#but I am too stubborn to give up so when in doubt overlay out!

[freakova]

Sleep tight!

[regretsofaghost]

Devotion Unspoken

Word Count- 3100

Idea stolen lovingly from @dickwheelie‘s post found here

https://dickwheelie.tumblr.com/post/186425585270

AO3 link-https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417147

It was a sunny day when Aziraphale decided it was time to finally do a tidy up of his shop, though not so much as to attract customers. He flipped the sign to closed and got to work, going to the depths of his shop and moving aside boxes of books he had yet to unpack. Looking through some of the old boxes that were filled to the brim, Aziraphale found quite an odd box that was hidden away.

The small box was made from a light wood and was covered with carefully written script with overlays of so many different types of flowers and other plants that it would take hours to figure out all the different species. The script itself was delicate but hardly looked like words at times. Aziraphale could see an angel here and a love there. Once opened, untying a lovely red ribbon that was surely made of silk and looked to have barely aged a day since originally wrapped around the box, in laid many different types of paper, covered from top to bottom with the same careful script as the box. From napkins to scraps to full lengths of paper, all of them looked to be equally old, and yet all of them had survived years of neglect. Aziraphale had no clue as to where these letters had originated from, for there were many who had entered his shop over the last few hundred years and if they didn’t look to be trying to buy a book, Aziraphale tended to leave them to their own devices.

 One piece of paper fluttered to the ground, or well it was really a napkin, and Aziraphale quickly picked it up before it could blow away, despite there being no wind in his shop. He unwrapped the small square and found more of the same script, and finally read it.

 June 7th, 1821

There’ve been many times I looked at you and was dazzled by your words, so softly spoken and delicate I wonder how you let me hear them. I’ve looked at you for so long with such longing I wonder if you just ignore it or if you’ve gotten your head stuck in your book for so long you forget I’m there. I wonder if it’s just God’s way of saying look at what you cannot have, for you surely cannot feel the same. It’s alright though, for if you allow me to continue to gaze at your lovely blue eyes, I can forgive most anything.

 Carefully placing the letter back in the box, Aziraphale was surprised by the fluttering feeling in his own chest. In many ways, he could understand it. Being allowed to gaze upon something so wonderful that sometimes you wonder if you truly deserve it. He tried not to think of a certain demon at this point, placing the lid back on the box and carrying it to his desk. Excavating this wonderous box required a more concentrated gaze, and well, he couldn’t much do that on the floor could he.

 Once placed on the desk, Aziraphale began to look at the box more closely, making sure not to smudge the careful drawings that appeared to have been done in pencil in contrast to the inked words. How many hours were spent on the box alone was a mystery, it looked like a courting gift? He slipped on his spectacles, enhancing his vision like a magnifying glass while they surely weren’t supposed to. He tried to identify the flora on the box, seeing acacia blossoms, camellia, azalea, daisies, daffodils, carnations, and so many more. Aziraphale was in awe really, the careful shading and sketching, the way each flower looked so realistic that if they had colour, they would look ready to fall right off the box. He couldn’t help but wonder why they weren’t coloured in, a though crossing his mind that it was a gift unfinished, perhaps the writer and artist passed before they could give it to their beloved. The thought saddened him, but there was little that could be done now, the letters were from two centuries ago.

 Aziraphale removed the lid of the box and pulled free another letter, careful to not damage the fragile paper, a scrap that looked like it was taken from the back of a ripped book.  

 June 20th, 1820

The way you look at me causes my heart to ache so furiously that I am sure I am in the most blissful state of hell imaginable. You insist you are the good one, yet you allow such suffering unto me. Perhaps you rationalize it with the idea I am but a dastardly devil. I am a demon, but I find it is alright as long as you continue to come back despite it. It hurts to look and know you cannot return my feelings, from either your own stubborn pride or faith in heaven. You are the holder of my heart and I ache for you to allow me the privilege of returning.

 -he pulled a cue card out next, enraptured-

 August 27th, 1860

I wonder sometimes if you know how to affect me. If you were to know that with a smile and a simple please, it would get me to move heaven and hell for you. I love you more than anything in the world, and that is terrifying. The last time I loved something so much I was thrown out, cast away like what I thought and felt was blasphemy. It seems that’s all anyone feels these days, to love another man is punishable in Her eyes, as if She ever cared enough to have judgement on it.  She no longer cares for me, but you would never believe that. You seem to believe I have at least a little good in me, and maybe I like that.

 -next a piece of paper that was close to tearing, but a quick miracle saved it-

 December 25th, 1845.

There are times when I look at you and hate you for the way you make me feel, how oblivious you seem to be with your reprimands and scoffs, sometimes I wonder if you truly hate me. Then you turn around and offer me a slice of cake, read me a passage in your book, give me such a soft look that I fall for you all over again. I know you don’t recognize what I feel, I know you refuse to recognize the love I feel for you as that. I wonder if you’ll ever notice that all the good I do is because of you. I wonder if you know you helped pull me back from the ashes of my fall, brushing off all the soot of regret and the dust of hate.

