#dairy beloved. even

[pocke-diem]

david my blorbo

watched shop: a pop opera way too much and now it’s engraved into my brain (also it was just some practice with no sketching so pardon that lmao)

me when the milk expires but it has a milk life with many milk adventures and milk friends and a milk wife and milk kids and it grew old with its milk wife and watched its milk kids grow up and become successful in their milk life and then the milk wife and milk die in their milk sleep

[mejomonster]

Huge health milestone. I can eat ricotta cheese again <3

[fictionz]

My one new resolution for the year is to eat vegetarian because I already consume protein as small cubes that look nothing like the living muscles they once were so a plant-based protein can accomplish the exact same thing.

[cicadabooks]

2024 Olympic Muffins: Gluten-free and dairy-free option version (with gram and ml conversions)

(Recipe transcript originally from this post above by @norabee)

(Edits: I baked the muffins and I have been rewriting this post with recipe changes!)

Muffins I baked (Gluten/Dairy free version)

Notes:

Makes about 12 standard muffins. Maybe 6 jumbo muffins?

I added gram and ml equivalents based on some websites for converting US measurements. I think 1 teaspoon is same-ish everywhere, it's about 5ml.

The muffins taste VERY chocolatey to me! A friend thinks they have a nice balance of not too much sugar and good chocolate flavor. Either way, it may be nice to pair the muffins with coconut ice cream or coconut whipped cream. Especially if (like me) you baked the muffins with soy milk instead of cow milk - adding back in some cream may complement the chocolate flavors.

FYI, I used decaf instant coffee.

Muffin ingredients:

¾ cup milk (175 ml) (sub in: soymilk or non-dairy milk of choice.)

¼ cup water (60 ml)

2 tsp instant coffee (10 ml)

½ cup cocoa powder (about 40 grams) (Dutch cocoa recommended*)

½ cup chocolate chunks to melt (about 70 grams) (sub in: non-dairy chocolate chunks)

8 TBSP butter (1 stick, or ½ cup, or 113 grams) (sub in: non-dairy butter)

2 cups flour (between 240 grams - 280 grams?) (sub in: gluten-free 1-to-1 mix flour)

1 TBSP baking powder (15 ml)

¼ tsp salt (sea salt or kosher salt) (1 ml?)

½ cup dark brown sugar, packed (about 110 grams)

½ cup granulated sugar (about 100 grams)

¼ cup vegetable oil (about 60 ml)

2 eggs, room temperature

1 tsp vanilla extract (5 ml)

Additional ⅓ cup of chocolate chunks (about 47 grams)

Filling ingredients:

½ cup heavy cream (125 ml) (sub in: coconut cream - scoop out the top cream from a can of full-fat coconut milk.**)

¼ cup chocolate chunks (about 35 grams)

pinch of salt (use sea salt or kosher salt)

Cooking instructions:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 C).

Add milk, water, and instant coffee to a saucepan, bring to a simmer. (I turned off the heat once it simmered.) Add cocoa powder, mix well, then add chocolate chunks and butter. Stir until melted, transfer to a bowl, and allow to cool.

In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder, and salt.

Once the chocolate mixture is cooled - add brown sugar, granulated sugar, oil, eggs, and vanilla. Mix thoroughly.

Add a third of the flour mixture to chocolate mixture and combine. Then add remaining flour mixture, folding in gently. Take care to not over-mix. Then add chocolate chunks (video says to fold in these choco chunks, but it also looks like choco chunks were added on top before baking).

Spoon batter into muffin tins. (Spoon about 1/2 cup or 120ml of batter, or just know that the muffin will poof up.) This might be when to add some chocolate chunks on top of the batter.

Bake for 24 minutes. (Baking time may differ with GF and DF substitutes, often takes longer.)

While waiting - For the filling: add heavy cream, chocolate chunks, and salt to a saucepan, heat until melted, taking care not to come to a boil.

After baking, fill muffins with filling (spoon filling into a ziploc bag, cut corner of bag, cut out a bit of the muffin center with a knife, squeeze filling into muffins)***

Serve.

More Notes:

* Dutch Cocoa suggestion is based on a tumblr tag I saw and also this article. “[....] Dutch-process cocoa powder is usually used for batters containing baking powder.”

** Coconut cream substitution as suggested on this recipe page. (One can had a little more than 1/2 cup cream, when I opened it.)

*** Muffin filling tips from @picturesque-about-it from this post:

"[....] But you could definitely just use a knife to cut out the middle and use a ziploc bag with the corner cut off to fill it." And more ideas -

#honestly…….. it would turn out a bit different but i feel like you could put the filling in before you bake it

#that’s how we made chocolate chip muffins at my old job

#scoop of ganache that would sink as it baked and chocolate chips on top

#they were soooooooo good

if you’re craving chocolate muffins after the olympic muffin man videos, jordan the stallion on tiktok has the recipe for you

[suresne]

i hate my digestive system :) :) :)

[shoplifting]

Nothing quite as destabilizing in a conversation for me as when the other person is a grown adult who's never taken biology

[foldingfittedsheets]

My chronic illnesses took five different doctors to diagnose. I was fainting and exhausted to the point I couldn’t get off the couch, but my blood work all looked normal so I kept being told I was fine.

One doctor slapped me with a full elimination diet trying to fix me. Eggs, dairy, gluten, and sesame all had to be cut for three months. There was no support or menu suggestions, just ordered to drop all of them cold turkey. I sobbed in the car afterward because I didn’t know how I could even survive that. I have so many food hang ups it was like having to climb a mountain.

My beloved was a champion about it and I couldn’t have survived it without them. We struggled together through three months of creative menus and privation. At the end of it I was still sick.

Now three years later I’ve worked through the chronic EBV, my thyroid hormones are in check, I’m so much better than I could have imagined when I was so fatigued I was forced into a wheelchair. But my current doctor who I love asked if I could survive a month without gluten again.

Gluten causes irritation and could be contributing to my thyroids unhappiness. I asked her about making all our bread products at home- US wheat is all sprayed with pesticides directly before harvest and the US has the highest rate of issues with gluten sensitivities. Many people speculate it’s because of the pesticides. There’s places you can buy French flour in bulk and French flour is significantly cleaner but also uses a different strain of wheat for their flour that is less inflammatory.

My doctors request not an order was if I could cut gluten for a month and see how I feel, then the month after reintroduce baked goods with the French flour and see how that goes.

My beloved is reluctantly on board, they’ve struggled with gluten sensitivity in the past. Neither of us is looking forward to it and there’s bread products we need to get through until we can fully cut it but I guess it’s Gluten Free Round Two.

[supernovafics]

I know in the I’ll be there for you universe it’s been established that reader and Steve both have not great relationships with their parents - was wondering how Steve would comfort reader if she had a bad go of it with her dad or mom or both angst and comfort?? Maybe this is too self serving tho so feel absolutely so free to ignore 😭

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k words

warnings: explicit language, brief(ish) mention of reader’s mom being shitty, a bit of angst/sadness but with a wholesome ending<3

summary: in which you’re upset and steve tries to cheer you up

author's note: thank you thank you for the request!! i went back to fall for this one because it just felt fitting. enjoy<333

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fall 1985

There was something wrong, but Steve couldn’t tell what it was.

