#a meal methods to stop the war.

[thedailydescent]

Every day I come onto this site and try to think of a better, more convincing method of trying to get people to donate to stagnating fundraisers.

I am very disappointed that Hashim & Laila's, Mohammed Eid Matar's, and Yahya's fundraisers have barely budged over the past week, despite the regular updates they and the people promoting them have been giving.

Mohammed (@mohammedmatat) desperately needs a new tent for his family for the upcoming winter. We have already heard stories about heavy rain this week, which the average tent provides little protection for. Farah (@/farahmoo2), for example, has told us that her family's tent got flooded this week, and needed to be rebuilt. A tent in Gaza costs anywhere between $200-$1000 depending on the quality (not including bedding or a toilet), and building one isn't that much cheaper than a ready-made one. I was hoping to get Mohammed's fundraiser to at least the 2k mark by the end of the week, yet we're still at €1,350. Mohammed is only 23, and has two young siblings to take care of, who not only have been injured over the past year, are now, if they do not get access to safe shelter by the time the winter chill sets in, at risk of getting sick. (don't forget that there has been an outbreak of polio in Gaza as well, and they've only recently started the first rounds of vaccinations for children under 10).

Hashim & Laila (@hashimsafadi) are also at an abysmally low amount, still at €1,362 despite the fundraiser being up since Apr 23. Without jobs, how can two people live off of €1,362 for five months? How can you live off of that, put up with being displaced several times, living constantly under threat of being killed in unsafe areas? Being exposed to massive heat waves, suffering "contamination, intestinal infections, skin rashes, jaundice, and infections of the joints, bones, and teeth"? You can't.

Hashim & Laila will also be needing a safe and sanitary environment to live in for the upcoming winter! Please help them out.

And finally, Yahya Bkheet. Yahya has been tirelessly working to get his family, including three children under 10, out of Gaza. They were given until Aug 23 to raise €30k so they could all evacuate together, yet they didn't even make it to the 5k mark. That hasn't stopped Yahya from continuing to try. He has posted an update today of his situation: his mother needs treatment for her heart disease and diabetes, they need at least $200 to fix up the tent for the upcoming winter, his child Anas has contracted a skin disease from the polluted water, and his other child Mira has the flu and needs money for medicine.

They have only raised €5 today! They deserve better than this. Please help this family out.

Living conditions will not be the only thing for these three families to worry about for the upcoming winter. There's also the question of food. A few days ago, it was reported that Israel’s siege now blocks 83% of food aid reaching Gaza. That means 83% of required food aid will not make it into Gaza, up from the 34% that did not make it in 2023. That means the average Gazan eating two meals day will now drop to just one meal every other day. This makes the recent post @/omgthatdress made yesterday telling everyone to report people who send fundraiser asks, and just donate to aid organizations instead, that much more harmful. Guys, there's hardly any aid coming in! From July-September 2024, fresh meat prices have increased by 366%, and fresh fruit 228%. Please give Gazans a chance and donate to vetted fundraisers if you can, so they can at least buy their own groceries. When the cold weather sets in, people naturally become hungrier. Children cannot survive off of one meal every other day. A couple, whose dream is to go back to school and start a family of their own, cannot survive off of one meal every other day.

In other news, there has also been an update from the Mona Abu Hamda Team, who run a mutual aid fund which provides essential supplies such as blankets, food, flour, charcoal for cooking, sanitary products, and financial aid for necessities such as baby milk. There has apparently been a decrease in donations, and they are currently sitting at €75,639 of their €100,000 target. Please also consider donating to them to help Gazans out this winter.

Tagging for further reach (sorry if I've already tagged you today. I am a tiny blog and my posts only get traction if I tag):

@neptunerings @victoriawhimsey @captainsaltymuyfancy @maester-cressen @buttercuparry

@lesbianmaxevans @ana-bananya @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @just-browsings-world

@danlous @underthejollyroger @lesbianboyfriend @weirdmarioenemies @teabisexual

@robotpussy @khanger @brutaliakhoa @cluelessbot @appsa

[gremlinmodetweeker]

MY FRIENDO I HAD THOUGHTS IN THE SHOWER!!!

Cat König and Horangi, killing vermin with extreme brutal, not natural cat like torture methods. A stray wayward mouse? Gone, a long with all its family in a mile radius. Racoon trying to go through your garbage and make a mess of things, suddenly everything much much cleaner. A rabbit in your garden? Well now there's one in the sink, wouldn't want to waste a good meal now would you Dove?

I think Horangi would be the particularly nasty one. Not in cruelty, but in sheer amount. It gets to a point where you have to put a bell on his collar to stop him from making Mt. Mouse in the corner of your room. It's rather disturbing to see with what efficiency he hunts. That said, your house has never been cleaner. You gotta give credit where it's due, right?

I will say that Horangi is at least somewhat merciful. He pounces, he kills, that's it. Horangi is an efficient mouser. He's not going to be cruel and play with his prey.

Horangi, as a smaller cat, also tends to go for smaller prey. He goes for voles, mice, rats, and moles and stuff. It's nasty to pick up after him, but at least he isn't a monster like König.

Now, cat hybrid!König is a nasty fuck.

He goes for bigger prey. He's the one to deposit the rabbit in the sink. He's the one to go after the raccoon. He's the one to wage war on the world around you. The best part is that because he's so lazy when Reader is around, Reader just assumes Horangi's also responsible for the mouse. König never suffers the bell.

So this means that at night, König is a complete bastard. He will go on his killing sprees and he'll be mean about it. He'll be brutal about how he kills, digging in and tearing apart. He does have some few mercies, he doesn't go after nesting birds in the garden (Reader loves to give them a bird feeder and cares deeply for this pair of mourning doves) but he does think about eating those eggs. He won't, but he'll scare the willies out of those birds.

König is the one to drag the larger prey through the cat-flap and into the home. He's happy to see Reader pick up his freshly killed rabbit. He's devastated when Reader buries it in the backyard. Like, come on man! He killed that thing! For you! He's shocked, he's dismayed, he's hurt.

He's killing a giant raccoon and stuffing it under your bed next.

Fuck you, Reader.

[thecharacterchronicler]

He’s All That I’ve Got || William H. Bonney x Reader || Smut

Outline: Your lover is on the run but he pays you a heated visit.

Word Count: 1’925

Warnings: Explicit smut.

Author’s note: this is Prompt # 25, sorry if it’s totally off, I just started the show.

You woke up to the sound of birds in the trees surrounding the small shack you lived in, stirring in your bed. The other side of the matress was cold, which was a regular occurrence lately, reminding you that you were about to spend another day on your own.

You got up and got dressed, not putting many efforts in fixing your appearance since no one - apart from the few animals you kept - was going to see it. You put your boots on under your dress and tied an apron around your hips before you stepped outside, the fresh morning dew covering the high grass surrounding the shack tickling your ankles as you walked to the chicken coop.

You opened the door and greeted your two chickens, finding it oddly comforting to have at least them to keep you company on the isolated land you had settled on. You gathered some of the eggs they laid, carefully placing them in the pocket of your apron. Then, you inspected a hole in the fence around their enclosure, adding repairing it to your long list of chores.

After you ate your breakfast on the porch, you washed your clothes in a bucket of cold water, struggling to take out some of the grass stains from your skirts. It’s only once most of your outfits were back to having an acceptable appearance that you carried them to the long clothesline that hung between two pillars behind the house. You methodically placed each item over it, knowing that the warm summer breeze will have them dry in no time.

You picked your empty basket back up, a sigh escaping your lips as the stray cat that relied on you for food came to rub its fur against your legs, a clear attempt at charming you into giving him an extra meal today.

You probably would have gave in, unable to resist its big green eyes and its soft meows, but something in the distance called for your attention. A moving form was quickly approaching, a horse not even following the dirt road but galloping straight through the meadow of tall grass, mounted by a dark silhouette you weren’t sure you recognized that far off in the horizon.

You quickly retreated back inside the small house, grabbing your Lancaster pistol from its place on your nightstand. You went back out on the porch, awaiting your mysterious visitor prepared to fend for yourself if you had to… But all your mistrust vanished like snow in the sun when you finally were able to distinguish the traits of the man. He was a wanted man, a notorious criminal, always on the run… But still, you ran to him, holding your skirt up high as you rushed through tall grass and wildflowers.

When he saw you, he stopped his horse and jumped down to meet you halfway, catching you in his arms as soon as you collided against him.

“You’re back !” You exclaimed, emotion seizing you at the throat as you buried your face against his chest, wondering if it was yet another dream or if it was really him, returning home.

“Told you I’d always come back to you.” He said, his arms tightly holding your body against his.

“I know, but I’m always so afraid that something might happen and I wouldn’t see you ever again…”

His fingers gently caressed your cheek before lifting your chin up to him, so that he could kiss your lips. He smiled at you reassuringly and, for a moment, you got so profoundly lost into his blue eyes that you didn’t immediately notice all the cuts and injuries on his face.

“You’re hurt !”

“Just a few scratches.” He retorted, but still winced when you traced a particularly deep cut above his eyebrow with your thumb.

“Come inside, I’ll patch you up.”

You walked together to the shack and he led his horse to the small shelter he had built for it. He spread hay for him and you filled a bucket with fresh water for the animal to drink before you went back inside, followed closely by Billy.

You pulled your pistol out of your apron’s pocket and placed it on the kitchen table as he took a seat on the chair next to it. You heard him chuckle as you rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, in search of what you needed to take care of his wounds.

“I see you were ready to welcome some unwanted visitors.” He remarked, his eyes on your weapon.

“Always.” You replied and he smiled at you with a spark of approval in his eyes. After all, he had been the one to teach you to shoot a gun, and he had been particularly adamant that you had one with you at all times, instructing you to not hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later.

You poured some liquor on a napkin and dabbed it on his forehead, making him wince in pain. He grabbed the bottle from the table and took a big sip out of it, in search of a bit of courage to endure the pain as you carefully disinfected each wound on his face.

Then, he began unbuttoning his shirt and you tended to a few more cuts on his chest, shaking your head at the amount of injuries he had came back with.

“I guess I shouldn’t ask you what happened.”

“Better not.” He replied, his hand clenching on the table as you took care of the last wound.

Once you were done, you threw the napkin and his shirt in the corner of the room, as a reminder to wash them and add them to the clothesline. He sighed in relief, glad that you were done, and took one more sip out of the bottle before you put it away in the cabinet.