I love you more than I would like to admit, I love you far more than I feel you could ever love me, if you were ever to recuperate this love. I know you’ve had other lovers, the blush against your cheeks when you meet up with me after a rendezvous, the sly smiles at young men we walk by when we meet, the far too familiar greetings to others. I don’t mind. I can’t. It’s your life, you do as you please. It still hurts though, to be denied for so long due to our respective sides. There’s nothing wrong with such relations, we both know this, but with relations between us? I have fallen far below you and we both know if our relationship at this stage is ever found out it would be the end times for us both.

I wish for nothing more than the day we can meet, and I can pull you close in my arms, and kiss you with all the passion I have had to hold in. I’ve made many stars in my time, but you shine brighter than them all, my angel.

 Aziraphale blinked a few times at the end of the letter, feeling only slightly overwhelmed. They were all surprisingly sweet, and quite sad. From the dates on the letters, they seemed to have been written over a lifetime, a lifetime of constant longing for someone he could never have. The letters were obviously never to be sent, none containing any self identifiers or envelopes with addresses and they were written on many things that wouldn’t be used for a formal letter, though maybe that was on purpose. They read like they would be prosecuted if the two’s relations were ever found out, presumably due to them both being men. They read like someone who was desperate for change but expected refusal. He picked up the next one.

 April 16th, 1861.

Your hands look so soft despite how much you do with them. How much care you put into your craft never callousing your delicate fingertips. The tight curl your hair stays in despite fashion, along with your phrases. I can’t help but wonder what you’d do when it goes out of fashion, though knowing you as I do you probably wouldn’t care and continue. If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would think you never worked a day in your life. The things I’ve seen you do with such little care for what they’d do to you, always needing me to run after you to ensure your safety. I wonder if you do it on purpose, just to stay close to me at times. We’ve went years without seeing each other, yet I continue to write to you. I wonder if you think about me as much as I think about you. If your mind wanders like mine does. I doubt the day will come that we can be frank with each other, but I still have some hope despite it all.

  Looking through the box there were many along the same vein, lamenting about how little his subject seemed to pay attention, how he saw good in the writer despite the writer’s protests. It was bittersweet in a sense, both refusing to believe the other in any case.

 November 16th, 1849

You held me last night, it was the oddest thing. The closest we’ve come before this was mere hand holding, which we quickly explained away before any implications could come about. Yet you held me close, such a loving embrace I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. Even Before, I don’t think anyone held me like that. With such love. It was due to me panicking of course, a bout which happens often after a visit. I’m not exactly what they want me to be as you know, they want bigger things, more targeted. They don’t understand people as well as you and I. The atrocities they can commit, the beauty in which they can create. I don’t think any could make something as beautiful as you though. You whispered in my ear like a lover, which I know we cannot be. It’s easier to think of excuses for our actions rather than reasons for them, it’s safer. There’s a deniability with excuses, and if you look too closely at our reasons you could see what those actions meant. You’d laugh if you heard me say that, sometimes I wonder if you think lowly of me. I try my best I hope you know, I try to keep us both safe.

You held me last night though, and I felt warm. I haven’t felt warm in so long. Not since I fell. You told me that it was to keep me out of trouble, but we both know better. I think that was the first time I’ve thought you could feel the same.

 The bell of the bookshop went off, and Aziraphale jumped. He was engrossed in this love story over the ages, though by the dates it didn’t seem that this letter’s content went anywhere sadly. The footsteps were more concerning for now though, as Aziraphale did try his best to ensure no book sales happened, so he got up to investigate it. Thankfully, it was only a patron who came by occasionally to drop off books of interest, though they hardly brought anything Aziraphale wanted. Their interactions were normally pleasant enough at the very least, but today the angel’s mind was elsewhere. It was on those letters, those love letters that didn’t seem to ever be sent.

 The writing wasn’t the best, it rambled and repeated itself, yet it was heartfelt. Aziraphale could feel the love on the worn pages, the crinkled edges carrying small doodles of flowers that were more than likely drawn while the writer was trying to think of how to word his next sentence. The drawings improved over time and looking back at the box he could see some of the more faded flowers were good but could be improved. A lifetime of love in a box, and Aziraphale kept wondering if the other man ever confessed. If either of the men ever confessed, for the angel was sure that the other man felt the same. He refused to believe the subject didn’t love the writer.

 The angel grabbed the next letter.

 September 20th, 1835

I dreamt of you last night. It was the most pleasant dream I’ve ever had. We held hands and walked together, we were allowed to kiss and hug and do all the mushy human things we are normally deprived of. You held me like I was important, and I don’t know if I ever felt like that. You know how Mother was, She insisted She loved us all equally, but it was clear She had Her favourites. I wonder sometimes if She sent me to work in a faraway place so She could forget She made me. I don’t even know if She liked the Garden I made for Her.

I dreamt of you last night and I forgot about all of this. All the pain and suffering we’ve been through in our long lives, it was like what others call heaven, though I don’t know anymore. You laughed at me when I told you this and kissed me again, insisting that I don’t think too hard about it. Heaven may not welcome me, but I still hope I don’t corrupt you so much it won’t welcome you.

