#moldova came VERY close

[totaldramafan-lauri]

First Impressions part 2

Well....m-my first “no” came....but not in the way I would’ve liked.....

Ireland

Will this FINALLY be a lucky year for the Irish?

Hmmmmm.....I like these lyrics, but at the same time...There’ve been a lot like it.....

But hey, I don’t mind more songs about getting back up again! I could use more of those!

Also the chorus is really nice and soaring

Not one of the best so far, but I can see this being one I have a steady liking of, as in, reliable and not getting old

Oooo, cool ending!

Better than last year?: About the same?

Croatia

OK.......go on....I’m interested......O__O

IS THAT CRAZY FRO- *shot*

OK, NOW THERE’S A CHOIR WHAT’S GOING ON

I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s....

It’s.....catchy! It’s winning me over! It’s weird, but not bad!

Catchy catchy catchy- wh- abrupt ending? Dang.....I was getting into that.....

So, uh.....potential grower for sure. Right now I’m mostly confused, but intruiged.....and there are parts that I found catchy, for sure, so....yeah, gotta give it time, sorry! For now, I think I like it....?

Better than last year?: At least I can say YES to this!

Switzerland

A song called “Watergun”....? What this gonna be about? O.o

Uh....another “when we were young” song...?

Oh......OH.......

OOOOOOHHHHH.....

Uh.....I-I.....I don’t think....a-anyone does......

.......god, seriously....? I-I can’t say anything, or I’ll look like a....

Uh.....I like the drums?

The lyrics are.....good....? E-emotional.....?

But.....why Eurovision....?

Why? WHY? It’s been years since the last song like this......I thought we all understood not to DO this......Eurovison is FUN......FUN.....FUN, dang it......

It’s a good song, but......it’s SO FLIPPING HEAVY......and it doesn’t even have an addictive beat to compensate for that (like the last song like this, “Non Me Avete Fatto Niente”).....I-I don’t want it here.....sorry.....

Better than last year?: Gonna still be honest and say yes to this, tho. This is the more memorable song by far

Israel

Can we go back to fun now....?

Sounds....like it....?

OK, this sounds like.....an anti-hater song? Cool...

OK, this is kinda silly......That’s all you have? “The power of a unicorn”? I-I mean, I guess having the power of Twilight Sparkle would be scary, but-

Why a unicorn in the first place? Why is THAT what your mind jumps to? A creature that doesn’t exist? How will your haters take you seri-

.......Sorry, I’ll try to turn my brain off and have fun

Ohhhh, the beat’s picking up, I like this

Why was that ending so abrupt??? C’mon! >__<

Ummmm.....d-dunno how to feel about that one, sorry......Gonna need another listen or two.....Gotta get used to it, just like Croatia’s, but I think I like this one less

Better than last year?:  About the same when removing my stupid bias toward “I.M”’s lyrics, leaning slightly no when factoring in said bias

Moldova

I’m expecting this to pick up....It’s Moldova, after all......They know how to have fun.....

Here we go!

Not....the BEST beat I’ve heard so far, but good! This seems catchy!

This is REALLY GOOD- I feel hypnotized by this thing almost! I didn’t expect this to become so catchy, but that chorus....How it keeps repeating....I like it O.O

It’s official, I’ve eaten my words in record time. I LOVED that! Not quite Love At First Listen, and I think I still had a stronger reaction to Malta and Norway, but this is a close third to those two, with the potential to surpass them! Good work to Moldova! Not as silly as your stuff usually is, but it’s got the energy it needs!

Better than last year?: Y......y-yes.....? JUST for me tho! I get that’s probably an unpopular opinion, heh.....

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Chapter 1: Moveo Et Profitior (By my actions I am known)Part 3

Previous / Masterlist / Next

https://href.li/?https://archiveofourown.org/works/47442772

‘‘Coffee?’’ Price offered, lifting an empty mug in her direction.

‘‘Sure’’ Sergeant Vega nodded, standing at attention in front of Price’s desk in his office, trying to not be too evident while looking around.

‘‘At ease, Riot, please sit down’’

She did as she was told, moving the chair in front of the desk slightly to sit down on it, facing Price when he sat down as well, and nodded her thanks when he handed over the mug now full of coffee.

Price looked at her expectantly, leaning back into his chair. She stared back, cup in hand.

‘‘It’s going to be a long interview if you don’t say anything, kid’’

‘‘You are the one who called me, sir’’

‘‘That’s true’’ Price nodded, and put a hand over a closed folder on his desk. Her folder. ‘‘I have questions’’

‘‘The answers are there’’

‘‘Not all of them’’ He opened one of the drawers in his desk to grab a cigar, offering one to her and nodding when she refused politely with a gentle shake of her head. ‘‘I’m not fond of Captain Rico’’

Her blue eyes narrowed, and her fingers grabbed the cup so tight, that if it had been a paper cup it would be torn by now.

‘‘Neither am I… sir’’

‘‘Soap vouchs for you, and his word is fine for me. But in this team we work together, very closely, and I want to make sure there’s nothing left aside that could come bite me in the ass. So… What happened in HeadHunters that you got them shut down?’’

Sergeant Vega stared at Price for a long, tense moment, before very slowly placing the mug on his desk. Then, her right hand still on her lap, raised her left one to slowly pull one of the strings of her black surgical mask over her ear, and then over the other one, and placed the mask on the desk too.

Price nodded slightly, arms crossed while looking at her, not showing any kind of emotion, specially not pity. People like them didn’t do pity.

Christine Vega’s left cheek was marred by a long, knotted wound that started at the left corner of her lips as in a half-assed Glasgow smile, and marked her flesh below her cheekbone. It looked half healed by now, and surely it would need more time before thinking about undergoing surgery to try and fix it.  

‘‘I read about the op in Transnistria’’ Price opened another drawer, looking for something. She started to remove her gloves, her eyes still focused on the captain.

‘‘Half of it didn’t make it to the report’’ She left the gloves on the desk, and showed him the back of her hands. Two of her fingers were still bandaged with a small ferula, and there were about five nails still growing. ‘‘Long story short that it’s not there is that op was shit, my commander officer decided to bomb the building with my squad inside to finish the job, and I didn’t die’’

‘‘You got caught. And interrogated?’’ The captain leaned back in his chair, understanding more things now after she nodded her head. He had the mental image of a younger Simon Riley for a second, but put it back to sleep for now. ‘‘How long?’’

‘‘Three days. I broke out on my own. Nobody came’’

Price frowned, a hint of anger now in his eyes and clenched teeth. He couldn’t imagine a situation where he would bomb his boys, or anyone under his command, and even less how anyone would abandon their men like that.

‘‘Guess Rico wasn’t glad that you came back’’

‘‘He wasn’t’’ Riot’s eyes narrowed again, but she remained expresionless, maybe her jaw tightened a bit. ‘‘Offered my position back if I kept my mouth shut, but I resigned right away’’

‘‘And how did your file end on my desk, Sergeant?’’

‘‘Laswell’’ She leaned forward and grabbed the mug to sip a bit of coffee now that it wasn’t as hot as before. Maybe the wound gave her problems with too hot or too cold food or beverages. He observed her, still waiting for more, and she continued. ‘‘When I broke out I went to the CIA station at the Embassy in Moldova. I knew her from other ops and knew she was solid’’

Captain Price nodded, arms crossed and observing while she drank a bit more of the coffee, turning her head slightly to the left so her scar wouldn’t be in full display for him. The mental image of a broken Simon Riley was still in his head, and with effort, he shook it away again.

‘‘I trust Laswell, and she send you my way. You’re hired if you want the job’’

‘‘I want the job’’ Riot said plainly, looking at the mug. Price nodded, and then grabbed a card from his open drawer and handed it to her.

‘‘My rules are simple: respect your teammates, don’t get caught stealing shit from base, don’t steal my cigars and one monthly session with our psychologist at least. If possible, more than one per month, but at least one per month, and that’s non-negotiable’’

She took the card, surprised, and put it in her pocket without looking.

‘‘That’s… surprisingly healthy’’

‘‘We all have our demons. Doesn’t mean you have to battle them alone’’

Sergeant Vega raised to her feet and shook Price’s hand, with a small, almost shy smile which made Price think it was a shame she wore a mask.

‘‘Thank you, sir’’

‘‘You have two days to move to base. Welcome aboard, kid’’

[eccentrickleptomaniac]

Ummm another headcannon ask

Relationship between Poland and Soviet republics at the time of eastern block?

