#tama's just like ' you die for ideals

[kougetsuin]

  you know at least uta has like. some tact when talking about things but tama just straight up says whatever. you ask her if she believes in the toyotomi goal and she’s just like ‘ oh ! not at all : D ’ only to follow it up with like ‘ but i don’t bite the hand that feeds me. and you know that saying: once you feed a hungry dog, it will guard the home forever. soooooooo ... : ) ’

#❀ ‘ﾟ / ma’am this is a mcdonald’s drive thru ; ooc. #tama's just like ' you die for ideals ??? whack. ' #i want to iterate that she's not heartless or without like. a sense of attachment. but salkfjlksjfsd

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 8 - Winter Comes Again (Part 3)

I like how Kakeru seems like your typical “uwu I have a dark past and now I’m emo” sports anime protagonist but has a completely personality change when it comes to running

Full list of translations here

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After Chikusei-sou was introduced on the news, Kakeru and the others were frequently called out to on campus and in the shopping district, ranging from a casual “I saw you on TV!” or “Do your best!” to offers of “I’ll help out if you need a hand.”

However, there were no more applicants wanting to join the team, as expected; the rumor that Kiyose kept turning everyone away had probably spread through the school. Kakeru couldn’t help but hope that they wouldn’t give up and would come back to Chikusei-sou next spring.

The administrative preparations for the actual race were also underway, with Kiyose and Shindou taking the lead in making arrangements for the day.

In the Hakone Ekiden, each school placed people along the route. In addition to the people who handed out water at the fifteen-kilometer mark, it was advantageous to have someone relay information to the runners; it would be best if they could inform the athletes at each key point of the time differences with the schools running in front and behind them, and whether they should increase or decrease their pace.

The water providers had to run alongside the runners in order to hand out water. A complete novice would not be able to keep up with the runners' speed, so a certain level of running ability was desirable, and the short-distance runners of Kansei University’s track and field team graciously agreed to take on this role.

Kiyose and Shindou also discussed the personnel to be placed along the route. From among the students who had offered to help out, they picked those who lived near the course; they couldn’t put too much of a burden on them, since they had to round them up on New Year’s Day.

Even if they told the people of the shopping district not to come, they would probably rush over to support them, so they didn’t hesitate to include them in the number of people who would pass on information from the roadside.

In the leadup to the day of the Hakone Ekiden, Kiyose worked tirelessly on the details, not just for running but also for other tasks. Shindou assisted in negotiations with the university as well as communication with the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto, the organizer of the event. Hanako stood between the shopping district and the Kansei student volunteers; she efficiently gathered up people and informed the volunteers of their roles and the schedule on the day.

Kakeru was shocked at Hanako’s ability to handle the paperwork—he couldn’t have listened to the needs of that many people and coordinated everyone so that things ran smoothly. It seemed that she was even cutting down on her sleep to manage everything by herself so that Kakeru and the others could run the Hakone Ekiden without any problems.

It might have started with the fact that she liked the twins, but now Hanako seemed to be fascinated by the sport of track and field itself. She had become an indispensable asset to Chikusei-sou and frequently came by to discuss various matters.

“Hana-chan hangs out with us all the time. I wonder if she has any girl friends,” King suddenly said when Hanako wasn’t there, as though it had just occurred to him.

“She does,” Kakeru answered. For some reason, his voice was low.

Just the day before, Kakeru had seen Hanako in the school cafeteria: she had been laughing brightly as she ate lunch with a friend of the same sex.

Isn’t Katsuta-san putting off hanging out with her friends because she’s working for our sake? Kakeru felt irritated by King’s words, which were insensitive even though they weren’t meant to be offensive. And then he thought, “Huh?” Why am I getting so angry? Kakeru thought about it for a while and decided that it was because he was tired from training.

One night in early November, while eating dinner at Chikusei-sou, Hanako was reading out a report on the number and placement of the volunteers. Kiyose and Shindou mainly gave their opinions, which Hanako wrote down in a notebook.

I wonder if her feelings have gotten through to the twins, Kakeru wondered. The twins were busy shoveling dinner into their mouths, taking little notice of Hanako enthusiastically preparing for the Hakone Ekiden.

When they had finished the necessary discussions, Kiyose spoke.

“The Sunday after next, we’re participating in the Ageo City Half Marathon.”

“Where is this Ageo?” Musa asked.

“It’s in Saitama Prefecture. It’s a relatively big race with many citizens taking part as runners, and the schools participating in the Hakone Ekiden are invited. It’s good because we can join for free and it’s also a good way to practice on the road—we can get a good spot right behind the start line and experience running through a cheering crowd. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

With the exception of Kakeru and Kiyose, none of them had participated in a race on a public road during their high school years. As a rehearsal for the Hakone Ekiden, the Ageo City Half Marathon was the perfect race, both in distance and date. Most of the schools that had been selected to participate in Hakone were also participating in Ageo.

It was the first time he would be running more than twenty kilometers on the road in a proper event. Given the chance to see the results of his training, Kakeru suddenly felt motivated; he was fine with laboriously training by himself, but Kakeru liked races where he could compete with other runners.

The twins, however, objected.

“The Sunday after next? We already have plans.”

“We’re forming an amateur soccer team with friends from our language class. We finally found someone to play against, so we’re going to the Tama riverside area to play.”

“Say you can’t do it,” Kiyose said.

“Then there won’t be enough people.”

“There’s still time to find a couple more people. Also, you’re playing soccer at a time when you have to train? What if you get injured? You’ve been slacking off lately.”

Kiyose too must have been steadily getting frustrated by the awkward atmosphere; he was condemning the twins in a harsh tone that he never used. Kakeru, not knowing what to do, raised and lowered his chopsticks in midair for no reason.

“Training this, training that, what’s the point in training so much?” Jouji roughly slammed down his bowl of miso soup. “It’s just like that Sakaki guy said: no matter how hard we work in Hakone, we won’t have enough members when spring comes.”

“He’s right,” Jouta said. “We’ve all been tricked by Haiji-san. We’ve been training our asses off every single day, like idiots.”

“Tricked?” Kiyose clacked his chopsticks. “When did I trick you?”

“You said it at the beginning, didn’t you! ‘With the power of all ten of us, we’ll reach the top of the sports world!’” Jouta shouted. “But that’s impossible. I did my research—no matter how much we try, we can’t beat Rikudou. We can’t win Hakone!”

Yeah, what they said, King blindly followed the twins’ lead. Kiyose seemed like he was going through his memories for a while.

“It’s true that I said we’re going to the top,” he nodded.

“See, Haiji-san’s a liar!” Jouji denounced him. There was an uproar around the dining table.

Musa asked Kakeru in a whisper, “Is it true that we cannot win no matter how hard we work?”

“Well…”

Kakeru was evasive, but Yuki, who valued theory, was merciless in that regard.

“To put it bluntly, it’s impossible. Our times prove that.”

“Good grief.” Nico-chan, sitting in his chair, gave a big stretch.

“It’s easy to guess how the race will unfold and which team will win if you look at the runners’ personal best times, and it’s impossible for that to be overturned unless something extreme happens. That might be one of the boring things about long-distance.”

“Hmm,” Prince said, reaching for the salad bowl with his chopsticks. “In baseball, soccer, basketball, or any other team sport, unless there is a huge difference in ability, you don’t know which team is going to win unless you try it. Is there that big a difference in ability between us and Rikudou?”

“There is.” Yuki, who seemed to have analyzed the data, flatly vouched for that once again. “Almost all the regulars at Rikudou are good enough to become aces at any other school. In addition, they have a big lineup of runners, and even the reserve runners who aren’t entered in Hakone—in other words, the second-string runners—would be very likely to rank higher than us if they were to run.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Rikudou University is a group of elite runners, and the best among them are our opponents?” Shindou said gloomily, his shoulders drooping.

“But depending on how you think about it, aren’t we lucky?” Prince said, chewing on lettuce. “Even though Rikudou’s second-strings are fast, they can’t participate in Hakone. We’re weak, but we can run in Hakone because we passed the qualifiers. Even if we don’t win, I think it’s worth more to be able to just be in Hakone.”

“There’s no point if we don’t win,” Jouji said.

“It’s a sport where the results are obvious, so what are we doing it for?” Jouta stared up at the ceiling.

Kakeru was indignant. “If you want to win, then this isn’t the time to be playing soccer,” he said, finally snapping at the twins. “You should train more and be in Ageo.”

“Ah, there goes Kakeru and his idealism again.”

“Didn’t we tell you that even if we wanted to train, we couldn’t bring ourselves to do it?” the twins counter-attacked together.

“So if you can’t win, you can’t run? So are you two gonna stop living just because you’re gonna die eventually?”

“We didn’t say that.”

“It’s the same thing—the same logic.”

“It's completely different. And don’t call that logic, you don’t even know what that means.”

“I do!”

“You don’t, you’re an animal who only knows how to run!”

“Let’s take this outside!”

“Why don’t we!?”

“Stop this now,” Kiyose said, but they didn’t listen.

Kakeru and the twins kicked their chairs away and stood, glaring at each other across the table. Musa pulled on the hem of Kakeru’s shirt, but Kakeru shook him off. It was a child’s quarrel, with the reason already forgotten and the argument confused. Yuki and Nico-chan watched the events unfold, grinning. Prince muttered in admiration, “Kakeru’s words about life and death earlier were an unusually clever expression.” King might have been close to the twins on an emotional level, but he pretended not to see, probably not wanting to get punched.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Hanako put her hands out to desperately restrain Kakeru and twins, who looked like they were about to leave the kitchen at any second. “Calm down! Look, every Rikudou runner might come down with food poisoning on the day of the race, you know?”

The people of Chikusei-sou turned their attention to Hanako, who had raised her voice, but deflated at what she said.

“I don’t think that’s possible…” Musa said reservedly.

“Ultimately, we still can’t beat Rikudou in terms of ability, right?”

That’s not a good follow-up, Shindou sighed. However, thanks to Hanako, the tension between Kakeru and the twins, which had been about to burst, had nowhere else to go.

“Thanks for the food.”

The twins put their bowls in the sink. As they were about to return to their rooms, Kiyose called out to their backs.

“I did say that we’re going to the top. But by that, I didn’t mean winning. It might sound like an excuse, but…”

“We’re over it,” Jouji said, and the twins went upstairs. His voice held a mixture of rejection and resignation, which could be taken to mean that he didn’t want to hear Kiyose’s words, or that he wanted to stop fighting and practice as usual. Kakeru didn’t know what to do with his will to fight that had ended up not going anywhere, and he sullenly sank down into his chair.

“Umm, I’m going home now.” Perhaps unable to stand the awkward atmosphere, Hanako quickly stood. “Thank you for the meal.”

Kiyose stopped Hanako as she was about to put away the dishes and called to Kakeru, “Send Katsuta-san home.” Normally, the twins would walk Hanako back to Yaokatsu, but they were unlikely to come down again tonight. “It would be good for you to get some night air and cool your head.”

“I can go home by myself,” Hanako declined, but Kakeru said, “I’ll do it,” then stood up and went to put on his sneakers at the door.

In the kitchen, Yuki and Nico-chan were gossiping.

“Alone with Katsuta-san at night.”

“I hope the blood doesn’t rush to Kakeru’s head, if you know what I mean.”

“They are correct. What if Kakeru and the twins get into another fight over Hanako-san?” Musa criticized Kiyose.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Kiyose fended him off easily. “Just as he looks, Kakeru is a man who honors friendship deeply.”

Kakeru, of course, had no idea he was the topic of conversation, and he matched Hanako’s pace as they made their way towards the shopping district.

Kakeru almost never walked—if it was within walking distance, he preferred to run. Going to school and going to the shopping district were all part of jogging for him. Normally, he passed by these places so quickly that he never really took a look around.

It was so slow walking with Hanako that he didn’t know what to do with all the time on his hands, so his gaze roamed around, reading the nameplates illuminated by the street lights, looking at the fruit-covered mandarin tree branches sticking out into the road. Hanako was wearing a thin coat and a light purple scarf. It’s the color of akebia, Kakeru thought. He used to eat them a lot when he ran around and played in the hills and fields. His tongue recalled their taste, like very diluted sugar water.

“I was a bit surprised,” Hanako said. Her white breath spilled out of her mouth. Kakeru looked away.

“About what?”

“Even you guys fight.”

“Well, of course. We live together in a small apartment and we’re always running together. Someone’s always fighting about leaving hot water in the bucket for the bath, or smelling the socks that have been taken off after training.”

“Smelling socks?” Hanako laughed a little. “Who would do something like that?”

Jouji did. But Kakeru felt it was wrong to throw cold water on her feelings of love.

“I can’t tell you that,” he answered. Would this make it seem like I’m projecting? He worried, but there was no helping it.

“For some reason, I thought most long-distance runners were untalkative and patient.”

“I don’t know about that. I lose my temper easily, and the twins and King are pretty annoying.”

“Kurahara-kun, you’re one of the more mature ones, but I think everyone at Chikusei-sou is gentle and kind. I guess a patient personality really is suited for running long distances every day.” Hanako kicked a pebble that had been lying on the white line. “That’s why I was surprised that you guys were fighting, but also relieved. You can run twenty kilometers or so at a fast speed, and now you’re going to be in the Hakone Ekiden, and I keep thinking you're going further and further.”

Oh, Kakeru thought. She really does like the twins.

He secretly touched his chest. What is this? There was a shrieking pain in his chest, like when a cold drink soaked into your teeth—a pain like it was gradually swelling up around him, and heating up.

They turned the corner at the park and entered the shopping district, where fake autumn leaves hung from the street lights at both ends of the road, swaying in the wind. The day’s work had finished, and most of the stores had their shutters down.

From out of a half-shuttered small bookstore, three men who looked like high school students came bursting out, each of them carrying a large sports bag over their shoulder. All at once, they ran towards Soshigaya-Okura Station. After them, an old lady who was working as the shopkeeper ran into the street.

“Stop, thieves!” the old lady shouted and tried to run after them, but her slip-on sandals were no match for the legs of young men. The old lady looked at Kakeru and Hanako, who were standing stock still from surprise. Her eyes were filled with expectation.

Hanako seemed to come back to her senses.

“Kurahara-kun, go catch them.”

“Huh, me?”

“Go, go!”

The high schoolers were about fifty meters ahead of him, but he could still see them clearly because the shopping district was a straight line. Kakeru dashed off.

The high schoolers must have been relieved, knowing that the old lady would not chase after them, so they slowed down, but when they noticed Kakeru’s footsteps approaching, they shouted “Crap!” and began running with all their strength again.

However, they were carrying heavy bags and they were amateurs after all, and Kakeru was soon in range of them. Observing their running from behind, he thought, “I could catch them at any point if I feel like it.”

But, there were three of them. If he jumped at them alone, some of them would probably escape. Even if he hit them, it would be a bad idea to get into a violent situation right then.

The best thing to do would be to get them to give up running. Kakeru decided that and followed the three closely.

“Hey, you guys!” he called out to them as he ran. The three turned back with a start and sped up, panicked. But for Kakeru, it was like turtles going faster.

“I can easily chase you guys for thirty more kilometers at this pace, you know!” Kakeru said, not even out of breath.

“Who are you?” one of the high schoolers said, scared. Kakeru didn’t answer his question and tried to persuade them.

“Just stop this. Apologize and ask the old lady at the bookstore to forgive you.”

The station came into view. At the same time, he saw two uniformed police officers running towards them from the police box in front of the station.

“Stop right there!” the policemen shouted. They caught two of the high schoolers, holding them from the front. Kakeru had no choice but to grab the remaining one’s arm.

“Open your bags.”

The high schoolers seemed to have given up and meekly followed the policeman’s instructions, revealing a large number of stolen manga in their sports bags. They probably stole them to sell, not to read. Prince would be furious if he saw this, Kakeru thought.

“You did a good job. Come with us to the police box over there," the young policeman said, smiling from under his hat.

“No, I…” Kakeru said, but there were two officers and three shoplifters. He had no choice but to follow, still grabbing the high schooler’s arm.

