#its not like. inedible but it is not a great success

[sleepsucks]

Could you drop that lemon pie recipe on us sometime?

i really wish i had a cool answer for you there but really i'm just honoring the tradition of looking up the recipe online and randomly picking one of the first few results

feel free 2 check it here but also it's in french https://www.encoreungateau.com/tarte-citron/

[pokemonbiologyirlthetabletop]

Wooper, Quagsire, & Clodsire

Wooper (#194)

Palustrisderma bibranchia trivilias ([OG] Wooper) Palustrisderma bibranchia virosus ([P] Wooper)

General Information: Woopers are an amphibious Pokémon that secrete a poisonous mucus around their bodies to keep themselves from drying out while on land. The (OG) Wooper bares a small amount of sexual dimorphism: the males have two pairs of branches in their gills and the females have one pair of gill-branches—this doesn’t seem to impact either of their ability to breathe, so it must not make much of a difference. While (P) Wooper do not have these sex differences.

Both variants of Wooper are the same height, averaging at 1’04 feet (0.4 M) tall, but (P) Woopers are significantly heavier due to the hardening of their bodies as they adapted to living primarily on land. The (OG) Woopers average at 18.8 pounds (8.5 kg) and (P) Woopers average at 24.3 pounds (11 kg).

Habitat: Speciation of Woopers occurred at the ecosystem level. (OG) Woopers enjoy living in clean fresh water streams, ponds, marshes, swamps, and lakes, but not anything with strong rapids. Woopers of all stripes are not exactly powerful swimmers, after all. But while (OG) Woopers enjoy clean fresh waters with a relatively neutral pH, the (P) Woopers like bogs and fens, and other sources of acidic standing water. Neither of them enjoy tidal marshes, these little guys are strictly freshwater creatures. But one final key difference between them, is that while (OG) Woopers enjoy clean waters, (P) Woopers don’t care nearly as much. The (OG) Woopers make decent ecosystem indicators, but (P) Woopers will live in heavily polluted waters, including waters with toxic metals. Human actions have given rise to the presence of (P) Woopers in industrial areas and have become associated with factory and mining pollutions.

Life Cycles: Woopers born in clutches of 20-30 eggs each Spring. They are readily eaten by many predators, but especially Arboks. Some Woopers achieve reproductive success before Evolution (level 20), but not many.

Woopers are the juvenile stage of the amphibian lifestyle and thus are not capable of reproduction! Only their evolved forms can reproduce. A Wooper must focus on staying alive and getting along with its herd!

Behavior: Woopers are gregarious and hypersocial creatures that rely on the protections offered by a herd. While they often strike trainers as being rather dull-witted and unaware, Woopers are still intelligent enough to figure out the complexities of human cities and learn to navigate around.

Trainers, should you have a Wooper, please give it a friend. It may grow lonely or develop poor social skills as a consequence.

Diet: Woopers eat grass, mushrooms, and the occassional mosquito larvae. Woopers are very useful to have around.

Conservation: Threatened ([OG] Wooper), Least Concern ([P] Wooper)

Relationship with Humans: Woopers are regular sights in both the wild and in cities. They are all over the globe, both in the New World and the Old World—though not found in Australia or Antarctica. Humans regularly portray them as Just Little Guys Hanging Around. Some cultures will eat (OG) Woopers and have developed ways to get rid of the poisonous film on their bodies, but even (P) Woopers are considered inedible.

Both types of Woopers make excellent starter Pokémon, for they are easy to care for, great with children, and are highly cooperative.

Classification: Woopers are in the order Urodela. They bare the species epithet “bibranchia” which means “two-gilled.”

Quagsire (#195)

Palustrisderma pleiotrivilias (Quagsire)

General Information: Quagsires are an amphibian Pokémon known for its blank stares and seemingly-unaware nature. They have a bad habit of accidentally bumping their heads as they swim, but their heads are so hard and skulls so protective, that they are entirely unfazed by this.

Quagsires average at 4’7 feet tall (1.4 M) and 165.3 pounds (75 kg).

Habitat: Quagsires live in clean freshwater ecosystems, such as ponds, lakes, streams, and marshes, or even a good muddy swamp. They are strong swimmers when they need to be, but rarely venture outside of their pleasant streams and slow-moving rivers because the Woopers that they protect cannot venture into strong rapids.

Life Cycles: Quagsires mate in early Spring when the songbirds return and the first flowers have emerged. They court each other by presenting their crush with the best rock it could find and some food, to demonstrate their commitment toward building a nest together and caring for Woopers. Three weeks later the Quagsire lays her eggs in clutches of 20-30 and will rotate with her mate to guard them. In four more weeks the eggs hatch and the herd becomes flooded with a new wave of baby Woopers!

In their herd, Quagsires are the big brutes, the protectors, the big siblings, the caregivers. Woopers are notoriously poor swimmers, so often rely on the Quagsire(s) in the herd to ferry them across more dangerous waters.

Behavior: Quagsires are gentle creatures, slow moving and not in a rush to get anywhere, but beware: should you threaten the Woopers in its herd, these big guys suddenly find the motivation they need to strike back. They have few enemies, except Arboks, whom they will band together to fight off at first sighting.

Outside of mating season, mated pairs will often do little dances together in the rain.

When the sun is hot, Quagsires like to lay in mud at the bottom of a pond and hide there—maybe even take a nap!

In the two days leading up to the full moon, Quagsires will find the roundest object that they can and make off with it. These round objects (which are sometimes stolen!) are then shot as high into the sky as they can. This ritual is in honor of the moon 😊

Diet: Quagsires do not hunt for food. They sit around with their mouth wide open and wait for food to swim inside. Or they eat plants. They’re not in a rush, so they can wait for their food to come to them. They are omnivores that eat tiny fish, bugs, plants, mosses, mushrooms, duckweed, and algae. They do not prefer the duckweed and algae, but will eat it if their options are limited.

Conservation: Threatened

Relationship with Humans: Habitat loss from environmental pollution is the primary driver of Quagsire population decline. In modern times, Quagsires are common sights in households for their easy-going natures, protective tendencies, moderate-maintenance, and cooperation with other Pokémon.

Classification: Quagsire has the species epithet “pleiotrivilias,” a combination of “pleio-“ meaning “bigger” or “larger in size/quantity” and “trivilias” (the species epithet for [OG] Wooper) which means “commonplace.” In combination it means “a larger commonplace creature.”

Evolution: Quagsire evolves from Wooper at level 20.

Clodsire (#980)

Palustrisderma quadrivirosus (Clodsire)

General Information: Clodsire is a large amphibious Pokémon that secretly contains large poisonous spikes that it can stick out of its back if it needs to. However, this appears to cause the Clodsire at least some pain, though this fact doesn’t seem to stop it from using this ability. These spikes are highly dangerous—not enough to worry about death, but enough to want to stay far away from them. The poison is known to excite pain cells in Pokémon and humans alike, a pain that can last for several hours without end. Be wary.

Clodsires are huge Pokémon that average at 5’11 feet (1.8 M) long at full size! They weigh about 491.6 pounds (223 kg).

Habitat: Clodsires love bogs and fens, enjoying the acidity of stagnant or slow-moving moving. It can be found happily residing within wastewater ponds, mining run-off, and other places of polluted water. Their resistance to acidic waters and toxins is a product of their poison-typing, making them strongly resistant to these conditions. They can be found in cleaner waters or waters with higher pHs, but they just prefer otherwise.

Clodsires particularly enjoy residing at the bottom of bogs and fens, where the mud is, and where they spend their days chilling.

When Woopers in its herd need a lift across more treacherous bodies of water (like a river or a moderately-fast stream) the Clodsires will ferry them across to the other shore.

Life Cycles: In Spring the Clodsires will court each other by presenting their love interest with the best rock or bone that they could find, plus some food, to demonstrate their commitment toward building a nest together and caring for Woopers. Once mating occurs, the clutches of 20-30 Woopers are laid three weeks later, and in another four weeks they’ve hatched!

Behavior: Clodsires are very protective of Woopers. They are relaxed Pokémon that enjoy taking things slow and aren’t in a rush, but nothing will make them draw out the poisonous spines faster than someone trying to hurt one of the Woopers in their herd. They particularly hate Arboks, the biggest predator of Woopers.

Diet: Clodsires are patient omnivores that eat plants (especially moss), small fish, detritus, and bugs. They feed by opening their mouths and waiting patiently for food to swim inside it.

Conservation: Least Concern

Relationship with Humans: Clodsires are synonymous with bogs and fens, often startling folks who are fool-hearty enough to try walking across one. Folks tend to think that Clodsires are these relatively smaller-end Pokémon, like a Quagsire, when in reality they can achieve some monstrous sizes when 5’11 feet long is an average.

Despite the danger that their spines present, Clodsires are considered suitable companions for beginner trainers. See, so long as a Clodsire is treated well and isn’t being attacked by a human, it is highly unlikely to use its spines to poison a person. Even the grabbing and pinching of toddlers is tolerated admirably—they seem unbothered by the small pains and aches this causes, which makes sense, if using its spines causes it pain and it still uses them Clodsires must logically have a high pain tolerance. Besides, even if a toddler got nicked with a spine, it’ll just be an inconsolable toddler for the next day, and really, aren’t all toddlers inconsolable for a whole day at some point in their lives? There are much worse Pokémon allowed around babies and small children all the time!

