#Plane Shaving Issues

[salkosafic]

If you've ever dealt with a wooden plane that keeps clogging up with shavings, you're not alone. It's a common frustration for many woodworkers, but the good news is that it's fixable. In this guide, I’ll show you a simple and effective solution to stop those jams and get your plane working smoothly again.

[swifty-fox]

One of the many things i love about your kitchen sink au is that tv show canon John always struck me as a loud puppy and Gale a quiet freak. Of course i'll land this plane in a tornado. Of course i'll fly that plane with a guy walking around on my wing wdym? While John is like look Buck i got you a bike!! Look i got shot down so we could be together Buck!! Say how good i am are you happy with me?? And kitchen sink reminds me of that a little. Anyway your writing is amazing thank you for sharing!

no exactly you're so correct!!! Like sorry they both have severe daddy issues just in different fonts and it SHOWS

I AM still working on it btw:

Breathing out heavily, Gale presses a kiss to his cheek, then sets his teeth to the tingling flesh, biting down hard and then harder. Not quite enough to bruise but enough to leave indents, if only temporarily. John tries not to flinch, hissing in through his teeth and out with a guttural groan. 

The pain had been introduced slowly, and over time, as if Gale wanted to make sure John could actually take what he said he could, or like he didn’t trust John not to jump into the deep end without a life vest. Both were equally probable. The stinging clamps from that first tongue weight, from their first session where John hadn’t realized just how many ways there was to mess someone up, had been merely the surface. And Gale never much enjoyed the wild, sharp hurt that populated videos, didn’t gravitate towards whips and paddles or switches for his own personal play. But he did like to bite, and squeeze, and put John in positions that while not quite painful were certainly uncomfortable. That was it really, Gale didn’t much care for someone hurting for him. But he got off on someone inconveniencing themselves for him. 

If John were the one with the background in psychology he might sayit was because it made Gale feel important, made him feel cared about. That someone would so something for him even when they didn’t want to, just because they cared for him. That putting someone in discomfort was a way of regaining his own power and control. 

John wasn’t any sort of psychologist. But he’s pretty sure it made him love Gale, to know that he trusted John to be good for him in the ways he needed. 

He’s stupid right now, slow and soft and down deep in that warm fuzzy space that Gale liked him to be in scenes, where he was pliant and soft and still a little bit mouthy because he wouldn’t be John Egan if he didn’t have a bit of tooth to him. But not so stupid to blurt it out in this moment. 

Gale’s teeth are still in his cheek. John thinks he’d let them stay there forever. John thinks it would be a stupid time to tell Gale he loved him.

Releasing his flesh, Gale soothes it with a kiss, the sharp pain fading to a dull angry throb as the blood rushes back in to see what damage has been done. Drags his tongue along the ridges and divots of his tooth marks with another quiet groan and John lets him. 

“You’re so good for me, John,” Gale says softly, lowering John’s head back down to the carpet by his hair, making sure his face his turned towards Gale.

John blinks at him slowly, takes in the color high on Gale’s cheeks, and the way his blue eyes were blown so wide he looked intoxicated, extra bright and wild even with all the composure he held. He looks beautiful in this moment, in his element, face in need of a shave and hoodie skewed to one shoulder so the barest hint of collarbone shows, sweatpants worn thin at the knees. John wants to tell Gale so, but his tongue still isn’t working right. 

He hums instead. 

Another kiss to his forehead, more at the temple than the center of it– and no bite this time, all sugar tenderness and plush lips. It feels every bit as undoing as the bite and John lifts eagerly into the attention. 

The quiet snap of a plastic lid makes John jump.

[mariacallous]

In a court filing a day after a federal judge demanded more information on over 250 people who were expelled from the United States to a Salvadoran prison under an extreme wartime power, the Trump administration continued to stonewall, insisting the judge had no right to request it.

The administration’s filing on Tuesday adds to an ongoing constitutional crisis in which the Trump administration is claiming extremely broad authority to arrest and remove people from the country without due process, based solely on unproven assertions of gang membership and claims that the gang in question is actually an invading army.

Over the weekend, hundreds of Venezuelan migrants were flown from the United States to El Salvador despite U.S. District Judge James Boasberg issuing an oral order demanding that any planes in the air immediately return to the United States.

The filing on Tuesday claimed that the judge’s verbal orders were “not independently enforceable as injunctions.” The administration also said it was not required to turn around the planes because “the relevant flights [had] left U.S. airspace.”

Boasberg, however, specifically addressed that argument in court Monday, saying his authority did not end “at the airspace’s edge.”

The new filing, signed by Attorney General Pam Bondi, also asserts that given an ongoing appeal, the government “should not be required to disclose sensitive information bearing on national security and foreign relations until that motion is resolved, especially given that this information is neither material nor time sensitive.”

A short time after the administration’s filing, Boasberg entered a new order demanding the administration answer detailed questions about two of three flights that carried expelled migrants out of the United States.

On Friday, Trump secretly signed a proclamation invoking the Alien Enemies Act, which allows presidents to arrest and deport noncitizens without due process during a declared war against, or an invasion of, the United States by a foreign nation. The proclamation was announced on Saturday.

The law has only been used three times previously, including against Japanese immigrants during World War II. Trump claims the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua qualifies as a foreign government that is at war with the United States.

Trump quickly faced a lawsuit Saturday from Democracy Forward and the American Civil Liberties Union. During a hearing that evening, Boasberg, chief judge in the federal district court in Washington, D.C., verbally ordered the administration to turn around any planes carrying people who had been expelled under the invocation.

“This is something that you need to make sure is complied with immediately,” he told Justice Department lawyers representing the Trump administration.

The administration did not abide by the order. Instead, it allowed three planes full of Venezuelan immigrants to the United States to land in El Salvador.

On Sunday morning, Salvadoran President Nayib Bukele, a key Trump ally, published a video showing those people being manhandled, having their heads shaved, and being sent to a notorious prison in the Central American nation. Bukele is imprisoning the migrants in the Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo, or CECOT, in exchange for $6 million from American taxpayers. The prison is widely known for its harsh conditions, extremely restrictive environment, and numerous prisoners’ deaths in captivity — and Bukele has said the migrants will perform forced labor.

Bukele also posted on social media mocking the federal judge. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, Trump aide Elon Musk, and a White House spokesperson all amplified the post, with several people, including Trump and Musk, also calling for Boasberg to be impeached.

Rep. Brandon Gill (R-Texas) on Tuesday introduced articles of impeachment against the judge, saying he was “guilty of high crimes and misdemeanors and should be removed from office.”

Boasberg said in court Monday that it was a “heck of a stretch” to say the administration did not have to follow his oral orders. He had earlier demanded answers from the administration, which did not provide them in court, instead saying it was “not at liberty” to discuss “operational issues,” even though federal courts routinely deal with classified information.

The judge demanded more information in writing by noon Tuesday. The Trump administration claimed that “there is no justification to order the provision of additional information.”

However, the court filing on Tuesday did answer some of the judge’s questions. In an attached declaration, Robert L. Cerna, the acting field office director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement’s Enforcement and Removal Operations division, said ICE understood that Trump’s Alien Enemies Act invocation took effect once it was posted on the White House website Saturday, though Trump had signed it the day prior.

Cerna also listed basic information about the three flights in question. Specifically, he singled out the final flight to El Salvador, which was still on U.S. soil when the judge issued his written order following Saturday’s hearing pausing Alien Enemies Act removals.

“The third plane departed after that time, but all individuals on that third plane had Title 8 final removal orders and thus were not removed solely on the basis of the Proclamation at issue,” Cerna said, echoing a claim the administration made in court. (Only 137 people were sent to El Salvador under the Alien Enemies Act proclamation, while the rest were removed under other federal laws, an unnamed White House official told The Washington Post on Tuesday.)

Cerna also gave general details about supposed gang members still in removal proceedings in the United States. “At this time approximately 54 members of [the Tren de Aragua gang] are in detention and on the detained docket, approximately 172 are on the non-detained docket, and approximately 32 are in criminal custody with active detainers against them,” he wrote. “Should they be transferred to ICE custody, they will likely be placed in removal proceedings.”

After the hearing Monday, the administration yet again called on the court to vacate its orders pausing the Alien Enemies Act removals. (It has separately asked an appeals court to step in and replace Boasberg as the judge overseeing the case.)

Trump’s decision “is a nonjusticiable political question,” the administration’s Monday night court filing — also signed by Bondi — claimed, adding: “Article II confers on the President expansive authority over foreign affairs, national security, and immigration.” The court’s orders, the administration said, undermined “delicate international negotiations to remove dangerous alien enemies, where even a short delay in removal can frustrate removal entirely.”

Multiple people — including immigration attorneys and family members — have come forward to say migrants who were expelled to El Salvador have no ties to gang activity, according to numerous reports. Some appear to have been singled out based on their tattoos, they say.

“In the absence of hearings, evidence, or any other feature of due process, it is 100% inevitable that innocent people will be swept into these mass deportations and will find themselves trapped in some of the most hellish circumstances imaginable,” observed Liza Goitein, senior director of the Liberty and National Security Program at the Brennan Center for Justice.