“Kurahara-kuuun!”

He turned around and saw Hanako pedalling furiously on her bicycle, the old lady from the bookstore sitting on the back. It seemed that Hanako had called the police on her cellphone, and her message had been relayed to the police box. Kakeru thought it was problematic to have two people ride on the same bike, but the policemen pretended not to see.

The old lady climbed off the back of the bike.

“I heard that you’re a runner in the Hakone Ekiden. You have been a great help, thank you," she thanked Kakeru.

The high schoolers were going to be taken to the local police station in a police car. The old lady was going to accompany them to make her witness statement.

“You should come to the station too. You might get a certificate of thanks.”

It was a horrifying thing to be told, and Kakeru desperately declined. The policemen seemed disappointed, but Kakeru left without telling them his name. Hanako pushed her bike and followed.

“That was amazing, Kurahara-kun. The old lady at the bookstore was having a lot of trouble because there were so many shoplifters. She was very grateful that you chased after them for her.”

Kakeru walked, looking down. He hadn’t intended on doing a good deed, it was just that he was good at running—he only chased them because Hanako told him to catch them. It was the same reflex as a dog chasing a frisbee.

Hanako was delighted by Kakeru’s good deed like it was her own. Kakeru couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t know about that kind of thing,” Kakeru finally said to Hanako in a low voice. “I’ve shoplifted too. I don’t think it’s good or bad. I don’t really get it.”

Kakeru felt Hanako looking up at his profile in surprise.

“I don’t care about anything other than running. If I’m hungry, I shoplift. If I’m angry, I hit someone. You said Haiji-san and the others are gentle and kind, but I’m different, at the very least. Just as the twins said, I’m an animal who…”

“Animals don’t worry over not knowing right from wrong,” Hanako said quietly. “You’re too hard on yourself, Kurahara-kun. The old lady from the bookstore was grateful to you. Everyone at Chikusei-sou always has high hopes and trusts in your running. Why don’t you trust in that more?”

When they reached the front of Yaokatsu, Hanako waved her hand with a smile. “Thanks for sending me home. See you.” Kakeru watched Hanako disappear into the service entrance of Yaokatsu. His ears turned hot as he realized that he had raised his hand, as though drawn in by Hanako.

Trust the people around you, Katsuta-san said. Come to think of it, Haiji-san once told me to believe in myself more. I feel like what the two of them wanted to tell me was the same thing, in the end.

I fought with the twins again, Kakeru thought. He had clashed violently with TSU’s Sakaki and his high school track coach because they couldn’t understand each other. Kakeru got angry easily—running was an important act for him, and he spent almost all his time running. That was why he overreacted when his opinions clashed with others on the topic of running; it felt like his very existence was being denied.

But that’s no good, Kakeru thought. Anger was the flip side of fear and a lack of self-confidence.

He thought Kiyose and Hanako were telling him to “accept without fear” when they told him to “believe.” Accept himself as well as others.

Just running doesn’t make me strong. I have to control myself. Convey my heart with words, just like Haiji-san and Katsuta-san. Once again, Kakeru resolved to do just that.

Kakeru ran the whole way back to Chikusei-sou.

The next afternoon, a reporter from the local news section of the Yomiuri Shimbun came. Apparently, the old lady from the bookstore was so moved by what Kakeru did that she had called them. The newspaper decided that it would also serve as promotion for the Hakone Ekiden and decided to devote space on a page for it as a “nice little story.”

The twins forgot about their fight and were happy for him, saying, “That’s great, Kakeru.” Prince also praised Kakeru’s achievement, saying, “Shoplifting in bookstores is a crime that must be eradicated.” Yuki teased him, saying, “And you were finally alone with Katsuta-san too. Didn’t you have something to do before catching shoplifters?”

Kakeru didn’t turn the interview down. The article was published with the headline of “Kansei U Runner in Hakone Ekiden Catches Shoplifters” and a photo of Kakeru’s face.

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#Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #kazetsuyo #kazetsuyo translations #run with the wind

[monstersandmaw]

Orctober #3 - male half-orc x male character (nsfw) ‘Bait’

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Orctober stories One and Two are up on Patreon (linked below), and this has been previewed on there too, and has had some truly wonderful comments that just made my day, so there might be a part two in the offing now. We’ll see.

Anyway, it’s a bit different in terms of format - it's not a reader insert, but I hope that doesn't matter.

It's a whopping 6914 words long, and I had an absolute blast writing it, so I really hope you enjoy reading it!! I know that 'Josslyn' is a female sounding name, but it's what this prince wanted to be called, so that's his name. :) I think it suits him anyway.

1. 'Ring' - male orc (Liam) x plus size female reader (very light nsfw) 2. 'Mindless’ - female orc (Khara) x male reader (nsfw)

---

A silver-trimmed banner caught and snagged in the night breeze as the crown prince strode along the battlements of his father’s castle. The old king’s words still rang in his ears and he ground his teeth, breathing hard and fighting the urge to shout, to yell, to cry. Where was the man who had raised him? The man who had played with him, taught him to ride his first pony, and helped him with his tutor’s tasks when he’d struggled? The man who had taught him the meaning of the ideals of justice and loyalty, of servitude to the people? How could old age ravage a man so much in the mind while taking so little from his body?

The king was in his seventies, having had Josslyn later in life than many had expected, after his first queen had died in childbirth, leaving no heir. The king had the body of a man ten years younger, but the mind of a man a decade older. Joss had tried to keep his father’s unpredictable nature hidden from the council and from the people, and so far all that they had suspected was that the long-running war with the orcish peoples in the neighbouring kingdom was taking its toll on him, forcing him to become harder, stricter in a time of strife.

A guard nodded his resepcts at him as he passed and muttered, “Highness,” to which the prince responded with a small smile and a bow of his head as he swept past, his long, night blue cloak swirling behind him, the wind lifting his long black hair off his face.

A shout and commotion from the courtyard below brought two guards hurrying to his side as he peered down from the wall, but he waved them away with a gentle gesture and watched as a tall, rather bedraggled figure was hauled out from the guards’ supply room in the outer bailey and dumped in the freezing mud beside the castle well. Spear-tips were poised at his throat immediately, and as the flickering light of a wrought-iron brazier illuminated his features, Josslyn saw that he looked orcish, though somewhat more delicate than the brutes who currently inhabited the castle dungeons and gladiatorial rings across the country.

Scuttling silently down one of the nearby stone staircases, the prince emerged in time to hear the guards demanding who the creature was and what the hell he was doing sneaking around the royal castle at midnight. Josslyn wanted to know how the hell he’d got into the castle to begin with.

“Please,” the captive choked, his eyes screwed almost shut as a spear point hovered above his Adam’s apple, “Please, I only came looking… for… for work… I thought…”

“You thought we’d hire something like you? The king doesn’t employ beasts, not even to clean the latrines!” one of the guards sneered.

The prince approached at a steady walk, partly cloaked by the shadows of the courtyard and partly by the thick fabric of his heavy robes. “Why did you come here of all places?” he demanded of the orc and the guards startled at his sudden appearance.

“Your Highness, please,” one of them warned, holding out a protective arm between the captive and the crown prince. “We caught this half-breed orc sniffing around our supplies.”

“He managed to find a way past the gates - outwitting all the guards - and he speaks intelligently,” the prince said, staring at him with hard, black eyes, “And yet you still treat him like a cornered granary rat.”

“They’re all vermin,” the guard said, cheeks flushed with humiliation, jabbing the half-orc in the sternum with the butt of his spear and driving the wind from his chest.

“Stop,” Josslyn said in a voice of quiet command that stilled them all instantly. “Take him to the upper cells, and see that he’s fed and given water and a blanket, and some clean, dry clothes. I want to know exactly what he was doing here, but he’s in no condition to be questioned at the moment. Look at him.”

The guards returned their attention to their miserable captive and saw the way he shivered, his clothes sodden - presumably from swimming the moat - with the fabric clinging to his relatively slim body. With orcish blood, he should have been built like a mythical hero from a maiden’s tale, but Josslyn suspected that he saw high elf in the half-breed’s slender ears and delicate bone-structure. No high elf could bulk up, no matter how much meat he ate or how many press-ups he did, and unfortunately for the orc, it seemed he had inherited that trait from his elven parent.

“Highness?” the guard with his spear at the half-orc’s throat whispered. “You… You cannot be serious…?”

Josslyn simply turned his polished jet eyes on the guard and the man nodded once.

“Of course. Forgive me. It will be done as you say.”

The crown prince watched them haul the mysterious half-breed to his feet and lead him away. He stumbled and staggered, shaking violently from the cold as the chill of the mid-autumn night sank into his sodden clothes and skin, but he risked a glance over his shoulder and smiled gratefully at Josslyn. In answer, the prince nodded once and let his eyes fall to the spot in the mud where he’d been lying, his mind working.

An hour later, fighting the prickling tiredness in his eyes as midnight became one in the morning, Joss headed down to the cells and as he peered through the barred opening in the heavy wooden door of the cell, he found that the prisoner had been housed exactly as he’d commanded. He’d wrapped himself in a moth-eaten blanket but beneath it Joss could see the royal blue of a guard’s uniform, and beside the low, rickety bed was an empty wooden plate and set neatly atop it was a wooden beaker.

The prince had the guards unlock it and then he knocked before stepping inside. A guard tried to follow him in, only obeying protocol, but Josslyn asked her to wait outside. Reluctantly, the woman obeyed, and left the crown prince, the sole heir of the entire kingdom alone in a cell with a strange half-orc.

“Are you warmer now?” the prince asked as the orc rose shakily, woken by the rattling key in the lock.

“Yes, thank you, Highness,” he said, bowing low.

“Rise,” he snapped. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“My name is Tamas,” he said in a croaky baritone. Everything about him spoke of submission; the slope of his hunched shoulders, the angle of his head, his down-turned gaze - it was as if he were perpetually awaiting a blow to the back of the head. His hair was a muddy brown, shaved above his pointed ear on the left side of his head and falling loose and long to his shoulder on the right. He had a small, pale scar on his left cheekbone, and his skin was a muddy green, not dissimilar to the colour of the moat in high summer.

“And what are you doing here?” the prince pressed patiently.

Tamas took a deep breath and said, “I… I ran away from… I’ve been travelling for months… I thought…”

“Sit down,” the prince commanded, and the orc dropped heavily onto the bed behind him, knees simply giving way. His exhaustion appeared to be more mental than physical. “You are not full orc, are you?” the prince asked and Tamas shook his head.

“No, Highness. My mother was a woodland elf. Her people left me to die in the way of all unwanted elven children; she set me adrift in a basket on the river and I was picked up by an orcish mother miles downstream. She had lost her own child and thought to raise me. But… orcs are not kind to those of ‘watered down blood’. I…” he turned his gaze up and the prince was surprised to note that his eyes were a dark sapphire blue. In a strange way, he was quite beautiful, he supposed; a thought which surprised him all over again. All this he kept carefully hidden behind his usual mask of calm control.

“So you finally ran away,” the prince supplied. “And you decided to come here? To the enemy of your father’s people? Hardly the safest choice for you, I’d wager…”

Tamas nodded. “I had nowhere else to go.”

“Alight,” the prince said, folding his arms across his chest. “What services could you offer the crown?”

The half-orc lowered his head again and stared at his hands. The index finger of his left hand was crooked, as though it had been badly broken in the past and poorly set. He sighed, rubbing the knuckle, and said, “I am good with horses and animals,” he said, “But I can read and write and do arithmetic. I could help wherever is needed.”

“I doubt my father will make you his personal valet,” the prince snorted, amused. “But I will think on where to place you. For now, rest. The guards have been instructed not to bother you, but you understand why I must keep you in here a little longer?”

Again, he nodded. “I do, Highness. And… thank you…”

“I haven’t made you any promises,” he warned him.

“Perhaps not, but you have given me a chance. You’re the first person to treat me… well… not like an animal, since the border.”

“I presume folks thought you were a runaway slave?”

“Yes,” he said and shuddered.

With a final nod, the prince left him and gratefully began to make his way up to his chambers. Undressing alone in the simple finery of his room, he thought about the half-orc and realised he had had no idea how orcs treated their own. For all that they had been at war for nearly six years now, he knew next to nothing about their culture. As he lay down beneath the soft sheets and let the deep pillows cushion his royal head, he mused that it might be wise to use this half-orc to learn about their enemy’s culture. Surely if he’d been treated so abominably that he’d run straight to their enemy’s stronghold for shelter, Tamas would be willing to help him?

Thus a hesitant relationship was forged between prince and captive. Tamas was housed in a room in the servants’ quarters - much to their distaste - and to begin with, for an hour every day, he was released and attended the prince in his own chambers to instruct him in the nature and traditions of the orcish nation.

Josslyn was surprised to learn that Tamas had a wicked sense of humour, and that he was also rather fond of reading. After that, the prince asked him to accompany him to the library, and in a relatively short couple of months, the two had become tentative friends. Josslyn encouraged Tamas to speak out truthfully with his opinions to the prince, though only in private, and the two frequently engaged in lengthy and in-depth discussions late into the night. Josslyn still carried a dagger with him at all times, but he soon forgot about it. In time, the half-orc became something of a legend in the castle - the ‘sentient beast’ and the ‘prince’s pet’ were two of the kinder titles he acquired, but he promised Josslyn that he didn’t mind.

“I’m happy to have a roof over my head and a purpose before me,” he said meekly one afternoon when the prince brought it up again as the two of them sat in comfortable chairs in a side room of the library. It was a rare day off for the prince, and having spent the last week in the infirmary visiting the soldiers who returned from the front with horrific injuries, dealt largely by orcish weapons, he was grateful for the quiet and peace of the ancient hall of learning.

Tamas had offered to accompany him, but the prince had suggested that his might not be a face to show to the recently-returned warriors, and the half-orc had accepted without question, apologising for his insensitivity.

The prince felt those sapphire blue eyes on him again and he glanced up from his book to find his new friend staring at him. “What?” he asked gently.

The half-orc smiled, the gesture stretching around the short, almost slender tusks which protruded from his lower jaw. “I haven’t seen you this relaxed in weeks, that’s all,” he said, a warmth to his tone that struck Joss deeply. “It’s nice.”

He snorted and then drew in a deep breath. “I’m tired, Tam. I’m tired of this war and I’m tired of the toll it’s taking on my people. I want an end to it, but I don’t know how. I don’t know - after all I’ve learned from you and from visiting the front myself - how we can make a bridge with them, make peace with a culture so different.”

Tamas’ face showed obvious surprise and a small amount of shock. He closed the book in his hands and leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze met the prince’s directly. “You’ve visited the front?”

“Of course,” Joss said, a frown playing on his dark brows. “I wouldn’t  be much of a leader if I sat at home in my comfortable castle while my people threw themselves at the orcish lines like the sea against the cliffs, would I?”

“Forgive me,” Tam murmured. “I… I didn’t mean to question your integrity. I’m just surprised. I’m sorry.”

Josslyn laughed and set his book down on the table beside his chair. “Come, let’s get a glass of wine. The sun’s going down and we’ve been sat here for hours. I need to stretch my legs.”

Tam stood, still looking a little stunned, as though his every belief had been called into question.

He was slow to follow his friend and the prince paused. “You alight?” Josslyn asked, laying a hand on Tam’s elbow.

The orc swallowed visibly and turned his searing blue gaze to the point where the two of them touched. His eyes then darted up to meet the prince’s and he smiled, though his dark skin still looked a little pallid. “Yes,” he croaked. “I’m sorry. Yes.”

“Come then,” he said again and walked away, leaving Tamas to stare after him for a moment before hurrying to catch up.

One evening, after the Beltane feast that marked the start of summer, Josslyn left the feast early. His father was being truly obnoxious, though mercifully this time he was only trying to get the crown prince to flirt with some visiting duchess or other, but Josslyn was having none of it. Tamas had not been invited to the celebrations, for obvious reasons, and Josslyn found himself aching for the easy rapport the two of them had built over the seven months or so that they had now known each other.