“You must be starving. I have a few eggs left, I can boil them or fry them…” You suggested, rushing back to the kitchen to get your stove started but he stood up and came to place his arms around you from behind.

You could feel the warmth of his bare chest pressing against your back as you leaned back into him and you both watched the lonely meadow swaying in the wind, through the window.

“I’m hungry for something else.” He whispered in your ear and you felt yourself blushing, his calloused hands travelling up to your chest.

You allowed him to feel your breast, kneading them tenderly before turning in his arms to face him. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, desperate to show him just how much you had missed him.

He kissed you back eagerly, hungry for your lips, for your body, for you. He dropped to his knees in front of you and slowly brought your skirt up your legs, one of his hand caressed its way from your ankle to your knee before getting you to place your leg over his shoulder. His head disappeared under the fabric of your skirt, only allowing you to feel him tugging and pulling to move your underwear out of his way. You leaned back against the stove for support, both hands clutching the edge behind you.

You felt the warmth of his tongue slide between your folds and gasped in surprise, not so used to the sensation anymore. He lapped at your core, his tongue dancing around your clit before plunging inside you, repeating the tantalizing movements over and over again until your legs felt weak. Your body contracted and you slightly lost your balance, merely able to catch yourself before collapsing from the intensity building in the pit of your stomach. He showed you no mercy, hungrily tasting you until you loudly moaned with pleasure as it rushed like a tidal wave through your entire body, your arousal coating his tongue.

He kissed the side of your knee that was hooked over his shoulder, bringing his head back to look at you with his pretty blue eyes, satisfaction on his face.

When he stood up, he kissed you once more, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. Then, he placed his hands on his hips and turned you around, peppering your neck with wet kisses as he once again tugged your skirt up.

Now facing the calm meadow behind the window, you pressed most of your weight on the stove for support, your legs still trembling from your previous orgasm. He didn’t allow you much time to recover, his hard cock slamming inside you as deeply as possible, your soaked core welcoming the intrusion with ease.

You whimpered, your body still so sensitive to each touch, from the way he kept kissing your skin to the way his front hit against your ass, the tip of his erection bumping into a heavenly pleasant spot deep in you.

You started feeling weak again and, this time, he seemed to notice, his arms coming around you to support you as he increased the rythym of his thrusts, barely letting you catch your breath between each loud moan that escaped your lips.

You felt dizzy as again, pleasure exploded inside you, making your whole body go numb and weak as you cried out his name. He groaned against your ear, stopping his frenetic movements to fill you up with his own relief, his cock buried inside you as deeply as you could take it.

You turned your face to kiss him, feeling his hands exploring your body, now tugging on your shirt to take it off. He got you naked in front of him in no time, your thighs glistening with a mix of his cum and your own arousal. His eyes roamed your body, his lips and fingers touching you everywhere in an almost desperate manner.

You traced the wounds on his chest, reddened and inflamed in reaction to the liquor you had applied to his skin as a disinfectant but he was still too blissfully spent to feel any pain this time. He lifted you in his arms, carrying your naked body to the bed where he laid you down. You saw him take his pants completely off before he climbed on top of you, his cock already hard again, pressing against your stomach as he hungrily sucked on your lower lip.

“I don’t think I can take more…” You panted, in reaction to him already positioning your leg over his hip.

“But I’m not done with you yet, sweet girl.” He said, looking at your heaving chest and flushed face. The hunger in his eyes still nowhere near satiated.

Your heart sunk a little in your chest. You knew that when he was this eager to have you, keeping you awake all night long and making sure that you’d barely be able to walk on the next day, it usually meant that he was planning on leaving you again… For a long time. He needed to get his fix of you and you desperately needed yours too, the idea of being without him again, not knowing where he was or what he was doing wasn’t pleasant but it was the life you had chosen, out of love and devotion for him.

You took a deep breath and hooked your other leg over his back, his cock entering you once more and immediately sliding in and out of your already sore pussy at an intensive pace. You focused your attention on his face, his eyes fixed to yours as he rocked his hips on top of you. You gave him a tired smile, already feeling the intensity of another explosive orgasm bubbling inside your core. You closed your eyes, getting ready to embrace the violent climax he was about to provoke yet again, determined to enjoy the warmth of his body in the bed next to yours for as long as it lasted.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[k-dokja]

Weewoo weewoo, another Zuko small piece following the previous one.

Book 3 - E13, The Firebending Masters.

Aang sees Katara glaring daggers at Zuko before anyone else. Maybe it’s a blessing because it makes her stop before you or Zuko notice.

“What’s wrong, Katara?” Aang asks, his concern is half towards her and half towards the new addition to their team.

“I don’t like it,” she sighs, turning away from the two of you. “He was antagonistic against us for so long, even if he never targeted specifically her.”

Aang blinks, taking a moment before he realizes what Katara is worried about. “I don’t think he’d hurt her,” Aang says, before hastily adding, “at least, I hope.”

Katara crosses her arms, a little unconvinced, but she knows having an argument over it wouldn’t solve anything. “Well, he knows what awaits him if he did her wrong,” she mutters dourly, glaring down at the cracked ground below them.

“Huh?”

Katara fixes a smile on her face. “Nothing,” she says, “come on, I need help with starting dinner.”

Aang brightens at her request, bouncing after her as Katara walks away. “What are we having for dinner?”

It isn’t until the two of them walk away that you notice their presence. You blink slowly at their retreating forms, wondering why they haven’t said anything to you if they have been standing around. Before you can get too distracted by that, however, Zuko’s words capture your attention once more.

”It’s not really dancing,” he tries to reason, “their movements are strong and powerful, it’s fighting, not dancing.”

You smile wryly, “Strong and powerful are synonyms,” you point out and relish in the way his cheeks redden further. “Besides, what’s wrong with dancing? I always thought firebending should be more fluid, it’s far more flexible than earthbending, after all.”

“That’s because you’re a…” Zuko fumbles, trying to find the correct word.

Seeing his fluster makes you unable to decide if you should feel amused or slightly offended. You cross your arms, challenging him to continue. “A…?” If he’s thinking what you assume he’s thinking, you might send him to Sokka for a good old training in respect.

“Away from how we trained our bending,” Zuko clarifies, “you didn’t see how we learned it in our armies, it would be near impossible to think there’s another method.”

Your shoulder relaxes from his explanation. At least, if nothing else, Zuko doesn’t have that as his cardinal sin. Which makes sense from what you’ve seen of his sister. “Fire can be a good and nurturing force,” you shrug, “it is what we use to cook meals and warm ourselves on cold days, it is also the forces that nurture all lives… I think?”

The corner of his lips inch up momentarily, “That’s a sweet way to think about it,” he says, “I wish I had the same view as you.”

“Well, you’re growing to have it, right?” You put your hands on your hips, leaning closer to peer at him. “That’s what this whole thing is about.”

“I… suppose,” Zuko accepts hesitantly, “I just wish I had thought about it sooner, maybe it would’ve saved me a lot of grief.”

Knowing half of what he has experienced up to this point, you nod with thoughts clouding your mind. “Well, you did say the experience taught you a lot,” you remind him with a gentle smile, “without it, you wouldn't be where you are.”

“Without it, we wouldn't meet either,” Zuko says before his eyes widen, he turns away, adding, “I wouldn't say I would change it for anything, but... I do wish I had harmed less people back then.”

Hearing his conflicts, you purse your lips, “Well, it would be impossible to say you won’t have to use fire to harm anymore since we’re at the brink of a war but…”

You pause, trying to collect your words before meeting his eyes. When you do, whatever he sees in yours must’ve stunned him into silence. “Yours has turned into a fire to protect, it is a precious thing to have,” you raise a finger towards him, “and if someone in your position can learn it, then so can everyone else, eventually, with time.”

Zuko breathes out a sigh that takes away all of the weight on his shoulders. “Is that a future you want to have?”

“It would be ideal, yes,” you smile a little brighter, hopeful of what is to come once the war is over, “a world where all four elements work for the benefit of each other, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Then,” Zuko presses his lips together before continuing, “I’ll strive to bring that vision into reality.”

You blink, a little confused. “Wasn’t that your original plan?”

“Yes, well, I mean—“ Zuko struggles again. “Since you said, you know, I just—“

He coughs, clearing his throat, “Yes,” he says finally, “but I have another incentive to do that now that I know it would make you happy.” Zuko should've stopped at that, but then seemingly realizing something, he frowns, “Because you're a good friend, and I want to see you happy, of course. That's what I meant.”

“I know what you mean,” you give him a reassuring smile, before having the heart to change the topic for his sake, “so... this dance of yours...”

Eager to have an escape, Zuko latches on the first opportunity you provide him. “It's not a dance!” He protests, but there is a slight smile on his lips. The sight of it warms your heart in a quiet way you can't put your finger on, easier to assume it's because of how he has changed than ruminate about the further reason behind it.

Zuko has smiled far more often now that he's with you and your friends, but you never quite notice that his smile comes up more frequently when he's around you.

[veebarnes13]

"I love you more"

Context: Bucky and you got married two years ago, but it didn't stop him from starting "I love you more" contests.

TW: none

Era: TFATWS

(English isn't my native language, feel free to correct me!)

Enjoy! :)

☆☆★☆☆

The alarm went off violently that morning. Bucky groaned and rolled to his side, almost crushing you under his weight. He slammed his fist on the alarm clock, careful not to break it though. He let himself fall on his back, his flesh arm circling your waist from behind. He buried his face in your hair and took in your scent, a smile tickling his mouth.

"Morning." he mumbled.

"Morning, handsome." you replied in a sleepy whisper.

He kissed your shoulder and nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, his hand roaming up and down your belly.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, worried you would be sore after he made love to you last night.

"Couldn't have slept better." you answered.

He cuddled you against his chest for five more minutes, not wanting to get up just yet. He had a meeting later with Sam and Sharon, to which he wasn't looking forward. They always got Carter and him arguing, Sam trying to soothe them and ending up arguing as well, and made him upset for the whole day.

He finally got up and forced you to do the same, holding you by the waist. You both took a morning shower to start what he had called "the waking up process of lady Barnes". He teased you with how different he was from you on this point. Where he could get ready for a meeting or mission in twenty minutes, it took you an hour and a half just to get up, shower, get dressed and eat.

While you were picking your clothes for the day, he prepared breakfast. You hugged him around the waist and kissed his bare back.

"It's dangerous to cook shirtless. You could burn yourself." you rebuke him with a gentle slap on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about the cook, kiss him instead." he replied.

It was the sentence he used each time you complained on his methods. You rolled your eyes, but kissed him anyway.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself, dummy, because I love you." you said, a finger on his chest.