In a previous declaration filed with the court Monday, Cerna admitted that many of the supposed gang members do not have any U.S. criminal record. But he claimed that the administration’s “lack of specific information” about the immigrants “actually highlights the risk they pose.”

“While it is true that many of the [Tren de Aragua] members removed under the AEA do not have criminal records in the United States, that is because they have only been in the United States for a short period of time,” Cerna wrote. “The lack of a criminal record does not indicate they pose a limited threat. In fact, based upon their association with TdA, the lack of specific information about each individual actually highlights the risk they pose. It demonstrates that they are terrorists with regard to whom we lack a complete profile.”

Cerna listed a handful of criminal violations he said had been alleged against the removed migrants, including “an individual alleged to have committed murder.”

Cerna claimed “Agency personnel carefully vetted each individual alien to ensure they were in fact members of TdA,” but the administration has not released a list of people removed under the Alien Enemies Act.

The result, some fear, is an unaccountable system of arrest, expulsion and foreign imprisonment based solely on the president’s whims.

[jinxxangel13]

Phantom of the Night

Chapter 3-full

I've been so excited to post this chapter that I actually forgot to post it on time. I'm not surprised anymore! Hope you enjoy! Tw: blood, gore, death, minor character deaths, injuries, inaccurate military and medical terms (I tried to research as best as possible, sorry if they're wrong!)

~Masterlist~ ~Prev~ ~Next~

Heavy set boots were all that could be heard around the hangard. Soldiers moving quickly on and around a transport plane, giving a wide berth to a large man with a completely black tactical gear, black skull balaclava and hard white skull mask cover the top half of the face mask: Lieutenant Ghost. 

“Wheels up in five.”

Some soldiers rushed faster to get their seats on the plane and double check their gear, but a few remained rooted in their spot, Ghost included.

“Roger.” His gruff voice cut across the radio back to General Shepherd.

“Marines are loading in now. You and the Sergeant are leading the way on this.”

Ghost tilted his head, annoyance in his voice lost in the neutral tone.

“Sergeant?”

A 6 foot tall man walked up to Ghost with an enthusiastic step. His hair shaved on the sides with a sort of mohawk down the center of his head, blue eyes sharp and full of excitement.

“Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, L.T.? Save ya a seat, sir.” 

Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish.

Soap fist bumped Ghost’s shoulder before making his way up the transport plane, making eye contact with another soldier walking up to the plane looking oddly out of place.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Ghost grumbled.

“Ghost- do you copy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Any issues?”

“Negative, Sir.”

“Good. Captain Phantom will also be joining you on this mission. Get it done.”

Just as Shepherd finished his statement, the mystery figure Soap saw previously made their way towards Ghost.

The figure was wearing black tactical cargo pants with multiple knife straps and holsters on the thighs, a black long sleeve with a hooded overlay on top, tac vest full of frags, flashbangs, extra ammo clips and other things in pouches unknown to anyone except the figure wearing it, as well as a short black scarf around their neck and tucked into their vest. They had a balaclava across the lower half of their face with a thick black metal tactical mask over it, grey eyes almost gleaming as they stopped in front of Ghost, and their hair was underneath the scarf and out of view so he couldn’t identify this mystery person. When they stopped in front of Ghost, they had to look up quite a bit; being less than 6' compared to the 6'4" man didn't seem to be a deterrent for them at all. 

“Lieutenant Ghost, good to meet you. Captain Phantom.” The figure, the female, stuck her gloved hand out towards him.

Ghost shook her hand briefly, keeping in mind the strong grip each of them had on the other’s before they let go.

“On your move, sir. I’ve been requested by the General and Station Chief Laswell to accompany you and your men as backup on Alpha Team. I’m familiar with the mission and have been read in.” Her voice was deep, partially muffled and grainy from behind both masks, but she didn't seem to mind nor care.

Ghost nodded, turned away from her and walked right up into the transport plane with her at his heels to grab a seat and buckle in just as the door sealed shut for takeoff.

The teams spent a while in the air, not much conversation going on except for Ghost to introduce Phantom to Alpha team briefly. 

“Bravo Team offloads here. Alpha Team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill.” Ghost's strong voice echoed through the radio in Phantom’s ear as well as directly in front of her.

She watched as Bravo team got ready to unload as the plane landed momentarily, nodding to Ghost as they made eye contact and accepting a first bump from Soap as they got off.

Phantom pulled her goggles down over her eyes and gripped tightly onto her M16 between her legs as the plane took off again to head to their final destination. She kept herself strapped in on instinct, as if something was telling her to brace herself and she was never one to ignore her instincts.

Another minute in the air and it grew more tense as she exchanged glances with her other team members after the plane made a sudden drop on the right side.

“All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed, we're getting lit! Incoming- Flares! Flares!”

Phantom’s eyes grew wide as one of the soldiers stood up to go help the pilots. She could hear the flares going off outside of their plane as it righted itself once again.

“Shit- that was fucking close.”

She chuckled, agreeing with another soldier in front of her and letting her shoulders relax themselves slightly.

“Second missile!”

Phantom barely had any time to brace herself and her weapon before a loud crash sounded on the right side of the plane, throwing anything or anyone not strapped down off balance. She grappled a soldier about to crumple to the ground, pulling him down onto the seat next to her.

“Razor 1 going down! We're going down!” That was the last thing Phantom heard in her ear before she felt the plane plummet down to the ground, grinding and crunching metal the only thing anyone in the vicinity could hear. 

The sound was deafening; a ringing in her ears as she slowly came to. Everything was blurry and she couldn’t make out the garbled voices in her ear before a shrill let off through her radio. With a heavy hand, she ripped the contraption out of her ear before taking a moment to regain her bearings. 

Phantom could barely register her own coughing, let alone the one or two soldiers near her as she struggled to unbuckle herself from her seat.

“Alp--immobile. -Critical! Taking effective fire!” 

Phantom shook her head a little, running her hand across her head, hissing as she brushed against a gash over her temple; must have hit her head on the headrest or something. The piercing sound of bullets from around them was grounding her enough to be able to open her eyes, finding her gun still hooked around her foot.

“Still alive there, Cap?”

Phantom’s eyes were unfocused as she looked around the voice, jolting when a hand steadied her as she stood up. Her legs almost collapsed from underneath her, but she knew they’d be dead if she didn’t stay upright.

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was harsh as she spoke, finally able to get her hands to stop shaking enough to lift her gun up.

Muscle memory started to kick in as her mind caught up with the fact they were in the middle of the battlefield. The man in front of her she didn’t know except his radio callsign.

“Just you and I?” 

Alpha 0-2 and Phantom looked around.

“5 KIA, one wounded, you and I standing. Get your gun on that treeline. Gotta hold them off until Bravo team can clear those buildings.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Phantom leaned heavily against the right wall, windows blown out, and raised her gun to help drop as many AQ members as possible.

She could barely hear the other man over the sounds of gunfire and rpg’s going off in the background, but she could tell that he was talking to Bravo team over his radio.

“I don’t have coms! What’s going on?”

There was a lapse in firing, so Phantom took the moment to reload her gun as quickly as possible; easier said than done when her hands were still shaking from adrenaline, but it at least distracted from the headache.

“Bravo team is on their way. Keep your eyes peeled!”

“Copy!” Was her immediate reply as she leaned her back against the metal siding.

Barely 30 seconds had passed before she heard footsteps fast approaching the opened back of the plane. As she turned her sights towards the entrance, she heard a familiar voice hastily calling out to the two of them.

“Blue, blue, blue!”

Her posture relaxed slightly as Ghost and Soap ran into the plane wreckage.

“Damn good to see you both.” Phantom groaned out, repositioning herself against the corner of the window, switching to her rifle and pointing it out as she focused her eyes on the treeline but still listening to the men.

“We got five KIA, one wounded. It's just my gun and I'm low on ammo. Help me move him-”

“No time.” Ghost cut him off, sliding behind Phantom to pat her shoulder and set himself up at the next window. “Get your gun on that treeline.”

Soap set himself up in a crouching position at the plane opening after placing down a few proximity mines a few paces away as a last resort.

Phantom's eyes narrow through her scope, catching Ghost’s attention at the tensing of her posture.

“See anything?” Ghost’s voice was heavier than previously.

Phantom kept her hands steady as she zeroed in on something in the distance.

“Got movement.” 

“If you have a shot, take it.”

That was all that she needed to block out any further conversation between her teammates and take initiative: headshot.

A smirk made its way across her lips from under the mask as she set up her next few shots. Phantom wasn’t registering what they were saying around her even though she could hear them until she felt the plane rock back from the force of an RPG. If it wasn't for the quick reaction time of Ghost grabbing onto the back of her vest, she would have been flung backwards from the force.

When the dust settled, she straightened herself back up, switching back to her M16.

“Thanks, L.T.” Phantom nodded to him, switching places with Soap at the opening instead. 

“We clear?” Soap kept looking out of his scope, even after Phantom gave him a nod.

Ghost huffed, reloading his gun. “For now.”

