#peas pass the salt

[freshcelerysticks]

me: who the hell invented mint peas like they're so impractical, they don't do anything for your breath and they go mushy if you keep them in your pocket

everyone else at the wedding:

[mycological-mariner]

All the fun hobbies require me to be in some kind of physical pain, I just wanna wave swords around in peace, man, not sit out when my heart isn’t pumping or just push through when my knee is screaming. Madness I say.

[nevadancitizen]

-> PROLOGUE: THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA

synopsis: you meet with a mysterious woman on an old californian dock.

word count: ~850

ships: Arthur Morgan/modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: inspired by @heart-of-gold-outlaw !! go read their modern reader fic i really like it. also we'll be getting into the actual time travel stuff after this teaser lololol :3

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

It’s a bracing, misty evening – supposed to be spring, but doesn’t feel like it. The waves are choppy and the gulls are huddled on the pylons with their beaks tucked under their wings, their feathers ruffling in the cold wind. 

Three hulking great ships, all freighters, are tied up on the beat-up dock. This isn’t one of those fashionable wharfs with dockworker unions or passenger liners – no pretty girls on their balconies, clinking champagne flutes to celebrate the start of the cruise. Just a couple of red-faced salts in pea jackets tramping by, trailing cigarette smoke, boots crunching on dried-up gull shit.

They spare you glances as they pass by, surely wondering what you were doing here in the early hours of the morning. Were you waiting for someone to get off work? Were you waiting for a drug deal? Or were you just admiring the way the waves spray water onto the dock?

(In reality, it was none of those. You’re waiting on something much worse.)

A woman, sleek and modern in style and rugged and worn in looks, approaches you. She has a quiet intensity about her — something about the way she squints against the ocean spray mixed with the permanent-looking scowl on her face. 

She tilts her head toward you, and you nod. You walk towards her and meet her halfway, leaning in close on her insistence. 

“You’re the one in need?” She asks softly. You just barely hear her over the waves crashing against the dock.

“Yes, ma’am,” you say, just as soft. “It’s my sister’s daughter. My eleven-year-old niece. She’s… she’s in a really bad way.”

“What does she need?” The woman asks. 

“A pancreas,” you say. “She’s got acute recurrent pancreatitis. There aren’t a lot of affordable child-sized organs lying around. God knows I’ve turned not just California, but the entire Mojave upside-down trying to find one. I’ve called hospitals in Arizona, Nevada, even New Mexico. I – I’m not asking you to kill a child! I just… I need the money for the operation. It’ll put her on the waiting list, and… once we show the hospital we have the money, I’m sure she’ll be okay. Somehow.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you just take out a loan? Or take on debt?”

“I can’t,” you say. “None of us can. I foreclosed on my last house. My sister has thousands of dollars in credit card debt, counting all the interest. Please, just trust me when I say I need this money. I don’t think anyone has nearly half a million dollars in their junk drawer. If I did, why would I be here, asking you for it?”

The woman looks you over and tucks her jacket closer around her. The outline of a gun at her hip becomes glaringly obvious – she wants you to notice it.

“Ma’am, I’m begging you.” You clasp your hands together as tight as you can. “I come from a family of deadbeats and addicts. I was an addict myself, and I quit just to save money for her operation, but it’s just not enough. I need this money. I won’t misappropriate these funds – won’t use them to pay off other debts, won’t use them for drugs. Just… please, miss.”

The woman holds up her hand. “Stop groveling.”

What the fuck else am I supposed to do?! You shout in your head. I need money, and you’ve got the money! My niece is going to fucking die if I don’t get it!

Instead, you just nod politely and put your hands behind your back. “Yes, ma’am. My apologies. I’m sure you can understand my desperation.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman hums. “I can get you the money. Just give me your banking details and I can wire it to you.” 

You pull out a pre-prepared index card with your bank information written down. The woman checks that it has your full name, address, account number, and routing number before speaking again.

“Do you have life insurance?” She asks, as if offhandedly.

“Uh, yes?” You say, unsure. “It won’t come out to a lot, so I couldn’t have an “accident” at work. Maybe just under 200,000 dollars? Nowhere near enough to cover her operation.”

The woman hums and tucks the card into her pocket. “I’ll get you the money.”

“Thank you so, so much,” you say. “You have no idea what this means to me – no idea what you’ve done for me and my family.”

“I have some idea.” The woman’s hand lingers at her waist. It takes you a few seconds too long to notice that –

A loud sound. A raging pain. The bullet hit something vital, but doesn’t grant you the mercy of dying in that instant. 

You stagger back, holding yourself. “What…”

“You’re dumber than you look,” the woman says, her voice fading in and out. “I’m just helping your family.”

You inhale shakily and take a step back. There’s a sense of falling, and something cold surrounds you, but you can’t make out much of anything in this condition. 

The last thing you think before the black takes you? It’s May. Who the fuck gets shot in May?

[mikavlcs]

Blonde

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: Despite being opposites, your and Wednesday’s relationship is great. There’s only one problem: you’re not very smart. 

Warnings: you’re stupid, a (bad) attempt at comedy, ooc!wednesday but you guys should be used to that

Word count: 1.1k

Notes: someone asked for a story about a dumb, bubbly reader, i tried my best to deliver. so i hope the anon that requested this enjoys<3

Masterlist

Wednesday had never understood the phrase “opposites attract.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She understood what it meant in a scientific context. Two like magnetic poles repel each other but opposite poles attract. Thus is the Force of Attraction. But she could never grasp what the laws of magnetism had to do with romantic relationships.

Until she met you.

She was introduced to you, rather hesitantly on her part, by Enid. You and Enid were twin flames, two peas in a pod, soul sisters—and all the other stupid phrases Enid used to describe your bond. 

You and Enid were inseparable which meant that you were virtually inescapable for Wednesday.

And she hated it at first—hated you, at first. You were similar to Enid personality-wise, but somehow you managed to be even more bubbly and upbeat than her living rainbow of a roommate.

Wednesday couldn’t stand the way you were always smiling, always waving at and greeting people in the halls or the quad. She despised the way you always complimented everyone around you, including Wednesday. She loathed the fact that your giggles were a constant presence in her life now. And most infuriatingly, she hated the fact that nothing she ever said could phase you.

None of her subtle jabs, scathing insults, or even her most vile threats could dampen your spirits. You were unbreakable in your vivaciousness and in a weird way, she respected that.

But over time, Wednesday came to realize that it wasn’t hatred that brewed in her gut whenever you smiled at her. It wasn’t disgust that painted her cheeks a nearly imperceptible shade of red when you complimented her.

No, it was something else. Something downright reprehensible.

Wednesday…liked you.

She was positively repulsed at first (and to a degree, she still was) but she begrudgingly accepted these feelings and even embraced them when you confessed to experiencing the same terrible affections for her.

So over the months, she got used to your cheerfulness. She adapted to your compliments, your hugs, handholding, cheek kisses, and all the other sickening forms of affection you showed her.