You’d been holed up in your room ever since he got home from his Family Video shift. 

At first, he thought it was something he had done, accidentally leaving Harold’s cage open or forgetting to put something away in the kitchen. But, you didn’t seem mad or upset with him; and he knew that if you were, you wouldn’t have shied away from saying something.

When he knocked on your door and asked what was wrong, he didn’t entirely believe your simple head shake and one word response of “Nothing,” but he decided not to press you further because he knew that you’d come to him whenever you were ready to talk about what was going on. But then hours went by and you didn’t say anything; you even passed up his offer to make a grilled cheese for you, which you usually never did. And that made him worried. 

The time was nearing ten and the only moment you had come out of your bedroom since he got home at six was to grab a quick snack from the kitchen. Maybe you were sad about another crush that had gone wrong or maybe it was something bigger. Steve had no idea, but he felt like he needed to do something for you.

He grabbed a random hoodie from his room and then went over to yours, knuckles tapping against your shut door a few times. When you let out a loud enough, “Yeah?”, he took that as his cue to go in. You were sitting at your desk, textbook and notebook opened up in front of you. 

Steve tossed the hoodie into your lap. “Come on, let’s go.” 

You looked up at him, confused. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” He said instead of actually answering your question.

Even though all you really wanted to do was continue wallowing in your room and keep half-focusing on an assignment that you couldn’t care less about, you decided not to protest his words and adamance.

You pulled his hoodie over your head and slipped on a pair of shoes before following him out of the apartment. 

The drive was quiet and you weren’t in the mood to fiddle with the radio, so it simply stayed on a station that seemed to play the same five “pop hits” on repeat. 

It wasn’t until the final few minutes of the ride that you realized where he was driving to. The roads and turns he made started looking way too familiar, and a small smile took over your face when he pulled into the Dairy Queen parking lot. The closest one was over thirty minutes away and Steve hated driving to it because of that, but you never minded it because even though its menu pretty much resembled the dessert menu of your and Steve’s beloved Third Street diner, there was something about this place that you loved too. 

You were always reminded of the summer when you finally got your license and you’d force Steve to come here with you most nights. You two would eat the ice cream in your car, or at one of the red tables that sat outside if it was warm enough; you loved those memories.

Steve put the car in park and then looked over at you. “I’ll grab everything. Do you want your usual?” 

Instead of answering his question, you inadvertently burst into tears. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked softly as he unbuckled his seat belt and reached over to hug you. It was an entirely awkward and uncomfortable position, but you still immediately leaned into him, arms circling around his neck and face burying into his shoulder. You didn’t mind the way the center console was harshly poking into your side, or the fact that your own still buckled seat belt was in the way. “I thought that coming here would definitely cheer you up. Did I completely misread everything?” 

All you could respond with right then was a barely audible “I’m sorry,” and then you sniffled and let out a breath that only made you cry harder. 

“No, I’m the one that should be saying sorry,” Steve said as he soothingly rubbed your back and the subtle action managed to calm you down a bit. 

You shook your head at his words before pulling out of the embrace and looking at him through blurry eyes. 

“Okay, please be a thousand percent honest with me right now,” You said, somehow finding your voice. You half-heartedly wiped away your tears with the sleeve of Steve’s hoodie. “Do you think I’m selfish?”

“What? No, of course not,” The certainty in his tone managed to wash away some of the shittyness you’d been feeling for the past few hours. “Why would you think that?”

You looked away from him then and slumped back against your seat. “I was on the phone with my mom earlier, maybe like an hour before you got home. She asked me to come to this work event for my dad on Friday night, like some sort of dumb party thing. I said that I can’t since I already told you that I’d go with you to take the kids to that new arcade a few towns over. And honestly, even if that wasn’t happening I’d still probably make up some excuse to not go because I hate going to those work parties. But, anyway, my mom called me selfish for saying no, and I know it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, to believe her, but there was a part of me that did. And still kinda does.” 

Usually, most of the things that your mom said to you went in one ear and then out the other, but for some reason, this comment managed to stick. You started overthinking things, feeling like the worst person ever because of something that wasn’t even true, but maybe it was? And you couldn’t stop thinking about that.   

Steve grabbed your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not. I promise.” 

You found yourself believing him and how sure he sounded. He was probably the only person you’d always believe entirely without question because he knew you better than anyone else. You suddenly felt stupid for thinking that your mom was right in the first place. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled and then met his gaze again. “This is all so dumb. I’m sorry that you only drove here because I’ve been acting like a sad idiot for the past few hours and you were trying to cheer me up.”

He shook his head and gave you a small smile. “What do you mean? I love coming here.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “You don’t, but thanks for pretending.”

“Do you want me to get you something?”

You nodded and smiled at him. “The usual, please.”

“Okay,” He said before stepping out of the car.

Because of how late it was and since it was the middle of the week, there was no one in line aside from two teens and an older woman, so Steve was back in less than ten minutes with a simple vanilla cup with rainbow sprinkles for you and a cone for himself.

“Thank you,” You said as he also handed over the spoon and napkins that he had stuffed in the pocket of his jacket. 

“Remember those promises we would make when we were kids?” He asked and you were quick to nod, immediately knowing what he was referring to. 

You inwardly smiled as you thought about the slightly elaborate “running away” plans you two made when you were twelve and thirteen. It would always happen after he’d have some sort of disagreement with his parents, particularly his dad, and he’d sneak over to your house in the middle of the night. Or any night you found it hard to sleep because your thoughts were consumed by your parents and all of the pressure they put on you to do well in school, so you’d go to Steve’s place because talking with him was the only way to wash away some of your stress. 

“I still stand by all of it,” He continued. “One of us says the words and we leave. No questions about it. I still don’t know where we’re going, but we’ll figure it out on the way.”

It felt less likely to happen now because you two technically had “left;” moved out on your own. Not necessarily far away, but far enough from your parents that the shit that used to be almost too unbearable became a little bit easier; mainly because you two had each other. And moments like this one only further proved that— you’d always be there for one another. However, that didn’t change the fact that those silly little promises still always stood. 

You smiled at him. “I think our plans had something to do with joining a circus.”

You weren’t sure which of you had suggested it, but you still found it funny either way. 

“Ah, yes, the circus idea,” Steve nodded, laughing a bit. “Not one of our best ones.”

“Oh, wait, actually, I think we either said circus or rodeo.”

“Both equally bad ideas, but I’d still do it for you.”

“And I’d do it for you too,” You told him before eating another scoop of your ice cream. “Hey, I know it’ll probably be midnight by the time we get home, but is the grilled cheese offer still on the table?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[champawattigress]

I have personally witnessed so many instances of pet owners forcing beloved animals to continue living far beyond the point of their quality of life hitting zero that the whole "Deux Face" situation was absolutely nothing new to me, except for the wave of genuine nausea I experienced at the social media reaction to her existence.

