#residents of Toledo

[vincentblackbearmediallc]

The Toledo Area Regional Transit Authority (TARTA) plays an important role in providing transportation options to the residents of Toledo and surrounding communities, including Maumee, Ottawa Hills, Rossford, Sylvania, Sylvania Township, and Waterville. With a goal to make travel convenient and efficient, TARTA’s bus schedules are designed to accommodate the needs of the diverse community it serves, handling thousands of daily trips and ensuring people can reach their destinations easily. TARTA offers a variety of bus routes and schedules, including services on weekdays, weekends, and holidays.

[heritagebrowser]

The chapel on the left of the altar of the Onze-Lieve-Vrouw ter Zavelkerk in Brussels belonging to the Thurn und Taxis family.

Saint Ursula Chapel, a unique Italian Baroque style chapel in black Belgian marble and white Carrara marble, was built according to a design by Lucas Fayd'herbe (1617-1697). The sculptures are by various southern Netherlandish sculptors. The restored Caritas statue made by Jan van Delen was recently placed back. The statue was confiscated by French revolutionaries in 1795 and therefore returned after more than 200 years.

The von Thurn und Taxis family initiated international postal traffic in Europe. A German descendant is today known as the richest man in his thirties and the largest private landowner in Europe with 28,000 hectares. The powerful 'DHL predecessors' von Thurn und Taxis had the chapels added to the church in the second half of the seventeenth century.

Von Thurn und Taxis (also Thurn and Tassis in Dutch) is a German noble family of Italian origin that acquired great wealth through its activities in the postal system. The current monarch, Albert II von Thurn und Taxis, resides in the Fürstliches Schloss of Regensburg. For two centuries the family was based in Brussels, where they owned a city palace (ca. 1500-1700). The still existing site of Thurn and Taxis was at the time the grazing land for the post horses.

The patriarch of the postal dynasty was Omodeo Tasso, the first family member to be located in Cornello dei Tasso. At the end of the 13th century, he and 32 relatives organized the Compagnia dei Corrieri, a courier company that worked on behalf of the Serenissima (Venice). She provided foot connections between Venice, Milan and Rome, Genoa,... The Bergamots had always occupied a major place in the old Venetian postal service (couriers were called bergamaschi in Italy). At the end of the 15th century they organized themselves into the Compagnia dei Corrieri dei Roma, a company controlled by the Tasso family.

Other members of the family were called to the Papal States to take care of the papal post. They did this from 1460 to 1539. It was two brothers from another branch who eventually took the business to a European level: Janetto and Francesco. As head of the family (procuratore generale della famiglia e società di Tassi), Janetto entered into a contract with Emperor Maximilian I to set up a truly transnational post (1489-90). He had to connect the emperor's headquarters in Innsbruck with Italy, the Burgundian Netherlands (Mechelen) and France. Janetto was given the title Kuriermeister and called on his brother Francesco and his cousin Giovanni Battista. Under the leadership of the trio, an innovative relay service was created that allowed messages to travel at a speed never before seen in Europe. Thanks to a succession of stopping places along the routes, it was possible to constantly change horses and riders. Only the leather mailbag ("Felleisen") was constantly in motion.

Francesco settled in the Netherlands around 1500, after his brother David had prepared the way. Under Maximilian's son Philip the Fair, he became postmaster and captain and had a beautiful city palace built in Brussels. After the government of Spain de facto fell to Philip, he renewed his agreement with Francesco of Tassis. The new postal contract of January 18, 1505 included more destinations and, for the first time, binding order deadlines (extended in winter). The postmaster guaranteed strict compliance with his life. A star-shaped network of postal routes departed from Brussels: to Innsbruck, to Paris-Blois-Lyon, to Toledo-Granada. For the important route to Spain, an alternative was provided via the Alps and the sea in the event of war with France.

[reasonsforhope]

Toledo City Council just approved a plan to turn $1.6 million in public dollars into as much as $240 million in economic stimulus, targeted at some of the Ohio metro’s most vulnerable residents.

“It’s really going to help people put food on the table, help them pay their rent, help them pay their utilities,” says Toledo City Council Member Michele Grim, who led the way for the measure. “Hopefully we can prevent some evictions.”

The strategy couldn’t be simpler: It works by canceling millions in medical debt.

Working with the New York City-based nonprofit RIP Medical Debt, the City of Toledo and the surrounding Lucas County are chipping in $800,000 each out of their federal COVID-19 recovery funds from the American Rescue Plan Act.

The combined $1.6 million in funding is enough for RIP Medical Debt to acquire and cancel up to $240 million in medical debt owed by Lucas County households that earn up to 400% of the federal poverty line.

“It could be more than a one-to-100 return on investment of government dollars,” Grim says. “I really can’t think of a more simple program for economic recovery or a better way of using American Rescue Plan dollars, because it’s supposed to rescue Americans.”

How It Works

Under the RIP Medical Debt model, there is no application process to cancel medical debt. The nonprofit negotiates directly with local hospitals or hospital systems one-by-one, purchasing portfolios of debt owed by eligible households and canceling the entire portfolio en masse.

“One day someone will get a letter saying your debt’s been canceled,” Grim says. It’s a simple strategy for economic welfare and recovery.

RIP Medical Debt was founded in 2014 by a pair of former debt collection agents, and since inception it has acquired and canceled more than $7.3 billion in medical debt owed by 4.2 million households — an average of $1,737 per household...

Local Governments Get Involved

The partnership with Toledo and Lucas County is the third instance of the public sector funding RIP Medical Debt to cancel debt portfolios.

Earlier this year, in the largest such example yet, the Cook County Board of Commissioners approved a plan to provide $12 million in ARPA funds for RIP Medical Debt to purchase and cancel an estimated $1 billion in medical debt held by hospitals across Cook County, which includes Chicago.

“Governments contract with nonprofits all the time for various social interventions,” Sesso says.

“This isn’t really that far-fetched or different from that. I would say between five and 10 other local governments have reached out just since the Toledo story came out.”

What's the Deal with Medical Debt?

An estimated one in five households across the U.S. have some amount of medical debt, and they are disproportionately Black and Latino, according to the U.S. Census Bureau...

Acquiring medical debt is relatively cheap: hospitals that sell medical debt portfolios do so for just pennies on the dollar, usually to investors on the secondary market.

The purchase price is so low because hospitals and debt buyers alike know that medical debt is the hardest form to collect...

The amount of debt canceled for any given household has ranged from $25 all the way up to six-figure amounts. Under IRS regulations, debts canceled under RIP Medical Debt’s model do not count as taxable income for households...

Massive Expansion Coming Up

After not one but two donations from philanthropist MacKenzie Scott, totaling $80 million, RIP Medical Debt is planning for expansion.

It’s using a portion of those dollars to create an internal revolving line of credit to expand to places where it can find willing sellers before it has found willing funders.

The internal line of credit means the nonprofit now has new, albeit still limited, flexibility to acquire debt portfolios from hospitals first, then begin raising private or public dollars locally to replenish the line of credit later and make those funds available for other locations.

“People often ask, do you only work with nonprofit hospitals, or do you work with for-profit hospitals? And I’m like, I just want to get the debt, regardless of who created the debt. If it’s out there, I want it,” Sesso says.

Fundamentally, they are not solving the issue of medical debt, but easing its pressure from as many lives as possible — while also upping the pressure on lawmakers and the healthcare industry.

“We’re intentionally taking the stories of the individuals whose debt we have resolved, and putting their stories out into the world with intention in a way that tries to push and create more of that pressure to fundamentally solve the problem,” she says.

-via GoodGoodGood, 4/6/23

[anarchywoofwoof]

sigh. i'm going to regret looking into this, aren't i?

TOLEDO, Ohio (AP) — Five companies have agreed to pay the federal government more than $7.2 million overall to resolve claims stemming from longstanding pollution in two adjacent creeks in the Maumee River watershed in northwestern Ohio. The settlement with Ohio Refining Co., Chevron USA, Energy Transfer LLC, Pilkington North America and Chemtrade Logistics was announced Monday by the U.S. Department of Justice. Officials said a federal judge must approve the deal before it takes effect. According to a complaint, the companies are liable for historic industrial discharges of oil or hazardous substances at the Duck & Otter Creeks site near Toledo. The site is just east of the Maumee River and encompasses the creeks, adjoining wetlands, floodplain areas and uplands. The two creeks flow into Maumee Bay in Lake Erie and provide key habitats for migratory birds and fish, and also support hunting and fishing activities for local residents, according to federal wildlife officials.

so before i do anything else, let me establish: when the AP says "near Toledo" they mean basically right in the middle of Toledo, Ohio (pop. 268,000~)

anyway, the AP article doesn't really elaborate on this, but we're talking pollution involving oil and discharge of cancer-causing polycyclic hydrocarbons (PAHs), arsenic and lead. cancer rates in this part of Ohio are relatively high, especially in neighboring Ottawa County. as a whole, cancer rates in Ohio have been on a steady incline over the last 2 decades.

back to the price being paid by these five companies highlighted above in red. that's really what i wanted to focus on here, because as we know, fines aren't actual enforcement of the law or justice. it is a cost of doing business for most companies.

so what is the true cost and how much are these energy companies gonna feel the impact to their bottom line?

Ohio Refining Co took some digging to find. according to this EPA documentation, it turns out that the parent company for Ohio Refining Co is - surprise! - BP-Husky Refining LLC. yes, that BP! in case you needed the reminder, they made $80.431 billion over the last 12 months.

we all know about Chevron. i mean fuck, they have an entire "Criticism of Chevron" wikipedia page dedicated to their bullshit. so i'll just throw out the numbers for this soul sucking corporation: $36.5 billion in profit for 2022.

next up we have Energy Transfer LLC. wait a second.... where do i know that name? oh yeah.

and they take home about $78.555 billion in revenue annually.

as it turns out, Pilkington North America is actually a subsidiary of a Japanese company - Nippon Sheet Glass. if my math is right, their annual revenue is around $5 billion USD.

lastly we have Chemtrade Logistics - a relative small fry - who boasts an annual revenue of $1.88 billion.

in case you weren't keeping up at home, these five companies have a combined annual revenue of $202 billion. their fine is $7.2 million.

with an annual revenue of $202 billion, that would mean that these five companies are making an average of $553 million every single day. this isn't even a drop in the bucket. this is barely 1% of one day's earnings for these companies. and at what cost to human health and safety?

[fatehbaz]

From Atlanta to Chicago [...]. These cop cities are training grounds for police violence and must be dismantled to restore a world where life is precious.

In a stunning yet utterly predictable act, Chicago’s “cop academy” has officially opened on the West Side complete with a ribbon-cutting in front of fake street signs and fake housing.

In a city reeling from extreme poverty, a lack of affordable housing, myriad environmental injustices, food apartheid, [...] and in a city where at least 65,000 people are experiencing homelessness, the leadership of the city of Chicago spent $128 million to build fake homes on the city’s resource-starved West Side where officers can practice the violence and brutality that they will mete out to Chicago residents.

---

In a disturbing photo, Mayor Lightfoot, [...] Fire Commissioner Nance-Holt and others smile while cutting a red ribbon, proud to have brought this into being. Adding insult to injury, the thirty-two-acre cop academy was built on the city’s West Side, where decades of racist policy (such as redlining and other housing discrimination and disinvestment) by the city government in this majority-nonwhite community have already given way to poverty and population loss. (In just one example, the Rahm Emanuel administration closed half of the West Side’s mental health clinics in 2012, then shuttered numerous West Side schools in his historic closure of fifty schools in 2013.) [...]

