#Passage to Turkey

[salmonpancakes-blog]

I had to refrain from filling out this "logbook" because my telephone subscription exploded in Serbia (even in airplane mode my telephone plan wants to strip me T.T)

after getting stuck in traffic jams trying to cross the Bulgarian border, my precious efforts as a little woman are always easily brushed aside and forgotten for the first little annoyance on my part, considered unjustified.

I don't drink, but after a pseudo-romantic freezing night under the stars, I no longer have the impression of not having come down from a fucking hangover

[la-cocotte-de-paris]

I love reading back through passages of Edwige's memoir because my French is so much better than it was when I first read it and it's like rediscovering everything that I missed or needed more help with a translator

[auschizm]

It is also worth noting that once your brain receptors have been altered by antipsychotics, even planned and careful reductions in dose come with an increased risk of psychosis. This is not necessarily an inherent part of any psychotic illness the drugs are treating, but a response to a lot of blocked/altered receptors suddenly having much freer passage. And it is likely to stabilize as the brain adjusts. So if you're trying to get off/go down in dosage of antipsychotics and you experience an increase in psychotic symptoms, this is not as much a sign that you can't ever be stable on a lower dose as a sign that your brain has been temporarily altered by the antipsychotic pills and is now struggling to stabilize without them. And you don't necessarily have to panic and immediately go back on a higher dose if this happens to you. This is however also part of the reason why quitting any antipsychotic cold turkey is very dangerous/likely to make you worse

[leclsrc]

hi, could you please do the five confessions prompt with charles?

proving my devotion – cl16

genre: fluff, sry charles is a pining yearning mess, title from this

send for five times the receiver almost says ‘i love you’ and the one time they do.

The plates clack against each other, dissonant in the otherwise still evening. Charles stacks one atop the other, awaits his mother’s nosy questioning—the inevitable gamble, every time he brings a girl home—but she’s quiet, humming a song under her breath, the one she always sings when she’s doing the dishes. Something’s different tonight, a slight change he can’t name.

“So,” he starts, because she won’t and the curiosity kills him. His eyes find you, with the ease he’s adopted in the months of knowing you, dancing with Lorenzo on the patio to a Luther Vandross song. “Thoughts?”

“Hmm. Tu es fouineur.” She teases, a glint in her eye. How the tables have turned, she seems to say.

Silently, over the dirty dishes, they both recount the day gone: the lunch moved from noon to half-past-three because Arthur burned the turkey, the dropped bottle of wine you’d gifted because one of Charles’ uncles accidentally let it slip from his hand (you said it was okay, it was just a hundred euros when it was closer to one grand), the guitar performance from Charles.

The way the sun had drowned in a sea of Monaco orange, and with it the stories of weddings, Jules, and Hervé, and the affair moved outside to the patio so Lorenzo could boast his brand new speaker that was so worth the many zeroes on the price tag, maman! And you had quickly found out Charles’ inability to dance was, in fact, genetic.

It’s a new sensation for Charles, a thrilling one, a frightening one even. He squeezes the sponge and watches soap filter through his fingers. He turns, lets his green eyes meet your soft ones. It’s an exhausting effort but he says it anyway, wrenches it out quietly: “I think… I think I…”

“I know,” Pascale says. She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I see it.”

—

You’d taken home a frayed copy of The Little Prince you bought at a garage sale.

It’s so old, its pages have long yellowed and there’s evidence of past ownership all over it. Most notable of them is a name on the front page, along with a number that’s probably unused now. Isn’t it so quaint—and the words, babe, you’d said with conviction when he questioned your purchase, the words are in French!

You’ve been trying your luck with the language for a good few weeks, but it’s a brick wall—mur de briques, if you go by the textbook on your bedside table. You huff when you can’t translate the last lines of the passage you’re reading, tossing the book onto the empty space beside you that is quickly occupied by Charles’ bulky figure.

“Stuck again?” He asks, opening the dog-eared pages to find where your bookmark is nestled. Under your palms, you groan and nod with frustration.

“Don’t try me,” you say, voice gravelly. “I can’t translate it.”

The rough pad of his index finger traces the yellowed page, and he smiles softly at your many annotations. Verb conjugation, words you found easy, words you still forget now.

His eyes flicker up, to your lying figure, the freckles on your arms, the mole on your hip he can only see because your shorts have ridden down low. His heart swells, seizes, his mind rampant with thoughts of you. Please tell her, he says to himself. Tell her everything. Tell her how you find her in all the passages, in all the French words, in all the books, in all the times she says your name. She’s everywhere, she’s everything. Tell her tell her tell her you lo—

But the realness of it all chokes him, and he says instead, placing a big palm on your abdomen, “I’ll read it for you.”

—

There are few sentences considered odd on a paddock. People say anything on it—driver gossip, car gossip, celebrity gossip, engineer gossip. Charles can guarantee he’s heard some of the weirdest statements and Freudian slips (the one time Christian Horner called Toto ‘dad’) on a paddock. 

“Carlos—pshhfhf—sprayed—pfffsh—whip cream—on my face!” …Okay, that’s. That’s different.

He turns, eyes wide. “What?!”

You stand in the doorway, frozen.

Your face is almost completely covered in white, and bits of your hair have fallen victim to the sweet spray of whip, too. You look frazzled and freaked. “I just got my hair blown out. I did my makeup. Dude. I look like a clown.”

“Oh, my God,” he says, already unable to contain his laughter. “I love you—!”

A millisecond passes him by like an hour. “—r uh, your new makeup hairdo, thing, a-ling. Thing-a-ling. Makeup. Your new makeup.” 

—

There is an angel in Charles’ bed. She leaves a lovebite on his neck.

“Good morning,” he says, gruff. I love— but it stops itself before he can even open his mouth.

—

You get into a minor fight about cooking music.

Charles waves the whisk in the air, claims he will die on the hill of cooking to French jazz. You call it pretentious and crank up the Stevie Wonder. Eventually you fall into a repeated pattern of songs that satisfy the both of you.

“I read somewhere that if you roll basil up,” you say, chewing on a rogue leaf of mint from your pre-dinner mojito and walking up to him, “and chop it, it saves time trying to cut it up by itself.”

“Does it?” Charles asks, entertaining you. You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. He raises the knife in his hand, mumbles careful, baby under his breath. You insist he try, so he rolls up two leaves. Unfortunately, you’re right.

“So now we get to have pesto in five minutes instead of five hours,” you tease, kissing him. It’s minty, there’s French jazz in the background, and you’ve taught him to chop basil in the most affectionate soft-spoken way possible. It’s sacred. He’s afraid, he’s always been, that he would never be able to say it, that it would always be a losing game of wrestling words out of his throat—but now he’s not. 

“I love you,” he mutters. It’s easy, unforced, natural. The words find solace, find home in the warm kitchen. He refuses to open his eyes because God knows what you’ll say then. Run away maybe? Throw all the basil to the ground? Down the entire cooler of mojito?

Your silence is deafening. “Did you hear me?” He opens his eyes.

A foolishly pretty smile greets him. “I got it the first five times.”

[magnetothemagnificent]

Why aren't ostriches kosher? A case-study for Kashrut laws

Unlike mammals and fish, the Torah does not provide a list of signs that identify a bird as kosher or non-kosher. Instead, it provides a list of non-kosher birds in Leviticus 11:13-19, and they are:

נֶּ֙שֶׁר֙- Eagle

פֶּ֔רֶס- Vulture (or Kite)

עׇזְנִיָּֽה- Black vulture (or Osprey)

דָּאָ֔ה- Kite (or Kestrel)

אַיָּ֖ה לְמִינָֽהּ- Falcon (or Vulture) of every variety

כׇּל־עֹרֵ֖ב לְמִינֽוֹ- All varieties of Raven

בַּ֣ת הַֽיַּעֲנָ֔ה- Ostrich

תַּחְמָ֖ס- Nighthawk (or Jay, or Goatsucker, or some species of Owl)

שָּׁ֑חַף- Gull (or Sparrow hawk)

נֵּ֖ץ לְמִינֵֽהוּ- Hawks of every variety

כּ֥וֹס- Little owl (or just Owl)

שָּׁלָ֖ךְ- Cormorant (or Gull)

יַּנְשֽׁוּף- Great owl

תִּנְשֶׁ֥מֶת- White owl

קָּאָ֖ת- Pelican (or Starling)

רָחָֽם- Bustard (or Magpie)

חֲסִידָ֔ה- Stork

אֲנָפָ֖ה לְמִינָ֑הּ- Herons of every variety

דּוּכִיפַ֖ת- Hoopoe

עֲטַלֵּֽף- Bat

The Torah repeats this list in Deuteronomy 14:11-18. As you can see, most of the species on this list are uncertain in translation (which is why I offered alternate translations), although you can see the general idea. But, we know 100% that ostrich is explicitly forbidden in the Torah, we don't even need to derive anything. The birds that are kosher are generally regarded as kosher based on unbroken tradition that they are (they are cases of birds no longer being considered kosher by most Jews despite them once being considered kosher, because the tradition was broken, but we'll get to that later).