"I love you more, doll." he retorts.

You snort, your version of a sarcastic laugh.

"Don't start this war. I love you more." you counter.

"Nonsense. I love you more." he added.

"Impossible, because I love you more." you shook your head.

"Shut up, I love you more." he replied.

"Make me." you chuckled.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking, and towered over you. He leaned forward, but instead of kissing you like you expected, he put a piece of the bacon he's cooking in your mouth.

"Tell me how it is." he laughs.

You elbowed him. He shifted away, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

After breakfast, he had to leave for the meeting. You kissed him goodbye, and as he was closing the door, you yelled "I love you more!". He opened the door and said "No, I love you more." then slammed it, preventing you from replying.

You smiled, knowing he thought he won, but he didn't.

At lunch, when he opened his meal, he laughed to himself, making Sam jump. On his sandwich was a piece of paper with the words "I love you more" scribbled in your handwriting.

"Really?" he texted you.

"Can't argue with facts." you texted back.

He smiled and shook his head.

As soon as he got back home, he took advantage of the fact that you weren't back yet.

Your keys jingled and he was standing before the door, a wide smile on his face. You frowned, suspecting something, and put your coat down on the couch. He hugged you tight and kissed you, welcoming you back home, telling you how much he loved you. You said you loved him more, but he didn't argue; he simply smiled.

Weird.

You cooked dinner since he made breakfast. When the plates were on the table, he poured you a glass of water. You noticed a black stain on it and tried to wipe it off with your thumb, but it didn't go away. You licked your finger and tried again, without any success.

"Gross." sneered Bucky.

"Shut up." you laughed back.

You inspected the glass and realized the stain formed an "I". Knowing what was coming next, you took the water jug and looked at the side that was towards Bucky. He had written on it "love you more."

You glanced at him. He giggled between two bites.

To get revenge, you positionned your food to spell "I LOVE U" along with a little addition sign, and he shook his head.

"It doesn't work, you didn't spell it right." he said.

If your eyes were guns, he would've been cribbled with bullets in a heartbeat. He laughed and gently kicked your knee underneath the table. You kicked him back and he snorted.

You both spent the evening without another "fight", but you knew he was planning something. So were you.

You brushed your teeth, got undressed and disappeared under the covers. Bucky joined you ten minutes later. You quietly insisted to be the big spoon and he didn't argue, for once; he loved to be the little spoon.

After a few minutes, you drew "I LOVE YOU MORE" on his back with your index. You heard him chuckle, a deep warm laugh that vibrated through his chest. You pressed yourself against his back and rested your face in the crook of his shoulder.

"I won't let you win this forever, you know." he whispered.

"You will." you murmured.

You cuddled him to sleep, his scent surrounding you. The next morning, you had a day off, so he let you sleep when the alarm rang.

You opened your eyes at 8:30, and the first thing you saw were the rose petals scattered on the floor. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, only to find out James had spelt "I love you more".

You smiled, your heart squeezing happily beneath Bucky's shirt you were wearing.

☆☆★☆☆

Thank you so much for reading this! I hope with all my heart that you enjoyed it.

If you like my writing, you can take a look at my Wattpad account, "WinterBarnes13", but my works on there are mostly in French. I wrote only one Fanfic in English, it's short and was written two years ago.

Lots of love!

- Vee

[chuckeroo777]

Dungeon Meshi Volume 10 Part 1

Welcome back! Today we're liveblogging volume 10!

Things are heating up in the kitchen, so lets not dilly dally!

Says the guy who's never missed a shot on-screen.

You know things have gotten serious when Laios doesn't immediately geek out.

So, what's the story with these guys? We know Thistle yoinked Yaad as punishment, but what happened to the others? How did Delgal manage to get his soul in his son's body in the first place? Did Thistle make that mannequin, or did Delgal do a swap to decieve Thistle? Who are the ladies?

Between this and the Undine, elemental creatures are really nasty in this universe. Also, imagine my disappointment that the meal below doesn't have garlic.

You'd think she would realize by now that there is a method to Laios' madness.

God, she's just like me sometimes.

For someone who has so much trouble understanding humans, he does occasionally have deep insights. The true nature of Thistle's madness is really starting to sink in for him.

How does that work when the bird is chopped up into many pieces? Can it regenerate from just one? Do phoenixes reproduce via budding?

Laios understands and will comply. But the other book is fine to do whatever to, right?

I don't remember the Cheshire cat being this evil.

So, yes. You are looking at the heart of the most forbidden magic of all time. Not ringing any alarm bells? Not even one?

Marcille would be a horrible picklock. But seriously, the lack of subtlety is definitely a character flaw.

A most majestic steed.

An important image.

Don't laugh. I think it looks great. Very "Warlock who spits in the face of god" coded. Not that I think that will be relevant.

On a more serious note, how do people know this works against rabbits, but don't know what the rabbits themselves are?

"How Hungry?"

This is supposed to be a Marcille arc. Stop having so many good faces Izutsumi.

A precious image.

So... I can't be the only one who momentarily feared she was going to use Chilchuck as raw material on their first read, right?

Fun fact, puppeting corpses like this is actually really easy magic, but it's just taboo as hell. See? I told you you'd get to the war crimes Marcille. Good for you.

Heh, they even have their matching belt pouches from that one extra.

Everyone imagines Laios as about 50% more psychopathic than he actually is.

God, this episode is gonna be NUTS. I can't wait.

Don't worry Izutsumi. Everything is safe and normal and good.

That is not a benevolent smile.

Marcille: So sad.

Laios: Deeply regretting actions.

Senshi: Unsure, but supportive.

Izutsumi: Tsundere.

Chilchuck: Not getting paid enough for this shit.

On to part two! See you there!

[raniamuhanna]

Tent Diaries (4)

Daily Death Meal in Gaza.

The occupation cuts a daily meal of victims in Gaza. It is approximately equivalent to 70 victims. On average. And on days that are semi-stable. Without major and huge events or explosions. And without negotiations in Doha or Cairo. Not a day goes by without cutting this meal. Who is this meal for? And why does it cut it?

The occupation possesses advanced and sophisticated killing tools. They are the most modern in the world. So that the Gaza Strip appears as an open carpet in front of it. Every citizen in the Gaza Strip is exposed to being part of this daily meal that the occupation destroys by firing surprise tank shells at the tents. Blowing up a car of passersby with a missile. Random bombing by Quadcopter aircraft on the displaced in the so-called humanitarian zone. Sniping citizens from long distances. Executions of the elderly, sick and disabled in their homes who were unable to implement the evacuation instructions in the blocks it announces.

The methods by which the occupation surprises citizens and takes them away from them are many and varied. All killings are unnecessary and not urgent from a security and military perspective. The evidence is that the occupation carries out killings in areas that are supposed to be safe. Or that were warned to evacuate. And it regained control over them once, twice, and more.

The only sin of the citizens that the occupation kills in a daily meal is that they were at the wrong time and place in the occupation's estimation. Even though they may be sleeping in their tents. Or children queuing to get a gallon of water.

What benefit does the occupation gain from providing a daily meal of Gazan victims?

This is the literal application of Netanyahu's repeated declarations that the war will not stop. These are the fuel of the war that he presents through the media to his audience and to the world that the war is ongoing. The war cannot continue without daily blood to feed and revive it. And these are the bloods that drive the war every day to deliver it to the next day. And so on.

They are like the fuel of a car whose engine must keep running without stopping until it reaches its final set goals. Can you imagine a day without Palestinian casualties under the pretext that the occupation army is waging a war in Gaza?

This is impossible. It is an Israeli political goal before it is a military goal. It is true that it is possible to imagine that no Israeli soldiers will fall in Gaza. In light of the imbalance of power. But for the occupation, it must continue to kill every day. With or without a pretext. With or without a reason. The important thing is that the number of victims of the daily meal in the media reaches a large number equivalent to seventy victims. So that the war appears to be fierce, fierce and brutal. Less than thirty, for example, is a small number that may raise suspicion that the occupation is waging a fierce war in Gaza. It is a number that does not fit the losses of war.

The killings within the meal are random and irregular: children. Women. The elderly. Suspected militants. But the process of serving the meal itself must be regular, daily, fixed and unchanging. No one has the authority to review, inspect or verify the victims within the meal: the reasons for their extermination, for example. Israel has been able to marginalize everyone who has legal or military authority in the world to do so. But the important thing is that the army presents this meal every day with a lot of theorizing, claims, pictures and justifications to continue the war that will not stop.

Nasser Hospital morgue. Every morning it has become like a box of luck. Or a box of the world. A large number of mutilated and dismembered bodies. These are part of the components of the meal that was cut for one day. Their identities and names can barely be recognized. Families rush to it to identify their sons who were missing throughout the previous night. And those who were led by bad luck. And without an appointment. To exist, sleep or walk in the wrong place where the occupation launches its bombs. To prepare the daily meal and present it to its audience and the world. The happiest mothers then are those who do not find their missing son among the bodies. And she returns hoping that he will return to her from his absence. Or her cell phone rings and his voice comes to her from afar that he is still fine and alive.

Only the bad luck of the victims made them part of this day's meal. But even those who think they are safe in their tents and displacement. And far from the occupation's random choices of death. Bad luck awaits them. It must be repeated at least seventy times a day. In different places. Until the next daily meal is ready for them. No matter how much they think they have taken all the precautions and safety measures to avoid being part of the next meal.

The issue of deducting the daily meal from the lives of the Gazans is one of the most important military decisions of the occupation army in the ongoing war of extermination. As for whether any citizen is included in it. Or not. It is a matter of luck and fate in the first degree.

gofund.me/0a023c9c

[lawyerbelal]

Hello, thank you for taking the time to visit my GoFundMe campaign. My name is Belal, I am a 29-year-oldhuman rights lawyer from the northern area of Gaza. I lived a happy and meaningful life with my wife and my family until everything changed onOctober 7.

This is our story:

My life was just getting started. I graduated law school in 2021 and got married to my beautiful wife in 2022. I’d been working on building my house since 2019, and finally I finished it onNovember 24, 2022. Just before the beginning of this terrible war, onSeptember 1, 2023, I finally achieved my lifelong dream of starting my own law firm. It’s very difficult to open a law office here in Gaza, so there are very few other people who have been able to achieve this at my age. Opening my law firm was one of the proudest moments of my life. I worked extremely hard for everything I had. Although I knew that the odds of achieving my dreams were slim, I never let this stop me. In the moments where I wanted to give up, I drew strength from God and from my love for my community, my love for Gaza.

