#a good club with the right module for him with a good manager understanding him

[mchiti]

I wish you could all understand italian because there is a site here who did an incredible long ass written piece on hakim at the end of june and it is so beautiful? Like I'm baffled, I was only reading it now. Who did it. Obviously it was written before the deal to saudi collapsed. And I don't agree with some of the tragic tones here (they say he did nothing more than a normal WC and I think that's not fair, i understand they meant in regards to what he showed at ajax, but he had a different role, and it was a pivotal role) but I thought it was cool how they summed up his talents and qualities and the pure joy of watching him play and tried to understand the whys on the last 3 year at chelsea and put reasonable thoughts into it. I think it's cool they articulated the fact you know, sometimes clubs buy players and really don't know what to do with them.

[bu1410]

Good afternoon TUMBLR - March 23th - 2024

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971."

January 1998 - October 1999 - NLNG - TSKJ Port Harcourt Project (Nigeria).

Part 3.

SWIMMING SUIT I hadn't brought a swimsuit from Italy, and since we spent Sunday in one of the hotel pools in the area, I decided to buy one. I told the driver to take me to a location where I could find one, he stopped the Land Rover in front of a small shop along Aba Road. There were different types and colors of swimsuits inside, in the end I opted for one in red and blue. Before the shopkeeper placed it in the usual supermarket plastic bag, I wanted to take one last look - and here's the ''surprise'': IT WAS 2nd HAND!! But the most incredible thing was that they had put it up for sale with ''clear signals'' of those who had used it before!!! I told the sales man: at least wash it? Naaa…… I left with a mixture of fury and disbelief: I couldn't belive to what my eyes have seen.

SOKU PROJECT SITE

Niger river - On the way to Soku.

As mentioned elsewhere, the Soku Gas Plant was a project that SAIPEM Nigeria was executing in parallel to our TSKJ project. The site was located about 2 hours by speed boat from Port Harcourt, in the middle of the Niger River Delta. All around there was a dense rainforest, so to avoid cutting down thousands of trees it was decided that the plant would be built on an artificial island in the middle of the river. A Spanish company specialized in dredging and construction of artificial islands (called reclaimed land) was commissioned and within 6 months a 1.5 km by 800 meter platform was ready to begin work. A camp was built by importing portacabins from SAIPEM NORWAY (yes, you read that right). The reasons behind SAIPEM Procurement was:

''If they are good for the cold of Norway, they will also be good for the tropical forest of Nigeria''. Carlo Sgorbani arrival to Port Harcourt. Sgorbani was also an ''old'' SAIPEM guy. I met him during the Bir Rebaa project in Algeria. I then found it again in Abu Dhabi for the Taweela aWater Project, where during the last part of the project he assumed the position of Site Manager (And immediately left our compound to rent a villa at Hilton hotel). An early one morning I went to Branch Office and met Sgorbani who was still under shock due the night flight from Paris.

Ohh...I cant believe to my eyes! How come you're here Carlo?

And he, with the perpetual cigarette in his hand: well… I should be the Site Manager of the Soku Gas Plant project…

Soku Gas Plant?? But… are you sure of what you say? I'm quite sure there are any Hilton villas in Soku….... well, come on… you can't always go for luxury… and then you'll see that the ex-Norway containers won't be so uncomfortable!

He didn't reply.

SAIPEM Club SAIPEM has always cared about the ''welfare'' of its employees located in the most sh****hole remote and difficult areas of the planet. Therefore the Management decided to install a clubhouse inside the Soku compound. As soon as the Worry project structure was made available, it was transported by barge to Soku. It consisted of different container modules, and inside it had a billiard room, ping pong, TV room, bar with tables where can play cards in the evening. Behind the bar counter, above the shelves that held the bottles of liquor, a long python skin had been fixed. And this will cause several problems.

PYTHON STRIKE The morning after the club inauguration, Sgorbani and all the other colleagues were woken up by strange moans and screams coming from inside the camp. They immediately rushed to the front of the club and found themselves in front of dozens of people lying on the ground crying, wriggling and sprinkling sand on their heads. Local people were screaming like:

Our Lord is dead…you killed our Lord our Lord is dead…you have killed our God....... All the expatriates present could not understand what was going on before their eyes. Sgorbani called the local PRO, who revealed the burden:

''Sir – he said – these people are telling that you from SAIPEM captured and killed their Lord, and then after having slaughtered him you hung his skin in your club, offending his memory even more – now they expect years of disgrace if nothing is done to remedy this tragedy."

But…but…All of this is inconceivable – replied Sgorbani – the python skin was hung on the wall of the bar when the structure was in Warry, months ago, not here……….

I know, Sir – said the PRO – but these people say that this was why they hadn't seen their Lord for months: he had migrated to Warry, someone from SAIPEM captured him and made him a trophy.

Sgorbani and all other expats know whether to laugh or get angry at what they had heard and what was happening in front of them - however the Site Manager understood that laughing at the matter could generate further and serious problems - so he asked the PRO:

Ok… okay… so what should we do?

Sir – said the PRO – I spoke with their Chief and he says that the only solution to this serious matter is to call a Great Medicine Man who lives in Calabar (about 200 km from Soku) Only he will be able to exorcise the bad influences caused to what SAIPEM people did. But first of all we need to remove the python skin off the bar wall, Sir.

Ok – replied Sgorbani – we'll do it right away, but in the meantime we have to get back to work!

No Sir, until everything is resolved, work cannot resume.

Sgorbani was about to fly into a rage, but was able to contain himself - he ordered the PRO to proceed as quickly as possible with the call of this ''medicine man'' - that he should come immediately, SAIPEM would spare no expense, and would do everything needed made available, starting from the speed boat. Two days of great tension passed in the camp and on the artificial island. Time seemed suspended, waiting for the arrival of the sorcerer who would resolve the drama. An eerie silence loomed over everything and everyone, when construction activities usually filled the place with noise. In just two days (a great achievement considering that it was happening in Nigeria) the ''Great Medicine Man of Calabar'' arrived in great pomp, dressed in traditional clothes, covered by a bright apple-green cloak, with a headdress of peacock feathers and studded with precious stones (nobody knew if true or fake…).

Between two wings of the crowd who knelt as he passed on the way from the docking pier to the club, the sorcerer distributed blessings with his inlaid staff. No one, except the faithful, was allowed inside the club, where, after a brief ceremony, the python skin was peeled off the wall and carefully carried outside by at least six weeping people. The skin was carried as if in procession to the pier, where a previously prepared canoe transported it across the river to the vicinity of the village where the local tribe lived. A pit had been dug there which, covered with a white sheet, welcomed the python's skin. Once the skin was wrapped, the burial proceeded, accompanied by songs, blessings and mysterious formulas recited by the Great Medicine Man, who every now and then drew water from a drum with a palm leaf and sprinkled the grave. Once filled with earth, flowers and tree branches were planted on the tomb, and the area was marked off with stones. The funeral was over, and the sorcerer moved on to collect the money from SAIPEM PRO - the cost of the entire "ceremony was over 20,000 dollars. The next day, work at site could finally resume.

ATTACK on SOKU COMPOUND Perhaps the python affair had been a sort of ''dress rehearsal'' to see the type of response that SAIPEM would have given to an emergency. The fact is that a few weeks passed, and a new big problem arose for Sgorbani and the SAIPEM expatriates on Soku project. It was an August hot morning, when they woke up with a noise caused by rifle and stick blows that an handful of ''rebels'' were giving to their dormitory containers who had come from Norway. After a few minutes, all the expatriates were gathered in front of the offices, and when asked by the one who seemed to be in charge "where the Chief was", the answer was that he was in his office. (Sgorbani used to get up very early). Some rebels entered the offices, and to make it clear that they had serious intentions, they fired a couple of rifle shots which fortunately did not hit Sgorbani, but lodged in the wall behind his head. He too was pushed into the square in front of the offices, and made to lie on his stomach like everyone else. The rebels claimed to have taken possession of the artificial island of SOKU and the site, to put an end to the indiscriminate exploitation of the River State's resources. They wanted money, hiring of local staff, salary increases for those already working with SAIPEM, construction of a school and a hospital in the adjacent community. These intentions would be followed by an ultimatum, after which if the requests were not accepted by the local governments and the top management of SAIPEM, they would begin to eliminate a hostage every 2 hours. While all this was happening, the Nigerian Army Security forces had surrounded the artificial island. A long-distance dialogue then began between the Major who led the military and the guy who professed to be the leader of the rebels. The military's strategy immediately appeared clear:

''First free the hostages and then we will sit down for negotiation'' - this was the message delivered to the attackers. Who naturally refused, demanding at least the delivery of a large sum of cash, the arrival of the local Governor, who should have handed himself over to them, to unblock the situation. In the meantime, time passed, and the time set for the expiry of the ultimatum approached, and the hostages were still on the ground with their hands behind their heads. The tension mounted as the hours passed, and when there were only a few minutes left before the ultimatum expired, suddenly the Security forces attacked the Rebels! Taken by surprise, many of them tried to escape, others took some of the hostages by force to shield themselves from the military fire. For a few minutes there was total chaos: shots, shouts, the rebels trying to reach some canoes hidden among the branches on the river bank, to escape capture. The clashes lasted a few minutes, and soon everything was silent, only a few sporadic bursts could be heard from the automatic weapons with which the Task Force eliminated the remaining resistance. Some rebels were captured and immediately knocked to the ground with rifle butts. Most of the hostages had fled to the dormitory containers and locked themselves inside. Once order was restored, the Major asked to speak to Sgorbani.

Do you have a couple of empty containers?

Yes, of course – replied the Site Manager

Have them taken to an open, sunny area. Zaccagnini had the order carried out, and after an hour the SAIPEM crane deposited two empty containers in an open area on the island. The Major then ordered his men to let the captured rebels enter the containers. When the operation was concluded, the containers were closed with heavy padlocks, and the Major set up guards. Then he said aloud:

''No one must go near the containers, this scum must remain awaiting the decisions of the Military Tribunal of Port Harcourt''.

[pearl-blue-musings]

Perchance to Meet pt. 2 REWRITE

Hi y'all. I'm really sad I have to do this all over again because tumblr goofed up big time. I went to edit this for tags and cleanliness and then next thing I know boom it’s gone. I know it won’t be as good as it was when I first wrote it but I will do my best to recreate what I had. This is what I get for not saving it or not doing so when I TOLD MYSELF TOO 😤 again i’m so sorry and here’s my rewrite

Warnings: suggestive language 18+, i think that’t it!

Part 3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Aizawa Shouta is a simple man. Wore clothes that were best for him, always did his duty as a teacher and an underground hero. He was always able to do the right or best thing when it was necessary. Never afraid to back down from what needed to be done.

So why is he standing across the street on his day off from a place he’s been meaning to check out for weeks? He studies the business card in his hand that has the name and address of the building he’s currently staring at. Just for good measure he triple checks the address and store name-

“Personally Yours, Book boutique!”

Black almond eyes widen as Aizawa’s thoughts are perturbed by the loud blond next to him. He’s not sure why he allowed his best friend (don’t tell Hizashi that) to accompany him today to meet the intriguing bartender and bookstore owner. (Y/n) (L/n). That name and face has been plaguing him over the last three weeks from when they first met. The way her hair matched and reflected her personality, her amazing quirk, her willingness to make people’s lives better... 

The way her lips looked incredibly kissable and fuckable at the same time had left him with his hands down his pants many nights.

Aizawa looks to his friend as he sees Hizashi grinning widely from ear to ear, eager about what’s about to happen. It’s been far too long since the blond has seen his friend this worked up over anything, let alone a person! But he knew, deep in his friendly heart, that Aizawa would have done nothing if he didn’t intervene and tell him to go visit her.

“It’s about time you decided to go see her ‘Zawa. It’s been what, like three weeks?” 

“You don’t have to remind me.” Yes, he knew. Aizawa knew we waited two weeks and six days too long to finally reach out or do something. But could the world blame him? He’s a teacher and underground hero already looking for the next class of heroes for U.A.; the man hasn’t had a day off in far too long and now he has one. He can only hope that the lady he kept waiting would understand. But she had to, right?

With what seemed like forever, he finally managed to place one foot in front of the other and cross the street to enter the building. The outside looks quaint, almost too perfect for a bookstore in his opinion. It appears to be one story but there might be living quarters on top of it? Aizawa rolls his shoulders to relieve himself of any tension, turns back to his friend before he promptly goes inside…

And immediately regrets his decision. 

The loud sound that bombarded his ears was something he did not expect. Children. Toddlers maybe, but obnoxious nonetheless. He begins to question whether or not he should stay based on the loudness in the store. However despite the noise, he feels a sense of calmness and home-ness that he felt when he had talked with (Y/n) at the bar. The bookstore smells of cinnamon and vanilla, a combination he thinks he can get used to. The layout seems to be welcoming as well. In the middle, which he assumes is the check out and help desk, is a circular module that has different pathways leading to other parts of the store. Each pathway leads to shelves lined up with all kinds of books, lit above by medium sized lanterns that give the store its unique glow. 

Aizawa surmises that the store is an accurate representation of the bewildering woman he met a few weeks ago. Everything about the size, the layout, the aura reminds him of their plethora of conversations from just one night, and maybe more to come.

He approaches the middle desk in hopes that she would be near. Taking in his surroundings, he realizes that the bulk of the noise is coming from the back, which looks to be a cozy reading nook with bean bag and other comfy chairs surrounded by end tables and ottomans. He can feel the chaotic energy from where he stands.

Hesitantly, he pushes the bell near the cash register. 

“I’ll be right there!”

Stunned at the sound of her voice, he waits patiently but also impatiently for the woman that has been haunting his thoughts for almost a month now to appear. His eyes wander to the counter, however at that moment the sound of sneakers hitting linoleum comes closer to him.

“Hi,” she pants out, holding up a finger. “How, whew, how can I help you…”

She drawls out the last part as she finally sees who had called her attention. Seriously, couldn’t this person know that today was extremely busy? But her thoughts come to a halt when she’s met with deep almond eyes and scruff, even though she’s seen it once, could recognize anywhere.

“Aizawa-san?”

“Just Aizawa is fine. Looks like I came at a bad time?”

“Hah, that’s an understatement,” (Y/n) puffs out. Her eyes must be deceiving her. There’s no way he’s actually here. They had met almost a month ago and it was a meeting she’ll never forget. The hard-working woman is never one to make small talk with her patrons but something about him caught her focus and for the rest of the night and the most of these three weeks, was all she could think about. “Once a month we have a local daycare come in and bring their students to look and explore in the store! Helps them get better at reading and finding out what other things they may like.”

The man before her nods in understanding, unsure of what else to say. He had practiced this moment over and over but now that it’s here he’s unsure of what to do.

“I thought you were never gonna show up. But I’m really glad to see you not in a club, it feels more real I guess?” She paused briefly before beginning again. “I honestly thought I made up the whole thing, or that something was wrong with me…”

“No,” Aizawa interrupts, afraid to hear more. “It’s my fault. I’ve been busy with teaching and being a hero.”

“No I get it. I work two jobs too so I understand how busy you are. I’m glad you’re even here.”

The two of them smile at each other, taking in each others features in that present moment. The feel of familiarity reaches them once again, as if everything around them doesn’t exist and it’s just them. Most of the reason he’s never considered meeting anyone is mostly because of his schedule. Many would find it ridiculous how busy the man is but he cares deeply for what he does and bringing someone new into it would be a whole new level of stress he doesn’t think he needs. He’s married to his job essentially, and so it seems is (Y/n).

Their moment is broken when small hand tugs on the pant leg of (Y/n), stealing her eyes away from his. She looks down to see one of her daycare toddlers staring up at her. The little girl, Yuki, unfaltering in her gaze is clearly demanding attention.

“Oh! Hi Yuki, did you already pick a book to bring home?”

The little girl nods and proceeds to lift her arms above her head, making a grabbing motion with her hands. (Y/n) slyly rolls her eyes and picks up Yuki. Holding her in her arms, (Y/n) turns back to Aizawa.

“This is Yuki. She’s a little shy, soft spoken, but absolutely adorable. She’s also one of my favorites because she’s so quiet.”

Aizawa looks down to the toddler in her arms and doesn’t make any moves to approach. The toddler’s eyes widen at the strange man in front of her, eyes boring into his figure to take him in.

“Hobo.”

“Yuki!”

It takes all of the woman’s strength to not drop the child as her shoulders shake in laughter. Aizawa struggles to hide the embarrassment on his face by looking away from the scene before him. It’s not his fault he prefers to wear all black; it’s slimming and makes him feel comfortable. He’s starting to think that maybe he should have shaved and put his hair in a bun for his day off.

Once his heart has calmed down, he faces the toddler again only to see her being swayed back and forth by (Y/n) as she hums a soothing melody. He knows it’s not a possible thing but his heart skipped a beat at the sight. It was the most domestic thing he’s seen that actually makes him happy.

But at the same time he thinks about having one of his own with her and wanting to fuck her senseless against-

“So I’m guessing this is your day off?”

He stammers, “Uh, yeah. I was hoping we could do something today.”

“Hmm, do something as a date or do something as friends?”

He smirks at her sass, “I’m hoping for the former.”

“That can be arranged. I close early today so, meet me in front of the store at 7?”

“That sounds great, let me give you my number and-“

“Hobo.”

“Yuki!”

She promptly takes the child to the back and excuses herself from the desk. Aizawa searches around him for a spare piece of paper and luckily finds an unneeded receipt and a very purple pen. Once he’s done writing he sees her come back without the child.

“Sorry about that. But, ah, is this your number?”

“Yeah clearly.”

“Well geez, maybe I will put you as hobo in my phone just for that.”

“Please don’t.”

“Oh it’s happening.”

He rolls his eyes at her antics and smiles at her. He doesn’t know what it is, but something about being around her just makes him calm. “Listen, I don’t want to hold you up any longer than I have. But text me when you’re ready. 

“And maybe I’ll give you a night to remember.”

***************************************** He winks at her as he walked out and (Y/n) is left with her heart pumping in her ears. Did she really respond to what Aizawa said with “Oh yeah? Well I hope you do ‘cause maybe I’ll make those fantasies of yours come true. It has been three weeks after all.”? What was that?! She can’t just say she knows what he was thinking by the way his pupils had dilated a couple time, that’s too crazy.

