#yes i said calendars plural

[gay-impressionist]

December also means... advent calendars !! ❄️🔥

#yes i said calendars plural #i have another one at the office #i'll post it as well when the times comes #advent calendars my beloved <3 #an object which gives you a little treat of your choice every day ? yes please i want fifteen #lise raconte sa vie #i haven't even said what kind of calendar it was!!! shame on me #it's chocolate #from the chocolaterie Morin (my beloved <3) #and i bought a double calendar so i could share with pia 😋

[mindful-of-ideas]

“How about a play,” you asked.

“A play?” the Doctor said.

“Yeah, like theatre. I like theatre!”

“Sure, but theatre’s history is long. Shakespeare, Tennessee Williams, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Plautus, Albert Camus… when do you want to go?”

“Surprise me!”

“Surprise you,” the Doctor said, suddenly standing still, like he was in disbelief, “Well, hang on to something.”

You barely had time to get ahold of the railing before the TARDIS launched you forward.

You had been travelling with the Doctor for a few days now, and you already felt at home. Yes, this had been the most dangerous thing you had ever done, but it was also the most thrilling thing.

Soon enough, the Tardis landed and you regained your footing.

“So, where are we?” you asked.

“Go ahead and find out.”

You opened the TARDIS’ door to one of the most unique views you ever witnessed. The TARDIS had landed right by what seemed to be a fortress wall. You were so high in the sky that it felt like being at the very top of the world. The city below your feet didn’t give much information about where or when you were. You turned around trying to find some clue when you saw it. The Parthenon. Your heart skipped a beat. This was what you had been studying for the past year at university. And it was there, complete, in all its glory. The outside columns were all standing tall and followed the Doric canon in their number. And the metopes, oh the metopes they were all there, completely intact. From where you were standing, you could make out the scenes from the fight between the Centaurs and the Lapiths. You had to see the other sides, the ones that were destroyed. How did they represent the Trojan war on there? Or even the Amazonomachy?

“Care to take a guess,” the Doctor said, bending over your shoulder and cutting short your daydreaming

“Ancient Greece? Maybe Athens?”

“Precisely!”

He seemed so excited. You knew he was probably dying to show off what he knew and explain it in details to you. That’s what he always did, and you loved it. Seeing someone be so passionate about something they seemingly care about always brought a smile to your face. That’s why you loved school. And learning, learning is just so fun when it comes from the right person. Looking at him now, you knew it would break his heart a little if you told him you already knew a lot about this place. Still, there was one thing you couldn’t really guess.

“And when exactly?” you finally asked.

“Well… you know the Ancient times of Greece…”

“But like, month, year?”

The Doctor put on his sunglasses and turned three times on himself. He then suddenly dropped to his knees. You were sure he was about to lick the ground, as he had done already twice since you met him, but he looked like he was only listening very carefully.

“What are you…” you started.

“Shhhh! You’ll mess it up!”

He got back up and picked a fruit from the basket of an Athenian who was walking by.

“I’d say end of march, maybe begin of April, 405 before,” he said, throwing the fruit your way, “Well, that is based on our Gregorian calendar.”

“How did you know?” you said, barely catching the fruit.

He had a really shitty aim.

“Educated guess,” he said, “Oh and everyone is excited to see Euripides last tragedy. Should we get going?”

“We’re going to see The Bacchae?”

“Oh yes, he’s amazing, you’ll see.”

Together, you walked down to the Theatre of Dionysus. You couldn’t believe it. You were here, walking in Athens in Ancient Greece. A place you studied and loved for so long. You dreamt of going to Athens, the modern one that is, this couldn’t possibly be real.

You finally sat down, almost centred with the orchestra.

“How did you know it was The Bacchae?” the Doctor asked.

“Educated guess?”

“Right! So you see this place in the middle, it’s called the orchestra. This is where the chorus is going to stay for the entirety of the play. You see, once they’re on stage they never leave. They’ll get here by walking through the eisodos, well eisodoi, it’s plural, it’s those little passageways on each side.

You nodded and smiled as he said all that. Of course you already knew it, but he looked so happy.

“And right at the back, that building with the doors, is the skené, where the actors basically go and change costumes.”

“Well, it’s a bit more than that, but go on.

“And so you see tragedies are always presented in groups of three… wait, what did you just say?”

“No-nothing, go on. I’m listening,” you said.

You didn’t even notice that you had cut him off. You saw his smile fade away as you looked down embarrassed.

“Do you know about this?” he asked.

“You can keep explaining, I won’t cut you off again.”

“That’s not my question Y/N, if you already knew everything I explained, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because you’re always excited to talk about stuff you know and to explain it to me. I didn’t want to… to take that away from you,” you said, looking back at him, “And you seem happy when that happens… you rarely seem happy…”

“Oh… Y/N… I’m… you’re right, I love explaining things to you because I see how much YOU love it. You can explain it, it will make me just as happy.”

You looked at him, smiling softly. You knew this wasn’t true. You knew you could never make him truly happy. Something or someone tore a hole in his heart a long time ago and there was nothing you could do to fix it. No way you could patch it up, but you could always try to ease the pain.

“Right,” you said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, please,” he said, putting a protective arm around you as more people were coming in, “I promise this trip will be just as fun if you do the explaining and I do the listening.”

You grabbed the front of his jacket. People around you were now pushing, trying to find a seat.

“You’re sure you’ll be fine, only listening?” you asked.

“Yeah, yeah don’t even worry a little bit.” he said, smiling at you, “And Y/N don’t ever compromise who you are for me. You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. You don’t have to change who you are for anyone else.”

“I’ll try…”

“Thank you. Now, where did I go wrong?”

“Okay, so you see the skené is actually part of the play, it’s basically the backdrop. It tells us where we are and most importantly when the actors enter the skené, where they go. Because, yes they change costumes, but sometimes they leave because their character is doing something inside the palace for example. Most of the time, it’s dying because no deaths are represented on stage. Also, tragedies actually come in a group of four because the author also writes a satyr play. And we are so lucky to see The Bacchae! We rarely have a god as the protagonist, so this is exceptional but also you could say that at the end of the play when…”

“Maybe don’t spoil it for the people around,” the Doctor whispered, as the first tragedy was about to start, “we can talk plenty after.”

#mindful-of-ideas #doctor who imagine #twelfth doctor imagine #12th doctor imagine #doctor who #twelfth doctor #12th doctor #classics #classical studies #ancient greece

[bailey-writes]

So You Want Your OC to be Jewish

So you’re writing a story and you want to make a Jewish character—great! I’m here to help. I always want more Jewish representation but I want good Jewish representation, so this is my attempt to make a guide to making a Jewish character. What are my credentials? I’m Jewish and have been my whole life. Obligatory disclaimer that this is by no means comprehensive, I don’t know everything, all Jews are different, and this is based on my experiences as an American Jew so I have no idea, what, if any, of this applies to non-American Jews. 

If there’s anything you want me to make a post going more into detail about or if there’s anything I didn’t mention but you want to know please ask me! I hope this is helpful :) Warning, this is long.

Jew PSA

If you are Jewish you can use the word Jew(s), e.g. “She’s dating a Jew.” If you are not Jewish you cannot use the word Jew(s). This is not up for debate. Non-Jews calling us Jews has a negative connotation at best. Don’t do it and don’t have your characters do it.

Basics, Plus My Random Thoughts that Didn’t Fit Anywhere Else

A confusing enduring issue is, what is Judaism? It’s a religion, but some Jews aren’t religious; is it a race? A nationality? A culture? A heritage? The only constant is that we are seen as “other.” There’s a lot of debate, which makes it confusing to be Jewish and as such it’s common for Jews to struggle with their Jewish Identity. However many people agree that Jews are an ethnoreligious group, aka Judaism is a religion and an ethnicity.

Temple/Synagogue/Shul = Jewish place of worship. Shul is usually used for Orthodox synagogues.

Keeping kosher = following Jewish dietary rules: meat and dairy can’t be eaten together and you can’t eat pork or shellfish. Fish and eggs are pareve (aka neutral) and can be eaten with meat or dairy (but again not both at the same time.) When eating meat it has to be kosher meat (e.g. kosher Jews are allowed to eat chicken, but not all chicken is kosher. I know it’s kinda confusing I’m sorry.) Kosher products in stores will have symbols on them to identify them as kosher. If someone is kosher they’ll probably have separate sets of utensils/plates/cookware/etc. for meat and dairy

Shabbat/Shabbos/Sabbath = holy day of the week, day of rest, lasts from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. Depending on observance Jews might have Shabbat dinner, attend Shabbat services, or observe the day of rest in its entirety (making them shomer Shabbat)

Someone who is shomer Shabbat will refrain from any of the prohibited activities. These can easily be looked up but include: working, writing, handling money, cooking, and using technology.

Bat/Bar/B’nai Mitvzah = tradition where a Jewish boy/girl becomes a man/woman. Celebrated at 13-years-old for boys, 12- or 13-years-old for girls. Girls have Bat Mitzvahs (bat means daughter in Hebrew), boys have Bar Mitzvahs (bar means son in Hebrew) and twins or two or more people having one together have a B’nai Mitzvah. They will study for this for months and then help lead services and, depending on observance level, read from the Torah. The ceremony is often attended by family and friends and followed with a celebration of sorts (in America usually this means a brunch and/or party.)

Goy/gentile = non-Jew. These words are not slurs, they are literally just words. Plural of goy is goyim and is a Yiddish word, plural of gentile is gentiles.

Jewish holidays follow the Hebrew calendar, meaning that according to the current solar/Gregorian calendar the dates of our holidays are different each year.

Jewish law recognizes matrilineal inheritance. This means that Jewish law states your mother has to be Jewish for you to be Jewish. This is because of reasons from biblical times that I can explain if you wanna come ask, but as you can imagine is a bit outdated. While Orthodox Jews might embrace this idea and only consider someone Jewish if their mom is Jewish, many Jews are more flexible on the idea (and yes, this does cause tension between Orthodox Jews and other Jews at times.)

Judaism =/= Christianity

Some people think Judaism is just Christianity without Jesus (some people don’t even realize we don’t believe in/celebrate Jesus so newsflash, we don’t) and that’s just wrong. Yes both religions share the Old Testament, so they also share some history and beliefs, but the entire ideologies of the religions are different. In brief, they are similar in some ways but are not the same.

What seems to me to be the biggest difference is that Christianity (from what I understand) has a heavy focus on sins, more specifically repenting for/gaining forgiveness for your sins. In Christianity you are born tainted by original sin. In Judaism we believe everyone is born pure and free from sin and everyone is made in God’s image. Judaism has some concept of sin, but doesn’t focus on them and instead focuses on performing Mitzvot (plural, singular form is mitzvah. Direct translation is “commandment” but basically means good deed or act of kindness. It also relates to the commandments, so following the commandments is also performing mitzvot.) Examples of mitzvot include anything from saying a prayer or lighting Shabbat candles to helping a stranger or donating to charity (called tzedakah). One of the main tenets of Judaism is tikkun olam, which directly translates to “repair the world” and means exactly what it says on the tin. Instead of focusing on being forgiven for doing bad Judaism focuses on doing good. The only day we focus on past wrongdoings is Yom Kippur, one of our most holy holidays, discussed below.

Holidays

Rosh Hashanah – The Jewish New Year, occurs around September and lasts for two days, though Reform Jews often only celebrate the first day. Day of happiness and joy, celebrated by eating sweet things for a “sweet new year” (often apples dipped in honey) and circular challah to represent the end of one year and beginning of another. Also celebrated with services and blowing the shofar (rams horn.) Some spend the day in prayer and/or silent meditation. Possible greetings: chag sameach (happy holiday; can be said on almost any holiday), Shana Tovah, or happy new year (which is what Shana Tovah means, some people just say it in English.)

Yom Kippur – Day of Atonement. Occurs ten days after the start of Rosh Hashanah. One of if not the most solemn day for Jews, but also the most holy. The day is spent reflecting on yourself and any past wrongdoings and atoning. The day (sundown the night before to sundown the day of) is spent fasting, a physical way of atoning. We do this in hopes of being “written in the Book of Life” and starting the year with a clean slate. The shofar is blown at the end of the holiday. Most Jews will end the fast with a grand meal with family and friends. Most common greeting is “have an easy fast,” but happy new year is still appropriate.

Sukkot – Celebrates the harvest, occurs on the fifth day after Yom Kippur and lasts seven days. Celebrated by building a temporary hut outdoors called a sukkah and having meals inside it, as well as shaking palm fronds tied together (called a lulav) and holding a citrus called an etrog. Very fun and festive holiday. Possible greetings include chag sameach or Happy Sukkot.

Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah – Some Jews (mostly Reform Jews and Jews living in Israel) combine both holidays into one day while some celebrate them as two separate days. Either way they occur immediately after Sukkot. Shemini Atzeret is similar but separate from Sukkot and features a prayer for rain; Sukkot is not mentioned in prayers and the lulav isn’t shaken but you do eat in the sukkah. Simchat Torah celebrates finishing reading the Torah, which we will then begin again the next day. It’s a festive holiday with dancing and fun. Some Temples will roll the entire Torah out and the children will run under it. Appropriate greeting for both would be chag sameach.

Rosh Hashanah through Simchat Torah are referred to as the High Holidays.

Chanukah – We all know about Chanukah, celebrating the reclaiming of the Second Temple and the miracle of the oil lasting eight days. The most represented Jewish Holiday there is. Unfortunately it’s one of the least significant holidays for us. Occurs around November or December and lasts eight days and nights. Celebrated by lighting candles in the Menorah each night with a prayer and kids usually get gifts each night. Also celebrated with spinning tops called dreidels, fried foods like doughnuts (sufganiyot in Hebrew; usually the jelly filled ones) and potato pancakes called latkes. Greetings: happy Chanukah or chag sameach.

Tu B’Shevat – Birthday of the trees, basically Jewish Arbor Day. Minor but fun holiday, sometimes celebrated by planting trees. Occurs around January or February.

Purim – Celebrates how Queen Esther of Persia defeated Haman and saved her people, the Jews. Occurs in Spring. Festive holiday traditionally celebrated by dressing in costumes, eating sweets, and giving tzedakah (it’s also technically commanded you get drunk so woohoo!) Whenever Haman’s name is mentioned you make a lot of noise, booing and using noisemakers called groggers. Greetings: happy Purim, chag Purim, or chag sameach.

Passover/Pesach – Celebrates the Jews being freed from slavery in Egypt. Occurs in Spring and lasts eight days. The first two nights (some only celebrate the first night) are celebrated with seder, a ritual meal with certain foods, practices, prayers, and readings from a book called the Haggadah and often attended by family and friends. Most famous prayer/song of the holiday is the four questions, which ask why that night is different from all other nights and is traditionally sung by the youngest child at the seder. The entire holiday is spent not eating certain foods, mostly grain or flour (the food restrictions are complicated and differ based on denomination so look it up or ask a Jew.) We eat a lot of matzah during Pesach, which is like a cracker kinda. I personally hate it but some people actually like it. Greetings: happy Passover, chag pesach, or chag sameach.

Tisha B’Av – Anniversary of the destruction of the Temple. Occurs in Summer. Very sad, solemn day. Some celebrate by fasting from sunrise to sunset. Not the most widely celebrated holiday. Some also commemorate the Holocaust (also called the Shoah) on this day as it was the destruction of a figurative temple.

Denominations

There are a bunch of denominations in Judaism, we’ll go into it briefly.

Religious denominations:

Reform/Reformed: This is the least religiously observant level. Often Reform Jews don’t keep kosher or observe Shabbat, their services on Shabbat will use instruments. Reform Jews probably attend services for the high holidays at the very least and probably had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah. Might say they consider themselves more culturally Jewish. Their Temple/Synagogue will be the most “liberal”—aka have more female/diverse Rabbis and a more diverse congregation. I’m Reform and my Temple’s lead Rabbi is a woman and we used to have a Rabbi who’s a queer single mother.

Conservative: More religiously observant and more generally traditional. Might keep kosher or observe Shabbat, but not necessarily. Services likely won’t use instruments (not supposed to play instruments on Shabbat). Most likely had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, but girls might not read from the Torah, though this depends on the congregation. They do allow female Rabbis, but in my experience it’s less common.

Modern Orthodox: Very religiously observant but also embrace modern society. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot (singular=kippah) and tzitzit under their shirts. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married), most likely with a wig, and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Parents will likely have jobs. Might have larger families (aka more children) but might not. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and female Rabbis are very rare. Children will most likely attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

note: there are some people who fall somewhere between modern Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox, or between any two denominations really. as you can imagine people don’t all practice the exact same way.

Ultra-Orthodox: Very religiously observant and not necessarily modern. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot or other head coverings and tzitzit under their shirts, and are also often seen wearing suits. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married) with a wig or scarf and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Men might have jobs but might instead focus on Jewish studies, while women most often focus on housework and child-rearing. Don’t believe in contraception (but this is kinda nuanced and depends). Will often have very large families because having children is a commandment and helps continue the Jewish people. Might be shomer negiah which means not touching members of the opposite sex aside from their spouse and some close family members. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and there won’t be female Rabbis. Children will attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

Ethnic denominations (the different denominations do have some differences in practices and such but tbh I don’t know much about that so this is just the basics):

Ashkenazi: Jews that originate from Central/Eastern Europe. Yiddish, a combination of Hebrew and German, originated from and was spoken by Ashkenazim and while it’s a dying language it’s spoken among many Orthodox Jews and many Jews of all levels know/speak some Yiddish words and phrases. Majority of Jews worldwide are Ashkenazi.

Sephardi/Sephardic: Jews that originate from the Iberian Peninsula, North Africa, and southeastern Europe. Ladino, a combination of Old Spanish and Hebrew, originated from and was spoken by Sephardim. It is also a dying language but is still spoken by some Sephardim. After Ashkenazi most of the world’s Jews are Sephardic.

Mizrahi: Jews that originate from the Middle East and North Africa.

Ethiopian Jews: Community of Jews that lived in Ethiopia for over 1,000 years, though most have immigrated to Israel by now.

Stereotypes/Tropes/Controversies/Etc.

There are so many Jewish stereotypes and shit and I ask you to please be mindful of them. Stereotypes do exist for a reason, so some people will fit stereotypes. This means your character might fit one or two; don’t make them fit all of them. Please. Stereotypes to keep in mind (and steer away from) include:

All Jews are rich.

All Jews are greedy.

All Jews are cheap/frugal.

All Jews are [insert job here]. We’ll go into this more below.

All Jews hate Christians/Muslims/etc.

All Jews are white. 

First of all Ethiopian and Mizrahi Jews exist, many Sephardi are Hispanic, and today with intermarriage and everything this just isn’t true.

All Jews have the same physical features: large and/or hooked nose, beady eyes, droopy eyelids, red hair (this is an old stereotype I didn’t really know existed), curly hair.

Many Jews do have somewhat large noses and curly hair. I’m not saying you can’t give these features to your characters, but I am saying to be careful and don’t go overboard. And don’t give all of your Jewish characters these features. As a side note, it is common at least among American Jews that girls get nose jobs. Not all, but some.

Jews are secretly world elite/control the world/are lizard people/new world order/ any of this stuff. 

STAY AWAY FROM. DO NOT DO THIS OR ANYTHING LIKE THIS. If you have a character that’s part lizard, do not make them Jewish. If you have a character that’s part of a secret group that controls the entire world, do not make them Jewish.

Jews have horns. If you have characters with horns please don’t make them Jewish.

Jews killed Jesus.

The blood libel. Ew. No.

The blood libel is an antisemitic accusation/idea/concept that back in the day Jews would murder Christian children to use their blood in religious rituals and sometimes even for consumption (did I mention gross?) Not only did this just not happen, but it’s actually against Jewish law to murder, sacrifice, or consume blood. Yes these accusations really happened and it became a main reason for persecution of Jews. And some people still believe this shit.

Jews caused The Plague.

The reason this conspiracy exists is because many Jews didn’t get The Plague and the goyim thought that meant it was because the Jews caused it/cursed them. The real reason Jews didn’t get it is because ritual hand-washing and good hygiene kept them from getting it. Sorry that we bathe.

Jewish mother stereotype.

Ok, listen. I know stereotypes are mostly a bad thing but I have to admit the Jewish mother stereotype is not far off. Jewish moms do tend to be chatty and a little nagging, are often very involved in their children’s lives, and they are often trying to feed everyone (although they don’t all cook, my mom hates cooking.) They also tend to be big worriers, mostly worrying about their family/loved ones. They also tend to know everyone somehow. A twenty minute trip to the grocery store can turn into an hour or two long trip because she’ll chat with all the people she runs into.

Jewish-American Princess (JAP) ((I know calling Japanese people Japs is offensive. Jews will call girls JAPs, but with a completely different meaning. If that’s still offensive I am sorry, but just know it happens.))

This is the stereotype that portrays Jewish girls/women as spoiled brats basically. They will be pampered and materialistic. Do these girls exist? Definitely. I still recommend steering away from this stereotype.

Names

Listen. Listen. There are some names that Jews just won’t have. I won’t speak in definites because there are always exceptions but you’ll rarely find a Jew named Trinity or Grace or Faith or any form of Chris/Christopher/Christina etc. Biblical names from the Old Testament? Absolutely Jews will have those names they’re actually very common.

I’m in a Jewish Sorority. My pledge class of ~70 girls had five Rebeccas and four Sarahs. Surprisingly only one Rachel though.

When it comes to last names I have two thoughts that might seem contradictory but hear me out: a) give your Jewish OC’s Jewish surnames, b) don’t give your Jewish OC’s the most Jewish surname to ever exist.

By this I mean I would much rather see a character named Sarah Cohen or Aaron Levine than Rachel Smith. Just that little bit of recognition makes a happy exclamation point appear over my head, plus it can be a good way to hint to readers that your OC is Jewish.

On the other hand, please don’t use the most stereotypical Jewish names you’ve ever heard. If you have five Jewish OCs and one of them is Isaac Goldstein then fine. If Isaac Goldstein is your only Jewish OC I might get a little peeved. There are tons of common Jewish surnames that are recognizable and easy to look up, so don’t revert to the first three that come to mind. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it yucky, for lack of a better word.

Jobs

We all know there are certain jobs that are stereotypical for Jews to have. We’re talking lawyer, dentist, doctor, banker type stuff. To an extent these stereotypes exist for a reason, many Jews go into those careers. Do not make these the only careers your Jewish OCs have. Stereotypes might have reasoning behind them but it doesn’t mean they aren’t harmful. If you have multiple Jewish OCs some of them can have these careers, but not all of them. I do know a lot of Jewish lawyers, dentists, and doctors. I also know accountants, people involved in businesses (“mom, what does Brad do?” “he’s a businessman” sometimes there just aren’t more specific words), people involved in real estate. I don’t actually know any bankers personally, and with money and stuff being one of the most common and harmful Jewish stereotypes I would suggest steering away from that.

These are common fields for Jews, but Jews can have literally any job. Please feel free to get creative. And if you have more than one Jewish OC you can think about making one of them a Rabbi, but DON’T do this if they’re the only Jewish OC. Please.

Yiddish

So I mentioned Yiddish earlier. Like I already said, it’s not a very widely used language anymore but there are some words and phrases that are still used by a lot of Jews (in America at least.) Here’s a list that is absolutely not comprehensive:

Oy vey = oh no

Shvitzing = sweating (but not just a little bit. Shvitzing is like SWEATING)

Kvetch/kvetching = whine/whining or complain/complaining

Mazel tov = congratulations; this is the same in Yiddish and Hebrew

Chutzpah = nerve or gall (e.g. “He’s got a lot of chutzpah for breaking up over text like that”)

Kismet = fate; I just learned this is Yiddish

Bubbe and Zayde = grandma and grandpa

Schelp/schlepping = drag/dragging, can also mean carry or move (e.g. “I had to schlep the bag all around town” doesn’t mean they literally dragged it)

Schmutz = dirt or something dirty (e.g. “you have schmutz on your face”)

Schmatta = literally means rag but can be used to refer to ratty blankets or clothes

Plotz = collapse (usually used in the sense of “I’m so tired I might plotz” or “she’s gonna be so excited she’s gonna plotz”)

Schmuck/shmendrick = both mean more or less the same, a jerk or obnoxious person

Shtick = gimmick, routine, or act (can be used like (“I don’t like that comedian’s shtick” or “he always makes himself the center of attention it’s his shtick”)

Spiel = long speech, story, or rant

There’s so many more so look them up and think about using them, but don’t overdo it. A Jewish person isn’t gonna use a Yiddish word in every sentence (or even every day or every few days.)