Instead of going to the servants’ quarters and bothering them all like a fox in a chicken coop, the prince headed to the privacy of the royal courtyard garden at the rear of the castle. Only those who tended the plants and members of the royal family were allowed here, and yet, as he sat on a stone bench with his head in his hands, he heard footsteps approaching.

Glancing up, his hand twitching towards the dagger at his hip, he nearly shot to his feet before he realised who it was. “Tamas?” he breathed. “What are you doing in here? You know this place is off limits…”

“Invite me to stay and I won’t be trespassing,” he smiled playfully. “But seriously, I’ll go if you want to be alone.”

“No,” Joss sighed, his spine slackening as he slumped back down on his bench. “Don’t go. How did you know to come here?”

“I was on my way back from the library when I saw you leaving the great hall. You looked thoroughly miserable… May I sit?”

“Of course,” he said, gesturing at the bench beside him. “Did you find anything interesting to read?”

“Mmm,” he hummed quietly, the deep sound somehow going straight through Josslyn. The quiet warmth of Tam’s presence beside him comforted him beyond expressing, and he leaned sideways and rested his body against Tamas’ side, his head falling to lie on Tam’s shoulder.

The half-orc’s hand suddenly slid over his own where it lay in his lap and he squeezed the prince’s fingers gently in his large grip.

“Tam,” Josslyn rasped, tears filling his eyes. “I’m so tired…”

“I know,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes every day. You give so much of yourself to your people. You take no time for yourself.”

There was soft wonder in his tone and Josslyn barked a quiet laugh. “It’s my duty as crown prince, Tam. My father, before he began to change, made me learn my duties young.” He sighed again and added, “I learned the oath I’ll take when I ascend the throne when I was only five. I had no idea what it meant then, but I do now.”

Tam’s arm came round his shoulders then and he held him close. “My people were entirely wrong about you,” he said very quietly.

“How so?”

He didn’t speak immediately, but the silence told Josslyn he was considering his words carefully. Another stereotype shattered, he thought as he realised just how deeply this half-orc cared about the words he spoke and the meaning behind them. “The orcs say you are little more than a spoiled, selfish brat of a princeling who spends his days watching orcs fight in the pits or being tended to by a harem of naked elven women… They did get one thing right about you though,” he added with a wry smile.

“Oh?” Joss asked, too tired to respond to the first comments, ridiculous as they were.

Tam chuckled and said, “They say you’re as beautiful as one of the fae. Apparently because your previous queen died and the kingdom had no heir, your father made a pact with the fae for you.”

Josslyn’s laugh rang around the courtyard, echoing off the statuary. He sat up and regarded Tamas with glittering dark eyes. “And here I thought ‘beauty’ to an orc was brute strength and an unquenchable bloodlust…”

Tamas shrugged. “Good thing I’m not a full orc then.”

The chill evening air had gradually become charged during their conversation, and Josslyn felt his lips parting slightly as he stared up at Tamas. The half-orc wasn’t much taller than the crown prince, but he had a few inches on him; enough to make Josslyn tilt his head back so that his hair fell down to tickle the hand that Tamas still had pressed to his back, though now it rested at the base of his spine.

Slowly, hesitantly, as though he would be shot full of arrows from the rooftops if he dared go through with it, Tamas leaned down and the two brushed their lips together in the briefest of kisses. The fleeting touch sent the blood straight to Joss’ groin and his breath hitched in his chest. “Tam,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, wide-eyed, wrenching himself back and standing, staggering as he half turning to go. “I’m… I shouldn’t…”

“Wait,” Josslyn commanded, standing and drawing himself to his full height. “Wait,” he said again, more gently, stepping over to him. He took his hand and tightened his grip.

The kiss that followed was all fierce, pent-up emotion and passion, and Josslyn found himself backed against the huge marble plinth of a statue of a faun, with Tamas chasing kiss after kiss. The half-orc hooked one of Joss’ legs around his hips and then picked him up, pinning him against the masonry hard enough to knock the breath from him. The prince gasped as Tamas ground his solid length against his own hardening cock through their trousers, and his head rolled back. Tamas shot out a hand to cup the back of the prince’s head before he clonked it on the stonework behind him, and Joss smiled bashfully at him.

They paused then, frozen in place, both breathing hard. “You… You want…?” Tamas asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” the prince whispered.

Kissing him one last time, Tamas backed off, setting the prince back on his feet, and the two of them readjusted themselves sheepishly as best they could before making their way through back stairwells and corridors to his private chambers.

No sooner had the door closed and the latch locked than the two of them were entangled again. They shed their clothes between the door and the bed, and Josslyn ran his palms over Tamas’ slim, lean chest, marvelling at the wiry strength of the half-orc who shuddered and gasped beneath the explorative touches of the prince. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, and as his chest heaved, Joss could see the muscles move beneath his green skin, his dark nipples hard and his cock dampening a spot in his underwear.

They fell backwards onto his huge bed in a tangle of limbs, and Joss tugged off the last of Tam’s clothes to free his impressive erection. Hard, the vein along its length full and prominent, his cock wept pre-come freely now, twitching as Josslyn stared openly at him.

“How… How do you want to do this?” the prince asked breathily.

In answer, Tamas parted his legs a little and the prince smiled, reaching across the orc’s prone body to his bedside drawers for a small vial of oil. Somehow he hadn’t expected Tamas to be the one wanting to take it, but he was too worked up to comment or mind.

When he slicked one finger with oil and slid it inside the orc, Tamas grunted and drove his head back into the bed, his legs falling wider apart, his cock bobbing eagerly as his hips bucked upwards into the intrusion. With his free hand, Joss dribbled more oil down the length of Tamas’ cock and then worked him with both hands until Tam was panting and grunting and cursing in orcish.

Josslyn knew only enough of the language to recognise it as orcish, and he leaned forwards, sliding his fingers out of Tam for a moment and earning a keening whine from him at the loss. In his sensitive ear he whispered, “You’re going to have to translate that for me, Tamas.”

“I said…” he gasped, struggling to speak as the prince returned his finger to him and caressed the bundle of sensitive nerves inside him, “I… I need to you fuck me… Highness.” His voice was beautifully unsteady and his eyes were screwed shut. His cock wept pre-come onto his hard abs, and he was squirming, desperate for more.

“You’re not quite ready yet,” Josslyn said, and this time he slid three fingers into the orc, stretching him, working him open until he was growling openly at him to fuck him.

Running his slick palm over his own cock and gasping at the sudden stimulation, Josslyn lined himself up and nudged into the ready heat. Already Tamas’ head lolled to one side. “Please?” he hissed, bucking weakly upwards, eyes opening a little as he half sat up in an attempt to guide Josslyn further inside him.

In one motion, Josslyn seated himself to the hilt inside Tam and the orc yelled with pleasure and immediately began to shake.

“Please, please, please,” he chanted until Joss began to move.

Slowly at first, he savoured the immense tightness of the orc around him, the heat, the shaking muscles desperate for release, but then he changed his angle slightly and Tamas let out another bellow of pleasure. Hitting him repeatedly in that sweet spot, the prince picked up his pace and lowered his head with the effort. His long hair fell forwards and started to stick to the sheen of sweat that had begun to form on Tam’s chest as he got more and more worked up.

The orc’s cock bounced between them, untouched and drooling as he clutched at the sheets beneath him and growled incoherently. “I’m…” he snarled. “Please!” Despite the pleasure of Joss’ cock repeatedly pounding into his prostate, it wasn’t quite enough.

“Are you going to come for me if I touch you?” Joss hissed, breathless and sweaty with exertion and pleasure.

“Yes!” he gasped.

“I’m close,” the prince admitted, the rhythm of his hips faltering.

“Don’t stop,” Tam demanded, but when Joss’ hand wrapped around Tamas’ cock and worked his shaft once, twice, he suddenly went rigid beneath him and spilled over his stomach with a barely stifled scream. His tusks bit deep into the back of his wrist as he fought to keep quiet as he clenched and twitched, and the combination of sound, sight, and sensation tipped the prince over the edge too. He came almost silently, a blinding heat ripping through him as he emptied himself into the half-orc.

Trembling in the aftermath of his orgasm, Josslyn fell forwards onto Tamas’ heaving chest and he whined as he landed on the mess of release smeared over his abs, but he was too tired and too blissed out to care just yet. Tamas’ heartbeat thundered in his ear as he laid his head on his chest and the orc lay there, lax and spent beneath him, breathing hard, eyes closed, one arm on Josslyn’s back, the other palm up and limp on the sheets beside him.

Eventually they grew chilly, and Joss disappeared to clean up in the adjacent bathroom. When he emerged, swathed in a rich black and gold, silk dressing gown, he found that Tamas had fallen asleep exactly where he’d left him, and the prince chuckled fondly. The half-orc was as large as most human warriors, with clearly defined muscles, but the green tone of his skin, the tusks - however small -, the heavy jaw and under-bite, and the tapering of his ears marked him as orcish as clearly as Josslyn’s crown announced his royal blood. The wiry slenderness to Tamas’ body, however, spoke of his elven lineage too. Always an outcast, never belonging, Tamas had nowhere to call home.

Leaning over him, Joss wiped the warm washcloth over the ridges of his abs and over his sharply-defined hips. With a jolt, Tamas woke and sat up and blinked at him for just a heartbeat before he laughed. “You shouldn’t be doing that for me,” he chided groggily, holding out his hand for the cloth.

The prince shook his head, his long hair in disarray.

“Gods, you look so beautiful like that,” Tamas hissed as he stared him up and down.

Josslyn blushed hard and threw the wash cloth at his chest, where it landed with a wet ‘flap’.

Things changed for them after that.

They kept the nature of their relationship a secret, and continued with life in the castle as best they could whilst maintaining their charade. They still held their discussions about orcish culture, though there wasn’t much more for Tamas to teach him by now, though the two had begun studying the language now too. Josslyn had been surprised to learn that it wasn’t the series of simplistic, guttural sounds that he’d always taken it for, and while his grasp of the vocabulary and grammar was solid, Tamas insisted that his accent was appalling.

“I promise not to speak it,” Josslyn murmured one evening as they sat in each other’s arms on the sofa in his private apartment in the castle.

Tamas ran his fingertip over the prince’s lips and whispered, “I wouldn’t want you to sully your beautiful mouth with the language of such brutes,” which earned him a smack on the chest and a playful kiss for his efforts at romance.

As high summer tipped towards autumn again and Tamas remarked that he’d been at the castle for nearly a year, the prince suggested that they go out hunting together. It was customary for there to be a royal hunt as the festival of Mabon approached, and the Royal Guard had just about come to terms with the fact that Tamas wasn’t going to assassinate their beloved prince if left unattended, so the pair of them mounted up amid the baying of hounds and the clatter of hooves on the flagstones of the upper bailey.

The king’s health was not strong enough for him to ride out, but he insisted on being hauled out in his wheeled throne to bless the hunters and wish them success because it was tradition.

The large party of nobles and courtiers and guards all rode out into the woods about a mile from the castle, and the whole thing soon became the usual chaos of bugles and barking, of horses stamping and men shouting.

Tamas guided his large mare expertly up to Josslyn’s side and murmured, “Is this what passes for a hunt amongst humans?”

The prince laughed, knowing it was the large silken tents and the army of servants standing in the field behind waiting to welcome then back to which he was referring. He shrugged. “A royal one, yes.”

“You want to get out of here?”

With a glint in his eye, the prince galloped away with his lover, following old game trails he knew well from adventures as a boy. The two of them soon left the chaos of the hunt well behind, and slowed their mounts to a trot and then an easy walk.

They headed north in companionable silence, enjoying the late summer light beneath the trees, but soon Joss began to notice that Tamas was tense. His horse skittered beneath him, shying at nothing, reacting to the tension and fear in her rider’s posture, snorting and sidestepping.

“Tam?” he asked, his heart rate picking up. “What is it?”

With his heavy jaw set and his eyes fixed on the path ahead, Tamas didn’t reply and Josslyn realised then just how far they had strayed.

“Tamas, we should go back,” he said with more confidence than he felt, reining his horse around. Everything felt wrong. His skin crawled and prickled, and Arrow danced nervously beneath him, the stallion snorting too.

The half-orc held his own mare in place and didn’t follow. He seemed to be warring with himself, his eyes darting back and forth. His chest heaved and his skin had gone deathly pale.

“Tam?” the prince insisted. “What -?”

“Go,” he finally hissed. “Ride. Gallop for home and don’t look back.”

“What?”

“GO!” he roared as the undergrowth erupted behind him and an orcish war horn sounded.

Terror flooded through the prince and he spurred his horse to a flat out gallop as arrows and bolts whistled around them. He heard a scream and a heavy crash from behind him and glanced back to see Tam’s mare go down, throwing him from the saddle.

“No!” he yelled, immediately wheeling Arrow round. The well-trained warhorse obeyed instantly, and as the prince leaned down out of his saddle like a child at a gymkhana, extending his hand to Tam who was sitting up, winded and with an arrow through his shoulder, Joss caught sight of the orcs barrelling towards them through the trees. “Take my hand!” he shouted.

“Go!” Tam gasped.

“I’m not leaving you.”

And with tremendous effort, the half-orc rose and swung himself onto Arrow’s back.

Slowed by the extra weight, the big stallion charged as best he could through the woods. It was a long, painful ride for Tamas, but by the time they erupted out into the meadow, the sounds of pursuit had faded and the orcs appeared to have given up for now. Evening lengthened the shadows as Tamas slumped against Josslyn’s back, breathing hard and holding tight with only one arm.

Once he was sure that they were alone, the prince slowed his sweat-foamed horse to a walk, letting him breathe and stretch out, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Slowly, in a voice laced with fear and trepidation, he asked, “Tamas, what was that?”

“An orcish outpost,” he said dully.

A horrible thought plunged through the prince’s mind and he forced himself to ask, “Did… Did you know it was there?”

Silence stretched between them before he felt Tamas nod. “Yes.”

“Why?” he gasped, fighting off tears as the world spun around him. “Was that the plan all along? You were going to betray me all along?”

Tam’s arm tightened briefly around the prince’s slim waist before it slackened a little and he pressed his cheek against the soft leather of his riding jerkin. His breath wheezed and rattled wetly as he answered, “I was the bait. I…” but before he could continue, a retinue of guards cantered over the nearest grassy rise towards them.

“My prince?” the captain called. “What… What happened?”

“Orc ambush,” the prince said, his tone hard as steel, miraculously revealing nothing of his emotions.

The captain snarled and signalled to his men. “Seize him,” he said, pointing at Tam. “Get him away from the prince.”

“No,” Josslyn said in that eerily calm voice. “No. He saved my life. Escort us to the palace. He needs medical treatment.”

Tamas had gone very still behind him, but the prince suspected that it wasn’t because he’d lost consciousness.

The events of the next few hours passed in a daze for the prince. The news of the attack on the crown prince weakened the king’s condition so severely that the physicians feared he was not long for this world, and Josslyn spent the next two hours at his father’s side, though he didn’t stir once. Still too numb and empty from the shock of Tamas’ actions to feel anything much for his father, he wandered the castle until he found himself in the infirmary.

Tamas was sleeping in a bed at the far end, his shoulder bandaged, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. No one was about, but there had been guards posted at the doors he noted.

Grabbing a chair and silently setting it down beside the bed, the prince stared at the person he’d thought was his friend. His lover. After all they’d shared, Tamas had just been… bait? He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

After perhaps five minutes, Tamas’ blue eyes fluttered open and he stared at Josslyn.

“Why?” The whispered question fell from the prince’s lips before he could stop himself. “Why didn’t you just stab me in my sleep while we lay together all those nights?” His fury mounted inside him and it was a miracle he kept it in check. “If you wanted me dead, why -” he faltered, choking up.

“I don’t,” Tam hissed back. “I mean… I did… That was why I was sent here, but I-”

“They sent you? So everything you told me about yourself was a lie? You manipulated me… Gods,” he said, lurching to his feet and turning away, fists clenched. “I was so stupid.”