My house was destroyed on October 13 –– our beautiful moments, our memories, and all our precious belongings were all gone with it. My law firm was also destroyed that week. Everything I had worked so hard for throughout my entire life, gone in an instant.We’ve been displaced 5 times in 5 different homes, and now our “home” is a tent that houses 15 people. We were forced to travel from the very north of Gaza to the southernmost area. We risked our lives every time we were forced to flee, as bombs and missiles rained down on us, destroying our neighborhoods and taking thousands of lives. Somehow, alhamdulillah, each time we miraculously escaped death as we searched for life without knowing what would happen to us the next day.

Our displacement journey began, moving several times from one area to another, until we ended up in a tent in the “Tal al-Sultan” area in the city of “Rafah.” You can imagine how difficult life is in a tent. Everything is done with great difficulty. We are forced to use primitive methods to carry out daily tasks. Every day we make fires to prepare food, and struggle to provide water to drink or bathe. Going to the bathroom is a struggle in itself for adults rather than children, in the absence of toilets suitable for human use.

The situation worsens with the advent of summer and rising temperatures. The tent literally turns into a “sauna” during the day, and we suffer from pollution,influenza, and other serious diseases that lead tohepatitis. On top of that,I lost my private office that I had established just a month before the war and my job. I was working as alawyer and legal advisor for many local and internationalinstitutions and became unemployed due to a complete power outage and lack of Internet connection most of the time. I am facing great difficulty in providing for my family's needs amidst the crazy rise in prices. We have suffered enough and been subjected to a lot of fear and panic over the past seven months. The city of Rafah is now threatened by a ground invasion at any moment by the occupation, so I decided to travel and leave Gaza.

Despite how much I love the place that will always be my home, the genocidal war has left nothing for us. I struggle every day to provide for my basic needs because of the huge rise in prices. My wife and I often do not know where our next meal will come from. We have no access to proper medical care. It pains me to say that I am living the worst days of my life. It’s one nightmare after another. There is no life here and I fear I will die if I can’t leave. I lost a brother of mine a while ago, I lost my home, my law firm, and everything I worked so hard for. I don’t want to lose anything else.

Your donations will help my wife and I escape certain death in Gaza by traveling to Egypt. We will then figure out where we can go next to continue our lives, we will go to any country that will take us. After the immense weight of having seen so much death and lost so much, we want to start a new chapter in our lives. Wherever we go, I will continue to do my life’s work of defending human rights and seeking justice for all people. We know we deserve a better life, and we are endlessly grateful for any support you can provide to help us get to this goal.

Thank you for your generosity, kindness, and support..

.

[walkingstackofbooks]

After the war, Section 31 want Julian to work for them, but no matter how many overtures they make, they just can't seem to persuade him.

So they turn to the old tried-and-tested method of using an alternate holosuite reality.

They start in the real world, sending an operative to ask him for something small - they just want access to all the medical files concerning DS9's inhabitants, they believe there's some sort of security threat. He refuses: it's medically unethical. The back-and-forth continues over some days - he says that if they let him know what they're looking for, he'll check for it himself. They say they can't let him know unless he agrees to join Section 31. He says fine, don't get your information then.

The pressure ramps up: they're now asking him to destroy any samples of X chemical he has, to stop a Bajoran vaccination programme, along with some other equally non-sensical things that he of course rejects just as vehemently because they still refuse to tell him why these things are important.

At some point, this business stops being conducted on DS9 and moves to the confines of a holosuite - not that Julian knows this. Other details are added in: a surprise visit from the O'Briens; Kasidy subsequently making the trip to say hello; a family meal, of sorts in Kira's quarters with her guests, and Quark, and Nog, and Jake, and Julian.

That night, Julian is woken up by explosions rocking the station. He reaches for his combadge, just as he is surrounded by a transporter beam, materialising onto an unfamiliar ship. He is stood by a window, looking down onto Deep Space Nine, helplessly watching as everything he loves is destroyed below him.

"We got you out just in time," someone says. He does not respond. He can't.

They take him to unfamiliar quarters on this unfamiliar ship. The room is empty, bare, unlived in. He sits on the bed, numb, his mind refusing to comprehend the enormity of what he has just lost. In his haze, he turns to reach for Kukulaka.

Kukulaka is not there. Kukulaka will never be there again.

The damn bursts, and he weeps for his bear. In the coming days, he will also cry for the loss of his home, his friends, his family, but for now, thinking about them is just too painful. First, he will spend this night mourning Kukulaka, focussing all his grief on the memory of his oldest companion.

The next morning, he will be debriefed. Section 31 is too professional to blame him directly, but as the other officers discuss the explosion, putting together piece by piece a picture of how it happened, Julian will easily be able to read through the lines. An unstable patient. Theft of medical chemicals. Piece by piece he is shown how if he had just co-operated from the outset, his home would not be a bruning wreck among the stars of Bajor.

He cannot let this happen again. No-one else will lose their homes, their family, because of his failure to act.

When Section 31 offer to take him back to Earth, he refuses them once more.

"I think it's about time I stepped up, don't you think?"

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Hello my sweet darling!!

I would like to request some teeth rotting fluff please!

Some general relationship HCs for Ares x Mitsuri reader, what are they like as a couple and gifts they would get for each other just because it was a Tuesday and wanted to make the other smile.

Stay happy and safe my friend!

Ask and it shall be done, my dear friend! ☀️

There is no doubt that you two would make a very cute couple in Valhalla. Ares might be the Grecian god of war, but he is quite a softie beneath his harsh exterior, though it would have taken some time to actually muster up the courage to confess how he felt towards you.

In his eyes, you were incredibly gorgeous. The way you carried yourself confidently yet humbly in the halls as a handmaiden of Athena, greeting the gods respectfully with a nod of your head and a bright smile…he was dazzled, and he did not feel that he was worthy of trying to court for your hand nor it was the right time.

He had been separated from Aphrodite for 112 years, five months, three weeks, twelve hours and eight minutes. The goddess of love and pleasure had always been fickle as she had been vain, all flaws that Ares wholeheartedly accepted….until a surprise visit at her temple turned into a massive argument when he saw his beloved in the arms of her ex-boyfriend Adonis, just weeks after they had reconciled after another breakup.

The one who had been able to pull his head out of his ass had been none other than Athena. She might have shared Artemis’ vow of chastity and did not take a lover like her siblings, but the goddess of wisdom was not blind as how you, her handmaiden, looked at him with a lovestruck gaze or blushed fiercely when he greeted you.

You were smitten with him, plain and simple.

Normally, she would not allow romantic relationships to foster amongst her handmaidens as a vow of chastity was required to be accepted into her temple. You were the exception to such a rule because you were not truly a handmaiden. You were a Demon Slayer, tasked with protecting her for a short duration until the situation had been…resolved. Uncle Hades was the one to recommend you, as you were one of the strongest soldiers under his command.

The demon who had attacked the city under her divine protection and slaughtered many mortals was a malevolent being not to be taken lightly. It had the ability to split itself into four individual bodies, each with a special power. A god could certainly try to kill a demon…but their weapon would either be destroyed once it made contact with its extremely durable skin, or they would be its next meal.

Only the sword of a Demon Slayer can kill a demon. The best method was a clean cut across the neck, severing the head as quickly as possible before it regenerated any of its wounds or missing body parts.

You had been very diligent in your task, obeying her commands with such vitality and enthusiasm it almost made Athena envious of such a bright mortal. But seeing you sigh longingly after him is starting to give the goddess of wisdom a headache, which is why she traveled all this way to see him.

Will he accept her feelings and stop clinging to the shred of hope that Aphrodite will come back to him, or remain melancholy for the rest of his immortal life? He is the one who now holds the key to your heart in his hands. To turn it and unlock another path to a fulfilling love…or to return the key to her…that’s up to him.

Athena then left the temple, her flowing robes billowing behind her as a dumbstruck Ares scrambled with words, dumbstruck at what his sister just said.

You…loved him. You were in love with him?

He quickly sought you out and asked if it were true, and his response had been witnessing your face turn just as red as his own face and squeaked a small ‘yes’.

Ares.exe stopped working. Internally, however, he was jumping for joy that maybe, just maybe, you were the one. The one who would love him unconditionally. It took a few minutes to break out of his reverie upon hearing your worried voice call out to him, [Eye Color] orbs glistening with unshed tears.

He immediately reassured you that he was all right…just stunned and happy. When you accepted his hand with the intent of courting, Ares felt love begin to blossom in his heart again.

Uncle Hades, though, made it quite clear that the two of you needed to be discreet. Your duties to protect Valhalla and its people as the Love Hashira came first.

What followed were picnic dates, exploring the markets of Valhalla and even an opportunity to ride a winged horse in the sky when the weather was absolutely perfect.

Gift exchanges happened too, although Ares did overdo it a few times with luxurious bouquets of roses or high-end confectionaires from a well-known bakery. He was over the moon with anything you gave him, whether it was a brand new cape to replace a tattered one that got ruined in his last battle, or bought dinner on a Tuesday night, whenever he wanted to go.

If he felt a bit fired up, he’d invite you to spare with him. He had come close to being beaten not once, but twice. On the third time he was on his back, but it didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he saw it as another opportunity to grow and become stronger. You were more than happy to help him with his flexibility, although it was a bit…painful.

And that was saying a lot from a god with a high pain tolerance.

He never made fun of your strength or strangely-colored hair, finding that such traits suited you perfectly. There was no need to change who you were to make someone else happy.

Ares almost a panic attack when you began crying after he said those words, but you reassured him that these were happy tears, not sad ones.

He’d be a gentleman, always offering to carry heavy objects for you and hold your hand firmly, yet carefully as if he were afraid he’d hurt you accidentally. If someone has tried to make a move on you or acted incredibly rude towards you for whatever reason, whether it was because of your hair, your appetite, your strength… the hapless ingrate better start running.

[radicalrainbow]

Namar [COTL Oc]

Here she is! My beloved otter <3 Backstory below-

TW: mention of amputation

Namar, entered this world through a unique creation, rather than traditional birth. Her fathers, skilled spellworkers, labored diligently under the bishop of knowledge and war to develop a method of bringing life into existence without the need for a living host. Their dedicated experiments eventually yielded success, and Namar was the result—an adorable, wide-eyed girl with wild, fluffy hair.