Israel

In my community at least it’s very common that by the time your college-aged that you’ll have been to Israel at least once.

Israel is a controversial topic within the Jewish community and in the world. It’s sensitive and complex. I really, really suggest not getting into it. Just don’t bring it up because no matter what you say someone will be unhappy. Just don’t do it.

Ashkenazi Disorders

Ashkenazi Jews have some sucky genes (I’m Ashkenazi so I can say this, you cannot.) These sucky genes cause certain disorders to be more prevalent for us. Children only get the disorder if both parents are carriers of the disorder, so Jews usually get genetic testing done before having children. If both parents are carriers the risk of the child getting the disorder is high, so parents might reconsider or have some indecisiveness/fear. Some of these are:

Tay-Sachs

Cystic Fibrosis

Canavan Disease

Familial Dysautonomia

Gaucher Disease

Spinal Muscular Atrophy  

Fanconi Anemia

Mucolipidosis IV

Niemann-Pick Disease

Torsion Dystonia

Bloom Syndrome

Ashkenazi Jews also have a high prevalence of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes, which increase the risk of breast and ovarian cancer in women and increase the risk of breast and prostate cancer in men.

Crohn’s Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, and Lactose Intolerance are also very prevalent

In a dorm of like 40 Jews, six of them had Crohn’s.

Ways to Show Your OC is Jewish

Wears Jewish jewelry, e.g. Star of David (also called Jewish Star and Magen David), Chai symbol (means life), jewelry with Sh’ma prayer, or hamsa (but beware this symbol is used outside of Judaism).

Mentions their temple, their Rabbi, having a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, going to Hebrew School, Shabbat, or a holiday coming up.

Have someone ask them a question about Judaism.

Have someone notice they have a mezuzah on their door. 

Most Jews will have a mezuzah on the doorframe of the front door of their house/apartment, but they could even have one for their dorm room or whatever. It’s traditional to kiss your hand then touch the mezuzah when walking through the door, but most Jews don’t do this every time, at least not most Reform or Conservative Jews.

Have them call out antisemitism if you’re feeling spicy

The end! I hope this helped and if you have any questions my ask box is always open!

#writing advice #writing tips #writing help #jewish characters #judaism #writing resources #writeblr community #wtwcommunity #i said i would make this post literally months ago but i finally did it!

[thesmutbasement]

Welcome to The Oral Report: The best blow jobs and pussy-eating this side of the Mississippi!

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Multiple Characters

Oral Sex Headcanon 1 & Headcanon 2 by @quica-quica-quica (This is what Claire was reading when she drove that forklift into the 55-gallon drum of personal lube)

Din Djarin/Mando (The Mandalorian)

Galaxies by @ezrasbirdie (Listen, y’all, this one is HOT. Dom!Din starts off in cuffs and there’s face-sitting and it just gets better from there. Trust me!! -Claire)

(Claire is warning you that this is mean, it’s filthy, and it contains throat fucking and name calling and cum swallowing. The word “explicit” was invented for this fic. I don’t know what to tell you, except that it unlocked something I didn’t know was there, and if you liked that, you’ll love the rest of what offers in her masterlists, yes plural.)

Inferno by @queenofthefaceless (Din repays your hard work by making you sit on his face and go for a filthy ride. Of course because he can’t help himself there’s some male masturbation too. This is a goodie that will have you coming back for more! If there’s anyone that knows how to write Din it’s Ari.) - Lauren

More. Mine. by @lowlights (Pussy drunk Din. Do I need to say anything else?? The man loves pussy and he refuses to leave the warmth of it no matter how hard he is. This is a clencher for sure. I’m gonna need a minute…) - Lauren

Frankie "Catfish" Morales (Triple Frontier)

All Hail The King by @pilothusband (You guessed it. Frankie is officially dubbed the Pussy Eating King and we bow down to his greatness here at TSB. 👑 Beware: this one is a pussy clencher.) - Lauren

Frankie’s Favorite Day by @sharkbait77 (Lauren can’t be held accountable for the calendars and red sharpies you purchase post reading this. You know how the saying goes. National Eat Pussy Day is the most wonderful time of the year. Wait a minute…)

Go to Town, a Fix You outtake standalone fic by @astoryisaloveaffair (Do we all know and love Frankie as the pussy eating king? Yes! Do we love a good fic featuring his skills? Yes! Do I want to be the shy girl he’s coaxing into trying some face sitting for the first time? HELL YES!! -Claire)

“I want you to sit on my face” by @frannyzooey (This one has artwork as a visual aid at the end of the fic, just so you’re aware and don’t squeak in excitement at the end like I did. This is yet another entry in the fanfic HC that solidifies Frankie’s place as the King of Oral. Look, I don’t make the rules, I just wholeheartedly endorse them. -Claire)

Wet Work (Or: How to Lose Your Rental Deposit in Two Easy Steps) by @loversandantiheroes (Claire is cross-posting this HOT Frankie Morales fic to The Splash Zone as well, because it’s so hot it belongs in both the oral section AND the squirting section! My knees are shaking and my jaw is clenched, I might not be okay after this. –Claire)

You For Dinner by @danniburgh (The SPEED at which I switched to TSB so I could put this in the rec list. I’m throbbing after this one and all I can think about is Frankie eating me out like a starved man. I’m accomplishing nothing after this today except maybe some assistance with that throbbing issue 🥵.) - Lauren

Inclination by @softanon (Ya’ll, this one had me BURNIN’ UP. Frankie is the pussy eating king and this is no exception to that rule. You put on lingerie and he eats you out with such devotion because your pleasure is his pleasure. Look, I read this twice back to back so I can live victoriously through this fic just for a little while.) - Lauren

Maxwell Lord (Wonder Woman 1984)

Snuggles and Squirting by @pintsizemama (Claire opened the link and got excited because she thought it said "struggles and squirting" LOL. But her excitement PAID OFF when smug bastard Max Lord proved to be the best pussy-eater in all of New York City. Good LORD I'm still throbbing over here... well done! Cross-posted to The Splash Zone, too.)

Pero Tovar (The Great Wall)

Pants by @blueeyesatnight (If you’ve read The Cross series like I have then you know. Pero and Sabia absolutely completely wholeheartedly own me. This is a part of that universe and this is some modern hot twist on that time period. I have thought about this baby often since reading it. 🔥) - Lauren

Ezra (Prospect)

Deeds of Green Thrilling Light by @highsviolets (What a sexy AU we didn’t know we needed but damn if I welcome it with open legs. Voice Actor!Ezra and you take full advantage of audio recording by well, recording you receiving oral. I read this twice in one sitting. Once wasn’t enough and this isn’t the only fic Cris has of this AU. 🥵) - Lauren

To be continued...

Bottom of the Basement: Filthy Fic Recs Masterlist

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Eighteen

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 18: Party Hard

Chapter Summary: Steve is a popular guy, whether he wants to be or not. Seeking shelter around Christmas seems appropriate for the season, at least.

Chapter Warnings: Whether the viewpoint character celebrates Christmas or not is left vague (there is a gift exchange but it’s mostly centered on what Steve would celebrate), general time jumps between days are marked with single tildes (~), and at the end there is a change in viewpoint and a change back, marked ~like so~

Chapter Word Count: 5241

A/N: This chapter was a little delayed because it wasn’t working and when I dug into why I found I had issues with the following sections that were mucking up the place. It felt like working out a real big snarl– frustrating and painful at first, but very satisfying when I got to the end of it. And slightly cathartic when I just ripped out the bit that refused to budge. It was fun. I hope you enjoy.

(Minor note: time is left vague but this all starts just a few days after the last chapter and happens over a couple of weeks, ending just before Christmas. I have sort of a fake calendar I’ve done up so the dates make sense to me but I don’t think they’re necessary to understand the chapter. If I’m wrong let me know and I’ll see if I can fix it so it does make sense.)

   ~

   I was having a perfectly pleasant evening at home. I had comfy clothing, I had drinks, I had my phone, I had activities…and I had activities involving my phone.

Me: How’s the party? Steve: Ugh

Bothering Steve would always, no matter what, be fun.

Me: Serves you right Me: trying to guilt-trip me Steve: My only regret is I didn’t guilt you more Steve: I can’t believe you abandoned me to this Me: And I can’t believe you wanted to subject me to that Steve: >:( Steve: I’m reduced to hiding Steve: From a very drunk woman who wants to lean on me Steve: Among other things Steve: Or so she assures me

I felt a flare of something. It wasn’t anything nice.

Me: Hang on Me: Omw Steve: Is that all it takes?

‘Is that all it takes.’ He was such a fuckhead sometimes; maybe that woman could have him– except, no, actually unacceptable. Any potential partners had to understand ‘no means no’ and when to back the fuck off.

Me: Yup Me: There is only so much arm space for clingy bitches Me: And I take up a lot of room Steve: Hey Steve: You are not a bitch Steve: >:( Me: Don’t you frowny-face me mister Me: I am whatever I want to be Me: Deal with it

I added the sunglasses emoji just because.

Steve: Well Steve: I can’t argue that Steve: But I still don’t like it Me: You don’t have to Me: <3 Steve: I guess that’s fair Me: Seriously though Me: Do you want an excuse to leave? Me: I’ll figure one out Steve: It’s okay Steve: I’m going to be up early tomorrow so I’m going to duck out soon Steve: It just would have been more fun with you here

I rolled my eyes. But I smiled.

Me: Well Me: Don’t stay too late, Cinderella Steve: Hm Steve: Better than the old man jokes I guess Me: I would never Me: …Well I guess I might. Too easy though; I like to make an effort Steve: I appreciate your work ethic

The conversation drifted off in drips and drabs, but that night I dreamed of Steve and glass slippers and in the morning I woke with the feeling that nothing had fit quite right.

~

Steve: Guess where I am

I got up and peeked out the window. No bike, but that didn’t necessarily mean no Steve. However I looked around my apartment and cringed at the mess.

Me: If you’re dropping in you better be bringing snacks Steve: I wish

I frowned at my phone. If he wasn’t coming over then why was he…wait a minute. Wait.

Me: No Steve: Yes Me: It’s Thursday Me: Who has a party on Thursday?! Steve: Pepper assures me it’s not technically a party Steve: It’s a small get-together Me: So it’s a small party Steve: Basically Me: We’re going shopping this weekend Me: We need to find you a spine Steve: YOU try telling Pepper no Me: Hey I never said I had a spine Steve: Be grateful Steve: She really tried to get me to invite you Steve: I danced around it. I knew you wouldn’t want to with work tomorrow Me: Yeah, not happening. Thanks Steve: You’re welcome Me: Seriously though Me: How many parties can those people have in one month? Steve: Please don’t ask Steve: I don’t want to find out Me: I hate to be the one to break it to you Me: But it sounds like you’re going to find out Me: Whether you like it or not

He sent me a sad frowny-face and I immediately imagined him making the same expression. I looked up at my ceiling and wondered why it had to be now that I had the most active imagination I’d had since I was seven.

Me: Well Me: If you need a place to hide out from fancy food and grabby people Me: You know where to come Me: I don’t really do fancy food Steve: What about the grabbing?

‘Buddy, I wish,’ I thought and rolled my eyes. He had no idea. And he never would. Hopefully.

Me: I like to think I’m respectful of personal bubbles Steve: Except when I steal your food Me: Well yeah Me: At that point you’re a thief Me: And punishment must be meted out Steve: Crap Steve: Tony saw me, gotta go Me: Good luck Steve: Gee thanks

I sent him a sweet smiley face, because some things just couldn’t be helped.

~

Karma kicked my ass the very next day when I woke up with such a sudden and severe cold that made me call out of work. I was just barely considering getting out of bed for maybe some soup or a slow crawl directly to the morgue when my phone buzzed.

Steve: I think I hate you Me: I didn’t do it Steve: Another party Me: … Me: … Me: Dude Me: It’s ten am? Steve: It’s tonight Me: I’m sick Me: Come over and I’ll cough on you Steve: I can’t get sick Steve: I never thought I’d be sad about that Steve: Wait Steve: You’re sick?

I rolled my eyes. And winced, because that just hurt my fucking head.

Me: Yeah. Staying home today. Steve: Do you need anything? Steve: Help? Food?

I really wished he could stop being so sweet. It was a real fucking problem sometimes– like now, when I could think of a whole list of things I wanted his help with that was just slightly past the friends barrier. Or maybe friends cuddled and I was just out of the loop? I made a mental note to look into that, when I was slightly less disgusting.

Me: No thanks Me: Got medicine, got soup, got bed Me: Just need to decide if I can keep anything down Steve: Oh :( Me: I’ll be okay Me: Just need some sleep to kick this in the ass

And warm arms wrapped around me, but I kept that to myself. Maybe I’d have a nice dream later.

Steve: You do that Steve: Get plenty of rest Steve: And call if you need anything Steve: I will be incredibly motivated as of 9pm tonight Me: Oof Me: I would offer to be your excuse Me: But I’m hoping a cocktail of cough syrup and pain meds will make that way past my bedtime Steve: Stay safe Me: I will. Worrywart Steve: Yup <3

He was trying to kill me; I knew it. However I was so exhausted I just sent him a quick ‘bye’ and crawled back under the covers to be miserable and whiny on my own. Admittedly, ‘on my own’ left much to be desired these days, but I got through it like I always did.

Except for the container of soup from a local Chinese place that somehow made it to my door that afternoon. That was new addition to my ‘get better’ routine. But very much welcome.

~

Steve: Sigh

I already knew what was coming. Mostly because I was trapped in a similar hell.

Me: At least it’s close enough to an appropriate date Steve: I guess Steve: What are you doing? Me: Work holiday party Me: fml

A couple of women greeted each other nearby in tones that varied up and down but they all stayed pretty equally loud, and I ducked closer to the table, under which I hid my phone.

Steve: I guess it’s true Steve: Misery does love company

I sent him a line of middle fingers

Me: How’s YOUR party? Steve: Zzzzzzzzz

I ducked down further to hide my laughter.

Me: Seriously though Me: How many parties can one guy have? Steve: So many, apparently Steve: Last year wasn’t this bad Steve: He did get mildly offended you haven’t been to a one Me: Ugh Me: Wait, sorry Me: I don’t really mean that Me: I just have no idea how to do damage control with that guy Me: I don’t know what his deal is Steve: It’s okay Steve: Neither do I Steve: And he’s mostly joking Steve: I think Me: Good Me: I’d rather get along peaceably with your other friends Steve: Or be friends with them?

I thought about it.

Me: Gotta be honest Me: You have a lot of friends Me: That sounds like a lot of work Steve: They’re not so bad

I heard my name and glanced up to see my boss was looking around.

Me: Well you have fun with them Me: gtg boss is looking for me Steve: Don’t get in trouble Steve: I’ll see you later? Me: Later

My boss caught sight of me just as I was slipping my phone away and I subjected myself to being politely social for the rest of the night. I had…a lot more sympathy for Steve after that.

Not that I would ever let him know it.

~

Steve: Can I come over? Me: Of course

Not one second later I heard the buzzer for the entry go off. I let him up without even looking, so when he actually showed up at the door I froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Hey,” Steve said, his face a mixture of stormy and exhausted and his body clad in a finely (finely) tailored suit. He gave me a tired smile and held up a grocery bag. “I brought payment in snacks.”

Yes. Yes he did. Wait, no, snacks. Plural and actual. Literal. Right. “Sounds, uh, good,” I said and stepped aside to let him in, and I briefly hit my head on the door before I shut it. I turned just in time to see him sit down on my couch like he could sink into it, legs opened up and head thrown back. He shut his eyes and breathed. I took a second to do the same. But he looked so fed up with everything and that ended up being (sadly, selfishly,) good for my focus.

“What happened?” I asked and went to sit next to him as soon as concern won out.

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just tired.”

I could only imagine. I reached out and squeezed his shoulder– but my instinct to leave my hand there propelled me up and over to the kitchen counter where I started unpacking the bag he brought. The first thing I pulled out was an interesting looking bag of something labeled entirely in Cyrillic. The very next thing I saw, hiding behind it I realized, was a box wrapped in paper and ribbons. I couldn’t even give him the benefit of the doubt– my name was written right there. “Steve.”

“Yes?” he asked, overly innocently and turned his bright blue eyes to me like he was some naïve young farm boy who couldn’t possibly understand why I said his name like that.

He was getting better. My bullshit meter was going off so hard it nearly broke and he still almost got to me. Still, I surreptitiously cleared my throat and said, (quite strongly, I thought,) “That is not going to work on me.”

He didn’t back down. His eyes even seemed to get bigger and bluer. “It’s a good time of year to get gifts for your friends, even if for no real reason. Besides, it’s just something I saw that I thought you would like. It’s no big deal.”

“Uh huh.” I liked the way he stretched his arm across the couch, and the way he stole glances at me like I wouldn’t notice. Starting off strong, getting weaker by the moment; I needed to tell Natasha to up his spy training. “Real subtle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and grabbed the remote. While he pretended to give a shit about holiday programming I rifled through the rest of the bag, dumped the caramel popcorn into a bowl, and took the bowl and the gift over to the couch where I plopped down as hard as I could in an effort to be as annoying as possible. He didn’t even flinch, just smiled as I put the popcorn in between us on the couch. The gift I set in the center of my coffee table, where it actually looked really nice.

“Aren't you going to open it?” Steve asked, trying to look like he was watching Jimmy Stewart get his Christmas miracle but, again, his eyes kept darting; this time between me and the gift.

“Mm.” I shrugged but inside I was taking my inner impatient five-year-old and turning her into a moustache-twirling villain, with the gift tied to the train tracks. It felt good. “It’s a Christmas gift, right?”

“Not necessarily,” he said.

“Well, I think most single gifts get opened on the 25th, so I’ll wait,” I said, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and settled in to enjoy a bell ringing like I never had before.

“It’s a– a December gift,” Steve insisted.

“Oh,” I said. “Then I have until December 31st to open it.”

“It’s A Wonderful Life” suddenly became the title of my night, maybe even my autobiography, when Steve said my name in the whiniest fucking tone I had ever heard outside of a bad comedy sketch about nasally nerds. I almost dropped the popcorn I held and, when I turned my head to stare at him, he was almost literally beet red.

“Can we pretend that didn’t come out like that?” he asked, looking down like he could stare right through the floor. I had never before seen someone who actually looked like they desperately wanted to be swallowed whole. “As a present to me?”

“Wow,” I said, because it was all I could say. Already the sweet sound of memory was fading, and I tried to hold onto it. “I got you an actual present so no. But wow. Wow. Happy holidays to me. Wow.”

“I’m taking my gift back,” he grumbled and made as if to grab it.

I curled forward to protect it but I moved too fast and accidentally dropped some of my snack, though Steve kept me from cracking my head on the table. “Shit,” I said and hurried to pick up the bits of food. “I just cleaned; if you make me get popcorn bits on my floor I’m making you drag out the vacuum.”

“I don’t think your neighbors would appreciate that right now,” Steve said and wolfed down his own heaping handful of the caramel corn, though he put the bowl on the table.

“My downstairs neighbor has a pre-teen who’s getting into EDM,” I said and pulled the gift into my lap. “Let them suffer as I have suffered.”

“Mm hm,” Steve said, already pretty thoroughly checked out as I turned the box over in my hands.

It wasn’t heavy, but it wasn’t tiny, and it was a fairly standard box so I had no idea what it could be. Maddening. I decided to put us both out of our misery.

“Really?” Steve said as I started picking at the tape on the side. “Are you going to save the paper?”

“Weeeeellllll…” I debated whether or not I should admit my failings, but came out on the side that it would make him smile and I couldn’t find anything wrong with that. Short of an unintentional Three Stooges act there was no way I was topping his whiny self. “I maybe didn’t get a chance to go buy wrapping paper for your gift, sooo…” After a moment I stole a glance, and sure enough, he was smiling.

“You didn’t?” he asked and even let out a little laugh.

“We’re saving the environment,” I said as I started peeling back the paper.

“Sure,” he chuckled. “You, me, and five square feet of wrapping paper.”

“There’s no way there’s that much on here,” I muttered as one corner decided to be a bitch. “How much tape did you use on this thing?”

“I didn’t know we’d be sharing it,” he said, and while he amused himself by harping on the point, I got my wrapping paper off and set it aside.

“–nd you’re not even listening to me, are you?”

“Why would I start now?” The box was plain and, at least for that, I had no compunctions about ripping the tape off. Inside was a lot of paper sitting under a small rectangular box and a shiny black satchel. “Thanks for the great packing materials,” I said as I dug around to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, but it seemed to be just the box and tiny bag.

“Happy to help,” Steve said but he sounded distant. He was staring at the gifts. I took another look at them and my stomach did a flip. The little rectangular box reminded me of–

“Open the box first and then open the bag right after,” Steve said. “It’ll make more sense then.”

When I opened the little box and saw a bracelet I had to hope it was going to make sense. It was…shiny and looked like silver. Chunky but plain. That was a good sign, right? Nice and shiny but plainly platonic. Right? I opened the little satchel and dug out tiny matching metal pieces that were shaped like…oh.

“Wow,” I said and spread the charms on the table around the bracelet still sitting in its pillowed case. “This is…Steve, this is so nice.”

“Oh thank God,” he said and let out a breath that sounded like it was as big as the one still locked in my chest. “I don’t see you wear a lot of jewelry but I saw the charms and it just seemed perfect. The metal’s super hypoallergenic or something– the woman was telling me that it should be fine for anyone with sensitivity to certain metals and I don’t know if you do, but I thought it was better to be safe, and it’s pretty, or I thought so–”

“It’s very pretty,” I said, a smile taking over. What the hell was he so nervous about? Whatever; even his babbling was charming and cute and I tried my best not to think that way because I should have been making fun of him, like a good friend, but I couldn’t rag on him while he was so excited. Or maybe I just couldn’t bring myself to rag on him about this.

“Here,” Steve said, reaching over and taking the bracelet out. Big fingers fumbled with the clasp but he put it on my wrist, and then he went for the charms. He held up the coffee cup. “Obviously,” he said and somehow managed not to fumble that time when he attached it. A cloud, “because you can be pretty gloomy and cranky sometimes,” and when I flipped him off with my other hand he just said, “see?” as he put it on. The book was, “again, pretty obvious.”

Then he put the joystick on and squinted at it for a second before he looked up at me, bright eyes framed by dark lashes, and wet pink lips I couldn’t kiss as someone I deeply cared for leaned into my personal space and gave me jewelry for Christmas. I looked down at the bracelet and focused on being grateful for the sweet, generous gesture this was rather than what I wished it could be. The bracelet itself wasn’t too much. It felt comfortable.

“I asked her if they had anything video game related and she said this was a good one,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. It took me a moment to remember what he was referring to. Joystick. Right.

“Remind me to take you to an arcade,” I said and held my arm up to the light. The charms were fun but plain and melded easily together from a distance; I could wear this anywhere and have it be appropriate. But I would know what it really was. “This is…so thoughtful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said warmly. Softly. All of a sudden those repressed feelings surged forward to make my chest ache and for just a moment I thought of a world where he gave me jewelry and it meant something more. But I lived in a world where he gave me a piece of jewelry and looked quietly pleased with himself while I sat and admired it. It didn’t mean anything; it didn’t mean–

Actually, no, that was wrong. It did mean something. It meant Steve was a really good friend who gave me a wonderfully thoughtful gift. I really needed to stop being in my own fucking head so much or I was going to lose everything I already did have.