In some parts of the world, Clodsires are used as Ride Pokémon for their ability to use Surf. Classification: Clodsire’s scientific name is “Palustrisderma quadrivirosus.” The genus name “Palustrisderma” combines “Palustris” (of the marsh) and “derma” (skin), which in combination means “marsh-skinned” and it refers to how the genus produces a poisonous mucus to protect itself on land when it emerges from the “marshes” (wetlands in general) that it lives in. The species epithet “quadrivirosus” combines “quadri” (four-legged) and “virosus” (poisonous/venomous), meaning Clodsire is a “Marsh-skinned four-legged poisonous creature." Evolution: Clodsire evolves from Wooper at level 20.

~~~~~~~~

Hey guess what, if you like my stuff, this is my website where you can find other Pokémon I've written on and more information about the game that I’m slowly making! Check it out! I write books sometimes too.

[earaercircular]

Circular economy: the transportation model

The Maganetti Group has been named IVECO Ambassador for its commitment to sustainable transport

A transition process on biofuels has started involving agricultural producers and customers, and has contributed to the improvement of the supply chain.

The transition has becomea great challenge for the logistics and transport sector, engaged as never before in the transformation of systems and plants according to the industry 4.0 principles as well as of the entire supply chain into new circular economy processes. However, the obstacles to a real transition that allows us to move towards a green and sustainable future are different, even for those companies that have since long embarked on the virtuous journey of sustainability. We discussed it with Matteo Lorenzo De Campo, director of Maganetti Spedizioni [1]spa, a leading Italian company in the logistics and transport sector, among the top 100 recipients of the Sustainability Award[2].

The Project

The first BCorp certified[3] company in the sector, as well as the engine of an increasingly high-quality supply chain in the world of transport thanks to the work on the Italian Sustainable Logistics certifications of Soslog[4] and TCR[5], Maganetti started in 2018 a process of ecological transition of great value under the social, economic and environmental profile. The focus? Biofuels produced by a circular economy chain. It is a project that has met with significant success for the network and the virtuous circle it has set up, truly transforming the Maganetti transport environment and with it a very vast sector, touching in particular agricultural production and sustainable impact of the latter. This has earned the recognition and the award on various media desks and organisations of institutional importance, opening prospects of transferability to the entire tissue of logistics, transport and beyond. In this sense, the development, at home at Maganetti’s, after six years of ecological transition, arrives at the current critical situation of energy and fuel price increases has already integrated awareness and tools, and is therefore also positively impacting on the environmental protection and on the economic well-being of all the players in the supply chain. However, the new decree on biomethane[6] goes in a different direction, it seems to be an obstacle to an initial turning point like the one started by Maganetti. But let's go into detail.

Between 2014 and 2015, Iveco began to see the possibility of using liquefied methane for heavy vehicles, , capable of maintaining high autonomy, eliminating particulate matter and discreetly reducing CO2. In Maganetti, a transition phase towards what would have been the landing on biomethane began, materialised with the 2018 decree for which the company, at this point, was already ready. Thus began the creation of a network made up of breeders and farmers with the same philosophy, in particular with the Cooperative Speranza[7] of Turin, that invested in the production of biomethane in an anaerobic environment starting from sewage that otherwise would have remained a waste to the detriment of the environment. Like Maganetti, the desire was to involve also the customers whose products are transported in the project. They responded positively to covering the economic gap that would inevitably have been created with a supply chain of this type. Coming up and running in 2021, the plant is one of the few to recover slurry and barn solids by retaining the CO2 produced for its reuse in industrial processes, starting from rotational waste such as inedible husks and corn hearts mainly. The result? Coverage of the needs of approximately 80 trucks per year, in a time when the CO2 requirements - which must impact as little as possible – has become a growing problem.

Source

Economia circolare: il modello dei trasporti, in: La Reppublica, 30-10-2022, https://ricerca.repubblica.it/repubblica/archivio/repubblica/2022/10/30/economia-circolare-il-modello-dei-trasportiMilano12.html?ref=search

[1] The Maganetti Group is a constellation of many companies, mainly linked to the world of transport and logistics, all united by the goal of providing a top quality service and prompt and effective customer support, so much so that it has chosen as a "leit motif" moving your business, “we transport your work”. More than 100 companies deal exclusively with transport on behalf of third parties, the core business and strategic key of the Group's activity. http://www.maganetti.com/

[2] The Sustainability Award is an important recognition reserved for those Italian companies that have distinguished themselves in addressing the challenges of the climate emergency, transforming it into an opportunity to express innovation and activate the best energies in the country. Sustainability is a subject of enormous importance, to which Italian companies are responding with concrete investments linked to the green economy and the concept of circular economy, supported by institutions, the economic world and technological advances. Over 300,000 Italian industry and service companies have invested in sustainability and efficiency - paying particular attention to the energy efficiency sector and renewable sources - marking a true eco-investment record. Supporting and enhancing the commitment of these excellence is the mission that Credit Suisse and Kon Group set themselves with the award of this sustainability award. https://sustainabilityaward.it/sustainability-award-2022-cerimonia-di-premiazione/

[3] B Corp is an international certification that rewards companies that contribute to making the world we live in a better place. Companies that want to reconcile their pursuit of profit with the collective interest!

[4] SOS-LOGistica is committed to collecting and disseminating the best practices in the field of green logistics and sustainable mobility by developing projects and activities aimed at the concrete realization of the principles of environmental, economic and social sustainability. Through the acquired KNOW HOW and the experience of the SOS-LOGISTICS ECO-SYSTEM, the association guarantees its members a real advantage in terms of image and competitiveness and an environment of continuous development and innovation. https://www.sos-logistica.org/chi-siamo/

[5] TCR is the European leader in Ground Support Equipment (GSE) services. They assess and certify the compliance with the requirements based on objective criteria, regulations and standards. The requirements are outlined in documents firstly drawn up and proposed by the Scientific and Technical Committee and then approved by the majority of the Executive Board. https://www.tcr-global.org/en/about/

[6] Biomethane, the new 2022 decree published in the Official Gazette. The provision encourages both the conversion and efficiency of existing agricultural biogas plants towards the total or partial production of biomethane, and the construction of new biomethane plants. https://informatorezootecnico.edagricole.it/economia-mercati/biometano-pubblicato-nuovo-decreto-2022/#:~:text=Biometano%2C%20pubblicato%20in%20Gazzetta%20Ufficiale%20il%20nuovo%20decreto%202022,-Il%20provvedimento%20mette&text=Il%20provvedimento%20incentiva%20sia%20la,di%20nuove%20centrali%20di%20biometano.

[7] Confcooperative Piemonte Nord is a territorial division (also called Union) of the Confederation of Italian Cooperatives (Confcooperative), a legally recognized national association of representation, assistance, protection and review of the cooperative movement. https://piemontenord.confcooperative.it/chi-siamo/

[tribbetherium]

The Early Temperocene: 135 million years post-establishment

Grassing At Straws: The Arcuterran Savannah in the Early Temperocene

The equatorial grasslands of the Arcuterran continent were one of the few regions to remain warm in the age of the Glaciocene. But now, in a time where the global temperature has cranked up, this once temperate steppe has now become semi-arid savannah: many plants here now evolve to resist dehydration during dry spells, or even go dormant entirely, springing up only during rainy seasons to be pollinated and spread their seeds.

Here, herds of piggalo roam as primary large-scale grazers. Descended from the buffants that moved in from the Mesoterran mainland before the land bridge disappeared, these thick-skinned herbivores now span several dozen species, the biggest of which can reach up to six tons in weight. However, a large size is a liability in hot environments, due to a greater retention of heat: as such, savannah piggalo (Pachysuimys spp.) are often smaller, instead relying on herding behavior and their tusks in defense against predators.

The local carnivores are, unsurprisingly, the highly adaptable zingos that have spread throughout nearly every continent, filling numerous mesopredator, omnivore, and occasionally apex carnivore niches. These savannah dwellers are distinguished by their mottled-spotted coats, which help them disappear among rough, dry foliage, and their large ears, which act as heat sinks to help them cool down when they become too hot.

Meanwhile in the skies, great winged figures soar on thermals, circling on uprising warm air that enables them to stay aloft with little energy. These are ratavults (Gymnopodopteryx spp.) , a new clade of flying podotheres known as the pterodents, which avoid competition with the similarly-airborne ratbats by greatly increasing in size. Indeed, ratavults are among the smallest pterodents, at only a wingspan of about two and a half meters: yet even then, dwarf the numerous ratbats with which they share the savannah skies. Ratavults are scavengers, preferring to home in on large carcasses such as piggalo, with their hairless faces helping reduce harboring of food residue and bacteria, and their smaller size relative to other pterodents gives them one important advantage: they are more easily able to launch from the ground, if less efficiently than a ratbat, allowing them to make a quick getaway should other, deadlier creatures take interest in the carcass.

And the ratavults certainly fare well in staying away from an unusual Therocene relic roaming this lands and equally drawn to carcasses: the big-headed omniboar (Panphagohyus hypervorus), last of the beelzeboars that once were significant top predators during the Therocene days. Having dwindled in the Glaciocene, this one surviving species descended from the enormous, bull-sized Glaciocene omnivore known as the boardozer. The omniboar is a lot smaller than its ancestor, only as big as a large dog save for a disproportionate large head, yet it is no less an accomplished eater of virtually anything it can get its jaws on. Part of its success is its adaptability as an omnivore--indeed, a generalist to an extreme, and even will scavenge for carrion, actively hunt small living prey, chase away weaker predators from their kills, and dig for invertebrates and small burrowers, but also grazes on grass, browses on shrubs and bushes, and forages for fruit, roots and fungi. Its poweful jaws and sturdy digestive system allow it to even add nigh-inedible items to its diet, like woody, thorny plants, tree bark, animal bones and even dung, and at times even consumes sodium-rich minerals as supplement when its diet is lacking by literally eating soil and rocks.

Smaller creatures thrive too in the savannahs, most notably small, hopping jerryboas, more basal distant cousins to the boingos, oingos, walkabies and podotheres, whose jumping locomotion is an energy-efficient way to traverse larger distances of hot ground. Also abundant are small, serpentine burrowurms, protected by their pseudo-venom claw stings, allowing them to roam the undergrowth unmolested while they feed on insects and small invertebrates: their bold warning coloration an effective deterrent to whatever larger animal might make a meal of them.

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[iamthekaijuking]

The Stomatotheridae are a clade of large animals native to the Trebhum homeworld, belonging to the phylum Bivalvocorpa: organisms defined by their unique hinged body structure with a simple digestive system. While today this clade is survived only by the two subspecies of Omnogrom (Stomatotherium omnogromis), prior to the mass extinction event caused by the Cylinder’s arrival, this clade of creatures occupied far greater diversity as recently as a few thousand years ago, and well within Trebhum recorded history. 
The first stomatotheres likely appeared hundreds of millions of years ago, as nigh-microscopic aquatic predators that fed on smaller zooplankton. They were among the first phyla to conquer land, taking on forms that measured a few inches on length, and fed on the early invertebrate ancestors of modern Grolluscs and Hophopops. They would eventually grow into far bigger forms as time went on, bringing about megafauna recognizably akin to the modern Omnogrom. 
Among the most recently-extinct of them were predators such as the Grappsnaps (genus Stomatovenator), an agile cursorial hunter that used its unique hinged jaw-body as a spring to propel it forward as it pursued its prey, primarily far-smaller, running ungulate-like relatives of the gigantic Great Gaaahr. Other clades would become slower and heavier, and in the lineage that would directly give rise to the Omnogrom, some would become large, thick-skinned herbivores: the Grumbletump (genus Phytostomatotherium), that uncharacteristically for its phylum would develop a pseudo-tongue from an extension of its stomach sphincter that helped it pull up vegetation. 
However, not all stomatotheres would leave the water as they grew into megafaunal sizes. Their accessory mandibles, modified into locomotory legs by terrestrial species, would remain as grasping pincers for catching prey, while a muscular tentacle-like tail, lacking bones entirely and supported by cartilage, served as their primary propulsion in water, an appendage that served no purpose in the land-dwellers and was lost over time. Some of these aquatic species were freshwater predators, such as the Gurglegrombs (genus Stomatosuchus), which fed on Leaptails and Pouchfish as well as ambushing land animals such as Tonglegroplets that came to the water to drink, while others lived out at sea, like the Grimjaws (genus Stomatichthys), where their blunt teeth helped them feed on hard-shelled prey, including marine clams of distant relation to the desert-dwelling Klaborok. 
Sadly, these highly-specialized species would all perish following a catastrophe of cosmic proportions: the coming of the Eternal Cylinder. As new species from lands destroyed by the Cylinder fled their biomes and moved into territories occupied by the stomatotheres, sudden and unexpected competition from these migrant species would put tremendous pressure to the stomatotheres, slowly driving them into extinction. Only the modern Omnogroms– resilient, omnivorous, prolific and able to feed on the hardest and most inedible of meals– were able to persist, and now are moderately successful throughout the Savannah and Tundra, even as the Cylinder wreaks its destruction: a last survivor of a once-diverse family that continues to thrive in spite of the ever-present threat of impending oblivion.

[rjhpandapaws]

This is for the ask event! The prompt I have is where Connor is struggling with being deviant after the revolution. He tries to act just like a non-deviant towards everyone. And when Hank realizes what's going on, he tries to comfort Connor. He tries to tell Connor that he doesn't have to be 'just a robot' anymore.

//I am in love with this! Thank you!!!!