Too weird, nope, she’s not weird at all.

Slapping her cheeks to re-center herself, she approaches the back of her store to meet with the children and her co-workers.

“Finally you’re back,” her co-worker, Kona, sighs. “Who was that? You were gone for a while so I know it wasn’t just another customer.”

“It was, um the guy.”

“Shut up!” he practically shouts, “he came here? After three weeks? Are you gonna see him? Please tell me you’re gonna see him?”

“Kona hush, not in front of the kids.”

He shrugs, “Oh sure, when it’s your sex life it’s all secret secret, but if it’s my sex life everyone has to know!”

(Y/n) slices her hand across her neck. “Shut. It!”

“Fine fine,” he whispers. “But you gotta at least tell me if he gave off daddy vibes at least. Big dick energy? Most guys like that do exude it.”

“You are so lucky I love you or you’d be fired.”

“You didn’t say no,” Kona whisper sang back to her. She did her best to hide the way her eyes widened at that but failed miserably.

Closing time couldn’t come quick enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

here’s the rewrite! @kiribaku-queen @therealwalmartjesus @prk-pyo

[cryoculus]

Lunaris [5/11]

*casually changes the chapter count* yall didnt see A THING

!! ALSO !! Trigger warnings for graphic depictions of gore at the latter half of the chapter. Just thought I’d put it up there. 

Navigation

Chapter Title: Full Moon Pairing: Yokai!Akaashi Keiji/Reader Word Count: 3,543

***

"This week's lunar eclipse was reported to be a total eclipse! The shadow of the sun will engulf the moon completely—what a sight to see, indeed!"

"Bah," your grandmother scoffed through the sound of sautéing ingredients as she switched off the TV. "News channels poison the minds of people, anyway." 

You gaped at her incredulously from where you sat on the dining table. "Oba-san, I was watching that!" 

The older woman tutted at you as she transferred the leftover rice from last night onto the frying pan. "You know eclipses are a bad omen, and these people intend to say otherwise."

"Ba-san, not everybody lives by the Tsukuyomi traditions—"

"Do you want some sukonbu flakes on your gohan?" 

"I—yes, please."

When your grandmother was done cooking breakfast for the day, she laid out two bowls of gohan, each topped with a raw egg in the middle. The scent of the freshly fried rice wafted to your nose, and you immediately forgot about your prior sulking because of how delectable your food looked like. As you reached for the soy sauce to encourage more flavor, however, your grandmother took your hand in hers, shooting you a stern look.

"Don't go out on the night of the eclipse," she said. "It's been a while since I've last seen one, but it always preceded misfortune."

Confused, you asked, "How long ago is 'a while', oba-san?" 

Instead of humoring you with a proper answer, she merely chuckled at the inquiry as she sat down right across from you. "It doesn't matter. Just stay in the house, alright? It's a good thing it didn't land on the day of the festival, itself."

Knowing it would be no use arguing with her, you exhaled a sigh of defeat once you've dripped enough soy sauce onto your food. The snap of wooden chopsticks rang in your ears as you let anticipation swell in your chest. Was it just you or was the egg yolk seemingly glittering in the morning daylight?

"Thank you for the meal!"

*** 

Japanese Literature was easily your most favorite subject because of two reasons. 

The first was that you were already familiar with most of the topics listed off in the course module already. Genji Monogatari was one of the first books your grandmother had given to you as a child, and she'd be the one to help you out with understanding the difficult words. But even if you've spent a majority of your life with your nose stuffed in books and manuscripts snagged from the shrine's old storage room, there was still a lot more to learn—about the vast, hidden truths of the world that still eluded you. 

That's where the second reason came in. 

"The moon goddess, Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto, was born from the right eye of the creator, Izanagi-no-Mikoto; while her brother, Amaterasu-omikami was born from his left eye," your teacher drawled out the facts you already knew from the pocketbook in his hands. The disinterested set of his brow was clue enough of how much he would rather be doing anything else other than spitting out excerpts from Japanese mythology in front of high schoolers. 

It was last period for you, and even though you were normally motivated to listen despite your teacher's apathy for the course, you were feeling the fatigue you've accumulated from training slowly catching up to you. Fukurodani was a powerhouse when it came to its sports teams, and the reputation that you had to uphold was a heavier burden than getting remarkable official records for future reference. Though Coach Yamamoto was usually lenient, he'd already transformed into his demon coach persona at the beginning of the week. 

But after you've zoned into your own thoughts for a good twenty minutes, your teacher managed to yank you back into attentiveness when he'd tackled the topic of yokai. 

"In more popular literature, yokai were commonly depicted as grotesque creatures that consume human flesh," he began, "but there have been several tales that told of those able to take on the form of human beings; making it much easier for them to prowl across the land unnoticed." 

Hm. Sounds like a certain, unsuspecting second year to me. 

"However, even though they use deception as their means of getting by, those yokai still revert back to their true forms under specific circumstances. For children of the first Tengu, they are quite susceptible to rain. Once it begins to pour from the heavens, their disguises wear off at the snap of a finger." 

Your brows knit together in curiosity. Akaashi was one of those shape shifters, then. But if that tale applied to all shape-shifting yokai, what could Akaashi's trigger be?

Shaking your head, you proceeded jotting down the assignment that your teacher began scribbling on the chalkboard once he's gone over the topic. It wasn't something that should warrant your interest. Strictly speaking, you weren't even friends with Akaashi. You were just someone who'd managed to figure out what he was. That was all there was to it.

Yet, a few hours later, once you'd gotten your fresh taste of your demon coach's training regimens, you found yourself waiting by the school gates.

As you bounced impatiently on the balls of your feet, jamming your hands in the pockets of your track jacket to distract yourself somehow, your gaze darted every now and again at the other students that also stayed behind for club activities. There was still no sign of the volleyball team. 

In hindsight, you could have just hung around in the gym, waiting for them to finish. Bokuto's admirers did it all the time, so why couldn't the captain of the track team do the same? Ah, right.

You still couldn't bear to look Bokuto in the eye after he'd asked you to go with him to the lunar festival.

How on Earth could you face him eye-to-eye after that? Why would he even ask you, of all people, in the first place? You've been giving Itsumi the cold shoulder for the past few days, too. How dare she tell the ace to get a red kimono when your favorite kimono was patterned after crimson cherry blossoms?! 

"(Surname)-san?" 

You didn't know how your instinctive reaction to Akaashi's voice would reflect on the way you supposedly saw him as, but in your defense, you were surprised by how he addressed you. The setter was donned in his school uniform, and he didn't have the air of someone who'd just gotten out of volleyball practice.

"A-Akaashi," you stuttered, hoping it wasn't glaringly obvious that you were waiting for him in particular. "You weren't at training?" 

His brows were raised with subtle curiosity before he shook his head. "My class has a production coming up, and it costs about seventy percent of our final grade. Coach Yamiji allowed me some time off." 

"Oh," the word tumbled pathetically from your lips, before you cleared your throat. "I-I see. You're quite diligent, huh? I mean, for a yokai blending in as a—"

"(Surname)-san," Akaashi interrupted warily, and you were immediately struck by the awareness of how loud your voice was. Getting his plea, you toned down your voice a couple of notches lower.

"I still find it kind of interesting, you know." Chuckling, you folded your arms across your chest. "From what you told me, I think you're someone ancient. You could track down whoever has your heart in no time and you wouldn't have to subject yourself to mundane things like that." 

Akaashi merely stared at you with the same, navy-eyed gaze before his line of sight darted around the vicinity. Then, he beckoned you to come closer. When you leaned your ear next to his face, the setter whispered, "(Surname)-san, I would appreciate it if you didn't disclose such information out in the open." 

"It's not like anyone's listening," you argued, pouting at him. "By the way, I have something to ask you." 

"Does your curiosity have no bounds?" He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. You'd only noticed it now, but there were traces of fatigue on his face that you would've missed if you hadn't looked so closely. You almost felt bad for cornering him like this, but...

"Can you show me your true form?" 

Something flashed across his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it surfaced, and now Akaashi was just staring at you like he was just done with your demands. 

"You know, I only ever meet extremely infuriating humans one after the other," he told you, dragging a palm across his face. "But it seems like the gods are subjecting me to the punishment of handling both you and Bokuto-san at the same time."

You snorted out an ugly-sounding laugh, covering your mouth to somehow stifle your giggles. "I told you, you didn't have to do any of this kiss-ass shit. You could just—"

"You wanted to see my true form, didn't you?" 

The tone of his voice had dipped into something more serious—one that you're unused to hearing from him when you were talking alone. Before getting to know Akaashi as well as you have now, he had just been the apathetic vice captain of the volleyball team. But from the short time you've spent with him, you figured that there was certainly more depth to his personality than he was letting on. 

Yet now, he's talking to you just how he would address any other student in Fukurodani. Your smile receded slowly. Somehow, you didn't like that.

"Yeah," you replied with a lackluster intonation you hadn't meant to make. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you actually...cared about the way he talked to you. You didn't, and that was that. 

With a sigh, Akaashi tilted his head up so that he was glancing at the sky. You noticed that he did that a lot—looking up at the heavens like it gave him answers you didn't know he was looking for. 

When the yokai met your gaze again, no longer did you see the soothing, gunmetal blue of the human whose skin he wore like it was his own. Deep, vermillion eyes bore into you so intently, you could feel him gazing at your very soul—bare, and without any chance of deceit.

"Meet me at the cemetery on the first night of the full moon," he said, voice almost sounding ethereal in your ears, like his voice wasn't his at all. "I'll show you what you want to see so badly."

***

A few days passed since that strange encounter with Akaashi, and you haven't heard from the yokai since. Every time you tried getting a glimpse of him from outside the gym, it was either he was always out of sight or he just wasn't there to begin with. You'd even asked Kazuto, who turned out to be classmates with Akaashi, a thing or two about the said setter, but it seemed that he's called in sick for the past few days because of a nasty cold.

Yokai don't catch colds.

Nonetheless, you found yourself thinking of him less and less as the lunar festival drew closer. Your grandmother insisted that you focus on training for the track meet instead of concerning yourself with the preparations no matter how much you protested. 

"You're only young for a brief time, child," she had told you. "It's your last year in high school, so you better enjoy the festival with your little friends before you all head your separate ways. Leave it to the monks and volunteers to work behind the scenes."

Seeing no point in going against her wishes, that's exactly what you did.

"Hey, (Name)! Over here!" At the bottom of the stairway that led to the Amatsuki shrine, you saw Itsumi and Kazuto idling by as your vice captain frantically waved her hands to get your attention. Overlooking the secondhand embarrassment, you picked up the pace of your descent. 

Once you've managed to join them, Kazuto whistled out loud. "Looking great, cap!"

The compliment urged you to look down on your own get-up. You looked just as you did every year whenever the lunar festival came around, since you've always opted to wear the cherry blossom kimono that used to belong to your mother. But Kazuto was probably talking about the moon pin your grandmother had insisted on styling your hair with. 

It was designed to look like a branch of a sakura tree dipped in silver with a crescent moon embossed in the middle. You had no time left to ask where she got it from and why she gave it you since you were running a bit late on your agreed meet-up time with the team.

"No flirting with senpais, Kazu," scolded Itsumi as she playfully smacked the younger boy across his back. "But he does have a point, though. You look spicy tonight, (Name)!"

"Sumi, I worry about you sometimes."

"Hey!"

Wading through the throng of visitors in the courtyard was none other than Bokuto, himself. His grin was as bright as the lanterns strung above the venue, the golden lights shining down on him like he was the most important person out there. Or maybe that was just because your rose-colored vision was specifically catered for the said ace. When he'd managed to squeeze past the crowd, he breathed out a sigh in relief, wiping a sheen of sweat off his forehead.

"What do you think?" he asked, twisting around to show off his outfit. "I kind of had to compromise with the hakama, but the haori's red, just like Furukawa said—"

"Bokuto-san," you breathed, feeling your heart flutter at his effort alone, "you look great."

The ace blinked at you like he wasn't used to receiving compliments on the daily. It was probably just the lanterns messing with your eyes, but was he...blushing?

"So do you," he laughed. "I didn't know we were matching!"

"I didn't either," you replied, shooting Itsumi a narrow-eyed glare, to which your best friend responded by incessantly tugging on your wrist. 

"Come on, you idiots!" Itsumi hollered as you let her drag you to the concessionaire stands. "Last one to get to the goldfish catching booths will treat everyone to candied apples!"

***

"I forgot how enjoyable these festivals really were."

Your ears perked up at the sound of Bokuto's voice. Sparing the ace a sideways glance, you sighed out a long breath as you propped your chin on top of your knees. "I'm glad we managed to remind you, then." 

The two of you were seated on the stone steps just under the torii gates that led up to the shrine. Most of the festival's visitors have already gone up to see the shrine elder's (in this case, your grandmother's) annual performance of the lunar dance. It was dedicated to Tsukuyomi herself so that the shrine and its followers would see good fortune for the months ahead. Itsumi and Kazuto have gone ahead of the both of you, but you'd insisted on staying behind for a while.

But you didn't know that Bokuto would like to keep you company, too.

"Something on your mind?" he wondered, inching a bit closer. "You've been kinda distracted."

As you trained your gaze on the younger visitors that were still trying their hand at catching goldfish at the kingyo booths below, you breathed out an airy chuckle. "Sorry. Was I that obvious?"

"Not really," he said. "Call it a gut feeling." 

"Gut feeling, huh..."

Your gut was telling you right now that you were forgetting something...something important.

But when you turned to glance at Bokuto once again, his mouth was perked up in a lopsided smile that sent a flush of heat crawling up to your cheeks. You've always found his honey-eyed gaze endearing, and knowing that he had his eyes trained on you? Under the light of the moon? The shoujo manga protagonist in you practically jumped—

Meet me at the cemetery on the first night of the full moon

"Bokuto-san," you mumbled as you shot up to your feet, startling the ace as you shot your gaze up to the sky. The moon was in perfect form today, shining oh-so brightly in the sea of stars. "I'm sorry. I have to go. I-I'll... I'm sorry."

You forced out the sound of Bokuto calling out your name from your mind, pushing down the guilt that might fester for later. Your wooden sandals collided with each step in a way that sounded like cannons in your ears. Your heart was beating abnormally fast, just like when you're trying to best another runner at a track meet. Akaashi, who's been missing in action for days now. Akaashi, who looked like he was losing his grip on his own sanity the last time you saw him. Akaashi, who was probably waiting for you at the top of the hill.

You had been the one that coerced him into this agreement, yet it slipped your mind?

When you made it to the shrine, you caught a glimpse of your grandmother's lunar dance in the blink of your eye. She faltered in her movements for a split second. Had you not spent your entire life watching her practice every year, you would've overlooked it. But it seemed that she'd noticed you darting through the audience even if you were cloaked in the darkness. You already knew you were getting a thorough questioning later, but that was at the bottom of your priorities right now.

There's something wrong, you thought. I don't know how, but something's wrong.

You pushed the gate to the cemetery back without care for the rust that coated your fingers. The foreboding was rooted deep into the pits of your heart, and you couldn't placate yourself no matter how many times you told yourself it was probably nothing. Even if you were running out of breath (which terrified you because it took a lot to make you breathless in training), you called out to the yokai.

"Akaashi!" you called out, placing your hands by your mouth to articulate your voice louder. "Are you here?"

The moonlight spilled onto the cemetery startlingly bright, illuminating the gravestones in place in a way you hadn't seen them before. As you passed by your parents' graves, muttering a quick prayer in the process, you began trekking further into the area—towards the forest that you were told to never set foot in. 

The shade of the trees seemed thicker, they loomed higher than you thought they would. At the corner of your eye, you would see the shadows scuttling about, only to be met with nothing but a leaf wafting in the air when you turned around to look. The fear factor was maxed out at this point. But even if your mind yelled for you to turn around, and that you shouldn't even be here, your heart told you that you were exactly where you're supposed to be.

After a few minutes of blindly walking in the darkness, you saw the light of the moon once more as you emerged into a clearing. In the middle of it all, kneeling in a pool of blood, was Akaashi.

Or at least, you assumed it was Akaashi. 

The humanoid creature had its back turned you, like it was preoccupied with something else. Its naked skin was as white as the snow that coated the shrine grounds on the first day of winter, but the mop of unruly hair on top of its head resembled Akaashi's. With blood roaring in your ears, you slowly flanked the creature from the side in attempt of getting a better look. But the sight that greeted you was something that would be burned in the back of your mind for eternity.

It—Akaashi—had a pair of horns jutting out from his forehead, tinged the same hue as his ivory skin. In his taloned hands, he had a carcass so mangled, you could no longer identify if it was an animal or not. His lips were caked in the same blood that pooled beneath him, as deranged, crimson eyes glossed over with the ecstasy from feasting on his meal.

A scream bubbled in your throat, but you knew better than to announce your presence just like that. This was what you wanted, right? To witness him in his true form? You were the one who asked for this and yet...and yet—

The sound of a twig snapping underneath your sandals echoed in the vicinity like you'd just set off a land mine. You could no longer hear him tearing the flesh from its bones, as Akaashi slowly turned to look at you. 

Those weren't the eyes of the kind-hearted yokai you thought he was.

They were the eyes of a killer.

Someone was screaming as you bolted out of the clearing and back into the cemetery. They were still screaming when you nearly tripped on your own feet as you ran down the hill. 

You'd only realized it was you when you barged into the shrine's foyer just after your grandmother finished the dance, weeping inconsolably in her arms for reasons that you would continue to refuse to let them know of in the days to come.

[jupitermelichios]

Jupiter’s Top 10 Fic Series of the Decade

In no particular order (and belonging to no particular fandom)

Honourable Mentions: Of Hunters & Hellblazers by KittyAug - Self Help by maskedfangirl - Bad Jokes by hahaharley - Doubtful Sanity by DustToDust - Wilton’s Bakery ‘Verse by machine_dove & sproings -  Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc by etothepii - New Favourite F Word by Polaris - little beasts by noctiphany & likewinning

drawn into something by Nonymos (Venom, Eddie/Venom, Dan/Anne, Eddie/Venom/Dan/Anne)

“Eddie, you… and him.”