(She would never, under any circumstances admit it, but she dared to say that she even began to enjoy them. Disgusting.)

The only problem she had was that you were…well…not the smartest. Like, at all.

It honestly astounded Wednesday how inept you could be at times. One time in class the teacher was showing a documentary about cavemen and about twenty minutes in, you leaned over and whispered, “How did they get the cameras back there if they hadn’t been invented yet?”

Wednesday could only stare.

She had been cooking with you once, teaching you how to make a traditional Addams family recipe and it called for a pinch of salt. You turned and, completely serious, asked, “Do the measurements of a pinch vary by hand size?”

It was one of the very few times in her life that Wednesday had been rendered completely speechless.

There were other, smaller things you said in passing sometimes that baffled her.

“Wednesday, if you eat peanuts really fast it tastes like peanut butter!”

“Hey, Wen, wouldn’t it be cool if Halloween was on Friday the 13th this year?”

“Wednesday, how do the birds not get confused during daylight savings time?”

It was truly mystifying.

Wednesday couldn’t help but wonder if her insults only never affected you because you simply didn’t understand them.

Surprisingly though, your intellectual inferiority was not a deal breaker for Wednesday. She usually prided herself on not wasting her time with what she deemed the lesser of her species, but with you it was different.

She would even say that, at times, she found it…somewhat cute.

(She shivered in despair the first time she caught herself mentally using that revolting word. The effect you had on her was truly disparaging.)

But that didn’t stop it from being bewildering and even worrying at times, no matter how comical it could be.

Wednesday figured that she would one day happen upon you endangering your life in some way—not on purpose, but because you simply didn’t even realize that you were doing something unsafe.

And, well, she was right.

-

Saturdays were quickly becoming Wednesday’s favorite day of the week.

The two of you had a tradition where you would go to the Weathervane every Saturday morning for a coffee outing then spend the rest of the day in Jericho together. You insisted on calling them “Saturday coffee dates” which Wednesday never approved of, but she didn’t have the heart to tell you to stop.

Like usual, Wednesday went to pick you up from your dorm but, unlike usual, you didn’t answer.

A pang of worry crept up in her stomach, but she pushed it down, deciding to search your dorm to see if you were around anywhere. And indeed, you were.

She found you in the small dorm kitchen. You looked to be fiddling with something—a toaster maybe—and Wednesday went to greet you but you moved over, granting her full view of what was happening. Wednesday’s eyes widened at the sight before her.

You were trying to get something out of the toaster…with a metal fork.

Wednesday immediately ran over and snatched the fork out of your hands. “What are you doing?”

“I-My toast is stuck. I was trying to get it out,” you explained slowly, glancing back and forth between Wednesday and the toaster.

“With a fork?!” She nearly shouted.

“…Yes?” You sounded genuinely perplexed by the panic Wednesday was displaying. Wednesday heaved a sigh.

“Listen,” she began slowly, “you can’t put metal in the toaster because it could cause a short circuit. If that happens, you will get an electric shock or even start a fire. It is extremely dangerous.”

Your eyes widened in realization, mouth dropping open as you leaned your head back. “Ohhhh, yeah I forgot about that.”

Wednesday said nothing, her disbelieving gaze boring into you. You shrunk.

“I-um, thank you. For stopping me,” you sputtered and looked away, cheeks darkening in shame. Against her will, Wednesday’s demeanor softened.

“You’re welcome. Now, how about you leave that,” she looked pointedly at the toaster, “here and I will buy you something to eat at the Weathervane.”

You brightened up instantly. “Really?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t serious about it.”

Wednesday felt her lips tug upwards at the way you clapped in excitement.

“Let’s go!” you squealed, your prior shame forgotten as you dragged Wednesday out of the kitchen by the hand.

Wednesday noted how you didn’t drop her hand once you entered the hall, instead interlacing your fingers together while you gleefully greeted every student that passed. The smaller girl was busy glaring at the people you greeted (a balancing act) when you looked back at her.

“I know I’m not the brightest knife in the drawer, but you still love me,” you giggled as you skipped down the halls, swinging your intertwined hands happily.

Wednesday couldn’t even bring herself to correct you.

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Yesss please sam drake food/eating hcs?? Fave meals, hated meals, etc

It is with great joy and great belatedness that I post my first Uncharted piece in ages. Thank you for the lovely ask, anon. :)

⋆ Sam Drake - Eating Headcanons ⋆

Two words: scarcity mindset.

After running away from Saint Frances’s, to claim money was tight is to be telling some humorous bit, Money was borderline non-existent. And as such, came what the Drake boys do best: theft. 

Liquor stores were their easiest, and most consistent source. Sam still takes great pride in telling his many stories revolving around ‘cashier meet-cutes’ disguising their proudest heist to date: a 12-year-old Nathan smuggling canned goods under a moth-holed hoodie. 

Because of this, gas station snacks: twinkies, Lays chips, slurpees, etc. all tend to give him this simultaneous sense of nostalgia and nausea. Like when you’re eating eggs and all of a sudden, your body gags on the next bite.

But on an especially shitty day, expect him to be gobbling a Big Gulp and a half-frozen hot dog on the nearest street corner, with a half-smoked cigarette still sunken between his lips. It’s the way he wallows. 

Secretly wants you to tell him how bad that shit is for him so he has an excuse to snottily spat back “who the ‘ell cares?”. He finds pride in not caring about anything. (He cares about everything.)

Getting fast food at the drive-thru? Man waves you off a total of three times claiming he doesn’t want nothing before proceeding to eat half of your McNuggets without asking. He loves BBQ sauce and needs Tabasco on everything like it’s his will to live.

Big fan of spicy, sour, and tart, anything that makes your mouth pucker. Pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, cottage cheese, pickles, pineapple (😉). “What can I say? I admire a fruit that fights back!” — he snorts before taking a raw bite of a lemon, just to squirm you out.

Maybe a bit of the masochist in him. 

When he and Nate were able to get proper gigs (12-year-old Nathan: illegally, of course), they were able to progress to the simplest of grocery outlet options. Eggs, instant ramen packets, canned vegetables that were 9 out of 10 times eaten raw out of the can with a fork, and more nothing-but-toast-for-dinner than they’d want to admit).

Sam and Nate spent most of their childhood eating their dad’s scrambled eggs and microwaved peas. When their mom passed, and dad released them to the state, Sam decided he’d only ever eat over-easy again.

Nate still chooses scrambled. He asks for cheese and green onions to split the difference, but always ends up only eating half of it before the memories come too strong and he has to push his plate away. 

QUICK eater. MESSY eater. And I mean quick and messy. 

Will use as minimal cutlery as possible, and if disposable, even better.

A scooper. Tends to be a chronic careless spiller with how frequently he tries to funnel all the last crumbs into his mouth, how quickly he chugs even a glass of water. (Most shirts of his are stained as a result.)

Tends to wait till the last possible moment to eat or drink anything. Breakfast basically doesn’t exist to him. 