Of course, there are many more birds species besides those listed, and very early on the Sages figured signs of kosher and non-kosher birds based on the list. First, as you can see, many of the birds on the list are birds of prey, so any birds of prey are automatically non-kosher. That was easy for them to figure out.

But what about anatomical signs?

Well, they figured that out, too. (Chullin 59a)

A bird that claws its prey and eats is non-kosher (such as birds of prey).

A kosher bird has a digit seperated slightler higher behind the other three toes, a crop, and/or a gizzard that has a membrane on the inside that can be peeled. Below is a comparison of raven feet and a parrot's foot, versus duck feet and chicken feet. On the left, the raven and parrot's feet have all their toes branching out of the same level. On the right, the duck and chicken feet's back toe is slightly elevated and seperate from the other toes.

A bird that perches on a wire with two toes in the front and two in the back is non-kosher, as demonstrated below by a close-up of a parrot's feet while perching. You can see that there are only two toes in the front, while the other two are in the back.

So, in order for a bird to be considered kosher, it must not be on the list of non-kosher birds provided in the Torah, must fulfil the anatomical descriptions outlined later by the Sages, and must have a tradition of being kosher.

Israel is the largest consumer of turkey meat per capita. This is because Jews eat a lot of turkey, including kosher-keeping Jews. But.....turkey is a New World bird! How can there be a tradition of turkeys being kosher if the ancient Israelites would have never encountered turkeys???

So this is where it gets even more interesting. When turkey was first introduced to Jews, it became widely popular. It's thought that Jews first started eating it because of its similarity to chicken, and assumed it must be kosher. Eventually, the Rabbis realized they had to make a decision about the status of turkeys. If they ruled turkeys as non-kosher, then all the Jews who had already been eating turkeys would be ruled as eating non-kosher, which y'know as a Rabbi you really don't want to declare a whole bunch of Jews as doing the wrong thing. So, most Rabbis relied on a passage in the Talmud stating that a non-kosher animal cannot become pregnant by kosher animals (Bekhorot 7a). Since turkeys and chickens can hybridize, Rabbis relied on this passage to declare turkeys as kosher. There are still some Jews today that don't regard turkey as kosher, but it is accepted as kosher by the majority of world Jewry and is a very popular meat.

What about peacocks? Well, peafowl are mentioned numerous times in the Tanakh and in Jewish history as being eaten, but today, the Orthodox Union does not certify them as kosher. Peafowl are genetically related to other kosher birds and have all the necessary signs.....but they are no longer considered kosher by major Orthodox opinions. This is because the last record of peafowl being considered kosher and eaten by a Jewish community was in the mid 19th century. The tradition was broken, and therefore peafowl aren't eaten or certified, despite the fact that they technically are kosher.

Now here's where is gets fun- somehow, the distinctions between kosher and non-kosher birds fit really neatly within our modern understanding of bird phylogeny. Most kosher birds fall under the Galliformes (chickens and friends) and Anseriformes (ducks and friends) Orders, which are more closely related to eachother than they are to any other Orders, and make up the Superoder Galloanserae. The only kosher birds that don't fall into that Superorder are pigeons and doves, but pigeons and doves are already considered a little different by the Sages- they're the only birds that can be used as offerings in the Temple. This is yet another example of how well the ancient Jewish animal classifications fit with out modern phylogenetic understanding, it's super cool. Because grebes and gallinules look a lot more similar to ducks than chickens do, but nope, they are not kosher while ducks and chickens are, and indeed, ducks and chickens are more closely related to each other than ducks are related to grebes and gallinules.

So, in conclusion- ostriches aren't kosher because

1) They are listed among the non-kosher birds in the Torah

2) They are missing toes- their toes are not in the configuration outlined in the Talmud, and in fact they only have two very large toes, as you can see below:

3) They do not have a crop (all ratites do not have crops)

Hope you enjoyed this long-winded way of answering why ostriches aren't kosher :)

Further Reading:

A Peafowl by any other Name

What Are the Signs of a Kosher Bird?

The Liberated Bird: Let’s Talk Turkey

[shitsndgiggs]

Hello! Idk If the requests are open? Maybe Arda x Bosniak!Reader

Where they just bond over the similatrities in the culture, where they often joke about the fact that racist/islamophobic people call Bosniaks "Turkified serbs/croats" etc

A/N: I hope that I did your request justice.

CULTURAL CROSSOVER - ARDA GÜLER

In which you and Arda bond over the similarities of your culture

Arda Güler x bosniak! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

In the heart of Istanbul, Arda and I found ourselves wandering through the quiet aisles of an old library tucked away from the city's bustling streets.

The smell of aged books filled the air as we browsed through shelves that held tales of empires and cultures long intertwined.

"Look at this," Arda exclaimed, pulling out a worn book with faded letters in Turkish and Bosnian on the cover. "It's about Bosnian-Turkish relations."

I leaned in, curious. "That's fascinating. I've always wondered about our shared histories."

Arda flipped through the pages, pointing out passages that spoke of cultural exchanges, shared traditions, and the migration of Bosniaks to Turkey over centuries.

"It's amazing how our stories have woven together," he mused, his eyes bright with excitement.

"Yeah," I nodded, tracing my finger over the intricate calligraphy. "It's like discovering the roots of our connection."

As we left the library, our conversation flowed effortlessly about the similarities between bosnian and turkish cultures. We talked at how food, music, and even family values resonated deeply across our backgrounds.

"I remember my grandmother telling me stories about the Ottoman Empires influence in Bosnia," I said, reminiscing. "She would always cook traditional dishes that had a touch of turkish flair"

Arda's face lit up. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean! My family loves Bosnian food. Have you ever had burek? My mom makes it all the time."

I laughed. "Of course! burek is a staple back home"

"You know, growing up," Arda said, sipping his tea thoughtfully, "I had friends who were bosniaks, they would sometimes get bullied, and be called ‘turkified’ serbs”

I listened intently, feeling a mix of empathy and curiosity.

Setting my tea down gently, I met his gaze with a reassuring smile. "It's heartbreaking how people can twist identities and use them to divide," I replied softly.

Arda nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Exactly. It's like they couldn't see beyond labels. But my friends, they embraced their heritage proudly, just like you."

"I'm glad they had that strength," I said sincerely. "It's a shame people can be so narrow-minded."

As the sun began to set over the city skyline, we found ourselves at a family-run restaurant. The owner, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted us like old friends.

"Hoşgeldiniz" he said, pouring us glasses of water.

“Hoşbulduk” Arda replied with a smile.

We decided to order a selection of Turkish and Bosnian pastries to share. As we savored each bite, our conversation continued to flow effortlessly, touching on everything from family traditions to favorite childhood memories.

"So," Arda said, leaning back with a playful grin, "if you could travel anywhere in the world tomorrow, where would you go?"

I chuckled, considering the question seriously. "Hmm, maybe Japan. I've always been fascinated by its culture and technology. How about you?"

Arda's eyes lit up with excitement. "I'd love to visit Argentina. I've heard their passion for football matches ours, and I'd love to experience their culture firsthand."

We exchanged stories and dreams for the future, painting vivid pictures of adventures yet to come.

[lonniemachin]

I was asked to help boost Abdul’s fundraiser. Abdul is urgently trying to raise money to evacuate Gaza, get married, and rebuild his life elsewhere. He has only raised $90 out of his $35,000 goal so far! Please donate if you can, and if you can’t, please share!

From Abdul’s GFM:

Dear Friends, Abdul's story is more than just a love story from war-torn Gaza – it's a call to action for all of us who believe in the power of community. Abdul Qader is 30 years old and comes from Gaza. He spent years in Turkey, working hard to save money to marry the love of his life. Finally in 2023 he saved enough and returned to Gaza to fulfill his goals.

But there dreams were shattered when the home he bought for them to move into after marriage was destroyed in the bombing. The war destroyed everything they had, including Abdul Qader's dreams and years of hard work. It even took away his opportunity to marry the one he loves.

Now Abdul Qader is trying to raise $35,000. $5,000 secures Abdul's safe passage out of Gaza, offering him a fresh start away from the conflict. The remaining $30,000 will help him rebuild his life. Imagine a new home, a place where hope can take root and dreams can flourish!

With your help, we can help Abdul build a future and marry the woman of his dreams. His story will serve as a constant reminder of the power of love and collective action. Every donation makes a difference.

Join us on this mission! Donate today and help Abdul Qader reach his goal and marry his love. Together, we can transform despair into hope, brick by brick, dream by dream. Thank you so much for your support and God bless you all.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 4.9k words]

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. "Evenin'." "Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?" His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you. "Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

An incident occurs when Sebastian Sallow is having a drink.

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, grief, swearing, non-explicit sexual assault (this is not committed between Sebastian and the bar girl; I've marked the beginning and end of the passage with /////, if you wish to skip. Please take care!)

[PREV] [NEXT]

2: universal constants

The freckled stranger, Sebastian Sallow, breaks his four-month streak the day after you learn the truth.