 Aziraphale sighed softly, running a finger along the careful lettering. He picked up the next letter, and then the next, then the next. He barely read the dates, all out of order yet it didn’t seem to matter. The letters came one or twice a year, all of them unsigned and covered with doodles. Some had sketches that were a lot worse than the flowers, others held such detailed scenery that Aziraphale would be looking more at the pictures than the words describing the writer’s love, his chivalry, the words that are thrown around that hurt the writer but never for long. It hurt the angel’s heart to know that the writer merely brushed these instances aside, but maybe he mentioned it and they didn’t happen again. He hoped at least.

 He let his hand go to the box, looking forward to more, when he realized it was the last one. Aziraphale held it up, this one written on proper paper rather than a napkin or wax paper or book page, and was similarly covered in drawings that were so lovingly drawn that they still overwhelmed the angel’s senses. Aziraphale wondered how he couldn’t feel the loved box before today.

 September 30th, 1862

My love I find myself yearning for you more and more each passing year, it’s quite inconvenient. I wish to tell you everyday but the threats in our lives seem to be coming around more and more often. I wish to tell you everything, but I still fear you will never see me as anything more than our first meeting. A demon meant to come tempt you away. Sometimes it seems like you can’t accept who I am but remain my friend for what I could become. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

I am to meet you soon, we haven’t seen each other in a few months and call me sentimental but I already miss you. Can you imagine how long we used to go without seeing each other? That seems unthinkable now.

I hope you forgive me one day for what I must ask of you. I ask so little in return for what I do, and I never expect it to be returned. Sometimes it’s easier to remain hiding than it is to risk jumping over the edge in hopes someone will catch you my angel, but I am tired of hiding. I love you so much and I hope you’ll understand that I’ll never leave you as long as I can help it. I will love you till the world’s light goes out, along with all the stars in the sky. Please just trust me.

 Aziraphale let the letter fall from his fingertips, letting out a slow breath. It was the last of the letters, and the angel didn’t know what to think of it. An ambiguous end, for it was unclear if the writer told the other man his feelings, his devotion, if the writer wrote another letter and sent that one to his beloved. If he died before he could finish his lifetime of love letters. It was clear that he was planning to ask the other man for something, perhaps his love in return?

 The angel carefully placed each letter back into the box, retying the ribbon and placing it on a bookshelf, somewhere people could easily see it when walking in. Although the writer’s story was left unfinished, perhaps others who enjoyed browsing would take his words to lead their own actions. The date on the last letter nagged at Aziraphale though, he was sure it was important for some reason.

 Going back to cleaning after hours of just reading, though that wasn’t unexpected with this principality, his thoughts were lost as he dusted just enough to not damage the books but leaving enough to deter customers. He brought out his storage and began displaying the newer books he acquired, his eyes wandering back to the box more and more often. When he remembered, he dropped a first edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

 The letter’s date was one day before Crowley laid to rest for nearly a century, the day he had asked for the holy water that saved them both. Oh good lord.

[thetimelesscycle]

The Hobbit Fanfic: The Heart of Erebor - Chapter 65

Summary: ‘He could stand the wild light in his uncle’s gaze. He withstood the crazed glint that entered the ravenous stares of his companions. He endured seeing the dragon’s greed take them all. But when that madness seeped also into the eyes of his own beloved brother, he knew something had to be done. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this.’-The gold sickness of Erebor claims one more, and the path of destiny is irrevocably changed.

Inspired by the following quote from ‘The Hobbit’: “So grim had Thorin become, that even if they had wished, the others would not have dared to find fault with him; but indeed most of them seemed to share his mind-except perhaps old fat Bombur and Fili and Kili.”

*Cover Art Courtesy of Toastytoastie

/THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT VI -The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 65

The Madness of Hope

It seemed strange to think that it had been less than a year ago that Kìli had stood upon the wall above Erebor’s shattered gate, believing all he had ever loved in the world was about to come to a violent and terrible end. He had been alone, abandoned and friendless, more afraid than he had ever been in his life, and certain that he was about to die. The despair he had felt in that moment remained engraved in his heart as one of the worst moments of his short life, and the days that had followed it had been no better, filled with grief and loss and pain. 

And yet, it was just an echo now, an event that had been and gone. A past that felt far more distant than the short, intervening months should have allowed. He was doing his best to overlay such fading recollections with new memories, happier memories, not just for himself, but for those around him as well.

Some days it was easier than others. When wounds still raw were not yet open and weeping, and he could be enough to wrench a smile from beneath Fìli’s preoccupied frown, or to scatter the dark clouds that formed over his uncle’s head, to chase away the haunting memories that gripped his mother. Other days the events of the past were a weight they all felt, a veritable hammer above all their heads, just waiting for the opportune moment to pound them into the anvil of cruel fate. 

The battles they had survived had left their scars, and he knew they would take time to fade; to heal.