[laurenttheninth]

i think part of why last night’s ep felt so weird is because it, to me at least, felt like it came way too late in the season.

excluding the breakup storyline*, and the pregnancy reveal**, these just felt like earlier beats:

athena, flash rob, and the probie(s) had this happened in like, the fourth episode, it would make a lot of sense that athena was injured (as she was JUST in a plane crash), and the seeds of 'flash rob' as a villain could have been planted early, giving athena an adversary. she could have spent half the season showing up in the aftermath of these mass robberies, frustrated that she's being outpaced by some twitch streaming jackass kid! this could have been compounded by the introduction of sparky, who athena's gut says not to trust but who, on paper, is a good kid. imagine if we had weeks of time to see athena "lose" to flash rob while building some degree of trust/warring with her instincts about sparky. think of how satisfying the sting would have been if we'd been waiting for athena to finally be one step ahead of flashy robert! think of how much more impactful sparky shooting an innocent woman in front of her child would be if we'd spent weeks with that character, and had seen athena trying to trust him! this also makes athena's decision to take on more probies a lot weightier: if athena was essentially training/mentoring this kid for months, how does she feel that he nearly killed someone because he lost his temper? then after the hiatus we could explore tonal shifts with athena having a string of new probies, or whatever. but do you see what i mean about the introduction of these things coming the ep before the 8a finale being... a bit late?

brad and gerrard show of hands, does anyone still give a fuck about these two? having gerrard take the hotshots job tied things up in a neat little bow and allowed us to solidly move on from these characters. this felt like a bizarre time to bring them back. we just found out maddie and chimney are accidentally pregnant again! bucktommy just broke up! eddie just shaved his moustache! hen's son nearly died and she only recently got her daughter back! why are we talking about these unlikable old white guys?! anyway. i think they should not have been revisited at all, except maybe to come back lola and norman style, way down the line, so the audience looks back like "oh yeah, those two... i'd almost forgotten about them!" BUT we live in an unjust world. so in that case, i think the issue with brad and gerrard is that they're too tonally different from the rest of the show. gerrard made sense in the begins episodes, when he was a pigheaded bigot representative of the old boys club institution and a foil to the new 118 that we know and love, and brad made sense in the three-part opening because he was a silly one-off character meant to add levity -- except we had levity because gerrard was written and played as a cartoon evil boss instead of a realistically awful person. so now 911 has two old white dudes who are at best good for a chuckle and at worst actively evil. and now gerrard is crying bc he loves his tv land job so much and brad is using start power and money to talk the brass into sanctioning his stalking of bobby nash. and we haven't seen these characters in ages and frankly, we don't care about them. my opinion is that we either need Way Less (end it with that shot of gerrard sipping his latte with his feet up or w/e) or, tragically, Way More. having them be a consistent problem that plagues the 118 would at least allow time for these characters to settle into a tone that sits well within the rest of the show.

it'll be interesting to see how this all pans out, pacing-wise, when we can look at this season in its totality next summer, and when rewatching in one fell swoop without a week between each episode. but at this moment, i don't think i'm alone in thinking that episode was just... skippable? isolated from the events that immediately preceded it? imo 8x07 added indelibly to the current state of s8 episodes feeling siloed within themselves with quick storylines that are introduced and then wrapped up within forty-some minutes.

*this had to happen a) after bucktommy had been together for a respectable amount of time onscreen and b) immediately after the breakup to prevent buck from looking like a crazy person, so i think this was perfectly place in the timeline

**had no material impact on the story thus far, we didn’t even see buck or chim struggling to keep it a secret. we didn’t even see chimney around the firefam, is that his strategy so he doesn’t spill the beans?? to just hide in the bunk room or something??? rip chimney han you would have loved playing keep away with buck’s phone and watching tmz videos of Bobby threatening to beat up a guy

[estebunny]

esteban ocon in the f1tv post-race show with will buxton and jack doohan

via f1 youtube channel and transcript below:

Will Buxton: Fernando Alonso scooting his way back to the hospitality unit and Esteban Ocon has come on the show.

Esteban Ocon: The way of coming back into the pits?

Will: Well, on the scooter, yeah, it gets you past everyone.

Esteban: I thought it was forbidden.

Will: It does say on the gates, doesn't it? No scooters allowed.

Esteban: Now it's allowed.

Will: You could do what you want as a driver.

Esteban: Yeah, no, no. If you have a nice beard, maybe like Jack, you fit through the doors. But I'm not used to seeing you with the beard.

Jack Doohan: I just haven't done the shave mate. Be gone for next week.

Will: We've talked about that. He's been busy in the sim. Perfecting his wolverine look as well. You'll get there one day. Esteban. Double points for the team today, you go above Haas in the constructors' championship. What a brilliant weekend. And I know when we talked on Thursday, both you and Pierre said that you were expecting a tough weekend.

Esteban: Yeah, we were expecting a tough weekend. And honestly, you know, the race that I had was a super long one, and we found some issues with the front of the floor in the car. The engineers told me at the end of the race, they were lacking some downforce to the front of the car. So honestly, it was super hard, the race. I kept falling back and almost not being able to hold Nico at the end, with a lot of sliding, lots of degradation. But you know, very positive that we managed to come in the points with such a race, because earlier in the in the year, if we had any issues, or any kind of even thinking of an issue, we were going to be 17 and 18, and today, we're inside the points. So that's pretty solid.

Will: What does it say about the development that the team has taken, the work that's being put in that. At the start of the season, you guys were, not being rude, but you were nowhere, and this weekend, about half a second off pole.

Esteban: Yeah, it's pretty unexpected to say the least. We put the car on in FP1, and honestly, it was working better than normal. We optimize, we try new things. We didn't bring anything new to the car. But for some reason, it's much better than in the beginning of the year. And if I got a clue of what it is, I think the team knows as well what it could be. And if that's the case, we should be okay for the next three.

Will: This is it, this is it. Proper tracks going forward that we know. Traditional tracks, shall we call them? Does this create a good barometer for you going forward?

Esteban: Yeah. I mean, time will tell. But if we are competitive in Austria, I think we're going to be competitive in much more tracks than we were earlier in the year. And that is good news. But until then, we haven't done it. So let's see. In Austria,

Will: I know, and a word for this guy here, the shift that he put in back at base.

Esteban: Doesn't have time to shave!

Jack: I brought one. Maybe I was thinking about doing it in the plane, but I didn't really want to clog their sink up in there on my way.

Esteban: But we can thank him, because honestly, I mean, I've been on that that scene as well in the past, in 2019 and, yeah, he must be pretty tired. Coming in here, very little sleep and yeah, that's the commitment we need at the moment to boost ourselves up.

Will: Thanks, coming the show mate. Appreciate it. Thanks. Travel safe, we'll see you in…

Esteban: Two days.

Will: Few days' time, right?

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Matt Shuham at HuffPost:

After days of defying a federal judge concerning the expulsion of hundreds of migrants to a brutal prison in El Salvador, the Trump administration told the judge Wednesday to be more “respectful.” In turn, the judge gave the administration 24 more hours to fulfill a demand for information related to the administration’s defiance of his previous orders. U.S. District Judge James Boasberg’s demands for information about flights carrying hundreds of migrants were actually “a picayune dispute over the micromanagement of immaterial factfinding” the Trump administration said in a new filing, which urged Boasberg to “stay,” or pause, his order for more information. In response to the administration’s hissy fit, the judge said the government’s “grounds for such request at first blush are not persuasive,” but he nonetheless gave the administration 24 more hours to provide information he’s ordered about the expulsion flights, or otherwise to explain why it wanted to keep the information secret, setting a new deadline of noon Thursday. Three planes carrying migrants expelled by the United States landed in El Salvador on Saturday night, hours after Boasberg verbally ordered the administration to turn them around and told Justice Department lawyers in court to effectuate the order “immediately.” But the government didn’t do that. Instead, all three flights were allowed to land in El Salvador, where President Nayib Bukele published a video showing the migrants, who had been living in the United States, being manhandled and having their heads shaved by prison guards. Bukele has said the migrants will do at least a year of forced labor. He and members of the Trump administration later mocked the judge’s order.

In its filing Wednesday morning, the Trump administration asserted “the Court’s continued intrusions into the prerogatives of the Executive Branch, especially on a non-legal and factually irrelevant matter, should end.” The brief also claimed: “The Court has no basis to intrude into the conduct of foreign affairs by the Government, and a more deliberative and respectful approach is warranted.” That wasn’t all. Throughout the seven-page filing, the Trump administration railed against Boasberg, the chief judge for the Washington, D.C., district court, and said his request for supposedly “immaterial information” represented “grave usurpations” of the president’s power. The government again asserted that the case was “not even justiciable” — that is, that Boasberg had no right to even involve himself in Trump’s expulsion powers.