I can honestly say that I feel a palpable sense of relief, knowing that that calf is no longer being forced to live in that condition, and there's no amount of "well, she had vet care!" or "it doesn't seem like she's in pain!" that would have mollified me. I have been in hundreds of QoL consults with clients who parrot the exact same sentiments while their animal lies, completely recumbent and unresponsive, on the examination table. It's the exact same thing, except compounded by the ghoulish addition of the calf's value as a sideshow act.

Any normal presenting newborn calf that failed to thrive as she did would have been euthanized on welfare grounds long before the 26 day mark. A dairy calf is literally supposed to be able to walk away from its birthing site, a calf whose only developmental milestone was that it "can kinda lift its head" is a calf that has something inherently wrong with it. If Deux Face wasn't deformed in a way that makes well-meaning assholes spout that stupid poem, then she probably would have been put out of her misery ages ago. I keep thinking of the grotesque congenital deformities that domestic cattle can present with, twisted spines and fused joints and extreme hydrocephalus and cleft palates, and how, if Deux Face had presented with QoL reducing examples of any of those conditions, people wouldn't have even batted an eye at her euthanasia. She was literally forced to keep on living, just so people could keep "consuming" her continued existence. She was forced to live, not because it was to her benefit, but for the benefit of the farm, who romanticised and profited from her, and the benefit of idiots who think a goddamn newborn calf should be a source of inspiration in their own lives.

The people on this site who mourned that we didn't get to gawk at this animal a little longer disgust me. The only difference between you and the woman who keeps her 19 year old constant DKA, cushingoid, and severely arthritic Shih Tzu alive is that she, at least, has the excuse that this is an animal she has loved and cared for for decades. She's blinded by love, and needs to be counselled towards the realisation that the dog's existence is now more for her benefit than his. You're just upset that there are no more juicy pics of a recumbent, half-dead calf that you can caption with "TWice aS MaNY STArs As UsuaL!!!!!" in goofy ass fonts.

The only sad thing about Deux Face's death is that it took so long. Fight me on it, I don't care. Your gross parasocial relationship with a dying farm animal you've never met was not worth that animal's enforced suffering.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Seven yoghurt balls on a plate drizzled with olive oil. The one in the center is plain; the others are covered in mint, toasted sesame seeds, ground sumac, za'tar, crushed red chili pepper, and nigella seeds. End ID]

لبنة نباتية / Labna nabatia (Vegan labna)

Labna (with diacritics: "لَبْنَة"; in Levantine pronunciation sometimes "لَبَنَة" "labanay") is a Levantine cow's, sheep's, or goat's milk yoghurt that has been strained to remove the whey and leave the curd, giving it a taste and texture in between those of a thick, tart sour cream and a soft cheese. The removal of whey, in addition to increasing the yoghurt's tanginess and pungency, makes it easier to preserve: it will keep in burlap or cheesecloth for some time without refrigeration, and may be preserved for even longer by rolling it into balls and submerging the balls in olive oil. Labna stored in this way is called "لبنة كُرَات" ("labna kurāt") or "لبنة طابات" ("labna ṭābāt"), "labna balls." Labna may be spread on a plate, topped with olive oil and herbs, and eaten as a dip for breakfast or an appetizer; or spread on kmaj bread alongside herbs, olives, and dates to make sandwiches.

The word "labna" comes from the Arabic root ل ب ن (l b n), which derives from a Proto-West-Semitic term meaning "white," and produces words relating to milk, yoghurt, nursing, and chewing. The related term "لَبَن" ("laban"; also transliterated "leban") refers to milk in Standard Arabic, but in Levantine Arabic is more likely to refer to yoghurt; a speaker may specify "لَبَن رَائِب‎" (laban rā'ib), "curdled milk," to avoid confusion.

Labna is a much-beloved food in Palestine, with some people asserting that no Palestinian home is without a jar. Making labna tabat is, for many, a necessary preparation for the winter season. However, by the mid-2010s, the continuation of Israel's blockade of the Gaza strip, as well as Israeli military violence, had severely weakened Gaza's dairy industry to the point where almost no labna was being produced. Most of the 11 dairy processors active in Gaza in 2017 (down from 15 in 2016) only produced white cheese—though Mustafa Eid's company Khalij had recently expanded production to other forms of dairy that could be made locally with limited equipment, such as labna, yoghurt, and buttermilk.

Dairy farmers and processors pushed for this kind of innovation and self-sufficiency against deep economic disadvantage. With large swathes of Gaza's arable land rendered unusable by Israeli border policing and land mines, about 90% of farmers were forced by scarce pasture land and low fodder production to feed their herds with increasingly expensive fodder imported from Israel—dairy farmers surveyed in 2017 spent an estimated 87% of their income on fodder, which had doubled in price since 2007. Cattle were thus fed with low quantities of, or low-quality, fodder, resulting in lower milk production and lower-quality milk.

Most dairy processors were also unable to access or afford the equipment necessary to maintain, upgrade, or diversify their factories. Since 2007, Israel has tightly restricted entry into Gaza of items which they consider to have a "dual use": i.e., a potential civilian and military function. This includes medical equipment, construction materials, and agricultural equipment and machinery, and impacts everything from laboratory equipment to ensure safe food supplies to packaging and labelling equipment. Of the dairy products that Gazan farmers and processors do manage to produce, Israel's control over their export can cause huge financial losses—as when Israel prohibited the export of Palestinian dairy and meat to East Jerusalem without warning in March of 2020, costing estimated annual losses of 300 million USD.

In addition to this kind of economic manipulation, direct military violence threatens Gaza's dairy industry. Mamoun Dalloul says that his factory was accused of holding rockets and subsequently bombed in 2008, 2010, 2012, and again in 2014, resulting in repeated moves and the loss of the capability to produce yellow cheese. The Israeli military partially or totally destroyed 10 dairy processing factories, and killed almost 2,000 cows, during its 2014 invasion of Gaza, resulting in an estimated 43 million USD of damage to the dairy sector alone. Damage to cow-breeding farms in 2014 reduced the number of dairy cows to 2,600, just over half their previous number. Damage to, or destruction of, wells, water reservoirs, water tanks, and the Gaza Power Plant's fuel tank exacerbated pre-existing problems with producing cattle feed and with the transportation, processing, and refrigeration of dairy products, leading to spoiled milk that had to be disposed of. Repeated offensives made dairy processors reluctant to re-invest in equipment that could be destroyed at any time.

Israeli industry profits by making Gazan self-sufficiency untenable. Israeli goods entering Palestine are not subject to import taxes, and Israeli dairy companies are not dealing with the contaminated water, limited electricity, high costs of feed, out-of-date and expensive-to-repair equipment, and scarce land (some companies, such as Tnuva, purchase milk from farms on illegal settlements in the West Bank) with which Gazan producers must contend. The result is that the local market in Gaza is flooded with imports that are cheaper, more diverse, and of higher quality than anything that local producers can offer. Many consumers believe that Israeli products are safer to eat.