The sheets rustled and Tamas sat up awkwardly, resting his back against the wooden headboard behind him as a wave of dizziness swept through him. He breathed hoarsely for a moment, the pain in his shoulder evident. “I was sent here,” he confirmed. “I was supposed to gather information on the castle and household, and then return. But when you took an interest in me… I couldn’t let that opportunity pass. I…” he paused, trying to catch his breath before going on. Josslyn stood there and glared at him. “I sent word of what had changed, and they told me to earn your trust and bring you to that outpost whenever I could.”

The prince’s vision swam and he bit the inside of his cheeks hard enough to taste the ferrous tang of blood. “Why didn't you go through with it then?” he finally whispered.

“Because… I…” Tamas’ blue eyes dropped to the sheets and he stared blankly at them. “Because I never imagined I’d fall in love with you.”

“No,” he snarled. “You don’t get to say something like that after what you did.”

“I know,” he said evenly. “But you asked me why I didn’t let them do it. I never should have led you away from the hunt, but once I had, I felt like there was no going back. My people were counting on me, but then I saw how afraid you were when… how… how what I had done would hurt you more than being taken by them, and…”

“‘Taken’…”

“They weren’t going to kill you,” Tamas said quietly. “They were going to hold you to ransom.”

“Then why the arrows?” he retorted bitterly as he recalled flashes of that dreadful flight through the trees. His eyes landed on the bandages. “They nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t hear what they were shouting after me. They’d kill me now, for sure. If you let me go, they’ll…”

“It’s no more than you deserve,” he growled, but somehow the words didn’t feel right, even as he spoke them aloud.

Tamas looked up at the prince with his eyes glistening. “May I ask you something?”

The prince made a non-committal shrug.

“Why did you your guards that I saved your life? Why am I not hanging from a gallows right now?”

“Because I loved you,” he said. “And because you did save my life. Admittedly, that was immediately after trying to get me killed…”

“‘Loved’?” Of course he’d fixated upon that word. That tense.

Josslyn’s shoulders dropped and he closed his eyes, head bowing. “Love,” he amended. “You hurt me, but… I think… as insane as it sounds, I think I understand why you did it.”

“What?”

“You remember when I told you that I’m a prince but I serve my people?”

Tamas nodded, looking stunned.

“You came here to do for your people what I would do for mine. It’s not my fault that we’re on opposite sides of a war, Tamas.”

Tamas let out the breath he’d been holding and said in a shaky voice, “Months ago, you said that you wanted to bring an end to this war, and you said that you wished you could talk with my people. You wished you could find a way to end it peacefully…”

“I still do,” he said, his hand gripping the back of the chair to keep himself upright. It was all too much to take in in one go.

Tam’s mind was clearly working well enough though. “Perhaps we can do it together?”

“How? The orcs will kill you on sight for betraying them like that.”

“I’ll find a way to explain it,” he said hopelessly.

“Alright, so I herald you as my saviour, the ‘orc with a conscience’… and then what? You think my father will merrily trot over there and ask to begin a peace conference? Don’t be absurd…”

Tamas laughed softly but cut off with a wince. “We would have to wait until you became king,” he said very quietly. “It would take time, but…” he looked up at him. “I hated humans before I met you. You made me fall in love with you despite everything I tried to tell myself. If anyone can win them round, it’s you.”

“You love me despite your better judgement? Is that it?” Josslyn laughed, feeling his chest lighten somehow. He sank down onto the bed beside Tamas and took up his hand, frowning at the way it trembled.

“I love you despite my former judgement,” he corrected. His eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. He was clearly fighting to stay awake. “There’s a difference. I know I’ve got a lot of work to do to rebuild your trust in me. I don’t know if you’ll ever trust me again, but… still I think we can make this work between our people…”

Josslyn smiled. “I saw the look on your face back there in the trees too,” he said. “You didn’t want to do it. I know regret when I see it, and the expression of fear I saw in you when they came for me was genuine. I understand.”

Tears tracked silently down Tamas’ face from his dark blue eyes.

“Rest,” Josslyn murmured, helping him to lie back down again and sweeping his hair back out of his eyes once he was supine again. “We’ll talk more when you’ve healed.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The prince smiled softly and leaned down, pressing a kiss into his slackening lips. “I know. Now, get some sleep.”

“Yes, Highness,” he slurred with a smile and slipped into unconsciousness a moment later.

As Josslyn walked away from the infirmary he felt wrung out and weak-kneed, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel now. There was the potential to end the conflict that had ravaged his land for the best part of six years, and he was going to take it.

As if to confirm his new resolve, a low, mournful bell began to toll throughout the castle and his footsteps faltered, knowing it could only mean one thing.

In the morning, there would be a new king.

—

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[the-beastslayers-queen]

A Dangerous Game: Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is hear. TRIGGER WARNING IS IN EFFECT: ABUSE AHEAD! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Tagging: @queenofthearchitect @biforbecky2belts @writtingrose @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk and @jeffhardyenigmawwefan If you wish to be tagged, please feel free to hit my inbox. Enjoy!

Seth walked in and he looked like hell. His hair was pulled back messily and his eyes looked so tired and worn out. He came over to my bed and sat down beside me and took my hand. I was surprised by his actions and his close proximity to me. I mean he wasn’t very kind to me before I went out on the heist with the guys and now he was here to see me in my injured state.

“Why did you come,” I asked him.

“Anderson called me from your phone,” he answered looking me in my eyes, “He told me you had been shot and that you wanted him to call me before you blacked out. He said that usually if something went wrong during a job, you’d have him call Finn, but not this time. Why me?”

“Because I didn’t want to die and you have regrets with me,” I guessed, “We weren’t on the best of terms and I wanted him to bury our hatchet so you could go on without me weighing on your conscious. Seeing as I’m very much alive, I thought you’d not bother coming to see me.”

“Hearing you got shot brought me to my senses,” he grabbed and held onto my left hand, “I’m ready to hear you out. I want to know why you didn’t tell who you were, Cat.”

“I didn’t tell you I was Finn’s sister because I wanted a chance to be just Cat,” I told him, “You made me feel important and my own person. I didn’t feel like I was the lesser of the two Bálor siblings and I wasn’t about to be sold off to McIntyre for the sake of peace in Orlando. So when you found out, I was hurt because I was going to tell you eventually that I was a Bálor, but I hesitated too long and it blew up in my face.”

“Now I want to know why you were so offended that I found pictures of you when you were younger,” he asked, “Why hide your past and hold it so close to your chest so to speak.”

“Finn and I made a promise to each other to keep our family back in Ireland a secret from everyone,” I answered, “Our legal names here is Bálor to keep them safe. The last thing we wanted when we started out was to put them in danger. But I have pictures of our family back in Ireland in my secure server to preserve them and keep them close. I also have security cameras set up in Ireland I use to check up on our parents to make sure they’re okay and safe. So when you found my pictures from high school, I got scared you’d find them too and try to hurt me by getting to them.”

“I didn’t get into your folder named ‘Bray’,” he replied, “That folder is the one with the pictures of your parents, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “There’s also pictures of our sister and brother too. Maybe one day I’ll show you their pictures once I know I can trust with my life. But Finn has to trust you too.”

“Cat, I’m not going anywhere this time, okay,” he scooted over closer to me and I watched as his eyes darted between my eyes and my lips, “And I’ll be damned if I let McIntyre marry you. I will do whatever it takes to have you as my bride. You’re the one I want.”

Before I could reply, Seth closed the distance between us and kissed me hard. I resisted at first for a split second before I returned his kiss with fervor. I wrapped my left arm over his shoulder, holding him against me as I felt his strong hands grab hold of my waist. Our lips danced together, molding to each other like they belonged together. His nose brushed against mine with a tenderness I could get used to. This man has me hooked now more than ever. When the need for oxygen became too great and my shoulder started to throb in pain, we broke apart, breathing heavily.

“Whoa,” I sighed before groaning in pain from my shoulder, “I could get used to that.”

“Good,” Seth smirked before kissing me again, “Because I’m hooked on you, Cat.”

“We just have to be careful,” I warned him, “We can’t let Finn or Drew know about us. I can’t stand the thought of you being taken from me.”

“Likewise,” he replied before placing a chaste kiss on my lips and then forehead, “I’m going to go find Anderson to have him give Finn a call before I leave. I’ll meet up with you once you get home.”

“How do you know where I live,” I asked.

“You’re not the only hacker in this relationship, Cat,” he replied with a smirk, “Oracle got me your address when I broke into your servers. I’ll work with you to boost your firewalls and your defender program once you’re feeling a little better, okay.”

Finn ended up coming to get me from Shawn’s place and got me settled into my apartment, propping me up on my couch. I was given some Tylenol 3s for my pain and to call Shawn if I get worse. Finn was messing around in my kitchen as I looked for something to watch on my TV.

“So you are to take it easy, Catie,” Finn called as he worked on fixing me something to eat, “Do you need me to hang out with you for the day to keep you distracted?”

“No that’s okay Finn,” I replied, “And don’t worry about coming to help me with dinner. I’ll just order something for delivery. You have a nightclub and Bálor Club to run today. I’ll be okay. I already talked with Tama over the phone on what needs to be done at Coup De Grace this week.”

“Okay,” Finn came into my living room with a grilled cheese sandwich for me and a mug of tea, “I made you some tea with honey to help you relax and your favorite lunch of grilled cheese. If you need anything from me, give me a call okay. Love you, deirfiúr.”

“Love you too, deartháir,” I replied as he kissed my cheek before leaving.

I waited about ten minutes after Finn left before I texted Seth. I couldn’t risk Finn seeing him coming to stay with me for the day. Not this early into our fling if this is what we have going on.

Cat: Hey coast is clear. Come on by. The door is open.

Seth: I’m on my way. Be there in 5.

Sure enough, Seth was in the door within five minutes. I admired that he was so fast to come be with me. He came over to the back of the couch and bent over to place a tender, chaste kiss on my lips before coming around to sit next to me on the arm of my couch, playing with my hair once he was settled on his perch.

“How are you feeling,” he asked as he continued to play with my hair.

“As well as I can after being shot,” I replied, “Finn made me some tea and a grilled cheese before he left to manage Bullet Club for the night.”

“Is he going to come back tonight,” he asked, “Because I have an overnight bag in my car to stay overnight to keep an eye on you.”

“He won’t back tomorrow,” I reassured him, “He has a Bálor Club meeting with the guys in the morning and has a meeting with Drew to go over the wedding plans. I’m skipping that meeting because I refuse to marry the Scotsman.”

“I’m still confused on why you chased after me when you knew you’d be getting engaged to him,” Seth asked as he moved me around gently so I could lean against him, “I mean I like this, but we could get killed if he catches us.”

“Finn would declare war if McIntyre gets violent with me,” I informed him, “And because I met you first and I felt a spark when we shook hands that night weeks ago. You’ve been on my mind for far too long to give up on the idea that I could be with you instead of him.”

“I can work with Hunter to get Finn to renegotiate a deal to have you marry me instead of McIntyre,” Seth offered, “We can say that McIntyre is unstable and needs to see his gang ended before he disrupts the peace our groups forged to keep the city safe.”

“Maybe,” I replied, “But Finn is very stubborn might not see reason like you and I. For now we’ll have to play it safe and meet in secret. It’s not ideal, but I’d rather have you to myself in secret instead of going without you.”

“I agree,” Seth nodded and kissed me again, “Now what should we get for delivery later?”

I woke up the next morning to find Seth still sound asleep next to me. Last night I fell asleep in his arms as we watched some movies on Netflix after we ate dinner we had delivered. Seth must have put me to bed before getting himself to bed. I reached across as best as I could, staying on my back and using my left arm to try to brush his hair out of his face. This woke him up despite my best efforts not too.

“Morning,” he greeted me, sleep still weighing heavily on his voice, “Did you sleep alright? I brought you up here so you could be more comfortable.”

“Yeah I slept as fine as I could with my messed up shoulder,” I replied, “Are you heading back to your place after breakfast? Maybe I can see if I have enough energy to go out today and stretch my legs with a nice walk.”

“Yeah I have business to handle for Hunter,” he replied, “But I can try to come back tonight if you’re going to be here alone.”

“I’ll keep you posted okay,” I replied before I pulled him closer to me with my good arm before kissing him, “Have I mentioned how much I enjoy kissing you?”

“No,” he chuckled lightly, “But you could enlighten me.”

“I enjoy it so much,” I giggled and kissed him again, “Now how about breakfast?”

Man I am bored, stuck sitting at home due to my right shoulder. I spent my time working on my laptop on writing some code of a new drone I want to try to build that I could use on future heists to use as a signal booster to crack systems from a greater distance so I can be further away. That way I can avoid getting put into the line of fire again.

I was pulled out of my work by a knock at my door. I struggled to get up from my desk and padded my way over to the door. I peeked through my peep hole to find Drew, Baron, and Dolph standing at my door. I rolled my eyes before I opened the door for the trio.

“Drew,” I greeted him with my most convincing fake smile I could manage, “I’m surprised you came by. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I thought I would come visit my apartment bound fiancée since she got shot,” he replied, laying on the charm heavily, “How has your shoulder been treatin’ ya, lass?”

“It hurts,” I replied simply, “But Michaels got me pain killers to help.”

“That’s good to hear, Cat,” Baron replied as he and Dolph followed Drew over to the couch, “So have you been working on anything in your free time since you can’t work for Finn?”

“I’m designing a drone that I can use on heists so I can hide away from the target and not be so close to crack into security systems,” I replied, “But it’s just diagrams and some pieces of the code to operate it.”

“Sounds boring,” Baron yawned.

“Only to a lug like you,” I quipped at him.

“No it does sound boring,” Dolph agreed.

“Why do I bother,” I groaned and sat down at my desk, “My genius is wasted between you two.”

“And I have to put up with them all day,” Drew chuckled as he came over to stand by me.

That was when he kissed me way too hard. I groaned and tried to push him off of me. I did not want him to kiss me at all. After everything I had done to get Seth back, I was not about to let Drew gain ground with me and think I was going to stay with him. Once he got the message, he got off of me and I glared at him.

“I did not ask you to kiss me,” I growled at him, “Don’t do that again.”

And that was when I felt his fist make contact with my face. He nailed me right in my right eye. I knew it was hard enough to leave me with a nasty shiner and a migraine for sure, but not strong enough to concuss me or break the orbital bone by my eye.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, bitch,” he yelled as he grabbed me by my throat, just tight enough to make me struggle to breathe.

I got out of my chair and broke his hold on my throat. I then grabbed my pistol I kept on the underside of my desk and I aimed it at the three of them.

“Get out of my apartment,” I ordered the trio before I disengaged the safety, “Now before I shoot all three of you with warning shots. Now move!”

Drew and his cronies took my warning and left. Once my apartment door was closed I ran over and locked it. I re-engaged the safety before I slammed my back against the door before sliding down it to the floor and began to cry in pain from the hard punch Drew planted on my face. I struggled to get back to my feet before I called Seth. I was going to text Finn later to have him come over.

“Seth,” I hiccupped once I heard him pick up his phone.

“Cat,” he sounded so concerned and worried for me, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“It was Drew,” I tried to catch my breath as I kept crying, “He was here. I don’t feel safe. Can you come here?”

“Yeah I’ll be right over,” he took a deep breath, “I still have the copy of your key you gave me so keep your door locked until I get there.”

I was up on my bed, my pistol still near me as I heard my front doorknob jiggle and the sound of a key turning in the lock. I shot up from my bed and brought up my gun in paranoia, but dropped it the instant I saw Seth walk inside. I began to cry in earnest as Seth came running up the stairs to my bedroom and he took my pistol from my hands before pulling me to his chest.

“What did he do,” Seth sounded absolutely pissed.

“H-he kissed me against my will,” I hiccupped as I buried my face into his chest as I held onto him, “And I p-push him away. Then he…”

“What did he do,” Seth pulled me back by my arms and he saw my nasty black eye, “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him.”

“Seth don’t,” I grabbed onto him tightly with my good arm, “Don’t start a war over me, please.”