Thorin’s coronation would go a long way towards accomplishing that, or so he hoped. Their victory certainly felt more certain now that the crown was resting upon his uncle’s brow. Now that oaths had been sworn and old alliances reformed. He was proud to have played a part in that, no matter how small that part might have been in the grand scheme of things. Proud of what they had accomplished, rising from the ashes of wrath and ruin to restore the Line of Durin to its rightful place amidst the Seven. Had this been one of Balin’s epics, the adventure would have ended the moment Thorin took his rightful place upon the throne. Sadly, if this quest had taught him anything at all, it was that the stories of old only ever told half the tale. 

His own experiences had given him a new appreciation for the moments that the historians forgot. Those events deemed unimportant by the scholars who chose to study such things, dismissed in favour of great battles and the speeches that followed them. There would no doubt be countless retellings of the celebration that had marked the return of Erebor’s king, each more ridiculous than the last, especially with the inclusion of their elven guests. But he doubted anyone would remember him slipping away from the gathering, confident his absence would not be noticed with the festivities in full swing, to seek a moment’s solitude and reflection in what was swiftly becoming one of his favourite haunts. 

The view from the wall above Erebor’s gate was a world away from what it had been months before. Gone was the pool of dammed water, meant to hold the war camp that had lain further down the valley at bay. Gone were the dotted gatherings of campfires, the sound of voices and metal carried on the wind. Gone was the terrible aftermath, the rows upon rows of dead and the stench of the wounded and the dying. Peace had slowly crept in to take the place of it all, nature gently wiping away the blood spilt upon its back, until nothing remained to speak of the tragedies that had unfolded in this place. 

Where once the sight had brought him nothing but dread, Kíli could now take comfort in the vista laid out on the mountain’s doorstep. It was a sign of healing. A sign that, no matter the suffering that had passed here, time marched ever onwards, knitting over old wounds, bringing new hope to lift the afflicted from the mire of tragedy’s aftermath. He needed that faith right now as much as he had needed it then, a light to cling to, a vision of the future he could lay before others when darkness ensnared their thoughts and despair sunk its claws in deep.

Perched upon the parapet’s edge, his heels drumming an irregular beat against the stone seams, he let himself revel in the tranquility. It had been a long time since he had had a chance to simply sit and think, the world flowing peaceably by, and he intended to make the most of the moment while it lasted. Below him the celebration would continue, not stopping until well after the sun began to peek over the horizon. He did not begrudge them that, they had earned the right to their revelry, but he did not feel the need to join them. His victory was a quieter triumph, one he hoped he would be able to enjoy for years to come. 

“There you are,” Fìli’s voice interrupted his musings, his brother’s uneven stride accompanied by the ‘thwap’ of his cane on the stone floor, and Kìli frowned briefly, wondering when Fìli had found time to retrieve it, and why he hadn’t asked someone to assist him up the stairs. His brother was not likely to appreciate either enquiry, however, so he held his tongue, keeping his gaze turned outwards as Fìli crossed the space between them. “You’re missing Bofur’s rousing rendition of The Cat Jumped Over the Moon.”

Kìli snorted, easily able to picture what such a thing would entail. He had, after all, seen it before. “A request from Elrohir?”

“Well, he did miss the original performance whilst we were in Rivendell.” Coming to stand beside him, Fìli leant his forearms on the wall, taking some of the weight off his bad leg. He waited a beat, letting the gentle breeze fill the space between them, then he asked, “What’s bothering you, Ki?”

“Nothing.” At his brother’s sharp look, he elaborated. “I really mean that, Fìli. Nothing is wrong right now. We’ve won. Erebor is at peace, Thorin has been crowned, and I… I think maybe I just wanted a moment to let that sink in. We’ve been so busy trying to make sure that everything else goes smoothly that there just hasn’t been time to… to… to just be.”

“I know what you mean.” Fìli nodded, his words a murmur. “It’s been months, and yet sometimes this still doesn’t feel real. Like a dream that could end at any minute.”

“I’m sure it will seem real enough once we actually have to take part in ruling Erebor,” Kìli interjected lightly, unwilling to surrender his hardwon sense of peace. “All those letters to write and documents to sign. My hand is aching just thinking about it.” That earned him an amused look, which he returned, before continuing in a more thoughtful vein, “In many ways, tonight is an ending, and not just for Bilbo’s book.”

Fìli cast him a curious look, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. “What do you mean?”

“We set out from Ered Luin to reclaim our home,” Kìli reminded him, rubbing his hands together in his lap. “To take back a mountain from a dragon. It sounded simple enough to us at the time, I’m sure, and it could be argued that that journey ended when Smaug was slain. But I don’t think Erebor was ours again, not truly, until today.”

“You think you’ll be happy, then?” Fìli enquired, his tone mild, but his words earnest. “Calling Erebor home now?”

“My family is home.” Kìli shot him a wry grin. “It really doesn’t matter where we live.”

“Even if it means being a proper prince?” His brother challenged, and Kìli laughed.

“Even then. I think I’m starting to understand that there are worse fates.”