It was the jacket, if Hank had to pick the first tiny red flag after the revolution that had him worried for Connor. He hadn’t gotten rid of that damn jacket, it was like a brand and Hank hated it. These things took time he supposed. One week you were a machine designed to track and hunt your own kind, the next you were a person. It was not only a big change but a sudden one. Hank could understand the difficulty to let go of it; there were things he still carried with him after all. The next was the way he spoke, it was still measured and artificial. Connor was still trying to please whomever he was with. It had been easy at first to just assume that Connor’s personality was that of someone who was mild mannered, it would make sense. There were two issues with that though; someone who was mild mannered probably wouldn’t have broken your god damned kitchen window to get inside when they were otherwise capable of getting through the door, and the fact when Hank had casually asked his opinion on something he was well aware Connor wouldn’t have liked he rolled to red for a long moment before picking an answer designed to appease him. Hank would have liked to say that he understood the struggle; but he didn’t, becoming an alcoholic was easy. Becoming a sentient being, he had to imagine was not. The one thing Hank considered himself well versed in though, was taking baby steps, if AA had taught him anything, that was the place to start. Find the smallest thing Connor was struggling with and start there. It seemed easy enough; until Hank thought about the fact that it involved getting Connor to open up to him honestly rather than just trying to say what he thought Hank wanted to hear.

Connor had a particular fondness for Sumo, perhaps he could be the icebreaker. Hank was well aware that he was probably putting more thought into this than a ‘concerned coworker’ ought to, but you could only watch someone come into themself so many times before you were invested, and the number of times Connor had been through this just during the case was well over whatever that number was. The kid deserved a break, god knows he earned it after every thing. So that was his plan. Invite Connor over to see Sumo and go from there. He wasn’t sure what he would do, but he had seen glimpses of who Connor was beneath his coding and he wanted to let that version of him out. A selfish motive? Probably, but that was okay. Connor had been suspicious, which was fair. Hank hadn’t been all that great to him at first, but his fascination with dogs apparently had won out and he agreed to come over on Saturday and spend the day with them. Of course, the one part of this plan Hank had overlooked was needing to have his house somewhat presentable. Sure Connor had seen it before, but Hank liked to believe he had made progress since then. The state of his house would dare to disagree.

His evenings amounted to a marginally successful attempt to give Sumo a bath, cleaning his house, and trying to find bottled thirium that wasn’t overly expensive. He found a carbonated kind that he thought Connor might find interesting and bought that as well. He also bought beer, but he could tweak that into a good friend didn’t let their guest drink alone. Connor probably wouldn’t believe it, but that was an issue for another time. The thing about keeping busy was that the weekdays tended to roll by a little faster, so it was Saturday before Hank was mentally prepared for it. He reminded himself that he wasn’t trying to solve this problem; if he was honest, he knew he probably couldn’t even if he tired; he was just looking for a starting point. Something to give Connor to remind him of his agency. That didn’t make him anymore ready for the long buzz of his doorbell at ten in the morning. That was one thing that was uniquely Connor he supposed, the kid rang doorbells like an ass. Hank chuckled at the thought as he opened the door and used his free hand to hold on to Sumo’s collar so he wouldn’t knock Connor over. “I hope I’m not here too early.” Connor said in way of a greeting as he came inside. “You’re fine.” Hank responded, “I’ll be honest though, when I said you could come over at anytime today I was worried you show up at the ass crack of dawn.” “I thought about it.” Connor smiled, it was his artificial one, but it was better than nothing, “But you aren’t known for being up in the mornings.”

Hank rolled his eyes as he let go of Sumo, he was glad for the banter. Sumo was glad for the company as he immediately jumped on Connor. For a moment Hank was worried Connor would be knocked flat, but he only moved one of his feet back half a step and braced himself. He held Sumo’s weight and gladly showered him in attention while Sumo investigated their new houseguest. It was only slight, but Connor’s calculated exterior thawed some. That was progress. Sumo seemed to have satisfied his curiosity and settled back on the floor, though he kept close to his new friend. The smile was still on Connor’s lips but it was softer now, a little more natural and Hank wondered if he even knew he was doing it. “Did you need help with a case?” Connor asked as Hank moved toward the living room. “No.” Hank replied, “I could use the company and you could use a break.” “I don’t need to take breaks. I can incapable of feeling exhaustion.” Came Connor’s remark. “Trust me kid, just because you don’t feel it, or aren’t ‘supposed’ to doesn’t mean its not there.” Hank explained as he settled onto the couch, “You’ve been through a lot, and while you might be feeling alright, that doesn’t mean you aren’t stressed. One day alright, that’s all I’m asking.”

Connor was standing at the far end of the couch and he was on red again, and oblivious to Sumo nudging at his hand. He had never seen Connor with so much emotion on his features, he felt guilty that the emotion of the moment seemed to be panic, but he would take that over the blank expression that was his default. “How - hypothetically speaking of course- how would someone know they were stressed... If they had never felt such a thing before?” Hank hummed as Connor sat down on the couch and finally paid mind to Sumo again. “Hypothetically speaking, it would come across as losing interest in the things that person liked to do; things like work, licking god awful substances, asking invasive questions, and telling their partner exactly what inedible things are in their chicken sandwich. Then its falling back on the routines you have built for yourself or learned from others and following them rigidly, anything to make things more manageable. They might distance themself from the people around them and bury themself in work, because they need to keep busy.” He watched Connor’s LED roll, it was blue with flicks of yellow on occasion, and Hank was almost certain he saw a flash of red once. Connor was absently petting the top of Sumo’s head as he chased his own thoughts. Hank had never seen him this pensive before, not even at the worst of their crime scenes. “Hypothetically speaking again, how would you suggest someone overcome that stress?”

“Take a break.” Hank said without hesitating, “A day or a weekend to just be. Whatever that means for them, spending time with a friend, going clothes shopping, licking something questionable. Something that they liked that they haven’t gotten to do in a while.” “So, if they wanted to get rid of a jacket or some clothes, that would be okay?” Connor didn’t quite drop the pretense of the hypothetical, but internally Hank cheered. “I would say they should go for it.” He said with a smile. “Hank. I would like to burn my issued clothes if that is ok.” Connor said in a serious enough tone that had Hank choking on a laugh. “When it starts getting dark we can have a bon fire, but first we need to get you something else to wear.” Hank agreed. While it wasn’t how he thought today would go, Hank counted it as a victory.

@inverted-writes

(Prompt from this list)

[gardenofkore]

- E lo princep respos al almirall: -Ques aço que vos volets que yo hi faça? que si fer yo puch , -volenters ho fare.- Yo , dix lalmirall , quem façats ades venir la filla del rey Manfre, germana de madona la regina Darago, que vos tenits en vostra preso aci el castell del Hou , ab aquelles dones e donzelles qui soes bi sien ; e quem façats lo castell e la vila Discle retre . - E lo princep respos , queu faria volenters. E tantost trames un seu cavaller en terra ab un leny armat, e amena madona la infanta , germana de madona la regina , ab quatre donzelles e dues dones viudes.  E lalmirall reebe les ab gran goig e ab gran alegre , e ajenollas, e besa la ma a madona la infanta.

Ramon Muntaner,  CRÓNICA CATALANA, p. 221

Beatrice was born (probably) in Palermo around 1260. She was the first child and only daughter of Manfredi I of Sicily and his second wife, the Epirote princess Helena Angelina Doukaina (“[…] et idem helenam despoti regis emathie filiam sibi matrimonialiter coppulavit, ex quibus nata fuit Beatrix.”, Bartholomaeus de Neocastro, Historia Sicula, in Giuseppe Del Re, Cronisti e Scrittori sincroni Napoletani editi ed inediti, p. 419). It’s quite plausible the baby had been named after Manfredi’s first wife, Beatrice of Savoy (mother of Costanza, who will later become Queen consort of Aragon and co-regnant of Sicily). The little princess would soon be followed by three brothers: Enrico, Federico and Enzo (also called Anselmo or Azzolino). With three sons, Manfredi must have thought his succession was secured.

Beatrice’s father was one Federico II of Sicily’s many illegitimate children, although born from his most beloved mistress (and possibly fourth and last wife), Bianca Lancia. Since his father’s death in 1250, Manfredi had governed the Kingdom of Sicily on behalf firstly of his (legitimate) half-brother Corrado and, after his death in 1254, of Corrado’s son, Corradino. In 1258, two years prior Beatrice’s birth, Manfredi had been crowned King of Sicily in Palermo’s Cathedral, de facto usurping his half-nephew’s rights.

Like it had happened with Federico, Manfredi was soon opposed by the Papacy, which didn’t approve of the Hohenstaufen’s rule over Sicily (and Southern Italy with it) and the role of the King as the champion of the Ghibellines faction. In 1263, Urban VI managed to convince Charles of Anjou, younger brother of Louis IX the Saint, to present himself as a contender to the Sicilian throne. Three years later, on January 6th 1266, the French duke was crowned King of Sicily by the Pope in Rome, thus overthrowing Manfredi. On February 26th, in Benevento, the usurped King then tried to get back his kingdom by facing Charles in the open field, but failed and lost his life while fighting.

The now widowed Queen Helena had previously fled to Lucera (in Apulia) with her children (Beatrice was now six), her sister-in-law Costanza, and her step-daughter, the illegitimate Flordelis, where she thought they would be safer. When they got news of the disaster of Benevento and Manfredi’s death, they fled to Trani from where they planned to set off to Epirus. The unfortunate party was instead betrayed and handed off to the Angevin. On March 6th night, Helena and the children were taken hostage and later separated. The Queen was sent at first to Lagopesole (in Basilicata) and finally to Nocera Christianorum (now Nocera Inferiore), where she would die still in captivity in 1271.

Enrico, Federico and Enzo were taken to Castel del Monte. Following Corradino’s death in 1268, Manfredi’s young sons (the oldest, Enrico, was just four at the time of his capture) were, to all effects, the rightful heirs to the Sicilian throne. It’s undoubtful Charles must have wanted them gone, or at least forgotten. In 1300 they were moved to Naples, in Castel dell’Ovo (which, at that time, was called San Salvatore a mare), under the order of the new Angevin king, Charles II. According to some sources, Federico and Enzo died there within the short span of a year. As for Enrico, he died alone and miserable in October 1318, he was 56.

As for Beatrice, her fate was more merciful compared to that of her mother and brothers and, for that, she had to thank her sex, which made her harmless in Charles’ eyes (as long as she was left unmarried). After being separated from her family (she will never see them again), the six years old princess was, like her brothers, held captive (although not together) in Castel del Monte. In 1271, she was moved to Naples, in Castel dell’Ovo, under the guardianship of its keeper, a French nobleman called either Landolfo or Radolfo Ytolant. Manfredi’s daughter is mentioned in a rescript of Charles dated March 5th 1272, from which we learn she had been granted at least a maid (“V Marcii xv indictionis. Neapoli. Scriptum est Iustitiario et erario Terre laboris etc. Cum ex computo facto per magistrum rationalem Nicolaum Buccellum etc. cum Landulfo milite castellano castri nostri Salvatoris ad mare de Neapoli pro expensis filie quondam Manfridi Principis Tarentini et damicelle sue. ac filie quondam comitis Iordani et damicelle sue dicto castellano in unc. auri novem et taren. sex de pecunia presentis generalis subventionis residuorum quolibet vel qua canque alia etc. persolvatis. non obstante etc. Recepturus etc.”, Monumenti n. XLIV. in Domenico Forges Davanzati, Dissertazione sulla seconda moglie del re Manfredi e su’ loro figliuoli, p. XLIII-XLIV). Like it had happened with her mother, and unlike her brothers, it appears Beatrice was treated with courtesy and respect. In her misfortune, she could count on the company of a fellow prisoner and distant relative, the daughter of Giordano Lancia d’Agliano, who was her grandmother Bianca Lancia’s cousin and had been a loyal supporter of her father, Manfredi.

On Easter Day of 1282, an anti-Angevin rebellion sparkled in Palermo would soon transform itself into a war to get rid of the so much hated Frenchmen, the so-called War of the Sicilian Vespers. It’s dubious that, close in her prison, Beatrice came to know about it. She might have also been surprised to know that her half-sister, Costanza, had been asked by a delegation of fellow Sicilians to take possession of what was hers by right (the throne) as she was their “naturalis domina”. Her rights were shared with her husband, Pedro III of Aragon, who would personally take part in the war and be rewarded with a joint coronation in November 1282.

For Beatrice, everything changed in 1284. On June 4th, Italian Admiral Ruggero di Lauria, at the service of the Aragonese King (he was also Costanza’s milk brother), defeated the Angevin fleet just offshore from Naples and took Carlo II prisoner. Being in clear superiority, the Sicilians could now demand (among many requests) the release of Princess Beatrice. Carlo’s eldest son and heir, Carlo Martello Prince of Salerno, could nothing other than obliging them. (“Siciliani autem , & omnes faventes Petro Aragonum, incontinenti de ipsorum victoria plurimum exultantes, Nuncios, & Legatos ad quoddam Castrum ex parte Principis direxerunt , ubi quaedam filia quondam Domini Regis Manfredi sub custodia tenebatur , ut dicta filia fine ullo remedio laxaretur , quae statim fuit antedictis Legatis , & Nunciis restituta.”, Anonimo Regiense, Memoriale Potestatum Regiensium. Gestorumque iis Temporibus. Ab anno 1154 usque ad Annum 1290, in Ludovico Antonio Muratori, Rerum Italicarum scriptores ab anno aerae christianae quingentesimo ad millesimumquingentesimum, vol. VIII, p. 1158). 

Beatrice, finally free, left Castel dell’Ovo headed for Capri, where the Admiral was waiting for her. She had spent 18 long years in captivity and was now 24. From Capri she reached Sicily, where she was warmly welcomed and with a lot of enthusiasm, to meet her half-sister Costanza. 

As the Queen’s closest free relative (both Pedro and Costanza had no interest in asking for Enrico’s release since, as a male, he had more rights than Costanza to inherit the throne), Beatrice had a great political value. At first, Ranieri Della Gherardesca’s name came up. He was the son of that Count Gherardo who had fought together with the unfortunate Corradino (the sisters’ royal cousin), and for that had been beheaded in Naples in 1268 alongside his liege. Finally the perfect candidate was found. Manfredo of Saluzzo was born in 1262 and was the son of Marquis Tommaso I and his wife Luigia of Ceva. Like Beatrice, Manfredo was strongly related to Costanza, specifically, he was her nephew since Tommaso and the Sicilian Queen were half-siblings (they were both Beatrice of Savoy’s children).

The marriage contract between the two is dated July 3rd 1286 and the contracting parties are on one side “la serenissima signora constanza regina dy aragon e dy sicilia e dil ducato de puglia principato di capua” and, on the other side “il marchexe thomas di sa lucio signore de conio una cum mạdona alexia soa moglie”. Tommaso declares that Manfredi will inherit his title, privileges and possession upon his death. If, after the marriage is celebrated, Manfredi were to die first, Beatrice would enjoy possession of the castle and some properties. The Marquise Luisa declares to agree with her husband’s decision (“[…] e a tuto questo la marchexa aloysia madre dy manfredo consenty”, Gioffredo Della Chiesa, Cronaca di Saluzzo, p. 165-166). The union was formally celebrated the year after.