(also broski your headcannon posts are so interesting and like???? You make a lot of sense ty)

Oh my god your pfp scared me so bad. hi catboy streamer fyodor dostoevsky from bungou stray dogs

anyways ya ill do it in alphabetical order

armenia - didn't get to know her too well tbh. they both had sympathies towards the others due to how people treated them (armenia having the armenian genocide, poland having. uh. like her entire post ww1 history) and were friendly to eachother when they were around eachother. i wouldn't say they were friends though? more like friendly coworkers.

azerbaijan - poland knew almost nothing about her during eastern bloc times. atleast with armenia they could bond over shared experience, when it came to azerbaijan there was nothing in common between them.

belarus - belarus reminded her of ukraine, and while the two wouldn't fight over anything, poland would be suspiciously avoidant of belarus during her time as an ssr. if belarus did approach her she would become rather hostile.

estonia - i help you/you help me situation. the two were friends pre-occupation (although they rarely actually talked outside of the LoN) and it sort of continued into the cold war. the two still rarely talked though since estonia was usually preoccupied in her country with other things.

georgia - friendly, another mutual help situation. they'd been friends pre-1918 independence and that didn't change post. georgia gave much help to poland during the latter half of ww2 and she couldnt thank her enough. while once again georgia was usually away sorting her own republics problems when they could talk they spoke like old good friends.

kazakhstan - barely knew eachother.

kyrgyzstan - also barely knew eachother. unlike with kazakhstan im pretty sure poland didn't even realize they existed

latvia - friends but only because their friends were friends with eachother. so like, they liked eachother but they didn't exactly talk to eachother.

lithuania - poland's sister. the two had a lot of unresolved issues from the first half of the century and would avoid eachother if possible. their first actual talk post-ww2 was in 1983 during martial law, when lithuania found poland in wrocław and encourged her to keep fighting for her independence from the USSR.

moldova - friendly but didn't talk much. poland and moldova have some history together but generally weren't too close to eachother.

russia - poland has a very strict policy of not being mean to children, of which russia was during the cold war. she wasn't friendly to him but she wasn't unfriendly either. indifferent, maybe a little wary of him. she watched him morph into someone very much like his father and while she didn't like it she didn't say anything about it.

tajikistan - barely knew him (her?).

turkmenistan - barely knew him

ukraine - hostility mostly out of guilt. when they saw eachother at the un poland tended not to speak when ukraine said something and if she did it'd be snarky and bitter.

uzbekistan - barely knew her

hope this suffices!

[qqueenofhades]

Hey, wanted to say I love how you’ve written about slavery in your fic! Also, sorry if this is out of left field, but as you’re a historian wanted to ask how much do you know about slavery of other ethnic groups across europe. It’s a subject I’ve been passionate about but have no on really to talk to. I’m from romania, and the racism there against romani people is very widespread, and whenever I try to call to people’s attention that they shouldn’t be, idk, racist, it never gets taken seriously. A part of me feels like the fact that slavery in the region isn’t thought about in schools from an ethnic standpoint is also to blame. Roma (and tatars but to a lesser extent) were not the only slaves, with romanians being in that group as well, and slavery didn’t start with them, but a lot were enslaved because of their background. Even the fact that it’s not clear if romani people came to wallachia and moldova on their own or were brought there through slave trade is unclear is never mentioned, which makes my bloood boil. Sorry for the random ask, but again, it’s something that I can’t discuss seriously with anybody else, and wanted to see your opinion on it.

Welp, okay. This is the kind of ask that I want to think about and carefully source before I answer, because there is obviously so much possibility for inadvertent or deliberate misinterpretation, bad-faith reading, and all the other tedious idiot gymnastics that both Tumblr and the internet at large like to engage in. So here goes.

First off, unfortunately, slavery is one of the oldest institutions in the world, and has a long record of practice in ancient and medieval history, as well as its best-known manifestation in the transatlantic African slave trade from roughly 1619-1807, as well as its continued practice in the British Empire until 1833 and in America until 1865. (1619 is when the first shipload of slaves arrived in the American colonies, the transatlantic slave trade was outlawed in Britain in 1807, the practice of slavery in the British Empire was phased out starting in 1833, and while Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863, it didn't have any kind of actual effect until after the end of the Civil War in 1865). That does not even include the profound damage done by both slavery itself and its after-effects, which are obviously prominent and persistent down to this very minute, and infect social attitudes, financial circumstances, generational inequality, and all the other poisonous and permanent consequences of systemic racism. So sometimes when people try to insist that White People Were Slaves Too!, it puts my hackles up. I absolutely 100% know that's not what you mean here, and you're very rightly pointing to how complicated the idea of "whiteness," race, and inequality is in a European context, as well as an American one. But in other cases, the "white people were slaves too!" argument is used as a straw man and deliberate deflection to argue that African-Americans don't have some kind of unique experience with slavery, or that their present circumstances and disadvantages aren't impacted by their past. Which, of course, is racist bullshit and straight-up deflectionary reactionism and doesn't make any sense, but still. That is their MO.

To turn, then, to the subject of slavery in Europe, among people who would now be identified or assigned as white, and in the premodern, pre-Triangle Trade period. For all the admiring press they've gotten in recent years as a supposedly "free" or more gender-egalitarian society, the medieval Scandinavians/Vikings were prolific slave traders (possibly a reason why the dudebros love them as a supposed model of White European Masculinity) and it was a fundamental part of their economy and their world. Concubinage (aka domestic/sexual slavery) and slavery were also closely connected in the Viking world, and the slave trade peaked in the British Isles (including Ireland) between the ninth and eleventh centuries. The people who were trafficked in this trade were usually Slavs (i.e. eastern and southern peoples from the frontiers of the continent of Europe), which is, after all, literally where the word comes from (Slav --> slave). There was a possible but unclear racial element to this belief that Slavs were the best slaves, and probably based more on religion (paganism vs. Christianity) than any explicit notions of racial superiority or inferiority. They were, at least in appearance, white people sold to other white people, and the idea of them being a "different race," while it existed, again wasn't really clear or defined.

In the context of medieval Bohemia (modern Czech Republic, Slovakia, and parts of Germany), it's hard to tell how exactly "free" and "unfree" laborers were distinguished, and how much slave markets drove the local economy, which is often the case elsewhere as well. In England there were even supposedly "free" and "unfree" knights until at least the Norman Conquest, recognizing the fact that knighthood alone wasn't the prestigious social standing it later became with the development of chivalry (and raises the question of whether there were essentially "slave knights.") The whole was-serfhood-essentially-slavery debate has likewise been raging for years: serfs didn't have legal "personhood" or recognition in the court system, weren't able to leave their land without their lords' permission, weren't financially compensated for their work, etc., but most historians agree that this isn't exactly slavery as we would now define it. It was certainly unpaid bondage of a sort, but there were still systems, rules, and expectations that governed the serf's life, some amount of implicit personhood even if not in the eyes of the law, and goods and services they were entitled to receive in return for their work. None of this existed in slavery.

The slave system in medieval and early modern Iberia (Spain and Portugal) was the essential basis for what was exported to Spanish colonies in the New World, in Mexico, the Caribbean, and Latin America. So by the time both transatlantic voyages and colonial economies had expanded to such a scale that the widespread capture, transportation, and exploitation of Black Africans into bondage was practical, it was already building on a system that had existed for centuries, rather than innovating from scratch. This, I think, represents the key distinction: first, that of size, as the transatlantic trade was far larger in scale, scope, and duration than any of the localized and essentially informal slave markets of the Viking/medieval world. They did generally do it as a practice, but transatlantic trading made it a main pillar of the early modern world and the economies of the colonizing Western European countries, on a central and integral level. Next, this was when slavery began to become explicitly racialized, and a suite of theories were developed as to why black people were both inherently inferior to white people and therefore actually "benefiting" from slavery and were the natural candidates for it. I have written before about how while Irish and Scottish people were indentured laborers in the New World, their status did not equate to slavery, and they were still recognized as essentially human (if of a lesser standard than the "supreme" Englishman). They were also increasingly phased out as the Black African slave trade became the preferred option both economically and racially.

In the specific context of the Romani: as you say, it's true that at this time and through much of the late medieval/early modern period, they were automatically enslaved, and this status persisted beyond that of other comparable groups, affecting perceptions of and racism to them down to the present day. Shannon Woodcock summarizes:

Romani individuals in Romania exist in historical sources as the property of boiers (landowners), state administrators and the clergy, where they are called “Ţigani.” The first archival evidence of Roma in the Romanian principality of Wallachia is the record of 40 sălaşe (families) given to Voivod Dan I in 1385 from Vladislav I, a Serbian landowner. Until 1699 (when Transylvania came under the administration of the Hapsburg empire), all Roma who entered the Romanian principalities of Transylvania, Wallachia or Moldova were captured and made slaves of the state; and after 1699 this practice continued in Wallachia and Moldova and was modified somewhat in Transylvania. The state could retain slaves for their own use, or sell them to boiers or monasteries. Slaves were called sclavi, robi, or Ţigani. Other ethnic groups were also slaves, such as a small percentage of Tartars, but these groups were freed by the end of the 15th century, and only Roma remained slaves. The term Ţigan came to conflate the legal and social position of slaves with ethnic Roma. To be a slave was to be considered an ethnic Ţigan. There was no such thing as a free Ţigan, or a free Rom. Romanians did not recognize or interpellate Roma as anything other than Ţigani, sclavi and robi.

Because Romani people still suffer the effects of this system, and are subject to modern-day prejudice resulting from this generational inequality and discrimination, yes, it's fair to say that they experience the aftereffects of slavery similar to African-Americans. Your average white man claiming that his distant ancestors were enslaved (such as they very well might have been in the Viking markets) does not suffer in any way from this. Nobody is going to treat him differently (aside from maybe avoid him at parties because he's a blustering racist). That ancestral experience does not affect him now, and his racial status is not conflicted or perceived as inferior in any way. Nobody is still going to treat him as Lesser because he's Irish-American (no matter what he thinks or likes to say), and he and his ancestors have never been subject to an all-consuming world order and economic system that prescribed their automatic inferiority and their essential dehumanization for centuries, and which is still largely unchallenged today, despite some superficial disruptions and reforms. Just because white people have been subject to slavery in history does not make their experience equivalent to the entire world order of white supremacy that has been systematically implanted into global power systems, and still exists to this day. A black person, however, is still automatically subject to that legacy and its discrimination whether they like it or not, and they have no choice of opting out.