“No one should lay hands on a woman,” he snarled in frustration, “You didn’t deserve to be hit like this. I want to end him so bad for touching my girl and leaving her with a black eye.”

“Your girl,” I asked him confused.

“Yeah,” he replied, “You’re my girl now. I’m not going to let Drew have you. If it takes all the breath from my lungs, I’m going to fight to take you away from the Scottish Psychopath. I’m going to work with Hunter to get Finn to go back on his deal with McIntyre so I can swoop in and take you for myself before declaring war on his damn gang.”

“I don’t think Finn will back out,” I told him, “But I’m sure once he sees my face he’ll consider it.”

“He better,” Seth warned, “Otherwise I’m running with you out of town and I’m going elope with you so Drew can’t take you away from me.”

“Seth,” I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, “Is breá liom tú, mo ailtire.”

“Was that Gaelic,” Seth asked, confused by what I said, “What does it mean?”

“It means,” I paused before I kissed him hard, “I love you, my architect.”

#seth rollins x oc #seth rollins fic #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins fanfiction #wwe fic #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #tw: abuse #tw: violence against women #A Dangerous Game

[xtruss]

Ten Weeds You Can Eat! Your Backyard Could Be Loaded With Edibles.

— By Marie Viljoen/Saveur | Popular Science | April 19, 2020

If any of these weeds are proving a nuisance in your farm or garden, the solution might just be simpler than you think.

This story was originally featured on Saveur.

There was a time when the only place you might encounter a thicket of invasive Japanese knotweed or a tangle of pokeweed was while bushwacking in the urban or rural wilds. While most weeds will be left to languish in the wilderness, there is a growing awareness that many of these unruly plants—usually a blight to farmers and home gardeners—have something in common: They can be quite good to eat. This spring, bundles of tender, young knotweed and pokeweed shoots will be appearing tentatively at greenmarkets. Along with wild cresses, aggressive onions, rampant mugwort, and habitat-altering autumn berries, they represent a steadily rising tide of edibles-formerly-known-as-weeds becoming available to cooks.

Thanks to foragers, attendant trending hashtags like #wildfoodlove, and the emerging practice of what I call conservation foraging (focusing on sustainable harvest practices and the collection of invasive species), many weeds that landowners battle on their lawns are the same ingredients appearing on restaurant menus, in Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) boxes, and at the market.

As the audience for culinary weeds grows, farmers are poised to take advantage of this potential income. But little information is yet available on how weeds function as marketable crops. One farmer-forager recognizing this gap in knowledge is Russian-born Tusha Yakovleva, who lives in the Hudson River Valley. Her guide for farmers, Edible Weeds from Farm to Market, is funded by the Sustainable Agriculture and Research program. Its aim is to educate and empower farmers who wish to add invasive edibles to their harvest lists. My own book, Forage, Harvest, Feast: A Wild-Inspired Cuisine (Chelsea Green), caters to the receiving end of the wild supply chain—the curious cook and chef—by providing hundreds of recipes for preparing weeds and wild plants at home.

But for now, here is a list of 10 choice edible weeds appearing in greenmarkets, with a rundown of what to expect from them.

Editor’s note: This story is intended merely to show you a selection of edible weeds; we don’t recommend you go outside and start tossing foraged greens into a salad bowl. Some of these may resemble other plants that are poisonous to humans, so if you’re not absolutely sure what kind of plant you’re looking at, leave it alone.

Autumn olive (Elaeagnus umbellata)

Also known as the Japanese silverberry, the autumn olive is native to eastern Asia.

Farmer Faith Gilbert, of Letterbox Farm, includes the sour crimson fruits of autumn olive (also called autumn berries), in early autumn CSA boxes in Hudson, New York. They are as tart as red currants and can be used in similar ways. Their high lycopene content can cause jams to separate, but their color and flavor invigorate sweet and savory sauces and fruit leathers.

Burdock (Arctium lappa)

Some species of burdock can reach 10 feet tall.

Peeled burdock stems are crisp and versatile. “Everyone loves them as soon as they try them,” says Avery McGuire, of Thalli Foods near Ithaca, New York, who began selling the late-spring stems to chefs and farmers-market shoppers after reading Samuel Thayer’s Forager’s Harvest. She suggests dipping them into hummus, or braising them. Burdock’s cold-season taproot (better known as gobo) is a substantial, starchy vegetable that takes well to slow, moist cooking.

Chickweed (Stellaria media)

This perennial plant is native to Eurasia and has white flowers.Marie Viljoen

With its appealing flavor of nutty corn silk, spring chickweed is a delicacy best appreciated raw. Its tender stems, leaves, and flowers are ideal fillers for summer rolls and a gentle bed for seared seafood.

Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale)

If you have a lawn, you've probably seen a dandelion.

Familiar dandelions are the gateway plant to eating weeds. “I may be the only person who gets excited about dandelions in my hayfield,” says Mary Carpenter of Violet Hill Farm, near Albany, New York, who sells them in New York City’s Union Square. With crisp rosettes in late winter, mild leaves and succulent stalks in spring, and assertive flavor in summer, dandelions’ evolving profile makes them appealing throughout their growing season.

Field garlic (Allium vineale)

This species of wild onion is native to Europe, the Middle East, and northwestern Africa.

Prolific field garlic (also called lawn chives, or wild garlic) is sold in neat bunches at New York City greenmarkets by New Jersey–based Lani’s Farm, an outfit known for offering flavorful weeds in pristine condition. The little wild onions fetch $3 a bunch. If you have ever foraged and cleaned field garlic you will appreciate the bargain. The bulbs and leaves are a sustainable—if diminutive—alternative to vulnerable native ramps (Allium tricoccum).

Garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata)

No, we didn't throw a condiment in here to make sure you're paying attention: This garlic mustard is a plant.

Spreading thousands of seeds after flowering, biennial garlic mustard inspires ecological ire. Edible in its entirety, the plant offers second-year roots tasting like horseradish (in contorted miniature), leaves that are a gustatory marriage of broccoli rabe, mustard, and garlic, and budding stems in late spring that are an ephemeral delicacy. “The biggest issue is the short window of readiness,” says Mary Carpenter: Garlic mustard’s bud season is brief, and customer education takes time. Be ready.

Japanese knotweed (Reynoutria japonica)

Japanese knotweed looks a little like a cross between asparagus and rhubarb.

Also offered by Violet Hill Farm, Japanese knotweed is notoriously invasive, but also delicious. It will definitely become more familiar as a market vegetable in years to come. Its mid-spring shoots resemble asparagus, but taste and behave like an earthier, more vegetal version of rhubarb crossed with fresh sorrel. Use it raw or cooked, especially in savory dishes that need a sour boost.

Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)

"Mugwort" doesn't sound like something you'd want to eat, but names can be deceiving.

Mugwort’s feathery leaves are packed with a sage-like fragrance that is wildly versatile in the kitchen. Author and wild foods purveyor Tama Matsuoka Wong says they are “awesome as tempura.” She supplies mugwort and other edible invasives to Fresh Direct, under the name Meadows and More. From its first shoots through to its winter stalks (which can be used as kebab skewers), this under-appreciated herb is about to experience a slow-burn renaissance.

Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana)

Pokeweed can poison you if you don't know how to handle it.

Known as poke sallet in the South, this indigenous but prolific plant was originally eaten by Native Americans. It is a succulent spring vegetable when blanched in ample boiling water, but it must never be eaten raw. Pokeweed’s notoriety stems from livestock poisonings or improper preparation: Animals that graze on the mature plant or snout out its toxic rhizome can grow sick and die; unripe fruit and uncooked green parts are also toxic to humans. But once blanched, young poke shoots are delectable.

Wintercress (Barbarea verna & B. vulgaris)

When it blooms, wintercress has yellow flowers.

The early-season alternative to watercress, wintercress (also called creasy greens, wild cress, or upland cress) is a land dweller whose leafy heat is reminiscent of wild arugula. Later in spring, wintercress stems shoot up, bearing acid yellow flowers. These tender morsels, like baby broccolini, are a prime and ephemeral spring ingredient.

Photographs: Marie Viljoen

[mysticdragon3md3]

md3 watches Demon Slayer ep1-2

Apparently I watched Demon Slayer last month and I forgot to post my reactions. 1:59 PM 8/26/2019

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Episode 1 – Cruelty

Maybe I shouldn't have started watchign this anime with such high expectations.  I had been passing it up for a while now, even though the "demon hunting" genre used to be *my jam* (before my mental/emotional problems had me watching almost exclusively the iyashikei genre).  But then EVERYONE started saying how good this series was.  And I reluctantly went to go check it off my list today.  Just another thing to do.  And I was hoping it would excite me, more than just being a chore.  

But so far, the character introduction seemed too stale.  Reminded me of what critics have said about Adam Sandler movies, where the beginning of the movie does too much to show "this is a good guy".  It feels too unreal.  And indeed, I couldn't get emmersed.  But I gave it slack, because this is a Shonen Jump manga.  It's about the action to come, not always about characterization or plot---even though the great Shonen Jump manga can do that too.  And anyway, I'm sure in a manga, these introduction scenes would have gone by faster.  Why was I so impatient about it anyway?  Is it because the first scene was an in medias res with high stakes and high tension, but then we're expected to just slow down for this long character introduction flashback?  Usually, I like getting to know a character, especially Shonen protagonists.  They're usually so endearing.  But I guess Tanjiro hasn't been the typical spunky or even quirky protagonist.  His introduction has been all about everyone else showing how nice he's been to them, how trustworthy he's proven himself to everyone, and his sense of smell.  Even his interactions with his family were very subtle, with most of the proactive, more extroverted interactions coming from his siblings.  Then again, such a reserved protagonist is fitting for a serious toned series. And whave I've seen of this series has seemed kind of serious toned.  

Oh, I see.  Seeing Nezuko's character design and Nendoroid all over the place, never without the scroll in her mouth, I wondered if it was a seal so she wouldn't turn into a monster.  I should have remembered that when I saw Tanjiro's slaughtered family.  My first thought was, "They weren't eaten?  What were they killed for then if they still have all their flesh and blood on their bones?"  It was so the demons could proliferate and multiply.  

2:27 PM 8/26/2019

I mean...It's good.  The direction, the charcter designs, the animation, the story,...But I don't care about the characters yet.  

...Until this scene.  When Nezuko is fighting to protect Tanjiro and earlier, Tanjiro's tactics impressing the Demon Slayer were intriguing.  I mean, it's all signs of some good fights to come.  But I don't necesstarily care aobut the characters yet.

UFOTABLE?!!!!!!!!!!!???????????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Well, no wonder the animation is so good.  

...I don't know.  I don't feel like watching a second episode.  Maybe later, to kill time.  But I wanted to be exhilierated right now.  I just came back from being depressed yesterday.  I needed something to lift me up.  And this was all tragedy and horror. It doesn't have enough levity for me, and I really need levity in my life right now. 

2:21 PM 8/28/2019

Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Episode 2 – Trainer Sakonji Urokodaki

My computer is still booting up though.  So the episode hasn't actually started yet.  

I've decided to give this series another chance.  I mean, episode 1 didn't have enough levity for me, and I need that in my life, especially from what I spend time on as my "entertainment" and "relaxation".  But I don't ONLY like iyashikei.  I mean, I loved Shonen manga/anime for a long time.  So I may as well give this series another chance and see if there's something for me.  Lest I miss out, especially on the Nendoroids whose preorder windows are halfway through _right now_.  If it turns out I like this series and end up falling in love with these characters, I'm going to regret not getting those Nendoroid preorders.  

2:31 PM 8/28/2019

Reloaded page.

Ok.  Opening scene was comedy, so that's an imrovement.  

BTW, what era is this?  When I first saw these character designs without watching this series, their collars looked like gakuran.  So I thought this was one of those modern setting with old-fashioned demon hunter organizations that made their exorcists wear traditional clothing.  But now that I'm watching this series...Is this early Meiji Era?  

Ever since I first noticed the UFO Table name in the credits, I can't stop noticing how nice the animation quaility is.  

Well, that explains the kick pose in Nezuko's Nendoroid.  

I'll say one thing for this series, it very immediately gives teh vibe of a battle manga.  That tone where characters are thinking about strategy, tactics, and you're guessing how they're going to win the fight, what kind of ingenuity the protagonist is going to come up with, etc.  I missed that.  ...that's right I loved the "battle anime" genre.  It used to be the fundamental subgenre I'd watch, with some other kind of genre layered on top of it...or alone.  Now that I think about it, the only "battle anime" I've really been watching lately, has been "Shokugeki no Soma".  The only other Shonen series I've picked up recently, has been "Dr. Stone" and that hasn't proven to be a "battle anime" in several episodes so far.  (I've been really enjoying it from the first epsiode though.  Even more immediately than "Demon Slayer".)  

I mean, everyone---all the anitubers---keep posting how great this series is, so I'd feel bad if I ended up liking it and missing out on the Nendoroid preorders.  But then again, they all love HeroAca, and I gave that series 3+ tries and just couldn't get over how much I dislied Bakugo (and how hard the series tried to frame him with sympathy).  Sorry, bullies are my pet peeve.

So it's one of those demon/yokai series:  Where the demons have some kind of specific weak point.  The demon's body got crushed, and suddenly it's head in another location died or at least felt a lethal blow?  Reminded me of "By the Sword", the manga by Sanami Matoh.  In that manga, the demons had their soul in a spherical jewel and that was their actual weak point.  (You couldn't even crush it to kill them.  You had to capture it, take it to an exorcist, and they would actually destroy yokai for demon hunters.)  Reminds me of the belief that human souls are in a jewel/ball/tama, which usually gets mentioned in kappa stories, about how kappa will try to grab that soul from out of your butt.  

"This kid isn't going to cut it.  He's too kind and can't make decisions.  He's facing a demon, yet the scen tof kindness remains.  He has empathy for even a demon."  Hey, man.  The fact that he's concerned about the suffering of the person he's going to kill is the whole reason I'm now finding Tanjiro endearing.  Sure, it was nice in ep1 when all the villagers showed how much they trusted him and how altruistic he is.  But my pet ideal is Kindness/Compassion.  If a character can retain that, even in the worst circumstances, even towards the worst people, then I'm hooked.  

I guess sunlight is enough.  Oh yeah, Nezuko was hiding from sunlight earlier in thsi ep.  Well, here's the solution to our protagonist retaining his empathy.  ^__^  He jsut has to last until dawn of each fight.  That's fine.  Shonen heros need to show determination through stamina.  

Listen, if the mentor figure is going to slap our protagonist for preserving his Compassion, while the series frames his "lesson" as advocating for admirable Resolve---as Shonen manga/anime are prone to do---then I'm out of here.  I just hope on the obvious hunch that our protagonist is going to prove him wrong, regardless of his standing/experience.  That's what'll make him a Hero...at least the "protagonist who chooses their own option while rejecting the rigid systems" is the type that plays well in America.  "Rebel without a cause" and all that.  Hard to know which way an anime/manga will go until you watch the whole thing.  

Actually, killing Nezuko if she eats a human THEN killing yourself, sounds reasonable.  1, Nezuko already has shown that killing humans for demon food still makes her feel bad enough to cry, so I'm sure if she did it, she'd want to kill herself.  2, Tanjiro would never be able to forgive himself for having to kill Nezuko and he'd want to die too.  Urokodaki then said, "But that must never happen no matter what.  And you'd best not forget."  So looks like he's not going to be that trope mentor who constantly advocates against Compassion as a weakness, just so the protagonist can demonstrate his resolve towards Compassion, by constantly butting heads with the mentor figure.  Good, because battle anime can spend a lot of time with mentors and I don't want their company to be a pain to be around.  

Lost in the thick fog?  No.  He thinks you're going to get eaten by demons on the way down the mountain.  Man, this series did well to establish that association between night and demons, pretty well, if even a forgetful idiot like me can remember. LOL  

Traps?  Wehn did he have time to set that up?  Isn't he just backtracking?  Wouldn't they have set off those traps while going up the mountain???  Whatever.  