“Yeah.” Eddie stares at the floor. “And… and look, Annie, I know it’s weird, but I can explain, I…”

His voice breaks, he’s damn near tearing up, panic rising again—and he jumps when Anne cups his face.

“Hey, it’s—it’s all right, Eddie.” She’s making a valiant effort to smile. “Don’t get so worked up. I’m not gonna run screaming.”

“No?” He laughs and sniffs. “Damn. Starting to wonder what it’s gonna take, at this point.”

This is not Nonymos’s only entry on this list. In fact they may just be my favourite fanfic author of all time. Drawn into something is everything everything I want from a Venom sequel, emotional, kinky, romantic, and poly.

OTP: Fight Club by MorganOfTheFey (Detroit: Become Human, RK900/Gavin)

"One hundred. Ten X," Nines says, voice flat enough it almost doesn't sound like bragging. "I would have been decommissioned otherwise."

"Ohhhh. Aw, that's sad. Just," She tries to snap her fingers and gets distracted for a moment when she can't. "Jus'like that?"

"Yeah RK, that's so sad," Gavin echoes. "Can you play yourself despacito?"

His own phone blares the song barely a second later. Gavin drops a few f-bombs fumbling to get it out of his jacket pocket and turn it off. Then as soon as he puts it back in his pocket, it starts up again.

"Thank you for the suggestion, detective," RK900 says. "This is making me feel better."

The fourth part of this is still coming out, and it’s the highlight of my week when the new chapter drops.

Dreams of the Waking Man by Lex_Munroe (Marvel Comics, Wade/Cable, Daken/Bullseye, Wade & Hope)

All at once, it hurts.  It hurts worse than the day Nate died (because Wade couldn’t accept it back then, insisted that Nate had managed to timeslide out, that the busted old telemetry circuit would only let him go forward and he was just lost for a little while).

He sits in the middle of the floor, ducks his head, cries.

She was smarter than he was—than he is.  She’d known all along.  Brave girl.

Timesliding doesn’t work right on Wade, never has, and their cobbled-together sliding module barely had power to take one stringy teenager for one jump.

She’d known she was leaving her parents, that she certainly wouldn’t see one of them again and quite possibly wouldn’t see the other.

Wade allows himself a moment more for grief and shame and humility.  Then he clears his throat and wipes his eyes and gets back to work.

This may be the cleverest fic I’ve ever read. Crossovers, theoretical physics, and the best love story Marvel never wrote.

The Mountains Are The Same by bonehandledknife & Primarybufferpanel (Mad Max: Fury Road, Furiosa/Max, Furiosa/Ace, Everyone & Healthy Coping Mechanisms)

“'Real isn’t how you are made’” Gilly said with the air of a quote, of a Remembering, “'It’s a thing that happens to you.’”

Rotor closed his eyes in a long blink, “A thing that hurts, innit it right?”

“Sometimes,” Gilly agreed, squeezing his hand, “That’s life though, when you are Real. We all become it bit by bit. But it doesn’t happen if you’re not strong, if you’re not soft, if you’re not sturdy.”

“ But how can y'be all of those at once ?” he wheezed out. It’s getting hard to catch his breath.

“You are all that right now, aren’t you?” Gilly asked him with piercing eyes, “No one else of all these Boys has had the strength to ask for me. And I will Witness you as I have kept all those of my sisters who’ve fallen these past days.”

This series is not always easy, it doesn’t shy away from the hard or the dark or the painful, but it is always worth reading.

The Unspoken Truth by Nonymos (MCU, Clint/Loki)

Barton glared at him like he was trying to decide whether he was being mocked or not, but the next second, his shoulders slumped. Loki was familiar with the feeling – that dreadful feeling of discovering something repulsive in one's own nature.

And then, he waited. He waited for Barton to think and connect the dots, to realize that an obvious solution was standing just before him, to remember how he had felt when waking up tied down, or being forced to drink down the water. The demi-god just stood there, hoping – almost praying for the first time in his life – that his enemy would look up at him with something else than hatred in his eyes.

No one writes kink quite like Nonymos writes kink, and this series is the perfect encapsulation of that.

The Stone Gryphon by rthstewart (Narnia, primarily Gen)

"Tools!" Richard was so shocked he was near speechless. He sat down heavily on the bench and began writing frantically in that strange code. "You are saying that you have observed ordinary crows use tools? Peter, that is… remarkable."

"Well, I've seen Beavers use fishing tackle and sewing machines, so it didn't seem that unusual at the time."

I’m not going to lie, this may not be to everyone’s taste. But, amateur theologian, lover of weird animal facts, and history nerd that I am, there are very few fics more exactly tailored to my interests.

Republic of Heaven Community Radio by ErinPtah (WtNV x His Dark Materials, Cecil/Carlos)

The greeting catches both her and Carlos off-guard. It's not wrong to talk directly to another person's daemon, but it's still a little weird. "Likewise," she stammers.

They're both waiting for the obvious next step, which is for Cecil to introduce his daemon. The fact that Carlos hasn't spotted her yet is understandable — a big community gathering in a small space, you get plenty of daemons breaking away from their humans to socialize directly with each other. Any of the dozen animal shapes currently within ten feet of them could be Cecil's. If his daemon has an unusually high range, there are even more possibilities.

What Cecil says instead is, "If you ever have any important experimental-theology news that you need to share with the town, call me any time! Everyone listens to my show." There's a touch of what Carlos hopes is nothing more sinister than smugness when he adds, "Everyone."

He steps out of the way to let someone else interrogate Carlos, and vanishes into the crowd. Carlos doesn't get a chance to see what daemon he leaves with.

This may be the most carefully thought out crossover I’ve ever read, and I’m a little in awe of ErinPtah’s skills.

The Soul in the Machine by missdreawrites & Troodon (Dishonoured, Corvo/Outsider)

“... Outsider?” Corvo asked, sitting down on the filthy floor. “In the published list of the people who died of the Plague… how many were registered Augments?”

<There have been a total of 231 dead in the past year. Of that group, 100% were Augmented individuals. This number has increased exponentially under Hiram Burrows’ “The Boldest Moves Are The Safest” law, allowing the execution of any individual infected by the Plague.>

“Son of a bitch, ” Corvo swore with feeling. “This is… look at this waste. We aren't even people to them, are we?” He looked down at the body next to him. “And I killed the one person who could help. I did this. I doomed an entire people to plague, and murder and…”

The cyberpunk Dishonoured AU I desperately wish I’d thought of, because it works so very well.

In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury) by scifigrl47 (MCU, Steve/Tony)

“Do you know what the difference between a villain and a super villain is, Stark?” Coulson said, leaning his palms on the tabletop, looming over everything like a very snappily dressed gargoyle.

“Style?” Tony asked, pointing both index fingers in Coulson's direction like the gunslinger that he was. He added a wide grin to the gesture, but Coulson didn't seem to notice.

“A villain has a giant mass of robotic vacuum cleaners that he can sic on his enemies. A super villain gives them the ability to fly.”

“In my defense, I do not actually remember installing repulsor technology in the Roombas,” Tony said, choosing his words carefully. It had been a working theory, sure, but he still wasn't quite sure when he implemented it. Maybe sometime on Tuesday night... That one was a blur. “It was a very long couple of days. So I was as surprised by that as everyone else.”

This doesn’t really count as a rec, since everyone in the fandom has read it already, but it really wouldn’t be fair to draw up a ‘best of the 2010s’ list and not include this.

A Great and Gruesome Height by mokuyoubi (Hannibal, Will/Hannibal)

Bedelia lashes out but Will is quicker. He grabs her wrist, pressing hard between the delicate bones with his thumb, until she makes a soft noise of distress and drops the fork.

Hannibal purses his lips and leans in close to her ear. “Now that is disappointing,” he whispers, and Bedelia has the good sense to be afraid with that mouth so near her skin. He inhales her scent deeply and straightens. “I thought you and I were beyond such petty jabs.”

“Were it not for the fact that you required medical attention, I have no doubt I would have met a similarly crass ending at the hands of your pet,” she says, lip curling in disgust.

Hannibal smiles serenely and says, “Will is a creature entirely of his own making. It is not to me to guide his hand. Merely to share in the sublime perfection of his vision, when he allows it.”

There are many dark!Will stories out there, and most of them are a lot of fun, but few are quite at believable as this one.

[newtarpchronicles]

spring training

ah spring.  that wonderful time of year where flowers bloom, love is born, and a young man (or woman’s) fancy turns to the great American pastime of baseball.

sadly, my only connection to the sport a half dozen farm team pitchers - who at 6′2″ young, fit, and sculpted, remain the very best looking men I have the pleasure to scan.  I wasn’t always invested in this fierce autoimmune reaction to a sport most either enjoy or tolerate with indifference... no, it took a summer of misery on the “Firstmark” little league team to fully develop a dislike for the sport and knock my fragile self esteem back to start.

lest this come across as overly dour, it should be noted my physical education experiences weren’t as miserable as some.  being of lean mass and tall stature, PE teachers initially eyeballed me with a misty eyed optimism.  unfortunately the promising appearance was coupled with a clumsy demeanor and lack of that inborn aggression the truly successful sportos can tap from the earliest of age.

I kinda liked basketball.  once in awhile the fast guy would pass me the ball and I’d manage to shoot over whatever annoying kid was flapping in my face.  sadly any attempt to dribble down court resulted in me going one way while the basketball went the other.  thanks to either some exceptionally annoying, and more skilled defender, or embarrassingly enough my own ineptitude.  picture a spastic, high top clad mantis - clattering down court with a lonely basketball all out front like a loosely held electron about to depart its shell.  unsurprisingly I was never asked to try out for even the most distant JV team... what the hell, it was only one period a day and a whole lot better than the wrestling module.

before enduring the misery of Firstmark I did have a good experience playing softball at a Boys and Girl’s Club league.  in some bizarre break in the time space continuum there were a few games where I pitched.  in retrospect the only way this makes sense if my parents mis-enrolled my eleven year old self in the most recent T-ball alumni’s roster.  a veritable pond skater among amoebas.

for a few Saturdays I was a contender.  and the times I wasn’t such a contender, well I guess there would always be next weekend.  buck up and head towards Baskin Robbins.  I loved this baseball/softball stuff.  checked out library books about it, wanted to learn all I could about strategy and the greats.  there was no question I’d be signing up for the big league of little league.  the tryouts for next season in the massive indoor sports auditorium at nearby Juanita high school.

time passed slowly as it’s wont to do around thirteen turns of the sun.  eventually the day came and I was ready to show my stuff.  holy crap was I not ready for the tsunami of baseball phenom I now was immersed.  it was as if a race of genetically pure super boys, engineered and optimized for all things throwing, pitching, and batting, had been culled from the surrounding two hundred miles and placed in the same echo laden, astro turfed room I found myself.  I had to find out the hard way it’s only me and eight year olds that predictably misjudge the fly balls arc, running far short of where physics and inertia dictate... also realized my woefully pathetic throwing arm was not only unusual, it’s almost poetic in its feebleness.  as painful as it is to admit, you’d have a better chance of getting a good handjob from a trout than seeing me complete a throw from right field to home.  or even second base.    

if you’ve read this far and are keeping up, you must be thinking, “dude can’t catch, dude can’t throw... WTF.  why doesn’t he stay home and finish the latch hook mushroom rug?!”.  who knows ! ... with the understanding and clarity of my advanced age I’d certainly yell that to the young Rich had I the wormhole to do such a thing.  would’ve save me being assigned to the championship team as resident bench warmer, bunter, and token low end roster filler.  hell, the uniform I’d so eagerly anticipated, fit so poorly I spent my copious downtime swimming in undulating waves of kelly green satin.  

all things, good and bad, come to an end.  a few months in I resigned my slot and to this day remember one of the coaches coming to my front door to pick up my assigned equipment.  he was a batting or catching or something coach and sadistic as f*ck.  a cigar chomping asshole right out of a ‘nam movie or Hollywood little league depiction.  I handed him the hanger and he mumbled something about what an adult decision I made.  

“whatever dude” I’ve gotta go organize the orange, brown, and red strands of yarn in the mushroom’s cap.  

[anujjindalofficial]

Ex SBI PO turned Entrepreneur from Delhi is revolutionizing the Online Education

Anuj Jindal was working as an SBI PO in Mumbai when he realized that the normal 9–5 office life was not for him. For him, there had to be more to life than that. Even in those days, he had an inkling that somewhere in him lay a teacher, and that teaching would be the profession that would suit him best.

So, after 3 months of working as an SBI PO, he followed his calling and took admission into the M. Com program at the prestigious Delhi School of Economics (DSE), and incidentally, it was here that he would first discover his exemplary knack for teaching and his ability to positively impact the society while doing the same. Over the next year, he would go on to complete his M. Com degree, and also simultaneously grow as a teacher par excellence.

However, it would only be later, during his preparations for the RBI Grade B exam that he would finally turn his head towards the need for a robust online education setup for govt. job entrance exams.

Basically, the thing that really did trigger his transformation from being a mundane employee at SBI to a visionary entrepreneur, was when he sensed the serious lack of efficacy and affordability in the preparation modules for the various Government Job entrance exams in markets of the day. This is exactly the thing that he wanted to fix.

Thus, seeing the massive demand for good quality online education and exam preparation modules, it didn’t take Mr. Jindal a lot of time to realize what direction he had to take.

That was how the brand called anujjindal.in would eventually come into existence.

The Story of the Brand and Owner.

Anuj Jindal’s tryst with being an entrepreneur was inspired by two events. The first was when he realized that his teaching ability was impeccable, and the second was when he recognized the sector in which his teaching ability was to have the maximum utility.

So, after recognizing the latter, he would create an FB group and start inviting people to join. Here he would teach his students everything they would need to know to crack their RBI Grade B exams, and to his surprise, at the end of the year, a lot of them did.

This initial success would then grant him the required confidence and support that he would need to further his designs of structuring the nascent state of the online education sector in India for his niche. At this point, he would also start to upload videos on YouTube and consequently gain traction online and thus become a successful Youtuber in his own right.

All of this would go on till he would graduate from DSE in the June of 2016. In the meantime, he had also cleared the UGC NET JRF exams, on the basis of which he would start to apply for several teaching posts in colleges all over the nation.

However, during his interviews, he would find that instead of looking for able academic mentors, the education system of the time was looking for able administrators and networkers.

That was when he would finally decide to go through with his gut instinct of formalizing his teaching plans into a legitimate monetizable business model.

Anujjindal.in Platform

Anujjindal.in follows a B2C business model, and sells its study materials and online video courses via the website or the app itself. Through Anujjindal.in website or app students can enroll for the various courses that are in offer.

The courses that are sold via the Anujjindal.in the website is of the preparation for exams like RBI Grade B, UGC NET Commerce, Management, and Economics exams, NABARD Grade A, SEBI Grade A, CTET, and DSSSB.

Elaborating on the brand’s proposal for the customers he serves, Mr. Jindal says,

” The unique selling point of Anujjindal. in is that we excel at teaching topics that are foreign to the educational backgrounds of most of our students.

For example, we are good at teaching the subjects of economics and accounts, which are essential subjects of the commerce stream, to students that have done engineering. And engineering students are mostly those that have never studied any subject outside of the stream of science. So yeah, that’s where we excel.

And, we have the numbers to back our claim too, as a majority of our students that clear the heavy commerce stream-based exams of RBI, SEBI, and NABARD, are engineers by qualification.

Also, we have kept the fees of our courses at a level where every student that comes to us for guidance is able to easily afford the same.”

Owing to the success of the brand of anujjindal.in, the owner Mr. Jindal has been called upon to conduct seminars on the same, by several colleges like DSE, Hansraj, SRCC, and JIMS. He’s also been called upon by the Rotaract Club of India to give talks on entrepreneurship at several other institutions as well.

Apart from giving talks at colleges, he has also worked with the entrepreneurship cell of the Delhi government to cultivate, in young kids, a spirit of hard work and enterprise. To elaborate a bit further on the same, the Delhi govt. had distributed 1000 bucks each to the students of class 11 and 12 in its schools, and then called upon Mr. Jindal to teach the students about how and where to successfully invest the 1000 Rupees and earn profits.

Future plans

” My motivation when I started Anujjindal.in was to impart education to my students in the most innovative, creative, affordable, and interesting ways possible, to make education a process that is fun and invigorating for the students, and the intention has not changed yet, nor do I think it ever will.

Apart from staying true to the motivation that I have already mentioned, I would also like to create teaching methods and processes through which we as teachers can enable students to think in a more interdisciplinary manner, instead of the usual box-like subject-specific thinking.

Also, I know that till now anujjindal.in has primarily been about preparing students to get govt. jobs, but now I am planning to create a platform where people can come and learn some essential life skills such as urban farming, understanding and investing in the stock market, etc.

Through this platform, I would want people to add more meaning and value to their lives and also broaden the horizon of their minds.

The brand is also geared to scale up in the coming months by launching updates on its mobile application as well.”, said Anuj Jindal, EduTech Expert, Founder & CEO, Anujjindal.in

[kevinstuartworld]

Where Can You Get the Best Periodontics Diploma and What Can You Do With It?

A periodontology diploma can go a long way if used properly. You can get a periodontics diploma by enrolling in a periodontology postgraduate course. But before you rush off to find a nice frame for your new diploma, make sure you understand what periodontology is and that you want to be part of it. Having a diploma in periodontology might also mean that you have to make some changes to your practice and that might involve spending more money on equipment and materials. It’s no fun to waste time and money preparing and studying and ending up giving up or not using that diploma at all.

What Does Having A Periodontology Diploma Mean?

Having a periodontology diploma means that you, as a dentist have taken and successfully graduated a periodontology postgraduate course. A course like this takes usually 12 month to complete and covers everything from the basis of periodontology to complex periodontal and multidisciplinary case management. After you finish the course, you receive your periodontology diploma which is recognized in most cases both inside the country and internationally.

