#belated black hole week post

[studywithtarun]

22 and 23 September

It is so surprising that the month going to end in about 2 weeks it feels like a constant loop of time which somewhat tells like black holes but regardless of that let me say what happened on Sunday and Monday

Here is also my morning routine video and my notion shorts which I made 😇 pleaseee subscribe to my channel guys !

Sunday

So spent my day eating sadhya and celebrating belated Onam! So in AIIMS Nagpur ( where my mom works and I live 😅) Onam celebration postponed by a week due to issues but the celebration was as amazing as planned and for note for people - sadhya means lunch (special) I wanted to take pic of it but I was to indulged in eating it that I forgot!

So did not study much just enjoyed !

Monday

Today I actually studied and also crushed through chem math and bio 🥹 but also created my new notion template which you guys musttt check out 😊!

I have already killed too much Brian cells because of such a long post soooo byieee!

Tarun

[quasarlasar]

Lesser Known Black Hole Misconceptions

During NASA’s Black Hole Week I saw a lot of social media posts, press releases, videos etc. that were not really correct. 

One big issue with science communication about black holes is that while it has gotten good at dispelling the trivial myths (like “black holes suck everything into them and so you should be afraid Sgr A* will kill us all”) it has perpetuated other myths that require more detailed knowledge of general relativity and astronomy to debunk. 

I thought it would be interesting to go over some of these misconceptions...

Myth: Stuff that falls into a black hole appears to freeze just outside the event horizon from the perspective of an outside observer.

Reality: Stuff that falls into a black hole disappears from view quickly.

People who perpetuate this one usually say it’s because time dilation makes the stuff appear to stop moving. But time dilation also causes the photons released by the object to be redshifted, and for fewer photons to be released with each moment of time. The end result is that the stuff will get exponentially fainter, and become invisible to your eyes.

Myth: You can’t escape the event horizon because the escape velocity is the speed of light.

Reality: You can’t escape the event horizon because no paths through space-time lead outward.

This myth is technically correct...but insufficient. It is possible to escape an object with less than its escape velocity if you continuously apply a thrust. This is in fact how rockets are launched from the Earth. If escape velocity = light speed were all there was to a black hole, then you could escape a black hole with a strong rocket.

But you can’t. For once you cross the event horizon, all paths through space-time are so warped that no paths lead outward. This is the true power of a black hole: the curvature of space-time is such that nothing inside can ever causally affect the outside. 

Myth: A singularity is an infinitely dense point.

Reality: Singularities are where space-time is incomplete.

This one is a really obscure misconception. A lot of people say infinite density is what defines a singularity, but technically it’s something called “geodesic incompleteness.” Basically a space-time contains a singularity when paths through it abruptly come to an end. The singularity isn’t really an object in space-time so much as an edge to space-time itself. Approach a singularity, and curvature increases asymptotically to infinity and space-time itself ends  and you simply cease to exist.

For this reason, a singularity can’t really be an infinitely dense point of stuff. As far as classical general relativity goes, stuff that falls into a black hole is destroyed at the singularity. 

It is often thought that a true quantum theory of gravity will replace the singularities with something else, but for now, the singularities represent where we cannot tell how space-time continues beyond.

Myth: The singularity’s gravity creates the black hole.

Reality: Black holes are self-perpetuating.

Once an imploding object collapses into a black hole, forms an event horizon, and destroys itself in a singularity, it’s gone. The rest of the Universe doesn’t even know it ever existed. But its gravity continues on, because the curvature of space-time created in the process can create perpetuate itself due to the nonlinearity of Einstein’s equations. Essentially a black hole is pure gravity. The singularity isn’t some solid object that curves space-time to create the black hole; the curved space-time is the black hole. 

Myth: Black holes are very dense objects.

Reality: Black holes are empty space-time.

This is related to the preceding myth. Black holes are vacuum solutions to Einstein’s field equations, and don’t have any matter anywhere save for what’s falling into them at the moment. Their mass comes from the ability of gravity to source itself.

You might think that at the very least you’d need a very high density of matter to make it implode in on itself and create a black hole in the first place, but this isn’t necessarily true either. You could make a supermassive black hole just by filling a solar system with regular density water. 

Myth: A black hole’s internal radius is its Schwarzschild radius.

Reality: A black hole’s internal radius is not well defined.

The Schwarzschild radius is the radius of circumference of the event horizon for a non-rotating black hole, and is very famous because it is easy to calculate. Many people assume that if it is the radius of the event horizon, then it must also be the distance from the horizon to the center of the black hole, like the black hole is a spherical volume.

Unfortunately, this neglects the fact that space-time inside a black hole is extremely curved. In fact, it is curved in such a way that the distance to the center of the black hole is not well defined. It is time dependent, and changes depending on your choice of coordinates.

Curved space-time is really difficult to get your head around. Visualizing curved spaces in flat space-time is simple enough, but curved space-time itself? It messes with things we find sacrosanct, like distances and volumes, and it’s impossible to map it all onto a single coordinate system. It’s not like those “bowling ball on a sheet” analogies you often see...it’s something far more complex and abstract.

Myth: Black holes kill galaxies.

Reality: The jury’s still out on who did it.

This one is just an oversimplification I see a lot in popular science media of the phenomenon known as “AGN feedback.” The simplest version of the idea is that supermassive black holes drive powerful winds and jets that drive the gas out of their galaxy and shut down its star formation. 

However, the current evidence suggests the picture is a *lot* more complicated, with many galaxies not suffering this problem at all, and the galaxies that are often thought of as having been ‘killed’ in this way (the giant ellipticals) may not have been ‘killed’ solely by their supermassive black holes. It’s still uncertain how much AGN feedback played a role in quenching star formation versus major mergers, minor mergers, or even the stars themselves blowing out the gas and choking off their own formation (like through supernovae and stellar winds). 

(Also this should be clear, but when astronomers say a galaxy is ‘dead,’ the galaxy and all its stars and planets still exists! It just isn’t forming many new stars anymore. Supermassive black holes still won’t kill you.)

Myth: Quasars are powered by black holes shredding and devouring stars.

Reality: Quasars are powered by black holes accreting gas clouds.

I’ve seen many people (some of whom are [astro]physicists and should know better) state that quasars are powered by supermassive black holes that are shredding several suns every year. In reality, this isn’t what’s going on. In the center of a galaxy, everything’s moving very fast, so objects need to come close to each other and lose angular momentum to each other to fall into the black hole. Stars are compact and so don’t really get close enough to interact strongly with each other. Gas clouds are much larger and are able to collide with each other, canceling out their momentum and allowing them to fall into the black hole.

As such, while they’re famous for eating stars and planets, most of a black hole’s diet is gas and dust. In that regard, they’re kind of like predators maligned as man-eaters, like sharks. 

Myth: Heavily accreting black holes always launch big jets.

Reality: Some don’t!

One weird thing that scientists have learned from studying variability in stellar black holes is that jets seem to be most prominent in low accretion states. At higher accretion states, the jets at first get more powerful, but eventually they break up into blobs and become a broad wind instead. 

Supermassive black holes do not vary on short enough timescales for us to really see jets turning on and off, but we can observe the population of actively accreting supermassive black holes and try to piece together a progression of accretion states from that. Drawings of quasars always show them with big old honking jets spewing out for many light years around, but it turns out many (perhaps even most) quasars don’t have observable jets! It just so happens quasars were first discovered in radio waves, and the only quasars that are prominent in radio are the ones with clearly visible jets.

Most supermassive black holes with prominent jets are in radio galaxies, which aren’t accreting at high rates. Some think that the minority of quasars which are radio loud might represent the supermassive equivalent of the transition state observed in stellar black holes. 

However it is entirely possible that the quasars that don’t have jets do indeed have them, it’s just that we cannot see them because they are pointed away from us. This is still an active area of research!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This may be confusing but honestly, I like science so much in part because I love all the nitty-gritty details and picking apart and over-analyzing stuff. Oh well...at least you can enjoy my dumb black hole comics. ^_^

[lambden]

Here’s some belated Geraskier fic that I finally get to post, as last week’s flash fic challenge has wrapped up! This was originally published anonymously; kudos to those of you who guessed that I was the author. Head to the collection to see the picture prompt that inspired this, as well as view the other works. I've been having a great time participating in fandom events like this; I promise there's more on the way!!! (Read on AO3)

Up To Date

prompt: "You were so hot that when you asked if I was the blind date you were looking for, I lied and said yes. But then your actual date comes up to introduce themselves and I'm so embarrassed."

G, 2.3K words, modern AU, Geralt/Jaskier

It shouldn’t be this difficult to find inspiration. He never used to struggle like this in high school, finding his muse in everyone and everything. Even his mundane trip on the city bus to and from school would give Jaskier hundreds of ideas, for poems too personal to publish or lyrics too deep for his band to use. Back then he had thought he lacked discipline and experience, so the clear choice had been to take his interest in poetry one step further and go to university.

The problem, as he’s now discovering halfway through his second year, is that he maybe hates university. He loves it, of course; he loves the praise from his professors and peers, he loves learning about the history of literature and art. He even loves the academic rivalries that wax and wane every term, and the competitions that ignite a mean streak in him he didn’t know he had.

But his assignments are of worse quality than anything he’s ever written before, and try as he might, they aren’t getting any better. Putting words on the page just to meet a count is impossible for a poet, not when the space and thoughts and images are all supposed to be cohesive. Poems used to flow from him so freely he hadn’t been able to keep track and now his well of motivation has just about run dry.

That’s what led him here, for the third time this week. His creative dysfunction has forced him into the day-to-day habits of an elderly man who spends his days reading in public gardens. It hasn’t helped so far, but maybe this third time will be the charm. Jaskier finds his favorite place: right by the koi pond, next to a strange art installation with ivy crawling along it. He sits at the base of the giant question mark, dropping his backpack onto the bench beside him.

“This better fucking work,” mutters Jaskier to himself and the koi, opening today’s book to a random poem. He refuses to let his mind wander at first, gluing his eyes to the page and reading with intense intent. The first poem he sees is about love.

Groaning, Jaskier flips the page. The next poem is also about love.