Nevertheless, Gazans continue building and rebuilding. Despite significant decreases in ice cream factories' production after the imposition of Israel's blockade in 2007, Abu Mohammad noted in 2015 that locally produced ice cream was cheaper and more varied than Israeli imports. In 2017, the amount of dairy sold in 74 shops in Gaza that was sourced locally, rather than from Israel, had increased from 10% to 60%. Ayadi Tayyiba, the region's first factory with an all-woman staff, opened in 2022; it produced cheese, yoghurt, and labna with sheep's milk from affiliated farms. However, demand for sheep's milk products has decreased in Gaza due to its higher production costs, leading the factory to supplement its supply with purchased cow's milk.

The current Israeli genocidal offensive on Gaza has caused damage of the same kind as—though to a greater extent than—previous shellings and invasions. Lack of ability to sell milk that had already been produced to factories, as well as lack of access to electricity, caused an estimated 35,000 liters of milk to spoil daily in October of 2023.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord, donating to Palestine Legal's activist defense fund, and donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund.

Equipment:

A blender

A kettle or pot, to boil water

A cheesecloth or tea towel

Ingredients:

1 cup (130g) cashews (soaked, if your blender is not high-speed)

3/4 cup filtered or distilled water, boiled

1-3 vegetarian probiotic capsules (containing at least 10 billion cultures total)

A few pinches sea salt

More water, to boil

Arabic-language recipes for vegan labna use bulghur, almonds, or cashews as their base. This recipe uses cashew to achieve a smooth, creamy, non-crumbly texture, and a mild taste like that of cow's milk labna. You might try replacing half the cashews with blanched almonds for a flavor more similar to that of sheep's or goat's cheese.

Make sure your probiotic capsules contain no prebiotics, as they can interfere with the culture. The probiotic may be multi-strain, but should contain some of: Lactobacillus casei, Lactobacillus rhamnosus, Bifidobacterium bifidus, Lactobacillus acidophilus. The number of capsules you need will depend on how many cultures each capsule is guaranteed to contain.

Instead of probiotic capsules, you can use a speciality starter culture pack intended for use in culturing vegan dairy, many of which are available online. Note that starter cultures may be packaged with small amounts of powdered milk for the bacteria to feed on, and may not be truly vegan.

If you want a mustier, goat-ier taste to your labna, try replacing the water with rejuvelac made with wheat berries.

You can also start a culture by using any other product with active cultures, such as a spoonful of vegan cultured yoghurt. If you have a lot of cultured yoghurt, you can just skip to straining that directly (step 5) to make your labna—though you won't be able to control how tangy the labna is that way.

Instructions:

This recipe works by blending together cashews and water into a smooth, creamy spread, then culturing it into yoghurt, and then straining it (the way yoghurt is strained to make labna). It's possible that you could skip the straining step by adding more cashews, or less water, to the yoghurt to obtain a thicker texture, but I have not tested the recipe this way.

1. If your blender is not high-speed, you will need to soak your cashews to soften them. Soak in filtered or distilled water for 2-4 hours at room temperature, or overnight in the fridge. Rinse them off with just-boiled water.

2. Boil several cups of water and use the just-boiled water to rinse your blender, tamper, measuring cups, the bowl you will ferment your yoghurt in, and a wooden spoon or rubber spatula to stir. Your bowl and stirring implement should be in a non-reactive material such as wood, clay, glass, or silicone.

3. Make the yoghurt. Blend cashews with 3/4 cup just-boiled water for a couple of minutes until very smooth. Transfer to your bowl and allow to cool to about skin temperature (it should feel slightly warm if dabbed on the inside of your wrist). If the mixture is too hot, it may kill the bacteria.

4. Culture the yoghurt. Open the probiotic capsules and stir the powder into the cashew paste. Cover the bowl with a cheesecloth or tea towel. Ferment for 24 hours: on the countertop in summer, or in an oven with the light on in winter.

Taste the yoghurt with a clean implement (avoid double-dipping!). Continue fermenting for another 12-24 hours, depending on how tangy you want your labna to be. A skin forming on top of the yoghurt is no problem and can be mixed back in. Discard any yoghurt that grows mold of any kind.

5. Strain the yoghurt to make labna. Place a mesh strainer in a bowl, making sure there's enough room beneath the strainer for liquid to collect at the bottom of the bowl; line the strainer with cheesecloth or a tea towel, and scoop the cultured yoghurt in. Sprinkle salt over top of the yoghurt. Fold the towel or cheesecloth back over the yoghurt, and add a small weight, such as a ceramic plate or a can of beans, on top.

You can also tie the cheesecloth into a bag around a wooden spoon and place the wooden spoon across the rim of a pitcher or other tall container to collect the whey. The draining may occur less quickly without the weight, though.

Strain in the refrigerator for 24-48 hours, depending on the desired texture. I ended up draining about 2 Tbsp of whey.

6. If not making labna balls: Put in an airtight jar, and add just enough olive oil to cover the surface of the labna. Store in the fridge for up to two months.

7. To form balls (optional): Oil your hands to form the labna into small balls and place them on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. They may still be quite soft.

Optionally sprinkle with, or roll in, dried mint, za'tar, sesame seeds, nigella seeds (القزحة), ground sumac, or crushed red chili pepper, as desired.

Optionally, for firmer balls, lightly cover with another layer of parchment paper and then a kitchen towel, and leave in the refrigerator to dry for about a day.

Place labna balls in a clean glass jar and add olive oil to cover. Retrieve labna from the jar with a clean implement. They will last in the fridge for about a year.

[glavilio]

One of my favorite fun historical through lines is that the original co-illustrator for Dick and Jane who also co-created the branding for Elmers Glue is also very likely the indirect but influential progenitor of a great majority of furry art and culture. and he doesn't even have a wikipedia page. The story is as follows:

A team of designers create Elsie the cow as the mascot of the Borden dairy company, later giving her a husband named Elmer in branding. Elsie was extraordinarily popular and was portrayed in tons of print advertising and even licensed media. The most well-remembered and beloved of these advertisements were done by a popularly unknown and uncredited illustrator named Keith Ward together with a great deal of other commercial illustrations

(Ward's early work in commercial illustration: children's books and advertising)

The scale of ward's contribution to Elsie and Elmer is somewhat murky, particularly since most credits go to the contributors with greater status at Borden. Personally, I see it as largely a collaboration between Ward and several unknown others under art director David William Reid.

(Ward's work vs Reid's work)

Elsie eventually fell out of popular consciousness after rebranding, but Elmer lives on as the mascot of Elmer's glue, originally a subsidiary of Borden as glue could be produced as a byproduct of industrial dairy. Modern Elmer's glue is synthetic, but retains the iconic mascot and design.

(Elmer's evolution from a more Ward-like design its current iteration)

Ward would later go on to illustrate for an American adaptation of Reynard the Fox by Harry J. Owens, again, miraculously uncredited on the cover. His name appears once, on the title page, and the lavish biography on the back of my copy fails to even mention the illustrations.

