#ADVANCED GRAVIS

[retrocgads]

USA 1993

[techturd]

[britishchick09]

my parents and i had a very japanese christmas with kfc! ;D

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Time for Cheer

Warnings: non/dubcon, dysfunctional family, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: After your Christmas is ruined, you find an unlikely saviour.

Character: Jonathan Pine

Day Eight of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - finding your home away from home

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“It wasn’t the transmission, it was the fuel line,” your father snarls. 

“Then why did replacing the transmission fix the problem,” Aiden spits back. 

They’re having another of their pointless arguments. It’s more of a weighing of the egos. It’s not entirely unusual for them to spend hours trying to one up the other or prove the other wrong, but you thought Christmas might be a respite. That assumption seems foolish the more you think about it. There’s never been a good enough excuse to just stop. 

Your family has never been like other families. There are no cute matching sweaters or festive photos. The only tradition is to see who you can make feel the worst. You know better than to tell either of them to cut it out, otherwise you’ll just be drawn into their race to the bottom. 

Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. Dinner. Every year you fight to make the perfect spread and every year, something ruins it. Usually, your family. 

Last year, your dad couldn’t get over the ‘watery’ gravy and the year before that, your brother whined because someone put beans on his plate and he hates green beans. For an adult, he sure does act like the same seven-year-old brat that used to scream about bathing. 

You feel just as stagnant. The holidays are just the stamp on the year, sealing your lack of progress. Year after year and you’re still here. Still filling the hole your mother left all those years ago. You can’t even blame her. You can only blame yourself for not following her lead and running for the hills. 

Vivien arrives just as you baste the turkey and check the temperature. It’s only noon and there’s some hours to go. Your father and brother don’t stop arguing even as the churlish voices of children rise in the entryway. Your sister’s children are another obstacle to your endeavour. 

“Hey, Viv,” you say as your sister appears in the doorway. 

“Any wine?” She asks. 

“There’s beer,” you shrug. You don’t drink, she knows that. 

“Beer?” She mutters. 

“I don’t know. Dad could have some whiskey hidden in the garage--” 

“Whatever,” she huffs. 

“You can put the pies on the counter.” 

“Pies?” She echoes, “what pies?” 

You brace yourself and take a deep breath. You face her, “you said you were bringing pies.” 

“No, I said they had the pumpkin pies at the grocery, I never said I’d bring them,” she shakes her head. 

“No, you said--” 

“Why would I bring the pies? I have three brats to take care of a husband. I got enough to spend my hard-earned money on,” she sneers. 

You flinch. Hard-earned? You don’t remember the last time she worked. She calls you about every other week to complain that Chuck’s overtime still didn’t break even. 

“It’s fine,” you go to the cupboard and take out your emergency can of apples. “No pumpkin but I’ll figure something out. Maybe crisp?” 

“See, you got this,” she says as she goes to the fridge and steals one of your father’s Molsons. 

“Viv,” her husband calls from the other room as something crashes. 

“Ugh, he can never do anything by himself,” she mutters as she cracks the tab. 

You shake your head. Your father’s holler joins the chaos of voices. The kids whine as one of them cries, and your dad yells about whatever’s broken. 

You won’t be lured into the storm. Vivien couldn’t offer to help you in the kitchen. This is her chance to get drunk and let her husband wallow in the destruction. Your father never lifts a finger in the kitchen past opening the fridge and your brother would only get in your way. 

As you forge on, you can’t help but wonder why you bother. What do you ever get in return? Not even a thanks and you only end up cleaning the mess after. Well, what other choice do you have? You’ve been pushing the same boulder uphill for almost twenty years and you still haven’t gotten over the apex. 

You manage to scrounge enough together to fill a pan with the impromptu crisp. You have everything prepped and ready to cook in intervals; bean casserole, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, corn, and carrots. Even if everything else is a mess, dinner should be good. 

You open the stove and slide apple crisp in next to the turkey. It won’t be your best work. As you shut the oven door, there’s a sudden clatter behind you. You spin as the bowls hit the floor and their contents scatter with the shards of broken glass. Viv’s oldest, Cameron, swings around his hockey stick, stomping over the mess. 

You stand stunned and paralysed. You blink as tears burn behind your eyes and your hands shake in horror and rage slowly builds from your stomach to throat. You can only stare at the clueless child as he wiggles the stick proudly.  

“See what I got for Christmas?” 

You sway. He’s eleven years old. He knows better. Or he should. 

“What the hell is all that nonsense?” Your father yells as he clamours into the doorway. “Now whatcha gone and done--” 

As he turns the blame on you, you wince as if you’ve been slapped. Cameron once more swings around his stick, playing with a sliced carrot like a puck. Your father’s voice fades into the back of your mind as your vision narrows. 

“You fix it. I’m done.” You shake your head as you swallow down your devastation. “I’m done.” 

“Done? What d’ya mean done?” He snarls as you brush past him. He follows you down the hall to the front door. 

“It’s over. I’m not doing it again. I’m not cooking for you animals anymore,” you rip your jacket off the hooks and shove your feet into your well-worn boots. “You want a Christmas dinner, figure it out yourself.” 

“You can’t just walk out.” He slurs. 

“I’m going.” 

“Where? Huh? Going to find your mother?” 

You stop and face him. He knows it’s low but he doesn’t care. He always throws her in your face, like you ever had a say in what she did. You scowl. Before you can explode with the fury boiling in your chest, a knock comes at the door. Great, now you have witness to the storm. You don’t need another police report. Better deal with the neighbour. 

“Well, maybe she’s nicer than you,” you retort and spin around. 

You pull open the door and swiftly flit out, swinging it shut to muffle the bluster of shouting and smashing. Worse than Paula coming to complain about the noise, it’s the landlord. Of course. 

“Oh, Mr. Pine,” you greet in a fragile tone. 

“Hello, I see Christmas is in full effect,” he remarks kindly on the rabble behind the walls. 

“Sure is,” you utter. You look him over as he holds a wrapped basket. You don’t expect him. Especially on the holiday. “Um, what are you doing here?” 

“I bring holiday tidings. I hate to disturb you and your family but I’ve been making the rounds of my tenants and it’s been a bit more taxing than I would expect.” 

“Oh?” You furrow your brow. 

“This is for you. And your family,” he pushes the basket toward you. “Just a little gesture.” 

“Uh, wow, you...” you slowly take it, admiring the ribbon tied around the red plastic wrap, “that’s very generous but... I don’t have anything to give you.” 

“It is not given in the spirit of reciprocity,” he assures. “You know, I sadly could not make it home for the holiday but I’ve got many to share it with here so I thought I would.” 

“Well, that’s lovely,” you say. “I’m uh... on my way out actually so I’ll just leave it here.” 

You turn and put the basket on the wicker chair near the window. You feel Pine watching you. You turn back to his pensive gaze. He wears a nice grey coat and a deep blue scarf with silver edging. He is a perfect contrast to the disaster of your appearance. 

You zip up your coat to hide the food smear across your sweatshirt. You pull your hat from your pocket and tug it down over your hair. You near him and force a smile. 

“Thank you so much. I’m sure we’ll enjoy unwrapping all that later.” 

“Well, where are you off to then?” He sidles to the end of the steps, making way for you. 

“Um. Just going for a walk.” To be honest, you don’t know where you’re going. You didn’t make a plan. You just need to get out. 

“Would it be terribly rude to invite myself? It isn’t often I get to stroll through the neighbourhood.” He dips his chin down as the bitterness turns the tip of his nose pink. His blue eyes are pale but bright in the snowy atmosphere. 

“Uh, sure. Not much to see around here,” you shrug and descend the stairs. Your anger subsides for the roiling embarrassment nipping at your nape. 

He follows you down and you drag your treads along the walkway heavily. You turn down the street and he comes up next to you. You’re quiet as you wallow in agitation and humiliation. 

“Sounded like a very hectic affair,” he muses through the whistling winds. 

You snort. You can’t help yourself. “Yeah.” 

He hums as you carry on in a lull. You can appreciate that he doesn’t push it and yet the silence, welcomes your annoyance. You sigh. 

“It’s awful,” you breathe. 

He chuckles, “family can be a lot.” 

“Yeah, well, mine is just... we don’t even like each other.” You rub your cheeks as you speak. “I shouldn’t complain. It’s not your problem.” 

“Well, as you can see, I don’t have anything pressing to attend to. You are my last stop.” 

“Hm,” you sniff. You mull your temper and consider going back. The thought just sparks another flare in you. You shake your head at the idea. “They ruined dinner. Again. Every year--” you stop and click your tongue. “I can’t go back. Not today. So, I guess I’ll figure something else out.” 

“No? But surely, they would miss you.” 

“No, only what I do for them,” you roll your eyes. “Like I said, we’re enemies more than we are family. Not that it’s your problem.” You get to the end of the street, where the dead-end sign stands. “Look, you’re really nice bringing that by but you should go enjoy your Christmas somewhere warm. Alone. In peace.” 

“Ha, it seems we envy each other for what the other has,” he remarks. “You romanticize my solace and I can’t help but covet your lack of.” 

“Yeah, sure. Well, I should get the car cleared off. I’ll probably drive it down to the train station and sleep there.” 

He tilts his head. You realise what you’ve said as his forehead creases, “you say it as if it common.” 

“Won’t be the first or last time,” you say. “Look, you’ve heard enough of my problems. Really, I’m already embarrassed so please, just go.” 

He clicks his tongue, “and yet I fear I cannot.” He insists, “you see, I was raised to be a gentleman and that includes never leaving a woman in despair so, I cannot allow you to spend your Christmas behind the tracks. So, either I stay and we shiver together,” he gives a moment to quake in the frigid air, “or you come with me, gather your wits, and maybe a bit of warmth.” 

You scoff louder than ever, “and why would you do that?” 

“Well, it is Christmas,” he suggests, “and I am your landlord so is it not my onus to house you?” 

You laugh sardonically. He grins. 

“Come on, I have to confess, I don’t do well in the cold and I cannot feel my hands,” he drawls. 

You drop your chin and turn your hands out, “alright. Twist my arm.” 

“I would if I could bend my fingers,” he jibes. 

🎄

Pine lives further than you expect. You suppose you never thought much about it. Where he’s concerned, you only ever worried about making rent. Yet, subconsciously, you built up a man in his sophisticated condo, like a king in a tower. 

Instead, he drives past the city limits into the sparse rural lands where houses are set far apart around thickets of trees. It’s not entirely without sense. Out here, the wealthy can build without the confines of a city lot. 

He turns off toward a countryhouse with brown and white siding with black trims. The Tudor-style stands out amid the more farmhouse style facades. He pulls into the plowed lot as you stare up at the immaculate structure. The property he lets to you stands in a lowly contrast. You can’t help another twinge of insecurity. 

“Um, thanks... for this. I really appreciate it.” You wring your hands as he shuts off the engine. “I feel a bit stupid now.” 

“I wouldn’t. Sounds like you’ve a lot to be unhappy about. To think you’ve put up with so much for so long, a weaker person could not. Myself included,” he assures. 

He undoes his seat belt and you do the same. You mirror him in all your movements, taking his lead as you step onto unfamiliar ground. You come up the front steps of the house and he unlocks the broad wooden door. 

He lets you inside and you take your time slipping free of your boots. He leaves his salt-stained leather shoes on the mat and hangs his jacket on the rack in the corner. He takes your coat and puts it next to his. You pinch your thumbs between your knuckles anxiously as you look around the spacious and finely curated interior. 

“I’ve tea. Or hot cocoa. My mother sent me a specialty frother as a token of her absence,” he offers. 

“Oh, I'm okay,” you twist around as you examine the walls. “It’s a very nice house.” 

“A very nice but empty house,” he agrees. “I spent so long with the design and construction, I hardly thought of filling it up with more than things. Far too much for only one person.” 

“I guess everyone has different problems we don’t think of,” you say. “Like you said before, I’m whining about my family yet yours is so far away.” 

“Ah, yes, funny how we rarely get what we so desire,” he slithers. “So we covet what others have so much we cannot see any possible flaw.” 