The third poem is about war, and Jaskier thinks that might be alright, until he realizes what this long-dead poet is trying to tell him, which is that war is also about love. Because it is, of course, but also of course it is. Jaskier scowls deeply and flips through the book to a random page, hoping to find something to spark inspiration that won’t just make him feel hopeless and single and hopelessly single.

Before Jaskier can get through the title, someone speaks to him, startling him so badly he jumps. “Are you Yennefer’s friend?”

Jaskier scrambles to catch the book by its cover and nearly drops it. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Sorry?”

The stranger audibly sighs, as if Jaskier has inconvenienced him terribly. With all the force of someone announcing their presence at their own death row, he grits out, “I’m here for a blind date she set up. With you.” Jaskier looks up at the man and sees him wearing a blank expression, pointing at the question mark in front of the bench. “By the thing.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, still looking at the man. It takes a second for the words to sink in because the stranger is perhaps the most handsome person Jaskier has ever seen. He could write a thousand poems and still fail to capture his beauty. He has golden eyes, for one, and a sharply chiseled face. Even grimacing like this, his jaw is set in the loveliest way, and his stern brow is framed by platinum white hair, half-tied up. He’s wearing a fairly gloomy outfit for a blind date, but maybe he told whoever Yennefer is that he would be dressed in black. Regardless, he’s making it work.

The gorgeous stranger is still waiting for an answer, scowl worsening as Jaskier tries to make his decision about how the fuck to handle this. Really, there’s no decision at all— he just impulsively takes the leap. All his best ideas come when he’s stumbling forward blind anyway. “Yes,” he finally says, jumping to his feet. “Yes, um, I’m sorry, you caught me off-guard. I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” They’re of a similar height, but Geralt is so much wider. Jaskier wants to climb him like ivy on a question mark. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“It’s fine! I got here a while ago. You know, can’t be too early!” Jaskier has never been early for anything in his life. He sits down again and shoves his books into his bag as quickly as he can. Geralt shifts his weight back and forth between his feet before awkwardly sitting on the bench next to Jaskier, looking out at the garden. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he admits, which is true. His usual lies and schemes are much less chaotic.

Geralt doesn’t reply to that, leaving Jaskier to privately wonder about his dating life. He stares at the plants, giving the impression that he might be hideously nervous. Jaskier has no idea why someone like Geralt would be nervous about anything but it’s an awkward situation, to say the least. Right as Jaskier’s about to suggest they get out of here before Geralt’s real date shows up, the man asks, “What were you reading?”

“I was studying, sort of,” Jaskier says. “I’m a student.” Then abruptly he wonders how much Geralt knows about who he’s supposed to be, and he swallows, pulse racing.

Glancing over, Geralt’s yellow eyes meet his. There’s no obvious doubt there, just a curiosity. “What’s your major?”

“Poetry,” Jaskier grins as their conversation starts to pick up something resembling a rhythm. “What about you, are you in school?”

“No,” says Geralt, cutting his dreams of a normal date conversation short. “Are you any good? At writing poetry?”

What a weirdo. Jaskier’s heart thrums. “I’d like to think so!” This, at least, is something he knows how to talk about. Except, of course, it isn’t really the truth. “Well… recently, I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut. Just waiting for the right burst of inspiration to come along.” Perhaps this blind date that he’s stolen will suffice, but he doesn’t say that. “This place is great for that, actually. I mean, it hasn’t worked yet, but I’m sure any day those fish will sing for me.”

Geralt blinks. Jaskier feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. He tries a different tactic, crossing his ankles and asking politely, “Are you a reader? What kind of things do you enjoy?”

“Nonfiction,” Geralt answers, slightly stilted. His gaze drifts over to the plants once more. “Not biographies, more like… encyclopedias and field journals. I like field journals.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says, shrinking into himself. This is going terribly. “I’ll have to go bribe some scientists for their field journals, then.” The corner of Geralt’s lip twitches, and Jaskier’s stomach flips. Gorgeous and weird and maybe, although he’s trying his best to hide it behind seven layers of nerves, maybe a little amused by Jaskier. Jaskier is going to fuck him right here in the garden. “Do you take journals of your own for work?”

A rather roundabout way of asking ‘what the fuck is it that you do’ but somehow, it lands. “I’m a… researcher,” Geralt mumbles. How very vague. “But I don’t publish my findings very often.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Do you work… for a company?”

“No.”

“Right. So you’re just keeping all your findings to yourself for no good reason at all.”

“No.”

“Then it sounds like you’re a pretty terrible researcher, actually.”

Geralt’s eyes flash as he turns to glare at Jaskier. “What?”

“Well, if you don’t share what you’ve found with anyone—”

“My… colleagues—”

“Aha! So you have colleagues!” Jaskier pokes Geralt’s side. “You aren’t just holed up in some depressing storage unit with months and months of research just for you.”

Once more, Geralt half-smirks. Not even half— more like a one-fifth smirk. “Years,” he admits.

“Years…” Jaskier tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re perhaps a significant number of years older than me?”

“I had the same thought when I saw you sitting here,” Geralt mumbles.

Jaskier snorts. “Seems like something Yennefer should have warned us about, perhaps. I would ask you directly how old you are, but I’m fairly certain that the only response I will get is a very gruff no.”

“No,” says Geralt, nearly smiling.

Making a show of pouting, Jaskier folds his arms over his chest. “Is that your favorite word?”

“No.” Geralt breaks into laughter as he repeats himself, and his whole face lights up with it. Jaskier laughs too, delighted by how joyous Geralt looks. He’s even more beautiful when he’s happy like this, and Jaskier wants very badly for this not to be their last date. “If I tell you my favorite word, you’re bound to judge me for it, as a poet.”

“As a poet, I swear not to mock you,” Jaskier raises his hand to cover his heart, barely restraining himself from grinning.

But before Geralt can share whatever it is, someone else approaches their bench. A second stranger— a woman about his height with short brown hair, wearing a pretty blouse. Jaskier notices her much more quickly than he’d noticed Geralt, and he makes the connection instantly. This can’t possibly end well.

“Oh, Yen wasn’t kidding,” says the stranger, eyeing Geralt. “You are very distinctive!”

Geralt stares back at her, slack-jawed for a moment. “What?”

“I’m Renfri,” Geralt’s date introduces herself. Jaskier wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole, especially when she glances over at him. Her gaze slides back to Geralt, as does Jaskier’s, and yeah, he is very fucking distinctive with that white hair and those yellow eyes. Damn. “My friend Yennefer set us up for a blind date…?”

As Jaskier contemplates throwing himself into the koi pond, Geralt twists to stare at him. Jaskier can only imagine how mortified he must look right now; his face burns as both Renfri and Geralt look his way. Perhaps Renfri will figure it out before Geralt says anything; she looks like a smart woman.

But Geralt just gets up, dusting himself off and shaking his head. “No,” he tells Renfri, which would almost be funny if it weren’t the weirdest thing Jaskier has ever seen anyone do. Then Geralt leaves, turning to walk away from both of them, leaving Jaskier and Renfri alone together in the garden. Renfri frowns, watching him go with obvious increasing confusion. Jaskier also jumps to his feet, equally confused but determined not to lose sight of Geralt.

He chases the man— and it does feel like a chase, Geralt must be fucking speed-walking away— and finally tracks him down well outside the garden. Geralt is thundering down a set of stairs leading to a parking lot and he doesn’t stop at the sound of Jaskier careening towards him. Only when Jaskier desperately calls his name does he finally stop, slowing until he reaches the bottom landing and then standing there, still.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier calls down the stairs, breathless. He begins to descend them but Geralt doesn’t turn around. “Fuck, you’re fast! Shit. I’m sorry, Geralt.”

Without looking his way, Geralt complains, so quietly that Jaskier nearly misses it, “Yennefer is going to kill me.”

“I would have fucked off,” Jaskier says quickly, hurrying down the rest of the steps until he gets to the bottom. Geralt still doesn’t look at him so Jaskier slides none-too-gracefully into his space, demanding his attention. He’s hardly red in the face or anything, but he looks embarrassed. Jaskier crumbles. “I’m sorry. I— seriously, I don’t care, I would have fucked off. I should’ve left, I should’ve— You should go back there, she’s beautiful!”

Geralt’s nostrils flare but he doesn’t look away. “Why did you lie,” he demands, flat.

“Well,” Jaskier deflates. “Um. You’re beautiful.”

“Hmm.”

“I really am sorry,” he offers.

Geralt, still watching him closely, says, “You don’t sound sorry.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jaskier throws his hands in the air, breaking away from Geralt’s stare— in the greenhouse, surrounded by bright lights and open, manmade nature, it had been easy to sit under the weight of Geralt’s eyes on him. Down here, at the end of a staircase and the entrance to a dark garage, chest still heaving, it feels too intimate. He puts some distance between them, sighing. “You want me to go back there and explain the whole situation to poor Renfri?”

When Jaskier finally turns around again, Geralt’s gaze hasn’t left him. “I want you to come have dinner with me instead,” he says, slowly but purposefully.

“Oh,” breathes Jaskier. “That’s— well, if you want that.”

“I already made a reservation for two. My name’s on the list.” Geralt is fidgeting with the end of his sleeve at first but when he approaches Jaskier he drops it, striding forward without hesitating. “Table for Geralt and one young brunet friend of Yennefer’s.”

Jaskier chokes on his own surprised laugh. “I don’t actually know Yennefer,” he needlessly explains.

“She’s going to hate you,” says Geralt, half-smirking, and then he adds, “Well, she’ll hate both of us now.”

They get to the restaurant twenty minutes late, Geralt’s hair mussed up and lips a bitten red and Jaskier wearing his backpack and a shit-eating grin. The host sees them and immediately tells them their table has been cancelled, and they end up getting terrible two-dollar slices from a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. They eat on the way back to Geralt’s car and then he drives Jaskier back to campus, kissing him soundly in the door to his apartment until Priscilla comes home and yells at Jaskier to get a room. As they squabble Geralt apologizes, polite and nervous, and kisses Jaskier’s cheek and tells him it was nice to meet him.

Jaskier goes inside and spends the next thirteen hours writing the best poetry he will ever write.

[the-colony-roleplay]

COL22EVENT ⚔️ DRUNK MAN’S CHEST: Victory Party ⚔️

It was a little late, by the time the party came about—almost exactly two weeks after Delma’s victory in the first Games of the season—but Felix Turner had always been of the mind that ‘a little late’ was a perfectly acceptable trade off for something to be done right. This party was about him after all.

