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tamagochiie · 4 years ago

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pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader

synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.

Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…

tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing

w/c: 2.2k

tagging list: @angrylittleriri @chims-kookies @gooseyhouse

a/n: hello! welcome to the second chapter of the series! i’m posting this a little later than expected because wifi is really trying to cock block me from posting :’) i honestly wasn’t expecting people to like or interacting with this fic, so my heart is super warm right now :>

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

happy almost new year! see you all next week!

master list

<< life as we know it | life as he’s known it >>

You wonder what the younger version of you would think if you went back in time and told her she'd be eating at a dining table filled with food that wasn't microwavable, and the air wouldn't be filled by the sound of metal clanging and scraping against each other, but instead be filled by the lilting giggles of a little boy; his older brother pressing him to keep it down; and Kenma's casual yet awkward attempt to relate to the two.

She would probably cry.

Your parents' work piled up to the late hours of the evening and spilled into the morning, leaving you in a constant state of dejection. The house would be barren, nothing but the faint ticking of the old grandfather clock to keep you company. But even if your parents were home, it would still be the same; the air cold and unmoving.

Your parents were not warm nor were they emotional, and maybe that's what drew you to Kenma; he was quiet, rarely affectionate, and gave you more than enough room to breathe. Sure, there were the occasional forehead kisses, the head pats, the 'how are you doing' texts, and sometimes if he was brave enough, he’d interlock pinkies with you in public.

But you grew selfish, finding yourself wanting a little more each time you saw him, and you weren't sure if it was okay.

Was it okay to yearn for things?

Was it okay to ask for more?

But Kenma saw through your facade of accepting things as they are and right into your neediness. He was willing to give as long as you asked or even when you were too shy to do so. He even gave you his whole life without sparing a second thought even if the realization that he had done so came much later.

"Here, let me." Kenma slips his hands over yours, taking the plate from within your grasp to wash it in your place. He bumps his hips against yours, causing you to stumble away from the sink.

You mumble a thank you before resorting to wiping down the dishes and setting them on the rack.

You delight in his banter. He asks you about your day, stealing glances between you and the stack of dishes before him while you give him the run down. He listens to you intently, gaze wandering a little longer when he hears an exasperated sigh escape your lips, but you let him know you're just fine.

"What about you?" You ask, tilting your head and playfully moving it in front of Kenma's face, blocking him from the plate he needs to scrub. "How was your day?"

He hums, tiptoeing over you to finish the chore like the diligent little worker he is. "It was another day," You frown at him and his lack of effort to push further. He rolls his eyes, chuckling at your pouty face. "I played another trial game with Eiji—"

"And how'd that go?"

"Oh, he's absolute shit—ow!" Your slap against his arm resounds throughout the apartment, causing Yuki and Eiji's to jerk their attention towards you both. You mold your face into a look of ease, sparing them a warm smile, telling them you saw a fly.

"The hell?! I wasn't finished!" The pudding head seethes. "Sure he was shit, but he was still better than you."

The cocky grin slipping across his lips matching with his lidded eyes has you throwing your hands, erupting a series of ow's. "You're such an ass, you know that?"

"Yeah, the ass you chose." He sneers, handing you the last plate to dry.

He rubs his arm in an attempt to soothe the stinging, glaring at you begrudgingly. It takes you a while to ease back into his trust, but you do, and he picks up where he leaves off as if he wasn't in any pain to begin with.

He tells you about his little trip to the convenience store with Yuki for his strawberry milk, and the foreign, constricting feeling that wouldn't leave his chest until they came back home. How he couldn't let go of Yuki's hand when they were in the store, and if he did, it would send him in a state of sheer panic.

"Must be your mommy instincts kicking in," You joke, and he only rolls his eyes.

He also admits inadvertently turning all your favorite whites into various shades of pinks and blues. As someone as analytical as Kenma, he was challenged by the task of separating the lights from the darks.

You snort, earning a scowl from your boyfriend and a string of explanations to defend his case. But it isn't the mistake that makes you laugh, but rather how far you've come after a month of adjustments and an unfortunate series of events.

The first two weeks were exceptionally trying. No one spoke a word and everyone walked on eggshells. Eiji was still too shy to look at you, his responses down to a bare minimum and quieter than a whisper; Yuki cried almost all the time over every little thing, and the vein in Kenma's neck was threatening to pop every time he did.

It didn't help when you and Kenma would end your nights at each other's throats, bickering till you fell asleep. And when morning came, you'd be greeted by the emptiness from his side of the bed.

And it helped no one when the two of you would avoid each other, never crossing paths or breathing a word the moment you came home until it was too painfully awkward to continue.

Two and half hours charged with petty arguments, things of the past, and all the little things that came in between only to have finally arrived at one conclusion: You weren't parents and you weren't Akihiro-san. You were your own people and it was okay to do things differently.

Even if different meant that Kenma might call the kids by the wrong name or forget the fact he's living with someone else other than you. Even if different meant that you'll be absent-mindedly teaching Yuki a few curses to add to his vocabulary or forgetting to enroll them in school.

The truth is no one from the family was going to return your calls, and you were probably going to spend the rest of your twenties making up bedtime stories and giving pretty bad advice to someone just a few years younger than you.

Which brings you here, wearing your bathing suit as you share your bubble bath with Yuki because he wanted to play with the rubber duckies he whined and moaned at Kenma to buy for him at the store.

Lathering his hair with shampoo, Yuki's head leans against your chest, eyes gleaming beneath the bathroom lights. He beams at you, giggling at the ticklish feeling as you massage his head. He brings attention back to his ducks, making crashing sounds as he splashes them into the water.

"Is that how ducks swim?" You ask, washing away the soap from his hair. "Don't they just kinda...float around?"

He shakes his head before twisting his body to face you. He's got a tough expression plastered on; brows furrowed, his jaw clenched, eyes unwavering.

A very serious boy.

"These are special ducks," He explains, raising one to your face."These are battleship ducks."

Your lips fall to an 'o', still not picking up what he's putting down but you pretend you do.

Is this what kids are into these days?

Yuki goes on to tell you about his special ducks; something about lasers in their eyes, super special flying skills, and...echo location? You ask him if he's sure—if you heard him right, but he's as firm with his stance as he is with the death grip he has on his rubber duckies.

You drain the tub before rinsing yourselves beneath the warm water of the shower. Yuki flips his hair around, air drying himself as he steps out of the tub. You tell him to brush his teeth while he waits for you to finish rinsing.

"Hey, Oba-san," Yuki's call is muffled by the foam of the toothpaste still in his mouth. "Are you and Kenma-san married?"

You nearly fall when you slip off of your bathing suit and into your pajamas. "Ah, no, Yuki. We're not."

"But aren't you in love?" He asks, oblivious to the sudden shift in the atmosphere, spitting into the sink and washing his mouth.

Your eye twitches and you swallow the lump in your throat before it goes big enough for you to choke and die. "Uhh, people don't always have to marry right away just because they're in love..."

"But Kenma-san said he's been in love with you for four years."

"I—Yeah, well—"

"That's sounds like a really long time, Oba-san." You can't tell if he means to sound condescending. You can't tell if your mom has awakened from the grave and possessed the young boy because she woke up thinking she had a few more things she'd like to pester you with.

"Well, Yuki," You gather the little patience you have left, taking a deep breath as you step out of the tub. The bathroom tile is cold against the soles of your feet, sending a shiver down your spine. Enough to keep you sober for trivial conversation with a six year old boy. "Love—Love kinda looks different for everyone, Yuki."

You choose your words carefully, not wanting to say anything that might confuse him.

You help him into his clothes, his hair leaving wet patches onto his his dinosaur pajamas. He listens to you intently, looking right into your eyes. "There are people marry the moment they meet—or at least after a short while—because they can't help but feel sure?”

And you can’t help but feel flustered at your own explanation, not too sure with your words, “...and other people don't do that. Some relationships move at a faster pace and other's move a bit slower; and Kenma-san and I...we're happy with how things are right now."

He hums, nodding his head as if he understands. "Even though Eiji-san and I are here?"

"Yes, little love." You assure him with the new nickname, booping his nose. "Even though you're both here."

You grab his towel and dry his hair. You pat down the tiny puddles of water on his face and neck, noting to wipe behind his ears.

"But," Yuki mumbles through the material of the towel, swatting your hand away to to catch his breath, "sometimes people don't like different..." Yuki pushes the towel to this side, his glossy eyes meeting yours and your heart cracks. "They didn't like my dad 'cause he was different."

"H-He didn't love someone th-that looked like y-you..." Yuki bites down on his bottom lip, keeping it from quivering and fixating his eyes onto the tiles of the floor to prevent himself from choking on his words. "H-He...He loved someone that look like Kenma-san."

You understand what he means. You know full well. Their father was gay and because of that, your family ostracized him without wasting another breath. As if it was easy as blinking.

You knew what their father had been going through, you had enough time to help, yet you stood idle, doing nothing but add to his loneliness.

You kept all the sunshine Akihiro-san shared with you during your bluest days, even when it had been so obvious he needed it more than you.

But not once did you ever think about returning a sliver of it. And you wonder maybe if you hadn't been so selfish and naive, a silver lining would've been enough to avoid something as painful as this.

Instinctively, you pull him close to you, threading your fingers through his still damp hair. You shush him and press kiss on the crown of his head as his petite figure trembles in your arms. You let him sob into your shirt, his fingers twisting the material in anguish.

And it breaks your heart that a little human like him would not only know the meaning of anguish, but how it feels to have it tear through his heart.

It takes a few moments for Yuki to catch his breath and for you to ease him. He slumps onto you as he regains his strength. You tell him you're sorry because you are and because you don't know what else to say.

You try to use his strawberry milk and his brother as an incentive to keep him from crying again. And after a few minutes it works.

You trail closely behind him when he walks out of the bathroom. He begins to run when he gets closer to Eiji, the pitter patter of his wee little feet carrying in the apartment.

You watch as Yuki thrusts himself forward into the arms of his brother, and Eiji doesn't fail to catch him. The sight before you leaves you gawking in silence, watching Eiji unravel into his big brother form as he lifts Yuki to the ceiling, playfully sniffing his under arms, the crook of his neck, and even his little bum before complimenting him, "Good job, you smell just like flowers."

His giggles float in the air, swarming around the apartment as if he hadn't been crying just a few minutes ago.

And as you watch the scene unfold do you decide to step out of the sidelines, using this warm moment shared between the boys as your driving force to keep the last of your cousin's light safe.

#Kozume Kenma #Kenma x reader #Kenma x y/n #Haikyuu!!#Kenma imagines #Haikyuu Imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #kenma headcanons #kenma kozume headcanons #kenma hcs #kenma fluff #kenma angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst

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assomoir · 5 years ago

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the sky might be falling; but the stars look good on you

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Theodorus van Gogh x MC

Summary: A peek into a day of Theo’s life [and a reminder that she had her insecurities sometimes].

Note: Written for the @ikevamp-holiday-exchange ! Hello @ceet , I enjoyed writing this (although writing non-smut was a challenge for me), so I really hope you’d like this too :) I saw your tags, so here’s to the both of us being fools for this man.

Title taken from the music of Ólafur Arnalds’ biography.

She slept in his room more often than not these days, and Theo’s morning routine shifted to accommodate her presence.

Between the two of them, he would wake up first. It’s a hard-formed habit carried over from the years before his death; one he sustained for many reasons, but also because she looked softer in the pale gray of dawn. Lights from his chandelier fell on her sleeping form, and he propped himself up as his eyes were inexorably drawn to the way the sheets shaped themselves over her waist, the drape of hair over her breasts, the trail of hickeys blossoming along her body—

She stirred under his gaze, and blinked her eyes open with a yawn.

“Theo..?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back on the pillows, enjoying the way her languid stretches shifted the covers and exposed more skin. “Good morning.”

The patches of red scattered on her neck seemed to call for his touch, because he knew they matched the curve of his teeth – remembered how she tasted on his tongue. When he reached out to touch them, she pressed a string of open-mouthed kisses on his palm, a pleased smile forming on her lips, the echo of flame dancing in her eyes.

(There’s something about her that, when seen in these quiet, intimate twilight hours, felt like something really close to perfection. He’d seen it in the way she lowered her lashes as she bent down for a kiss, or in the way her back arched as he drove her over that maddening edge for the umpteenth time in a night.)

(It still left him breathless every time.)

“…hey,” he half-heartedly asked— no, warned her, if she really wanted to rouse him so early in the morning, when the rasp in her voice is still so clearly audible and the marks she left on his back still tingled.

(He absently looked down to find that her trimmed fingernails had grown longer, and thought about how he would know about it; for he wore the shape of them in various parts across his own body.)

“Sorry, sorry,” she chuckled, “but ten more minutes, please?”

Theo hummed in assent, suppressing his smile. Kissed the top of her head and quietly let the fire, simmering low in his stomach, burn.

Most days, they work together. This cloudy Friday was one of those days.

Their only client that noon was an elderly nobleman in his late 50s, a Marquis Theo adored due to his kind disposition and shared appreciation toward the impressionist movement. Negotiations involving two of Vincent's paintings had gone swimmingly well, and as they stepped out of the gates, just before he hailed a carriage to take them home, she grabbed his sleeve and shyly asked if they could, perhaps, go for a stroll around the city? If he would like to have a little date before going back, because she had dressed up in a dress that matched his new suit, which would be wasted if they weren’t paraded around town for a bit, especially since the weather was nice albeit a little cold, and it would do him no harm to slow down because he had always been working hard, and—

"Sure," he said, effectively cutting her off, yet the fond amusement was plain to hear even for himself.

It's going to rain, he thought, glancing up at the sky overhead. We can go tomorrow instead, on our day off. But he went along with her plans anyway, mostly because Theo had stopped trying to tell himself that he still had any semblance of self-control around her months ago.

(That, and something about her had seemed a little sad this morning. It upset him in a way he couldn’t quite understand.)

So she took him to the Louvre, where everything began – saying that despite having visited the place many times over, he still owed her a proper tour of the museum. They ventured into the Assyrian Gallery, walking among creatures of black marbles and gray stones that left them more than a little amused. In the French Gallery, Géricault's Raft of the Medusa stole her attention at once – but when he explained the event depicted behind the painting, she had this extremely sad expression on her face – such that he had to practically drag her into the next gallery, half-panicked, so she wouldn't cry. It worked, though, because the mirror-like floor and gilded ceiling in the Gallery of Apollo fascinated her. They spent the rest of their visit admiring the artworks in Salon Carré: him explaining the Wedding at Cana, Pardo Venus, Soult's Virgin, Titian's Mistress, and them snickering in front of Mona Lisa and la Belle Ferronnieré.

By the time they stepped out of the Louvre, it was already half past three in the afternoon. The chilly November air had gotten even colder; the sky considerably darker.

(But her smile got a little wider, too.)

Expecting the rain to come any time now, he took her to this quaint café-slash-bookstore tucked in the corner of the 1st arrondissement. True enough, the storm started in the middle of their late-afternoon meal – and they watched the passerby bursting into a hurried frenzy all at once. After a little less than an hour it turned into nothing more than a light drizzle, but the streets had turned muddy and her skirt must be hiked up high when crossing Place Vendôme. The rain had not dampened her mood at all, though, for she kept humming happily as they passed through the high column overlooking the square.

“I assume you're no longer sad?”

She blinked at him. Once, twice, before timidly grinned. “I wasn't sad though. Things went smoothly at work, and you’ve been very indulgent today."

"...Has it ever occurred to you that those two things are probably related?"

The tinkle of her laugh filled the air, alongside the scent of petrichor as the shower ceased to an end. Rain had always lent the city some sort of a gloomy mood, but for the first time, Theo took a deep breath and let himself bask in it.

Maybe because somehow, the amber glow of streetlights looked a bit more somber than usual, and it bathed the city in a warm luster despite the crisp atmosphere. Seine was flowing by, where from this distance, they could see the turbulent waters moving below Pont Royal. The hustle of shops lined up on the other side of the street and busy traffic rumbled the sidewalk they were walking on, giving that distinct, noisy bustle he had grown to associate with the city.

She took his arm as they continued walking along the cobblestone, and he was struck quiet by the strange thought of how at home she looked like. As if she belonged right here, in 19th century Paris, all along—

"It's just— I was thinking," she suddenly murmured, "that I've been here for almost a year. Time flew really quickly. I'm still very happy, though."

It was almost imperceptible, the way she turned her head to glance at him – like she did whenever she was unsure about asking him something – but enough for him to press an encouraging kiss on her temple. Go on, he conveyed. I'm listening.

"...I hope you're still happy too, Theo."

Ah.

The faint kaleidoscope on the river was reflected on her eyes not unlike the starlight, and when the following silence stretched for a second too long, his next words slipped out without permission.

"I can promise you, I've never been happier in all my life."

A burst of giggle escaped her. His brain, half-relieved and half-caught off-guard, scrambled for a response, and ended up blurting the first thing that came to mind.

"Don't laugh! I'm serious."

"I know, I know, but it's adorable. You indulged all my wishes because you thought I was sad?"

"...It's because you did great today. That calls for some treats, no?"

She quickly recovered and playfully smacked his shoulder, but he inwardly cringed because it actually hurt. He deserved it, though. "Again! I'm not your puppy."

"Really? But puppies are cute, I love them."

"I'm cuter."

"Well yeah, you are."

She was clearly taken aback by this, and he couldn't help but snort at her flabbergasted expression.

"Theo!"

That evening, he kissed her hard and rough, tangling his fingers in the strands of her hair. I haven’t had dinner, he teased, voice low and tempting, his breath hot on her lips. May I? She couldn’t help but moan then, a hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt, the other pushing his head to her neck. Heat consumed them as he carried her to the bed, prompting him to strip her down and let his body do the talking for the next few hours.

Later, when the high had worn down, he pulled her into his arms – freshly bathed, smelling like roses – and she grew quiet, lulled by the distant thunder and the sound of raindrops. He watched the light playing tricks on her hair, heart softer than the spun silk of her nightgown, and thought—

If I could spend eternity like this—

“Theo, sleep.”

He smirked. “Why is the dog telling me what to do?”

“Because you’re thinking too loudly,” she smiled knowingly, and his own softened. “I love you, you know that?”

Sometimes Theo forgot just how easily she unraveled him in all the ways that counted, leaving him a flustered mess wrapped around her little finger. “…Cheeky hondje. I love you too.”

