When the sorcerer found the dragon, it was attacking a grape.
This was only possible because the dragon was not much larger than a grape itself, but she still had to do a double take to be sure the object it was fighting with such animosity was in fact inanimate.
She crouched so that her eyes were level with the top of the table and squinted at it. The dragon sank its tiny fangs into the grape’s skin and gave a great tug, succeeding only in throwing it and the grape into a backwards tumble. The tiny green reptile rolled to a stop with its whole body wrapped around the grape and shook its head ferociously, managing to pull its teeth out but also launching the grape across the table. It gave a mighty roar of anger (about as loud as a human clearing their throat) and stalked after it, tail swishing dangerously.
“Do you need help?” she offered.
The dragon froze mid-prowl and whipped its head around to look at her, looking so offended she almost apologized for asking.
“I mean, I could peel it for you, if that’s the problem.” She wasn’t sure it was getting the message. One could never tell how much human language these little creatures picked up by hanging around the magic labs. Some understood only such essentials as “scat!” or “oh fuck, that sure did just explode”, while others could hold entire conversations — if they deigned to interact.
This one looked like it was deciding whether she was worthy. Finally, it sniffed daintily and flicked its tail, scales clacking together. “Little monster is my prey, and you can’t have it. Found it first. Will devour it!”
“Oh, sure,” she agreed. “But you know it’s a grape, right?”
This was the wrong thing to say. It glared at her and then bounded away to the other end of the table, where it slithered up to the grape and pounced on it.
Grape and dragon promptly rolled off the edge of the table.
The sorcerer quickly went around to that side, alarmed that it would be stepped on. The labs were bustling with shoppers stopping by to watch demonstrations this time of day, and a small dragon wouldn’t be easily visible on the blue and green tiled floor.
“Horrible! Dirty!” The tiny dragon was screeching at the top of its lungs, holding onto its prey for dear life. It would have been hard to hear anyway, with all the noise of the labs, but with the sorcerer’s diminished hearing it took several seconds to locate the screaming creature.
She scanned the pattern of the tiles for it and sighed. “Oh, hold on, we mopped this morning.” She cupped her hands around it and deposited it into her skirt pocket, an indignity the dragon endured only with more screaming.
“An outrage! Put me down!”
“Shh,” she advised. Lab workers were strongly discouraged from bringing creatures into the back rooms, which was where she was heading, picking her way through the crowded front lab.
“Fuck pockets!” her pocket responded.
“Oh, you can curse. Wonderful.”
The dragon seemed to take this as an actual compliment. “Am multitalented. Can also compose poetry.”
“Really? Can I hear some?”
“No. For dragon ears only.” It sounded viciously pleased to hold this over her head. The bulge in her pocket rearranged itself, and she thought it might be trying to gnaw on the grape.
She felt herself smiling even as she tried to squash her mouth into a straight line. She liked this little bad-tempered thing, even though its spiky feet were digging into her thigh.
In the much quieter kitchen of the back rooms behind the lab, she transferred the wriggling, scaly handful from her pocket to the table. The dragon hissed out a few more insults as it got up and straightened itself out, but its jaw fell open when it finally took in its surroundings. She’d set it down next to the fruit bowl.
“There you go. Food mountain.”
The dragon’s shock didn’t last long. Abandoning the grape, it scraped and scrabbled its way up the side of the bowl and from there onto an apple, its claws leaving tiny puncture marks as it hiked to the top of the arrangement. “Food mountain!” It repeated, its gleeful crowing much clearer and almost sing-song without having to compete with the noise of the crowd.
She watched it turn in a circle, surveying the feast. “But… cannot eat it all,” it observed after a while, crestfallen. “Human-sized. Big shame.”
“Don’t you have nest-mates who can help you with it?” she asked. She had assumed not, from the way it had apparently been foraging for food on its own, but she needed to be sure she’d found a loner.
“No nest. No mates. No nest-mates. You’re rude.” It flopped down ungracefully, wings spread out flat on the apple like it was trying to hug the entire much-larger fruit.
She gave it a moment to be dramatic, and then offered it the grape, minus the peel. “You seem to have a good grasp on human-speak.”
It grabbed the grape without so much as a thank you. “Yes. Have composed poetry in both Dragonese and Humanese. Not for humans to hear, though.” Bragging cheered it up a little.
“You mentioned. I can’t hear very well, anyway.” She pulled up a stool and sat down. “Actually, I’ve been looking for a helper.”
“An assistant,” it said, apparently showing off its Humanese. “An attendant. An aid.”
She watched it bury its snout in the grape, juice dribbling down onto the apple it sat on. “Yes. A hearing aid. How would you feel about having a job?”