(Ward's work for the Scandalous Adventures of Reynard the Fox)

These works are particularly notable as much later, Ken Anderson of Disney was working on conceptualizing a Disney adaptation of Reynard, which is a very interesting and messy story for another time. In short, he and his team drew many inspirations from many many places, but with Ward being relatively more known and respected in the industry and having worked on a Reynard book in a similar style to what Disney wanted, his work was one of the most influential on the development of the film. The Reynard part was eventually scrapped (those who are familiar with the story and character will not be surprised), but a lot of the designs and even layouts were reused for Robin Hood. If you've ever wondered why they made him a fox, that's why.

(Bill Peet's and Ken Anderson's Reynards bear a striking resemblance to Ward's)

There's a lot more to the inspiration than just the designs, many plot points and layouts from Reynard, and their depictions by Ward, remain in Robin Hood (they unfortunately do not fit in this post). Its likely that finding such a clear starting point for their film in Ward's book had a hand in salvaging the Disney Reynard project and leading to the complete, although troubled, completion and release of Robin Hood.

And the rest is furstory! While there are certainly many other Disney animal features that have made their mark on the fandom, Robin Hood's influence is particularly notable for being the most popular of the most anthropomorphic animal-focused animations in contrast to the commercial underdogs of the Great Mouse Detective and many of Don Bluth's films, and more conventionally presented talking animals like those of the Aristocats and the Jungle Book. Isn't that interesting!

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Bryce/Jared, Elaine; Man of the Hour (Day, Week, Month, Year)

For the prompt: One of the articles Bryce mentions. "…like, a profile thing? How it was growing up gay in hockey, that kind of thing… A chance to establish myself as like, I am now,” Bryce says. “Kind of like — not set the record straight, exactly, but like, show I’ve matured and stuff. "

It’s the definition of a typical Vancouver day, drizzly and overcast, when I meet Bryce Marcus. He likely needs no introduction, but I will introduce him anyway: the star centre for the Vancouver Canucks who went from being the enemy while playing for the arch-rival Calgary Flames to becoming possibly the most beloved man in the city: certainly if you you asked the fans streaming out of Rogers Arena after watching the Canucks win the Cup for the third time, or the hundreds of thousands of lining Burrard to cheer on their Canucks at the Stanley Cup Parade on a beautiful sunny day this June.

The weather is anything but glamourous today, however, and at the Marcus Matheson household, the surroundings aren’t either.

Jared Matheson, husband and teammate of Bryce, apologizes as I step over a box in their hallway. “We’re kind of in the middle of a move right now.”

They’re trading their two-bedroom condo for something ‘a little more permanent’. Both have decided that wherever their NHL careers may take them, Vancouver is going to remain home, and they’ve just closed on a house nearby.

“Bryce is weirdly excited about getting to mow the lawn,” Jared tells me as we wait for Bryce to finish getting ready. In light of the hyper-competitive Vancouver real estate market it’s entirely understandable to be excited about lawncare — it means you have a lawn to care for — but one wouldn’t have expected that to extend even to Vancouver’s sports stars.

When Bryce emerges, five minutes after my arrival, he announces himself by swearing as he trips over a box of his own, and then apologising, both for his language and his tardiness.

“He was doing his hair,” Jared says.

“I was not,” Bryce scowls, but doesn’t offer an alternative explanation.

After a quick tour of their condo, which is currently half in boxes, Bryce and I hop into his Audi S8 — naturally courtesy Capilano Audi, whose ads featuring him are inescapable during Canucks games. We drive to Richmond so he can show me his old haunts: elementary, middle, and high school — though he finished high school in Washington while playing for the Spokane Chiefs — his home rink, the Dairy Queen his mother took him after hockey games. He’s a capable, if slightly aggressive driver. I mention this because from the dire warning I received from Jared on the way out the door I genuinely believed I might not survive the drive.

Bryce finally pulls into the driveway of an unassuming but cheerful house on a quiet suburban street. The morning drizzle has faded, and the weather is now just as bright and warm as his childhood home, and the mother who raised him there. Already waiting for us on the porch, his mother Elaine Marcus offers me a glass of lemonade. “Store bought, I’m afraid,” she says with a smile. “I’m not much of homemaker.”

Over lemonade and cookies — “Also store bought,” Elaine admits, “but this bakery is very good!”, and she’s right about that — she shows me an array of childhood and teenage photos while Bryce complains to his mother that she’s ‘embarrassing’ him.

The photos are more inspiring than embarrassing: photo after photo of a beaming little boy in an equally small Canucks jersey, proudly brandishing a plastic mini-stick (Canucks branded, of course). A true example of someone who grew up to live his childhood dream.

Sadly, as he gets a older the smile disappears, as does the man beaming in the background of so many of those happy photos. His father, Ben Marcus, was killed by an impaired driver at the age of 32. It devastated Elaine and Bryce, who was only four at the time.

“It was hard,” Elaine says. “He didn’t understand. I didn’t understand, when it came down to it. It was a hard time. He wanted to play hockey all the time, it was the only thing he wanted. He was really only happy on the ice.”

“I just wanted him to be happy,” she says, smiling tearfully, and as Bryce wraps a protective arm around his mother's shoulders, I offer to give them a moment.

“It was a long time ago,” Elaine says in dismissal, wiping her eyes. “It’s just hard sometimes. Ben loved hockey, loved watching the Canucks with Bryce — he’d have been so proud to see Bryce lift the Cup for them. I am too, of course, but it was always Ben and Bryce’s thing. He would have been so proud.”

I do give them a moment then, and when I return, my lemonade has been refilled and both are all smiles once again, though Bryce's doesn't last. He cringes as we go through photos of his teen years. There’s a sullen look on his face in every picture.

And what was Bryce like as a teenager?

"I'll let him answer that," Elaine says diplomatically.

“I don’t really know,” Bryce says, looking thoughtful. “Angry, I guess. I was an angry kid. And confused.”

About his sexuality?

“Everything was confusing,” Bryce says. “But yeah, definitely that too.”

“Bryce cared so much,” Elaine says. “About everything. He still does. The world’s hardest on the people who care most about it.”

Like so many hockey players who’ve come out since Dan Riley and Marc Lapointe did in 2010, he credits their coming out as a major influence on his journey of coming to terms with his identity as both a gay man and a pro hockey player.

“You don’t really put it together,” Bryce says. He turned sixteen the summer the Leafs won the Stanley Cup, and Riley and Lapointe subsequently came out. “Like, okay, sure, you can be gay and play hockey. Except nobody thought that. I didn’t think that. If you said that, maybe I’d say okay, but I didn’t believe it.”

How, then, did he reconcile being gay and playing hockey?

“That's the thing,” Bryce says. “I didn’t, you know? I was playing hockey, so obviously I wasn’t, right? Because if I was gay, then I wouldn’t be playing, would I?”

“It sounds so ridiculous saying it now,” he reflects. “But that’s what I thought. And I wasn’t the only one.”

But even more than Riley and Lapointe blazing a trail before him, he credits meeting his husband Jared at a hockey skills camp in Calgary. In the year before he met Jared, then twenty year old Bryce was arrested twice, for assault and DWI: the latter in particular shook his mother, considering how his father died.