These well-documented and fruitful experiments were presented to Shamura, who, in return, granted the spellworkers their deepest desires. They were allowed to leave Shamura's court and were bestowed a cozy home in a tranquil village nestled deep within Silk Cradle. In this idyllic setting, Namar thrived.

She was adored by her fathers and beloved by the tight-knit village community. Namar often trailed behind her fathers, seeking attention and curiosity. Her fascination with cooking was sparked early, as she watched one or the other prepare daily meals with keen interest. By the time she could peer over the cooking pots, she was already crafting her own dishes—much to her parents' concern, as they fretted about her getting cut or burned. However, Namar displayed remarkable proficiency with her culinary tools, creating generous meals that nearly overflowed their pots. On days when her fathers couldn't finish her culinary creations, she shared her bounty with neighbors, friends, and the occasional patrolling soldiers of Shamura's domain.

As Namar matured, she earned the esteemed title of the village chef, a role she held close to her heart. Her culinary skills were a source of pride, and she never let anyone forget it.

Namar was given the privilege of feeding one of the loyal guards of Shamura’s domain, a spellcaster that worked with curses, a large segmented beast that had simply stopped in the very area her village was in and demanded food from those that resided within. It was not as if she could deny them anything- yet she was always eager to cook for anyone who'd ask.

Seizing an opportunity to rid themselves of the menacing guard, someone in the village poisoned Namar's dish without her knowledge. The assassination attempt failed miserably and was met with ridicule. For her perceived complicity in the poisoning plot, despite her vehement denials of involvement, Namar was cursed. All food she makes would burn- any creation she attempts would explode into fire, crumble into ash.

To many it seemed like a meek punishment, to Namar it felt like the end of the world. Her passion, her sole purpose in the world had been stripped from her. At first she tried to deny it, ignore it, and yet the next day she nearly burned down the kitchen simply trying to cut apart some meat.

She went to her fathers to help, experienced in magic as they are, only for the spell to lash out back at them. One of her father’s got burnt horrifically, and despite their attempts to treat it, necrosis set in far too fast and his arms had to be amputated.

Namar abandoned cooking, she became meek and quiet and nearly shut in despite her father’s always being there for her. Never blaming her for what happened and supporting her every day- yet she could hardly stop herself. Many years passed and she decided to try again, one more time, and yet it once again slipped away from her. The flames seemed almost angry, they grew to dangerous size, and she could not stop it as a rogue flame lashed across her face and claimed her eye.

Frozen in agony as the burn began to blister. All she could do was crawl out of the kitchen and listen to the fire roar and crack the wooden supports of houses.

By the time the flames had finished Namar was found in a corner of the village, pressed against a stone, covered in soot. They all knew she had done it- on purpose or not, and though her fathers had lived several others had not. The village leader called for soldiers, and Namar was dragged away while begging for them to listen to her, it had been an accident she swears and she’s sorry.

Namar was set to be sacrificed, only to be rescued by the Lamb and given a new meek life within their cult. Though safe, she's simply not who she once was.

[reasoningdaily]

16 Black Innovators Who Changed Food Forever

Macaroni and cheese. Ice cream. French fries. Jack Daniel's whisky. Frozen foods in general.

We wouldn't have any of the above foods, plus many others, were it not for Black food innovators and figureheads that have made significant contributions and altered the way we eat and make food today.

Below are just some of the stories of these incredibly talented and inspiring individuals. Some of these names came from research via the New York Times and Food and Wine, but we've also included historical sourcing and context for each person as well. You can click on their names to view those original pieces.

Nathan "Nearest" Green

Known as "Uncle Nearest," Nathan Green was a skilled distiller who mastered the "Lincoln County" process. This method of distilling is thought by food historians and whiskey experts alike to have been brought in by slaves, and uses charcoal to filter and purify foods. The "Lincoln County" process, in particular, uses sugar maple charcoal to filter bourbon.

Green trained hired hand Jasper Newton Daniel (known to the world as "Jack Daniel") while working on a priest's distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee. Daniel eventually made him the first master distiller of Jack Daniel's, the famous Tennessee whisky many people drink today.

While Jack Daniel's shares the story of Green on their website, an all minority-led whisky brand named "Uncle Nearest" continues to build upon his legacy with spirits that use the same distilling technique, but feature Green's name on the bottle.

While Thomas Jefferson is sometimes credited with bringing foods like mac & cheese and ice cream to the United States, Hemings was the one who actually learned to make them. A slave in the ownership of Jefferson prior to his presidency, Hemings traveled with him to France in 1784 specifically to learn the art of French cuisine.

Hemings became the first American trained as a French chef in history as a result, bringing back several dishes to the United States. French fries, ice cream, macaroni and cheese, creme brulee, French meringues, and French whipped cream are just a few examples. These dishes and others would be incorporated in Hemings' signature half-French, half-Virginian style of cooking he became renowned for.

Hemings would later also cook one of the most famous dinners in American history: the one between Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton that settled who would pay for the Revolutionary War and established Washington, D.C. as the United States' capital. He eventually was freed by Jefferson in 1796.

Zephyr Wright

Zephyr Wright was the personal chef for President Lyndon B. Johnson and his family for over twenty years. It was her cooking that made the Johnson household a popular one for D.C. dinner parties.

Wright would follow Johnson to the White House during his tenure, and was in charge of the home cooking in the White House kitchen. She would also temporarily cook all meals, including VIP ones, in between the tenures of two White House Executive Chefs.

Wright is thought to have heavily influenced Johnson's support for the Civil Rights Act of 1964,. Wright was known to have spoken up to the President during his time in Congress about the injustices she faced road tripping between Texas and D.C. during congressional recesses, saying that she was not allowed to use the bathroom in areas she was driving through, and couldn't stop off and eat at restaurants. President Johnson reportedly used some of her stories to convince Congress to sign the bill. He would also give her a White House pen when the act was signed into law.

Leah Chase

The Queen of Creole Cuisine, Leah Chase was the heart and soul of Dooky Chase's restaurant in New Orleans across seven decades. Known for her fried chicken, red beans and rice, gumbo, and other classics, Chase started out in the 1940s when she got a job as a server at a restaurant. She eventually took over the helm and made it a safe haven for anyone to come and eat at.

Dooky Chase's was known as one of the few places that it was publicly okay for races to mix at, since the cops wouldn't bother activists inside the restaurant. Thus, leaders of the Civil Rights Movement, including local leaders and national ones like Martin Luther King Jr., would often strategize while eating there.

Chase would go on to serve presidents like Barack Obama and George W. Bush, along with Associate Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall and other influential figures. Disney has even made a movie with a character inspired by her: Princess Tiana of Princess and the Frog.

Abby Fisher

Around the early 1880s, Abby Fisher was known for her award-winning pickles and the Mrs. Abby Fisher Pickle Company in San Francisco. She had at least 35 years of cooking experience, some estimates had it, and the awards she won for her food reflected that.

However, Fisher is probably best known for publishing one of the first cookbooks ever authored by an African-American woman. The book, called What Mrs. Fisher Knows About Old Southern Cooking, contains over 160 recipes and uses the dictated words of Fisher herself.

The cookbook surged in popularity in the late 20th century when a publisher began reprinting it in 1995. Today, it offers a window into these early recipes that places like museums try to recreate for guests to sample.

Edna Lewis

Edna Lewis became a legend while she cooked at Cafe Nicholson in Midtown Manhattan starting in 1949. Her fame and Southern recipes led to guests like Marlon Brando, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Salvador Dali showing up for dinner. After stepping away from the chef's role (as an active partner) in 1952, she would lecture at the American Museum of Natural History while working as a chef and private caterer.

Lewis would later become inspired to write her first cookbook as demand for them grew in 1972. She was one of the first African-American women from the South that would publish a cookbook that did not hide her name, gender, or race. She would go on to publish more in the future, eventually becoming known as the Grand Dame and Grand Doyenne of Southern cooking.

Larry James and Jereline Bethune

The Bethune family, to this day, runs Brenda's Bar-Be-Que Pit in Montgomery, Alabama. Open since 1942, the restaurant would become an important hub for those in the Civil Rights Movement.

After Rosa Parks infamously refused to give up her seat on a Montgomery bus, Larry James and Jereline Bethune were instrumental in using their restaurant to organize bus boycott efforts around the city. As the movement continued and literacy test laws (meant to curtail the Black vote) were introduced, Jereline would also quietly hold lessons teaching other African-Americans how to read. They were then able to pass these literacy tests and go out and vote.

Alfred L. Cralle

Ice cream today would not be the same without the work of Alfred Cralle. Born just after the Civil War, he had an affinity for mechanics as a young age, and would go study at Wayland Seminary, a school set up after the Civil War to educate newly freed African-Americans.

Cralle would go on to work as a porter at a drugstore and a hotel in Philadelphia, and developed the idea of the ice cream scoop while watching people struggle using two different spoons to get the ice cream into cones. Cralle's mechanical inventional, which is the basis of how ice cream scoops work to this day, was invented in 1897.

Cralle would also become a successful promoter of businesses in Philly, and was the assistant manager of the Afro-American Financial, Accumulating, Merchandise, and Business Association in Pittsburgh.

Ever heard the story of how potato chips were invented to spite a customer at a restaurant? George Crum was the chef at said restaurant, the Moon Lake Lodge resort in Saratoga Springs. A customer came in around the summer of 1853 wanting extra-thin French Fries, frustrating Crum to the point he sliced them as thin as possible, fried them in grease, and sent them out.

The chips became a big hit, eventually becoming known as "Saratoga Chips." While Crum never patented the dish, he did open his own restaurant, "Crumbs House," that served a basket of them at every table.

Chips wouldn't become a grocery product until 1895, and the concept of bagged chips didn't show up until 1926.

Joseph Lee was one of the most influential people when it came to industrializing the way we make bread.

Having worked in a bakery from a young age, Lee eventually became the owner of two restaurants in Boston, as well as a hotel and a catering company. Looking to find a way to minimize bread waste, he eventually invented a machine that would convert day-old bread into breadcrumbs. Patented in 1895, he later sold the rights and the breadcrumb maker would spread across the world.

That wasn't Lee's only invention, however. He would later patent the idea for an automatic bread maker that mixed and kneaded the dough, the basis to the same devices (think, stand mixers) that we still use in our kitchens today.

Lloyd Hall is considered to be one of the pioneers in the world of food chemistry. A pharmaceutical chemist for Griffith Laboratories in Chicago who completed graduate school, Hall would be awarded over 100 patents and received multiple honorary doctorate degrees for his work.