Spills more beverage down his chin and shirt than his mouth (but a wet t-shirt certainly isn’t the worst thing to happen. Especially not to Samuel Drake. ;)

Pizza order: Meat Lover’s with extra sausage. Maybe some green bell peppers when he finally compromises with Nate during movie night.

Never, ever orders (well, non-alcoholic) drinks when eating out. And only water when he finally lets himself cave. Otherwise, he’s stealing sips from the nearest patron’s Jarrito bottle (his favorite is Tamarind).

Doesn’t bother cleaning up his fruit peels or peanut shells, even around others. That shit’s going on the floor without a second look.

Surprisingly, a king and natural on the BBQ. Despite having so little in their childhood, Sam still tried to go hard on the holidays for Nathan’s sake. Fourth of July is still Nate’s favorite holiday exclusively because of Sam’s public park-smoked ribs and the long, bumpy motorcycle ride up the highest hill in whatever city they were currently loitering in, just to see the fireworks. 

A dive bar master. Nate always orders whatever grease-covered appetizer they got in the back. Sam purposely keeps his stomach empty so there’s more room for whiskey. (Since nobody asked, incredible at pool, and will offer any woman in a twenty foot circumference a lesson. Cue the leaning chest over back, cue stick fantasy.)

A love language that was a total surprise to him is his partner cooking/baking something just for him, especially if it’s from scratch. Gets that rare, soft look in his eyes as he watches them carefully place each steaming plate onto the table. And trust, he’s not looking at the food when it happens.

Loves his partner in an apron. Like… loves his partner in an apron.

Make him food, and as soon as it’s eaten, he’s eating you after. ;)

When he finally settles down post-Madagascar, it’s a fucking struggle to get him to go grocery shopping at all for the first few months. 

Self-punishment, maybe. 

Nathan buys them himself instead and leaves them on the porch of Sam’s trailer park home when he’s too depressed to answer the door. 

Basically has to be forced to eat actual meat and vegetables. For the first few months, he reverts and eats only familiar prison food. The same single pot of chili/beans for a whole week, half portions only for each meal. Uncooked canned carrots. Microwave popcorn when Nathan calls him asking if he’s eaten, and when Sam lies, it sounds more believable with the microwave droning in the background.

However, when he finally starts to pick himself back up, when he gets his first day job since prison, finally lets Nate buy him a used truck to get around, his first solo call from Sully, that’s when he finally starts to eat.

And when he finally feels like himself again, when he finally lets himself want to live again, the first hobby that Sam Drake takes up is cooking.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’M HERE FOR THE TEA please can we see Mama Rosehearts seeing Trey again?? You know the boy she probably blames for leading her son astray with SUGAR 😆 maybe throw in the Clover siblings or Clover parents too? Only if you want to though!

Scalding hot tea to go with those banned strawberry tarts... 👀 (Not gonna lie though, it's so funny to me that Mrs. Rosehearts may see Trey, one of THE most normal and mild-mannered dudes in the main TWST cast, as some kind of twisted degenerate that peddles an addictive white powder to her child 🤡)

While writing this, I kept thinking of the passive aggressive dinner scene in Shrek 2 (that eventually turned into a full-blown food fight) 😅 Trey can be Shrek since he's green and Mrs. Rosehearts can be Fiona's dad since they're both protective parents-- (I decided to keep it to Trey, Riddle, and Mrs. Rosehearts! The rest of the Clover family would be a lot of people to account for in one interactions.)

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

Trey was used to cutting cakes, not cutting tension. The vice dorm leader job description had said nothing about the latter—yet here he was, newly saddled with the responsibility.

To his right was Riddle, forcing himself to maintain impeccable posture for afternoon tea. Back straight, head up, eyes forward, as he wove a teaspoon through a cup of warm liquid. Normally, he would slightly sweeten his tea with honey—but he went without it today, only stirring on reflex.

A ha-RUMPH! sounded as Riddle set the teaspoon down on his saucer. Their guest was disapproving, as Trey had expected. He gathered his strength and muttered a silent prayer to the Great Seven.

"Tea?" Trey offered the woman to his right, teapot at the ready.

Mrs. Rosehearts tapped a dagger-like nail against her arm. She had painted them a deep crimson, the exact shade of the red velvet cakes Patisserie Clover whipped up—though with the scathing expression she wore, Trey figured the last thing she wanted to hear about was baked goods. The woman looked like she was out for his blood, rich and oh-so-red.

"Okaaay, no tea then." Trey carefully returned the teapot to its spot and reached for a plate of the least sweet item avaliable. "How about a finger sandwich? We've got all different kinds of fillings, so just pick the one you like."

Mrs. Rosehearts didn't so much as pass the poor sandwiches a glance out of pity.

"Alright, I guess that's also a negatory?"

Her icy eyes bore into Trey, silently judging him. The tension thickened, turning heftier than a filling pea soup (though he doubted she was in the mood for any food at this point).

A hand reached over and plucked a sandwich from the top of the pile, staving off some rigidity in the air.

"Thank you, Trey." Riddle offered a small smile.

"You're very welcome. Don't eat it all up in one bite now. Remember to save some for everyone else," Trey joked light-heartedly. "You've got a smoked salmon on whole wheat there. I tossed the fish in lemon juice, salt, and pepper, then mixed it with a little cream cheese, dill, and minced onion."

"Is that right? It sounds delicious and healthy," Riddle said carefully, emphasizing the final word. He delicately nibbled at the crusts--still left on--while eyeing the contents of his teacup.

The table settled back into a stiff silence. Riddle staring at his drink, his mother staring at Trey, and Trey staring at the wall behind her. If he made eye contact, would she explode?

Trey rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. His hand came away damp with perspiration. He dared to say what was on everyone's mind.

"Well, uh... This is awkward."

There was an audibly sharp intake of breath. Riddle, paralyzed. His thumb pressed down hard on his sandwich, puncturing a hole in the bread.

"You're the eldest son of the bakers," Mrs. Rosehearts declared, her first utterance as prickly as thorns. "The boy who led my Riddle astray with sugar."

She makes it sound like I was peddling something way worse than what it actually was! It was only a slice of strawberry tart...

Trey bit back his protests and tried at a smile. He and Riddle had spent hours reviewing and rehearsing their game plan for this dreaded moment. "Don't challenge her, don't instigate," his dorm leader had instructed him. "Be agreeable. Lie if you must. Whatever it takes for us to come out of this encounter unscathed."

His had confidence wavered, worry in his big eyes. A flash of fear, and Trey saw the sad little child from years before, the fat tears that had been dribbling down Riddle’s contorted face. Sobbing, apologizing, pleading.

He had tipped his head and nodded. A mere card soldier obeying his queen. The line he parroted so often was spoken once more: “Yes, dorm leader.”

Trey reached within himself for the best he could manage. "It's nice to see you again, ma'am."

"If only I could say the same!!" Mrs. Rosehearts huffed dismissively. She then snapped, quick as a whip, to Riddle, who flinched. "It’s no wonder why you came home in such a sorry state for the holidays! I suspected it for a while now, but this confirms it. You’ve been reintroduced to bad influences at school."