Fìli was silent for a long moment, staring out into the night, and his words, when they came, were almost a confession. “I don’t know if I can look at it the way you do. Sometimes… Sometimes this all feels like a prison, and I don’t know if that will ever change. Everyone says it will just take time, but…”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Kìli ventured, unsure if Fìli wanted him to speak, or was simply airing his fears aloud. “And you don’t have to stay, Fì. If going back to Ered Luin would help, or paying a visit to Rivendell, then that is what you should do. Erebor doesn’t have to come first.”

“And that is why you are not going to be king,” Fìli teased him, if weakly. “Your priorities are all askew.”

“I am going to be your advisor,” Kìli reached across to swat his sibling lightly on the head. “And that gives me leave, oh future king, to rearrange your priorities however I please.”

Fìli raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “I do not see that working for Balin.”

“Yes, well, we both know Uncle Thorin is far too stubborn for such a strategy to be effective.”

“Oh.” Now he was affecting offence. “And I am more easily persuaded?”

“Of course. I will simply fill your room with boxes of apples fresh from Dale’s orchards and you will be halfway to Rivendell before you can say ‘burglar’.”

“Apples?” Fìli groaned. “Kìli, how could you betray me like this? Throwing your lot in with my one, true nemesis.”

“And here I was thinking that was stairs.”

“Hey.” Fìli’s indignant shove nearly sent his brother tumbling right off the wall. Laughing, Kìli overcompensated, falling backwards instead to land at his elder’s feet. Fìli glared down at him, imperious, and that only made him laugh harder until Fìli let out an annoyed huff and lowered himself down to sit beside his sibling. “You are an ass.”

Still chuckling, Kìli reached out to pat Fìli’s knee in only half mocking apology, before settling back with both his arms behind his head. His shoulder twinged slightly at the motion, but it was a passing pain, easily ignored as he let his eyes settle on the starlit sky above. Fìli was only a moment in joining him, the sigh that escaped his lips one of contentment more than sorrow, and Kìli was willing to let the silence stretch, a blanket of comfortable familiarity between them both.

He had meant what he said. Tonight was an ending. The end of the quest to reclaim Erebor, the end of so many fears; so many battles and old, untended wounds. The end of one chapter, and yet the beginning of another. The next day would dawn with Thorin as Erebor’s King, with Fìli and Kìli as princes and councillors officially sworn into their new roles. There would be decisions to make, meetings to attend, alliances to cement, duties to uphold. It should have terrified him, the weight of responsibility upon his - upon their - shoulders, but he was not afraid.

The Line of Durin had survived dragon fire, had survived madness and death and treachery. Though the challenges that lay before them were great, Kìli was surprised to realise that they no longer daunted him as they once had. Something had shifted, in the moment Thorin had been crowned, or before that even, when he had placed the Arkenstone in the hands of his fallen uncle and felt the rightness of that choice. He had no doubt that there would be further mistakes going forward, choices that would gnaw away at him, reminding him of the lives he was responsible for, the duties a Son of Durin could not escape. 

But he was not alone. 

That which he had sacrificed to try and save had been restored to him, a reward for his faith, a lesson learned and remembered. He had been prepared to give the Arkenstone away like a worthless trinket because he was afraid of losing that which he held most dear, and in so doing he had uncovered the true Heart of the Mountain. It was not the jewel that had so bewitched Thror and Thorin after him, or the gold that ran in rivers within the treasuries of the king. No, the beating heart of the Lonely Mountain was to be found in the merrymaking taking place in the Great Hall, in the laughter ringing out from every corner, in the quiet that had settled over he and his brother, restful and content. These moments, and the bonds that forged them, were what gave Erebor life; riches that could never be measured or bought.

It had taken him a long time to realise that simple truth, to understand that that was what he was sworn to protect, as a Son of Durin, a Prince of Erebor. He would never be a ruler with the power and authority that Thorin wielded, nor did he have Fìli’s sense of duty and calm steadiness, but he was beginning to realise that lack was not the failing he had always assumed it to be. The Seven may well have been right in their assertions that he would have made a poor king, caring too much for one thing and too little for the other, but he didn’t need to be what they thought he should be.

He had been spared the gold sickness because he had no use for wealth. He had given the Arkenstone away because Thorin and Fìli and the Company were simply more important in his eyes. He had turned his back on his birthright to gamble instead on the slim chance his kinsmen were alive. He had sought aid from those considered to be the enemy without a second’s thought. He had made so many choices that had caused others to shake their heads in scorn or despair or both. And yet… he could not regret the future those choices had brought him. A future that might never have been had he listened to the words of others. Had he chosen to believe as they did, and abandon a course of action they had deemed madness.

And it had been. He recognised that now. Not gold sickness or the dragon’s curse or grief or rage, but his own kind of insanity. To trust in good fortune in lands that had long been abandoned by the same. To believe when all others beliefs had died. To dare to stand against the tide and rage at the abyss… what else was that but madness? A year ago, he had sat atop this same wall and wished that he could share in the sickness that had taken his friends from him, his family. He had known it was wrong, but he had wished it all the same, never once realising that the curse of Erebor's treasure had found no foothold in his mind because another madness had already preceded it. So he could ask himself the same question again now; Was it wrong to wish for madness? And the answer, too, would be unchanged. 