But I still needed a moment to come back down from the urge to hug him way too tight. “This is so nice, Steve, thank you,” I said and stood quickly, box and wrapping paper in hand. “I can’t lie, yours aren’t as amazing, so get your acting chops up while I’m wrapping them.”

“You know you can just give them to me,” Steve told me as I walked around the other side of the room to avoid any chance of tripping over him.

“Nope!” I said and shut the door to my room. Safe and alone, I breathed– but not too loud, because he might hear me. I grabbed his gifts and shoved them in the box (stuffed them, really) so I couldn’t think too hard and chicken out of giving him something. I messed up at a couple of points with the tape and, rather than ripping the already well-used paper by trying to fix it…I decided to go with it.

One full roll of transparent tape later, I walked back out feeling a little more composed, a little more me. I stood in front of Steve and proudly held out the box.

“It’s very shiny,” he remarked as he took it and looked it over. From the second I sat on the couch I was on the edge of it, eager to see what he would do. Would he try to return the favor by removing all the tape? Would he try scrabbling for an edge? Would he try tearing the paper to ribbons only for the tape to stick all over his hands?

None, apparently– he just pushed his fingers clean through the box right next to the edge and ripped the side right off. “Hey!” I said, because hey, no fair, but he just laughed at me and shook out his gifts onto the couch in between us. I crossed my arms. “You're no fun.”

“No fun at all,” he agreed happily and picked up the beanies. He rubbed one of them between his fingers. “These are very nice.”

“They’re good quality and warm and you look good in beanies,” I said. He put one on haphazardly and I laughed. “Maybe not with tuxes.”

“It does feel nice though; thanks,” he said and sorted through them. “I like the colors too.”

“Yeah, they’re all earthy or whatever,” I said and pointed at the most important gift.

“Unicorn slippers!” he said, seeming actually delighted as he picked them up. He then immediately took off his socks and shoes to put them on. “They fit! They’re soft.”

It was no bracelet, but I couldn’t keep a smile off my face. “I maybe hid some measuring tape near the entryway and ran over to your shoes when you went to the bathroom once.”

“Sneaky,” Steve said and set his shiny loafers aside. “I’m going to have to bring them every time I come over.”

“They’re worth it,” I said and wiggled my own unicorn-clad feet.

Steve picked up the last gift. Or ‘gift.’ “That’s not–” I stopped myself and tried to think of what I wanted to say. I just couldn’t figure out how I could say it that I wouldn’t sound stupid. I gave up on the pretense. “So that’s…just a little thing, that can actually stay here if you want, but it is yours. I know you’re not really into games, but I thought if you were over here maybe you could have your own controller.” As he looked it over, I quietly added, “And maybe I can look into…games with two players. If you’d like to play with me sometimes.”

“I would like that,” he said quickly. “To play with you.” He then turned bright red. “In a game– in a video game.”

I would have made fun of him, but I was choked by embarrassment too. Damn it, I had done so well with keeping my daydreams chaste (mostly, mostly chaste) and that fucker had to do that. I swallowed and tried to think of absolutely anything else while the time ticked on and our mutual embarrassment settled in. Luckily Steve still had the perfect distraction in his hands. “Hey– do you like the design?” I asked, looking from the Captain America shield design to Steve and back and back again.

He rolled his eyes. “Where did you even find it?” he asked and set the package down.

“I don’t know who does your marketing but they deserve a raise because they are putting in work,” I said and sat back, a little apart from him. I could only get so far on the same couch in a small apartment, but it was enough.

“I’ll be sure to pass that along,” he said.

The conversation died and I didn’t know if I should say anything or not, but I felt…mostly comfortable. Despite the slightly-less-but-still-a-little awkward silence. Outside was cold but we were warm inside with fuzzy slippers and snacks and a slate of classic Christmas movies.

“Hey Steve?” I said, looking at the TV.

“Yeah?” he asked and leaned in.

I definitely didn’t turn my head– I was afraid the temptation would be too great. So, I resisted. But I still had plenty to be grateful for. “I’m glad you ditched your dumb party to hang out with me.”

He chuckled and scooted closer. His presence was a wall of warmth that was too comfortable, so much so that I got a core workout just from sitting so rigidly upright. But then he said, “So am I,” and, well…it was worth it.

   ~Later; Avengers Tower~

  “I told you you’d break him,” Maria said, sitting on one arm of the couch.

“Excuse me?” Tony extended his arms, drink sloshing dangerously up the sides of his cup. “I don’t see him here. Where do you think he ran to, hm?”

“We don’t know he went there.” Clint said, a little down the bar from Tony. “He could have run home.”

“No, he’s there,” Natasha said, tapping at her phone. “He’s on her couch, I quote, “eating chips in peace.’”

“Ungrateful,” Tony muttered and continued to do so.

The others ignored him. “So are we going to let Steve handle this on his own terms now?” Bruce asked.

“Bruce,” Natasha said, mock-frowning at him. “It’s like you don’t know us.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, but stretched and groaned. “It’s more like I’m partied out, and this isn’t working.”

“Yet!” Tony said and pointed at Bruce– again, with the hand holding the drink, so his drink sloshed over the side and onto Rhodes, who cursed and grabbed napkins to dry his shirt. “It hasn’t worked yet.”

“Tony,” Pepper said, exasperation lacing her tone. “I think it’s time to let this go. He’s going to refuse to come to any more at this point.”

“Except he has to come to the New Year’s Eve party,” he said, looking at her with eyes as serious as he could make them. He only wavered slightly.

“Oh,” Pepper said. “Yes, he has to come to that one.” She looked thoughtful. “Maybe we can make it a bit smaller.”

“‘Just us’ smaller?” Clint asked.

“Not too small,” Natasha said. “She’ll need a place to hide.”

Thor sat on the couch, with Jane sleeping on one of his shoulders and Darcy sleeping on the other, and he looked curiously around the room. “It is interesting that the Captain would be infatuated with a partner so…” He tried to think of a word, and settled on, “Meek.”

Clint and Natasha snorted in unison. “She’s not meek,” Natasha said. “She just keeps to herself and comes around on her own terms.”

Thor brightened and looked to his sleeping girlfriend. “Like my Jane,” he said and faced forward again, keeping his body very still so as not to disturb the sleeping women. “Perhaps Darcy will help in bringing her forward.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Before we get too ahead of ourselves, how are we sure Steve isn’t going to skip the next party?”

“He won’t,” Natasha said. “As long as everyone shows up– and they will,” she said, shooting a look at Bruce. He, naturally, withered, and she looked around the room, finally settling on Pepper. “Put her name on the list. I’ll make sure he comes, and I’m certain he will bring his date.”

“The question is: do you think he’ll bring her as a date, or will it become a date?” Maria asked idly.

“Are we betting?” Pepper asked brightly.

As the rest of the group got involved in the debate, Bruce and Phil stared from their positions against the wall. “Poor Steve,” Bruce said. When Phil lifted his glass Bruce clinked his against it, and then they both downed the last of their drinks in unison.

   ~The next day~

  Steve: Please Me: Steve Steve: PLEASE Me: …Are you on your knees or something? Steve: If I was and I took a picture would you come with me? Me: You seriously want me to come along that bad? Me: Why can’t you skip out? Steve: The NYE party is a big one Steve: Or so I have been told Steve: Sam is coming Steve: And I missed Thor at the last party Steve: I will never hear the end of it if I miss him at this one Steve: Please? Me: We forgot to go on that shopping trip for your spine Steve: It won’t do me much good when Natasha removes it Steve: She said I HAVE to go Steve: But Tony and Pepper always have good food Steve: And good alcohol Steve: And he pays the bartenders so well you literally aren’t allowed to tip Steve: Please? Me: … Me: I’m going to have to wear a nice dress Me: And makeup Me: And travel through the city on New Year’s Eve Me: To a big social event Me: This is going to sound weird because Stark’s parties are some hot thing apparently but Me: You are going to owe me so fucking big Steve: I already owe you! Steve: Thank you!

He went on to thank me in a variety of ways that normally would have made me laugh, but I already really regretted saying yes. Steve, all of his friends, me, and booze– I hit my head against my phone for each miserable fucking point. Oh, and people tended to kiss at midnight. Thinking of all the good alcohol made me feel sour, because I wasn’t going to be able to allow myself much of it. Not if I wanted to succeed in keeping my secret crush secret. And even with that pre-new year resolution, I still had a really bad feeling that I wasn’t going to be under wraps for long.

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers & reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #reader insert #lunch buddy #gift exchange #holiday parties #parties #texting #i love the texting bits but formatting them will be the fucking death of me

[hatari-translations]

Kappsmál (25.10.19) - translation

Kappsmál is a game show on RÚV about the Icelandic language; I think it started this year. The title itself is a play on words: kappsmál means an issue or aspiration of great importance to someone, but it's a compound of "kapp" (race/contest) and "mál" (which in the actual word means an issue, but also means language).

On October 25th’s episode, Matthías was one of the contestants on this show, his teammate being Alma Mjöll Ólafsdóttir, his housemate and one of his partners in the Little Kettle Theatre Company (Ketiltetur) in 2016, which I've translated an article about before. Thus, I have taken on the Herculean task of translating a game show about Icelandic wordplay. Oh boy. Strap yourselves in.

I'm not going to translate every word that is said; I'll translate Matthías and anything that provides context to something he says, but otherwise mostly give the gist of what's said. However, I will be explaining everything that's going on in the show, what the rounds are about and the words, wordplay and grammatical concepts involved. So this is going to be one for my Icelandic-curious readers!

The female host (Björg Magnúsdóttir) begins by introducing it as the show where Icelandic is "the alpha and the omega". She asks the male host, Bragi Valdimar Skúlason, what he's been up to tonight, and he says that he's been thinking about words that share the same letters and go together, which he calls "Siamese words", such as "traust sturta" (a sturdy shower). What kind of vehicle do you travel on between countries? "Iðulega galeiðu" (usually a galley).

Björg introduces the contestants, asking each one what they think is the most difficult Icelandic word. The first is actress and playwright Vala Kristín Eiríksdóttir, who says she was about to use "ströggla", which is slang, an Icelandicization of the English verb "to struggle", to describe her difficulties with the word "spúla", which means to wash something with a high-pressure water pump; some people say it's "smúla". Bragi agrees that people are divided on the matter; he grew up saying "spúla" but then he started working at a freezing plant and they'd say "smúla".

Her teammate is actress Júlíana Sara Gunnarsdóttir; the two of them form a comedy duo. Júlíana's most difficult word is declining the word "ær" (a female sheep). This word is one of a few that are infamously counterintuitive and people get them wrong all the time; the four cases go ær - á - á - ær. Björg says that, but then Júlíana challenges her on the plural, ær - ær - ám - áa. (The plural actually is more intuitive than the singular, but Björg still admits defeat.) Bragi quips, "Þess vegna var kindin fundin upp", or "That's why they invented the sheep", except that he's obviously referencing the word "kind", which also means a sheep but is easier to decline.

Matthías is introduced next, as a "playwright, hater [hatari] and of course Eurovision contestant. Matthías likes to fry asparagus in butter and garlic and enjoys boiling beans in a pot and putting into taco shells." His most difficult word is "ímyndunarveiki" - which is apparently officially defined as hypochondria, but in casual usage I've always felt it to mean being delusional or just overly lost in flights of fancy. Literally, this is a compound that means "imagination sickness", and Matthías says, "Because why is that a sickness?" He asks why it's not "ímyndunargleði", which is literally "imagination joy". When -gleði is used as a suffix, it tends be a word used to describe someone who enjoys something - e.g. "vinnugleði" for someone who's enthusiastic about their work - so "ímyndunargleði" would just mean "liking imagination".

Matthías goes on: "I think that's hard. Why is it a sickness to be imagination..." Björg suggests there's a kind of shame to it. "Yeah, it's a kind of imagination-shaming." Júlíana says, "That's how a playwright thinks." Matthías says "Yeah, isn't it? Why... I don't know. It seems very loaded, somehow. That's why I'd like to suggest ímyndunargleði."

Alma Mjöll, journalist, twin and author of opinion columns and stage projects, apparently likes to make guacamole for the aforementioned taco shells, because she and Matthías live together. Her most difficult Icelandic word is "brúðkaup" (wedding), which is a compound of "brúður" (bride) and "kaup" (purchase). She doesn't want to get married until this word has been changed, because of the dodgy connotations of that compound. Matthías nods. She also doesn't like "gifting" (marriage), which like in English implies the bride is a gift. Björg asks how she feels about "að ganga í hjónaband", another alternative that literally means "to go into a couple bond". Alma doesn't feel like that's neutral either, but some of the others suggest that's just a bond between individuals; she says she'll think about it.

Björg says "So you two just want to exterminate those two words." Matthías says "Yes. We're here to exterminate."

Next, the teams get names, which are created by Bragi by taking letters from their combined first names and making a word out of them. For Vala Kristín and Júlíana Sara, Bragi suggests Vínsala (a wine store), Snúllar (snúlla is a sort of general cutesy nickname, along the lines of "cutiepie"), Vínkjallarar (wine cellars) or Kínarúlla (Chinese roll), but ended up on Sjakalar (jackals). For Matthías and Alma Mjöll, he suggest Maísmjöl (corn flour), Tímatal (reckoning/calendar), Mjaltatíma (milking time) or Maltöl (malt beer, very popular in Iceland), but settled on Smjatt (the sound that you make when chewing loudly). Alma Mjöll gasps and calls it perfect. Matthías says something in response to this but I'm not quite sure what it is; it sounds like "Wasn't Smjatt going to come tonight?", but I'm not sure what he could be referencing there and I can't hear it super clearly.

Finally time for the actual game show! The first round is "The letter", where the contestants are given categories, and they're supposed to come up with as many words as possible that fall into this category and start with a given letter in ten seconds. For this episode, the letter is V.

Sjakalar go first.

The first category is "Men's names". They come up with Valur, Vignir, Vigfús, Valdimar, Villi and Víðir, all pretty common Icelandic men's names.

Next, they get "Animals" and only come up with "valur" again (which means a falcon in addition to being a name).

Next, "Verbs". Vaða (wade), velja (choose), vera (be), vakna (wake), vilja (want), vona (hope), and vita (know).

Then, "Cities". Varsjá (Warsaw), Vilnius, and “Volga no that's a river.”

"Jobs". Viðgerðarmaður (repairman) and verkamaður (labourer).

Next, they go over the answers. Bragi adds vatnabuffall (water buffalo), villisvín (hog) and vambi (wombat) to the animal category, and Björg suggests vampíra (vampire), though that one's obviously pretty dubious. They get 17 points all together.

Next, still a part of the letter round, they're supposed to see pictures of things that usually start with a V, only they're supposed to come up with new words for them that don't start with a V.

The first picture shows lipstick (varalitur). Vala comes up with "litastifti" (color stick). Júlíana starts to say "túss-" (marker), but doesn't manage to finish what was presumably meant to be a compound in time.

Next they get waders (vöðlur). Vala comes up with "vatnabuxur" (water pants), but unfortunately that also starts with a V. Then "buxnahlíf" (pants cover) and "fiskigræja" (fishing gear).

Then a flashlight (vasaljós), for which Vala suggests "ljósastöng" (light stick). Júlíana says "ljósapera", which is totally not a new word, it's just the word for a lightbulb. Vala comes up with "lýsiskaft" (lighting grip) and "ljósatæki" (light machine).

Next, a steamroller (valtari). Júlíana suggests "bílatrukkur" (car truck), Vala "vinnutæki" (work machine), then Júlíana "bílatæki" (car machine).

Finally, a vampire (vampíra). Vala suggests "blóðkona" (blood woman), "dauðadís" (death woman) and "dauðavera" (death creature); Júlíana "blóðmaður" (blood man).

Out of these, Bragi considers the lipstick, flashlight and vampire categories to have received valid contributions, with "litastifti", "lýsiskaft" and "dauðadís". I'm guessing this is judged subjectively. For this, they get six points, ending with 23.

Next up is Smjatt, still with the letter V, starting with the things that actually start with V.

For the category "Women's names", they come up with Vala, Valgerður and Vigdís, plus Matthías says "Vonheiður" and "Valheiður", which are not actually names but do sound like they could be, and Alma says "vinkona" (female friend) and "vorheiða", which are definitely not names.

Next, "Clothing". Matthías immediately says "vatnabuxur" (the water pants from earlier), but unfortunately doesn't come up with the original word, "vöðlur". Then "vínfatnaður" (wine clothes), and Alma says "vorklæðnaður" (spring clothes). Matthías adds "vorklæði" (spring clothes again) and "vorhúfa" (spring hat).

Then "Adjectives". Matthías says "vænn" (good), Alma says "vongóður" (hopeful), Matthías says "vær" (peaceful, as in sleeping peacefully), Alma says "veikur" (sick) and "veiklulegur" (sickly).

"Machines and tools". Matthías says "vísindaglas" (science glass, which is not actually what we call a vial).

"Companies". Matthías says "Velcro" (not Icelandic, but okay), Alma says "Valitor" (which is). Matthías says "Vinabær" (friend town), which actually exists and is apparently a place that hosts bingo. Alma says "Viss ehf.", a mobile phone insurance company.

Bragi thinks Vonheiður and Vorheiða should totally be names. When he gets to the machines and tools category, Matthías asks, "Can you help us a bit there?" Bragi suggests "vélsög" (chainsaw), "vélbor" (power drill) and "valtari" (steamroller). All in all, this got them 14 points.

Next, for the new words that don't start with a V:

First, a crib (vagga). Alma suggests "barnarúm" (child bed), Matthías "barnadýna" (child mattress) and then "barnadýnugrind" (child mattress frame), Alma "barnagrind" (child frame), which is very unlikely to catch on because it's frighteningly close to "barnagirnd" (pedophilia). Matthías says "barnahristir" (child shaker), which is hilarious, and "barnasvæfir" (child put-to-sleep-er).

Then, a glass of water (vatnsglas). Matthías says "glesill" (an actual proper non-compound neologism deriving from "glas" with a vowel shift), "drykkjarfang" (drinking utensil, already a word) and "drykkjarberi" (drink carrier).

Next, a waffle (vaffla). Matthías suggests "Belgíuskonsa" (Belgian scone), "Belgíubrauð" (Belgian bread), "Belgíuvinur" (Belgian friend) and "Belgíumatur" (Belgian food). Alma says "ekkipansa" (not a pancake), which is also amazing.

Then, some grapes (vínber). Matthías suggests "Ameríkurúsínur" (American raisins), and Alma starts to say Brazilian something but the time runs out.

Finally, an alarm clock (vekjaraklukka). Alma says "klukkuvinur" (clock friend), Matthías says "morgunhani" (morning rooster, also a term for an early riser) and "morgunfjandi" (morning devil).

Bragi judges "barnasvæfir", "glesill"/"drykkjarberi", "Belgíubrauð"/"Belgíuskonsa" and "morgunfjandi" to be valid, and thus they get eight points, ending with 22.

The next round is "Óorð", which can mean slander, but is literally "Un-words". In this round, they will see four words, of which one does not exist: it's an unword. The contestants need to guess which is the unword and what the other three words mean.

Sjakalar start again. The four words are "Draumhugi" (dream mind), "Draumsvæfa" (dream sleeper), "Svefnpungur" (sleep scrotum) and "Bliksvefn" (flicker sleep). They guess that the unword is draumsvæfa; svefnpungur sounds like it'd be fake, but something about it sounds familiar. They are correct. They also correctly guess that "draumhugi" is basically equivalent to the English word "dreamer" - someone who daydreams. Matthías suggests maybe such a person is ímyndunarglaður; Vala suggests "ímyndunarvirkur" (imagination-active).

For svefnpungur, Vala first thinks of a sleep mask but she knows that's not it. Júlíana suggests it might be similar to "svefnpurka", which is a gently derogatory term for someone who sleeps a lot, like "sleepyhead". Then she suggests maybe it's just a pillow. This is incorrect, so they ask Smjatt for their take. Matthías asks as an aside whether it's svefnpurka or svefnburka, but the answer is inconclusive (it's definitely svefnpurka, what). Alma suggests either it's where you put your money while you sleep, or it's somebody who's really grumpy in the morning. Bragi explains that it's actually just bags under your eyes. (I have never heard this word, but it makes a lot of sense.)

They guess bliksvefn is dozing off shallowly. That's wrong. Matthías suggests when you fall asleep suddenly. Bragi explains it's actually REM sleep (where your eyes flicker), which immediately makes sense to everyone. Icelandic compounds can be cool and transparent like that.

The next batch of words, for Team Smjatt, is "Næturgöltur" (night hog), "Náttsvín" (night pig), "Náttfilla" (night membrane), and "Blóðnætur" (blood nights). Matthías says, "I think it's suspicious that that filla doesn't have a y" - fylla is a common word meaning fill, filla is a word that I had to look up in a dictionary just now. Alma comments on how there's both næturgöltur and náttsvín; Matthías says "Yes, they're trying to trick us." At "blóðnætur" he just blinks and says "I have no clue. We are being lassoed into a trap." Matthías thinks the unword is "náttfilla", because what is a filla without a y. Alma thinks it's næturgöltur. They go with næturgöltur, but it's actually náttsvín. Alma thinks náttsvín sounds cuter than næturgöltur.

Now they're supposed to guess what næturgöltur is. Alma suggests someone who misbehaves in their sleep. Matthías suggests, "Someone who sleepwalks, makes noise, swears..." Then he suggests maybe it's a nocturnal animal, maybe in forests. This is wrong, so the question goes over to Sjakalar. Júlíana says it just makes her think of her husband, who snores a lot.

Bragi explains it's actually not "göltur" as in hog, it's a different word that means wandering - so næturgöltur is wandering in the night. Matthías asks if the animal is actually derived from this other word, which Bragi says it is!

Time for the mysterious náttfilla. Matthías and Alma jokingly pronounce it as if it were Swedish, then Matthías says, "I'm just going to admit that I have no idea." Alma suggests maybe it's a piece of clothing. Bragi throws it over to the other team; Vala says she thinks it's derived from "fullur" (full) and that it means when you get a full night's sleep, but as Bragi points out, she got confused there; if it were derived from fullur it would have a y. Vala can hear her mother's disappointment in her. Bragi explains it's actually a nighttime fog.

Finally, we're looking at blóðnætur. Matthías says "See, we had vampires, or night women, or what was it - death women. So that's where I'm at." Alma suggests, "Something bad happened this night." He agrees; "The blood nights, where a lot of people died. They were great blood nights." Bragi says they're on the right track, but not quite. Sjakalar suggest it's when the sky is red at sunset. My guess would have been that it means a period, as in menstruation, but no, apparently it's "the time just after a man has been slain, when the thirst for revenge is at its peak". #relatable, eh?

All in all, Sjakalar got seven points, and Smjatt got zero, leaving Sjakalar with 30 and Smjatt with 22.

The next round is "The Pump". In this one, a combination of letters is displayed, and then each contestant in turn has to name a word starting with this exact combination of letters in a few seconds; if they fail, they're eliminated. The letters are "Tja", and:

Vala: tjara (tar)

Júlíana: tjald (tent)

Matthías: Tjarnargata (Pond Street, a street in Reykjavík)

Alma: tjaldur (Eurasian oystercatcher, a bird common in Iceland)

Vala: tjasla (to patch something together)

Júlíana: "tjassa" (not a word; she's eliminated)

Matthías: tjatta (Icelandicization of "to chat")

At this, they stop. Bragi is doubtful. Matthías says "Young people do it every day." "Doesn't that have a ch?" asks Björg. Matthías says he thought the Icelandic version had a tj. "I thought it was such a progressive language." For what it's worth I agree with him; c is not a letter in Icelandic and if you're using the word at all it should be spelled with a tj. But it's not yet in the dictionary of modern Icelandic, so Matthías is out. We continue:

Alma: tjaldbúðir (camp)

Vala: tjaldvagn (wagon)

Alma: tjaldstöng (tentpole)

Vala: tjaldútilega (tent camping)

Alma: "That's not a word! tjald...aðu" (pitch a tent, imperative)

Vala: tjaldsvæði (camping ground)

Alma: tjarnarhringur (a circle around a pond; might be, for example, walking around the Pond in Reykjavík)

Vala: Tjarnarbíó (Pond Cinema, a theater near the Pond in Reykjavík)

Alma: tjarnardrulla (pond mud)

And at that Bragi stops her; it's not in the dictionary. With that, Sjakalar get five more points, jumping up to 35. Matthías says "I'm still in shock about the chat." Bragi says he has a certain sympathy for him.