As such, because Romani are not "white" in the European hierarchy of race and racial relations, even if they might be considered as such by superficial American analyses, they suffer that same sort of inherited generational discrimination just by nature of who they are as a class. This is the case especially with Eastern Europeans in general, who have long been seen as not being quite as "good" or "pure" as Western Europeans, reflects those old religious fault lines (they were pagan or Orthodox Christian or Muslim or etc., while the Westerners were Latin Catholics), and makes European racism a far more complicated matter than who simply "looks" white to outward eyes. The Romani cannot "opt out" of their background and the inherent prejudice that comes with it, in the same way that African-Americans can't "opt out" of theirs (while as noted, it makes absolutely no difference at all to your average white person what their ancestors were and whether or not they were enslaved, because they benefit from the operation of white supremacy as a power structure and overall system of perception). As such, a black or Romani person has no choice but to be black or Romani, and they can't have the luxury of deciding whether or not they're going to care about what those labels signify to the rest of the world. It just happens to them anyway.

In sum: thanks for the ask, and hopefully this was helpful as a discussion for you. It was certainly interesting for me. :)

[mariacallous]

“I can only sit still for about six to eight weeks at a time,” said writer and literary critic Caroline Eden. An avid adventurer with a taste for local cuisine, Caroline is best known for her books Samarkand, Black Sea,and Red Sands, which blend travel writing and recipes from Eastern Europe, Central Asia, and beyond.

I happened to catch her at home, fresh off a trip through Moldova, Romania, and Ukraine that provided ample material for her recently launched newsletter, Journeys Beyond Borders. In Ukraine, she traveled south to Odesa to revisit the people and places she encountered in 2016–2017 when researching Black Sea. An updated edition of the book came out last November, which includes a new introduction reflecting on Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, a fascinating essay about eating lunch on the Bosphorus with Turkish ship spotter Yörük Işık, and, of course, an extra recipe.

Upon returning to Odesa in February, Caroline found that two years of all-out war had transformed the city deeply, though not beyond recognition. Retracing her steps, she visited the famous Pryvoz Market, where she met food vendors struggling to keep their businesses afloat in wartime. A couple of the restaurants Caroline had written about in her book had closed. And the locals she spoke to seemed worried about global attention shifting away from Ukraine. “I immediately noticed that there weren’t very many young people around because either they’ve left or they’re fighting, and the people who were there just looked exhausted,” she said. 

Caroline said the mood in Odesa lifted around Valentine’s Day, though only briefly. “Every other person on the street was carrying a bouquet of flowers,” she recalled. “The hotel I always stay in went full-on for Valentine’s and had petals and hearts scattered [everywhere], confetti on the floor, and a full booking for the night. But the following morning, at 4:00 a.m., we were in the bomb shelter because the air raid sirens were going off.” (Russia’s missile and drone strikes on Odesa would only intensify in the weeks that followed.)

Once home from her travels, Caroline set about recording the audiobook for her forthcoming memoir, Cold Kitchen: A Year of Culinary Journeys, which will be released in the United Kingdom on May 9 (the U.S. edition hits stores in January 2025). Over the course of 12 chapters, each with a recipe at the end, Caroline takes readers inside her subterranean Edinburgh kitchen as she prepares dishes that evoke memories of different places that have influenced her thinking, work, and life. “It’s quite a meandering book,” she told me. “But the idea is that you can travel very well in the kitchen, with some imagination.” 

The following story was written by Caroline Eden for Meduza’s weekly email newsletter The Beet. The accompanying recipe is from her book, Red Sands.

A trip to the Dordoi Bazaar

Kyrgyzstan might be landlocked, but Bishkek, the country’s capital, has a market forged entirely from shipping containers. Dordoi Bazaar is made up of thousands of these steel boxes covering the equivalent of 160 rugby fields. Flipped on their sides and doubled up, they make efficient shops, rigged with lights and padlocked securely at night. Distinct in spirit and commerce, Kyrgyzstan’s biggest bazaar offers particular insights into local trade wars, hospitality, food, and the new Silk Road. Among locals, it is sometimes called the Dordoi Republic.

Thornton Cohen / Alamy / Vida Press

Dordoi employs 70,000 or so workers, officially and unofficially: drivers, unpackers, cooks, shopkeepers, tea boys, toilet attendants, security guards, waitresses, exchange tellers, and tailors. Pushers and pullers, handlers and dealers. All busy importing, exporting, and re-exporting. What may look anarchic at first is actually a very well-oiled operation. Money dictates order, and the bazaar is far too profitable to be chaotic. Dordoi has its own football (soccer) team and a mosque that is well-attended on Fridays.

Gold-painted statues of a man and two women flank the main entrance, a life-size monument to Central Asia’s “shuttle traders,” entrepreneurs who commute between different countries, buying goods in one location and then selling them elsewhere for profit. Memorialized, too, in gold, are piles of bulging suitcase-sized bags that each statue leans against. These familiar-looking squares of checkered woven plastic with handles are an instantly recognizable universal symbol of people on the move, of the entrepreneur and the newly arrived. 

Food also plays a vital role. Inside, on an average day, you’ll see tea ladies weaving and waltzing through the alleys, their trolleys set up with tea, coffee, and condensed milk, pushing deeper into the twisting, gurgling intestines of the bazaar’s ever-hungry belly. Prams operate as moveable cafés, too, with Thermoses filled with tea and blankets swaddling freshly baked samsa and bread. Trolleys of kumys, fermented mare’s milk, go whizzing by, white and splashing. Sometimes a cart, displaying all the ingredients for ashlan-fu (a noodle dish) or a giant mound of plov, topped with quail eggs, is pushed along. 

Caroline Eden

But one of the best places to eat is tucked between the China and Europe zones, where, if you search, you’ll spot a vendor tending to a tiny oven filled with rows of flaky samsa slowly turning ever more golden. Square rather than triangular, and filled with chicken rather than the more typical pumpkin, lamb, or mutton, the cook arranges his samsa in lines so their corners point upwards like a mountain range. Hot and moreish, the baker prepares 200 or so of these over the course of a lunchtime — and it is impossible to pass by without making a purchase. 

The recipe below, from Red Sands: Reportage and Recipes Through Central Asia, from Hinterland to Heartland, is a nod to those delicious samsa served at the Dordoi Bazaar.

Grand Asia Express Samsa

Essentially triangular Central Asian turnovers, samsa are eaten everywhere and are typically filled with lamb, potato, or pumpkin. They make for a perfect snack, eaten hot on the spot. Here’s a quick recipe named after the legions of trucks and truckers that arrive and depart from Dordoi Bazaar, picking up a samsa or two for their long border-crossing journeys. The onion seeds make a nice addition, but they are optional.

(Twelve is a great number for a party or gathering but a lot for a small household. You can simply divide all the ingredients in half to make six.)

MAKES 12 LARGE SAMSA

400g/14oz chicken breasts

1 tsp olive oil

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 medium-size potatoes, peeled and roughly chopped

1 medium onion, roughly chopped

1 tsp ground cumin

1 x 500g/1lb 2oz packet of puff pastry 

1 egg, beaten, for an egg wash

1 tbsp onion seeds (optional)

Preheat the oven to 180°C/350°F/gas mark 4 and prepare a small roasting tin by lining it with tin foil.

Put the chicken breasts in the tin, rub them with olive oil, and season with a pinch of salt and pepper. Roast them in the oven for 25 minutes or until cooked through. Set aside to cool, then roughly chop.

Ola O. Smit

Bring a medium saucepan of salted water to a boil and cook the potatoes for 15 minutes or until soft. Drain and set aside to cool.

Pulse the onion in a food processor until very fine, then add the cooled potatoes, and pulse again. Add the chicken, cumin, a good pinch of salt and pepper, and pulse again to bring the mixture together — you may need to scrape the sides of the bowl down as you go.

On a lightly floured surface, cut the pastry into quarters, then cut each quarter into thirds. Roll out each piece of pastry so that you have 12 rectangles, roughly 17 x 10cm (7 x 4in). Drop 40g/2 tbsp of the mixture onto one end of each rectangle, leaving a border around the edge. Brush the edges of the pastry with a little of the egg, then fold the other half over the top, pressing the edges together to seal well. Repeat with the remaining pastry. Brush the top of each samsa with egg and scatter over the onion seeds, if using. Place the samsas on the tray and bake for around 25–30 minutes until cooked through and completely golden.

[ryttu3k]

Semi-final votes and comments, now in finals order! First, the scores I gave them, with a reminder that these can and absolutely do change between semi and final.

10/12: Australia 8/12: Norway, Portugal, Moldova, Finland, Slovenia, Albania, Austria 7/12: Serbia, Sweden, Czechia, Belgium, Lithuania, Poland, Armenia 6/12: Israel, Cyprus 5/12: Croatia 4/12: Switzerland, Estonia

No numerical score for the auto qualifiers.