...Well, okay, it was technically about Delma and their ‘exciting’ victory—which was ironic considering Felix pretty much hated everything about his first experience with Colony 22′s infamous Games and most of the people in his house didn’t even seem to like him—but beneath the surface, this party was really about Felix. This was his chance to show off a little, and to prove that even if not everyone here recognized his name or respected his celebrity, it still had a place here; it still pulled some weight. It didn’t matter what stupid-bitch-face   Whitmer had to say, Felix was still a cut above the rest and that’s just the way it was. 

So this had to be right. Especially because, though he was unlikely to admit it, he was actually pretty desperate to find acceptance here. Which was like, sort of gross to think about, considering this entire Colony was basically one giant damp and odorous reject’s table, but whether he liked it or not, he was stuck here now and had to make the most of it. Besides, now that he was starting to form relationships here he actually cared about, he couldn’t risk letting a—totally undeserved—bad reputation ruin them.

In the end, his conversation with Koda about the decor had indeed convinced him to adjust his initial vision a bit. There was no way he was going manage a totally modern club vibe in this shit hole, so he figured he may as well... lean into the rustic thing as creatively as possible. But it had to be fun and surprising and it had to take people’s breath away, so Felix definitely still had his work cut out for him. That first week of March quickly became a blur of around-the-clock prep. Thank God for the help from Koda and Angel because even between the three of them, hunting down all the decoration materials had been a nightmare: Hours of sorting through the storage boxes Cambie had told him about (mostly a lot of fugly junk and tinsel), and days of Felix personally harassing trade merchants and marines. Though, having a person like Angel on his good side definitely paid off some in that department. 

And then there were all those extra hours he’d put in with Bee to polish up their dance. When he’d convinced her to agree to get it ready in time for the party, he’d acted like he’d not had any concern at all about whether or not they could pull it off. But he was concerned. Because just ‘pulling it off’ wasn’t good enough. They had to nail this. His reputation was at stake, and honestly, he couldn’t think of much worse a threat. He knew they both had the chops to do it, but that didn’t mean they could slack off. It’d been a long time since he’d danced in front of people. Plus he’d had to practice his vocal performances too... those came easier, because much of it was like muscle memory, but he was still nervous.

The evening of Friday the 4th, Fee arranged to have the Catch closed early (thanks Dad), and he, Koda and Angel loaded in boxes and got to work. When Tuck In came around, they were excused from roll call (thanks Angel), and they continued on until Fee’s fingertips were sore from using the staple gun to hang the sting lights. At which point, he’d passed it off to Koda, whose decorated hands were much stronger and more deft with these things (read: he was less of a pansy), and so they went a few hours longer. By the time they decided to call it a night, it was well into the early hours of the morning, and a very good thing they’d been excused from their Saturday wake up calls and activities (thanks Cambie). God, it was nice to be so well connected.

During the set up, Xavier Crane had stayed around after closing to supervise Fee’s little decoration team, which wouldn’t have bothered Felix so much if the bartender had just minded his own bloody business. He’d kept moaning stupidly about ‘Powerpack Limits’ when Fee had been testing out the twinkle lights and fog machine, and then when he’d been looking for a outlet for the dance floor tiles (for which he’d paid a bloody fortune to get off the Market), the bartender had had the audacity to interrupt again. Felix, of course, had gritted his teeth, plastered on a snide smile and kindly reminded him that he was Felix Fucking Turner and he knew exactly what he was doing, thank you very much.

Catch 22 remained closed and locked all of Saturday before the party, and Fee and Angel handled any necessary finishing touches. They even had time for one more quick tech run. By supper time, Felix was practically trembling with anticipation, and in the dining hall, gently excited chatter about the party could be overheard at every table. It left Felix feeling quite pleased with himself.

And the young, idyllic socialite would soon be equally as smug when the first half of the party and its opening performances go off without a hitch. In the hours that follow, however, he would come to wish he’d not dismissed Crane’s grumpy mutterings quite so hastily...

CHECK OUT FULL EVENT DETAILS AND SUMMARY UNDER THE CUT!

Welcome To: ⚔️ DRUNK MAN’S CHEST: A DELMA VICTORY PARTY ⚔️

This post marks the official commencement of Colony 22′s 8th non-games related event, “Drunk Man’s Chest”!

                                        ⚔️ Event Details ⚔️

Date: Saturday, March 5th, 2163 Time: 8pm-1am (doors @7:30) Location: Catch 22 Note: In lieu of a cover charge, Felix requests that guests consider donating credits at the door to compensate the Trade Merchants and Elites who made the event possible.

Alrighty mateys!! We’re pleased to bring you this belated but eagerly anticipated Delma Victory Party thrown by none other than The Felix Tee (insert groans and exasperated/fond eye rolls as necessary). Since this is a follow up to our last event and the first Games of Colony 22′s 2163 season, Dead Man’s Chest, Felix and his happy helpers have carried on with the swashbuckling theme.

It is not explicitly a costume party, but it is themed, so attendees are encouraged to dress up. At the door, citizens will receive gold ‘doubloons’ which they can exchange at the bar for complimentary drinks of their choice. They may also order from a menu of three feature cocktails, designed and named specifically for the night’s celebrations, by none other than yours truly. Doubloons allowance per citizen will be allotted as follows:

Delma SC1, SC2 & Elites: 4 doubloons

Delma SC3: 3 doubloons

Brink, Calyset, Torren SC1, SC2 & Elites:  3 doubloons

Brink, Calyset, Torren SC3s: 2 doubloons

Doubloons have a value of one drink each. Excess cocktails and other beverages may be purchased using individual credits, at standard bar price. Alcoholic consumption regulations according to the New Wave Mandate still apply.

Additionally, in the interest of inclusivity, Felix is providing complimentary earplugs at the door for any increased hearing citizens who feel they might need them for the dance party. (Due to limited quantities, they are reserved only for Infected citizens.)

                                     ⚔️ Decor & Menu ⚔️

Decor for the bar and table sections of the Catch was inspired with a ‘crow’s nest’ aesthetic in mind. Enough twinkle and string lights have been hung from walls, ceilings, posts and tables to replace the overhead lights entirely, which have been left off. Every table and booth features a rustic candle centrepiece (tea-lights dropped into short, somewhat mismatched, frosted-glass candle holders of coppers and golds) and rolled bits of parchment tied with twine, designed to look like treasure maps.

The walls and surfaces are modestly scattered with a variety of pirate and captain’s hats, as well as a few classily-displayed maps—some printed and some tastefully hand drawn.

The feature cocktail selections are as follows:

The Delma Daiquiri Rum, lime juice, and simple syrup with a splash of cherry liqueur. Blended with raspberry puree* and ice. Garnished with a maraschino cherry.

Feequila Sunrise Tequila and grenadine topped with delicious, foamy peach juice shaken over ice for a glimpse of that sunrise on the horizon! Garnished with a fuzzy peach candy.

TeeTotal A non-alcoholic mocktail shaken with lime juice, honey and black current puree*, topped off with sparkling water.

**All purees and juices made from tinned fruit.

                                     ⚔️  Performances ⚔️

Performances start at 8:30pm and take place on the Catch 22 stage. The Catch having been set up for small performances plenty of times before, this portion of the evening is executed with no hiccups.  One hand-designed set list on parchment-like paper is found on every table.

As a whole, the vocal performances have a laid-back, acoustic vibe. The dance performances, however, close the showcase with a lively and upbeat mood. Before the show, Felix also reminds citizens that some dance performances (*cough*) may not be appropriate for all audiences.

Of course, Felix had made Corbin promise [x] that this ‘exotic dance’ of his would not be a strip show and, like a fool, he’d believed him. The afternoon before, he’d watched the inked Delma install a pole (that he’d apparently gotten off the trade market years ago...) at the back of the stage and practice a few (begrudgingly impressive) moves.

But tonight, when the time comes for the showcase’s highly anticipated closing number and Felix quietly flicks on the smoke machine, he is suddenly reminded that Corbin is known around Delma for his exhibitionism, not his honesty. And so, biting his lip nervously, he watches on amidst a whooping crowd as Corbin—on brand as ever—makes a meal out of baring it all.

Check out the full set list on the graphics blog, HERE! Please also check out the source links for the songs as I’ve carefully picked out acoustic versions to represent each in-verse performance as closely as possible! (With the exception of Angel’s songs, who is mostly singing to Echo Tracks). The dance performances feature example source links as well!

                                         ⚔️  Dance Party ⚔️

When the performance showcase is over, the real party begins. Live music is replaced with Echo playlists filtering through the sound system (Felix’s opportunity to boast many of his own dancier tracks, of course), and the relaxed, rustic vibe is no more. The twinkle lights around the bar stay, but with the bass bumping and the moon now high in the sky, Felix slips behind a curtain and starts flicking switches like a tot smashing elevator buttons.

Blacklight tube fluorescents spring to life along the back walls. Overhead, a rotating disco ball blinks multicolours and begins to sparkle and turn. Felix starts cracking and throwing glow sticks and bracelets into the crowd by the the dozens like a manic Twink-Oprah: ‘You get a glow stick and you get a glow stick and you get a glow stick!!’

And finally, the dance floor starts to glow, too. 

Though there is usually some open space in front of the stage, tonight all of the free standing tables have been pushed tighter together into other areas of the bar to make room for the easy-snap LED tiles that have been laid down (in roughly a ten by twelve quadrant). When turned on, these tiles light in a variety of colours and respond to vibrations, pulsing and changing to the beat of music.

The crowd responds well with whoops and cheers and calls for more drinks, and it’s everything Felix had hoped for. It’s also the beginning of everything Crane had warned him about. With the blenders still whirring away with drink orders, and the old, creaky ice machine straining to keep up, Felix’s party is suddenly asking for much more than what the Powerpacks allotted to the Catch can provide. Fortunately for the attendees, between the P-Packs and the back up auxiliary power,  it would be enough to keep the fun afloat. Unfortunately for Felix, his arrogance would yet again be at fault for his own disappointment and embarrassment.