“Right.” 

He waves you further inside. You’re quiet as he takes you on a brief tour; a front room, dining room, a large kitchen you could die for, a den, a back office, and that’s just the first floor. He brings you upstairs and shows you a guest room. 

“You might stay in here. I’ll find some clean sheets.” 

“No, I’m sure it’s fine.” You insist. “Thanks, again. Uh...” 

“I’m not much of a cook, but I could put together something. Cheese toasties and soup always do me well.” 

“Sure, that sounds great. I could help,” you suggest. 

“Only if you truly wish to,” he says. “But I don’t mind.” 

“I’d rather stay busy.” You reply. 

He nods and takes you back down to the kitchen. The meal isn’t very hard to put together. Melted cheese on toast and a jar of the gourmet soup they sell at the more expensive shops. It’s tasty too, warm and comforting even.  

Yet, you can’t help the glimmer of guilt in the back of your head. Your sister is probably throwing a fit, your father too. They’re ranting and raving about you walking out. Comparing you to your mother, as they always do to the worst people they know. It’s that dagger they keep sheathed until they’re ready to cut deep. 

Pine jars you from your worry as he takes your empty bowl and plate. You sit up at the table and thank him. He gestures you to stay before you can get up. 

You wait in the dining room. You put your hand in your hands and yawn. You feel like you did when you were a kid. When one of your friends invited you over and you realised how much better their house and their life was. 

“Tired,” Pine muses, “well, I will make up your bed then.” 

“Really, you don’t have to do all that,” you lift your head and bat away the fatigue. 

“I do,” he counters. “Shouldn’t take me very long. Feel free to explore. Or if you are so inclined, I've left a bottle and glass on the counter.” 

“Oh, uh, that’s sweet of you.” 

He goes and you stay just as you are. You feel like you could taint this place if you stray too far. When he returns, you feel sluggish. 

“Is there anything else I can get for you? A book to read?” 

“No, I think I’ll just lay down,” you get up and push the chair in. “I’ve already taken so much.” 

“Taken, you say, as if I’ve not given freely,” he smiles. “I’ve left you something to sleep in as well. I’m afraid my selection is limited.” 

“Thanks, uh, again,” you rub your neck. At this point, it’s becoming a chant. Thanking him for everything. 

You go upstairs and gently close the door of the guest room. He’s right, the house feels sonorously empty. It’s so big, that it’s almost desolate. You replace your clothes with the button-up he left over the duvet and climb into the lush bed. Even that makes your own seem like little more than a wooden pallet. 

It doesn’t take you long to sink into a sleep full of violent illusions. You’re back at home, your father yelling as you try to pick up the spilled potatoes, only for the glass to cut your fingers and stick in your flesh. No matter what you do, you can’t do more than slice yourself up, the blood smearing your skin and dripping onto the cracked tile. 

You wake with a start. Your heart races as you’re startled at the unfamiliar surroundings. It sets in that you’re not at your father’s house anymore and you calm. You languish beneath the fluffy duvet and dread climbing out from beneath it, but your bladder demands it. 

You finally get up and near the door. It has to be late. You inch open the door and listen to the hallway. You creep out, expecting the floor to creak like the boards at home, but your feet only pad lightly on the polished hardwood. 

You find the bathroom down the other end of the hall and swiftly pop in and out. On your way back, you stop near the side table where a small boxy clock stands. The digital face shines the time. It’s just after midnight. 

You squint as the background changes behind the numbers. Fancy. You tap the screen curiously and the time disappears. It’s one of the smart devices you’ve seen in the Black Friday ads. But the next image, startles you. It’s all too familiar. 

You blink at the sight of your family’s living room. Your father’s passed out in his old recliner and the corner of the rug is bent over. There’s wrapping paper strewn across the floor and Chinese food containers littered over the table. Cameron is sleeping on the couch as your brother continues to drink in the armchair and stares at the television. 

But why is there a camera in your house? You shakily bring your hand up to touch the screen again. A menu comes up; Favourites. You tap the first option ‘bedroom’. The next image nearly makes you scream. It’s your bedroom. Your sister’s taken over the bed with her husband. The moonlight shines on them through the window as the camera’s night vision limns their slumbering figures. 

Your heart hammers. How could this be real? You pinch your thigh and squeak. You’re not waking up. 

“Restless?” Pine’s voice has you stalk straight. You lurch on your feet and face his shadow as it looms at the other end of the hallway. 

“Mr. Pine,” you greet. 

He slowly struts out of the shadows. You wince and lean back on your heel. He clucks as you try to cover the screen with your hand. He stops and puts his hands on his hips. In the dim, you can see the outline of his naked torso above a short pair of boxers. You gulp. 

“It isn’t how I wanted it to go,” he says quietly. “I meant to woo you a little...” 

“What... Why...” 

“Why... what? Darling? Why would I want to give you a proper home? Why would I keep a close eye on such a sad soul?” He hums, “well, as I said, I was raised to be a gentleman, and this house is dreadfully empty, don’t you agree?” 

You gape at him, horrified and confused. What he says cannot be true. It cannot be real. Why? Why you? Has it all been a ploy? Was he just waiting and watching for the moment you cracked? 

“Mr. Pine,” you utter. 

“Please, darling, call me Jonathan,” he comes closer and swipes your hand before you can allude him. “It only feels right, doesn’t it?” 

You writhe in his grasp but cannot escape him. You look around at the walls and the isolation of that place sets in. No, it didn’t make sense, after all. A man like him should be in a condo, in the city, not out here where the trees hide him from civilization. Where the roads are endless and treacherous. It doesn’t make sense, not unless he means to go undisturbed. Unless he means you to go undiscovered. 

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he purrs as he brings his hand up to cradle your head, “I give to you the greatest gift at all. A true home, a true family. We will build it together.” 

[godisarepublican]

BREAKING: “Fact Checkers” are denying Zelensky involvement in Trump assassination attempt

StopFake.org is a Ukrainian site created to advance an all-pro Ukrainian narrative, and it has just recently “Fact Checked” the claim that the Ukraine tried to murder Trump in a bid to preserve the Biden/Harris gravy train.

You know what this means, don’t you?

That vile maggot, Zelensky, tried to murder Trump! There’s no other explanation. It’s insane for the Ukrainians to even acknowledge the possibility, much less taint their denial with the automatic red flag of a “Fact Checked.”

We’ve seen too many lies labeled as Fact Checking.

Zelensky did it. That ungrateful, obnoxious dictator really did it. He tried to murder trump!

[cripplecharacters]

what conditions can cause muteness / a permanent inability to speak? i have this old oc i'm remaking who i, at the time, just kinda made mute....without any reasoning behind it, but now that i'm reworking her character, i'm looking for an actual reason for it. it's a permanent 24/7 thing for her, so it's not selective mutism or anything like that...i'm struggling to find an extensive list of causes for her muteness. thank you in advance for answering.

- ⚰️⚰️⚰️

Hey!

There is a lot of reasons why someone might be unable to speak, they can be developmental, neurological, anatomical, etc.

Some reasons could include;

Autism,

Intellectual disability (and all the syndromes that come with it, so potentially thousands of options),

Stroke, cerebral palsy, TBI, etc. (though most of the time it's not so much inability to speak, but rather the speech not being understood by others),

Expressive aphasia,

Vocal cords paralysis/nerve damage (can be traumatic, or due to illness like multiple sclerosis),

Mouth and oropharyngeal cancers,

Myotubular myopathy,

Spinal muscular atrophy (type 1),

Having a Tracheostomy tube,

Cerebellar mutism,

Apraxia,

Myasthenia Gravis.

Of course the disabilities above will also have other symptoms that you should include as well. But hopefully one of them works for your character.

If you have more questions, feel free to send them.

mod Sasza + mod Rot

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: May 25, 2025

Reworked Character #18: Walter Ryan

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, child abuse, suicide, drug addiction, and crime.

Real name: Walter Evangelos Mulryan

Nicknames: Walt, Evan, and Ryan

Occupation: Sergeant Major of Division 6 and cadet for the P.F. Squad (formerly)

Retirement plans: He's unsure what he wants to do outside of military service

Special skills: Zoology, callisthenics, Krav Maga, the use of paradummies, and mastery of guitars, keyboards, and singing

Imperfect clone abilities: From just above his pubic region to the upper back in a semi-crescent shape, he has skin flaps that open wide when he slouches and focuses on a specific person, group or object. Once open, they reveal his Marian blue muscles coated with mucosal lilac slime and six large circular holes. The mucosal slime coats his entire muscular and internal organ systems, providing effective immunity against harmful bacteria and viruses. From these holes emerge 1 ft (30.48 cm) fleshy periwinkle tendrils that grow up to 4 ft (121.92 cm) upon exposure to air, fueled by rapid cell growth and blood flow. The tendrils become semi-hard and extremely elastic, stretching up to 12 ft (365.76 cm) and capable of breaking iron-strength objects. Their primary functions include impaling, crushing, restraining, and lifting massive objects, such as two Easter Island heads, but they also possess remarkable sensitivity to gentle touch. Tracing the bulging greenish and reddish veins triggers uncontrollable spasms and intense arousal.

When he's extremely focused on reaching his destination, the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins enables him to run at an incredible pace, nearly twice as fast as a cheetah. He possesses exceptionally acute hearing, capable of detecting sounds from 20 ft (609.6 cm) away, including the faint footsteps of cats, which enables him to easily sense the presence of others. Initially, his endurance and stamina enabled him to withstand three times the normal amount of physical pain, recover from injuries 50% faster, and remain active for seven hours without fatigue. However, following his training with the Peregrine Falcons Squad, his endurance and stamina have improved significantly. He can now tolerate extreme physical stress, recover from injuries in just one to two hours, and sustain himself for up to five days without rest.

Hobbies: Dumpster diving, phoning his Mama, frequenting karaoke bars, smoking his neon-coloured, floral-patterned bong off work, and creating new rock-inspired musical compositions either by himself or in collaboration with Allen Jr.

Likes: Trying on pretty dresses, letting Tyra put makeup on him and paint his nails, the call sounds of laughing kookaburras, the necklace his older half-sister gave him, and spending an entire day off work watching nature documentaries and writing music reviews

Dislikes: When others poke fun of his accent and use of Australian slang, his fleshy tendrils being caressed during battle, his ticklish waist, gender norms, and jungles

Favourite food: Grilled kangaroo covered in gravy and caramelised onions

Sexuality: Bicurious, heteroromantic demisexual

Gender: Male

Age: 11 (in 2022), 17 (in 2028), 19 (in 2030), 21 (in 2032), 23 (in 2034), 30 (in 2041), 32 (in 2043), 33 (in 2044), and 36 (in 2047)

Blood type: AB-

Weight: 183 lbs. (83 kg)

Design: He’s a 7 ft (213.36 cm) Greek-Australian ectomorph with a wiry build, an inverted triangular body type, slightly elongated limbs, sloping shoulders, and decently chiselled muscles that bulge unnervingly when he flexes. He has dark green eyes, golden beige skin, and brownish freckles scattered across his face, chest, and hands. Additionally, hidden behind his standard teeth lies a row of razor-sharp, carnivorous ones. He sports the same hairstyle as Walter’s card from Metal Slug Advance, but his hair is a glossy raisin black with neatly tapered sideburns that fade out halfway down. Shortly after he started dating Tyra, she painted his nails with aquamarine nail polish and did his makeup, applying fan shape steel blue eyeshadow, brownish-black mascara, and soft peach lip gloss.

He has the same cybernetic prosthetic as Marco, but it replaces his right arm and doesn't include the gilded blade. He bears several scars, mostly obtained during the Survival Island Occupation: a cut from beside his left nostril to the centre of his chin; two bullet wounds on his left deltoid; a graze wound on his left knee; a gnarled slash on the top of his left forearm, curving slightly towards the end; bite marks on his left forearm; and multiple healed scratches and skin-picking scars on his left upper arm, shoulder, and thighs. He has a tattoo featuring a vertical mauve to dusty rose to blue-grey gradient, situated just below his collarbone. The tattoo reads "Πάθει μάθος" (páthei máthos), a Greek phrase that translates to "learning through suffering���. He has a tattoo on his left lumbar region, depicting a horned viper coiled around a rotten red apple, ready to strike.