Beatrice bore Manfredi two children: Caterina and Federico, born presumably in 1287 (“Et da questa beatrix haue uno figlolo chiamato fredericho et una figlola chiamata Kterina” Gioffredo Della Chiesa, Cronaca di Saluzzo, p. 185). In 1296 Tommaso died, so Manfredi inherited the marquisate and Beatrice became Marquise consort of Saluzzo. She will die eleven years later at 47, on November 19th 1307 (“Venne a morte nel dì 19 novembre di quest’anno Beatrice di Sicilia moglie del nostro marchese Manfredo, e noi ne accertiamo il segnato giorno col mezzo del rituale del monastero di Revello , nel quale leggesi annotato: 19 novembris anniversarium d. Beatricis filiae quondam d. Manfredi regis Ceciliae et uxoris d. Manfredi primogeniti d. Thomae marchionis Saluciarum, quae huic monasterio quingen- tas untias in suo testamento legavit.” Delfino Muletti, Memorie storico-diplomatiche appartenenti alla città ed ai marchesi di Saluzzo, vol III, p. 76). Her husband would quickly remarry with Isabella Doria, daughter of Genoese patricians Bernabò Doria and Eleonora Fieschi. Isabella would give birth to five more children: Manfredi, Bonifacio, Teodoro, Violante and Eleonora. 

As of Beatrice’s children, Caterina would marry Guglielmo Enganna, Lord of Barge (“Catherina figlola dy manfredo e de la prima moglie fu sorella dy padre e dy madre dy fede rico e fu moglie duno missere gulielmo ingana capo dy parte gebellina in questy cartiery dil pie monty verso bargie.”, Gioffredo Della Chiesa, Cronaca di Saluzzo, p. 256). Federico’s fate would be more complicated. Like many mothers before and after her, Isabella Doria wished to see her own firstborn, Manfredi, succeeded his father rather than her step-son. The new Marchioness of Saluzzo successfully instigated her husband against his son to the point the Marquis. in a donatio mortis causa dated 1325, disinherited Federico in favour of the second son (Federico would have settled with just his late mother’s belongings), Manfredi (“Et questo faceua a instigatione de la moglie che lo infestaua a cossi fare.” Gioffredo Della Chiesa, Cronaca di Saluzzo, p. 224). Federico’s natural rights were later acknowledged by an arbitral award proclaimed in 1329 by his paternal uncles Giovanni and Giorgio of Saluzzo, and finally, an arbitration verdict dated 1334 and issued by Guglielmo Earl of Biandrate and Aimone of Savoy. As a condition of peace, the future Marquis should have granted his younger brother the castle and villa of Cardè as a fief. Stung by this defeat, Manfredi IV, his wife Isabella and beloved son Manfredi retired to Cortemilla. Federico died in 1336 and was succeeded by his son Tommaso, who would inherit his father’s rights and feud with the two Manfredi's. After being defeated by his half-uncle in 1341 (the older Manfredi, his grandfather, had died the year before), resulting in losing his titles, possessions and freedom, Tommaso would later regain what was of his right and rule as Marquis of Saluzzo.

Sources

-ANONIMO REGIENSE, Memoriale Potestatum Regiensium. Gestorumque iis Temporibus. Ab anno 1154 usque ad Annum 1290, in Ludovico Antonio Muratori, Rerum Italicarum scriptores ab anno aerae christianae quingentesimo ad millesimumquingentesimum, vol. VIII

-BARTHOLOMAEUS DE NEOCASTRO, Historia Sicula, in Giuseppe Del Re, Cronisti e Scrittori sincroni Napoletani editi ed inediti

- DEL GIUDICE GIUSEPPE, La famiglia di Re Manfredi

- DELLA CHIESA, GIOFFREDO, Cronaca di Saluzzo

-FORGES DAVANZATI, DOMENICO, Dissertazione sulla seconda moglie del re Manfredi e su’ loro figliuoli

- LANCIA, MANFREDI, Il complicato matrimonio di Beatrice di Sicilia

-Monferrato. Saluzzo

-MULETTI, DELFINO, Memorie storico-diplomatiche appartenenti alla città ed ai marchesi di Saluzzo, vol II-III

- MUNTANER, RAMON, Crónica catalana

- SABA MALASPINA, Rerum Sicularum

- SAVIO, CARLO FEDELE, Cardè. Cenni storici (1207-1922)

-Sicily/Naples: Counts & Kings

[anomaly00-archive]

THE END, for the no excuses game >:) (either one you wanna do of course)

Here’s the fake ending for The Stars Do Not Bind Us that also spawned an entire worldbuilding concept based around fairy bread and (tw: cannibalism) cannibalism. It’s unpolished and probably not cohesive but I had A LOT of fun. Oh! And trust me, the ending line makes much better sense if you remember that the main POV character’s name is Six.

In the end, you never do fulfill your destiny. You do not die a glorious death on the battlefield, forever immortalized by history as the young hero who gave their all for the divine cause. Fidei Defensor they would call you not. You do not even know what it is they even call you, or if the Temple has managed to bury you away in the very dredges of history as if you’ve never existed.

Instead, you are alive and well , living in a quaint cottage just off the border of The Forest. A place where the forest patters off into rolling meadows, and a lake, and great blue mountains off in the distance. Instead, you are fourteen-years-old and older than you ever thought possible. 

“Do you ever regret this?” Aidonus asks. He’s sitting idly on their small, wooden table, cheek resting on his knuckles, and eyes watching the covered bowl just off to the side. 

You eye the contents of the cupboard, humming something tuneless. “Regret what?” (’The strawberry jam!’ says Three. ‘Up at the top. Next to the— no, the other thing. It’s behind the— yes. Right there.’) 

“Living here, I mean? The cycle of heroes hasn’t broken, and the gods will get what they want if you don’t stop them.”

“I have everything I ever want here— except for that blasted jam. Could you, um,” you gestures to the jar of red strawberry jam at the very top of the cupboard, remaining stubbornly out of her reach no matter how high you jump.

Aidonus stood up. “The great hero, beaten by her own cupboard.” He fetches the jam with ease. Bloody bastard and his tall legs. 

“Bold words for someone whose groin is within punching distance.” Aidonus rolled his eyes and handed you the jar, though you could have done without him mussing your hair. You stick your tongue out at him before setting the jar beside the basket of previous bread-making attempts. The rejects weren’t inedible, per se, but they weren’t exactly what you would call tasty either. But bread was bread and you would be damned if you were going to waste all that time and effort. Thus, the jam.

“So you don’t want to get revenge against Dessia?”

“What are you talking about— oh, right.” You break off a chunk of bread and spread jam along its surface. “I could, I guess, if I really wanted to. But I don’t, so I won’t. Besides—” You cover your mouth as you chew and wow this bread is dry but it wasn’t too bad. “—I don’t know about you, but I’m too afraid of the consequences of killing a god. If there aren’t any cosmic disasters that would arise from killing the goddess of Fate, the other gods would surely retaliate. Becoming a god-slayer seems like too much effort.” You frown. “Is killing a god even possible?”

“Well, I killed you.”

“That’s different. I— or, well, One— was one of their creatures, but that doesn’t mean they were a god. You’re close enough to one, I guess, but you aren’t one either.”

Aidonus hums noncommittally and checks the covered bowl. “Proofing is done. I punch it next, right?”

“I’d like to emphasize that you gently punch it, please.”

He deflates the puffy dough with a single, gentle punch and folds its edges into the center to form a ball. You really hope that this attempt is a success or else you’ll end up having to ask Eira for help— and the gods know she’ll try to charm them into baking fairy bread. Morals aside, bones have very little nutritional value. Even if they were fairy bones.

You pop another piece of reject-bread into your mouth, watching him sprinkle some flour on the board they use for kneading and rolling dough. “What brought all this on, anyway?”

“I just remembered that, one day, you are going to die” he plops the ball of dough onto the board, “and I’m not. And you will be reborn as someone else. Someone who never knew me, someone who Dessia and the Temple will be absolutely sure is loyal to them and their cause. Some poor child who I will have to kill— or who knows? Maybe this time, they’ll be able to kill me.”

“Maybe.” You put the piece of bread down. “Or maybe not.”

He scoffed.

“Yes, maybe the next Hero will be subservient enough to follow the script. Maybe they’ll kill the last of the Cursed, maybe they’ll kill you, maybe you’ll kill them.—”

“Where are you going with this?”

“—Or maybe they won’t. The two of us have proven that Dessia isn’t some all-seeing puppet master. ” You look him in the eye. “Destiny, too, is a choice.”

He raises an eyebrow. “When did you get so wise?”

“All that dying must have taught me something, you know?”

He lets out a bark of laughter, the small cottage infusing with warmth at the very sound. He kneads the dough for a few more minutes before placing and covering it back in the bowl for the second round of proofing. You wordlessly hand him a slice of bread with a bit of jam—not slathered like how you tend to take yours, dry bread or not. 

Aidonus takes a bite. He chews. Slowly. “Gods,” he says, between mouthfuls. “This bites like a rock. We really messed up haven’t we?”

You laugh, sliding the jar over to his side of the table. “Let’s hope we aren’t destined to be awful bakers.”

“With our track record, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. But who knows?” With a grin, he leans over the table and musses up your hair once more. “Maybe sixth time’s the charm.”

Send me an ask? No excuses writing meme

[rhetoricandlogic]

Tropic of Kansas - Christopher Brown

If the measure of a dystopian novel’s success ties directly into how easily readers can map the premise and events of the novel to our lives right now, with minimum effort required to suspend disbelief that this can happen here, then Tropic of Kansas may well be the most successful single work of dystopian fiction ever published. Christopher Brown — who has a back catalog of acclaimed post-cyberpunk short fiction written under the name Chris Nakashima-Brown — has constructed his debut novel in such a way that its sense of timeliness in depicting a shattered America revolting against authoritarian government is existentially terrifying like nothing else you’ll read, hopefully, for many years. It’s as if Brown was reading the tea leaves long ago regarding America’s slide towards the kind of wrapped-in-the-flag fascism epitomized by the Trump era. Tropic of Kansas just feels way too close for comfort.

Some backstory. As most of us know, and some of us remember, in 1981, a pathetic loser named John Hinckley took a shot at Ronald Reagan. While Reagan recovered from a collapsed lung, Alexander Haig, the hawkish secretary of state, made what many considered a little power grab, which, surprisingly enough, put no one at ease.

In Brown’s alternate America, Reagan did not survive the shooting and Haig went on to a militaristic presidency, smashing Iran and the Soviet Union in a series of wars and chartering “military merchant companies” to seize natural resources in Central America. The internet as we know it didn’t emerge. Rather, a government-controlled network was put in place, mainly used for domestic surveillance. Fast forward to the 21st century, and democracy is effectively over. America now has a dictator in the White House, a blustery ex-POW kleptocrat named Thomas Mack, so narcissistic he travels with the actor who plays him in propaganda movies and so extra-evil that the former vice president tried to blow him up in the West Wing, Operation Valkyrie-style.

We follow two protagonists. Sig is the 18 year old son of resistance fighters who has been mostly alone and on the run for half his short life. As the story opens, he is being deported back to America from Canada, where he will, for the rest of the book’s length, remain on the run. We see him escape from incarceration, then take up briefly with various groups of dissidents scattered throughout the heartland. It’s an area now known as the Tropic of Kansas, where the land has been chemically farmed to such excess, it’s no longer arable except to grow inedible corn for biofuels. Deputized citizen militias, consisting of exactly the kinds of people you’d expect, enforce what laws Washington pays them to.

In the other corner we have Tania, whose family briefly fostered Sig many years ago, a time culminating in the riot that led to Sig’s killing his first police officer at the age of eleven. Tania has since swallowed her pride and done her best to settle in, with a Beltway legal career. But she can’t keep the rebellious spirit instilled by her mother bottled up completely, and after she publicly heckles Mack on the White House lawn, she’s detained and offered a deal: her imprisoned mother in exchange for locating Sig, whom the Feds believe will lead them to the most active resistance cells throughout the Tropic. Their stories will ultimately converge in the battleground city of New Orleans.

Brown writes with a staccato urgency that stylistically recalls William Gibson. His language is sparse, his chapters short. Yet at the same time, detail is rich, and the pervasive sense of how profoundly a once great country has declined as it went to war against its own citizens is palpable. Don’t get too attached to characters, as Brown often dispatches them with a cold suddenness that makes George R.R. Martin seem positively humanitarian. Brown’s complete lack of sentimentalism is absolutely right for the story. There is no call for anything in the way of rah-rah heroics here, and the story makes it abundantly clear that even if everything goes entirely in favor of the rebels, any kind of victory will only mean the hard work of restoring the nation has just begun. And it will never go back completely to its former self.

But it must be said that the book’s greatest strengths are also its greatest liabilities. I expect a good dystopia to be grim and depressing. But at over 460 pages, Tropic of Kansas is well overlong, and the way in which Sig just goes from one brutal, violent confrontation to the next, rinse and repeat, ultimately creates more a sense of numbing monotony than nail-biting suspense.

And frankly, Sig himself is a problem. While it’s entirely in keeping with his character that he would be emotionally aloof — after all, a boy who never really knew his parents and has been a homeless fugitive since early adolescence isn’t exactly going to be the most socialized guy — it should have been possible to convey this without also making him such a personality vacuum for the reader. Sig gets more rough trade thrown his way than any one person should, but he doesn’t really elicit sympathy, and it can be hard to get a handle on his arc. While it’s laudable that Brown avoids turning him into the kind of Katniss Everdeen superhero that so many fight-the-power dystopias want to offer us, by the later chapters, when Sig is jumping onto drone tanks and disabling them by ripping out their wiring with his bare hands, let’s say the novel begins veering away from hard-edged realism at precisely the moment it should do the opposite.

Tania is quite a bit more well-rounded and human, and some of her scenes with her mother deliver the book’s most successful emotional engagement. And a number of the minor characters register pretty well, despite being seen only briefly. In what may be the novel’s single most incisive moment of truth, Tania’s mother describes how easily it is the bad guys win. Because the good guys spend too much time “compromising.”

…“By letting them divide us. They know how to get all the people who should be on the same side to fight each other over differences that aren’t even real. Race, religion, region, reason. And people got so poor and worn out they just gave up, at least on the idea of real change….”

In final analysis, Christopher Brown is a brilliant writer who has delivered a suitcase bomb of a novel that is undeniably important. But it’s imperfect, like its own displaced heroes, and some readers will be impressed by it without especially liking it, while others will likely find it all just too much to take. But then, maybe the gut-punch that Tropic of Kansas delivers is exactly the sort of alarm call we need. It’s easy — and foolhardy — to take freedom for granted when there are people in power very very skilled at getting you not to notice until after it’s been taken away.

[kimtanathegeek]

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 27

It’s about time these poor boys had some normalcy, eh?

Thanks for reading! :)

—

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.  

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.  

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Over the next several weeks, life for the two brothers fell into a normalcy that they hadn’t had since they left their home to flee to Mt. Ebott. They were able to shift from merely surviving day to day to simply living their lives.

They woke up each morning to prepare a healthy, hearty breakfast together, performed their daily workout routine, and did a few chores before setting out for the day. On some days they would go to the corner of the valley to train their bone magic. On others, they would explore—no longer did they need to forage, thanks to the ample supply of fresh food in their pantry.

During their explorations, they ventured to new places they had never had the chance to see since their foraging trips had limited them to the torch-lit path. Making sure not to be seen by those behind the ever-closed cavern doors, they investigated more of the snowy valley.

