I made this wheel to find out what romantasy book you got in your 'blind date with a book' at the bookstore! How do you feel about it? Are you excited to read it?
https://wheelofnames.com/7a5-a9z
Enter names, spin wheel to pick a random winner. Customize look and feel, save and share wheels.
Would you read it?
yes!!!
maybe
no
NOPE.
results/unsure
Remaining time: 4 days 21 hours
Thanks for the submission!!
(also I meant to schedule this but I misclicked. Guess we're doing several polls one after another.)
something something one of the reasons JJ dislikes Ilya so much is because neither he nor Shane could ever, in a million years, get away with a fraction of the shit Ilya does and have their careers.
(Neither canon nor a lot of fic do a good job of giving JJ depth, nor trying to make JJ’s dislike of Ilya rooted in something beyond rivalry, and this is a thought I am noodling on for the WIP. I have a headcanon now that while they’re out drinking one night and bitching about the Raiders, JJ finally explains this to Hayden, and even though Hayden is a Clueless White Boy, he’s a good enough friend to recognize the burden Shane is under as captain and franchise savior, and after a few moments of thinking it over he’s even more outraged and now has half a dozen more reasons to resent Rozanov.)
#heated rivalry #I just…need Shane’s friendships and career in Montreal to make some fucking SENSE #and at least bear a passing resemblance to what hockey is IRL #I also think it’s frankly too simple and tidy to have EVERYTHING in Montreal turn out to be false #he would have led them to THREE CUPS as Captain! #that city would WORSHIP him #they’d be left reeling when he leaves for Ottawa #and when you think about the fact that canonically #Shane and Hayden and JJ have likely played together for their entire careers in the MLH #that would also mean a lot!!! #so many players get traded or retire or leave in free agency #so realistically at least two of them (likely Shane and JJ if he’s a defender) are franchise cornerstones #and likely all of them have planned/assumed that they’ll all retire as Metros #and then everything blows up! that would suck!
I must sleep. Sleep is the mind-healer. Sleep is the big-life that brings total ability to fucking do anything. I will face my bed. I will permit the blankie to pass over me and snores to pass through me. And when sleep has gone past I will turn the outer eye to greet the new morning. When the sleep has gone there will be everything. Energy and will to live will remain.
the new york times is now charging money for my favorite chocolate cake recipe so i bought a subscription and screenshotted it and canceled my subscription and now it's here for you for free
i do a mixture of red wine and fresh squeezed navel orange juice for the liquid, plus the zest of one large orange. now you make the cake
3/4c or 177 mll extra virgin olive oil, plus more for greasing the pan
1/2 cup or 118 mll Earl Grey tea, or use coffee, dry red wine, orange juice, or water
1/2 cup or 50 grams Dutch processed cocoa powder
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp fine sea salt
1 cup or 200 grams granulated sugar
3 large eggs at room temperature
2 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons or 135 grams all purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
preparation
step 1
heat the oven to 325 degrees F. Grease a 9-inch round pan and line the bottom with parchment paper
step 2: in a medium saucepan over high heat, bring tea or other liquid to a simmer, then turn off heat. whisk in cocoa, cinnamon, and salt until smooth, then set aside to cool
step 3: in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine sugar, olive oil, eggs, and vanilla. beat for about 3 minutes. reduce speed and pour in cocoa mixture, scraping down the sides of the bowl. gradually beat in flour and baking soda until just incorporated.
step 4: scrape batter into prepared pan and bake until the sides are set but it's still slightly damp in the center, 35 to 45 minutes. A cake tester should come up clean but with a few sticky chocolate crumbs clinging to it. Transfer cake pan to a wire rack and let cake cool completely in pan.
Hello. Since I've seen people submit finished wheels, I thought I'd submit a wheel I came up with. In this case, it's a wheel to tell you something that you can't do for a week.