                                       ⚔️ The Mishaps ⚔️

Technically speaking, the disruptions in the rest of the night’s electrical can be relatively easily explained: because of the overloaded power supply, periodical power surges will cause Catch 22′s Powerpack Supply (PPS) to fail, and the back up auxiliary power from the Colony’s main frame to kick in. However, this is a system designed specifically for emergencies, and once the PPS reboots, anything drawing electrical power will falter for a moment as its source switches back to the PPS.

This is the simplified explanation of the cause. However, the visible results, for anyone who doesn’t know anything about electrical systems, just wind up looking a bit like something out of a made-for-TV haunting flick. Of course, after a handful of incidences, the average person may put two and two together rather quickly. Felix, however, despite Crane’s insistent ‘I told you so’s is secretly becoming increasingly convinced that perhaps it’s not the power at all, but rather the Praeterics—the Poltergeists of the Colony—trying to mess with him and ruin his special night.

Below is a list of some of the disruptions experienced periodically over the rest of the night.

Flickering lights: including surging and weakening

Momentary power failures: lights, music and appliances all lose power and return about 8-10 second later with the auxiliary power

Weird humming and buzzing coming from light fixtures and sockets: usually moments before a power failure

Berserk blenders: brief power surges sending any appliances in use on the fritz

Lawless locking mechanisms: due to the frequent switching back and forth between the power supplies, the emergency security systems begin to malfunction. As many blackout protocols include lockdowns for security reasons, the system’s automated lock responses are now getting backed up and confused. The result is individuals getting locked in and out of the Catch’s only washroom (multi-stalls and gender neutral) as well as the front and back doors of the Catch, for periods ranging from two to ten minutes.

The above ‘mishaps’ all occur repeatedly over the course of the evening, some more frequently than others. 

There is one more malfunction slated to occur which does not appear on this list, as it will only happen once near the end of the night, and it will be announced on the main blog sometime before the wrap of the event.

                                       ⚔️ RP Guidelines ⚔️

All our standard event guidelines with which most of you will be familiar apply again, and they are as follows:

As of right now, you may not post any new threads that are not affiliated with the event or in alignment with this timeline.

You may continue any old threads you have going, though we ask that you tag them #preevent or indicate they are pre-event in the timeline. This is just to help keep things clear on the dash as to what’s going on at the party and what’s not.

All new event threads being posted must be titled as such, indicating that they are Event threads. So they could look something like this:

PARTY PARTY YEAHHH // FELIX + WHOEVER // DRUNK MAN’S CHEST OR LIKE:

SHOTS-SHOTS-SHOTS-SHOTS-SHOTS-SHOTS | T.A. & M.P | DMC OR LIKE:

BOOTEH BOOTEH ROCKIN’ EVERYWHERE | CORBIN AND ? {EVENT} …and so on and so forth. Formatting does not matter! Do it however you like. Just indicate somewhere in the title bar that it is event related. 

You are also permitted to do threads that take place anytime Saturday the 5th before the event, if you want to do getting ready threads or anything like that. However, for clarity we suggest you indicate this somewhere in your tags, title or with a timestamp at the top or your starter. 

Also, since it’s a theme party: You may post photos of your character’s clothing/outfit(s) etc, if you wish, but you are by no means obligated to do so. Feel free to post these to your own blog. However, if you make any stylized graphic-art related to the event, please submit them to the graphics blog as usual.

Finally, please tag all your photos, self paras and event starters with #COL22DMC (and don’t forget the regular starter tag for starters as well!) 

Alright, it’s been literally a million days since I started writing this post (I’m not kidding, I’ve somehow been working on this event for about ten hours a day, three days straight *dies*) and I think that just about wraps it up?!?!? I survived!!! Leave it to fucking Felix Turner to make me work so damn hard on a stupid little party.  

A MASSIVE shout out to Lottie for helping me brainstorm and work out the details for the framework of this event, and to Maddie for all her wonderful input with drink menus and other things!! Also, thank you everyone for your patience in reading this mile-long post, and without further adieu, I set you all free to do your RP thang! (Fly my pretties, flyyy!!!) 

And remember! Please, please direct any inquiries you may have along the way to the main blog’s ASK so that the mods can address them publicly if need be in case other people have similar questions or concerns!

Big Big Love,

Your Colony 22 Mods!! Xx

[bubmyg]

not a date - jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre: enemies to lovers, college!au, fluff, very sparing illusions to smut, like jeongguk takes his shirt off for a few paragraphs

word count: 3,184

summary: he’s the infuriating kid in your literature class that has an answer to every single question and every time he raises his hand you kind of want to punch him because of that time you were in a group project together and he deleted and rewrote your entire portion at three in the morning or your voice is so infuriating please shut up and kiss me.

a/n: part 5 of to lovers :’-) the rest of the series is linked in my masterlist!!

In the scheme of wanting to take someone’s very specific and very annoying bright green pen from them and make them swallow it to prevent the incessant clicking that plagued your right ear the entirety of the power hour class, you wish you knew less about the owner of said pen.

You knew Jeon Jeongguk from freshman year composition, when he was one of eight people who’d filed into the tiny computer lab huddled in a giant black hoodie while you were still trying to gauge whether the sweat coating the back of your spine was visible through your shirt. The graduate student handling the class had split you into two groups immediately, prompting a question for you to discuss. That was the first time he’d taken something you’d said and added thirty unnecessary words to it without guilt and with a bunny smile you didn’t want to admit was attractive.

A liberal arts degree comes with the same general people in virtually all your classes. The girl who offered you a pencil the first time scantron attendance was taken. The boy who’d taken your seat the fourth week of class when you were both ten minutes early. And unfortunately for you, Jeongguk.

You knew he lived off campus in an apartment with his bio chemistry, doctor seeking roommate Namjoon after Yoongi had informed you the spindly man was terrible at pickup basketball and you’d scolded your friend for hanging out with someone who shared the same cereal bowls with the biggest prick in the literature department. You knew he wasn’t in a fraternity but his friend Jimin was and he spent the majority of his time holed up in the third floor of the house with a game controller in hand when he wasn’t correcting people or reminding homework due dates in group chats created for your various classes. You knew he could sing because Yoongi had dragged you to karaoke night on his off day at the cafe he worked at in which Jeongguk just so happened to be at and his friend, Taehyung and his charcoal stained fingers, had shoved him to the front and Yoongi had to pinch your hip to prevent you from burning a hole through Jeongguk’s melodious lips with your glare.

You knew he turned twenty-one in September when he showed up to your group presentation the next day, hungover, after deleting and changing your entire thesis to fit his.

Somehow his green pen still managed to be annoying even when he was half asleep and wearing his hood completely cinched under his chin. You resisted the urge to scold him when he took a seat (because there was no doubt he’d have done the same to you) but you nearly severed the tip of your tongue when an, endearing, rasp addressed you first.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk offered, gesturing vaguely at himself with a sliver of his teeth appearing, “Twenty-first was last night.”

You offered a tight lipped smile in return, “Happy belated birthday.”

It didn’t matter that he could barely keep his eyes open or the weight in his head above his spine because he knew the topic by heart, no need to glance backward at the slides or the bullet points or the visual aids like graphs and pictures and charts. He hadn’t even blinked in cutting you off when the slide color changed hue, showing where your ideas were supposed to be but were just instead a modified version of what you’d spent hours doing over the weekend.

They were your words but they weren’t and Jeongguk had the nerve to wink at you and say, “As my lovely partner starts to point out here, the chapter touches on—”

Your GPA mattered more than your pride when the professor kept you after class to commend your presentation, even though you hadn’t spoken a word outside of your name, and you took the A+ with a sour taste and a pointed vendetta to ignore Jeongguk.

The words groups for next project were enough to make your insides churn with distaste but the addition of the word reminder at the beginning was almost worse than the prospect of leaving your grade to someone else. Not only did your class stretch through two semesters with the same professor and the same general concept, but that particular class kept the same groups the entire year.

The reminder was seeing your name printed in bold, block letters directly above Jeon Jeongguk.

“Hey, partner,” He greeted when you dropped your backpack in front of your desk. He’d dropped his hood and traded black for one of color, a faded blue. You focused on counting the stripes on his joggers rather than meeting the sparkle in his stupidly pretty eyes.

You were silent in pulling out your laptop, notebook, non obnoxious pens. He continued to stare at the side of your face, desk creaking as he shifted more toward you, fingers gripping the edge of his desk in your peripheral.

“Don’t speak to me until you want to pick a time to meet.”

Jeongguk had the nerve to giggle this time, “We don’t even know what the topic is yet. Unless you want to come over, I won’t object.”

You knew where his apartment was, too, that Namjoon kept the place neatly decorated while Jeongguk’s door didn’t open entirely from the pile of laundry hidden between it and his desk, that he was a track star in high school from the medals dangling off a hook behind his bed frame, that he did, in fact, own more than five black hoodies and one grey one from the pile of pastels folded within his open closet door, that the green pens were stolen from Namjoon, ones that occupied a mug on their kitchen counter and came from the hospital that the med student had done residency at over the summer.

You hated that you knew all of that, too.

“Okay. When we learn the topic, don’t contact me until you want me to come to the cesspit that is your place of living.”

It was silent for a handful of your heartbeats roaring in your ears and then his voice was a half octave softer in your ear.

“Why do you keep responding to me if you don’t want me to speak to you?”

You were right, Jeongguk’s eyes were sparkling and they seemed to double over in all the reflections of a planetarium when he completed his goal of getting you to turn towards him. You tried averting your gaze to his smile but found a stray butterfly escaped from it’s locked prison in your stomach at the sight of the tiny freckle in the center of his bottom lip so you chose the tattered cover of his notebook in the end.

A notebook that he was flicking at the pages in, ring clad and vein ridden fingers and all.

“Fuck you,” You mumbled and you meant it in every connotation possible.

Jeongguk ignored you through the lecture notes, too busy interjecting his opinion at any point possible and you hated that you couldn’t find it within yourself to disagree with everything that left his lips. He ignored you when the project requirements appeared in place of the lecture slides, still scrawling looping notes on the margins of his notebook while the professor explained each bullet point in excruciating detail.

Upon further inspection did you notice the loops in his shorthand were drawings and you, again, hated that you agreed with his lack of attention paid to something that would be posted online later for your viewing anyway.