Sans found that the long, grey strip that he had seen from the cavern tunnel entrance so long ago was actually a thin river that ran through the valley. On the cavern’s side, the river snaked behind the cavern’s outer wall, beyond where they could walk as the rocky walls were too difficult and dangerous to climb. The other end of the river ran through the darkened area, fed by many of the numerous waterfalls and waterways. Yet they could not see where the river ended—it appeared to run on forever.

They made a bridge over the river using white bones and ventured further into the left side of the gigantic snow valley cavern over the course of many days—Sans’ teleportation being most helpful to return them to places they had left off, saving them the need to camp overnight or walk endlessly for hours to reach where they’d already been. Far from the cavern and their shelter, the valley’s left edge was a jagged cliff line, below which lay yet another valley—just as snowy, and just as vast. Sans gulped as he looked over the sheer, miles-high drop, refusing to let Papyrus get too near.

What the snowy valley lacked in its openness, the darkened area made up for in its labyrinthian pathways, countless bodies of water, and mysterious atmosphere. While the two skeletons preferred the chilly winds of the valley to the heavy, thick humidity of the darkened area, the watery location made for extremely interesting exploring.

Anytime they came to the darkened area, Sans made sure to fill up his bag with lucent gems to sell to the jeweler and mouseshroom nightlights, keeping a few for him and his brother and donating the rest to the charity workers managing food collection for the hungry. The monsters’ eyes lit up as much as the mushrooms did when they saw Sans empty his stuffed haversack of mushrooms into their donation crates the first time.

Aside from the gems and mushrooms, Sans also regularly collected reeds. He had started weaving coiled baskets during his spare time now that he had sturdy, thick thread and a tapestry needle. The baskets helped organize the pantry shelf better, and Papyrus adored the one Sans made special for him to store his tiny white bones when he wasn’t playing with them.

In addition to the reeds, they came across some parts of the darkened area that had cattails, which made Sans extremely happy, and amused Papyrus to no end.

“Wata sausage!” he had cried out gleefully when they discovered them.

Sans couldn’t help but grin at the mention of their nickname, recalling how he and his brother used to play with the cattails his mother would bring home from the lake. The brown flowers looked just like the pea sausages their mother would cook up, but tasted much more...fluffy.

Sans collected as many of the cattails as he could, not just for how great the stalks tasted in their salad, but he was collecting the brown flowers for their fluff. He had made a basket to store them in, and couldn’t wait until he had enough to make a proper set of pillows for him and his brother to sleep on, instead of the filled-up haversack they had been using for months. It would take a lot of cattails, but the darkened area was proving to provide a steady supply.

On training days, Sans would transport them to the valley corner, and they would continue improving their bone magic.

Papyrus had gotten much better with his ground attacks, and was rapidly refining his ability to create useful structures with his white bones, like platforms and stairs on the rocky walls, and beds of bones, which were almost to the point of all the bones coming up to the same height.

Sans had been trying to perfect his attack power—he was far better at rapid-fire attacks than a single strong attack. He was also attempting to learn free-hand blue bones, but, as always, it wasn’t easy for him to learn since no one was able to tell him how. However, as part of his training, he was learning to be more patient with himself, and to celebrate his successes instead of focusing on his failures, much to the joy of Papyrus.

Both skeletons also strove to become more disciplined in their training—making set amounts of targets to hit, repeating certain attack exercises over and over, and, especially for Sans, making sure that calm and focus replaced any anger or frustration. Anytime he felt the rage or aggravation rising up within him, he stopped what he was doing and took ten deep breaths, counting each one out loud—something his parents made him do when he had tantrums when he was younger—and he found that his damaging emotions left him with each exhale.

Once a week, Sans would go to the purple cavern to get food and supplies. He would teleport to the place where the masonry work area and the first brick building of the row met, since the pathway was always vacant.

He would first wind his way through the roads to reach the domed building on the opposite side of the city, which was the city’s community center. Monsters came not only to seek help with food, clothing, or items, but also to volunteer and donate. Job postings were available for anyone looking for work, such as in the many work areas throughout the city, services needed within the king and queen’s multiple projects to strengthen the city and morale, and even enlistment opportunities in the Royal Guard, as most of the soldiers had been lost in the human’s final push.

Sans would bring their inedible scraps to place in the community compost bin to be used for the crops that grew within the cavern. The bin was a small, four-wheeled, wooden cart parked just outside the domed building. It was lined with a thick, waterproof tarp, and—Sans was told—would take the compost to the large compost pile elsewhere in the city.

Sans was more than happy to give their food scraps to a good cause. He had been burying his food waste in a hole he had dug in the snow a few paces from their shelter—covered with bones and snow—since their first day. He emptied the frozen contents into the empty paper bags—which he had saved after finishing their granola and oats—and sealed the hole up for good. He then kept a small paper bag in the pantry corner on a little row of bones—to keep off the snow—next to the wood pile for banana peels, nut shells, apple cores, rotting reed stalks, and other inedible food and plant scraps.

He would then go inside the domed building, unloading his haversack filled with mouseshroom nightlights in the food donation crates as the charity workers thanked him profusely for his weekly kindness. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t much, considering the thousands of monsters who had been displaced by the war, many of whom were orphaned, injured, and without a way to support themselves. But he also knew that he was contributing food to those who might have gone without, recalling his and his brother’s joy when they discovered the mushrooms after so many nights of painful hunger.

After dropping off his donations, he would shoulder his emptied haversack and make his way to the market, visiting the jeweler first. He sold the gems he had found that week to the extremely grateful sapphire monster, and as she counted out his gold, he smiled as he saw necklaces, rings, fibulae, and more fitted with the cut-down lucent gems, glowing on their display racks throughout the shop.

Once he left the jeweler, Sans would do his shopping. He wouldn’t purchase nearly as much as he had the first time he came, needing only to replenish their pantry of items they were low on or out of. In addition to that, he would always get a bottle of milk, some cheese, loaves of bread, baby spinach, and bananas, as he only purchased enough of these to last a week so that they didn’t go bad or stale.

He rarely found a need to visit the non-food shops, as he had gotten most of what he needed on his first visit. He also wanted to limit the number of items they owned to the absolutely necessary in case they ever had to flee the shelter. Usually these market trips were dedicated for food shopping.

However, every week he ended his trip by visiting Ashen’s shop. He always made a point to purchase something from her, since she had mentioned that she used the gold to help others, and Sans thought that was an extremely kind thing to do. But mostly, he came to say hello and spend time with her. They chatted about their week, Ashen would show Sans her current knitting project, and Sans would tell her about his own crafting projects. On his third week in the cavern, he had given her a small reed basket that he had made for her.

“It’s for your knitting,” he said, shyly. “To store your yarn, needles, and stuff.”

She hugged him, giving a shudder that ruffled her grey feathers. “Thank you, Sans! I love it! That was so sweet of you to make this for me!”

She admired the basket the little skeleton had made for her. It was carefully woven, with strong, white thread stitching the coils of reeds together, and on both sides, where the braided handle met the basket, was a small yellow ribbon bow—he had found the ribbon while foraging on the torch-lit trail near the cavern ages ago—with a miniscule white bone tucked firmly in the center knot.

“Oh, my,” she gasped. “These bows are beautiful.... And yellow is my favorite color, too.”

“I thought so,” Sans grinned. “You were wearing a yellow dress the first day we met, and your knitting needles are yellow. So I used a yellow ribbon.”

Ashen hugged Sans once again, hiding her tears from him. She couldn’t bear to tell him that the reason she loved yellow so much was because it reminded her of her precious children’s feathers. She wiped her eyes on her wings without him noticing.

“Thank you for the thoughtful gift,” she said, smiling warmly at him with dried eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned happily.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she brought her new basket around the corner to put her knitting in. “I saw the toymaker who makes the teddy bears, and told him about how one of my customers was able to replace a teddy bear lost in the evacuation for his little brother—I didn’t mention your name or anything—and he was so happy! He made them on the surface for decades—that’s probably how your brother got his first bear—and wanted to keep making them down here to cheer children up. He was very pleased to hear that you were able to replace your brother’s lost teddy.”

“Aw, that’s great,” Sans smiled. “Yeah, I told my brother his bear was in here looking for him and he was so happy! He’s slept with him every night since.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Ashen sighed happily as she shuddered, her feathers rippling. “Poor little thing, has his teddy back.”

Sans purchased a blue dish towel that day to use instead of the scraps of rough cloth he had been using, and Ashen thanked him again for her beautiful basket.

Although Sans kept his hood up and his trips to the cavern brief, he never stopped looking for his father in the crowds. There were multiple times he thought he spotted him, but, every time, it turned out to be some other monster. Sans always brought a small blue bone, etched with his and his brother’s names on it, and when he visited the purple cavern, he would leave a bone down an empty alleyway for someone to find, hoping beyond hope that it would make it back to their father.

Sans would return home, spend the remainder of the day working on baskets or another craft project, then gave math, reading, and writing lessons to Papyrus before they started preparing dinner. After a delicious meal, Papyrus would have his lesson test, then the two brothers would play together until bedtime. Papyrus would snuggle up with Teddy as Sans told bedtime stories until the little skeleton started nodding off, then they settled down, tucked themselves in, and went to sleep.

The days turned to weeks quickly for the little skeletons—days filled with good food, adventure, learning, laughter, and productiveness. But most of all, the days were filled with normalcy. Peaceful, comforting normalcy.

 -

 “Ooh,” Sans breathed as they rounded the corner of yet another winding path through the darkened area. “There’s a lot of cattails here.”

“Ooh,” Papyrus chimed. “Glowey stones!”

The little area was at the base of a few small waterfalls. The cascades fed a large pool of water that split off into four waterways flowing in different directions. One of the waterways from the pool ran along their left, flowing back the way they had just come.

Two of the waterways flowed from the large pool straight towards the edge on their right, cascading off to form two more waterfalls. Sans chanced a peek over the side and gulped as he looked into the black void. He pulled back, keeping Papyrus far away from the edge. The two waterways cut through the path, just narrow enough for the two skeletons to clear in a running jump.

The last waterway ran forward around a snaking path out of their sight, probably feeding yet another body of water. Sans felt as though every body of water was somehow connected, the same water flowing through every portion of the darkened area. It was mesmerizing.

On either end, where the waterways left the area and the currents were much calmer, the cattails grew in clusters. Speckled on the walls and floor were blue and pink gems, their lights reflecting in the waters like shimmering splinters, and were the area’s only source of illumination.

“Pap, I’m going to go over there to get those cattails,” Sans said, gesturing to the clusters near where they entered. “Want to start collecting those gems? If your bag fills up before I’m done, just pile them up for me, and I’ll put them in my bag later.”

“Okay!” Papyrus smiled, happy to help. He had many gems to play with at home that he, personally and proudly, had found on their first few trips to the darkened area. He had plenty, so he started giving the ones he gathered to Sans to sell to the jeweler, which Sans thought was extremely generous of him to do. Papyrus was ecstatic to be able to help his brother get more food and supplies for them both, so he treasured being able to contribute.

Sans took a running leap back over the waterway and headed over to the start of the cattail clusters. Papyrus remained in the portion of the path sandwiched between the two waterways, which was littered with gems.

Sans took off his haversack, jacket, and shoes, then rolled up his pant legs and dipped his foot in. A chill went up his spine as he squeaked at the coldness of the water on his foot. He took a couple steps in the soft mud, and then there was nothing under his foot. He went from ankle-deep water to sinking to the bottom, chest-deep in water, in the course of a single step. He gasped sharply from the jolt of the sudden drop and the icy cold water chilling him to the bone. The mud was extremely squishy and slippery, and his light, skeletal body wanted to float. He had to dig his feet into the mud to keep himself anchored and walking straight.

“P-Pap,” he stammered, teeth chattering. “St-stay away fr-from th-the water. I-it’s too deep.”

“Okay,” his brother answered, crouched over a smattering of glowing gems, stuffing them into his little bag.

Sans waded over to the cattails and created a sharp blue bone knife. He took a deep breath and plunged down underwater, cutting the cattails off at the base of their shoots. He cut and gathered as many as he could until he needed air, then broke the surface to catch his breath and check on his brother. Then he dipped back down, cutting and gathering more.

Papyrus was having a great deal of fun finding gems. His bag was already filled up, and he had started a small pile at the edge of the path near the large pool. He laid his stuffed bag on the ground next to the pile so it didn’t weigh him down as he collected more. He stooped to pick up gems, tucking them in the crook of his arm. When he had too many in his arms to pick up more, he brought the armload over to the pile and carefully placed them down.

As he did this a fourth time, one of the pink gems fell out of his arms, bounced on the ground, and splashed into the large pool. Papyrus whimpered, unloaded his armful on the growing pile of gems, and crept to the water’s edge. He saw the gem, now stuck firmly in the soft bank mud under the water’s surface. The rippling currents made the gem’s location wave and wobble as its light shone up through the mud and water.

Papyrus tried bending over from where he stood on the edge, but the gem was too far. He carefully dipped his foot into the water bank, his shoe sinking into the gooey mud. He bent over, grunting as he struggled to reach the gem that was just out of reach. One more step should do it....

Sans broke the surface, gasping and panting for breath as he clutched the knife and bundle of cattails. He wiped the water from his eyes, blinked, and checked on his brother—watching him step into the pool with its stronger currents. He gasped sharply.

“Pap!” Sans yelled out fearfully. “Get away from the water’s edge! It’s too dangerous!”

Papyrus was bent over as far as he could, his fingers underwater, tickling the edge of the gem trapped in the mud, when he heard his brother shout. It startled him, and the mud beneath his foot gave way, causing him to lose his balance. He fell forward into the water and the current took him down the waterway leading to the edge of the area. He flailed wildly and cried out, the water too deep for his feet to reach the bottom as the current carried his extremely light, skeletal body towards the top of the waterfall.