“That’s not exactly…” Riddle trailed off, his voice weak. His mother continued to rant, undaunted.

“NRC has its fair share of students that cause trouble,” Trey confessed, tactfully cutting in. “Still, that’s to be expected of teenage boys."

“My Riddle rarely ever behaves in such a disrespectful manner,” Mrs. Rosehearts retorted. Rarely stung like a slap to the face. “Were it not for poor choices in friendship, he would never act out.

“Why a prestigious learning institution like Night Raven College would allow such riffraff in, I’ll never understand! They only ruin it for the others. It only takes one bad seed to spoil the whole bunch.”

She didn't name names, but it was clear who she was talking about from where she directed her intense gaze.

“I don’t know about spoiled apples, but bruised ones can still be used,” Trey pointed out, eager to divert the heated topic. “They don’t look the best, but they still taste fine. Bruised apples work for lots of recipes. Salads, sauces, ciders, jams..."

The smoked salmon sandwich slipped, falling into Riddle’s untouched tea. His eyes widened. Then Trey’s slowly followed. Both of them caught the misstep, their times staggered.

The scowl on Mrs. Rosehearts deepened, her crimson lips forming an almost bloody line. “You would just love to stuff my son with more of that sugary poison, wouldn’t you? Just like you’ve filled his head with your poisonous thoughts!!”

“What? No, I wouldn’t… I haven’t—” He instinctively pivoted to providing a defense, something to placate her.

It was an ill-advised mistake.

"Young man!!" Face red, she rose from her seat, slamming both hands on the table. The fine china and silverware clattered violently. "First you feed him that horrible junk food, then you've graduated to feeding him all these untruths!! You've done quite enough damage to my son."

He had one foot in the rabbit hole now, the situation spiraling into chaos. Trey braced himself against the verbal barrage, wincing as her volume climbed higher and higher, her features distorting from rage.

A part of him wanted to cry out. To argue, to shout. But fear clawed at his throat, seizing his tongue.

"Look where hanging around you has gotten him! He comes home over the winter break spouting nonsense—nonsense he no doubt picked up from you. I thought I had done all I could to rid us of the pests buzzing around him, but clearly even those efforts haven't been enough!"

"M-Mother, please... I can explain!" Riddle insisted, jumping up. His teacup wobbled, threatening to topple over and stain the table and rug. "I implore you, don't blame Trey--"

"A mother knows what's best for her child! I'll be speaking to the headmaster about this, and there WILL be some changes around here!"

Riddle recoiled, defeated. He balled his hands into fists on his lap—to stop them from shaking.

It's happening, Trey realized. Again, it's happening...

The edges of his vision blurring, his throat closing up. A distant memory of his parents profusely apologizing to a screaming woman. Riddle huddled behind her, in tears, tugging, begging to be heard. Him, standing frozen, unable to act.

"Riddle..." Trey made to place a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, but a protective arm blocked his path. He met the livid face of Mrs. Rosehearts.

"Don't you touch a hair on my son's head.”

His hand jerked back but refused to fall limp to his side. He frowned slightly, brows furrowing in hesitation.

But he pushed himself forward and tumbled deeper down the rabbit hole.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Trey said very evenly, "I get wanting to support and protect him, I really do. That's part of my job as his vice dorm leader—but Riddle doesn’t need it all the time. He’s not the fragile flower you seem to think he is.”

He was the thorns that warded off enemies. He was the stalk, morally upright and willful. He was the roots that burrowed deep and anchored the group.

He was anything but a rose.

“Frankly, I think you sorely underestimate how strong Riddle really is,” Trey continued. He must be, if he has the courage to speak up for me when I couldn’t do the same for him. “I don’t mean just in magic either. He has the will of a queen too.”

Mrs. Rosehearts drew back, positively appalled. Her nostrils flared. "And just what are you insinuating?!"

Shock replaced the delicate discomfort on Riddle’s face. “Trey, you…”

“Ahahah… Sorry, Riddle.” He passed his friend a faint smile. “I guess I couldn’t help but meddle this time. I broke my promise to you. My bad.”

“No, don’t be.” His response was quiet, like the trace of a whisper on a breeze.

“I understand now. It’s not the school that needs changing, but you,” Mrs. Rosehearts snarled, jabbing an accusatory finger at Trey. “I’ll have you expelled from this school!! You won’t ever be put in a position where you can sink your venomous fangs into my…"

"Stop, mother...!!"

"Riddle?" Mrs. Rosehearts looked expectantly at her son. She had stiffened, the fire in her eyes now petrified to stone.

He hesitated under her gaze.

"... Hey. It's okay. You've got this," came a soft voice from beside him. From Riddle's right, his right-hand man. "No one else can speak for you but yourself."

Riddle swallowed. He tried to maintain his cool, but his words came out shaky.

"Mother, I..." He stopped and started again. "You may see Trey as a villain, someone who leads children astray from the good and morally righteous path with a house of sweets. But that's not what he is.”

Riddle remembered the scene well.

In a garden of rose hedges… Collars turned into fluttering playing cards. Then the pitch black had consumed him. A light he had reached for. The hand that had reached back. Someone calling out to him, panicked.

That person was…

"At my darkest moment, Trey was there to stop me from sinking lower than I already had. When I sought a hand in the void, it was he who reached back for me. His hand is what pulled me up when I was down.

“For that, I will always be grateful, no matter what you may think of him. He is worthy of standing by my side as Heartslabyul’s vice dorm leader. That is my decision—a decision acknowledged by all.”

His mother bristled. "You would side with this… this boy over me? Your mother? Your family?"

“I’m suggesting that raising a complaint to the headmaster wouldn’t change the circumstances. He, too, is aware of Trey’s merits as my second-in-command and would wish for him to stay.”

Riddle shared a small, knowing smile with his friend. Indeed, Crowley had been present for the debacle—and indeed, he would promote their support of one another. To save face and reputation. (“Wh-What nonsense is this!! Of course my students are well-mannered and cooperative! What would make you think anything less of them?!”)

“Clever,” Trey mouthed.

“Well, I never!!” Mrs. Rosehearts huffed, abruptly rising from her seat. “The depths of depravity know no bounds!! To think you’ve magically convinced the entire school that you’re good…!!l

“I’ll do my best to show you my good points too, ma’am,” Trey replied. He couldn’t stop a smirk from making its way onto his lips. “After all, everyone at NRC’s like a diamond in the rough. All they need’s their time to shine.“

At this, Riddle coughed into a fist to conceal choked laughter. “… Yes, one could say such a thing. Rest assured, mother; I’m in good hands. There is no learning institution more fit for me than here.”

At our Night Raven College.

[simplytheromanticistdoris]

Achilles And Patroclus: Love Between Ashes and Bones; Gods Folly and Quirks (a ballad)

Achilles to Patroclus

I could never be without you, my love, for you are the river I follow, afloat my body venture to you. The black silk of your hair under the doting of mine, your lips amiable to meet mine, and your eyes that see through the depths of my soul, it frets not but outshines.