[...] White House deputy chief of staff Stephen Miller on Wednesday referred to various district court judges’ rulings as “lunacy” and “the gravest assault on democracy” that “must and will end.” And on Tuesday, Trump’s border czar, Tom Homan, said “We’re not stopping. I don’t care what the judges think.” After Trump and others called for Boasberg’s impeachment, Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts issued a rare two-sentence rebuke. [...] Wednesday’s Trump administration filing repeatedly referred to the judge’s verbal order instead as a “comment,” which it said represented a “complete misunderstanding” of the situation. The government has not provided any detailed information on the expelled migrants — other than asserting they are gang members — and the migrants were given no due process because the expulsions were largely carried out under the Alien Enemies Act, a centuries-old law that previously has only been used three times during declared wars. Multiple family members and lawyers say they know of people with no gang affiliation who were nonetheless sent to the Salvadoran prison. The Trump administration contends that the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua is actually a terrorist group and a part of the Venezuelan “hybrid criminal state that is perpetrating an invasion of and predatory incursion into the United States.”

Cry more, Trump Administration! 🐓🍭

See Also:

HuffPost: What Happens When The Trump Administration Disobeys The Courts

[businesstiramisu]

@canyourfavesurvivecastledracula -- I'm trying out the "argue at you" approach. tagging you b/c you don't have submissions open and I think this long enough to be an annoying ask. I don't think you know or care about this character, but *I* do, so here's my argument :P

Can Alphonse Elric survive Castle Dracula?

[the answer depends a LOT on which part of which canon we're using, but we're going to go vaguely with "middle part". That is to say, armor]

Al has one HUGE advantage against Dracula, which is that he has no corporeal human body (for now). He's not completely free of blood though -- if Dracula learns about the blood seal tethering his soul to this mortal plane, I fully believe he's learned enough Dark Magicks at Scholomance to fuck it up. So the question is, would he find out? Al is usually pretty good at hiding it… unless he just decides to tell people. So it depends on how their dynamic plays out.

Al would accept the crucifix from the townsfolk, and listen to their other advice. Even if he doesn't believe them, he's a polite boy, and you never know what information might be useful! Maybe their folktales have clues about the Philosopher's Stone, you never know. (Also in one version of canon he can understand German, so let's say language barriers aren't an issue.)

Dracula is bemused when an alchemist in full plate armor turns up asking to see his library instead of the solicitor he requested. Alchemists? He hasn't run into any of those in a while. But hey, the lawyer's not here yet, he's got time to fuck with this guy and have an extra snack.

The shaving incident wouldn't happen obviously, but Dracula might realize something is amiss because Al doesn't sleep. Or will he? Does Dracula pay enough attention to know when normal humans should be sleeping and Al isn't? If so, he will probably investigate, push boundaries, or stage a confrontation until he finds out Al's deal, and then he will be PISSED. No lawyer, and now no snack! This is bullshit! From here on out, it's WAR. If not, then...

If Al realizes this is a kidnapping and not a library loan, he will play along. He might not even mind. He's been kidnapped before, and it always worked out fine. Dracula might be more creepy and threatening than his other kidnappers, but Al's dealt with a wide variety of creepy and threatening in his quest, I just don't think he'd be fazed. And he is, as already mentioned, a polite person who would want to be a respectful guest! Hmm kinda creepy that he just implied I'll never leave this place alive... oh well! Nice table setting, sir, compliments to your staff.

Being a respectful guest might not extend to staying in his room as instructed; he's a curious guy and only a stickler for the rules compared to his brother. The girlies aren't a problem for him, because he's still wearing the crucifix, but they might clue him in that Something Is Wrong and lead to Al himself forcing a confrontation with Dracula.

But even if everything goes smoothly, Al would eventually get bored with Dracula's library (if there was anything useful about the Philosopher's Stone in there, Dracula wouldn't be a vampire). At some point, Al would decide this kidnapping is over, and he would provoke the confrontation in trying to leave.

I haven't written any reason for Al to tell Dracula about his fatal weakness, so I'm gonna say Dracula can't actually do much to Al; but unfortunately I don't think Al can harm Dracula either. I don't actually remember what allowed Jonathan to hit him with a shovel but I think it involved special circumstances that do not apply to Al. However, Dracula also can't prevent Al from leaving -- neither thousand foot cliffs nor wolves are much of an obstacle to him. (Well actually, if you physically overpower him and take the armor apart, he can't walk away -- but people almost never think of that, and Dracula probably won't either.)

Which is all to say that Alphonse can survive Castle Dracula, but he probably won't have as much useful intel as Jonathan did. Mind you, he took notes! He just didn't get personal experience with as many of Dracula's powers.

And of course, his goal after this is to track down his brother -- if anyone can figure out how to kill a vampire it's Ed. Where the fuck did he get to, anyways? He'd better not be stranded in Weimar Germany. Al can absolutely walk to Munich from here, but waiting around 25-30 years for Ed to turn up would be a drag.

[giantcypress]

Creating the camber for a Japanese jack plane

Just in case you haven't seen this, here's the writeup on my Japanese jack plane. One of the distinguishing features about this plane is the pronounced camber that's on the blade. The camber is what allows this plane to take thick shavings and get rid of wood in a hurry. We're not going to win any planing contest with this thing, but it's awesome at what it does.

Rich asked about how the camber is established. The first step is to realize that this is not a precision operation, so no need to be too precious about this.

The next step is marking the camber on the plane blade. Using a 10" radius arc is a good starting point for this. I don't have a compass large enough to trace a 10" radius arc, but if you have a scrap piece of wood, this is easy to trace out.

Here's the arc tracing tool. I'm sure there's a better name for this, but can't remember what it is.

It's a scrap piece of wood with a screw through it towards one end, and a 5/16" hole drilled 10" away. The hole will be just large enough to put a pencil through. It won't be a tight fit, but it will be good enough. Remember, this is not a precision operation.

The arc tracing tool pivots on the screw, which rests on my workbench, while the pencil traces the arc. I use the arc tracing tool to trace a 10" radius arc on an index card, although any piece of paper or cardboard will do. The blue tape is to hold the index card in place, since I don't have three hands.

After that, I cut along the arc, and use the index card as a template to trace the arc onto the back of the Japanese plane blade. I used a Sharpie for this.

Here's the result.

At this point you'll want to get your hands on a grinder. I know there's a lot of talk about how you can't use a grinder on a Japanese tool because the grinder will overheat the tool and cause it to lose its temper. This is not completely true, as long as you're aggressive about keeping the tool cool. I have a Tormek, so I don't have to worry about this issue, but drawing out the temper is not why I have a Tormek. I have a Tormek because my basement shop has no ventilation, and I didn't want to have to deal with breathing grinder wheel and metal dust.

In any case, the next step is to grind the corners of the plane blade until the Sharpie marks go away. At that point, you'll have an approximately 10" camber on your blade. Remember, this is not a precision operation.

You can then take the plane blade to your usual sharpening set up and sharpen away. The only difference here is that you'll be rocking the plane blade side to side to cover the camber. This is easier than it sounds.

In this photo you can see my fingers right on the corner. WHat's not as apparent is that I'll constantly reposition my fingers, moving them from corner to corner as I rock the plane blade side to side.

Again, this is easier than it sounds. Remember, this is not a precision operation.

Here's what the plane blade will look like when you're done. Not the prettiest looking plane blade, but it will do a great job removing wood fast. Remember, this is not a precision operation.

As for the chipbreaker, again, this is not a precision task. I didn't do anything special with my chipbreaker other than to make sure that it rests flat on the plane blade.

You can see that the edge of the chipbreaker sits back from the cutting edge. This is okay. The shavings this plane will be taking are going to be pretty thick. A good rule of thumb for chipbreaker placement is that the gap between the cutting edge and the chipbreaker should be around the thickness of the shaving you want to take. That's why the chipbreaker on a smoothing plane is so close to the edge. But we're not going to be taking super-thin shavings with this plane, so the chipbreaker can be further back. (For more on chipbreakers, I wrote an article on chipbreakers for Popular Woodworking.)

Remember, this is not a precision operation.

[maybeamagpie]

A Bottle of Sherry

Read on AO3

Loveday’s worried expression barely hiding the unbridled glee was possibly the most amusing thing that could’ve started of Maria’s winter holidays. It was, of course, accompanied by “are you sure you’re going to be alright?” (asked in the slight trepidation of a woman who’s about to go on her second honeymoon). It took a great amount of Maria’s willpower to not grin and laugh. She thought it a bit uncouth in the face of her aunt and uncle’s two children.

Especially when George, all six and mighty, took it upon himself to answer.

“She’s fine! You’re fine, right, Maria?” he asked from his spot of clinging to her leg. Maria ruffled his hair, before quickly catching Eliza, who had meanwhile taken a liking to hanging upside down by her feet.

“Of course!” she grinned, “I get to spend my holidays with my amazing cousins and my wonderful aunt and uncle get to send pretty pictures from their wonderful vacation by the sea.”

“Vacation!” said Eliza.

“Yes, vacation, Elsie,” Maria grinned. The child began playing with her hair. “And if there are any issues, I have back-up on speed dial.”

Benjamin looked over from the luggages he had been trying to manage for some ten minutes now.

“It’s not that Adam fellow, right? I didn’t hide our best cutlery and-”

“No, no,” Maria assured him, “he’s been old news since the beginning of December.”