"Has he come in yet?" you ask Bonny, one of the newer serving girls with a big heart – and even bigger bosom. It makes her popular with the older men, though she lavishes the attention. "Is he sitting in the garden?"

"Ain't seen a wink of him, miss," she says blithely. "Trust me, I won't be missing that muscled chest of his anytime soon, woooooo wee."

"Control yourself, Bonny."

"Don't know how you do. If it was me he was ogling I'd be all over him like Jesus on a Christmas turkey after his fortieth day in the desert."

You furrow your brow. "What? Ogling?"

She lets out a squalling giggle. "You ain't noticed the way he looks at you? I tell you what! You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know."

You flush deeply, and when she heads away to wipe a table, you glance down at yourself. You don't have a lot to boast about, frankly – you don't have enough money for fine clothes and your hair is raggedy on a good day, often thrown into a haphazard bun. What Sebastian Sallow has to look at, you'll never know.

Not that it matters. You wouldn't care – don't care – either way. You're glad Sebastian is getting help for his drinking problem and not squandering his time, money and potential. Still you glance to the barstool, his barstool, and recognise a pang of sadness at his absence. He's good company when he tries. You don't miss his attitude and poor life choices, but you do miss those kernels of goodness, like when he tries to make you laugh, or when he's happily entertaining conversation to pass the night.

He just needs to embrace them.

Don't give him too much credit. So he had one day of realisation? Ultimately it means nothing without the work. And it's not too late for today – he might come in later.

You sweep yourself down, retie your hair, and use the brass tap as a mirror to thumb away the dirt on your cheeks. For prosperity.

He doesn't come.

The next day, the door opens at precisely eight o'clock. Your head swings up from cleaning a nearby table. The man who strolls inside isn't Sebastian, however, but someone else – a new stranger. His fine garb, lacquered cane and pristine gold band on his ring finger are so at odds to the humble surroundings that you think he must've got lost on his way to the bank, the courthouse, or hell, bloody Buckingham Palace itself.

"Welcome to Ye Olde Hen House," you call. "Want a drink?"

His head cants, and then he's weaving between tables and chairs and Squiffy Joe. The stranger is tall and commands presence, but not in the way Sebastian does – this man is slender and lean, with coiffed dark blonde hair and a scattering of moles on his face. It's his eyes that draw you in the most, though, like waxy opals. They never quite focus on you.

"Good evening. I'm looking to thank you, actually. My name is Ominis Gaunt."

That rings a bell. Sebastian mentioned him once. Best friend, he called him, along with some other chap named Garreth.

"Oh yeah, one of Sebastian's?"

His lips press into a line. "I'd rather not be referred to as one of Sebastian's, but yes, we are reluctantly acquainted."

"What's this about thanks, then? Haven't seen him in a coupla' days."

"Precisely." His smile is genuine, but practiced. "He's trying to turn over a new leaf with his drinking habits, and I'm lead to believe you were the catalyst."

You snort. "I told him to sod off, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, I do like you. Yes, I'm afraid his sister's death hit him hard, and despite encouragement, I've never been able to help him overcome the grief. But you... you did. Without trying, no less."

You shrug. "Just told him to pull himself together or take his shit elsewhere."

"And I believe those words, coming from a near stranger, were exactly what he needed to hear, so I am grateful."

It's good to hear that you helped pull him from the pits – though that pang rolls through you again. You try squash it, but it resolutely shrinks until it's in a corner of your heart you can't reach.

"Sure you can't be grateful by putting money in my till?" you say to distract yourself.

Ominis lets out an amused sniff. "Very well, you've earnt it. A pot of breakfast tea will do."

"... Breakfast tea."

"Yes."

"In a pub."

"Yes."

"At eight o'clock at night."

"Do you always question your patrons' beverage of choice?"

"Only the bizarre ones. Sit at the bar, tea coming up."

You pour it for him. He uses his fingers to discern the coin value of his payment, and when he puts his cane aside, feels for the teacup's handle too.

"Thank you." He takes a sip, and the steam glistens on his skin. "Very nice."

"Just a Twinings blend."

He purses his lips, but does not comment – a move so unlike Sebastian you struggle to see how they're friends at all. Sebastian is beer, muscle and opinions; Ominis Gaunt is tea with his pinkie out, slender hands that have never seen labour, and quaint contemplation in near-silence. His accent is clipped and precise, each syllable like a dagger strike.

"You've been friends a long time?" you ask, too curious about this undrawn curtain of Sebastian's life.

"He works with me in law enforcement," Ominis says. "We're detectives."

Your eyes go wide. Sebastian is a bloody policeman?

"I take it by your silence that you're surprised."

It would explain why he's so... distractingly muscular. "A drunk officer?"

"He's been on extended leave since Anne was— since her passing."

"I see." Extended leave this long? Is that where your taxes are going? To keep Sebastian watered? "I'm glad he's got work, but can't see him enforcing the law for toffee. If anything it seems like he'd break it."

Ominis smiles with dark amusement. "I can understand the sentiment, but he is excellent at his job, though I'll never admit it to his face."

"Been doing it a long time?"

"Since I finished school. Sebastian is a more recent acquisition and works under me. I helped him secure the job."

"Really? What was he doing before?"

"Now that," he says, bringing the cup to his lip, "is something you'll have to ask him yourself."

You leave Ominis to his tea, though steal the occasional glance to check up on him. He doesn't need it, never speaks, never acknowledges anything around him. Halfway through his pot Bonny asks whether he's lost his way to Mayfair and needs a carriage called, but Ominis politely, amusedly, declines, and thanks her for her kindness.

"Another?" you ask, when all that's left of his teabag is mushy dregs.

He stands to replace his coat and tugs his hands into leather gloves. "Thank you, but I must be going. If you would," he says, before you wish him farewell, "I'd like to ask for a favour."

Suspicion erodes your curiosity. "With?"

"Sebastian is haunted by many demons." His voice is monotone, but ironically it's those unusual eyes that give him away, tightening ever so slightly. "I have no doubt he's trying to give up his addiction—"

"Stop there, Mr Gaunt," you say quickly. "I ain't no doctor. I run a pub. I sell drink. I can't get Sebastian to quit."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I only ask that you monitor his habits in my stead." He takes something out of his pocket and slides it across the counter. "His welfare is important to me, and I would like to be kept informed if he ever... relapses."

It's not a business card, but a scrawl of a landline number on... parchment?

"Please telephone if there are any issues."

Ominis couldn't be any more different from Sebastian, looks, mannerisms, attitude, yet this one request speaks of how much he cares. You smile, endeared at their brotherly relationship, and idly wish there was someone in your life that would care about you as much.

You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know.

Shooing the thought away, you stuff the note down your apron. If Sebastian collapses on your turf, at least the responsibility is on Ominis' shoulders. You can be a messenger. It seems a fair deal.

"I'll keep an eye out."

Ominis bows his head slightly. "I appreciate it, madam. Thank you for your time." He half-turns, then adds wryly, "I would say I hope to hear from you... but I sincerely hope I don't."

Sebastian Sallow appears three days later.

You're bone-tired, fighting the yawns that sprawl across your face. Owing to your parents, you went to sleep late – but his arrival wakes you like a slap. He looks different: fresh and clean, colour to his skin, and groomed, with a beard that no longer threatens to overrun his face. He catches your eye and heads straight for you, and you can't help but feel like he sees you, and nothing, no one, else.

"Miss me?" he says with that velvet tone as he takes his usual spot.

"Eh," you say, shrugging. "I only missed your money."

"And I only missed your beer. Stout back?"

"New shipment came this yesterday. Pint?"

But he raises one of his hands.

"No. Half-pint... please."

You make a face and switch to a smaller glass. Despite the reduced size it near-vanishes down his throat, Adam's apple bobbing frantically, and relief collapses his brow like he's broken the surface after too long underwater. His knuckles are white, clenched so hard, and two protruding blue veins converge at his wrist.

"Can I—" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "Another half-pint, please?"

You think about Ominis, and the note in your apron.

"How about a break first?"

After a beat, he nods.

"Beer garden's open." You tilt your head to the back door, where Bonny is slaloming through a rowdy group of patrons. "Might be nice to distract yourself with fresh air."

"Nah. Then I can't bother you."

"What makes you think you're bothering me?"

"Two things are universal constants, bar girl." He rolls his shoulder, and the muscles in his forearm strain. "How much I like to win is one of them."

"Uh huh. What's the other?"

"A man doesn't kiss and tell."

"Shame. Might actually be relevant to your so-called 'winning'."

"On the contrary, the more I bother you, the less you'll be able to stop thinking about me." He tilts his head. "And I'd take that as a very big win."

You snort and flick a wet cloth at him as you go to leave – but his breathy laughter echoes.

His schedule becomes erratic, unpredictable. One week you see him daily, nursing his beer and doing his utmost to bother you (his words)... then the next week he won't appear at all, space taken by another annoying, but less charming, alcoholic. You're loath to admit you miss him on those days.