---

Lest there be any doubt as to whether or not West Siders actually want this cop academy, in 2018 the organizers of the No Cop Academy campaign polled West Garfield Park residents [...]. 95 percent recommended that the city invest in something else - beyond the Chicago Police Department [...]

What kind of society eagerly spends millions of dollars to build fake neighborhoods, but cannot muster the funds to provide actual housing for the unhoused? What kind of society would rather stage and practice violence than provide mental health resources or violence interruption to communities reeling from it everyday? Unfortunately, such questions arise on a routine basis in this city.

---

And it is not only in this city. [...] For Chicago, like so many cities across the US, we must remember that policing is not a “rational” response to something called “crime.” Instead, it is a war on poor people (particularly Black and Brown poor people). As Ruth Wilson Gilmore argues, this war treats incarceration as a solution to social and economic ills while conveniently stripping poor and working-class people of color of their political rights and autonomy. [...]

---

Additionally, in a cynical move decried by Chicago youth organizers, a chapter of the Boys and Girls Club is set to open at the facility. This is despite Chicago having the second most killings by police of youth under eighteen in the country, and despite several high-profile CPD murders of youth such as thirteen-year-old Adam Toledo and twenty-two-year-old Anthony Alvarez just in the last few years. [...]

They want a fake village where no one lives or thrives. They spend millions on a theme park to practice surveilling, policing, and controlling people. This vision can never be a home for anyone, and thus the Cop Academy should have no place in our city if we are to make Chicago, someday, a true home for its residents. [...]

--

We must refuse to allow such sadism to become normalized, and continue to make clear in the face of a city leadership which laughs, that, as Ruth Wilson Gilmore says, “where life is precious, life is precious.” [...]

Like the brave protesters facing off against the horrific violence of Atlanta’s proposed Cop City, organizers in Chicago have fought a valiant campaign against the cop academy since it was first proposed during the Emanuel administration. The No Cop Academy campaign, led by Black youth across the city, has led countless protests and actions and was endorsed by more than 100 organizations. [...]

Though the structures have been built, the fight against the cop academy (as well as similar projects in Atlanta and elsewhere) must continue: we must transform every fake cop neighborhood into real, affordable housing and vibrant neighborhoods where every person has what they need to thrive.

---

Text by: Nisha Atalie. “From Atlanta to Chicago, Cop Cities Breed Violence.” Rampant Magazine. 30 January 2023. [Italicized first paragraph in this post is directly quoted from the title and subheading printed alongside the article at Rampant.]

[savage-rhi]

Duality

Chapter 13: The Walk

Summary: Sawyer Kiddo has walked a razor's edge as a hacktivist for several years, driven by the loss of her family in the Raccoon City incident. Haunted by past choices and fueled with desire for vigilante justice, Sawyer's work takes an unexpected turn when she ventures to Spain and crosses paths with Luis Serra—a man with blood on his hands long thought to be dead. Together they unravel a web of corruption and face an impending bioterror threat, fighting not only monsters but also the darker elements of their humanity. As they delve deeper into each other's pasts and the conspiracy at large, Sawyer begins to sense something unsettling about Luis—something that might be even more dangerous than their mutual enemies.

Read on AO3 Here

Two Legs stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the attic door with an intensity that bordered on obsession. 

Almost two weeks had passed since Sawyer had woken up, and hardly a word was spoken between them. Not that Two Legs minded silence—usually, it suited him best, but this was different. He tried not to take it personally. Humans, he reasoned, needed substantial downtime when they're upset. He had seen it before in fragments of Luis's memories, people retreating into themselves to heal. That's why he'd moved downstairs to one of the smaller rooms, leaving the attic to Sawyer. Not that she ever asked for it. 

The most she'd said in days was a quiet "hello" or to ask where the bathroom was. Two Legs knew he should be grateful. Sawyer promised him time and space to adjust, and she'd kept her word, but he missed her voice more than he expected. How she bantered with him, and hell, even when she got angry. The thought of her pinning him to the wall back at the hotel in Toledo was something he thought of often with a stupid grin. It certainly made his skin tingle.

Only the faint shuffle of her feet above and an uncomfortable quiet remained. It reminded Two Legs that there had been a time, as brief as it was when she seemed alive. Spirited, as humans would call it. 

He hoped that was all this was—downtime.

Two Legs exhaled, dragging his gaze away from the attic, and headed toward the kitchen. His footsteps were as silent as the rest of the house, but his mind was loud with thoughts that came to him in the form of pictures and quick snaps of things he'd seen recently, mixed with remnants of Luis's memories he used as a guide around the residence. He noted that he still needed to clean the fireplace in the living room and make it presentable, along with the book room where he currently spent most of his time.

Cleanliness wasn't something the plaga ever thought his nature would be inclined to, but having a guest brought it out in him for better or worse. It reminded him of his primary duties in the Valdelobos hive, where he'd pick off weaker brethren and ensure the structure comb was secure to caves, bringing a smile to his lips at the connection. Whatever happiness he felt soon vanished as Two Legs furrowed his brows when he came to a stop.

Sawyer's plate sat on the counter untouched since last night. The meat and vegetables had dried to a sad, cold heap.

She hadn't eaten much of anything he had prepared for her, and while Two Legs knew he was not a five-star chef, Luis knew a thing or two about meal-making that he could pull from. Enough to where he was confident Sawyer shouldn't have been put off by what he left out for her, by human standards at any rate.

From what Two Legs observed over the last few weeks, it seemed that the only thing Sawyer nibbled at was the snacks from the grocery bag he bought for her upstairs. He knew she was coming down to the wire, as he hadn't heard the sound of a bag of chips or a granola bar being opened in the past couple of days.

Two Legs stared at the plate for a moment longer, trying to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. At first, it was practical to make her meals — feeding Sawyer to keep her strong, like preparing livestock for slaughter. He pressed his lips together, trying to push the thought aside, but it stuck. That logic didn't sit right anymore with him as he glared and pressed on.

He opened the fridge, reached for a bowl of grapes and cherries, and paused. His hand hovered over them before lowering again. The cool air from the refrigerator brushed his skin as he stood there, frowning.

She's getting thinner...

Even if Two Legs couldn't always see Sawyer, he knew. He could hear it in her movements, sensing how her steps seemed lighter. The concern was becoming insistent, the same discomfort he'd felt in Madrid, in Toledo. Hell, since they first met. Two Legs species wasn't built to care like this, but he could feel it creeping under his skin and growing.

He wanted to help her. No, more than that.

He wanted to comfort her. 

The realization made his jaw clench, his teeth grinding together. These feelings, these thoughts, they didn't belong to him. They shouldn't belong to him.

What the hell is wrong with me…? 

Without another word, Two Legs grabbed the bowl of grapes and cherries, shutting the fridge harder than he intended.

Maybe Sawyer would eat today, perhaps she wouldn't, but he'd keep trying—because something in him, some unknown thing he still didn't understand, wouldn't let him stop.

Several minutes later, Two Legs stood in front of the attic door. He released a deep breath and softly knocked, his fingers brushing the wood with more hesitation than purpose.

"Sawyer," Two Legs' voice was barely a whisper. He was unsure if he even wanted to wake her up.

When he entered, the room was dim, a quiet refuge untouched by the morning light that had started to peek through the cracks of the curtains.

Venturing closer, Two Legs saw Sawyer was still asleep, curled in on herself, limbs tangled in the sheets as if protecting her body. The sight made him stop momentarily, just staring at her. It was almost eight in the morning—late by most measures—but he was still unsure what "most" meant when it came to her, unclear if this was too early to be impeding.

Two Legs' brow furrowed, still trying to grasp how human circadian rhythms worked, especially hers. Luis had always been a night owl; naturally, so had he. The plaga were inclined to a nocturnal living. But since Sawyer arrived, Two Legs woke earlier than his instincts allowed. It wasn't just the constant low-level dread that she might figure out he wasn't human and needed to be on guard; something else stirred beneath the surface, a desire to understand her world and her ways. He hadn't been prepared for this—for any of it—living with another being, not just occupying space but learning them and absorbing their habits.

Two Legs didn't have much to go on; Luis's memories weren't beneficial—most of his life was solitary, save for the fleeting misadventures and connections he made during college and at work. None of them were like this, like her. 

Gracias por nada, amigo… (42)

The bowl of fruit in his hand felt oddly heavy.

Two Legs placed the bowl on the nightstand, replacing the old, untouched one with mold speckles growing on the orange slices. The bright colors looked out of place in the muted light of the room. His eyes shifted, noticing Sawyer's blanket had slipped; kicked down to the end of the bed in her sleep. Without thinking, Two Legs reached for it, intending to toss it back like a chore that needed to be checked off. But as he started to turn, something held him still, and he looked back at her, at her face. How it cradled against the pillow he normally nuzzled into. There was a peculiar urge in him, one that he didn't recognize but couldn't ignore.

Hesitantly, like a child testing a parent's boundary, Two Legs returned to the bed, carefully draping the blanket over Sawyer with awkward, mechanical precision. He had seen humans do this—covering each other up, tucking one another in as if the act was a way of caring. Once he completed that, his hand hovered above Sawyer's head, fingers trembling, and he was unsure what to do next.

Slowly, as though the action were alien to him, Two Legs patted Sawyer's head, imitating how he'd seen humans pet their animals and other beasts of burden.

Luis once wrote a college thesis on the symbiotic relationship between Amazonian tarantulas and frogs, exploring how such a delicate balance might someday emerge between parasitic organisms and humans, given the right conditions. The frogs found safety beneath the spider's formidable presence, sheltered in its burrow, while the frog repaid its silent debt by devouring ants and larvae that threatened the spider's young, a near-perfect exchange of power.

Two Legs realized that, under the circumstances, he was the spider, and Sawyer, the frog, nestled under the shadow of his legs. Maybe that was why he made the eight-hour journey to bring her half-dead body to this place. Perhaps he was so protective because he needed protection himself.

Maybe that was all she was, a pet.

The thought should have felt cold and transactional but blossomed into warmth and settled in Two Legs' chest like a quiet flame. Although the term 'pet' was tangible, it still felt incorrect. If anything, Luis would fit that category, and Sawyer wasn't Luis, nor anyone else he had ever known. She was some other thing. He couldn't name it, didn't understand why it lodged so deeply in him, but it mattered in a way that startled him.

Two Legs stepped back, his eyes lingering on Sawyer's face one last time before he scribbled a quick note on a sticky pad nearby and left it on the table for her to read later, letting her know he would be stepping outside to go for a walk and she was welcome to come along.

Slipping out the door with the same calmness he had entered, Two Legs noticed a faint lightness dropping in his body, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Many questions remained unanswered, hovering at the edges of his thoughts, but they didn't seem to matter as much for now as he turned his attention elsewhere.

Two Legs wandered along a narrow path an hour later, the soles of his shoes pressing into the dirt with a stable, mindless rhythm. Occasionally, he'd glance to his right, eyes drifting below to the valley stretching toward the horizon, a town at the base cradled by mountains and sea, the ocean shimmering just far beyond. Trees were scattered here and there, providing pockets of shade as the sun's heat started to grow. The air was dense with the scent of salt, mingling with the rich, earthy fragrance of the trail beneath him. San Viento del Mar was a sight for the senses, even for a creature like himself. The area was tranquil in a way Valdelobos could never hold a torch to, but even such serenity couldn't still the disquiet that followed Two Legs throughout his little venture. Thoughts of Sawyer pulled at him, disrupting the routine distractions that usually accompanied him on these walks.

