#there may or may not be direct contact between those diagonal pairs

[majorshatterandhare]

Here’s what I’m thinking.

Orpheus and Narcissus meet at work. They become good friends.

This leads to Eurydice and Echo meeting and becoming friends. And then they become very close.

Eurydice and Echo begin dating. Orpheus and Narcissus are like “uhh, okay, yeah that’s fine.”

It continues and eventually Narcissus and Orpheus realize they love each other too and want to date. Eurydice and Echo are obviously fully supportive; they had been expecting for a while by this point.

Then they all love each other and Narcissus and Eurydice, and Orpheus and Echo are able to get closer and their metamor relationships become alterous.

Side note: in the song Iphis, it seems to me, that the City is accepting of trans people but not gay people, and I think that’s weird and funny.

Eurydice/Orpheus/Narcissus/Echo polycule.

Orpheus dates Eurydice and Narcissus,

Narcissus dates Orpheus and Echo,

Echo dates Narcissus and Eurydice,

And Eurydice dates Echo and Orpheus.

It’s a square.

[empress-simps]

Self-Destruct [Two]

Pairing: James Potter x Fem! Reader, Sirius Black x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Y/n Holstein tends to self-sabotage when something good happens, such as James Potter who came into her dark and dreary world like a ray of sunshine that she never knew she needed.

CW: Mentions of Blood Prejudice and implications of abuse.

Note: Hi everyone! Any thoughts on the previous chapter? This chapter is a bit short compared to the last one, that being said, hope you enjoy! (2.1k words)

The Wrong Sort

James ultimately decided that you were one of those snobby, posh, and entitled pureblooded kids.

The frown was still etched deep in his face as he saw you being dragged by a boy away from him, all the while shooting a warning glance to his direction.

James absolutely loathes people like you.

Although— he also concluded that you were absolutely breath taking; the good kind. Despite the somewhat permanent emotionless expression on your face, he definitely feels his cheeks heat up thinking of you. He really doesn’t know why.

Maybe he’s getting too worked up because he’s annoyed by your attitude?

Yeah, that’s probably why… It’s the only plausible idea that his eleven year-old mind could wrap around.

“James, darling! Something wrong?” Euphemia calls to her son, catching his attention and ultimately breaking the eye contact between both of you.

He shaked his head, trying to rid of thoughts that were filled with you.

“Nothing mum, a bit pre-occupied is all.”

He was sure you wouldn’t even interact with him again— Hogwarts has tons of students, right? Also, you might be an incoming student of Beauxbautons!

James Fleamont Potter has proven himself wrong when you’re sitting directly across him in one of the compartments of the Hogwarts Express.

He blinked, took off his glasses to rub it with the hem of his shirt then placed it on his face again, blinking multiple times to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. Merlin, were you haunting him? Maybe you are right— he needs to get his glasses adjusted.

Your sigh made it very much clear that you are certainly real and actually in front of him.

Since when did you get here? Why are you and the boy here?

“The other compartments are already full.” You simply told him, as if reading his exact thoughts before pulling out a book and making yourself busy.

He could only blink in response as Sirius looks at him. As if sizing him up. “Erm, may I help you?” He asked, unsure of what to make of Sirius who seemed to take on the role of being your personal protector.

“Sirius Black.” He holds out his hand to shake, James looks down and quickly shakes it back. His charming grin making its way to his face.

“James Potter. Pleasure to meet you.”

“ Potter? House of Potter? I would say the same, but you slammed into my wife a couple weeks earlier.”

James sputtered, eyes nearly bulging out.

Excuse me, what?

Surely Sirius is wrong, right? He can already feel the dismay entering his system and— wait, why would he even be disappointed? He even finds you annoying when you sassed him at Diagon Alley!

“W-wife?” He managed to choke out, eyes darting back and forth between you and Sirius— staring at the both of you incredulously.

You glared, slamming the book as you stared at Sirius before kicking him under the table, eliciting an ‘ow!’ from him. “We are not yet married, Sirius. Please refrain yourself from calling me your wife.”

“But we’re going to be!” He reasoned out childishly, looking like a kicked puppy.

“And we are currently not.” You grumbled, opening your book again and looking at the page you bookmarked before the bespectacled boy turned to you.