A periodontology diploma  means that you are able to handle several conditions such as gum inflammation, root infections and several other diseases of the mouth, and even dental implants. Basically, a periodontist makes sure that the tissues which holds the teeth on the dental arch is healthy. If the tissues are not healthy there are a series of procedures a periodontist can perform, both invasive and none-invasive, in order to make sure that the gums and teeth are healthy again.

Technically any dentists can take a periodontology course and get a periodontology diploma. It all depends on if they want to do so and if it is the right move for their practice. Although it isn’t a very long or particularly challenging course to take, some dentists might not want to take it and choose something else. Periodontology isn’t just for everybody. Periodontologists have to have a very steady hand and have to be able to take important decisions quickly. They also need to be comfortable working very close with someone for long periods of time.

Having a periodontology diploma doesn’t just mean that a dentist attended a year’s long course. It also means that he has developed a particular set of skills that he will need in order to treat his patients with the utmost care and professionalism. Being a periodotologist doesn’t just mean you get to clean plaque off of teeth and rub inflamed gums with various ointments. It means that you are in the first line of defense against gum disease and other unseen perils.

How Can You Get a Periodontics Diploma?

A  periodontics diploma  takes about a year to obtain. This is done after completing a course such as the one offered by the London Dental Institute. Their course on periodontology is structured in 6 modules and is delivered using a blended system that includes theoretical teaching being done over the internet via interactive webinars and tutor live support and a 2 week period of face to face interaction in London in order for the dentist to get the right amount of practical teaching too.

The beauty of the theoretical being taught using the internet is that the attendant can choose to read the material whenever he wants, thus helping him learn at his own pace. Also, the webinars are laced with real time tutorials, making the whole experience a very immersive one indeed. Students are encouraged to ask questions both during the webinars as well as in the online study club which is opened to any and all enrolled students. All in all it’s a very well-rounded experience, managing to properly balance both theoretical teaching and practical aspects without intruding on the students’ life more than absolutely necessary.

Where Can You Get the Best Periodontics Diploma?

There are a lot of dentistry schools and institutions that offer special postgraduate programs, including ones for a periodontics diploma. A simple Google search returns literally thousands of entries consisting of lists of schools that offer such programs. But the real question is which one is the right one for you. And that is one tricky question to answer. Firstly, you have to identify which schools can give you a periodontics diploma. Of course, you’ll want to make sure that this is what you want. You can change your course once you’ve started, but you would be wasting both time and money.

Secondly, try and make a ranking of those schools using various criteria such as distance from your home, fees, facility features and whatever else you think is important to you. At this point you should have an idea about what your options are. You’ll want to include the schools that offer online courses as well, just as a fallback in case you don’t find anything you want or like in your original list. Keep in mind that some schools charge more because of their reputation. You might get the same, if not a better experience at a school that doesn’t have the same pedigree but costs way less. Granted, some schools may have a different way of doing things, but that doesn’t justify the costs. Don’t forget that you’re going there to study, not moving into a new home. A fancy looking periodontics diploma is worth just as much as a plain looking one.

The next thing you have to do now is start doing research about each school and its’ periodontics postgraduate program. Try using blogs and forums associated to the school or campus in order to get a better idea about how things are in a particular school. If you have the time you can even sit in on a lecture or two. Some schools allow people from the outside that are looking to enroll to audit their classes before making a decision. In the end, choose the one that you think best suits your needs. Research is good, but nobody can know what you need and want better than yourself. 

[caffeineivore]

Many thanks...

To @apsaraqueen and @antivanonmytongue for helping me plot out this segment of fic. Therefore, dedicated to them because they are awesome ladies :P

Title: Yuan Fen

Ship: R/J AU

Notes: Yuan Fen: Fateful coincidence; destiny which brings two people’s lives together at some point, often through astronomical odds. “It takes hundreds of rebirths to bring two persons to ride in the same boat; it takes a thousand eons to bring two persons to share the same pillow.” A concept related to karma in Chinese Buddism.

Rating: PG/PG13

In which R’s life in NYC catches up with her...

Rachel is dropped off by the hotel by the “Chinese Uber” and returns to find seven missed-call notifications on her iPad’s facetime, all from her ex-boyfriend, Kade Bowen. It’s bizarre and unexpected; certainly, Kade had not made any effort to contact her since their breakup, and seven missed calls in rapid succession hints at a type of desperation very unlike the cool and collected lawyer. Frowning and wondering if something bad has happened in New York, perhaps to her father or maybe some other mutual acquaintance, she returns the call.

Kade picks up after three rings, and his handsome face settles into harassed lines on the screen. “Rachel. It’s half-past nine and I have a meeting in five minutes. I don’t have time right now, I shouldn’t even be answering this at work.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “Excuse me? I’m just returning your call. I had seven notifications from you. Is everything all right?” By some miracle, she keeps her voice calm rather than shrewish despite the quick surge of irritation at his tone.

“Yes, everything is fine... look, I have to go very soon. Meeting, like I said. Where were you, anyway? I would have thought that you’d have returned to your hotel a lot sooner than now.”

“Out having dinner with a friend, not that it’s any of your business any more,” Rachel snips out, raising her chin. “It’s what normal people do here at seven o’clock or so, local time.”

“You don’t know anyone there. Even if there are some of your grandfather’s contemporaries left in China, I doubt you’d know any of them, considering he was only a young man himself when he’d left.”

Rachel closes her eyes and exhales slowly, counts to ten in her head. It would not do to give Kade the satisfaction of riling her up, not after the nice evening she’d had, and manages to modulate her voice to a tone of bland politeness so pleasant it could freeze a wildfire. “I’m sorry, it’s been close to a month here, in a small group of people that spend lots of time together on a daily basis. Surely you consider me socially adept enough to have made the acquaintance of one or two by now? I would hardly waste it upon you, but I have a more-than-adequate amount of charm at my disposal should the situation require.” The smile she lets cross her lips as she makes this statement is chilly and sharp enough to cut glass. 

“Of course,” Kade seems immune to her sarcasm, and returns her smile with a condescending one of his own. “I never implied otherwise, Rach. Look, I really do have to go, I’ll call you later.”

“Oh, goody. I can’t wait,” Rachel sneers, then disconnects the call before he could get another word in edgewise. 

She deliberately turns on the television and watches an hour of some period drama, complete with wire-fu and swordplay and elaborate costumes, in spite of language barriers and not the faintest idea of the plot, to distract herself before going to bed.

**

Kade facetimes her again, at a quarter to six in the morning, and it wakes her up. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, she glares at the face in the screen. “What do you want, Kade?”

“I’m sorry if I woke you, but I have a dinner meeting with a client, so this was the only time,” he says, not sounding particularly sorry. “I suppose I should ask you how your trip has been. Hopefully you’ve been taking care of yourself-- I saw a documentary on sanitation standards in foreign countries, and while I’m sure you’re sensible enough to get vaccinated before leaving, you should still take certain precautions...”

“I only drink water out of rusted drain pipes every other day,” Rachel cuts him off with an eyeroll. “And only once did I five-second-rule it when I purchased dodgy street food and dropped it on the ground by accident. Did you need something, or can I get dressed and ready to go about my day?” 

“Go ahead, I can talk while you do all that. I know how long you take in the mornings.” The smug tone in his voice grates on Rachel’s nerves, and she wonders how she’d ever managed to put up with it, let alone for so long. “I don’t have long-- dinner meeting, like I said, so I’m just going to get straight to the point. I want you to come back to me, Rach.”

Rachel pauses, foamy toothbrush halfway from her mouth, and stares at the screen, speechless. He continues, without apparently expecting any response from her. “We’re good together, you know. You’re smart, beautiful, ambitious-- and while I may not have always shown you how much I appreciate those qualities, you should certainly know that I do. Come on, Rach. We’ve known each other forever-- our fathers are partners at the biggest and most prestigious law firm in Manhattan, for godsakes. Your father even dropped in to speak to me after you left me to say how disappointed he was over that whole debacle. His dearest wish is for us to take over the firm eventually. Harris and Bowen will always remain Harris and Bowen-- I’d even let you keep your maiden name if we married, if you liked.”

Rachel sets her mascara wand down before she stabs herself in the eye by accident, and stares at her reflection in the mirror, unsure of whether to cry or laugh hysterically at what she’s hearing. Deliberately, she takes a minute to turn back to the screen. 

“So, you mean to say that you broke it off with Tiffanie. You know, the yoga instructor that you were seeing on the side.”

“Come on, baby! You know that wasn’t-- that was only physical, and...”

“You really called me seven times for this?” Rachel’s voice is vibrating with rage. “So you mean to say that the bimbo, whose g-string I found in the laundry hamper, was ‘only physical’, in the sense that clearly I am not exciting enough in bed for you. But because I am so much more suitable in all other aspects, you’ve, what, progressed from making decisions with your dick to making decisions based on stock portfolio options and the opinions of the country club?! You know what, Kade? I think that yoga instructor Tiffanie with an ‘ie’ is perfect for you.  Congratulations. I hope you two will be very happy together. Goodbye.” 

He calls two more times, and Rachel ignores him both times, but when her father calls, she sighs and picks up. “Yes, dad? If this is about Kade, the answer is no, never again.”

“Well, then.” Trent Harris raises an eyebrow in an expression identical to Rachel’s. “I guess I just got told.”

“Sorry,” Rachel huffs out a breath and takes a seat on the bed. “Kade’s been calling. He’s trying to get back together.”

“I know,” her father says slowly. “I spoke to him the other day-- he’d mentioned that he didn’t really understand why you’d go on this trip, and that he missed you since the two of you broke up.”

“Well, we won’t be getting back together, so you can put that hope to rest if that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“Not completely,” Trent’s voice is low and careful. Rachel has never heard him raise it, except in the courtroom. “I never did the full story on why you broke up, though.”

“He cheated on me,” Rachel says without preamble. “Of course, he says he’s sorry and that it meant nothing. But I don’t feel as though I should have to put up with that.”

“Certainly not,” Trent’s dark brows draw together in a scowl. “My daughter does not have to settle for anything or anybody. I did mention to him that it seemed as though he had made you unhappy, and to fix it. I didn’t know the details, though.”

“Not worth knowing, dad,” Rachel sighs. “Can we not talk about him?”

“Okay.” Trent looks as though he might have something to add, but acquiesces easily enough. “Are you having a good time in China?”

“Yeah, I am,” Rachel smiles her first genuine smile since last night. “It’s beautiful here, even if I’m apparently not physiologically super-compatible with high altitudes. I can see why Gramps wanted to go.”

“That’s good,” Trent nods, then there’s an awkward split-second pause before he speaks again. “I’m glad you’re happy, connecting with that side of your heritage. Your mother would’ve wanted that, too.”

Rachel doesn’t have many memories of her mother, who’d been buried the same year that she’d started first grade, but the solemnity of her father’s expression lets her take his words at face value. Before she says anything else though, her borrowed Chinese iPhone rings.

It’s John. “Where are you? I’m in the hotel lobby, mei nü,” he tells her when she picks up, and she jerks up her head, realizes the time. She was supposed to be down ten minutes ago.

“Crap, I’ll be right down.” She hangs up, then turns back to her father on facetime. “I have to go. I’ll see you back in New York, dad.”

[padfootdidit]

Can you do a drabble for Jily with number 23 or 29 I can't pick? Thank you!

“at it like bunnies”

#23: “The skirt is supposed to be short.”

modern muggle au

“The skirt is supposed to be this short.” Lily says, indignant.

Marlene just sniggers. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your eyebrows did.” Lily inspects herself in the mirror one more time and then turns to face her friend and housemate.

“You look great, can we go now?” Marlene asks, finishing off the bottle of wine in her hand in one take.

“Is she ready?” Mary pops her head around the door, looking hopeful. Lily frowns at both of them. “Aw, don’t be like that Lils, you’ve been an hour.”

“We’re prinking!”

“No, you’re primping.” Marlene just manages to dodge the cushion Lily throws at her.

“Fine then, let’s go.” Lily grabs her bag and pulls Marlene up from the bed.

“She’s ready!” Mary yells as they head downstairs, and the responding cheer from the kitchen makes Lily frown again.

Marlene slings a comforting arm around her shoulder. “We love you really.”

If this was a normal night, Lily would have been ready a long time ago. As it stands though, it’s a fancy dress night and she has a plan. So she accepts the teasing from her friends as they do one last shot and then leave, heading towards the pub, because she knows it will all be worth it.

Except it’s not, not immediately anyway. The first pub, their usual, is packed full of other uni students in fancy dress, all in varying degrees of effort. A pack of boys have stretched their student budget to buy banana outfits whilst, next to them, two girls are wearing black dresses with wooden placards around their next, informing Lily they’ve been arrested for public disturbance. Tegan scowls when she sees them, because she too has opted for the jailbird look but, unlike them, has gone full out.

Mary, barely a ladybug with a red dress and some wings, orders the first round. It helps Lily ignore the fact that the reason she’s wearing her ridiculous get up isn’t in the pub. It does not help her ignore the two leering freshers, Thing 1 and Thing 2, who are clearly making bets about which one of them can get her number. Leering was to be expected though and, like the teasing, Lily takes it because it will be worth it, no one’s got the guts up yet to actually approach her and because in an outfit like hers, she can’t say she wouldn’t stare either.

It had been Marlene’s idea, and Lily had agreed both because she was desperate and because she’d known she’d look good. And she does. The skirt, as short as humanely possible without showing her arse, and the heels, too high for her own good, make her legs look endless. It’s a look that could kill.

It’s also a look, apparently, which boosts her alcohol tolerance and self assurance. So, by the time they reach a club, despite the several rounds of shots and jaeger bombs, she manages to get passed the bouncers without stumbling once. They dance for what feels like hours, Lily spinning with Mary and Tegan and almost breaking her ankle when she drops to the floor during Low with Gemma. Marlene vanishes and returns with a boy, yelling to the girls that he’s got a party at his house.

They go and Lily has almost forgotten why she is wearing what she’s wearing. Then she steps into the boy’s living room and she remembers.

He’s dancing on the other side of the room, with Sirius, of course, and he looks beautiful. Maybe it’s the disco lighting. Maybe it’s the leather jacket he’s wearing. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s in love with him. Whatever it is, he’s never looked fitter and Lily almost runs out of the room before he can get a chance to see her.

“What are you doing?” Mary runs after her, catching her arm just as she’s about to crash into a snogging couple. Who would have guessed that Luigi and Jesus would make such a good coupling.

“Reassessing.” Lily says.

Mary pushes a shot into her hand. “Liquid luck. You can do this, Evans, we all know you can.”

Lily tips back the shot and, with his nickname for her ringing in her ears, regains her confidence. “I can do this.”

“Yes!” Mary pushes her back in the direction of the living room and Lily smiles to herself, ready to conquer.

Sirius spots her first and a smile sneaks across his face, making her think he knows exactly what she’s doing. She gives him a wink and stops behind her reason for spending £20 on an outfit she might never wear again.

“Can bunnies hop in heels that high?” Sirius asks her and James, realising his best mate is speaking to someone else, turns around.

It’s as if he’s been punched in the stomach. His mouth drops open, his drink falls out of his hand and it’s all very dramatic. Lily smiles.

“Alright, Evans?” He chokes, eyes tearing over her body like he’ll never get another chance to see her.

“Actually, they call me the Easter Bunny.” She points at the fuzzy ears on her head.

Sirius, grinning, slaps James on the back, and leaves with a smug, “Good luck with this one, mate.”

“I-I…” James is blushing now and Lily reckons his costume, Danny Zuko, would be ashamed. “The Easter bunny doesn’t wear crop tops.”

“Have you met the Easter bunny?”

“I’m just hazarding a guess,” he seems to regained some of his motor skills because his mouth closes and he runs a hand through his hair. Lily realises it’s the first time she’s seen it actually obey hair gel, fashioned into a quiff.

“I’ll let him know you have a complaint about the uniform,” she shrugs.

“No!” He blushes again. “Not a complaint, I’m not complaining,” his eyes flick down to her legs, “no one’s complaining.”

Lily can feel herself blushing too, only his eyes having the power to make her feel nervous. Maybe the white crop top and leather skirt was too much. But it certainly got his attention. That was the aim.

Since the first week of freshers, they’ve bounced off of each other, bickering and debating and getting kicked out of a record number of pubs. Then it turned out they had chosen almost all of the same modules and their seminar room had almost gone up in flames. It had taken two terms, but the arguing soon became friendly and then appreciative and then, not that either or them realised or would admit to it, flirtatious. Then Lily had gone and fallen in love with him and it had gone tits up. Mainly because he wasn’t in love with her back. Not that she knew that - it was just an assumption. Until Peter had ‘accidentally’ sent her a screenshot of their group chat and Sirius had ‘accidentally’ sent her a snapchat of a drunken James and Remus had ‘accidentally’ told Marlene that James was in love with Lily. Then it had been less of an assumption and more something she needed to confirm. Because if she loved him and he loved her then Lily didn’t want to waste another second not being with him. And not kissing him. Kissing him was definitely high on the list of aims she needed her plan to achieve.

“So, no complaints… you like it then?” She gives him a twirl, just because she can, and because she knows the little fluff tail draws all eyes right to her arse, and then down her legs. When she comes full circle, his eyes are still focused down. She smirks.

“Compliments. No complaints, just compliments.” He nods, excessively.

“I’m glad you like it. I wore it for you.” It’s bold. It’s even bolder than when she told him he looked like a Conservative. It’s even bolder than when she swore at him mid-debate, in front of their lecturer. It’s even bolder than when she kissed some guy at a club two months ago, just because she knew he was looking.

James takes a second. “For me?” He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “I didn’t think it would take you this long to catch on.” But she’s worried now, worried that her bare midriff and legs aren’t enough of a hint. Of course it’s for you, you arse. She thinks.

“But -” he runs a hand through his hair and she knows the quiff has no chance of surviving. “Sirius said you liked him?”

“Sirius is a liar.” She says, making a mental note to hit Sirius over the head with something heavy.

“He said you called me an idiot.”

“I have called you an idiot. On many occasions. Just because I like you doesn’t mean you’re not an idiot. in fact, you’re kind of proving me right.”

James stutters. “Like me?”

“Yes.”

He looks her up and down again. “You wore that because you like me?”

