#was more important than flavor

[betty-bourgeoisie]

All my love to Eleanor Roosevelt for being a bitch who hated food. Like damn girl, me too.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Also for the record, the whole White Witch-enchanted food thing still would have worked regardless of when the story was set. Kids like sweets, especially magic ones that symbolize temptation. The WW2 sugar rationing is not the pivotal element here

[realbeefman]

i know chase obviously wins the religious trauma competition but can we please talk about how foreman was not only raised by a deeply religious father, but was most likely raised BAPTIST. no wonder he’s so repressed. the baptist experience is like. you’re in church every sunday listening to a man scream about how love is something that should hurt. you believe in a good, loving god - but to believe, you have to accept that true love is painful. that to be a good person, you must suffer. to love is to endure it, to work mercilessly. you’re not worthy of the love of The Almighty, and you never will be, and that sense of unworthiness is fundamental to having faith. when you sin, you don’t just hurt Him, you hurt everyone around you. you make the world worse because you have dared commit the sin of existence — to be human is to be sinful. to be loved is to feel unworthy and pathetic and hopeless. like YEAH no wonder foreman self isolates and is emotionally closed off. he was taught from BIRTH that he is fundamentally unworthy of love, and that in accepting love, he is also accepting that he truly is worthless.

[bonefall]

the clans use salt for healing and cooking if i remember correctly. im only saying this because would someone ever name their kid "saltkit"

Yes! Saltkit is a valid prefix in BB, but only after moving to the Lake.

Before then, they make a sort-of-salt out of burning dandelion root. They consider this material a kind of soot, fine ashes produced by burning something. The rough translation of this spice is "soot-salty-taste."

Salty (taste) = Byyle (Comes from blood-taste)

Soot (ashes produced by finely burning something) = Keybo (Used alone in artsy contexts, usually describes bistre, a pigment made from soot and water.)

Plant Salt (of coltsfoot or dandelion) = Keybyy

To specify if it comes from Dandelion or Coltsfoot, you'd say Keybyy Raerra or Keybyy Hakprru. There aren't two dedicated words for the difference; these are both considered "types of dandelions" by Clan cats.

Dandelion = Awpo Any flowering ground plant with fluffy yellow petals.

This is why they didn't previously have a word for salt itself! They would only ever encounter raw salt as an animal lick, which they'd call Byylebon. Salty-useful-rock. Because it was associated with humans, they wouldn't steal them or interact with them much.

Rraash is a Townmew loanword, a word they adopted for raw, powdered salt during their time trading with BloodClan. At the Lake, they now collect raw sea salt during "Salt Patrols," which are beach trips where a big collection of apprentices are brought to the ocean to learn how to collect and process salt.

So, depending on how the parents would like to name their child, those translations could be;

Byylemew = Saltykit The taste of salt. Could refer to the flavor of blood, the taste of the ocean, or the spice made from burned dandelion roots. Has a very food-y connotation, probably named by gourmands.

Keybyymew = Saltkit, Spicekit, Seasoningkit, Rubkit This is a very ThunderClan sort of name. They traditionally used a lot of keybyy in their recipes, as it's very important for a good marinade and making ham. Though, it wouldn't be too surprising to see it used in WindClan too.

Rraashmew = Saltkit, Brinekit Raw salt. Made from boiling ocean water during large expeditions to the sea called a "Salt Patrol." Used as a medicine AND as a spice, important in controlling parasite infestations, fighting infection, and preserving food. Could just be referring to an off-white colored pelt, food, or even strength in battle for its association with treating wounds.

[midnightdemonhunter]

THE HAUNTING

[thatgirlonstage]

Yeah yeah “show don’t tell” get mis-explained and misinterpreted as writing advice a lot and yeah sometimes you SHOULD be telling the reader things however I am unwilling to discard this particular phrase given the number of stories I have encountered that make me want to slap the author across the face with it

[spockandawe]

Translation.... is a fantastically complicated, demanding, and difficult task. And it feels like it's sometimes gotta be pretty unrewarding, because no matter what you choose, someone will be mad at you for doing it wrong. And I'm no purist, I skew hard towards preferring a translation to capture vibes (a subjective and squirrelly thing) over a literal one-to-one, I appreciate an artistic use of best judgment even if I ultimately disagree with the decision made. I've got so much respect for translators!

BUT.

That being said.

I feel like especially, especially in the context of something like a dramatic high fantasy novel, tone and register are so important! No modern terminally online transmigrators to muddy the waters! I'll make an exception for something hilarious, and I don't have a highbrow sense of humor, 'absolute unit' still makes me cackle. Something like "yea" (not 'yea, verily,' this is 'yeah,' said often, always without the h) may set my teeth on edge, but I can understand why someone might do that to me. "Tho" is more infuriating, but I can still.... logically understand how we got here.

But why on earth would you interrupt the build to a dramatic, tragic, intense scene by having our main character angrily call a crowd "newbs." I'm no longer in the moment, I'm staring into the middle distance and wondering why not just use the full n00b if it was going to go there. Sure, he's not talking elegantly, I get that. He was raised uneducated, not on 4chan. And the moment last night when I was reading and a character in ancient fantasy china proclaimed "Jeebus," I was filled with such incandescent rage that I immediately knew it was time to put the computer down and go to bed.