If he was any lesser man, he’d probably skip all those elaborate, carefully-crafted plan about proposing and just drop on one knee right there and then; the lack of ring be damned. But since he liked to think he still had a teeny bit of restraint (however small) a peck on her forehead was deemed enough, followed by drawing the cover higher over their bodies.

She’s here, he mused before drifting off to sleep.

For as long as they had each other, he existed only in bliss.

#ikemen vampire #2019ikevampholidayexchange #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire theodorus #BRO THE ORIGINAL POST GOT DELETED BY ACCIDENT WTF #IM SAD #IT ALREADY HAVE NOTES????#sorry guys pls bear with this one #its exactly the same though just different line break sfjksdhgfhjskd #once again thank u emile zola for the historical facts #my writing

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hedwigstalons · 5 years ago

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High Expectations - Ch5

Just a quick sketch today. There were many other snapshots I would have liked to have drawn for this chapter but I need to build up the skills first. Instead you will have to make do with Gordon feeling the effects of his celebrations and reaching for the aspirin.

Thanks as ever to @willow-salix for general cheerleading, confidence boosting and reading through as daft times of the night.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four

And for those that prefer to read on AO3

Chapter Five

The sound of his phone dragged Gordon out of a groggy sleep. The first day in months, maybe years, when he hadn’t set an alarm and his phone had to ring right through the middle of his much needed rest. The shrill tone sawed through his head and he screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the sound.

It didn’t work.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the ringing cut out. His head was pounding and his throat felt curiously sticky. The relief was short lived though as the phone started up again, each electronic trill stabbing into his brain like hot needles. He fumbled for the device and blearily read the name on the screen.

Dad

He half threw, half dropped the device back onto the tiny bedside unit that was mostly taken up by a half empty bottle of something local. He wasn’t too sure what the bottle contained, the only recognisable part of the label was an obscenely high ABV rating. His head was telling him clearly that whatever was in the bottle it was a mistake he didn’t want to repeat any time soon.

The ringtone was replaced with the bleep of an incoming message. Gordon made a second fumble for the device to read the text.

Dad: Call me in the next 3 minutes or I’m contacting security to look for you

Gordon looked at the time on his phone and sat up in a rush. A sickening wave washed over him, partly from the realisation that he was late meeting his family and partly the after effects of whatever it was he had been drinking the previous night.

Recollections of the previous night’s festivities came back in a hazy swirl. Both the swimming and gymnastics events had reached their conclusion and the two contingents had come together to celebrate their medal haul. Both squads had achieved glittering success. Someone had ventured out into the wider city and come back supplied with a selection of drinks, one of which Gordon had evidently liberated and brought back to his room. The coaches had turned a blind eye to the celebrations which had carried on into the early hours.

The bed covers next to him rustled exposing a mass of raven curls. A finger was trailed down his chest and dark eyes blinked at him sleepily.

“What’s the matter, babe? Come back here and keep me warm.”

The realisation that he wasn’t alone snapped Gordon’s senses back into action. Tempting as it was to just sink back onto the narrow bed and curl up with whoever had found her way to his room Gordon knew better than to treat the message as an idle threat. In precisely 3 minutes his father would be at the security desk for the Athlete’s Village and approximately 3 minutes after that one of the security personnel would come barging into his room.

At least he had made it back to his own room. Every room in the village was identical from the layout and furniture right through to the cheap print adorning the wall. Thankfully there were enough personal effects lying round that marked the space out as his own territory. The good luck card from Alan was in pride of place on the dresser, the grinning yellow smiley on the front a reminder of the blonde sibling who had become his biggest fan. The rather more sedate offerings from the rest of the family were arranged behind.

First things first though; he needed to buy some time. He picked his phone back up off the bedside unit and hit the speed dial button for his father. The call connected before the first ring had finished and Gordon winced slightly and the abruptness of the answer.

“Gordon, where are you? You were due out front ten minutes ago”

He tried to adopt a tone that suggested apologetic rather than hungover.

“Sorry Dad. I was in the shower and lost track of time.”

There was a slight humpf down the line which showed his father was annoyed but not currently inclined to launch into a full blown reprimand for his lateness. Gordon knew he was pressing his luck but he ploughed on.

“Um, one of the coaches wants see me quickly before I head out. I’ll only be another 20 minutes tops. I promise I’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

He closed the call before his father had time to protest. It didn’t sit right to lie but he really needed to buy some time to shower for real. At least he now had 20 minutes to get everything sorted out but the clock was most definitely ticking. Crisis one was averted, or at least delayed.

He turned to his bedfellow. He didn’t recognise her from swim camp so could only assume she was one of the gymnasts from the celebrations of the previous night. Finding her there was not a massive surprise, he had been to enough high level competitions to know that the concluding night often led to a release of tension and pent up adrenalin in more ways than one. The euphoria of success and, in the case of swimmers being in close proximity to barely covered bodies, led to various amounts of bed swapping once the medals were awarded. The coaches tended to turn a blind eye. It seemed like the gymnasts celebrated in a similar fashion.

“Mmm, a shower sounds good. I hear you’re quite talented in the water.” Her voice purred and the hand swirled lower down his chest. Gordon felt the rush of blood to his groin where it pooled in an embarrassing fashion.

Unlike the swimmers who tended to make their way back to their rooms of their own accord it seemed that the gymnasts, or at least this particular one, did not observe the same niceties. This was going to be awkward.

“Um, I’ve got to go and meet my family. You need to go.”

“That’s it, Gordon? You’re just throwing me out?” Her tone had turned from sultry to venomous in an instant. She evidently knew his name but he couldn’t honestly afford her the same courtesy. Sasha maybe, or perhaps Sarah, he really didn’t know. The last he remembered he had been getting close to the guy who competed in the parallel bars who had arms to die for and abs like a rack of eggs. Evidently last night had taken a different course. He wondered what had happened and whether he still had a chance with Mr Parallel Bars later that night.

He hung his head slightly, wishing the pounding behind his eyes would just stop. “Look, I really need you to go. I wouldn’t put it past my Dad to find his way up here and be waiting outside the door with a stopwatch.”

The dark eyes narrowed slightly and the lithe figure unfolded herself from under the duvet. She was clad in a soft grey longline tee-shirt and Gordon got the distinct impression that was all she was wearing. She bent neatly at the middle to scoop up the remainder of her clothes without bending at the knee. The tee-shirt rode up, exposing a pair of pert buttocks directly in front of Gordon. Definitely a gymnast and definitely not wearing anything else. She slid on a pair of joggers and shoes, each movement was smooth and elegant to the extreme. She turned as she reached the door and the look she shot Gordon could have killed but he was deliberately facing away, not meeting her eye.

With the room now his own Gordon rushed to get ready. A quick dunk under the shower woke him up but couldn’t wash away the pain of the hangover. At least the alcohol no longer seemed to be sweating out of his pores but he added a generous dab of cologne anyway. Fresh clothes followed. The celebration of the night before had evidently been rather heavy on the alcohol and the light through his window when he finally opened the curtains felt like it was burning his retinas. He dug through his kit bag and unearthed a battered pack of painkillers, a couple of tablets were thrown down his throat chased by a large glass of water.

His eyes swept the room. The Athletes’ Village was meant to be off limits to anyone not competing but he wouldn’t put it past his father to use his influence to get a pass. Alan was eager to take in every element of the experience and a visit to Gordon’s room was probably on the kid’s bucket list despite it looking like nothing more than the poor relation of a cheap hotel room. The bottle of liquor was moved to the bottom of his kit bag ready to be given away later, the churning feeling in his stomach left him sorely tempted to sign the pledge and vow himself to a future life of total sobriety.

A glint of foil wrappers in the waste bin caught his eye. At least him and his gymnast had played safe courtesy of the supplies left by the Olympic Committee in every room. Evidently the organisers of the Games were well aware of what athletes could get up to in their spare time with physical exertion not limited to the tracks and venues. He packaged up the detritus of his celebratory fumble to be disposed of in one of the bins well away from his room. Some parts of the Olympic experience did not need to be shared with little brothers, or the rest of his family for that matter.

He made a detour via the cafeteria to snag a carton of orange juice and a muesli bar from the breakfast buffet before heading for the exit of the Village. A pair of aviators shoved hastily over bleary eyes before he left the dim confines of the building completed his ensemble. Now he just needed to plaster on a cheery smile and get through a day with the family.

He really hoped the painkillers started to do their job soon.

xoxoxox

Jeff stood at the entrance to the Athlete’s Village surrounded by four out of his five sons. The fifth was evidently still inside the compound and was running late.

The minutes ticked by.

Jeff Tracy was not a man who liked to be kept waiting. His elder sons had soon learnt that tardiness was a trait that did not go unpunished. Each in their turn had tested the limits to their father’s patience and found that the line did not bend; lateness resulted in a swift loss of privileges. Having two phone calls divert to voicemail followed by the information that he was going to be kept waiting even longer would have seen Gordon grounded for at least a month had they been back at home. As it was, it was the last day of the family trip to the Games and the only one they would get to spend with Gordon so he gritted his teeth and locked the parental sternness deep inside.

It was Alan who spotted Gordon first, his eyes eagerly glued on the entrance door to Gordon’s block. The teen throbbed with excitement at seeing his hero of the hour. If the family had hoped that a week of watching swimming, plus a few other events when Gordon wasn’t competing, would dull the youth’s enthusiasm they were sorely mistaken.

Gordon winced slightly as Alan barrelled up to him, nearly sending the orange juice flying.

“So, can I see it then?”

Gordon frowned slightly behind his shades. The kid was far too cheerful for this time of the morning.

“Nice to see you too Alan. Now, see what?”

“Your medal. You did bring it down, right?”

“Sorry. I didn’t think carrying a hunk of gold around all day would be a good idea. It’s in the safe in my room.”

Alan’s face fell. His brother had just won a real life gold medal and to hear he wasn’t going to get a chance to see it was like finding out Christmas had been cancelled. You would have to have been of a different planet to not feel the disappointment radiating off him. Gordon’s protective nature kicked in.

“Tell you what. I’ll see if you can come up to my room later, before you go. I’ll even let you wear it.”

As though a switch had been flicked Alan was back into full blown excitable mode, flinging a barrage of questions at Gordon in between giving his own edited highlights of the trip. The energy radiated off him and Gordon tried to absorb some of the pure enthusiasm. Alan in a good mood could steamroller over any other emotions in the vicinity. He bounced. It was a trait that had pulled many a brother out of the depths of despondency in the past; none of them wanted to let the kid down. There was a natural instinct to protect their baby even if the baby was now shooting up in height and no longer the grubby toddler of the past.

By this point the others had started to congregate around Gordon, hanging back slightly until Alan had had his moment. The bond between the two youngest was clear to see and the elder siblings didn’t want to intrude on the reunion. Alan looked up to Gordon with barely concealed adoration and Gordon had an attitude that was almost paternal to the younger boy.

Once Alan had paused for breath the others started stepping forward to offer their own congratulation in a mix of glowing words and hearty back slaps.

At last Jeff stepped forwards.

“You did good, Gordon. So, what did your coach have to say?”

Jeff’s eyes were steely. Put on the spot Gordon dredged his mind for something convincing..

“He just wanted to let us know that there was no pool training for the rest of the games because water polo needs the slots but we still need to keep up with some gym work while we are here.”

“And that took twenty minutes?” The tone was one of barely disguised scepticism, accompanied by a raised eyebrow, and Gordon squirmed slightly. He decided to change the subject.

“Oh. I just wanted to thank you guys for all coming. It really meant a lot to have you up there on the balcony for every race. How on earth did you manage to get the same seats every time? I thought the tickets were a random allocation.”

“Not totally random.” John spoke quietly from the back of the group. “The algorithms were pretty easy to figure out.”

“You played the system?”

A nod and a slightly smug, self-satisfied smile.

For every single heat there had been a cluster of Tracys in the same place on the balcony. Left hand side, level with the end of the pool at the opposite end to the starting blocks. Knowing that they were all there to support him, in easy eye line from his starting position, had given Gordon strength before each race. No searching around needed, a quick glace up to the railing had been all he needed to help him get in the zone. To find out that John had manipulated the system to ensure they could always be found in those same seats meant a lot.

Seeing the family in those particular seats had an extra level of poignancy for Gordon. From his earliest days of swimming lessons those were the seats his mother had always sat in to watch his class, often with John in tow as he was too young to be left at home. As lessons progressed to competitions she had kept to the routine and always sought out those same seats until that fateful turning point in their lives when she couldn’t. Evidently, under all the stresses of Harvard study, there was still a big brother that remembered those early days before Gordon had gained total mastery over the water and the reassurance he gained from knowing where to find a friendly face. It was a level of effort and consideration Gordon rarely encountered now from his plus one in the pecking order.

“Thanks John. I mean it.”

“So what do you want to do now, golden boy? This is your day to celebrate although it looks like you might have done a bit of that already.” Scott ruffled Gordon’s hair in a way that did his tender head no favours. He had witnessed and partaken in his fair share of the morning after and Gordon’s shades were fooling no one. Gold medal or not, Scott had no compunctions about throwing his younger sibling under the metaphorical bus. He received a scowl in return. To Gordon’s eternal relief Jeff either didn’t pick up on the comment or was choosing to ignore it; he was not in the mood to be bawled out for underage drinking and the hangover was proving punishment enough.

“Maybe just some sightseeing. I’ve really not had a chance to see anything of the complex. Oh, and I want to eat something without having to check if the micronutrients fit with my plan. You cannot believe how bored I am of protein shakes and vitamin drinks.”

The family moved off. It might technically be Gordon’s day but Jeff was undoubtedly the one they all deferred to. Each brother circled their father like moons around a planet. It had been so long since they were last all together.

Gordon was immensely grateful for Alan’s presence. The excitable pup filled in any awkward silences and kept their father’s direct attention off of Gordon. Even with the success of a gold medal win less than twenty-four hours behind him there was still an aura of disapproval at Gordon’s temerity for keeping everyone waiting although this gradually dissipated as the day wore on.

Over lunch, a greasy burger of Gordon’s choosing that was so far removed from his usual meal plan as to be from a different galaxy, Jeff sat back and watched his five sons. He couldn’t remember the last time they were all in one room. Even Christmas was no longer a given what with Scott’s Air Force commitments.

Age and circumstances had changed the dynamics but from oldest to youngest they were still brothers and the longer they spent in each other’s company the more Jeff saw glimpses of the children he remembered. There was certainly more laughter than he had heard for a long time. Alan stayed firmly attached to Gordon as though the last few weeks without him had been an eternity.

None of them knew when next they would all be together again. The family would be flying home that night but Gordon needed to stay on a few more days until the closing ceremony. By the time he and the rest of Team USA returned Scott would be back with his squadron.

For a few rare hours there was no school, work or training making their competing demands. No business meeting. No classes. No Air Force issuing orders. Just a family together, albeit one not used to spending time together any more.

All too soon it was a family being ripped apart again by punishing schedules and varying commitments. As Gordon watched everyone head off to the airport without him the gut-wrenching pang of being an outsider hit him. He knew it was just circumstances that meant he was being left behind but for a moment he was left feeling very alone. He knew it was probably just exhaustion making him feel maudlin. He should be relishing the freedom of having a few days to himself rather than resenting his father for heading straight back to work. He shouldn’t be feeling jealous of his brothers getting to spend time together without him. He shouldn’t be worried if anyone was checking whether Alan was getting to bed at a reasonable time.

He headed back up to his room sorely tempted to drown his sorrows with the last of the liquor still hidden in his kit bag.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #my art #high expectations #Gordon Tracy #Olympics #family time #celebrations

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courtorderedcake · 5 years ago

Text

Hallow : ch III - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Read on AO3 here.

Ch 3 / ?? - in which women befuddled the Darkness in various ways

Emma woke up to bright spring sun and the smell of baking bread all around her. She could hear the sound of laughter and voices coming from downstairs; it was rather disconcerting, considering the circumstances of their arrival. Looking at her state of dress, she was glad to discover something had been put out for her. She slipped out of her muddy shift, folding the now stiff fabric as small as she could. The clothing laid out was bizarre; a woolen tunic split down the front with large buttons in a dark shade of magenta, and a soft blue dress made of several fabrics she couldn’t place. Emma felt exposed without the proper undergarments, but in this case she was more happy that she had clothes than she was worried. She hoped whoever had provided them could arrange a bath to be drawn later. When no servants arrived to bring her a tray or announce breakfast, Emma shrugged it off; not all households had servants in them.

Heading down the stairs and vaguely remembering the layout from the night before, she was brought to a landing where a glass door led to a storefront and more stairs led down to a living space. Nearing the bottom she heard a man’s low laugh. Turning the corner, she was shocked to see Killian smiling slightly, laughing at something one of the women across from him was saying. A woman with white-blonde hair in a braid sat next to an auburn haired woman. They were obviously related, sharing the same eyes and nose, but the auburn haired woman had her hair arranged in a braided crown and looked significantly more carefree. When Killian saw her, his smile faded, his eyes looking down at the cup in front of him. The two women followed his previous line of sight, turning to look at Emma. The blonde scowled, eyes narrowing and face becoming a harsh, icy, mask of anger. Emma took a step back, shocked by her reaction. The auburn haired woman put a hand on the blonde’s shoulder, and smiled grimly at Emma.

“Good morning.”

Emma let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “Good morning. I’m sorry to intrude, I’ll just -”

Killian let out a grunt, still looking down at his cup, and the blonde stood to sit next to him. Emma wondered if this was a lover of his, with the way she possessively took his forearm, shooting daggers of ice towards Emma.

The auburn haired woman watched as the blonde moved away, and then smiled back towards Emma.

“Come join us for breakfast, please. I’m Anna, and this is my sister Elsa.” She motioned Emma over to sit next to her, as Elsa stiffened. “Ingrid will be over in a minute, she’s just finishing up bread for the day. We open in a bit.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t -” Emma started, before Ingrid flew in, wearing a blue checkered apron covered in flour.

“Couldn’t what? Join us for breakfast? Nonsense, Emma, I baked some danishes just for you and Killian.” She motioned Emma over to the seat next to Anna with a smile on her face. Emma sat and Anna offered her another warm smile. The blonde woman sat diagonally to her right, Killian right across from her. “Would you like some coffee or tea, my dear? Maybe some juice?”