“And he was boring,” added George.

“Georgie!” Loveday scolded him.

“What? That’s what Maria told you!”

“It’s impolite to listen in on people’s conversations, George,” said Benjamin, let the bags fall and walked over to Maria. He kissed Eliza on both cheeks, unlatched George from Maria’s leg and lifted him in a tight hug in the air.

“You will both behave and listen to Maria,” he then told them. His children half-heartedly agreed. He hugged Maria as well.

“So, it’s not Adam,” he said.

“No, uncle, not Adam.”

“Who then?” questioned Loveday. She pecked Eliza on both cheeks. Maria shrugged. She waited while Loveday said goodbye to her son.

“Robin, of course. Now go, you’ll miss your plane.”

“Robin?!” Uncle Ben didn’t have time to be scandalised, however, as Loveday pushed him out with a knowing smile.

“Enjoy the Bahamas!”

And with that Maria was left alone with two children and an empty country house.

“Hot chocolate time!” exclaimed George and his sister gladly echoed.

It was more than welcome that Robin timed his arrival on the evening of Boxing day. That meant that Maria only had to manage two very lively children for a whole of ten hours. Still, it was quite the relief, when the bell rang.

“I’ll get it!” George was already out of his chair when Maria got up.

“George! Your hands!” And face, she added mentally. Perhaps lasagna wasn’t the best idea for dinner.

Once she wiped tomatoes off of Eliza’s face and hands, they happily ran to greet Robin at the door. They found him accosted by George and Maria had to laugh at the unwise choice of clothing.

“That shirt is quite the fashion statement,” she teased him.

“Wow,” he smirked, “here I am, sacrificing my own holidays for- ugh-” Eliza began vigorously climbing him and he struggled to keep his composure. He blew a few stray curls from his face. “-for your wellbeing - hello, Elsie-”

“Moustache,” she said.

“Yes, Elsie, I shaved. That being said, Maria, I was hoping you’d show me some gratitude. Or, you know, a greeting.”

“Hi, Robin. Hope you had a very nice Christmas.” She took Eliza from him.

“Oh, very nice, princess. You should see what gift Anne gave me.”

Maria smirked. “I think I should, according to what Henry told me-”

“Henry told you?” Robin grimaced, “that bastard swore he wouldn’t say a peep!”

“Don’t say bastard, uncle. Mum says it’s a bad word,” huffed George.

“George, how about you let Robin inside and go finish your dinner, hm?”

“We have lasagna!” informed the boy helpfully. Robin, who had a tomato imprint of his nephew’s face on his shirt, smiled.

“Really? I’d kill for some lasagna now.”

At nine, the stage was set for a private moment for Robin and Maria. She planned to spend it with a nice book and had sat herself down in her uncle’s favourite armchair, with Wrolf sleeping by her feet, but those plans were swiftly interrupted, when Robin walked in with a large bottle of sherry.

“I was really worried it would clink against something when George decided to become a projectile.”

She raised her eyes from her book and smirked at him.

“Oh please. We’re not teenagers, Robin, we don’t have to hide alcohol.”

Robin seated himself on the sofa.

“But George would ask and I don’t like impertinent questions.”

Maria mindlessly turned a page.

“Like ‘why did Anne break up with you?’” she glanced at him to catch the hint of annoyance as he set out two glasses on the coffee table.

“I will not dignify that with a response. Sherry?” he offered her.

“Will you tell me about the Anne affair if I have some?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

And seeing that Robin was not going to let her have her quiet evening either way, she got up and sat down by him. He handed her a generously filled glass.

“Well aren’t you a gentleman.”

They clinked and he smirked challengingly.

“By heart, princess.”

She took a sip, flashing him a coy smile.

“Was it the nickname?”

Robin choked on his sherry. “What?”

“Did Anne not like being called princess?” she asked, now looking at him directly. And Robin, ever-so-bold, avoided her gaze. He cleared his throat.

“I didn’t call Anne princess.”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t! I didn’t call any of my exes princess.”

“Not even Johnny?”

“Oh especially not Johnny. He tried too hard.”

“Hm…” she took another sip of her sherry, “but why did you and Anne broke up? You seemed like quite the match.”

Robin stared at her for a moment and she shrugged.

“Henry just told me you two were no longer an item,” she explained quickly.

He downed his glass, poured himself another and topped off Maria’s. She didn’t protest.

“First off,” he started, his voice decisive, “we didn’t break up because we were never really together. Undefined relationship and all.”

Maria rolled her eyes.

“And second, it was precisely because of defining that relationship we ended it.”

And at Maria’s inquisitive stare, he sighed.

“She wanted an open relationship, I’m more of an exclusive guy. We’re still friends,” he assured her.

“Oh good! Anne is such a joy to be around.”

“Oh I know.”

They both snickered like teenagers.

“But I do hope you and Adam are a done thing.”

“Hey! He wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that- Princess, he liked numbers.”

Maria stared at him, eyebrows raised as she awaited his next words.

“Not like that! You know, you like maths and that’s different! You enjoy… defining the world in a different, frankly unique, language. He like numbers in the ‘yield’ and ‘loss’ sense. He couldn’t say ‘hello’ without sounding like he was here to offer you some shady tax-evasion-y deal!”

“Good save,” she noted, finished her glass and leaned back into the sofa, searching the ceiling for a clever response. None came.

“I knew it wouldn’t work out. He was too…” she sighed.

“Boring? Uninteresting? Bad in bed? Dull?” Robin supplied helpfully as he refilled her glass.

“Shush,” she gently poked him in the shoulder, “and shouldn’t you pull the breaks on the sherry?”

“What? It’s a litre and I know how you can hold your liquor.”

“Yes, but we have two children in the house who got some very loud gifts for Christmas and they are more than happy to use them at five in the morning.”

He just smiled. “We’ll be fine, princess.”

Maria narrowed her eyes.

“I bought it with my own money! If I suffer, it will only be the consequences of my own unwise actions.”

“Well I didn’t buy it.”

“But you did decide to drink with me.”

They shared a long look.

“That’s a touché, princess, admit it,” he said.

“Seeing as you wouldn’t leave me to read in peace if I didn’t come here, it is not a touché, it’s a deal made under duress.”

Robin chuckled. “Fucking lawyers.”

Maria laughed and realised it’s been some time since she felt so relaxed. With the whole chaos of the upcoming holidays right after Adam…

“Oh I have a gift for you,” she realised. Putting down the glass (rookie mistake, Robin refilled it) she dusted off her thighs and quickly picked up the large present from behind the armchair. She petted Wrolf on her way back. He sighed but didn’t wake up.

Robin watched her all the way through and Maria had to force down the thoughts that scolded her for not changing into something more elegant than warm leggings and a hideous (but lovingly made) Christmas sweater.

“That’s… I should’ve expected that.”

She handed him the packet. He smiled at it.

“Please, don’t tell me that these numbers are…”

Maria lit up, “merry Christmas in ASCII code!”

Robin looked at her, grinning in disbelief.

“No way.”

“Yes way, now open it.”

Robin took a deep breath and carefully began peeling the tape. Upon his lap then spilled an assortment of gifts.

Robin stared at the strangest one for a few seconds. Then he lifted the plastic, over the head hawk mask.

“How did you even find this!”

Maria shrugged.

“And a mug with a motorcycle handle? And- oh my god, you didn’t.”

Maria barely held back her joyful grin, “I did.”

“Leonard Cohen CD.”

“Mhm.”

“Princess.”

“Look inside.”

Robin obediently opened it and then gaped at her.

“Maria!”

She giggled. “It’s signed!”

Not even looking at rest, he quickly put them beside the bottle of sherry and lunged to catch Maria in a hug.

“You’re brilliant! my gift for you isn't even half as good!” he asserted. Maria rolled her eyes.

“Oh please. I just… I was unpacking some of dad’s stuff, I saw the CD and thought of you.”

“So you’re just casually giving me a family heirloom.”

“Along with a plastic hawk mask - that took way more work, by the way.”

Robin looked at the two remaining gifts. “Oh, ornithology playing cards, that’s adorable. And… that’s silk. You gave me a silk scarf.”

“The one you always wear is a bit worse for wear, so I thought-”

Robin glared at her before breaking out into a bright smile. “We’re setting a price limit for next year. Twenty pounds tops, ‘cause you’re unstoppable with all that solicitor money.”

“I have to spend it somewhere, don’t I? And when there’s no boyfriend to spoil and just a few family members left… You know my friends also forbid me from giving them anything over twenty pounds.”

“I didn’t ask to be spoiled!”

“Think of it as me being your art… patron.”

“I am not a starving artist.”

“I won’t tell Wrolf off next meal and you will be.”

Still in awe, he stared at his presents.

“This is really amazing, Maria. Thank you.”

She just smiled, sipping her sherry. her mind was now comfortably slow.

“Oh man, now I feel really bad about my gift,” he complained.

“You have it here?”

He smirked. “‘Course! I think into the future, you know?”

“That’s what they say about goldfish too,” Maria noted. He glared at her without meaning it.

“Give me a minute, I’ll bring it to you.”