“You were taking too long. I thought I’d make the first move.” She bits her lip, shy. “Has it worked?”

“I have a semi.” James says it matter-of-factly and, it’s so out of the blue that Lily can’t help but laugh.

“That was meant to come later, but I’ll take it now.”

“That’s what she said…” Absentminded, James steps forwards and cups her cheek with his hand. “So you like me? I like you too.”

“I fucking hope so. Otherwise you owe -”

“McGonagall was right then. We both do take too long to get to the point.” And he’s kissing her and she can’t breathe and then she can and it’s his breath and they’re kissing. She buries her hand in his hair, destroying the quiff completely, and only stops kissing him when a wolf whistle pierces through the music.

He rests his forehead against hers.

She smiles up at him. “Not bad Potter, not bad.”

Later, when they’re in bed and can’t take their hands off each other, he kisses her neck, “By the way, the skirt -”

“It’s supposed to be this short,” she says, arching her back.

James laughs. “I was just going to say, if you want to keep it on… no complaints.”

“I’ll tell the easter bunny.”

[garamonder]

An Introduction

A Spider-Man: Homecoming/Avengers story.

Summary: After the Avengers have reunited, a surprise visitor to Midtown High leaves Peter scrambling to protect his secret identity.

General/Humor, 2655 words, one-shot.

AO3 or

It was a small blessing that when Peter walked into school Monday he got to his locker without running into anyone he knew—that is, anyone he knew who would acknowledge him. Since ‘dumping’ Liz at Homecoming the previous year he hadn’t managed to turn the tide of cold shoulders from her many friends—not her fault, she’d tried to warn them off. That, and the rock star disregard he’d drummed up with the popular kids already, made for a pretty quiet hallway strut. First and second periods had been canceled for a mysterious assembly, as announced over the speakers on the Friday before. Or had Principal Morita said the reason? He couldn’t remember. It was probably another pep rally. Their football team was shooting for a city championship, which was a rarity for the technology magnet school and kept the cheerleaders in business. Usually some of the band geeks got conscripted into this stuff but Peter apparently hadn’t drawn the short straw this time. Probably for the best, as his tuba practice had borne much of the suffering of his limited attentions. Peter slung his backpack into his locker and picked up the media bag he’d had the responsibility for over the weekend (the members of his academic decathlon club rotated.) Checking that the Apple TV, remote, and sundry other gear was present and accounted for, he started for Mr. Harrington’s office to drop the bag off. Students were taking advantage of the relaxed schedule and milling around before filing into the gym. There was an unusually excited hum in the air, and Peter caught snatches of conversation as he threaded his way through the crowd. “Can’t believe he’s here—” “He’s even better looking in person—” “I’m gonna ask him to be my prom date, didn’t Justin Bieber tell that one girl yes—” “Think he’ll lift a car for us?” That last one made Peter swing around, but the speaker had already moved on toward the gym. Something a little more interesting than the standard rally this time, it would appear, unless the quarterback had really upped his game. Some ways off he spied Betty Brant talking excitedly before a camera. Even her normally poker-faced co-host was animated, waving his mic around with a big grin. A gaggle of students had formed at the cement-block corner of the next hallway, peering around it in the obvious way of kids who were trying to not be obvious. Peter needed to go down that hallway, where Mr. Harrington’s office sat at the other end in a sad little cluster of advisory offices. Ned had called it the jail block once because no one ever went down there willingly. Mr. Harrington’s office was always stacked full of new theses he never seemed to finish, which Peter found slightly depressing. Engrossed in parting the sea, he’d forgotten to check for whatever everyone was obsessing over until he’d fought his way around the corner and came face-to-face with— Captain America. He stood there chatting amiably with Principal Morita, whom they knew to be the grandson of Private Jim Morita, a Howling Commando and Steve Rogers’s brother-in-arms. Instinctual paranoia made Peter freeze—shit, had Captain America tracked him down? What had Mr. Stark told him? No, he was here for the assembly, right? They glanced in his direction and Peter barely had time to think Oh, God, before the Principal waved him over. No time to pretend like he hadn’t seen. He came forward stiffly. Somehow his knees had forgotten how to bend. Students stared at his back. Steve Rogers would recognize his voice, Peter knew, mind racing. Why hadn’t he asked Mr. Stark for a voice modulator, something lower on the scale of ridiculousness than the interrogation mode? He was plum shit out of luck. Shit on a stick, hopefully Cap wouldn’t just give him away in front of everybody…wait! “Peter!” Principal Morita greeted warmly. “No need to tell you who this is, I’m sure…” Captain America smiled at him, and Peter almost forgot they knew each other. “Hi,” he rasped, gesturing at his throat. He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Sorry—had a cold over the weekend—” “Oh,” frowned Principal Morita. “Was it the mono? I know the nurse is trying to stamp that out, it’s going around the chess club—” God, he was such a principal sometimes. “No!” said Peter, trying to strangle the horror in his voice. Exactly who in the chess club did Mr. Morita suspect of giving Peter mono? Then he remembered that Liz had been a member the previous year, and went scarlet. Captain America stifled a grin. “Well, I’m glad to see your commitment to school,” Principal Morita continued on with what Peter was convinced was deliberate obliviousness, “assuming you’re not contagious.” “I’m not contagious,” Peter muttered, wondering if this was a brilliantly passive-aggressive swipe at his absences. “A dutiful student,” said Steve Rogers with a small smile. Peter tried to smile, feeling uncomfortably exposed. He’d underestimated the security afforded by keeping the mask between himself and the Avengers; the anonymity had come to be a second skin. “Peter here interns for Stark Industries,” said Principal Morita with a gesture to the youth, who felt his stomach drop. “Oh—actually, would you have met already? I know some of Peter’s duties have had him cross paths with Avengers before.” “Oh, really?” Captain Rogers said with interest, peering at him. “No, uh, not yet,” croaked Peter, whose hands were getting clammy, “I started interning when…um, during the time when…” “Ah,” said Captain America with understanding. “Yes. We wouldn’t have met then. Well, it’s good to meet you now.” He held out a gauntleted hand and Peter shook it. Anyone else might have been overawed yet Peter couldn’t help but stare him in the eye and think, I saved your neck once. That was the thing about secret identities: you hid them even from your fellow Avengers. He’d fought Captain America and fought beside him; he’d stolen his shield once, and recovered it another time. Together they had worked to gather the Infinity Stones before Thanos could construct the weapon of ultimate, devastating power. They’d argued over the best delis in New York. And Peter had, in fact, saved Cap’s neck, as Cap had saved his. “What do you do for Stark Industries?” “Engineering department,” said Peter automatically, concentrating on keeping his words to a phlegmatic whisper. “Robotics.” “Very hush hush,” said Principal Morita, and Peter was positive he’d caught a sardonic note this time. His suspicious glance at the school administrator was interrupted by Captain America’s knowing chuckle. “Are you in a nondisclosure contract? What’s he got you up to?” Peter smiled weakly. “Programming a better toaster.” Both men laughed and Peter relaxed a hair. One single hair. Stark Industries had its hands in many pies, not all of them related to security and homeworld defense. Peter was pretty sure they’d patented one of the coffee pots he’d seen at IKEA. Sometimes Mr. Stark said things about sentient microwaves that Peter was not entirely certain were in complete jest. The month before, Peter had asked Mr. Stark for something to show-and-tell his programming teacher for some of the time spent at his internship, and the billionaire had tossed him a funny discarded device he’d called an UnLazy Susan that had made for a pretty neat little robot once Peter had reprogrammed its purpose to be more comprehensive than passing the butter. He renamed it the Desk Caddy and it brought him his pencils and made dumb jokes when prompted and he felt sort of bad for it. Suddenly Peter wondered whether Captain America was the only Avenger there that day, or if Principal Morita’s connection to the Howling Commando had warranted a trip from the rest of the team. “So uh, you’re the big guest today?” he prompted hoarsely, mentally crossing his fingers. Black Panther was the one who really made him nervous; for some reason he suspected the Wakandan king had a keener sense of smell than he let on, and it would not be fooled by Peter’s new Axe deodorant (the suit came with its own) and the myriad grody scents a high school gym offered. “Yes, just me. I knew your principal’s grandfather back in the day,” Captain America said, and Peter reflected, a little sadly, that Steve Roger’s ‘day’ must feel much more recent than the interim decades after they’d parted. To him, a young Private Jim Morita had last grinned only six years ago. “Yeah,” he murmured, smiling at Mr. Morita’s pride. Principal Morita noticed the media bag Peter was clutching. “Don’t make Mr. Harrington fret, you know what happened to the last Apple TV—” another student had programmed it to go rogue and wildly misinterpret their YouTube search requests until Mr. Harrington, almost in tears, had slammed a textbook on it—and waved him on, reminding him not to be late for the assembly. Before he moved forward, Peter paused and met Captain America’s gaze for what would probably be the last time. The next time they saw each other it would be on a battlefield as likely as not, and the Captain would see only the mask. For the first time Peter was a little sorry about that. He wondered if the Avengers ever withheld any of their trust for the comrade who refused to show them his face. If they did, he couldn’t blame them. They did not even know his name. For his part, he trusted them wholeheartedly. It was not out of suspicion that he hid. Maybe he’d tell them that next time. It was important to tell people they mattered to you, Uncle Ben always said. “It was really good to meet you,” he said, and held out his hand again. Steve Rogers considered him for a moment, then shook his hand firmly. “You too, Peter.” Peter could not help but smile. He nodded and went on through the crowd with relief, distantly noting the strange looks other students were directing his way but mostly glad to get out from under the scrutiny. Mr. Harrington was delighted as he always was every Monday when the brave little Apple tv found its way back to him. Ned caught him once he’d left the jail block and seized his arm. “Dude!” he hissed. “I know!” Peter whispered back. “I saw him already, Principal Morita caught me, I had to pretend I had a cold and lost my voice but if anybody asks it’s not mono, okay?” “Okay,” buzzed Ned, craning his head for a glimpse of the Avenger, “but who knew the chess club got around like that?” Liz had briefly been in chess club. She’d moved to Oregon well before the mono outbreak and her rep was thus in the clear but Peter still felt vaguely compelled to defend her honor, which had extended to every one of her pursuits. “White knight to D2,” cackled Ned, when Peter told him. “Queens get to make any move, remember? Ow—I’m joking!” They joined the current of students swarming into the gym. Normally the auditorium was reserved for speeches but the gym bleachers could pack more seats. Peter and Ned squeezed into a row near the top and joined in the enthusiastic applause once the Avenger was introduced and walked to the microphone stand. It was weird, thought Peter, staring at him, how he could look small in that space. Rogers raised his hands for silence that was some time coming. To the side Peter could see a couple of camera crews trying to be inobstrusive and preened a little that their school would be the one to get featured on the evening news. Mr. Delmar would lose his mind; he loved Captain America almost as much as he loved Spider-Man. To the student body’s collective disappointment Captain America didn’t address the temporary war between the Avengers or his part in defending the world. There were no anecdotes or name-dropping. Instead, he spoke to them very seriously about integrity. He talked about doing the right thing, about respect, about the kind of quiet courage that stood up to the insidious natures of greed and anger. Although it was another wholesome topic that could have been expected from the Avenger, Peter uneasily recalled the recent William Burnside disaster—which the UN had denied subsidizing but Peter had his doubts, as did Mr. Stark, who had been white-faced with fury by the debacle’s end—and wondered whether the Captain’s words were inspired by it, as he detected a note of melancholy in them. Teenagers tended to tune out lectures of the after-school special variety. They heard them all the time in homeroom class and saw them emblazoned on inspirational posters, fluffy kittens optional. Even the rerecorded pep talks Cap seemed to have for every occasion like Hallmark cards were usually ignored in favor of whispered gossip and last-minute homework. Not here. The gym was quieter than Peter had ever heard it during an assembly: no fidgeting, no hissed chatter or suppressed giggling, not even Dan Young’s noisy asthmatic inhales. They got lectured at often but were rarely spoken to like equals, like adults. Someone was actually taking notes and when they dropped their pencil people rows away flinched. It was like a spell had stilled the students and held them with rapt attention. Did Peter have integrity? He wondered, listening and staring at the makeshift platform the speaker stood on. He sort of did, right? He made mistakes sometimes, results of inexperience and youth and recklessness, but he wanted to do the right thing. Were morals and integrity the same? Suddenly he wanted to ask Aunt May, wanted her to tell him yes, he was a good person. Even when it felt like he was balking at some of the things asked of him. Once Thor, possibly after a few Asgardian ales he’d squirreled away somewhere, told Peter he thought the kid might have been able to lift Mjolnir but for his refusal to kill when necessary. It was a compliment, the hero rumbled, and by the looks on the other Avengers’ faces he thought it really must have been. Peter had been kind of flattered but also unsure. They’d never know, the hammer had shattered. Deep down Peter was secretly glad it wasn’t a test he’d ever have to fail. Uncle Ben could have told him too, he’d been the kindest man Peter had ever known. The talk wasn’t long, or maybe it was. When the Captain stopped speaking there was a hush in the auditorium before the break of applause roused everyone. Ned turned to Peter, his face shining. Peter had seen living example of all the things Cap had just spoken of; yet he was a little spellbound too. Every once in a while he was a kid among giants again. He knew he belonged on the Avengers. He did. It was sometimes just hard to believe he was there at all. Maybe it was just humbling to be reminded why he spent most of his free nights swinging around Queens, doing what he could there. Low chatter resumed once Captain Rogers had taken his exit from the ad hoc stage and spoke more with the principal, who seemed pleased. The next rally would be considerably less interesting, and Peter would probably have to dust off his tuba for it. They were filing out when Rogers caught Peter’s eye from across the gym floor. Sometimes the world tossed you a little scrap of karma. “Good luck with the smart toasters,” called Captain America. “See you around.” Peter grinned and waved back. Students regarded the in-joke with awe and glanced at Peter in new appreciation, who silently thanked the Avenger for single handedly restoring some of his street credit. If only Liz had been there to see it, he thought, sighing.

.

.

there was a tiny Rick and Morty joke in here.

[awkwardtimezone]

Paging Dr. Bujare (Odolys/Laz’ab)

((Ooooooooooold log from last year I meant to upload forever ago. Following his recovery from exile, Laz’ab seeks out renowned doctor and cyberneticist, Dr. Bujare, on Nar Shaddaa. Image by @artofdel))

Lower District C, or as it was more commonly referred to: the Market Sector, was one of Nar Shaddaa’s most prominent and popular trade hubs. Buildings piled high on top of each other, piercing through the smog in several distinct layers of activity all built around a power core that serviced whole sections of the city-moon. Like a beehive constantly swarming with activity, this hive boasted everything from illegal fights and dodgy clubs, to the more mundane--speeder vendors, droid mechanics, shophouses and kiosks, butchers, a florist, a herbalist, tailors, general stores, even Jawa peddlers attempting to hawk their junk on street corners.

It had also become a popular haunt for bounty hunters and wannabe-hardasses thanks to the BBA office and firearms vendors nearby. So it was perhaps for that reason that the doctor’s clinic had been established on the upper levels.

As night fell and the relative safety and comfort of sunlight gave way to bruised skies of purple and red, the denizens of the streets flocked back into the safety of their houses. Some shops closed with dignity, others had long been left in states of disarray, home now to spice dealers and junkies passed out in their own piss and vomit. Despite these difficulties two neon signs remained resolute in the dark--one a glaring, cyan-coloured syringe that flickered frantically but stubbornly refused to go out. The other a noodle bar.

This was the landscape Chief Sorvik stepped into, broken gravel and shards of glass crunching underfoot. Behind him a cloaked figure followed, hood pulled up over his head and one hand never straying far from the lightsaber at his side. Despite the shadows cast across the poorly illuminated streets and over his face, the Sith Lord’s corrupted eyes seemed to glow in the dark.

“You’re sure this is the place?” the figure croaked as they rounded another corner and disrupted several homeless junkies attempting to sleep. They grunted and hollered some insults but neither paid them any mind. “Sure looks like a piss-poor place to find a doctor, especially one supposedly so well regarded.”

There was more sarcasm in his voice than malice, but Sorvik would rather keep his Lord in an agreeable mood. “She’s one of the best in the business for what you’re looking for, my Lord Laz’ab,” he assured him. “Nar Shaddaa has never been much to look at, but it’s good business for the medical profession.”

If anyone could understand that sentiment it was Laz. His previous doctor had owned a clinic on the Hutt moon as well. Now he was back, after so many years, and in critical condition. As well as missing his right arm at the shoulder, the twi’lek walked with a bad limp and complained constantly of shooting pains in his back. He had spent the better part of the last five years fighting for survival in the tombs of Korriban, defending himself from creatures on a good night, and against the ghosts in his head on the bad. It was only by some miracle he had escaped with his sanity at all, he thought, though there were days when Laz’ab wasn’t entirely sure he was all there.

Sorvik seemed aware of what the pregnant silent meant, and quickly filled it with more chatter. “She’s one of the pioneers of medical engineering, specializing in cybernetics and prosthesis. If anyone can synthesize your design it’s Dr. Bujare. Her clinic should be just around the corner.”

As if on cue the pair topped the path to the upper levels and a brilliant cyan syringe cut through the night, it’s point aimed at the door beneath as if in invitation. Unlike the rest of the squalid streets this one seemed better maintained, and the pair didn’t encounter another homeless alien or spot another mound of rubble or garbage on their way to the door. A moment later they had left the silence and suffering of Nar Shaddaa behind them and set foot inside the clinic.

The room was illuminated briefly by a red light as a security droid flickered to life, scanning them from head to toe. With its partially faded green-yellow paint and scratched surface, it appeared to have seen its fair share of action, but managed to greet them formally despite the damage. He stood guard before the door to the clinic proper, his optics trained on the two strangers. Glitched, digitized speech crackled through his voice modulator.

"Welcome to-to Clinic Buja-A-are. Please dispose of your-r-r weaponry to the se-se-secure lockers, for the safety of clinic staff and sensitive m-m-medical equipment inside, a-and to a-a-avoid any accidents. Thank y-y-you for your cooperation." He pointed to a set of lockers on the wall.