“I haven’t caught your name. I’m James Potter, you?”

You felt your eyebrow twitch in annoyance. This Potter boy surely loves to yap, huh?

All you want is some peace and to read without any interruptions, but it doesn’t seem like a viable option. “Y/n Holstein. Pureblood?” You shot him a question, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

James furrowed his brows, “Pureblood. What does blood status got to do with this?” You hummed in a somewhat approving tone before closing your book gently and crossing your arms over your chest as you stared at him. Noticing the Potter crest signet ring on his pointer finger, you concluded he is the heir of house Potter.

Hm, wouldn’t hurt to talk to him.

“It tells you everything about what a person is, Potter. Didn’t Lord Fleamont Potter and Lady Euphemia Potter ever tell you that?”

James blinks, surprise evident in his features. “How did you know my parents’ names?”

Sirius wasn’t all that surprised, he knew Walburga ensures that his studies are rigorous—drowning him with the history of their family, sacred twenty-eight, dueling, and the dark arts.

Ludwig Holstein took it up a notch, much more intense than his mother. He started training you and grooming to be the successor of the house and the Winzengamot seat ever since you were merely five years old.

You frowned, seriously? Was he never educated or was he living under a rock?

“It’s common knowledge to know the Lords and Ladies of a noble house, Potter. Tell me, were you off dilly dallying when your tutor taught you that?”

James can feel annoyance brewing in his chest yet again as he opens and closes his mouth, trying to come up with words.

You sighed, mock disappointment adorning your features. "My my, Potter. I suggest you brush up on your lessons before we reach Hogwarts? I think that would be fantastic."

You smiled at him politely before opening your book and ignoring how he stumbles over his words.

"Y/n, what house do you think you'll get sorted in to?"

Sirius asked, trying to mask the nervous edge in his tone with curiosity as you and fellow first year students line up in front waiting for Professor Mcgonagall call the names of each student one at a time to get sorted.

"Why Slytherin, of course." You replied coolly, an air of sureness surrounding you. He looks at you wearily, "What if... What if we don't get sorted in Slytherin?" Sirus voiced out his worries to you. His grey eyes glancing at the sorting hat warily, as if it’ll expose his darkest and deepest secret.

"You should never dream about not being in Slytherin, Sirius. You aren't foolish, you know what can happen." You uttered lowly, casting a glance at the boy beside you. Walburga and Orion will not be pleased with the heir of house Black being sorted into a house that isn't Slytherin. Certainly, Ludwig Holstein also doesn't welcome that idea.

"Y/n Holstein."

The chatting amongst students suddenly stilled, everyone's focus was directed towards you, the Holstein heir. Merlin, even Dumbledore himself was looking at you!

Normally, you are able to handle other people's gazes directed towards you, but as you walk towards the stool where the sorting hat waits for you, you can't help but feel the twinge of self-consciousness nibbing at you.

Holding yourself up with such elegance and grace, you sat down and felt the sorting hat placed on top of your head.

'Oh? What's this? Another Holstein?' The hat mused, you kept a straight face and looked ahead, not bothering to respond to its comments. It would be useless anyway; you already know which house the sorting hat will pick.

'Where shall I put you...? I have been longing to put a Holstein in Ravenclaw.' It hummed, you felt your stomach drop, cracks were forming on your composure the longer the hat doesn't announce your house.

'You'll do great in Ravenclaw, young Holstein.'

Merlin, no! You tried your best not to grit your teeth as you try to relax your shoulders.

'Do not even try to put me in that house, I am a Slytherin, through and through.' You thought, 'It will be a shame to the Holstein name. A stain.' you added, making the hat droop down, disappointed yet again. It seems that the Slytherin traits run deep in Holstein’s bloods.

Sensing the reaction, you were rather quite pleased with yourself knowing you had already won.

"Very well, SLYTHERIN!" The hat roared, not even a second had passed, loud and boisterous cheers were heard from the Slytherin table, quite uncharacteristic for them but who cares? The Holstein heir was in their house, it gave the Slytherin house more prestige and power.

You let a small smirk appear on your face as your fellow housemates welcomed you warmly and with open arms, if you say so yourself, they look like they're ready to kiss your arse.