The next round is "Þvers og kruss", which is an idiom meaning "all over the place" or "back and forth", but it's reminiscent of a crossword; þvers means across, and kruss is apparently a sailing term but sounds like kross (cross). It's basically like two simultaneous rounds of hangman, where the two words cross each other, and the teams take turns guessing a letter, which might help the other team.

Team Smjatt gets to pick which word they want; they pick across/horizontal. Björg asks why, and Matthías says with a shrug, "She asked what my feeling was, and I just..."

To help, they're told the words are both birds. (Matthías says something, but I can't make it out.)

For the first letter guess, Matthías and Alma guess T, which appears twice in the other word but not at all in theirs.

Team Sjakalar guess Ð, but there's no Ð in either word.

Next Matthías says, "We want E." There is one E in their word, and Matthías says "Smjattið er ekki dautt", or "The chewing isn't dead," obviously referring to their team.

Sjakalar guess I, of which there is one in their word.

Smjatt guess S, of which there is none. Matthías says "Þetta er ógeðslega spenandi", which means "This is incredibly exciting." You may recognize the word "ógeðslegur" from Klámstrákur; it literally means "disgusting", but in this adverb form it's used frequently as a generic intensifier.

Team Sjakalar guess U, which is in their own word again.

For their next guess, Matthías and Alma are whispering to each other. Matthías suggests N, and Alma goes "Yeah... no!" Matthías says "But then we're just out." Presumably they're thinking of the fact it's very likely N is in Sjakalar's word as well (it's one of the most common letters in Icelandic). They end up going with K. Matthías says "We're still just shooting in the dark." Luckily, there are indeed two K's in their word.

Sjakalar guess Ú. (Note how U and Ú are considered completely separate letters in Icelandic.) There is an Ú in their word, and at this point I know it's "Turtildúfa" (turtle dove).

Smjatt is still having trouble. Matthías: "U...O?" Alma: "No, stop." Matthías: "I'm just saying, taking a shot, taking risks." Alma: "Okay, take risks. You do that." So they guess O, which is in neither word.

Sjakalar guess F. They've probably worked out their word too.

Matthías asks if they've guessed B yet, which they haven't. "We might maybe want to guess that." Bragi says "Very good letter, one of the best, but it's not in these words." Björg says "Það eru smá áföll að dynja yfir smjattið", which you might translate as something like "There are some setbacks raining down on the chewing."

Sjakalar guess L, which is of course also in their word.

Matthías is confused that there isn't an I at the end of theirs - a word ending in -ki would be pretty typical. (Their word is probably actually something ending in "kráka", or crow.) Matthías: "H!" Alma: "M!" Matthías: "Or M!" But then they both go with H, which is not in either word.

Sjakalar guess D, predictably enough, but it's also the first letter of Matthías and Alma's word. At this point I figure it's probably "Dvergkráka", or "dwarf crow" (Western jackdaw).

Matthías and Alma are still puzzled. Alma jokingly says "The bird Dekk", "dekk" being a car tire. Matthías says "We were just talking about this at home, Googling bird species. We didn't do it." Alma: "We didn't." Matthías: "Did you?" Alma: "I didn't." They go with R, of which there are two in their word, but unfortunately one overlaps with Sjakalar's.

This means Sjakalar have only one letter left, and they guess A and complete their word. Matthías says something like "Nú kannski kemur í ljós hvað þau voru... Fórnir til að ná árangri", or "Now maybe we'll find out what they were... Sacrifices for success”; not sure what he’s getting at. Bragi asks Team Smjatt if they know their word yet, but they look confused, and instead Júlíana guesses dvergkráka, at which Matthías and Alma clearly feel very stupid. Bragi calls it "A very nice bird, a friend to its friends."

Either way, Sjakalar have won the round and get ten points for it. They're now at 45 to Smjatt's 22.

For the next round, both teams have a bag with Scrabble tiles representing "Turtildúfa", except the D has been replaced with an S, and they're supposed to make a new word out of them, as long as they can, in sixty seconds. Bragi adds, "It has to be in the dictionary. No tjatt."

While the teams work on it, Björg and Bragi discuss how tjatt really should be at least in the slang dictionary, because people use it.

As the sixty seconds finish, Matthías asks, "Does it have to be in the nominative case?", which is the "default" case for words, the one you'd actually find in a dictionary - it doesn't. Their word is "súldar", which is the genitive case of "súld" (drizzle). Bragi muses it could also be the name of a country; Matthías says "The sultan of Súldar?" Sjakalar's word is "saltur" (salty). Alma: "Does that exist?" Matthías: "That exists." Alma: "I'm joking."

Bragi tells them they could theoretically have made the words "fúlastri" (a bit weird-sounding, but a form of "fúl" (grumpy/annoyed, feminine)) or "litfastur" ("color-stuck", something that doesn't change color easily). Matthías says "That would've been cool." "Trúlausi" (atheist) and "trúfasti" (faithful) are both also in there; Matthías says "Ah, we didn't see the 'trú'."

Either way, each team gets six points for making a word six letters long. They're now at Sjakalar 51, Smjatt 28.

It's time for another round of The Pump. Björg says "We're hearing groans of anguish from the contestants." Matthías: "It was so stressful last time." This time, rather than finding a word starting with the given letter combination, they must find a word with that letter combination in the middle of the word, but not at the start. The letters this time are "ölv".

Matthías: "Not the most pleasant word to start with, but ofurölvi!" (super drunk)

Alma: fölvi (paleness)

Vala: bölvun (curse)

Júlíana: völva (seeress)

Matthías: völvuspá (seeress prophecy; he makes a face at this, probably because he's actually thinking of the ancient poem Völuspá, but they give it a pass)

Alma: "ofurölvasssss... ohh!" She's out.

Vala: tölva (computer)

Júlíana: Sölva (masculine name)

Matthías: tölvuleikjaforritari (video game developer, I love him)

Vala: tölvuskjár (computer monitor)

Júlíana: mölva (smash to bits)

Matthías: "I'm just stuck on the computers. Tölvumús?" (computer mouse)

Vala: tölvuhleðslutæki (computer charger) - but she's too late and she's out.

Júlíana: tölvutækni (computer technology)

Matthías: tölvuleikjamót (video game tournament)

Júlíana: tölvutakkaborð ("computer button board" - she was obviously trying to say "tölvulyklaborð" (computer keyboard) but apparently this counts)

Matthías: tölvuleikjaleikmaður (video game player)

Júlíana: "Grölva?" Obviously just guessing, and this is not a word; she's out.

Thus, Matthías wins this round, and they get five points - 51 to 33.

The next round is called "Frasakássa", or "phrase casserole". They get a grid of letters and are supposed to find a line from an Icelandic pop song in it. After a few seconds Matthías asks, "They can be diagonal?"; they can be, but not backwards. Matthías and Alma end up getting it: "Haltu í höndina á mér og ekki sleppa" (hold my hand and don't let go), a lyric from the song Í síðasta skipti, which was apparently one of the Söngvakeppnin entries in 2015; I didn't follow the contest that year and don't think I've ever heard this song before.

They can get extra points by naming the songwriter(s). Smjatt guess Friðrik Dór [Jónsson]; Júlíana says Ásgeir Orri [Ásgeirsson] and Pálmi Ragnar [also Ásgeirsson; they are brothers]. They're all well-known songwriters, and it turns out all three of them worked together to write this song, so neither team gets points for that. Team Smjatt gets ten points for being the first to find the phrase, though, bringing them to 43 points. Matthías balks at getting ten whole points for this. Júlíana says yeah, it was hard, and Vala adds she'd started screaming a sentence from one of the Passion Hymns.

It's time for the final round of the night, "stafapressan" (Letter Press/Letter Pressure). They can choose a six-point, twelve-point or eighteen-point question. The way this works is that they get a phrase and a grammatical form to put it in; one team member has to say it out loud, and then the other has to spell it correctly.

Team Smjatt go first because they have fewer points. Alma says, "We could win." Matthías says, "You have to take risks to succeed. We did that for the last round." So they go with an eighteen-point question! Alma volunteers to spell, leaving Matthías with the task of declining the phrase correctly. When Björg asks if he's ready, he says "Oh my god."

His phrase is "velgja volgan elg" (to warm a lukewarm moose). They want this in the imperative singular superlative plural dative. (You may note there's both a singular and a plural in there. What they mean by it is that the imperative should be singular but the noun plural - that is, commanding one person to warm multiple of the lukewarmest moose. In Icelandic, the adjective is declined and pluralized along with the noun.)

Matthías doesn't take long to say, "Velgdu volgustu--" and then he pauses to decline "elgur" in the definite plural to be absolutely sure: "Hér eru elgirnir um elgina frá elgunum - velgdu volgustu elgunum." "Are you locking it like that?" "Yes." Very confident, and totally correct. Alma also spells it out without problems, and they get their eighteen points, putting them at 61 points, suddenly ten points ahead of Sjakalar. Bragi notes that "elgjunum" would also have been accepted.

It's time for Sjakalar to decide which difficulty they want. Júlíana notes that she's just thinking of winning, for which they'd need twelve points; Alma says "No, Vala, think of your mom!", referring back to Vala's earlier comment about how her mom would be so disappointed in her getting something wrong. But they decide to go with the twelve points, and Júlíana steps back to be the speller.

Vala's phrase is "sigggróið ilsig", or "a callused flatfoot", and they want the dative singular comparative definite form: the more callused flatfoot. With some difficulty, she comes up with "sigggrónara ilsigisins" - but unfortunately that's the genitive and not the dative, which she would definitely have known if she were putting it in a sentence, but it's confusing keeping track of all those grammatical cases under pressure. Júlíana panics at the looming time limit and also fails to correctly spell what Vala just said, and all in all they definitively lose the round, leaving them still with 51 points to Matthías and Alma's 61. Team Smjatt has claimed victory!

When Bragi explains Vala's error and that it should have been "sigggrónara ilsiginu", Alma quips, "A common mistake." Júlíana notes that she didn't think there was much of a difference between the difficulty of the twelve-point phrase and the eighteen-point phrase, which Matthías agrees with, and I have to agree too; I honestly think I probably would've had more trouble with sigggrónara ilsiginu than velgdu volgustu elgunum. (The latter was worth more points because it's three words rather than two.)

Vala says Júlíana's probably going to break off their professional relationship; Alma says it would've been worse if they'd lost, because they live together. "If I'd screwed it up in the final stretch with the moose..." Matthías: "Matthías, get out on the street."

Finally, for the viewers at home, they ask for social media suggestions for a word for the divider that you place on the conveyor at a store between your stuff and the people before and after you. Vala suggests there's already a word for that - "vöruaðskilnaðarferna", or "product separation cuboid" (or rather, presumably they're going for cuboid, but as it is the word "ferna" is exclusively used for cardboard containers around liquid, like milk cartons or juice boxes). This is an extremely, extremely awkward word and Matthías goes "Ugh!" Me too, Matthías.

As they ask for people to post their suggestions on the #kappsmál hashtag, they say "Just spray it out!", which just reminds me of Griðastaður, but that's probably not intended to be a reference.

#kappsmál #matthías tryggvi haraldsson #translation #icelandic

[the-real-xmonster]

Hi! If I remember correctly, you’ve mentioned in your posts that you’ve been to the GPF before. I’m struggling to find any useful information about when those tickets usually go on sale for the upcoming season and how the whole process of buying them works. I understand it’s next to impossible to get them, but I was just wondering if you have any information you’d be willing to share. Thank you!

Hi there, GPF tickets can be hard, but not impossible, to get, especially if the event is hosted outside of Japan (for the love of everything on Earth I still can’t understand why the Japanese won’t sell their tickets the same way everyone else does).

Now, there is unfortunately no hard and fast rule as to when the tickets go on sale, but you usually can monitor those dates by checking the event’s web page. I don’t think the official page for GPF 2019-2020 in Turin has been created yet, but when it does, it’ll likely be part of the FISG site (FISG = the Italian Ice Sports Federation). The 2018-2019 GPF homepage, for example, was on the Skate Canada website and looks like this.

Tickets will most likely be put on sale via a 3rd party online platform. For GPF 2019 in Turin, it’s probably going to be TicketOne (I guess so because Worlds 2018 tickets were sold there) - might as well create an account with them when you have time and if you haven’t got one already. While you’re at it, also make sure to register your billing address, payment method, etc. so you don’t have to do those later when you’re in a hurry trying to grab the tickets.

Once the on-sale dates are confirmed by the organizer, mark those down on your calendar, set a reminder, do whatever you need to do to make sure you don’t forget the dates and times (yes, the time too, as in the exact hour when the tickets start to be available). Sometimes the release information will be made available on the ticketing platform as well, so you can also set an alert for yourself via TicketOne. Note that I said “dates” in plural because the tickets usually won’t be on sale all at once.

All-event tickets often will be released first - these are, obviously, tickets covering all of the events (singles, pairs, ice dance, competition and gala, plus in the case of the GPF, senior and junior; sometimes inclusive of tickets to practice sessions - this is not guaranteed though so you’ll have to check). These bundles of course will make quite the dent in your budget, but the advantage of them is that (1) you’ll be sitting in one seat for every event so no need to go around looking for your place each day and, more importantly, (2) you only have to make one purchase and you’re all set. I’d say these are suitable for people who (1) are interested in watching everything, (2) have the time to watch everything, (3) can afford the price, and (4) lazy. I, fortunately and unfortunately, fit all 4 of these criteria so these bundles are what I usually go for. 

Then at a later date, the individual tickets for each event will go on sale. If you want to get these tickets, make sure you make up your mind about which events you want to attend and prioritize them so you can buy the tickets you want most first (unless you plan to go with a group of friend and divide the works among yourselves so each of you will handle one event and buy tickets for everyone in the group). You want to do that prioritization because for the more popular events like the GPF, these tickets can get scooped up so extremely fast that by the time you finish buying one ticket, there’s no guarantee that tickets for the other events would still be available.

Sometimes, depending on demand, the organizer can release a third or even fourth tranche of tickets, most likely a result of them tweaking the arrangement of the venue and squeezing in more seats. This would be an extra chance for you to get tickets to those events you couldn’t get before, but keep in mind that these tickets might be pricey, since they’re the result of demand overtaking supply.

A side note is you’d want to be patient with these purchases because sometimes the traffic will be so heavy on the sale date as to crash the ticket site - it has happened before and will almost certainly happen again.

The last resort for those who couldn’t get first-hand tickets via any of the original sales is to go look for second-hand tickets. I had this old post which I talked about this channel so have a look. In that post I also had a couple of tips and tricks on picking seats. As an additional tip, if ticket/event information is available on TicketOne (or its equivalence) beforehand, it’d usually come with a seating chart so you can scout ahead of time which section in particular you want to aim for - will save you some time when it comes to actually buying the tickets.

That’s all I can think of for now in terms of how I usually go about buying tickets. Hope that helps, let me know if you have more questions and good luck with your ticket purchase endeavor :) 

#replies #figure skating #y'all pls reply below if you have more tips for the anon? #Anonymous

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 30: The Winding Road

Chapters: 30/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Brunnhilde, Thor Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), On The Road, Horse With A Side Of Extra Horse, Bills Bills Bills, Let’s See If You Can Guess Based On Descriptions Exactly Where New Asgard Is, Summary:  Who’s ready for a road trip?

This was only the second time you'd gotten out of the city, and the countryside was just as beautiful as the first time. So very different from the tall, orderly cornfields of home, that went on and on for untold miles of green, or even from the wild roadside margins, with their riot of luscious weeds. The plants here formed a dense carpet, confettied with colorful wildflowers, which climbed up the nearby mountainsides. Here and there, patches of tall lupines towered over their shorter brethren like miniature forests.

Endless ranges of mountains rose on either side, the river running sluggishly through the wide valley they created. Heading north from the city, you quickly came into contact with evidence of human habitation in the form of small farms, and a paved road that followed the river off into the distance.

The party had been forced to ford the river in order to reach that road, as it did not cross the water, but Loki had spared you with what you considered a tremendous feat of magic, teleporting both you, and sweet Acorn across the slow river, safe and dry. He didn't even break a sweat, and if you had wondered before about the upper reaches of his strength and speed, you were now in deep wonder about the limits of his magic.

You wondered briefly if any of those mountains were volcanic before Thor began to sing.

“When the sun shines through the summer

I find my thoughts turn to another

To a shining city

Writ in poetry witty

Whom I miss like an absent lover.”

You stared at him. Where had that all come from?

Loki seemed to be contemplating something.

“Is it the ocean?” Saldis asked. Thor shook his head.

“A reflection?” Borgliot ventured.

Oh, it was a guessing game! This was another thing right out of the fantasy stories; the proud and poetic warrior king.

“It's the moon.” Loki said.

“Yes! That makes it your turn.”

Loki thought a moment.

“O' sing of the Sapphire Brand

Living as Loki's right hand

Our two links we clasp

Like Jormagand grasps

it's tail, to encircle the land.”

Heat crept up your neck to wash across your face. That was really obvious.

“So...I'm guessing that's me?” You asked.

“Very good, my dear. You know what that means, don't you?”

“M-me? My turn?” Oh heck, you hadn't signed up for this. What did you say? How did you rhyme? What subject did you pick?

This was Loki's revenge for your teasing about the cinnamon rolls, you just knew it. Wracking your brain for a rhyme, you were only able to blurt out the first idea that came to your mind.

“Stories told before bed

It's supposed to be all in my head

But myth became real

Now I'm left to deal

With the path my saviors have tread.”

You lost the tune partway through, but got some applause anyway. Loki looked especially pleased, and you felt a spark of pride in yourself for having kept up.

“Could it be me?” He asked.

“Well, not exactly...”

“She said 'saviors' plural, you smarmy boy.” Brunnhilde interrupted. “She means us. The gods, the myths and stories we represent.”

You nodded. “Yeah, that's where I was going.”

“Oh.” Loki said with some indignation. “Well then, I suppose it must be the General's turn now.”

“Sure is! So, let's see...

Viewed with envy, but never with scorn

Shining long before I was born

But something eternal

Can still be burned all

to dust; even gods have to mourn.”

Nobody ventured a guess, but even you knew what she was talking about.

Asgard.

How did they stay alive and sane through all this? Even though you'd lost your home, you were still on the same planet, at least. There were still other humans all over the place. You'd been taken in, and given what you needed, accommodated, and even fawned over a little bit.

They had nothing. If things didn't work out, there was no old country to go back to. There was no other nation of Asgardians to emigrate to. They had to do whatever it was they did to survive.

What did they do? You hadn't asked how they afforded the materials for the city they were building, or for the food, or the electricity. Just how were they making their money? Loki had said they had enough for day to day affairs, but how?

That familiar feeling of money-anxiety weaseled it's way back into your mind. How much was this costing? How much were you costing? These dresses? This serpent brooch? Loki's promise to take you around and get you some toiletries and things for yourself; whose sacrifice was paying for that?

How did you pay it back?

Eventually, the riddle song game started up again, but you didn't venture any more guesses. Just listening to their voices was enough; their rhymes and subjects giving some greater insight into the things they liked and valued. For Saldis it was mostly objects, for Bogliot, places. For Thor, nature and traveling, and for Brunnhilde, the comforts of home and civilization. For Loki, most surprisingly, it was people. The people closest to him, the people he had known in his life, friends and family. He went through every member of the party, in more or less impertinent rhymes. You couldn't help but focus on how he had started with you.

It was very sweet of him to make sure you were involved.

                                                                           ******

Hours down the road, Thor turned Sleipnir down a short detour. All of the other horses followed him without the slightest command, reinforcing your guess that Sleipnir might be a god among horses. You'd have to ask later.

The group clattered up to a small complex, away from the road. You could just barely make out the sound of braying sheep before a few excited people rushed out of the nearest building, and began making a great fuss.

They seemed to know Thor, who dismounted, and greeted them, letting one take Sleipnir's reigns. The great horse graciously allowed himself to be led away, and the rest of the party began to dismount.

“-avail themselves of some of your feed, we would greatly appreciate it.” Thor said. “We have many hours to go, and mountains to cross, and we will need every bit of their strength. We also would eat, at your lovely cafe.”

The people agreed readily, though they viewed Loki with some concern. All of his earlier playfulness bled out of him, leaving him a pale, grim presence among the grinning and grateful Asgardians.

You stepped forward, legs wobbling from the hours spent riding, and allowed yourself to fall against him. He glanced down at you in mild concern.

“I'm not used to being on horseback for such a long time.” You said. “'Fraid my legs are a bit weak.”

He offered his arm without further explanation, and you took it with appreciation. As you had hoped, the chivalrous display of tender helpfulness towards another human being seemed to change the way the owners of this place looked at him.

It was a petting zoo, about the last thing you expected to find nestled into the lofty mountains. But Iceland, though a land full of tourist-attracting beauty, didn't necessarily have too many stops that would appeal to children. Looking out the window of the little cafe, watching the little lambs and goat kids frolicking together, you could imagine that this was a welcome respite for excitable children from the waterfalls and valleys that so captured their parents imaginations.

You found the animals compelling as well, envying their innocence and boundless energy. You were handed a menu, finding the offerings to have been helpfully translated into several languages, English among them.

You ordered a mocha and a hot lamb sandwich in a slightly hushed voice, trying hard not to side-eye the animals outside. It wasn't as if they could hear you, and it was very unlikely that any of their animals ended up on the menu, but it still seemed a little insensitive.

Loki also opted for a coffee, while Thor and Brunnhilde naturally ordered whatever alcohol was strongest. If the 'weak' crystal mead was any indication, the most powerful libations of man wouldn't so much as give the Asgardians a buzz, but maybe they'd like the taste.

Saldis and Borljot however, dared to try something new to them; Soda pop. They simply couldn't stop giggling about the bubbly sensation of the carbonation, though Borgliot declared it “Too sweet by far!”

Watching the others eat, it occurred to you that Asgardians all seemed to have huge appetites. Perhaps it had something to do with their different physical attributes. The denseness of their skin and muscle, the heaviness of their bones, it all probably required a great deal of nutrition. But if they were going to be eating like this the whole week...

“Where does the money come from?” You wondered aloud.

Thor paused in eating, never quite expecting your questions.

“Well...” He began. “Multiple avenues, actually. First of all, though the less than adoring crowds outside the city today might attest otherwise, there are a great many people in this world who look upon us charitably. We receive many donations of useful things; clothes and cloth, dishes, kitchen utensils, books, pencils and paper, and a great many other things, which lessen our daily costs. Otherwise, some of our scholars have been offering Asgardian language and history courses at the local schools, and our weavers, clothiers, and artists are facing a growing demand for their works. When the city is closer to being finished, we will open for tours. And, of course, I am a member of Earth's primary defense force, which pays well on it's own, not even taking into account the merchandise.”

“Oh, you mean the calendars?” You asked.

“What do you know about the calendars?” Loki asked, mildly scandalized. “Oh, you own one, don't you?”

“Uh...well...I did.” You admitted. “I doubt Dad would have saved it, even if he did manage to get some of my stuff.”

“What calendars are you talking about?” Saldis asked.

“Uh, well...They're sorta like...Do you know what a pin-up is?”

She shook her head.

“Well, they're...pictures that are kinda risque, but not outright...you know...pornographic.”