"Heard Ominis paid you a visit?"

Today he's trying – with emphasis – to nurse his half-pint slowly. His fingers circle around the rim.

"Yeah." You snort, squeezing a cloth into a glass. "Oddball, sorry to say."

Sebastian barks a laugh. "Don't be sorry, it's true. Posh git."

"Is he blind?" Shit, that sounded rude. "Er, hard of... sight?"

"Yeah, but he can still see bullshit a mile away. Never fell for any of my pranks at school."

It did make you wonder how Ominis could be so competent in his field. A drunk detective, fine, plenty of those on the force, but a blind detective? That was unheard of.

"Maybe you're just bad at pranks," you tease.

"I'll have you know, in first year I got him stuck in a tree when he was fast asleep. No one found him until next morning after he yelled his voice hoarse. Don't give me that look. He dunked me into the lake next day."

The lake. What sort of school did he go to?

"He told me you're a detective."

"Sort of."

"You're his assistant."

"That's what he said? Prick."

You cross your arms. "So it's not true?"

"He's above me in rank, but I sure as hell wasn't his assistant." His eyes trace you up and down, warming your cheeks. "What else did he tell you?"

The note weighs heavy in your apron. Should you say something? Ominis made no request of keeping it secret, but you don't want Sebastian to feel undermined, or worse, babied. He may be a drunk but he's still an adult man and capable of making his own decisions, no matter how stupid.

You wet your lips and decide, against your better judgement, to share. "He asked to give him a bell if something ever happened to you."

You wait for a twitch of his expression, betraying indignation or hurt, but Sebastian merely shrugs.

"Typical bore. He's been trying to get me to quit since I started. Surprised he deigned to come here himself and didn't send Garreth instead."

"I think," you say, feigning shock, "he might care about you."

"Can't have that. You say he gave you his telephone number?"

You roll your eyes. "I said you were bad at pranks, didn't know you were unoriginal too."

"He can't retaliate if I'm not there."

"'Ello, Mr Sallow!"

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly.

"Evenin'."

"Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?"

His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you.

"Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

You blush. "I— you look— pale."

"Pale?" Bonny leans closer, then tuts. "Oh, your face is a bit peaky! You under the weather? Poor lamb. Get that drink down yous." She skips off with her next round. "You'll be right as rain in a jiffy!"

You clear your throat when she goes. "I'm sorry. She's new—"

"It's all right, she means well." He stares at his drink like he means to down it, but instead says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Looking out for me."

"I ain't done a thing, Sebastian."

His lips press to the rim of the glass, and it mists with his breath.

"Not yet."

/////

You're saved from answering by a high-pitched giggle. Bonny flutters a hand at a rowdy customer, a man in his fifties, belly so swollen with drink it flops out his shirt. He stands with his arms raised.

"Cor, you are a beaut, aren't you, Miss Bonny?"

She swipes the used glasses from his table. "You should drink more, ain't never been kinder!"

They laugh together. You shake your head, turn back to Sebastian. "Just don't fall asleep—"

The giggle turns into a shriek. Glass shatters. You spin back – Bonny has dropped the tray, shards glimmering all over the floor like granulated sugar. The patron raises his arms again, but this time she backs away, and this time there is fear in her eyes.

"N-No— don't touch—!"

"What're you on?" the patron bellows over her, all trace of comradery gone. "Clumsy girl, dropped your tray!"

You snatch a broom on the way over. "What's going on?"

But the man is angry now, pointing accusingly at her. "She dropped her tray! I tried to catch her! I did!"

You stand between them. "Happens all the time, no bother. Sit down, sir. Next drink on the house."

He backs down, satisfied.

You aren't.

Bonny's hands tremble when you turn to her, noting the way her face is drawn. It's like she sees the world in grey for the first time.

"You all right?"

"Y-Yes, Miss."

A piece of you breaks. "Sure?"

"R-Really, Miss, right as rain, I am." Her smile wobbles. "Just— I was silly, dropping them glasses—"

"Take a break." You don't touch her, but gesture to the stock room behind the bar. "Sit out back for a bit. I'll get Helene to stay with you, keep you company."

Tears fill her eyes. "A-Am I fired, Miss?"

"God above, no. Just... take deep breaths." You make sure you look her in the eye when you add, "It's not your fault."

But she moves sluggishly past you, eyes vacant.

"Isn't it?"

/////

Helene goes to her aid without complaint. You sweep the shards away and procure more drinks for the rowdy patrons, but your blood boils. You've been here eight years, you've seen the best of humanity... and you've seen the worst. Him, that pig – he's the product of a society that thinks their entitlement extends to taking what they want without ever accepting a no.

You bin the shards and almost collapse on the counter with exhaustion. Dealing with horrible customers is part of the job, but there's something especially vile about dealing with this sort.

The Pig laughs loudly with his friends – at the same time, only a wall away, Bonny is sobbing.

"I saw him."

You jolt at Sebastian's voice. God, you forgot he was there. His hands are shaking, but not from withdrawal – from anger.

"I saw him touch her." His voice is low and dark. "I should break his hand."

You wish he would. It would be but tiny retribution for what's owed, for how badly the Pig has irreparably altered Bonny's life. She's young, innocent – she doesn't deserve to fear the world because of it.

"It's our word against his," you murmur. "He won't face no justice."

Sebastian doesn't answer, just keeps staring at the man with hatred. Those kernals of goodness you know exist are now enveloped by black vines, poisoned by the desire for revenge, as dark and deeply-rooted as the stairs paved to hell.

"Don't do anything stupid," you warn.

"I wouldn't."

"You got that look in your eye."

"I always have this look in my eye."

Well, that's true at least. You lean towards him, voice crisp. "If you do anything in retaliation you will put Bonny in danger. And me too."

The loathing cracks. "You?"

"He's got a big group of friends! You think either of us will get off scot-free if their mate winds up in some alleyway with a black eye? Bonny won't talk, but they know I might – they'll know he got beat up because of me. You look like you can throw a punch, Sebastian, but you must not."

He hesitates. The black claw with its vice grip holds tighter. Then:

"I look like I can throw a punch?" He smirks, killing the moment. "Because I have muscled arms?"

Relief trickles through you. He understands. He's placated. He won't do anything – for Bonny... and for you.

"Don't get cocky about it," you sniff.

"You've been looking at my arms?"

They're hard to miss, especially with the sleeves rolled up, veins like cords, glistening with sweat and freckles and tattoos and good God you are blushing. It must be nice to be enveloped in those arms, in his protection. You turn away, clamping your jaw and feeling guilty about having such sordid thoughts after everything that's happened.

He takes the opportunity to flex them, and your traitorous eyes dip to them again, to the muscle contorting, straining against his skin.

"Don't do anything stupid," you snap again.

You put the conversation out of your head when you go into the back room.

When Sebastian comes that Saturday night, the pub heaving with customers, he brings a friend.

"This is Xander," he introduces, looking mightily pleased with himself. "Or should I say, Police Inspector Xander, Scotland Yard."

Panic bolts through you, and your gaze flickers to the stock room.

Xander ruffles, pretending to look put-out. "Off-duty, but yes. Hello, ma'am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Off-duty or not, Sebastian has no idea what he's done bringing him here, no idea what he's risking. Play it cool. You shoot daggers his way, but they might as well be made of foam.

"Nice to meet you," you say through your teeth. "You know each other through work?"

Xander chortles. "Actually, Mr Sallow—"

"Please, you know I said to call me Sebastian."

"Quite! Sebastian and I met entirely by chance at the local farmer's market a few days ago. Turns out we both have a love of southern French cheeses! Say, did you try the Roquefort I suggested? Scoffed mine with my wife, I did."

Instantly you can tell this is all balderdash, because there's no way Sebastian Sallow, the drunken, tattooed stranger with more skeletons in his closet than freckles on his face, has any interest in cheese.

"I did," he panders. "I had some with those sourdough crackers from Harvey Nichols. Delicious."

Xander blusters. "Why, and I the exact same! How bizarre! Almost like you read my mind!"

"I've also," he brings out a round package made of... leaves? "brought some Banon cheese to try."

"Banon! Another favourite of mine!" He waggles a finger at Sebastian. "You know I never believed in fate and destiny, but I dare say some higher power has intervened to bring you into my life. God perhaps, or magic!"

"Magic?" Sebastian laughs. "As if."

There's certainly something rotten in the air, and it's not the Roquefort on Xander's breath.

Sebastian pledges to buy everything after Xander makes his order and finds a table. When he sidles to the counter, armed with a handful of coins, your faux smile drops into barely-restrained outrage.

"What the hell are you playing at, Sallow? Because I swear to God—"

"Sallow now? You remind me of one of my school teachers."

"Don't joke! The police cannot be here."

"Why not? You hiding something?"

"They just can't," you say quickly. "I know you've brought him because of that incident – he won't be able to do anything."

"He's off-duty." Sebastian is a lazy cat on a balmy summer's day. "Just here for a drink with me."