Sans was in a panic. He dropped everything and hurried to get back on land, but the current kept trying to sweep him in the opposite direction when he pulled his feet out of the mud with each step. Why had he taken everything off him that would have weighed him down?!

Once he pulled himself up out of the water and onto the path, he stumbled with the water-to-land gravity difference as he cried out to his brother shrilly.

“Pap! Hang on!”

Papyrus was crying and choking as his head dipped in an out of the water’s surface, his arms waving madly in his panic. He was inches from the waterfall’s top, and Sans was feet away, scrambling as fast as he could in his heavy, drenched clothing. In the water, he felt like a feather being swept away—now he felt like his body weighed a thousand pounds.

Sans watched in horror as his brother was sent to the edge of the waterfall and thrust out over the cascade, just as he himself reached the waterfall, seconds too late.

“No!!!”

Sans thrust his head over the edge and raised his left hand out to Papyrus. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he half-clutched his fingers, grasping at something invisible. As Papyrus fell in midair, screaming in terror, his soul began to glow dark blue. He had plummeted down the waterfall, but he was now slowing, completely unaware in his utter fright.

Sans saw the blue glow and strained every bone in his body to concentrate on pulling his brother up. Papyrus continued falling, his speed continuing to decrease. Sans struggled to get him to rise, not even sure what he was doing with magic he had never been able to cast. Papyrus decelerated, still flailing, coughing, and crying, absolutely terrified.

Sans clenched his hand “around” his brother’s soul so tightly it hurt, and he felt pain run up his arm to his shoulder, which had been taut and strained as he tried desperately to pull his brother up. It was hard to see Papyrus now as the dimness below engulfed him, but Sans could still see his brother’s glowing blue soul.

“C’mon,” Sans grunted through teeth clenched so hard they were near shattering. “C’mon!!!”

Papyrus’ soul flickered from blue to white momentarily, then shone completely white as he fell, no longer in the grasp of Sans’ magic.

“No!!!” Sans cried out at the top of his lungs as he helplessly watched his brother fall, swallowed by the darkness of the void. “Papyrus!!!”

The sound of cascading waters and sweeping currents were all that answered the horror-stricken skeleton, kneeling over the edge that had taken his brother.

[seisshuns-a]

            *  @goldenscar​​  sends  :

       ‘ hey, ’    zoro lays his hand upon the signature straw hat, a bit more force than usual to push the hat into the other’s face before seating himself next to his captain. without waiting for any further words, he takes out a bento box of their largest size on board, neatly capped and handed to luffy —     '   happy birthday.  ’     the words were aided with a small smile, brief as he nudges the box into the other’s hands.    

                         inside the container is the normal favorite: meat !    though, maybe it isn't obvious, but it was handpicked, a set zoro found on the last island they ventured, the slices being particular to the specific location.    and, maybe something a little more obvious, was the cook behind the bento, the insides lacking the regular garnishes found in their everyday and neat decorations but instead, only consisted of 8 (his best grilled ) slices of meat with plentiful of rice and… leaves from who knows where ( that counted as veggie, right? )     ‘   they’re preparing for your banquet, so think of it as a pre-dinner snack.   ‘        ( he’s not embarrassed, no. sure, he hasn’t picked up any cooking tools in years BUT it's luffy, who loves meat and all foods – it wasn’t an inedible meal so it was a gift, successful in its intentions … oddly enough, despite this, he hoped it was special enough for the day celebrating his captain. )   

#UNEXPECTEDLYTHISGOTLONG #HAPPYBIRTHDAYKING 

     THE  GOLDEN  VISION  OF  EXUBERANCE  .              you  will  find  him  at  his  place  of  usual  leisure  .    to look beyond the ocean realm and see a world that others can only   dream  of    ——    but  he  dreams  of  it  too  ,    the grandness that awaits those   brave  enough   to reach for it  .    albeit with a twist that is   signature   to him now  ,    a badge of honor that he wears   as  proudly   as he wears all other emotions  .    it is a   constant  yearning   for adventure that has entrenched itself soul  -  deep and   bone  solid    (    an echo   /   he can almost imagine   brook’s  hearty  laugh   and peculiar humor that makes him laugh regardless  .   bone joke!)    and refuses to release its hold  .    but  above  all  else   it is the   taste  of  freedom   that leaves him giddy with a   sense  of  happiness  so  strong   he doesn’t know   what  to  do   with himself sometimes.

a  moment  such  as  now  ,    as you call for his attention and   he  offers  it  to  you   thus  ,    with affection that   flows  as  easy   as the waters below  ,    sunshine  spread  across  a  silver  platter  .    he opens his mouth to return the favour with your own name  ,    tongue  twirling  with all of two syllables   /   only to be forcibly   swallowed  back   by the pressure suddenly forced upon the straw hat that he is   ever  so  quick   to readjust  .    the  bounce  of  intuition  is  instant  ,    words forming to express the briefest of irritation at the rough treatment  :   but there is instead   a  quailing  effort  ,    if nothing else  ,    as he gazes at the play of expressions that flies across your face and the object thus   handed  forth  .

               ❛     WOAAAHHH  !    IS THAT   ——   ?!      ❜              sincerity is not a foreign concept  .    volume gives only   more  aid   to the exclamation  ,    excitement exploding from   his  very  core   with every dragging sound  .    his nose is an instrument of destruction in and of itself  ,    sensitivity  drawn  towards   only two things in existence    ——    the scent of impending thrill   /   or the aroma of   his  most  beloved  food  .    and this is undeniably the latter  ,    no  doubt  about  it  ,    grin stretching wider and   wider  and  wider   as he makes fast work of revealing the content hidden inside  .    (    a small part of him is sad that you   didn’t  actually  manage   to hide a great adventure in the box for him  .    but it is a very  ,    very  ,    very  small  part   of him that he squashes beneath the weight of his stomach  ,    suddenly  empty  of  contents   he had devoured only hours ago  .    besides  ,    there will be   heaps  of  fun   to be had at the next island  !    you’ll come along as   you  always  do  ,    won’t you  ?    )

it would not be amiss to say that   he  starts  to  inhale  the  food   that you have laid out before him  .    and there is no doubt that  it  is  you    ——    the notable   lack  of  decorum   is one thing  ,    so  used  to   eating all the fancy decorative pieces that sanji likes to make as garnish  ,    but even the layout   just  screams  you   /   bare and minimalist in a way that you are   only   when you are   actively trying  .    (    though it would be a stretch to say that the added details   would  have  made  much  of  a  difference   to him either way  ,    human garbage bin   that  he  is  .    )    appreciation is a   blooming  flower   that tucks itself shyly into the corners of his mouth  ,   pulled as they are with   bulging  cheeks  stuffed  full  .

he eats with an unusual slow pace  ,    as  if  to  savour  the  meal   that had been crafted from just as   an  unusual  source   ——   not to say that he has   never   ate your food before  .    those days spent together in   a  leaking  dingy   had brought about all sorts of   early  revelations  ,    but it has been a long while since and you and him both have   grown  in  all  the  ways  that  count  .    in between bites of nicely cooked meat and fluffy rice   he  can  taste  the  sweetest  of  nostalgia  ,    a warmth in his belly that has   little   to do with future digestion  .

                ❛     shishishi   !    thanks zoro  !     ❜

              *  IT’S LUFFY’S BIRTHDAY  !

[guidasalute]

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Individual's manner of life, sustenance inclinations, openness abilities, nibble propensities, longings, etc, should be taken into consideration when establishing a dietary structure. It's crucial that your sustenance instructor tailor made the ingestion pattern into anyone rather than having a"one-measure fits-all" approach. Once weight-loss, bring fat eating methodologies could be the ideal. For a excellent number of individuals, being over weight is a effect of a deficient amount of workout outside, a lacking life-style regular along with also an inadequately adjusted diet program.

Most fat-soluble nutrition are high in water and also low in carbs, which makes them consume less carbohydrates sustenances. Dissolvable fiber could bring cholesterol down insoluble comprises inedible strands which add bulk into our weight loss reduction plans.

A couple of experts expect health-food nuts have better grip over the off likelihood they eat a couple smaller compared to expected suppers through the whole period of daily. Exercise along with also an adjusted eating regime are the important thing considers fat weight and disputes reduction.

Normal tap water is a stand out one of the speediest weight reduction recommendations that dieticians indicate to individuals and arouses 100+ calories additional pounds daily.

A definitive suggestion to inevitable achievement: routine workout along with a adjusted eating regime. Insert a cheat day to a own eating routine to spare your self of yearnings.

Eat a solid eating regime filled with bunches of vegetables, organic products and services, and whole grain things.

Fasting: Though fasting has significant influence in afew eating regimens, it's typically not prescribed for rapid weight loss.

Surgery

Whatever the situation, for a few in this scenario, weight-loss-surgery is your principal hope. One of many soonest structures was sidestep operation. There are several sorts of operation in these times and have upsides and downsides.

There continue to be considerable dangers, however, just like with almost any substantial operation. For those people who expect surgery could be your ideal choice, counselling by having a accomplished physician is vital.

For individuals who're beefy beyond view, operation to side-step pieces of the gut and small intestine system could sometimes be the key compelling way of delivering critical and maintained weight loss.

Such weight loss operation, whatever the instance, might be dangerous, and it's completed only about patients to whom different methods have whose stoutness genuinely simplifies health. In case that violate side effects are endless and do not answer eating pharmaceutical and regime, operation may possibly become vital.

Now, most pros elect to carry out laparoscopic operation, because it's negligibly obtrusive and recuperation period is diminished.

Blaze

On the off likelihood that you just envision yourself losing pounds and absorbing carbs amid average everyday actions, you are certain to receive fit and muscle to fat quotients. Additionally, it cellularly impacts your body, attracting on fat cells to release their own put off fat to be reproduced as energy. The nutrition you take in amid daily should be emptied off during movement.

Exercise as you Diet: Weight Stress is all about reducing your caloric entrance as you increment the calories that you smolder. Eating less reduces your caloric entrance nevertheless practicing makes it possible to blaze further calories.

We as a complete understand that to reach a solid fat loss we must blaze a bigger quantity of calories daily compared to that which we now choose in. Exercise increases the metabolic speed by making muscular, which then blazes a much increased quantity of calories compared to fat.

At this time if overall practice is combined with predictable, sparking dishes, calories maintain on burning a quickened speed for a couple hours. Calories smoldered depending upon your own activity degree.

Perhaps not merely fats give an atmosphere of conclusion, eating a sufficient solid fat called omega3 polyunsaturated fats can cause your digestion strategy to purify fat each of the longer . On the offchance your weight remains stable, you're likely ingesting a single amount of calories that you smolder daily.

In the event you are gradually wearing weight after a time, then it's very likely your caloric entrance is much more prominent compared to the volume of calories that you smolder through daily by day exercises.

The number of calories we interrupts daily depends upon our basal metabolic rate (BMR), the number of calories we consume every hour essentially simply by being living and sustaining human anatomy abilities as well as also our degree of bodily movement.

Our weight like wise supposes part in deciding what number of calories we fight quite still - more calories need to keep your body up in its own present condition, the more conspicuous your own body fat loss reduction. Some body whose occupation incorporates overwhelming physiological work will really overpower a increased quantity of calories every day than some body who stays at a job area the great bulk of your afternoon (an inactive job ).

For people who do not possess jobs that require exceptional physical activity, exercise or enlarged physical movement may construct the amount of calories blazed.

To lose 1 pound, then you have to acclimate roughly 3500 calories well beyond everything you personally as of this moment smolder doing every daily exercises. Start using a calorie burning machine to generate awareness of exactly what quantity of calories that you smolder while seated, standing, training, strength training, etc. In the event you are eating fewer calories than you are fat, you are going to lose weight.

[ask-the-fanbots]

Family?

A fic between Coil (mine) and the Becile Boys and Mr. Weed (@ask-the-becile-boys)

Words: 2.4K

TW: malfunction, loss of fingers

    Hare was squatted in the alleyway, watching with only slight distress as The Jack gnawed on something inedible. Did he know what it was? No. Did he care? ...yeah. More than he'd like to admit.

    "Hey, c'mon Jacky, spit that out. Weed'll blow a gasket if he has to fix yer jaw again this week." He tried to coax the object--now identified as a brick torn from the building--from his mouth with little success. "Ow!" He hissed, inspecting the damage to his fingers. Still intact, so whatever. It was...probably time to bring Jack home.

    "Dnuor dna dnuor eht yrrebllum hsub--" He trailed off into cackling as he was gently hauled to his feet, spinning a few circles before springing up in an impressively high jump and stomping back onto the ground.

    "Ya don't say?" Hare offered casually, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he strolled alongside the giggling bot. "When we get back I'll--hey!"

    The Jack seemed to have decided he was tired of talking, because he began sprinting off without waiting on Hare to follow. The sound of his laughter drifted further off, his legs devouring the terrain ahead of him with all the gusto of an Olympian.

    "Hey, c'mon, why you gotta do this today!? We were doin' real well!" He huffed, arms pumping in rhythm with his admittedly pathetic strides. He wasn't anywhere near as fast as Jacky, but he could always hold onto the hope that the escaped kid would fall or something else'd slow him down, otherwise he'd have to try and drag Weed and the other guys out onto a Jack-hunt.

    Up ahead of him, the distant laughter cut off suddenly, replaced with a blood curdling shriek.

    "Jacky!?" Hare found a sudden reserve of speed, running faster than he'd ever gone before. It wasn't happening. Whatever he was afraid of wasn't happening! His thoughts tangled together into a web of helpless anxiety as he barreled around the corner, the manor coming into view. There he was! What was--?

    "--get off! Where'd you even come from!?" The voice was unfamiliar, as was the streak of dirty metallic grey covered by The Jack's writhing form.

    "The rocks! A lady from the floor! A candy man! The green took the lady!" The Jack was screaming as if his life depended on it, snippets of words in between snapping his jaws at the person he had pressed against the stairs.

    "What the Hell is happening out here!?" The Skull stepped out before Hare arrived, and instantly The Jack scrambled backwards, ramming headfirst into his brother. "Get outta here!" One fluid motion was all it took to haul the other person to their feet--a bot, no doubt, and a girl by the looks of it. "Hare. What happened here?"

    "We were on a walk an' he took off! Who's this?" He gestured wildly at the intruder on the steps, trying to size her up enough to get any kind of read on her and why she was here. Other bots weren't terribly uncommon to see, but ones turning up on the goddamn doorstep were.