It was about five and Maria managed to prepare three small bowls of crisps, nuts and some sweets for them to snack on in the short break. Then she settled back down on the couch, cursing herself for not bringing any ice.

Robin brought in a large flat, rectangular present. She stared at him like a surprised bunny.

“Robin, you didn’t.”

He smirked, “open it.”

He placed it in her lap. With no care for the paper, she tore the gift open to find…

“Oh dear gods,” she breathed out, her fingers gently caressing the layers of paint, “that’s so beautiful.”

It was a portrait of her. She was smiling brightly, her eyes following the observer, sun streaming from behind her and turning the russet of her hair into gold. Every freckle in place, every eyelash painted with care… She looked up at Robin. His expression was soft and she thought this was probably the second time she had seen him like this. The first was when they danced together at Loveday and Ben’s wedding when she was fourteen and Robin fifteen.

“Is this from a photo?” she asked, her voice trembling. Robin shook his head. Her eyes widened and mouth fell open.

“Memory?”

“It’s not framed yet, but-”

“This is how you see me?”

Robin flushed red. “W-well…”

The sun had given her a golden crown. Behind her was some or other sea and she wore… she chuckled.

“I always knew you liked the red velvet dress the most.”

Robin shrugged. “I have good taste!”

“Robin, you’re too good to me. This is so beautiful!”

She found him watching her intently, shifted in her seat and gently set the portrait down in favour of her glass of sherry.

“Too good?” he questioned, “did you never get anything like this before?”

She chuckled, “believe it or not, no one has ever given me a portrait before. It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“Wasn’t… oh what was his name… didn’t you date a photographer?”

“Hey,” she cleared her throat, “how about we don’t talk about Micah.”

“But he took photos of you exclusively! Did he never-”

“Robin. I mean it. He saw me only through his camera and failed to without, now…” She made a cutting gesture with her hands. Robin shook his head, incredulous.

“To be fair, Lily also never showed me her sketches of me, but still-”

“Lily was insufferable.”

Robin grinned into his glass. “What? Didn’t enjoy her thorough seminars on history of inks?”

“I wouldn’t have minded those if she didn’t talk to me like I have never seen a painting in my life.”

“Elijah was no better.”

“Elijah and I just went out a few times. That’s not an ex, that was a mistake.”

“Oooh, you’re harsh. And here I thought you liked his talkative personality.”

Maria drank her glass in one go and poured herself another.

“To talk without wit is to think of yourself as a clever comedian in a club of deaf-blind people. Elijah could barely make his own professors interested in his essays and they got paid to read them!” she frustratedly finished another glass. Robin watched her, clearly more than amused.

“I love when you get fired up like this. I hope that one day you’ll defend me in court.”

“I would hope not. You’d probably be there for hijacking a car and I know jackshit about cars.”

“Hijacking a car?” Robin asked, almost offended.

“Yeah! You’d be some highway robber in the nineteenth century, I swear.”

“You know what you would be?”

“Tell me.”

“You’d be the rich lady I was robbing.”

“So you admit it then.”

“I admit nothing.”

“No, no! You admitted you’d be one of those bodice ripper robbers who takes the lady from her old husband-to-be-”

“-fiancé-”

“Shush! I’m being dramatic.”

“Wait, why would I be a bodice ripper hero?”

“Look at yourself! You’re ripped and drive a motorbike. And sometimes you’re even clever.”

She wanted to pour herself another glass, but Robin stopped her.

“I think you’ve had enough. You’re saying nonsense.”

“You know motorbikes are hot. Both Jen and Carter are a proof of that.”

“And Carter’s southern American drawl.”

Maria chuckled. “I almost slept with him,” she admitted.

“What.”

“Almost! And it was after you two broke up. Neither of us just wanted to be a rebound.”

“Oh, Mark, was it?”

“Ugh, Mark.” Enough said.

“I think Charlotte was worse than him.”

“No, because Charlotte at least had an impeccable taste in clothes.”

“And men. Three guys at once is quite the achievement.”

“Did I tell you about Gregory?”

“Yes, many times. But what could you expect from a guy named Gregory?”

“True.”

Robin poured himself his last glass. The bottle was empty. Maria leaned back, circling the rest of her sherry slowly and deliberately.

“Are we doing something wrong?” she asked quietly. Robin raised an eyebrow.

“With shit-talking our exes? Maybe.”

“No, not that,” Maria’s thoughts felt a bit blurry. She could feel the thoughts she shouldn’t have about Robin surfacing.

“I mean we both had so many relationships and we’re not even thirty yet. What if we’re just doing something wrong?”

“My sister and Ben had a wedding at thirty-four and you’re barely twenty-six. We’re still learning.”

“But they’ve been pining over each other for years and that point!”

She huffed. “What if it’s our standards. We have them set too high and refuse to settle for a real person with flaws.”

Robin shook his head. “My standards are very realistic.”

“Yeah?” Maria challenged, “tell me.”

“My ideal partner has to be easy to talk to but also able to advise me well. If not funny then at least clever and willing to eat my food.”

“See? Impossible. Even David, who eats almost anything he finds, struggles with some of your creations.”

“You never do,” Robin pointed out.

“Or I don’t have the heart to tell you.”

Robin chuckled. “I recall you telling me a few times that it was really tasty.”

“You make delicious breakfasts,” Maria conceded, “and your fried rice never misses. -but your baking just barely passes the ‘edible’ test.”

“You’re not much of a cook either.”

“You’ve never complained.”

“Sure, because those five meals you do on repeat, you do very well.”

“I bake better than you though.”

“Well that’s not really a difficult bar to clear. Remember my attempt at apple pie?”

“It was just crunchy!”

“I believe at the time you called my oven a ‘charcoal producer.’”

“But I ate it, didn’t I?”

Robin finished his glass. He took Maria’s too and set them both on the coffee table between the gifts.

“I think my expectations were interrogated sufficiently, what about you? Pray tell, what’s your unreachable standard?”

Maria thought for a minute.

“I want someone who likes light-hearted fun. I spend my day all uptight, so to come home and have someone be just a sliver of light…” she pursed her lips. “I’d also like them to be kind and willing to listen to me. I want a partner not a wall to talk to or a pet.”

Then one of those thoughts that did not belong to the surface got into her mouth.

“And good taste. If my partner can’t advise me correctly on what shoes go better with my dress, I might as well just ask on my Instagram.”

“Now you’ve disqualified half the population. You look good in anything!”

“I’m sure you would have no trouble. You saved me from so many bad choices.”

“You’ve gotten better.”

She smiled at him, “I’d hope so.”

They quietly watched Wrolf sleep. Maria then softly giggled. It stopped as it began, but a moment later it was longer and louder, until she was giggling to herself tipsily. Robin studied her profile.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. Maria collected herself.

“I mean, it… it sounded like we just listed off each other’s qualities.”

Suddenly the warm light atmosphere turned into cold awkwardness. Maria’s blood froze in her veins. She looked at Robin.

“I- I mean- it’s not like- you-”

Robin was quiet, just staring at her intently.

“Like, yes, if I had to choose out of my closest, obviously I’d choose you, but-”

“Obviously?”

Maria blinked a couple times. “You mean you wouldn’t choose me?”

“I didn’t say that. I just thought that you and Henry-”

“Henry? Why? We’re friends and all but thinking about, like, kissing him makes me feel icky.”

“And imagining kissing me is fine?”

Maria froze. She closed her eyes. “That was supposed to be an inside thought,” she mumbled.

Robin moved closer to her.

“Inside thought- princess, did you ever think about kissing me?”

She glared at him.

“Did you?”

Robin laughed. “Who didn’t? You know how painful it was to paint your lips?”

There was a single beat of silence.

“What?” Maria whispered. Robin rethought his entire existence.

“Oh screw it,” he grabbed Maria by her shoulders. Their eyes met and for a moment Maria really thought they were going to kiss, but they stopped just short.

“Maria, the first time I ever saw you, I finally understood what Loveday meant by her cryptic: ‘you’ll know when you meet them.’ It was like my world, which until then wasn’t missing anything, finally found the final piece to be completed. I started drawing because of you. I- I saw you, in your perfectly pressed clothing, with your perfectly picturesque curls and those eyes that could cause Troy to fall and I had to let everyone know that someone like that existed. And then we continued to grow and change and I realised that no, it was never how symmetrical your shirt is or how shiny your shoes are, I couldn’t get the sound of your laughter from my head. I began writing numbers just like you, because I stared for hours and hours at your hands! I felt like you were driving me crazy!”

He paused to take a breath. Maria tried to speak, but he stopped her.

“No, that’s not all. I dated, because you had to be some sort of childish foolishness. I really thought with a couple people that maybe you were finally back in the ‘dearest friend’ category, but then you’d break up with your boyfriend or get me a more thoughtful present for my birthday and suddenly it would all come back. I really, really tried to think of you only as a muse and a friend. Even when during my final exam one of the professors asked why I didn’t name the composition love, I tried to remain foolish. But-” he huffed out, frustration drawing his eyebrows into a frown, “you are the best thing that happened to me and the worst punishment the universe could ever prepare.”