Laz’ab turned and shot Sorvik a dry look, tattoos stretching as he raised a brow, hardly impressed. His remaining hand grasping the saber at his waist, the twi’lek turned back with an irritated thrash of his lekku.

“I don’t think so,” he grated in an unpleasant voice. “The lightsaber stays with me. Now stop wasting my time and let me through to see the doctor.”

Behind him Creden Sorvik paused in the middle of unholstering his blaster, blinking owlishly before discreetly clipping it back to his hip. He lapsed into silence instead, shooting the droid an apologetic look. As though this defective model was still capable of facial recognition.

The droid, who went by B7, paused for a moment as though calculating the odds. Meanwhile his scanners cast another red wave over the two.

"I am a-a-afraid I must insist, Sir," the droid repeated. "The clinic stands as a sanctuary for-r-r those in need. Doctor Buja-A-are is very specific on her rules. No weapons a-a-and no discriminations," B7 stated, then added as though aware of Sorvik's actions:

"If you wish you are free-e-e to scan and secure the pa-pa-parameters. Your company seems mo-o-ore than ca-a-apable enough to ha-andle the locals, according to my cal-cal-calculations, but this u-u-unit cannot allow you inside without coopera-a-ation."

Sorvik held the droids optics. “We intend to co-operate fully, but ah …” he glanced at his Lord’s vice grip on his saber hilt; he wasn’t letting go of that any time soon. “Perhaps I could speak to Doctor Bujare over a holocall? We spoke before, perhaps she could diffuse the situation. My name is Creden Sorvik, she should remember me.”

He bowed slightly at the hip. Laz’ab’s eyes were still fixed on the droid in a deadpan glare, but otherwise he made no attempt to decapitate it. Fortunate, really, since he had become rather the expert during Caspira’s small stint at the compound.

"A moment, p-p-please." B7's red lights flickered again as he processed data. "A-a-appointment confirmed. This u-u-unit urges you to be mindful of your-r-r bearings. This u-u-unit will not hesitate to use necessary force to protect the clinic staff if the ne-ne-need arises."

His statement concluded, he turned and switched a panel on the wall. The doors didn’t budge. He jammed it repeatedly but apart from a static blip there was no sign of life from the other side. A noise, almost like a grunt, emitted from his voice modulator as he attempted to wedge his fingers between the closed doors, pulling them open with the sound of exertion. Eventually he managed to slip between the crack, pushing with his full body.

"Clinic Buja-A-are is currently experiencing a shortage of power-r-r," he stated with some difficulty, barely managing to hold the door open for one person at a time. "We a-a-apologize for the inconvenience. Re-re-rest assured the back-up genera-a-ators a-are perfectly capable of providing n-n-necessary power f-for services inside the clinic. P-p-please proceed."

Laz’ab was unimpressed before, but this just cemented his low opinion of the place.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” he spat, jabbing a bony finger at Sorvik. “You promised a genius surgeon and synthetic engineer, not some quack doctor in some shit corner of Nar Shaddaa.”

His security chief managed to restrain the Sith from marching straight back out the door, laying a gentle hand on his arm. He was one of the few people in existence who could touch the twi’lek and walk away unscathed.

“My Lord, I understand this may not be what you were expecting, but if you leave now you will be turning your back on one of the best experts out there. Power surges happen all the time, we even had a few of them back on Dromund Kaas. It shouldn’t affect your opinion on the doctor at all.” He was thinking on his feet, but that was what he was best at, and why he had survived so long in Laz’ab’s company.

The twi’lek gnawed his lip, glaring first at his consort and then back at the droid, still wedged in the door and struggling keep it open. Finally he released his grip on his weapon to the sound of a relieved sigh. “Fine. But if this doctor turns out to be some nutjob working with rusted tools in a back alley, I’m out of here.”

“Of course not, my Lord. It’s you who works with rusted tools.”

That actually earned a dry laugh as the twi’lek snaked his way towards the droid. With a wave of his remaining hand the doors rolled open with a heavy crunching noise, temporarily relieving the stress on the poor B7 unit with the Force. He sauntered on by with a look on his face like ‘you’re welcome’, followed closely behind by Sorvik with a look of ‘I’m so sorry’.

"A-a-appreciated, Sir," B7 responded, and stepped inside before the door slammed shut behind him.

Inside the clinic was barely lit. A few industrial lanterns emitted warm, dim light from several points throughout the room, but they were hardly effective. They could hardly make out the furniture until their eyes adjusted to the gloom, and the smell of sterilized equipment and kolto permeated the air. It was mixed with something sweet, fruity almost, like a baked cake or pie. An odd scent to be found in a clinic, for sure. Somewhere in the back of the room heavy equipment chattered to themselves in a low hum.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t seek out a professional for that?” A woman’s voice abruptly cut through the gloom from the far corner, and a twi’lek stepped into view. She held one of those industrial lanterns in her hand as she bent to examine something.

“I am a professional,” another voice replied from somewhere, chuckling. Her Basic carried a hint of a Coruscanti accent.

“You are a doctor, Doctor,” the twi’lek replied in a farceur tone. “That’s an entirely different profession.”

“You can’t deny I am good with machines,” the Coruscanti continued, “and I’ve lived here long enough to pick up a few tricks along the way.” Following her words the power in the clinic fluctuated, buzzing briefly and flooding the room with light before going dark again. The assistant glimpsed their visitors in that second, raising her lantern to survey them up and down.

“You got visitors, Doc,” she called.

“Just a moment!” The doctor sounded cheery. “Almost done here!”

With another surge of electricity the clinic’s power hummed back on, and this time it stayed on. The room was small, stocked with kolto barrels piled along the walls and a simple set of sofas and chairs in the centre of the room. There was an old crate she used as a coffee table, and two doors on either wall. One read ‘Office / Lab & Workshop’, the other ‘Operation Room’.

The tolian twi’lek looked fairly young, though she moved with a cane. She appeared neither slave nor servant, crossing the room to put out the lanterns.There was a commotion from below the floorboards, and a moment later a bundle of white lab coat and wild, frizzy brown hair pulled itself out from an opened panel.

A stout Mirialan woman got to her feet, dusting herself off. Her right sleeve pulled back to reveal a crude cybernetic prosthesis, hardly the most elegant design, and it ran the risk of doing her work a disservice. But she had her reasons for using it. Dr. Odolys pulled her welding goggles up onto her forehead and smiled warmly to the visitors as she rolled her sleeves back down.

“Creden Sorvik, I presume?” she inquired, stepping forward and holding out her left hand--her biological one--for a shake. “I am Doctor Bujare.”

Sorvik nodded and extended a hand to shake hers. “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance at last,” he said. “Sorry to see you’ve been having some electrical issues, I hope that doesn’t happen too often around here.” He laughed nervously, turning to introduce the Sith that had fallen in behind him. Laz’ab prefered lurking in the shadows, and the sudden flash of light saw him twitching visibly. He didn’t even attempt to force a smile, red eyes staring down the Mirialan from a distance.

“May I introduce Darth Arachis, my Lord who we discussed over holo. As you can see, we suffered tremendous injury at the hands of the Eternal Empire. I’m told you can help us with that.”

Even with his long cloak bunched around his shoulders, the severed stump where Laz’ab’s right arm used to be was clear as day. His sleeve was pinned awkwardly so it wouldn’t flap about, and the stump wiggled pathetically: ‘Hello.’

“Unfortunately, Mr. Sorvik, we have been experiencing them fairly often as of late.” She chuckled softly. “Pest infestation of the lower levels, it’s making it hard on the rest of the sector.

Odolys’s green eyes surveyed the Sith from a distance, stepping back to a control panel and dimming the lights accordingly. Perhaps that would ease his discomfort. “Better, I hope?” she asked kindly with a polite nod to acknowledge him. She stayed where she was out of respect for her patient’s personal space rather than from fear of him .... yet.

“This way, please.” She gestured towards the door at her right, the one labeled ‘Office’. “I believe you mentioned a design?”

They followed her into the room. It was a little cramped but very well organized and clean. It was divided by a large workbench for cybernetics and paravans that separated office from workshop and laboratuvar. She waved her hands towards the workshop and ushered them inside. “I’ll be with you in a second. Aola, can you--”

“Already on it, Doctor,” the tolian twi’lek replied, handing Odolys a sterilized white suit. The Mirialan stepped out of sight while she changed and washed her arms after her stint with the repair panel. Aola turned to Sorvik and the Sith.

“Would you like something to drink? Tea? Caff? Water maybe?”

The two took the opportunity to observe their surroundings as the doctor fussed with her clothes. At the very least the subject of their weapons seemed to be dropped, and the presence of his sabre at his hip seemed to relax the Sith enough. He straightened up to his full height as he began wandering around the room, taking in the equipment with a critical eye.

“Tea for him,” he muttered with a sharp jab of his chin in Sorvik’s direction. “Just water for me. I have the designs with me,” he added. “I hear you’re the best in the sector and can handle more than basic, rudimentary replacements.”

He had wandered around to behind the workbench and there was a pronounced clanking as he idly toyed with some metallic objects on a tray. Behind him Creden Sorvik produced his holocommunicator and projected the prototype into the centre of the room. It deconstructed into several parts so the doctors could see the hydraulics within.

Beginning at the shoulders, a prosthetic for a full-arm reconstruction rotated slowly on its axis. At the top protruded several moveable spikes, with the intention of raising or lowering them for dramatic effect, etched with an elaborate design. This motif snaked down and continued on the lower arm, no doubt a design that had some meaning to the Sith. The complicated hydraulics of the hand and fingers were protected by synthetic mesh from the wrist down, with pads on the fingertips providing some semblance of grip. The fingernails extended into fine, lethal claws that couldn’t be intended for anything good.

What Odolys didn’t know was that Laz’ab never intended to share the full design with her. His original schematics included additional components for even more nefarious deeds. He had separate files for the inner workings of the lower arm, which he intended to house needles, knives, drills, and spikes to rival the arsenal of any good interrogation droid. But the doctor didn’t need to know his true intentions; once he had a proper prosthetic his engineers could handle the rest.

Aola nodded and left to fetch their drinks as the Mirialan stepped out from behind the panel in fresh robes. Her welding goggles were gone, face cleansed of dust, and her curly, unruly hair was pulled back in a loose bun.

“I do hope I can live up to those rumours,” she chuckled.

The hologram caught her eye, and she put on a pair of reading glasses to examine it in more detail. Meanwhile her assistant returned with a tray between hand and hip, somehow not spilling a drop despite her cane: two cups of tea and a glass of water, for Sorvik, the doctor, and the Sith Lord respectively.

She glanced at the design, then shot a wary look towards Odolys, who took in a deep breath. She flicked through the holo, taking mental notes

“Are those retractable?” she asked, pointing to the fingers on the design with her own claw-like cybernetic. “If not, such a design would run the risk of causing harm to yourself or others during casual use. Even things like grabbing or holding objects might prove troublesome.” Her eyes flicked between them both, cheery demeanor replaced by a professional seriousness.

Laz’ab left the tools alone with an abrupt clatter and slithered closer to the projection, following the doctor’s gaze. The diagram had enhanced the area so the intricacies of the hydraulics were clear, the outer casing of the hand falling away to reveal structures beneath. It resembled regular tarsals in most respects, but the nails were admittedly much too sharp and long.

“A little bit,” the twi’lek confirmed. He failed to mention his intention of installing additional blades later, that would swap out for torture or maiming. Laz’ab was nothing if not an unfair fighter. “Down to what would be perhaps more acceptable, but still prominent.”

Sorvik pointed at the flexible outer cover of the palm, and then at little pads fastened to the bottom of each finger. “These will be constructed from a flexible mesh, and provide grip when grasping or climbing on the pads of the fingers. It should mitigate the length of the nails when they are retracted.”

“Hmm.”

Odolys reached over her desk and pulled out a cable, plugging the holo into one of her terminals. Sorvik followed the doctor to her desk, offering the holocommunicator should she want to download the design. Meanwhile the Sith trailing close behind to peer curiously at the data flashing on the terminal.

“It should be sufficient then, considering twi’lek anatomy and the potential for sharp claws already.” She looked straight at the Darth. “But it might take some time to get used to it, you’ll need practice or else risk injuring yourself.”

She entered some notes onto her keypad, watching the Sith with a soft smile on her face. When she explained her procedures her tone took on a gentle, soothing voice, trying not to scare him off but at the same time informing him quite matter-of-factly.

“I would like to run a few scans on you to build a detailed map of your musculature and bone structure. It will help me determine if your body is ready for the strain of this design, and which materials would be favorable for your needs. We may need to make a few alternations, within reason and with your permission, of course.” She gestured to the medical seat behind her. “And a routine blood test to see if you should require any supplements before we proceed with necessary operations. Do you have any questions, my Lord?”

He hesitated only a moment before following through with her offer, climbing into the seat as though he’d done it a dozen times before and smoothed out the folds of his robes delicately. He did not seem relaxed, however, back stiff and eyes flitting from person to person around the room.

“I am aware how these procedures work,” he explained tersely, picking up on her gentle--but wary--tone. “I’ve had my fair share of experience with physicians and surgeons in the past; we have some medical files on hand if they will help.” It seemed he was less apprehensive of the procedure so much as just being in unfamiliar territory.

“From another clinic on Nar Shaddaa, where he was treated for his wounds,” Sorvik explained, giving Odolys access to that data also. “We are prepared to cooperate with anything you may need.”

“Thank you, it is most appreciated. If you would lean back, I will arrange the system for scanning.” She slipped into the next room while Aola approached to prepare him.

“I will take these,” she said, accepting the holocommunicator and datafiles from the Sith’s assistant. She leaned her cane against the wall and took a chair to work on the computer. “Uploading files now, Doctor.”

Odolys returned carrying a clean tray and an injector with an empty tube. She nodded approvingly at the back of her assistant’s head, setting down the equipment beside the patient. “May I?”

She indicated the Sith Lord’s arm, asking permission before touching him for the blood test. The action came naturally to her, as though she treated all patients with the same respect, but despite her effort’s Laz’ab’s lips remained pursed in a thin, purple line. At his side his stump wiggled.

“Sorry,” his teeth flashed through a disingenuous smile. “I’d roll up my sleeve, but …”

Sorvik had wandered away towards the back of the room, giving his Lord and the doctor some time to themselves. Now he leaned against the far wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

It had been several weeks since his Lord’s major surgery, but Laz’ab still hadn’t acclimatized to his missing limb. He snapped at his subordinates frequently, flew into rages followed by breakdowns, and was easily more frustrated by the simplest tasks. If anyone could understand him in this moment, it was Dr. Odolys. The agent had read her confidential files, knew about her past and her own accident resulting in her rudimentary cybernetics. He only hoped finally realizing his design would set the twi’lek back on track.

“Perhaps when the prototype is ready you will be able to,” the doctor responded brightly, rolling up his sleeve for him.

She brushed her fingers lightly over his arm. It didn’t take any effort at all to find his veins, prominent as they were over almost his entire body. She turned back to her tray, pulled on a glove, and prepared a piece of cotton soaked in sterilizer. “This might be a little cold,” she warned before rubbing the area, then took the small syringe with its empty tube.

“Your design looks very peculiar.” She continued to speak as though they were just having a casual chat, distracting him from the task at hand. “It has a ferocious appeal, feels like more than just an arm.” She smiled and shook the vial in her hands, mixing the components with the blood now. “Perhaps you’re sending a message?” She pressed a plaster into his arm and placed the blood sampling away for testing.

The distraction worked like a charm and Laz’ab hardly paid any mind until she was shaking the contents of his blood in front of her. Then again, compared to the abuse he received at the hands of his former Master, or his struggle to survive the last few years, needles were the least of his concerns anymore.

“It’s not meant to be pleasant,” he replied flatly, watching with sharp eyes as she pressed the swab to his arm. “An unpleasant arm for an unpleasant man.” He lapsed into silence again, choosing not to answer her prying questions and instead demonstrated a keen interest in watching her work. He’d spent a lot of time with doctors, one in particular, and always found it equal parts fascinating and familiar to study them.

Odolys caught herself staring at her own crude arm at his words, the claw-like fingers clicking over the metal surface. Her mind flashed to the past, the incident leading up to her loss … her own cybernetics were not the most state of the art, worn down over the years, repaired many times, and slowly improved. But it worked. And it meant something more to her.

She returned to the Sith’s side, the biosample processor humming quietly in the background, and flicked a few buttons and switches as blue lights scanned his body. Laz’ab stiffened slightly but lay still. She replaced her surgical gloves with a new pair, but these were made of thin fabric and not latex, with pads on the fingertips and strings and cables attached to a microchip.

“Everything’s been uploaded, Doc,” Aola called from the desk.

“Initiate sequence with ThoBu,” Odolys called, now attaching something to her own cybernetic limb and some sort of tech-monocle over her left eye.

Aola had a short debate with her keyboard. “This thing is … in Cheun again.”

“Ah, right. Mirri uploaded a new patch, send it to my screen.”

In moments a hologram of Laz’ab’s body flickered in front of them. The muscles were visible beneath a thin film of skin, the bones beneath that, and maps of various other systems showed the full extent of the damage to his body. With her enhanced glove the Mirialan was able to interact with the hologram and split the layers apart. Her expression changed, visibly upset by what she was seeing. Flesh and bone would heal over time, but scars would always remain. And as an experienced doctor, it wasn’t hard for her to spot every deformation left over from a lifetime of abuse.

Odolys took a deep breath. Feeling sorry wasn’t going to build the cybernetic arm, nor would it benefit anyone here tonight. With a wave of her hand she uploaded the design to the holographic sequence and attached it to the model. Various signals and alerts immediately began flashing across the board, indicating the spine, shoulder blades, shoulder, and torso muscles. She picked through these carefully, editing information, trying new materials, and swapping out components.

Laz’ab had risen silently from his seat and taken up position lurking behind her. His eyes tracked upward to the image of himself, projected in three-dimensions and interactive. It was strange to see himself in this way. He knew doctors had of course taken full scans of him before, but as each layer was peeled back he could see every story his body had ever told. The broken bones, healed after so long, deep gashes that deformed the muscles beneath, the thin slivers where he had been whipped as a slave, and then cut again as an Apprentice.