I, a demi-god am bound to bask in the golden banquet of the gods, but I turn away and decline, for heaven is at dawn at hell, oh, you shall squirm at my touch as I sip the sweet nectar of your dew drop tears, from my folly unashamed tricks.

Let us be lost in the greeny valley of trees, and sit upon its shaded seat, secrecy it shall be, as we talk love and our future dreams, draped in dirt your tunic will be, drenched in life we smell of it, oh, dear, you’re a soul meek and the sweet scent of simplicity;

I find upon you the strength of a measly bird, but within you; the will to change it all. How does it feel to be my soul? To have my heart taken into the depths of the earth? How does it feel to steal my future and all?

I love you, I say, but my pride begs that I stay, it was a mistake, and now, you lay there pierced by the adversary of my fate, oh, the river flowed no more and life tasted like salt, the underworld claimed your soul and I shall follow.

Demise meets the man who claimed your life, his head touring around our great walls, and lamenting upon is all I could do as you smelled like the night of deathly sorts, and, oh, how does it feel to kill me, my love?

My life meets its due and I smelled you; will you greet me with a smile under the ash of this fight? Blood trickles down and my breath pulls out, oh, may my body be burned and reunite with you.

Erebus receives me as the swift-footed fool, for I am no different from the flesh of my kind, just a man, in love. My gaze wonders to find your soul but to no avail, I’m met with void, in between the borders you must be there;

Even death cannot possibly dare, to deprive me of the utmost source why my life is spared. The seasons passed and sang bitter-sweet songs, I waited like a rock devoid of soul, why must fate be so cruel?

Deep is my blue a feeling struck, before me the kindest man stood, silly he looked and confused at most, ah, you fatuous man you made me wait, now come lavish at my embrace!

“What more do I need but for the sole reason that I live and die, oh, my dear Patroclus, my Patroclus.”

Patroclus to Achilles

Golden locks of silk rests on my thighs, as he the fair youth plays on his lyre, his battle-carved fingers strum not the lyre, but my stringed life, for now, I am a piece, a symphony from his musical pile.

He is divine, his radiant hair golden amongst the light, and, oh, his lips lush and plump like life, and across his eyes the kind blue ocean opposed to his mother’s icy guile eyes, that dares choke me with vile.

You're a being dipped from Styx, the strength of hundredths of men but in one shell that represents all fiery admirable might to fend, but what of you my love, when your fate weighs too much upon your life to go on?

You are half of my soul as the poets say, your star dipped next to mine and I shall stay, oh, the onerous fate you weigh I will bear, for you are everything to me and I fear to see you in dismay, I love you wouldn’t you say?

The god they presume you to be, but all I see is a man I can’t let be, under the cosmos we gaze, draped in love we kissed ablaze, no sole rock will break us away, you tasted like everything but the future that has no place.

Wreath my heart to decay, split me in half to see blood spray, but none you get for he is the vitality in my veins, a kind fool lacking wits and trusts guile prompts, but I am half what he is not and I protect our love.

May he bask in the triumph he deserves, and when he tires, we spare some time, and he cuddles in my wing like two peas in a pod as we drift to sleep and dream, and there is a ponder within me that cannot bear to lose this golden-haired man.

I had pleaded with him not to go, but he begged that my life is on the line; a promise to save the dainty fair beauty, oh, we cannot escape our fate, and we march to the relentless eating time, to the Underworld we will bid our time, oh, Achilles, I wished we’ll be fine.

Swift-footed he is in battle and I watch awe in afar, I fear he’ll meet the man that’ll splat blood on his golden locks, please hurry under my touch and assure me sweet love along this bloody path of war.

Across this ghastly war and ruffian rule of men, there lies you dancing among the wolves and hooded sheep we called friends, they wait for you to die but like a god you prevailed, the wind uttered favor, oh, you couldn’t possibly look more graceful the hero of this battle.

But alas akin to you a thing named pride, it rivaled my full pledged love and I lost to its qualms, and you bade war alone to suffer whose won, but the tide had turned and we pace aback, oh, we’re shunned, many have died under the roots of your pride, but we shall settle this to save our might.

I implore authority from your side, let me wear your scent and go about to fight, I’ll save your pride and the souls that are deprived, enemies wait no more and I shall take flight; you bid me good luck and a good kiss goodbye;

I promise my love I will come back, and we shall run with our heels and talk about life, I shall watch you spar and admire; your bodily move like the ocean tide, your voice is like a coir that replenishes me anew to a queer kind of guy.

I wear your pride soon a cascade of a fallen might, I aim your spear and a swain dies, and another kind, momentarily, I thought I was the preordained man with his swift-footed pride, I miss you then like I was to die.

To be the worthy facsimile of my man, I have uttered his sprightly livened trance and led the homely stricken souls; I say we go home and make about our humble abode.

I revel at the thought of dragging Helen out from the hen of our foes, she, that is the beauty, the root of all these woes will bring about peace and we go home, my Achilles and I snuggled in heavenly prose.

Serendipity reeled within my thoughts, unbeknownst a spear pierced my heart, what of the love we’re bound to make? What of Achilles the one man I’m willing to risk it all? Is he not to die too, by the hands that doomed my soul?

In between the borders I stay afloat, I have mingled with the winds and drifted from face to face to see delight and faze, but what prevailed was my man fallen out of grace, wherefore the Achilles with brimming pride? Oh, but how you cared more when I was dead.

Achilles, oh, Achilles he wails over a shell of no soul but a fractured man, I lament with him for he has died too, haughtily I dare not but I fear his life is almost due, slowly he drifts to a path divulge from the kind in himself.

I left you not in your grieving soul, I smothered you with love in your midnight woes, and I have bore witness to the wreath in your soul and how you bend to break it all, and apathy I have come to hate in your eyes as the head of Hector rolls like dice.

Soon enough you meet demise, and our ashes reunite but strangely naught I feel but your distant soul away from mine, impediment howls, and how your son is vile, now our roads diverge ever to reunite.

Upon your tomb there carved your name, besides I sit like a widow bae and I await, then your mother came, oh, she longed for you but she remembers little to faint, but this I say your son is great, I am the memory to deliver the beauty we have come to make, with the vicissitudes of our fate.

The song of Achilles sang to pave the way.

‘It is done’ your mother says, becoming kind so to say, besides your name a carve that says; Patroclus, and my mouth is agape, this means one thing and I’ll see your face; under the roots of the mead of green I’m new to this dreary scene;

Two arms reach a radiant light to grab me tight and reunite.

“Achilles, oh, Achilles my one and only life, the love I have for you triumphs over those who dare to ruin the heavenly love, we spare against the march of our fate and the relentless time, for you are the four seasons I have come to love but like the pristine calm of the sea, we come adrift and die, for we have now bade life goodbye.”