And, my initial comments!

Austria: Okay, this one is making me grin and is also pretty catchy. 8/12 just for doing something genuinely different!

Portugal: Oh shit this is fun. Energetic torch song in Portuguese with a red dress I'm pretty sure the singer nicked from Conchita Wurst (complementary). I'm into it! 8/12

Switzerland: Oh no, a Heavy Topic Song™. Listen I respect it but is it really Eurovision? 4/12

Poland: I feel like I'm watching an aerobics video from the 90s. Produced in Spain. Which is odd, since they're Polish. On the other hand, I am jiggling my leg! Maybe it's Second Semi Final Syndrome's lower standards? 7/12

Serbia: Staging is really strong this year! Oh we're straight video game now. Wasn't sure at first but it's definitely growing on me! 7/12

France: I'm giving them nul points based solely on being a Mr Bean enjoyer. Okay no it's not bad. Ballady vibes but could be a banger.

Cyprus: Australia's back-up entry! He came 7th in the selection show last year (Voyager came second). …yeah no dull. Oh well. 6/12

Spain: Yeah I'm gonna have to wait to see the whole thing, but looks interesting. Maybe not my thing, but interesting!

Sweden: Loreen is back, too! I do wonder about this, previous winners returning tends not to play out great unless you're Johnny Logan. …It is a bit panini press, yeah XD Yeah honestly I'm not feeling this, definitely not as much as Euphoria, which I goddamn adored. It's still really solid, it's just lacking something? I suspect it'll win XD;; 7/12

Albania: Oh there's the drama. Not in English, rad costumes! 8/12

Italy: Eh, doesn't really do much for me.

Estonia: Nifty a cure for the fact that I've been awake for nearly two hours and it's only 5:20 AM. *faceplants on the keyboard 4/12

Finland: “When your sleeves say Met Gala but your chest says Vicks VaporRub.” The fan favourite! You go dude bust out of that box. I'm not actually 100% sold on it musically, but the presentation is top notch. Oh hey I really dig that last bit, actually! Rainbows! 8/12

Czechia: Oh these visuals slap. Not 100% sold on the song itself but the presentation is really cool. 7/12

Australia: Yeah here we go! Honestly so glad we're closing the show. Very synthwavey vibes but like, synthwave goes rock. And our old friend, the wind machine! And a keytar! Fuck yeah that's a closer! 10/12

Belgium: God this gets points just for not making me fall asleep. The Ballroom vibe is fun as hell too. 7/12

Armenia: Oh god this is so slow. Armenia, it's 5:13 AM, it's too early for a slow song. There we go, picked up! Yeah, aside from the slow start, this works. 7/12

Moldova: Welcome back, Pasha! I did love Lăutar. Oh shit this is fun as hell, really digging the staging and costuming, it's got some fun folky elements but amped up. 8/12

Ukraine: It's kind of giving 90s boy band, alas.

Norway: Oh this is a strong start! Costuming is dramatic, it's got energy, I dig it! Oof, that high note didn't quite hit, though. 8/12

Germany: ‘Blood and Glitter' is a hell of a title. They look like they're gonna be fun as hell!

Lithuania: Slow start, but some big vocals to save it a bit. I'm sorry I'm so tired. 6/12

Israel: It feels listenable but in the most generic way possible? Like, “Okay, start with interesting visuals, put some soaring vocals in, now do a rap bit, now do a dance, now end with pyros!” Like objectively I'm not sure there's anything wrong with it but it just feels… generic!! 6/12

Slovenia: Points for not English + I kinda want the lead singer's shirt + it's funky + band! With instruments! It's certainly no Maneskin, but yeah, definitely favourite of the night so far! 8/12

Croatia: Myf (Australian commentator) just described them as bonkers so I am eagerly awaiting this. …It is indeed bonkers! Not sure about the weird military-esque vibe but it's also giving somewhat cheerleader? Okay this is basically nigh unlistenable but it does get Bonkers Points™. 5/12

United Kingdom: It's certainly not bad! It's just very… more of the same, I guess?

So starting out with a really fun one, Australia and Finland have not-great places in the very middle of the pack, and we're ending with something very… samey. Well, we'll see how it goes!

[autumn-lavelle]

Dreamtalia: New Dreamers

Yep, I made the Dreamtalia butterfly eyes for my littlest muses! Which I shall post here cause I don't know how to paste all these on on paper.All the designs are very simple, as are the colors because I am calling them 'New dreams' that were born. My interpretation of the micros family dynamics is probably different then most. Kugel is loved by Roderich, and Ladonia sees Berwald as his father. Also has a crush on Peter.

The 'New Dreams' are not fully formed, or matured, and so they took the little nations as vessels to use their energy to become whole. They do it while the kids sleep, and try to be inconspicuous to not alert Reeve, the older Nations, etc. These ones will be going on my side account @little-dreamtalia

So yeah...Anyway!

Template and Dreamtalia verse is made by @kyokyo866

Kugel's dream eyes. No Arcana number, or title as of yet. He is not fully a lucid dreamer like papa Roderich, but he has very potent imagination. His dream self is much more shy, and airheaded, very dreamy (pun intended) personality. Forgetful. Is drawn to the Emperor and Empress but too scared to try and get close. (yes I am PruAus shipper, and Kugel is their son leave me alone.)

Ladonia's dream Butterfly. Very headstrong, and excited, has so much creativity but has a hard time expressing or creating things. Is a perfectionist and so critical of anything he does. Is drawn to the Tino and Ber, and knows Ladonia is secretly scared of being shoved aside. Also has a crush on Peter in and out of dreams. His turbulent heart, and secret affection for Peter made it easy for this Dream butterfly to capture Ladonia.

Slightly stronger new dream. But as you can see, the designs of it have not fully matured. Her dream Butterfly is is headstrong, bossy, and scared. She is trying to prove herself, and does not want to be under Reeves rule or ...the other. Likes to sing, and usually is seen wandering the open dream lands and talking with fairies.

Seborga's dream butterfly. Much more ...sad. His was a dream that was dying, and slowly came back. He resonated with Seborga, and the micronation felt sorry for the dream and let's him use his body as a vessel. This dream feels affection towards Italy and Romano. He mostly wanders the realm of Cups, loving the sea. Is not flirtatious like waking Seborga, but he is melancholic and poetic.

Dream Hutt Rivers butterfly. This one is very weak, and Hutt River himself is barely clinging to Micronation hood. They both are, in a sense, hiding from much older dreams. He can be found in the realm were Magician was. He needs to feed of much more powerful sources to stay going. Also is a tad of a masochist. Despite all this he is very warm and protective for people he (or Hutt) care about.

THE NON MICROS

Dream Moldova (. Has a shot at being very strong. Very much into dark and strange things, including his humor. It's why Moldova made the perfect vessel. This butterfly dream is precocious, flighty, childishly cruel, mischievous and can set things on fire when angry.

Dream TRNC. You heard that right. Despite his young physical age, this dream butterfly found this little nation to be strong willed and had to have him. Wise, cautious, and decisive and is a suede leader for the new little dreams. He dwells in the small, little corner of the world of dreams that the New Dream butterflies were formed. No one enters into their abode without his express permission.

[aphee-sheiz]

I am in a good (best ever, actually) place now. I can always be sure I'll have a roof over my head, food, and money. But once in a while, dreams about that chaotic half a year come to me at night. The dream last night be like:

Oh no, I spent my last money to go to California. Do I have enough to go back to at least Istanbul? That's somewhat close to Russia in case everything goes so wrong that I have to go back there. How am I even here, anyway? Why did I think it was necessary to come to the US?

😭 I've never even been to the US. But something similar happened to me when I came to Romania while hella broke. The border control guy asked me,

- what's your purpose of coming to Romania?

- Tourism and transit to Moldova. (Neither are truthful. Prepared the answer in advance. Although I did take a look around Bucharest, very beautiful)

- show me your tickets to Moldova.

- here you go. (Bought them just in case they ask. Returned them prior to coming to the country)

- for the four days you'll spend here, where will you live?

- here's my hostel reservation. (This one was even real!)

- how much money do you have with you?

- around 500 EUR. (Did not prepare the answer in advance. Did not have anything close to 500 EUR on me)

And there we go, he stamps my passport and lets me through. Fake it till you make it right?

And yeah, turned out, I didn't have a reason to come to Romania after all. But again! Bucharest was beautiful

[residentraccoon]

Favorites vs Prediction time!

Estonia: Listen I'm obsessed with both Ollie and 5miinust and it sucks that only one of these has to win, I'd honestly lean towards 5miinust winning since it has the crazy rock-the-stage vibe that might destroy the televotes (something like Trenulețul) but also Ollie has the jury appeal with the rock ballad. So I'm honestly not sure who might even win between these two at this point lmfao. If it's going to be someone else I'll be very surprised, since these two seem the best options to be the winner of Eesti Laul, the others...not so much tbh.