As Two Legs recalled the past week, a pain throbbed in a place where his heart should have been mute. He remembered how his every attempt at care was met with silence or suspicion, how Sawyer's eyes seemed haunted by something he couldn't quite understand nor witness himself, almost as if she disappeared into "the other place," but one of her own making. His thoughts circled around it, tighter and tighter, until they coiled into something that resembled fear—her fear and his—of each other.

Fear was such a strange sensation. His kind, the plaga, had no need for it. Not in the sense that humans did. In his world, the hive attempted to flourish in the absence of such emotion. Small doses were acceptable as it ensured survival, but beyond that, to have fear was to have attachment, and attachment was unnecessary when the main focus was to expand and defend the territory. Yet Two Legs could feel it, soft and insidious, whispering in his ear, reminding him that he couldn't control everything, much less control Sawyer's actions and behavior toward him despite good intentions. He couldn't control his fear when she was dying in his arms, nor could he prevent its emergence when he encountered the other plaga back in Toledo.

The fear brought Two Legs back to his earlier efforts that week, how he had forced himself into "the other place" for forty-eight hours straight, pushing his mind to the limit to retrieve memories tied to Alvarez and Luis, using the method of overdosing on sleep medication and setting an intention—a ridiculous pursuit, if ever there was one. Not for the risk of death—Two Legs was immune to the medication's dangerous properties—but for the fact that he had implemented a religious prayer Luis used when he felt cornered in his research when fear would keep him from leaping off the edge. Two Legs vaguely repeated some of the words in his mind, letting them flow in and out as he gently kicked at a few stones near his feet.

Permíteme discernir mis verdaderas necesidades que me están ocultas.

No te pido ni cruz ni consuelo; Te espero con paciencia...(1)

Prayer felt strangely similar to how plagas would call out for help through the hive mind when faced with danger—an overwhelming cry for strength against an enemy. Yet, despite his dedication to a higher authority, Two Legs had emerged from the stunt with more questions than answers, enough pictures to tell the story but not enough to solidify the narrative. And now, he didn't know how he would explain it all to Sawyer when they'd eventually cross that bridge. How could he tell her about the memory gaps and missing details without revealing the truth about himself, that he wasn't Luis?

Two Legs could already picture the look in Sawyer's eyes at discovering his true face—the way her hand might instinctively reach for something sharp, or worse, a gun. She'd seen what happened to Samuel, how he twisted into that monstrous form, an insect wrapped in human skin, and how, despite their shared bond, she eventually found the courage to destroy him. After everything she'd been through, Two Legs doubted she'd have a heart for a creature like him.

No human would.

It suddenly hit him—the small acts of care—it wasn't instinct that made him wake early, listening for her movements, his mind tangled in questions he couldn't answer. It was her. It had always been her. And the fear biting at Two Legs wasn't just about being discovered; it was the dread that Sawyer might genuinely see him and, in that moment, he would lose something he didn't even know he needed.

For the first time since he could remember, Two Legs cared about being seen in the truest sense—naked and judged. He cared how humans viewed him as a person.

He cared how Sawyer saw him.

A small gasp left Two Legs' mouth as he rounded the bend. A familiar musk with cucumber and yeast wafted through the air, cutting down the last of his scattered thoughts. He knew that smell all too well, and he knew who the owner was.

Luis's memories flashed through Two Legs' mind, unsought but vivid. He could see her behind his eyes as he closed them briefly—the older woman, always quick to smile, her warmth woven into every quirk of her aging frame. 

Ida…

In those distant years, when Luis was barely a teen, Ida had become a role model for him in the new world away from Valdelobos. She reminded him of his Abuela—the grandmother he never knew but always imagined through Abuelo's stories, the kind of woman who would slip homemade bread into his hands, gossiping bits of wisdom while weaving wild tales and offering unsolicited affection.

Two Legs didn't share Luis's sentimentality, at least not in the human sense. However, the old neighbor carved out a place in his borrowed heart with her nosy habits and meddling ways. He found something intriguing in the elderly—a subdued resilience that set them apart from their younger and more restless counterparts.

Seeing Ida come into view, Two Legs recalled how simple it would've been—practical, even—to erase her presence when he first reclaimed the Jacintos' household. He could have wiped the slate clean and staked his territory with no loose ends or prying eyes, but she never threatened him. No, there had been no fear in Ida's eyes the day they met, no tremor in her voice, just that neighborly zeal—friendly curiosity over why Luis had returned after nearly a decade of being gone. She'd offered him food before asking questions, even cracking jokes to coax a smile out of him.

It disturbed Two Legs how close she'd been to death without ever knowing it—how she could've been snuffed out, ignorant to the danger she was in. Oblivious to the hunter she was befriending, standing right in front of her. He couldn't comprehend how humans were so gullible. Yet, in the end, Two Legs had no appetite for her. She wasn't prey. She was just old Ida.

Two Legs didn't understand why it was different with her, how it was so easy to suppress the instinct to devour an old feeble creature, yet the ache refused to fade with Sawyer.

"Ah, Luis, estás en casa! Ha pasado demasiado tiempo. " Ida's voice called out, warm and teasing. She lifted her basket like a prize to behold with a grin. "He traído pan recién salido del horno. Pensé que podríamos compartirlo en el almuerzo de hoy si estabas en casa. Me alegro de haberte encontrado. Más tarde iré a la ciudad, así que si necesitas algo de la carnicería, dímelo. ¿Te trató bien tu viaje al capitolio?" (2)

Two Legs smiled, grateful for her presence—her predictability—and how it eased his hesitation. Perhaps that's why Luis had always held her in such high regard and admired women in general. Females carried an air of stability, a quality that always seemed to evade him.

"Me malcrías, Ida," he said with a chuckle, voice softer than he meant it to be. "Te acepto el viaje a la carnicería, pero me temo que el almuerzo tendrá que esperar. No es el mejor momento." (3)

Before Two Legs could explain further, Ida's sharp eyes looked past him. Her smile faltered, brow knitting in confusion. She squinted at something behind him in the distance, something—or someone—hovering just at the edge of sight.

"Ida?"

"Allí," She nodded toward the figure. (4)

Two Legs did a double take, and for a moment, his mind froze. His heart lurched into his throat, not expecting to see Sawyer outside. Hell, he hadn't expected her to even be out of bed, much less venture far away from the house to catch up to him, even with the note he left behind for her.

"Veo que recogiste un recuerdo de Madrid," Ida's curious voice snapped Two Legs out of his trance. She tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over Sawyer with an almost maternal scrutiny as if assessing every piece of her. (5)

"Más bien ella me recogió." Two Legs murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Ida. (6)

"¿Quién, quién es ella?" (7)

"Es...una amiga," Two Legs said, though the word felt wrong—too small for what she was, too weak for what they'd gone through. "Una invitada. Su nombre es Sawyer." (8)

"¿De qué región es ella?" (9)

"Ella no es de aquí. Es americana. Una turista." (10)

"Turista?" Ida's brow arched skeptically, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she looked at him. "De todas las mujeres guapas de Barcelona a Madrid, ¿Te trajiste a casa a una americana con el culo plano?" (11)

"¡Oye, sé amable!" Two Legs laughed, but his cheeks flushed, heat spreading under his skin. "No es tan plano." (12)

Ida chuckled, giving his arm a playful swat, but her laughter faded as her eyes narrowed on something that stole the humor from her face—the bandages peeking just beneath Sawyer's shirt. Even from a great distance, she could see them well. Her expression darkened with concern, and her voice briefly lost its warmth.

"¿Y para qué es eso?" (13)

"¿Para qué es qué?" Two Legs muttered with a swallow, though he already knew where this was going. (14)

"Las heridas en ella," Ida said more sharply now, her eyes locking onto his, hard as steel. " ¿Hiciste eso?" (15)

"¡Podrido, claro que no!" Two Legs stomach dropped, a wave of shame hitting him as if she'd slapped him across the face. He flinched, almost bracing himself for Ida to take a swing at him with her basket. "¿Qué clase de hombre crees que soy? ¡Nunca lastimaría a una dama!" (16)

"¡Bien!" Ida's stern gaze softened, her tone gentle but probing. "¿Pero cogiste al que lo hizo?" (17)

For a moment, the question lingered between them as Two Legs' gaze drifted back to Sawyer, who had seated herself on a weathered bench by a grove of trees, her eyes distant, as if searching for something she'd lost. Seeing her like that stirred a soft spot in himself as he wondered what was on her mind and what motivated her to come out this far.

"No," he said quietly, keeping his eyes on her. "Ella ha pasado por mucho." (18)

Ida nodded, the lines around her eyes softening with compassion as she glanced between Two Legs and Sawyer, raising her brows briefly as if something clicked.

"Ya veo," she murmured. "Tendremos que posponer mi visita entonces, ¿no?" (19)

"Eso sería lo mejor," Two Legs replied, turning his attention to Ida. "Al menos hasta que se sienta mejor." (20)

"Parece simpática," Ida mused, her gaze lingering on Sawyer. Her tone had a knowing, gentle interest, which didn't escape her concern. (21)

Two Legs felt the term catch in his throat for a beat. Like with 'pet,' 'nice' wasn't quite the right word he had in mind for Sawyer, but it was the easiest to grasp at the moment . He smiled again as his gaze settled on her, staring longer than before.

"Si, ella es." (22)

Only when Ida's loud chortle startled him did Two Legs realize he had been too preoccupied for his own good. He could feel the back of his neck heating up as Ida grinned at him.

"No dejes que te meta en sus asuntos, Luis. Siempre has tenido problemas con las chicas. Debe ser la maldición de ser guapo." (23)

"¡Eres tan territorial conmigo!" Two Legs threw his hands up in mock surrender, giving her a flirtatious grin. "¡No soy digno de ello!" (24)

Ida's laughter, hearty and warm, filled the air. "Chico, si tuviera treinta años menos, tu virtud estaría en peligro. Será mejor que tengas cuidado!" (25)

He clutched his chest in exaggerated horror, playing along. "¿Intentas provocarme un infarto?" (26)

"Nah. Sólo un pequeño empujón ," she winked. (27)

They shared another chuckle, a short reprieve from the suspense Two Legs hadn't realized he was carrying. But as the laughter faded, so did the distraction. Two Legs pivoted weirdly, his thoughts weaving around Sawyer again as he rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, quickly glancing at Ida.