He was out of breath, like he had been running up and down the stairs, and his cheeks were flushed, though whether it was embarrassment, anger or adoration was hard to tell. She felt her own face burning.

“How… how can I match that?” she breathed out, laughing shakily. Robin giggled too, breathless. His eyes were shining and Maria thought that he was absolutely beautiful. Not caring for the consequences, she gently slid her palm under his jaw and kissed him.

Robin smelled of sherry, sweets, turpentine and leather. Maria knew what shampoo he used from the many times she’d stayed the night at his place, but no amount of it or of cologne could ever cover the hours he spent in his studio and on the motorbike in full gear. His hands were on her waist without her being sure how they got there, her fingers were combing through his hair. Her chest felt close to exploding, like she had swallowed fire and its restless flames were now reaching every inch of her body. Her mind, though slow and a bit unruly, finally celebrated. All those things about Robin she had accrued over the years were turned into fireworks, because no matter how much she thought about what it would be like to kiss Robin, it was impossible to beat the real thing. Kissing Robin was like quenching thirst with a glass of fresh water. Kissing Robin was like understanding why philosophers spurned love whereas poets upheld it. She wasn’t thinking of one thing - never - there was Robin’s hair, his clothes, his hands, his neck and his eyelashes, which tickled her face. There were his lips and his tongue and she could say those were three things. The three-body problem as it was initially meant.

They separated after a moment to take a breath.

“I love being proven wrong,” Robin whispered. Maria raised an eyebrow in question.

“I thought- I thought that I love just the idea I had of you in my mind. But that idea has some work to do if she even wants to hold a candle to you.”

He caressed her cheek.

“I also can’t believe I didn’t kiss you first. With all that talk I should’ve done it.”

This time she laughed with her belly.

“Oh come on, you had this beautiful monologue about love driving you crazy and you’d take this from me? You should’ve warned me! I would’ve prepared myself with some Jane Austen.”

“I know Austen better than you,” Robin pointed out.

“And perhaps if I loved you less I would have been able to talk about it more,” she grinned and pecked him on the lips. He burrowed his face in her neck.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul…” he murmured. Maria giggled.

“Maybe, but this body is damn tired because she drank half a bottle of sherry, not to mention it’s definitely past midnight and with some luck George and Eliza will sleep until six, so I think it would be best if we’d go lie down-”

She attempted to get up. Robin tugged her back down.

“One lamp won’t do big damage and the sofa has plenty of space.”

Maria considered it. The positives were plenty: Robin was constantly warm, the sofa was very well upholstered and her room was behind a very cold corridor and stairs. And negatives… she decided those didn’t matter and just didn’t count them.

“My, my, Mr de Noir, going right to the sleeping together,” she teased, gently fixing his hair which she had previously so thoughtlessly ruined. Robin grinned at her, still keeping his hands around her waist.

“Being straight-forward has worked great for me so far, why fix it if it ain’t broke?”

“Fair point,” Maria nodded, “but you are my pillow tonight.”

“Oh gladly, princess.”

Maria woke up into light, alone, but covered with a hand-made blanket with a glass of water and aspirin by her side. Hearing some noise from the kitchen, she tiptoed into her bathroom and fixed herself up a bit before going in.

She then stayed put, leaning against the doorframe as she watched George, covered in flour, advise Robin, equally as white, how to make the pancakes correctly as Eliza, with all her might, decorated them with whipped cream, syrup and fresh fruit.

Robin noticed her after a moment and as he finished the last of the pancakes, he walked over to her and kissed her.

“Morning,” he murmured, “did you sleep well?”

“Except for my promised pillow leaving me in the early hours of the morning?”

“I hope said pillow can make it up to you with a nice breakfast.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll see. Maybe the pillow can do more after he gets rid of his morning breath.”

Robin rolled his eyes, but pulled her chair out for her and then valiantly fought against George’s barrage of questions.

This week of vacation was going to be just plain incredible.

[sciatherics]

[Starter for @sisturn ;; Aftermath Conversations]

For a short time it had finally just been Maxwell and the gentle crackle of the fire in front of him, a cheery spark of light between the dark peaks of the tents encircling the camp.

Those that are still standing, at the very least.

His own tent had been crushed beneath the deerclop's onslaught that very morning, and he's hardly going to be joining anyone else in the few tents still left standing. Too... cramped, is what he's choosing to tell himself on that front.

It's not as though he's needed to sleep for a very long time, anyways. Exhaustion may pull at his bones, but his head is as clear as the day he was pulled onto this plane of existence.

So. By the fire he shall be.

Someone ought to keep it running hot anyways, he supposes— the winter chill still stubbornly clings to the landscape, painting the fields in harsh swathes of white and gray. The cold has a rather insidious reach when not properly attended to at all hour of the day, and he's hardly going to allow himself to be blamable when the rest of the camp finally drags themselves out of their cozy little rat nests.

Not to mention he'd no longer have anywhere warm to sit, which is proving to be a much more relevant issue in the moment.

Maxwell's knife slips from the chunk of wood in his hand for the fifth time that night, nearly cutting a clean line right back into his already bandaged thumb. He may have underestimated just how important his depth perception actually is when it comes to his hand-eye coordination. The poultice wrap sitting awkwardly over the left side of his face certainly isn't doing him any favors.

Maxwell bites back a noise of frustration, flicking the wood shavings accumulating in the sheet on his lap back into the fire. So much for trying to take up carving to kill the time. Eating utensils would have been nice, but he clearly is lacking the finesse to do much of anything to the stick in his hand.

Other than dulling his blade, he supposes.

[afraidofchange]

What does your muse do in their routine to take care of themselves (physically, mentally, emotionally or otherwise)?

ask things about Rook - @hoboblaidd

So I touched on it here, but just for @sanctamater , I'll mention Ilona's skin care routine.

Ilona does have good skin on its own without many issues (though like most teens, dealt with acne as she grew up). She tends to have a standard routine with washing her face, and then treating it with a blend of honey and oatmeal, and a little bit of vinegar that ends up being like a bit of a face mask. She will also tend to try and remove dead skin with a semi-dull blade (think a medieval version of a derm-plane razor) now and again.

Otherwise, if she's on a job with the Lords, she tends to just do the bare minimum until she gets home.

Also, given that she is a dwarf, she has naturally growing facial hair, but chooses to shave it; again, if she's away for work, she'll let it grow in until she returns or has the means to shave it (out of her own preference). To take care of her skin that way, she also adds coconut oil to moisturize her shaved face as well as, her undercut.

[jinxxangel13]

Phantom of the Night

Just a little insight as to what's in store for this week's update!

[Masterlist] [Prev] [Next]

Chapter 3 teaser:

Heavy set boots were all that could be heard around the hangard. Soldiers moving quickly on and around a transport plane, giving a wide berth to a large man with a completely black tactical gear, black skull balaclava and hard white skull mask cover the top half of the face mask: Lieutenant Ghost.

“Wheels up in five.”

Some soldiers rushed faster to get their seats on the plane and double check their gear, but a few remained rooted in their spot, Ghost included.

“Roger.” His gruff voice cut across the radio back to General Shepherd.

“Marines are loading in now. You and the Sergeant are leading the way on this.”

Ghost tilted his head, annoyance in his voice lost in the neutral tone.

“Sergeant?”

A 6 foot tall man walked up to Ghost with an enthusiastic step. His hair shaved on the sides with a sort of mohawk down the center of his head, blue eyes sharp and full of excitement.

“Let's get ourselves a win, yeah, L.T.? Save ya a seat, sir.”

Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish.

Soap fist bumped Ghost’s shoulder before making his way up the transport plane, making eye contact with another soldier walking up to the plane looking oddly out of place.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Ghost grumbled.

“Ghost- do you copy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Any issues?”

“Negative, Sir.”

“Good. Captain Phantom will also be joining you on this mission. Get it done.”

Just as Shepherd finished his statement, the mystery figure Soap saw previously made their way towards Ghost.

The figure was wearing black tactical cargo pants with multiple knife straps and holsters on the thighs, a black long sleeve with a hooded overlay on top, tac vest full of frags, flashbangs, extra ammo clips and other things in pouches unknown to anyone except the figure wearing it, as well as a short black scarf around their neck and tucked into their vest. They had a balaclava across the lower half of their face with a thick black metal tactical mask over it, grey eyes almost gleaming as they stopped in front of Ghost, and their hair was underneath the scarf and out of view so he couldn’t identify this mystery person. When they stopped in front of Ghost, they had to look up quite a bit; being less than 6' compared to the 6'4" man didn't seem to be a deterrent for them at all.

“Lieutenant Ghost, good to meet you. Captain Phantom.” The figure, the female, stuck her gloved hand out towards him.

Ghost shook her hand briefly, keeping in mind the strong grip each of them had on the other’s before they let go.

“On your move, sir. I’ve been requested by the General and Station Chief Laswell to accompany you and your men as backup on Alpha Team. I’m familiar with the mission and have been read in.” Her voice was deep, partially muffled and grainy from behind both masks, but she didn't seem to mind nor care.