Hall's main area of work came around the development of techniques to preserve food. Some of his most revolutionary patents included using  "flash-dried" salt crystals that revolutionized meatpacking. He also introduced the use of antioxidants to prevent the spoilage of fats and oils in baked goods, and developed a process known as "Ethylene Oxide Vacugas," which could control the growth of bacteria and molds in food.

John Standard was an inventor instrumental in modernizing two pieces of kitchen equipment that virtually every household has today: stoves and refrigerators.

Refrigeration was a concept that was being researched as early as the 1830s, but mainly focused on using some sort of power. Standard's improvement to the fridge, patented in 1891, was an unpowered design that used a manually filled ice chamber as the central cooling unit.

Standard also made significant upgrades to the oil-powered stove, patenting one with a space-saving design in 1889 that could be used in applications like buffet-style meals on trains.

If you've worked in the food industry or any commercial transportation that required keeping stuff cold, you've likely seen the Thermo King brand somewhere in your lifetime. Frederick McKinley Jones was the founder of that company, and inventor of the first automated refrigerated system for trucks.

A skilled and gifted electrician and mechanic, Jones had patents for sixty different inventions across a wide variety of fields, including the portable X-ray machine, motion picture devices, and even medical storage units.

He's most known for the Thermo King, the refrigerated system he invented, because it allowed for fresh goods from around the world to be transported and sold in stores. Jones is essentially responsible for not just all refrigerated transport globally, but also the entire frozen food industry.

Known as the "Oyster King of New York," Downing was most known for his 19th-century restaurant, Thomas Downing's Oyster House. His oyster hall was legendary, with prominent figures like Queen Victoria and Charles Dickens having dined there.

Downing was born a free man, as his parents were freed by plantation owner John Downing. He grew up and was educated on Chincoteague Island in Virginia, and eventually made his way up to New York following the war of 1812. Like many other African-Americans in New York, Downing eventually went into the oyster business, opening his own oyster cellar in the 1820s.

Oyster cellars were the universal food of New York at the time (similar to hot dogs today), but many establishments weren't as trusted as Downing's. That's because he specifically catering it towards the fine dining clientele, with a large dining area, carpet, and chandeliers gracing the hall. Elaborate dishes like oyster-stuffed turkeys and a pan roast made with wine and chili graced the menu.

This, at the time, meant that African-Americans couldn't eat Downing's restaurant, but few were aware of the double life he led. Downing's basement was a key stop in the Underground Railroad, and as an abolitionist, he helped many that were escaping the South in search of freedom. He also led political efforts, funding schools for African-American children and leading the fight in desegregating New York's trolley system.

Downing was so regarded in New York that when he passed away in 1866, the New York City Chamber of Commerce closed so that its members could attend his funeral.

The sugar industry in the United States has Norbert Rillieux to thank for allowing them to become so powerful. Were it not for his inventions, making sugar would still be a time-consuming and dangerous process.

Originally, the sugar refinement process, known as "The Jamaica Train," was dangerous and expensive. Laborers (usually slaves) would transfer ladles of scalding hot sugar case juice between open boiling kettles, often resulting in scalding and terrible burns (anyone who's worked with sugar knows how painful it can be). The result was a dark syrup that was molded into cones and dried before being sold.

From  1834-1843, Rillieux developed a system for refining and crystallizing sugar using a much safer and controlled method, allowing the United States to eventually dominate the sugar market. His process is still used today for freeze-drying food, pigments, and other food products.

Many people know George Washington Carver for the myriad of products he invented that utilized peanuts or sweet potatoes. As an agricultural scientist working in the South, he was also a man responsible for helping revitalize much of the economy in that region.

Working out of the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, Carver was a teacher and a researcher from the late 1890s until his passing in 1943. An early pioneer of crop rotation, he encouraged farmers to plant peanuts in the soil after harvest to replenish lost nutrients, helping farmers improve not just their livelihoods, but their diets as well.

Carver's research and work focused on revitalizing soil and maximizing plant production while keeping costs to a minimum. Outside of agriculture, he was a massive promoter of racial equality, and massive advocate of peanut oil as a potential treatment for polio. While never proven, the claim was widely circulated in media, and eventually turned into a "Peanuts for Polio" fundraising effort that helped raise money for medical care and benefits for children affected with the disease.

Following Carver's passing, then-Senator Harry S. Truman sponsored legislation that would lead to the construction of the George Washington Carver National Monument. It was the first-ever national memorial to an African-American.

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 15:  The Calm Before the Storm - Is this... a date?

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

[Left blank]

Personal comments: One hundred and twenty breaths represents a very long period of time, I have discovered. Deployment of strategy postponed until I am able to discover a method of keeping Okatsu still. Consulted Nobunaga and received following suggestion. “Tie her up.” Am not certain this was in jest. After leaving Nobunaga, I came across Hideyoshi, who stopped to help one of the maids carry a heavy vase. Hideyoshi believes in protecting the people, especially those he loves. I will take that idea from Hideyoshi this afternoon, as Okatsu needs protecting. I believe I have an idea, one that will be allow me to rescue her, and keep her still for, I hope, one hundred and twenty breaths.

Lady Mai is an excellent co-conspirator. Not only was she willing and able to help me with my strategy to prevent Okatsu from having to enter the silver mine, she suggested that I use the free afternoon to take Okatsu on something called a “date.” Per Mai, a good date includes spending time together, going out for a meal or tea, finding activities you both enjoy together, and at the end of the “date,” you might share a kiss.

I will kiss Okatsu today.

If she permits it.

I hope she permits it.

 “Perhaps you and I should run off.”

I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. “Run off?” Did he mean just disappear for good? I’ve already done that once. “Hideyoshi and Nobunaga would be worried if we did that.”

“For the afternoon. Explore the terrain around Genba. You would enjoy that, would you not?” He carried me over to where Moonlight was tied to a tree. Then with not much grace, plunked me onto her back. “I believe we are not far from Takayama. We could have tea in the castle town.”

“What about your work?” The desire to spend more time in the sunlight warred with the responsibility to help Mitsunari.

“If we had stayed at the mine, I would not be working. We could ride to Takayama, explore, and still return before the others.” Mitsunari was already turning his horse northward. Moonlight, who apparently had become very good friends with Mitsunari’s horse, followed suit. I had been outvoted. But I was ok with that.

“On the condition that if Hideyoshi finds out, you tell him this was your idea.” I was in enough trouble with the Azuchi housemother as it was.

“Hideyoshi would agree that it is good sometimes to get outside.” He leaned across his horse and nudged me with his shoulder… then caught himself in a balance check. “He often reminds me to take care of myself and to take breaks outside.”

“How long have you worked for Hideyoshi?” Mitsunari had a positive view of everyone, even the permanently grouchy Ieyasu, but his relationship with Hideyoshi seemed to be long-standing, and almost brotherly.

“You are asking me questions? Perhaps we could exchange answers to thirty-six questions.” Before I could figure out where that non sequitur came from, he continued. “Over ten years. I was a temple page – because otherwise I was an unwanted second son. Lord Hideyoshi realized my skill with numbers and asked me to join him.”

“Before you were a messenger – and an observer – what did you do?” Mitsunari ducked under a low hanging branch and ended up with pine needles stuck in his hair.

“I was a maid.” It wouldn’t be useful to mention my pre-time travel life. There wasn’t an equivalent to the University system here, and likely if even if there had been one, women wouldn’t be permitted to attend. Nor was there any way to explain gymnastics or snowboarding. I mean… I suppose I could say I was raised in a circus or something, but even that was stretching the truth a lot. “It was not terribly interesting. I was lucky that my master allowed me to train with his male apprentices.”

The trail narrowed slightly, but not enough to force us to ride single file. Our legs brushed. “You became a maid after your parents died?”

Right. I had let him think my parents were both dead. “My mother had died. I never knew my father. She would not say who he was.” This was less of an issue in modern Japan than it might be here. But immediately after I revealed that to Mitsunari, I regretted giving him such personal information. The last person I had trusted with my life story was Iekane.

He reached over and touched the back of my hand, just a quick brush of his fingers, but I felt calmer to receive it. “I am sorry to hear that Okatsu. I am certain he missed much by not being part of your life.”

I waved that away. “Where I come from, people don’t really care all that much anyway.”

One of the pine needles in Mitsunari’s hair drooped into his eye. He swiped at it, but only succeeded in embedding it more deeply. “Nobunaga wants to create a future where people don’t care about that here either, however that was not what I meant. I am sorry that you grew up without something that many people take for granted.”

That pine needle kept dangling in front of his face. I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Let me get that.” I reached over and pulled the pine needle out of his hair, combing my fingers through to make sure I had gotten all of them.

“Thank you.” He reached up and touched his forehead.

The pine needle had been covered in sap and ended up stuck to my hand. I grabbed my handkerchief and wiped it away. Then I folded up the pine needle into the handkerchief and put it back in my kimono. I promised myself I would toss it away later.

Takayama was nowhere near the size of Azuchi, although it did seem to be bustling, with people hurrying through the streets with baskets of fresh food. I could see an open market area off at one end of the town, as well as more permanent buildings with small shops. “Do you want to see if there is a bookseller here?”

He pulled his horse to a halt in front of an inn with a public stable yard. “Why don’t we walk around and see what we find? Sometimes it is good to explore without having any other motive than to enjoy the day.”

I agreed with the sentiment, although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent a day wandering a town without having a specific purpose in mind. I wasn’t sure if I ever had in this era. There had always been a mission, a reason. This felt almost… well, almost like a date.

Backing away from that thought – we were simply playing hooky  – I fell in step next to Mitsunari as we wandered through Takayama. And yes, there was a bookseller, though it was not large. I paused by the entry. “Do you want to go inside?”

Mitsunari hesitated. “Don’t let me start reading.”

“It’s a bookseller. You’ve spent hours in them – I know, I’ve watched you do so.” I smiled inwardly at the memory of watching him practically camp out in Aki’s shop, and how I had ended up feeding him rice crackers that first afternoon.

“That is what I meant. I want to enjoy this time with you, and you know what will happen if I find a book.” If it had been anyone else, I would have said Mitsunari was afraid to go into the booksellers. And while it was sweet that he wanted to be a good host and make sure I enjoyed myself, I wasn’t supposed to be having fun.

Mitsunari frowned at me, his brow furrowed in concern. “Did I say something wrong? I did not mean to give you the burden of guarding my behavior. What I meant is that I won’t start reading because I want to spend time with you.”

I wanted to sooth away the worry from his forehead, but I held back and simply nudged him with my shoulder. “If you find something you want to read, you could, and this is simply a suggestion, purchase it.”