His military gear consists of a metal dog tag necklace with his name, reseda green leather wristbands, a sinopia belt with a snap-on bronze buckle, a sheath for his combat knife, and a holster for his handgun. He sports a Pacific cyan vest with four pockets, its original P.F. Squad logo on the back having been replaced by the Division 6 insignia. He wears an olivine T-shirt with a ripped right sleeve, featuring a golden-red phoenix centred on the front, its head turned to the right. The phoenix has outstretched wings, a black beak, eagle-like feet, and an emerald green eye. He wears dark green, greyish-brown, and charcoal camouflage army cargo pants, which are tucked into the same boots worn by Walter Ryan in Metal Slug Advance.

The pockets of Walter’s vest carry around a pinkish-white vape adorned with light yellow teardrop seeds that impart a vanilla strawberry flavour, an amber jewel with a bright sheen (a gift from Tyra), a white gold stick of raspberry champagne lip chap, and a butterfly knife. It also carries a photograph of his Mama with a toddler version of himself, sucking his thumb and shyly looking away from the camera, taken on a sunny day at Poipu Beach.

Over his T-shirt, he dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries around his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. His left forearm is wrapped in a dirty gauze bandage, and a rust-coloured bandolier is slung over his right shoulder, holding bullets for his handgun. Walter carries a sinopia load-bearing backpack that contains camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a RMb-93, a Shotgun, and a couple of paradummies. His backpack even carries a maximum blue purple Yamaha SHS-10, a Paris green sound-cancelling, bluetooth headset, a cellphone with a metallic purple case, and a metallic purple rectangular case filled with coloured pencils in every hue of the rainbow.

It contains a Drop Shot modified by Tarma, which fires bouncing landmines that explode upon contact with fabric and travel far distances of up to 18 ft (548.64 cm), and is combined with a heavy machine gun. It also contains his diary, bound in worn alligator skin and marked with a phthalo blue silk ribbon, filled with his most intimate thoughts and feelings, observant sketches of his surroundings, and illustrations of the disturbing hallucinations that plague him.

He has three piercings: yellowish-green snake bite piercings; a white gold nostril hoop piercing on the right; a metallic blue horizontal barbell piercing above his left eyebrow; and purple-tinted silver tassels that adorn medium-sized gold hoop earrings. Walter wears a personalised friendship bracelet featuring Dilovar's name in letter beads, accompanied by alternating turquoise, amethyst, and yellow-orange beads. He wears a black cord necklace featuring a sapphire boomerang-shaped pendant, adorned with two thin zigzag stripes in yellow-orange, a gift from his older half-sister when he turned 15.

Character summary: He's a troubled and quick-tempered individual searching for his life's purpose, who excels at creating distractions through clever misdirection, verbal deception, and unorthodox tactics like animalistic sounds and decoys. After being mute for nine years of his life, he has developed a tendency to be overly talkative and expressive, often unintentionally interrupting others. Whenever he feels emotionally overwhelmed, he tends to exhibit self-soothing behaviours, such as biting his forearms, scratching himself or picking at his skin. He's surprisingly laid-back and easygoing, always supportive of his comrades and friends as he adapts seamlessly to any situation without complaint. He occasionally needs some persuasion to take action, particularly when concerns about potential risks or negative outcomes hold him back.

He's a bit of a mama's boy, evident in his weekly phone calls with his mother and occasional returns home to stay with her when he’s feeling emotionally drained. It really annoys him when people call him a "mama's boy” because he doesn't want to be perceived as weak and overly dependent on his mother. He calls his mother frequently, driven by a deep love for her and a persistent fear of losing her unexpectedly. The thought of her loss would plunge him into profound despair and existential crisis. He’s a charming and flirtatious feminist, often complimenting women and offering them physical comfort and words of encouragement. He feels more at ease in the company of women, finding their presence enjoyable and aesthetically pleasing, which is why he tends to seek out their company over socialising with groups of men.

He's an extroverted and slightly sarcastic rebel who boldly stands up for what he believes in, refusing to remain silent when something doesn't feel right or his loved ones are made to feel uncomfortable or threatened. Yet, his unfiltered honesty can sometimes come across as blunt and abrasive, occasionally landing him in confrontations. He's an endearingly curious and affectionate person who possesses a childlike enthusiasm for the things that thrill him, especially when it comes to upcoming vacations, quality time with loved ones, action-packed moments, and the latest music drops. Compared to most people in the Regular Army, he stands out as a hardcore party enthusiast, finding parties to be an exhilarating escape from the stresses of daily life. He's deeply passionate about indie, J-pop, rock, punk, grunge, dubstep, and electronica music, his loved ones, and animals, and he thoroughly enjoys discussing these interests with others.

He has zero tolerance for hypocrisy, food and resource waste, littering, dishonesty, animal cruelty, domestic violence, and the mistreatment of women and girls, considering these behaviours to be utterly unacceptable and destructive. He harbours sneaking suspicions about the Regular Army, particularly regarding the disregard many special operatives show for the innocence of individuals affiliated with the enemy. However, he keeps his concerns to himself to avoid creating tension for the special forces units he cares about. Walter has a tendency to become vengeful, confrontational, aggressive, and intimidating when he feels strongly wronged or his anger is justified. He often appears to be dismissive, standoffish, and condescending toward individuals he personally dislikes and doesn’t trust.

He has a tendency to act impulsively, often driven by the rapid escalation of tension and excitement. He usually jumps into battles without hesitation when he believes they will bring him closer to achieving his goal of true worth. He lacks some common sense, leading to inappropriate questions, misread social cues, interrupting others, and difficulties following instructions, even when they’re relatively straightforward. He also tends to mispronounce words, take unwise shortcuts, and overlook warning signs when dealing with individuals who hide their harmful intentions behind superficial kindness.

He takes immense pride in his singing voice, fueled by numerous compliments about its beauty and power, yet the attention it brings makes him feel painfully shy and uncomfortable in the spotlight. He hates the idea of fame because it causes him immense stress due to the prospect of unwanted attention and constant scrutiny. He becomes flustered when a woman or close friend compliments him, and he particularly dislikes it when people insult or poke fun at his enjoyment of traditionally “feminine” interests. He absolutely despises it when people look through his diary, considering it a blatant invasion of his privacy. When he's had too much to drink, he becomes hyperactive, argumentative, careless, and flirtatious, and his usual self-deprecating, anti-authoritarianism humour turns nonsensical and lighthearted.

He lives with atypical depression, PTSD, anorexia nervosa, white knight syndrome, and undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenia. Although he has paranoid schizophrenia, he doesn’t experience delusions, but he does experience hallucinations, which he has become desensitised to over time, and they now rarely cause him visible distress. He sees himself as a burden and a coward, overly reliant on others, and believes he's unworthy of the good fortune and happiness he has. He struggles with intense feelings of failure and worthlessness when he can't protect loved ones. Jungles evoke traumatic memories of the Survival Island Occupation, fueling his deep-seated fear of becoming lost, suffering the brutal loss of his friends, and being exploited as a sacrifice. While he'll initially refuse a mission that takes place in or primarily involves operating in a jungle, he'll quickly agree if Tyra, Dilovar or Roberto offer even the slightest bit of persuasion.

He secretly admires Marco for his significant contributions to the Peregrine Falcons Squad's successes, having heard many inspiring stories about him during his cadet days. He views Eri as a protective older sister and regards Roberto as the older brother he never had, despite being his distant cousin. He's good friends with Trevor, often doing graffiti in abandoned buildings or smoking weed and talking about random things. He's also on good terms with Nadia, enjoying food challenges, beach trips, and shopping sprees together, and he likes to try out different outfits she suggests for him. He absolutely despises Gimlet and frequently clashes with him over his unwanted advances on Tyra and his racist, sexist, and sanist bullying of many people, including cadets. However, a small part of him respects Gimlet for his role in the Arms Deal Barrage and empathises with his struggles with substance abuse.

Walter loves his adopted Martian son, Pocke, with the devotion of a caring father. He'll stop at nothing to keep him safe, and enjoys showering him with attention through conversation, playtime, and gentle affection. Pocke's silly antics and curiosity have captured his heart, but his tendency to knock things off the counter and pick up potentially hazardous objects can be slightly maddening. He has three pets that he deeply cherishes, which he bought after saving enough money following the Invader Conquest: Spawo, a Moluccan cockatoo; Maristela, a sunset ball python; and Zeph, an agouti Siberian Husky with heterochromatic eyes (green on the right and amber on the left). He dislikes it when people try to teach Spawo naughty words as it always embarrasses him when his cockatoo annoyingly repeats the same word she learned throughout the day.

Dilovar is his closest friend and he thoroughly enjoys spending time with him, appreciating his quirky humour, lively nature, comforting presence, and awe-inspiring determination. He has a brotherly relationship with Dilovar, marked by occasional heated disputes and good-natured joking. However, he either finds Dilovar's flamboyant, playful, and joking suggestions and antics that are directed towards him to be arousing or unsettling. Initially, he clashed with Tyra, perceiving her as overly confident, showy, and disturbingly cold. Despite this, he maintained a level of respect for her, largely driven by his disgust at the idea of mistreating a woman. He was also aware of her reputation for being merciless and aggressively aloof towards those who crossed her, so he made a conscious effort not to push her boundaries. His true motivation for initiating a short-lived rivalry with Tyra was rooted in jealousy, wanting to surpass her fearlessness in combat and wilderness survival.

As they opened up and formed a platonic bond that blossomed into romance, he became increasingly protective of Tyra, often going out of his way to help her, even when she was capable of handling things on her own. His gratitude for her unwavering support, combined with his admiration of her stunning physical beauty and military prowess, fueled his growing devotion and deepened his strong romantic feelings for her. He’s incredibly affectionate towards Tyra, frequently showering her with physical affection and well-meaning compliments. He often hugs her tightly, rubs his face against hers, and showers her with love through various types of kisses, ranging from a gentle peck on the cheek to a passionate French kiss. He's quick to listen and back down when she verbally tells him to or shoots him a sharp, serious glare. He sometimes gets into heated arguments with Tyra over things they disagree on or when he does something foolish. However, he occasionally doesn't bother to fight back because he finds her intimidating when she's really angry. Instead, he’ll often give her some space after they're done arguing.

He’s a utilitarian who believes that people should not dwell on the consequences of their actions because the results only occur in the future. Instead, he thinks they should focus on happiness, which is the only intrinsic value that matters in determining our goodness or wickedness in life. He believes that actions causing unhappiness are wrong and that everyone's happiness deserves equal consideration when making decisions. He advocates for the right to self-defence, even when it may result in harm to others, particularly when faced with a genuine and immediate threat. Furthermore, he believes that proportionate defensive measures are justified against entities that violate the principle of non-aggression and pose a threat to others. He believes that the cycle of life and death are interconnected and that if one were to suddenly vanish or become overpowered, the equilibrium of the universe would collapse in on itself.

Backstory: Walter Evangelos Mulryan was born on February 14, 2011 in Rockhampton, Australia. His mother, Chloe Mulryan, whom he refers to as Mama, was once a mercenary for the Regular Army before retiring to start a family, and later became a geologist and avid adventurer. He has a Portuguese stepfather, Valério Medeiros, a construction manager who was a former member of the Serapion Fellowship who defected due to their morally reprehensible beliefs and practices, including brainwashing and human exploitation. He has two half-sisters: Lúcia Medeiros, his older half-sister and a fashion designer, and Betânia Medeiros, his younger half-sister and a dermatologist. He has a maternal aunt, whom he affectionately calls Auntie, who would often babysit him and read him books about nature and Australian history. He has a distant cousin on his father's side, Roberto, whom he first met at a family gathering in Portugal.