"Narcissa, thank you." You smiled, reaching the table and nearing the girl as she saved two seats, you assumed one was for you and the other is for Sirius.

"Welcome to Slytherin, Y/n." Andromeda piped up, smiling at you. You returned her action and uttered out a 'thank you'.

"James Fleamont Potter."

Now that spiked your interest, your eyes observed him as he walked towards the stool in front as if he's just strolling through the gardens of their estate. He sat and not even five seconds in, the hat has already decided his house.

"Gryffindor!"

Cheers erupted from the respective table as they welcomed Potter with open arms. You hummed, "As I've guessed."

Narcissa turns to look at you with an eyebrow raised, "You know him?"

"Barely, he bumped into me in Diagon alley, and he shared a compartment with me and Sirius earlier." You replied, turning your attention yet again in front as Sirius' name was called.

"Sirius Orion Black."

Similarly to you, the chatter stilled and hushed whispers were heard all over the great hall. You noticed how Sirius' shoulder visibly tensed as he sat in the stool while waiting for the hat to announce Slytherin.

You placed some of his preferred dishes on the plate beside you, marking it as a seat saved for him. Narcissa and Andromeda noticed this which made them giggle. Ah, young love.

You raised a questioning brow to them, but they didn't bother to respond, just motioned you to pay attention to the sorting ceremony. You'll be sure to tell Sirius about his older cousin's antics as soon as he joins you in the Slytherin table.

Except he didn't.

He wasn’t placed in Slytherin like everyone expected.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat thundered; the raggedy thing looked proud— almost smug as it announced Sirius' house. You felt time stilled, your eyes and Sirius' grey ones connected for a split second. His eyes screamed at you.

Terrified.

Absolutely terrified.

Surely this must be a mistake?

The cheers beside your table fell to your deaf ears as your attention was solely focused on Sirius. You didn’t notice how the Black sisters wearily exchanged a glance as their eyes darted to their younger cousin who walks towards the Gryffindor table hesitantly.

The feeling of dread entered your system as you faced Sirius— tables and houses apart.

Sirius really felt like throwing up. His head was spinning. His thoughts are in a jumbled, flurry mess, heck— he was even surprised he didn’t stumble on his way over to the Gryffindor table.

The claps from his house can be compared as an annoying ringing in his ears, they all look quite unsure, but still clapped nonetheless. He really couldn’t blame them.

The black sheep of the family.

A lion in a snake’s den.

“Black!” He quickly scanned the table and saw James calling for him and patting the space next to him— at least he won’t worry where he’ll sit for dinner now.

Nearing the glasses-wearing boy, he saw two boys who roughly looked the same age as them converse with James.

One was littered with scars, both old and new. His arms were also noticeably covered in bandages even with the school robes concealing most of his injuries— poor thing.

The other boy, well— forgive Sirius but he reminds him of a rat. You know, if a rat becomes a person, it will look like the bloke sitting beside scar boy?

“What an unexpected surprise.” James grinned, Sirius fought the urge to scoff. This was hell for the Black heir.

Both you and Sirius are uncertain on what this exactly entails, nervousness festering in your stomachs as this was way off from what both of you pictured.

He should be sitting beside you, eating and conversing with his older cousins. Instead, you both were staring at each other, a gap that seems impossible to conquer creating distance between you both.

[csykora]

hi, i've got a sports injuries question! (fun fact: started following your account because of a thing you did about the weird-ass leg fractures that hockey players get!)

what's the deal with hockey players and knee injuries? obviously the biomechanics of skating and individual biology are involved, but i feel like there isn't the kind of planting and twisting in hockey that there is in sports like for instance, soccer, where i know knee ligament tears are fairly common. but then i think of how brandon tanev has been out for the season after a torn acl, and I'm sure there's probably other acl and/or mcl and/or meniscus tears that i'm just not thinking of right now.

take this in whatever direction you feel like, i'm just always curious about knee injuries since i busted my knee a few years ago lol

First, thank you, for the question and for reading and all that. It is still shocking to me that people read that piece, and that has meant and changed so much for me.

Knee injuries are very common in hockey, and you’re right, they are different than knee injuries in other sports in some key ways!

The problem with the human knee--as I'm sure you know--is that it is a simple joint in a complicated world. It bends in one and a bit directions: forward-to-back, and a little bit side to side. 