“Spend a few minutes speaking with your partner and then you’re free to go.”

Your bubble remained silent while the rest of the class erupted in a soft murmur, creaking desks and zipping backpacks and soft laughter all while the set of your shoulders remained rigid. They slumped only when Jeongguk’s tender murmur was back in your ear (and you’d admit, anything was better than his clicking pen).

“May I speak to you yet?”

The smack of your laptop on the metal spiral threaded through your notebook was embarrassingly loud. You corrected it while he snorted, nearly headbutting him where he was leaning towards your desk as you fished for your backpack.

“Are you wanting to set a time to meet?”

“Yeah. That’s...what we’re supposed to be doing.”

You tossed your hair back as you straightened, making direct eye contact with him, “Then yes. You may speak to me.”

Jeongguk was grinning again and you swallowed to keep the escaped butterfly in your throat at bay. You’d deal with her later.

“I’m free Thursday night, if you’d like to come over. Namjoon should be out of the apartment from five onward. He has a date with one of his extremely smart friends. Or I can come to yours, if you’d rather not fester in my filth like you insisted last time. Your dorm does have a pretty nice study room—”

“Thursday as in…” You blinked, “Valentine’s Day Thursday?”

You wanted to force feed him the feces to comply with the shit eating grin that encompassed his features. “My bad, I wasn’t aware you could display affection,” He rested his chin on his palm, “I assumed you’d spend the night throwing darts at heart shaped candies stuck to your ceiling if I didn’t make plans for you.”

“They’d be tiny pictures of your face. Why would I waste candy?” His grin only grew at your snarky indifference, “But no, I just assumed you had…”

“I don’t have a Tinder. I’ve never had one.”

“I wasn’t...going to ask that. I wouldn’t care even if you did.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk shrugged, “Well, I don’t. And I don’t have any plans Thursday. So if you’d like to work on our project before the weekend, I’m free and can stock up on discount candy from the drug store down the street. We can order one of those shitty heart shaped pizzas too, if you like.”

You scoffed, standing with your backpack in tow, “We’re just working on our project, not having a date underneath the radioactive glow from your hamper.”

He turned away and you shoved aside the seeming disappointment that saturated his monotone response, “Alright. I’ll see you, Thursday, then.”

You hated that you knew the best parking spaces around Jeongguk’s apartment complex and you hated that you’d visited the building more times than you could count on both your hands and feet in order to gather than information. Your backpack felt fifteen pounds heavier on your shoulders as you trekked through the maze of broken sidewalks and your knuckles felt numb for reasons other than the biting temperature when you lifted them to knock on his door.

You couldn’t imagine the scrutiny you’d face if you ever admitted coming over, no matter the obnoxious amount of times, to Jeongguk’s apartment made you nervous. A nagging voice on your shoulder told you it was because of the piano in the far corner of their living room that you knew he could play because he had for you before, or because his room smelled like him, vanilla and cinnamon and fresh flowers and laundry detergent, or because he always ordered and bought you food and insisted you couldn’t pay him back all while teasing you for mooching off of him, notes, food, and grades.

The grade comment settled like a forming cavity on your molars and you generally ended up leaving after he mentioned it. But it never stopped you from coming back.

The weight was heavier because of your textbook but also because of the tape that continued to replay in your conscious, the one of you watching with a bated breath as Jeongguk seemed to slouch at your denial of a date with him, of all things. You knew he wasn’t stupid, he was anything but, yet the devil on your opposite shoulder suggested that he just lacked any sort of critical thinking or social skills.

Or, the latter voice in your ear suggested, maybe you just didn’t want to admit you were slightly disappointed at the facade you tried to put on declining a date-like interaction with him too.

The smile plastered to his entire being when he tore open his apartment door fizzled your worries away and traded them for the grumble in your stomach when he thrust a white box in your direction.

“I went ahead and ordered the pizza for this not date,” Jeongguk’s fingers brushed your own when you took the box from him, “I got cheesy bread too. I didn’t know if you liked the breadsticks from Domino’s so…”

His words muffled like you were underwater, realization drowning you the second he teased you about the forbidden meeting between two individuals. A date. He didn’t want the date either. He hadn’t been disappointed.

He was playing some game that you didn’t want to be apart of but could master the same as he could, if not better.

“Can I eat in Namjoon’s room, seeing as this is a non date?” You mirrored his beaming smile, “The less I have to speak to you, the better.”

“No,” He answered your rhetorical question bluntly. You wanted to speak to him even if it was sarcastic insults about the single wrinkle in his duvet. “We have work to do—” You had to catch the door when he stalked into the depths of the apartment, voice echoing away, “—come inside. And take your shoes off!”

If you didn’t want the pizza promised with the cheesy bread, you would have bolted back to your car. “Anything else, your highness?”

“Yeah, bring the cheesy bread will you? And grab some plates from the kitchen.”

If you didn’t want the cheesy bread so bad, you would have turned and pelted the box into the disgusting snow drift plowed at the end of the sidewalk.

Jeongguk was three insults into teasing you for dropping tomato sauce on his partially clean duvet and a streaking blue highlighter into his notes when you decided you really wanted to kiss the garlic speck off the corner of his mouth.

No longer were you toning out his explanations because you had a predetermined bias to disagree with them but because you couldn’t shake the urge to grab his chin and determine how pepperoni tasted on someone else’s lips. If Namjoon were to arrive back anytime soon, the non date faux you each kept digging into each other’s conscience’s like daggered knives would crumble in an instant.

He’d switched the lighting in his room to a deep set purple, a setting you thankfully weren’t aware of and didn’t have to hate with your entire being when the first thought that entered your mind was that’s cool. There was a heart shaped pizza open between the two of you, enough pieces still prevalent to give off the illusion but the grease stains on the cardboard telling the full story. You were on his bed, crossed knees brushing his thigh where he’d scooted closer to show you something and hadn’t bothered to move back.

And you were unabashedly staring at him like he was better than any loaf of cheesy bread you could consume in one sitting.

“Hey,” Jeongguk’s voice was quiet in contrast to the snap of his fingers underneath your nose, “Did you hear me?”

You thought you were going to puke the crusts he’d given you all over his lap, “Y-yeah, I agree we could—”

“Wait, you agree with me? Either we’ve entered an alternate universe or you weren’t listening—”

There was probably pizza grease on his rug now from where your paper plate fluttered sadly from his bed, only to be melded into the floor by the smack of your textbook landing on top of it with the force in which you propelled yourself at Jeongguk’s figure. Surprise was barely an emotion with the speed that you pressed your mouth to his, messily squashing the tip of your nose against his cheek and nearly biting a chunk out of his bottom lip.

Your skin flamed momentarily in embarrassment and morphed into want when he kissed you back. His notebook followed the fate of the other obstacles when he moved onto his knees, the cool engravings on his rings pressing into your jaw when he cupped it to angle your lips, latter hand falling next to your thigh to loom over you.

His teeth snagged on your bottom lip as he settled his forehead against yours, still firmly holding onto your chin.

“I thought you’d never cave.”

You ground your teeth together with the same force as pale knuckles snagging on the collar of Jeongguk’s t-shirt to drag his mouth back to yours. He came with a chuckle against your lips, crawling closer to lodge a thigh between your legs while dragging his tongue across your molars. He craned over you, trailing opened mouthed kisses across your jaw while you hissed, “Like it better when you’re not speaking.”

He hummed into your skin, nudging your hair aside to nick his teeth into your neck, “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”

The noise that lulled lazily off your tongue was somewhere between a guttural groan and a mewled whine, scratching blunt fingernails across his shoulders, “You’re the smartest person I know and it’s fucking infuriating.”

“Mmm, talk dirty to me.”

“I’ll leave right this second—”

His hands gripped your hips and you were on your back, his dark fringe tickling at your forehead as he hovered over you. Brown irises grew black, dilated and twinkling under the ambient purple blanketing his room, “Want to know a secret?”

“No,” You pulled on the hem of his shirt, “Want this off.”

“Okay—” He tugged the white off his torso in one swift movement, leaning back over you with palms on either side of your head, “—now do you want to hear a secret?”

“If it’s the amount of months it’s been since you washed your sheets, I don’t want to hear it.”

Jeongguk’s mouth quieted you and he grumpily mumbled into the part of your lips, “I think I like it better when you’re not speaking either. I was going to feed your ego but…”

“Tell me the secret, Jeongguk.”

His lips traveled to your ear, “Always have thought you were incredibly fucking intelligent. Annoyingly so. Thought I needed to prove myself to you—” His teeth teased your earlobe, “—it was stupid and I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah, you are, but at least you’re self aware,” He kissed your cheek and your nose on the way back to meet your gaze and you grinned, “Thanks for that one A, though.”

You knew Jeon Jeongguk had glow in the dark, stick-on stars plastered all over his ceiling, ones that glowed an unnatural green in purple lighting and you hated that it was your new favorite view, just like you hated how good his lips felt on your skin and how comfortable his chest was to sleep on and how often he was right about nineteenth century literature.

[seasonofthegeek]

TTWK: Bittersweet

This belated (I’m very sorry!) birthday drabble featuring Hugo, Louis, and Emma from The Trouble with Kittens universe is dedicated to @chimpukampu. I hope your August was amazing and that your September will be fantastic!

Since I’m playing with the idea of finally getting around to a sequel, I’m going to do this story way into the future with the siblings to feel out some ideas I’m having for their dynamic. :)

___

“I can’t keep covering for you like this, M&M.” Hugo frowned at the glowing orb in his palm and his brow knitted in concentration. “If you’re going to wear Mom’s jewelry, you have to be more careful with it. She’s going to realize they’re copies.” He let out a sigh of relief as the light faded and a pair of sparkling diamond earrings rested in his hand. He offered them to his younger sister skeptically.

“They’re perfect and you’re a lifesaver,” Emma gushed, quickly taking them. “I’m going to find the real ones later and return them. These will just buy me some time.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“And I won’t lose any of Mom’s jewelry again, promise.”

“Sure.”

“Hugo!”

“Emma,” he replied, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Fine, I believe you.”

“No, you don’t.” She pouted for half a second before removing the backing post of one of the earrings and sliding it into the hole in her earlobe. “I’m just going to wear these out tonight and then I’ll get them back to Mom.”