He often describes Mama as "one wild lady" and cherished their adventure-filled times together. However, she had a tendency to baby him excessively and shower him with disproportionate attention. When Mama was away, he would spend hours with his half-sisters, Lúcia and Betânia. They would dress him up in pretty dresses, apply makeup, and share their aspirations with him. Lúcia would tell Walter stories about her crushes, school dramas, and lessons from her courses. He felt uneasy being around his stepfather, who treated him and his half-sisters with a stern, militaristic demeanour. Valério was disproportionately strict with him, largely because he was the product of an extramarital affair. He describes Auntie as similar to Fio in terms of her demeanour, but she leans more towards conspiracy theories, and she's notably more aggressive and confrontational when defending her loved ones.

He was once extremely shy and heavily reliant on Mama, which frustrated his stepfather, who did his best to encourage self-reliance. However, his efforts were often in vain, as Walter would frequently ignore his encouragement, instead isolating himself in his room for hours until dinner or spending most of his time outdoors. When Walter turned 3, his stepfather's frustration sometimes boiled over into physical punishment or verbal belittling. This traumatic treatment left him fearful of speaking up, causing him to become mute. During this period, he learned sign language and discovered a natural musical gift, exhibiting talent in playing the guitar and keyboard, and emerging as a budding prodigy. Despite being shy, he struggled with anger issues, lashing out at his peers during playground and school interactions, frequently getting into fights and physically intimidating others, which landed him in frequent trouble.

At a New Year's Eve party, Walter, who had been mute for nine years, surprisingly spoke up, asking where Mama was, marking a turning point in his journey toward self-confidence and self-reliance. The entire family was stunned, having lost hope that he would ever regain his voice. However, Valério remained skeptical, attributing his mutism to attention-seeking behaviour and a lack of courage to assert his independence. This action would earn his stepfather a sliver of respect and pride, despite viewing Walter as an unwanted burden and a stain on his marriage to Chloe. Shortly after this moment, he would receive a diary as a gift from his Mama.

He endured school bullying for being different, struggling with self-reliance, and having interests that didn't align with traditional masculinity. He tried to focus on his studies and ignore the bullying, but the constant harassment often proved too much, leading him to lash out verbally or physically in self-defence on multiple occasions. A schoolyard scuffle would lead him to inadvertently discovering his imperfect clone abilities in secondary school. During an altercation, a girl kicked him in the groin, causing him to double over in pain. As he did, his hidden skin flaps and fleshy tendrils were exposed. In that moment, he unintentionally crushed the girl who had hurt him to death, which left him visibly shaken. After that, people saw him as a freak of nature and were terrified, including his small group of friends, who went out of their way to avoid him at all costs.

He would eventually learn from his Mama that he’s an imperfect clone of his Greek father, conceived through in vitro fertilisation using his father's sperm and bioengineered DNA. He was a scientist for the Amadeus Syndicate and one of Doctor Amadeus’ top researchers. However, he attempted to steal sensitive documents detailing unethical experiments and cloning technology, and mysteriously disappeared before Walter was born. Walter was supposed to have a twin brother, but his brother tragically died in the womb. It made him realise that this revelation seemingly contributed to Valério’s animosity toward him and the fear others harboured for him.

Over the next few years, Walter developed white knight syndrome due to repeated abandonment by friends, unsuccessful pursuit of romantic love and exploitation by partners he tried to help. Feeling inhuman and unimportant, exacerbated by his stepfather's emotional unavailability and mother's increasing absence, further eroded his self-worth. Additionally, bullying for his physical appearance and societal beauty standards led to body dysmorphia, culminating in anorexia nervosa. The cumulative stress, exacerbated by his stepfather's neglect and stringent expectations, coupled with the recent traumatic loss of his Auntie in a car accident, triggered symptoms consistent with paranoid schizophrenia, although no official diagnosis has been made. Amidst this turmoil, he found solace in playing the guitar and keyboard, singing, nature documentaries, and the support of his two half-sisters.

By the time he was in grade 11, he dropped out of high school during a difficult period of depression in the winter. Struggling to find direction in life, he experienced a crisis that led him to consider harming himself. One night, while contemplating jumping off the Neville Hewitt Bridge, a group of passersby noticed him and intervened, offering support and persuading him to reconsider. These delinquents would take Walter in, understanding his struggles and making him feel accepted, giving him hope of finding purpose in life.

From that point on, he became involved in crime, committing illicit activities such as car break-ins, vandalism, credit card fraud, and physical altercations. He also began to express his individuality through tattoos and piercings. Additionally, he developed an interest in self-defence, studying Krav Maga, and physical fitness, practicing callisthenics. He and his newfound friends started a hip-hop alternative rock band with Walter as the lead singer, which slowly grew in popularity. During a wild party at a friend's house, he developed a barbiturate addiction, had a reckless encounter with a prostitute, and received his first bong: a neon-coloured, floral-patterned one that he still treasures. Walter eventually abandoned his rock band due to his struggles with a barbiturate addiction, overwhelming fan expectations, and unwanted attention. Fans, particularly young girls who found him attractive, male peers jealous of his talent, and harsh critics, added to the pressure.

After a near-fatal drug overdose and being sent to juvenile detention for the third time, Walter's stepfather intervened, urging him to turn his life around or face homelessness. With support from Lúcia, Betânia and his Mama, Walter entered drug rehabilitation and overcame his barbiturate addiction. While caring for the household, seeking employment, and being homeschooled by his Mama and Lúcia, Walter discovered an online recruitment ad for the Peregrine Falcons Squad at age 18. Seeing this as his calling, he volunteered without hesitation, promising his mother he'd stay in touch via phone on a weekly basis.

After earning decent grades on the written tests, he enlisted in the P.F. Squad, joined by five former delinquent friends—Ivanhoe, Maximilian, Brody, Rylan, and Uriah—who sought a renewed sense of purpose and the opportunity to protect others. However, his reputation as an imperfect clone, combined with his ill temper and harsh treatment of those he disliked or distrusted, made it challenging for others to approach or trust him. His temper was notoriously volatile, frequently leading to cafeteria fights, where he and his friends would overpower their fellow cadets who dared to provoke him. On rare occasions, these altercations nearly turned fatal. As a result, his former drill instructor, known for being exceptionally strict, isolated him and his friends from the rest of the group and placed them into the "misfit batch”, alongside Dilovar and Tyra.

During training, he befriended Dilovar after a lively conversation about their shared enthusiasm for military service, bonding over beers and a weed break. He struggled to trust Tyra due to her overconfidence and aloof demeanour, which sparked jealousy when he witnessed her fearlessness during training exercises. This led to a rivalry between them, with both striving to outdo the other in the intense training courses. Their competitions frequently ended with either Tyra emerging victorious or a tie, but these encounters gradually fostered a strong friendship and deep mutual respect. Despite this, his time in the P.F. Squad helped him hone his skills in paradummy tactics and better control his imperfect clone abilities. Through their rigorous training programs, he discovered a community of trustworthy peers, developed self-confidence in his physical prowess and mental resilience, and became more laid-back and open to forming lasting, loyal relationships.

Initially hesitant to participate in the final P.F. Squad training program, he harboured a nagging feeling that something would go terribly wrong. However, with Dilovar's reassuring words of encouragement and Tyra's playful teasing about being a coward, he pushed aside his doubts and joined the others in the final training course. After being dropped off at a remote South Pacific archipelago by boat, Walter reunited with his friends from Australia and teamed up with Tyra. Together, they ventured deep into the jungle, discovering a clearing with a nearby freshwater stream, where they constructed makeshift shelters centred around a communal campfire.

While searching for Tyra, who had vanished during a hunting expedition, he stumbled upon a suspicious blood trail. It led him to an encampment of Rebel Army cadets, where he found Tyra and aided her in defending herself against them. Later that day, he stumbled upon the lifeless bodies of Ivanhoe, Maximilian, Brody, Rylan, and Uriah beside the stream, victims of a deadly ambush by Rebel Infantrymen and cadets who had seized their weaponry and equipment. The trauma of losing the people who had first welcomed him triggered a debilitating mental breakdown. Fortunately, Tyra was by his side during this incident, and her kindness and support deepened his affection for her, revealing a warmer side of her that captivated him.

He didn’t hesitate to charge forward, driven to uncover his true worth while exacting vengeance on the Rebel Army for their past transgressions. As Tyra searched for a radio tower, Walter focused on finding Formor and stumbled upon an abandoned building in a destroyed site, surrounded by discarded military vehicles and a functional SV-001. Inside, he saw Amadeus Syndicate scientists collecting body parts from the mutilated corpses of Rebel bodyguards and P.F. Squad cadets, but Walter swiftly retreated before they detected him. Later, while navigating a village of South Pacific P’isqu Runakuna huts, he encountered and battled a couple of frenzied creatures resembling mantis and simian monsters. To his dismay, they turned out to be transformed fellow cadets and Intelligence Agency agent hostages.

During his journey, he fell into a trap set by Allen O'Neil, who had disguised himself as one of his drill instructors. Allen O'Neil had deliberately misled him, ordering him to press onward under the pretense of stopping the Rebel threat. He was swiftly captured by the P’isqu Runakuna ("bird people" in Quechua), who planned to sacrifice him to Itzamná. This was after Allen O'Neil had brainwashed them into believing Walter was a worthy candidate to appease their god. In the altar room, the P’isqu Runakuna meticulously prepared their sacrificial ritual. They fed and cleaned Walter before securing him to a stake placed before an ancient statue of Itzamná. Then, they carefully positioned poison-spewing maggots on his body, which would later leave him with a lasting fear of larvae. Just as the sacrifice was about to begin, Dilovar and Hyakutaro peacefully intervened, rescuing Walter and joining forces with the natives to combat the Rebel Army.

During a chase to confront Logan, who was piloting Karn and leading his platoon, Walter was attacked by a flamethrower soldier, severely burning his right arm. The pain distracted him, and he was quickly overwhelmed by a group of six Rebel Infantrymen, including the flamethrower soldier, who viciously taunted him for not keeping a close eye on Tyra and mocked him for being a poor excuse for a soldier. A shielded soldier, wielding a machete, brutally attacked Walter, chopping off his right arm and causing him to scream in agony. This alerted Allen Jr., who rushed to his rescue and slaughtered all the soldiers pinning Walter down before they could inflict any further torture. With Allen Jr.'s assistance and encouragement, he was forced to temporarily retreat and receive urgent medical assistance from Rumi. Consumed by rage and a desire for vengeance, Walter fatally shot Logan with a Shotgun after he attempted to escape the destroyed Karn, avenging Tyra's kidnapping and harm.

Shortly after the Survival Island Occupation, he graduated with the highest honours alongside Tyra and Dilovar. He then joined Division 6 after Hyakutaro extended an invitation to him, and he rose to the rank of Sergeant Major. Later, Tarma built him a cybernetic prosthetic, which he greatly appreciates. During a mission to thwart a pirate raid on a cargo ship carrying valuable Regular Army military weapons and biotech, he unexpectedly reunited with Roberto, whom he thought he'd never see again.

[tastesoftamriel]

Hey Tal! I was preparing stuffed jacket potatoes for my family and it made me wonder;

"If each race was given a baked potato (any veriety), what would they stuff it with? (Let's pretend the bosmer is non pact compliant but still likes honoring their roots.)"

Since you'll find potatoes in every other barrel across Tamriel, you can bet that stuffed baked potatoes are probably the most universal dish we know of. Whether you love them or were fed too many of them as a child, there's a baked potato out there for everyone in Tamriel.

Altmer

You know what, the High Elves really have to be fancy about everything. Instead of gutting and filling your regular jumbo jacket potato like literally everybody else, they make large hasselback potatoes and painstakingly insert ingredients between the slots before baking. These laborious (but admittedly delectable) potatoes are usually offered filled with either four cheeses; mozzarella, tomatoes, and pesto; roasted vegetables with tapenade, or pancetta, gruyere, and sausage.

Argonians

Baked potatoes are great for playing a heated game of teeba-hatsei with, much to the rage of many an Argonian parent who had painstakingly made dinner. When they're not being slapped around for a laugh, Argonians eat their baked potatoes by making a well in the centre and crack a hot quail egg in, before topping it with deep fried mealworms or crickets and a bit of lime sambal. Scramble it up and you're good to go!