[legendofmorons]

The LU boys and superstitions

Once again, I was thinking about things I grew up with/ learned about and applying it to the boys. I might add the colors and dark link later, I just couldn't think of any for them rn

Tw: mentions death

Fierce

Oh, he's so old he probably has a bunch he follows

He never leaves an empty rocking chair rocking.

He keeps any hanging horse shoes hung right side up (ends up so it's able to hold the luck)

Fierce also believes in wishing on shooting stars

First

Throwing salt over your left shoulder after you spill it

He will NOT wash clothes or clean things on new years day

Refuses to walk under ladders

Covering mirrors when someone dies in a building (stops them from becoming stuck in the mirror)

Four

Horseshoe hung up so the luck won't fall out

Breaking mirros is bad luck to him

He dosen’t have a whole lot, he thinks most wide spread superstitions are common sense

Hyrule

Ooooo boy

Faerie boy? He has some.

I think he's probably a summer /seelie fae so he probably has some superstitions around harvest time

Bottle trees keep away haints/ghosts/spirits

If your ear rings someone is talking about you

He HATES all horseshoes (iron is BAD for the fae), but if he must be near one, he would like it to be right side up

Legend

Breaking mirrors is bad luck

Rocking an empty rocking chair? No thanks, he's not inviting unknown spirits or death.

He keeps a mirror outside his house to keep away evil/the devil/ (demise??)

He eats black eyed peas on new years

He sweeps out the back door (never the front and NEVER when it's dark outside)

Will ward off evil with the three finger sign I always saw

Stays away from cross roads at night

Ravio

If you thought Legend had a bunch, Ravio has more

He has all of the one Leged has ofc

He also believes walking under ladders is bad

He covers mirrors AND stops clocks if someone passes away in his home

Holds his breathe while passing a grave yard

He always goes out the same door he came in through

He believes death comes in threes

He only walk beside his loved ones when going around a post never letting it go between them

Probably has many more

Sky

Not that superstitious actually. He tries to avoid breaking mirrors but not much else

Isn't a huge fan of black cats, but that's more because of nighttime remlits than anything

Time

By the end of his first adventure he has none

The superstitions he had believed were proven false over the years

Tries not to break mirrors but that's because he hates broken glass

Will participate in superstitions if someone he cares about asks. He knows it's out of love

Twilight

He dosen’t like empty rocking chairs that are rocking

He has a horseshoe hung up in his room to keep away bad dreams

Not too superstitious at heart, but so many people in his town are that it is basically habit for him

Warriors

Knocks on wood to keep from jinxing himself

Dosen’t gift knives to loved ones because he dosen’t want to sever the relationship

Wild

He remembers a few but isn't too superstitious

Likes four leaf clovers for luck though!

And he dosen’t clean on new years

Wind

He will knock on wood

He also likes to pick up a green rupee for luck! (Originally a penny)

He also probably wants a luck rabbit's foot

[siyurikspakvariisis]

Today's lunch: a cheesy pasta bake.

But not just any pasta bake: a very BG3 one.

Spoilers for the Shadowheart origin run's epilogue to follow.

If you save Shadowheart's parents during her origin run, you get a letter from each of them. Emmeline's letter contains a recipe for a pasta bake.

[ID: two screenshots from Baldur's Gate 3, showing a letter from Emmeline Hallowleaf. It reads:

"My dear Shadowheart,

Here's the recipe I mentioned the other day. I wanted to write it down for you just in case it slipped my mind again. I can show you myself once you're home. Enjoy your party, and pass on my best to all your friends.

Love,

Your Mother

X

Feast Day Cheese Bake

For the filling:

One small onion, sliced

Half pound of mushrooms, quartered

Red pepper, diced small

Half pound of greens - spinach, peas, courgette, or whatever is in season in the garden - steamed or boiled

Quarter pound of streaky bacon, chorizo or similar. Fried and diced

Half pound of pasta

For the sauce:

Two tablespoons of butter

Two tablespoons of plain flour

One teaspoon of mild mustard from Cormyr. More if you are daring or congested

Ten fluid ounces of milk

Half pound of mature cheddar cheese, grated

A goodly fistful of breadcrumbs

Method:

Soften the onion in some oil, then add the mushrooms and pepper, and saute over a high flame. Combine with the cooked greens and meat, and set aside. Add pasta to a pot of boiling water.

Melt the butter in a saucepan, then add the flour and whisk over a high flame for one minute. Add the milk, whisking until boiling, then add the grated cheese and remove from flame.

Drain the cooked pasta and add into the cheese sauce, along with the cooked vegetables and meat if used. Combine, and pour into an oven-worthy dish (the square stoneware one with the floral pattern should do nicely). Add the breadcrumbs on top, ad well as some extra cheese if you are feeling wicked (your father often is).

Bake unil the top layer is bubbling and golden, or your loved ones are hungrily loitering about in the kitchen.

PS - if you do not salt the pasta water, you can save it to feed to the plants in your garden."

End ID.]

Today I made it with the following modifications:

I don't want anyone's nonna to slap me so I salted my pasta water.

I also undercooked the noodles - after all, they'd finish cooking in the oven.

I used some vegan sausage I had lying around as the meat. I think the one I used was a bit too dry and bland - a more flavorful and fatty, chorizo-like sausage, would have been a better option.

I used spinach as the greens, and instead of cooking them aside of the sauteed veggies, I wilted the spinach with them. If you do so, watch out! The veggies can become watery, as the spinach releases all its water. I was careful to not dump all that water in the stoneware dish when incorporating the ingredients and it all worked well on my end.

Of course I was feeling wicked and topped the dish with extra cheese :3c

Because most of the cooking has happened outside of the oven, I baked the pasta for 15 minutes at 175 degrees Celsius, plus an extra 5 minutes under the broiler. This is the part I'm less sure about - I'm not a great cook, I just follow recipes. I'd be grateful to hear your input here!

The result: a filling, cheesy, savory, veggie-loaded pasta bake. Next time I'll be more generous with the salt in the filling, though.

[fisheito]

if someone's having a bad day what's the comfort food Yakumo would make for them? and if Yakumo's having a bad day who's the one making comfort food for him and what food is it?

ooohhhhhhhhh you would do this to me. you would walk into my room! bring up food AND that accursed snake. in front of my tiny nightlamp!!! !!