Denmark: I love Saba. The song is literally something I'd hear on the radio in 2013 in my room just chilling and listening to the radio, it reminds me of those carefree times. Lame nostalgia reasons aside, to me it's the strongest song in that weak selection and should win. However, being 1st in the running order definitely does not help, but alas, in a selection of just 8 songs I doubt it might matter that much. KEiiNO and Vēstulēs got 2nd place from the 1st position so it might be possible(as in, they came close but also had another, bigger favorite beside them). Who knows. Besides her, I really have no idea who else might win. Maybe Aura Dione or Nublu but...compared to Saba imo they are much weaker. If they want to have even the slightest chance of qualifying then Saba is the choice.

Lithuania: I only listened to The Roop)))) so I can't really say much about Lithuania's selection since it's the only song that I gave a listen to. I liked it, not as strong as their other 2 songs of course but I enjoyed it! I saw some hype for Silvester Belt as well, could be one of these two, but also could be someone else. I'll just wait and see for this one, as I haven't listened to the others.

Moldova: I liked the two Fevers (yeah Victor's Fever is such a guilty pleasure don't @ me) but Natalia Barbu is definitely getting the win, based on the name, the fact that it's the 4th returning artist in a row for Moldova and her song is pretty much one of the best from surprise, another weak selection. I didn't exactly felt like my favorite from here but it's a solid song. Might or might not grow on me.

[suratan-zir]

Just some of my unrequested thoughts in bad English about doing business with Russia. Long post.

I know that over time, Ukraine will be perceived by many people from other countries as an inconvenience. Even now, with half-assed sanctions imposed on Russia, gas and oil prices are rising. If a full embargo is imposed, prices will skyrocket. And it's easy to be "for all good and against all evil" when it doesn't require you to actually pay a real price for it. If you are one of those amazing people who is willing to pay that price no matter what, I am eternally grateful to you. However, I know there will be many people who aren't ready. And the longer it goes, the more people will be angry with this whole situation.

I know what it's like to be poor, to count every penny. Both me and my husband came from poor families, and only the last couple of years we have a decent income. At some point, we were so out of money that instead of sugar in our tea, we had to use old hard candies "Барбарис" found in the depths of the kitchen cabinet. Because we couldn't afford to buy sugar. We sometimes laugh about it now.

Only when you know the true value of money in a human's life can you really understand that there are still other things that are worth much more. But it is still your choice - to support cutting off all trade with Russia, or to put your own and your family's well-being above the lives of some foreigners from Eastern Europe. Either way, I don't blame you.

I blame European and American leaders almost as much as I blame Russia. Not even because they still didn't close the sky or given us fighter jets. Year after year, they turned a blind eye to the crimes committed by Russia, by Putin's regime. Chechnya, Moldova, Georgia… Nothing was done. It was too convenient to trade with Russia. After all, the troops of modern Russia didn't shell Berlin or London. Russian oligarchs invested billions and billions of dollars in the UN ans US economy, despite powerful anti-Western propaganda in Russia itself. So now it's funny to watch how they arrest those yachts and bank accounts of Putin's henchmen as if they just now found out about it all.

Putin realized that he remains unpunished for his crimes. Then he annexed Crimea and turned part of eastern Ukraine in a warzone with some lame excuses about infringement of the Russian-speaking population. Nobody in their right mind bought it, yet Russia still remained unpunished. Thousand of lives taken and hundreds of thousand of people who lost their home and everything they had. People had to flee from their homeland, leaving behind all their belongings. Others couldn't flee and were forced to live under Russian occupation, in a war zone, without any human rights.

Yet for the world this wasn't enough to cut ties with Russia. Putin punished Ukraine for our pro-Western, pro-European choice, for our desire for freedom and independense. Europe and US were "deeply concerned." Some useless sanctions were introduced, but Putin clearly won more that he lost.

His men happily continued committing war crimes in Syria and Ukraine, his propaganda continued dehumanizing certain population groups. Ukrainians = khokhols worthy of elimination or at least training on how to be a proper russian. LGBTQ = sick people who have to be ashamed of their very existence, officially illegal, in some Russian regions (like Chechnya) they are kidnapped, tortured and killed on a regular basis.

The opposition and the free press completely wiped out. And I'm not talking about Navalny now. Anna Politkovskaya and Boris Nemtsov are the most famous examples, but there are many more.

The West kept fueling his killing and propaganda machine with cash. Putin's war games and ass-licking "journalists" cost HUGE money. The money he makes by selling Russian natural resources to the west. And the west gladly buys it. Why bother actively switching to renewable energy sources, why spend so much money on it when you can just buy everything from the fascist Russian regime without any problems? Besides, Russia is a pretty good export market. Why not export weapons to a country that is actively invading other sovereign states? Sounds like a damn good deal!

The world hand-fed this monster that is Russia we see today. Not their mentality, of course, it has been that way for centuries. But they couldn't afford to act on it if they didn't have the money for that. Everything could have been different not only for Ukraine, but also for Russia. If only Russians were forced to face the consequences of their imperialist actions back in the USSR days, maybe now they would live a happy rich life on their own land without stealing it from others.

I don't know what to conclude here. I don't know why the world needs to see the deepest depths of horror inflicted on my people in order to do something. Humanity really fucked up.

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 1 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fic

Here is chapter one of my new fanfic!

Title: Succession

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, OCs

Rating: PG-13 for language and intense scenes (for now, this is a slow burn, but it will get very hot and spicy in later chapters)

Summary: You discover a long lost relative from Moldova that you didn’t know existed has died and you are his sole beneficiary.  You are on board a plane to collect your inheritance when your plane crashes in a village in Romania.

Author’s Notes: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

The music blasted from the car speakers as you drove down the main road towards the highway.  You had your phone plugged into your car stereo, your favorite Spotify playlist on shuffle.  Despite the A/C being on full blast, beads of sweat formed at your brow and rolled down your temple.  You adjusted the vents on either side of you, making sure the cold air directly hit your body.  The song that was playing had you tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, your head bopping to the beat.

The fridge at home was close to empty and it was beyond time for you to go grocery shopping.  The grocery list was secure in your purse and you were determined to stick to the items on the list and not make any frivolous purchases.  Money was tight and you only had so much money left before payday next week.

The song shut off suddenly followed by your ringtone.  Looking at the screen of your phone, UNKNOWN stared back at you. Probably a spam call, you thought to yourself, reaching to press the red Ignore button.  Unfortunately, your finger slid at the last minute and mistakenly tapped the Accept button. You watched as the call came through and the seconds ticked off.  FUCK!

“Hello?” you greeted with a hint of exasperation in your voice.

“Hello, am I speaking with Miss Y/N?” a heavily accented male voice responded.

“Yeah, this is she,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.  You tried your best to avoid these calls, ignoring them and letting them go straight to voicemail.  Very rarely was it followed with an actual message, which was more than fine with you.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Ron M. Dathermi.  I am a lawyer residing in Chisinau, Moldova in Eastern Europe…”

You raised your eyebrows at that.  Moldova?  Who the hell was calling you from Moldova?  Chalking it up to a scam, you were about to interrupt the man when he continued.

“...I wish I was calling under better circumstances, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.  Your great uncle, Serghei Popa, has passed away from a short illness and has named you his sole beneficiary…”

You couldn’t help the amused huff that came out of your mouth.  This must be some very elaborate scam.

“Umm...sorry, but I think you have the wrong person.  I don’t have family from Moldova and I have never heard of this man in my whole life.” You were about to hit the End button when Mr. Dathermi continued.

“Am I speaking with Y/N, born on (your birthday) to (your father and mother’s full names) and the granddaughter of (your grandfather and grandmother on both sides of your family)?”

Your eyes widened at that.  “Yeah, that’s me…” you answered.

“I know this may sound unusual, but Mr. Popa was the brother of your grandmother on your mother’s side.  He was given up for adoption at birth and taken in by a Moldovan family.  He did not have a spouse and had no children, and according to the genealogy report I have before me, your grandmother and your mother are both deceased.  Your mother was an only child, yes?  It appears to me that you are the last of his living relatives.”

You pulled off the road and into an empty parking lot.  The information you were being given was a lot to handle.  You didn’t have that large of a family.  You were an only child and raised by your parents and both sets of grandparents.  Both of your grandfathers had died before you turned 10.  Both grandmothers died within 5 years of each other and your father and mother died of illnesses, cancer and pneumonia respectively, in the last year.  Grief was a feeling that you knew better than anyone.  You kept to yourself mostly and you didn’t have any close friends or a significant other.

“Listen,” you began, “you are correct about all of your information, but how do I know this is not some kind of scam?”

The man on the other end of the phone cleared his throat and the sound of shuffling papers met your ears.  “I can imagine that this information is sudden and unusual.  What I will do is send a copy of his will and a copy of the genealogy papers to your address.  I encourage you to take this to your lawyer and have them look over the information.  The reason I am calling is because I need you to fly to Moldova, sign these papers, and accept the monetary inheritance that he has left you.”

Your jaw dropped as you looked down at your phone.  Fly to Moldova?  Is this true?  The only thing you knew about the country was that a foreign exchange student from high school was born and raised in Moldova.  That about sums up your knowledge of the country. This seemed incredibly asinine and ridiculous.  But the word that settled in your train of thought was “inheritance.” What inheritance?

“Mr...what was your name again?” you asked.

“Mr. Dathermi, but you can call me Ron,” the lawyer responded.

“Ron...umm, how much monetary inheritance are we talking about?”