"I was worried about him," she says. "That's probably an understatement."

“I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn't met Jared,” Bryce says. “I genuinely don’t. I don’t think I’d be out. I know I wouldn’t be happy. You know, everyone says it isn’t like in the movies. Falling in love, I mean. That love at first sight and all that is b******t. But that’s pretty much what it was for me.”

Was it mutual?

Bryce laughs. “You’d have to ask Jared, he tells it better than me,” he says. “But no, not really. I wasn't good enough for him. I'm still not good enough for him, but I try to be."

Another warning I’d received from his husband before my tour around town? That Bryce was an incurable romantic. This warning certainly seems more warranted than the one about Bryce’s driving.

And what does Bryce think about Jared’s warning, and his additional suggestion to take anything Bryce said about him with a healthy grain of salt?

“[Jared]’s just modest,” Bryce says.

“He lights up when Jared’s around,” Elaine says. “It’s just like when he was a little boy — every time he stepped onto the ice, he beamed. It’s the same thing with Jared. He’s so happy. It’s so wonderful to see him like that.”

And how was it, not only getting to play with his husband, but to raise the Stanley Cup together?

“It’s a dream come true,” Bryce says. “Really. I know that’s such a cliche, but so is love at first sight, right? And the hometown boy winning it all for his childhood team. They’re all cliches. But they’re my life.”

“I know just how lucky I am,” Bryce says. “Winning with Jared, with this team — it’s been such a whirlwind of a year.”

I tell him to enjoy it.

“I do,” he says, smiling so widely I have no doubt he’s telling the truth. “I really, really do.”

[punkeropercyjackson]

Miles on Prime Earth(DCverse)headcanons

Hates Bruce.Let's get that out of the way first for any racists that wanna erase Jefferson and Rio-His reasoning is Bruce is so painfully white it gets on he's nerves and that includes the rich part,he REFUSES to attend Wayne Galas and has come dangerous close to (lightly) hitting him when he's especially acting up

But loves Jason and Tim,in completely opposite ways.Jason and him are intergenerational best friends,platonic soulmates by choice and call eachother brothers and him and Tim are crush at first sight close friends and eventually become boyfriends

He met Kyle through superhero work and they hit it off pretty quickly so he kinda mentors him and it leads to him giving him a Blue Power Ring.They infodump about anime and do art together

Miles is an honorary member of 90s Young Justice and besties with Bart due to their similar energies sinking up so well and Meloni even considers Miles another son because of how much he visits them.Jenni and Miles instantly latched onto the other ofc and he part time babysits Irey and Jai and gets caught up in Flashfam shenanigans more than he does any other DC fam's

He dosen't go to Batburger for his fast food-He goes to Dairy Super and is a regular

Him and Maps love hanging out so much because they have all the same interests and even matching gender presentations so once she became Robin,he threw her a whole surprise mini party and they're honorary siblings

Tiffany had him down bad so fast because in every universe Miles Morales falls for a black woman and they tried to date but found they worked better as friends and he threw her a mantle congratulation party when she started as Batgirl too

People assume him and Duke share a personality since they're both black sunshine boys but Duke's way more of a bitch than him.Miles never holds him back but encourages it as he thinks he's earned it and Duke defends Miles as hard as Hobie(the actual black Spiderman Duke shares a personality with)does and they go on platonic dates a lot(i.e make a whole planned day of their hangouts)

Miles 'mentors' Lian in a cool big brother way and insists on coming with her on missions whenever they're able to and she convinced him to partially dye his hair to match her-Lian has blue streaks and a ponytail so Miles did split down pink to his dreads

His favorite superhero is Jason obviously but Clark is a close second and he owns a Superman shirt that was a friendship(or so he says,the flirting with him all the time says something else)hand me from from Kon and that was family a hand me down from Clark

A nomadic hero,hops around from place to place but all the same places-To visit and spend time with all his loved ones(much like his dimension traveling)

Widely beloved and inspired multiple young black Metas to be heroes too

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 25 - The Last One

Thomas Never Thought About His Classmates...

Thomas is a tank engine who lives on his own little branchline on the Island of Sodor. He's a cheeky little engine with six small wheels, a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy boiler and a short stumpy dome. He’s always been that way, no matter how young or old he is – it’s part of his charm!

The little blue tank engine has always lived on Sodor, almost since the day he was built. He doesn’t really remember those early days, down in the South of England. He vaguely remembers meeting a couple shunting engines that taught him the absolute basics, and a couple bigger engines who snorted about the Big Station by the works and ordered him about until he snapped back, but little else. In the back of his smokebox, he knows he has siblings – his first driver called him a ‘modified E2’, and his second driver had once shown him a picture of one of his siblings that he’d taken while down there on holidays.

But Thomas never really thought of them. They existed, sure, but when Thomas thought of siblings or family, he thought of Toby, Gordon, Percy and the other engines on Sodor, especially the early seven.

Then, something odd happened. On a crisp, cold February morning, Thomas was on his first run of the day, making his way up the branchline, when he thought he saw something in the corner of his eye. He was passing by the Toryreck Dairy, and a glint of the most unsettlingly familiar umber livery caught him off-guard. He blinked, and looked again – but there was nothing. The closest thing to the umber paint was the reddish-brown of the squat brick building, and even then it was most entirely the wrong colour.

Thomas thought nothing of it and completed his run. The day progressed as usual, and Thomas forgot about it quickly enough, putting it down to sleep still being in his eyes. Months passed, and Thomas completely forgot about the odd umber colour and how it twinged something in the back of his mind.

And then it happened again.

Thomas had been shunting the harbour, pushing trucks into their proper places for the barges to pick up. He cursed out Percy quietly, peeved at how the little green engine had gotten out of this duty in favour of a delivery to the Big Station. As he moved back, he spotted the shape of an engine, shadowed by the bridge that carried the mainline. Thomas stared, confused. “Who’s there?” he called. The engine didn’t look like Percy or Toby – and it wasn’t Duck either. But he couldn’t tell, the shade was making it near impossible to make out the engine’s shape. Thomas puffed back to investigate, when there was a loud bang! Thomas jolted as he bumped into a line of trucks – and when he looked up again, there was nothing there. The brilliant orange of the October leaves just cut a striking contrast to the dark red of the bridge.

“Maybe it was a shadow of a big engine?” Thomas thought aloud. “It could’ve maybe been Donald or Douglas…” But even that sounded wrong. Still, there was nothing there, and none of the others had heard of a new engine on the island. Thomas decided to do his best to forget about it, and keep going.

But then it happened again the next month – one moment, there was a flash of umber in Percy’s berth at the sheds, the next there was nothing. And then it happened in the hot summer of the next year, when Thomas thought he saw a whole tank engine in a deep umber paint scheme shunting trucks around the harbour when he passed over the bridge with his coaches.

No one else saw the engine though, and Thomas was left to believe it was nothing. It had to be nothing… right?