*stares at the pit laid out for me*

*leisurely walks toward it*

i think i once read in fic that yakumo cooked congee for sick food and i couldn't get it out of my mind this was before i thought about the possible ethnic influences of each character ... but once someone (was it someone HERE?) slapped "yakumo" and "han chinese" together i went "WEL>LP! *slaps my thighs* *abruptly stands* *walks out the door with my hands in the air* GUESS WE'RE DOIN THIS FOREVER, THANKS"

so. now yaku will default to making the absolute lightest congee as a "SOMEONE IS SICK AND NEEDS TO EAT" first defense unless:

-the Someone normally likes congee a certain way, and asks him to make it THAT way ((i would do this. just because i'm sick doesn't mean i'm allergic to salt. please give me my seafood congee i'll cry if it's just rice)) -the Someone has a known, OTHER preferred sick food, which yakumo will cater to the best he can. i KNOW he has a section in his brain dedicated to everyone's food preferences.

if someone doesn't like congee, he has an entire repertoire of soups to call upon. they can act as temporary sickfood til the *perfect most desirable* dish can be made what? sickie doesn't like congee? no problem. we got chikken noodle. we got cream stew. aster can procure an entire beast for bone broth in no time at all. u want blended veggebable mush? no peas, right?

example! if for some ridiculous reason dante gets sick at the mansion and he complains about the lack of solarian food while bundled under 300 blankets

yakumo is IN the library. he is OUT IN THE STREETS. researching. gathering ingredients. finding substitutes for that one solarian spice whose flavour profile is unlike anything in the light territory but HEY if you blend these 4 things we DO have together ,,it's similar enough...?

but BEFORE all that, dante is still hungy. so if picky king dante refuses to eat unless it's the Comfort Food of all time (i doubt he would refuse food all brattily in this scenario, but i'm gonna pretend he's a picky baby for fun)

then yakumo needs to prepare a pre-meal quickly! before venturing out for the grand solarian sickfood quest

in that case, i imagine he'd prepare a l'il something... where the texture and tastes are familiar to most people... like a bowl of cut up mixed fruit? or a bit of soft bread? porridge? a simple veggie broth? to fill the belly with something warm

Oh wait I REMEMBER SOMETHING FROM THE ARTBOOK. SOMETHING Like THIS!!!!!:

NNOW FOR THE OTHER SIDE OF TEHQ EUSTION *SLAPS THE WALL WITH RENEWED VIGOUR*

WHAT HAPPENS IF YAKUMO GETS SICK?! he exhibits wounded animal behaviour and drags himself into a dark corner to suffer where nobody can see him hahaha

wait. we have plenty of chefs in the mansion. that's easy enough. if any of the clan members have witnessed the secret knowledge [childhood gossip from his grandparents], then all they have to do is relay the info to the chefs.

"yakumo's grandparents always made him _____ when he was feeling bad" and BAM! professional dish ready in minutes

(i am once again assuming it'll be congee bc cooking habits are passed down LOL but if it's not that i could imagine it being a simple steamed dish like root veggies/cabbage)

that's the practical answer at least. because who wants to serve a subpar dish to chef yakumo?? in his time of weakness?!?!?

BUUUt because it's yakumo, Sappiness will help him heal faster. in which case, you could argue that a dish cooked by a mediocre-skill clan member will be as powerfully healing as a comfort dish cooked by a professional stranger.

aster would obvs make the chefs do it, and morv is not to be trusted with sustenance that is not cum. so...

safer choices: eiden, if he's better at cooking in this world now than in yaku SR intimacy rooms LOL..... but because it's eiden, even if the food is bad, yakumo's taste buds will be overshadowed by his grotesquely overwhelming love oli, who can likely cook up meals of (at least) average difficulty with consistent tastiness garu, making simple familiar meals like he did with gramps quincy, if available and willing

potential recruits: edmond under supervision, blade with a clear recipe+instructions laid out (also under supervision)

do not think about it: kuya (i bet he knows how to cook, but in ?WHAT?? universe????? would he give up his time to prepare a homecooked meal and NOT infuse it with weird stuff),

dante (i assume his cooking skills have suffered due to, you know, having to take on several other more pressing responsibilities),

rei (he will eat a poisonous shrivelled mushroom off the floor of his cabin. one that he accidentally tracked in via his boot a few weeks ago. he will consume it just to stop Father from pestering him about eating. he has no time for culinary duty)

[rosetyler42]

Some point after drawing Ericka + Simon with him wearing a mini sailor hat (dressed as Swee' Pea) I came up with this moment of Drac seeing Ericka wearing her captain's hat. She never wears it in the film except for the credits and I think he'd find it adorable. "It's nice and salty" is an awkward attempt at nautical slang - an old/veteran sailor is called an "Old salt." Of course, Ericka takes the compliment and smoothly flirts back.

Side note: I figure Ericka doesn't wear the hat much for alot of reasons. It feels too formal, it's harder to do gymnastics with a hat on, possibly a way to exercise choice considering how restrictive her life on the Legacy was, etc.

More fun with Ericka's hat! I love the idea of after Ericka's secret comes out, Ericka still continues blatantly flirting with him while passing it off as the charming cruise captain routine, but now even MORE shameless since she has no need to hide what she's doing now. And turns iout, there's a peice of Ericka's clothes Drac can wear after all!

@lovelylivelyv @black-ak9 @hotelt-resurrection @ssleeping-in-a-coffin @serial-serializednovelreader @deathfangirl9 @ebevkisk @twinklecupcake

[bakingtherapy]

Just Keep Baking #11 Apple Butter Pie

Sul Sul, Gerbits. Today we are going to be making another apple butter recipe. Today we are going to be making an apple butter pie. This pie is really good. But confusing to the taste buds. When you look at the finished product you think that it is pumpkin pie. Because it has the same texture. But when you take that first bite, it screams of apple, not pumpkin. 

But overall it is a very good pie. Sometimes I just really like making pies. Cookies and cakes are fun to make as well, but there is just something about rolling out a pie crust and putting the whole pie together. 

You will need a pie crust or you can make it yourself.

I only have one recipe that has been passed down from Generation to Generation. It is the Betty Crocker pie crust. It is really simple. 

For this recipe, you will only need one pie crust. The ingredients you need for the pie crust are:

flour

salt

shortening

ice cold water. 

In a medium sized bowl you are going to combine the flour and salt. 

Cut in the shortening using the pastry blender or fork until the mixture looks like small peas. 

Now you are going to sprinkle your ice cold water 1 tablespoon at a time, tossing it with a fork until the flour comes off the sides of the bowl. 

Place the dough on a floured surface, and roll it into a ball. 

Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and freeze it for about 20 minutes. 

While the dough is freezing you can start on your pie filling. 

You will need:

sugar

eggs

cornstarch

cinnamon

apple butter

milk to make the filling.

Your oven must be preheated to 450 degrees Farenheight.

Mix together the sugar, eggs, cornstarch, and cinnamon in a large bowl. 

Then you will add the apple butter and mix it well.  

Gradually add the milk to the mixture and blend it together. 

Roll out the pie crusts. 

Pour the filling into the unbaked pie shell.

Bake at 450 degrees Fahrenheit for 10 minutes.  Reduce the heat to 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 45 minutes. 

Center will slightly jiggle. Allow to cool before serving. You can garnish with whipped topping if desired. 

Again this recipe is very strange. You go in thinking that it is going to be a pumpkin pie. It is very strange. Daphne told me that it was a strange pie. Because she didn’t like the first bite, but she liked the after taste. 

I hope that you liked this recipe. Feel free to check it out yourself. Vadish, Dag Dag.