More shuffling of papers was on the other side of the phone, Ron clicking his tongue as he looked through the information.  “He has left you 53,806,746 Moldovan Leu...which translates to $3,000,000 in American currency.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!?!” you exclaimed before clamping your lips shut.  You heard Ron chuckle.  “I’m sorry, pardon my language. It’s just...wow...this sounds insane…”

“I can imagine it does,” Ron replied, “which is why I want to mail this information to you and have your attorney take a look at it so you know this is a legitimate will and testament.  If you would like, I can mail the information straight to your attorney if you are still leery.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” you said, shaking your head.  Your mind was whirling.  None of this sounded remotely true.  You felt as if you were dreaming.  This felt like something that only happened in books and fairy tales...a girl who had nothing and nobody suddenly inheriting millions of dollars from an unknown distant relative.  What are the odds of something like this happening in real life?  You gave Ron Dathermi your home address.

“Thank you very much, Miss Y/N.  I will send this as soon as possible.  I’ll also include my business card so your attorney can contact me and we can iron out the details.  Thank you very much, Y/N...I’ll be in touch.”

You thanked him as well and ended the call.  All alone in your car in the empty parking lot, you let out an excited squeal and started hopping up and down.

*

You adjusted the messenger bag that was slung across your shoulder as you heard the overhead speaker call for the boarding of your flight.  Taking a deep breath, you got in line, extended your ticket to the airport employee, and walked down the tarmac and into the plane.

Butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.  Your hands gripped your bag tightly as the flight attendant looked at your boarding pass and pointed down the aisle to where you were to be seated.  You had never flown before and your nerves were on alert.  Scenes from Final Destination flashed in your head as you walked down the aisle towards your seat.  Taking a deep breath and willing your body to relax, you located your seat next to the window and sat down, plopping your bag onto your lap.  

The small window was close to the wing of the plane and looking beyond that was a long expanse of grass that met a vast forest.  You were thankful that you had the window seat and your headphones so you could tune everything out and relax in your own little world.

Once the papers from Mr. Dathermi arrived a week prior, you immediately called the attorney that helped you with the probate and will from your parents’ deaths several months back.  He was more than happy to help, knowing that you were all alone in the world after your parents had passed.  Two days later, he called to inform you that all of the paperwork was, in fact, legitimate and that Mr. Serghei Popa was the brother of your grandmother.  He showed you the adoption papers, confirming that your great uncle had been put up for adoption and the family that took him in had relocated to Moldova when he was two years old.  He had remained in the country until his death.  Your attorney contacted Mr. Dathermi, who in turn secured a round trip plane ticket in order for you to come to Moldova to finalize the paperwork and collect the inheritance.

At the thought of the money you were about to acquire, another surge of excitement flowed through you.  Your parents hadn’t left you much after their death and you worked at a dead-end job that had no room for advancement and no possibility for raises.  All of these recent events sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

“This is your captain speaking,” the voice sounded from the speaker above your head, “we will be departing in the next ten minutes.  Please make sure your seatbelts are secured, your tray tables are up, and all electronics are off until we are at the appropriate cruising altitude.  I will inform everyone as soon as the coast is clear.  Thank you for flying with us and enjoy the ride.”

You fastened your seatbelt and laid your head back, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Don’t be nervous…” a voice sounded next to you.  You opened your eyes and looked over to see an older gentleman with wide rimmed glasses and a nice smile.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, returning his smile.

“It’s pretty obvious,” he chuckled, “my name is Bruce Williams.  I’m the air marshal on board this flight.” You told him your name and shook his hand. “Just relax,” he assured, “we’ll be flying for the next 10 hours.  There are lots of movies and tv shows to watch on the screen in front of you, or you can listen to your music and read a book if you brought one.”

You patted your messenger bag.  “Yeah, I have a few books to choose from.  Thanks,” you smiled.

Within minutes, the plane had backed away from the tarmac, turned towards the long expanse of runway, and increased speed before leaving the ground and soaring up into the clouds.

*

The steady hum of the plane’s engines provided a relaxed soundtrack as you slept.  It was close to early morning, according to the clock on the tv screen, but your watch was still on your regular time zone.  It read early afternoon and that threw you through a loop.  You had heard that jet lag could be a bitch and you wondered how bad yours would be once you landed.  Bruce had passed you a pillow and blanket once you were ready to sleep and he assured you that your bag and belongings would be safe while you slept.

You were so thankful to be seated next to him.  Not only was he the air marshal, but he was a really cool person as well.  You two talked about movies and actually watched a couple of them on the tv screen in front of you.  Bruce was kind and nice to talk to.  The crinkle of crow’s feet around his eyes, his laugh, and his hair color mixed with hints of gray reminded you of your father...maybe that’s why you liked him so much.

You shifted in your seat and let out a soft yawn.  Stretching your arms above your head and arching your back, you wondered how much longer it would be until you touched down in Moldova.

“You weren’t asleep that long,” Bruce murmured.  You looked over to see a book in his hand and his glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then go back to sleep,” you replied, standing from your seat.  Bruce stood up and allowed you out into the aisle.  You made your way to the bathroom towards the back of the plane.  The cabin was dark with little lights dotting either side of the aisle on the floor. Soft lights were shining here and there from people reading, watching the tv screen, or messing with their phones while most of the passengers were asleep.

Once in the bathroom, you did your business, flushed the toilet, and began washing your hands.  The mirror in front of you showed a tired and weary version of yourself.  Some of your eye makeup was smudged.  You told yourself once  you returned back to your seat, you’d retrieve the makeup remover wipes in your bag and do away with the dirt and oil.

Just then the plane hit an air pocket and dropped several feet, throwing  you forward towards the sink and mirror.  You let out a shriek as the plane quieted and went still.  “God dammit,” you muttered, putting your hand over your heart, “that scared the shit out of me!”

Once out of the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and walked back to your seat.  You tapped Bruce on the shoulder and he moved aside.

You lifted the window shade and looked outside.  Natural light from the start of the day began to show.  The plane was amongst the clouds so it was fairly cloudy and hard to see.

“How much farther do we have?” you asked Bruce.  He shifted the book to his left hand and looked down at his wristwatch.  “We should be there in three hours.  I think we are flying over Romania right now…”

You nodded your head and thanked him, turning back to the window.  The clouds gave way momentarily and provided the opportunity to see the ground below.  Tall, snowy mountains came into view.  You smiled and marveled at their beauty, wondering what mountain range this was.  You cursed yourself for forgetting the basics from your World Geography class in high school.  Hell, all you knew about Romania was that it was the setting for Dracula and the real life territory that was once owned by Elizabeth Bathory, who allegedly killed upwards of 650 maidens and bathed in their blood.  You shook your head and smiled to yourself.  You really did enjoy some morbid and fucked up stories.

Your train of thought stopped short when a large and spacious castle came into view.  Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.  It looked like something out of a Disney movie or from ancient castles that still sat throughout Europe.  The place looked like it stood on several acres of land and who knows how many square feet.  What a gorgeous and breathtaking place it was.  You wondered just what was inside a monstrosity like that and who was lucky enough to inhabit such a place.  Maybe there were castles in Moldova that you could explore and visit while you’re conducting your business.

The castle fell out of view and not far from it stood what looked like a village.  You were too high up to see any people or any traces of lights or torches.  You took everything in with total awe and appreciation.  It looked like a small and sleepy storybook town.

A sudden movement close to the village caught your attention.  You squinted your eyes and tried to look closer, pressing your forehead to the window.  What the fuck is that, you wondered.  It looked like a black tree, naked of leaves or any type of growth...and it was moving.  It looked to be swaying in the breeze, but the size of it looked way too sturdy for any kind of gust to move it with such fluidity.  As you focused on the tree, it appeared to be growing...getting closer to the plane.  Was the plane descending?  Were you getting closer to Moldova?

One of the branches of the tree slowly drifted to the ground before extending long and rigid, slinging itself up into the air like a bullwhip, hitting the wing of the plane.  The plane suddenly tilted as the slithering limb wrapped around the wing and broke it off.  You let out a loud scream as the plane turned on its side, Bruce falling against you, squishing you to the wall.  “WHAT THE FUCK??” Bruce screamed as yelps, shrieks, and screams echoed in the cabin of the plane.  Dozens of people were knocked from their seats, flight attendants falling into the aisle and rolling towards the cockpit.  The plane shook and quaked as it dropped several feet in a matter of seconds.

“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” you screamed, grabbing hold of Bruce’s arm.  The air masks dropped from overhead and Bruce grabbed yours, making quick work of putting it over your face.  “HOLD ON TO IT! HOLD IT OVER YOUR MOUTH, Y/N!!” he commanded, reaching for his own mask.

“THE WING OF THE PLANE HAS BEEN DAMAGED!” the pilot yelled from over the speakers, “WE ARE LOSING ALTITUDE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!”  People screamed and panicked, holding on to whatever it was they could.  Panic surged through your body as your fingers dug into Bruce’s arm.  The plane shook as it fell.  Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were seconds from impact.  You looked out the window one last time before the ground came into view and everything went black.

*

He leaned over the body on the metal table in the lab of his factory.  He fastened the bolts with a wrench and tested the strength of the metal against the rotting flesh.  A soft horn sounded in the distance along with the various turns of chains and clangs of steel against steel.  He wiped the sweat off his brow and walked to his desk, looking over the blueprints and sketches he had devised the previous day.