The two most common knee injuries across sports are injuries to the anterior cruciate and medial collateral ligaments, or ACL and MCL. The ACL is one of a pair of ligaments that cross (“cruciate”) diagonally inside the knee joint, and control forward-backward motion, while the MCL is one of a pair on either side  (“collateral”) that stabilize and mostly prevent side-to-side movement. Specifically, the MCL in the one on the inside—between your two knees—so if I were to push on the outside of your knee, it’s the one that would stretch.

Hockey is a little different from other high-intensity sports like basketball, football, or soccer, in that MCL injuries happen more often than ACL injuries do. Both are still pretty common, but MCL injuries are reported to be the second most common major injury in high-level men’s hockey, behind concussions.

In those other sports, knee injuries are often caused by sudden changes of direction that twist the leg while it’s planted firmly on the ground, by landing from jumps, or by impacts to the front of your knee or your lower leg while it’s extended, all of which stretches the ACL. And, yes, most of those things don’t happen much in hockey! There isn’t a kicking motion, running, jumping, or...ground.

Lower body injuries are somewhere around 40% of reported injuries in men’s hockey. This of course varies between studies, based on the level of play and also by what injuries are being counted. The most common injuries of any kind are minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises to the face, hands, and arms, so when those are counted, the percent of lower body injuries in the total will of course be much lower. So let’s conceptualize it as less than half, but at least a third of major injuries are to the lower body, and a significant amount of those are to the MCL. The prevalence of MCL injury in high-level men’s hockey—the proportion of players who have it any any particular time—is around 10% (we don’t have great stats for the incidence rate). 

Of those MCL injuries, 60-70% of them happen in games. (Hockey also has a uniquely high rate of injury in games rather than in practice overall, compared to other sports. This is consistent for both men’s and women’s hockey). Approximately 75% of the MCL injuries happen with player-on-player contact. 

What’s happening is that it’s very, very common in hockey for someone of something to push on the outside of your knee. In men’s hockey, a low check or a stick may be a direct blow to the outside of the knee. The front of another player’s knee striking against the side of the knee is especially dangerous, which is why you’ll hear “knee-on-knee contact” discussed in a lot of penalty calls or when it’s questioned whether the player intended to injure their opponent. 

Players may also collide accidentally, fall and twist their knee against the ice or the boards, or one might fall and another falls on top of their leg. Accidental collisions with other players or with the ice and boards as well as stick contacts are also common causes in women’s hockey, where lower body injuries seem to be largely similar, but with a largely proportion of hip injuries. In any of those situations, the impact against the outside of your knee stretches the MCL on the other side too far.

Another common situation is for your skate blade to get stuck in a rut, crack, or other uneven spot in the ice. That’s how a hockey player effectively “plants” their foot, even when they’re on ice instead of dry land. That forces the foot and lower leg to twist, and depending on the angles involved, the combination of twist and whatever momentum you had when you hit the rut can cause MCL or ACL injuries, as well as meniscus tears or other related injuries.

[ajb-writes]

How To Use Sai

So this is the final post of this series for now but I may do tonfa, kama and bo sometime in a later theme. Also the senseis just made the mistake of inviting me and my group to dinner… a lot of self control will be needed to not start a food fight.

What are these thingies that a giant probably uses as forks?

Sai are often made of metal (practice ones are made of plastic) that has a handle and have three prongs with one being triple or double the length of the outer two and come in pairs. These are probably the most easiest to describe so like onto the next part-

How to hold them and use them

Ok so first caution is be cautious of your face, using sai involves a lot of flipping and twisting and I can’t count the amount of times my friend’s have poked themselves in the eye (I haven’t somehow yay). You always start with holding it so the prongs are pointing towards your elbows when held against your inner forearms, your thumb rests under one of the curves in between the middle prong and one of the outer ones whilst your index finger is against the handle, the rest of your fingers are over the other curve between the middle and opposite outer prong. Now sai is often used to strike and injure wrists and such and you often use the middle prong to do so but how do you do that when the middle prong is against your firearms? You have to flick it, how you do that is you bring your other fingers around the opposite side of the handle and push until the weapon twists and the prongs are no longer in contact with your arm. If you want to keep your index finger up so that it rests on the middle prong, it helps with guiding it. Throughout this never let go of the sai because otherwise it hits your face or goes flying across the room.