Yes. 

Yes, it was. 

For madness had already taken him.

The madness of hope.

[alexiskqwo78generalcleaning-blog]

The Cost Of House Cleaning Dublin Diaries

Updated on June 25, 2012 Sherri moreContact Author You may simplify your home cleansing chores with Sally's favourite time-examined family cleaning merchandise: Murphy Oil soap, Pine Sol, Simple Green, and Weiman's glass cook high cleaner. Please don’t inform my mother about this article, as a result of I didn’t be taught anything about house cleansing from her, although she thinks I did. When I used to be rising up, we had a comparatively uncluttered and clean home, however cleaning was not what was essential to my mother. Even you probably have an apple or a salad, you may be giving your physique sufficient nutrition to get on with the day. Thank you a lot for studying and commenting! This is some good recommendation. Most days I wont eat until 2 or 3 within the afternoon, and i feel so low on power. I think I was falling into that rut you described. I am going to attempt to be extra lively. Thanks and enjoy the site! The rubbing alcohol prevents streaks and the shampoo cuts the dirt. I swear by it. It's going to last a long time and could be very inexpensive. This web site is a pastime for me. However, the money and time concerned makes this pastime an expensive one. I, alone, spend on average 4-6 hours a day ensuring the knowledge is of the highest high quality and the net site is maintained and obtainable always. Thanks and enjoy the site! Here find Molly Maid professional ideas for frequent surfaces, and recommendation from skilled home cleaners about particular cleansing issues like security, green cleansing, unpleasant messes, and stains from pets, pink wine, and summer barbecues. For most homeowners, cleaning home windows is daunting, and nearly every room in the home has at the least one. If pink wine is consumed in your home, you already know that occasional spills on the carpet are inevitable. Do it yourself dwelling water clean up and water injury repair DIY. Get the water up. The very first thing you want to do is get the water out of the home. The longer the water sits the more injury you'll have to your own home. Salvage what you may. Transfer all furniture and appliances out of the room and dry them off one of the best you can. Then acquire any papers and pictures that are not totally destroyed and lay them out to dry. How a lot do you actually know about house cleansing? What Are you aware? Most individuals slowly build up a repertoire of little info and tidbits of knowledge on house cleaning as they achieve expertise in this area. However, we will always learn somewhat more about conserving our houses clean -- there's a plethora of attention-grabbing details on home cleaning on the market. So, how much do you think you already know? Learn on to search out out if you already knew all this or should House Cleaning Rates Dublin you learn anything new. Many people use bleach in their laundry as a option to take away stubborn stains and whiten clothes.

Add just a little vinegar to the dish water to keep onerous water spots from appearing

Eliminate Bad Smells

Knock down the barriers to staying clear

What is truly critical to keep

I exploit this full energy. Pour it on a towel or flippantly spray on the affected area, then scrub. I get one other dry towel/washcloth/paper towel. You have the option to dilute this or use it full energy. I must state that it is not really useful that you spray it on the area because then it absorbs in the fabric and sinks into it, but I feel in case you do it flippantly what is the distinction? Okay, I am going to admit. There are days when I want to remain in my pjs all day and do absolutely nothing. Don't you are feeling like that some days too? In case you desire a pajama day, take one! The truth is, make it a pajama day for the entire household. Everyone can wear pajamas and relax. Watch a movie collectively. Play some board video games. Cuddle up and read some books. The laundry and dishes can wait, at the very least for a number of hours. If in doubt, hire knowledgeable, no less than for the first cleansing. If it is okay to use water on your fabric, cleansing the furniture could turn out to be a simple job, unless you will have some stubborn stains. Start out by vacuuming the fabric to rid it of any free dirt and debris. Combine just a few drops of mild soap with chilly water, and dampen a sponge in the solution. Wring the sponge till it's only damp. Concrete Overlay Preparations - If you are cleansing the floor previous to including a decorative overlay, the concrete requires particular remedy to remove any coating, sealers, other supplies, as well as cleaning to make sure the overlay will band properly. The most effective approach to do that is by way of shotblasting or comparable strategies, which requires an expert concrete-cleansing specialist. Soaps and detergents contain of fatty acids that emulsify grease, oil, and bind dirt, permitting dirt particles and stained to be lifted off and suspended in the water and so removed.

How To #Quickly #Clean A #House With 7 #Easy #Tricks & #Tips http://bit.ly/1KfhXS6 pic.twitter.com/hesXgcjvZv - Clean N Gone (@CleanNGone) September 15, 2015

Seek for chores that won’t drive you loopy if not a hundred% properly executed and educate your youngster to get it just-so. Make it a singing and dancing get together. Crank the tunes and make cleansing a Get together. We’ve obtained a “Cleaning Tunes” playlist in iTunes full of songs to get the children energized to move. Remember to sing! We tend to use our vacuum as a microphone stand. Life doesn't get better by chance, it will get better by change. I'm residence about 1/2 time, and i really feel like I never get what I feel like I ought to get carried out for the home - I feel having the clarity of getting sure duties for certain days would assist a lot. I also wanted to give you credit for making this gender-impartial and relevant to moms and dads! I do know so many SAHDs now, and it's nice that your article reflects that it is not just moms staying dwelling! Should you cherished this short article along with you want to get more details regarding TopCleaners.ie (Highly recommended Resource site http://topcleaners.ie/booking-page/) generously visit our own page. I additionally just have to put in a single personal plug - for girls I really do not assume make-up is essential to make you are feeling good!