"That's why I'm gasping for air like this and feel so dizzy!"  This series does a good job of inserting exposition very quickly and when you want to hear it.  This is going to be an excellent battle anime, isn't it?  

This smoke portrayal reminds me.  I haven't noted how beautiful this art is yet.  I've noted how nice UFO Table's animation is, but these character designs and artwork in general are also pretty nice.  It's nothing fancy like CLAMP, but the draftsmanship is good, everything is very solid in what it needs to do and does nothing in excess...unless needed, when rendering magical things.  Though the artwork during the ending credits shows nice stylized illustration, and not just any "minimums" of draftsmanship.  This nice artwork is also the reason why I want to know if I like this series, before their Nendoroid preorders close.  Because the character designs make the Nendoroids pretty in and of themselves.  The Nezuko Nendoroid is already really cute, without me even knowing who she is.  But I need (to try) to stick to only buying Nenodroids of characters I OBSESSIVELY LOVE from now on, with my budget the way it is now.  As pretty as both the Nezuko and Tanjiro Nendoroids are, if I don't LOVE these characters, then I'll have to skip their preorders.  Of course if the preorders close and I do end up loving these characters, I'll feel pretty bad.  (But I can rely on rereleases, which are coming more often in recent years, and on Good Smile Company's booth sales, like I did for the "Cells at Work" Nendoroid.)  That's why I've gotta get through this series fast!

Still...The preview just ended, and I'm not raring to binge another episode.  So maybe my wallet is looking safe from Nezuko's and Tanjiro's Nendoroids???  o.o???  I don't know...  Maybe I'm just avoidant because indecisiveness is one of my sore spots and Urokodaki keeps scolding our protagonist about it.  Mabye I just don't want to feel bad, wasting all day on binging anime.  I mean, I really like "Dr. Stone" so far, and I don't binge it.  ...I mean, I don't think?  I may have watched 2-3 episodes in one sitting more than I wanted, so....  Ug.  Whatever.  I've got stuff to do, I can't waste time binging "Demon Slayer", and it has yet to grab me enough to make wasting my whole day on it, worth it YET.  

#md3 watches demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #reactions #m3watches

[sparda3g]

Gintama Chapter 640 Review

If it's not that person to die, then it may end up with another. If there's one thing Sorachi is good at, it's creating multiple death flags without cheating their supposed death. In other words, when they do die, it's the end of them. To me, that's a greater fear than believing that they're dead, only for them to be alive, at least in media. This chapter proves that fear for a potential death is no joke on characters and the audience.

First couple of pages is an adrenaline rush to figure out on who will take the bullet and say farewell. When it replays that flashback with Bansai and Takasugi back at prison, it was like placing your bet on who will be the one. The fact that it was that moment that changed Bansai’s life, I got a bad hunch that it was going to be him to take it. Sure enough, I was sadly right.

Takasugi was so close to step forward to save Makato and that one panel alone is very telling on his character. His character has changed so much that he no longer has the intention for having anyone to take the fall. It develops further when the situation becomes worse as Bansai is the one to save Makato, only for him to be blasted by the explosions. I thought it was the end of him, because I was convinced that Sorachi is axing someone here. Bansai is placed in a position to be saved or to be left alone and die, and usually in this case, they end up in death.

Every word that Bansai spout out reminisces to the flashback, which again, indicates on how that day changed his life. It’s like an eerie full circle, now he can say his farewell. Takasugi was taking a while that more explosions start to surround him; it’s up to him to decide his fate. If this was the old Takasugi, he would have left him there without any hassle, this already takes a new step to his character.

Thankfully, Takasugi saves him along with a nice development to boot. Takasugi sought himself as the leader that will use everyone as his stepping stones before he dies. He doesn’t discard his old ideal; rather add in to reflect his newest approach as a leader. Instead he wants his team to fight for him until he dies; using Bansai’s promise against him is rather genius to counter his attempted sacrifice.

Kiheitai has been great throughout this arc. It’s not just Takasugi being developed into a stronger leader, but the cooperation from his team and the sacrifices they pay to win the war. The first half of the chapter was a tensed moment of fate that ended on a relief and happy note. The second half, however, is more depressing and uncanny moment that doesn’t sit me well.

The second half atmosphere is more haunting as the world is close to extinction because the weapon will be ready in 15 minutes. To add more darkness, Takechi is up against a large battalion of Liberation Army. Although saving Bansai is considered a good moment, this follow-up is more grim. It gives a terror vibe that they can’t win this war with everyone on their losing path. Hankai can’t stop the weapon, so the only thing they can do is to slow it down up to 15 extra minutes, but that requires a sacrifice to hit the pinpoint area.

What made this moment sad is when Takechi asks Takasugi on how many men he has left and he responded, “They’re all here.” Everyone on his side has died, which is sad enough, but he still feels like he’s with everyone because all four of them are alive. After all, they are the original members. It hit me that by the end of this arc, they may end with four only and have to start over again to recruit. This is seriously tragic.

I’m happy to see more insight on Takechi and when he joins with Takasugi. It connects well to the later scene with Makato, because he knows well that the system he was dealing with is corrupted. He thought the guys that died deserved their death and so he thought he should be taken out as well. It’s understandable on why he joined Kiheitai and became the staff officer.

I like how Takasugi persuaded him to move forward and see the world in a different view. As corrupted it is, perhaps that one day, a miracle would happen. It’s not a guaranteed victory for him, but at the very least be interested to see where you go. I honestly really like the member’s backstory that connects well to their character and Takasugi. No wonder they all feel home with him. Sadly, this is the first step to what I was afraid of.

The chapter uses a good set of recollections of Kiheitai’s moments from the past. It’s done to reinforce their character’s development as well as how this has become more and more tragedy. It works in a convincing manner, so when a tragic moment happens, it’s going to hit you hard. The end piece certainly feels that’s the plan.

My heart starts to beat faster when Takechi tells them that he can add 15 minutes delay to the weapon, because we all know what that means. The last chapter left an opportunity to direct the audience to this chapter with someone’s death, but that would be considered as a surprise death in a way. This chapter however feels more like a chain that almost guaranteed death. Think as the time with Tama, where she had two chapters and then died. Could Takechi be next? The chance is incredibly high and it’s going to pain me to see it.

It’s already bad enough that Makato and Takasugi got a bad feeling that his plan would lead to his death, but because of no response, it only going to get worse. I do like how Takechi’s men request to join him and he smiles like he is grateful to live long enough to see this. This is going to end on a noble sacrifice. I am not ready.

It’s a really nice yet disheartening chapter that puts you unease that the next chapter will have someone to pay the price. It is possible that the next chapter could focus on another character, but I do believe we will see the outcome. Sorachi has created multiple death flags and many of which is convincing. I am not ready for what will happen next but I too should believe in a miracle.

#gintama #chapter 640 #review

[survivaldespair2-blog1]

Our Fate Is Now Unfixable | Neo | Re: Execution, Event, p much everything | Chapter 2 End/Chapter 3 Start

[CW: hanging; drowning; self-deprecation/suicidal idealization; repetition; drug use]

Neo had to let go, obviously. Like it or not (and very much not), they would be executed, but at least he could give them some measure of comfort in their final moments. Someone who forgave her, a friend of sorts to hold to, maybe even a reminder of her family...just so that Uta Yasutake would be happy in her final moments. Unfortunately, the execution rendered all of those a moot point, as they were hanged before subsequently left to drown in the tank of water. What hurt the most, though, was the look on her face when Uta realized those figures on the other side of the glass weren't her family, and the Cat Behaviourist died betrayed, slowly, and distressingly alone.

It hurts.

He watched all of it happen. Just like Mayor Mbafia's execution, he had to - he at least owed Uta just as much decency if not more. Didn't mean it made the tears that followed any less hot, or the sobs any less wracked. Even after Kayu's sorry state and the abject horror that the Benefactors put her through; even after Tama who he didn't know too well but respected enough as a classmate; even after Ryuyo, whose only mistake was to trust the same person he was now grieving for; even after the hospital and all those innocent people who perished in the Faker's rampage because he just wasn't weak enough to kill or strong enough to die-

It hurts.

Ultra-40...did they even matter? Could they turn back the clock and bring the class back? Could they absolve Neo of all the deaths on his conscience? If they couldn't, what was the point? His friends were dead, his 'family' were dead, and he was quickly on the way to feeling dead inside. The clawing in his chest intermingled with the constant thump-thump and it didn't feel good.

Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts-

Only then did he realize the hurting in his chest wasn't his heart. He was...actually hurting inside.

"C-Crap...It-It's happening again..." Silently, Neo clutched the fabric of the shirt over his chest area, and pushed inwards. Forcing his lungs to pump and his diaphragm to move, he bent his frame over in order to prevent the others from suspecting anything. He had to leave, and leave now. Without nary a word to any of the others, he shifted his office chair away from the trial room.

He made it to the family bathroom before the pain became too much for him to bear. With a shuddering groan, he flopped down on the floor, before a weak hand reached for the syringe he knew was inside his satchel and a packet of aloe vera wet wipes. Despite his body beginning to spasm, he kept a clear head while disinfecting both his hands and the area a few inches below the left acromion process. If Nurse Kousaka was still alive, she'd have screamed at him, but it's not like he really had that luxury anymore, did he?

Bless you Yumie, thank you for trusting me...I'm really sorry about lying, but I can't tell you. At least, not yet. With surgical precision, Neo jammed the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger. His fix administered and consciousness fading, he only had enough energy to crawl over to the door and lock it, before the darkness claimed him for the night.

#celestial noise #Chapter 3 #neo #submission

[kristablogs]

Ten weeds you can eat

If any of these weeds are proving a nuisance in your farm or garden, the solution might just be simpler than you think. (Marie Viljoen/)

This story was originally featured on Saveur.

There was a time when the only place you might encounter a thicket of invasive Japanese knotweed or a tangle of pokeweed was while bushwacking in the urban or rural wilds. While most weeds will be left to languish in the wilderness, there is a growing awareness that many of these unruly plants—usually a blight to farmers and home gardeners—have something in common: They can be quite good to eat. This spring, bundles of tender, young knotweed and pokeweed shoots will be appearing tentatively at greenmarkets. Along with wild cresses, aggressive onions, rampant mugwort, and habitat-altering autumn berries, they represent a steadily rising tide of edibles-formerly-known-as-weeds becoming available to cooks.

Thanks to foragers, attendant trending hashtags like #wildfoodlove, and the emerging practice of what I call conservation foraging (focusing on sustainable harvest practices and the collection of invasive species), many weeds that landowners battle on their lawns are the same ingredients appearing on restaurant menus, in Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) boxes, and at the market.

As the audience for culinary weeds grows, farmers are poised to take advantage of this potential income. But little information is yet available on how weeds function as marketable crops. One farmer-forager recognizing this gap in knowledge is Russian-born Tusha Yakovleva, who lives in the Hudson River Valley. Her guide for farmers, Edible Weeds from Farm to Market, is funded by the Sustainable Agriculture and Research program. Its aim is to educate and empower farmers who wish to add invasive edibles to their harvest lists. My own book, Forage, Harvest, Feast: A Wild-Inspired Cuisine (Chelsea Green), caters to the receiving end of the wild supply chain—the curious cook and chef—by providing hundreds of recipes for preparing weeds and wild plants at home.

But for now, here is a list of 10 choice edible weeds appearing in greenmarkets, with a rundown of what to expect from them.

Editor’s note: This story is intended merely to show you a selection of edible weeds; we don’t recommend you go outside and start tossing foraged greens into a salad bowl. Some of these may resemble other plants that are poisonous to humans, so if you’re not absolutely sure what kind of plant you’re looking at, leave it alone.

Autumn olive (Elaeagnus umbellata)

Also known as the Japanese silverberry, the autumn olive is native to eastern Asia. (Marie Viljoen/)

Farmer Faith Gilbert, of Letterbox Farm, includes the sour crimson fruits of autumn olive (also called autumn berries), in early autumn CSA boxes in Hudson, New York. They are as tart as red currants and can be used in similar ways. Their high lycopene content can cause jams to separate, but their color and flavor invigorate sweet and savory sauces and fruit leathers.

Burdock (Arctium lappa)

Some species of burdock can reach 10 feet tall. (Marie Viljoen/)

Peeled burdock stems are crisp and versatile. “Everyone loves them as soon as they try them,” says Avery McGuire, of Thalli Foods near Ithaca, New York, who began selling the late-spring stems to chefs and farmers-market shoppers after reading Samuel Thayer’s Forager’s Harvest. She suggests dipping them into hummus, or braising them. Burdock’s cold-season taproot (better known as gobo) is a substantial, starchy vegetable that takes well to slow, moist cooking.

Chickweed (Stellaria media)

This perennial plant is native to Eurasia and has white flowers. (Marie Viljoen/)

With its appealing flavor of nutty corn silk, spring chickweed is a delicacy best appreciated raw. Its tender stems, leaves, and flowers are ideal fillers for summer rolls and a gentle bed for seared seafood.

Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale)

If you have a lawn, you've probably seen a dandelion. (Marie Viljoen/)

Familiar dandelions are the gateway plant to eating weeds. “I may be the only person who gets excited about dandelions in my hayfield,” says Mary Carpenter of Violet Hill Farm, near Albany, New York, who sells them in New York City’s Union Square. With crisp rosettes in late winter, mild leaves and succulent stalks in spring, and assertive flavor in summer, dandelions’ evolving profile makes them appealing throughout their growing season.

Field garlic (Allium vineale)

This species of wild onion is native to Europe, the Middle East, and northwestern Africa. (Marie Viljoen/)

Prolific field garlic (also called lawn chives, or wild garlic) is sold in neat bunches at New York City greenmarkets by New Jersey–based Lani’s Farm, an outfit known for offering flavorful weeds in pristine condition. The little wild onions fetch $3 a bunch. If you have ever foraged and cleaned field garlic you will appreciate the bargain. The bulbs and leaves are a sustainable—if diminutive—alternative to vulnerable native ramps (Allium tricoccum).

Garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata)

No, we didn't throw a condiment in here to make sure you're paying attention: This garlic mustard is a plant. (Marie Viljoen/)

Spreading thousands of seeds after flowering, biennial garlic mustard inspires ecological ire. Edible in its entirety, the plant offers second-year roots tasting like horseradish (in contorted miniature), leaves that are a gustatory marriage of broccoli rabe, mustard, and garlic, and budding stems in late spring that are an ephemeral delicacy. “The biggest issue is the short window of readiness,” says Mary Carpenter: Garlic mustard’s bud season is brief, and customer education takes time. Be ready.

Japanese knotweed (Reynoutria japonica)

Japanese knotweed looks a little like a cross between asparagus and rhubarb. (Marie Viljoen/)

Also offered by Violet Hill Farm, Japanese knotweed is notoriously invasive, but also delicious. It will definitely become more familiar as a market vegetable in years to come. Its mid-spring shoots resemble asparagus, but taste and behave like an earthier, more vegetal version of rhubarb crossed with fresh sorrel. Use it raw or cooked, especially in savory dishes that need a sour boost.

Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)

"Mugwort" doesn't sound like something you'd want to eat, but names can be deceiving. (Marie Viljoen/)

Mugwort’s feathery leaves are packed with a sage-like fragrance that is wildly versatile in the kitchen. Author and wild foods purveyor Tama Matsuoka Wong says they are “awesome as tempura.” She supplies mugwort and other edible invasives to Fresh Direct, under the name Meadows and More. From its first shoots through to its winter stalks (which can be used as kebab skewers), this under-appreciated herb is about to experience a slow-burn renaissance.

Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana)

Pokeweed can poison you if you don't know how to handle it. (Marie Viljoen/)

Known as poke sallet in the South, this indigenous but prolific plant was originally eaten by Native Americans. It is a succulent spring vegetable when blanched in ample boiling water, but it must never be eaten raw. Pokeweed’s notoriety stems from livestock poisonings or improper preparation: Animals that graze on the mature plant or snout out its toxic rhizome can grow sick and die; unripe fruit and uncooked green parts are also toxic to humans. But once blanched, young poke shoots are delectable.