"Oye Ida, tengo una pregunta." (28)

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Esto debería ser bueno ¿De qué se trata?" (29)

"Se trata de ella," he admitted, the worry seeping into his voice despite his best efforts to mask it. "Ella realmente no ha comido mucho desde que llegó aquí. Yo, eh...no sé qué hacer. ¿Alguna sugerencia?" (30)

"Ah, el viejo dilema de me importa pero no puedo admitirlo." Ida chuckled. (31)

"¿Qué?" His face scrunched. "No, sólo intento mantenerla con vida. Es supervivencia. Como alimentar a una mascota." (32)

Ida burst out laughing. "Una mascota, ¿eh? Bueno, cariño, estás en un gran problema si es una mascota. Parece que eres tú el que mueve la cola." (33)

Two Legs blinked. "Eso está... mal en muchos sentidos." (34)

"¿Pero lo es?" Ida chuckled, then let out a breath before answering fully. "Bueno, la solución es bastante fácil. Cuando mi hijo era pequeño, se negaba a comer nada nuevo desde que nos mudamos de Madrid a Figueres. Más quisquilloso que un gato con un plato de sopa. Al final, empecé a hacerle las recetas de su abuela. Algo familiar." (35)

Two Legs frowned, thinking back to the meals he'd prepared. "Entonces, ¿estás diciendo que debería cocinarle a Sawyer algo de... su abuela?" (36)

"No necesariamente," Ida said, stifling a laugh. "Tal vez solo consíguele algo que le recuerde a casa, como comida rápida. Engrásalo muy bien. ¿No es eso lo que comen los americanos?" (37)

"Hamburguesas y papas fritas, veinticuatro siete. Sí, suena bien." Two Legs snorted as a memory of one of Luis's colleagues from the States played through, and how the man could eat his entire weight in fries like it was no one's business. Two Legs cringed at the thought of Sawyer pulling a similar stunt, not that he'd stop her, but because he was not a creature that cared for too much salt in his diet, it made him very sick in the past, and he still had no clue if it was a limitation of his species or Luis's body. (38)

"No es exactamente gourmet, ¿eh?" Ida teased. "Pero podría ser lo que ella necesita. Nada demasiado exótico." (39)

"Bien. Sin tentáculos ni nada que se mueva," Two Legs mumbled then laughed. "Gracias, Ida." (40)

"De nada. Te veré luego mi muchacho. "Ida patted his arm and smiled big as she circled back on the trail to return to her residence. While walking away, she turned to give him one final mischievous look. "¡Buena suerte Romeo!" (41)

Two Legs frowned at that, unsure what she meant by 'Romeo,' but shrugged it off.

With the distraction of Ida out of the way, Two Legs let his eyes meander back to Sawyer. She was still on the bench, gazing out toward the valley, not seeming to pay him nor the world any heed. At first, he wondered how much of the conversation she had caught onto, his face heating up until he remembered that Sawyer had confessed to not knowing Spanish too well. Also, the longer he thought of it, Two Legs doubted her hearing was on par with his, that she could detect things at great distances. She'd have to be superhuman, and last he checked, she was anything but.

He contemplated leaving Sawyer alone to let her gather her thoughts and process what needed to be processed. Two Legs figured she'd like to enjoy the scenery by herself until he reminded himself of a few things: First, she needed to learn her way around the property. Second, if she wanted to be alone, Sawyer never would've ventured out this far, much less followed him or would've left the attic, and finally, he wanted to hear her speak again, to talk to him like before. His mind couldn't help but suddenly replay how Sawyer would say Luis's name, how satisfying it was to hear it rolling off her tongue despite him not being the owner himself.

Two Legs could feel his heart's tempo picking up the longer he dwelled on the sound of Sawyer's voice, and he recognized fear—not the fear from his earlier contemplations, but another variant that tied extremely close in tandem with his worry of being exposed, of being seen for what he was. He finally took a deep breath—though it didn't help—and forced himself to walk over to her. Every step was inelegant as if he were learning to walk again.

Two Legs had no idea what he was doing and didn't know how to fix things between himself and her, but one thing was clear: He was going to try.

"Uh, hey! Fancy seeing you out and about!" Two Legs grinned as he approached the trees near the bench, his voice coming out louder than planned. Still, he mentally high-fived himself for the effort as he watched Sawyer glance up, smirking while giving a lazy nod toward him.

"Was that your grandma you were talking to just now?"

"Ida?" Two Legs blinked and laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Oh, no, we're not related! She's just a nice old widow who sometimes brings me food because, y'know, I'm quite irresistible. Even to the bingo crowd."

His eyes widened for a split second, shocked at what left his mouth before giving a lopsided grin, attempting to look smooth as his foot caught on a rock, sending him stumbling before he awkwardly plopped down beside Sawyer on the bench.

"You good?"

"Y-yeah, just a little tired, is all. A lot of walking, y'know?"

Two Legs shifted uncomfortably, leaving too much between them then overcorrected, sliding closer until his body brushed against Sawyer's. He faintly apologized under his breath, unsure why he was saying it in the first place.

"I didn't know old ladies were your type," Sawyer quipped, sneaking a glance to check if Luis was alright. She moved slightly, trying to mask the warmth creeping up her face.

"What can I say? I have range." Two Legs grinned, though his face reddened as he shot her a playful wink and hurried to give her more space. "She likes you, by the way."

"Oh really?" Sawyer's smirk deepened as she leaned back, thankful she didn't have to budge. "I couldn't tell if she wanted to come over and say hi or hit me with that basket."

"Eh, probably both, if I'm being honest." Two Legs chuckled. "Ida only tolerates me because I remind her of her first boyfriend…or was it the second? I'm like vintage hot, apparently."

"Are you serious?"

He chuckled nervously, once again unsure why he said what he said. "Okay, maybe I made up the last part."

"Vintage hot, huh?" Sawyer's grin widened, looking him over as if sizing him up compared to the remark.

"You know, in a classy way," Two Legs cleared his throat, flustering as he bragged further. "Like a nice antique chest."

Sawyer burst into a laughing fit, her whole body shaking, oblivious to Two Legs' wide-eyed horror as he fumbled to salvage his pride.

"Wait, no! I didn't mean chest—like a chest of drawers! I meant something better! Like, uh—like a...ah, forget it!"

"No, no, please! Don't let me stop you." Sawyer wiped a tear from her eye, still grinning mischievously as her laughter fell to something more manageable. "Y'know, being a chest isn't so bad. You can hold a lot of shit inside you. That's a good quality to have, being durable like that."

Two Legs groaned, slumping forward and burying his face in his hands, though a muffled laugh escaped from between his fingers. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Never," Sawyer grunted, shaking her head. "You're a mess." 

"Hey," he shot her a hopeful grin, leaning into the banter. "Messes can be endearing, right?"

"If you say so," Sawyer nodded, and a soft smile reached her eyes for the first time in what felt like ages.

Despite how embarrassed he was at himself, for a fleeting moment, Two Legs would have done it all over to hear her laugh like that again. He found his eyes trailing over her, easing up as he caught the light in Sawyer's gaze. Then, with a playful nudge of his chin, he gestured to the turf of crumpled paper poking out of her pants pocket.

"I see you found my note from earlier."

"Yeah," Sawyer nodded, fingers grazing the edge of her pocket where she'd tucked it away.

The sticky note—scrawled with elegant cursive, too fancy for someone like Luis but somehow fitting—had made her chuckle when she first found it, giving birth to a quip she intended to share later on. But now, sitting beside him and after what just happened, she felt a knot in her throat.

"You wanna keep walking?" Two Legs asked, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he tried to compose himself.

"Actually," Sawyer paused, trying to find something to lighten the moment but to no avail. She decided now was as good of time as any to bring something important up, to not beat around the bush as Samuel would've put it once upon a time. "I came here to talk to you about the three boxes of tampons and pads in the bathroom."

Two Legs's face flushed redder than a stoplight, and he immediately looked away like he'd just been caught in a lie. It was an understatement to say this hit him out of left field, as he recalled when he purchased them and the snack stockpile he got for Sawyer, remembering the weird looks and snark some males gave him and how a couple of females complimented his kindness. He didn't realize the products' societal connotations until he descended the rabbit hole of Luis's memories. All he understood then was that females of the human species bled sometimes and used the devices to clean up.

His eyes darted back to hers, nervous and expectant. "Did I overstep getting those for you? I wasn't sure which ones to grab."

"No, no, you didn't cross a line," Sawyer said quickly, shaking her head. "It's just that you wasted your money. You might want to return them and get a refund if it's not too late."

"Wasted, what do you mean?" His brow knitted, confusion crossing his features like she'd just spoken an ancient tongue. "I might be uneducated in this area," he gestured awkwardly, "but I do know women—"

"I'm sterile."

Two Legs blinked, his expression freezing mid-thought as if something inside him short-circuited. "You're...what?"

"Sterile. I'm fixed," Sawyer shrugged, eyes downcast. "So I don't, y'know..."

"Bleed?"

"Yeeeahhh...well, unless I'm shot at," Sawyer murmured with a huff and shoved her hands into her pockets, rocking on her heels, trying to seem like it hadn't just cost her something to say it.

"Oh." Two Legs voice muffled as his gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers picking at a loose thread in his jeans. He still didn't quite understand what she meant by being fixed, but he smiled, looking at her. "Well, if you get shot again, they might be useful, so it's not a total loss. The first aid kit is gonna be packed, though."

"That's disgusting!" Sawyer fought to keep a straight face, but a snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it. "But hey, reduce, reuse, recycle, right?"

"Exactly!" Two Legs grin spread wide, relief shining in his eyes, proud of himself for pulling her out of the spiral. "I'm sure they'd help nosebleeds too!"

"God, you're so gross," Sawyer shook her head. Glancing at Luis with a half smile as her laughter died, she said, "Thanks, though, for thinking about me."

"It's nothing," Two Leg's expression eased as he looked at her and shrugged, attempting to play it off. "I didn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"You didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to take care of you."

Sawyer's heart twisted slightly at his sincerity, mainly since they hadn't spoken much in a long time. She knew that was her fault, and although she didn't regret taking time to herself, she could tell her silence affected Luis, even if he didn't say it aloud.

"Hey," Two Legs murmured, his voice gentler than usual. "Do you want some breakfast? I'm getting hungry."

"Nah," Sawyer murmured as she shook her head, glancing over him. "but I'd like the company. If that's okay?"

"Yeah!" Two Legs practically jumped at her response, his answer too quick. "I mean—yeah, of course! Company! I can do that. Company's my middle name."

He cringed at himself the second the words left his mouth, wondering why he stumbled like that.

"Sure, Luis," Sawyer raised an eyebrow. A slight smirk tugged at her lips as she chuckled. "We should roll out before your stomach starts speaking for you further."

"Too late for that..." Two Legs chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He got up alongside Sawyer from the bench, gesturing for her to take the lead before walking beside her at the right. It was several minutes before he spoke up again, noticing his earlier observations about Sawyer losing weight were correct now that he was close enough to get a gander.

"Hey, if you change your mind about food, I've got bread. And, y'know, things that go on bread."

"Wow," Sawyer remarked sarcastically, turning her head to look at him with a smile and raised brow. "Things that go on bread. You really know how to sell it."

"Stick with me, and you'll be eating like royalty in no time," Two Legs grinned. "I mean, bread and toppings? That's high-class. Especially if we're talking about pizza."

"I said it before, I'll say it again: I'm stunned you don't live in a van."

"Personally? I'd go for a cave if I had the option."

"Speaking to your inner caveman?"

"No, I just like the dark."

"I think they call that depression, Luis."

They both laughed. It wasn't the kind of laugh that brightened a room, but it was enough.

Two Legs realized then that this moment was enough. He didn't need to fix anything or overthink his fears. Alvarez, "the other place," the monsters, his weird ramblings—none mattered now except being here, sharing this moment. And judging by the change in Sawyer's demeanor, maybe that was all she needed, too.