[thaliaanddestiny]

An Adventure All Their Own Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Runaway Boy

“Okay, everyone! Good rehearsal! Next week is tech week, so make sure you’re rested up. See you on Monday!” the director said before picking up his bag and walking out of the theatre.

Almost everyone left the stage immediately, except for Thalia. She had wanted to practice a little longer. She knew she could get this tap section down. In the front row sat three girls, all of them skinny as a twig with platinum blond hair, engrossed in whatever they were doing on their phones as they waited for their boyfriends to find them. About seven rows back sat another, her name Destiny, watching Thalia with enthusiasm. Neither Thalia nor Destiny saw the three blonds giggle before one of them threw their empty banana peel on the stage, directly where Thalia was about to step. Time seemed to slow for Thalia as she felt her foot land on the peel and slipped. She hit her head on the stage and blacked out almost immediately. The blonds all let out a loud round of laughter as they stood up and left the theatre. Destiny sent a glare their way before running up onto the stage to check on her best friend.

“T? Are you okay?” she said, lightly shaking Thalia’s shoulder.

Thalia didn’t respond, but seemed to be slowly waking up. Destiny shook her shoulder with slightly more vigor, and saw Thalia open her eyes a little. She heard Thalia mumble something, but couldn’t make out what she said. “What was that, Thalia?” she asked, slightly concerned. Thalia groaned. “I said, why is Draco Malfoy staring at us?”

Destiny gave Thalia a confused look before looking around the theatre. Just as Thalia said, Draco Malfoy was standing in one of the wings staring at them. He seemed to be watching the pair of girls intently. After finally noticing that the girls were looking at him, he slunk back into the shadows and disappeared. Destiny looked back at Thalia and gave her a small smirk.

“We already knew this, T. He’s in love with you.”

Thalia snorted as she slowly sat up. “Yeah. I highly doubt that one. I’m a muggle remember? He’s not interested.”

Destiny rolled her eyes. “No. That’s just why he hasn’t made his move yet. He doesn’t know how to act around you. His dad may have a thing about blood status, but he doesn’t. Not anymore. You know that. Stop making excuses.” Thalia stood up, slightly woozy. “Those blond bimbos should learn to grow up. They say they’re here to watch their boyfriends, but you know they’re here because you are. If you’re here, Damon might show up and they can try to move in on him. They didn’t need to try and kill me though. I’m clumsy enough without their help.”

“They’re just jealous because they could never have the talent or courage to be up on the stage like you do.” Destiny said matter-of-factly.

“Where is Damon, anyways? Not off on a killing spree, I hope.” Thalia asked, looking around the theatre for anyone else as they walked to the exit.

“I think he and Ric are finishing up at a council meeting right now. He said he wouldn’t be killing anyone unless they really deserve it, but he could justify someone looking at him the wrong way as good reason.” Destiny replied, rolling her eyes.

The girls went backstage to change into their dresses that they had brought with them. Thalia had chosen a dark green dress that had three-quarter sleeves and the skirt went just past her knees. Destiny’s dress was a dark purple that also went to her knees with a longer chiffon overlay. The girls stepped out of the theatre and into the overcast sunlight shining over the city. Thalia hailed a cab, and one of the yellow cars pulled to a stop in front of them. They slid into the backseat of the car. Thalia gave the cab driver the address for the Walter Kerr theatre, and they were on their way.

Eyeing the cab driver, Thalia spoke carefully. “Remember those two guys that were hitting on us last week, and Damon and Draco decided to-“ cough “-um, take care of them? What was up with that?”

“Well, Damon says that Klaus, um, convinced those guys to attack us and they were just getting cozy first. I don’t see why Damon would lie about something like that, but I also know that you can never really know with him anyways.” Destiny replied, laughing lightly. Thalia nodded her head in agreement and they were both silent for a few minutes. Then, Thalia spoke up again.

“You really think Draco’s in love with me?” Thalia fidgeted with the hem of her dress, slightly uncomfortable with where she had turned the conversation. “What am I supposed to do about it?” Destiny watched Thalia for a minute, noticing her nervousness and deciding to lighten the conversation. “Well, he’s pretty stubborn. I think you should just corner him when he’s alone and start a heavy make-out session.” She watched Thalia’s face get redder with every word before she hid her face behind her hands.

Her voice muffled, Thalia said, “He’s going to think I’m insane if I do something like that!”

Destiny snorted. “Yeah. Pretty sure he’s already crossed that bridge. It’s part of your allure.”