“Tea would be lovely.” Emma felt her body start to loosen, her shoulders growing less tight as Anna and Ingrid started chatting about the weather outside. Ingrid placed a tea service, plates, a pitcher of juice, and a plate of pastries on the table. She rushed away for a moment longer as Anna handed out plates, grabbing a small kettle for Killian. Emma was astonished to see him smile at the woman pleasantly without a hint of arrogance, hatred, or spite. Anna and Ingrid kept the chatter pleasant, even teasing the man in front of her as if he wasn’t a murderer. Emma’s eyes wandered as she was excluded from the conversation, even with Ingrid and Anna’s many attempts to try to include her. The conversation was stilted and awkward without her commentary.

“Oh!” Emma exclaimed, catching sight of a familiar face in the portraits on the wall as the mood stayed light. She spoke more out of surprise, words coming that she could not bottle even as Anna’s eyes flicked to her in distaste. “I recognize him. Captain Liam, right? He looks so happy here! We have a portrait of him up in one of the hallways, in full uniform, looking very serious. I used to talk to him while playing with my dolls or sing to him to make him happy. He - well, my pretend version of him I guess - even gave me advice.”

The room was silent as Emma looked back at the table. Killian’s jaw muscles were so tight, she could see them ticking in time with the clock. Ingrid and Anna were both casting horrified glances at Elsa, who was trembling with a rage that made her previous glares look tame.

“I’m sorry if I said something that -” Emma started, not knowing what had caused the mood to turn hostile.

Killian stood, and left the room without a word, and Elsa trailed behind, casting one last glare at Emma. Emma realized she could see wetness in the woman’s eyes. The room fell silent again, both Ingrid and Anna looking at the doorway the others had left through.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know - I mean, I knew he had passed but -” Emma stammered, trying to make sense of the situation.

Ingrid sighed, sad and tired. She laid her head in her hands. “Liam… Liam was Killian’s brother.” Emma realized too quickly why Killian’s eyes had seemed so familiar, why she felt compelled to trust him against her mother’s warning. Her emotions turned to a stone in her stomach, and she sank heavily into her seat. For the first time in many years, she felt a twisting feeling. Shame. Ashamed of the war that took so many nameless brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers from their families in the name of peace between the realms.

“And Elsa - Elsa and Liam were courting.” Anna spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. “They were so happy, he and Elsa. Killian had met a beauty himself and was courting her, but Elsa and Liam…” she paused trailing off, still gazing after her sister. “They were so in love. It was barely a courtship even by today’s standards. They just knew. He gave her a ring, and said he’d be back soon. No one expected the Goblins or the Darkness to…”

Ingrid coughed softly, and Anna looked down at her lap. Emma felt the air change, long swept away sadness and anger emerging from disused corners. Regina had drilled history lessons into her brain about how her parents had married and peace was won. Or so she had thought. The history had been clear, but now it was murky with a new understanding of long past events.

The Goblins, in a last move of madness, had resorted to blood magic - tearing two brothers from people they cared about without mercy and creating the Darkness they sought, unaware it would choose a vessel like Killian Jones. Unaware of the events that would transpire.

Milah, stolen away with hundreds of other women of all realms to keep their blood magic strong as they controlled the Darkness against the will of its vessel.

Liam, lying dead in red-stained waters with his entire armada as destruction rained down in time with barked commands.

The dagger, broken by the power of her parents’ True Love, taken from the Goblins as the Dark One raged in torment. The last moments of a united council sealing away the Goblins in a contained territory, and Killian in a dark cell for as long as needed.

Killian, forced for centuries to remember that he had lost everything. Or almost everything, the flicker of hope never quite going out.

Emma swallowed hard. Everything that her parents had done, everything Emma possessed, everything she was, her entire existence in this world and her own was an attack on the memories that Killian, Elsa, Anna and Ingrid buried, trying to forget. She’d ruined quiet peace with her imagined conversations, as Liam told her stories of the sea, and sang with her in gruff baritone from an imagined place in her mind. After falling into their lives with all the gentleness of a rockslide, how would she fix the impact of what she was, and what she represented? There was no way. Guilt and fear weighed as heavy and new emotions on her shoulders.

“I know - I know there is nothing I can say or do to make this right,” Emma whispered, “but please let me help you with anything I can?”

Ingrid nodded, a hesitant smile creeping onto her face. “Alright then. Let’s get you a shower and an apron.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Working in the bakery was tedious in its methodology and precision, mixing powders, eggs, and milk in large vats that stirred with mechanical innards. It reminded her of alchemy, and took her mind from her fears as she focused. Emma had a new found respect for Granny and any kitchen workers after the first few hours, especially since her clumsiness meant much more work was left to be done. At least she could try the shower again if she became nervous and made a mess; her hands still hadn’t stopped trembling from shock and leftover adrenaline.

“Why did you leave the realms?” Emma asked quietly, digging a scoop into a bowl labeled ‘C. chip cookies’. Scooping out a large portion, Anna all but ran over to stop her and show her the proper amount.

“They get bigger, they grow in the oven. Gosh, to think you’ve never cooked before.” Anna looked at Emma contemplatively for a moment before laughing gently. “I guess that’s part of it. My sister, Ingrid, and I - well. We come from a long line of Scandinavian Fae, Brownies, Trolls and Ice Folk. We were ladies of the court in the old northern palace for some time. It was located maybe three hundred kilometers from here, up on top of the mountains.” Anna flashed a toothy grin at Ingrid, who was smiling while mixing. “Then the war took our parents, our younger brother Olaf, our Uncle Nemo, our cousins, Liam… It destroyed my friends, destroyed our ancestral home. For me, I needed to stay where my memories were strongest. This was Uncle Nemo’s mill and we had fond memories summering here as well. Auntie, what about you?”

“There isn’t much to say. There was nothing left there for us. The magic was gone, metaphorically and literally. With very little magic, the kingdom falling from the peaks of snowy mountains to the earth, the ice of our towers cracking - we couldn’t rebuild without an unlimited supply of power again.” Ingrid shrugged, smoothing out dough in front of her with a rolling pin. She spread a thick brown filling over it with one hand, the other hand rolling it into a complex braid. “After I lost Nemo… This was a way to feel his presence. I feel him here so much, even now. He built our room to look over my mountains, while he could see his harbor. I still struggle looking at the sea. I miss his laugh, and I never thought I’d say it, but I miss his hunger.” Ingrid smiled, her voice wistful while completing several braids with different fillings. Emma could only continue shaping what would be cookies into uneven lumps.

Anna carried a metal tray past on one shoulder, correcting her scoop size once more before scurrying to the ovens and sliding it inside. “We put a glamor up for humans, so we look as though we’re aging and a new generation takes over, but we have been here long enough to watch the town become a city, and the city become a tourist destination. It’s something. We have purpose.” Pounding the dough, Anna worked fluidly, unstoppable in her routine as she sped through her tasks in an unending stream of movement.

Emma huffed in annoyance at her failure, plopping down more cookies on her first tray, glancing back to Ingrid who was now creating heart shaped tartlets, and Anna who weaved lattice over pies in less than a minute.

“Don’t get discouraged now, Princess!” Anna giggled. “We do this every day. You’ll be making the perfect sized cookies for us in no time.” Her positivity was sweet, considering how especially awful Emma was at every task set before her.

The work became easier as both women showed her techniques, and Emma cut shapes in pastry dough or kneaded loaves of bread. Kneading was becoming her fast favorite, her hands and occasionally forearm or elbow pushing air out of the round ball, pushing her frustration out as well. It was cathartic - and wonderful.

When the loaves were beaten into submission, Anna showed her how to make frostings or where they were in the cold box they kept, and this turned fortuitous. Emma was a natural immediately. Icing with delicate brocade or ethereal lace, Ingrid gasped at the cookies she laid out. Stained glass, something Ingrid referred to as “similar to Art Nouveau”, geometric patterns, and stunning jewel tones rested on trays in carefully placed positions. A wedding cake initially gave Emma pause, but she painted it in a tapestry of unicorns and peacocks, the rich, velvety, colors so realistic one could almost feel the loom’s weave. Bright flowers in the miniscule were easy and like home, unlike the designs Ingrid had pointed out in glossy paper picture books, named strange things like ‘Tartan’, ‘Paisley’, and 'Plaid’.

Elsa returned to see a beautiful pearl white and pale blue cake in three tiers, adorned with rock candy in a variety of watercolored hues piled high and topped with a light dusting of sugar. The effect was stunning, mimicking a frozen waterfall cascading over river boulders.

“Do… Do you like it?” Emma stepped timidly from where she had been standing, watching Elsa take in her work.

Elsa nodded, but said nothing else as she fled to her room.

Killian looked in briefly when he returned, but was more interested in the croissant he plucked from the display case with an aloof nod.

“Enjoying the commoner’s life, Princess?” he smirked, chewing his croissant. “Take care, or you may enjoy it too much and want to stay.” His back was to her, so she gave a slight cough to grab his attention with a frown. Carefully sliding a plate towards him over the case’s counter, Emma crossed her arms and stepped back to lean against the wall, as far from his presence as she could be.

“I don’t think life on the run and being separated from my family would provide me enjoyment. Ingrid asked if I wanted to make you something. I didn’t, but I felt I could not refuse. So, there’s that. Think of it as a thank you.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A tan piece of what possibly was cheesecake sat in front of Killian, covered in a dark brown sauce that dripped off the top of the slice and down the sides. Chuckling lightly, he looked, picked up the spoon, and spun it between his fingers before touching it to his lips. “Is that all your gratitude is worth?“

Emma stared at him with cold hatred. “A jest, love.” He leaned forward with eyes trained on her face, pleased he could feel her annoyance. ”If you’re interested in enjoyment, I’m sure we can find something suitable for your royal standards.”

“I am not your love, as I’ve told you.” The warning in her tone made him laugh again, her eyes only slits of frosted clover. “And I won’t be teased about my heritage and duty -”

“You know, if this is poisoned, I won’t die. Which is good because we know full well now that if I were to fall, your enjoyment would be in grave danger. You’d bore any unwitting night cap to death with your long winded explanations of decorum.”

Emma’s cheeks turned a bright red, and Killian’s smirk grew wider as the Darkness tittered. Her jaw set, and she let out a contemptuous huff.

“Shut up and eat your cake,” Anna said, rushing through to grab some pastries for a basket, the strange clear paper it was wrapped in crinkling. “You ungrateful prat.”

Emma slumped back against the wall, her face sour, and Killian turned towards the dessert. Torturing her was less fun today, especially when one of the other women lurked closeby to chastise him.

“I don’t even like sweets,” he mumbled. Emma snorted in derision, sending a flare of irritation at the dismissal through him. Grumbling, he scooped up a bite, more than ready to tell her how awful it was.

The first bite was sublime.

Dark chocolate and coffee married bittersweetness to a tangy sweet burn of the sauce, which Killian recognized immediately for its flavor. Rum, the spice and molasses possibly mixed with caramel.

Emma was gone when he looked up in surprise, but Anna was back with another tray. Sliding it into place as he took another bite, she smirked.

"She worked hard to make that. I realize your issues with her family, but considering that you both are harbored here, maybe you could try understanding that she is in a place very like yours. Waiting and hoping that her loved ones are safe."

He felt hot anger at her comparison, but as she stared back at him, it fizzled. Anna was quiet but a brilliant debater, constructing arguments in quick succession that were almost impossible to dodge. A war of words with her was not something he wanted. Luckily, Anna turned to take her leave after a moment more. Taking another bite of cake, he considered her thinking. There was a small sliver of truth in her words.

In a strange way, Killian wished that they could all stay like this, held in this happy oblivion forever more -

A time capsule moment where this could be a new normal, and he could forget everything that he had lost; the peace he might find if the pale memory of Milah’s hand in his or Liam’s roar of laughter over dinner faded away. Instead, four uneasy pairs of eyes watched him as if he were a bomb, ready to explode at any time. The jade pair bore into him with glassy loathing, but behind that lay fear and a frustrating penchant for sarcastic, annoying, ridiculously genuine kindness. Kindness he did not deserve, and she should not be giving, even if she was an innocent.

She’s not innocent. She is as guilty as her family, as everyone who let the war take -

"I know,” Killian replied, rubbing at his temple. There wasn’t surety in his words, the women adding another layer of distraction in his thinking. The Darkness, Ingrid’s calculated stare, Anna’s sharp tongue and Elsa being all around icy on top of the princess’s presence was akin to sticking his head in a vice.

You only want to forget to make it easier for yourself. Are you so selfish and cowardly that you would forego your revenge on their murderers? You deserve no penance.

“I know."

The whispered hiss echoed around the quiet shopfront, the creeping shadow around Killian feasting on his shame and the absolute truth in his reply.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

By the eighth day of their confinement, Killian was sure that being in such close quarters as these women was his own personal hell. The princess refused to do much more than spend all day in tasks that she could exhaust herself doing, her eyes going glassy when pressed on any sort of strategy or allies her parents may had mentioned in passing. The Darkness seemed to be at odds with itself when she was around, skittish and curious as it twisted words to toy with her.

She was quick witted and bitingly sarcastic if need be, especially under the provocation they provided. Killian found lewdness to be effective in getting her to quiet, while the Darkness was much more insidious. If they weren’t tormenting her, it was a torment in and of itself to be in the quiet alone with the nonstop voice. It moaned and hissed, screeching out complaints that felt like spikes through both temples, his forehead pulsing with effort to quiet it.

Useless! We will be under the thumb of some idiotic master again if you don’t act, if you don’t acquiesce -

His teeth set, fingers scrubbing against his jaw. For her part, Emma avoided him as much as possible, seemingly aware of how he scrutinized her at every turn while she did the same to him. It didn’t help matters that she had won the hearts of the women, letting them feed her advantageous information all while they consistently berated him for his vitriol. It had begun to feel like a game of chess where both players simply chased each other with no pieces to speak of.

They were your family, and now they betray you. Punish them for their insolence -

"No. No .”

In truth, they were all sympathetic to his plight. He had food, hot tea, salvaged books from Nemo’s library, and their caring questions that he refused to acknowledge. He had Milah’s locket, which he refused to look at.

This is not a holiday, they will be killed if you dither. We have the princess, get one of those chattering women to steal the shard -

“No. They would be at risk of getting hurt then, too-"

And? You could heal them when they return our power, our legacy -

~~ A flash of an old smile under blue eyes, the same color as Elsa’s paired with the same faintly colored hair. Elsa looks more like Olaf’s mother than older sister, the little boy’s grin missing teeth when she tickles him. He can so clearly see Olaf laughing as Liam tosses him in the air with Elsa braiding them crowns of forget me nots, Nemo chuckling as he smokes a long pipe, and Milah dancing barefoot over dusk touched rose petals. There’s nothing but happiness when Ingrid and her sister carrying heaps of food with Anna and Ingrid’s brother in law not far behind. It would be strange dining with the Duke and Duchess of Arendelle so casually if they were not so casual themselves. Barefoot, with rolled pantcuffs, there is a game of kicking a ball when the ale is drunk and so are the men. The Duchess may be making wet smacking noises on her son’s belly as his sisters help, calling him their little snow troll.

Nemo toasts with wine from golden summer grapes and sunshine reflected on sea waves, his voice booming off the tiles.

"To our family. A legacy, a lasting legacy for all of us!"

There is conversation over dinner, and later, quietly over drinks: Liam’s hushed voice telling him that he loves seeing Olaf, because when the war is over he wants a life with Elsa and a legacy, an heir to Blackwater.

The only person who makes Killian feel that same sense of hope, of wonder, is Milah. ~~

The Darkness groaned in frustration, scoffing as it tore apart the memory.

Are your ghosts loud tonight, weakling? The courtyard is empty. They’re long gone, and we’d have our revenge if you would -

"And, I have already told you. You will never hurt my family again. They will never play a part in whatever devious scheme you try and force them into. I hold my brother’s death upon my shoulders, and I will not shoulder another!”

Always the pretender, you sniveling coward. Fine. We’ll follow your line in the sand, vessel of mine - but should the time come where my schemes could have kept your loved ones from being hurt… Well. You’ll just add another name to that long, long list of yours, won’t you?

Sitting in the dark of the patio, the Darkness whispered incessantly, even as Killian refused to answer it. It wound around him tighter and tighter, staining his mood. Slithering through his thoughts like some great and poisonous snake, it laughed its reedy giggle as the endless night turned into endless day.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian did not join them for breakfast the next few mornings, Ingrid giving a shaky smile as she pointed out to the stone veranda that turned into the outdoor area. “He’s been out there since I went to bed on Sunday night, pacing like some caged animal. It’s like time stands still for him, out there for hours at a time, or disappearing to who knows where. Today I started the baking, made myself a bit of tea, and made him a pot - he’s still out there muttering.”

Emma nodded absently, pushing food around her plate.

“Girls. One of us will need to talk to him, and I thought it should be Emma this time. You seem to spur him into action with your attitude toward each other -"

"I’m sorry Ingrid, but I cannot today. I can't…” Emma started, but when the words stuck in her throat, she stood quickly and didn’t even bother to excuse herself, etiquette be damned. Running to her small makeshift quarters, she hiccuped as she locked the door behind herself and ignored the other women’s pleas. Not today. She could not do it today when concern for her family tore her to shreds. Not when her parents, her friends and family could be… Nil’s face came to mind, his complete indifference to her discomfort filling her with dread.

Not today. Emma was used to sacrifice, used to the idea of danger and the wolf at the gate. She recognized the size, shape, habitat, and behavior that presented danger. Here, however, with its hot breath burning her, being in the mouth of the wolf was too much, it was all too much without having someone who knew how much she missed the wonderful people that made up her family.

Sobbing into her pillow, she barely heard when Anna came in with a small tray and sat next to her.

“Do you want to talk to me?” Anna asked, and when Emma shook her head, she nodded quietly. “Would you like some tea?"

Emma sat up, surprised at how late it had gotten since she had excused herself. She nodded, accepting the offered cup from Anna.

"I knew your mom, you know.” Emma’s eyes widened infinitesimally, her interest captured. Anna continued shyly. “We weren’t close, or anything by any means, but… We talked, we knew each other."

"What was she like?"