Bosmer

To every Green Pact-abiding Wood Elf I'm about to sadden with this, I apologise in advance for what I'm about to propose. But imagine a lovely jacket potato stuffed with a good slathering of smoked timber mammoth cheese atop battered thunderbug eggs, smoked bristleback bacon, jalapeño mayo, and sweetgnat butter. I don't need to imagine it; I made one with my friend Berrilyn, and it was glorious. Definitely on the heavy side, but loaded with every good ingredient Valenwood has to offer!

Bretons

Cheap, filling, and delicious. That's all a baked potato needs to be in High Rock, making it one of the Province's most popular foods among the common folk. Just about every sauce-based dish you can think of can go onto a jacket potato, from melted roquefort, goose egg, and dry cured ham to the classic combination of tomato beans and candied bacon rashers, and even reusing yesterday's Tarragon Chicken! There aren't really any limits on what you can fill a jacket potato with in High Rock, as long as you have a good knob of butter in there!

Dunmer

While potatoes are a perfectly standard and valid ingredient in Morrowind, I know you all want to hear about jacket ash yams. Popularised by Ashlanders, who bake their potatoes on lava, jacket ash yams can be found at every tavern and cornerclub across the Province. Minced nix-ox in a spicy comberry ragout; scrambled kwama eggs with caramelised scathecraw; and even Hackle-lo and Scuttle Curry are at home on a big, piping lava-hot ash yam. Don't forget to get some crunchy deep-fried kwama scrib to go on top- well worth the gold, I promise!

If you get the hankering for a taste of Morrowind, try my Raven Rock Baked Ash Yams.

Imperials

There are two rules surrounding baked potatoes in Cyrodiil: the potatoes must always be Jumbo Potatoes, and you must always use olive oil instead of butter. With that flavour profile in mind, think simple, complementary toppings like sundried tomatoes with goat cheese and fresh basil; cheese curds and red wine gravy; bresaola, chili oil, and gorgonzola, and browned pine nut butter with a good smear of ricotta and creamed battaglir.

Khajiit

Northern and Southern Elsweyr have a distinct difference in their baked potatoes: the North likes them rich and spicy, while the South prefers sweeter flavours that complement moon sugar. Northern Elsweyr is famous for its fiery curry-filled jacket potatoes, filled to the brim with rich, generally tomato-based curries featuring local ingredients like braised jerboa, pulled terror bird, and diced mutton. Meanwhile in Senchal, you'll find your average baked potato partially filled with things like chicken satay pieces in moon sugar peanut sauce, haloumi with moon sugar syrup, and sweet crispy shrimp and pork floss. But wait, 'partially filled?' Yep! In Southern Elsweyr, the insides of the potato are scooped out and rolled together with powdered moon sugar to make horrifically sweet potato 'candy' for dessert after you've finished your jacket potato. Who am I to judge?

Nords

Mammoth cheese? Horker bacon and smoked kippers? Pulled pheasant in brown ale gravy? All very valid and very traditional Skyrim options. However, I'm jumping up and down at the thought of a baked potato topped with freshly baked salmon or gravlaks with dill, lots of sour cream, and a bit of mustard! Simple, good, and I will shout at anyone who calls this combination bland. You can take the girl out of Riften, but never the Riften out of the girl.

Orcs

Where Wrothgarian Orsimer are concerned, there's a joke that every other meal is a baked potato (and that's sometimes the unfortunate case when a Hearth-Wife isn't very good at her job.) Gooey, mouthwatering echatere cheese raclette is the favoured topping in the region, melted atop of a bed of fillings like spicy wrathberry gravy with echatere or beef chunks; chopped mammoth bratwurst; grilled chub loon with frost mirriam barbecue sauce, and deep fried horker lard bits and sweet-and-spicy minced horker. Indulgent, and by Malacath, they're filling too.

Redguards

Where the Orcs have their echatere cheese on jacket potatoes, Hammerfell loves its goat cheese. Whether it's aged chèvre log slices or fresh and crumbly, you can bet it's going on a baked potato. It's paired with a range of moreish fillings, like harissa and apricot chicken; tender goat mince with a cumin-based curry; battered, fried snake with a tangy and sweet lemon drizzle, and shawarma meat with creamy garlic sauce and caramelised onions.

[myheadsgonenumb]

OK - round two of my obnoxious in advance Brit picking for authors wanting to write Hogwarts authentically,

(Post one here)

This time I'm going to go into meals - times, names (it can be complicated) and what they eat.

First off, something that fans from overseas (and Brits who just aren't as old as me) might not realise is that Harry Potter isn't just an urban/low fantasy book but that it also very much sits within what was once a very popular genre in Children's English Literature - which is Boarding School books.

Like HP, these would be a series of books which followed students (usually girls) through their time at a fictional boarding school. There were many many different series set in many many different school and by many many different authors. Throughout the whole of the twentieth century, these were big business. One of the most iconic series, which JKR almost certainly read and was inspired by, was The Malory Towers series .

As I said, these were popular throughout the 20th C (The Chalet School series started in the 1920s, Malory Towers was published in the 40s, Trebizon was published in the 80s) and as such are very Traditionally British and set in a Britain which was not as diverse or global (in the modern sense, some are from the days of empire) as it is today.

And, like I said, these types of books were huge and when JKR wrote Hogwarts she was almost certainly leaning into the aesthetic of these books, and using what she learned from them to write boarding school life (she did not go to boarding school herself). This means that Hogwarts is also very Traditionally British - and that includes the food.

Everything the students eat at mealtimes in the Great Hall are real British dishes. The sweets are made up just for HP, but the actual food is real (again, this is something I learned from the internet that other people did not just "know").

Hogwarts students are not eating curries and pasta and croissants because, in tradition with the boarding school genre, they are surviving on good, hearty stodge. Nor are they eating things like burger and chips, because they are too modern and do not fit the traditional aesthetic.

So - what are they eating and when?

Breakfast

Most British secondary schools start their day between 8:30 and 9:00 am (as the students are already in the school, they probably start at the later end of the spectrum). Which means breakfast probably starts serving at about 7am for the early risers, but we see plenty of them are still eating when the bell for first lesson goes (teenagers like lie ins).

Hogwarts students canonically eat porridge (which is a bit like oatmeal), toast and kippers for breakfast. There is a mention of Harry feeding Hedwig his bacon rinds, so it is likely bacon and eggs and perhaps sausage are also served (these make up part of what is know as a full English breakfast which was presumably considered traditional enough to include).

Students spread Jam (which is like American Jelly - though it tends to be raspberry/ strawberry and blackcurrant whereas grape is relatively unheard of) and marmalade (which is sort of like jam but made of oranges) on their toast.

Muggle characters might also use peanut butter*, marmite or nutella - but these would never be seen in Hogwarts as they don't fit in with the traditional aesthetic (though wizards do appear to have peanut butter because Florean Fortescue uses it in ice cream - but the plastic jar and the blue lid? no, that can't go to Hogwarts).

*PB and J is not a thing in Britain, it is just something American we have all heard of.

They drink both coffee and tea at breakfast time. Tea is always a blended black tea (asam, ceylon and Kenya is in the blend literally called "English Breakfast tea"). It is always hot and is taken with milk and sometimes sugar. They also drink orange juice at breakfast.

What they are not eating is pancakes and waffles! seriously, step away from the waffles! biscuits and gravy, grits, bagels, breakfast potatoes and bear claw are also not a thing that will ever be seen there.

Similarly, from the European side, they don't eat little pastries (though I don't think that would be too world breaky as British people will eat pastries for breakfast if they want to treat themselves), cheese, fruit or cold cuts of meat.

Porridge is the closest thing they eat to cereal (apart from once, Neville has cornflakes), though cereal is a popular breakfast food in the UK. I assume it just doesn't fit the aesthetic. As a person with a sweet tooth, I would pour syrup on porridge - syrup is golden, not maple. Some people might sprinkle sugar on, hard core people add salt.

If you want any muggle characters to eat a bowl of cereal, cornflakes is a safe and international bet - but Rice Krispies, Frosties, weetabix and Coco Puffs are also popular ones. There are no Lucky Charms in Britain!

Lunch

Lunch can also be called dinner, but - regardless of name is always the midday meal (probably served at some point between 12 and 2). Calling lunch "dinner" is regional and class based and mostly used in the north, I think. But "school dinners" is a very common phrase and means the midday meal and Christmas Dinner in the HP books is also the meal Harry eats at lunchtime (I will do a separate post dedicated to Christmas Dinner).

Hogwarts serves hot lunches and the type of food served is generally the same as they eat in the evening and is mostly casseroles, shepherds pie (which is not a pie in the traditional sense), steak and kidney pie (which is a pie), steak and kidney pudding (which is similar but is wrapped in suet not pastry) and pork and lamb chops. Molly Weasley also cooks a chicken and ham pie.

Other traditional foods, in the same vein, you could use to add a bit of variety are: toad in the hole, bangers and mash, cottage pie (not a pie - its shepherds pie with beef not lamb), fish pie (same) and steak and ale pie (some of these even I'm not hundred percent sure what they are - but they are traditionally British).

Traditional British fare tends to follow the "meat and two veg" rule. So if the steak and kidney pie is representing the meat, then it will be served along with two types of vegetable (carrots and peas being the most standard) and some form of potato - usually boiled or mash.

The students seem to only drink pumpkin juice with their midday meal.

Dinner

This can also be called "tea" - again this is regional and class based, though "Christmas Tea" is the turkey sandwiches Harry eats in the evening of Christmas Day. "tea" is the name of the meal and not the drink, in this instance - and there is no assumption that tea- the-drink will play any role. So if a Brit ever tells you they are having their tea - the don't mean they're sitting down to a fancy afternoon tea or daily ritual surrounding the drink, they mean they are about to eat their evening meal.

The timing of this at Hogwarts is a bit of a conundrum, as the students often leave their last lesson, go straight to eat and then straight to their common room, where they stay for the rest of the evening. UK Schools usually finish at 3-3:30, so this is very early for them to eat and means they are spending hours in the common room and must be starving by bed time.

The reason this happens is because timing isn't actually important in the narrative, the students just need to move from place to place to place - and so its not worth trying to "correct" this or make it makes sense, as that just bogs your story down in needless minutiae. However, it is possible that the evening meal is served over a few hours - so students can go straight there from lesson if they wish, or wait until later in the evening. Leaving it open for an extended period means you can send you characters to the Hall whenever it is plot relevant without worrying about it being consistent.

In the UK we do tend to eat earlier than our European counterparts - between 5-6, especially for children. Eating at 8 is considered late to eat (and a bit middle class). As Hogwarts is so Traditionally British, I would expect the evening meal (apart from feasts) to be over by 6:30 at the latest.

The main course is much the same as is eaten at lunch, but deserts get added in. Desserts in Britain are often called "pudding" and this is a catch all term and has nothing to do with what Americans think of as pudding. So, in the films, when Luna says she "hopes there's pudding", she means she hopes there will be dessert - not that she is hoping for American style chocolate pudding.

(as a side note, pudding does actually have a specific meaning - which is a dish which has been cooked by being boiled or steamed in something such as a piece of cloth or even an animal intestine and can be sweet or savoury but, though many traditional dishes have the word "pudding" in their names, most people are using it to mean dessert).

Traditional British puddings that appear in HP are Treacle Tarts (Harry's favourite), Spotted Dick (it's safe to click!) rice pudding and trifle .

Others you could add for variety are apple or rhubarb crumble, jam sponge, sticky toffee pudding, jam roly poly and Eve's pudding.

Custard is a popular accompaniment for pretty much all of them (though I think a treacle tart would go better with ice cream)

Again they seem to only drink pumpkin juice in the evening.

How tea fits into it all

Like I said, tea can refer to a meal or a drink.