It smiled craftily. “Would feel positively, if job comes with chocolate chips.”
“It could,” she said, grinning. She had some friends who employed bird-sized dragons as messengers, but this was the first time she’d heard of one negotiating its salary for itself. “It certainly could. What’s your name?”
“Peep,” said Peep. “It is self-explanatory.”
“Don’t worry, I got it.”
Peep expressed its doubt that humans ever got anything, but she thought the tiny, prickly creature might be warming up to her.
Fuck pockets! XD
This is THE MOST ADORABLE
I want this as a novel, an audiobook, a movie and a graphic novel
Category: Uncategorized
Sometimes I think about the fact that Steve Rogers was actually so fucking young in Avengers 1 and cry
Like this kid had already been involved in one of the bloodiest wars in human history. He’d watched his best friend fall to his death. He’d died for his country before the age of what, 25? 26? And then someone drags him out of the ice and hands him a blanket and pushes him back into SHIELD’s waiting arms, back to fight another war, another battle, because to him they must just never end. Seventy Years passed and nothing has changed. He’s still being told to die. And I think a lot of people just don’t realise this, but he’s still in his mid-twenties. He’s leading a team of people he doesn’t know in a world that is completely foreign to him and it’s only been five years since he was in his teens.
Steve Rogers is so old that he forgets that he’s actually really, really fucking young. I don’t think, even once in his entire life, he has ever been able to act his own age.
Prompt: Could you please write a ficlet about the team’s reaction to Solnishka and Zvedochka’s relationship in the beginning (but before they really got to know them), specifically when they realized the exact purpose of Solnishka and why Hydra kept him alive and close to Zvedochka all these years? Would they feel sick at the thought that Hydra gave Solnishka to Zvedochka as a sex slave? Would they want to get Solnishka away from him because they thought it was wrong/immoral/not fair to him?
Here we are, like two years after I got this prompt, and I finally finished it. This takes place directly after the Sun & the Star. Same warnings for that fic apply to this one. Sorry in advance if any of the Russian is wrong!
–
Being rescued is not so different from what they’re used to, Solnishka thinks.
Chanukah Cooking…
A few months ago, I picked up a little cookbook. Some of the older Jewish housewives among you may have heard of it. It’s the “Jewish Festival Cookbook.”. It’s a slim, innocuous little tome. And lemme tell you. This little one is special. More special than any other cookbook in my collection. Published in 1954, it tries to hide the scars of family lost in the holocaust. And it does a very good job. But for what is, in essence, a manual of what to serve and how to observe Jewish holidays and keeping Kashrut/Kosher/Pareve/etc. But underneath, you see and feel the sadness and scars. I love this little book, “The Jewish Festival Cookbook”, because unlike my 3 Joy of Cooking and 4 Fannie Famers, or any other of the 100 or so food and cook books I have, this book has soul. A defiance and a sadness that most books, even fiction or non-fiction never achieve. And I really love the intense sense of defiance and remembrance this book imparts throughout.
So, without further ado and because I transcribed it for @ogtumble, and he wanted me to post it.. I use it without permission of the authors or their respective estates, and I sincerely apologize for that. If I knew who you were I’d happily pay you for use. There are a couple notes at the end that are by me.
==================
From “The Jewish Festival Cookbook”, by Fannie Engle & Gertrude Blair, (1954), Pgs. 84 to 86.
Among the most famous of these traditional dairy dishes are cheese latkes, and many legends have grown up about them. It is told that in year gone by Sephardic women of Spain & Portugal would get together on the last night of the festival for a party of their own. They would enjoy music and laughter and amusing stories, and great quantities of cheese latkes were served throughout the evening. Instead of being prepared with the familiar spread of jam or syrup, they were sprinkled with olive oil, symbolic of the ancient miracle.
Judith’s Cheese Latkes
(cheese pancakes)3 Eggs, well beaten
1 cup Milk
1 cup dry Pot Cheese
1 cup Flour
1 teaspoon Baking Powder
½ teaspoon Salt
To the beaten eggs, add milk & cheese. Sift the dry ingredients together and stir into the eggs. Blend to smoothness. Drop by spoonfuls into hot fat in a frying pan. Cook to delicate brown on both sides. Serve with syrup or jam. Serves 4 or 5.
In some European countries where Jewish families settled, it was difficult to obtain cottage cheese in wintertime. Devoted as they might be to latkes made with cottage cheese, they had no choice but to find a worthy substitute for this ingredient. Their success may be judged by the present-day popularity of potato latkes. These are an inspired use of the potato, one of the most commonly used vegetables in those parts. Potato latkes now enjoy international fame. They are unquestionably the most popular of Chanukah dishes.