How to damage them

I actually don’t know how to damage them BUT my sensei has told me several times that out of many weapons sai would be one of the least preferred to verse a katana/wakizashi because if you mess up your deflection in the slightest then you may lose a finger.

Some moves (descriptions not names because I do NOT remember those)

These moves are for versing someone who is using a bo which is a weapon I may cover in the future who knows, we’ll see if I can remember moves for future posts because I’m getting graded next week and I seem to forget everything afterwards but also not? Like I know them if I’m put in a situation but you tell me to teach this and I’m hopeless.

- Opponent strikes downwards with bo, flick sai so the prongs are facing outwards and bring up diagonally so they make an X and use that to block the opponent’s strike. Push the bo away with the sai before bringing the left one inwards before striking the opponent quickly.

- Opponent strikes towards your side with bo, block across your body with the opposite arm, your sai is against your inner forearm so it absorbs the contact. Step forward as you flick the sai and whack them in the neck.

- (This ones really hard to explain bear with me) Opponent strikes the bo forward towards your stomach. Move to the side so you balance on your outer foot whilst flicking the sai so that the middle prong blocks the bo from changing direction towards your new position, as you step forward use your other sai to strike their wrist and then face.

[madrivervalleyicelandics]

Training Gait Separation: Masterpost

I have been promising (mostly on Instagram, which I will cross-post this to) to make a post like this for ages, and now I’ve finally finished it.  I really hope you all enjoy this and find it helpful.  It’s broken into four parts to make it easier to cross-post.

Let’s talk about gait separation! This is a favorite topic of mine, because most people make it so much more complicated than it needs to be - and end up creating unnecessary stress, pressure, and confusion for the horse. Like most people, I was originally taught to ride tölt by “combining the driving and restricting aids,” which for many people means driving the horse forward into the contact.  For 5-gaited horses or horses which preferred tölt, this was easy enough, but for trotty/4-gaited horses, I found that I needed a lot of pressure with my legs to keep the horse in tölt. I also found that when I began training young horses in Iceland, training tölt this way was very challenging especially for trotty youngsters, and often there was a lot of confusion and resistance from the horse initially. Tölt training became my least favorite part of training young horses, because I spent so much time getting them soft on the contact and relaxed in the basic gaits and then I felt like I had to undo all of that when the time came to start them tölting.

Fast forward a few years to learning French classical dressage and the principal of “leg without hand, hand without leg.” The idea is that, when the leg and hand are applied at the same time, the horse is forced to ignore one of the other, because these aids mean conflicting things. The horse has to do a lot of guesswork to figure out what the rider wants, in order to relieve the conflicting pressure. Because horses habituate easily to pressure, over more and more pressure is needed over time as the horse gets used to the discomfort - which explained why those 4-gaited horses from my past needed SO much leg to keep in gait. French classical dressage makes each cue very clear and separate, and riders only apply one cue at a time. I found that this immediately made my horses much lighter to seat, leg, and rein aids and changed the way I rode tölt. Meanwhile, I had also changed the way I trained gait separation, because I began using clicker training and in-hand work from the French classical tradition. Both of these tools allowed me to train gait separation early on from the ground up, without using pressure or combining driving and restricting aids in a way that was confusing or stressful to the horse.  Today, gait separation is one of my favorite parts of training young horses, and I find that I love to retrain older horses who were trained to tölt incorrectly and are “difficult” to ride in tölt.

Glæta frá Brekku in tölt, photo by Augustin Demonceaux

Glæta frá Brekku in trot, photo by Augustin Demonceaux

In the next three sections, I will talk about the different things that I think people should understand about gait separation before they attempt to train it in a young or green horse or retrain it in an older horse, and I will briefly outline (because it is impossible to go very deep on social media) the process that I use to train gait separation in young horses (or to retrain it in older horses who were trained incorrectly).

The way that I like to train horses involves positive reenforcement and correct biomechanics to help the horse find their “joy in movement”.  In order to capture this joy, we need to understand the circumstances under which the horse might willingly choose to move  in each gait.