Wintercress (Barbarea verna & B. vulgaris)

When it blooms, wintercress has yellow flowers. (Marie Viljoen/)

The early-season alternative to watercress, wintercress (also called creasy greens, wild cress, or upland cress) is a land dweller whose leafy heat is reminiscent of wild arugula. Later in spring, wintercress stems shoot up, bearing acid yellow flowers. These tender morsels, like baby broccolini, are a prime and ephemeral spring ingredient.

[scootoaster]

Ten weeds you can eat

If any of these weeds are proving a nuisance in your farm or garden, the solution might just be simpler than you think. (Marie Viljoen/)

This story was originally featured on Saveur.

There was a time when the only place you might encounter a thicket of invasive Japanese knotweed or a tangle of pokeweed was while bushwacking in the urban or rural wilds. While most weeds will be left to languish in the wilderness, there is a growing awareness that many of these unruly plants—usually a blight to farmers and home gardeners—have something in common: They can be quite good to eat. This spring, bundles of tender, young knotweed and pokeweed shoots will be appearing tentatively at greenmarkets. Along with wild cresses, aggressive onions, rampant mugwort, and habitat-altering autumn berries, they represent a steadily rising tide of edibles-formerly-known-as-weeds becoming available to cooks.

Thanks to foragers, attendant trending hashtags like #wildfoodlove, and the emerging practice of what I call conservation foraging (focusing on sustainable harvest practices and the collection of invasive species), many weeds that landowners battle on their lawns are the same ingredients appearing on restaurant menus, in Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) boxes, and at the market.

As the audience for culinary weeds grows, farmers are poised to take advantage of this potential income. But little information is yet available on how weeds function as marketable crops. One farmer-forager recognizing this gap in knowledge is Russian-born Tusha Yakovleva, who lives in the Hudson River Valley. Her guide for farmers, Edible Weeds from Farm to Market, is funded by the Sustainable Agriculture and Research program. Its aim is to educate and empower farmers who wish to add invasive edibles to their harvest lists. My own book, Forage, Harvest, Feast: A Wild-Inspired Cuisine (Chelsea Green), caters to the receiving end of the wild supply chain—the curious cook and chef—by providing hundreds of recipes for preparing weeds and wild plants at home.

But for now, here is a list of 10 choice edible weeds appearing in greenmarkets, with a rundown of what to expect from them.

Editor’s note: This story is intended merely to show you a selection of edible weeds; we don’t recommend you go outside and start tossing foraged greens into a salad bowl. Some of these may resemble other plants that are poisonous to humans, so if you’re not absolutely sure what kind of plant you’re looking at, leave it alone.

Autumn olive (Elaeagnus umbellata)

Also known as the Japanese silverberry, the autumn olive is native to eastern Asia. (Marie Viljoen/)

Farmer Faith Gilbert, of Letterbox Farm, includes the sour crimson fruits of autumn olive (also called autumn berries), in early autumn CSA boxes in Hudson, New York. They are as tart as red currants and can be used in similar ways. Their high lycopene content can cause jams to separate, but their color and flavor invigorate sweet and savory sauces and fruit leathers.

Burdock (Arctium lappa)

Some species of burdock can reach 10 feet tall. (Marie Viljoen/)

Peeled burdock stems are crisp and versatile. “Everyone loves them as soon as they try them,” says Avery McGuire, of Thalli Foods near Ithaca, New York, who began selling the late-spring stems to chefs and farmers-market shoppers after reading Samuel Thayer’s Forager’s Harvest. She suggests dipping them into hummus, or braising them. Burdock’s cold-season taproot (better known as gobo) is a substantial, starchy vegetable that takes well to slow, moist cooking.

Chickweed (Stellaria media)

This perennial plant is native to Eurasia and has white flowers. (Marie Viljoen/)

With its appealing flavor of nutty corn silk, spring chickweed is a delicacy best appreciated raw. Its tender stems, leaves, and flowers are ideal fillers for summer rolls and a gentle bed for seared seafood.

Dandelions (Taraxacum officinale)

If you have a lawn, you've probably seen a dandelion. (Marie Viljoen/)

Familiar dandelions are the gateway plant to eating weeds. “I may be the only person who gets excited about dandelions in my hayfield,” says Mary Carpenter of Violet Hill Farm, near Albany, New York, who sells them in New York City’s Union Square. With crisp rosettes in late winter, mild leaves and succulent stalks in spring, and assertive flavor in summer, dandelions’ evolving profile makes them appealing throughout their growing season.

Field garlic (Allium vineale)

This species of wild onion is native to Europe, the Middle East, and northwestern Africa. (Marie Viljoen/)

Prolific field garlic (also called lawn chives, or wild garlic) is sold in neat bunches at New York City greenmarkets by New Jersey–based Lani’s Farm, an outfit known for offering flavorful weeds in pristine condition. The little wild onions fetch $3 a bunch. If you have ever foraged and cleaned field garlic you will appreciate the bargain. The bulbs and leaves are a sustainable—if diminutive—alternative to vulnerable native ramps (Allium tricoccum).

Garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata)

No, we didn't throw a condiment in here to make sure you're paying attention: This garlic mustard is a plant. (Marie Viljoen/)

Spreading thousands of seeds after flowering, biennial garlic mustard inspires ecological ire. Edible in its entirety, the plant offers second-year roots tasting like horseradish (in contorted miniature), leaves that are a gustatory marriage of broccoli rabe, mustard, and garlic, and budding stems in late spring that are an ephemeral delicacy. “The biggest issue is the short window of readiness,” says Mary Carpenter: Garlic mustard’s bud season is brief, and customer education takes time. Be ready.

Japanese knotweed (Reynoutria japonica)

Japanese knotweed looks a little like a cross between asparagus and rhubarb. (Marie Viljoen/)

Also offered by Violet Hill Farm, Japanese knotweed is notoriously invasive, but also delicious. It will definitely become more familiar as a market vegetable in years to come. Its mid-spring shoots resemble asparagus, but taste and behave like an earthier, more vegetal version of rhubarb crossed with fresh sorrel. Use it raw or cooked, especially in savory dishes that need a sour boost.

Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)

"Mugwort" doesn't sound like something you'd want to eat, but names can be deceiving. (Marie Viljoen/)

Mugwort’s feathery leaves are packed with a sage-like fragrance that is wildly versatile in the kitchen. Author and wild foods purveyor Tama Matsuoka Wong says they are “awesome as tempura.” She supplies mugwort and other edible invasives to Fresh Direct, under the name Meadows and More. From its first shoots through to its winter stalks (which can be used as kebab skewers), this under-appreciated herb is about to experience a slow-burn renaissance.

Pokeweed (Phytolacca americana)

Pokeweed can poison you if you don't know how to handle it. (Marie Viljoen/)

Known as poke sallet in the South, this indigenous but prolific plant was originally eaten by Native Americans. It is a succulent spring vegetable when blanched in ample boiling water, but it must never be eaten raw. Pokeweed’s notoriety stems from livestock poisonings or improper preparation: Animals that graze on the mature plant or snout out its toxic rhizome can grow sick and die; unripe fruit and uncooked green parts are also toxic to humans. But once blanched, young poke shoots are delectable.

Wintercress (Barbarea verna & B. vulgaris)

When it blooms, wintercress has yellow flowers. (Marie Viljoen/)

The early-season alternative to watercress, wintercress (also called creasy greens, wild cress, or upland cress) is a land dweller whose leafy heat is reminiscent of wild arugula. Later in spring, wintercress stems shoot up, bearing acid yellow flowers. These tender morsels, like baby broccolini, are a prime and ephemeral spring ingredient.

[networkingdefinition]

Firewood Quotes

Official Website: Firewood Quotes

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• A man may plant a tree for a number of reasons. Perhaps he likes trees. Perhaps he wants shelter. Or perhaps he knows that someday he may need the firewood. – Joanne Harris • As a child I drew objects that caught my eye outside the window of my room – the dry twigs, leaves and lizard-like creatures crawling about, the servant chopping firewood and, of course, and number of crows in various postures on the rooftops of the buildings opposite. – R. K. Laxman

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Firewood', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_firewood').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_firewood img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Cassoulet, that best of bean feasts, is everyday fare for a peasant but ambrosia for a gastronome, though its ideal consumer is a 300-pound blocking back who has been splitting firewood nonstop for the last twelve hours on a subzero day in Manitoba. – Julia Child • Centres, or centre-pieces of wood, are put by builders under an arch of stone while it is in the process of construction till the keystone is put in. Just such is the use Satan makes of pleasures to construct evil habits upon; the pleasure lasts till the habit is fully formed; but that done the habit may stand eternal. The pleasures are sent for firewood, and the hell begins in this life. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge • Cows provide approx 100 million tonnes of dry dung a year costing Rs 5000 crores which saves 50 million tonnes of firewood which again means that many trees saved and more environmental damage prevented. It is calculated that if these 73 million animals were to be replaced, we would need 7.3 million tractors at the cost of 2.5 lac each which would amount to an investment of 180,000 crores. In addition 2 crore, 37 lakh and 50 thousand tonnes of diesel which would mean another 57,000 crore rupees. This is how much we owe these animals, and this is what we stand to lose by killing them. – Maneka Gandhi • Do you know anyone who hasn’t changed his mind? This door was a tree, then it will be firewood for someone, then it will return to air and earth. We’re all like that, constantly changing. It’s simply honest to report that you’ve changed your mind when you have. When you’re afraid of what people will think if you speak honestly, that’s where you become confused. – Byron Katie • Fire and light compete today in the East. But there is a lot of green firewood in this fire, and there is a lot of smoke in that light. – Ameen Rihani • Frightened of change? But what can exist without it? What’s closer to nature’s heart? Can you take a hot bath and leave the firewood as it was? Eat food without transforming it? Can any vital process take place without something being changed? Can’t you see? It’s just the same with you – and just as vital to nature. – Marcus Aurelius • From the fallen tree everybody makes firewood. – Barbara Kingsolver • Here we grow the flax and grain; here we raise the meat they eat, and the wool to keep them warm; we cut trees to build their houses and firewood to heat their stoves. – Ernest Poole • How miraculous and wondrous, hauling water and carrying firewood! – Layman Pang • However much you study, you cannot know without action. A donkey laden with books is neither an intellectual nor a wise man. Empty of essence, what learning has he whether upon him is firewood or book? – Saadi • I knew the tree when it grew, and the tree is now gone. The farmers cut it up, and it’s become firewood. And there’s this tremendous sense of absence and shock and violence attendant to that collapsing tree. – Andy Goldsworthy • In all this welter of women I still hadn’t got one for myself, not that I was trying too hard, but sometimes I felt lonely to see everybody paired off and having a good time and all I did was curl up in my sleeping bag in the rosebushes and sigh and say bah. For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood – Jack Kerouac • In Kenya women are the first victims of environmental degradation, because they are the ones who walk for hours looking for water, who fetch firewood, who provide food for their families. – Wangari Maathai • It is only great pain–that slow, sustained pain that takes its time, in which we are, as it were, burned with smoldering green firewood–that forces us philosophers to sink to our ultimate profundity and to do away with all the trust, everything good-natured, veil-imposing, mild and middling, on which we may have previously based our humanity. I doubt that such a pain makes us ‘better’–but I know that it makes us deeper. – Friedrich Nietzsche • It is quite affecting to observe how much the olive tree is to the country people. Its fruit supplies them with food, medicine and light; its leaves, winter fodder for the goats and sheep; it is their shelter from the heat and its branches and roots supply them with firewood. The olive tree is the peasant’s all-in-all. – Fredrika Bremer • Like in Africa, if somebody doesn’t have fuel, they’re still going and collecting firewood. If they get an oven, that’s a huge difference. You can do things to reduce the inequities by making sure that they can get clean energy, safe energy. To make sure they’re not having to collect water every day. That’s huge for women in the developing world. – Melinda Gates • My father had been a forester and I had grown up on those hills. I had seen forests and streams disappear. I jumped into Chipko movement and started to work with the peasant women. I learned from them about what forests mean for a rural woman in India in terms of firewood and fodder and medicinal plants and rich knowledge. – Vandana Shiva • My men have suffered greatly (from boredom), much blood has been shed (by mosquitoes), and I have swung my ax mightily (chopping firewood). Surely we have earned our place in the annals of history—for never has there been so little war in a war. – Seth Grahame-Smith • My wife, Daniela, and I live in an old house from 1810 with three fireplaces at the end of a dead-end dirt road on Cape Cod, so I turn the trees into firewood for us and a friend of mine sells the rest. – Sebastian Junger • Rural American families who depend on firewood to heat their homes will be hit just as hard as those who use oil and natural gas. – Richard Pombo • The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble — to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills. I produce nothing but words; I consumer nothing but food, a little propane, a little firewood. By being utterly useless in the calculations of the culture at large I become useful, at last, to myself. – Philip Connors • The joy of late love is like green firewood when set aflame, for the longer the wait in lighting, the greater heat it yields and the longer its force lasts. – Chretien de Troyes • The landmine cannot tell the difference between a soldier or a civilian – a woman, a child, a grandmother going out to collect firewood to make the family meal… once peace is declared the landmine does not recognize that peace. The landmine is eternally prepared to take victims. – Jody Williams • The piano is not firewood — yet. – Regina Spektor • The thrust of continuous action is the firewood which fuels motivation. – Steve Backley • The value of the things is not in themselves autonomously, but that God made them, and thus they deserve to be treated with high respect. The tree in the field is to be treated with respect. It is not to be romanticized as the old lady romanticizes her cat (that is, she reads human reactions into it). This is wrong because it is not true. When you drive the axe into the tree when you need firewood, you are not cutting down a person; you are cutting down a tree. But while we should not romanticize the tree, we must realize God made it and it deserves respect because He made is as a tree. – Francis Schaeffer • There is a legend of an artist who long sought for a piece of sandalwood, out of which to carve a Madonna. He was about to give up in despair, leaving the vision of his life unrealized, when in a dream he was bidden to carve his Madonna from a block of oak wood which was destined for the fire. He obeyed and produced a masterpiece from a log of common firewood. Many of us lose great opportunities in life by waiting to find sandalwood for our carvings, when they really lie hidden in the common logs that we burn. – Orison Swett Marden • We as children went up the mountain to find feed for livestock, like goats, cows and horses, and because in the winter time we would light the fire in the house, we would climb the mountain to collect firewood as well. Because of that, I suppose I became used to climbing mountains. – Tamae Watanabe • What is it that dies? A log of wood dies to become a few planks. The planks die to become a chair. The chair dies to become a piece of firewood, and the firewood dies to become ash. You give different names to the different shapes the wood takes, but the basic substance is there always. If we could always remember this, we would never worry about the loss of anything. We never lose anything; we never gain anything. By such discrimination we put an end to unhappiness. – Swami Satchidananda • When she looked at herself in her wedding photographs, Ammu felt the woman that looked back at her was someone else. A foolish jewelled bride. Her silk sunset-coloured sari shot with gold. Rings on every finger. White dots of sandalwood paste over her arched eye-brows. Looking at herself like this, Ammu’s soft mouth would twist into a small, bitter smile at the memory – not of the wedding itself so much as the fact that she had permitted herself to be so painstakingly decorated before being led to the gallows. It seemed so absurd. So futile. Like polishing firewood. – Arundhati Roy • Why should anyone be afraid of change? What can take place without it? What can be more pleasing or more suitable to universal nature? Can you take your bath without the firewood undergoing a change? Can you eat without the food undergoing a change? And can anything useful be done without change? Don’t you see that for you to change is just the same, and is equally necessary for universal nature? – Marcus Aurelius • your culture has become sophisticated, like a computer, or a drug that you take for a headache. You can use it, but you cannot explain how it works. Certainly not to girls who stack up their firewood against the side of the house. – Chris Cleave • Your mother sounds like a formidable woman,” Valek said into the silence. “You have no idea,” Leif replied with a sigh. “Well, if she’s anything like Yelena, my deepest sympathies,” Valek teased. “Hey!” Leif laughed and the tense moment dissipated. Valek handed Leif his machete. “Do you know how to use it?” “Of course. I chopped Yelena’s bow into firewood,” Leif joked. – Maria V. Snyder • You’ve gotten drunk on so many kinds of wine. Taste this. It won’t make you wild. It’s fire. Give up, if you don’t understand by this time that your living is firewood. – Rumi [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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[equitiesstocks]