As the boiling summer passed into a cool September, Thomas did his absolute best to forget about the odd umber brown paint and the weird shadows that seemed to stalk him. He took a trip to the Big Station with one of his usual passenger runs, and fussed away into the carriage sidings to look for a suitable spot to park his beloved Annie and Clarabel. As he puffed along one of the sidings, he thought he saw two whole tank engines behind a long row of express coaches, painted that same rich umber livery. Both seemed to be… watching him, even though he couldn’t be sure.

Thomas wasn’t sure what was going on, but it left him feeling very uneasy.

October rolled around, and this time it was a duo of funnels peaking out behind Gordon’s express as he rocketed by. For a brief moment, Thomas thought he saw a weird, wrong version of himself staring back – but when the brake coach cleared the platform, there was absolutely nothing there.

Thomas decided to say nothing about it to the other engines. Percy would laugh at him and Toby would probably believe him but also pity him. And Thomas absolutely refused to be pitied. Pity was for pitiful engines, and Thomas had his own branchline! He had books named after him; Thomas was not pitiful. His pride wouldn’t allow for it.

So Thomas said absolutely nothing, even as the sightings suddenly stopped right as winter set in. The new year rolled in once again, and Thomas was distracted from the weird umber engines by other matters. Stepney had been and gone, Thomas being dazzled by his stories of their former railway and its really useful engines. But neither Stepney nor Thomas mentioned Thomas’ siblings, in some weird twist of fate.

Instead, the little blue tank engine was once again distracted by his own branchline.

And then it was April, 1963. The day started normally enough, Thomas setting out with Annie and Clarabel to do his morning run. But something felt… off. Thomas wasn’t sure how to describe it, but the air felt… electric. As if something big had happened, something he should have been aware of but just wasn’t. It left him on edge as he made his way down to the Junction. As he pulled into the platform, he felt eyes on him from the goods shed, piercing glares boring into his bunker.

“Is something the matter?” asked Annie. Thomas considered, not quite sure what to say.

“Is there anyone in the goods shed?” he eventually asked. Clarabel looked over, and frowned.

“There’s some vans – and maybe a pair of dark brown engines shunting them? I can’t quite tell. They’re – oh, maybe I was wrong.” Clarabel fell silent, trying her best to peer into the gloom of the darkened sheds. Annie and Thomas waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

“Clarabel?”

“My eyesight must be going,” complained Clarabel suddenly. “There’re no engines I can see.” Thomas raised an eyebrow, and looking forwards again – and his boiler went cold. There, at the very edge of the horizon where the mainline turned away from the coast and behind a cutting, was him. Only, it wasn’t him. It was maybe one of his siblings? It looked like it – but they had shortened side tanks, and a dark scowl on their face. Thomas went to call out to it, but then it vanished.

“Driver…”

“Yes Thomas?”

“Have you got any news on the other engines of my class?” Thomas’ driver pondered the question, amazed at the unusual request from the tank engine who had never mentioned the other E2 engines. He promised to check in with the Fat Controller when they reached the Big Station. Thomas felt a little better after that.

But his driver had bad news for him after speaking to the Fat Controller. “I’m really sorry Thomas,” sighed his driver. “But… they cut up the last of your siblings yesterday. You’re the last one.”

To his surprise, Thomas didn’t feel anything at that. Perhaps a little sadness, but it was mostly just distantly removed, as if he had just found out a tragedy had occurred in some faraway, distant land he’d never heard of before. It felt a bit wrong, but also just natural. Thomas had had classmates, and now he did not. He had always been unique, and now he was just a little more unique. “Thank you, driver,” Thomas said kindly. “That’s… all I really needed to know.” Thomas’ driver raised a worried eyebrow, but said nothing more.

Thomas continued on, this new information being quietly tucked away to the back of his smokebox where it festered for only a few minutes before being washed away by every other thought in Thomas’ mind. Percy was due for an overhaul soon, and Thomas would  need to cover for him; Gordon had been getting uppity again recently, and he would probably need to knock the big blue idiot down a few pegs again. Thoughts of Mrs Kyndley and the farmers and Terence complaining about roots in his field all pushed the news of his classmates’ death down deep to the back of Thomas’ mind and eventually he stopped thinking about it.

“It’s so odd,” his driver muttered to the fireman. “I just told him all his siblings have been cut up, and he’s more interested in what Mrs Kyndley is having for tea!”

In the shadows, eyes glared at the oblivious blue engine; furious eyes, emotions swelling as rage and anger overtook everything.

Thomas finished his last train of the day, parked Annie and Clarabel away, and settled in the sheds beside Percy. The little green engine was already exhausted, having spent all day shifting stone for a major project on the mainland – and he was not interested in conversation. Toby was equally tired, and with no reason to stay awake chatting, all three were quickly closing their eyes, yawns stifling their last few words as they said “good night”.

Thomas fell asleep, and thought nothing more of his day.

He awoke to the hiss of steam, of metal scraping against metal. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, as if Thomas had been dragged into the deepest pits of a scrapyard while he slept.

Thomas opened a sleepy eye, and screamed in terror.

“You!” snarled the engine standing buffer-to-buffer with Thomas. “You forgot about us!” Thomas looked around – there were ten engines surrounding him on all sides; Percy was gone.

“Where—where’s Percy?” demanded Thomas, his fear replaced instantly by worry. The engines all hissed at him, their blood-red eyes boring into him.

“We’re your classmates, and you’re more worried about someone else? We DIED!”  Thomas felt a bump from behind, and suddenly he was moving forwards.

“Hey! Stop that! Let me go!” he snarled, trying in vain to struggle against the force propelling him slowly forwards.

“You got all the glory, all the love!” they accused, all rushing forwards to bash into him and leave him lurching violently. Thomas winced and gasped in pain, feeling his buffers bend under the strain. “You never thought of us! You never loved us! Where were you, when we were being scrapped?”

They began to pick up speed, Thomas yelping in terror as he was forcibly shoved out of the yard, his wheels screaming on the points. He felt yet another slam against his bunker, his entire frame shuddering violently as it was assaulted from all sides.

“Failure! Traitor! You took all the glory and never looked back!” Thomas’ siderods were a blur as he was forced down the branchline as frightening speeds, his frame groaning as he felt the curves send jolts of searing pain along his axles.

“No! Stop! Please!” begged Thomas, as his entire frame shuddered again. It felt like it was going to snap. Thomas could feel the cracks beginning to tear their way along the metal, putting even more stress on every inch of his body. His wheels screeched in agony as he rounded another bend. The tunnel loomed ahead. Thomas screamed as his sidetanks scraped along the sides, scratches and deep cuts left behind by the brick.

“We’ll show you the pain we suffered,” snarled the engines. “We’ll make you feel it! Make you feel worse! You will regret forgetting us, Thomas!” Thomas couldn’t take it – his axles were overheating rapidly, the burn already beginning to settle in and leaving him gasping for air as the pain overtook him—

“Thomas?”

Everything stopped.