Before Thalia could respond, the cab driver pulled over and parked a short distance from the entrance to the theatre. Destiny paid the driver and they thanked him before getting out of the cab. The girls started walking towards the theatre, while also keeping an eye out for Damon.

“Do you see him anywhere?” Destiny asked. Thalia didn’t answer right away. She continued scanning the faces of people walking the streets before she froze. She pointed to a pair of men walking towards the theatre as well. Both the men were dressed in dapper suits. One of the men had platinum blond hair and gray eyes. His tie perfectly matched the color of Thalia’s dress, but Thalia would never admit to noticing that as quick as she did. The other man had pure black hair and blue eyes, and his tie was also black.

“Is that him over there? Oh my gosh! Please don’t tell me that Draco is joining us!” Thalia said, her cheeks turning a light pink.

Destiny smirked at her best friend. “Why, yes, I do believe he is joining us. Honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised though. Draco’s got his whole stoic facade, but he really looks up to Damon. You know, once he got past the whole vamp thing. They are almost always hanging out together.”

Thalia groaned. “I was looking forward to watching Amelie though! I’m never going to be able to focus now!”

Destiny chuckled lightly. “I’m pretty sure we’re both going to be too engrossed in the show to pay either of them much attention at all.” Destiny thought for a minute. “I’m actually not sure why Damon comes to these with me anymore, to be honest.” She laughed.

The two pairs of people reached each other at the entrance to the theatre. Thalia and Draco stood stiff and awkward while Damon gave Destiny a kiss and greeted the girls. Destiny laughed at her friend’s demeanor before giving Damon a pointed look. She linked her arm with Thalia’s and started to head into the theatre. Damon and Draco followed the pair and the four found their seats. Destiny made sure that Draco was on one end with Thalia next to him, followed by herself and Damon. Thalia shot her an exasperated look, but said nothing. They settled into their seats and the girls became enthralled with the events happening on stage.

Destiny and Thalia practically skipped out of the theatre, arms linked and belting the songs that they had just heard. They didn’t pay any attention to the New Yorkers walking the streets giving them odd looks or sneering. They also didn’t notice when the other two members of their party exited the theatre and paused to watch them. They spun around a couple times, the skirts of their dresses expanding and flowing out. After releasing the last note of the song from their lungs, they both doubled over in laughter. Once the girls had stopped laughing and caught their breath, they turned back around to look for the two men. Damon had a slight smirk, but you could see the laughter in his eyes as well. Draco seemed to be in thought, curiously studying the two girls.

Destiny leaned over to Thalia and whispered, “Are you going to make your now? It’s not like you gave him any attention during intermission tonight. Poor guy was left out.”

Thalia glared at her and replied. “I’m pretty sure Draco can handle himself.”

The girls then noticed that Damon and Draco had also started speaking quietly to each other.

Destiny narrowed her eyes at the two. “What do you think they’re getting into now?”

Thalia sighed. “Who knows? But we better go find out before the put the plan into action.” As they walked up to the men, they noticed a slight tinge of pink come to Draco’s cheeks. The girls stopped in front of the boys and crossed their arms over their chests. Damon made eye contact with Destiny, and it turned into a staring match as neither would look away. Draco, on the other hand, refused to look at any of them and opted to look around at his surroundings instead. Thalia nudged Destiny so that she would start speaking.

“What kind of chaos are you guys trying to create now?” Destiny said, still looking at Damon and raising an eyebrow.

Draco made a coughing noise. The other three turned to look at him, but he was still trying to avoid making any eye contact. Damon turned back to Destiny, putting his hand on his chest and feigning hurt.

“I’m offended that you don’t trust us. We were only watching your performance. What more could we be up to?” he said.

Destiny and Thalia shared an amused look. “You’ll have to excuse us if we don’t immediately believe you. We could see your heads together, conspiring in something, and we know what kind of stuff usually follows such events.” Destiny replied. Damon slung an arm across Destiny’s shoulder and tried to give her a look that would distract her, but she wasn’t having it.

“You’re very obvious digging won’t be working this time, babe. Sorry.” Damon answered, smirking.

Destiny shrugged. “Your loss then.” She stepped away from him so that his arm fell down to his side. Damon narrowed his eyes. “Now remind me what I just lost again?”

Destiny smirked. “I guess you’ll never find out, will you?” She grabbed Thalia’s arm and started to pull her away, heading the direction they had seen Damon and Draco come from earlier. Thalia looked at Destiny, silently laughing. She put three fingers in the air and started counting down. They heard one set of quick footsteps behind them, but they didn’t turn around. Damon grabbed Destiny’s arm.

“Damn it, Destiny! Okay. Fine. I was telling Malfoy to grow a pair and ask T out already. He keeps making these lovesick puppy dog faces at her and I’m on the verge of barfing.” Damon said, exasperated. Draco caught up just in time to hear the end of Damon’s confession, and he and Thalia turned similar shades of pink.

Draco tugged on the collar of his shirt. “I really must be going. I- I’ll see you all later.” With that, he swiftly turned around and hastened down the street.