    "Becile." She said, looking between them in a mixture of anger, disgust, and...well, a bit of hope. "He...y'know, made you?"

    "Go." The Skull shoved her back towards the street, taking another step forward before Hare waved a hand in a vague gesture to wait just a second. He shook his head, slamming the door on his way back inside. He'd have to go tell Locksmith, see if he could stop being useless just long enough to get the girl outta here. He may have been the enforcer, but if those piles of scrap metal wanted to hang around they had to do something every now and again.

    As soon as he knew Jacky was situated, Hare grabbed both he and the new lady and dragged the both of them inside. "Alright, sweetcheeks, let's talk. Why're you askin' about Pops?"

    "I was gonna ask if you couldn't see the family resemblance but thank God I ain't as ugly as you." She replied with a sneer, gesturing towards his face. Both were endowed with pointed teeth, though the woman’s were in her mouth, and between the pair of them that only managed to scrape together two eyes.

    "Wha--I ain't ugly!" Hare sputtered before leaning forward with a growl. "And you ain't family."

    The Skull pushed the two of them apart with a grimace. "We know all about his ugly mug. What we don't know is why the Hell you think you're one of us. Get talkin' or I'll throw you out whether they try to stop me or not."

    "Friendly bunch." She said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to gather her thoughts into a sensible order. "Name's Coil." She paised briefly for a reaction, but upon receiving little more than slightly angrier scowls she continued. "Green core bot."

    "...yeah? And? Chrissakes, we're gonna be rusted over before ya finish the story." Hare plunked himself down into a moth-eaten armchair, resting his chin on his fist and looking at Coil in the same manner an impatient child would look at its mother.

    A throat cleared, and the attention shifted over to the source. Locksmith was standing off to the side, fingertips drumming over the cane in his hands. "If I may interject. You claim to be our relative, and this may well be the case, but have you any evidence to substantiate this? Are we to trust you at your word? This is--how do I put it--you would be far from the first ruffian claiming to share our lineage, if one is bold enough to call it that. How do you intend to put our troubled minds at ease? Proof, as it were, is what we'd ask you to furnish us with."

    "You all see if you can keep from dyin' for the next few minutes. I'm gettin' Weed and seein' if he can sort this out. If Pops made her there'd be some kind o' mark or somethin' to tell us." Hare rose from his chair, grabbing The Jack by under the arm to lead him off. "You too, Jacky."

    After earlier he didn't feel confident that Jacky wouldn't tear the gal apart before he got a chance to get back. A couple of her fingers were already severed, and they didn't need anything else going on at the moment. That's what he told himself, at least. Truthfully he needed a walk. Somewhere to go so he could think while he got there. Pops had been a less than honest guy, but there was no way he made another entire lady without them knowing, right? Right.

    But…

    She was just as soot-covered and banged up as the rest of them, and there was somethin' that didn't sit right when he looked at her. Something too familiar.

    "Oi, Weed! Open up." Hare banged on the door with his fist, earning a growl from within. "I'm not takin' no for an answer, 's important, so get yer ass out here."

    The door cracked open, a disheveled looking Riker peering through it. "Someone better be dying, and at this point I might let 'em for a little peace around here." He smelled of alcohol, deep bruise-like shadows beneath the one eye that was visible. That wasn't unusual for him, of course, but geez he looked like--...well, not great.

    "We got a situation." Hare inched closer, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was smooth as silk. Cool as a cucumber. Nothing ever bothered him, naturally. As the tough leader an' all that it was his job to keep it together.

    Riker looked slightly more interested, but it was hard to tell with him. One brow arched almost imperceptibly higher. "What kind? I--Jesus, whose fingers are those? Who did he bite this time?" This earned a genuine reaction from him as he opened the door fully to look at the pair of tin cans that blocked his doorway.

    "Well that's the thing if you'd let me get there. We got a lady." The bot gestured vaguely, as if the weak attempt at charades would make things more clear.

    "A...lady." The engineer echoed, not any closer to understanding the situation than before.

    "A lady!" Jack confirmed, the high pitched giggles bubbling up through him against his will. "A lady from the rocks, a lady from the ground, a lady in the foyer who can't make a sound!" He sang before breaking down into hysterical laughter and snapping playfully in Weed's direction.

    "..."kay, what does that mean?" He didn't look pleased, but grabbed his tools nonetheless. If he didn't return some fingers his ass was on the line, too, and there was no way he could afford some kind of lawsuit for destruction of property or whatever they'd get charged with. Criminal proceedings were the last thing they all needed.

    "She--"

    "HEY! GET BACK HERE, YA LITTLE RAT! SHE'S YOUR PROBLEM!' Skully's booming voice echoed across the manor, and Hare cursed under his breath.

    "C'mon, I'll just show ya. Jacky? Wanna come with or head to yer room?" His hands found their way around the arm of the shaking bot, opting to guide him to his room and make sure he was secure before hustling back towards the door. "What's the--I WAS ONLY GONE A COUPLE O' MINUTES!"

    The Skull and Locksmith were standing beside the still form of Coil, the latter leaving a much wider berth. "She's your problem now. If she breaks anything it's on you. Get some answers." The Skull left with that, strolling briskly towards his own space. He didn't want her here, but he did wanna know what connection she had to the old man, if any.

    "We do seem to be in a predicament. While I can't say she's charming company, we are owed the full story, and the only one who can provide us with any insight is inactive on our flooring. A tapestry of tongues can't be woven by the mute, so I suggest our roboticist begins his work before much more time slips past us." Locksmith remained stationary, as he needn't provide them with any further room. They had ample space to operate, so for now he would observe the proceedings. Should the time come when he had to relocate, he would gladly cede further floorspace to them.

    "What do I look like, a dancing monkey? Why should I work on a bot I'm not in charge of? It’d be easier to scrap her." Despite his words, he was already kneeling to look her over. What exactly was the protocol on working on someone that wasn't yours? Especially one of the lady ones? And especially one that couldn't give him permission to take a look under the hood, so to speak?

    "She said Pops built her. Just take a look or somethin', will ya? Wake her up so we can ask ‘er a few things." Hare squatted beside Weed, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked her over. She did have the shoddy workmanship of Pops's hands, but that didn't mean much. He was overthinking this.

    "Fine, fine." Riker grumbled, undoing the buttons on the back of the dress. "You owe me, though. Next time I tell you I'm takin' a sick day, I'm taking it. No emergency repairs, no whining at the door, no nothing."

    "Yeah, sounds great. Do your thing, o mighty roboticist." Hare's tone was mocking, but there was no denying that Weed was good at his job. His ma had taught him well, apparently.

    It didn't take long before Riker was popping open an access panel, and he tossed it aside onto the carpet. "Geez! What's going on in here?" He turned aside, sneezing openly toward the rug.

    Locksmith looked utterly repulsed by this decision but held his tongue. He fished through his pocket, extending a handkerchief to the resident engineer. "Bless you, Mr. Weed. I take it our companion's interior is a bit... antiquated."

    "No kidding! When was the last time someone opened this up!?" He ignored the offer, swiping at his pointed nose with his knuckles. There was a thick layer of dust built up on every surface in the little panel, clogging everything and muffling the sound of the things that did still work. "I don't know what the last person in here did, but it looks like a toddler got a wrench and went to town. Half this stuff is straight out of a history textbook, and the other half looks like someone tried to make something out of spare parts from a dollar store."

    Locksmith withdrew the proffered cloth, tucking it back into his pocket. "I believe I'll retire to my quarters. Today has been eventful, and truthfully I have no desire to watch another uncouth display like the last one."

    Riker snorted, sparing a glance toward him. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to save a sneeze for you for next time I'm doing your repairs." He leaned back, resting in roughly the same position as Hare. After Locksmith left he turned to his companion, chewing the inside of his cheek before trying the find the right words. "You've been...quiet." It was more an invitation to speak than an observation.

    "Thinkin'." Hare was at a loss for more words than that--something Riker would have been quick to point out as the very first time had the circumstances been better. Family was a hard thing, especially for this lot. Hell, he struggled with his own family, but that was just a whole ‘nother beast.

    "For what it's worth, she's not one of ours. The marks and parts are wrong. But it does say Becile on the panel." Riker passed the piece of metal over to Hare, who inspected it carefully. Imprinted inside was the name Grace P. Becile in the standard formatting of foundry marks. Becile…

    "Pops never talked about a Grace. Think she's connected to Buster? Don't know that we really know where he came from neither." He handed it back to Weed, who set to work securing it back in place. She twitched under his tools, so it'd only be another minute or two until she came to.

    "You'd know better than me." Riker shrugged, wiping his hands off on a rag and stretching.

    "I'll go get Skully to carry her out." Hare jerked a thumb towards the front door, his other hand on his hip. "But uh...hey Weed. While you're out, keep an eye on her. If you see her. Don't go outta yer way or nothin'." His hand migrated to rub the back of his neck as he cleared his throat. “I gotta go back to my room. I'll see you later."

    "Right. I'll see you later." Riker watched him go before sighing and gathering up his tools. Keep an eye out...yeah, he could do that.

[fullregalia]

chef’s kiss (from daddy).

Like a sad sack Kendall jonesing for something better than park coke, I am already missing the presence of Succession in my life and so blogging and discovering the Vanity Fair podcast will have to stave off my season finale withdrawal. Upon listening to Slate Money’s Succession podcast season finale episode with guest Tamar Adler, I felt like I wanted to think more about the role of food in the show in general. “Thank you for the chicken” may just be the most iconic Tom Wambsgans line Succession has had so far, and there are so many (uncut) gems to choose from (“Just checking the till here, Mark, and it seems you're short a few million,” and who could forget this poetry: “king of edible leaves--his majesty, the spinach.”) The way the show traffics in excess, while also showing us how the Roys eat, but are never truly nourished, is a fascinating lens through which to see how these characters live. [Ed. note: I started writing this all the way back in October, and got sidetracked with school--in the interim, Eater published a great article ranking the dinner scenes in the show.]

If you were to ask me what the stand out food scene in season one is, I’d immediately answer Tom and Greg’s dinner with the ortolan course. It’s such a nouveau riche flex (but maybe it’s an old money flex too? I don’t hang out with ortolan eaters of any socioeconomic status!) and a silly one at that, but it’s fitting that Tom and Greg--of “you can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs” fame--are the ones to make a big deal over an elaborate dinner, because they’re the outsiders. While many of the show’s episodes are centered on a grand meal as set piece, it shows how commonplace formal, catered dinners are for the Roys. When you’re a billionaire, going out to dinner is probably more of a nuisance if you could just eat something decadent prepared for you in your own home.

By season two, it’s almost as if every episode plays some sort of food-as-metaphor role as the grand meals function as plot points more frequently. From episode one, “Summer Palace,” we start off with Logan trashing an entire seafood feast to order a bunch of pizzas (that don’t even get touched) at their Hamptons house. To the Roys, this kind of waste doesn’t upset anyone, and what’s even more interesting is Logan is totally fine with the idea of ordering pizzas. This weird highbrow/lowbrow liminal space that the Roys occupy is so fascinating to me. Billionaires are out of touch and weird, sure, but they act so artificially chummy, like the way Nan Pierce presents herself, for instance. While rationally I understand Logan demanding that his staff order a bunch of pizzas, I also cannot imagine a billionaire being like, “order a bunch of pizza instead of this lobster!!” (Clearly this is a bit of shades of Warren Buffet garbage palate happening here, billionaires: they’re just like us! #wealthtax.) 

But Logan is in no mood to waste neither food nor time in episode three, when they all go hunting and we are introduced to the world’s most insane Exterminating Angel cosplay also known as Boar! On! The! Floor! (!!!) No sausage gets left behind as this dinner party devolves into yet another opportunity for Logan to humiliate and belittle his family and colleagues. As Troy Patterson notes of Logan Roy, he’s carnivorous in every way. Lest you forget, though, the Roys love their beverages more than they appreciate food, and in this episode Connor introduces us to hyperdecanting and Logan views Roman out of touch with the common man because he can’t say how much a gallon of milk costs. Another highbrow/lowbrow moment: this season has made the clash of Logan’s upbringing with his children’s lifelong privilege much more of a thematic presence. (Do we think Shiv has ever ordered pizza delivery? She has worked on political campaigns, but strikes me as a “no thanks, I don’t have time for lunch” kind of staffer.)

Food waste runs in the Roy family, it seems. There’s this funny little moment when Roman goes to management training, picks up a sad looking danish, takes a bite, is disgusted, and puts it back. Oh Romulus, you are such a jerk, but I love your weird ways. One of the things I noticed this season about Roman on his “leadership journey” was that he seemed to teetotal more and more--perhaps as a result of witnessing his brother’s substance abuse issues--it seems as though as he becomes increasingly serious about taking over the job of CEO, he’s been drinking more Perrier and green juice.

As the season continues, the meals keep coming: when the Roys dine with the Pierces at Tern Haven, Nan has this bizarre moment of performative hostess mode when she presents a roast her housekeeper made to the guests as her own? It was such a weird scene, and so telling of who Nan Pierce is: she loves to appear as a homespun, generous person, but clearly is not just a “simple billionaire” who gets her hands dirty in the kitchen. The façades continue to crumble as the evening goes on as the Roys snap at one another, though somehow the disastrous dinner isn’t enough to halt the deal from happening (yet). It takes a weekend in Argestes, with lunches not eaten and dinners walked out on, for that deal to fall apart.

While the big set pieces of season two’s grand dinners reveal to us the cruel and illusory tendencies of our characters, the most revealing--and effective--use of food (or lack thereof) was Shiv and Roman’s visit to their mother in “Return.” We know that the younger Roys’ mother is cold, but in this episode we see just how withholding she is. Before we get to Lady Caroline’s, Roman makes a joke about eating muddy trout and filling up on mustard; on the plus side, we have a funny scene at a convenience store with Roman and Shiv looking completely confused by how normal people snack. It’s clear that Caroline does not have a healthy relationship with food--Harriet Walter says that was part of her backstory for the character--and she serves them pigeon with shot and feather not cleaned off. She cannot nourish her children, literally or emotionally. (lol at my *extremely incisive* commentary and psychoanalysis.) Later in the evening, while talking to Kendall in the kitchen, she cannot bring herself to have a heart-to-heart with him. In the New York Times’ review of the episode, Noel Murray says: “That’s one powerful symbol for life as a Roy. One parent hollers for protein. The other serves inedible meat.” These rich kids just can’t catch a break from their parental nightmares!