"Your mom and I used to do etiquette classes together, but she’d always skip out. She hated the court, hated procedure and politics. Wanted to make a decision and be done with it, run in with arrow drawn to face the problem. We went to a ball in the Sacred Forest far north, and she wanted to leave until she saw a sword fighting contest. Her date caught wind of her desire and forbade her from joining - that is, until her protests won out.” Anna smiled a fond smile.“I had an awful date as well, a chosen match for me that was truly dreadful. Your mother’s was even worse than 'Handsy Hans’: your father’s twin, rest his soul. He was not kind to your mom. He bet a ring of Dav-, of your father’s, that he could beat her and suggested if he won he’d take her to a marriage bed with or without her consent.”

Emma winced.

“When he lost and your mom beat the bloody pulp out of him, David refused to give the ring to her. He claimed that it was his, and his brother had no right to take it. They fought until Snow took it and we all tried to make our way back. Your father, the persistent man he presumably still is, chased her. They fought constantly, but he challenged her. It was a whirlwind romance. James eventually met Princess Jacqueline of the Giants, and changed his ways completely. I heard The Airie and Beanstalk fell in the war, but did not want to believe that all of the Giants were lost.”

“I guess I never knew. My father doesn’t talk about Uncle James or Aunt Jacques. I only know of them through the brief correspondences they sent before the war took a turn. Well, that and their sculpture in our garden.”

“There are shame and secrets in every family. Your father called a vote on whether or not the Giants would receive a kingdom in the United Realms. James argued that not allowing them a seat at the table was forgetting their contributions to the cause. They had grown magic beans at one time, and Jacqueline was positive they could do it again. Instead, when the vote took place,they were denied, and then attacked by the Goblins. The Goblins had full control over the Darkness by that point, and…” Her eyes flickered down to her feet, like she was unable to look Emma in the eye as she continued.

“Sometimes the people we love the most are the easiest to make excuses for, but I believe Killian when he says he has to follow that ghastly dagger’s commands. He would never otherwise, I swear it.” Anna didn’t look up as the silence stretched between them.

“And… What was he like before?” Emma finally asked, watching as Anna’s eyes flicked up.

“Killian? Oh, he was a ladies’ man, a charmer in many ways but sincere in most. Milah made him tie himself up in knots."

"Was he kind?” Emma asked quietly.

“Yes. Too much sometimes, even. Gentle too. He could read people like no one else. He was sensitive, and had a way with words that was incomparable. I had a crush on him as a child, but we saw each other more like siblings after his mother’s death."

Emma cleared her throat. "It’s hard to believe he was ever kind.”

“We’re not talking about a person who is gone, or impossible to change, Emma.” Anna took Emma’s hand in her own, gently taking away the empty tea cup. “People have to want to change, to make changes, and to be a better person. You can’t change someone, but you can provide every chance for them to be better. You can see the good in them. Please don’t forget that there is good in him.” In pleading tones, Anna squeezed Emma’s hand. “At least not before I do,” she tried to joke, but it fell flat, the waver clear in her tone as she trailed off.

Emma swallowed hard, her throat suddenly raw despite the tea she had just drank. She had to destroy him, her mother was clear on that, and yet…

“I’ll try. Tell me more about back then, if you would?” Emma asked, her voice uneven.

Anna recounted tale after tale, and Emma’s mood started recovering from the slump she had left breakfast in.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

As the noonday sun moved quickly into evening, Anna returned with an empty tray from Emma’s room, washing the dishes as Ingrid sipped a cup of tea herself. The older woman’s eyes were trained on the long shadow made by the man prowling their terrace, his low voice sometimes coming into hearing, just low enough where words could not be discerned. Ingrid’s mouth turned downward at the edges, and she turned to Anna.

“How is she?” Ingrid took another sip of her tea, listening to Anna’s sigh. “About as well as you’d expect. She’s struggling, and doesn’t understand how to struggle. She’s stuck in the normal status quo we used to be in, where if you’re sad, you bottle it up and smile, look pretty, nod your head, and don’t dare to let any of the nobility see any weakness. The problem is, we’re all nobility, and he’s a -”

“He’s a broody idiot, and she’s an airhead,” Elsa supplied from the doorway. Taking a seat next to Ingrid, they shared a look, Anna letting out a snort. “I don’t know who you want to sort him out, Aunt Ingrid, but I’d rather eat shards of a mirror. It’s no wonder Emma all but fled for the hills when you asked that of her this morning; you proposed sending a lamb to the wolf. I mean for God’s sake, it’s the 60’s; he can’t talk to women that way, but she’s also going to have to toughen up a little.” She gestured a hand dismissively at the terrace.

Anna let out a noise of shock, sitting down beside her sister. “You can’t mean that, Els. I promise if you get to know her, you’ll see -”

“See what? That she’s not some vapid, spoiled, castle-coddled waif? Anna, you are too sympathetic to her. It’s -”

Ingrid slammed a fist down on the table, sending Elsa’s teacup rattling. “Elsa. That’s quite enough. The girl is…” She searched for the words, nodding her head sideways in thought. “She’s trying. She’s very smart, picks up things quickly. And she’s survived this long with… With him. I think we can all agree that that is impressive.”

Elsa rolled her eyes, pressing her lips together until they were thin lines. “He’s still our Killian, he’s just angry. Hell, I’m angry! I can’t imagine how he feels. And so what if she’s hiding her feelings, tell her to join the guild. I have to pretend I like her.” “You are acting very much like a spoiled princess for one criticizing another for the same - a woman who has tried nothing but to be nice to you,” Anna muttered. Elsa looked taken aback, but Ingrid laughed.

Standing up with a groan and letting her knees pop, she dusted off her apron and smiled gently at the two women shooting eye daggers at each other. “I guess since you two will be busy, it’s up to me, then.”

The chorus of sniping comments from the sisters followed her out into the night air, muffling as she closed the door behind her.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian sat on a stone bench, still muttering but in a strange staggered way, a grunt of acknowledgement and then silence when Ingrid came nearer to sit. The buzzing of the Darkness and its whine that put his body on edge grew with her close proximity, a punishment for denying its dark whims of violence. “You never come out here unless you want me to come inside and be around the princess. What have I done now to deserve such punishment?” There was no joke in his sentence, the sourness of his tone layered as if an adder’s poison coated his tongue. Ingrid gave a small shiver despite herself, much to his satisfaction.

“She’s a lovely girl, truly kind. Could do with a bit of learning, especially on how humans act or how to do a day’s labor, though.” Ingrid sat next to him, and he tried to ignore her. The Darkness hated her, and hated how she ignored its presence. It snapped its jaws and demanded deference. “She’s a pitiful idiot with a royal pedigree. I hope you didn’t give her blisters on her royal palms,” he growled sarcastically and Ingrid rolled her eyes. The Darkness seethed.

“Killian Brennan Jones.” The tone in the older woman’s voice was forceful. “You owe me hundreds of favors, or as that leech of a creature calls them, ‘deals’. You will be kind to that woman, and take her out to calm her fears. She is the daughter of a dear friend of our family, and I will not have you in my home if she is a panicked mess worrying about them. We all have given parts of ourselves to the war, but she does not hold the blame. Be a gentleman, like the you I remember.”

Kill her, snap her neck, end this! She doesn’t respect us, we must demand respect! the Darkness squirmed and whined.

“I’m always a gentleman, Ingrid, and the leech is me and I am the leech, regardless of your memory. Have Anna take her shopping. They like each other,” Killian droned. He didn’t deserve respect, and Ingrid was right. The Darkness howled.

“No, you’ll go. She’s your charge, and holds your freedom.” At his quick eyebrow raise and ticking jaw, her eyes twinkled. “If you want to be free, you should be using honey, not vinegar.”

Killian grunted noncommittally.

“It’s settled then. I’ll lay out an outfit for her. Take her to the park, the big one in town by the sea.” Ingrid continued to babble on as the Darkness bit at him under his skin, desperately seeking vengeance. His firm line held true, though; he would never again hurt his family, no matter how the fanged monster tried. When the Darkness had settled to a normal skitter after licking its wounds, it chewed on the words Ingrid had spoken.

The silly woman might have a point.

Honey over vinegar.

#Hallow #Courtorderedcake #CSSNS #CSSNS 2019 #Captain Swan #Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

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wisdomrays · 5 years ago

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OUR PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE: Part-2

Since the middle of the fifteenth century, there have been many attempts initiated toward developing this idealized system of thought. However, they have never been able to reach the desired objectives. Although this observation is open to contention in certain respects, in general it is true. The architects of Constitutional monarchy, from these to the latest workers of thought, many, whether sincere or not, have tried to find answers to this search and expectations in the collective conscience. However, some became entangled in the Tahafuts of Ibn Rushd and Imam Ghazali, some drowned and perished in the whirlpools of the French Revolution and Auguste Comte, while some were kept busy in the delirium and obsession of Durkheim. They were always active, but they have never taken into account the age in which they lived, and have either gone beyond fantasy or routed thousand-year-old national values into bewilderment by treating their whims and fancies as their god. I wish we could have overcome such vexations and negativities by now. How I wish we could overcome such contrariness and develop a system of thought and a national philosophy nurtured by our own sources!

Let me express this concisely; because the angles of feeling, perception, and interpretation of the natural phenomena are different, if we do not have a strong foundation of thought or a system of philosophy on which to build everything, our views will always be in contradiction and we will devour one another in a web of opposition and conflict. Tomorrow, as well as today, can be our property only by means of this strong method and system, and by means of a common manner or style, which all the generations will voluntarily share. If we do not have such unity in our thoughts, feelings, and manner of life, it will remain nothing but grandiose wishful thinking to talk about national unity and solidarity, both today and tomorrow. For in every system, national logic, thinking, reasoning, and the spiritual inspirations (waridat) are very important. To the extent that a system of thought arises from a nation's own mind, conscience, and world of emotions, can the unity of feelings, logic, and reasoning, and the ease of living together as a nation be realized. On the other hand, where a nation's feelings, thoughts, interpretations, and styles clash with one another, and where reasoning and rationality are in contradiction, actions and activities would yield no fruit, even though there are a great many of them taking place. In such cases, complete devastation is also likely to happen. In a society where such conflict and commotion of understanding and interpretation are experienced, every effort will continually clash and break with another, just like the waves of the sea, and by pouring into its own pool of inertia everything will keep on whirling in a vicious circle. There is some seen and unseen wisdom in the clash of the waves at sea, their breaking and their calming of one another. However, there is only stagnation, rot, disintegration, and self-annihilation in similar collisions and clashes if found within a society. In such a society, everyone seems to be a wolf at the other's door and every thought a project of death; and even if heavenly blessings shower continuously on that society, it will be like clothes under attack from moths; even historical values are subject to attack and becoming moth-eaten, the sacred is face to face with the danger of destruction; and they don't recieve loyalty from the old, nor chivalry from the young; the young people, whom we expect to become heroes, to be the dynamic power that will carry the standard of the bright future on their shoulders, instead swear at the flag and curse the history of their country, considering the future as the arena in which they will perform all their impetuousness and insanity. The old and the intelligentsia, who indulge in hair-raising heedlessness, act almost as the advocates of such decadence; in their expressions, writings, and TV shows they incite bohemianism in the spirit and devastate the understanding and discernment of people, as if they were pouring acid on them.

During such a period, the seats of science and knowledge are not able to evoke a love and thought of knowledge. Those who represent power and authority become the pawns of particular ideologies and devour one another; logic, reasoning, and inspiration are condemned to walk in the narrow aisles of enigmatic signs and expressions. In a society in which such contrariness and vexations develop, idleness, ambition and vanity replace thinking, life becomes nothing but a torture.

Our system of thought or philosophy of life, however, is related to not only the world of existence, but also to the realm of pre-existence, and to whatever is beyond existence. It also deals with all natural phenomena and things which lie beyond as a whole; it is vast enough to define the manner of our entire lives in continuity. It is with such a system that society, in its smallest particle, the individual, is able to realize the universal justice awaited on Earth and respond to all the expectations of humanity by stimulating individuals to act morally; in this way, society is fed with spirit, morality, virtue, and contemplation and thus reaches a state of being renewed as itself. Thus, our understanding of civilization and cultural richness becomes a desirable good, demanded, and sought after all over the world; we are therefore able to extend our helping hands to the rest of the world to present comfortably our ideals of humanity, our philosophy of morality, our understanding of virtue, and our acceptance and interpretation of justice. Again, as a result of having acquired such a level and position, like all the power sources of a state, administrative dynamics and social and economic principles will spring out from the people's own spirit and in this way society will save itself from all sorts of "dependence." So far, the tacit dependence which we have been carrying like a yoke around our necks due to our weaknesses and indebtedness, has paralyzed and caused inertia in our political, economic, and judicial systems, just as it did in our administrative system. In the past, our golden generations, who had once made Anatolia one of the most cultivated, prosperous countries of the world, developed and established their own administrative, political, and judicial systems out of the materials of their own spirit. They did not let any thinking, system, or understanding enter the institutions of the people, which were safeguarded like their homes, family pride, and good name, without having checked it by their own criteria and measures. Far from letting these in, even after they had struggled with nearly the entire world and experienced a temporary defeat, and even while they were retreating wounded and shaken, but ever hopeful, with faith, and with great zeal and desire, they tried to preserve their own origins, gathered around the consciousness of history, and held tightly to the dynamics to which they owe their existence-as expressed in a hadith, they "held (them) tightly between their teeth and their palate." Their heads were not bent down, but held high, their understanding, acceptance, and interpretation of the world and the Hereafter were sound and intact, and they advanced toward a fresh revival without pausing for a breath.

Today, when dawns follow new dawns, from the perspective of our own horizon of wisdom, if we are able to evaluate soundly and once more make use of the world in which we are now living, if we are able to interpret things and events well, if we are able to determine the basic materials of the inner structure of our own people, and if we are able to attach ourselves to the ideals that exist until eternity, we will always be like our glorious ancestors; we may even advance ahead of them. Indeed, why should the insightful generations not be in advance of those of the past; indeed of all generations? They will take the past, the present, and the future, putting them into perspective all at the same time, evaluating and making the best of them; they will take the traditions, culture, and historical dynamics of the society in which they live under their protection; they will interpret well the cycle of the recurrence of history in the direction of their own renewal.

It is important to recall, once again, that the first responsibility that falls to us is to make felt in the consciences of the generations the effects of pain, suffering, hardship, beliefs adopted and the cultures rooted in direct proportion to their weightiness. This will be done by developing in people the consciousness of history. If we can do this, after a few generations no one living in our land will think of looking for or finding any foreign source for our various institutions beyond our spiritual dynamics.

We will be bringing all the elements of our life tomorrow from the past. If we are able to blend them with the light of our religion and the rays of science and knowledge in the crucible of our culture, we will have prepared the glue of our eternity.

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stormquill · 6 years ago

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mahpiohanzia | chapter two [Remus Lupin/Reader]

You are an Animagus-in-training nearing the end of your education. He is Generic Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher Replacement #7. Your final year at Hogwarts couldn’t possibly be any stranger than the previous six...but seven is one of the most powerful numbers in magic, after all.

[ AO3 Link ]

Author’s Notes: Co-written by Andrew. Follow the blog @ http://mahpiohanzia.tumblr.com

Notes: what do you guys think so far?? please let me know!

If you were asked to sum yourself up in a single word, that word would be ‘tired’.

The final couple years’ curriculum at Hogwarts was dedicated to preparing students for N.E.W.T.s at the end of their seventh year. Your workload for year six was overwhelming, and with graduation on the horizon, you had no reason to doubt year seven would be even worse.

Your stellar academic performance so far was wholly attributed to hard work and sheer force of will--doubly so, as you entered the tail-end of your education. Within the past year, to keep up with the quality of your coursework, you’d evolved into a hyper-focused, largely isolated monstrosity of a workaholic; you never considered yourself antisocial before, but there were only so many times you could turn down your roomates’ invitations to hang out before they stopped asking altogether.

Right now, you kept huddled against the window of your compartment, rain showering the glass as the constant rumble of the train rocked you to sleep. You were practically swaddled within your robes, having changed into your uniform early for the sole purpose of sleeping as much as you could on the way there.

Although you’d fallen asleep alone, by the time you reached Hogsmeade Station, you woke to the anxious chatter of fellow members from Slytherin house, who’d used your colours as territorial claim to the train compartment.

“Oh!” squeaked a small second-year girl sitting across from you. “They’re awake!”

A young man with broad shoulders and fantastic hair looked over at you, concerned. “Did you actually sleep through that whole thing? You weren’t just faking?”

“Didn’t get much sleep last night,” you lied, annoyed at having to explain yourself. You rubbed at your eyes beneath your glasses. “Why?”

When the rest of the compartment exchanged wary glances, you realized at once that something was very wrong.

“It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you.”

The enchanted ceiling showed a dark, muddied sky still recovering from the evening storm, as if the weather mirrored the dim atmosphere of the Great Hall. Beneath the light of a thousand flickering candles, the entire school sat in rapt attention during Dumbledore’s announcements, with many of the younger years breaking into nervous discussion at the mention of dementors. In light of recent events, you were told, security at Hogwarts had been escalated, with the infamous wraiths of Azkaban now guarding every entrance to the grounds.

When your housemates filled you in on the dementor-related mishap on the train, you were suddenly very glad to be a heavy sleeper.

Shifting gears, Dumbledore went on to introduce the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor: a rather plain, shabby-looking gentleman who looked as if he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in years. Even more surprising, however, was the retirement of Professor Kettleburn, and the appointment of Hagrid to the position of Care of Magical Creatures.

Not everyone had taken Professor Kettleburn’s class, but everyone knew Hagrid.

After the last of the dessert disappeared and bedtime was finally called, you used the ensuing crowd as cover to approach the end of the staff table where Hagrid sat.

You caught his eye, and offered a handshake. “Congratulations, Professor Hagrid.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used ter that!” the large man bellowed, going red in the cheeks as his hands practically swallowed yours. “Appreciate it, though--really lookin’ forward ter it. Got some great lessons planned. Will I be seein’ yeh there, erm...sorry, didn’ catch yer name?”

You reintroduced yourself. “And no, unfortunately--I never got the O.W.L.”

“Ah, well...” He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the green and silver of your robes, before shaking his shaggy head and waving a hand dismissively. “Nonsense--yeh ever wan’ ter sit in on a lesson, yeh jus’ let me know. I’d be glad ter have yeh.”