Potato Latkes
(Potato Pancakes)6 medium-sized Potatoes
1 small Onion
1 teaspoon Salt
1 Egg
3 Tablespoons Flour, Matza Meal, or Bread Crumbs
½ teaspoon Baking Powder
Wash, pare, and grate raw Potatoes. Strain but not too dry, and use the juice for soup or sauce. If juice is retained, a little more flour will be needed for thickening. Grate and add the Onions, add Salt and the Egg. Beat well. Mix remaining ingredients and beat into Potatoes; mix well. Drop by spoonfuls into hot fat that is deep enough to almost cover the cake. Brown on both sides. Drain on absorbent paper. Serve with applesauce, if desired. Serves 4 or 5.
Every country, and often, so it would seem, every family, has its own favorite latkes. Our Polish butcher who comes from Schochov tells us that his mother taught him this rhyme when he was a boy.
“If latkes you would make,
Salt & eggs and flour take.
Eat with jest and song and rhyme
At the festive Chanukah time.”His mother’s ratzelach, which are really latkes, are still so vivid in his mind that he cannot think of Chanukah without remembering them. Here is her recipe as he told it to us, explaining that he had noted the ingredients she used while he helped make them by beating the eggs.
Ratzelach from Poland
(Pancakes from Poland)1 cup Flour
½ teaspoon Salt
1 cup Milk
3 Eggs, well beaten
Confectioner’s Sugar
Sift together the flour and salt; make a well in the center and pour in the milk; stirring, from center out, to form a smooth batter. Add eggs and enclose with folding motions. This should be a very thin batter. Melt a very little fat in a medium-sized frying pan, greasing the surface well. When hot, pour in just enough batter to cover the bottom of the pan, tilting it from side to side to spread the batter to the edges. Brown first on one side and then on the other. Stack 5 or 6 ratzelach, sprinkling confectioner’s sugar or crushed sugar between the layers; then cut in to wedges for serving. Makes about 15 ratzelach. Serves 2 or 3.
Crushed sugar has little meaning in a modern recipe, but not many years ago sugar was available only in long hardcones. Pieces were broken off with a wooden mallet, then pounded fine between towels. This is the crushed sugar, often a light brown, that used to be served over stacks of ratzelach.
(Personal note: Two things. I have no clue what Pot Cheese is. I’ve never heard of it and can’t find any information on it. I imagine that you could just use a decent melting cheese. Also, while I was transcribing this, it hit me. One of the major patterns of immigration was that adult children emigrated, while parents usually stayed in the home country. Upper middle class immigrants usually brought mom & dad over. But for middle middle class and lower, this was a luxury that was frequently unaffordable. It is entirely possible, that the Polish butcher’s mother was lost in the holocaust, and she should be remembered when you make the ratzelach.)
For a cookbook published in 1954, I think it is very likely that Mmes Engle and Blair, the Polish butcher from Schochov, and his mother are all “of blessed memory” at this point. Blest are we who get to benefit from their lives, stories, and the works of their hands.
Pot cheese is a type of soft crumbly, unaged cheese. It is very simple to make and also highly versatile making it a very popular cheese but it may be hard to find in stores. Pot cheese is in the midway stage between cottage cheese and farmer cheese. It is somewhat dry and crumbly but with a neutral, creamy texture and is very high in protein. It is most similar to cream cheese, ricotta, and the Mexican queso blanco. In New York and its environs it was frequently served in a bowl topped with cut-up vegetables.
In Austria, Topfen (pot cheese) is another name for Quark.

an educational graphic about critical thinking for tumnblr
The all important journalist questions,
and then some.A missing line from Why:
“If you really want to be
a critical reader, it turns out you have to step back one step
further, and ask not just whether the author is telling the truth,
but why he’s writing about this subject at all.“That is an excellent addition.
One other one for How: “how could this be exploited by someone acting in bad faith?” Closely coupled with a What: “what are the limits on the ill-effects this could produce?”
And a quick check for double standards: “who, or what, is the speaker not applying this principle to?”
I still think Moana deserved an Oscar for this part
To me, the moral of Moana is that only women can help other women heal from male violence.
The movie starts with the idea that the male god who wronged Te Fiti must be the one to heal her. This seems to make a certain sort of intuitive sense in that I think we all believe that if you do something wrong you should try to make it right. But how does he try to right it? Through more violence. Of course that failed.
It was only when another woman, Moana, saw past the “demon of earth and fire” that the traumatized Te Fiti had become (what a good metaphor for trauma, right?) and met her with love instead of violence that she was able to heal. Note that they do the forehead press before Moana restores the heart, while Te Fiti is still Te Kā. Moana doesn’t wait for her beautiful island goddess to appear in all her green splendor before greeting and treating her as someone deserving of love.