“Oh my.” Saldis said, and you ducked your head in embarrassment. “And you owned one of these?”

“I, uh, I owned the whole set. What?” You griped defensively. “I like the Avengers, and the calendars are kind of a hot commodity.”

Thor snorted with laughter.

“Well, I don't own them anymore! I hope they didn't just get thrown away.” It would be a shame if no one else was enjoying shirtless Iron Man, with his mysterious glowing heart, working on his suit. Or Shirtless Captain America, grease smeared artfully on his hands and face, fixing an airplane. Or any of the other shirtless pictures of various heroes, in teasing poses. Even the king...

Should you be bashful about that? Having seen the king like that?

“What picture did you leave on?” Loki asked suspiciously.

“It was May...Yeah, that Was Captain America, and some puppies.”

“Of course...” He said sourly.

“Why do you care? Were you in it?”

“Of course not! Do you really think I would debase myself so, as to participate in such a..a burlesque?”

“He's in next years.” Thor said conspiratorially. “We put him in a jail cell and handcuffed him to the bars.”

Loki went bright red in the face at Saldis' gasp, and Brunnhilde's bray of laughter.

“I-it's for Asgard...” He stammered. “All the proceeds come to us...I only did it for the sake of the people. It's not like I enjoyed it.”

“It's true.” Thor teased. “He complained the whole time.”

“I've got to get one of these calendars!” You declared.

“You'll do no such thing!”

“You can't stop me.”

“I very well can!”

“I'm going to get two.” Brunnhilde said. “And if you won't allow her to get her own, I'll give her one of mine.”

“Why must you torment me so?” Loki adopted a put-upon pout.

The rest of the meal passed in companionable jokes and conversation, though Loki continued to pout a little. No doubt he disliked being embarrassed in front of the likes of Saldis and Borgliot, but you figured nobody could be purely dignified all the time.

Never mind that this all could be considered your fault for bringing up the calendars, or even asking about finances in the first place.

                                                     *****

Soon enough, you were on the road again, all stomachs pleasantly filled.

“How many illicit photos do you think they took?” Brunnhilde asked. “You gonna charge them?”

“No, we ate most of their food, after all.” Thor said. “And besides, how would we even prove it? Confiscate and search their phones? Asgard is not a police state, and neither is Iceland.”

“Did they take pictures of us?” You wondered. “I didn't notice.”

“Not us, though they might have.” Brunnhilde answered back. “Sleipnir.”

“We tried to take him to a few horse shows, to drum up some quick cash.” Thor explained. “Of course, he was disqualified immediately. However, many people were eager to pay for pictures, so we didn't go away empty handed. There were even a few offers to put him to stud. If those offspring are found viable, we may have a very lucrative source of income indeed.”

“Oh wow, I'll bet!” A whole new breed of multilegged horses running around...The horse world would be turned upside down and shaken about!

Then again, hadn't Loki said that his Leynarodd was related to Sleipnir? She did look like a paragon of horse-kind, large and beautiful, but she had the normal number of legs. Perhaps functional polymelia was not a dominant trait.

A few hours later found you deep within a terrain that was unusual to both Iceland and Iowa: Forest. A lovely forest of pale, slender birches and furry-looking spruces, the understory a magical blanket of flowers. It was straight out of a fairytale; you half-expected to spot an elf peeking out from a particularly lush patch of blossoms.

But that was silly. Elves didn't exist.

Just gods. And aliens. And killer robots. And green rage giants. And century old, cryogenically preserved super soldiers. And wizards. And ghosts. And magic stones that could reshape the universe.

You continued looking for elves.

Leaving the forest behind, the road took a rather sharp turn, as a series of lazy switchbacks took you suddenly up the mountainside. As the air grew thinner and colder, you drew your cloak closer and leaned over Acorns neck. Even in summertime, you found the air a bit chilly. Back home, you would be sweltering, seeking the refuge of an air-conditioned indoor environment. Here, there hadn't been a single day where the sun had caused you to sweat, even though it graced the sky day in, day out.

The higher you rose, the more pronounced the chill became, wind cutting through all your layers of clothing, burning your ears. At your first tooth-rattling shivers, a thick, velvety, leaf-green cape was dumped over your head. You wrapped it tight around you, peeking out from the makeshift hood, to give Loki a grateful smile.

He remained as regal as ever, though now bared to the wind, which teased his sable hair.

“If you begin to feel faint, say so immediately.” He urged. “The air is thinner up here, and it may affect you. We will need to see to you as soon as possible, if you begin to grow weak.”

You agreed without any argument. You and Tara had once gone on a hiking vacation in the Rockies once, and you knew exactly what altitude sickness felt like.

These mountains didn't rise quite high enough to truly take your breath away, but the altitude did cause a painful pressure in your ears, Loki noticed you gritting your teeth and tried to stop the whole expedition to fuss over you, but you flatly refused.

“It'll go away once we get lower.” You said, deflecting his insistence that you stop. Maybe the discomfort was making you irritable, but you found his fretting to be annoying. You were already well aware that you were the weak link here, but you would not be responsible for slowing the group down over something as simple as temporary, manageable pain.

But on the other hand, maybe he was as worried about putting you back in that murderer's presence as you were. This man wanted to kill you! If any of a number of things had gone differently, he might have succeeded.

How many times might he have replayed the scenario in his mind? If you had died in his arms that day, what would he have done? Would he have returned your body home, or buried you here? Would he have hunted your killer down? Did he care enough back then? Would he have mourned? And what would the magical bond between you have done to him if you had died? He didn't even seem to know.

But you were going to die long before Loki did, so there was no way to avoid it: He would find out eventually.

You shook your head, trying to clear the morbid thoughts as well as the painful pressure. This was no time! That was the future, and you couldn't know what would happen. Besides, you were nearly at the top.

As you crested the mountaintops, and began down the other side, you were overtaken by the glorious view of the glittering fjord, sprinkled with ships and bordered by a thick band of green farmlands. In the distance you could barely make out the city. It seemed so small from here. It didn't even fully cover the inward edge of the fjord, lying clustered all on an outcrop on one side, surrounded by even more verdant farms.

A killer lay in its midst. You were headed right for him.

#loki x reader #loki (marvel) #thor (marvel) #brunnhilde (marvel) #valkyrie (marvel) #marvel fanfiction

[burnishandangels]

Drabble? {On the Arcade}

[A short drabble about Ace and Arrow’s life, or rather, a part of it; the time they spent in the Arcade.]

“Aaaaaaah!”

Their lazy pace down the street came to an abrupt halt, as one of two twins, attached by hands, suddenly became an immovable stone. Angelos lurched forwards, but her grip- and her stance- held firm. He was forced to follow his twin’s gaze into an adjacent store. “Look at him, he’s so cute! Annie Annie I waaaant him!” She expressed, nearly jumping with joy. Angelos sighed, but she tugged him across the street anyways, and squished her face into the glass.

With his sister distracted by the claw machine, it was up to Angelos to keep his eyes out for trouble, but that wasn’t really different from the norm. She was prone to her own whims, and he was the most level-headed of the two. Still, he didn’t like standing in one place. Luckily, or maybe unluckily for him, Arrow had had enough of just watching from outside and dragged them into the building. At half past one, the place wasn’t all that busy. The machines around them hummed, played music, or even spoke enticing words to get people to put their hard earned cash in them. The quiet seemed safe enough for him to let go of his sister’s hand and, much like when they came across those capsule machines or candy dispensers, Angelos wandered about, poking coin return slots and looking under machines for dropped money. His little fingers made it easy for him to pull the long-forgotten change out from underneath the machines, and he busied himself with that until….

“Ahem.”

Like a deer in headlights, the child rose quickly, a large shadow looming over him. “Shouldn’t you children be in school?” the old man asked. Angelos blinked once, twice, but before he could answer, he saw a brilliant flicker of reds, teals and violets. “Hey, back off!” Arrow shouted. Angelos mentally facepalmed. Why was she like this? Did she know the headaches she caused him? He began hastily searching for the bright red sign of salvation, the exit. The man turned to look at her, fire in her eyes and in her hand, and though Angelos couldn’t see his expression anymore, he noticed a lack of… Well, the typical tension and shudders of disgust that most normal people would display when faced with Arrow’s sparking flame. “You kids are Burnish?” The word slipped off of his tongue without the expected contempt. Arrow noticed it too, and her flame flickered momentarily before she let it go entirely. Arrow noticed something. Wow. Angelos would mark that day down on his calendar, if he had one. “My granddaughter is a Burnish, too,” the man said quietly. He gazed around the empty room, then knelt down to the children’s height. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to sell you out. Where are your parents?” “Likely in a shallow grave somewhere. Who knows,” Arrow replied bitterly. Before she could say anything else that might break the precarious peace they had going on here, Angelos scurried over to his sister’s side, in proper nudging distance. Just in case. “Here,” he said, changing the subject, and pulled out a handful of loose change, “I found these under your machines. I’m sorry.” The man ruffled his hair and, with a bit of difficulty, pushed himself back up. “Keep it. Consider it a finder’s fee. I’m too old to push the machines and get the change out from under them, anyways. Better they be used by kids who need them than hide under the machines for all eternity.” Angelos looked at the handful of coins. It wasn’t much, but he was sure he could find more underneath the machines.

This became a ritual.

The dark building held many corners, and the machines ran hot. It was hard to find a couple of Burnish kids in the midst of the maze of arcade games, and so they found a safe haven here. Arrow liked to sit and watch people play that crane game, ever determined to figure out how it worked and to get that adorable little sheep. Angelos liked to collect the coins from underneath the machines, and he proudly purchased candy and pop for him and his sister with what he found. A lot of the regulars would recognize the children, but they thought little to the ‘why’ they were here. His favorites were a couple of rowdy teens who often hogged the big machine with the fake motorcycles. “Ah, fuck,” hissed one of the teens. Angelos turned, looking over to where the redhead had dismounted and was looking beneath the machine. “Did you drop the quarter?” the other asked. He was shot a glare from where the teen was trying, and failing, to fit his fingers in the small gap. So Angelos swooped in and pulled the coin out with ease. The redhead gave him a grin and ruffled his hair. “You’re a lifesaver, yo-” he paused, blinked, and then ruffled his hair some more. “Wow, your hair’s really soft. Like a lil’ cloud! Look, man. Soft!” He pulled his companion’s hand over, and Angelos giggled. “You shouldn’t go patting little kid’s hair like that, man,” he chastised but, seeing that it made Angelos happy, he obliged anyways. The redhead stuck out his tongue and settled himself back on the fake bike. While he did that, his companion turned to the child beside them. “Hey, do you have a name? Just so we know who to call next time this idiot drops another quarter?” “Hey,” the other grumbled, and nudged him with his elbow. He nudged back. They went on like this. “I’m Angelos.” “Angelos? Angelos the arcade Angel. Cute!” they said. He was surprised they’d been paying attention with their little play fight.

He left them to it.

He’d been making his rounds one day when a little fluffy thing was thrust into his face. Behind it glimmered excited blue eyes, bouncing up and down. “Look! Your friends won him for me!” Arrow said excitedly. She pulled the little sheep plush to her chest and squeezed. “Friends?” asked Angelos, confused. “Yeah, the two guys always hogging MegaRacer X? The ones who call you Angel? The-” “Yes, “ he cut her off, “I know which ones you’re talking about.” “I’m going to name him… Arrow junior? Or Firegoat? No, he’s not a goat… Um… Let’s see… Ashes the sheep? The shoop? Is sheep plural or singular?” She continued on like this, even as a patron called out for ‘Angel!’. He passed the two rowdy teens and gave them a look that said look what you’ve started’, but they were too engrossed in beating the other to notice. “Hey lil’ Angel, can you get me a pop?” asked the person who’d called for him. He’d taken to doing this for most of the patrons, and they tipped him with extra quarters, so he was happy to do it. He’d just opened the fridge when a loud noise deafened the rings and the music from the games. A few of the teens yelled curses, ran to the exit, and though the redhead stopped to look for Angelos and his sister, he was dragged off by his friend and others. Out the back. Angelos and Arrow barely heard their names over the din, but he grabbed her and ran towards the old man. With a panicked, wild gaze, he grabbed the two children and stuffed them into a cabinet. The two children held one another close, crossing their fingers. Loud footsteps. Clicking guns. A booming voice. Angelos’ hand bruised from how hard his sister held it. They didn’t need to speak, but they both knew. They weren’t afraid for each other. They were afraid for the old man who’d shown them such kindness.

“I don’t screen every teenager that comes in here. I don’t even know how you would go about doing that,” he replied calmly. That seemed to be satisfactory. The footsteps faded. The sounds returned, but this time it was obvious that they were leaving rather than coming. Angelos pulled his sister out of the cabinet and carefully through the back door. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Anywhere,” Angelos replied with a sigh, “I’m not risking getting him in trouble for our sake.”

Years later, they met those teens again. A spark of recognition flared in their eyes, and they fondly patted the still fluffy hair. “Little arcade Angel! I remember you,” said the one. “Ace,” he replied softly, “My name is Ace.”

#It's OOC Stuff #I should re-read this but I am lazy #Ace//{The Hands That Will Carry Us Home}

[mmazzeroo]

Jonerys Advent Calendar 2018

@helloimnotawesome 

Dear Val! I’m so excited (and nervous) and honoured to be your Jonerys Secret Santa!

Just a real quick shoutout to Val’s story ‘I Chose You’ - go read it if you haven’t already! *hearteyes*

Never done anything like this before, but got this crazy idea in my head and just couldn’t get it out. So I thought why the heck not?! Why advent calendar you ask. Because they are a vital piece of Christmas celebrations in my part of the world, and as a child I loved them so hoped you might too. Beginning your day with a small piece of chocolate what’s not to like, right? (I still do sometimes even when it isn’t Christmas, please don’t tell my mom). There are advent tv-series where children (usually) somehow end up saving Santa or Christmas or both. So I thought I’d try to transfer the concept into writing by giving you a little drabble-ish sized bite each day from Dec. 1st to 25th.

Fair warning: Virgin fanfic writer (written non-fic pieces though). Un-beta’ed, so apologies for that. English isn’t my native tongue. Any and all grammatical and spelling errors, plot-holes and messed up timelines are entirely mine, and I own them proudly. Since this is based on fiction I’m not trying to make it realistic, just plausible enough to be believable. Totally ball-parking everyone’s ages! Also, because it’s Christmas time I’ve tried to keep the story light and cheery despite the underlying current of heartbreak. (Did I give too much away now?)

Hope you’ll enjoy the story - and the ride! Can be read here below or on AO3.

NB: All rights belong to George RR Martin and HBO. Also, all lines and quotes from various movies, tv series and songs belong to their respective writers / producers / owners. I own none of the content.

ARYA I - What A Shit day!

"Sir! Sir! You need to lay still! We're here to help you, ok?"

She was looking into steel grey eyes as wide as saucers. Like a deer caught in the headlights. Wide with fear and pain. Always the same mix only the degree of either varied. The grey eyed man unfortunately seemed to learn towards fear. Damn it! Fear only made her job more complicated. Fear was only a few steps away from panic and panic was lethal. Panic shut down the brain and prevented her from reaching or reasoning with the patients.

"My wife!" He grabbed her collar and pulled her closer to his face. "Save my wife! She's 8 months pregnant! Please!!" His voice broke at the last word and he loosened his grip on her jacket. Yup, definitely need to calm him down. Shit! She took a quick look towards the tree-line feeling like she was being watched.

"Sir, your wife is being tended to as we speak, ok? She's in good hands. Now can you please tell me your names?"

His lips moved but she couldn't hear a thing over the helicopter taking off just then. Brilliant! Thanks Rakharo! She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. By the old gods and the new please keep the woman and her child safe. Brienne was an amazing paramedic and always did everything within her power to keep everyone alive. She had to have faith, yet she could never help herself to say a little prayer whenever she was on a scene. Especially one like this.

Detective Bronn from King's Landing City Watch had already arrested the drunken sod who'd caused this mayhem. SUV hit in the side, pushed off the road, rolled down a hill and burst into flames. Metal pieces, glass and blood spread heavily all the way down. Pools of blood where the bodies of the driver and passenger had landed. Strange how being thrown out of a vehicle could suddenly be looked at as 'lucky', but it had prevented them from being trapped in a burning car. The blood was all too easy to see in the snow even though the only light available was that from the flames of the burning car - which the firefighters were working on putting out - and her own headlight strapped to her forehead. Both bodies had appeared unresponsive until she and Brienne had managed to get close enough. The drunken driver had gotten off with a broken nose and a busted eyebrow. Fucking asshole! If any lives were lost this evening he'd have a much worse hangover than he could possibly imagine. DA Martell would make sure of that!

A couple of decades ago the Starks and Targaryens had entered an unprecedented partnership. While the Tyrells and Martells were battling over who should reign supreme over Westeros, the wolves and dragons set out on a different mission: They united their medical skills for both humans and animals alike. Under one roof. Together. So today when an emergency call was made they sent out paramedics and a tracker for the hurt and scared animal. To help all injured beings. At first there was the usual scepticism when someone does something new, but gradually people began to understand. Her dad and the late Commander Targaryen both believed the idea of 'leaving no one behind' must include ALL family members regardless of number of legs or wings or scales etc. President Tyrell had successfully managed to get a law past about a decade ago which clearly stated that 'a life is a life' and 'any life taken by outside forces will henceforth be considered a criminal offence and proper authorities shall investigate as such'. So if Tormund and his bloodhounds didn't find and come back with a living breathing dog belonging to the grey eyed man...well then mr. drunk-with-a-busted-eyebrow would be waking up to murder charges tomorrow morning.

"Can you tell me your name, sir?"

She had leaned closer to try to maintain eye contact with him. His eyes blinked once, twice, then closed, she felt his breath on her face and felt his hands slip from her jacket, fall and landed limply in the snow. There was a cry from the woods sounding almost like a wolf, but there were no wolves this far South.

"Clegane! CLEGANE!! Get your arse over here! We need to get him out of this godsdamned snow!"

Sandor Clegane was by her side in a few big strides. He helped strapping the man to the board and helped pull him uphill. He hopped in the driver's seat while she went to work in the back of the ambulance.

"Don't you dare die on me now, buddy! C'mon!" Still no reaction. "C'mon damn it! Wake up!!" Fuck! Cutting his clothes to get to his torso she was met by a sight she'd never seen before. His upper body was covered in scars. Some clearly old while some looked to be pretty resent. Seven hells! What's happened to you?! If only she knew his name. People tend to respond well to hearing their name. She kept working on the man while listening to a symphony of Sandor cursing the King's Landing late night traffic. There was a strong pulse again. Good.

"Yes! He's stable again. ETA?"

"5 mins"

"Roger that."

She searched his pockets for any ID's or papers of any kind but came up empty handed.

"Sir, can you tell me where you are?" She gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We, we just..." His breathing was shallow and laboured. "We just wanted to find our family." Tears started to pool in his eyes and he was visibly shaking now from trying to keep himself together. "And now," he took a deep shaking breathe, "it's all gone to shit." Tears rolled down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. Once again crashing.

"Damnit man! Stop doing this shit, it's getting real old! You hear me?!" We're so close to the hospital, just hold on a little longer. Leaning in she whispered in this ear, "Your family needs you."

When they arrived at the emergency entrance at the Lyanna Stark Memorial Hospital, Dr. Lannister was already waiting for them.

"Male, injured in vehicle accident. In and out of consciousness, but stable for now. Seemingly superficial wounds to left side of the head. Broken ribs and possible punctured lung on the left side of the chest."

"Has he said anything, Stark?" Dr. Lannister lifted his eye from his notes and looked straight at her. He didn't mean to she knew that, but the fact that he was so tall he literally looked down at her tend to make her feel like a child being scolded whenever he spoke to her. She did not like that feeling. Despite being one of the best surgeons Dr. Lannister wasn't arrogant though. Sure he would often state the fact that he's better than most, but does telling the truth make you arrogant? She wasn't sure.

She lifted her chin towards him and said, "Only few words here and there about his wife and family, doctor."

"Alright. I'll take it from here then. Time to go fix this daddy!"

He started pushing the gurney down to the lift. She took a few steps down the hall.

"Know anything about his wife?"

"Dr. Martell and Dr. Stark are working on her and the babies as we speak. They're in good hands, Arya." His kind green eyes met her own concerned grey ones.

She nodded.

"Wait! Babies? Plural?"

"Twins!", he shouted before the lift doors closed and he disappeared up to the OR.

Twins! Now she hoped even more that Robb and Dr. Martell could work their magic. She knew her brother was a skilful paediatric surgeon, but rumours had it that he was particularly skilled in neonatal care including surgery. Had to be why else would someone like Dr. Martell pick him as resident? Not known for doing favours she wouldn't give two fucks who his dad was if he didn't have any knowledge and skills of his own. Deep breathe. Ok, so overall the country's top surgeons were busy working on her grey eyed patient and his family. That had to be enough. It had to be!

Normally she'd go check the status of the affected animals over at the vet wing, however not expecting Tormund and his hounds to be back already and since technically her shift had ended while out on the call, she went straight to 'Hot Pies & Ale'. Not exactly the most inventive of names, but as Davos said 'we do what it says on the tin.'

Much to her surprise she heard the rambunctious wildling's voice the second she set foot in the pub.

"For fuck sake Bobby, stop licking Bessie's tits! At least buy her dinner first, you dog!" Tormund shook his head as he took a sip of his beer.

"Well, he is a dog so what did you expect?"

"Ha! Little Stark! Smart as always. Bobby B's a dog, aye, but does that mean I want to listen to him licking his girlfriend's tits all night? Tell me that!" He said challengingly, his eyebrows up and chin raised.

"I'm not 'little Stark'—", she said through clenched teeth

"Only because Bran's sitting in a chair!" he bellowed.

"—and 2nd, I don't know what the hells you like listening to!"

Turning towards the bar she hopped onto one of the stools and nodded to Tyrion and Viserys sitting side by side chuckling, probably at her and Tormund's little exchange.

Giving them an annoyed side glare, idiots, she turned around slightly to face the red-haired man. "Didn't expect you back this early. Is that good or bad news?"

"Good. Found it not too far off in the woods. Growling like a motherfucker though, had to sedate the poor thing. Must've taken some hits in that tumble down the hill. Had a few burns as well not too bad all things considered."

She remembered all too well the sound of the growling coming from the car as she had manoeuvred around the vehicle to get to the man. When the firefighters had managed to cut the lock to the crate open all she saw was a flash of white fur, and it was gone between the trees.

"Dr. Tyrell and Sansa was with him when I left."

Giving him a puzzled look he clarified, "Dr. Targaryen isn't expected back until tomorrow. Anyway, Dr. Tyrell says the dog should be back up and running in a jiffy." Giving her a reassuring smile he continued with a wistful look in his eyes, "Could swear it looked like a winter dog. Albino one at that. White as snow. Big gorgeous beast!" He ended with one of his signature big grins.

"Do winter dogs howl?" she asked while taking a sip of the soda Davos had placed before her.

"This one did that's what led me straight to him. Up North they do and the wolves will reply. Can keep you up all night with their howling banter", he laughed out loud and shaking his head as if remembering something. "We'll know for sure tomorrow when Dr. Stark comes."

"Dad's coming??", she asked perhaps a little too excited.

"Aye, Dr. Tyrell called him down for a consult to make sure. If it is a winter dog then he's more wolf than the huskies she's used to."

"Speaking of howling", Viserys interrupted and looked at Tyrion, "your sister was causing quite a ruckus this evening," he chuckled.

Sighing deeply Tyrion asked, "Do I even want to know what she did this time?"

"She kept yelling for more wine", Viserys laughed trying to immitate Cersei "More wine! MORE WINE! MOOOORREEEE WIIIINNNEEEE!!" Leaning back on the barstool, hand on his stomach laughing out loud he continued, "she almost couldn't sound more looney even if she tried!"

Everyone laughed out loud at that including, and especially, Tyrion.