Ghost nodded, turned away from her and walked right up into the transport plane with her at his heels to grab a seat and buckle in just as the door sealed shut for takeoff.

The teams spent a while in the air, not much conversation going on except for Ghost to introduce Phantom to Alpha team briefly.

“Bravo Team offloads here. Alpha Team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill.” Ghost's strong voice echoed through the radio in Phantom’s ear as well as directly in front of her.

She watched as Bravo team got ready to unload as the plane landed momentarily, nodding to Ghost as they made eye contact and accepting a first bump from Soap as they got off.

Phantom pulled her goggles down over her eyes and gripped tightly onto her M16 between her legs as the plane took off again to head to their final destination. She kept herself strapped in on instinct, as if something was telling her to brace herself and she was never one to ignore her instincts.

Another minute in the air and it grew more tense as she exchanged glances with her other team members after the plane made a sudden drop on the right side.

“All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed, we're getting lit! Incoming- Flares! Flares!”

Phantom’s eyes grew wide as one of the soldiers stood up to go help the pilots. She could hear the flares going off outside of their plane as it righted itself once again.

“Shit- that was fucking close.”

She chuckled, agreeing with another soldier in front of her and letting her shoulders relax themselves slightly.

“Second missile!”

Phantom barely had any time to brace herself and her weapon before a loud crash sounded on the right side of the plane, throwing anything or anyone not strapped down off balance. She grappled a soldier about to crumple to the ground, pulling him down onto the seat next to her.

“Razor 1 going down! We're going down!” That was the last thing Phantom heard in her ear before she felt the plane plummet down to the ground, grinding and crunching metal the only thing anyone in the vicinity could hear.

[nerves-nebula]

Should've probably tacked this onto the last ask but oh well.

For me to get started, I'd just need some measurements and basic requirements for the mask, of which I currently have 2 from what you've said: lightweight and must not impact/impair the use of glasses. It's also implied that it be fairly durable, like you'd want most products anyway. So stuff like if you want it to be just your face, if you want it human-shaped or like some other miscellaneous creature, if you want to at least try and make it somewhat blend in or you don't mind, etc etc. As well as measurements for the size of your glasses (like the rim that holds the lens) and the dimensions of your head. As well as if you want whatever holds the mask to your face to try and be hidden, and all that jazz.

OKE OKE here's what I have rn-

must haves/requirements:

lightweight

durable (I want to wear it every day)

must be usable with glasses

must be able to wear a face mask underneath it for covid reasons

must be able to see out of it well enough that it isn't a hindrance to every day life (so eye holes/slit should probably be pretty big)

covers most of my face, if you have to chose an area I would prefer the upper face more hidden

things I would like but that aren't necessary/more notes:

covers all of my face, this is preferable but not necessary if too difficult

I would like it to be decorated/crafted with a simplified animal in mind, like a boar or a goat (i really love boars and goats, tusks & horns are awesome)

i would also be ok with a more abstract/less humanoid look tho. like even if it was just a flat plane with two holes for eyes I'd be ok with this that (especially if I could then paint on it but thats w/e)

the shape isn't super important to me as long as it's comfortable to wear

i dont care if the stuff that holds the mask to my face is hidden but i've had a lot of issues with my hair basically being too puffy and it bunching up and looking weird. this could be solved if i knew how to do my goddamn hair/braid it, BUT it could also be solved if I just shaved my head and tbh the only reason i grow my hair out is to color it, which i havent even done yet, so idk maybe i'll just go #bald

as for specific measurements- I'm not sure how to properly measure my head (or anything really) cause I would hate to do it wrong and make the whole thing come out too small or too big. so if you could, idk, link a source about how to properly measure ur head or something??? i know there are a lot of videos and articles out there but i think you'd have the best discretion for which one is mos helpful to you.

I was unsure as to how exactly you wanted my glasses measured so I took a bunch of measurements but they're probably a bit inaccurate? idk if you need them to be hyper accurate :') anyway here's a photo, measurements in inches

i used to have a thinner pair but they brokeeee

[focusfixated]

for the ask meme: 7! 11! 27!

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

oh god, it's just nice, innit? an absolute delight to just put words together. i don't think i'm very strong on plot or character, though i certainly try my best, but i love an image or a phrase. coming up with them really just feels like painting a picture. here's a nice stormcloud, a house at night, the mud on some boots.

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

stone cold. usually about ten percent or more of the final wordcount gets deleted.

i'm not a concise writer. my unedited writing is so florid, long paragraphs of and, and, and, and. all the shavings go into their own box as i trim back. i'm sad to see some of them go, but like the feeling of bringing bags of unworn clothes to the charity shop, it feels good too.

some of my favourite deletions:

Aziraphale enjoyed getting his hands dirty. Not in the way Gabriel might have meant it, riding the musty old coattails of utilitarian notions of the greater good, unmoved by collateral damage and its necessity for the benefit of a supposedly loftier goal. What Aziraphale truly enjoyed was a more harmless sort of mucking in with his human charges; eating their food, riding their transport (depending on who was driving), and participating in their rituals, from the quaint to the downright bizarre. - on the wings of a nightingale

“I’ll forgive you.” Richie’s chest hurt as he said it, like his ribs were pressing into something living and raw. He didn’t know how to do justice to the feelings he felt, couldn’t find the words to tell Eddie that the way he loved him was more than just butterflies and skipped heartbeats; it was something strange and slippery and massive, that pulsed and whispered, anything, anything, anything. - the other half is me

When he’d flown into Derry, Richie’s plane had sunk through turbulent clouds, ponderous with a sepia-toned still-in-Kansas unreality. He’d been sweating with fear, with apprehension, with the nauseating technicolor of memories coming up, too much, too fast. - i hope i find my home

Edward works as hard as any man on the crew, but a prideful little coil of hunger tells him this: no one else has brought back as many crates of loot as he has, rum and spices, tea and silks, gold coins and ivory-inlaid pistols. No one else captured a French vessel under unconditional surrender with only ten men at his disposal while his own captain and half the crew were in the hallucinogenic throes of terrible influenza. And no one else has borne so much of the brunt of the captain’s shifting moods, a broiling maelstrom eating away at the crumbling rocks, leaving them blasted and scarred in the currents. - we were the same

The ragged scraps of duty he’d stitched together to make this uneasy partnership with Bonnet work were now bellying angrily in the wind, frayed and full of holes. - when we fight about love

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Maxime sits heavily on the doorstep of his empty house. The scene in front of him is squared-off, a neat midshot flanked by parallel rows of townhouses, letterboxed by the sky above and the dirt-grey asphalt below. Within it, a triangle – a three-point imaginary line traced from himself in the doorway, to Frank’s position faux-insouciant against the engine-warm car, to Matthias’ turned-in shoes on the roadside. - avoir trente ans

oh boy. that'll be izzy hands, then. izzy was one of those "of course" characters to me as the perfect vessel for writing a story about desire repressed by shame, my signature move. but while other characters that i've written and lumped with those issues previously did have their own personality nuances (aziraphale, eddie from stephen king's it), none of them had quite the villain-coding that izzy gets in our flag.

trying to write a canon-truthful version of him in when we fight about love that was sustained over a multi-chapter plot, that was also sympathetic enough to make him a readable pov character, while not being overly excusatory about the things that made him dislikeable (power-hungry, dishonest, manipulative, jealous) was the hardest fucking thing i've ever had to balance in fic writing.

the sad thing, to me, is that an inexplicable spike of discourse somehow severed the fandom into two camps of haters and enjoyers, and from that moment on there was no way of engaging with this character without seeming to make a statement for one side or the other. i wanted to engage with izzy as neutrally as possible and with as close an eye on canon as possible to create an honest character study, but it still felt like stepping on landmines in every direction.

i did it, and i was happy with it - maybe the most satisfied i've been with anything i've written - but the atmosphere surrounding it made the whole process incredibly stressful.

more writer asks!

[bellshazes]

Half baked had been right, but even in Timberstone's infancy the beginnings of the orchard gave him all he needed to repeat the experiment he hadn't intended to commit to. Intricacies of delicate contraptions and wires were usually beyond his skill or interest, but in the throes of complex carvings the siren call of a living thing compelled him to movement, and after a half-hearted fruitless afternoon on the lion carving he steeled his nerves and returned to the river. He carried a few logs with him, to stave off the night and the cold, for fire. The sculpting was easier this time, working from his reflection in the still water, shaving flat planes with the edge of his pick to map out broad shapes, then returning with its tip to carve the finer details of his face, ridges under his eyes and the valleys on either side of his nose. Before he had worked only with his hands, but that had been too much, not enough, too little precision and too much of himself in all the wrong ways. When he wanted to smooth the tool marks away he dipped wool in the river and dragged it over his own inert features. The wool rags left new textures not quite like skin but an impression of something once alive, like faint scars. He didn't touch them and he didn't speak. Not every thought needed to be broadcast.

i have no meetings today and no energy so i'm trying to write. and i think i have to cut these paragraphs for pacing issues but it's probably some of the best prose in distant stations so far. so it fucking goes