Moana is only able to restore the heart because Te Kā reveals her vulnerability and allows Moana to touch her there. Maui and his male violence could only ever have resulted in more ruin.
…this is exactly what I was trying to say and you put it beautifully. @i-want-cheese This is why the scene makes me tear up every damn time. Women’s honest, ugly reaction to trauma is almost never even depicted in films, let alone honored the way it is in Moana. Te Fiti doesn’t have to “rise above” being violated before she’s allowed to heal. Moana sees her and says
I know your name
They have stolen the heart from inside you
But this does not define youShe utterly accepts Te Fiti’s rage, her fear, her lashing out at anyone who comes near the remains of her ravaged
bodyisland. Female ugliness isn’t punished, it’s mourned and loved. What an indescribably comforting moment.

honestly Clint’s description of Bucky here just sounds like someone with a schoolboy crush.
Tales of Suspense #100 (2017) | w: Matthew Rosenberg, a: Travis Foreman, c: Rachelle Rosenberg
#I am just going to assume whoever wrote this did this intentionally#because basically Bunsen does stupid shit and Beaker gets blown up for it
OH MY GAWD YOU’RE RIGHT
tales of suspense 100
People forget Clint is an actual facts acrobat AND THAT IS A CRIME
rave sashayed!!!!!! my love!!!! i have a question, which is how do u feel about jewish bucky?? i assume u really like that idea but i’m curious ur feelings anyway because, for myself as a jew, i LOVE jewish bucky (fanfic writers making characters jewish is actually generally like a weird secret pleasure of mine) but i was wondering ur thoughts? do u like it? love it? do u suffer imagining a post-winter soldier seder like i do, with steve and nat and sam and singing dayenu?? <3
welI i think you do already know the answer, my sweet opossum, but to confirm: I LOVE JEWISH BUCKY!!!!! I LOVE JEWISH BUCKY. In fact, now that I have read Jewish Bucky, it seems so obvious and correct that I am shocked not to have assumed it before.
I hope Bucky’s bubbe looked just like my great-great-great-whatever and taught Bucky to swear in Yiddish with such vivid, paint-peeling eloquence that old guys beating him at chess would take their hats off in laughing respect. I hope he taught Steve to do that too. I hope the first thing Bucky told his ma about Steve was that the kid was a twig but damn he had chutzpah and Bucky’s ma gave him a clip on the ear for swearing. I hope Bucky associates candlelight with home, with the gleam of it in his ma’s pinned-back hair, her blue Friday night dress. I hope Bucky only eats Hebrew National hot dogs but it’s because they TASTE better, Steve, come on. (I’m assuming they sold Hebrew National at Ebbetts Field since the owners were Brooklynites but if they didn’t he probably did what he had to – you can’t just NOT EAT HOT DOGS at a baseball game – then put aside some time on Yom Kippur to apologize for eating treif and, you know, probably eating it again in the future tbh.) I hope he brought his ma’s matzoh ball soup over when Steve was sick and MAYBE Mrs. Barnes even gave Sarah Rogers the recipe because it’s literally the best thing when you’re sick and come on, they’re mishpocheh. I hope he tells the longest and funniest ritual grandpa jokes. I HOPE SOMEDAY BUCKY GETS TO HAVE A NICE HOME, JUST A DECENT APARTMENT WITH A HAND-PAINTED MEZUZAH BY THE DOOR BC YOU KNOW HE DIDN’T HAVE A CHANCE TO PUT ONE UP IN BUCHAREST!!! HE KNEW HE WOULDN’T BE THERE FOR LONG, HE HASN’T LIVED ANYWHERE PERMANENT SINCE HE WAS A KID, POOR BUCKY, WHERE DID THESE FEELINGS COME FROM I WANT THEM TO STOP!!!!!
Anyway so yes, obviously I also love thinking about everyone at seder also, especially because think how nice it would be for Wanda!!!! (Plus is there any reason for Natasha not to also be Jewish? There isn’t? Great, cool, Natasha is Jewish now.) (Ant-Man is probably fake Jewish, Jew….ish, half on his dad’s side, like me.) Please imagine that Bucky has forgotten how long it takes to get to the FOOD PARTS of seder and like, the ritual is important, he’s not objecting to that, it’s just that he’s a supersoldier now and he’s HUNGRY. but it’s fine, he’s just getting increasingly cranky and reading really fast. Please feel free also to imagine Sam and Bucky, fully grown adult men, getting INCREDIBLY hostile and competitive about finding the Afikomen that Steve hid slightly too well
eroticadventurerofderangedkind:
Richard Ayoade-The son that Jermaine Clement and Taika Waititi sadly cannot have.