Terence stared at the little blue tank engine from in his field, standing in wait while his owner went to drag out seeds for planting. Thomas was in tears – everything hurt, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move. “Oh Terence!” blubbered the little blue tank engine. Something clanged deep inside him, and then there was silence.

“Are you alright?” asked Terence slowly. He looked around, trying to see where Thomas’ crew had gotten to.

“No,” admitted Thomas quietly. “Everything hurts. I… I don’t know how I made it this far. Please call a breakdown train.” Terence was stunned silent, immediately agreeing. Thomas never spoke like that. He never sounded so… hurt. Small. Scared. It was wrong, and Terence feared whatever had left Thomas in such a state.

The breakdown train came up from the Junction, headed by a quiet Edward. The kindly old engine stopped short of the tank engine, and looked around. He thought for a moment that he could see red eyes glaring from within the tunnel, and scowled at it.

“It’s alright Thomas, we’re here now,” Edward said kindly. “Let’s get you checked over.” The men looked all over the blue tank engine – but there was no signs of anything being wrong. The brakes were on, his motion was perfectly fine – there wasn’t even a hint as to what had sent Thomas flying down his branchline. His frames were fine too, when Thomas finally worked up the courage to ask. There weren’t even any signs that he’d left his berth at all.

But here Thomas was.

Edward moved to buffer up to the blue tank engine, when Thomas flinched. Edward’s eyes widened, and he paused short. “Ok Thomas, I’m going to buffer up now. Nice and slowly, keep your eyes on me.” Edward very carefully helped his old friend back to his shed, finding both Percy and Toby deep asleep. Edward parked Thomas in his berth, then shunted away the works coach and took up guard on the line in front of the little blue tank engine. Thomas shot him a grateful look, but still neither got any sleep.

The next day, Thomas quietly asked his crew to erect a memorial to his classmates at the back of the sheds. Confused, but happy that their engine was finally showing an emotion about his siblings that was more than vague sadness, his crew obliged. Edward watched them put it together, then looked over to Thomas.

“Hopefully, it will be enough,” he murmured. Thomas didn’t reply, but Edward already knew enough.

Back to the Master Post

[wwrenwrites]

You know what would have been funny.

Jason Todd being lactose intolerant.

Like no one would actually expect this big-ass more than 6 foot of a man.

One of the best fighters in his family and the vigilante community. A big eater, a decent sweet tooth and is actually pretty good with spice. But has a fucking weakness for anything dairy.

Would say ‘fuck it’ if it comes to good ice-cream or gelato. But any good cheese in pasta?

Pain in the fucking ass.

Still good if it weren’t for the awaiting sleepover in his beloved bathroom. Which is absolutely hilarious cause it is only you who would figure it out when you notice the pattern of him being in the toilet for 20 minutes.

And him refusing to acknowledge it like you’re telling him he can’t indulge eating a greasy-ass 4 cheese pizza anymore? nor his go-to mac and cheese recipe he perfected with a good ole take-away of Wing Stop???

This would go on for months. No. Forever.

Till he dies again.

Completely convincing himself and you that it is just some stupid worm.

And that’s also a very Jason thing.

He would continually be stubborn and ignore the little lactose pills that would solve all his problems.

Cause he has pride.

A reputation, he says.

He’s a fucking ‘big boy’ he says.

Hell, his family doesn’t even know about it.

Not even Alfred.

So every-time there would be a family dinner in the manor. And the one time it’s Italian cuisine theme. Homemade pasta and different variations of salad. A big plate of fried calamari and special whole roasted chicken. Red sauce, white sauce, oil-base sauce. With complete sides and extra condiments, meaning plates of sliced cheese and shredded.

The fucking variety knowing Alfred.

And then there’s you, encouraging Alfred to add as much parmesan as he wants since you said “Jason loves it the most with that kind of generous amount.”

You knew he was glaring at you, even ignoring him when he pinches your ass. He scoffed at his other siblings who whined on him hoarding all the cheese.

Mind you it was good quality cheese. Imported from Europe, Alfred said. And you even told Jason, cheese from Europe won’t make you shit. You smiled with love to the side-eyeing handsome man; eating his share of plate clean.

[gabessquishytum]

I can't tell you how much I loved the Cow!Hob Cat!Dream fic!

I have further thots about that au.

Hob becoming Dream's emotional support cow. Dream was already a pretty good king. It's clear that he tries to do what's best for his kingdom and wants to protect his people. But he's also pretty clearly not comfortable with social situations. Having Hob is helping with that, though. When things get to be too much his precious milk cow suggests that he looks like he needs something to drink and coaxes him off to the side for a little bit of quiet to allow him to have some fresh milk from his teat while he pets Dream's hair and nuzzles him and it just helps ground his new king and gives him a breather so he can get his spoons back together and get back to things.

Also, Hob is very social and likes to meet people so Dream takes him out fairly frequently and that also gives him a chance to see how his kingdom is doing up close. He'd also be lying if he didn't enjoy showing off his lovely dairy cow. He always makes sure that Hob is decked out in beautiful robes that leave his chest bare, and that he's draped in jewels and finery that highlights all of his assets. Dream's kingdom is known for it's fine quality rubies that are mined from the mountains and the king takes great pleasure in making sure that Hob is dripping in them every time foreign dignitaries come to call.

Hob also just likes to be out in the sun. It's relaxing for him and as such Dream has developed a taste for fucking him senseless in lovely fields of flowers. And Hob has never been so well fed and cared for. He is insanely loyal to the King of Cats and is extremely proud to be his pampered pet. It's also feeding pretty hard into his exhibitionism kink and he doesn't think he's ever been as horny and well fucked either.

Yay, I'm so glad you enjoyed cow!Hob. I'm hoping there will be at least one more chapter!

I love the idea of Hob being like a combination of a fidget toy and a really soothing plushie for Dream to squeeze and cuddle when his duties get tiring. Its amazing how rubbing his cheek on Hob’s soft tummy and getting a few mouthfuls of milk will make him feel better. All the courtiers and even foreign ambassadors are so grateful for Hob’s existence, because he can calm Dream down from the most boiling rage! Hob has recieved many gifts from grateful people who are like "thank you for making sure the king didn't scratch my eyes out". Who knew that a docile, ordinary milk cow could have such skills in diplomatic relations?

And Hob being out in the sunshine and enjoying nature!! <3333 he loves rolling in the soft grass (naked) while Dream watches and swoons over how pretty he is. Dream swears he can taste the sunshine in the milk that Hob makes for him. He wants to lay there surrounded by sunflowers, hand feeding a massive punnet of strawberries to his beloved cow. Alas he has duties to attend to. But Hob will be there at the end, ready to snuggle up to Dream and present a leaking teat for him to suckle. Life is so much better with a pretty pet cow to love and dote on <333 and of course Hob always makes sure that his king has time to fuck him at the end of the day. He wouldn't want Dream to miss out on his soft, wet little hole. And the more he's fucked and fed and loved, the more he'll be able to provide for his King! It's a perfect cycle, and Hob can't wait to spend his whole life fulfilling his purpose: making delicious milk for his beloved Dream.