"He may have fallen for your French cheese nonsense—"

"I like rocky fort, thank you."

"— but I know you've got something up your sleeve."

"Staring at my arms again? You've got to stop that, bar girl. It's very perverse."

You grind your teeth together as you make the drinks. Sebastian is infuriating— no, infuriation, the very thing itself, rather than its pompous vessel.

"This isn't about your male ego," you snarl, when you hand both glasses to him. "It's about keeping Bonny safe."

His face changes instantly. "Is she all right? Is she here today?"

"No. I'm paying her some time off."

And good thing too, because the Pig has come every day since. He's over on the same table, laughing with the same group of friends, slurping at the same drink.

"If you get her hurt—"

"I won't." It's stony, hard truth. "On my word."

"Your word doesn't mean much to me."

He grins.

"It will."

After locking the stock room, you keep a close eye. He's left his barstool free to sit with Xander at the corner table, the two exchanging animated conversation over slices of Banon and sourdough crackers. All the hairs raise on your neck. Sebastian drinks and drinks, but it's easy to tell he's taking his time, doesn't indulge as much as he usually does. He's not trying to forget.

He trying to stay alert.

Whilst you're serving the local darts club, Sebastian stands, a swift movement you catch in your periphery. He mumbles something to Xander and heads towards the bar – but not to you, to Edith, one of the other barkeeps. You might've been hurt if not for the troublesome glint in his eye.

With too many customers you can't stop to chat, though you scrutinise Edith to see what he wants: five measures of straight vodka. A man trying to give up drinking does not order that many small glasses of pure alcohol... especially not when he and Xander, and the Pig and his friends, make five.

But you're too slow to stop him when he swiftly takes the tray from Edith's hands.

"You're busy, I'll carry it."

Sebastian turns his back to you – it's only for a second, but it's a second too long. Your trust whittles, you leave the darts club with half their orders and storm after him, catching his arm inches away from the table.

Muscle. You shouldn't notice, you're angry with him and he's about to do something reckless for God's sake, but his forearm is so hard and sturdy that a wild thrill runs up your spine. Imagine if he pulled you close, wrapped those sturdy arms around you, carding his fingers through your hair—

"Any excuse to touch my arms, bar girl."

You snatch away, blushing, irate. "Whatever you're about to do—"

"It's all in hand. On my word, remember?"

You trust Sebastian Sallow about as far as you can throw him.

... Yet you find yourself stepping away.

The Pig and his friends falter at first, but Sebastian is ignorant and cheery, almost like he's honoured to hand out the drinks.

"On me tonight, gentlemen," he announces. "Life is great, I got a promotion at work and I've finally scrounged up enough to finally propose to the bonny lass I've been seeing in secret. Achilles, you too, my friend!"

You end up hugging the wall close by as Xander and the men cheers to him. The Pig's friends are too drunk to notice Sebastian is a regular, too drunk to notice he was there last week. The Pig snorts as he raises his glass.

"Might do you better to leave it, boy. Women – ain't nothing good from them."

With a sinister smile, Sebastian downs his glass, and claps Xander on the back when he does the same.

"Well, gentlemen," Sebastian bows his head with a flourish, "my friend and I will leave you be. Do have a pleasant night!"

"I never have a pleasant night." The Pig hiccoughs. "Every time I go home, I wank myself off and cry because I can't get any woman to love me."

You go utterly still.

One of the Pig's friends chimes in with, "Me too."

"I use a sock," says the other.

"I just want a good fuck," the Pig mutters, though he turns red, like he's fully aware of what he's saying. "And not one I had to buy off the street. Bobbies are cracking down on my favourite spots, the bloody meaters."

Your gaze slides to Xander, whose face has turned iridescent with anger. You think the Pig and his friends will stop now – surely they can't embarrass himself anymore, surely they won't. But the truth spills out of them; they loudly confess their darkest, most humiliating secrets, crimes you never want to hear repeated, desires that make your stomach turn. The Pig declares to assaulting Bonny like it's nothing.

"And even she turned me down!" He sweats but doesn't stop. "The fucking audacity, after she flirted with me for so long!"

Xander marches forwards, brows cutting into his eyes, and produces his ID from his jacket pocket. "Police Inspector Achilles Xander of Scotland Yard. I think I've heard enough. All three of you will follow me to the station."

"What?" the Pig roars. "But I— we've done everything wrong!"

"I understand that perfectly well, sir!"

The Pig goes redder. "N-No, I— I buy prostitutes almost three times a week and avoid my taxes— fuck—"

"Really, sir! This is extremely inappropriate!" When the Pig flails, saying nothing, Xander harrumphs. "You'll all follow me outside as I call for backup! Sebastian, I apologise, we shall have to catch up another time."

The Pig and his friends hang their heads as they're escorted out the pub. Sebastian is more than contrite about cutting short the chat with his cheese companion – all an act – and when the door clatters shut, he reclaims his normal stool and finishes his beer in three long, languid gulps. His tongue flickers out, catching the froth at the corner of his mouth; it reminds you of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

"What— how—" You swallow thickly, trying to keep your voice down. "How'd you get him to talk?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"Liar."

His smile is like an omen.

"Remember when I said I wasn't going to heaven? I meant it." He's quiet now, but exuding aggression in the way a lion's presence alone can subdue its pride. "Hell won't just welcome me with open arms — it will roll out the red fucking carpet."

But then his gaze softens, and you can almost believe all that anger, that power, those black vines steeped in vengeance... are a lie.

"You were right. Much as I wanted to drag him into an alleyway and beat him until his own mother wouldn't recognise his face, sometimes you have to work smarter, not harder. And I will never take kindly to sick bastards abusing innocent people." He takes a deep breath. "It's not much, but I hope Bonny finds some peace of mind now."

You're nearly speechless. "You did all that for Bonny?"

He seems to ponder the question.

"And someone else."

When he meets your eye, you're paralysed.

"If one universal constant is how much I like to win, then the other is how hard I'll fight for the people I care about." He says it gently, with a half-smile that makes your stomach flip. "I'll let you guess which one I live by more."

[PREV] [next chapter to come soon] <3

thank you to my tag list: @okay-j-hannah @morelikeravenbore @vylaris. please let me know if you'd like to join/ be removed ❤️

[Divider credits]

[blueiscoool]

1,700-Year-Old Roman Ringstone Depicting Goddess Athena Discovered at Assos

Archaeologists have unearthed a significant Roman Imperial Period ringstone engraved with the image of Athena, the protective deity of the ancient city of Assos. This discovery took place within the Ksenedochion structure—believed to be ancient hostel buildings—among the Assos Ruins located in the Ayvacık district of Çanakkale, Turkey. The city of Assos, nestled in the southwestern corner of the Biga Peninsula within Behramkale Village, has a storied past that dates back to the Bronze Age. Scholars have drawn parallels between Assos and the ancient cities of Assuwa and Pedasos, referenced in Hittite texts and Homer’s epic, the Iliad. The city, as it is known from historical records, was founded by settlers from the island of Lesbos in the 7th century BC, with Athena, daughter of Zeus and one of the twelve Olympian deities, honored as its protector.

For nearly 40 years, a dedicated team of Turkish archaeologists has been excavating this ancient site. The ongoing work is led by Professor Nurettin Arslan of Çanakkale Onsekiz Mart University’s Archaeology Department, supported by Turkey’s Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the sponsorship of İÇDAŞ. Professor Arslan provided insights into the recent find, stating, “This season, we uncovered a stone ringstone within the Ksenedochion. It bears an engraving of Athena, the city’s primary goddess, depicted in a standing position. Such seals were widespread during the Roman period and were used in earlier and later times as well. This particular ringstone, likely belonging to a notable individual in Assos, served a function similar to that of a modern-day signature. We estimate its age to be between 1,600 and 1,700 years, dating it to the 2nd or 3rd century AD.”

The history of Assos is marked by its passage through various empires and rulers. In the 6th century BC, it fell under Lydian control before being absorbed into the Persian Empire after Lydia’s defeat by King Cyrus II. The city later joined the Athenian Confederacy in the 5th century BC, only to be reclaimed by Persia until Alexander the Great’s conquest in 334 BC. Following Alexander’s death, Assos changed hands among his successors, eventually becoming part of the Kingdom of Pergamon and later the Roman Empire. Assos flourished during the 1st and 2nd centuries AD but gradually declined as it came under Byzantine, Seljuk, Frankish Crusader, and Ottoman rule by 1330.

By Ivan Petricevic.

[crabdrabbles]

Graves + Shadows Headcanons Part 2 [Part 1] [Part 3] Words: 794

Once, when Graves got ill, he ended up fainting in the middle of a meeting because he had been pushing himself too hard. He woke up several hours later, completely unaware of the sheer pandemonium that broke loose just after he lost consciousness. The on base medics had to kick several shadows out on multiple occasions and also nearly quit when they saw almost half the base waiting outside the room for an update on their commander. While he was forced into bedrest, at least one Shadow was stationed in his room at one given time to keep an eye out on him and make sure he had everything that he needed. Even after he got better, there was still a Shadow or two lingering outside his office-- just in case.