"Afternoon Tea" is a rather fancy affair with little sandwiches, jam and scones and miniature cakes. This is usually done as a treat (cake culture is huge at the moment, probably thanks to "The Great British Bake Off", and afternoon teas as nice things to do are popular). Day to day when people refer to tea, they are not referring to this. I don't think there is any reference to Afternoon Tea in HP, though I imagine Aunt Petunia would love it.

The type of "tea" you eat every day is just your regular evening meal.

Tea the drink is - like I said - a black tea, always hot, usually with milk, sometimes with sugar - and is drunk much as other places would drink coffee (and coffee drinking is also popular in Britain). With breakfast, as you sit at your desk and work, while taking a break, watching TV etc etc. It's never not time for tea (the drink).

Culturally, Brits drink hot tea all day long, all year round - it can be 30 degrees (80 degrees to Americans) outside and a Brit would still make themselves a hot cup of tea and consider it a refreshing drink.

That's all I can think of for food now. I will do a separate post specifically for Christmas. But if you only take one thing away from this please make it: no pancakes and waffles at breakfast!

If you have any more specific questions, please leave them in the comments and I'll do my best to answer them ❤ 🇬🇧

[yuzushifuo]

OC ASK GAME LETS GOO (hopefully I'm not too late help)

1. Name/Nicknames 👁👁 (Rook and Floyd's nickname specifically, but if Leona is also applicable...)

12. Pet peeves

13. Food!

(/nf! Feel free to answer the ones you feel more comfortable in answering :> Also would love to hear for all of your ocs if you'd love to yap 👀)

YOURE NOT TOO LATE!! NO ONE ASKING ME THIS EITHER LMAO😭😭🙏❤️ i will be adding another oc that is an old one of mine but im reworking on him, i hope you dont mind!!

1. Names/Nicknames

1. Yuu Kurokawa - Yuu-kun(Cater), Shrimpy(Floyd), Trickster(Rook), Herbivore(Leona)

Literally basic prefect combo😭 I give yuu additional cater nickname since jack gets the -kun privileges from cater and i dont think yuu goes that well with -chan either LOL. Also about the shrimp since yuu look nothing like an actual shrimp, i give that floyd is talking about Snowball Shrimp instead

2. Memphis Nicholson - Memphi-chan(Cater), Clownfish(Floyd), Monsieur Director(Rook)

Memphis' club is film research club as a backstage worker, so it would be normal for her to work with Vil and got mentioned when talking with Rook. Thus the name director, though she dont like getting called director much. Also she got described as small and bubbly like a clownfish from Floyd

3. Ernst Lauritsen - Moon jellyfish(Floyd), Monsieur Carefree(Rook)

Jellyfish is taken by Silver and this is even pointed out by Floyd himself, and for Floyd Ernst is more like a moon jelly. Carefree is just his personality that he wouldnt care about everything ever at the point it kind of concerning. But even at the surface level you could tell hes carefree

4. Cedric Aldrich - Isopod(Floyd), Monsieur Melody(Rook)

"His hair reminds me of an isopod" -floyd

He is a music guy and practiced those since young esp the ones in the violin family,, i think rook overheard the performance and then now hes related to music by default

I sketched a little to help you picture him, yes this is old oc that i prob reworked like all of his stuff i cant even remember his old name so i just ball through everything rn😔

I dont think anyone is that important to have Leona setting nicknames for them LMAO,,

12. Pet peeves

Yuu - people with too much energy(changed)

Memphis - disrespect

Ernst - serious people/situations

Cedric - not prepare anything in advance

People who accidentally commit the crime:

🦋-whole of memphis existence in ramshackle pisses yuu off before they know eachother deeper and now on good terms

🐼-ex friends

🪼-riddle, azul sometimes, cedric is seen as too serious to him

🎻-himself, ernst, maybe more people

13. Food

Yuu -

Most favorite: anything with raw fish(sashimi, sushi, etc)

Least favorite: garlic, coriander

I removed spring onions because he can eat but rather not, not as much hatred as garlic and coriander, he loves sashimi most

Memphis -

Most favorite: lemon meringue tart

Least favorite: tomato

She just love very specifically lemon meringue tart, tomato have very weird texture and flavor and it creeps her out

Ernst -

Most favorite: gravy sauce

Least favorite: cheese

Cheese feels plain weird to him like the flavor it gives and gravy sauce is just "addicting" according to him

Cedric -

Most favorite: shrimp

Least favorite: potato

He hates potato texture so much he would give it to ernst in their childhood days, also he likes shrimp texture. This guy is a texture guy

Thank you so much tato for the ask😭🙏 i love how you engage a lot with my stuff i appreciate it and hope you enjoy!! Thank you!!

[retrocgads]

UK 1998

[sami-salami]

💜🪓Susie x Fem! Reader headcannons. 🪓💜

Because when you can't find what you want, just do it yourself.

This girl has stolen my heart oml

She/they pronouns are used for the reader.

Warnings: Swearing

* Susie is... not the best with expressing how she feels. This isn't some NEW discovery. Anybody who knows her below the surface level knows that. So, when she started to feel all light and fuzzy inside around you, she didn't know how to tell you. In her mind, it was probably better that way anyway. I mean, she doesn't exactly have the best reputation in school or in general. Not to mention, there's no way in hell that anyone could love her like that. Right?

* Well..

* Even though it's painfully obvious to everyone around you two that you like her, she is absolutely oblivious to any romantic advance you make on her. It's not necessarily that she's dumb, she just doesn't see it with you. She could tell if two people liked each other easily, but if that person's her? Nah, not happening.

* She's tough for sure; not really letting anyone see the non-punchy-I-want-to-kick-everyone's-ass-24/7 side. With you, though? She can let her guard down, just a little. That's something about you that she's always liked. The way she can be more of herself around you like it's nothing. What the hell were you thinking, being so.. cool.. and funny.. and pretty.. and smart.. and just.. so you??? Yeah, what were you thinking, nerd???

* You aren't stupid. You see the way she looks at you from time to time; like she's entranced by what you say, what you do, or just.. you all around. You just didn't think it was true. 'Maybe she's just a little tired today, or maybe she just spaced out for a bit?' Yeah, no. She's just admiring you and the way you do pretty much everything.

* In the dark world, it was pretty hard for the !?!? Squad to not have to pull you two away from each other; you were almost always talking, or messing around, or unknowingly flirting. (Despite how bad Susie is with it)

* Oh boy, was it hard for you not to get absolutely absorbed with her there. It was hard anyway, but in the dark world? Oh honey sweetie darling gravy, do you have a big storm coming. The way her messy hair flowed as she walked, her big cocky grin, how her outfit just made her look 10× more badass.. man. Kris was surprised you didn't, like, make out with her right then and there (though they'd like to not see that but would be happy for you two nonetheless).

* Speaking of which, Kris is a wingman to you two, basically. With how silent and off-putting they are sometimes, they're surprisingly good with quietly getting you two alone, much to Ralsei's confusion.

* Susie didn't know how to react when she saw you in your dark world form. As she would put it: "(WHY THE HELL DO THEY LOOK SO.. PRETTY??? AND REALLY FUCKING SICK LOOKING???) What, you trying to one-up me or something? MY BADASSERY CAN'T BE MATCHED, SO SUCK IT!" She says, in the most non serious way ever. You rolled your eyes as you looked away, your cheeks turning a faint hue of pink. She thought it was cute but assumed it was just the lighting.

* She'll always stand closer up to you than the others will. She likes being near you, no duh, but she also just wants a good look at you whenever she does something particularly flashy to see if you're impressed, or see your reactions to things she says. (She's HILARIOUS)

* Susie is protective of you for sure, but you never really take notice unless someone says something to you to your face.

"You wanna repeat that, dipshit?" And oh how she loved watching the color drain from their face as they realized who was behind them.

"Say anything like that again, and I'll rip you to shreds, you got that, freak?"

* the few times you got to see that happen, you couldn't say you didn't feel butterflies all around. She wanted to protect you? Gosh, she cared that much? You could definitely take care of yourself, but seeing her do that for you made you fall for her a little more those days.

* When she eventually did confess to you, it was.. less than graceful. Kris and Ralsei had pressured her to do it, since they knew it would get no where with how oblivious you two were to each others affection. She took you behind the school, where no prying eyes would see (Kris) and fumbled on her words.

"Hey.. so um.." she started, trailing off. Damn.. when the hell was she this nervous? "Y-yeah? What did you want to talk to me about?" You ushered. She fiddled with her hands and put an arm on her neck. She paused before eventually starting. "Okay, listen. I just wanted to say that I think you're really cool and was wondering if y-you're free tomorrow..? Maybe we can go to QC's orsomethingidontknow..." She very quickly spat out. "Oh! Yeah, sure, is there any particular reason why? I think you're a pretty nice person too!" You smiled, a blush on your face. (God dammit.. she didn't pick up what I meant?? And UGH, WHY DO THEY HAVE TO LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT..????) She thought. Her face was definitely painted in confusion. Then, it turned to frustration. She grabbed your shoulders tight and shook you up, yelling through her sharp teeth. "COULD YOU SERIOUSLY NOT TELL WHAT I'M SAYING??? ARE YOU STUPID??? DEAF?? SUFFERING BRAIN DAMAGE OR SOMETHING??? IM SAYING THAT I WANT TO DATE YOU, DUMBASS!" She released you from her hold, and you had to take a second to compose yourself after being shook so violently, but also to process. "Oh."

...

"OH!!??" Susie crossed her arms and looked down, her hair covering her eyes, hiding her expression. She thought that meant you didn't like her back, and was fully prepared to go back to being the edgy, angry person she once was.

"H..huh!?"

Her thoughts were cut off by a warmth she hadn't felt in a while. She looked towards you, and you were.. hugging her? "HEYWHATAREYOUDOING?" She jumped back, surprised, her eyes wide. You stood still a moment and laughed. You covered your mouth and laughed. "UM? WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE LAUGHING AT?" She asked loudly, and you reduced your laughter to giggles. "I'm sorry.. I just.. that was so.. cute!" You looked at her in a way that made her heart pound through her chest. "Cute?" She chuckled, "who do YOU think you're calling cute? Is it in the room with us now??" She smirked, joking around. All the tension in Susie's body left. You wiped away tears from your eyes from how hard you were laughing together. "Yeah, actually. Might have to use my top of the notch detective skills for this one, but I think it's right..." You trailed your finger around the environment, slowly moving it up to point at Susie. "Here!" You pressed her nose, she smiled, her eyes widen again. "Ooh, come here you little-!" She grabbed your neck with her arms and rubbed her knuckles on your head, giving you a nookie and messing up your hair. "Susie!" You yelled. You were content in this moment. It's like nothing mattered. Susie was, too. I mean, who wouldn't be? They were both with the girls of their dreams, and nothing could take away from this moment.

Snap!

You two stopped the tomfoolery and looked to the side, seeing Kris with a Polaroid camera, snickering to themselves. Susie glared at them hard before screaming: "KRIS, I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE NOW!" and booked it to chase Kris. (They're a goner), you thought, shaking your head, smiling. You looked to the sky and sighed. (Wow, I'm really dating Susie now, huh? How'd that happen?)

Eventually, you ran into Susie again after her rampage against Kris.

"Hey, Susie?" "U-uh, yeah?" "Yes, I'm free tomorrow. How about the park instead?" You got a little more confident than usual and kissed her on the cheek, quickly losing that confidence and speed walking away. She was stunned for a second. (Did.. did they really just..?) She thought to herself before giving her classic toothy grin. In the distance, you heard her say, "Yeah, sounds great."

Your heart was beating so loudly, and so was hers. All Susie could think was: (Did I actually score the best person in town? Man.. never thought I'd get this lucky.)

With that, you went your separate ways, preparing for the next day eagerly.

* From then on out, you two became the strongest power couple the world has ever seen. And Susie made sure everyone knew it. She'd definitely rub it in people's faces (specifically to everyone she knew had a crush on you too) just to piss people off. Don't get it wrong though, she's showing you off regardless.

* "You see her? Yeah? That's my girlfriend, actually, AND YOU CANT HAVE HER, LOSER!" and she'd run away laughing.

* If you ever got hurt by someone elses hand, oh boy. They are IN for it.