“Before that,” Hugo reminded her. “My creations still don’t last past the next sunrise.”

“I remember.” She slid the other earring into place. “What about a cute headband or something?”

“I’m not your personal stylist here to make any item you wish on a whim, you know.”

“You kind of are.” Emma smiled sweetly. “But I’m having a good hair day anyway so I can go with it.” She went up on the tips of her toes and kissed her brother’s cheek. “Thanks, Hu! I’ll get them back in time. WIsh me luck.”

Hugo’s skin took on a soft pink glow as he looked down at her fondly. Magic filled the air in anticipation of his words. “Good--”

“Don’t do that, Hugo. She doesn’t deserve it.”

They both turned to see Louis standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. “You can’t go out tonight, Emma. You need to find Mom’s real earrings and those red pumps you borrowed last week and the cufflinks you took from Dad for whatever boy you’re dating right now and return them all.”

“Louie, I--”

“And you won’t keep sneaking your friends into Grand-Pere’s house for parties when he’s out of town anymore either. You can’t keep acting like the rules don’t apply to you.” Louis shot his twin a hard look when the other opened his mouth to object. “Don’t try to protect her, Hugo. You know I’m right.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded, giving Emma a reassuring look, “but I’m not sure this hostility is necessary.”

“Yeah, don’t be so mean to me, Louie.” Emma pushed out her bottom lip and batted her eyelashes. “I’m just trying to have a little fun. It’s hard being me and it’s not fair--”

“Please don’t talk to me about what is and isn’t fair.” A black mist that smelled of burnt ozone formed around his gloved left hand and he stuffed it into his pants pocket and took in a deep breath to regain his calm. His green cat eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses but his siblings were familiar with the look in them when he was in this sort of mood. 

“I know that you wish you could do things like me and Hugo but believe me when I say you’re better off this way. You get to be normal, Emma. You should enjoy it, but that doesn’t mean you should use it as an excuse to do whatever you want. Our parents and brother,” he shot Hugo another unfriendly look, “seem content to let you waste yourself on every whim but I want better for you.”

“Oh please, this isn’t about me. This is about you and your issues.” Emma crossed her arms petulantly. “I’m not your little pet project. Why don’t you try working on yourself before you start in on me.” She pointedly turned her back on him and hugged Hugo. “Thanks for being the best brother I could ever have. I’ll see you later tonight.” She strolled past Louis with her chin raised high and her attention straight ahead.

“You baby her,” Louis sighed, dropping onto the couch. “She’s turned into a brat.”

Hugo followed his lead. “I know I do. I don’t mean to. Most of the time anyway. And she’s still our sweet baby sister; she’s just going through a rebellious stage right now.”

“What a luxury.”

Hugo shifted so he was a little closer to his twin, their shoulders almost touching. “Is it a bad brain day?” he asked quietly.

There was a long silence between them before Louis answered, voice barely a whisper. “I hate what I am.” 

He’d heard the confession before and knew there were no words he could say that would make it all okay so he closed the little distance between them and leaned against his brother. He felt the tension ease away from Louis little by little and he offered his hand, palm up between them. A soft glow started in the center and flowed out along his veins and the spaces in between. Louis slowly lifted his own hand and peeled away the glove that he wore around everyone else. His skin was darkened to a pitch black down past his wrist but as he flattened his hand against Hugo’s, the glow enveloped it and revealed the skin’s original pale color. 

“I love who you are,” Hugo said simply as he always did at times like this.

“I know you do.”

“And you love who I am, right?”

Louis picked up on the vulnerability in his brother’s usually certain tone.  “Absolutely,” he promised. ”You’re my best friend.” 

“Then I think we can make it through.”

Louis looked toward the door their sister left through and sighed. “And Emma?”

“Maybe we can help her love herself too, one day at a time, just like us.”

“You always make it sound so easy.”

“And you make sure I realize it isn’t.” Hugo knocked his shoulder against his brother’s. “We make a good team.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Have you given any further thought to Uncle Nino’s offer?”

“About taking up the Miraculous?”

Hugo nodded.

Louis shook his head. “I can’t even control the powers I was born with. I don’t want to know what kind of havoc I could wreak with even more power.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“Which means you want us to do it,” Louis replied dryly.

“I think we could help people.”

“Or hurt them. Is Zoe getting one? Is that was this is about?”

Hugo blushed and the glow centered at his hand burst out along the rest of his body in a flash. He sputtered and dropped his head shyly. “No, of course not. This is about being a hero.”

“I see.”

“At least tell me you’ll keep thinking about it.”

Louis pulled his hand away and slipped his glove back into place. “As long as you consider being stricter with Emma. She’s going down a dangerous path and I’m afraid Mom and Dad are too busy trying to prove to her that she’s special to do anything about it.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Good.” Louis stood and smoothed his dress shirt. “I know I have a bad way of showing it but I really do love her, Hu. I’m worried about her.”

“I know. We’ll watch out for her, just like we always have.”

Buy me a cherry coke?

[dolcenco]

Floofy Valentine

Request: @cloudchristopher Well hello there beautiful 😏😍 so for Prompt 1 could you do #37? And for Prompt 2 from the 28 day Valentine challenge, #6? I know you'll do AmAzInG whether its smut or fluff so surprise me ❤

Christopher Velez x Reader

Warning/s: Floof ball!!!!

S/n: Hello!! this is the first entry of the valentines special request. I actually posted this earlier and realized that it sucked so i re-wrote it and everything. I know i’m a day or 2 days late for valentines bc something personal came up but thank you all for being so patient and understanding!!! <3 Belated Happy Valentines to all! 

- 

You internally cheered as your boss declared an early leave because it was valentines day, claiming that everyone should spend the day with their love ones. With that, you packed your things and you were out of the door in no time. 

Valentines day was just an excuse for you to binge watch on rom-com movies, indulge on chocolates, fine wine and get to spend time with your boyfriend, Christopher. You weren’t into the whole fancy and expensive bouquets kind of thing because why pour your love and affection in an annual day instead of showering your love ones with the same amount of love and affection everyday? 

You made your way back to your shared apartment with Chris, excited to spend the rest of Valentines’ with him. He actually greeted you with a bouquet of pink roses and a box of your favourite chocolates for the evening to indulge that morning. Excitement start to bubble inside you when you finally reached the apartment door. You dug your keys from your bag but before you could chuck it in the key hole, you hear a loud crash and a "Ay papa," from the other side of the door.

Worried, you pressed your ear against the door to listen but it was silent. "Chris? babe?" You say through the door, quickly chucking the key in and when it opens, a sweating Christopher blocked your way.

"Hermosa, you're home! welcome home!" He greets you while trying to catch his breath. You tried looking over his shoulders but his frame was blocking the view.

"What did you do?" You raised an eyebrow, suspicious as you crossed your arms. 

"Nothing." He smiles just when another crash was heard from the inside and he cringes.

You narrowed your eyes and pushed his chest, "Move, Velez"

He sighs and steps aside. When you entered the apartment, you examined the room to find everything in place except for a few file boxes on the ground. It wasn't long until you hear the sound of pitter patter come from the bedroom and a small puppy with a red ribbon wrapped around them charges towards you.

You gasped and kneeled down to greet your new floof ball. "Awww you cute baby" you cooed. Christopher approaches you with a small smile and rubbed the puppy's chin, " I knew you wanted to adopt her for weeks. You couldn't stop looking through the animal adoption site, so happy valentines, babe"

You smiled at your boyfriend, "this is the best valentines gift ever, mi amor."

“Can I kiss you?” You cooed to your new puppy, booping your nose to their little black ones. Christopher watches with jealousy as your smother you puppy with love and affection.

“I want a kiss too” He pouts. You looked up at his jealous face and rolled your eyes at how adorable he looked.

“Come here, you dork.”  He grins, leaning closer to you. You kissed his nose softly, giggling before he cups your cheeks and pulling you for a short kiss. "Happy valentines day, amor. "  

Your moment was interrupted when you felt soft wet licks on your chins. You both looked down at your new puppy and continued to lick your boyfriends' face.  

Christopher picks her up, cuddling the fluff ball to his chest and runs away from you with your new puppy, “She’s mine now!!”

“Chris! She’s my baby too!” you called after him, running after your boyfriend and the new puppy.

Valentines Request Special: Close

[fuckstudy]

hi!! i'm starting university (in nsw) for the first time tomorrow and i wanted to know any tips for first year students that would help, thank you so much in advance!! 💖

As this is a belated reply, CONGRATS ON COMPLETING FRESHER WEEK. I’ve made a few posts regarding uni in general, along with a few choice tips: 

Tips for Undergrads

Being successful in college [kinda US based but heck, general enough) 

Dealing with failure

Shit Grade? How to feel better after a terrible exam

If I were to distill the key point, I’d say that it’s important to remember that uni is not high school. Accordingly the same study techniques that guaranteed success in high school may not translate to similar success in university. Learn to study smart. 

Specifically this would include (these won’t be popular tips but heck they sure as hell helped me): 

Check your assessment timetable and weighting: there’s no point in spending 20+ hours on an assignment worth 10% when you’ve got a 40% paper around the corner. Similarly, not everything is examinable. Cross check you course content with your assessments (and if you really want to, your course outcomes) and see what parts of the course you ought to dedicate your time to, and what you can skim over. 

Know what classes are compulsory! Skip the shit you don’t need to physically attend - lecture are recordings are a gift, especially if you can save on long commutes/ need to balance a job with study. 

Holy fuck don’t read everything jesus christ: Figure out what is ‘required reading’ and what isnt. Within your ‘required reading’ target your reading - use your lectures as a guide, skim through titles, get a broad overview of the main thrust of the article/chapter before you start. Don’t blindly copy and ‘distill key words’. Uni is a whole different game - you will get multiple chapters per week, depending on your course of study, you may get 100+ pages per unit. You don’t need to read it all to pass - you need to get an overview of the key points and be able to articulate these key points in an exam situation (whether that be to support a thesis in an essay or answer a short answer/ MCQ/ problem question).  

GET ACCESS TO PAST EXAM PAPERS. 

Befriend the librarian. Sounds stupid and incredibly nerdy, but they’re there to help and 1000000% will cut down any risk of jumping into a black hole of research nothingness. 