Graves has a habit of working himself way too hard to be healthy. As a result, the Shadows have self decided shifts where they check up on their Commander– make sure he’s eaten something or drank some water every few hours. He is just,, so bad at looking after himself sometimes. It's a good thing his Shadows are there to help.

Used to insist that the Shadows just call him Phil when they're off duty but they all said it felt wrong, so they generally stick to 'Commander' or 'Graves' but that's as far as they'd go to calling him by name.

Graves is not shy to show his soldiers physical affection, especially if he thinks that they’re touch starved. It’s mostly little things, shoulder or arm or back pats, a quick ruffle of the hair, he makes sure not to overstep any boundaries. If they ask for a little more, like a full hug, he would absolutely give it to them.

Shadow Initiation is that you have to fight against Graves. Only a few Shadows have ever successfully taken him down, but it’s very much a rite of passage if you get your ass handed to you by the Commander.

Despite all his softness, Graves can be an absolutely wicked trainer. He will push his Shadows to their limits during training, but is always mindful to not push them further than what they’re capable of.

Has attended weddings for his Shadows and has been best man(/bride's man??) for a few of them.

He absolutely has several photo albums filled to the brim with pictures of current and old shadows and likes to show it off to the new recruits/baby shadows like a proud dad.

When a Shadow dies on a mission, they are given the best send off money can buy and their families are provided for e.g. if they had kids, college tuition is fully funded etc. Financial support is provided for several years, and secretly sometimes funded from Graves' own pocket.

Took the deaths of Shadows Dipaolo, Vance and Erikson and the other Shadows on that mission pretty hard and blamed himself. So much so, that he began to doubt his ability to lead as their Commander. He couldn't even protect his soldiers, couldn't even send them reinforcements when they needed him the most. He had to listen to them die. And he won't forgive Shepherd for that.

When the Shadows realised how he felt about it, they were all quick to rush and reassure him that their loyalty to him never once wavered.

Absolutely no Shadow likes Shepherd. Not a single one. Shepherd does not visit the base that often because he genuinely thinks that the Shadows are out to get him. They are.

He spends his time on base during the holidays so those who don’t have anyone to go back to aren’t alone. On Christmas day, he makes a killer turkey roast and gets presents for everyone.

Yes, the base does get decorated during the holidays. So far, Halloween is the one that stirs up the most excitement. April Fools has been banned from being celebrated after the entirety of Graves' office got covered in sticky notes. Everything. Not even the pens were spared.

"NEVER BACK DOWN, NEVER WHAT?!” He says this every mission to get morale up, but he also says it when a Shadow is down to try and cheer them up. If they’re upset over something, he’ll nudge them with his shoulder like “Never back down never what?” and keeps saying it with a widening grin on his face until they’re chuckling with him. He stays with them until they feel better. The same has happened where a Shadow has done the same thing to him when he's seemed down or stressed.

He makes it well known to everyone that his office door is always open if anyone ever needs someone to talk to, whether that's to vent, voice any concerns or anything else.

have a request? send one in!

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Happy Daemon X Rhea core

Daemon going back to King's Landing once every couple of weeks to "report" to Viserys but really just doing it to buy gifts for Rhea.

Daemon being a total male wife but fully retaining his feral, extra af personality. He takes Caraxes with him to handle tenants that don't pay their rents and taxes due to their Lady of Runestone.

He burns bandits on open fields as they attempt to flee. He cuts off fingers when he's feeling "merciful" instead of killing someone. A foreign dignitary did not address Rhea properly on a visit to the castle and he sliced off their ear. For once, Rhea did not try to calm him but looked on approvingly.

Rhea and Daemon often get competitive when hunting. Once, when he got back from King's Landing, Rhea had brought down a magnificent boar. Come morning light, Daemon had disappeared from their bed. The guards informed Rhea Daemon had gone out hunting. He is gone for two whole days, comes back with a gigantic boar of his own. "Oh, look at that. Mine's bigger."

Rhea is a huge history nerd and feels the need to jot down everything for posterity in a personal journal for the family records. Daemon at first doesn't understand the need for a journal/diary but Rhea tells him "I want there to exist a true version of myself besides others' ideas of who I am.."

So one day, Rhea takes to writing in her journal and notices something different. Writing that isn't hers. It's Daemon's.

He takes up a habit of writing how he sees her in their life together and often writes flirtatious passages as well. It becomes common gossip that the fearsome Rogue Prince enjoys writing romantic passages to his wife but none would dare speak of it as though it were a thing to be ashamed of. Not if they valued their appendages.

Rhea's favorite hunting trips with Daemon are, surprisingly, the ones where their quarry are small. It's easier to sit and relax with your beloved by a camp fire while a smaller kill of meat is cooking.

Rabbits. Pheasants. Wild Turkey. Swift foxes. Daemon has the most trouble with the smaller animals but Rhea? She always spots the prey first.

Daemon will notice a faraway look in his wife's eyes as whatever conversation they were having slowly peters out and a grin spreads on his face as he sees her go into hunting mode, Rhea reaching without looking to get her bow. In only a few seconds, lunch is caught and roasting on a spit. Rhea jokes that she can serve her husband a meal just as well as a wife who is more inclined to the indoors and Daemon just laughs as he attacks his wife with hungry kisses.

[the-secret-garden1]

Here is my list of Palestinian families you can help evacuate. If you can’t donate pls share, reblog, etc. To boost and get their stories heard and the support they need.

Shahed Naim’s family ⬇️

https://gofund.me/2ca11cf7

Shahed is an eighteen year old girl from Gaza. With a sight threatening disease called ‘progressive myopia.’ So does her brother Mohammed, she dreams of becoming a translator.

Her tik tok account: @shahedaloul

Their Goal 🥅: €54,565 / €70,000

Ahmed Wael’s family ⬇️

https://gofund.me/58be3c19

Ahmed has a small family. Consisting of his wife, Hind. And their son, Osama. Who is only four years old. His sixty six year old Mother lives with them after the passing of their father. He also has a sixteen year old sister named Sally. Who unfortunately did not get to finish her academic career due to the genocide taking place in Palestine.

His tik tok account: @ahmed.wael6284

Their Goal 🥅: £3,695 / £50,000

Basant Mohammed’s family ⬇️

https://gofund.me/e289d68c

Basant is 21 years old. She was studying at the faculty of Medicine at Al-Azhar University in Gaza before the war/genocide started.

Her tik tok account: @basant.muhammad65

Their Goal 🥅: $45,807 / $55,000

Adam Mohammed’s family ⬇️

https://gofund.me/521a8bfa

There house was located in Northern Gaza before it was bombed. They lost their money, their work and any source of livelihood.

Their tik tok account: @em.adam.mohammed201

Their Goal 🥅: £1,187 / £50,000

Reem Alhafi’s family ⬇️

https://gofund.me/1ed153c3

At the beginning of the war, my family evacuated from the north to the south where they looked for a safe place, then we found out our house had been bombed, and our neighbourhood area had been destroyed. The house we lived in for more than 24 years is gone, and we're homeless now. Currently, there is no safe place for them to live or to go, as of now they are sharing the tiny space with a large number of people.

Their tik tok account: @reem.alhafi

Their Goal 🥅: €119,262 / €119,000

WE DID IT 🫶

Mohammed Mortaja ⬇️

https://gofund.me/50b8e60d

Mohammed and Islam, two brothers pursuing their Master's degrees in Biomedical Engineering in Turkey, are leading a heartfelt campaign to aid their family's escape from the ongoing conflict in Gaza. Amid the turmoil, their family's once vibrant home, filled with cherished memories, now lies in ruins. With the relentless dangers they face daily, Mohammed and Islam are determined to secure funds to facilitate their family's safe passage out of Gaza.

Their tik tok account: @mohamedmortaja

Their goal 🥅: €20,001 / €50,000

Hisham Rezeq's family ⬇️

https://gofund.me/37a370c4

Lara Ahmed’s family ⬇️

https://gofund.me/686059c8

Dear Kind Hearts,

‏My name is LARA I live in Gaza

‏(Palestine) and I’m organizing this fundraiser to evacuate my family from the ongoing war in Gaza to Egypt.

‏We are a family consisting of a mother, four daughters, and one child. Lara, 18 years old, Yara, 16 years old, and Assem, 14 years old. We lost my kind, caring father in this damned war. Please help us get out of this cruel war. I do not want to lose another person from my family. I cannot buy food

Their tik tok account: @larawael158

Their goal 🥅: £50,000

I will continue to update with more families as I go! And remember your donation no matter how big or small makes a difference.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Mike wagenheim

Israel scored a rare and significant victory over the Arab Group at the World Health Assembly, as an amendment that the Jewish state introduced to a longstanding resolution of the international forum passed unexpectedly on Wednesday.

The Israeli-drafted amendment calls for the release of the hostages whom Hamas and other terrorists continue to hold in Gaza and denounces the militarization of hospitals by armed Gazan groups. The resolution, as amended, passed on Friday. 