"I swear rubber cells were invented for the likes of my sister."

"Tyrion!", she slapped him on his arm, "she may be crazy but she's still your sister."

"That's exactly why I say it! If set free she'd be a menace to society." He took a big gulp of his beer. "Speaking of menace, have I ever told you the story of the jackass, honeycomb and brothel?" he asked with a grin wiggling his eye brows.

Leaning closer to him with a big smile on her face she answered "Ooh do tell Mr. Lannister!"

"Well, I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel—"

He was interrupted when the pub door was ripped open and the voice of a furious woman yelled, "Hey! Watch where you're going fuckface!!"

Stepping through the door she practically threw her bag to the side as she stomped straight to the bar.

"Dany! Good to see you again, sis", Viserys leaned in to kiss her on the temple, "Flight catch some disturbance did it?" he chuckled.

"Oh if only it was the flight", she growled, "Davos, give me a shot of your Dothraki booze."

"As m'lady wishes", Davos poured a shot while exchanging a look with both Vis and Tyrion. "Here you go."

Dany put the glass to her mouth and threw her neck back taking it in one shot. Resulting in heavy coughing and wheezing. "Gods! I hate that stuff! Give me another one. Now, Davos!"

"Hey, why can't I have any of that by the way?", she suddenly asked pointing her index fingers at everyone's drinks.

"Because Arya," Gendry, having been quiet this entire time, said and raised his hand to point at the sign hanging at eye-level clearly saying '21', "you must be this high to ride this ride." Everyone around her laughed out loud with him. A smug look on his face indicating he was very pleased with himself.

"Fuck you! I'll be 21 in just a few months!"

"Few months isn't 21 today, sorry Arya", Davos said sympathetically.

"Whatever!" She left 5 dragons on the bar and jumped off the stool marching to the door.

Gendry called out to her, "A soda's only 4 dragons."

As she swung the door open she looked back and said, "Keep the change...you filthy animal!"

She heard a choir of laugher as the door closed behind her. What a shit day!

#joneryssecretsanta2018 #helloimnotawesome #jonerys #advent #christmas

[chronicbatfictioner]

A Real Boy - Chapter 16

"This is unacceptable. You were supposed to stay in Gotham to get your degree! Not to... frolic with Bruce Wayne, of all people! That-- that... oaf!"

Tim cringed, not even bothered to try to hide it. Dad could be vicious and petty and would get vicious and petty against those he viewed as "of a different caste" than his. Never mind Bruce and the Wayne family in general ought to have been of a higher proverbial caste than his. Or that it was Wayne Enterprises' jet that had brought Tim there, instead of having to pay for commercial airlines.

Sometimes Tim wondered how is it his mom, who was a member of one of Gotham's founding families, could tolerate his Dad. And then he remembered what Jason told him, offhandedly, out of the blue at the San Francisco islet: "She needed to spawn a strong one. He has good genes and magickal bloodlines."

Evidently, his mom was using Jack Drake more than the other way around.

Either way, Tim found himself looking at Dana Winters, Dad's new wife, for help. Dad was starting the same spiel as he did a few weeks ago, demanding that Tim should transfer his credits to Central City university and move there.

"He has a lot of experience in running a major network of companies, Jack. As much of a 'brute' that he is, he has quite a stellar business brain." Dana remarked.

"He also has a really massive library in his Manor. I've been learning a lot in there." Tim added, skipping the 'by assimilation' part of the 'learning'. Jason was the one who has been using the Wayne Manor's library extensively to the point where Tim would automatically go to the library whenever he couldn't instantly find Jason. Said methods of 'assimilation' might or might not include Tim falling asleep to Jason reciting 16th century manuscript of something in its original Saxony language, or muttering to himself while trying to decipher a Meso-American hieroglyph. But Tim definitely wasn't going to mention it.

He was starting to regret complying with Dad's demand of coming over in the middle of the week. Not only he would merely be able to spend a single night, Dad would think that his lack of time to stay was impolite; even if he'd said that he has classes to attend the next day.

Jason, too, was restless. He fiddled endlessly with the notebook he has with him, with a ton of hieroglyphic god-knows-what that he'd been scribbling on. Still, his restlessness had served as a distraction for Dad, and expert in Meso-American hieroglyphs.

"Look, Mr Drake. I need your best approximation of what this means," Jason interrupted. "It's... if it is what I think it is, then we need to get outta here." Jason said.

Jack Drake sighed exasperatedly. "What, praytell, is more important than my son?" he groused, but looked at Jason's scribbles, anyway. "Look, it's just a part of the Mayan apocalypse prophecy; you know? The one that was said going to happen in 2012 and did not happen? It's nearly a decade after 2012... anyway, see this? This is probably part of the Mayan calendar, like, the postscript note or something." he replied gruffly.

Jason's blank glare was a little frightening. Okay, no, a lot frightening because Tim has never seen Jason quite so intent and yet quite so scary at the same time. When he finally blinked, he turned to Dana and commanded, "get your kid outside. Now."

Dana blinked. "What...?" she asked. But Jason was not taking arguments.

"Get out, now!! All of you!!" he barked the order, grabbing Tim by the scruff of his shirt and nearly bodily tossed Tim out of the kitchen door.

"What is this! I do not allow strangers to--" Jack's protests was cut short by the sudden shake of the ground. Jason barely managed to grab Dana and Maya, her three-year old daughter; and propelled the three of them through the bay window of the living room, just as the ground shook violently - up and down, side to side, throwing Tim to the ground a few feet away from Dad. The shaking was barely stopping when he heard a loud screeching sound. Tim looked up just in time to see the house's front wall cracked and started careening toward the ground.

--toward where Jason, Dana, and Maya were on the ground, waiting for the tremors to stop. Within the split second, Tim realized that he couldn't simply evaporate the wall - Dad would have been more suspicious of Jason if Tim had done that. Instead, he rearranged the brick wall, wooden windowsills, and the density of the glass of the bay window that Jason had kicked to go through, and pulled the molecules so that the three of them would be right within the sills as it fell. Sensing what Tim was planning, Jason drew his legs in to a crouch over Dana and the toddler.

The remaining glass broke softly and safely around Jason, and the wall slammed to the ground with a loud slam, followed by Dad's scream. His scream, however, was muted by the screams of the other people on the other houses along the street. He realized why just as the tremors actually stopped. Missouri did not come with earthquakes, unlike San Francisco. Even if Gotham was not prone to quakes, either, Tim has experienced quite a few 5-ers on the Richter scale in San Francisco, and was largely unfazed. Keystone, however, had no experience of quakes, and everyone panicked.

He could see the fires starting along the street, and was on his feet before he could even think of what he was supposed to do. "Jason!" he called, "find the gas mains!" he yelled as he concentrated on changing the cooking gases around him to oxygen. He could change them all, but if the origin of the gases were combustible, he could be spending all day here. His powers did not lend into changing the whole thing at once, but as he saw them starting to waft through the air. There would be a lot of people still having their stoves on, the time being morning and people were only starting to do breakfasts.

"Times like this one, I wish there are more people eating cereals..." Jason groused. "Gas main around the corner of the street. You going there?"

"Get me there now. There will be a little spark when I'm gone, just hope we're quick enough.." before Tim even finished, Jason already teleported him to the underground gas mains. "Great, it's next to the powers. Shut that thing down manually and I'll..." he commanded as he turned the gas main's valve for the street. It took several tries, and eventually Jason's help, for it to finally turn.

Tim slumped on the ground. "Oh, goddess... what the hell just happened."

"Mayan's apocalypse prediction came with latitudes and longitudes, and they're not originated in the South Americas." Jason replied, pushing the manhole cover to the side using a little magick, and Tim nearly applauded his foresight - there would be a lot of questions if the actual city services people come and found out that the gas mains and power were shut off. "That was at least an eight, was it? Well, it was right there in the prediction, and the latitudes-longitudes that pointed out to Springfield, which is only a few dozen miles away from here."

"Oh no..." Tim groaned. "There's... there's... got to be a major disaster situation there..."

"Yeah, but the first responders were already coming 'round here. We better get out manually, I think..." Jason suggested as his wings started to dissipate.

"Yeah, they... at least Dad probably won't be excited to see magickal person in his vicinity." Tim agreed.

"At least he's consistent, even if said magickal person - persons, plural - have just saved his wife and kid." Jason scowled lightly.

"There's more than just the quake, isn't it? Missouri hasn't gotten any major quakes since like, the 18-hundreds... and the New Madrid fault line hasn't moved since." Tim said as Jason helped him out of the manhole. There was a distant wailing of the first responders' sirens, and no one seemed to notice two boys crawling out of a manhole. "Plus, if it's... you said the epicenter is in Springfield?" Tim paused.

"Yes, and it's not the fault line. There's... something coming out of the lake that caused the tremors. That's what the Mayans 'apocalypse' prophecy was about. A warning that on this day, in certain place, a creature of destruction would come out." Jason explained.

"I gotta tell Bruce..." Tim breathed. "Or Clark. I mean, what can I do against a creature of destruction?"

"Right," Jason replied absently as Tim pulled out his cellphone and thanking his habits of not taking out cellphones while on the dining table. Said dining table in Dad's house is probably flattened by now, along with Dad's cellphone. After telling Bruce of Jason's warning, he turned to find Jason already starting to assist some of the other residents.

He checked on the jet, just in case, and to his relief, found that the airport was generally unharmed and the jet could still fly if needed. Besides, Carol Ferris, the pilot of the jet and the main pilot that Bruce would hire for his jets; told him that, "it takes more than a quake to stop me from flying, Mister Tim," subtly reminding Tim that she - like Hal Jordan - wears a magickal ring and could fly at will, with or without a jet.

Then he turned to his Dad's neighbors, trying to help wherever he could. There were some people who were fast enough to get to the fire extinguishers in their respective cars - even ones who broke car windows to get the extinguishers. There were those who weren't fast enough and watched forlornly as the firemen tried their best to control fires in half-dozen houses. Tim couldn't control fires, but he could control the element around the fires. But to do that, he would have to be undisturbed. So he went into Dad's car and started concentrating to draw out oxygen from the houses with less-big fires, just so they could survive while the firemen worked on the bigger blazes.

It took just an hour for the firemen from three trucks to control the blazes; thankfully. Tim was absolutely spent, nonetheless, and was half asleep when Dad finally found him.

"Oh my god... can you please not be so lazy and help me out a little, here? I'm trying to pack up all the necessary things from the house so we can go to a hotel!" he scowled. Behind him, Jason gave him a knowing smile.

"I'll help you out, Mr Drake," he offered.

"Ugh, why can't you be a little more physical like Jason here, Tim? But alright, come!" he ordered. "Dana, stash Maya in the car! And then find us a hotel, will you? I don't think this place is livable until I can get it fixed."

Dana's daughter, Maya, crawled into the car and cooed at Tim. She might not be Jack's daughter, and was born just before her mother and Jack got married, but she thought of Tim as her own. "Timmy," she called.

"Hey, Maya. Come, just... I don't think we can fit your seat in here..." Tim commented.

"I don't think anyone would be fickle enough to account for kids' carseats in times like these, Tim." Dana replied, smiling as she slid in. "Good job on the fires," she added, winking.

Tim chuckled, remembering Barbara's comment on Dana being a healer. Dana would have known of Tim's abilities even before she wedded Jack. "I tried, at least there is no fatality..." he told her.

"Not here, I don't think. There are... some losses elsewhere." Dana said. "How's Wayne's jet?" she suddenly asked.

"Yeeeah, I don't think we'll get hotel rooms either, huh?" Tim smirked. "It's fly-able. The pilot is... a very confident fly girl." he added.

"Okay, I'll pretend to try and then you two help me convince your dad that we gotta get out of here, yeah?"

"I don't think he'll need much convincing..." Tim pointed to the numerous plumes of smoke in the distance. "Dad is afraid of fires. He's-- when mom was killed, they were in a literal ring of fire."

"Oh," Dana gasped. "I'm sorry, Tim..."

Tim shrugged. "Don't be, at least not at this point. That should make it easy for us to convince him to pack up just the important things and get outta here."

As Tim predicted, Dad turned very pale when he saw the rising smokes. "I--" he gulped. "is--" he continued, but couldn't bring himself to finish.

"We can go to Gotham, dad," Tim said quietly. "I've checked and the Wayne Jet that brought me here can fly out of here."

"Point me to the airport." Jack commanded, the fake bravado was mocked by the tremble in his voice. Tim simply inputted the direction to the private airport - a Wayne Enterprises corporate airstrip - and nodded slightly at Dana's thumb's up.

At the very least, his family would be safe from whatever creature Jason referred to. Even if the ironic safe place being Gotham.

#Tim Drake #Jason Todd #JayTim #Dana Winters #Jack Drake #No-capeAU #Magi!AU #Carol Ferris

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to FiveThirtyEight’s weekly politics chat. The transcript below has been lightly edited.

micah (Micah Cohen, politics editor): We’re here to talk about superdelegates!!!!!!

Everyone’s favorite subject, right?

clare.malone (Clare Malone, senior political writer): Extremely 2016 up in here.

micah: (This is my least favorite topic.)

clare.malone: I can’t imagine why. It’s so sexy, and the debate is totally based in facts about what happened during 2016.

micah:

OK, so Democrats over the weekend curtailed the power of superdelegates a bit by changing the party’s nominating rules.

Here, from friend-of-the-site Josh Putnam at Frontloading HQ, is a description of the new system:

1. If a candidate wins 50 percent of the pledged delegates plus one during or by the end of primary season, then the superdelegates are barred from the first ballot. 2. If a candidate wins 50 percent of all of the delegates (including superdelegates) plus one, then the superdelegate opt-in is triggered and that faction of delegates can participate in the first (and only) round of voting. 3. If no candidate wins a majority of either pledged or all delegates during or by the end of primary season, then superdelegates are barred from the first round and allowed in to vote in the second round to break the stalemate.

Can someone give us a topline “what this means”?

natesilver (Nate Silver, editor in chief): It means that superdelegates can’t override the voters if someone gets 50 percent + 1 of pledged delegates.

It also means they could be hugely influential in the case of a multiballot convention, which is probably the more important case.

And it probably makes a multiballot convention more likely by not allowing superdelegates to be used as tiebreakers.

clare.malone: I think what they’re trying to do is mitigate the notion during the primary contest that “elites” have outsized weight.

We should note here that Hillary Clinton won more pledged delegates in 2016 than Bernie Sanders.

micah: Yeah, how much of this is PR vs. actually limiting the influence of superdelegates?

natesilver: Like so many other institutions, they’re catering to their critics and fighting the last war.

Like, I’m not even sure how I feel about superdelegates. I just think this is done for maybe the wrong reasons? And that the more interesting lessons were actually in the GOP primary in 2016?

clare.malone: I don’t know — it seems like a fair reaction in many ways.

I don’t think it’s bad to mitigate concerns that people in your base might have about stifling voter representation.

natesilver: Let’s say the pledged delegate allocation after everyone has voted is: Elizabeth Warren 40 percent, Joe Biden 30 percent, Cory Booker 20 percent, and 10 percent scattered among various other candidates who have since dropped out. Under the previous system, superdelegates would weigh in for Warren — who clearly is the most popular choice — and give her a majority on the first ballot.

Under the new system, the superdelegates don’t get to vote on the first ballot. Instead, they wait until the second ballot, when most of the pledged delegates become unpledged.

And there could be a lot more chaos here: Maybe Booker agrees to run as Biden’s VP, for instance.

clare.malone: Devil’s advocate: Why is it chaos? And even if it is chaos, why is it bad?

Are you arguing that it actually leads to back-room deals negating its supposed goal of democratizing the process?

natesilver: I’m saying that requiring an outright majority on the first ballot — no superdelegates to push a candidate who’s close to a majority over the top — coupled with Democrats’ extremely proportional delegate allocations — is a recipe for chaos

The chances of the nomination not being resolved on the first ballot are about 50 percent, maybe a little higher.

perry (Perry Bacon Jr., senior writer): I agree with that. I actually think under the previous system, Warren (or Sanders) was guaranteed to win in a scenario where she (or he) had the most delegates. That is less true now. The previous system gave superdelegates lots of power in theory. But in practice, supers were already bending to the will of the voters. Some superdelegates who originally backed Hillary Clinton flipped to Barack Obama in the latter stages of the 2008 Democratic primary, for example, once it became clear that he would win the most pledged delegates. That ensured that he got the majority of all delegates at the end.

clare.malone: I’ve decided to argue from the angle of the rules-changers. Aren’t you guys infantilizing the voters a bit? Yes, the process might be messier than in previous years, but on a second-round ballot where people are unpledged, you basically get to see a bit of a caucus happen among delegates. Maybe that sort of parliamentary way of doing things is healthy for the party.

Maybe what voters want is to see the process thrashed out, to see a second ballot!

micah: Woo!

natesilver: Maybe! But it goes against the stated aims of the reforms.

perry: And the changes don’t seem like a great advantage for the Sanders people, who pushed for them.

clare.malone: Well, the party is very different than it was in 2016.

So maybe the “center” or the “establishment” candidate will be closer to where Sanders is and it won’t matter … and the voters will be there too.

natesilver: I agree that it’s hard to predict who these changes will benefit. And, of course, there’s a long history of changes that were made with the best of intentions backfiring.

Democrats saw the train wreck that was the Republican nomination process in 2016 and decided to do nothing to prevent something similar happening to them, even though it looks like they could easily also have a 17-candidate field or thereabouts in 2020.

micah: So, using Nate’s hypothetical above — “Warren 40 percent, Biden 30 percent, Booker 20 percent, and 10 percent scattered among various other candidates” — doesn’t this come down to whether you think Warren winning a plurality means she should get the nomination or whether you think Warren not winning a majority means she shouldn’t get the nomination?

natesilver: I think Warren’s probably getting the nomination either way IN THOSE SCENARIOS , but she’s definitely at more risk under the new system.

clare.malone: Maybe it’s a healthier process for a party that has actual divisions.

natesilver: Now, maybe there are some cases where the opposite is true. If you have a case where it’s Kamala Harris 51 percent, Joe Biden 48 percent, Martin O’Malley 1 percent of the pledged delegates — Harris is now guaranteed the nomination, whereas supers could have pushed it to Biden before.

But if it’s Harris 49 percent, Biden 46 percent, O’Malley 5 percent, she’s not.

clare.malone: It’s basically just more of a wild-card system.

(As a side note, as a journalist, I look forward to the potential drama.)

natesilver: What saved the Republicans from a contested convention of their own in 2016 was the fact that a lot of their primaries, especially toward the end stages, were winner-take-all or winner-take-most. That allowed Donald Trump to build up some real momentum in the last one-third or so of the primary calendar.

Without that, the GOP would probably have still gotten Trump anyway — he was clearly the choice of the plurality of voters — but only after an extremely chaotic convention.

perry: I don’t think the big goal (stopping supers from overturning the plurality of the pledged delegates) is necessarily best served by these particular reforms. That said, on the broader question of whether superdelegates SHOULD be able overturn the plurality of pledged delegates, I think there is a case for superdelegates to have that power. I’m not completely sure superdelegates should be disempowered, even though I agree with arguments that the will of the people should be respected and am generally for giving voters more power. The last two years (so Trump) have suggested that maybe party elders should play a bigger role, not necessarily in pushing for a different person ideologically, but maybe a president who abides by general norms. (For example, I think Ted Cruz would be as conservative as Trump, but perhaps less erratic and able to condemn white nationalist rallies.) I’m not sure if, say, Michael Avenatti has a chance of winning the Democratic nomination in 2020, but I bet a lot of Democratic Party elders are not excited at that prospect–and would like to have the power to stop it.

In other words, maybe the elites should have more power?

micah: I’m a secret believer in that.

clare.malone: Why? To prevent chaos?

micah: Because the mob can be dangerous.

clare.malone: Why are you guys harping on that?

I think there’s something to be said about a cathartic political process.

Voters have watched their nominations be manufactured behind the scenes. What’s wrong with radical transparency?

Yes, it might bring a couple of rounds of voting, I concede that. But you haven’t convinced me why that’s bad in the end? As long as there’s civility among the actors, which I think you could engineer, it’s not a terrible scenario.

natesilver: The expectation among voters is that the most popular nominee will get the nomination.

Granted, there are different ways of defining “most popular.”

clare.malone: Which would likely be reflected in the contested convention votes. Right?

Norms have been less broken on the Democratic side of things, so I don’t think that’s an unreasonable expectation.

natesilver: Maybe? But the more ballots you go, the more divorced you become from the delegates’ original preferences.

We knew on the GOP side, for example, that many delegates personally didn’t back Trump and were big risks to turn on him in the event of multiple ballots even though they were bound to him on the first ballot.

A better-organized campaign will exert more control over the delegate selection process and be better at whipping delegates.

perry: I guess I view these rules as being a diss to the superdelegates. The supers themselves read them that way too.

clare.malone: That’s the point, though. They’re meant to diss. It’s the mood of the party’s hoi polloi.

perry: If Sanders or another candidate who is anti-superdelegates does not win a majority of pledged delegates during the primary, he should be worried. I wonder if the supers, on the second ballot, are even more unbound under this new system, compared to the old one. They could say, “You [Sanders’ supporters] said you wanted a system in which a majority of pledged delegates means you win. You didn’t get a majority. We get to intervene now. These are your rules. We are following them and we will now choose who WE want.”

micah: OK, let’s try it this way: Would these rules, had they been in place, have altered any past Democratic nominations?

Would Clinton have had a better chance in 2008?

perry: This is where I would like to do a more careful analysis.

But, yes, my instinct is that Clinton would have had a better chance to win on a second ballot in this new system. The superdelegates would have no role in the first ballot, but I think their role is enhanced in a second one.

natesilver: There are some primaries, such as in 1984 and 2008, where the nomination process would have been messier, although maybe it would have produced the same nominee.

clare.malone: I smell an assignment …

And then some fan fic about the alternate political universes.

natesilver: Yeah. My thing is that you want a system where someone can win on the first ballot with less than a majority, but with a reasonably clear plurality. Because it’s very common for the top candidate to have something like 35 percent to 45 percent of the overall votes in the primary.

There are two ways to achieve that: either through superdelegates or through winner-take-all/winner-take-most rules.

The Democrats have neither one of those now.

clare.malone: Maybe this is finally a concession to the big tent party that they have. And in the ensuing rounds of ballot negotiation, maybe you have compromises on who gets VP — like, a Warren paired with a more centrist person — we’ll see who comes along over the next couple of years.

micah: IDK, maybe I agree with Clare: Democracy is messy, so maybe it should look messy.

perry: I think those changes might be good (the ones Clare laid out). The idea that the convention picks the vp. But they give the elites more power.

Sanders does not want the party to pick his vp.

clare.malone: Well, that’s the concession he has to pay to be more of a player.

People have sold their souls for much less. A compromise VP when you’re the presidential nominee of a party in semi-shock therapy ain’t bad.

natesilver: One simple reform they could have considered is to give the nomination to whomever wins the plurality of delegates. Except in a few weird states, that’s how our electoral system works: Plurality takes all.

micah: Or: National popular vote. Simple. One day of voting. Highest vote-getter takes all.

perry: Can we jump back to the broader context?

The reason I am open to elites having more power is because Trump is different in terms of democratic norms, etc. I think Sanders would be better than Avenatti in terms of following those norms.

And the voters might blow it.

If we have weak parties and strong partisanship, do we want to weaken the parties further?

I’m not usually an elitist, but are we sure the voters are doing a great job?

clare.malone: This feels like the old argument against direct election of U.S. senators.

It basically comes down to the age-old question: Do we trust the vox populi?

micah: No.

clare.malone: Haha, so now you’ve switched teams!

micah: lol

Just kidding.

Do you?