Notes:

Spanish to English Translation (FYI, I'm not well versed in Spanish but I tried my best) 1. Allow me to discern my true needs that are hidden from me. I do not ask you for a cross or consolation; I wait for you with patience. 2. Ah, Luis, you're home! It's been too long! I've brought fresh bread, just out of the oven. Thought we could share it over lunch today if you were home. I'm glad I caught you! I'm heading into town later, so if you need anything from the butcher, just let me know. Did your trip to the capitol treat you well? 3. You spoil me, Ida. I'll take you up on that trip to the butcher, but I'm afraid lunch will have to wait. It's not the best time. 4. Over there 5. I see you picked up a souvenir from Madrid. 6. More like she picked me up. 7. Who, who is she? 8. She's...a friend. A guest. Her name's Sawyer. 9. What region is she from? 10. She's not from here. She's American. A tourist. 11. Tourist? Of all the beautiful women from Barcelona to Madrid, you brought home an American with a flat butt? 12. Hey be nice! It's not that flat. 13. And what's that for? 14. What's what for? 15. The wounds on her. Did you do that? 16. Rotten! Of course not! What kind of a man do you think I am? I'd never hurt a lady! 17. Good! But did you get the one who did it? 18. No. She's been through a lot. 19. I see. We'll have to raincheck my visit then, won't we? 20. That'd be best. At least until she's feeling better. 21. She seems nice. 22. Yeah, she is. 23. Don't let her get you tangled up in her business, Luis. You've always had a way of finding trouble with girls. Must be the curse of being handsome. 24. You’re so territorial over me! I’m not worthy of it! 25. Boy, if I were thirty years younger, your virtue would be in danger. You best be careful! 26. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? 27. Nah, just a little jumpstart. 28. Hey Ida, I have a question 29. This should be good. What is it about? 30. It's about her. She hasn't really eaten much since she got here. I, uh...I don't know what to do. Any suggestions? 31. Ah, the ol' 'I care but I can't admit it' dilemma. 32. What? No, I'm just trying to keep her alive. It's survival. Like—feeding a pet. 33. A pet, huh? Well, sweetheart, you're in big trouble if she's a pet. Sounds like you're the one wagging your tail. 34. That’s…wrong in so many ways. 35. Is it though? Well, the solution is easy enough. When my son was a boy, he refused to eat anything new after we moved from Madrid to Figueres. Picky as a cat with a bowl of soup. Finally, I started making him his abuela's recipes—comfort food, you know? Something familiar. 36. So, you're saying I should cook Sawyer something from...her abuela? 37. Not necessarily. Maybe just get her something that reminds her of home, like fast food. Grease it up really well. Isn't that what Americans eat? 38. Burgers and fries, twenty-four seven. Yeah, sounds about right. 39. "Not exactly gourmet, huh? But it might be what she needs. Nothing too exotic. 40. Right. No tentacles or anything wiggling. Thanks, Ida. 41. You're welcome! I'll see you around, my boy. Good luck Romeo! 42. Thanks for nothing, friend

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐓𝐋 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

Summary: When Y/N needs help on a hunt, she doesn't expect Bobby to send Dean Winchester to her. Now the two must work together to solve the case and Dean has to deal with Y/N's sarcastic and biting personality, that maybe he likes a little too much.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: just some swearing

Word count: 2168

Series

It was early morning when Dean's phone rang in the motel room where the brothers were spending the night.

"Hello?" Dean said sleepily after glancing at Sam as he sat up on the bed next to his, his arm in a cast because of yesterday's hunt. He probably should have taken a break from work for a while.

“Dean, it's Bobby. I found you a case, well not me exactly.”

"Awesome! And I thought I could sleep for two hours in a raw."

"'Oh shut up. So, do you want this case or not?”

"What is it about?"

"I have no idea. Y/N called me, she says she's never seen anything like this, she needs backup."

"Y/N? Oh c'mon..."

She was an excellent hunter, a ruthless professional. A person perhaps a little too sarcastic and stubborn, of those who never admitted they were wrong even if they knew perfectly well they were.

"Don't complain. Y/N is a smart girl! And I know you like her even if you pretend you don't, okay?”

"What? No I…" Dean was interrupted by a low, mocking laugh.

"Okay, okay." He said rolling his eyes, even though Bobby couldn't see it. "Sam has a broken arm, he can't hunt like this."

His brother snorted.

"He can stay with me until you are dome with this hunt." Bobby replied.

Dean glanced at Sam, who didn't look really convinced.

"Okay. Where's Y/N?"

"Toledo, Ohio. You can find her at the Devil Return Motel, room 12."

Dean couldn't help but smile, he was sure she had chosen a motel with that name on purpose.

That fucking case had forced her to ask for help, something she didn't do often. Y/N was poring over everything she could glean from searches around the town but she couldn't come to a logical conclusion.

Bernard Dubois, the first victim, had been attacked in his residence and then deprived of all nails and eyes. Other pieces of flesh that appeared to have been bitten off the body were also missing.

Mark Stern, on the other hand, the second victim, seemed to have had less luck: this one had been found in the garden of his residence without teeth, in addition to nails and eyes.

Y/N had been in that town for two days now and that "thing" had already caused two deaths. One dead a day wasn't a good pace and she knew she couldn't do it alone.

When she heard a knock at the door she got up from the old brown couch and went to open it, expecting some old bearded and experienced hunter: she had specified to Bobby how weird this hunt was.

Protected by the chain, she opened the door a little, remaining impassive on seeing Dean.

Dean Winchester was one of the best hunters she'd ever met, hell maybe the best ever but working with him was always terribly difficult for both of them. But that didn't make her like him any less, she just had to put on a little show.

"Y/N, how long! Are you going to let me in or…?” and she closed the door again, almost slamming it in his face.

"Hey!" She heard him on the other side.

She rolled her eyes and moved the bolt so she could finally open the door. Moving away from the entrance they reached the center of the room.

"Don't you check that i'm not a monster or something?"

He asked surprised by such a... frivolous welcome.

When she turned to answer him, she looked up at the ceiling and Dean did the same.

"Anti-demon" nodded Dean seeing the pentacle painted in black. "I would have made it under the rug tho," he added, receiving a look that could have incinerated him instantly.

"What if I was something else?" He asked closing the door behind him.

“I've fitted a silver handle and the mirror says you're not a shapeshifter. Do you want to do your job now or do you want to continue humiliating yourself?” She smiled at him victorious, handing him the sheets with the newspaper articles.

A case with Dean Winchester. It was going to be a hell of a hunt.

Anyone in their right mind would have preferred to stay away from that manipulative and sometimes even seemingly selfish woman. Only apparently, Dean thought, he knew that behind that facade there was a part of her that she didn't show very often. Dean had known her for a long time, they had worked together several times, since before Sam left Stanford to go looking for John with him.

Dean dropped the bag on the mattress and walked over to the table covered in photos and documents, placing his hands on opposite sides of it, followed by Y/N.

On the table, photos and medical records continued to dance before her eyes, as if they were reproaching her incompetence.

"I'll set everything on fire once I find that son of a bitch" she muttered annoyed starting to move the sheets for the umpteenth time, so that they could compare the victims.

Origins, frequented places, age, job, physical traits: everything seemed to not coincide. This implied a lack of pattern.

"Which of the monsters we know prefers to eat the side dish rather than the main course?" She asked Dean, sometimes having the same sarcasm as someone else was an advantage.

Dean gave the papers one last look and then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Rugaru?" He tried passing the list over in his mind.

"A picky Rugaru? I doubt it" Y/N disagreed as she continued to stare at those papers which by now she knew by heart. “Besides, there were animals footprints at both crime scenes.”

"So-"

“Werewolves? Are you serious?" She anticipated him turning her head in his direction just to be able to throw him one of her "and I should collaborate with you?" looks.

“And I said animals footprints. More animals.”

She moved to what should have been the kitchen and picked up a book she'd forgotten on the counter while taking a snack break from her research. She threw it at him without even a warning, at least he still had quick reflexes.

"Otters" she anticipated him again when he saw him open the book, helped by the post-it that marked the offending page.

"Otters? Are you kidding me?" Dean gave her a questioning and somewhat incredulous look.

“Not this time. Otters and dogs" she added, opening the mini bar to get a beer just for her. Little sense of welcome, definitely.

She felt like she was playing Guess Who, but it was a very long and definitely not funny game.

Dean leafed through the book and then went back to reading the documents scattered on the table.

"C'mon, Sherlock. I'm sure you can do it." he teased him opening her beer and taking a long drink.

In both cases the men had been deprived of eyes and nails, feet and hands.

"What creature prefers eyeballs to human flesh?" He asked to himself, trying to remember if he had ever read anything like this in John's journal. Obviously he knew those pages, every note that John had written had been assimilated in a short time during his father's absence. So he was pretty sure John Winchester's diary wasn't going to help him. To make sure, however, he decided to take a quick look.

He sat back on the bed, and pulled his source of information from his duffel bag, the thing that had kept Sam and Dean going all those years. He leafed through it quickly but carefully until he reached the last page. He closed the journar, resigned and he sighed.

"Well, that's weird," he said. "Did the two gentlemen here have absolutely nothing in common?"

"As far as I know, no," Y/N answered after sipping his beer, shrugging. “One of them even lived outside Toledo.”

"But his body was found dead here, right?" the man asked again. Y/N nodded.

"Nah! There must be something. There's always something." He put the diary back in the bag and returned to concentrating on the documents of the victims. He turned to look at the girl, his eyes narrowed.

"Did you check if the two guys knew each other?" he asked, receiving only a suspicious silence in response.

From her guilty expression, he knew perfectly well that the idea hadn't even crossed her mind.

Dean chuckled amused and also very pleased.

“I take that as a no,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us."

He turned away from her and went to arrange his things on the couch in the corner of the room.

“Tomorrow morning we're going to talk to the families of these two. Now it's late and we should sleep."

If she could, she would have hit herself.

How could she not think of such a thing? She had focused so much on love matters to understand if it could be a passionate revenge that she had totally forgotten to ask their families for confirmation. She knew everything about the lives of those fucking dudes and not if they knew each other.

And did you need a Winchester get it? She admonished herself inwardly, shaking her head.

Y/N glanced at Dean as he dropped his dark red shirt and T-shirt on the back of the armchair in front of the couch. “So, do you wanna sleep or not? I bet you haven't slept in at least fifty hours.”

He, on the other hand, hadn't slept for three days. He had had a very difficult case that had given him a hard time and he had also had to take Sam to the hospital, which hunters only did when things were really bad and he had been in the waiting room for hours and then returned at the motel with a pissed off Sam about his arm in a cast.

He hadn't even had time to close his eyes before he got Bobby's call, which was why he was there now.

“You don't need to worry about me, Dean. I have to get some stuff ready for tomorrow." Y/N retorted without even glancing at him, busy fiddling with fake FBI badges.

«No offence, sweetheart, but you don't look really good» insisted Dean, also stripping of his jeans to freely remain half naked. "You should sleep."

«Never as much as you, love. With those dark circles you have, even the monster we're dealing with would run away» she retorted choosing the most suitable badge for that case and leaving it on the table.

"Now shut up and sleep." she said firmly trying to convince him.

But Dean didn't seem to want to listen to her. Of course, he wanted to sleep and send her to hell but he just couldn't do it knowing that she stayed awake when she needed to sleep too.

Y/N fumbled some more with the things in her bag and then turned back to Dean, finding him still wide awake, staring at her.

She huffed, finally giving in and Dean had to hide a smile.

“You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?” She complained as she began to pull off her shoes, followed by her socks and jeans.

"I take the couch?" Dean said uncertainly as she pulled on an extra large t-shirt.

“Didn't you say you wanted to sleep? Well, I assure you that it's impossible to sleep on that couch» she shook his head as he approached the bed and lifted the sheets. «I don't bite, Dean» she invited him to follow her, sitting down on the bed.