Though he stood in complete silence, his breath hitched with each new reveal and his eyes twitched as memories flooded back. His fresh wounds were clearer, outlined in a bright blue so his surgeons could address the most severe. These were still healing, and would  incapacitate his ability to carry heavy mechanics.

He startled the doctor when she turned around, and she only barely managed to hold back a yelp. It took her a few moments to pull herself back together, hand on her chest to calm her rushing heart, before she smirked at how the situation must look. This time when she turned back to the holoterminal she kept a mindful eye on where Laz’ab decided to stand.

“I’m sure you are well aware your body isn’t exactly …” she paused, searching for a more delicate term, “in the best shape. Regardless of the materials we choose, you will need enchanters here, and here.” She pointed at the twi’lek’s skeletal model, marking spots along the spine and shoulders, “and in these muscle groups.” She pulled up the second model and placed them side-by-side, tapping and indicating new areas.

“But first we need you to recover fully from your previous surgeries,” she added, turning to him. “In the meantime I will prepare a prototype and vest to stimulate these points, so you can adapt to carrying the extra and weight and get used to the design. This way we can test its efficiency before the final cybernetics are built.”

Laz’ab’s lips pursed but there was no protest, he was all too aware of his emaciated condition. Even before his ordeal it had been a problem. “I understand,” he nodded, though there was no mistaking his disappointment. He had hoped to have his arms back much sooner. “I imagine you’ll need time to construct the prototype in the meantime. How long do you think it will be until I’ve recovered enough to wear a proper replacement?”

His hand, previously crossed across his chest, absently traced the spots she’d indicated on the diagram, or as close as he could. Without the glove his fingers waved right through his ribs, and he imagined the sensation of reinforcements beneath his skin. What must it feel like?

“I can wear a vest while training,” he mused, voice still a mile away and his eyes glued to the projection. “It may help me get my strength back.”

“It will only take a couple of months, if everything goes well,” Dr. Odolys said, but her hesitation suggested she didn’t have complete faith in her prediction. “Looking at the condition of your body, all told … we may require multiple surgeries. Those are my initial thoughts, looking at your scans now.”

She tapped on the model and some parts lit up red. “These are the primary muscle groups I will be enhancing with rybcoarse-based materials. This will provide additional support and allow you to lift your arm will less effort.” She continued to colour-code different areas accompanied by explanations.

“Every operation will target a new area, bones, muscles, nerves. You will need rest and recovery between each, and will have to keep up an exercise regime to get used to them. I will give you an upgraded prototype with each. While you can use the vest with daily activities and training, don’t forget it is not the final result. It will have its limitations, and I don’t recommend wearing it more than five hours a day.”

That news was met with a more grievous expression and the twi’lek took a step forward to properly observe. The doctor stepped back and allowed the Sith to examine the models, Sorvik also ventured closer to watch his master warily.

“That long.” This time he sounded downright forlorn. “When I was--” He hesitated a moment, jagged teeth gnawing on his bottom lip, then shrugged. If he was going to get any results from this doctor he could at least trust her with some basic information. “When I was trapped in the tombs where I lost my arm, I fashioned makeshift replacements from debris and animal parts. I had no mechanics so I manipulated it using the Force alone. It was tiring, but ...” he gestured with his remaining arm at the hologram, “I may not require as many reinforcements as you think.”

“We don’t want you tiring yourself out,” Sorvik cautioned, carefully choosing his own words. “The galaxy has become a much more unpredictable place, it would be beneficial to avoid over-exerting yourself in a fight.”

“That is an impressive feat, I admit,” Odolys echoed. “But while I am not gifted with the Force, as a doctor allow me to ask: would you prefer an arm that is functional and does not run the risk of wearing down your body in the long run, and will only require maintenance once a year or so …” She paused, letting her words sink in before adding carefully, “or would you prefer a hunk of junk that requires constant attention and willpower just to keep functional, tiring out not just the limb, but your entire body, both physically and mentally?”

Laz’ab’s gaze became steel for a moment, peering through her with those dead, red eyes. He held the uncomfortable silence for a long, tense moment, before finally muttering through tight lips.

“Hopefully yours will not be a hunk of junk, as you put it.” His gaze averted, he straightened up but never lost the steely edge to his voice. “I can wait. Make it as functional as possible with minimum strain.”

“I will order the materials as soon as possible, and begin building the prototype the minute they arrive,” she announced, turning to the hologram and ending the sequence. “In the meantime I will prescribe supplements for you. Aola, do we still have those blue boxes?”

“Yes, Doc. They’re in the med-cabinet at the other door, top shelf. The one with the purple stains.”

“Excuse me.” The doctor excused herself and left the room.

The twi’lek watched her go, pose unmoving, every inch coiled like a spring. A tense silence settled in the room, broken only by the Sith’s now laboured breathing. Finally his head snapped towards Sorvik, and he mouthed the word ‘stains?’ incredulously.

Sorvik let out a little sigh as he crossed the room. “Do be careful, my Lord. She is one of the best, otherwise I would not have brought you here. Your designs were quite specific and very detailed, but I’m sure she can pull it off entirely with your co-operation.”

When Dr. Odolys returned she was carrying a square shaped plasti-glass blue box, and wrote some notes for its use. She handed it to Sorvik instead, a pair of small purple stickers in the shape of spots on it.

“Orange ones twice a day, one in the morning and one in the evening. The blue one is before sleep. Box contains enough for now,” she said. “I will inform you when the materials arrive and I start my work. Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

Sorvik took them after a moment’s hesitation, feeling the Sith’s malevolent eyes boring a hole in the back of his head. “Just supplements, correct? No side effects, drowsiness, anything that might compromise the effects of … other medication?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Just supplements. I picked them according to the patient’s current medication to avoid any unwanted effects.” She smiled softly.

Laz’ab looked unconvinced, but then maybe that was just his default expression. An awkward moment ticked by during which time he begrudgingly took the box from his aide.

“And what else doctor?” He finally asked, doing quite possibly the worst impression of polite. “Any exercises routines I should do between now and our next little visit?” There was a slight mocking lilt to his tone, but the question posed was serious. He was not going to be stuck in this position forever.

“Here,” Aola responded from the desk, snatching up her cane and limping towards them with a data chip. “I uploaded some basic exercise routines and nourishment suggestions, but don’t over-exert yourself until you’ve fully recovered. Feel free to contact this office if you have any additional questions.”

The twi’lek took it from her with less spite this time. “I’ve been through a lot already, nothing I can’t handle.” It was hard to tell if he was trying to convince himself, or just stating the facts. Whatever the case he stored the chip in the same blue box for now, using the Force to manipulate the vehicles in lieu of his second hand. He tucked it under his arm.

“If that is all, we will take our leave. Until next time, Doctor Odolys.” Laz’ab offered only a small inclination of his head, while behind him Creden Sorvik bid a polite goodbye, his flourish visibly practised.

Both Odolys and Aola walked them through the clinic and sent them off, B7 returning to his post behind the closed doors as the two women stood side by side. Only once the Sith and his aide were safely out of earshot did they dare utter a sound.

“Wow.” The twi’lek let out an unimpressed huff. “I thought he was going to crumble to pieces.”

“I’ve seen worse,” the doctor replied thoughtfully. Her mind was already running over the details of future operations. “Aola … did you say stains instead of spots?” she suddenly asked.

“I … might have? I have been thinking of the kitchen upstairs all day.”

“Why is that?”

“Have you forgot who cooked last night?”

“Oh no …”

“Oh, yes.”

“Oh noooo!” Odolys covered her forehead with her hand.

“Let that sink in nicely, Doctor Bujare,” Aola snickered, and started to limp away. At that moment the lights inside flickered and the generator made a most pathetic noise, before burying the clinic in darkness once again.

“Oh, come on!” the doctor groaned.

[wildlyhardphilosopher-blog]

Dog Training Ashford Kent | Best Methods Available Here

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Dog Training Ashford Kent | Best Methods Available Here

Puppy School is a must not a maybe for all puppies from 8 weeks of age as supported by the AVA (Australian Veterinarian Association)  and renowned Veterinary Behaviourist Dr Kersti Seksel.  Those puppies will be definitely loved as they will show diligence in helping other people in the future. 2 History

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fbq('track', 'ViewContent', content_ids: 'dogtraining.dknol', ); Volunteer at RSPCA Assignment Extension Application Form Access to the password protected section of our website with the following benefits: Certificate II in Engineering 07 Sep 2017 9:45:40am Twitter Other Ways to Give Like PageLiked Working with and around hazardous substances. Want Unlimited Visits to the Vet? Email (Optional) Tanks Adopting a New Pet 6. Would you recommend our courses to your friends and colleagues? Operant conditioning (or instrumental conditioning) is a form of learning in which an individual’s behavior is modified by its consequences. Two complementary motivations drive instrumental learning: the maximization of positive outcomes and minimization of aversive ones.[37] There are two ways in which behavior is reinforced or strengthened: positive reinforcement occurs when a behavior is strengthened by producing some desirable consequence; negative reinforcement occurs when a behavior is strengthened by avoiding some undesirable consequence. There are two ways in which behavior is decreased or weakened: negative punishment occurs when a behavior is weakened by not producing a reinforcing consequence; and positive punishment occurs when a behavior is weakened by producing a consequence that is a disincentive. In combination, these basic reinforcing and punishing contingencies provide four ways for modifying behavior.[38] Reinforcement increases the relative probability or frequency of the behavior it follows, while punishment decreases the relative probability or frequency of the behaviour it follows. from 8:30am to 9:45am We understand that occasionally, events beyond control mean you may need to miss a class. If this is the case, simply let your PETstock Puppy School trainer know and they can advise you on how to work on your skills at home with your dog and resume normal classes the following week. If you should miss more than three sessions, we ask that you re-enrol to complete the program at another time. No refunds will be given for non-attendance. Related: Puppy feeding guidelines follow Bark Busters Blue Dog Training on Facebook Dog Grooming Your course was very well laid out and easy to understand and follow, and the person that I spoke with on the phone was lovely, thank you! – Savannah Joseph 8 Tools SUMMER HILL NSW 2130 23 Aug 2017 1:42:37pm The 21st century has seen the proliferation of television programs and accompanying books that feature dog training and rehabilitation,[35] including Joel Silverman’s Good Dog U, Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan, It’s Me or the Dog featuring Victoria Stillwell, The Underdog Show, Dogs in the City, and SuperFetch. The Association of Pet Dog Trainers advises that television programs are produced primarily for entertainment, and while all programs will have good and not-so-good points, the viewer should critically evaluate the information before deciding which training tips to adopt.[36] paste it into your webpage Back to top Tip: To help grab your pooch’s continued attention, don’t feed your puppy or dog prior to class. Oran park, New South Wales Connect With us Foundation Log Out AboutSee All White Card and General Enquiries Locations At the request of our many dog-loving friends owners and partners across the nation, we’d like to share the following information, addressing a wide variety of dog care, training tips, and much more! Here you will find full color public information handouts ready for printing. Please find safe ways to exercise your puppy too! As your puppy’s pack leader, you must help to expend their energy in a productive way. For all dogs, this means a daily walk. Logan : News & Views Breed of the Month Dog behavioural training is the application of behaviour analysis, which uses the environmental events of antecedents and consequences to modify the behaviour of a dog, either for it to assist in specific activities or undertake particular tasks, or for it to participate effectively in contemporary domestic life. A dog learns from interactions it has with its environment. KID 1: The program sort of aims to develop confidence in the little puppies and get them used to socialising with people. Русский Subscribe to Newsletter Small Dogs Live Large! Back to website Phone: 07 3459 2121 We produce quick results and in an easy to understand process that will provide you with education and understanding and bring balance back into your life! In the majority of cases problems that owners think will be difficult to rectify can be resolved quickly with our Amichien technique with Leanne. Delivered to your door Exercising your dog Your industry experts 2.3 Post WWII Carina State School SMART PAWS  Our classes are tailored to meet the individual needs of you and your dog. After assessing your dog/s we will recommend one of the following: Dog Facts Working with and around hazardous substances. What will I learn at Puppy School? Click & collect Avoiding Incidents With Stray Dogs Peticulous Email us: customerservice@cttg.sa.gov.au Products Would you like a dog that comes back when you ask them to? ABC TV Education Jump up ^ Seligman, Martin E. P.; Steven F. Maier and James H. Geer (1968). “Alleviation of Learned Helplessness in the Dog”. Journal of Abnormal Psychology. 73 (3): 256–262. doi:10.1037/h0025831. PMID 5658526 Support Us Anti Anxiety Products (Nova 96.9FM) Jump up ^ Koehler 1962, p. 8. Student Quote Become a trainer Dana Bell Para District Obedience Dog Club Inc. Growling Dog Boarding Sydney Jump up ^ “The Use of Positive Reinforcement Training Techniques to Enhance the Care, Management, and Welfare of Primates in the laboratory” (PDF). Journal of Applied Animal Welfare Science. 2003. Archived from the original (PDF) on 26 April 2012. Retrieved 16 December 2011. Interesting Dog Links Check chains and prong collars are not promoted or used under any circumstances. Equations Basic Animal First Aid If he’s an older dog, he’s probably used to his name; however, changing it isn’t out of the question. If he’s from a shelter, they may neglect to tell you that he has a temporary name assigned to him by staff. If he’s from a breeder, he’ll come to you with a long name, which you may want to shorten, or change. And if he’s coming out of an abusive situation, a new name may represent a fresh start. But we’re lucky: dogs are extremely adaptable. And soon enough, if you use it consistently, he will respond to his new name. You are here: Home Correcting mistakes Join our e-mail newsletter to keep up to date with our news & dog training tips 404 – File or directory not found. Easy. I found it fairly quickly. Click to view the Photo Gallery of our Sydney based Dog Training Grounds, Dog Boarding Kennels, Dog Exercise Area, Office, Showroom and Dog Grooming facilities. Customer Login Peticulous www.sitdropstay.com Monks of New Skete (1978). How to be Your Dog’s Best Friend: A Training Manual for Dog Owners, London : Little Brown Participating I thought the course was excellent. Working through the modules was easy to navigate and understand. Thank you very much for a very professional experience. Waterers Jump up ^ Bandura, Albert (1971). Psychological Modelling. New York: Lieber-Antherton. Peters help was incredible, duke has endless energy so walking him was always a mission but now he always walks next to me and never pulls. Never even looks at the stairs to run up and let’s us open the front door without going near it, couldn’t have asked for better help Policy and planning Post: P.O. Box 71 Tamar Street, Ballina NSW 2478 You and your dog will graduate to the next level when you achieve all the graduation criteria.  There are no minimum or maximum time limits for any Level so you can work at a pace that suits you both.  The time it takes to work through any Level will depend on your goals and the amount of time you are able to commit to your training. Need to report a cruelty case, make an enquiry, or speak to us about anything else? Please get in touch. Western Australia White Card In around 127-116 B.C. a Roman farmer, Marcus Varro, recorded advice on raising and training puppies for herding livestock. His writings indicate that not only was dog training for specific tasks well established, but that the value of early training was recognised.[5] Copyright © 2017 Cesar’s Way Inc. All rights reserved. ID Tag Toggle navigation Members Area All about Dogs Queensland Apprenticeships Doing business with us Jump up ^ Hearne 1987, p. 10. Gift Cards This page was created in 0.0776498317719 seconds Guide Dog Training Must be a complete and valid email address or mobile phone number. ABN 65 930 847 824 One on One Graduate profile – John Varney (Light Fabrication) Posted 12 September 2017 Every effort should be made to avoid punishment for new puppies as it is generally unnecessary and can lead to avoidance of family members, at a time when bonding and attachment is critical. By preventing problems through confinement or supervision, providing for all of the puppy’s needs, and setting up the environment for success, little or no punishment should ever be required. If a reprimand is needed, a verbal “no” or a loud noise is usually sufficient to distract a puppy so that you can then redirect the puppy to the correct behaviour. Contact us today to find out how our unique approach can change the way you live with your dog. Gifts in wills Port Macquarie Shelter Starting your puppy off right! Thank you in particular for all your support through the emails and calls I have made to you. Fax: 07 3821 6996 Getting Started Alec : You are here:  Our Locations Directories or 7. Please feel free to add any other comments & suggestions you may have for improving our courses. Pathways Total Care *CURRENT VACCINATION CERTIFICATE MUST BE SUPPLIED AT START OF YOUR COURSE OR NO ENTRY IS PERMITTED* Companies & V.E.T. Millan, Cesar; and Melissa Jo Peltier (2010). Cesar’s Rules, New York: Three Rivers Press ISBN 978-0-307-71687-3 Join our e-mail newsletter to keep up to date with our news & dog training tips e.g. improvements, features you would like to see added, examples of other websites you like. How do I adopt? Puppy Training Foundations 10 Notes Beneful Cost: $200 plus GST for a customised 90-minute consult. Subsequent 60-minute sessions are $100 plus GST Take The Tour Canine Communication Interactive Community Programs Clothing * Free standard shipping only applies to most major metropolitan regions. You may be charged for shipping if your delivery address is not within a major metropolitan region. May not be valid with other discounts or offers and excludes gift cards and large items such as kennels, fish tanks and cat scratchers. Terms, conditions and exclusions of this offer are subject to change at PETstock’s discretion. Health Care Activities Find a School Rookie Reporter Course Length: Three lessons flexible date options Beagle Dog Training | Read More Now Beagle Dog Training | Learn the Secret Beagle Dog Training | Secrets Revealed Legal | Sitemap

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Moritz Bauer makes Celtic Europa League prediction as right-back raves about rival Hatem Abd Elhamed

Well-travelled Moritz Bauer witnessed some of the greatest ever European games last season after calling in favours from friends to land tickets.

Now the on-loan Celtic star aims to create some memories of his own as he prepares to make his Hoops Euro bow against Cluj at Parkhead tomorrow night.

Bauer is buddies with Liverpool’s Xherdan Shaqiri from their time together in the Swiss international youth set-up.

And the full back was at Anfield on that unforgettable night as Jurgen Klopp’s men staged an incredible comeback to beat the mighty Barcelona 4-0 to book a place in the Champions League Final.