Icelandic horses are naturally gaited.  This means that they are born with the ability to perform lateral gaits like tölt and pace.  In recent years, scientists have discovered a “pace gene” which allows horses to perform lateral gaits.  Without the presence of this gene, a horse will not be able to perform lateral gaits like tölt and pace.  Because the gene is recessive, there is the possibility that it can be accidentally bred out of Icelandic horses, so if a young horse is showing zero inclination to travel in a lateral gait, it may be worth having them tested for the gene.  But for the most part, Icelandic horses do have the genetic ability to travel in lateral gaits.

What we call tölt, and what many other gaited breeds have different names for, such as “amble”, is a four-beated lateral gait that has no suspension.  This means that at least one foot is on the ground at all times.  We like to ride the tölt because this lack of suspension (suspension meaning time spent off the ground with no feet on the ground) means that the gait is very smooth to ride.  

Pace is a lateral gait with suspension.  True racing pace also has no collection - the horse is stretched out like an arrow, traveling as fast as it can.  Compare tölt vs. racing pace to canter (three beats) vs. racing gallop (which becomes four-beated at it’s fastest, because the horse is stretched out as flat and fast as can be and there is no collection).

However, in between true racing pace and tölt, there is a whole spectrum of not-quite-perfectly-evenly-separated-four-beated gaits that we might refer to as “pacey tölt,” in which the horse is traveling in a lateral gait that may not be so smooth to ride, because it is tending more in the direction of pace.

Trot is a diagonal gait in which the legs move in diagonal pairs, and the gait does have suspension and can have collection.  Just like a tölt can be pacey, it can also be trotty, when it tends more towards the direction of trot and is not-quite-perfectly-four-beated.

Now that we’ve defined what the gaits are, we have to ask ourselves why horses have these gaits.  Are they just for humans to enjoy?  Or are there times when the horses might CHOOSE to use their lateral gaits for their own benefit?

Interestingly, there is good evidence that prehistoric horses traveled in lateral gaits sometimes, and we find lateral gaits in other primitive breeds such as tibetan and Mongolian horses - not just Icelandic horses.  This suggests that gaitedness may be a trait that predates human influence, and was one more common in equines than we thought.

The best way to learn about what motivates a horse to choose a specific gait is to watch a herd of horses in Iceland.  Watch them running, playing, and traveling over the terrain that the breed adapted to live on.  You’ll pretty quickly realize that the horses DO make use of all of their gaits - for specific scenarios.  And it totally makes sense, if you think about how each gait works.

For traveling through deep snow, mud, or up steep hills, you’ll see a lot of trot and canter - gaits that have suspension, and push the horse UP and OVER obstacles like deep footing or inclines. 

For running over icy terrain, down steep hills, or for navigating very tricky, uneven terrain, you’ll see them choose variations of a lateral gait, which allows them to keep at least one foot on the ground at all times. 

Lateral gaits are also very stabilizing for the spine and are less jarring than gaits that have clearer suspension, so horses may use them when they are injured or sore somewhere.  Gallop and racing pace might be used when escaping something REALLY scary, gallop used over normal terrain and pace might be used over slippery terrain where the horse really needed to keep his footing and couldn’t safely gallop.

Think about it - as prey animals, balance is key to horses feeling safe - it doesn’t matter how FAST you can run if you’re going to fall on your face in front of the predator!  So for equines that adapted to live in places with icy, challenging terrain, having a lateral gait makes PERFECT sense for being able to run away from danger while still being able to keep one foot on the ground at all times.

So tölt and pace are NOT just gaits for humans to enjoy - each gait is useful to the horse.

It’s worth noting that here in the US, we mostly keep horses in flat paddocks and gently rolling pastures where they might not NEED to use their lateral gaits on their own quite so much.  We see them do it as foals, when they are unsteady, but as they get older and more balanced, they tend to prefer trot and canter which let them move more efficiently over easy terrain.  By the time we want to train them, they might be quite out of practice when it comes to using their full gait spectrum.