“Yes, that is a good – you are teasing me!” He smiled, and I grinned at the image of someone – more than likely Hideyoshi - sitting down with him and trying to explain gentle sarcasm.

“Maybe a bit.” I made a grand gesture in the direction of the military books. “Go ahead. Go forth and shop.”

The Bookseller was near the front of the store with a young woman who looked enough like him to be his daughter. No… it wasn’t simply the resemblance, it was the way he looked at her with a combination of love, protection, and pride. Or… maybe my earlier conversation with Mitsunari was simply putting an idealized father-daughter relationship in my mind? I watched them for a moment, then realized that they were examining a freshly bound book – and rather than the pages folded one inside the other, the way most Japanese books were bound, this book was in the new Chinese string bound style.

It was surprising to see such a “newfangled” book in such a small town, especially one this far from any port, that I headed over to them to ask where they had found it.

“My daughter made it,” the Bookseller said proudly. He introduced himself as Tokuro and his daughter as Sani, then showed me that the inner pages were discarded paper given to them by Takayama’s castellan.

“I’m learning the bookbinding trade.” Sani gave me a shy bow. “This is for practice. I used to make them with blank pages, but that was too much of a waste of paper.”

In my time, people were willing to pay for books with blank pages, from the cheap exam books all the way up to beautifully bound leather journals… and… I pictured in my mind Mitsunari juggling all his unbound notes, scrambling with them daily as he shuffled them about. “I might be interested in-”

Mitsunari joined me and I stopped midsentence. What I had in mind, in fact, would be a gift for him and I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. “Mitsunari, this is Tokuro and his daughter Sani, who is learning the book binding trade.”

They all bowed to each other, then Mitsunari asked Sani, “Do you not get distracted by wanting to read the books?”

She shook her head. “Thus far, I haven’t worked on any real books, so it’s been sewing, not reading.” That made sense. In the learning process, if she were using real books a mistake would be expensive. “I imagine that could happen at a later time.”

“It would happen to me.” He smiled at her, and Sani was not immune to the power of that sweetness. She blinked a few times like an animal blinded by headlights. “I wish you good luck in your training.”

“Th-thank you,” she eventually stammered.

He took my hand and squeezed it, and I was so surprised the spontaneous touch, and the zing of awareness that went through me, that I nearly missed his question. “Do you want to go to the metalsmith?”

“Why don’t you go on, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. I have a couple more questions about book binding that I want to ask her.” As an excuse, it was not terribly elegant, but Mitsunari didn’t protest. With a slight look of confusion on his face, he let go of my hand and left.

Eep. I had hurt his feelings, but as soon as I gave him the gift, it would explain things. I turned back to Sani. “If you still have the practice books you made – the ones with blank pages, I would like to purchase them.”

“Purchase empty books?” Tokuro and Sani looked at each other, exchanging a glance that probably said, ‘this chick is nuts, but we’re not going to turn down money.’ After a moment, Tokuro suggested an amount. “That will cover the cost of the materials, and Sani’s labor.”

Possibly he expected me to bargain, but it was a fair price. Sani retrieved her practice efforts from their living quarters, and once Tokuro wrapped them up, I headed for the metalsmith where Mitsunari awaited with a wrapped bundle under his arm – I wondered if it contained more weapons for Azuchi to test. “Did you find something interesting?”

“I believe so.” Mitsunari thanked the smith and the two of us headed out to look for a place to get a snack and something to drink.

The town’s only teahouse was crowded, and we ended up sitting at a table behind the building. “Thank you again for preventing me from having to go into the mine. It would not have been pretty.”

“What happens when you are in places like that?” Mitsunari took a sip from his tea, then very precisely placed his cup in a spot in the center of the table – where, I figured, he would be less likely to spill it.

“I start to feel like I can’t breathe or I’m going to faint. And I start remembering everything about being trapped in that box.” And… even talking about it in the outside sent a shiver through me. “Mitsunari, I’m sorry, but I really dislike talking about it.”

He was instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Because he seemed so horrified at that thought, I reached across the table took hold of both of his hands. They were warm from holding the tea, and the skin on his fingers was slightly calloused, reminding me that even with all the time he spent reading, Mitsunari was an experienced fighter as well. “It wasn’t your fault. Remembering sometimes makes me feel like I’m about to be sick, and … it’s too pretty a day out to be ill.”

He held onto my hands for a long moment, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I will talk about something pleasant instead. When something worries me, I think about books… or Kitty’s fur and the sound she makes when she is happy… the smell of Hideyoshi’s rooms when he smokes his pipe… and how holding your hands… holding you… makes me feel … honored.”

Oh. Wow. Well.

Where do I go with that?

And now it was my own turn for a BSOD. Mitsunari’s sweet confession sent a wave of … something through me. The thought that I could make him feel like that was both flattering and frightening. I didn’t want to inspire feelings in him. I was leaving when the job was over.

I didn’t want to leave something broken in my wake.

Ugh, Hideyoshi is right to distrust me. Not because I intend to harm anyone… but intentions count for nothing if harm happens anyway. My inner voice told me to let go of his hands.

But… I couldn’t.

He focused that sweet expression on my face, and I could neither let go of his hands, nor look away from his eyes. Until I realized… “Are you counting again?”

He stopped instantly and looked away. “Apparently it has become a habit.” He shook his head, then withdrew his hands away from mine. He picked up the package he’d purchased at the metalsmith shop and handed it to me. “The smith did have something I thought you might find useful.”

A present? Like the just-because gifts my brother and I used to give each other on non-occasions? I focused on the phrase ‘something useful,’ which might mean the Sengoku equivalent of socks? The package was somewhat heavy (Duh, Katsuko, it’s from the metalsmith!) and I hefted it a couple times before opening it up to find an iron war fan inside. “Oh. This is really cool!” Whoops. Slang. “I mean, this will help cool things in the weather we’ve been having.”

“I noticed you often forget to take a fan with you and thought you would be more likely to remember one that doubled as a weapon.” He picked it up and stabbed it toward me and – the teacup went flying.

I caught it before it could hit the ground. “You thought correctly. I can’t wait to figure out how to use it. Thank you!”

“I could teach you.” He seemed excited by the prospect.

“You know how?” I unfurled the fan to admire the sharp metal spokes – and the pretty Sakura pattern as well. Mitsuhide had wanted me to wear pink? Well, pink this!

“I have read about their use. Also, though I did not read about it, it is said that Takeda Shingen once fought off an attack by Uesugi Kenshin by using his war fan.” A faraway look was in his eyes. “I would have like to have witnessed that.”

Huh. Me too. I’d never encountered Lord Shingen, but I had indeed seen Kenshin in battle. Anyone who could successfully fight off his attack – with a fan, no less – had to have mad skills. Of course, now that they were allied against Nobunaga, I imagined they made a terrifying duo.

After a few flutters of the fan in front of my eyes, I put it aside. “As it turns out, I purchased something for you too.” I handed him the parcel from the bookseller.

“A book?” His eyes sparkled. Then when he pulled out the blank books, he seemed confused. “Is this printed in secret ink?”

“No. These are for you to write in. That way you don’t have to keep track of lots of scraps of paper or keep rolling and unrolling a scroll to find what you are looking for.” I’d watched Mitsunari re-ordering his notes often enough.

“Ah yes, these will be handy.” He ran his hand over the bound covers. “Thank you, Okatsu.”

For a long moment, he was quiet, and I didn’t rush to fill the space in between with useless commentary, because I knew he had more words and would speak them when he was ready. And after a few breaths, that is what he did. “Okatsu, why did you buy me a gift?”

Did there need to be a reason? “I thought it was something you would like. Is that not why you got this fan?”

“Oh. In fact, yes. I did think that you would like it.” He looked around for his teacup, and I moved it back to the center of the table. He picked it up, then put it back down, as if belatedly realizing he’d finished it a while back.

We sat there without speaking, simply looking at each other, until a cleared throat and glare from an old man alerted us to the fact that there were more people interested in sitting down than there were places to sit.

Mitsunari took my hand again as we strolled back through Takayama, which was nice. Too nice. I must not ever forget that I was only here as part of a charade. And so, I destroyed the comfortable silence. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by – when this is all over.”

There was a soft sigh, and he was close enough that it tickled my cheek. “I would not forget you, Okatsu. I want to-”

Whatever it was he meant to say next was lost when someone collided with me.

“Oh, excuse me!” I said it automatically, though I was not sure if it had indeed been my fault. The collider pressed a scrap of paper into my hand, but when I turned to get a better look at him, he was already on his way. Had that been a ninja?

No. It had been a woman. A kunoichi then.

Frowning, Mitsunari watched her melt into the crowd of a busy outdoor market.

“Should we go after her?” If I ran, I could possibly catch her, but I might lose Mitsunari in the process.

“Do you have a sister?”

“No.” He ought to know I only had a brother. “Why?”

“Because, she reminded me of-” He seemed to be struggling to put it into words. “She had your eyes.”

“Really?” I shrugged that off. I have brown eyes, like most of the population. Then I remembered the scrap of paper and opened it. It was short and to the point.

Hikosane is in danger. Protect him at all costs.

Note, if you've read "Twelve Lies I Told Shingen Takeda" the encounter with the kunoichi at the end corresponds to Chapter 45 when timeline A Katsuko overhears the following:

In the distance, someone’s phone chimed an alert, and I heard a female voice, sounding like it was on speaker say, “I gave her the message, but I think Mitsunari recognized me.”

Then, as I took a hesitant step along the path, I heard, “Theoretically, that would be ok, if that means they’ll take the message seriously enough to protect Hikosane.”

It's not necessary to have read "12 Lies..." before this story, but if you have, that was one of the Easter egg payoffs.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[st0rmyskies]

you absolutely dont have to answer this, but how would the hsh boys deal with a manhunt for an escaped killer trapping them inside? like, who would be wearing noise cancelling headphones 24/7 for the police sirens, and who would get fed up and go to hunt the guy down themselves? hope things get a little easier for you soon!

Actually I need this ask like you have no idea.

Twilight - The most lowkey nervous of the house. He's incredibly grateful to be living in Time's fortress, but he's also pretty freaked out living so close to or within the search area. He tends to double- and triple-check locks whenever he passes by doors and he'll snap at the others to stop opening windows, although he'll try to laugh it off and not let on how scared he is. Debates for a hot 30 minutes whether he should go visit home indefinitely. He loses the most sleep in the house listening to the helicopters at night.