(Image: Euan Cherry/SNS Group)

The 27-year-old is also good friends with Ajax’s Dusan Tadic and was there when they were on the wrong end of another astonishing turnaround as Spurs won at the death in Amsterdam.

And Bauer was at the Wanda Metropolitano Stadium for the final itself with Shaqiri an unused sub for Liverpool’s 2-0 win over their Premier League rivals.

The defender just came up short in his bid to reach the group stage with one of his former clubs Grasshopper Zurich with Lyon, Fiorentina, Lille and Brugge blocking his path on four separate occasions.

But Bauer has the chance to sample it at Celtic starting with tomorrow night’s Europa League Group E revenge mission against the Romanians who eliminated the Hoops from the Champions League qualifiers.

The defender was an unused sub for the 1-1 opening group draw against French Cup winners Rennes.

(Image: Getty Images)

And Bauer said: “Last season, because I had such a good contact with Xherdan Shaqiri, I was often at Anfield to watch Champions League nights.

“I was at THAT Barcelona match and it was great. They were quite down after losing the first game 3-0 but they did it. And to be honest I was really blessed because I’m also friends with Dusan Tadic from Ajax so I watched both semi-finals and the final.

“It was like all my Christmases and birthdays came at once. I got tickets for all the games because I had friends in all these teams so it was really interesting.

“It gives you a taste for it and you want to get that with Celtic.

“To play in Europe is a great thing and I can’t wait to experience a European night at Parkhead but we also want to be successful domestically.

(Image: SNS Group)

“I played in the playoff round in the Europa League and Champions League for Grasshopper – we played Lyon, Fiorentina, Lille and Brugge.

“It would have been great to qualify for the group stage and we were close. I could smell the atmosphere of European nights.

“We have the squad to do well in Europe and we have more variety in the squad with the players we have added.

“There is a lot of balance which helps because we have six games in three weeks so we will use all the squad.”

Bauer made only his second start for Celtic in the 1-1 draw against Hibs at Easter Road as he filled Hatem Abd Elhamed’s boots.

Israeli international Elhamed has made an impressive start to his Parkhead career and Bauer insists that kind of competition can only help him raise his game.

He said: “Hatem arrived with a slight injury but played a fantastic game in the derby against Rangers. He did a terrific job when needed.

(Image: SNS Group)

“We’re different characters and maybe I can add more attacking football while he’s a great defender. We have a lot of games in the next three weeks and will need every player.

“We have to be focused on all competitions. There is no point losing in the league and winning in Europe. It will be different tactics for every game.

“And it’s up to the gaffer how he wants to play with the full backs and that was probably the thinking of the board and the manager when they signed me.

“I’m very happy to be here and the competition should be good because you won’t let your standard drop.

“I can learn from Hatem and he’s an international so we’ll make each other better.

“I try to adapt and I enjoy being part of a good group and I’m lucky to speak different languages.

“I can understand the jokes but the Scottish accent is one I have to get the hang of. Scott Brown is a very funny guy and an iconic figure in this club.

“He has some more years on his CV and more titles and I look forward to learning from him.”

(Image: SNS Group)

Bauer has been capped six times for Austria but was left out of boss Franco Foda’s squad for last month’s Euro 2020 qualifiers against Latvia and Poland.

He admitted that was a blessing as he settled into life in Scotland but could be on a collision course with right-back rival Elhamed as they face Israel and Slovenia this month.

He said: “It was the first time I wasn’t too disappointed not to be called up to the national team because I had a lot of things to do and I was able to use the time.

“We are third in the qualifying group, just a point behind Slovenia, and we still have to play them so it’s all to play for in a tight group with Israel, Slovenia and Poland but we’re up there and it’s a big target to qualify.

“I haven’t bought a house yet but I found an apartment. Nobody likes to be in a hotel but there are no excuses.”

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When His Roster Outgrew His Classroom, This Prof Mastered Modular Online Curriculum

It was an unanticipated scheduling issue that challenged Dr. Bruce Robertson to completely redesign a classroom course to fit an online/in-class hybrid format—in just two weeks.

Robertson has long believed that the linear approach to teaching may not be right for everyone.

Right before the start of the Fall semester in 2002, Robertson learned that the 400-seat movie theater that held his Principles of Marketing class at San Francisco State University would no longer be available. In its stead, he was offered a 150-seat classroom on campus. The only way to overcome the seating limitation was to turn to technology. As it happens, that was one of the best things that ever happened to him. In fact, it is the reason his sought-after courses now are able to accommodate up to 1,400 people per semester—offering each student a learning experience that is more flexible, personalized, and engaging than ever before.

Recently, Robertson became a member of the Course Hero Faculty Club, a platform where professionals in higher education share their teaching innovations, inspiration, and practical advice with the goal of helping all students learn deeply and graduate confident and prepared. He spoke with Course Hero about how he transformed his classes using a modular approach—and the unexpected benefits he has seen since.

Join the Club: Educators interested in learning more about Faculty Club opportunities, or being featured in an interview, are invited to reach out to us at educators@coursehero.com.

Using tech to personalize learning

Robertson has long believed that the linear approach to teaching may not be right for everyone. Different students have different approaches to learning, he says. “But they’re all expected to run through the same program, and the program is linear—which means we do chapter 1, then we do chapter 2, then we do chapter 3.” This, he says, leaves some students bored for the first few weeks, while others struggle through the introductory material.

Robertson notes that redesigning a curriculum using modules allows educators to build a cache of materials a little at a time.

When forced to redesign his course, Robertson saw an opportunity to move toward a curriculum that offered more flexibility than his linear syllabus ever could. His choice: modular learning. In this system, students choose from a menu of content delivery options (textbook, downloadable study guides, lectures) and interaction options (in-person or online). Students can complete modules at their own pace and in any order, creating an individualized experience. Today’s technologies, he notes, make it easier than ever to create, distribute, and navigate such a curriculum.

“What we’re doing is redesigning courses that are appropriate to the technology that’s available today,” says Robertson. “If I have the technology infrastructure set up, there’s no reason for two students to have to have the same experience in an online classroom.”

Creating modules, one step at a time

In 2002, Robertson began to “chunk” his long lectures into short videos, each focusing on a specific topic. Over the next few years, he also interviewed dozens of experts in the subject and applied for a technology grant, which he used to redesign his website to support modular learning. In 2013, he documented the experience in a case study in the Atlantic Marketing Journal, titled “Operating a Very Large-Section, Hybrid Principles of Marketing Class at a Public University: Lessons Learned over Ten Years.”

Today, Robertson’s course consists of 150 to 200 online modules, each of which includes a video presentation, a section from his own book Marketing Fundamentals for Future Professionals, and—coming soon—an active learning exercise. (See sidebar, “Robertson’s Content Options for Hybrid Courses.”)

10 Ways to Innovate and Inspire Students

Get more instruction tips with Lessons in Teaching: Practices and Insights from the Course Hero Faculty Club, a collection of 10 college educators' best practices for capturing students’ attention and keeping them engaged. Highlights include:

Building cultural competence with a quiz students are expected to fail

Improving students' collaborative skills with the TREO model

Making practice tests fun with a "King of the Hill" game

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Uniting thousands of online learners with a selfie game

Adapting to a modular curriculum

Robertson notes that redesigning a curriculum using modules allows educators to build a cache of materials a little at a time. Also, since one module can be added or revised without affecting the others, it is easy to redesign course content piecemeal, as the need arises.

Here are the steps he recommends for getting started:

1. Seek out tech support

Creating engaging online education materials requires teamwork, collaboration, and creativity, Robertson says. “This isn’t something that you meander into.” To this end, he has built partnerships with graphic designers, programmers, and videographers. It is vital, he says, to find people who understand the technology and visual presentation. “I’ve been trained in the blackboard- and text-oriented world,” he says. “But nowadays, [student learning] is very graphic and video-oriented—which is a different skill set.”

2. Edit, then edit some more

Robertson created his first modules by breaking his 75-minute lectures into YouTube videos of about 15 minutes each. However, he soon realized these videos were still too long. “I took an online [business] class,” he says, “and it was torture.” He decided that it was unrealistic to ask his students to watch more than 10 minutes at a time. “I’d like to get it down to two to three minutes per video.”

3. Provide recommended paths

While the goal for modules is that they be mixed and matched, it is extremely beneficial to provide at least three or four suggested paths, says Robertson. For example, one path might be for non-business majors and another would cater to working marketing professionals. “I would also recommend being able to sort them into beginner and advanced modules,” he says.

4. Offer experiential exercises

Robertson is still planning these exercises; his goal is to let students learn by doing rather than just by consuming. He explains that an experiential exercise can be as simple as a video game, such as the simulation Lemonade Stand. Here, the player is given money, a weather report and lemonade supplies. At the end of the day, students assess how they did and adjust accordingly. He intends to use this module to have students practice “product price promotion and distribution,” with the goal of earning $100.

5. Use technology to make it all manageable

There are so many great things you can do in the online world that are not possible at all in the offline world.

Bruce Robertson

Technology makes it easy to send out reminders, administer quizzes and offer immediate feedback. “There are so many great things you can do in the online world that are not possible at all in the offline world,” he says.

Robertson is also a huge proponent of learning management software. Some systems allow the user to hyperlink a table of contents to an ebook, YouTube video and other supplementary content. This allows for easy navigation and access by students.

6. Experiment with gamification

Robertson is now exploring the use of gamification—creating a set of modules that students will complete to unlock the next level of modules—as is common in video games. This approach combines a sense of control with a feeling of accomplishment, both of which Robertson says drive engagement. “Research has shown that if people feel like they’re in control of whatever they are doing, they will be more satisfied with whatever they are doing.”

Results that speak for themselves

With the module system, 22% more of Robertson’s students are passing his course than ever before. The class also has a good reputation among students, attracting 300 non–business majors each semester. “That’s saying something,” he says.

What also says something: the long-term impact. Many former students have expressed an interest in having access to the modules after graduation. “Ideally, we would make modules available outside class for alumni so when they graduate, they don’t lose access to the materials,” he says.

Consider that version 2.0. And you can bet he is working on it!

What is Course Hero?

Course Hero is an online learning platform where you can access course-specific study resources contributed by a community of students and educators.

Faculty Club is a multidisciplinary community of educators sharing ideas to advance innovation and celebrate excellence in higher education.

Robertson’s Content Options for Hybrid Courses

Dr. Bruce Robertson delivers content in a variety of ways in his hybrid course, noting that some methods work better than others, depending on the student. Here are his options, along with some of their salient characteristics:

Textbooks—These are written specifically for the class to ensure consistency of content across platforms. Robertson offers:

Traditional bound version, for those who want to keep the book as a resource

Loose-leaf version, makes it easier to take notes in class, and can replace downloadable study guides

E-book

Lectures—These illustrate the topics with relevant, timely examples. These are also delivered in various formats:

In-person lectures allow students to take the class in the traditional manner, and allow real-time Q&As.

Video stream lectures allow same-day access for online students.

YouTube channel offers five- to 10-minute clips for each topic, and allows students to access content after graduating.

Tests—Students have unlimited attempts at quizzes, which allow them to make and correct mistakes without sacrificing their grades. Missed questions, he adds, are far more diagnostic than questions answered correctly. He offers the following:

Live tests offer unlimited attempts for one week; the deadlines encourage students to keep up with class.

Review tests are ungraded practice versions of the live tests. These allow students to have access to the test banks after the live test has expired.

Activities—These are interactive exercises tied to specific topics. For Robertson, this area is still under development.

When His Roster Outgrew His Classroom, This Prof Mastered Modular Online Curriculum published first on https://medium.com/@GetNewDLBusiness

[hollywoodjuliorivas]

SCIENCE How Pasteur’s Artistic Insight Changed Chemistry By JOANNA KLEINJUNE 14, 2017 Continue reading the main storyShare This Page Share Tweet Email More Save Photo Crystals of tartaric acid. Louis Pasteur was studying a version of this byproduct of wine production, paratartaric acid, when he articulated the property of chirality. Credit Pasieka/Science Source If you’ve ever had milk, you’re probably familiar with the work of Louis Pasteur, the 19th century French chemist and biologist. He prevented diseases, developing a process — widely known as pasteurization — for killing microbes in milk and wine. He also created vaccines for rabies and anthrax. And his ideas led to the acceptance of germ theory, the notion that tiny organisms caused diseases like cholera. Pasteur even helped us brew better beer. “He’s considered the benefactor of mankind,” said Joseph Gal, a chemist and professor emeritus at the University of Colorado. But before all that, Pasteur was an artist. And without his early creative explorations, he may not have made one of his most monumental, but least talked about, discoveries in science, one with far-reaching implications. In a paper published last month in Nature Chemistry, Dr. Gal explains how a young Pasteur fought against the odds to articulate the existence of chirality, or the way that some molecules exist in mirror-image forms capable of producing very different effects. Today we see chirality’s effects in light, in chemistry and in the body — even in the drugs we take. Continue reading the main story ADVERTISEMENT Continue reading the main story And we might not know a thing about them if it weren’t for the little-known artistic experience of Louis Pasteur, says Dr. Gal. Hands and cue balls Pasteur was born in 1822 to a French family of modest means. His dad was a soldier in Napoleon’s army and a tanner. As a teenager, Pasteur made portraits of his friends, family and dignitaries. But after his father urged him to pursue a more serious profession — one that would feed him — he became a scientist. At the age of 24 he would discover chirality. To understand chirality, consider two objects held up before a mirror: a white cue ball from a pool table and your hand. The reflection of the ball is exactly like the original. If you could reach into that mirror, pull out the reflection and cram it inside the original, they’d match up point for point. But if you tried the same thing with your hand, no matter how much you tried, the mirror image would never fit into the original. Photo Pasteur’s drawing of chiral crystals of paratartaric acid, from 1848. Credit Annales de Chimie et de Physique At the molecular level some objects are like cue balls, and they are always superimposable. But other things are like hands, and they can never be combined. Hands, like the crystals Pasteur would eventually discover, are chiral. And that discovery all came down to an accident in a vat of wine. Molecular secrets in a vat of wine During winemaking, a chemical called tartaric acid builds up on vat walls. In the 18th and 19th centuries, makers of medicine and dyes used this acid. In 1819, factory workers boiled wine too long and accidentally produced paratartaric acid, which had unique properties that intrigued scientists like Pasteur. The study of the acid was related to the study of crystal structures, which at the time seemed like a way to help solve the mystery of how molecules were built. Observing the various ways crystals interacted with light gave scientists clues about their properties. Earlier in the 19th century, Jean-Baptiste Biot, a French physicist, discovered that tartaric acid was optically active. That is, when Biot shined polarized light (which moves out in only one direction, say vertically or horizontally, rather than all directions) through tartaric acid crystals in a solution, they rotated the light clockwise or counterclockwise. But no one knew how the crystals did it. Newsletter Sign UpContinue reading the main story Science Times We’ll bring you stories that capture the wonders of the human body, nature and the cosmos. Sign Up You agree to receive occasional updates and special offers for The New York Times's products and services. SEE SAMPLE MANAGE EMAIL PREFERENCES PRIVACY POLICY OPT OUT OR CONTACT US ANYTIME When studying the paratartaric acid, Pasteur found that it produced two kinds of crystals — one like those found in tartaric acid and another that was the mirror opposite. The crystals were handed, or what the Greeks call chiral (kheir) for hand. And they were not optically active, like the tartaric acid. Pasteur concluded that the mirror-image crystals, together as a 50/50 mix in the solution, canceled out each other’s ability to rotate polarized light. And without even knowing how a molecule was built, just eight months after receiving his doctorate, he said that their molecular structure was chiral, too. Chemistry changed forever. ADVERTISEMENT Continue reading the main story “Several famous or much more accomplished scientists, some well along their illustrious careers studied the same molecules, the same substances,” said Dr. Gal. “Realistically you would think they’d have beaten him to the punch, and yet they missed it.” Photo A portrait of Pasteur, who lived from 1822 to 1895. Credit Culture Club, via Getty Images So why did this young, inexperienced chemist get it right? Dr. Gal thinks the answer might lie in the artistic passions of Pasteur’s youth. Even as a scientist, Pasteur remained closely connected to art. He taught classes on how chemistry could be used in fine art and attended salons. He even carried around a notebook, jotting down 1-4 ratings of artwork he visited. And then Dr. Gal stumbled upon a letter Pasteur had written to his parents about a lithographic portrait he had made of a friend. Lithography back then involved etching a drawing onto a limestone slab with wax or oil and acid, and pressing a white piece of paper on top of it. The resulting picture was transposed, like a mirror image of the drawing left on the slab. In his letter, Pasteur wrote: “I think I have not previously produced anything as well drawn and having as good a resemblance. All who have seen it find it striking. But I greatly fear one thing, that is, that on the paper the portrait will not be as good as on the stone; this is what always happens.” Eureka. “Isn’t this the explanation of how he saw the handedness on the crystals — because he was sensitized to that as an artist?” Dr. Gal proposed. Mirror, mirror, everywhere For various reasons, Pasteur eventually turned to biology. Perhaps he recognized that chirality could play a big role in it, some suggest. We now know that many drugs contain molecules that exist in two chiral forms, and that the two forms can react differently in the body. The most tragic example occurred in the 1950s and ’60s, when doctors prescribed Thalidomide, a drug for morning sickness and other ailments, to pregnant women. The drug also contained a chiral molecule that caused disastrous side effects in many babies. Today, pharmaceutical companies work harder to separate the active and inactive forms of molecules, and the Food and Drug Administration issued rules to crack down on many chiral drugs in the 1990s. But not all are dangerous, and some were grandfathered in. For example, the pain reliever ibuprofen, as formulated in the United States, contains a 50/50 mix of chiral molecules: one that reduces headaches and its mirror image, which does not appear to be harmful. “Many objects in our universe have this property of chirality,” said Dr. Gal. In the mirror, in a vat of wine heated too long, on a piece of limestone and in your body: The non-superimposable hands of the universe were discovered by a man who wanted to be an artist, but settled for science. Like the Science Times page on Facebook. | Sign up for the Science Times newsletter. Continue reading the main story