"I mean, yes, I bite, but not now," she corrected herself with a guilty smile, leaning back on the bed with his arms folded. "So?"

They were just like cat and dog, except that they fought like an old married couple, but still cared about each other.

Dean raised his eyebrows, thinking about her proposal and moved his gaze to the couch which, to be honest, looked really questionable. Leather, a little scratched at the seams and with not exactly accommodating cushions. He looked at the bed and then once more at Y/N, who was patting the empty seat next to her.

Dean sighed and finally moved. He lay down next to her and rested his head on the pillow, it wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed, only it had been almost a year since the last time.

Maybe, the last time had been when, after drinking a little too much, they had almost ended up doing something else in that bed. They both pretended not to remember that night, anyway.

"Why isn't Sam with you?" she asked.

"Broken arm, he's staying at Bobby's." He murmured in an already sleepy voice.

"Now we should rest," he said then, settling on his side, facing right at her. “Try not to stare at me too much while I sleep, okay?”

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @samanddeansannoyingsis @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @random-spn-fan

[michaelgeary]

nicholas  galitzine  appears  as  michael  geary  ,  a  twenty  eight  year  old  ex  -  playboy  who  found  god  when  the  party  ended  .  currently  residing  in  la . pinterest .

full name : michael laurie geary jr. date of birth : december 13th , saggitarius . family composition : loretta geary , michael geary sr , kady (26), renee (22). birth place : toledo , ohio current residence : los angeles , california current occupation : pioneer priest , model and orchastra first violin

the story :

tw: divorce, emotional abuse, religion.

michael  had  the  misfortune  of  being  the  first  born  child  of  a  socialite  who  had  never  wanted  a  son  .  from  the  very  moment  that  he  was  born  ,  his  relationship  with  his  mother  was  fractured  and  even  though  his  father  was  an  ever  present  figure  ,  he  never  seemed  to  become  that  attached  to  his  family  .  in  succession  ,  his  sister  kady  was  born  just  as  his  father  was  making  a  greater  breakthrough  in  his  acting  career  and  both  children  were  cared  for  in  majority  by  nannies  or  other  paid  staff  who  did  dote  on  them  but  never  quite  hit  the  mark  of  a  mothers  love  .  michael  knew  he  was  not  loved  by  his  mother  ,  her  own  disposition  to  isolation  and  coldness  quite  clear  but  still  ,  he  always  wondered  if  the  hatred  she  seemed  to  have  for  his  father  was  the  reason  .  the  family  was  never  on  an  even  keel  ,  the  parenting  of  his  father  becoming  lesser  as  he  became  more  famous  and  soon  the  youngest  geary  child  ,  renee  was  born  . 

michael  was  getting  older  when  things  began  to  change  even  more  ,  his  desire  to  torment  his  mother  only  growing  because  of  her  irrationally  strict  rules  .  he  would  do  anything  to  catch  her  attention  where  as  his  sisters  were  younger  and  more  submissive  to  the  idea  of  perfection  .  as  their  mother  began  to  accuse  their  father  of  affairs  (  that  were  never  substantiated  )  ,  she  took  over  the  family  home  and  ousted  michael  sr  out  beginning  a  six  year  legal  battle  which  would  see  all  three  children  forced  to  take  the  stand  and  express  their  wishes  .  their  father  was  famous  now  and  their  mother  could  not  stand  it  ,  she  spun  lies  to  the  press  at  any  opportunity  in  the  hopes  of  clinging  to  her  own  moral  high  ground  .  it  didn't  matter  to  her  what  she  put  her  children  through  ,  only  that  she  wont  the  battle  and  got  her  own  way  .  the  family  courts  had  never  seen  such  a  high  profile  contested  hearing  and  finally  ,  they  concluded  that  all  three  children  should  remain  in  the  care  of  their  father  ,  michael  sr  ,  who  tried  his  best  to  pick  up  the  pieces  .  and  ,  if  anybody  cared  for  the  truth  ,  he  was  a  fantastic  father  to  three  very  trying  children  throughout  the  rest  of  their  lives  ,  never  once  turning  his  back  or  offering  coldness  as  their  moth  had  .  unfortunately  ,  it  was  too  late  for  michael's  unbalanced  psyche  . 

by  the  time  that  michael  and  his  family  moved  to  lincoln  city  ,  he  was  13  years  old  and  his  father  duly  retired  from  the  limelight  to  become  a  full  time  parent  ,  remarrying  much  later  .  he  enrolled  his  children  to  st  marys  catholic  high  school  in  the  hopes  that  maybe  religion  would  be  a  guiding  star  in  their  lives  and  it  appeared  ,  at  least  sort  of  ,  that  michael  thrived  .  he  was  not  a  religious  boy  but  he  did  enjoy  the  idea  of  greater  power  and  that  he  could  get  his  hands  on  some  of  it  .  he  certainly  didn't  turn  into  a  disciplined  child  but  he  did  grow  up  into  a  teenager  who  could  be  charming  ,  interesting  and  dynamic  .  on  the  other  side  of  that  came  his  love  of  dramatics  ,  the  uncontrollable  over  the  top  reactions  that  he  had  to  not  getting  his  own  way  well  notes  .  he  never  knew  where  to  draw  the  line  and  his  instability  was  sometimes  mistaken  for  manipulation  .  perhaps  ,  in  his  way  ,  he  could  be  manipulative  ,  attention  seeking  and  prone  to  unreasonable  lies  to  build  the  appearance  that  he  so  desired  but  who  didn't  tell  a  few  white  lies  ...  right  ?   

after  graduation  and  the  unfortunate  incident  that  michael  sorely  pushed  to  the  back  of  his  mind  as  if  it  wasn't  life  or  death  ,  he  spread  his  wings  and  flew  all  over  the  united  states  of  america  on  his  fathers  trust  fund  ,  making  the  most  of  what  life  had  to  offer  .  his  family  would  not  hear  from  him  for  five  years  and  when  they  did  ,  they  would  find  out  their  son  and  brother  had  now  devoted  his  life  to  becoming  a  man  of  god  (  supposedly  )  .  he  didn't  mention  all  the  money  he  had  blown  on  partying  ,  getting  high  and  everything  in  between  ...  and  now  his  image  ,  pristine  in  some  ways  and  completely  false  in  others  ,  is  ready  to  return  for  a  second  comeback  .  although ...  he  may  not  be  accompanied  by  the  holy  spirit  . 

connections :

christopher wilder : michael  was  generally  popular  in  high  school  and  knew  chris  ,  he  would  have  never  thought  twice  about  his  fate  until  the  night  of  the  dare  .  there  was  no  grand  relationship  there  and  michael's  return  is  very  much  something  he  recognises  as  part  of  a  greater  calling  ( or so he will say ) .

open to anything !!!!! i wld like a couple of exes , any gender , traumatic endings . & maybe an unrequited best friend situation , either direction :-)

[todaysdocument]

Treaty Between the United States and the Ottawa, Chippewa, Wyandot and Potawatomi Indians Signed at Detroit, 11/17/1807. 

Map of land ceded via digitreaties.org. 

File Unit: Ratified Indian Treaty 54: Ottawa, Chippewa, Wyandot and Potawatomi - Detroit, November 17, 1807, 1789 - 1869

Series: Indian Treaties, 1789 - 1869

Record Group 11: General Records of the United States Government, 1778 - 2006

Image description: Cession 66, a sizeable chunk of south-eastern Michigan and a bit of Ohio, encompassing Port Huron, Detroit, Ann Arbor, Flint, and Toledo. Not quite over to Lansing.

Transcription:

Whereas a Treaty between the United States of America and the Ottaway, Chippeway, Wyandotte, and Pottwamie Nations of Indians was concluded and

signed at Detroit on the seventeenth day of November last, and was duly ratified and confirmed by the President of the United States on the twenty seventh day of January in the year of our Lord one thousand Eight hundred and eight in the present year by and with the advice and consent of the Senate which treaty is in the words following to wit.

Articles of a Treaty, made at Detroit the Seventeenth day of November in the year of our Lord one thousand  eight hundred and seven, by William Hull Governor of the Territory of Michigan, and Superintendant of Indian Affairs, and the Commissioner of the United States, to conclude and sign a Treaty or Treaties, with the several nations of Indians, North West of the river Ohio, on the one part, and the sachems, chiefs, and warriors, of the Ottaway, Chippeway, Wyandotte, and Pottawatamie nations of Indians, on the other part. To confine and perpetuate, the friendship, which happily subsists, between the United States and the Nations aforesaid, to manifest  the sincerity of that friendship and to settle arrangements mutually beneficial to the parties; after a full explanation and perfect understanding, the following articles are agreed to, which, when ratified by the President, by, and with, the advice and consent of the Senate of the United States, shall be binding on them and the respective nations of Indians.

Article I. The sachems  chiefs, and warriors of the nations aforesaid, in consideration of money and goods, to be paid to the said nations, by the Government of the United States as hereafter stipulated; do hereby agree to cede and forever quit claim, and do in behalf of their nations hereby, cede relinquish, and forever quit claim, unto the United States, all right, title, and interest, which the said nations now have, or claim, or ever had, or claimed, in, or unto, the lands comprehended within the following described lines and boundaries: Beginning at the mouth of the Miami river of the lakes, and running thence up the middle thereof, to the mouth of the great Au Glaize river, thence running due North, until it intersects a parallel of Latitude, to be drawn from the outlet of Lake Huron which forms the river Sinclair; thence running North East the course, that may be found, will lead in a direct line, to White Rock, in Lake Huron, thence due East, until it intersects the boundary line between the United States, and Upper Canada; in said Lake, thence southwardly, following the said boundary line, down said Lake, through River Sinclair, Lake St. Clair, and the River Detroit, into Lake Erie, to a point due East, of the aforesaid Miami river, thence West to the place of Beginning ~

Article II. It is hereby stipulated and agreed on the part of the United States, as a consideration for the lands, ceded by the nations aforesaid, in the preceding article that there shall be paid to the said nations, at Detroit, ten thousand Dollars, in money, goods, implements of Husbandry, or domestic animals (at the option of the said nations, seasonably signified, through the superindendant of Indian affairs residing with the said nations, to the Department of War), as soon as practicable, after the ratification of the treaty, by the President, with the advice and consent of the Senate of the United States; of this sum, three thousand three hundred and thirty three Dollars thirty three cents and four mills, shall be paid to the Ottawa nation, three thousand three hundred and thirty three Dollars thirty three cents and four mills, to the Chippewa nation, one thousand six hundred sixty six Dollars sixty six cents and six mills, to the Wyandotte nation, one thousand six hundred sixty six Dollars sixty six cents and six mills, to the Pottawatamie nation; and likewise an annuity, forever, of two thousand four hundred Dollars, to be paid at Detroit, in manner as aforesaid, the first payment to be made on the first day of September next, and to be paid to the different nations, in the following proportions:  Eight hundred dollars to the Ottaways, eight hundred dollars to the Chippeways, four hundred dollars to the Wyandottes, and four hundred Dollars to such of the Pottawatamies, as now reside on the river Huron of lake Erie, the river Raisin, and in the vicinity of the said rivers ~

Article III. it is further stipulated and agreed, if at any time hereafter, the said nations should be of the opinion, that it would be more for their interest, that the annuity aforesaid should be paid by installments; the United States will agree to a reasonable commutation for the annuity and pay it accordingly ~