Firewood Quotes

Official Website: Firewood Quotes

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• A man may plant a tree for a number of reasons. Perhaps he likes trees. Perhaps he wants shelter. Or perhaps he knows that someday he may need the firewood. – Joanne Harris • As a child I drew objects that caught my eye outside the window of my room – the dry twigs, leaves and lizard-like creatures crawling about, the servant chopping firewood and, of course, and number of crows in various postures on the rooftops of the buildings opposite. – R. K. Laxman

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Firewood', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_firewood').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_firewood img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Cassoulet, that best of bean feasts, is everyday fare for a peasant but ambrosia for a gastronome, though its ideal consumer is a 300-pound blocking back who has been splitting firewood nonstop for the last twelve hours on a subzero day in Manitoba. – Julia Child • Centres, or centre-pieces of wood, are put by builders under an arch of stone while it is in the process of construction till the keystone is put in. Just such is the use Satan makes of pleasures to construct evil habits upon; the pleasure lasts till the habit is fully formed; but that done the habit may stand eternal. The pleasures are sent for firewood, and the hell begins in this life. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge • Cows provide approx 100 million tonnes of dry dung a year costing Rs 5000 crores which saves 50 million tonnes of firewood which again means that many trees saved and more environmental damage prevented. It is calculated that if these 73 million animals were to be replaced, we would need 7.3 million tractors at the cost of 2.5 lac each which would amount to an investment of 180,000 crores. In addition 2 crore, 37 lakh and 50 thousand tonnes of diesel which would mean another 57,000 crore rupees. This is how much we owe these animals, and this is what we stand to lose by killing them. – Maneka Gandhi • Do you know anyone who hasn’t changed his mind? This door was a tree, then it will be firewood for someone, then it will return to air and earth. We’re all like that, constantly changing. It’s simply honest to report that you’ve changed your mind when you have. When you’re afraid of what people will think if you speak honestly, that’s where you become confused. – Byron Katie • Fire and light compete today in the East. But there is a lot of green firewood in this fire, and there is a lot of smoke in that light. – Ameen Rihani • Frightened of change? But what can exist without it? What’s closer to nature’s heart? Can you take a hot bath and leave the firewood as it was? Eat food without transforming it? Can any vital process take place without something being changed? Can’t you see? It’s just the same with you – and just as vital to nature. – Marcus Aurelius • From the fallen tree everybody makes firewood. – Barbara Kingsolver • Here we grow the flax and grain; here we raise the meat they eat, and the wool to keep them warm; we cut trees to build their houses and firewood to heat their stoves. – Ernest Poole • How miraculous and wondrous, hauling water and carrying firewood! – Layman Pang • However much you study, you cannot know without action. A donkey laden with books is neither an intellectual nor a wise man. Empty of essence, what learning has he whether upon him is firewood or book? – Saadi • I knew the tree when it grew, and the tree is now gone. The farmers cut it up, and it’s become firewood. And there’s this tremendous sense of absence and shock and violence attendant to that collapsing tree. – Andy Goldsworthy • In all this welter of women I still hadn’t got one for myself, not that I was trying too hard, but sometimes I felt lonely to see everybody paired off and having a good time and all I did was curl up in my sleeping bag in the rosebushes and sigh and say bah. For me it was just red wine in my mouth and a pile of firewood – Jack Kerouac • In Kenya women are the first victims of environmental degradation, because they are the ones who walk for hours looking for water, who fetch firewood, who provide food for their families. – Wangari Maathai • It is only great pain–that slow, sustained pain that takes its time, in which we are, as it were, burned with smoldering green firewood–that forces us philosophers to sink to our ultimate profundity and to do away with all the trust, everything good-natured, veil-imposing, mild and middling, on which we may have previously based our humanity. I doubt that such a pain makes us ‘better’–but I know that it makes us deeper. – Friedrich Nietzsche • It is quite affecting to observe how much the olive tree is to the country people. Its fruit supplies them with food, medicine and light; its leaves, winter fodder for the goats and sheep; it is their shelter from the heat and its branches and roots supply them with firewood. The olive tree is the peasant’s all-in-all. – Fredrika Bremer • Like in Africa, if somebody doesn’t have fuel, they’re still going and collecting firewood. If they get an oven, that’s a huge difference. You can do things to reduce the inequities by making sure that they can get clean energy, safe energy. To make sure they’re not having to collect water every day. That’s huge for women in the developing world. – Melinda Gates • My father had been a forester and I had grown up on those hills. I had seen forests and streams disappear. I jumped into Chipko movement and started to work with the peasant women. I learned from them about what forests mean for a rural woman in India in terms of firewood and fodder and medicinal plants and rich knowledge. – Vandana Shiva • My men have suffered greatly (from boredom), much blood has been shed (by mosquitoes), and I have swung my ax mightily (chopping firewood). Surely we have earned our place in the annals of history—for never has there been so little war in a war. – Seth Grahame-Smith • My wife, Daniela, and I live in an old house from 1810 with three fireplaces at the end of a dead-end dirt road on Cape Cod, so I turn the trees into firewood for us and a friend of mine sells the rest. – Sebastian Junger • Rural American families who depend on firewood to heat their homes will be hit just as hard as those who use oil and natural gas. – Richard Pombo • The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble — to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills. I produce nothing but words; I consumer nothing but food, a little propane, a little firewood. By being utterly useless in the calculations of the culture at large I become useful, at last, to myself. – Philip Connors • The joy of late love is like green firewood when set aflame, for the longer the wait in lighting, the greater heat it yields and the longer its force lasts. – Chretien de Troyes • The landmine cannot tell the difference between a soldier or a civilian – a woman, a child, a grandmother going out to collect firewood to make the family meal… once peace is declared the landmine does not recognize that peace. The landmine is eternally prepared to take victims. – Jody Williams • The piano is not firewood — yet. – Regina Spektor • The thrust of continuous action is the firewood which fuels motivation. – Steve Backley • The value of the things is not in themselves autonomously, but that God made them, and thus they deserve to be treated with high respect. The tree in the field is to be treated with respect. It is not to be romanticized as the old lady romanticizes her cat (that is, she reads human reactions into it). This is wrong because it is not true. When you drive the axe into the tree when you need firewood, you are not cutting down a person; you are cutting down a tree. But while we should not romanticize the tree, we must realize God made it and it deserves respect because He made is as a tree. – Francis Schaeffer • There is a legend of an artist who long sought for a piece of sandalwood, out of which to carve a Madonna. He was about to give up in despair, leaving the vision of his life unrealized, when in a dream he was bidden to carve his Madonna from a block of oak wood which was destined for the fire. He obeyed and produced a masterpiece from a log of common firewood. Many of us lose great opportunities in life by waiting to find sandalwood for our carvings, when they really lie hidden in the common logs that we burn. – Orison Swett Marden • We as children went up the mountain to find feed for livestock, like goats, cows and horses, and because in the winter time we would light the fire in the house, we would climb the mountain to collect firewood as well. Because of that, I suppose I became used to climbing mountains. – Tamae Watanabe • What is it that dies? A log of wood dies to become a few planks. The planks die to become a chair. The chair dies to become a piece of firewood, and the firewood dies to become ash. You give different names to the different shapes the wood takes, but the basic substance is there always. If we could always remember this, we would never worry about the loss of anything. We never lose anything; we never gain anything. By such discrimination we put an end to unhappiness. – Swami Satchidananda • When she looked at herself in her wedding photographs, Ammu felt the woman that looked back at her was someone else. A foolish jewelled bride. Her silk sunset-coloured sari shot with gold. Rings on every finger. White dots of sandalwood paste over her arched eye-brows. Looking at herself like this, Ammu’s soft mouth would twist into a small, bitter smile at the memory – not of the wedding itself so much as the fact that she had permitted herself to be so painstakingly decorated before being led to the gallows. It seemed so absurd. So futile. Like polishing firewood. – Arundhati Roy • Why should anyone be afraid of change? What can take place without it? What can be more pleasing or more suitable to universal nature? Can you take your bath without the firewood undergoing a change? Can you eat without the food undergoing a change? And can anything useful be done without change? Don’t you see that for you to change is just the same, and is equally necessary for universal nature? – Marcus Aurelius • your culture has become sophisticated, like a computer, or a drug that you take for a headache. You can use it, but you cannot explain how it works. Certainly not to girls who stack up their firewood against the side of the house. – Chris Cleave • Your mother sounds like a formidable woman,” Valek said into the silence. “You have no idea,” Leif replied with a sigh. “Well, if she’s anything like Yelena, my deepest sympathies,” Valek teased. “Hey!” Leif laughed and the tense moment dissipated. Valek handed Leif his machete. “Do you know how to use it?” “Of course. I chopped Yelena’s bow into firewood,” Leif joked. – Maria V. Snyder • You’ve gotten drunk on so many kinds of wine. Taste this. It won’t make you wild. It’s fire. Give up, if you don’t understand by this time that your living is firewood. – Rumi [clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'a', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_a').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_a img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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[yehosera]

Regional Decks

I played in 2 regionals over the weekend, both were rather small, 14 and 16 I think players. I took an Urianger mill deck to both of those events. The list shown is the list I took to the 2nd event, the first event was the same list however; -1 Cid Raines -1 Moogle, +1 Diabolos, +1 Barbariccia.

Cid Raines & Co. Urianger Edition

https://ffdecks.com/deck/5880717850443776

--Generated By FF Decks (www.ffdecks.com)--

Deck Name: Cid Raines & Co. Urianger Edition

Created by: yehosera

Forwards (15):

1 Kam'lanaut (5-148)

1 Kefka (4-147)

3 Dadaluma (4-085)

1 Cid Raines (1-192)

3 Urianger (5-163)

1 Paine (2-063)

2 Y'shtola (5-068)

1 Zidane (3-056)

1 Barbariccia (3-066)

1 Moogle (4-069)

Monsters (6):

3 Cactuar (4-058)

3 Leyak (5-071)

Summons (10):

3 Phoenix (3-020)

2 Phoenix (5-019)

3 Exodus, the Judge-Sal (3-112)

2 Diabolos (5-062)

Backups (19):

1 Chaos (1-184)

2 Miner (5-082)

1 Minfilia (5-160)

3 Star Sibyl (5-091)

2 Shantotto (1-107)

1 Tama (4-086)

3 Archer (1-088)

1 Miounne (5-067)

2 Rikku (1-089)

3 Semih Lafihna (5-059)

The general gameplan is to secure the board early with Kam’La, then give up on board. Kam’La early on gives you access to your rainbow (by searching Chaos) and requires the opponent to do something about it. As the win condition is fatigue, exhausting their hand early on with a spooky card like Kam’La is preferable. After giving up on the board, Shantotto + Miounne can be used to reset the board the first two times. Beyond that, it’s all about using the summons and Dadaluma to keep the opponent off of the board. Then you Archer away their backups and Rikku their deck.

Key Cards

Kam’La in every matchup is vital for searching Chaos and providing an early body. Don’t get too hung up on defending your Kam’La, as long as his existence on the board is buying you time to setup backups he’s doing a pretty sweet job.

Dadaluma, it’s not vital to keep Dadaluma in hand, but just seeing one anywhere other than damage is pretty nice. Miner + Tama mean that instead of 3 you have 7 Dadaluma. Dada is really important for breaking 3+ forwards in a turn with Leyak, just be mindful of how your opponent can outplay Dadaluma, e.g. if you get attacked and tap down Cactuar in response to Leyak, they can Odin your Dadaluma and you’ll only get one proc instead of 2.

Urianger, similar to Dadaluma just needs to be somewhere. Vs decks that can kill your Urianger with ease, play Y’shtola before playing the Uri. If Uri is your only Scion and dies in response to his effect, you won’t get any monsters back, so capitalise on how impossible Y’shtola is to remove from the board and always resolve the effect.

Paine is important as she gives you an early forward and access to the win condition. Also, by playing 1 Paine, you get to cut corners by playing only 2 Rikku.

The monsters are all super good cards. Just be careful of overusing the Leyak early, as you will deck yourself out. Prioritise searching Cactuar with Kefka and getting Cactuar back early on with Urianger. Once you get 2 Cactuars on the field, then start looking for Leyaks.

Phoenix keeps you alive in a pinch. It’s worth noting that 7 CP Phoenix can bring back Zidane/Y’shtola for disruption during their turn. For example, if a summon is cast, you can Phoenix back Y’shtola and negate the summon, or if they search for a combo piece, you can Phoenix back Zidane and take it away from them.

Mulligan Guide

Any hand with Semih + Star Sibyl is super premium. Try not to keep Chaos hands where possible, while Chaos is an amazing card, having it in your hand really lowers the value of Kam’La and by extension lowers the value of Star Sibyl. Double Wind backup hands aren’t very strong, usually it’s best to mulligan those hands. This is because, there is not that much Wind CP in the deck, you’ll usually have to discard one of the backups to play the other one, or do a discard 1 play 1 of the backups, then next turn tap + discard a non-wind card to play the next wind backup. This is inefficient and slow AND leaves you with only wind backups. There’s a significant lack of odd costed backups, so ideally keep two that can be played turn 1, OR play 1 then on the following play Zidane/Y’shtola. This makes backup + backup + zidane/y’shtola a decent hand to keep and will give you plenty of time to draw into additional backups.

Semih + Star Sibyl

3x backup

2x backup + Zidane/Y’shtola

1x backup + Kam’La

Those are the kinds of hands you should be looking at keeping.

Priority Guide

I’m actually going to do a reverse priority guide as well, to show cards you should be discarding.

In this deck Early is: the period between 1-4 backups. While you’re trying to set up.

In this deck Mid is: the period between 4-5 backups, while the opponent’s hand is still full. Mid is essentially the part where you have to grind their handsize down to ~2 at the end of their turn instead of 5. This is the part where survival is the most important thing.

In this deck Late is: 5 backups, their handsize should be 2-3 at the end of their turn. A period on time where you feel safe that you shouldn’t die.

KEEP

Early: Semih, Miner, Star Sibyl, Shantotto, Cactuar, Paine, Zidane, Kam’La

Mid: Shantotto, Tama, Rikku, Exodus, Barbariccia, Moogle, Dadaluma

Late: Miounne, Miner, Phoenix, Phoenix, Exodus, Leyak, Urianger, Dadaluma

DISCARD

Early: Miounne, Phoenix, Diabolos, Leyak, Cid Raines, Urianger, Y’Shtola

Mid: Archer, Semih, Minfilia, Cid Raines, Urianger

Late: Archer, Semih, Minfilia, Star Sibyl, Cactuar, Paine, Cid Raines, Moogle

Potential Edits

Cid Raines and Moogle can come out. It’s nice to have Cid Raines in the toolbox when looking for Phoenix targets, however, it’s not needed. Moogle is nice to have, however, self fatigue is a REALLY big concern, so I probably want to replace Moogle with a card that draws only 1 card instead of 2.

Setzar can go in, and a copy of Orlandeau/Barbariccia/Calbrena can go in. Setzar is good as it’s an extra Dadaluma and stalls the game for a bit. It’s also another 5 CP card to summon with Star Sibyl so you can get more from the effect than usual. Orlandeau/Barb give some mid-game board control which is nice. Calbrena I don’t like in a fatigue style, as by the time you’re able to spare the CP to animate and attack with Calbrena, the game should be won anyway. However, the deck does need a sink for Earth CP.

Less in depth than usual, however, I feel like just about everyone has their own ideas about Urianger decks by this time, so a super in depth article on them isn’t too needed. I view the deck as a fatigue deck and that’s why the list looks like it does.

TL;DR Cid Raines is good enough as the only Ice card.

#FFTCG #yehosera