"Who."

"W-what..?"

"WHO. DID THIS. TO YOU?"

She wouldn't kill them, yet. She'd give them a world of pain though. And if they pull the same stunt again? Yeah, they're as good as gone. Luckily, everyone in the dark world after that encounter with Susie stayed far away from you. Or if they didn't, they'd treat you surprisingly well. However, her first priority of course, would be making sure you're okay. She'd call Ralsei for help, or attempt to patch you up herself if he wasn't there. She constantly would repeat "I'm sorry." Or "I'm such an idiot!"

* In her mind, you're one of the only things in her life that cares for her, and she'll be damned if anyone has the gull to take you from her.

* Playing off of that, she'll do anything in her power to make you happy, even if it seems like she hates it. She doesn't want to lose you, and she just wants to be enough for you.

* She doesn't know how to compliment people well, so expect things to be said that don't entirely make sense. "You have a nice face." Or just a simple "You're cool." You know she means well and wants to say something poetic, but honestly, her actions speak everything she can't.

* For example, she's a big gift giver, but not in the traditional sense? She's broke, so gifts would usually come in the form of random leaves, a cool stick that looks like a sword, or things that have been stolen. A lot of the time, she'll show up to school early to place these little trinkets on your desk for you to find. She'll sit and wait for you to arrive and she thrives on seeing your face when she gets something for you.

"Susie, did you get this for me?" You say, with a big smile.

"What? Me? Pssh, nah.

...

..maybe," Susie mumbles, averting her eyes and tail (that she DEFINITELY doesn't have) wagging.

* She's not HUGE on PDA; however, she's not opposed holding hands. Hugging and quick pecks on the cheek are typically reserved for every now and again. She loves it when it happens, though. Susie tenses up every time, and a dumb grin creeps on her face that she tries to hide with a cough.

"(Coughs) huh? What? Yeah, just got something stuck in my throat. Uh huh. Totally..!"

Once you two are in private, she's all over you! Susie may be rude and crude on the outside, but man, is she a big ol' teddy bear on the inside. She isn't used to affection at all due to her home life being.. not exactly the best, so typically, you'll have to initiate hugs, cuddling, etc.

If you've been giving her kisses in public, as soon as you're alone, she's basically attacking your face with them.

Cuddling is something she loves for sure. She just loves holding something, especially since that thing is you. If you told her she'd be this much of a softie around someone, say, a 5 months ago, she'd laugh in your face and spit on your shoes. Now? She wouldn't have it any other way. It isn't like she'll admit that, though. She'd definitely say something like: "I mean, if you're gonna MAKE me, I guess I'll have to."

"Hun, literally no one is making you."

* Not one for pet names, but will definitely call you 'babe' in the most Douchebag way possible. She does love when you give her nicknames though. Her favorites are Hun, Honey, love, or my lovely. She's a simple gal.

* You two are basically the aunts of Lancer. Good friends, but also aunts. Lancer literally loves you, how could he not? He thinks you're really cool and will tell you as such.

"Hohoho! Hey Y/n, did I ever tell you how awesome you are?"

"Aw, no? Thank you though!"

"Of course! You're in my top five! Just below Third dad and Susie!"

"...thanks?"

Susie laughed hard about that and will not stop teasing you about it.

* If you ever went on dates in Home Town, Lancer would definitely be there by Susie's side.

"What? He's my emotional support guy!"

"Hohoho! I'm a third wheel!"

* A relationship with Susie would never get dull, and she'll make sure of it intentionally or not. She's a lot to handle, but somehow, you've stuck around through it all. She couldn't thank you enough for it. Despite everything she's been through and is still dealing with, she never once took you for granted. She might act all high and mighty, but she hurts. Somehow, you've effortlessly made that pain more tolerable, as she knows she has someone's shoulder to lean on when she's down about her situation. She loves you more than any amount of chalk or moss in the world, and she's not afraid to (attempt to) tell you.

"Listen, you know I'm not good at all of this mushy gushy crap, but I just gotta tell you straight up. Thank you, for everything. You mean a lot to me, you know? I couldn't ask for anyone better, I hope you know that. No matter what dumbass thing I say, or how much of an idiot I act, I'll never stop appreciating what you do. Thank you. Seriously, I mean it. I love you, Y/n."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Give and Take 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is Steve and Charity

Summary: the women’s shelter harbours a particularly suspicious character.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Steve’s nervous. That’s nothing new. Maybe anxious is a better word.

He can’t stop thinking about it. It’s unbelievable, really. What Thor did. And Sy. And Curtis. And they all just went along with it.

Maybe he’s not uneasy, maybe he’s impatient. Seeing them and their special ones, it was like another knife between his ribs. For all his life, Steve’s watched other people get what they want, all while he just sat on the sidelines.

He scoops another spoonful of gravy onto a plate and smiles at the woman with her black-ringed eyes. She’s tired and dejected. Like the rest of those seeking haven at the shelter, she’s been through a lot. It makes him mad. It makes him afraid.

He looks at Charity as she serves pudding to the kids’ table. He imagines her as one of these women. Alone and afraid. Abused. She’s so nice and that makes her vulnerable. How long until it’s her turn?

As sweet as she is, that’s a weakness. She’s the type to trust the wrong guy. All he can think about is keeping her safe and that’s what the other guys promised.

He’s not like them. Not big or strong. He wouldn’t want to scare Charity. Not throw her in the back of a truck or break into her house.

His plan is subtler but it might not work. It depends on her. On her friendliness. She’s always so kind, so enthusiastic, so understanding. She just has to do the one thing no one’s ever done. Say yes.

Dinner goes on as usual. He’s disappointed to be cleaning dishes with Lynn. Charity volunteered to do story time for the children.

He bides his time. He tells Lynn to go and he’ll dry. His body is almost vibrating with anticipation. Or is it dread?

He sets the last dish down and goes out to the playroom. She reads the last page and declares ‘The End’ with a smile. Several kids are already yawning and the others moan as the finale means they have to go get ready to sleep in their bunks.

He waits, not as patient as he looks. She stops to talk with a few kids, making faces, and mingling with the moms, aunts, or sisters who mind them. Finally, she’s free. It’s his chance.

“I like the voices you do,” Steve’s voice reaches a higher pitch then he means to.

She grins at him and pushes her hand behind her bashfully, “thanks, Steve. They’re just silly. For the kids.”

“They like it too,” he says. “Erm, so... I was looking into what you said. About the gallery.”

“Oh?” She blinks and her eyes roll up in thought. “Yes, I almost forgot!”

“The art classes...” he says tenuously. Forgot? Did she not mean it?

“Right, right,” she nods.

“Did you want to... go.... with me? I bought two spots.” He digs his thumbnail into his palm. He’s ready for it. He has to be. She wouldn’t be the first woman to say no.

“Really? Oh, Steve! No, you shouldn’t have. I saw the price and—Wow.”

“It’s not about the price,” he grumbles. “Either you wanna go or not,” he exhales.

“Of course I want to go,” she claps her hands. “Steve! I...” she sways and clasps onto her berry-speckled skirt. “I’m so sorry if I seem... you know, men don’t usually remember what I tell them. I didn’t expect... but you’re not them, of course.” She rambles into a giggle. “I’m sorry, I’m just so surprised.” She pushes her shoulders up and bounces, “and I’ll have a real artist to help me out!”

“I’m not... an artist.”

“You said you draw,” she trills.

“I do but... well, I guess I could give you a few tips.”

“Ah, I’m so excited,” she clutches her hands and twists back and forth. “Just let me know when and I’ll wear my best beret.”

👁

Steve’s not used to the steering. It’s not his car. He got rid of his old clunker two years ago to cut down on gas and the repair bills. He takes the train or bus. He prefers to walk when he can.

The borrowed vehicle isn’t his style. The Chevrolet is low-key enough but too long for the modern streets. He has the seat as close to the wheel as he can get and yet he’s still sitting on the edge. He looks ridiculous.

He sees her. She has a fuschia beret on and a matching overall skirt over a frilly white blouse. She clutches a boxy leather bag in a shade of lavender and her white boots lace up just above her ankles. To top it all off, she has a flowery scarf knotted around her neck.

He grips the wheel tighter. His chest burns and his neck is scalding. He’s really going to do this. Well, it’s part of the plan. The other guys are all waiting and he can’t chicken out. Not with them. He knows he’s the odd one out. Peter might be closer to his size but he’s thicker than a toothpick.

That’s the thing they don’t have to worry about. They don’t have to prove themselves. They haven’t had to. He still doesn’t get why they can’t just go out and find a cute girl with their buff arms and easy posture.

He suppresses a cough. His chest is getting tight. He needs his inhaler. Later.

He pulls up and gets out. “Hi,” he grins. “You look pretty.”

She preens, “oh, thanks, Steve. I love your tie.”

He looks down. He still dressed up for her. He has to make her believe. Ugh, or he could take her where he said he would...

He walks her around the car and opens the door for her. She calls him a gentleman through the ringing in his ears.

He drives down the streets, in the direction of the gallery. She eases in. She puts her head down and checks her phone. Jake said once they’re beyond the city limits, he’ll cut the signal. Steve doesn’t really understand how he does those things but he trusts his skills.

“You just drove past,” she says.

“Oh, dang, sorry, looking for a spot.”

“They have free parking,” she giggles.

“Right, let me find somewhere to turn around.”

He doesn’t. He keeps driving. He has the route memorized. He sees the truck pull out behind him. Curtis will follow just to make sure.

“Steve...” Charity twists too look back. “Where are you going?”

He can’t speak. He just stares ahead. She pulls at the door handle. Sy disabled it from the inside. She tries several times and says his name again. “What’s going on?”

He’s choking. His breath is all cottony and dry. He can hear the fear in her voice.

“It’ll be okay,” he assures her. “All okay.”

She picks up her phone and dials out. Or tries to. He turns toward onto the country road. She raises the cell phone.

“Steve, please, I’m calling the—it's not—it's not--” she stammers. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises as his sweaty hands stick to the wheel. “I wouldn’t ever.”

“You’re scaring me,” she squeals.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he chant.

The strike against his head startles him and has him veering off the road. He hits the brakes and falls back in the seat. Her belt unbuckles loudly and she hurls herself out of her seat. She crawls over him and shoves open his door.

She’s torn out by Curtis as he growls, “Rogers.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Steve demands as he cradles his temple.

“You know I won’t,” Curtis responds as he gets her hand behind her. “Call Jensen.”

[elisela]

an introvert's guide to falling in love on thanksgiving derek x stiles, g, fluff, thanksgiving, 1.6k for @nerdy-stilinski ... just barely getting this up in time haha

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It’s not that Derek doesn’t like being charitable; it’s that Derek doesn’t like people. What he does like is cooking, which is why, every Thanksgiving morning since high school, he’s found a reason to make himself useful in the kitchen and just …. not leave.

All day. 

Slowly, throughout college and grad school, he was put in charge of more and more of the meal, until the only thing he wasn’t responsible for was the appetizers his mother set out early and kept refreshing throughout the day. He has his timeline down to a science at this point, though the menu has evolved over the years to keep up with the guests his mother invites and the new additions always necessitate some last-minute juggling. He starts with the soups a full week in advance; butternut squash and split pea, made in huge proportions and kept frozen until the night before. Same with the gravy, though he’ll add in drippings for extra flavor just before it’s served. He preps the casseroles the day before and lets them sit until the morning, bakes at least half a dozen pies, and usually goes to bed the night before already exhausted for what’s to come.

But as tiring as it all is, he’ll gladly do it when the alternative is mixing with a bunch of college students he doesn’t know, all of whom don’t have another place to go for the holidays. The kitchen, at least, is his refuge.

A refuge that’s invaded far too quickly the next morning.

He hears the humming first; he’s been able to tune out most of the conversations since he was a teenager, though the more repetitive and annoying noises tend to break through occasionally. And while the humming is definitely repetitive, it doesn’t alarm him until it gets closer, closer, and abruptly turns into a low whistle at the threshold of the kitchen. 