On the flipside, university presents itself with more opportunities than ever before - outside “just studying”. You have so much more flexibility with your time, more social events, more control over what you want to learn. This allows you to pursue your interests at your own pace - both professional and personal alike. Also as a uni student (and depending on whether you’re a citizen/ PR or not) there’s a whole bunch of resources and funding to assist you to achieve your goals - whether it be access to databases, internship programs, government funding loans to go on exchange, mentoring programs, community based initiatives etc. 

It’ll be hectic adjusting your life to your new schedule, but hell, enjoy the crazy ride. Wishing you all the best! 

[mousedetective]

Someone Who Understands (1/?)

So I managed to get it written before 9AM and posted right around the correct time! ::cheers:: So this fic is a belated Christmas present for @mcbangle and a belated Femslash February fic prompt claim for @doctor-molly-hooper-holmes that sort of ended up being multichapter (whoops?) but I hope won’t linger too long. But it’ll be cute, I promise!

Someone Who Understands - After the dissolution of her engagement and the crap week that follows, Molly just wants something to go well. So when she gets a bouquet of flowers from an unknown person she expects the worst since that’s the way her life seems to be going at the moment. But when Sherlock reveals it’s Janine who sent the flowers and Janine tells her she thought Molly could use something to brighten her day after the hell Sherlock put her through because she understands, Molly’s life takes a turn she didn’t quite expect it to.

Relationship: Molly Hooper/Janine

Characters: Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, Mary Morstan, Janine (Sherlock)

Additional Tags: POV Molly Hooper, Poor Molly, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Eventual Molly Hooper/Janine, Bisexual Female Character, Flowers, Friends to Lovers, Awesome Janine (Sherlock), Mary Ships It, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Molly moves on, Happy Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Read @ AO3 | Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

Oh, it had been an absolutely shite week, Molly thought to herself as she trudged from the Underground stop towards her flat. Sherlock high on drugs, then him getting shot, then John and Mary separating, and then finding out details she wasn’t even sure she had wanted to know… Her head had been in a constant spinning state, and that wasn’t even taking into the fact her own life, with the end of her engagement. Not that that had really come as much of a shock to many, really, not since the return of Sherlock.

No, of course not, she thought to herself bitterly. And the whole time he expertly times coming out of my bedroom in his pants to Tom’s arrival he’s off wooing the damn maid of honour from Mary’s wedding and planning to propose to her. that fact stung the worst, that Sherlock had almost single-handedly ruined her engagement with that stunt while she was asleep in the guest bedroom while he had no intention of doing anything with her. And then he had the cheek to comment on her lack of ring while high as a kite! He was lucky all she did was slap him three times! She really wanted to give him a black eye, really. Or a kick in the bollocks.

And then he had to get himself shot. By Mary, of all people. She had gone to check on Mary after Sherlock texted her to, with an uncharacteristic “please” in the message, and Mary was crying and it all just rather spilled out, the whole story of how she had a hidden past and was in Magnussen’s sights and had shot Sherlock and all she could do at first was sit there in shock. She should have been angry, should have walked out in a huff. Didn’t she love Sherlock? Shouldn’t she have wanted to hurt Mary for hurting him? But when Mary explained, she understood. Sherlock had pushed. Sherlock had pushed limits he shouldn’t have, goaded her in a situation he shouldn’t have and she did what she had to do.

Molly had leaned over and given her the biggest hug, holding Mary while she cried on her shoulder for she had no idea how long, and then told Mary to get some things, she would be staying at her place for a while, until things were sorted out. No women should be alone at a time like this. Mary gave her the most grateful look imaginable and went off to pack a bag, and Molly sent Sherlock a text that Mary was staying with her and her home was not a bolt hole for the time being. He sent a text back with the word “Understood” and his initials, and that was that.

And she hadn’t heard from him since.

It had been a week since that had transpired, and in that week she’d had a heavy workload, she’d dealt with some of the most insufferable DIs in the Yard and Tom had come to clear out the last of his things. That last part had been excruciatingly bad, and she’d spent a few hours with Mary afterward, finishing off a bottle of Louis Latour - Meursault 2014 while Mary commiserated with her, eating a pint of Häagen-Dazs Yuzu Citrus and Cream ice cream while she had a Magnum Almond Tub. The worst of it was Tom wasn’t even particularly angry about anything. No pointed comments about Sherlock, no asking if there were any of Sherlock’s things about, no insinuating she was a horrible cheater. No, he said the barest minimum to her, instead simply walking around with boxes, occasionally asking if there were certain things she would prefer to keep, and then he left, leaving her key on the table by the door. She had never felt more miserable ending a relationship before.

Which led to today and a rather nasty hangover and low threshold for bullcrap. It had gotten to the point she started getting snippy with the people giving her attitude, and Stamford, the only person who knew about her engagement ending, stepped in on her behalf before it got to a point where official complaints were being made and suggested she take an early day and go home and relax. She was thankful for the suggestion because if she had to deal with one more idiotic person, she would most likely be fired on the spot.

This was unlike her, she knew, but she didn’t know how to make things better. She had never been in quite this position before, to have her personal life feel so...bleak. She could have been happy with Tom, really. Maybe not deliriously happy, but happy enough. She loved him, she cared. They could have made it work.

Oh, who was she kidding? She wasn’t in love with Tom. Sherlock had done her a favour. But the man she was in love with had been playing at a relationship with someone else, so...she had no clue what to do there.

She finally got home, rather surprised at that because she had been so lost in her thoughts, and reached in her handbag for her keys. She noticed, though, there was a floral arrangement on the ground and then she smiled slightly. Probably for Mary from John, she thought to herself before kneeling down to pick it up. It was actually quite lovely and she was surprised it hadn’t been snatched, even though her front door was behind a gate; it looked like a mixture of multicolored lilies and roses and looked so vibrant and cheerful. There was a card stuck inside and she looked at it, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw her name on it.

That was curious.

She managed to shuffle things around so that she didn’t drop the flowers and could still get her keys out, and took everything inside once she got the door open. It didn’t appear Mary was inside, so she took it all into her blue tiled kitchen and set the flowers on the counter before opening the envelope. Inside was a card with hearts on the front, and when she opened it in perfect cursive was written "Deep inside you there is a roaring fire that is not cooled by comfort or tamed by fear. A fire that burns in all things."

She stared at the note for a long moment and then set it down. Most people would be flattered to receive a note and flowers from a secret admirer, but most people did not have the friends she had. Most people had not lived the life she had. There was only one thing she could do: call Sherlock Holmes.

[mittensmorgul]

Somebody needs to create a slideshow so that people can understand how we read into this stuff. A Comprehensive Study of Post Modern Literature, including -color archetypes -metaphor -theme -heroes journey -camera work (how scenes are framed)

that would be handy! But there are a lot of posts on the subjects you listed there already… and this is by no means a comprehensive list…

Posts I refer to on these subjects frequently, but bear in mind some of them are old, possibly out of date, incomplete:

Color Archetypes (or at least how SPN uses color):

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/143795162745/the-supernatural-color-wheel

http://neven-ebrez.tumblr.com/post/68163476481/can-you-do-a-summary-of-the-color-symbolism-in

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/138815520390/justanotheridijiton-extending-the-lengthly

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/131240238640/a-purple-point-of-view-the-story-became-the-story

I don’t have any collection of posts specifically about metaphor and theme, but a huge chunk of what we write about every episode has to do with metaphor and themes.

Miraculously, my taglist page began working again. It’s by no means complete (the script that generates it only looks through the last 5000 posts), but it’s searchable, which can help find specific episode posts quickly. You might have better luck searching lizbob’s much better organized tags. :P Or just going ahead and reading her rewatch notes for every episode (currently complete through late s9).

The story over the last several seasons hasn’t been a Hero’s Journey, but a Heroine’s Journey. Not to say it’s about a woman, it’s the archetypal structure of the character’s progress, male or female.

I’ve pointed to this post by flyingfish1 over and over again as one of the most important things to keep in mind during the Carver era to understand the narrative: http://flyingfish1.tumblr.com/post/143026668768/beyond-duality-carver-era-as-a-search-for, and it lays out an excellent primer on the Heroine’s Journey (and refers to the Hero’s Journey). I also have a tag for that.

There’s also thevioletcaptain’s The Weight Of The World Is Love masterpost (posted with the warning that a lot of the linked posts there are long dead)

There are also other individual masterposts for various recurring themes, or at least collections of posts that speak to these themes (translation: I have a tag for that!):

more supernatural flower meta

supernatural beer signs

the abominable cheeseburger (food symbolism)

you learned it from the goats (cas vs coffee/food/humanity)

meta masterpost (I’m starting to collect every masterpost I find under this tag for easy reference, but it’s far from complete)

this is how stories work (general story structure/writing/narrative posts)

As for camera work and the technical aspects specific to film making, that’s not really my area of expertise, but here’s some things I’ve collected over the years.

visual storytelling

because the creators and people who make this show don’t exist in a vacuum separate from the entire history of human storytelling

spn behind the scenes 

this is a jerry wanek appreciation blog (mostly set design, obvs)

sigils and symbols (everything from devils traps to banishing sigils)

http://tvtropes.org/ (if you have a solid week to kill because opening this page is like jumping into a black hole of narrative storytelling. CLICK AT YOUR OWN RISK! :P)

I mean, this is really just the tip of the iceberg, but it’s probably a good jumping off point. There’s at LEAST a solid month’s worth of nonstop reading there.

If that’s still not enough, have a few of my random recent meta tags grouped by theme:

here have my belated thoughts on the whole love… and love (love themes in the Carver era)

this season’s getting handsy (handprint/hands of god meta from s11)

the scheherazade of supernatural (destiel, mostly in s11 and continuing into s12)

winchester family dynamics (mostly s12 themes surrounding family and belonging)

the infamous bed meta

*flings self into the sunshine* (obvs a new-ish tag, but I’m trying to collect a lot of the past sun metaphor/references here now too)

sam sympathizes and dean empathizes (analysis of sam and dean’s individuality)

dean winchester is bilingual (what it says on the tin, except “bilingual” means “bisexual”)

revenge of the subtext 

(which replaced my MUCH longer and rather unwieldy subtext tag: dabb is giving us the subtext equivalent of a linzer torte here there’s like 15 layers of delicious to enjoy)

(and the subtext isn’t a ‘made up’ layer of the text it’s actually a VALID LAYER OF THE TEXT)

(and here it’s all right there in the subtext)

*mittens attempts to become one with the universe amid the sea of duality* (duality themes in s11)

This is just skimming the surface of the available reading, but there’s plenty of rabbit holes for you to run down on this list. Links leading to links leading to documentation, leading to references, leading to other meta blogs, leading to more links. Just sorting through everything here can legit keep you occupied for a few months, though.