“Planning extra lessons before receiving your timetable?” came the stern voice of a familiar witch. “Quite optimistic for a seventh-year.”

Hagrid straightened up like he was the one in trouble.

An older woman stepped out from behind him, wearing dark green robes and a strict expression, her grey hair pulled into a tight bun beneath her pointed hat. Although never an unfair teacher, she exuded a presence that always made you feel like she’d caught you in the act of doing something unsavoury--this would make you nervous, which would make her suspicious, which would toss you into an endless feedback loop of looking highly suspect over absolutely nothing.

“Professor McGonagall,” you greeted with false cheer. “Have a good summer?”

“Yes, thank you.” Her intense gaze did not falter. “Did you receive my note before the start of term?”

“I did, ma’am, yes. Your office, Friday evening.”

“Good. Now, enough dawdling--please make your way to the dormitories with the rest of your house.”

You obliged, taking the excuse to break eye contact with her as you retreated from the staff table.

You glanced a goodbye at Hagrid, who mouthed ‘Let me know’ and gave you a thumbs up as you left.

[ Image Full View ]

Save for some minor changes, your timetable was the same as that of your previous year. The large amount of free periods once gave you the misconception of free time, back when you were naïve to the ways of the world, but after the near-daily ten-hour study sessions of your sixth year, you knew better than to fall for that illusion again.

Keeping time would be important this year, so you’d bought a watch over the summer--simple and black, with silver embellishments. The watch itself was charmed to zap you with a small electric shock at set times throughout the day. You enchanted it with your school schedule.

It wasn’t unusual for the first few weeks of term to be punctuated with various mishaps that spread around the school like wildfire. Draco Malfoy, the pompous third-year son of a powerful political figure, managed to get himself injured the first day of classes, and rumour had it he was milking it for all it was worth.

You never subscribed to pure-blood elitism or discrimination, nor did the majority of your house--more than half of the entire Hogwarts student body was half-blood or Muggleborn, after all, Slytherin population included. Yet, it was people like Malfoy who reminded you that the loudest, most obnoxious members of any group were the ones responsible for its reputation, and whenever you caught the pathetic thirteen-year-old boy strutting through the halls, retelling the increasingly outlandish tale of how he almost lost his arm to a rabid Hippogriff, you couldn’t help but feel deep embarrassment for your house.

There was little time to dwell, however.

Seventh-year N.E.W.T. courses featured advanced-level magic with smaller, mixed-house classes, meaning much stronger individual attention and higher workloads. Two days into term and the assigned readings were already threatening to consume your entire weekend, and the only reason you wanted Friday to be over was to get a headstart on Monday’s assignments.

Your last class of the week was your first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, and somehow, Professor Lupin looked even worse than he did at the start-of-term feast.

Now that you were only a few feet away from him, you learned he was a taller man, his tousled brown hair salted with touches of grey far beyond his years. He wore clothes a half-size too large for his frame; the fabric of his cardigan was pilling at the edges, and his robes had clearly been darned in several places. It was a good thing none of the classroom windows were open, you thought to yourself, as a stiff breeze would’ve been sure to knock him over.

“Good afternoon, class,” he began, his voice much stronger than his posture. “My name is R.J. Lupin, and I have the honour of being your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this term. You may call me ‘Professor.’ I assure you I have been called worse things.”

The class gave a small laugh.

“Now, in an attempt to establish myself as your favourite teacher right at the start of term, I will be administering a test for our very first class.” There was a collective sigh, but Lupin was already raising a hand to placate the room. “Not to worry, not to worry--this won’t be graded. It’s just a little something to gauge the level of your study progress. I’ve come to understand that your sixth-year N.E.W.T. lessons were rather...inconsistent.”

“That’s because Lockhart was a quack,” shouted a voice from the back row. Sounds of agreement and jeering filled the classroom.

“All the more reason for this test,” he said. “Your N.E.W.T.s are at the end of this year, and if I am to prepare you for them, I must learn exactly what you don’t know.” He took his wand from his inner pocket and gave it a wave. From a large stack on his desk, folded sheets of parchment distributed themselves around the class. “Again, this is not being marked--answer what you can, leave blank what you cannot. You have thirty minutes. Begin.”

You unfolded the parchment in front of you, dipped your quill into your inkwell, and set to work.

The exam began with simple questions that could be answered in a few words or less, about dark magical creatures, general defensive spell knowledge, and various incantations. As you progressed through the parchment, however, the questions grew more complicated; there were sections in which to illustrate differences between mirrored and non-mirrored wand movements, the most efficient methods of spell-chaining, and questions regarding counterspell theories you only vaguely remembered reading about. As instructed, you began skipping questions you didn’t know the answer to, until you reached the end and realized in a heart-sinking panic that nearly half of your test was blank.

All too quickly, Lupin called time, and with another wave of his wand, gathered the papers back to his desk. As your half-empty parchment slid away, you immediately glanced around the room to gauge overall impressions of the exam; thankfully, at least you weren’t the only one looking bewildered.

“Good, good--thank you, this will be very helpful.” Lupin arranged the completed exams back into a neat pile on his desk. “As I’ll need some time to get up to speed, I will not be assigning any homework this weekend--however, I would like to finish today’s class with a bit of a practical test. Everyone, put away your things and pair up, please, facing one another.”

As everyone packed up and got to their feet, Lupin moved the rows of desks up against the walls, clearing enough room on the floor for two lines of students. By process of elimination, you ended up pairing against a familiar, burly seventh-year with short hair and a strong jawline--the infamously tenacious Quidditch Captain of the Gryffindor team, Oliver Wood.

Wood pursed his lips and gave you a polite smile. You returned it.

“Now, get out your wands,” said Lupin. “I’d like to measure your proficiency with nonverbal spellwork. Should be very straightforward.”

You pulled out your wand from your inner robe pocket: a jet-black length of carved wood, the edges where your fingers rested worn to a dark grey. Nonverbal spells were a well-practiced skill learned at the beginning of your previous year--even if Lockhart didn’t teach them, every spell learned across classes during your sixth year was expected to be performed without speaking.

“Those on my right,” Lupin called out, raising a hand to indicate the row, “will cast a Stunning Spell on their opponent without speaking, on my mark. Those on my left will cast a Shield Charm in return, also without speaking. For those casting Shield Charms, please dissipate the Stun instead of deflecting it--I’d appreciate keeping my classroom intact, if possible.”

The students in your row would be performing first.

You made eye contact with Wood and nodded, making sure he was ready. He nodded back.

“Wands at the ready, very good. Three, two, one.”

With a sharp flick of your wrist, you cast a Stunning Spell in Wood’s direction. A burst of red light shot from the end of your wand. Wood shielded himself against it easily, dissipating your spell into a small wisp of red smoke. All your neighbors shared identical results.

“Excellent,” said Lupin. “Let’s switch, now, wands at the ready. Three, two, one.”

Mirroring the rest of the students in his row, Wood raised his wand at you, and cast the spell.

It wasn’t until the jet of red light sped towards you when you realized you’d forgotten the Shield Charm incantation completely.

Muscle memory alone drew your wand in front of you with the correct motion, but without the proper incantation to go with it, the Stun ricocheted off the end of your wand--and straight into your own face.

You were on your back in an instant, halfway across the classroom floor.

Gasps of shocked laughter accompanied the loud, painful ringing in your ears. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear Wood apologizing like mad.

The ceiling of the classroom spun and blurred into your vision. Your eyes were stinging, and you were trying to will them not to water up, if only to save what little dignity you had left--you weren’t actually crying, you were experiencing that awful, biting, welling reflex of getting hit hard in the face, but you knew there was no difference to the outside eye.

You tasted copper in the back of your throat long before you realized your nose was bleeding.

Suddenly, there were a pair of hands on you--someone was guiding you to your feet, hooking one of your arms around their shoulders to help you walk.

“Class dismissed,” Lupin said abruptly, leading you from the room.

The first week of term was typically the busiest for Madam Pomfrey, and today was no exception. By the sound of it, she had her hands full tending to several first-years who, on a dare from a rival house, ignored instructions during Herbology and were now paying a painful, swollen price for it.

You sat in silence in the Hospital Wing lobby, one hand still wrapped tightly around your wand, the other holding your sleeve against your nose to stifle the bleeding. Your face was burning--partly from the pain, partly from the sheer embarrassment of having a teacher waiting there with you in the neighboring seat.

More than anything, you wished Lupin would’ve just left you there to stew in peace, but the man seemed dead-set on doing the exact opposite. He’d helped you to the Hospital Wing, after all--there was no polite way of asking him to leave.

There was also no polite way of holding back the frustration bubbling inside you, either, so after several minutes of idle silence, you stopped trying.

“Protego ,” you snarled. The injury dulled your syllables, like you had a stuffy nose. “The incantation is Protego . That’s fourth-year stuff, for Merlin’s sake--how am I supposed to pass my N.E.W.T.s if I can’t remember Protego ?”

“You’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, softly. “It’s my fault for doing a practical test without having a proper understanding of everyone’s abilities.”

“I know the spell,” you snapped. “I just--”

“--haven’t used it in a long time, I understand. But this could’ve been avoided if I simply had everyone recite the spells before we began casting them.”

“No, this could’ve been avoided if I just remembered the bloody spell. I was the only one in the class who forgot it, this is on me.”

“An oversight on both our parts, then.”

His tone sounded final, and you bit back the urge to argue. You weren’t sure why he was being so understanding about this whole thing, but you knew you’d be a fool to challenge it.

With one part of your robe sleeve thoroughly soaked with blood, you made a disgusted noise as you folded over a dry part of the fabric and pressed your leaking nose to it. “S’pose I won’t be gracing the cover of the Daily Prophet any time soon.”

Lupin leaned over in his chair and looked at you, reacquainting himself with your injury. “It’s not that bad,” he assured. “When I was your age, I fumbled a fairly standard Conjuring Spell during class. I learned two things that day: that enunciation is vital , even if it’s just in your head--and that birds like to go for the eyes.”

You gave a snort of laughter, then an immediate curse of pain as it reminded you that your nose was broken.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding more amused than sincere.

You shrugged it off. “Did that really happen?”

“Feel free to ask Professor McGonagall yourself. Definitely wasn’t one of my proudest exams.”

“Yeah, well.” You dangled the wand in your other hand in a hopeless sort of motion. “This isn’t one of my proudest days, either.”

“That’s quite the antique you have there,” he said, motioning towards your wand. “Ebony?”

“Oh. Yeah.” You looked it over. Did he just call your wand old ? “My grandfather left it to me. Phoenix feather cores are rather rare--I guess he reckoned I could squeeze another lifetime out of it.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

You shrugged, sliding the wand back into your inner robe pocket. “It’s alright, I guess. A little temperamental. It, uh.” You clicked your tongue and motioned to your face. “Doesn’t like unclear instructions.”

He leaned in for a whisper. “In its defence, I doubt many of us do.”

Remembering not to laugh, you instead smiled into your sleeve.

Without warning, Madam Pomfrey swept into the lobby, her stark-white robes billowing behind her as she towered over your seated form. She moved your arm from your nose, holding your chin and tilting your face from side to side as if she were examining a particularly interesting fruit. “And what have we here?”

“A rebounded Stunning Spell,” said Lupin.

“Broken nose and a black eye, easy fix.” She turned heel and made her way back into the main ward. “Don’t move.”

Now that you were being looked after, Lupin got to his feet and prepared to leave before Madam Pomfrey managed to shoo him away, grabbing his robe from the back of his chair and folding it over his forearm. Your conversation had made you feel so at ease that you’d forgotten to be embarrassed he was still there.

“Oh, that’s right.” He reached into the pocket of his cardigan and pulled out your pair of broken glasses.

(No wonder everything was still blurry.)

Lupin tapped on your glasses with his wand, repairing them at once. Before you could say anything, he’d leaned over and slid them carefully back onto your face, minding your injury; his fingers brushed against your cheeks as your vision became clear, and his face was just close enough for you to learn his eyes were green.

“There we are,” he smiled. “Just like new.”

You mumbled a small ‘thanks’ as he straightened back up to full height.

“Right, then. See you Monday.”

You stared after him while he left, at least until the sudden, unexpected pain of Madam Pomfrey’s spell snapped both you and your nose back to reality.

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7 was propped open in front of you during dinner that evening.

Though you were only two days into term, N.E.W.T. preparations were fully underway, starting with condensed reviews of nearly every spell, potion, and number chart you encountered throughout your first six years. Though Lupin hadn’t assigned any homework, you wanted to get a head start on reviewing your old Defence Against the Dark Arts notes to prevent any repeat incidents involving embarrassingly basic spells. You also had a one-on-one meeting with McGonagall later that evening.

In spite of having more than dinner on your plate that night, your attention constantly drifted towards the only empty seat at the staff table.

Lupin wasn’t there.

Somewhere between the fifth and tenth glances at the staff table, your book slipped out of your hand, and page 24 received a healthy serving of gravy.

You decided you were being ridiculous.

You would pay his office a visit and dispel the day’s awkwardness before your next lesson, if only to prevent making a complete ass of yourself two Defence Against the Dark Arts classes in a row.

After dinner, you made your way up to the second-floor corridor, mentally rehearsing bullet points of conversation on the way. You were going to apologize for causing a scene in his class earlier that afternoon. You would thank him for his help getting you to the Hospital Wing. You would promise to do better in his class. That was all. Simple and clearcut.

Yes, just to clear the air.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on his office door.

There was no answer.

“Professor?” you called. Maybe he’d already retired to his living quarters for the night--he certainly didn’t look well earlier in class.

However, as you knocked again, you noticed the doors to his office were locked--not just fastened shut, but magically sealed .

Behind you, a sharp voice spat out your last name.

The call gave you a start.

Be it due to your gross lack of awareness or his unspoken mastery of stealth, Snape had managed to make it all the way down the second-floor hallway without you noticing his approach.

Snape looked down his nose at you, his gaze cold and unblinking. “What are you doing here?”

Your first instinct was to lie, but your second instinct thought better of it. “I...caused a disruption in Professor Lupin’s class earlier today.”

“So I heard.”

You swallowed. Of course he would’ve heard. “Yeah, so...I came to apologize.”

“The most sincere apology,” he started, raising a brow, “would be to simply improve your behaviour in class going forward, would it not?”

“I just wanted to make sure we were on good terms.”

Wrong answer.

“Five points from Slytherin.” The corner of Snape’s nose curled, as if he suddenly smelled something foul. “We do not grovel for forgiveness in this house. You would do well to remember that.”

You bit your tongue. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, unless I’m mistaken, you have a meeting to attend.” He stepped aside without looking at you, making a path for you to pass by. “If you are late, I will know.”

As if on cue, your watch gave you a small bzzt on the wrist, marking your fifteen-minute warning.

You mumbled a final, “Yes, sir,” before passing him on your way back down the corridor.

Out of everything you would have to face this year, you thought you were looking forward the completion of your Animagus training.

Like everyone else, you first learned about Animagi in Transfiguration class during your third year. When asked about the process to become one, however, McGonagall was quick to inform you that it was an extremely rare skill not to be studied lightly; being an Animagus trained under Dumbledore himself, McGonagall wouldn’t consider taking in any candidate who proved themselves anything short of outstanding in her field.

This meant achieving top grades in both Transfiguration class and the mounds of prerequisite extracurricular homework she assigned you--term after term, year after year--just to convince her you were worthy of her time.

This meant keeping your head down and not giving Snape, as your head of house, any excuse to deny you permission to pursue the additional line of study.

This meant getting an Outstanding in both your Transfiguration and Potions O.W.L.s to qualify for private lessons with McGonagall throughout your sixth year.

Becoming an Animagus was, above all else, an extremely bizarre goal--a complex, demanding, high-risk process to endure for the acquisition of an esoteric skill with little to no practical use. One’s efforts were much better spent in something more valuable, practical, and marketable--but that was why you wanted to do it.

The journey was for you and you alone, just to prove you could make it.

At least, that’s what you thought.

McGonagall sat silent behind her desk, leaning forward as she kept her hands folded in front of her. She stared at you over the rim of her glasses, studying your pale expression, while your eyes remained fixated on the small crystal phial sitting on the desk between the two of you.

“Are you going to be sick?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet,” you croaked.

“I urge you to do it away from my desk, if you don’t mind.”

You gave a nervous laugh, though your eyes didn’t move from the phial.

“We can revisit this next month if you’re having doubts,” she suggested, a bristle of impatience in her voice.

“No doubts,” you replied. “Just nerves.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Her intensity eased, just a little. “That’s why I’m here.”

“I’ve been studying for this for almost four years,” you said. “It always seemed so far away. ‘I can’t be an Animagus unless I get good marks on this assignment.’ ‘I can’t be an Animagus unless I get perfect O.W.L.s.’ ‘I can’t be an Animagus until I qualify for registration in year seven.’ But now .” You breathed another small laugh. “Now I’ve got the Mandrake leaf sitting right in front of me and I’m terrified .”

“As you should be.”

You tore your eyes from the phial and looked up at her, surprised.

“The successful completion of the final Animagus ritual is one of the most daunting feats in the field of Transfiguration,” she said, quite severely. “The slightest misstep will have disastrous results--permanent disfiguration at best, and at worst ...well. Let’s just say St. Mungo’s has a long-term residents ward for a reason. You’d be a fool not to be terrified.”

“Professor--”

“That being said,” she continued, raising a finger to quiet you. “The reason this process is so involved is because it is meant to teach you the virtues of knowledge and patience . You may not find day-to-day use in becoming an Animagus, but having studied the skill successfully these past few years has given you a framework of discipline that you will carry with you for the rest of your life. Now,” she motioned to the phial, “tell me why I called you here today.”

“...it’s a full moon, Professor. I have to put the leaf in my mouth tonight, and keep it there until the beginning of the next cycle.”

“Which is?”

“October 6th.”

“What will you do then?”

“Meet with Professor Snape that evening to create the Animagus potion under the light of the full moon.”

“And if the full moon isn’t completely visible on the night of October 6th?”

“Discard the leaf, come to you, and start over again.”

“And if Professor Snape is unavailable to help you the night of October 6th?”

“Discard the leaf, come to you, and start over again.”

“And if the leaf is swallowed or otherwise removed from your mouth at any time between now and the night of October 6th?”