Article IV. The United States, to manifest their liberality, and disposition to encourage the said Indians, in agriculture, further stipulate, to furnish the said Indians with two Black Smiths one to reside with the Chippewas, at Saguina, and the other to reside with the Ottawas, at the Miami, during the term of ten years; said Blacksmiths are to do such work for the said nations as shall be most useful to them ~

Article V.  It is further agreed, and stipulated that the said Indian nations shall enjoy the privilege of hunting and fishing on the lands ceded as aforesaid, as long as they remain the property of the United States ~

Article VI. It is distinctly to be understood, for the accommodation of the said Indians, that the following tracts, of Land, within the cession aforesaid, shall be, and hereby are reserved to the said Indian nations, one tract of land six miles square, on the Miami of Lake Erie, above Roche de Boeuf, to include the village, where Tondaganie, (or the Dog) now lives ~ Also, three miles square;  on the said river, (above the twelve miles square ceded to the United States by the Treaty of Greenville) including what is called Presque Isle, also four miles square on the Miami Bay, including the villages where Meshkemau and Wau-gau now live ~ also, three miles square on the River Raisin, at a place called Macon, and where the river Macon falls into the River Raisin which place is about fourteen miles from the mouth of said river Raizin; also, two sections of one mile square each, on the river Rouge, at Seginsiwin village; also two sections of one mile square each, at Tonquishs village, near the river Rouge; also three miles square on lake St. Clair, above the river Huron, to include Machonces village; also, six sections, each section containing one mile square, within the cession aforesaid, in such situations as the said Indians shall elect, subject, however, to the approbation of the President of the United States, as to the places of location. It is further understood and agreed, that whenever the Reservations cannot conveniently be laid out in squares, they shall be laid out in paralelograms or other figures, as found most practicable and convenient, so as to contain the area specified in miles, and in all cases they are to be located in such manner, and in such situations, as not to interfere with any improvements of the French or other white people, or any former cessions ~

Article VII. The said nations of Indians acknowledge themselves to be under the protection of the United States, and no other power, and will prove by their conduct that they are worthy of so great a blessing ~

In Testimony whereof, the said  William Hull, and the sachems, and war chiefs representing

[page 2]

the said Nations, have hereunto set their hands and seals,

Done at Detriot, in the Territory of Michigan, the day [and] year first above written ~

William Hull

In Presense of

George McDougall

Chief Judge Ct D.H. [and] D

C Rush Atty Genrl

Jacob Visger [text faded]

Jos. Watson Secretary to the Legislature

                          of Michigan

Abijah Hull Surveyor for Michigan Terry [Territory]

Harris H. Hickman; Counsellor of Law

Abraham Fuller Hull, Counsellor at Law

and secretary to the Commission

Whitmore Knaggs      }       Sworn Interpreters

William Walker            }

Ottaws.

Au-bau-way

Ka-wach-e-wan

Saw-ga-maw

Ogouse

Was-a-ga-shick

Pottawattamies

To-quish

No-ma-me

Naw-me

Nin-ne-wa

Skush

Wyandots

Skahomat

Miere, or walk in the water

Iyo-na-yo-ta-ha

Chippawas.

Pee-wan-she-menogh

Ma-mau-she-gau-ta

(Or Bad legs)

Poo-qui-gau-boa-wie

Kiosk

Po-qua-quet

(or the Ball)

Se-gan-gw wan

Quit-chon-a-quish

or Big Cloud

Qui-con-quish

Puck-e-nese

or the spark of fire

Ne-gig

(or the Otter)

Mee-a-si-ta

Macquettequet

or Little Bear

Ne-me-kas

(or little Thunder)

Sawanabenase

Or, pe,che,ga,bu,a

or Grand Blanc

Tonquish

Miott

Meu-e-tu-ge-sheck

or the little Cedar

Now therefore to the end that the said treaty may be observed and performed with good faith on the part of the United States, I have caused the premises to be made public; and I do hereby enjoin and require all persons bearing office civil or military within the United States, and all others, citizens or inhabitants thereof, or being within the same; faithfully to observe and fulfil the said treaty and every clause and article thereof. In testimony, whereof, I have caused the seal of the United States to be affixed to these presents, and signed the same with my hand.

Done at the City of Washington the twenty fifth day of February in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eight, and of the Independence of the United States of America, the thirty second.

[signed] Thomas Jefferson

By the President,

[signed] James Madison Secretary of State.

[docpiplup]

Related with the Rabadis chapter of the Al Andalus. Historical Figures, there's some books and historical novels about the topic. Two of them are mentioned in a a couple of articles about the Rabadis I posted and translated here on Tumblr (X) (x) if anyone wants to take a look.

The last two books are historical novels, from a saga, The Arrabal Lineage, whose second novel was published last year.

La Odisea de los Rabadíes: El primer exilio hispano (The Odyssey of the Rabadis: the first Hispanic exile) by Manuel Harazem

March 2018 marks the 1,200th anniversary of an event that occurred in Córdoba that, despite remaining unknown to the majority of its current inhabitants, had crucial importance in the city, on the peninsula and in distant places in Africa and the Eastern Mediterranean. The revolt of the Saqunda suburb, its total destruction by the emir al-Hakam I and the expulsion of the surviving residents of the subsequent brutal repression has the honor, heroic on the one hand, but sad on the other, of having been the pioneer of two constants in the history of the peninsular peoples: the popular revolts inscribed in the class struggle and the exiles for political reasons. This is the first popular revolt for socioeconomic reasons and the first exile for political reasons that we have documentary evidence in the history of the Iberian Peninsula, a land that would be lavish in them from then until today. The consequence for Córdoba will be that the southern bank of the Guadalquivir would never be historically urbanized again until today, turning it into a strange case of a large city located on the bank of a river and equipped with a magnificent bridge that did not take advantage of that circumstance to develop in parallel. The consequence for distant places will be the colonization by those exiles of one of the most important cities of the Islamic world, Fez, the ephemeral, but impactful, founding of an independent republic in Alexandria and above all the creation of a prosperous Andalusian emirate on the island. of Crete that would survive for 130 years, facing the attacks of the Byzantine Empire, and throughout which its sovereigns would maintain the title of Cordoba with persistent pride. The exiles tend to be all similar, but in this case the exile of the Rabadíes, if it resembles any, is that of the Republicans after the civil war that unleashed the Spanish Fascist Revolution. The Arrabal revolt and the Republic are comparable events because both were rebellions of the popular classes allied to enlightened strata against absolute power and the permanent injustice of the emir and the regime of the national-Catholic agro-bourgeois elites. When the Power decides to apply the lesson, the emiral repression in the suburb will last three days and the civil war unleashed by the National Catholic forces will last three years. And in both cases, the terrible destruction is followed by an exile that takes two directions, one by land and the other crossing a long stretch of sea, Fez and France, Crete and America. And all cases will be fertilizers of culture of the host lands. This informative work collects the complete sequence of those distant events, which occurred in Córdoba, Toledo, Fez, Alexandria and Crete in the 9th century, in a research effort diving into different sources in different languages ​​to clarify dark points and dismantle some errors that over the centuries, scattered and unconnected stories had accumulated in traditional historiography. And along the way, he analyzes the city's relationship with history and the remains of its Islamic past. But above all it aims to vindicate the memory of some people from Córdoba who carried out the marvelous feat of rising up against injustice and turning their misfortune into a civilizing task in the distant lands where they sought refuge to rebuild their lives.

Los Andaluces Fundadores del Emirato de Creta (The Andalusian Founders of the Emirate of Crete), by Carmen Panadero

Do we Spaniards know our History? We think we know it. Sometimes important and exciting pages from our historical past appear before our eyes, which we had not heard about. There are many who are unaware, even in Spain, that thousands of families exiled from a suburb of Córdoba took the island of Crete from the Byzantine Empire, creating a dynasty of emirs there during the 9th century and part of the 10th. Very few are those who will know. that those simple people of the town, Iberians from an inland city who had not seen other waters than those of the Guadalquivir River, took over the hegemony of the eastern Mediterranean, defeating Byzantium in decisive naval battles. It all began in Córdoba, in the month of Ramadan 202 of the Hegira (March 818 AD). In this work we try to delve into the causes that caused the mutiny that gave rise to these events and we investigate the role played in it by the different social classes of the moment. Likewise, we analyze the subsequent historical events, triggered by the exile of the rebels from the Sequnda suburb and carried out by them. We will follow the outlawed Cordobans in their long and painful exodus, which, through North Africa and after a period in possession of Alexandria, concluded when they managed to take over the island of Crete. Byzantine and, later, Greek sources have dealt with to the History of the Emirate of Crete and to the people of Cordoba who founded it through manipulation and prejudice, falsifying the historical truth and even calling them pirates. It is inexcusable to finally do them justice, to rehabilitate the figure of their most important leader, Abu Hafs al-Ballutí, and that at least in Spain, his country of origin, it becomes known that the ancient town of Pedroche, his birthplace, and Córdoba, their capital, have many reasons to feel proud of this distinguished character and his lineage. This essay, with rhythm and air of chronicle, has as its main objective to banish the partial and biased vision of this chapter of our History and to make known the true nature of the State founded in Crete by the outlawed Cordobans of the Sequnda suburb. To this end, the author has had to find translators for the fundamental works that document this topic, since they had not even been translated into Spanish until now. Thanks to the Arabic chronicles and, above all, to three Greek historians (Vassilios Christides, Christos Makrypoulias and Nikolaos Panagiotakis), who for the first time faced these historical events, overcoming prejudices and initiating a rectification, we can partly reconstruct the exploits of these Hispanics, Muslims and Christians, in the eastern Mediterranean.

La Estirpe del Arrabal I: Córdoba en el recuerdo (The Arrabal Lineage I: Córdoba in memory), by Carmen Panadero

Córdoba, 9th century. Al-Hakam I, the most despotic of the Umayyad emirs, reigned. Abũ Hafs and his family are involved in the riot in a suburb of the Andalusian capital, they suffer the relentless punishment with which it was repressed, the executions of friends and neighbors, the loss of all their property, exile with 22,000 other families, the painful exodus through North Africa, but they managed to survive, and there their adventure begins. The outlaws of the suburb took Crete from Byzantium, and Abũ Hafs was sworn in as the first emir of the newborn dynasty. There they were able to recreate their second Córdoba and recover their customs. Abũ Hafs gave his life to that suffering people, guided them when they were aimless, minted their own currency, promoted flourishing trade, opened Crete to the world and settled the religious conflicts that plagued Byzantium. All of this seasoned with intrigue, betrayal, self-denial, love and heartbreak: the fight of an entire people for its survival.

La Estirpe del Arrabal I: Creta, El Precio del Olvido (The Arrabal Lineage II: Crete, The Price of Oblivion), by Carmen Panadero

10th century. The crown prince Abd al-Azĩz headed the embassy that arrived in Córdoba sent by his father, the emir of Crete Suhayb II, and when faced with the devastated suburb of Sequnda, from which a century before his ancestors were expelled by the emir al-Hakam I, felt the weight of History and meditated: — “I was never in Córdoba before, why do I feel then as if I had never left?”

But he decided to return to Crete and assume his responsibilities after swearing on those sacred ruins that, on the painful day in which he was to succeed his father, he would choose as his nickname al-Qurtubĩ, "the Cordoban", so that his people would always remember that the Forgetting their past would condemn them to lose Crete like one fateful day they lost Córdoba. And Byzantium lurked.