You’re gonna need it :P

[hottytoddynews]

SOUTHERNISM OF THE WEEK

Sweet as pie: A descriptive term referring to a person with a pleasant nature. A high compliment when conferred by a Southerner, for we all love pie, and all good pie must contain its weight in sugar.

A cold wind swept through Oxford this past weekend. It had nothing to do with chilled political relationships or tepid sports endeavors.

Literally, the temperature dropped from balmy spring-like stickiness to a brisk autumnal dance of the falling leaves.

It was about time.

At last, the weather is season-appropriate and the clock has fallen back to its natural state. Just in time for the holiday season, a person can rightfully turn one’s thoughts to hot toddies, pumpkin-spiced everything and picturesque fires.

The weather change inspired me to start hustling for the holidays. And while compiling my belated list of dishes to make for Thanksgiving, I chuckled over a recent email exchange with my Canadian buddy Fern. Poor Fernie—all her family cookbooks were boxed for a move, and she needed my versions of several obligatory Thanksgiving “molded salads” (a.k.a. congealed gelatin-based salads). From past experience, she knew our Southern recipes were identical to her Canadian mom’s and auntie’s, albeit known by different names.

That started my own wheels turning as I contemplated the increasing globalization of food culture and how it reflects who our people are, where we came from, and where we seem to be going. It’s the sort of thing our Southern Foodways Alliance colleagues contemplate with every written or oral word seeping out of the Ole Miss Center for the Study of Southern Culture.

Foodways have merged so much that a person could experience related flavors whether dining in Marrakech or Manhattan, El Paso or Copenhagen.

Take, for instance, cauliflower, one of the trending foods of 2017.

More specifically, let’s talk about cauliflower soup, made from roasted, steamed or boiled cauliflower puréed with seasonings of salt, butter and, in most instances, first-rate chicken stock. Depending on personal taste, the soup may contain cream and other ingredients such as sautéed and puréed onions. Seasonings in the soup are tweaked according to cultural preference.

In March in San Francisco, Hubby and I, along with Fern and her hubby, Graham, dined on a lip-smacking chicken stock-based cauliflower soup prepared by a personal chef. Trained in culinary school and apprenticed for years under an Indian master chef, he embellished the San Francisco cauliflower soup with cauliflower florets sautéed in browned butter and vadouvan spice, a subtle Franco-Indian seasoning.

On a cold November day in Stockholm’s Old Town, we dined on a vegetarian version of cauliflower soup. This equally rib-sticking variation contained coconut milk and apple cider vinegar instead of chicken broth. Delicately flavorful, the Stockholm version omitted the curry usually added to coconut milk-enhanced Thai and Indian offerings.

We skipped the cauliflower in Copenhagen but devoured the nightly smorgasbord-style hors d’oeuvres prepared in our hotel for peckish travelers. One of my favorites was a Danish interpretation of every red-blooded American’s favorite party dip—Mexican guacamole. The Copenhagen version was piped as a swirled paste atop 1 1/2-inch blini rounds and topped with Italian-style roasted red pepper strips.

In fact, wherever we ate in London, Berlin, Copenhagen and Stockholm during our recent fall trip, we noticed a confluence of Mexican, Italian, Greek and Middle Eastern cuisine. Fusion food was offered alongside “American” staples of nachos, burgers and wraps.

Desserts were another matter. There’s a reason why we Americans have appropriated French macarons, Franco-Catalan crème brûlèe, Italian tiramisu, Danish pastry and strudel. Even in Berlin, I experienced déjà vu over a raw apple “cake” dessert remarkably similar to my Appalachian kinfolks’ fresh apple cake.

Travel provides a wonderful lens through which to reflect upon one’s roots and, in the case of Hubby and me, be thankful for what we have and where we live. As fun as it was, I returned home from this latest trip just in time for Thanksgiving, grateful to be an American. I’m doubly grateful for the fusion of the many foodways brought here by our immigrant ancestors, who most definitely were not from around here.

The recipes listed below reflect a few of our recent global food fusions. Why not try them at this year’s holiday gatherings?

As my friend Fernie says, “It’s time to tweak tradition, eh?”

SAN FRANCISCO CAULIFLOWER SOUP

Ingredients Unsalted butter 1 yellow onion, chopped 1 clove garlic, sliced thin 1 medium head of cauliflower, sliced thin; reserve a handful of florets 3 medium sunchokes, peeled and sliced thin White pepper Kosher salt 1 to 1 1/2 c. white wine Chicken stock 1 c. crème fraiche or heavy cream Canola oil 2 T. salted butter *Vadouvan spice

Directions: Melt unsalted butter in a skillet and add onions. Simmer until transparent. Add remaining vegetables, seasonings and wine. Simmer on medium-low heat until mixture reduces.

Add chicken stock to almost cover mixture. Bring mixture to a boil and cover, simmering 10-15 minutes.

Stir in crème fraiche or heavy cream and remove from burner. Purée mixture with immersion blender until smooth. Keep warm.

Heat canola or grapeseed oil in skillet until oil dances. Add reserved cauliflower florets and toss. Add salted butter and heat until butter turns brown, tossing florets. Add vadouvan seasoning and continue tossing in browned butter. Add a splash of water to browned mixture to foam it up. Remove from heat and reserve. Plate the soup into cream soup bowls and sprinkle with brown-butter florets. Top with a sprinkling of minced fresh chives.

*Vadouvan: You can make this seasoning with 1 T. powdered garlic and curry, 1 tsp. powdered cumin, cardamom, turmeric and mustard, 1/2 tsp. each red pepper flakes and nutmeg, and 1/4 tsp. ground cloves. (Ground fenugreek seeds are optional, but desirable.)

STOCKHOLM VEGETARIAN CAULIFLOWER SHOOTERS Ingredients 1 T. olive oil 2 medium yellow onions, diced 1 bay leaf 1 1/4 tsp. ground cumin 1 tsp. kosher salt 1 tsp. ground turmeric 1/2 tsp. ground coriander 1/8 tsp. ground cardamom, optional Dash of ground black pepper 1/8 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes  4 garlic cloves, minced 32 oz. carton (4 c.) vegetable stock 1/2 c. water 1 large head cauliflower, chopped 1 c. canned coconut milk 1 T. apple cider vinegar Fresh dill, optional Fresh ground black pepper 

Directions: Heat the olive oil in larger stock pot on medium-low. Add onions and next eight ingredients. Sauté, stirring occasionally, until onions become transparent, about 10 minutes. Stir in garlic; sauté another few minutes.

Add broth and cauliflower; bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce to a simmer and cook 15-25 minutes until cauliflower is tender.

Remove from heat and puree, using immersion blender until silky smooth. Add coconut milk and vinegar. Bring back to simmer but do not boil. Serve hot, topped with fresh dill and ground black pepper.

GUACAMOLE CORN BLINI BITES

Feel free to make mini pancakes, but these corn muffin cakes pair really well with the guacamole.

Ingredients: 8.5 oz. box of corn muffin mix 1/2 c. whole milk 1 large egg, beaten Extra light olive oil for shallow frying Guacamole (omit the chopped tomatoes) Roasted red bell peppers, cut into strips Chives

Directions: Whisk the muffin mix, milk and egg until smooth. Heat about 2 tablespoons of oil in skillet on medium heat until oil shimmers. Carefully drop batter by the teaspoon onto skillet, separating each by about 2 inches. Flip when bubbles appear on tops and bottoms are golden—about 2 minutes. Cook about 1 additional minute.

Remove carefully to serving platter. Continue making the corn blini, adding oil to hot skillet as needed. Pipe guacamole onto each. Top with two crossed strips of roasted red pepper and chives.

FRESH APPLE SHEET CAKE

Use a 9 x 13 inch baking pan, ungreased. This is an Americanized easy interpretation of German raw apple cake.

Ingredients: 15.25 oz. box of yellow cake mix 1 stick (1/2 c.) salted butter, softened 1/4 c. light brown sugar 1 tsp. ground cinnamon 6-7 apples (I use a bag of 7 Sweet Tango apples) 1 c. sour cream (low-fat is ok) 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract 1 large egg 1/2 c. golden raisins, optional 1 c. chopped pecans or walnuts, optional

Directions: Heat oven to 350˚F. Combine cake mix, softened butter, brown sugar and cinnamon in a large bowl until crumbly. It makes about 3 to 3 1/2 cups. Reserve 2 cups. Spread remaining crumble into bottom of pan and press lightly.

Peel apples and shred on large hole side of box grater. Pick out any stray apple seeds. Combine with optional raisins and pecans if desired. Spread apples evenly in pan over crumbled base.

Beat sour cream and egg together until blended. Spread evenly over the apples. Sprinkle evenly with reserved crumble mixture. Bake 25-35 minutes, until topping is light golden-brown. Remove from oven to cool before slicing. Feel free to cover when cooled and refrigerate up to 2 days. Serve topped with whipped cream and mint leaves. Feel free to drizzle with berry liqueur such as Chambord (raspberry). Yields 16 servings. Freezes well.

Laurie Triplette is a writer, historian and accredited appraiser of fine arts, dedicated to preserving Southern culture and foodways. Author of the award-winning community family cookbook GIMME SOME SUGAR, DARLIN’, and editor of ZEBRA TALES (Tailgating Recipes from the Ladies of the NFLRA), Triplette is a member of the Association of Food Journalists, Southern Foodways Alliance and the Southern Food and Beverage Museum. Check out the GIMME SOME SUGAR, DARLIN’ website and follow Laurie’s food adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

The post On Southern Cooking: Let’s Celebrate Our Foreign Food Roots appeared first on HottyToddy.com.