It is kind of funny when you read about the sums of money that get spent on, like, space missions or particle accelerators, and yeah, they're in the billions of dollars, but they're an absolute drop in the bucket compared to the bottomless amounts of money that get poured into the military or wasted on tax cuts for billionaires.
The Large Hadron Collider, which achieves particle energies of up to 14 TeV and recreates conditions in the universe a fraction of a second after the Big Bang, costs approximately $10 Billion in today's money, a figure equivalent to approximately 1% of Elon Musk's fortune, or approximately 20 seasons of Amazon's Rings of Power.
(or approximately 1/4 cost of ending world hunger for one year)
(Mouse requested a bedtime story about “nothing.”)
Once upon a time there was nothing, and it lived in the corner of Mouse’s room. There was space between the bed and the cupboard that was big enough for nothing else.
There wasn’t much room for nothing in Mouse’s house. Everything everywhere had something in it, and sometimes more. Everywhere that looked like it might have nothing really had something, like dust or a cornflake or a LEGO head or a shadow, and if it looked like there was nothing for even a moment, someone would come and put something there.
It was very hard to be nothing in Mouse’s house. Every corner had something in it, and if it didn’t, there was a spider living there. Everything was always some colour or another, and usually some noise. Everyone was always putting a book down on you. Or spilling Ribena on you and pretending they hadn’t. Or complaining that there was no room for anything, and shifting about all the other things, but never making room for nothing - only moving it uncomfortably about the house. “Nothing’s ever where I put it in this house,” they’d say, but complaining.
And even when they weren’t doing all that, they were always talking about nothing. Someone would always be tripping over it, and then would yell that they had tripped on nothing - there was no privacy for nothing around here - or they were saying that nothing was wrong. Even when it was quiet someone would say, “did you hear that?” And, “what was that?” And, “it must’ve been nothing.” They would poke it; and then say out loud that they had poked nothing, but never got into trouble for it!
As a result of this, nothing began to feel cross, and put-upon, and uncomfortable. It was also a bit lonely, and wondered if it wanted to be something. So it thought very hard, and was SOMETHING.
This was certainly more interesting, and everyone came and looked at it, and said Look At That Thing, and That Really is Something. They poked it, and said they had poked something, and that something was there. They said, “I can smell something,” but with more interest this time. Then they spilled Ribena on it, and something came out of the corner and ran about the house, and everyone wanted to know all about it, and why the Ribena was in Mouse’s room in the first place.
Something was interested in the attention, because it was true - it really was something. It was chased all around the house now. Everyone said, “it’s up to something.” But instead of sitting quietly, something wanted something to do.
So something followed Mouse, but at a distance, because Mouse was always tripping on something. And Mouse and Mama went out in the pushchair, and something followed them.
Mouse said, “I see something!” And Mama said, “what do you see?”
And Mouse said, “I see GEORGE.”
With that, George had to be George, and was a boy thing. He was puzzled by this, and sat in Mouse’s lap, and was pushed around in the pushchair. “What is a George?” George asked.
Mouse explained that a George was a bit like a monkey, with a tail, red, with a face, a lot of red fur, and small, and smelly. Smelly of sharks.
“I’m smelly of sharks?” George said, quite unexpectedly upset by this. “What do sharks smell like?”
(George had only just stopped being nothing, and didn’t know.)
Mouse explained how sharks (which astute grownups will remember are small BLÅHAJ stuffed toys that mice incidentally shoplifted from IKEA, across which we shall draw the veil of amnesty) smell of bedtime, and possibly Ribena.
“I don’t like that,” said George, and tried being George anyway. George went to the shop, and ran about on the floor for a bit, and everyone said, “what is THAT?” And it was George.
George said, “I want to go home,” so they went home, and went to bed with the shark.
But then George knew the end was coming, and so he said to Mouse, “this is too much. I want to go home.”
and George didn’t fit in his corner any more - because it was big enough for nothing.
So George went POP and turned back into nothing.
Mouse said, “yes,” and nodded. And Mouse talked to George anyway.
And then Mama came and said, “who are you talking to, Mouse?”