“Discard the leaf, come to you, and start over again.”

“Good.” With a graceful nonchalance, McGonagall picked up the crystal phial containing the Mandrake leaf, and placed it into the palm of your hand. “You’re ready.”

Your heart already feeling lighter, you beamed.

“Thank you, Professor.”

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callboyjobs123 · 2 years ago

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offer-singh · 4 years ago

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australianservices1 · 4 years ago

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Selling homes at a good price is an art and not everybody is aware of the techniques used to attract legitimately interested buyers to a property. The good news is you can learn the tricks of the trade and obtain a better price for your home by making a few wise investments and repairs. From choosing the right moment for putting your property on the market to calling upon services such as a cabinet maker Gold Coast, here is what you need to know about the vital improvements that will increase your chances of selling your home:

When?

A knowledgeable seller doesn’t just advertise their property for sale on a whim.

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Kitchens Sell Homes

Is your kitchen outdated and full of stains from the many years of dinner preparations? This is a big turn-off for potential buyers, especially when people are very likely to spend more time at home than they usually would due to factors such as the Covid pandemic. Deep-clean those kitchen tiles to make them look like new, paint the walls, replace date bench tops, and contact a cabinet maker Gold Coast for a new set of kitchen cabinets. New kitchen cabinets can vary in costs but they are well worth the investment. They immediately add value to a property and sometimes, all you need to do is replace the counter top or the fronts or handles.

Just a few minor tweaks can be the deciding factor for potential buyers. Proof that you have properly cared for your property, and that it will be a home they want to invest in and live. If these projects and repairs like patching up cracked concrete or repainting your exterior, sound like they are too much of a hassle for you, you can always call in home maintenance services Gold Coast. Many homeowners looking to sell their property also opt for cabinet maker Gold Coast services for a complete makeover of their kitchen.

Benefits of hiring a professional include:

Better results and a professional finish, as home maintenance staff have the skills and experience needed to complete the job properly;

Quick turnaround because this is what home maintenance companies do best and they have teams dedicated to getting those household projects and repair jobs done in an efficient manner;

Licenses for certain work – electrical and plumbing require a licensed tradie to sign off on work done. Especially when it comes to electrical, never attempt to do it yourself

If you lack the time or energy to get the required fixes done, the team at Proper Job can help you out. Proper Job offer a wide range of services including repairs, renovations, electrical, plumbing and outdoor/landscaping works, so you can sell your property at the price it deserves. No matter what the job is, Proper Job delivers. Find Proper Job Maintenance and Renovations on Facebook or contact Proper Job at 0424 951 805 or through the online enquiry form!

#cabinetmakergoldcoast #guttercleaningGold Coast #homemaintenanceservicesGoldCoast

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todaysciencology · 4 years ago

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If you are interested in astronomy due to solar eclipse, let us know about an app to install in your phone.

A cosmological app in the palm of your hand! An exciting event took place in space yesterday - a circular solar eclipse or say 'Ring of Fire' solar eclipses! The spread of the corona virus has disrupted daily life on Earth, but everything in space is moving at a steady pace! Yesterday's solar eclipse was the result of such a fixed, fixed, annual cycle of events!

We all know that the various planets in our universe revolve around the immovable sun, these planets have their own satellites. The earth itself rotates on its axis, tilted slightly, and at the same time revolves around the sun. If we talk only about the earth, due to the orbit of the earth around the sun, the motion of the earth on its own axis and the orbit of the moon around the earth, various exciting astronomical events are created. One of them is this kind of annual annular solar eclipse.

Such a solar eclipse occurs when the Sun, Moon and Earth are in a straight line, all three on almost the same surface (when it comes to the universe we have to think in three dimensions, so the combination of both a line and a surface becomes necessary).

Also, between the sun and the earth, the moon should be at such a distance from the earth that it does not completely cover the sun, but covers it so much that the bright light of the sun is visible around it and a ring is formed!

Such astronomical events lead us to various questions, which we do not pay enough attention to in our daily lives. For example, during the day or especially at night, will there be anything beyond what we see in the sky with the naked eye? If so, what will it be, how will it be? What is the space that astronomers see through a telescope?

We know why it happens day and night on Earth, but does it take 24 hours for the Earth to rotate on its own axis, or does it increase or decrease? Is it 365 days or less for the earth to complete one cycle around the sun? Leap year comes every four years and one day fluctuates in February. What does this have to do with all this? Every day we see the moon getting smaller and bigger, the question of what exactly causes it either does not arise in our minds or does not go deep into it.

In the past, we had to become astronomers to know the answers to such questions, now it is enough to just download one or two apps in a smartphone, there should be a lot of curiosity in the mind. After that, if we cross the barrier of English language, the universe can fit in our palm!

Cosmography in smartphones If you search for 'astronomy' in a smartphone, you will find a number of apps (search for 'astrology' but you will find different types of apps based on astronomy!).

Astronomy - Astronomy based apps give us the opportunity to explore space on the screen of a smartphone. If this type of app is quite large in size then our curiosity starts to waver on this issue. At that stage curiosity is aroused and even if we install the app, then we start moving forward by seeing a number of options on the screen rather than opening it and seeing names that are totally unfamiliar, even difficult to read.

Such apps have a wealth of information but their use is not easy to understand quickly, so we are slow to move forward.

At this stage, if we have a little patience (and courage!), Then we can explore the options of the app, then gradually many secrets of the app and the universe will start unfolding before us!

How these apps work These types of apps often work in two ways: one, all the data available in our universe that is static, unchanging for us, such as stars, clusters, nebulae, galaxies, etc., is collected and then our location, According to the date and time, we are shown the location of all of them in space in the way they appear.

On the other hand, data is also collected about things that are constantly orbiting in space, such as the moon, various planets, their satellites, man-made satellites, etc., and where they will be in space according to their orbit and speed, according to a fixed place and time. By determining that we are shown on the screen.

Let's check out one such app An app called 'SkySafari' has been popular for years among people interested in astronomy. Earlier this app was fully paid but now it is divided into three levels: Basic, Plus and Pro. Due to these three types of levels, this app can be useful to anyone from the most intriguing people in the universe, to curious people like us, to professional astronomers who are deeply involved in this subject. In addition, the benefits that used to be available only to the users of the iOS app in this app are now also available to the users of Android.

When it comes to data from all over the universe, it is obvious that the size of the app is also much larger. The basic, free version of this app will take up 239 MB of space in your smartphone (although now if you have also given various Chinese apps from the phone, there will not be much problem of space in the phone!).

The beauty of 'SkySafari' app is that we can use this app offline after downloading 239 MB of data in the phone for the first time while installing the app.

SkySafari is like a powerful planetarium that allows us to see thousands of stars, planets and other celestial objects on the screen of a smartphone and learn a lot about them. Even the basic free version of SkySafari has enough treasure for us. In this version we can see more than one lakh thirty thousand stars, more than two hundred star clusters, nebula, galaxy, all important planets, satellites etc. The speed of man-made satellites like the International Space Station can also be seen in the app. This app contains a number of articles explaining the basic concepts related to astronomy which are written in a very simple language despite being a confusing topic.

How to re-watch yesterday's solar eclipse in the app? To view significant astronomical events of the current month in the app, click Calendar in the menu below. As such, a list of events for the entire month will appear. Click 'View' in it for June 21, 2020 'New Moon and Annual Solar Eclipse'. So the file of its settings will be downloaded to the phone.

This way we can download different things settings. To activate these settings, on the main screen, go to 'Settings' in the main menu at the bottom. It will show the file of settings you downloaded in 'User Data'. Click on 'Save and restore settings "to activate.

Click the file we downloaded date i.e. June 21-2020. Now 'apply' it. Basically, in order to see that astronomical event, we downloaded the relevant files in the app and also activated it. From here the app can be 'factory reset' and its original settings can be restored.

So now on the screen you will see the position of the solar eclipse at 7.51 minutes as above. Remember, this is a situation seen from somewhere else. In the app in general, after setting our location, the position of the space can be seen accordingly.

Now to see the starting position of the eclipse, move the time to 7.45 by right clicking the left arrow of 'Now' when there is a 'minute' in the time panel Now select 'Seconds' instead of 'Minutes', by clicking the far right arrow, the position of the moon will change according to the seconds and the eclipse will appear exactly at 7.51 minutes!

Understand the main aspects of the app There are a number of options in such apps that can confuse us, but after finding the 'Help' section and understanding the main features and settings of the app, it becomes much easier to use the app. The same is true of the SkySafari app - it will seem difficult at first, then everything will become easier!

There are two main parts to the app. At the bottom there are various tools, according to which the things we have chosen, can be seen in the space at the top. Setting our current time and location in Settings will show the status of that moment. Instead of turning on the compass, you can turn the phone to see where the sun, moon, etc. are at the moment.

It is especially important to understand the main tools of the app. Some tools like 'Cosmos' are paid, but most of them are free. Above the tools is the time panel, which we can change from seconds to years, accordingly, to see the changing position in space. Day and night, seasons, etc. can be understood in this way! More information about each of these can be found in Help.

At the top of the 'Search' tool is a list of various items that may appear in 'Tonight's Best' that day. From here, in addition to the sun and various planets, we can search for the brightest, closest stars, constellations, and meteor showers. Get more information by clicking on the item.

Such as 'Whirlpool Galaxy' in 'Best Deep Sky Objects' will open an article about it. At the bottom of the same page, by clicking on 'Center', you will see its day-time position in space. Rather than zooming in on the screen, an image that looks like this galaxy in a telescope will appear on our screen!

It's really like starting an app with 'Help'! The Intro section contains information about the app while the Basic Concepts section contains almost all the basic information needed to delve deeper into astronomy. If you don't fully understand the cosmology, even if you just check these articles at leisure, you will learn a lot of new things!

for more details kindly go to https://ift.tt/3bgFIf3 from Blogger https://ift.tt/3hU9uKc via Youtube#Science #Technology

#Sciencology #Science #Technology

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coleymari-blog · 7 years ago

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Cyber Space is Always Sweeter : Chapter 1

Summary: Lucy is a down to Earth, studious, responsible runaway attending Magnolia College. Natsu is a rambunctious, intelligent, pyrophilic fraternity boy going to the same school. They don’t exactly run in the same circles and they have one hell of a history. What happens when the names and facades disappear and all that’s left are words blinking on a screen? Modern day, College/Pen Pals AU. I’m sorry I suck at intros. Rated M for Language, Adult Situations, and future sexual situations.

Why exactly had he let Gray talk him into going out last night?

Waking up with a throbbing in his head like no other, Natsu Dragneel silently cursed his best friend as he shifted around in his sheets. Granted, it had been the first night back in the fraternity house for the new year but did that mean they had to get THAT annihilated? He could still taste the alcohol on his lips as his stomach churned at the mere thought of how much he’d actually remembered consuming the night before.

Finally able to lug himself out of bed, Natsu reached for his phone to check the time only to find it dead. He plugged it in and resolved to take a shower in hopes of washing off what was left of last night’s debauchery. He was supposed to TA a chemistry class at 10 and figured the professor would also appreciate it if he didn’t smell like a brewery. The grad student threw his mildly offensive smelling shirt into his nearly overflowing hamper before grabbing his shower kit and heading out into the fraternity house hallway in hopes of finding one of the shower rooms open.

As he showered, Natsu thought back on the previous night and tried to piece it all together to the best of his abilities. Gray had finished moving his things into the room next door to Natsu’s and said that they deserved drinks for a day’s hard work of moving and setting the house up for the new year. Plenty of the other Fairy Tail brothers had agreed with him and they all had ended up at a bar a couple blocks from Magnolia College’s main campus. He vaguely remembered sidling up to the bar at the fraternity’s favorite off-campus hang out spot “Mystogan’s”. It was owned by one of the alumni and that made it easy to get top service on a whim. A few rounds of shots with the boys led to buying a couple more shots for some girls from one of the other sororities. Not really looking for the kind of company they were, he excused himself to keep drinking by himself at the bar until the fraternity DD announced it was time to go. They went for a few more rounds back at the house and honestly, Natsu couldn’t remember when he’d finally called it quits and hauled his ass to bed.

He remembered seeing Lisanna and Bickslow on his way out of the bar and being eternally grateful that he was not going to have to endure something like that. It was bad enough that his own fraternity brother had decided to date his ex-girlfriend, what made it worse was that she seemed to be EVERYWHERE. After Natsu had broken up with her, he’d expected her to stay clear of anything related to Fairy Tail. The last thing he’d saw coming was her almost immediately shacking up with one of his brothers.

Shaking his head, he turned the water off and wrapped the towel around his waist before stepping out into the general washroom area. It reminded him of a high school locker room but much more adequately equipped and much cleaner (surprisingly). Grabbing his things, Natsu let himself back out into the hall and managed to get back to his room and dressed before finally getting to his phone. He grabbed a black and red button down and dark blue jeans, making sure they were all clean before actually putting them on. Once he turned it on, the grad student immediately began to panic. Not only did he have multiple missed text messages from various people (including his supervisory professor), but he realized it was 10:10. He was already late and it was just Day One! If he ran, he could make it to the science building in about ten minutes, which would have to do.

Natsu grabbed his bag, his scarf, pet his adorable blue cat, Happy, and ran out the door, hoping he’d have just enough fortitude to make it given his incredibly hungover state. After running like his life depended on it, the Teacher’s Assistant burst through the double doors of the lecture hall, earning him stares from the entire room as he took his place at the tiny desk in the back of the room. A large grin and a wave to the professor seemed to dissuade the anger of the older man for the moment, or at least until the classroom was empty.

Why did she decide to take Chemistry at 10am?

Lucy Heartfilia was sincerely regretting her decision to take one of the hardest classes of her first semester in college first thing in the morning. Waking up in her small dorm room to the soft harp music playing from her cell phone, she stretched and thrust her feet into her fuzzy slippers before grabbing her shower kit and heading down the hall. She was still getting used to not having her own bathroom, but a short walk and a significantly smaller bedroom were the slight prices to pay for the most freedom she’d ever had.

The last couple days had been long. After leaving home, luckily Lucy didn’t have a lot of heavy physical items. She’s been allowed to fill a trunk from her closet (Thank Gods for Virgo, Aries, and their picking abilities), and whatever else she could fit into her tiny VW Beetle. It didn’t equate to much. But that was okay with the runaway heiress. She didn’t need her father’s money or his lifestyle. She’d gotten into Magnolia College on her own merits and that’s where she’d decided to attend. It was by the grace of all that was holy that she’d obtained a full scholarship and that her friend Levy had been able to find her a job on campus in the library. Between the two, her classes, books, and board were paid for and it even left her with a little bit of spending money left over. Definitely not enough to move into an apartment of her own or anything where she could have a decent shower again.

Once she was finished, Lucy got dressed in the stall and walked out into the communal washroom fully clothed. Being naked in front of random women just didn’t seem appealing in the least. She’d selected a modest outfit, light jeans with a curve hugging blouse that surprisingly didn’t show off TOO much. Making her way past the morning rush of girls in her dorm trying to make their way to the floor showers, she reached her single room (that she’d been lucky enough to obtain) and gathered her belongings for the day. After class she’d have to go work her shift in the library so she made sure to bring her more comfortable shoes in her bag.

Lucy made sure to leave with enough time to stop and meet up with Levy, a life-long friend and partner-in-crime, before class. Even though Levy was a year older, they grew up practically like sisters, the older girl being Lucy’s main reason to apply to Magnolia College in the first place. While walking up to the sorority house, she noticed her cerulean-haired friend waiting on the steps for her.

“Good morning, Lu!” Levy greeted, a steaming mug of what smelled like coffee in each of her tiny hands. Her messenger bag hung across her shoulders exposing her lettered sweater. Lucy still couldn’t understand why her beyond intelligent friend felt the need to pay for friends, but as long as Levy was happy and safe the young blonde would let it slide.

“Morning, Lev!” Lucy cheered back, happily accepting one of the mugs and graciously tilting it toward its gifter before allowing herself to drink the beautiful nectar that is caffeine. It was their morning ritual, each of them taking turns with supplying their habit. “Still on for our movie night tonight?” They’d agreed that the night after Lucy’s first day of classes that they’d veg out like they used to in Lucy’s dorm to help her feel more at home.

The blunette frowned. “I’m sorry Lu, but there’s a ceremony tonight to start the year,” she groaned. Honestly she would have rathered the night in with her best friend but unfortunately, this was something she wasn’t permitted to miss. She thought of the impending party afterward engaging all of Greek Row and had a brilliant idea.

Levy excitedly flailed her hands at Lucy before grabbing the blonde’s shoulders and looking her square in the eyes. “I know!” She squealed, Lucy grimacing already. Levy had already tried to get her to Rush over the Summer but after a couple… incidents, she’d decided it wasn’t for her. Her focus quickly returned to her gushing friend. “Tonight there’s going to be a huuuuuge party down Greek Row. Plenty of hot guys and twice the alcohol…” she singsonged, hoping to allure Lucy to join in.

Luckily the two had arrived at their chemistry lecture before Lucy had to submit and answer. She hated Greek events but maybe a giant party wouldn’t hurt. After all, it was only the first day of classes, it wasn’t like she had to lot to do already. She’d have to see how she was feeling after work.

The professor, a rather small man with a bald head and mustache soon started the standard introductions, passing out the syllabi grumpily after realizing that his assistant had failed to show up. The class fell into a quiet rhythm before it was thrown off course by a man who had just erupted into the hall, a man who Levy and Lucy, unfortunately, knew quite well.

In burst Fairy Tail’s own Natsu Dragneel, panting as if he’d just ran a marathon in order to get to class. He took his seat at his small desk, and nodded and waved at the professor who appeared as if to want to kill the TA. Lucy sighed to herself, remembering back to the summer semester, and dropped her head against the cool grain of the wooden bench style desk.

It was going to be a long semester.

#ft fanfiction #nalu #natsu x lucy #(cross posted on ao3 and ff)#nalu fanfic #;csias

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outandabroad · 7 years ago

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Article in Chinese/中文 ___

We had a great time in Amsterdam during the Pride there. It was our first time organizing activities during an event this large and thinking back it was awesome. Some things could have gone better, but we did our best and will continue to improve!