Show the original author some 💖💖💖 Musselman's

Show the original pie crust, author, some  💖💖💖 Betty Crocker

Printable version of this recipe: on the blog

Printable version of this pie crust recipe: on the blog

Feel free to support me on:

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[chicago-geniza]

Combination POTS and gastroparesis is like. I had a late breakfast/brunch of quinoa, cubed chicken, and those mushy peas + carrots melanges the grocery store sells for pot pies and tricking picky children into eating vegetables (with gf soy sauce, Lawry's salt, and nutritional yeast; I do believe in flavor, even for bland ingredients). But now I have to take digestive enzymes and lie down for ~2 hours, otherwise I will throw up and pass out, because my body is so confused and upset by the process of "digestion"

[glitchlight]

Can you tell me something about clay

So what's often lost in the memetic usage of clay silt and sand is how and *why* we class particles of that size.

Field classification is pretty generalized; sands are gritty, silts are smooth, and clays are sticky. If you take it for detailed analysis, a sample is passed through a stack of ever finer sieves for particle size analysis, and gravels, sands, silts, and clays are defined from cut off points in that analysis. But why do it in the first place? From the smallest gravels (>2 mm dia.) to clays (<0.002 mm dia.) is a difference of four orders of magnitude. If soil were a pot of soup, it would be like having peas mixed in with apartment buildings. The simple physical reality of grain size means that the resulting properties of a given soil for a particular use vary wildly.

And clays are the best example of that! Clays are not just a singular type of mineral (silts aren't either for that matter, though most sand IS) but a host of related minerals which form due to the chemical weathering of metastable minerals. To simplify, they come from rocks rotting.

Clay minerals being so small, they're the most chemically important mineral substance in soils, and therefore the amount of clay a soil has can be *extremely* important to agriculture.

Clay minerals are exclusively sheet minerals, meaning they repeat a basic pattern infinitely on layered grids.

Some clay minerals can essentially lock up certain types of nitrogen and make it unavailable. The entire cycling of biologically essential salts such as calcium, sodium, and potassium is largely contingent on clay content, because of its physical structure.

Tldr clays are really fascinating and they're what soil scientists love talking about because they're weird and complex and cool

[kimberly40]

Many of these mountain folklore sayings were passed down by my great-grandparents, but still live on a century later:

- Never close a knife you didn’t open, or you’ll have bad luck for 7 years.

- Keep a penny in your washer.

- Always go out the same door you came in.

- Eat black eyed peas or collard greens with hog jaw on New Year’s Day.

- Don’t wash clothes on New Year’s Day or you will wash a family member out.

- Don’t sleep on New Year’s.

- Don’t do any canning or gardening on your period.

- Plant your crops under the full moon.

- Don’t walk under a ladder. If you find yourself under one, don’t turn around– back up.

- Don’t let anyone sweep under your feet.

- Never give someone a set of knives as a gift. If you give them to newlyweds, it will cut their love!

- If a black cat crosses your path, turn and go a different way.

- Never repay salt that you have borrowed.

- If a bad storm is coming, put a 2-edged axe into a stump facing the storm to ensure the storm goes around you.

- If you spill salt, throw a pinch over your left shoulder so you won’t have bad luck.

- When you drop your fork, it means a woman is coming to visit. If you drop a knife, a man is coming to visit.

- Don’t cut your baby’s hair before their first birthday.

- Your baby has to fall off the bed before their first birthday.

- Run a chicken over your baby to keep if from getting chicken pox.

- Don’t let a pregnant woman see a dead person or the baby will have a birth mark.

- If cows are laying down, or leaves are upside down, it’s going to rain.

- Hang a horseshoe upside down to keep good luck from running out.

- Wear a buckeye in your bra to ward off rheumatism.

- Hold your breath when you pass a cemetery, or you’ll be the next to die.

- If you see a white horse, you’ll have good luck.

- Hold your feet up when you’re crossing a railroad track, or you’ll lose your boyfriend.

- If you’re walking with someone you have to go on the same side of a post or obstacle, or it will break your friendship.

- Don’t wash clothes on Sunday.

- If your nose is itching, it means company is coming.

- Open the window when someone dies and cover the mirrors so that their soul can leave.

- Hang a mirror by the door to protect against evil.

- Never leave a rocking chair rocking, or you will invite spirits.”

[breelandwalker]

Xanodrian Beef Stew

This stew recipe was passed down to me by the Kitchen Goddess of Xanodria. (Glory be to the Provider of Nourishment, Wielder of the Wooden Spoon, She Who Wears The +5 Apron of Seasoning. Blessed are the fruits of her stove and blessed are we who sit at her table. In the name of the pasta, the stew, and the holy breakfast casserole, amen.)

And since it's a LARP kitchen, the process of bequeathing basically consisted of Dianne pausing in mid-stir to say, "I dunno, I just throw these six or seven things in a pot, add seasoning, and leave it alone until it's done. Go nuts."

Such simple words to describe the best beef stew you will ever eat.

Ingredients:

1 lb cubed stew beef (general rule: 1/4 lb per dinner guest)

1/2 lb bistec (optional, but it does make the texture more varied)

2 large potatoes, peeled and cubed (yellow or white)

1/2 large onion, minced (yellow or white)

10 oz bag frozen peas and carrots

10 oz bag frozen green beans

Several tsp minced garlic (at least 3)

Worchestershire sauce

Red wine (or beef stock)

Water

Beef bouillon cube

2 tbsp butter (if desired)

Seasonings - garlic powder, onion powder, salt, pepper, paprika, basil (or to taste)

In a dutch oven or medium stew pot, brown the beef until no pink is showing (about 2-3min), but do not cook the cubes all the way through. Remove the meat to a dish with a spoon, leaving the juices and fat in the pot. Sauté the minced onion and 2tsp of minced garlic in the drippings until the garlic is fragrant and the onions are slightly translucent. (If you like, you can throw in a tbsp of butter each for the browning and sauteing.) Deglaze with a generous cup of red wine (or beef stock), stirring to get all the brown bits off the bottom and sides.

Add in the frozen vegetables, cubed potatoes, and cooked beef, followed by 2 cups of water and a beef bouillon cube, stirring to combine. Add several dashes of Worchestershire sauce (and another splash of wine, if desired). Season to taste with salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, basil, and another spoonful or two of minced garlic. (Or your seasoning blend of choice for beef and veggies.)

Stir until well-combined and let it come to a healthy bubble for about a minute. Then lower the heat to a simmer, put on a lid slightly off-kilter to vent a small amount of steam, and LEAVE IT. Allow to simmer, stirring very occasionally, for no less than two hours. Taste when stirring and adjust seasoning if needed. The stew is done when the potatoes are easily mashed, the beef falls apart when pressed with a wooden spoon, and your whole home smells like deliciousness.

Best served in bread bowls or over a slice of bread. Serves 4 people, or 2 with leftovers. Can be stretched with more vegetables or by serving over buttered noodles.

This is a super-simple recipe with very few components and very little skill required. If you can brown beef, put things in a pot, and add seasoning, and leave it alone, you can probably make this.

Enjoy! 😊🍲