How much “republic” do you want in your democratic republic?

clare.malone: I’m still arguing team small-d democracy.

natesilver: There’s also the question of whether ranked-choice voting would produce a different result. Like, suppose that Avenatti was the plurality front-runner with 20 percent of the vote. But most of the other 80 percent who didn’t vote for him didn’t like him.

clare.malone: I think you’ve got to have some faith in the voters.

perry: I want to.

natesilver: Although the GOP doesn’t have superdelegates per se, the fact that the party made relatively feeble efforts to stop Trump is also relevant here. It suggests the norm toward letting voters decide is quite strong.

And the stronger that norm is, the less dangerous that superdelegates are.

micah: I think Perry said this earlier, but I do think there’s a chance this empowers supers because it will erode that norm on the second ballot.

perry: Yeah, that is what I was hinting at — particularly if it’s something like Sanders 44 percent and Harris or Booker or Julian Castro (a non-white candidate) at 41.

natesilver: THEY’RE GOING TO STEAL THE NOMINATION FROM AVENATTI

clare.malone: I mean, he’s got his Vogue story in place.

Next comes the chummy Ellen interview.

perry: FiveThirtyEight contributor Seth Masket wrote that there was a big racial divide at the DNC meeting where this change was adopted, namely that some prominent black officials are opposed to the changes.

The Congressional Black Caucus, for example, likes the power of superdelegates in the current system. (Members of Congress are superdelegates, of course.)

clare.malone: Donna Brazile was making the argument that the DNC was trying to disenfranchise them.

micah: Why do you think there’s a racial divide?

perry: Because there is a big racial divide among party elites about Sanders.

Sanders did well among young black voters. But I suspect that he has very little support among black superdelegates.

natesilver: And there’s also the question of: What if in a close race, you had one Democrat with a plurality of votes/delegates but very little support among black or Hispanic Democrats.

You could argue that’s a case where supers should intervene. I’m not sure I like that argument, but you could make it.

Although, again, in any type of plurality scenario, the supers get to intervene anyway.

micah: How about this for a compromise: Have superdelegates but only let elected officials be them.

natesilver: Many/most of them are elected officials anyway?

clare.malone: Yeah.

micah: Not all, though.

perry: Most superdelegates are DNC members, according to the Pew Research Center, not members of Congress. But some of those DNC members might be elected officials at the local level.

micah: BAM!

clare.malone: I love that one of the subcategories of superdelegates is “distinguished party leaders.” Lol.

natesilver: How about: Let the nowcast decide in the event that no one gets the plurality?

perry: Nate Silver picks which candidate is most electable.

natesilver: Hahaha

hahahahaha

perry: If we pitched this idea to Democratic voters, that Nate picks the candidate or the DNC picks, they would probably go with Nate. I’m serious. I don’t think most Democrats trust the party that much.

natesilver: But see the most electable candidate would be the one with the most popular support.

clare.malone: O’Malley’s gonna make a comeback in that case.

micah: If all the supers were elected officials, it would still have a tinge of small-d democracy. It’s a good middle ground!

perry: That seems right to me. They would be accountable.

That’s the problem with the DNC — people don’t necessarily know who those people are.

natesilver: How about if there’s no majority through the delegate system, there’s a national 50-state referendum where everyone votes again?

That would obviously be cost/logistically prohibitive.

In some very real ways, though, polls could become very important under that scenario. For example, it was probably important in 2008 that Obama never fell behind Clinton in national polls, or at least not for sustained periods, when going through all the Jeremiah Wright stuff, etc.

perry: I’m going to play the Micah role here, because I was curious what Nate’s and Clare’s thoughts were about the caucus changes.

micah: Yeah, let’s close on that. Can someone give me a summary of the caucus changes please?

natesilver: My understanding is that caucuses now need to include a means for people to participate off-site — e.g., through absentee ballots.

perry: Right.

clare.malone: I think it’s probably a shift toward the right kind of “small d democracy” change I’ve been talking about. There are lots of good arguments that say caucuses mean that a lot of people who do shift work can’t vote.

natesilver: Caucuses tend to favor candidates whose supporters are (1) more enthusiastic and (2) better organized. I’m not sure that necessarily maps cleanly onto a left-right scale, and it can be fairly idiosyncratic from election to election who does better in caucuses.

clare.malone: Caucuses tend to favor insurgents, it’s fair to say.

natesilver: They didn’t in the GOP, though.

clare.malone: On the Democratic side they have, right?

natesilver: Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz (OK, Cruz is sort of an insurgent) did better in caucuses, and Trump struggled in them.

I think that’s mostly true.

In 1988, Jesse Jackson struggled in caucuses early on but then started to do quite well in them. It can be quirky.

Also, a lot of states have abandoned caucuses of their own volition and switched to primaries.

perry: So is this a big change?

natesilver: It’s not big in the sense that the Democrats didn’t have that many caucuses anyway, and they were mostly in small-population states.

However, there are often big differences between who does well in caucuses and who does well in primaries.

Without caucuses, Clinton might have won in 2008.

Without caucuses, Sanders wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long.

If the GOP had more caucuses, they might not have chosen Trump.

micah: To wrap, does anyone want to say whether all these changes help or hurt any specific potential 2020 candidates?

Or do we really just have no clue?

clare.malone: I think you have to wait and see what their support/activist system is like.

natesilver: Yeah, we’re at the stage where there are 15 billiard balls on the table and it’s hard to know what everything will look like after the break.

Again, my

take is just that it’s a bad idea to have neither superdelegates nor winner-take-all/most rules. Especially in a year without a clear front-runner.

micah: OK, to sum up, it seems like the best take is: These changes could have big unforeseen and unintended consequences — or maybe not. And to cap us off, I asked Julia (who has studied this a lot) to give us her take …

julia_azari (Julia Azari, political science professor at Marquette University and FiveThirtyEight contributor): I’m more ambivalent about the superdelegate change than a lot of political scientists, many of whom are generally opposed to them. This is mainly because I think parties need to think about how they can regain legitimacy, and if supers are left out of the first ballot but can legitimately come in in the case of a deadlocked convention, that’s a good thing.

Acknowledging the possibility that the nomination might not be wrapped up by the convention and that that could be something other than a total crisis is in my view a good thing. The emphasis on party elites unifying around a single candidate early in the nomination — in either party — hampers competition within the party and potentially prevents voters from having real power in the nomination process.. At the same time, my understanding is that none of the rules change anything about how elected officials can make their preferences known during and before the primary season (so people who are superdelegates can still endorse someone ,even if that endorsement is not effectively a delegate vote in this new process), and that will rightly be seen by some in (for lack of a better term) the Bernie camp as attempting to tip the scales in favor of more establishment candidates. If you could actually have a competitive convention without it being seen as a giant disaster, then elites wouldn’t need to head that off by endorsing early.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #A FiveThirtyEight Chat

[amieyhko]

winter 2018

november

Another four pages of my calendar book has passed. As I flip through it, I see many names of people I love. On one hand, I'm confused as to how I managed to not exhaust myself but on the other, I can feel that my heart tank is extremely full.

November was spent mostly on preparing—preparing for IELTS (for the working holiday visa application), preparing decorations for Danny and Mandy's wedding, preparing to fly out, preparing accommodations in Korea, preparing my heart.

The most exhausting part of it all was the process of making myself obsolete. As a leader of lights team at our church (we rent out a night club every Sunday morning), and as the only person who had official education in lights, I micromanaged a lot of things. But I really didn't want it to be this way. I knew what empowerment looks like and it took a lot of conscious planning and training courses for my team to run totally independently. I’m just happy to say that the special Christmas service ran super smoothly and I was a proud retired mum.

November was also a month of endless films. Golden Horse Film Festival got me waking up really early or stay up unreasonably late. I only bought three tickets but Fanny got like… 7? I also know someone who bought 10+. I reasoned with myself that I am in no situation to be spending that much money.

Then November closed with an exam. Everyone said I’d do fine on the IELTS but I honestly wasn’t too sure. Everything about the exam was intimidating—it was early in the morning, one of the test takers didn’t make it on time and got disqualified immediately, they make you do finger scans, take an ugly picture of you, and the room was extremely cold. I never was good at exam taking and this one took a lot of concentration I was lacking maybe because I’ve been out of school for a while. Oops, oops, oops. But I came out in one piece and my scores were satisfactory.

Another unexpected occurence was a thanksgiving party hosted at church. The decor was on point, and I helped set the mood with lights covered with lots of amber gels. When I set down to eat, it took me straight back to McGill dorm thanksgiving meals where Aunt Sharon would decorate the tables with all her favorite autumn things and we were required to talk about three specific things we were thankful for. As I love to say, home is plural. I'm excited and terrified at the increasing number of homes I have yet to still accumulate.

december

It ends with a plane ride. The buzzing sound of construction and the loud commands of walkie talkies are somehow comforting. Airports are homes. Wizard of Oz never made sense to me, Dorothy is just a whiny, spoiled little girl. Announcements ring. I never line up until the last minute—who wants to be inside a plane early when you're going to be in it anyways? As the engines roar a bass line of white noise and umma falling asleep next to me, I pray with a silent hope. You're at the beginning.

Honestly I don't remember what happened in December other than the rush of adrenaline preparing for Danny's wedding, actually decorating Danny's wedding, and the aftermath of it all. The toughest part of this wedding was the flowers—three gargantuan boxes of fresh baby's breaths. Everything had to be done the day before and I had a troop of Kate, umma Kang, and anyone at the church office who had free time. Chaos ensued as we tried to call two Uber XLs then arriving at the venue to find that it was still confetti-ed and trashed from the event that just took place. The table arrangement communications were all wrong, little things here and there seemed missing, and I missed my bed terribly. But thanks to little wedding elves who love Danny and Mandy so much to the point of staying to finish up decors until 11pm then coming back the next day around 8am, this was probably the most enchanting looking wedding that I have ever decorated (no offense to my other ones, they all have their own adjectives). Let's just say I slept 20 hours per night for the three following days after the wedding.

The map says we're currently hovering over the southern tip of Korea. Turbulence shakes. My fingers are dry. Whispers are heard. I always emphasize that I'm not "going back" to Korea. I can never go back to where I only belonged in my vaguest memories.

Forty minutes till I land. It was just Christmas a few days ago. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I won't be seeing Taipei 101 explode when the new year rolls around. Frustration and bitterness aren't the words I'm looking for. It's not even excitement nor happiness. Right now, I'm grateful with what it is right now—high above the ground, thankful that airplanes work and that I'm privileged to be even in one.

Peace and serenity. There's a storm and I'm in the eye.

Thirty-five minutes. Captain just announced that it is -9C in Seoul. I hope it snows. I think I'll be warm enough. I'll just have to step out. Step out and dance in the snow.

PATREON

I always joked around saying that I need someone ridiculously rich to support me in all my endeavors (kinda like the Medici family in the Renaissance). Then I realized that this is still possible through the internet, though it's not just one filthy rich person but a community of supporters backing me up. So yes, I am now on PATREON. You have probably heard of this platform if you follow Youtubers or indie artists of any kind. This amazing portal allows anyone to support me on a monthly basis which is basically a steady income for someone who is going through so many instabilities but still loves to create (like moi).

If what I do is pleasing to your eyes, ears, nose, senses, anything, please consider becoming one of my unicorns. I will appreciate you so very much.

www.patreon.com/amieko

#updates #2018 #winter #blog

[unleashthemidnight]

SPN goes NSP: Guess Who’s Back (Just In Time For The Christmas)

Christmas Calendar: Masterlist SPN goes NSP: GWB part 1, part 2, part 3 Chapter name: Let's get this terrible party started Pairing + others: Reader x Gabriel, Winchesters, Danny Sexbang Synopsis: You were doing preparations for the Christmas celebration with Sam and Dean in the bunker when the party invitation threw you in the loop. Word count: 1500+ Warnings: Crack, sexual references, language, song lyrics usage, The Frying Pan™ Notes: This is part of the Christmas Calendar and will be updated towards the Christmas. NSP is amazing band called NinjaSexParty, whose songs, covers and music videos I have used. Songs are listed at the end. Whooo boy, this is something else that I would normally write *cough* Hope you all enjoy this ride we are starting! This is also the shit that no one asked for. Reblogs and comments are loved Do not repost

The white lilies and the golden white light; something so beautiful yet so painful. The memories of the two of you and the painful end danced around each other in your head. You missed Gabriel. You missed his tricks and often stupid but brilliant ideas that made you laugh, as much as you sometimes hated to admit it. You just wished that he would be there with you. You would see again how his eyes would fill with childish joy when he was up to something. You wanted to see them full of hope when you ended up talking about things you wanted to do, when you talked about future, no matter how much it sometimes scared both of you. And oh, how those eyes would darken with lust when… Sigh. It had been long road to get this far from your deepest end but you had Winchesters, your brothers, helping you from the beginning. They had given you the time to grief and made sure that your basic needs were met when you didn't leave from your room until needed to. Little later they had kept you busy with hunts, research and other little tasks so you would think something else for a change. You needed to get moving even if you didn't move on.

”We're gonna need more coffee,” Dean's voice snapped you back to the reality. You were cooking breakfast and the boys were doing inventory as the preparations for the holidays. That meant that Sam was doing inventory while Dean sat at the table sipping his coffee. Sam went through the shelves throwing away all the stuff that should have been thrown away ages ago judging by the smell, and you all listed things that you still needed for the holidays. ”We would be at the store much quicker if you wouldn't just sit there and were actually helping me with this,” Sam complained. ”But I'm too hungry,” Dean mockingly whined back. The truth still was that he really was hungry, it had been awhile since you all had a proper meal. ”The food will be ready as soon as I can fry these eggs, just help Sam. For me? Then we can go to the store and we can pick up all the things we need and if you are on Santa's good list, I will get the ingredients for the pies,” you chimed in while picking up the frying pan. ”You used plural...” Dean pointed out the obvious, doubting your words. ”Yes.” You saw how quickly he moved around the counter to help his little brother. That was easy, you thought smile on your face. ”Hey guys, there's a letter in here…?” Sam picked an envelope from one of the old boxes of cereal. The envelope was decorated with various arts-and-crafts' gems and with fancy letters in the middle of it read ”You're Invited, Dickbags!” ”Let me see that.” Dean took the envelope, ripped it open and started reading it without caring how it ended up in the cereal box or from whom it could be. You had bad feeling about this. ”Oh shit! Congrats, your ass just got invited to the party of your life! Once every hundred thousand years the most epic party in this universe is hold as it was foretold in the scrolls. 'What scrolls?' I hear you asking. Who cares! It's NinjaSexParty -party so you know it's the shit. So take that pudding, pour it on your chest and let your pants hit the floor because your life was totally bullshit until right now. I hope you like fun 'cause we're having it! IT'S GO TIME!” As Dean read the end of the letter with no sender, the world shifted around you making the bunker and the letter disappear. Your head couldn't take the shifting, it made you nauseous. You found yourself lying on the cold floor with distant smell of the fumes and oil. This definitely wasn't the start of the party that one would be excepting after that kind of letter. What even is NinjaSexParty? You coughed and took couple of deep breaths. The hit on the floor was hard but nothing in your body was broken. As you rolled over so you could sit, you noticed your frying pan from the bunker close to you. Weird. ”Oh c'mon! What the hell...” you heard Dean's confusion with slight desperation on the side. ”You alright?” Sam asked as he helped you up. ”Yeah, little bit dizzy but nothing that I can't manage,” you answered and looked around bit more. You were in pale, almost empty two car garage. With you there was four people sitting around cheap knock-off table. The people were dressed up like your typical Hollywood style nerds that were too focused on the game to notice you. ”Um… Hey guys. You playing Dungeons and Dragons or…?” Dean asked from the group catiously, prepared for possible fight. You all needed to find out what happened and how to get back home, now. But before any of the guys could even answer to you, the door to the house flung open making three of you jump. ”ALL RIGHT! This party is off to a bit of a slow start but soon it's gonna melt your brain and fishslap your heart. Check out this leaf-collecting album or two that I made back in autumn,” a tall, slim man with darker curly hair in red silky robe announced and throwed 5 different albums of leafs at Sam, who couldn't hold them all. ”And don't get me started on the balloons! Want 'em? I got 'em!” The man pointed at two different sizes balloons hanging sadly on the wall. Next he slapped Dean on the shoulder. ”Just wait when the music starts to drop, the vibe's gonna change. We've got the country-themed metal garage band,” he continued while walking past of Dean in the middle of the room doing a little spin, ”oh, and the hot girls are showing up, I'm so sorry you had to wait but now they're finally inflated. This shit right here would make the hobbit say 'to the hell with the Shire'! SO GET THIS FREAKING PARTY STARTED!” As he ended his speech, the music started to play and more people walked through the door in different costumes that you could get from thrift store. There was '70s disco, brightly colored suits and velor jumpsuits. Leopard minks, moccasins, gold chains, the list went on. Someone was wearing your grandpa's clothes. You were stunned, not only about you ending up in someone's garage but you could recognize those curry and coffee stains on your grandpa's clothes anywhere. What the hell was going on? ”Did he just...” Dean looked at you and Sam and saw the same look on your faces as he had on his. ”The girls are inflated. As...” you pointed questioning even though you could actully see them as they were, standing in the corner. Just waiting there. Patiently. ”It seems so,” Sam answered. One of the other quests asked one of the dolls to dance with them. It seemed that they said yes and now they both were slow dancing across the floor and past you. ”Alright then… We have to do something about all this, soon,” Dean sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. You all decided that everyone would talk to different groups of people and see what information you could get. You didn't know what to except when you started to mingle with other quests but this wasn't it. You met a guy who played football and told you that he once won the whole super bowl by himself. Weightlifter said that they could bench an entire continental shelf. One told you they were a scientist who cured all diseases last week. There were also the dragon slayer who found the Dragon's cave at ninety million hundred fifty thousand hundred feet in the air and fought his army of awesome karate bears. That one guy was naked for no reason at all. You also met Manticore who shouldn't even been in this party. You didn't want to ask. ”Why hello there beautiful,” the man from earlier, the one with the silky robe who seemed to be the host, slided next to you, ”I'm Danny Sexbang and I'd like to ask you out on the hottest of dates. Let's ditch these losers and go somewhere else more... appropiate?” he suggested and gave you a rose. Why didn't you pick up the frying pan when you had the chance? ”Hold one hot minute there Casanova,” Dean interrupted, ”Y/N here isn't going anywhere with you and we have couple questions that need answers right now.” ”What's wrong guys? I thought this would be your kind of party! I made this just for you. Not enough of girls?” Danny pretended to be schoked. ”Who the hell are you and why are we here?” Dean demanded to know as Sam found his way to you. ”Oooh, I'm Danny Sexbang, the toughest fucking ninja that you've ever seen but that's all in the past. Let's talk about that other thing some other time,” Danny answered with finger guns and took couple steps backwards from you as other quests slowly formed a ominous circle around you. All of this seemed like a bad dream. Yeah, you must be dreaming. You would probably wake up soon enough. ”Okay, so, this party sucks. Let's explode this building!” You heard Danny yelling. ”WAIT WHAT - -” The world around you shifted again.

Fun fact: People in the party were totally dancing the dances you can see in I just wanna dance -video and the Dragon dance in Dragon Slayer -video.

Christmas Calendar tag: @sumara62, @authoressskr, @serendiptious-esparza, @be-fantastic, @pizzamanteachings Gabriel tag: @nobodys-baby-now @dlb1999

Hit me with ask or message if you would like to join either one of these lists!

NinjaSexParty's songs used in this fic:

Let's get this terrible party started! x

I just wanna dance x

Dragon Slayer x

Ninja Brian was so Ninja that you couldn't see him under the table..

#gabriel x reader #gabriel #gabriel fanfiction #reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #ninjasexparty #danny sexbang #danny sexbang fanfiction #spn crack #crack fic #unleashthemidnight writes #SPN goes NSP #Guess Who's Back #unleash the christmas #and so the story begins #still feeling weird with writing dialogue #all the tags

[jegfikstress]

April Apricot-Peach Goo

I like to think that I am a very organized person, and anyone who has seen my color coded planners and calendars (yes, plural) would certainly agree. But all of my Type-A personality traits disappear in the kitchen. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine!” I tell no one in particular as I inevitably spill, drop, break, or burn something. One time I made bread with 2x the amount of water, 3x the amount of oil, and 1/2x the amount of flour. 

Maybe my dad was on to something... 

It’s fine! 

Most times, I take a recipe and change half of it, especially now that I am experimenting with gluten free baking. I know very little about gluten free flours, other than them more types of flour you use, the better. The end result? Goo. Delicious goo, but goo nevertheless. Case in point: Apricot Peach Goo. 

I generally don’t bake with fruit because I have a tendency to eat it before we get a chance. However, we got peaches in our CSA box back in April and they  conspired to foil my plans. In a mere 12 hours they went from being underripe to overripe, so to avoid wasting them, I threw them in a cake/cobbler/ thing. 

I used the following recipe as a starting point, but like I said, ended up changing half of it: https://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/easy-peach-cobbler. Instead of AP flour, I used a combination of almond flour and gluten free AP flour. I used 1 and 1/4 cup of sugar instead of 2 cups, I used vanilla instead of cinnamon, and I did not cook the fruit first. While it turned out mostly OK, the end result was not ideal. When the sweet bubbly mess cooled, there were pools of peach butter. Though this is not a bad thing per se, it was difficult to serve, and not as beautiful as it could have been. In short, it was delicious, but not something I would serve at one of my dinner parties.

If I make the recipe again, I am going to cut back on both the butter and the milk to make the whole thing more solid. I will let you know how it turns out!

[apparitionism]

Road 6

I thought this was finished a couple weeks ago. Like done, locked, and I was just doing the final copyedit… but it didn’t feel right. So I started a new draft, and here’s how it ended up. As I said to @beatricethecat2 , it’s ironic, or maybe just stupidly appropriate, that I had to back up and take another, um, route. Also my car was in the shop earlier this week, though I swear what was wrong with it was unrelated to any of the things in this story. Well, okay, not completely unrelated, given that it’s, you know, a car. And actually even less unrelated than that, now that I think about it, given that the problem was with the starter. Anyway, this is the end of the, ahem, road. (Sorry.) It started in part 1 and ran through part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. All the way to here.

Road 6

One year later

It’s a long walk to get away from a several-thousand-person tent city, if you want some true desert peace. It’s a walk that stretches, stretches long, when you aren’t following any footsteps, when you’re just walking toward silence, not sure of when you’ll find its fullness.

Myka likes to take this walk. This year, she’s particularly liked to take it, and she’s done so, every evening as night has faded the day, before the cars have demanded her attention.

She has breathed in the stillness, breathed it out, let the weight, and the wait, settle on her. She would not have believed, not years ago, not even a year ago, that the desert could sit this gentle—or rather, that its heaviness could sit to the side. Present, but a sleeping animal. Settled in for the night.

****

Helena had left Colorado Springs after far too few days, but she had said she would come back. She needed to work out precisely when, she said—she was not in fact a teacher, Myka learned; instead she somehow facilitated international movements of money—but she had promised she would. “If only for a long weekend to start,” she’d said, but she had promised.

Myka had let her simple happiness at the idea have its way.

She told herself later that the difficulty they had in working out that “precisely when” should have raised a flag. Should have. Didn’t, because Myka was listening to Helena’s voice on a telephone and wrapping herself up in it, wishing the body that voice belonged to were present to be wrapped up in as well. Helena proposed a date first, but Myka said, “No, that’s right before Labor Day weekend, and my dad and I are going to a car show down in Alamosa.”

“I’ve never been to a car show. Couldn’t I go with you?”

Myka considered that for a second, but she said, “Not quite yet on that with Dad. If that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.”

And it did seem okay—the temperature of Helena’s voice had not changed—so Myka said, though she had not planned to say it, “I’ll come to you instead. To make up for it. The next weekend after, what about that?” When Helena didn’t immediately say yes or no, Myka hadn’t thought anything of it. Anything. Anything at all. She went on, “If you’ve got something to do then, it’s all right. I understand.”

That had been followed by yet another pause. But then Helena said, “I don’t have anything to do. It’s a date on the calendar, isn’t it.” Before Myka could say anything, Helena went on, “So buy a plane ticket. Or I’ll buy one for you.”