This novel, the 2nd part of La Estirpe del Arrabal, narrates the events of Abd al-Azĩz I al-Qurtubĩ, the last Andalusian Emir of Crete - his loves, his sorrows, his certain justice, his revenge - and in parallel offers us the touching love stories of his son Al-Numan with Bahã, and of his daughter Yannã with Karim al-Mundhir, the military hero that even Byzantium admired under the Hellenized name of “Karamountes”. And, furthermore, betrayals, intrigues, exploits, battles...

Carmen Panadero, author of novels such as El Collar de Aljófar, La Cruz y la Media Luna or El Halcón de Bobastro, gives us once again that alloy of history and fiction that constitutes the genuine historical novel.

Talking about the Emirate of Crete and the Byzantine Empire, there are some depictions of the battles between them in the Synopsis of Histories, work by the Byzantine historian John Skylitzes from the 11th Century, which covers history from Byzantine Emperors between the death of Nikephoros I in 811 to the deposition of Michael VI in 1057.

Then in the Sicily during the 12th Century, a illuminated manuscript version of Synopsis of Histories was produced at the Norman court of Palermo. This manuscript is called Madrid Skylitzes, because nowadays is housed in the Spanish National Library, in the web page of the Library you can see the Madrid Skylitzes digitized.

1. Byzantine attack on Crete

2. Byzantines under Krateros defeat the Cretan Saracens

3. Byzantines under Nikephoros Phokas besiege Chandax

4. Byzantines under Ooryphas ambush and defeat the Cretan Saracens

[goalhofer]

2024 olympians representing non country of residence part 1

USA: Jaime Czarkowski, swimming (Calgary, Alberta); Catalina Gnoriega, archery (Mexicali, Mexico); Colin Heathcock, fencing (Beijing, China) & Jennifer Mucino-Fernandez (Ciudad Mexico, Mexico) Afghanistan: Kamia Yousufi, athletics (Mashhad, Iran) Albania: Chermen Valiev, wrestling (Moscow, Russia) Algeria: Saoussen Boudiaf, fencing (Roubaix, France); Mehdi Bouloussa, table tennis (Saint-Denis, France); Carole Bouzidi, canoeing (Paris, France); Messaoud Dris, judo (Paris, France); Zohra Kehli, fencing (Bagnolet, France); Koceila Mammeri, badminton (Lyon, France); Tanina Mammeri, badminton (Lyon, France) & Kaylia Nemour (Saint-Benoît-La-Forêt, France) Antigua & Barbuda: Ellie Shaw, swimming (Fairfax County, Virginia) & Tiger Tyson, sailing (Auckland, New Zealand) Argentina: Pascual Di Tella, fencing (Brooklyn, New York); Emiliano Grillo, golf (San Diego, California); Nadia Podoroska, tennis (Alicante, Spain); Alejandro Tosti, golf (Gainesville, Florida) & Rocco Ríos-Novo, soccer (Los Angeles, California) Aruba: Philip Elhage, shooting (Willemstad, Curaçao) & Just Van Aanholt, sailing (Willemstad, Curaçao) Australia: Alex De Minaur, tennis (Alicante, Spain); Thaisa Erwin, equestrian (Middleburg, Virginia); Raphaelle Gauthier, swimming (Montreal, Quebec); Daniel Golubovic, athletics (Manhattan Beach, California); Min Jee, table tennis (Seoul, South Korea); Miloš Maksimović, water polo (Novi Sad, Serbia); Jacob Merčep, water polo (Dubrovnik, Croatia); Kathryn Mitchell, athletics (Monte Carlo, Monaco); Georgii Okorokov, wrestling (Yakutsk, Russia); Hilary Scott, equestrian (Valkenswaard, The Netherlands); Ajla Tomljanović, tennis (Boca Raton, Florida); Josh Turner, rugby (Hamilton, New Zealand); Samantha Whitcomb, basketball (Ventura, California) & Joshua Yong; swimming (Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei) Austria: Lorena Abicht, sailing (Hamburg, Germany); Valentin Bontus, sailing (Poetto, Italy); Alina Kornelli, sailing (Munich, Germany); Lukas Mähr, sailing (Eichenzell, Germany); Elisabeth Straka, archery (Hamburg, Germany) & Josef Straka, golf (Vestavia Hills, Alabama) Azerbaijan: Tiffany Hayes, basketball (Winter Haven, Florida); Uşangi Kokauri, judo (Gori, Georgia); Zelym Kotsoiev, judo (Vladikavkaz, Russia); Magomedkhan Magomedov, wrestling (Aleksandriskaya, Russia); Georgi Meshvildishvili, wrestling (Tbilisi, Georgia); Alexandra Mollenhauer, basketball (Lindale, Texas); Mariya Stadnyk, wrestling (Lviv, Ukraine) & Marcedes Walker, basketball (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) Bahrain: Amani Al-Obaidli, swimming (Brisbane, Australia); Tigist Gashaw-Beday, athletics (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia); Askerbii Gerbekov, judo (Roscha, Russia); Gor Minasyan, weightlifting (Gyumri, Armenia); Lesman Paredes (Buenaventura, Colombia) & Akhmed Tazhudinov (Gergebil, Russia) Belgium: Thomas Detry, golf (Dubai, U.A.E.); Adrien Dumont-De Chassart, golf (St. Johns County, Florida) & Delphine Nkansa, athletics (Paris, France) Benin: Valentin Houinato, judo (Sainte-Geneviève-Des-Bois, France) & Alex Kpade, swimming (Le Havre, France) Bermuda: Dara Alizadeh, rowing (Brookline, Massachusetts) & Erica Hawley, triathlon (Boulder, Colorado) Bolivia: Esteban Núñez, swimming (Antibes, France) Brazil: Nicolas Albiero, swimming (Louisville, Kentucky); Angelina Costantino, soccer (Jersey City, New Jersey); Laura De Andrade, tennis (Barcelona, Spain); Tatiana Dos Santos, surfing (Kauai County, Hawaii); Camilla Gluckstein, gymnastics (Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey); Nathalie Mollhausen, fencing (Milan, Italy); Thiago Monteiro, tennis (Buenos Aires, Argentina); Rodrigo Pessoa, equestrian (Wilton, Connecticut); Luana Silva, surfing (Honolulu County, Hawaii); Felipe Toledo, surfing (San Clemente, California) & Thiago Wild, tennis (Buenos Aires, Argentina) British Virgin Islands: Adaejah Hodge, athletics (Douglasville, Georgia) Brunei: Hayley Wong, swimming (Pudong, China) Bulgaria: Aik Mnatsakarian, wrestling (Akhalkalaki, Georgia); Kevin Penev, gymnastics (Penfield, New York) & Magomed Ramazanov, wrestling (Khasavyurtovsky, Russia)

[cyberphuck]

came home and there was a city of toledo truck parked across my driveway giving me a notice to cut my grass. I called her and asked if there was a program for disabled and/or low income residents. she was like idk. cut the grass or the city will cut it and bill you. I asked how much they'd bill me. she said idk. they'll take you to court. I said I'm disabled and I have paperwork to prove that my family is disabled and we're low income. I will have a record of me calling you and telling you this and asking for program information. I have your business card. She said uhhhhhh get your neighbors to do it. I said did you see the pride flag on my porch? she said uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'll call you back.

[jungleindierockspain]

Juan Alonso - En el Lago

El cantautor Juan Alonso ha desvelado un vídeo en directo de la que es su primera canción en solitario. En el Lago, en versión acústica, se grabó a orillas del Tajo a su paso por Toledo, donde reside.

Juan Alonso, antes miembro de proyectos como La Bélmez o Perder el Tiempo, forma parte de la última edición de Jungle Bands, 2024. El primer disco de su proyecto personal saldrá a finales de año, un trabajo grabado y producido por Alfonso Ferrer, con quien canta en este vídeo de Jaime González, y masterizado por Berni Calvo.

Enlaces: Instagram | YouTube

[dertaglichedan]

In 2007, Orlando residents were furious to discover that an FBI informant had organized a neo-Nazi rally through one of the city’s mostly black neighborhoods a year earlier.

“To come into a predominantly black community, which could have resulted in great harm to the black community? I would hate to be part of a game,” Orlando City Councilwoman Daisy Lynum said at the time, calling for a “full-scale investigation” into the matter.

evidence that Schoep was an informant, and the smoking-gun evidence that NSM was founded by an informant—weren’t enough, Headline USA also unearthed a document showing that yet another NSM Nazi rally was organized by an informant.

That document, a 2006 FBI report, reveals that a November 2005 “rally against violence” in Kingston, New York was organized by the notorious white supremacist talk show host and former NSM affiliate Hal Turner (his name is redacted in the report, but his identity is corroborated by a separate ADL article).

…

This FBI report corroborates David Gletty's claim that the FBI staged Nazi rallies in the mid-2000s

The names are redacted, but Gletty's the Orlando organizer.

And the New York organizer was FBI informant Hal Turner

And Toledo was Jeff Schoep, who now works w/ DHS

It was an op pic.twitter.com/XhEjwM2A3W

— Ken Silva (@JD_Cashless) June 26, 2024

[power-chords]

Ed Mann’s life was a testament to the power of worker solidarity. His was a steel will set on struggle and defiance against overwhelming odds. Ed’s story is one of enduring the darkness of industrial collapse without losing hope.

Growing up in Toledo, Ed worked various intensive physical jobs. He was no stranger to tough, dangerous work. Ed remembered his mother inviting homeless folks for family meals. Despite having little, she showed deep solidarity with those around them. She also ensured Ed received a Reform Jewish education at a local temple. He never much identified with the religious side of his upbringing. Still, Ed valued his education for his whole life.

In 1952, Ed settled in Northeast Ohio. He started working full-time in the local steel industry at the Brier Hill mill.

Even with his Reform Jewish upbringing, racism was not a consistent issue in Ed’s personal life. Ed and American racism first clashed in 1947. One fateful day would define his future views on race and his organizing work. It started when he took out a YMCA membership.

Ed planned to exercise with his friend Bell, a Black man. Ed never considered that there were separate facilities for whites and Blacks. When Ed and Bell showed up together to work out, Ed asked for a guest pass. “Don’t cause any trouble,” the manager replied. “He’s got his YMCA and this is yours.”

“I think it’s things like that that politicize people,” he later reflected. “I was at an age where I was like a sponge, wanting to participate in society. Then I found out what society was like where I was living at that point in time.”

This shaped how he viewed the treatment of Black steelworkers in Ohio mills. The union locals had long stood by while bosses discriminated in pay and promotions. A key part of Ed’s early union years involved fights for equal treatment for his fellow workers. He later picketed with Black residents and unionists outside Akron against the KKK.

[royasuka]

against my better judgment i sometimes read asknyc and other nyc things on reddit because tbh i enjoy nyc and big cities and the romanticizing a lot of nyc residents do for their city is kind of charming in a way? i think we all need to treat life like a video game more often sometimes.

anyways, something that always rubs me the wrong way when i'm in spaces like that is the absolute disdain many people have for the midwest… acting like all the annoying people they meet are some rich kid from ohio?

and like… do we know the same ohio? the ohio of cleveland, youngstown, toledo? like sure i guess columbus is a college town bubble but you can't look at me in the face and say a state with mostly rust belt cities and farms is filled with rich trust fund kids… all the annoying transplants are probably from new jersey, california, and elsewhere in new york probably!! (and it seems rich hearing this since i wouldn't doubt that the people saying this are Also transplants from new jersey, california, and non-nyc new york)

idk sorry to be an ohio-defender but c'mon! go back to making fun of new jersey, at least it was more accurate!