The World Health Assembly is the forum through which the 194 member states of the World Health Organization govern the United Nations agency and it is the highest international health policy-setting body.

During the assembly’s annual session in Geneva this week, Israel offered the amendment to a resolution, which has passed every year since 1968 and which criticizes Israel for the state of health in Palestinian-controlled territories. 

The amendment passed 50 to 44, with 83 abstentions or absences. That margin forced the Arab Group of countries at the United Nations to either accept the amended resolution or to attempt to vote it down or to abstain.

The resolution is a recurring item, with which member states tinker here and there year after year. Algeria drafted this year’s iteration on behalf of the Arab Group. Iran, Russia, Cuba, Columbia, Venezuela and others supported it.

Once an amendment to a resolution passes at the World Health Assembly, that resolution cannot be withdrawn without the consent of the country whose amendment was passed—in this case Israel.

Egypt asked Israel to withdraw the resolution on behalf of the Arab Group. Before Israel could give a response, Egypt took back its request, and introduced a further series of amendments instead.

The attempt of the Arab Group to withdraw the resolution “exposed their hypocrisy,” because they “cannot recognize the horrors faced by Israeli hostages at the hands of Hamas in Gaza, or to condemn the systematic use of health facilities by terrorists,” the Israeli mission to the United Nations in Geneva stated.

The resolution’s annual passage “has never been about the health of the Palestinian people—as they have claimed since 1968—but always about hatred for Israel,” the Israeli delegation added. “Today this is more clear than ever.” 

During debate on the resolution, Meirav Eilon Shahar, Israel’s ambassador to the United Nations in Geneva, said that “a decision that does not also condemn the militarization of health facilities by terrorists in Gaza has no intention of improving the health conditions on the ground.”

“A decision on health that does not demand the immediate and unconditional release of all hostages, who are held by a terrorist organization, raped and tortured, is an unforgivable moral failure,” the Israeli diplomat added.

The Israeli amendment “calls for the immediate and unconditional release of all hostages held in Gaza, including children, women and older persons, and condemns the use, by armed groups, of health facilities, including hospitals and ambulances, that endangers the civilian population.”

The amendment received a wide range of support—from traditional allies, like the United States, United Kingdom and Germany, to countries that often oppose Israel in international forums, such as Iceland, Spain and the Philippines. (Israel barred the Spanish consulate in Jerusalem from serving residents of the Palestinian Authority, after Spain recognized an independent Palestinian state last week.)

The resolution passed on Friday by a 102-6 vote, with 28 abstentions and 41 absences. Among those who abstained were Iran, Syria, Turkey and Libya, which are typically expected to vote against the Jewish state at all times.

The assembly passed a separate Gaza-related resolution on Friday, calling on “all parties to fully comply with their obligations” under the 1949 Geneva conventions, and ensure “unimpeded, safe and unobstructed” passage for medical personnel. 

That resolution was already passed by consensus during a World Health Organization executive board special session in December and held U.S. support.

Asher Salmon, a physician and head of international relations at the Israeli Health Ministry, was elected to a three-year term on the World Health Organization’s executive board, during the session on Friday.

European member states of the World Health Organization endorsed his candidacy. Salmon will be among the 34 members of the board, whose powers include outlining policy and setting the U.N. agency’s priorities.

The Palestinians and their allies opposed Salmon’s candidacy. That included Syria, Pakistan, Lebanon, Yemen and Tunisia, all of which have documented violations of human and health rights.

“I intend to work together with all member states,” Salmon stated. “I believe that health crosses borders and that through health, we can promote solidarity and peace among nations.”

[gemsofgreece]

A documentation of the Sortie of Missolonghi, 1826 from the Ottoman perspective

If you follow certain Greek blogs here or Greek history closely, perhaps you know by now that the Greek War of Independence (also known as the Greek Revolution) is a paramount historical period in the collective Greek conscience and certainly the most formative for the emergence of the finally statutory Greek national identity. Furthermore, it is also a major historical event of the Romantic Period, playing a significant role in the fall of empires, the establishment of democratic institutions but also the rise of ethnic states. While all this is not well known nowadays abroad, at its time it affected a considerable part of the world and it also birthed the biggest and most notable Philhellenic movements. West Europe studied and explored the pre- and post-revolutionary Greek world extensively. Nevertheless and maybe unsurprisingly, Turkey, the state descendant of the Ottoman Empire, never shared the sentiment. The Greek Revolution is rarely if ever discussed in Turkey and in Turkish schoolbooks it is presented as a minor revolt of ungrateful subjects that could not potentially harm the status of the mighty empire (that entirely dissolved a century later). The truth is that Turkey has an enormous archive of Ottoman documentation regarding the Greek revolution but there is no intention so far for it to be examined thoroughly and properly.

Here is however a letter, written by Netzip Efendi (hope this is written correctly), a representative of the pasha of Egypt to Constantinople after he was sent to Missolongi, to witness the siege of the city and ensure the cooperation of the Egyptian soldiers with the Ottoman Turks [context: Egypt was then a part of the Ottoman Empire and as such, Egyptian soldiers were sent to assist in the fights against the Greek revolutionaries]. This is a recollection of the events of 10 April 1826 (hence why I am posting this today), the day of the Sortie of Missolonghi, again, from an Ottoman perspective:

"The unbelievers [the Greek Christians] had fortified Missolongi so well that it was impossible to conquer it by assault. Although the islands Vasiládi and Anatolikó - the key to access Missolonghi - were taken and the isolation from land and sea was complete, for about fifteen days, there was still supplementation passing with small boats from Petalás island, as the natural landscape around Missolonghi made this possible. However, the Austrian consul in Préveza [the Austrian Empire had good relations with the Ottoman Empire and was opposed to the Greek Independence struggle] informed Ibrahim pasha and he shut those passages with fortifications, cannons and soldiers. When it was clear the bandits [the Greeks] were exhausted by the starvation, they were offered an amnesty several times according to the Sharia Law. But when they were given the document with the conditions of Ibrahim and Reşid Mehmed [who was known in Greece as Kioutahís and was ironically and tragically of Greek Orthodox descent...!] pashas, where they were explaining the procedure for the amnesty and they were annoucing the Sultan's mercy and grace, the bandits [Greeks] expressed their animosity and disdain with arrogant words, saying: 'We cannot surrender our seven thousand blood-stained weapons with our own hands'. They were hoping that supplies and soldiers would still arrive to support them and indeed thirty-five to forty boats with bandits showed up and a ruthless combat against the Imperial Navy commenced and lasted for two days. Thankfully, they weren't able to cause any harm to the Imperial Navy, even with their fire ships, while they suffered many losses and retreated towards the straits of Zakynthos and Petalás islands. The bandits in Missolonghi were then in despair. A muslim captive who fled from Missolonghi transferred to us the information that on Saturday sunset, the fourteenth day of Ramadan [10 April 1826] there would be even more reinforcements for the besieged coming from the mountains north of Missolonghi, behind the rear of our army, and then there would be a signal and the unbelievers inside Missolonghi would take their women and their children and they would all together launch out of the city. Immediately we took all necessary measures. Indeed, on Saturday evening, there were movements detected on the peaks of the mountains and a little later the bandits with their women and children exited from the eastern coast of Missolonghi. Since there were Egyptian soldiers on that side, when the Greeks attempted to pass through the fortifications, our soldiers confronted them with bravery and persistence, hitting them with the artillery and the rifles. Some of the unbelievers could not proceed farther and returned to Missolonghi, while others, ignoring their losses, ran towards the mountains but our soldiers followed them and slaughtered them on the way. During the sortie of the unbelievers the sky was cloudy. However, after their sortie, by Allah's grace, the clouds were gone and the moonlight was as strong as sunlight. At that moment, Colonel Hussein Bey of the 7th Order of the Egyptians launched with swords inside Missolonghi, through the fortifications in the sides from which the unbelievers had appeared. The bandits had placed gunpowder inside holes they had dug inside the city, and given that the windmill in the harbour of Missolonghi was a fortified stronghold, they had placed gunpowder there as well, and about three hundred unbelievers were trapped there too. At the dawn of Sunday, as they were lighting up the gunpowder and blowing up the holes, the sound of the explosions was relentless. Most of the bandits were blown up, very few were killed by the swords of our soldiers but our soldiers were allowed to pillage women, children and fortunes. Glory to Allah, it was a big victory. 1,734 pairs of ears were collected by the army of Ibrahim Pasha and 1,015 pairs collected by the army of Reşid Pasha, a sum of 2,749 pairs of ears were sent to Constantinople to be displayed and set an example."

Sources: Kathimerini newspaper, excerpt taken from the article written by Şükrü Ilıcak, Doctor of History in Harvard University and postdoctoral researcher at the Institute of Mediterranean Studies and Aristides Hatzis, professor of Philosophy and Methodology of Law in the National Kapodistrian University of Athens, with the assistance of Anna Athanasouli, PhD candidate of History in the University of Crete.