Derek grits his teeth and reminds himself that while charity is important to his mother, genuine kindness is more so, and she won’t hesitate to voice any disappointment.

“Does the cooking or the clean-up take longer?” a voice asks, followed shortly by footsteps.

“Not sure,” Derek says, wincing when the potato peeler slips and cuts into his finger. He flips the water on with his wrist, hopefully hiding the blood from sight until his skin knits itself back together seconds later. “My sisters are in charge of cleaning.”

There’s laughter from behind him, and the sound of the wooden spoon he’d been using to brown the butter as it clinks against the pot. “So it doesn’t matter much to you is what I’m getting out of that.”

Derek feels his lips quirk up, despite his reluctance to have his space invaded. “If there’s a single clean dish in this kitchen at the end of the day I’ve failed.” This time, when he hears laughter, he turns around to look at the source of it and almost immediately wishes he hadn’t. If there’s anything that makes Derek a little weak in the knees, it’s pale skin and big, dark eyes, and he looks away before he can take the man in fully and find even more appealing details.

“Need any help getting dirtying them up?” the guy asks. Derek’s about to decline—politely, of course, or God help him if his mother overhears—but then he adds, “Because to be honest it’s kind of awkward being out there, I’m pretty sure everyone knows each other? There are groups, at least, and I was supposed to come with my buddy because we decided it was a Christmas-only trip home this year, only his girlfriend invited him to Tahoe literally this morning and he didn’t tell me until I got here and it also felt awkward to leave, so …”

Derek starts peeling the potatoes again and tells himself to stay strong, but he can feel his resolve crumbling. “I don’t really need much help,” he says; a weak protest, but still true. He does so much of the prep ahead of time that it’s really just managing the timing of it all. The disappointment that radiates from the man is so palpable that Derek caves almost immediately. “But you can cube the potatoes, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, anything,” he hears, and then, “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

Stiles … doesn’t shut up. He talks as he cuts the potatoes in a way that makes Derek think he’s going to lose a finger by the end of the night, an abbreviated life story that gives just enough details to get Derek interested in hearing more. But for every small fact about himself he gives out he asks at least three questions of Derek, everything from his middle name to the first flavor of ice cream he’d ever considered his favorite, and Derek finds himself talking much more than he does to anyone he’s ever met. He doesn’t even realize he’s answering the questions until suddenly they’re knee-deep in an argument over the relative merits of the Wildcat formation and he realizes he’s ignored the timer on the oven going off for a solid two minutes while he details his very short college football career.

“So how’d you get stuck with all the cooking?” Stiles asks hours later, just as Derek’s pulling the turkey out of the oven to rest. He’s holding a casserole dish in his hands and although his body is still, he also seems to be vibrating with energy. “I’m just assuming this isn’t the first time because you seem to have everything under control, whereas I would have probably burned the turkey to get it to cook faster and forgotten like, the rolls or something.”

Derek pauses, still holding on to the roasting pan with both hands. The words send a jolt of adrenaline through him—not the good type, not the type that comes with elation or something equally serotonin-boosting—but dread, and a mild sense of panic.

He couldn’t have forgotten the rolls. He gets the frozen type, bags and bags of them, because once they defrost and rise they only take a few minutes to bake. It’s the last thing he does every year; he takes the casseroles out of the oven and puts four cookie sheets worth of rolls in, and by the time they’re done everything else is on the table. 

“I forgot the rolls,” he says, letting go of the roasting pan and twisting to look at the island, where the shelf he typically keeps the cookie sheets on is depressingly empty. His heart feels like it’s sinking, even though he knows at the same time that there’s plenty of food and it’s not such a big deal. “I forgot to take them out.”

The oven door closes, pulling him out of his head, and Stiles taps at the buttons to set the timer. “I can grab them. Where are they?”

“In the freezer,” Derek says, probably too short, because Stiles raises an eyebrow in response. “Fuck, I never took them out. They take hours to rise, it’s too late. Shit.” 

“So we go without,” Stiles says, shrugging. “If anyone complains, kick them out.” 

He can’t keep himself from frowning. It’s such a simple, little thing, and he tends to get stuck on those at times and the unsettled feeling in his chest can stick around for hours. But then Stiles moves into his line of sight and reaches out, hand closing around his shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re upset,” he says, and grins even though a faint blush appears on his cheeks. “It’s not rolls, but I can make biscuits pretty quick if you’ve got flour and extra butter.”

Some of the pressure lifts off his chest. “Flour’s in the pantry,” he says, and Stiles nods once and turns around, further discussion not needed. Derek still needs to assemble the salads, but he takes a moment to find a clean mixing bowl and the pastry cutter so Stiles can get to work. It takes longer than the rolls would have, but everything is still hot when they come out of the oven, and he can’t even bring himself to care that his sisters will definitely make fun of him for messing up when Stiles breaks off a piece of a biscuit and holds it out for Derek to try.

They’re simple, but good—but even better is the way that Stiles kisses him back when Derek pulls him in, a little overwhelmed by the way the day turned out so differently than he had expected, but grateful.

“Thanks for that,” he says, quietly, when they part, gesturing to the basket Stiles had just piled all the biscuits into. “And everything else.”

“Thanks for letting me hide in here all day,” Stiles says with a grin. “Do you have to stick around for a while after dinner, or can I convince you to get late-night ice cream with me?”

“I could be convinced,” Derek says, picking up the last of the casserole dishes to bring to the table, “but I could also just forget to bring out that cherry pie you’ve been looking at all day and we could keep hiding.”

“Hiding’s good,” Stiles says quickly. “Hiding is great, let’s do that. Just not in here where I assume your sisters will be cursing our names as they clean, so—my place isn’t that far, if you wanna just … hide there. Instead. With the pie. You know, we could always get ice cream to go with the pie, that’s probably the best decision. Do people do a la mode with cherry pie?”

Derek shakes his head and grins, and uses his elbow to urge Stiles in front of him; they’ve only known each other a few hours, but he knows well how easily he can get distracted. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go get this over with and we can find out.”

[godisarepublican]

BREAKING: Ukraine behind attempt to assassinate Trump!

So this Ukrainian "Fact Checking" site, created by the Ukrainians to advance the Ukrainian narrative on all things, just "Fact Checked" the claim that the Ukrainians were behind the Trump assassination attempt and, real shocker here, the Ukrainians absolved the Ukrainians!

There is no reason for them to do this, and nobody outside of a mental institution could think it was a good idea for the Ukrainians to speak openly about the possibility of the Ukrainians trying to murder Trump, UNLESS they know what's coming and they're trying to get ahead of it.

They know Zelensky is guilty.

That's it. That's a fact: The Ukrainians tried to murder Trump.

They're animals. Zelensky is an election-cancelling dictator who has ordered terrorists attacks on the streets of Russia and repressed religious minorities in his own country, Why wouldn't the dirty fascist try to kill Trump? Trump threatened the Biden/Harris gravy train!

[misfitwashere]

Musk’s dangerous bullying

ROBERT REICH

DEC 2

Friends,

No one better illustrates the sinister consequences of great wealth turned into unaccountable power than Elon Musk. 

Musk, the richest person in the world, is not only claiming presidential authority to fire federal workers, but he’s posting the identities of those whose jobs he wants to eliminate — with the clear intention that his followers harass and threaten them so they quit. 

Musk is utterly unaccountable. He has never been elected to anything, but he spent $120 million helping Trump become the president-elect and is now acting as if he’s Trump’s co-president, calling himself Trump’s “First Buddy.”

After buying Twitter for $44 billion, Musk turned it into a cesspool of disinformation and conspiracy theories and manipulated its algorithm to give himself 205 million followers, to whom he is now distributing treacherous lies. 

In recent days, Musk boosted posts on his website singling out the names and job titles of four federal employees working in climate policy and regulation who have done nothing other than hold titles Musk dislikes. All four targets are women. 

In one instance, Musk quote-tweeted a post highlighting the role of 37-year-old Ashley Thomas, a little-known director of climate diversification at the U.S. International Development Finance Corporation. 

Musk’s repost — “So many fake jobs” — garnered 32 million views, triggering a tsunami of taunts against Thomas, such as, “Sorry Ashley Thomas Gravy Train is Over” and “A tough way for Ashley Thomas to find out she’s losing her job.”

Musk apparently took the word “diversification” in Thomas’s title to mean the “D” in “DEI,” which Musk considers “woke.” 

Thomas (who holds degrees in engineering, business, and water science from Oxford and MIT) is focused on climate diversification to protect agriculture and infrastructure from extreme weather events.

Following Musk’s tweet, Thomas shut down several of her social media accounts. 

In another repost, Musk mocked Alexis Pelosi, a relative of former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, who works as a senior adviser to climate change at the Department of Housing and Urban Development.

“Nancy Pelosi’s niece should not be paid $181,648.00 by the U.S. Taxpayer to be the ‘Climate Advisor’ at HUD,” the original account wrote. “But maybe her advice is amazing 🤣🤣” Musk snarked. 

Musk also singled out the chief climate officer in the Department of Energy’s loan programs office and shared the name of an employee serving as senior adviser on environmental justice and climate change at the Department of Health and Human Services.

IMHO, Musk’s targets should sue him for defamation. 

This is hardly the first time Musk has targeted specific people, and he obviously knows how dangerous such targeting can be. 

After taking over Twitter in 2022, Musk targeted Yoel Roth, the platform’s former head of trust and safety, who had recently left the company. Musk tweeted, incorrectly, that it looked like Roth had argued “in favor of children being able to access adult Internet services.” Some platform users interpreted this as Musk calling Roth a pedophile, and they posted calls for Roth’s death. 

Roth moved out of his house because of the threats. 

Musk has also singled out specific civil servants. In 2021, he targeted Missy Cummings, a former fighter pilot and senior adviser at the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, whom Musk claimed was “extremely biased against Tesla” because she questioned the safety of Tesla’s advanced driver-assistance system. 

Cummings said she received death threats and was forced to leave her home as a result of Musk’s posts.

Musk’s current targeting is even more dangerous because he has the apparent authority of the president-elect. Although the so-called “Department of Government Efficiency” that Musk is co-heading (with Vivek Ramaswamy) isn’t a real department and has not been authorized by Congress, Musk is acting as if it’s real. 

Cummings says Musk’s personal intimidation is already leading some longtime federal employees to leave their jobs: “He intended for them, for people just like this, to be intimidated and just go ahead and quit so he didn’t have to fire them. So his plan, to some extent, is working.”

**

I worked in the federal government between 1974 and 1980, first at the Federal Trade Commission and then at the Justice Department, and from 1993 to 1997 I served as secretary of labor. 

Most of the federal employees I came to know cared deeply about the common good. The vast majority did their work carefully and thoughtfully. We owe them a huge debt of gratitude. 

But ever since Richard Nixon attacked “unelected bureaucrats” as America’s enemy and Ronald Reagan blamed “liberal bureaucrats” for government’s failings, government employees have been scapegoated. And now Trump is preparing to attack the so-called “deep state.”

In fact, America spends less each year on the federal government’s civilian workforce (roughly $200 billion) than we spend annually on federal contractors ($750 billion). 

Much of the “fat” is found in these private, for-profit contractors, who aren’t accountable to anyone except the office that draws up the contracts. 

The biggest waste is in the Defense Department, where many contractors have avoided competitive bidding because they have a monopoly over critical technologies. 

Which brings me back to Musk, whose businesses are fast becoming among the government’s largest contract monopolists. According to USASpending.gov (the government database that tracks federal spending), Musk’s SpaceX and his Starlink satellite division have signed contracts totaling nearly $20 billion. 

I don’t know how much waste and inefficiency are to be found in Musk’s government contracts because I haven’t been able to find any reports on them — which is precisely the problem. 

While Musk seeks to intimidate federal civil servants whose job titles he dislikes, forcing some to leave government because his postings have elicited threats to their lives, Musk is distracting attention from himself and his own profitable dips into the taxpayer trough. 

I invite any of you with an inclination to root out waste and inefficiency to find out what you can about any likely abuses in Musk’s government contracts, and let us know what you come up with.