Despite the different array of sounds, nothing could mask the loud crash that sounded off in the distance.  He lifted his head, silently trying to figure out what the fuck made that noise.  Leaving the body laying on the table, he exited his lab and made his way down the stairs and to the factory doors.  

With a grunt, he slid the doors aside and looked off into the distance.  Black smoke billowed from an area that looked to be close to the village.  Other than the crows squawking and flapping their wings in retreat, everything was dead quiet.  He looked off to the right just in time to see the long, spindly limbs of mold retreating back towards the earth.  Karl Heisenberg’s face tightened in a disgusted grimace.

“Mother Miranda...what have you done?”

[ruckystarnes]

PLEASE READ BEFORE GOING ON!

A/N: Trying out my new pairing that I have been entertaining for the last few months. Now I am going to get this out of the way since this caused some issues a few weeks ago.

Yelena is ONLY confirmed asexual by Marvel and her character is HEAVILY contextualized to be aromantic, but that is not confirmed by Marvel, therefore, it isn't canon, and I am basing Yelena in my story on the canonic comic Yelena, who I know very well.

Asexual (and even Aromantic) people CAN have relationships, and can care for someone deeply. Relationships are not SOLEY based on sex. Ace and Aro is definitely a spectrum with different levels of attraction (have you heard of demi???) and reasons why a person would be in a relationship. You can find more about the Aro Spectrum here and Ace Spectrum here. Over all information can be found here

RELATIONSHIPS (aka SHIPS) DO NOT HAVE TO BE ROMANTIC NOR SEXUAL!!!!

Now, after all that, if you don't want to read this, fine. Move along. This is fanfiction, it's taking a creative dive into an established story, and it's been going around for decades.

Pairing: Yelena Belova / Bucky Barnes (Platonic)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: swearing

Words: 1,373

Square Filled/Daily Challenge/Prompt: U4 - Bed Sharing

Written for: @buckybarnesbingo

Summary: Yelena and Bucky use the same safe house in Chișinău, Moldova.

Translations:

der'mo - shit!

zimniy soldat - winter soldier (duh LOL)

Solntsey- little sun

Brat, idi spat' - brother, go to bed

Idi - go

Yelena could hear footsteps outside of the door that lead to the hallway of the building. She dropped the book she was half reading, her hand reaching for the Ruger she had in her lap and pointed it at the door as she moved from sitting on the floor to kneeling on one knee, the other leg poised for her to move. The door knob jiggled slightly before she heard the familiar lockpick tools at the keyhole. She took a deep and steady breath before giving the trigger a gentle squeeze, ready to shoot whoever came through the door. Grumbling followed the click of the lock; if there were words said, Yelena didn’t hear it. She waited on baited breath as the door opened, shaggy brown hair appearing around the wood. Wide blue eyes stared back at her.

“Der'mo! Belova. It’s me!”

Yelena cocked her head at the brunet who entered the small apartment, her own blue eyes narrowing at the person.

“Soldat,” she muttered, her gun still trained on the intruder.

“Belova, would you mind lowering that? I only have a lock pick in my hand.”

“Why would the zimniy soldat need a lock pick? You could just turn the knob and bam, you’re in.”

“Because I need a safe house? And stop calling me that. Barnes will do just fine. Bucky if you want to be friendly.”

Yelena rolled her eyes as she lowered the Ruger, but her finger was still on the trigger. “Friendly isn’t in my vocabulary, you should know that Barnes.”

Bucky gave her a shrug and closed the door, turning the lock back in place. “I would have thought that Nat’s sister would be a tad bit more welcoming,” he mused, tossing the backpack to the side. “So why are you in Chișinău?”

“That’s classified.” She watched him head to the tiny kitchen and opened the friend. “There’s nothing in there. You?” she called to him.

“Classified.”

She could practically hear the smirk in the one word and it made her roll her eyes. She never understood why Natasha tolerated him. The thought of her sister made her heart ache with loneliness. She shook her head and moved back down to the ground, picking up her book again just as Bucky walked out of the kitchen with a granola bar in his right hand and a bottle of water in his left.

“Let me guess, Nat told you about this place?” he asked, mouth full of the stale cereal he found.

“How can you eat that?” She looked at him with knitted brows.

He looked down at the box, his shoulder lifting with indifference. “I was born in 1917...not much different than the food we had. Actually, I rather have this than half the foods I had during the depression. Ever tried a meatloaf without meat? Haven’t touched a raisin since I’ve got my mind back.” His gloved finger came up and tapped his temple. She watched him carefully, the gun she held at her side, but her finger was still on the trigger. He turned his back, not caring, and started to rummage around the kitchen

“I’m surprised you remember Natasha,” she called to his now disappeared form, “do you even remember me?”

There was silence. Yelena didn’t know if she struck a nerve with him or maybe he was planning on killing her anyway. Natasha said in her letters that the programming the KGB put into his brain was gone, but she was skeptical of a country that didn’t want anything to do with the world until it had a new king.

“There’s pieces that are still coming,” he finally spoke, his voice soft. “If I’d known that you were still in the Red Room, I would have came for you.”

Yelena scoffed and shook her head, her finger finally leaving the trigger.

“You and Natasha both believed that it was gone,” she stated, her voice wavering. She took a step back when he started to walk towards her. “She truly believed that she destroyed Dreykov and that place, but she didn’t. Did she tell you that?”

“She told me everything, solntsey,” he replied softly, a smile tugging at his lips, “the good and the bad, cliff notes versions really. Kind of busy trying to stop an alien force from wiping out worlds.”

“And we all know how that went,” Yelena glowered, her eyes shifting to the door. She wasn’t ready to have a sentimental talk with someone who she hadn’t seen in over two decades. “And I am not your solntsey, not anymore.”

“You and Natasha were the only light I had during that time, even if they made me forget each time.” His voice broke and when she looked at him, she could see the pain on his face.

“It was a long time ago, Barnes. We all came out of that with a lot of trauma and all that psychological bullshit people like to use to describe shitty pasts.” She set the gun down on the window ledge and leaned back against the wall. “Did you...you and Natasha…”

“I was snapped out before we could,” he replied sadly, “before that, I wanted all the programming out of my head, not wanting something she said to trigger the thing they created. She told me Dreykov had you and other girls under some kind of…” His finger circled next to his head. “...thing. Sucks, doesn’t it? Blindly following but have some sort of consciousness to know what you are doing but can’t control it?”

“So, you don’t know what happened to her?” Yelena asked softly, her eyes lowering to the ground.

“Steve told me.”

“That his buddy murdered Nat?”

“Murdered? God no, solntsey. I don’t know who told you that, but they’re wrong.” He looked her over, seeing how her body shifted, her breath becoming shallow. “Solntsey, are you the one that’s after Clint?”

“What makes you think that?” she defensively asked, her blue eyes narrowing on him.

“Why else would someone want Clint dead. Wait, nevermind. He’s a smartass. Someone else would get to him eventually,” he scoffed and took off his jacket. “As much as I love reconnecting, I’m tired. I assume there is only one sad excuse of a bed in there, so I’ll take the floor. Use to it anyway.” He threw the leather jacket to the floor, her gaze going to his black and gold arm.

“I see they gave you an upgrade,” she stated, pushing off the wall.

“Half the weight,” he mused, giving her a smirk as he sat down on the floor with a heavy sigh.

“You know, the bed is big enough for the two of us.”

“I already imposed on your safe house.”

“Brat, idi spat',” she groaned, “It’ll be like when I was ten and Varya had me sus-sous until I practically broke my ankle.

“You didn’t break your ankle,” he groused as he rolled his eyes. “Your toe broke and I promised Natasha to look after you when she was gone. And solntsey, you were ten then. I’m not going to share a bed with you.”

“Fine, take the bed now, and I’ll wake your ass when I get tired. You don’t have to sleep like an animal if there is a halfway decent place to sleep. You’re Bucky Barnes now, yes? Not some mindless weapon anymore? Idi, brat, I want to finish my book anyway.”

“You’re lucky you’re solntsey otherwise I would just lock you in that room,” he muttered as he got up off the floor and walked past her to the sorry excuse of a bedroom.

A car horn woke Bucky from his dreamless sleep, but when he went to turn, there was something against his back and draped over his midsection. It took only a second to realize that it was Yelena, wearing his jacket, face pressed against his back. It brought back the few times he was able to give her some solace from the Red Room before he was wiped. He smiled and shifted so he could be on his back, letting her sleeping form adjust as she needed, His flesh hand moving the flaxen locks away from her face.

“I got you solntsey,” he whispered.

[eurosong]

Hi there, folks! We finally have the running order for this year's Eurovision - I've been waiting so long to get my hands on one of these! I of course had to take a look at starting positions to try to gain some insight into how countries may have done in the semi-finals, using both what the juxtapositions made suggest to me, and how previously songs did in those positions.

The evening will kick off with Cyprus and close with San Marino. The opening and curtain-closing positions have a lot of commonalities in this producer-created running order era - they tend to pick up-tempo songs that did relatively well in the semis (or, amongst big 6 in the closing position, are relatively well liked) but not considered contenders for the win, and indeed, both countries' odds of winning dropped since the running order was released.