The stats of the battle according to Wikipedia:

[bookishblogging]

THE ILIAD: FOR DUMMIES ☀️ MASTERPOST

just kidding you're not a dummy, you're some hot stuff right there! i will be going through the entire iliad and giving you a general overview, some interesting plot points, additional context, and some other analysis tools to better help you understand the epic!

This post will serve as a table of contents (at the end) to my Iliad posts and a general overview that I will be constantly updating! I am using the Richmond Lattimore translation of the Iliad, alongside my companion book by Malcom M. Wilcock

Before we get into analyzing the actual Iliad, we need to get into some essential questions and context about the book

WHAT IS THE ILIAD:

The Iliad was written by Homer (this is actually debated but we can get into that later) around 750 and 550 B.C.E.

At its core, the story is about heros and humans. It's an Iron Age poem about an event, the Trojan War, that was supposed to have taken place in the Bronze age. The Iliad is considered to be a poem comprised of multiple books, 24 to be exact

This story is only a few days of the tenth and final year of the Greek siege against the city of Troy- this means it relies on the audience already knowing most of the basic details about the Trojan war and the gods themselves (don't sorry, I will provide this for you as we go along)

WHO IS HOMER:

The age old question: who the fuck is Homer?

Literally nothing is known about this dude except that he wrote (or was credited with writing) the Odyssey and the Iliad

People have referenced his writings for EONS. Archilochus, Alcman, Tyrtaeus, Callinus, and even Sappho have referenced the poems of Homer in their own works. These also were popular in fine art in the late 7th century B.C.E.

There is a general consensus that Homer was from Ionia- a territory in western Anatolia or modern day Turkey that was populated by Greeks who spoke the Ionian dialect, aka the birthplace of Greek philosophy. Want more info on Ionia? Click Here!

His descendants were called the Homerids/Homeridae

There is scholarly debate on if he even wrote both the Iliad and the Odyssey, or if he only wrote one, etc etc etc. This is due to some very specific differences in the structure of the words used (like the use of short vowels, and the seemingly unimportant semivowel of the digamma being missing from the epics...yeah it's a lot)

The poems were reproduced ORALLY. This means that the poems were passed down by word of mouth, which if I were to sit and listen to this entire book via a guy singing at me...idk man I think I would leave

All of this to say, we really don't know who Homer is. There's a lot more information about what he could have looked like, if he really did write the Iliad, and a million other things, but I've already talked your ear off and we haven't even gotten into the book yet. If you want more information about Homer, check out my sources at the end of the post!

WAS THE CITY OF TROY REAL:

Yeah. There were nine layers exposed at the site of where Troy was expected to be, and nearly fifty sublayers at the mound of Hisarlik

Troy was a vassal state: meaning it had an obligation to a superior state, which happened to be the Hittite Empire

Troy had a lot more allies than original fighters in the city, meaning they had many language barriers- making the army harder to control than the unified Greek enemy.

THE STYLE OF THE ILIAD:

Cause - Effect - Solution

The poem is concluded with a mirror image of its beginning: an old man ventures to the camp of his enemy in order to ransom his child

The poem foreshadows the death of Achilles in MULTIPLE passages! He knows he is destined to die young if he fights at Troy, and the demise of his lover (don't fight me on this) Patroclus gives us an even more extended foreshadowing of the grief that is to come

When Achilles dies, Thetis (his mom) takes his body from the pyre and takes him to a place called the White Island. It's not clear whether he is immortalized BUT the reference to Achilles funeral in the Odyssey states that Achilles is cremated and his bones are placed in a golden urn along those of Patroclus, and the urn is entombed under a prominent mound (tsoa fans...you're welcome)

This isn't really necessary knowledge but moreso something I think is cool: the backstory from the Iliad of an abducted bride also appears in the Sanskirt epic Ramayana (circa 4th century B.C.E.)

okay now here is the ACTUAL important stuff

Humanity is the center of the universe in the Iliad. Humans motivations and concerns generate action in the poem, while the gods are often reduced to the role of enablers or spectators

The style of the poem collaborates with the vision that the speciousness of this epic means that every thought and gesture, spear cast and threat, intimate conversation and lament CAN be recorded. It gives a consciousness behind the demands of the iliad that these interactions MUST be recorded, this attention to detail is another way of showing centrality and the worth of the human experience (Greek OR Trojan)

The Iliad is ultimately a poem about death, the chief elements that distinguish the mortals from gods are: Death shadows every action, and death is neither abhorred nor celebrated. Instead it crystalizes by means of this one theme, death in battle, the essence of what it means to be human (Life is a struggle each person will always lose, the question is how one acts with that knowledge)

Modern readers and analysis blogs will state that one's inner spirit is somehow the "real" self, however the Iliad assumes the opposite: The psykhai (soul, spirits) of dying heroes fly off to Hades while their autous ("selves") are left behind in the form of dead bodies

Glory is INCREDIBLY important in the iliad, why? If mortals could live forever (like gods) then glory would be useless. It's a commodity to be exchanged, and because of this it has an economic and symbolic reality

Companionship is incredibly important

Pity is also very important, it's the concluding note of the poem. Even the gods feel pity

THE GODS AND THE ILIAD:

The Iliad gains depth by the divine dimension shedding glory on the humans at Troy. The gods are so intensely concerned with warriors and their fates which elevates the mortals to a special plane

Mortals are only separated from gods because they grow old and die

The symbiotic bond of gods and mortals is always see-sawing between adoration and antagonism

Humans who get too close to the gods risk being struck down, case in point, Achilles. He's young, well-made, he's a warrior but also a singer/musician (the only hero to be seen doing such a thing), he looks and acts like Apollo. THEREFORE...it's no coincidence that Apollo is ultimately the god who slays Achilles, just as he did Patroclus

Poetry supplemented or even guided ancient Greek religious interpretation much more than the activity of priests due to the lack of any official religious text. This gave ancient Hellenism a very fluid nature

This was a long post, and it's only the first of many! I will continuously update this with more sources about the Iliad and answer any FAQs that come up! I love classic literature, and as a STEM student I need to entertain my passion somehow lol. There is a table of contents at the top of the post, as well as right here. This will be updated for each book of the Iliad I write about, as well as any supplemental posts I make about certain topics and themes as I go along. I am putting a LOT of work into this series of posts, so let me know your thoughts or anything you'd like me to change/add/etc! Happy reading!

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

(This is empty because this is the only post...more posts coming soon)

Sources/Citations/Additional Material

Homer- Britannica

Homerids- Britannica

Who Is Homer- The British Museum (fuck the British Museum)

Ionia Information- World Encyclopedia

The Hittites- Britannica

Ramayana Overview- British Library

Overview of Greek Mythology- Theoi

The Iliad- Overview via Britannica

Thetis- World Encyclopedia

[gardenvarietygay]

A moment of context and hope for all my nervous conservation-minded friends.

I was looking through a Book of Knowledge, published in 1926, and found this passage which I thought was rather important:

"The present scarcity of all five of these most beautiful of water birds [American flamingo, roseate spoonbill, white egret, snowy egret, and glossy ibis] is owing to their having been killed, ruthlessly and incessantly until recent years, for the sake of their exquisite plumage. That any remain is to the credit of the National Association of Audubon Societies. This organization not only has obtained protective laws from state legislatures, but has paid for guarding the birds while rearing their young."

And another on the next page:

"The British colonists in New England imported [domestic turkeys originally from Mexico] with their chickens and cows; and in this roundabout way our barnyard turkeys got back to their native soil, very little changed from their wild brethren, which are now rare except in thinly settled parts of the United States and Mexico. Another bird that formerly was to be seen in the central part of the country in enormous numbers every summer was the Wild, or Passenger, Pigeon. It is now extinct. Its story is so well known that it need not be repeated here."

None of the five water birds in the first passage are considered at risk today. All have either breeding or non-breeding resident populations in the US* and are relatively common.

Less than 100 years ago these authors were grouping the fate of these water birds and wild turkeys with passenger pigeons. The last passenger pigeon died in captivity in 1914. The Migratory Bird Treaty Act was passed in 1918, eight years prior to the writing of this book. The authors had no idea that it would be considered landmark conservation legislation that would save hundreds of species and be the cornerstone of conservation law in the US. For them, it seemed entirely appropriate to warn children that they might never see a wild turkey and that most game birds and shore birds were as good as gone. Today wild turkeys are common throughout the US and snowy egrets aren’t even ICUN listed.

Conservation work is slow but worthwhile. I sure as heck hope that in 100 years someone finds a piece I’ve written eulogizing rare plants and laughs at me for worrying about species they see everywhere.

Mee, A. (Ed.). (1926). The Birds of North America. In The Book of Knowledge (4th ed., Vol. XIV, pp. 5018–5020). London: The Grolier Society, Limited.

*The American flamingo is a slightly odd case. We know that it was always relatively rare in the present-day US, even prior to colonization, but that there was a breeding population in south Florida. Now it is relatively common along the East coast but there isn't a breeding population in Florida, at least not confirmed.