“It doesn’t matter who buys,” Myka told her. “This won’t be the only planet ticket, so it doesn’t matter.” She’d felt a little silly, how fervent she must have sounded, but Helena’s “yes” in response seemed equally so.

And in the subsequent rush of information regarding arrivals and departures and fares and layovers and seat assignments, Helena’s pauses, and any significance they might have had, migrated to a noninstrumental holding space in Myka’s head. The instrumental spaces were busy anyway, working hard to redefine Myka as someone who told someone else, with regularity, about her days. Who heard about that someone else’s days. Who felt a little heart-leap at a particular ring on the telephone. Who marveled at the warmth of the voice that greeted her, the voice that always at some point asked, “And what sorts of cars did you fix today?”

Helena would learn about Escapes and Accords, Quests and Sonatas. Myka would in turn hear of dollars, euros, yen, rubles. Rupees, kroner. Dirhams—or darahim, Helena would sometimes say, the Arabic plural. Her voice would dip low, quiet. Anything to do with Morocco, she said soft. They both said soft.

On the day before Myka was to leave for London, right as she and Alicia and Manny were starting to get everything squared away to close up the shop, as Myka was asking them yet again “and you’re sure you’ve got everything under control? because I’m sure I could put this off, if I need to,” as Alicia was threatening “Manny’s still got that arm could probably pitch you halfway there and I’ll make him do it nevermind his rotator cuff,” Myka’s phone buzzed. A text. From Helena, and so the heart-leap.

“I can’t,” it read.

Six in the evening in Colorado was one in the morning in London. Myka texted back: “Can’t what? Sleep?”

She waited. No response.

And so she texted again: “Seriously, what can’t you do?”

No response.

Her thumbs shook a little as she typed, “Are you okay?”

It was one in the morning, but she called. No answer—and Helena’s phone wasn’t off; it rang and rang before going to voicemail. Myka left a worried message—“Please let me know you’re all right”—and waited. Nothing.

“What does this mean?” she asked Alicia. “Is it a brushoff? Am I supposed to not go?”

“How should I know what you’re supposed to do?”

“But what if that’s what it is? What if I go, and then that’s what it is?” What if what if what if.

“Then I bet they got planes fly this direction too. Remember, though, she stalked you.”

“You want me to stalk her? But how do I even—I mean what would I even do—”

“You know what? From now on my mouth is shut, ’cause I don’t want you to do nothing but leave me out of it.”

Myka said, “I don’t know what to do. What do I do? This is what I was afraid would happen.” But it wasn’t at all what she had been afraid would happen. Not at all. She was trying not to let herself settle into her immediate thought, that this was the least damaging way it could end, with her just not getting on a plane. The least damaging.

Alicia was taking off her gloves, paying far more careful attention to her manicure than to Myka. “What’d I just say? I look like your therapist? Your pastor? Maybe if I’m your sponsor I tell you to go to a meeting, but I don’t know which church basement hardcore stalkers anonymous meets in. You two are messed up. Do me and Manny both a favor and go find out if you keep being messed up together or what.”

And it was true: Alicia was not Myka’s therapist, or pastor, or thank god sponsor, because Myka thank god hadn’t needed a sponsor for anything, but thank god there wasn’t really any hardcore stalkers anonymous, because she might have gone to that meeting. That night, she might have gone.

But there was no meeting. So after a night that was probably always going to have been sleepless—but that Myka had never expected to be filled with unanswered texts and calls, with the anxiety of this incomprehension rising higher and higher—she went to the garage. Four in the morning, and she would have had to be at the airport in four hours. She got under the hood of a Ford Escort station wagon.

Manny had shown up at seven. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Myka told him. “Working on this Escort.”

“With the cracked insert, that one valve?”

“Yeah.”

“It beat up the piston bad as you thought?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna fix it in half a hour?”

“Probably not.”

“Leave it for Bobby. Needs to try a job like that.” He paused. Tongued his lip. “You leaving straight from here?” Myka didn’t answer. “You got your stuff with you? In the truck?”

She shook her head.

“Better speed good on your way home then. To the airport too.” He handed her a full paper bag. “Don’t starve.” And Myka would have turned to go, but he was working on some more words. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Remember, some people. They don’t know what to say.”

That hand felt like a full-body embrace. So Myka responded, “I know what to say. I’m saying if Bobby blows that piston job, he’ll hear about it from me for the rest of his natural life. And so will you.”

Manny’s hand went to his hat. His full bottom lip curved up. “Yeah,” he said.

The trip was fourteen hours. Plane, layover, plane, layover. So much sitting. So much waiting. So little information about what she might be walking into. She went back through all the texts she and Helena had sent each other, since April, all the emails, tried to reconstruct all their phone conversations. Something was knocking at her, but she couldn’t isolate it. Couldn’t diagnose it.

On the last and longest flight, the one to London, she fell into and out of a doze, one in which she did the piston replacement over and over and over in her head, trying to send it telepathically to Bobby. The mangled piston wasn’t even the source of the problem, poor thing; the valve insert had cracked, come loose, and destroyed it… not the piston’s fault…

As she emerged from passport control at Heathrow, she searched the throng for dark hair, for familiar eyes. She was grateful that she could, for she knew plenty of people who couldn’t take too many bodies in a space anymore. Having to pay attention to that much movement, sorting out all the purposes behind all those strides and turns and gestures, meant no safety.

Myka was grateful. But she also knew plenty of people who had been fine—who had thought they knew where safety was—but then, after a while, weren’t. Didn’t.

All she’d done was fix cars, though. She tried to remind and convince herself of this, of the fact that what had happened to her was smaller than, and thus different from, what had happened to other people.

She sat down. Tried to manufacture some clarity on whether to go upstairs to the ticket counters and start getting herself back to Colorado.

But even as she sat there, her eyes still picking through the crowd, stopping briefly on any dark hair, on any wisp of a womanly body… even as she sat and looked and tried to decide, the knock began to resolve: “It’s a date on a calendar,” Helena had said.

The difference between what had happened to her and what had happened to other people. Other people in the service—but also, other people, such as Helena. Because what happened to Myka didn’t have anything to do with a date on a calendar. But what happened to Helena did.

The taxi ride was a blur in which she texted and called again and again—“I know, I know now, I didn’t understand before and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”—and then she was standing on a front stoop, hammering on a door, and Helena had to be there, she had to be, because Myka didn’t know exactly when, during that taxi ride or at any point before, she had decided she could not tolerate the idea of never seeing Helena’s face again, never hearing her voice, but that decision had been made.

“I will not accept this,” she shouted. “You came to Colorado to show me that there were consequences—and now I’m here to show you the same thing. Open this door!”

Nothing. She sat down on the stoop, her back to the door. Exhausted, desolate. Thinking about the date on the calendar.

She might have fallen asleep, right there on the cold stone steps. Might have, because the door creaked behind her, and surely that was a dream. She stood up, though. Turned around. Saw a face just as hollowed as the one she’d grown accustomed to in Morocco, its cheekbones sharp enough to carve the air, its eyes dark with no spark.

Myka opened her duffel, took out the paper bag that she had not touched, through all of those fourteen travel hours. “Manny would’ve wanted me to give this to you,” she said. “If he saw you.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

At the table in Helena’s kitchen, they shared the bag’s contents: a honey-mustard chicken sandwich, several strips of homemade beef jerky, and an apple. Three oatmeal cookies rounded out the strange breakfast, which, Myka was sure, had started its life intended to be Manny’s lunch. “He thinks he’s no good at baking,” Myka said, after she and Helena had each eaten a cookie.

“I disagree,” Helena said, and Myka handed her the third. Helena ate it fast, like an animal. Like she was afraid it would be taken away.

“Alicia and I do too,” Myka said. She watched Helena pick up the now-empty paper bag with spindly, spider-leg fingers and fold it flat. “I’ll leave if that’s what you want. If you really can’t do this. Because of what happened, or any other reason.”

“This isn’t what I can’t do. Well. Most likely it is, also, but it wasn’t what I meant.”

“Feel like telling me what?” Myka asked.

Helena sighed. “Can’t do, couldn’t do. Shouldn’t have done: look forward to this day. Of all days. I was hungering for your presence, wanting this day. But how could I? And then there was the possibility that you wouldn’t come. That you would decide you couldn’t.”

“Alicia said she was going to make Manny pitch me halfway here. I guess he sort of did that.”

Helena didn’t say anything.

“Wanting this day. I understand: that’s you betraying her. So you set me up to not show up, and I understand that too, so I could betray you, instead of you betraying her.” Myka wanted to add, with sarcasm, pretty high opinion of me you’ve got there, but she had no right to make that kind of accusation.

Helena still didn’t say anything.

“You should have told me. Yes, I should’ve figured it out sooner—a lot sooner. But you should have told me, so I wouldn’t have had to.”

“I couldn’t. Not on the telephone.” Right. I didn’t want to mediate it, she had said, of showing up in Colorado rather than using the phone. “And I thought—I suppose I did think I was better. Better able. To. Given even more time and therapy since a year ago, I thought. And a year ago, it wasn’t good, but it was better than this.”

“But a year ago you weren’t looking forward to it. To the day.” Helena dropped her head, and Myka said, to that hung head, “I don’t want to hurt you like this. Or make you hurt yourself like this. I’ll leave and come back tomorrow.” Then she added, “Or never, if that’s what you need,” because she would have to accept that. Front-stoop declaration aside, she would have to, and would, accept it. If that was what Helena needed, she would go back to Colorado and take herself apart, take out all the pieces that were coming to rely on Helena, and sell them for scrap.

Helena said, “Don’t be sweet to me. I was so cruel to you. Don’t be kind.”

“Right now it’s hard not to be. You’re an animal, and you’re starving and in pain. We all have instincts. We hand over our oatmeal cookies.” That got her no change in facial expression at all, as if all the dates on the calendar, the ones between those days in Morocco and now, had not passed at all. “Why’d you open the door?”

“What?”

“You didn’t have to open the door. I would’ve gone away eventually.”

Helena sat silent for a moment. Then she said, “Some instinct for self-preservation, I suppose. And I did feel, as a new weight, that there was only a door between us, rather than an ocean as usual.”

“And most of a continent.”

“And most of a continent,” Helena said.

Three or four days’ worth of newspapers sat in a haphazard pile at one corner of the table. Myka began aligning their corners, edges. “Why didn’t Leena check up on you?” she asked.

“She’s seeing to some business in France.”

“I would think she’d want to make sure you were okay. Today.”

“I told her I would be fine.”

“Were you lying?”

Helena grimaced. “No more than I was to you, when I said that you should buy a plane ticket.”

“She and I really need to coordinate. Make sure somebody’s around to bring you oatmeal cookies. Or maybe Manny can just throw them at you; he’s still got that arm.” Across most of a continent, and an ocean. “A table,” she said, as she squared the last section of newsprint. It wasn’t very satisfying.

“A table what?” Helena asked.

“Is between us. Will you let me fix that? You can say no. Today or any day, you can say yes or you can say no. It isn’t a test.”

“I’m so selfish.”

Everybody is, Myka might have told her. We’re animals, and we want to stop the pain. We have some weird ways of trying to—but that’s what we want. And in the end, whatever we do, it’s almost always going to be some betrayal. Somebody. Something.

What Myka did tell her was, “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

A slight eyebrow. “I thought it wasn’t a test.”

“Maybe of listening comprehension.”

“I’m selfish and tired,” Helena said, and was that the beginning of a smile?

“Me too. Both those things. That’s a long trip from Colorado.”

“Did you get no sleep at all? That’s my selfish fault as well.”

“Not just you. I was thinking about a car.”

And that was what got her a real smile at last. “Of course you were,” Helena said.

Myka stayed for her scheduled five days, but those days weren’t easy. That might have been entirely due to the near-disaster of the beginning. Then again something else might always have been lurking that would have tripped them up, no matter the date on the calendar. They had easy moments—a conversation would click perfectly, a touch would glide into silken intimacy—but they seemed at other times to be trying to grope their way backward to some version of tenderness they had felt before. Backward, not forward.

At the airport, at the end of those uneasy five days, they couldn’t seem to get the goodbye right. They couldn’t even get the goodbye kiss right. It was all bad aim and mismatched intentions.

Myka said a rueful “I keep telling you I’m terrible at everything but fixing cars.”

Helena frowned. “You are fishing for compliments,” she said. But then she quirked the corners of her lips upward. “Again.”

One little smile, one small word, and then they were getting a kiss, one only disguised as goodbye, very very right.

“We don’t start well, do we,” Myka said. “Ever.”

Helena shrugged. “We finish all right. I’d rather that than the reverse.”

“You know what I think the real problem was, this time?”

That made Helena’s smile fade. “I have a guess.”

“You’d be wrong.”

“All right, then. Tell me your theory.”

“We didn’t watch any sunsets. Five whole days and no sunsets.” Myka shook her head. “I don’t even know who we are anymore.”

That yielded yet another small smile, which in turn led to yet another embrace, one that didn’t bother pretending to be anything other than itself.

Myka eventually boarded a plane. But she and Helena never did quite get the goodbye right.

****

Myka has particularly liked to take this walk, this year, and not just because of the way her footsteps create a path to tranquility. She’s liked to take it because every night, Helena has followed those footsteps and met Myka at the end of them, often in the moonshadow of a dune.

“Assure me you asked no one for sunscreen,” Helena had said, the first night.

And Myka told her, “I am your property.”

Helena had made very clear how much she appreciated that. “My property tastes like sand,” she breathed into Myka’s mouth.

They leaned together against the dune’s concave slip face, against the cool top layer of sand, its heat already stolen back by the setting of the sun.

Tonight, Myka says, “Essaouira tomorrow.” Helena nods against her, a bit of grit and grate, sandy skin on sandy skin. Myka can’t see the difference between Helena’s arms, in the dusk, but she can feel it in their temperature: the radiant heat of the burnt left; the soft mineral cool of the right. “Are you ready for this to be over?”

“It’s been… intense.” Helena’s hands have found a strip of velcro on Myka’s vest, and now a slight, sharp rip, rip, rip echoes in the sliver of space between their bodies. Myka feels the press, just below her sternum, preceding each rip. Helena goes on, “But yes. I’m ready.”

“And has it given you what you wanted? What you needed?”

“I think so.”

****

Myka had not realized how much she had wanted—maybe even needed—to see Driss again, but to be reunited with him was a small miracle in itself.

The first story that tumbled out of him, as they sat in the truck together, had to do with his recent acquisition of Nike basketball shoes: “Airjordan!” he exclaimed, as if it really were just one word, and then, similarly, “Oldschool!” The second story (and that it came second made Myka laugh, then sigh) concerned the fact that he had fallen in love, but the family of the object of his affections happened to be unimpressed with the idea of a son-in-law with grease and oil under his fingernails, and so he and his intended would have to elope if there was to be any hope for their destined-to-be-epic romance, but her father seemed a vengeful sort, so they would need to elope to the very moon! And stay there! Myka told him there was a garage in Colorado—slightly closer than the moon, but probably beyond a vengeful father’s reach—where she could put in a good word for him, given that she owned the place.

She’d thought she was joking with him, but instead of laughing, he blinked at her. In disbelief? “Je suis propriétaire,” she assured him. “Vraiment!” I am the owner. Really!

It became clear that he had never seriously considered eloping to any place other than the moon—and possibly that he had not seriously considered eloping, or even marrying, at all. Yet he did with great seriousness begin practicing his extremely poor English on Myka and interrogating her about every aspect of life in the United States. The hip-hop is very good, she found herself assuring him in response to his anxious query, though she knew nothing of the sort.

“It, is, oldschool?” he asked, like she might be able to tell him there really was a Santa Claus after all.

She was pretty sure Alicia and Manny didn’t know or care much more about hip-hop than she herself did. She was also pretty sure that if Driss did come to the States, everyone was likely to receive a lot of education about a lot of things.

When Myka and Driss received a call for assistance, on the second day of the first two-day leg, Myka didn’t think anything of it; Driss was the one who said, “Peut-être ton p’tit fantôme et sa belle amie, comme l’autre fois?” Maybe your little ghost and her beautiful friend, like the other time?

Myka noted that he probably shouldn’t be attending quite so closely to other women’s beauty, given that he was involved in a destined-to-be-epic romance. He squinted at her and pointed out that Myka’s little ghost and that little ghost’s friend were in fact very beautiful, and how did romance affect the factual elements of this situation or any other?

She conceded the point.

The picture that greeted them as they approached the vehicle in distress was uncanny in its similarity to the one from two years ago—this black woman and this white woman, sitting in the sand, on the shade side of their 4x4. Time doesn’t move backward, Myka had to remind herself. There was a slight difference in that this time, a flat tire marred the visual. It was the only thing that did, for Driss was correct about the factual elements of this situation: Helena and Leena were, in fact, very beautiful.

“I’m just as glad you didn’t blow a shock again, even for the symmetry,” Myka called to Helena, “because I’d prefer the both of you stay in one piece. But how’d you manage to engineer it so we were closest?”

“Completely by chance,” Helena said. She smiled as Myka neared her, and there could have been no more acute a reminder that time did move in only one direction.

Myka said “I don’t believe you,” but she kissed Helena anyway. Driss made a high little ululation, clearly his version of a wolf-whistle. Myka told him, “Regardes la voiture, mec.” Look at the car—and she was unsure what she meant in English with that “mec.” Something like “you big-hearted oversharer.”

“Cette voiture-là? Pfft, ennuyeuse,” he said. The car there? Boring.

“Hm,” said Leena, “mais que penses-tu d’elles?” But what do you think of them? She waved her hands at Myka and Helena.

Driss nodded. “Interessantes. Très interessantes.” Interesting. Very interesting. Then, as if he were a film director, he called out, “Mais un peu de modestie s’il vous plaît! Sinon ce spectacle donnera à ce timide marocain une crise cardiaque!” But a little modesty, please! Otherwise this spectacle will give this shy Moroccan a heart attack!

Leena was at pains to explain that this spectacle did not even qualify as a spectacle where these two were concerned. Driss promptly faked a heart attack. Then he winked at Myka, a big-hearted I’ll deal with the tire, Romeo wink.

“It’s probably good that they both feel like they can make jokes,” Myka said to Helena.

“Probably. I suppose you should be pleased she isn’t talking about your machete. I’m not sure Driss would fully appreciate the humor.”

It was true that it was now a joke: when Leena had joined Myka and Helena in Tangier, right before the driving teams were to claim their vehicles, Myka had said to Leena, as her first words after hello, “Now don’t disappoint me,” and Leena had known precisely what her own line was: “Did you bring your machete?”

“It isn’t a machete,” Myka said. A sentence she had certainly never expected to utter with a grin on her face.

“Oh well,” Leena said, “I guess I’ll have to find somebody else to track down this stray”—she nodded toward Helena—“when she wanders off into the desert.”

“Don’t you dare,” both Myka and Helena had said.

****

Tonight, Myka and Helena walk back together. Driss is waiting, and he gives Myka his customary tch-tch chide. “Les camions nous attendent.” The trucks are waiting for us. Then he says to Helena, “Ça va, petit fantôme?”

“Je suis fatiguée,” Helena tells him. “De conduire.” I’m tired. Of driving.

“Mais demain, aaaahh,” he says. “Demain la mer.” Tomorrow the sea.

****

They had met in Tangier, she and Helena, a day before the vehicles arrived. Because, Helena had said, when would Myka be inclined to go to Morocco again?

“Maybe every year again,” Myka had countered. “You don’t know.”

“Nor do you.”

So a day early, they went to the Fondouk Chejra, as Myka had never had time to do. They watched the weavers—rather, Helena watched the weavers. Myka watched Helena watch them: her slight twitch at each clack of the pedal that separated the threads of the warp, her little nostril-flare of an inhalation when the man on one side of the loom would slide-toss the spool of wool through those threads. The way her hands echoed, with barely perceptible finger movements, each catch of the spool by the man on the other side. And back again the other way, and back again: clack, toss, catch; clack, toss, catch; over and over, faster and faster.

Helena had stood here a year ago, most likely watching just like this, her body reacting involuntarily just like this, all these precious movements wasted,  unobserved, as Myka waited for her under the hoods of cars, all unaware that she was waiting, unable to see beyond the next minute.

Myka said, “I want—” She stopped.

Helena turned away from the weavers. “What do you want?”

“I don’t mean it as a demand.” And she didn’t. Only as a want.

“What do you want?”

As a want, and as a plaint: “To spend more time with you.”

And in response, a dispensation. “I want that too.”

****

Under a truck in a tent city in the middle of the desert, Myka is replacing a broken exhaust hanger. These hangers, nothing more than rubber bands on steroids, play a disproportionately large part in the exhaust system. That system is based around the exhaust manifold, a large piece of cast iron whose job is to funnel hot exhaust away from the engine and into the pipes that convey it out of the car. The pipes are held up by the exhaust hangers—but if the hangers break, then the manifold has to support the entire system. And cast iron is strong and long-lasting, but it’s also very, very heavy. The manifold can barely hold up its own weight; give it more responsibility, and it will begin to crack.

As the cracks widen, the noises start. At first nothing more than clicks and whistles, little sounds that might be anything. Easy to ignore. Easy, for a while, to tolerate, even as those little sounds begin to gather together, to gain volume, to clamor for attention, but at last even accustomed ears have no choice but to recognize the roar for what it is: a herald of catastrophic failure.

Myka executes this small fix—broken rubber donut off, new one on. It rescues the manifold, but it’s only a temporary save. Heat will get it in the end, or rather, heat cycles will. Heat, cool, heat, cool, expand and contract. Everything that expands and contracts will eventually, inevitably break.

It might happen today; it might happen tomorrow. It’s impossible to know. Might as well stay on the road till it does.

****

When Helena had said, during a telephone conversation not long after Myka’s London trip, “What about the Gazelles,” Myka had responded, “What about them? I thought we decided they’re mythical.”

Helena huffed the start of a laugh. Then she asked, “Would you go back?

“Back? You mean back to working it every year?”

“Not necessarily every year. Just this next one.”

“You want me to go back to fixing cars in the desert.”

“Just for a little while.”

“Would you be driving around in that same desert?” Myka asked, with skepticism.

“Well. Yes.”

“But why? You didn’t seem to like it that much the first time. Even aside from the circumstances.”

“Well, Leena did, and I know she wants to try navigating it once more. But there is another reason.”

“Is there?” She had no idea what Helena was heading for.

“It’s what you said: we don’t start well.” Helena paused. “So I would like some closure.”

“Closure of what?” Myka asked, with rising panic, because if that were the end it would not be the least damaging, not at all, and Myka could feel that damage taking hold, right in her office, her phone at her ear. How could Helena say this kind of thing over the phone? Helena was hardly happy to say hello over the phone, so how could she—

Helena’s voice, its warmest version, took away all that panic: took it right away and replaced it with hope, as she said two very simple words: “The beginning.”

****

What can anyone give you that you don’t already have?

These lists. These lists, these things, and purposeful time to apprehend them.

Moroccan hip-hop artists that an auto mechanic considers oldschool. The polishes, paints, and protections that may be applied to fingernails. Statistics of minor-league pitchers. (Two no-hitters, pre–rotator cuff.) Techniques of navigation, and its oldest tools: moon, stars, sun. The setting of that sun. A scarf woven from all the colors of Essaouira. One imperfectly tied knot. A beginning, and that beginning’s end. The verb connecting I and you.

Tomorrow, the sea.

END

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fanfic #road #part 6 #au week #you know what took me the longest to write? #the description of the exhaust system #and it's still not quite right #anyway myka's trip was always going to be the largest set piece #but it refused for a while to come into correct focus #there was e.g. a version that included violence #and while i don't think that was entirely wrong #it wasn't entirely right either #and even if this version isn't entirely right #i think it's righter #thanks for indulging my attempt at this thing #in conclusion #i have listened to a lot of moroccan hip hop