The famed 'death slot' of second has constantly been used for 9th place qualifiers instead of 10th, oddly enough - with the sole exception being Spain's doomed Tu canción in 2018. It seems like Albania, who were also placed here in 2019, may have repeated history. Following them, Belgium and particularly Israel strike me as having probably been marginal qualifiers.

We then get the first of many unusual sandwiches of fan favourites - two uptempo, lyrically feminist songs from Russia and Malta. Despite the latter being a bigger bookies' fave, they may have underwhelmed, particularly in the televote, to get put after the powerhouse of Manizha and in a position with a worse track record. Portugal are next, contrasting well with the two songs proceding it and in a slot that's had a few big successes. They almost certainly did well with the juries are probably outperformed expectations with the televote.

Serbia follow in a slot that has contained nothing but top 5 finishers in their semifinal, and I firmly believe Hurricane did the same in SF2 this year. UK is up next in an historically decent slot, albeit one in which they themselves have underperformed before. The banger vibes may be undermined by having been proceded by something with even more energy. Greece gets one of the worst slots in recent years and the worst of the latter first half. Coming after two uptempos and before a bookies' fav like Switzerland makes me think they seriously underperformed.

Speaking of Switzerland, they're in a slot that has hosted successes like J'ai cherché, YLMWA and Amar pelos dois - and the juxtaposition with what surrounds them makes me think they won their semi or came close. Iceland follows in a decent slot; they may contrast positively with Switzerland and definitely will with Spain's ballad. Moldova has a pretty strong position before Germany, who are slotted into the worst position statistically of the entire second half. Finland come after them, a jarring juxtaposition, and in a starting position that has seen mid-table semi-finalist qualifiers but also two no-hope Big 5ers. My guess would be they managed 6-7th in the semi.

Bulgaria will contrast well with them, and whilst their starting position is statistically not one of the best, the cordon sanitaire it enjoys of being the only down-tempo song with two up-tempo numbers side by side make me think Victoria managed top 3 in her semi-final. Lithuania are in an a priori great position, but between the emotional moment from Bulgaria and the chaotic, infectious energy of Ukraine, I fear they may have underperformed in their semi.

France enjoys a similar cordon sanitaire to Bulgaria, reflecting their favourite status. Azerbaijan has the job of following Barbara and makes me think Efendi could have only scraped into the final. Norway is next in one of the historically best spots of the final and may have outdone expectations. The hosts, Netherlands, have been given a rough deal by having to precede big fave Italy. Sweden, whilst in one of the most advantageous spots historically, may well be very squeezed between Måneskin and Senhit w. Flo Rida.

[sitp-recs]

Drarry for Beginners: Muggle Draco

I started this series with two of my fave tropes (Magical Houses and 8th year) and will now close it with my other two faves. I love this concept so much - either Draco living in the Muggle world or just exploring it for the first time - that I couldn’t narrow it down to 3 recs. These 5 fics are brilliant because they present rich, creative and diverse takes, so it wouldn’t have been fair to exclude any. I hope you all enjoy these masterpieces as much as I do!

Open For Repairs by @drarrytrash (2015, M, 35k)

After the war, Draco works at a tv repair shop and Harry breaks things. feat. sad boys in jumpers and more ABBA than is probably necessary

This is such a poignant read, quiet, insightful and very atmospheric! This take where Draco works at a Muggle shop and stays under the radar is one of my favorites. Like the summary points out these boys are sad™ and connect over their loneliness, which means this is a quite melancholic fic. The pacing is great and they fall in love so naturally and gently it gives me a lump in the throat. I love the metaphor linking Draco’s mending life to the repair shop. His arc is powerful and bittersweet; the author never lets us forget about their struggles and vulnerabilities even as they go from tentative to close friends. This is a lovely story about healing and understanding, about finding solace together and welcoming new beginnings. A balm to the lonely hearts!

(Un)wanted by @aibidil (2020, E, 36k)

See also: Moldova’s Magical Tea, another fic with Muggle references by the same author

Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.

This fic blew me away - it’s such a powerful and devastating portrait of Harry’s generation, with layered characters full of hopes and struggling to find their place after the war. Harry’s arc is heartbreaking and I love how @aibidil explores his childhood issues early on. We get to see everyone’s reactions from his perspective, and I’m in awe of Hermione and Ginny’s voices. The Drarry slow burn is gentle and honest but I’m here for the way all characters come together by exploring the Muggle world, which brings not only closure but soft nostalgia - all those bonding moments are very cathartic and as a 90s kid I appreciate so much the references and old school atmosphere! A perfect “coming of age” story, delicate, complex and touching. It will make you laugh, cry, reflect on life and realize we’re not so different from these kids.

Here's The Pencil, Make It Work by @6balls (2013, M, 49k)

See also: my rec for Faint Indirections, another Muggle Draco fic by the same author

Harry thinks "Why is Malfoy working in a coffee shop in muggle London?" is a much simpler question than, "Are you going to accept that auror offer and, if you don't, what will you do?"

The coffee shop AU we deserve, only it’s so much more than that! This is a masterpiece in world building and character development, and my favorite take on Harry’s obsession with Draco. He’s clearly all over the place but still brave, kind and sympathetic, still very much Harry. All side characters have brilliant voices but I fell in love with this Draco with his free and captivating spirit. It’s really moving to see Harry inspired by him, learning all the little things about this new Malfoy and noticing all the ways in which they’re similar and different from each other. This fic has a perfect balance of bittersweet longing, sweet romance and quiet catharsis. Reading it made me realize that I love angsty post-war stories because it comforts me to know that Harry and Draco can rely on each other to help them heal and let that “mopey, brooding and tragic” persona behind. Growing up is definitely painful but there’s hope and beauty in it, and no other fic explores it better than this one!

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (2020, E, 61k)

See also: the sequel vignette Collapsed in Love

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what's he doing right, that Harry isn’t?

Ohh is it time to talk about my favorite fic yet again?? 😬 this breathtaking friends to lovers is a love letter to Muggle Draco and explores it beautifully! I’m obsessed with the little magical universe Tacky creates through an immersive and mundane slow burn. The plot incorporates Muggle elements very organically (the thrift shop! The church! Draco’s friends and the politics plot!). Harry’s POV is exquisite and there’s a mix of loneliness and yearning about him that make my heart ache. It’s lovely to watch him disrupt Draco’s safe bubble as they transform each other’s lives and develop feelings along the way. All the sweet pining is paid off with the gentlest get together, literally a religious experience. I couldn’t agree more with @dracoladon’s words: “There is a plot that doesn’t distract from the love story, and a love story that doesn’t distract from the achingly slow build of a soft, pining friendship, and a soft, pining friendship that doesn’t distract from Harry and Draco’s own personal character arcs.” Brace yourself for the joy of reading this journey for the first time!

Harry Potter and the Future He Doesn't Really Want, Thanks. orphaned (2016, E, 70k)

It was addictive, the feeling of Draco Malfoy telling him things in a soft voice early in the morning. Harry felt like he was taming a wild animal, or petting a cat that hated everybody else. This train existed outside of time, that was the only explanation Harry could come up with as to why Malfoy was actually having a civil conversation with him right now.

A creative premise, wonderfully executed! This is a great read; all characters are charming and well established - I’m in love with Luna and Pansy! - and the dialogue is fun and engaging. Basically Harry keeps dreaming about a weird future where he and Draco are together and after that they start crossing paths again and again - but they’re not friends, they’re nothing really, just very confused and aware of each other. I love how their dynamics develop from there; Harry learns about Draco’s sentence away from magic and notices the ways he’s changed. The mundane tone gives me warm fuzzy feels and the diversity of Muggle settings creates a lovely atmosphere! “This is such a fucking bad idea / Let’s do it anyway” describes this love story to a T. I chose it to balance all the hardcore angst that came before, so make sure to have a go at this comfort meal after reading the rest!

[qqueenofhades]

Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. “But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.

[brightlotusmoon]

Can I inquire into you family history re: "askenazi eastern European who has some Mongolian"? Because that sounds like it might relate to my family (grandmother was eastern European Jewish, grandfather's family has a weirdly strong resemblance to certain middle\ west asian features). No worries if you're uncomfortable with it, I just saw your post pass thru my dash (re: white isn't a race) and was curious.

*perks up* Oh?!

Well, my grandparents' history is complicated. They hid being Jewish in Brooklyn, my grandma hid her real age and a lot of her life. It wasn't until I was an adult that my mother discovered all sorts of records showing where both her parents came from. My grandfather's father had middle asian features as well as piercing blue eyes and thick black hair. I'm still not sure why there were so many secrets, but my grandparents barely raised my mother, didn't really love each other, married out of age and convenience in the 1940s, and both died when I was a very young child.

I have this very clear memory of my grandfather leaning down and looking me in the eyes and I remember feeling awed because those blue eyes were so beautiful and intense. I don't remember too many interactions.

I will say that my grandmother became a Christian Scientist when my mom was growing up. Mom told me stories about being prayed over until she got worse and they had to call a doctor.

Apparently, most of the family started out in Bessarabia, Moldova, Hungary, Romania, as well as Mongolia. Yeah, the Ukraine crisis hits close.