This September we are going to attend Rotterdam Pride. This city is special to OUT&ABROAD. Our very first activities were held in this city and still most of our activities are held in Rotterdam! So its wouldn’t be more than normal for us to show our face and participate during Rotterdam Pride. The pride will be held in September, quite late, from the 21st until the 24th. Even though there will be many activities and we encourage you to attend as many af possible, OUT&ABROAD will organize events only on Saturday, 23rd of September. This day OUT&ABROAD is going to attend the Rotterdam Pride Walk! We hope you will join us too, so mark your calendars, invite your friends and come join us! Join our tour of the city too!

Schedule on 23 September

11:00 Meet up with us at Rotterdam Central station, near the Tourist Information desk. We will have an out and OUT&ABROAD flag and should be clearly visible.

11:15 We will walk to leuvehoofd, we should arrive around 11:45

(feel free to meet us at Leuvehoofd if that is more convenient for you)

12:00 The PrideWalk Rotterdam will start at Leuvehoofd, near the Erasmus Bridge. The exact route of the walk is still rather unclear, the walk will probably go through the city, ending at Shouwburgplein.

During the walk we will carry signs, rainbow flags and OUT&ABROAD flags. You can chat with each other and meet new people! Besides OUT&ABROAD there will be hundreds of other people participating as well!

Credit: Andréa Foto

13:00 The Pride Festival will start at Schouwburgplein. Different from Amsterdam, the walk in Rotterdam will end in the city center, giving everyone the chance to eat something on their own. 14:00 Starting from Central station, there will be a guided tour of Rotterdam that takes you past most of the highlights of the city. There will be opportunity to snack on the way, as well as plenty of photo opportunities. You might just fall in love with this city!

17:00 We will have the last organised part of the event, dinner. Everyone who wants to join can meet as we conclude our activities with a meal at a restaurant that we will pick in the weeks leading up to the event, because it depends on the number of people joining and the restaurants capacity. Rotterdam has many good restaurants, so we will surely not starve! :)

WANT TO JOIN US? Contact us on WeChat, Facebook or by email. READ MORE FOR PARTIES!

PRIDE PARTIES 23 SEPTEMBER 2017

13:00 - 23:00 Pride Festival Free entrance - Schouwburgplein will be transformed into the world’s biggest pop-up park! There will be foodtrucks offering bar, coffee, smoothies, muffins, burgers asian streetfood and much more! Come party with us with various dj's, drag artist and dance performances or just hang around and chill!

13:00 - 23:00 Keerweer Parade Free entrance - On this day Keerweer will offer a wide variety of events! From Eurovision singer LOREEN, to drag and from dance performances to a fashionshow! 13:00 - 4:00 Rotterdam Pride at Regenboog Free entrance - Showing why for over 15 years this bar is the best and ‘gezelligste’ bar of Rotterdam! 15:00 - 23:00 WTF! Pride Party! Free entrance - This party will be held in the street in from of gaybar Strano. Bringing to you DJ's, singers and dancers so you can party deep into the night. 20:00 - 3:00 LOUD! Free entrance - Gay friendly, women’s bar offers you a night to party ladies! oh, gentlemen are welcome too! 21:00 - 3:00 Sjatzi Gay Pride Free entrance - DJ’s, poledancers, caviar and much more at Sjatzi, find the party at Westzeedijk 68A 21:00 - 5:00 Stout Pride Entrance €5 or €10 & men-only - From 16:00 hosting UNDERWEAR OR NAKED and after 21:00 STOUT!

22:00 - 6:00 Cocktail Fest - The Second Edition Tickets Required - This party powered by SCRUFF offers a wide variety of international DJ's, Singers and Drag artists. Remember to buy your ticket! 22:00 - 6:00 Rotterdam Pride Party Tickets Required - Party by the largest gayclub in Rotterdam, De Unie! Awesome beats from their DJ's and dancers under the showers and dont forget the drag!

From 23:00 The House of Boys! Free Entrance - House of Boys is back! The party returns to FERRY. The boys brough the theme Freedom, Excess & Love with them to the party. Besides a spectacular line-up there are also plenty of audio-visual surprises! 11:00 - 5:00 Bär Gay Night Entrance €10 at the door - Offering a line up of talented musicians, bar will make your night one to never forget!

Various other parties, not pride related

22:00 - 5:00 Saturday Night x 23.09.2017 x The VIP Room Tickets required - Entertianment on a wide scale of urban music with an intimate ambience. 23:00 - 4:00 80s & 90s Alternative at Rotown €5 only at the door - Playing Aternative music from the '80s and '90s, remembering the birth of the internet. 23:00 - 5:00 Villa Night Club Tickets required - Club Villa Thalia offers the festival experience in a club. Spectacular lightshows, live entertainment, awesome DJ's and stunning visuals 360 degrees. Gauranteed a clubnight of the highest level. 23:00 - 5:00 Funtasy Reloaded Ticket required - dresscode smart&classy - FUNTASY is known for bringing the best parties. FUNTASY is not just a name, it’s a brand, a brand that brings nothing but the best. At FUNTASY, quality is always guaranteed. 23:00 - 5:00 JE WEET T All | Ik Ben Litt Tickets €10, pricier at the door - You already know it, I’m lit. A night filled to the brim with some of the best Dutch rappers and artist alive. 23:00 - 6:00 Scheuren met 'De Fellas' in Club BLU Ticket required - The Fellas are in town! Spectacular show, filled to the brim with live-acts, light shows and lots and lots of champagne.

#pride #rotterdam #pridewalk #2017

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flowers-are-noice · 7 years ago

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How cannabis can be healthy

Florida Branch of Wellbeing records rules for new medicinal maryjane law

Florida wellbeing authorities have declared new statewide medicinal pot rules.

Entryway Instruments reports Monday that the recently renamed Office of Therapeutic Maryjane Use at the Florida Branch of Wellbeing distributed its Notice of Appropriation to do enactment go amid the 2017 unique session.

The crisis rulemaking process was approved under SB 8A, which looked to execute the established alteration gone in 2014, and exponentially develop Florida's restorative pot showcase past what was initially affirmed.

"This will empower the office to rapidly actualize the time-delicate necessities of the enactment," representative Mara Gambineri said in an email Monday. "Following crisis rulemaking, the Office is focused on working cooperatively with people in general through conventional rulemaking to set up a patient-focused restorative weed program."

Rivals, similar to state Sen. Jeff Brandes, said the bill made a directed "state-authorized cartel."

SB 8A enables therapeutic cannabis to be utilized for the treatment of extra ailments, including HIV and Helps, glaucoma, post-horrendous anxiety issue, ALS, Crohn's illness, Parkinson's ailment, various sclerosis and comparative conditions.

Bills gone in 2014 and 2016 constrained the conditions to epilepsy, interminable muscle fits, tumor and terminal conditions.

The 2017 law bans smoking medicinal pot however allows vaping, edibles, oils, showers and tinctures. Orlando lawyer and Popularity based dissident John Morgan, who was behind the protected alteration permitting restorative pot, contends that smoking was a piece of his change. Morgan intends to sue the state.

Extended therapeutic weed charge progresses toward becoming law

In an uncommon authoritative session June 23, Gov. Rick Scott affirmed a bill that viably puts without hesitation a state protected change favoring therapeutic cannabis gone by voters in 2016. The measure extends the rundown of crippling conditions that could make patients qualified to get weed as a medicinal treatment. It likewise expands the quantity of endorsed maryjane dispensaries over the state from seven to 17.

The bill, which progressed toward becoming law Saturday, sets down the system for how patients can utilize and get to weed that 71 percent of voters endorsed in the Alteration 2 submission a year ago.

Under the enactment, Florida occupants who can be endorsed cannabis incorporate those with tumor, epilepsy, glaucoma, ALS, Chrohn's disesase, PTSD, various sclerosis, Parkinson's ailment and HIV/Helps. That is notwithstanding at death's door patients who, since 2014, had been permitted by Florida law to utilize therapeutic weed on the recomendation of a specialist.

As per Mara Gambineri, a representative with the Florida Branch of Wellbeing, "Utilizing different states who have medicinal maryjane as a source of perspective, we appraise 1.5 to 2.5 percent reception among the (Florida) populace."

The medication — either low-THC (non-euphoric) pot or full-quality cannabis — must be expended in oil or palatable frame.

As indicated by the state Branch of Wellbeing, seven specialists in St. Johns Area have experienced the preparation and testing required to assess patients for the utilization of therapeutic pot. The doctors incorporate an eye specialist, an internist, a family specialist and an orthopedic pro. The specialists can analyze patients and decide whether medicinal weed is a suitable treatment yet can't apportion the medication itself.

Patients will be permitted a three 70-day supply before being reconsidered by a doctor for another medicine. Specialists input orders into the Restorative Maryjane Utilize Registry. Patients at that point go to a dispensary to take care of those requests.

Right now, there are only seven organizations in Florida that are authorized to develop and disseminate medicinal cannabis, however the new law will convey that number up to 17. Starting at now, none of the confirmed dispensaries are in St. Johns District. Cultivators must apply for thought, and the state will favor the extended rundown of organizations by October. Five of the producers that connected in 2015 and were not chosen will be among those authorized.

John Morgan, the Orlando-based lawyer who has for some time been a backer of restorative cannabis, is pushing for qualified patients to have the capacity to smoke maryjane. Up until this point, breathing in the plant has not been affirmed by administrators. Morgan has undermined to sue the state over the smoking boycott.

Why therapeutic maryjane shops in Dad. won't smell

Stroll into a therapeutic maryjane dispensary in New Jersey and the principal thing to hit you is the stink.

Weed's fragrance is an acrid impact that appears to stink of citrus, diesel, and skunk. At the Garden State Dispensary in Woodbridge, Middlesex Province, charcoal air purifiers — encased in glimmering steel and bigger than fly motors — are deliberately set through the office. It's difficult to state whether their nearness tempers the smell, which is produced by a huge number of cannabis plants developing under lights in a similar building.

In Pennsylvania, patients going by a dispensary won't notice a thing. Cannabis retail facades in the Cornerstone State will be as sanitizingly scented as a specialist's office. That is on the grounds that smokable plant items — dried weed — won't be available to be purchased and no weed will be developed on the premises. Dispensaries will offer just fixed oils, tinctures, pills, salves and vapor cartridges.

In New Jersey, dispensaries must develop their own particular weed in bordering stockrooms. That makes the few Garden State cannabis edifices more fragrant and difficult to miss.

Garden State Dispensary on U.S. 1 in Woodbridge, N.J. Inside, patients can pick from twelve strains of therapeutic cannabis developed in a bordering distribution center. ED HILLE/Staff Picture taker

In Pennsylvania, dispensaries will work in littler, uninspiring structures. Every business can purchase its medicine from any of 12 state-allowed cultivator processors. On the off chance that the program isn't wrecked by claims, deals will start after Jan. 1, 2018.

It will be troublesome for bystanders to tell what is sold at a Pennsylvania customer facing facade. Signs will demonstrate there's some kind of medicinal services being given inside, however there won't be a splendid neon green cannabis leaf promoting its nearness. The quantity of observation cameras on the doorways might be the main confirmation there's something important available to be purchased.

"In the event that you comprehend what to search for, you'll know there's a dispensary there," said Patrick Songbird, a previous Allegheny Province prosecutor who is currently in private practice and who heads the Pennsylvania Therapeutic Cannabis Society. "In any case, on the off chance that you don't, you're probably not going to see it."

Pennsylvania a week ago conceded licenses to 27 organizations to open dispensaries all through the district. The state Bureau of Wellbeing on Thursday reported the names of the victors and the areas of 52 proposed customer facing facades.

Fifteen dispensaries are slated for Philadelphia and its rural areas. Six are to open in Montgomery Province, three in Bucks Region, and two each in Chester and Delaware Areas. Four will open inside the city, incorporating one in East Mount Breezy, two in Upper east Philadelphia, and another in Fishtown close to the SugarHouse Gambling club.

Marcus Roundtree, a development specialist, at work staking cannabis plants in one of Garden Express Dispensary's develop rooms.

"The state is making an awesome showing with regards to, keeping up the pace and meeting due dates," said Becky Dansky, a lawyer with the Pot Strategy Venture, a charitable attempting to end cannabis denial. "It's additionally making a decent showing with regards to protecting itself from the presence of mistake."

The contrasts between the two state projects will reach out far past the schnoz. First off, the Pennsylvania law is intended to get drug to patients with more noteworthy speed than New Jersey's rollout.

The New Jersey cannabis charge was passed in 2010. However the Garden State still has just six working dispensaries and has joined just 11,600 patients.

Aaron J. Epstein, general chief of the Garden State Dispensary in Woodbridge, N.J., remains in the room where several maryjane plants are dried before being trimmed. ED HILLE/Staff Picture taker

The New Jersey program has been scrutinized for having "madly high" costs, Dansky stated, with cost per ounce extending from $425 to $520, as per a state investigation. Gotten some information about the cost of cannabis at Garden State Dispensary, general supervisor Aaron J. Epstein said he would tell just patients the amount it would cost.

Costs in Pennsylvania will probably be as steep. Furthermore, conceivably higher. That is on account of the way toward transforming medicinal weed into oils and vape pen cartridges will add expenses to creation. The cost of a solitary vape cartridge can reach $90 in a few expresses; a few patients may require one a day. The state, be that as it may, is focused on keeping the items reasonable and can put a value top on restorative weed items for up to six months in the event that they get excessively costly, said wellbeing office representative April Hutcheson. The state additionally will make a store to finance patients confronting money related hardship.

William Howard trims the dried weed buds at Garden State Dispensary. ED HILLE/Staff Picture taker

Among different contrasts:

Pennsylvania's law covers a bigger number of sicknesses than New Jersey's, possibly expanding the quantity of patients who can take an interest. Pennsylvania's qualifying conditions incorporate a mental imbalance, epilepsy, Parkinson's sickness, post-awful anxiety issue, sickle cell paleness, Huntington's ailment, and neuropathic torment. Both states incorporate growth, HIV/Helps, ALS, glaucoma, various sclerosis, fiery gut malady, Crohn's sickness, recalcitrant spasticity, and terminal disease.

Pennsylvania's program will command consistent, free cannabis testing to guarantee immaculateness and poten.

#cannabis #cannabusiness

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always-another-story-blog · 8 years ago

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Short Story: Four Sugars at 3AM