Wild - He comes up with the most imaginative methods for how the killer might get into the house and terrorize the group, and he loves to share them out loud while working in the kitchen or when passing by the others lounging in the living room. It's pretty common to hear a bunch of them yelling "WILD!!" to get him to shut up now and then. But he's also weirdly not scared. Definitely has a "there's no way that would happen to me" attitude.

Champion - Completely nonplussed. He continues to keep his routine of working out, hanging in his room, going out when he needs to - although he does carry a concealed weapon on him when he leaves. Definitely has a hair-raising "fuck around and find out" aura to him.

Warriors - Gets weirdly serious about the situation at first. He's the first to check doors and windows to make sure they're secure. He keeps the television on the news channel - turned low, of course - for round-the-clock updates. He's constantly checking social media for updates and posting selfies of his arduous ordeal of being stuck inside. By day 5 or 6, though, he's starting to get bored. He's needling his roommates and starting petty fights for no reason, yelling at them when they try to change the channel, and spending way too much time in the bathroom trying new things with his hair.

Sky - Takes things seriously for the first 2-3 days. He keeps his eye on the news with Wars, he talks Twilight down when he can tell that he's a bit panicky, he's the first to gently change the subject when Wild starts to get a new fantasy in his head. By the 4th day, Sky is sick of being inside so much. ALWAYS down to accompany one of the others outside for an errand or whatever, so long as it isn't before 9am.

Legend - Is reasonably unaffected. He’s kind of a shut-in, really. Working with Ravio means that he doesn’t need to leave the house for much. He does like his occasional trip to the cafe but the coffee maker works just as well. When the others begin to get stir-crazy is when he starts to get bitchy and hides in his room most of the time. 

Hyrule - Still living his life. Escaped killer or not, Hyrule has a job that he still needs to get to. He's so dead inside at 5:30am each day that he could open the front door to the killer standing on their porch and just say "excuse me" and pass right on by with his work bag on his shoulder. Public transport isn't running, so Time is up with him each morning to take him to and from the hospital personally, which he supposes is a perk. At least Time doesn't expect too much in the way of conversation so early in the morning.

Four - He's quieter than usual and is spending a lot more time in his bedroom with the door locked and the curtains drawn. He'll come down for meals, but he excuses himself anytime Wild starts up with another fantasy about how the killer is going to come in and get them all in their sleep. He categorically AVOIDS the living room with the constant news feed about the situation. Alone in his room, though, he checks on the situation online at least twice a day, and he's watched the surveillance tape loops of the guy more than any of the others.

Shadow - Shortly after the whole circus starts, he's texting Four, offering to have him come stay at Shadow's place, which is much farther from the action. But Shadow has a basement apartment, which would make Four a bit paranoid. So 36 hours in, Shadow shows up outside of Four's window unannounced, nearly giving him a heart attack, and quietly moves in with him until the whole ordeal is closed. Somebody's gotta keep Four from falling apart all alone.

Wind - He literally could not care less, all up until his Amazon orders start coming up as "unable to be delivered due to emergency or weather situation." THEN he's stomping around the house, ranting and raving about the uselessness of the police force and that "It's just one guy!!" and "How hard can this be!!?" Most likely to get into it with Warriors and sent Legend in a disgruntled huff stomping off up the stairs.

Dark - Leaves some food and bottled water out on the fire escape each night like you'd put out milk and cookies for Santa.

Time - For the first few days, he’s the sensible dad. The townhouse is built to protect; he has enough locks and munitions to hold off an army. He keeps the blinds shut and the lights on and informs the boys that it’s smarter to travel in groups, only leave if you really need to, etc. By day 4 when the others are beginning to grumble and get restless, he reminds them to leave it to the proper authorities, but even he is getting a bit stir-crazy, barking at the boys when they’re peeking out the blinds or squabbling too loudly downstairs. On the evening of day 10, Time leaves the house with a duffel bag and only informs Twilight that he has some work to do and to keep the doors locked. He returns 18 hours later, showers, and passes out for the entire night and most of the next morning. He’s immediately more relaxed in the house and doesn’t harp on the others about keeping doors locked and so on. Later that day, the news reports that they’ve found what’s left of the escapee. 

[chronoslogbestiary]

Log 1: Terra Shellcrusters

Document Serial Number: 815A23 Document Classification: Biological Creature Anomaly Species Name: "Terra Shellcruster"

Terra Shellcrusters are creatures found within Dimension 82-S, a Dimension known to be fully submerged within water, tides having swallowed the land long ago, in 1982 due to a massive global war.

Terra Shellcrusters are notable for their immense size, and long legs allowing mobility through even the deepest of seas, though seem to be able to adapt the length of their legs depending on their environment at their early stages in development. It is believed that much of the land now remaining within 82-S is due to the remains of Terra Shellcrusters after having expired.

The reason for the shells of the beasts homing varieties of flora and fauna upon their backs is the symbiotic relationship between the Terra Shellcrusters and the Arid Talonlancers. Terra Shellcrusters are noted to have brilliantly malleable shells, having a similar durability to the natural soil of Earth before the Submerging, the coined term for the event causing the world to sink beneath the ocean. When Arid Talonlancers feed upon the Mossdrifter Fish leaping from the waters, they are recorded riding upon the back of the Terra Shellcrusters, with the theory of being there to rest between meals to restore and recover strength. This period usually ends when the Arid Talonlancer excretes their fecal matter onto the shell of the Terra Shellcruster. When this happens, the seeds within the Mossdrifter are buried within the shell, and due to the habitat, as well as the nutrient from the excrement, start to grow and spread their own seeds upon the shell. This happens within the Adolescent stages usually.

When the Terra Shellcruster grows to their Adult stages, their shell will be fully covered in different and varied ecosystems, supposedly due to the different habitats and environments the Shellcruster has grown up in. Several different species have taken to making their homes on the shell, and when the Terra Shellcruster dies, they will make a habit of naming the Shellcruster, as if a new piece of land. How intelligent life has developed within 20 years every time is uncertain. While the Terra Shellcruster feeds on plankton and other fish, due to this method of its life, it seems to stop going for that diet after adulthood, and somehow surviving off of the ecosystem grown and developed upon its back.

As it appears at the moment, Terra Shellcrusters can grow up to 30,000 feet in height, though this is only at a current max, the average size would be 10,000 feet or so. Terra Shellcrusters are extremely passive creatures, and would only attack to protect its young. The maximum lifespan for a Terra Shellcruster appears to be 500, going from adolescence until 50 years, where they remain in the Adult stage until death.

[indigowallbreaker]

35 from the Angst prompt for Edelgard with Ferdinand

This one got long so it's going under a readmore. I really REALLY like how it came out and it's my hope you like it just as much, anon!!

[prompt rules]

[more Beagles stories]

35: “Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want pity.”

--

Garreg Mach Monastery was a place of worship and learning. Within its walls were classrooms, stables, a holy altar, sleeping quarters, a library-- and many other useful rooms besides.

It did not have a dungeon.

For that reason, or perhaps due to her many injuries, Edelgard was being held captive in the infirmary.

The other beds and their patients had been moved before she arrived. It was just Edelgard, her bed, Manuela's desk (empty; she'd checked), and a window someone had nailed haphazardly-- thought effectively-- shut. At least it was comfortable. The Church would have had every right to shove Edelgard into a sodden chamber in Abyss as consequence for starting and losing this war. She wondered if that was Rhea's mercy or Professor Byleth's influence. Neither had visited her since bringing her back to Garreg Mach almost a week ago.

In fact, Edelgard had very few visitors. Most notably Manuela came by a few times a day to deliver meals or check on Edelgard's health-- taking a direct hit from the Sword of the Creator did not leave the body unscathed, even if the Professor had held back at the last moment.

A week after her imprisonment, and two weeks after the fall of Enbarr, Ferdinand von Aegir appeared in the infirmary doorway. Edelgard arched a brow as he shut the door behind him and approached her bed. He looked determined, face stone as he stopped a few feet away. In school he had carried with him a kind of glow of confidence. Now, that glow was all but gone. Edelgard found she missed it.

"There is something I must ask you," Ferdinand declared. Edelgard waited, eyes trailing over him for any sign of a weapon. "I would appreciate if you answered honestly."

"That depends on the question." Edelgard's voice came out strained, she knew. Injuries and lack of a conversation partner had dulled her throat somewhat.

"I was in the room when Manuela gave the Professor a report about your physical examination." Edelgard frowned but did not interrupt. "She mentioned some old scars. Across your chest, arms, even your back."

"I am aware."

Ferdinand tensed. "Who did that to you?"

Edelgard looked away, taking the bite out of her reply. "Why the concern? Are you worried your father has more sins on his hands?"

"I am not thinking of him, I am thinking of you."

"Why is that?"

"Because Manuela says the scars are too uniform to be from an accident." Footsteps on hardwood as Ferdinand had moved closer. "She said they looked methodical. Almost as if..."

"As if I had been experimented on?" Edelgard looked up at Ferdinand. Upon reading his expression, however, she wished she hadn't. "Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want pity."

Ferdinand ignored this and sat at the edge of her bed, eyes narrowed as if trying to see the scars himself through her clothes. How long his hair had grown. It fell in waves to the middle of his back, looking slightly less kempt than his shorter hair back at school. She briefly wondered if this was just another way Ferdinand was trying to prove his superiority-- grow his longer hair than Edelgard's. The absurdity nearly sparked a smile across her face.

"Who did this to you?" He asked softly.

Edelgard lifted her chin, levity forgotten. "What does it matter? You must have read Hubert's letter. The Church has more important things to worry about than my childhood."

"I am not thinking of the Church," Ferdinand tone was firm. "I am thinking of you."

This time, the statement robbed Edelgard of any retort. She simply stared at this new Ferdinand. In school, and during their short acquaintance before, Edelgard would never have dreamed of having this conversation. Ferdinand was an annoyance at best and a roadblock for her plans at worst. Now here he sat, pity gone, replaced with the air of a man determined to solve a problem.

Edelgard had only explained this once, many years ago. There had been no need to tell anyone but Hubert about what Slither had done. Even Volkhard had been the one to tell her father after Edelgard had been deemed a success.

Squaring her shoulders, Edelgard spoke. "It is a long story." Ferdinand nodded. He held out his hand, palm up. Edelgard took it, trying to draw courage from his resolve to listen.

And so, Edelgard told Ferdinand of Slither, of their experiments, and of the plans laid long ago that had, ultimately, led to Edelgard being held captive in a monastery without a dungeon.