatively for several months--she had an oxygen machine my mom would apply if she was having trouble breathing for almost two years, and the first of two times she'd been taken to the ER in two months in mid August (the second time in Sept would lead to this) it was such a struggle first walking her down to the clinic down the block because she'd get winded every few steps--so I've more or less processed the inevitability of it all and am mostly okay, but while we haven't been super emotionally close, it still stings a bit all the same.

Especially with how overwhelmed my mom became, naturally of course being her daughter who has done so much in the last 5+ years of her living with us (prior to that she'd have spent half the year maybe in the Dominican Republic) to take care of her and all.

I did tear up a little as I shared a simplified version of this on IG earlier, thinking of the juxtaposition of a smiling birthday cake photo vs the image of seeing her that first time in the hospital weeks back with all of those tubes and the machine's beeping, as she eventually got to where she was breathing around 3% on her own, her hands and arms and eventually feet swelling so much. Or the image of how pale she got not long after being given an oxygen mask.

But through it all, through the machine breathing and all, she was strong 'til the end, when she peacefully went with us there with her. Thinking of Vampire Weekend's Capricorn here, "I know you're tired of trying; listen clearly, you don't have to try..."

Now, to live on for her with the memories in tow. The smile she'd have when I came to visit or when she'd watch "the program" (Let's Make a Deal, Price is Right, or Exalton on Telemundo), those scrambled eggs she'd cook for my rice when I'd visit her in DR as a kid, the cute way she'd dance to some merengue music, and things in between. I just hope she's spiritually on her way back to DR like she's wanted for so long, and as I think she physically will be soon, if not under the most ideal circumstances.

1/8/36 - 10/31/24

Bye (for now), abuela 🕊❤🕊