FOUR SUGARS AT THREE AM? The night was peaceful, not dead, not silent; peaceful. The usual kind of city noise and typical dormitory disturbances seemed to be taking a holiday. For London it might as well be dead. There was no traffic, no drunken businessmen loudly lamenting their pitiful jobs, no barely legal club hoppers singing off key power ballads as they staggered home. There wasn’t even the usual noise inside the building. The seven story student hall was co-ed and lax on rules, most likely having given up on enforcing them if the usual ruckus was anything to go by. Normally someone would be cooking something unnecessarily abstract and breaking plates in the process, or having a passionate, and probably tipsy, philosophical debate over something they probably had no view on but thought they should. Nobody’s TV was turned up too high, no one was blasting music from their iPod decks, having impossibly loud sex or a pointless lover’s quarrel. There wasn’t even anyone making a late night trip to the bathroom after one too many beers. It was the most peaceful night since the beginning of the semester and was probably worthy of being noted as some kind of world record. So, Lexi thought dully, why am I still awake? It was the perfect night to fall into a deep, undisturbed sleep, and yet here she was, lying on her back, arms folded over her chest, hair spread out over her pillow, staring at the ceiling, probably, she thought, looking like a grumpy vampire from a seventies horror movie. She had class at ten, and work from five in the evening, she needed the sleep or she’d price gun some hapless customer of the Tesco Express she worked in to death. That would be an interesting cause of death. With a defeated sigh she shook away all thoughts of price gun related fatalities and sat up in the dark, irritably throwing aside the duvet and swinging her legs to the floor. She shuddered as she did so. Wall to wall carpeting, or rather carpet tiling. Its only separation from kitchen tiles being that it had the kind of scratchy-fuzzy quality that dermatologists probably had nightmares about. Or wet dreams depending on their perspective. And their sense of ethics. Why don’t I own a pair of slippers? She thought aimlessly as she leant down and groped in the dark for a pair of pumps to wear instead. It was March, shivering weather, and unusually brisk this year, so why she even had these rubber soled canvas things outside her closet was anyone’s guess, but in a pinch they made okay slipper replacements. Sliding them onto her feet she then sat back up and reached for the knee length cardigan she’d thrown over the back of her desk chair before going to bed and stood up, pulling it on clumsily as she made her way to the door, which she then walked into, having completely misjudged the distance between it and her bed. Taking a deep breath she turned and edged back to her bed. From the table beside it she retrieved her glasses and re-attempted the trip to the door, this time without blunt force trauma to the nose. The light in the hallway was still on for some reason so at the very least she knew she wouldn’t walk into someone else’s door or anything. In the building Lexi lived in each floor shared a large kitchen and shower rooms between ten residents. The rooms included a toilet and sink so at the very least people could brush their teeth in the morning without having to awkwardly avoid making eye contact with someone’s towel covered crotch in the mirror. At this time of night sometimes Lexi would hear someone taking advantage of the late hour to use the shower rooms while no one else was around. Since it was the second semester they were all at the very least accustomed to each others’ routines. Sort of. In the kitchen Lexi groped for the light switch and squinted as the fluorescent tube on the ceiling flickered to life. Somehow the only thing that seemed like a reasonable solution to insomnia right now, in Lexi’s mind anyway, was a hot beverage. Hot chocolate usually did the trick, while pleasantly and warmly reminding her of childhood nights when her mother would make her hot chocolate in a mug with cartoon red and white mushrooms all over it, and sit beside her on the couch, stroking her hair while she drank it. The two of them would watch whatever Discovery Channel special her mother was currently engrossed in until Lexi fell asleep against her mother’s side. Obviously right now, recreating the scene exactly was out of the question. The freeview box in the flat didn’t receive the Discovery Channel. Opening the drinks cupboard Lexi sighed again. She rummaged for a moment, even searching other cupboards before being forced to come to the conclusion that there was no hot chocolate in the kitchen. She could have sworn she had bought two new tubs of Options Caribbean Coconut just the week before. Then again, five of the other nine members of her flat were female and all stereotypically addicted to anything even remotely chocolate related. Even a couple of the guys couldn’t say no to a mug of Options if she offered. Lexi closed the cupboard, trying extra hard not to slam it in frustration. It was a rare quiet night after all, no need to mar it just because she wasn’t reaping all the benefits. It became much harder not to slam doors when she decided to compromise with tea instead – after all a hot beverage is a hot beverage – when she realised that they were also completely out of teabags. Although some saintly soul had decided to leave the empty packet in there just to taunt her anyway. She glanced only very briefly at the jar of coffee, the type of cheap, over-roasted swill that might make a barista cry. She was sleep deprived already; she wasn’t nearly masochistic enough to drink coffee at…what time was it anyway? She pushed back the sleeve of her cardigan to look at her watch. 2:56 Of course. Goodbye healthy eight hours, I’ll remember you fondly, she thought bitterly. She could feel herself getting irritated, that prickly feeling that made her hands clench of their own accord. Taking a deep breath she closed the cupboard door, carefully, and turned to lean on the kitchen counter. No hot chocolate, no tea, and she refused to drink warm milk, it had always turned her stomach when someone gave it to her in her childhood, and so she’d steered clear of the stuff for the past thirteen years or so. The only option left was to go down to the basement and get something from the hot drink vending machine. She was pretty sure that had hot chocolate. It wasn’t Options but it was warm and vaguely chocolate flavoured. It was settled then, to the common room she would go. The building had a set of rooms and facilities on each floor, including the ground floor, so the common room and laundry room were in the basement. The common room consisted of uncomfortable and ugly chairs that were asymmetrically shaped and fit together to form a makeshift couch if you put them together in the right technicolour order. Along with that there was a TV mounted on the wall with a DVD player, outlets for laptop plugs, presumably, and three vending machines; one for snacks, and two for drinks; one hot and one cold. Taking another deep breath Lexi returned to her room to fish some change out of her purse and headed first for the lift, then, deciding the stairs might make her more tired, made a beeline for the stairwell. From the sixth floor she descended twelve half flights, feeling mildly dizzy at the slightly spiral-like motion required to use the stairs. On the ground floor she ignored the security guard’s desk, seeing as there was no security guard to ignore. Where he was she neither knew nor cared. The ground floor of the building had the same setup as the rest of the floor except for a reception desk that doubled as a guard station at night and another set of stairs, carpeted in the same scratchy tile, behind a door to the right that led down to the common room and laundry rooms. At the bottom of the stairs Lexi turned right, away from the humid laundry room and down a short corridor to the common room door, the long window in which was completely plastered over with posters and fliers for various events and live shows. Pushing open the heavy door Lexi’s eyes went straight to the right hand wall that ran adjacent to the door. Directly opposite the door, at the other end of the wall that ran roughly the length of a badminton court was the room’s only window. Being in a basement room it wasn’t a real window, but a backlit panel with a blown up photograph of some miscellaneous countryside pasted over it. During the day the light was turned on and it almost looked like a view from a real window. Almost. If you ignored the peeling edges of the ‘view’. Sometime in the evening heavy curtains were drawn over it. Usually by one of the receptionists, the students sure as hell didn’t care. On the right hand wall between the door and the fake window were the three vending machines that most likely kept some people in the building alive until their next pay check or ‘care package’ from home. Lexi would be lying if she said she’d never experienced the vending machine diet for a week or so at least once in the time she had been living in this building. The high number of people using the machines probably accounted for their faded, weathered appearance. The whole room had kind of a ‘brown’ feel to it. The carpet, at one time or another, had clearly been some kind of purple, if the tiny areas in the corners and beneath the vending machines were any indication. But years of heavy traffic flow and less than clean trainers had turned the thin carpet pile a wet sandy brown colour. The walls were probably cream once too, but now they too were brown, a yellowish brown that reminded Lexi of ageing parchment. She suspected a disregard for the ‘no smoking’ rule was at least partially to blame for the change in hue. The ceiling had had a similar fate to the wallpaper, and even the ‘colourful’ asymmetric chairs had a brown tinge to them, laid over their bright reds and greens and blues and yellows like tracing paper. Wanting to waste no more time Lexi made a beeline for the hot drinks machine, her eyes set on the button the size of a business card with a mug of hot chocolate on it. This was probably why she was so startled when a voice penetrated the dusty air, a hand landing on her shoulder at the same time. With a hoarse squeak she flinched away from the hand and spun to meet her assailant. If she weren’t in such a downtrodden mood she could have howled with laughter at herself for even beginning to think of the word ‘assailant’. Instead of some buff body builder type with a scraggly beard and beer stained wife beater she was met with the sight of a guy maybe a few inches taller than her, skinnier than his t-shirt seemed to think, wearing faded jeans and a black and white hoodie with worn out sneakers, his dark hair falling over his head in the kind of haphazard way that made Lexi suspect it actually took a surprising amount of effort. In the same moment she realised two things. First, the guy was one of her flatmates. He was one of the guys who would always happily accept if she offered hot chocolate to anyone who happened to be in the kitchen at the time. If she remembered correctly he was an exchange student from somewhere in Asia, either Japan or Korea, but had spent part of his childhood in America, so she had no idea why his parents had sent him to England to study English since he could already speak it. Second, he was holding a guitar. She did recall him mentioning something before about also studying music. The guy blinked at her for a second, and realising she was still cowering slightly Lexi relaxed her stance and ran a hand through her bedraggled hair. Her hand froze suddenly and she glanced briefly down at herself. From toe to top, slip on canvas pumps that were a weird shade of pale dirty yellow. They had once been a pretty cream or something, but getting caught in summer rain while wearing them had messed them up quite badly. A pair of faded navy drawstring pyjama bottoms that were actually just this side of too small and ended at her knee. If memory served she’d had them since she was seventeen, apparently nowhere in the last three years had she seen fit to get rid of or replace them. A baby blue t-shirt with the words ‘sleep on it’ in faded and peeling black letters, under which she now realised, was no bra. A hooded cardigan that came almost to the backs of her knees. Messy wavy auburn hair, with random strands sticking up around her head. No makeup and nothing to hide the dark circles under her eyes besides her glasses. After a moment of wondering whether she should be agonising over her appearance in front of an attractive guy she decided she was too tired, and in no mood, to care. The guy cocked his head to one side, studying her face with intense black eyes. No way, Lexi thought, people can’t have black eyes, they must be brown…but they’re so dark. “Lexi, right?” he said suddenly. She blinked in mild surprise. “Uh, right, um…” she thought for a second, she knew he had a name he used in England as it was easier to remember , and spell for that matter…what was it again. Ah! “Alex, right?” by his wide smile she gather she had remembered correctly. “Yeah,” she smiled back, wondering what he was doing down here, but before she could ask he beat her to it. “What brings you down here so late?” he asked, in English so perfect she wondered once again why his parents thought he needed to study more. It actually took her a moment to think of a response. To her tired mind her reason for being down here was obvious. “Oh,” she gestured vaguely to the vending machines “drink,” Alex raised one eyebrow, one hand resting on the body of his guitar, close to his hip, the other resting in his front pocket. Lexi had a brief, slightly bitter thought that he shouldn’t be allowed to look so together and awake and presentable at three am, when she herself looked exactly how she felt; tired, rumpled and slightly irritable. “There’s nothing in the kitchen?” Alex asked incredulously. Now it was Lexi’s turn to raise her eyebrow. She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a pointed look. “Well, since I couldn’t sleep I decided to get some hot chocolate, but someone used it all up, all that’s left is coffee,” Alex had the good grace to look a little apologetic, or was that just sympathetic? “Ah, I see,” “What are you doing down here so late?” Lexi asked, moving toward the vending machine. “We practice down here at night sometimes,” he replied. We? Lexi stopped and turned and finally realised that all the way across the room three other guys, along with a drum kit, a bass and another guitar. Wow, she really must have been sleep deprived not to have noticed them already. Noticing her gaze they looked up and waved to her with pleasant smiles. Lexi looked back at Alex. “You guys practice down here? How often?” he shrugged. “A few times a week, usually whenever we don’t have morning classes the next day,” Lexi frowned and resumed her journey to the vending machine. “I wonder why I’ve never heard you,” she muttered. Alex leaned against the front panel of the cold drinks machine, watching her fish in her cardigan pocket for change and folded his arms, resting them lightly on his guitar. “We don’t use amps very often or we’d probably get yelled at, and I doubt you could hear us all the way up on the sixth floor, this room is surprisingly soundproof,” Lexi nodded absent-mindedly as she slotted in her money and jabbed the hot chocolate button with her index finger. A little red light flashed beside the button and a scrolling message on the little screen told her it was all out of a hot chocolate. A quick scan of the rest of the buttons revealed that this was the one and only option for hot chocolate. With a shaky sigh Lexi leaned her head against the machine, it was slightly warm. She concentrated on this while she tried not to get annoyed. She took a deep breath and leaned back. Alex peered at the screen. “Wow, no hot chocolate here either, it must be a conspiracy or something,” he said with a playful smirk. Lexi gave a small defeated half-laugh and scanned the buttons for black tea and conceded to the compromise, jabbing at that button instead. While she waited for the cardboard cup to fill she turned back to Alex. “Okay, so you guys practice down here, do you ever give performances anywhere?” Alex averted his eyes, raising a hand sheepishly to the back of his head. “Not…not yet, we want to build up a good collection of our own songs first, we’ve only been practicing together since the end of last semester so we’re hoping to start performing this summer,” Lexi nodded understandingly. A small insistent beep sounded from the machine, informing her that her tea was ready. Sliding the cup carefully out of the machine she set it on the table to her left and grabbed four of the small sugar packets sitting in a small green plastic tray and ripped them all open at one before tipping them into her drink and taking a wooden stirrer from another cardboard cup beside the sugars. Alex watched all this was a slightly surprised expression. “Four?” he asked. She glanced up at him. “Huh?” “Four sugars? At 3am?” She smiled ruefully. “These packets are so small you have to use twice as many as you normally would, and even then it’s not quite the same,” Alex nodded slowly, like she was teaching him quantum physics and he still couldn’t get his head around it. Gingerly picking up the hot cup and cradling it in her hands, which she pulled her cardigan sleeves over, she turned and looked at the rest of the band, who seemed to just be getting done tuning their instruments. “You guys any good?” she asked, glancing at Alex with a playful smirk of her own. What are you doing, she asked herself, why are you striking up a conversation instead of going back to bed? Alex caught her smirk and grinned, pushing off the vending machine and lacing his fingers together behind his head, putting on a disinterested expression. “Pretty good if I do say so myself,” Lexi had to laugh a little at his command of English colloquialisms. She gave him a mock nonchalant expression of her own. “Oh? You think so?” “I know so,” he shot back. The other guitarist glanced up from the strings he was tuning and smirked across at his friend. “Really? How can you be sure if you’ve never performed for anyone before?” Alex shrugged nonchalantly and began to slowly wend his way back towards the rest of the band. Lexi was saved from making the decision of whether or not to follow him when the bassist currently perched on a faded and coffee stained yellow chair looked up properly from his instrument and addressed her directly. “Alex has such a good ear for music he can’t possibly be wrong,” he said, shooting his friend a teasing look. Alex rolled his eyes. Lexi shrugged and raised her cardboard cup, encased in both cardigan sleeve covered hands, to her mouth. Feeling on the brink of being scolded just by the steam alone she simply blew on the tea and lowered the cup again. “I guess if you practice in here all the time people must hear you then. If you were terrible they’d probably say something, or at least give you dirty looks,” she said. Alex, to her mild surprise, stuck his tongue out at her briefly, before returning to checking his strings. The other guitarist glanced up with a confused frown. “Huh, what’s dirty?” he asked. Lexi blinked for a second, and then giggled. “Nothing, sorry,” she said, waving it off. The bassist leaned over and lightly shoved his friend’s shoulder. “We covered colloquialisms months ago Tom,” he said. Lexi couldn’t stop being impressed by the command of English these guys had. Seriously, how much time had they really spent over seas? She knew Alex had spent a good chunk of his childhood in America, there was a very slight New York accent to his English. “I don’t get it though, you said dirty right?” “Dirty look,” Lexi explained “like, looking at someone in a bad way or something, if people didn’t like the way you sounded they’d look at you funny,” the guitarist nodded slowly. “Except no-one ever comes in here when we’re practicing, not usually anyway,” the bass player said. Lexi averted her eyes, all of a sudden feeling mighty superfluous. Noticing her look the bassist turned to her and smiled again. “I’m Zeke by the way, kid on the drums is Seb,” Lexi grinned and gave the drummer a wave. “Lexi,” Lexi wondered absently why she had never really talked to these guys before. At some time or another she was sure she must have seen them on her floor with Alex, and she thought she recalled hearing that Alex and his friends took some kind of Applied Music course. Glancing down at her steaming drink and then back up she realised Alex seemed to have fallen into thought. Suddenly he smiled like he’d figured out the solution to unemployment in East London and held his guitar out to Tom. “Here, hold this a sec,” Tom barely looked up. “Huh?” Zeke sniggered. “Your listening skills are terrible after midnight,” he muttered, provoking Tom to glare at him from beneath his fringe. Alex rolled his eyes again and nudged Tom with his guitar. “Yah, Igeol gajigo itge,” Lexi blinked at the sudden language change. She was just wondering aimlessly what he had said when, once Tom had sheepishly taken the guitar, Alex leant down, bracing his hands on the edge of a green chair that was oval shaped and dipped slightly in the middle from years of people dropping heavily onto it, probably while laden with books. Before Lexi could ask what he thought he was doing he had pushed the chair over from where it had been sitting to a point maybe five feet in front of the band’s setup. Lexi blinked owlishly behind her glasses, completely confused. Glancing at the other three didn’t help, Zeke looked like he was slowly catching on, Seb had his head cocked to one side, his expression unreadable and Tom was barely paying attention. Settling the chair into position Alex then straightened up and turned to Lexi, planting his hands on her shoulders and guiding her to sit. She stared up at him blankly. “What are you doing?” “You can be our first audience!” he replied with a truly cheerful smile, leaving her slightly dazed and confused while he took his guitar back from Tom and sat on the once-blue chair beside him. Zeke settled back onto his yellow chair while Seb, an enthusiastic smile on his face, re-settled himself on the orange chair, the smallest in the room, behind his drum kit, re-gripping his drum sticks while he waited for the okay from the other three. Alex shot Lexi a grin and nodded to Tom and Zeke, who turned and nodded to Seb who twirled his drum sticks between his fingers before tapping out four beats and beginning to play, joined a split second later by the other three. For some reason, it had not previously occurred to Lexi that one of them would sing, so when Alex, his gaze soft on his guitar, began singing in a gentle, melodious voice she was taken aback. Not so much because he had started singing, but because his voice sounded so good, so perfect, it felt like taking a deep breath of fresh spring air, like feeling a cool breeze on your skin after a heat wave, it was such a refreshing sound, gentle, soft, yet strong and clear and undeniably beautiful. With the group’s flawless playing, their effortless harmony, the song they were playing couldn’t have sounded more perfect. A smile crept over Lexi’s features as she listened, the music seeping into her chest and warming her along with the tea, which she clasped, in its paper cup, near her throat in her sleeve-covered hands. As she song progressed Lexi felt herself begin to rock slightly from side to side with the beat, her head nodding slightly as she let herself be immersed in and carried away by the music, by Alex’s voice and the strangely picturesque view of the four of them, young foreign exchange students in a dingy cigarette stained basement common room of their university accommodation, playing their instruments as though they were merely extensions of their own bodies. As the song drew to a close and their playing tapered off and Alex let his voice dwindle into silence the four of them looked up at Lexi and smiled. Lexi was powerless to do anything but grin back, her cheeks almost aching from the width of her smile. Zeke raised one eyebrow cheekily at her. “So? Pretty perfect right?” he said, laughter dancing in his eyes. Lexi chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Not bad,” she quipped and it was Zeke’s turn to laugh. Alex rested his guitar against his chair and stood to approach her, hands in his pockets, attempting and failing to appear nonchalant. “D-Did you like it?” he asked slightly haltingly. His stutters could have passed for lack of confidence in the language, if not for the slight rose colour dusting his cheeks and the fact that Lexi could tell he was actually quite nervous to hear her response. She smiled and decided not to tease him. “I loved it!” the look of delight on Alex’s face at her response was indescribable. The other three grinned at each other in a mixture of delight and victory. Lexi suddenly looked at her watch and made a face. She’d forgotten how late - or early - it was, she’d forgotten about her lecture the next day, she’d forgotten sleep, it had all be replaced with the four boys’ music, but now it came rushing back and she sighed. Alex noticed her look and looked at his own watch and winced. “You have to get back to bed right?” he said, she nodded and looked up at him apologetically. Standing, she smiled at the other three again. “You guys are amazing, you have to let me know when you start performing, I’ll be there to cheer you on,” Zeke grinned and nudged Tom’s shoulder. “Hear that? We have our very first fan!” Tom laughed. “She can start a fan-club for us!” Zeke and Seb laughed from behind their instruments as Lexi rolled her eyes. She waved and bid them all goodnight before making a beeline for the door. After only a few steps she looked back and realised Alex was coming after her. He met her questioning gaze and averted his eyes. “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” he said. She smiled and nodded. Together they walked up the corridor, ascended the stairs and crossed the reception area, still devoid of a security guard, but Lexi no longer had room in her mind for that, it was full to the brim with music. She smiled at the memory as she pressed the button to call the lift, it was there within seconds and Lexi got in and pressed the button for the sixth floor. She looked up at Alex and held the ‘open’ button down with her right thumb for a moment as she looked out at him. He looked back at her and smiled, his hands still in his pockets. “Thank you,” she said. Alex blinked in surprise. “Eh? W-What for?” What indeed? Lexi wasn’t even sure herself. Improving her mood? Making her feel better? Entertaining her with such beautiful music? Playing for her when they’d never played for anyone before? “The song,” she said finally “I really enjoyed listening to you,” Alex smiled again, taking one hand out of his pocket to run through his hair. “Y-You’re welcome,” he said quietly. Lexi waved awkwardly to him with the hand still holding her tea. “See you,” she said, he waved back, repeating her words. “See you,” Lexi finally let go of the button and leaned back against the wall of the lift as the doors closed, sighing happily as the machine ascended. On the sixth floor there was no sound at all, nothing from any of the rooms or the kitchen, and the streets outside were still devoid of noise. The night held a quiet now permeated with the memory of the music in the basement. She would certainly sleep well now.

#original fiction #short story #four sugars at 3am

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