Succession shows its characters’ damage through their total lack of intimacy or vulnerability. It is not your usual HBO show with gratuitous nudity; besides Roman and Gerri’s .... situation, there’s not really sex on this show. The only way that the Roys derive pleasure is from money and the flashy status symbols that come with it (hello, mega yacht!). The scenes with food become the most emotional because it’s the closest they get to physical or emotional closeness in many ways. But the Roys don’t do emotional closeness; I think one of the cruelest--and funniest--examples of this is when Shiv, Tom, Roman, and Tabitha have dinner together and all Shiv and Roman can do is dunk on Tom for his bad suits (Roman: “You look like a divorce attorney from the Twin Cities,” and: “I’m sorry but like, what the fuck? You look like a Transformer. What’s wrong with your body, man?”).

All this brings me to the denouement of Season 2, in which we also reach the apex of Tom’s frustration with his terrible in-laws mistreatment of him, and the aforementioned “thank you for the chicken” line. First: Logan Roy is out here on a MEGA YACHT eating a chicken wing with some big Ricky Rozay wingstop energy. Second: Tom cannot bring himself to confront Logan, even if he finally vented his frustrations to Shiv; all he can do is stuff his face (it’s not love, Tom!! I learned the hard way!!!) and walk away. Third: all the yacht meal scenes are great--just a complete pile-on of courtiers backstabbing and badmouthing each other (Tom calling Karl a “sausage thief”) with a few genuine moments of emotional honesty. Connor drinks wine at breakfast. Greg, accustomed to quaffing rosé, fears he will be sprinkles on the sundae of a Tom sacrifice. Roman defends Gerri! The look Roman and Kendall exchange when the sacrifice is made. Roman, who is “widely known as a terrible person,” in general becoming the MVP of the latter half of the season, even asks to talk to his siblings “normally.” A request that they summarily mock him for. Succession season finales have major “Water, water, every where / Nor any drop to drink” vibes. 

We end the season with Kendall giving daddy Roy a (Judas) kiss after a figurative last supper on the boat, and what’s next is ripe for further scenes of familial drama. Let’s hope there’s similarly rich protein for us in Season 3, I’m already hungry for more.

[sailclothofthefirstship]

Anora

Anora is the largest nation in the The West Wind Archipelago, a prosperous trading port of call that is an important of the Highland Empire. A tributary of House Ranath, the Imperials married themselves into the royal family four centuries ago and have maintained a significant presence on the island ever since. Until recently, this arrangement was mutually beneficial. Anora was wealthy enough that the tribute demanded did not overly tax its inhabitants, and the presence of the Imperial Navy meant the island was safe from raiders and pirates. Even far-flung villages in West Wind were questionable targets, as no pirate captain wanted to risk the wrath of the Imperial fleets. Like most native populations in the far West, Anora's people are the product of God-Blooded tampering. Native Anorans typically have bronze skin, blue (sky or ocean-colored), black, or brown hair, and green or blue eyes, though it's not unusual to see Anorans of mixed or Imperial blood, as travelers arrive on the capital island from all over the world. Many of the Imperial families living on Anora have been there for centuries and have effectively been naturalized, most of them never having seen the Highlands. Anora's chief exports are pearls, mangoes, and coconuts. However, their most important tribute to the Empire is a luxury product called palmeru oil. The palmeru, a type of tropical fish, are abundant in the The West Wind Archipelago, and all attempts to cultivate a native population elsewhere in the world have thus far failed. Palmeru are not inedible, though they have tough flesh and their taste is bland and flat. Their true value lies in the oil that can be pressed from their bodies, which softens the hair and gives it incredible luster and shine. It is considered an essential part of the Imperial beauty regimen for both men and women, and past shortages have created an uproar in the Highlands. The catching, sorting, and pressing of palmeru fish, as well as the manufacture of palmeru oil, is Anora's main industry and the source of the island's great wealth. However, citizens of Anora also farm, fish, hunt, cut stone, and weave. In addition to the Imperial Navy, there is a small standing army of native Anorans, personally loyal to the Queen. However, their main function of this force is disaster relief and peacekeeping between native Anorans who do not wish for Imperial involvement in their business. Anora (and the surrounding islands) are very poor in metal, and there are no significant mining efforts anywhere in West Wind. Most of the metal in use in Anora was imported from Valdinor. About fifteen years ago, new techniques made pearl diving profitable, and now three pearl companies have their headquarters in the Anoran capital. Fish, squid, rice, mangoes, and coconuts are staple foods on Anora. Imperials introduced chickens and ducks to the The West Wind Archipelago two centuries ago, and several modern recipes are considered 'native' despite incorporating eggs or poultry. Most Anorans consider eating whole palmeru to be garbage food, though the paste that is a by-product of the oil extraction process has a savory taste that makes it useful in some dishes. Traditional Anoran families eat communal meals, though important or wealthy Anorans often have two tables or eating areas in their home, to accommodate the sensibilities of Imperial guests. Human slavery is illegal on Anora, though the island has no shortage of Alchemical servants and laborers, most of them in the service of one Imperial family or another. Taku Iti The West Wind island closest to Anora, Taku Iti is one of the few truly non-Imperial nations in the world, having seceded from Anora seventy years prior to AR 999. They attribute their independance to a steadfast resistance to Imperial expansion, but in reality, their island is difficult to approach in Imperial ships and they have nothing worth taking. There is some tension and jealousy between Taku Iti and Anora, with the people of Taku Iti seeing the Anorans as pampered Imperial lapdogs and the Anorans seeing the people of Taku Iti as dangerous, unpredictable rebels who want what they have. The Bluegill Holdout A pirate enclave, Bluegill is home to a dangerous clan of God-Blooded. Distressed by their thinning blood, the Bluegill Clan took to mixing with monsters from the bottom of the sea in order to maintain their divine and sorcerous might. The results were enormously successful but... disquieting. Thoroughly evil and deeply insane, the Bluegill Pirates were the scourge of the West Wind Archipelago, Rael, and even Thalis (carrying out a number of bold raids on the mainland’s coastal cities) before the Imperial Navy broke the back of their fleet and forced them back into their hidden enclaves. The Ocean Shrine Supposedly the location where a member of the Pantheon departed Asharin, the Ocean Shrine is an immensely holy site and most adults go on pilgrimages there at least once in their lives. It is the furthest corner of the world to which civilization extends, and according to legend, beyond the Shrine, the Great Western Ocean extends forever. While Imperial and Anoran scholars both claim the planet is round, no ships that have sailed beyond the Western horizon have ever returned. Thalis Directly across the sea from Anora is Thalis, an Imperial state that most Anorans are referring to when they say 'the mainland'. A coastal nation, Thalis and Anora have been on good terms for centuries, and there is no history of conflict or violence between the two countries. Even 'well-traveled' Anorans have seldom gone further inland than Thalis, a narrow nation whose landmass stretches along the coastline like a ribbon, about three thousand kilometers from north to south. Visitors and merchants from Thalis are common in Anora, and Thalis' primary industry is energy. The nation is home to hundreds of energy and mana-generating constructs from the Age of Wonders. Most of these no longer function without human intervention, and the majority of the population is employed in monitoring and maintaining them to serve Imperial interests. The second largest industry is, of course, farming. Rael Far north of Anora is Rael, a heavily militarized nation perched atop the Godscar Tertius and under the command of the First Imperial Princess (after whom the island is named). Rael's primary industry is the manufacture and distribution of Alchemical servants, and the process is a secret so valuable to the Empire that the island is heavily guarded. Even the Imperial Navy can't approach without special permission, and the Princess is quick to deal with any security threat with a heavy hand.

[walkerismychoice]

Cooking Lessons (Jax X MC)

Book: Bloodbound

Rating: PG-13 (Some suggestive language)

Summary: Jax wants Lexi to learn how to cook so she doesn’t always have to rely on him or take-out.

Word Count: 1371

Tag list:  Tag List: @alanakusumastan @boneandfur @damienazariostan@tmarie82 @simplyaiden-blog @lorirwrites @christopher-powell @enmchoices  @debramcg1106  @fairydustandsarcasm @ladynonsense @foghedgehog @lizeboredom @lazychic28, @confessionsofabrokegirl

Lexi walked in the door after another long night at work. She'd expected to smell the aroma of one Jax's master chef-like creations wafting through the air the moment she stepped inside, but that was not the case. Instead of food sizzling on the stove, the apartment was relatively silent. She looked over to see Jax sitting on the couch reading a book.

"Hi Jax." Lexi bent down to give him a quick peck on the lips. A surprised yelp escaped as Jax brought her down onto his lap, kissing her deeply.

He pulled back with a smile. "I missed you today."

"I missed you too, but I'm also starving. Any reason you didn't make dinner for me today? Not that I think you should have to have dinner ready and on the table every time I come home or anything, but you've kind of set the precedent. I have high expectations now." Lexi teased.

Jax chuckled. "I know, I've been letting you off too easy. I'm worried you'd waste away if I wasn't here to feed you."

"What do you think I do when we're not together? I got along just fine before you came into the picture, thank you."

"Lexi, you cannot survive off of take-out alone."

"Sure I can." Lexi smirked. "This is New York. My take-out options are limitless." Jax tilted his head and frowned disapprovingly. "Fine. Are you going to teach me to cook then? Last time you barely let me help you. I couldn't even cut the vegetables to your liking."

"We didn't have much time then. Now we have all the time in the world." Jax kissed her forehead. "I can be patient."

Lexi hopped up. "Well, some of us aren't immortal and need food to survive, so let's hurry up and get going." Jax shook his head, his lips curving upward into a smile as he followed her into the kitchen.

Jax revealed they would be making Yakisoba with chicken, a Japanese stir-fry he had prepared several times for Lexi because she liked it so much. It seemed simple enough. Jax got to work gathering the vegetables, chicken, noodles, and other ingredients. Lexi selected a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge and poured them each a class. "Cooking is more fun when you drink."

Jax took a sip of his wine. "I'm not sure how you would know that, seeing as I always cook while you just sit and watch me with a glass of wine in hand."

"I'm pretty sure we've established that's because you are a control freak in the kitchen and probably don't even trust me to make toast without burning it." Lexi backed Jax up against the counter kissing him slowly, slipping her tongue past his lips still cool and sweet from the wine. She thought maybe she could feel a hint of his arousal before he spun out of her grasp.

"If you think I'm falling for that, you have another thing coming. You can't use your irresistible charms to get out of cooking this time."

Lexi turned her expression into a mock pout. "Okay, okay. What's first?"

Jax reached for a bag on the counter. "I bought these for you." Lexi pulled out the contents to reveal a set of colorful knives. "Every chef needs a good set of knives."

"Thank you Jax. That's very sweet of you. I'm going to pretend it's not just because you don't want me using yours."

"Of course not...well maybe a little. I am a bit protective of my knives. But I also wanted you to have your own now that you'll be cooking more."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. This may turn our completely inedible causing you to banish me from the kitchen once an for all."

"I'm watching you, Lexi." Jax narrowed his eyes but couldn't keep a grin off his face. You better not not mess up just to get out of future cooking duties."

"Who me? Never. Lexi laughed and then grabbed a carrot from the counter, placing it on her cutting board with knife in hand.

"Wait. Watch me first," Jax instructed.

Lexi rolled her eyes. She couldn’t decide if she found this side of Jax annoying or endearing. "How hard can it be to cut a carrot? Never mind, I remember the last time. I'd hate to have inadequately cut vegetables.”

"Lexi, it may not seem like a big deal, but you need a consistent size and thickness to ensure proper texture once cooked. Jax proceeded to cut up a carrot with superhuman speed and precision. "See, even even slices. Now you try."

"Once again, I think you are forgetting I'm human. I don't have special vampire ninja knife skills like you. Slow it down a bit for me please?" Lexi asked.

"Sorry." Jax smiled bashfully. "Sometimes its hard to remember how to do things normally." He took another carrot and showed her step by step. "Make sure to keep the tip of the knife down and keep your fingertips of of the way like this." After he finished, he placed the knife in her hand properly and gave her the go ahead. He assessed her work and nodded approvingly. "Not bad. Now do you know how to boil noodles?"

Lexi glared at him. "You think I've never boiled noodles before? I've only made Kraft Mac N Cheese about a million times. It was a staple for me and Lily"

Jax shuddered. "I thought only kids ate that crap. Sorry, not a fan but you can keep eating it...when I'm not around."

"Anyway, yes, I think I can handle boiling noodles...jerk." She punched him in the shoulder playfully and they both laughed. They worked together preparing the rest of the meal. She could tell Jax had to hold back from jumping in and taking over several times, but he was a great teacher and she felt pretty confident her dish was turning out well. After all the components were cooked, she tossed it all together in the pan, and it looked almost as good as when Jax made it himself. She plated it up and they sat down at the table for the moment of truth. “Ready to grade your student, Jax?

“At least you don’t have to worry about food poisoning when you are already dead,” Jax joked.

“Oh you hush. Just try it, Jax.” Lexi’s stomach rumbled. “Well if you don’t want to try it first, I will. I need food right now. “She stabbed some chicken and vegetables and twirled the noodles around her fork." The vegetables we soft yet slightly crunchy, the chicken was tender, and the noodles were cooked perfectly. The flavor of the dish was just like she remembered when Jax made it, savory with a hint of heat. "Mmm, I think my first lesson was a success."

Jax followed and put some into his mouth. Lexi waited impatiently for his verdict. "If you were trying to get out of more cooking lessons in the future, you failed. This is delicious. I can hardly tell the difference between yours and mine."

"Well I did have an amazing instructor, so it was difficult to go wrong." Lexi leaned across the table to give Jax another quick kiss. “Maybe next time I can try something on my own.” Jax made a face at the suggestion. “Hey don’t you have any faith in me? I’m a quick learner.”

“That you are. I suppose, like I said, I’m already dead so your cooking can’t kill me.”

Lexi threw a piece of chicken at Jax’s head, but instead he easily caught it in his mouth. “Damn you and your vampire reflexes. I was trying to hit you with that.”

“Okay, I’ll be nice. I would hate for you to deny me dessert.” Jax winked at Lexi.

“Oh, are we baking together now too?” Lexi asked earnestly.

Jax shook his head. “That’s not quite what I meant.” Their plates nearly empty, Jax scooped her up out of her chair, whispering in her ear as he carried her to the bedroom. “You taste sweeter than any dessert I’ve ever had.” Lexi was certain whatever Jax had planned would be much more fun than baking.