Jeebus.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Me, opening up a packet of the stuff the vet gave me: “I hope this probiotic powder doesn’t put my cat off his food. Can’t really help with his digestion issues if he doesn’t eat it”

I spill some because my hands can have problems with stability

My cat: *licks the stuff up like a kid who just discovered what powdered sugar was*

Me: “is this flavored?”

My cat: begs me for more powder and momentarily forgets his food

Me: “this has to be flavored”

[mantisgodiveblog]

"Is it somehow satisfying for you to beat yourself up for things you couldn't be blamed for missing? It's not as though it's obvious - anyone could have missed it. Why do you assume that something like this is a flaw of the self?" I think it's a preference thing, honestly. Sometimes it's more comforting to believe that you are the problem (so it's in control), while sometimes it's more comforting to believe the world is the problem (so it isn't your fault). Sif takes the former to an extreme. Plus the low self esteem.

We know the psychology, in theory, but it's... hmm. Frustrating, we suppose? We've been there, we know how it is to be hurting for control so badly you'll shred yourself to ribbons for a single piece of it, but it's partially that that makes the thought process so damn irritating when it turns up, especially when we sometimes have to play whack-a-mole with it in ourself.

It's a theatre of destruction for no audience. Ripping yourself to shreds in a way that benefits no one and will only hamper you later down the road. You attack your every flaw, and for what? Making yourself fear to try new things for fear of the repercussions that you yourself placed. Making yourself believe you are worse. Sabotaging your own chances just to pretend that you call the shots in a world that never worked in the way you pretend it does.

The more that you do anything, the more it becomes a habit, the more you take the cart down a road that wears and wears until the wheel-ruts are too deep to get out of, and when that habit is something that actively sabotages your chance to get things right, it does nothing but harm you.

Yelling at it isn't productive, either, it gets nothing done, but it is immensely frustrating to watch that go down, because it's an endless mud pit of feeling bad that doesn't even accomplish anything but making everyone in the area feel worse. It's the particular flavor of poor mental health where having experienced it ourself makes us a bit worse at dealing with it, because - well, we've experienced it ourself, and now we have to deal with watching someone dig a pit for themself and we can't even do anything about it because it's the sort of thing that they actuvely have to figure out and take action to handle themself.

[twilightarcade]

Built up a poison resistance to has a ranking of the best tasting poisons pipeline

[llycaons]

from a webnovel they made an audio drama, donghua, manhua, live action drama, mobile game, and chibi series, and the novel’s been translated to at least 2 languages that I know of and sold internationally. I don’t think there’s much more they can do with it short of making a themed cafe with appropriately named dishes

[ammoniteflesh]

local dalish nearly dies; what happens next will shock you.

(template here) (more of Ghila here)

[lethologick]

completely paving your little customizable world <<< paving some of it and adding desire paths where people would make shortcuts

[charcubed]

when people are discussing canon and erase Cassie Robinson and her significance in Dean’s life, it’s like… ok is this racism or biphobia or misogyny or some fun cocktail of all of the above. let’s spin the wheel and guess

[neverendingford]

.

[thelaisydazy]

Firefighter!Simon Riley x Reader - Routine

It’s 5AM. Bloody five in the goddamn morning. The sun isn’t up and you’re barely awake as you unlock the bakery door, but a hulking shape startles you awake as you notice the man and German Shepherd standing outside. The man stares down at you as the dog wags its tail. He’s blond, almost freakishly so with the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. You can’t see the rest of his face thanks to the black privacy mask with the lower portion of a skull painted on it. He’s wearing a pair of dark jeans tucked into sturdy boots and a black hoodie.

“G’morning,” he says, tilting his head as he watches you wipe a hand down your tired face. He doesn’t even apologize for scaring you. 

You hold the door open for him and his dog. He’s a regular from the firehouse just down the street. You'd think you would have gotten used to him lurking around the front door, yet every morning you go through the same thing. 

“We have danishes and turnovers today,” you say, leading him over towards the freshly stocked counter. The bakery smelled of fresh bread and sugary pastries, it made your stomach grumble, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten yet. Before you can slip behind the counter, his dog nudges your elbow. You turned with a smile, rubbing both your hands on his ears before walking behind the counter. “What’ll it be then?”

“Danish,” the firefighter said, his gaze never leaving you. You reached into the case and pulled out a pair of danishes, one cherry and one cheese. You never bothered asking him what flavors he preferred, he never seemed to care what he had. You also grabbed a couple of dog treats from a jar near the register. 

He reached for his wallet but you swatted his hand away when he tried to hand you a few dollars. Your boss insisted that keeping the local first responders fed was more important than profit. You walked around the counter again, watching as the firefighter met you by a little table near the front window. You place the pastries down, slipping a treat to the dog before sitting across from him. 

You both sit quietly while you eat the cheese danish. He doesn’t touch his, never does. He always just sits with you while you eat and takes his breakfast to go. It’s odd, but he never complains, and surely if he had a problem with it he’d say something. 

“You know..” you start. “I know Riley’s name.” You gesture to the dog, who was currently resting his head in your lap. “But you still haven’t told me your’s.”

“Simon.” His voice is blunt, that same flat tone he always used. 

“Simon..” you say back. “I like it.” 

You have no idea what hearing you say his name does to him. It sets his heart racing. His mouth waters. He swears, he’d die just to hear you say it again.

---

The brain rot is so real. I just wanna eat him up.