Humans have decided that tölt and pace are separate gaits, and that only a perfectly clear, evenly separated 4-beated tölt is a TRUE tölt.  But if you were to ask an Icelandic colt, running in his herd, what gait he is doing, he probably would not be able to answer you.  The horse does not consciously decide, “now I will trot, now I will canter, now I will pace, now I will tölt.”  The horse is simply running, enjoying his body and range of motion, and running in the way that feels safest on whatever terrain he is traversing.  He will use his body in the way that makes the most sense and will keep him upright and moving efficiently at any given moment.  As the terrain slopes upwards, he will trot or canter.  As it slopes downward or gets slippery, he will tölt or pacey-tölt to keep a foot on the ground so that he can continue to run without losing his balance.

The point being - when you bring a young horse into the stable, he does not KNOW that tölt and pace are separate gaits.  He is not even really conscious that any of the gaits are separate.  We have to TEACH the horse that each gait is a separate thing, and that there is a REASON to separate these gaits for us.  I do this using clicker training, which I will write more on in my next post.

What I want to hammer home here, is that in the beginning there is no reason to ONLY accept or reward clear t��lt.  In the beginning, what you are likely to get is a horse offering you something pacey.  And this is okay - in fact, it’s not just okay, it’s wonderful!

Many people make the mistake of waiting to train the lateral gaits until they have already finished training the basic gaits (walk, trot, and canter).  However, very early in the training, when the horse is perhaps a bit uncertain and trying to balance with the new equipment on his back, trying to balance in the arena or round pen for the first time, etc., the horse may try running in a pacey lateral gait or gait mixing (switching rapidly between lateral and diagonal gaits).  This is the PERFECT moment to clarify things for the horse, by putting the lateral and diagonal gaits on separate vocal cues.  This is the moment to CAPTURE that pacey/temse gait, reward it, and put it on a vocal cue even if it isn’t the gait you will ultimately want to ride, because what you are doing in that moment is teaching the horse that there is a difference between lateral and diagonal gaits.

In early training, we want the horse to relax and work primarily in the basic gaits, it’s true.  But VERY early on, you can establish the difference between lateral and diagonal gaits.  You can put trot and whatever pace/tölt/paceytölt you’re being offered on to two separate vocal cues, reward them both until the cues are established and reliable, and then stop cueing the lateral one until you need to use it again - probably after a few months of good dressage work in the basic gaits.  The horse will still know and remember the cue, because horses have such excellent memories.  And at that point, once the horse has developed the strength, balance, and understanding of the seat, leg, and rein aids well enough to perform basic lateral work, bending, and collection, it will be so EASY to shape whatever crappy lateral gait you were originally offered into a balanced, 4-beated tölt. 

The thing that I most wish people understood about tölt is that horses don’t get pacey or trotty on purpose.  Tölt, when ridden, is a gait that is extremely dependent on the horse’s balance being correct - it’s a bit like the difference between any old trot, and the gorgeous collected trot you might see in a grand prix dressage test.  You might wonder, “why doesn’t my horse trot like that?”  But if you took that same Grand Prix dressage horse and threw a very unbalanced rider on board, or put the horse in ill-fitted tack, or give the horse an unbalanced hoof trim, etc. you might see that beautiful corrected trot falter or become lower quality.   This is why, sometimes, a great trainer or rider can hop on a horse and have it tölting beautifully, but then the horse’s owner gets back on and the horse is suddenly pacey or falling into trot.  It’s not DISOBEDIENCE, it’s a balance issue.

Many young or green horses are simply not strong and balanced enough to be immediately ABLE to perform the kind of perfectly clear 4-beated tölt of the quality we like to ride, even in the field, let alone with a rider on board.  And even if they are naturally well-balanced and can perform a gorgeous clear tölt without a rider, a young horse or incorrectly trained adult horse needs to understand the aids well enough that the rider can give the horse the cues necessary to HELP them balance correctly under the added weight of a rider in order to perform a clear tölt under saddle.  

Many people train tölt by driving the horse into the contact, creating a pressure with the driving and restricting aids and relieving this pressure ONLY when the horse figures out, through trial and error, how to contort into a gait that feels comfortable to ride.  In my experience, horses trained this way tend to revert to a much less pleasant gait when ridden by less-skilled riders who are less well-timed with their releases, and may be “difficult to ride correctly.”  Horses trained in this way may also be prone to arthritis or even to injury.  That is because they may find their clear gait by compensating and using their bodies incorrectly or unnaturally, because they were motivated through the frantic desire to relieve pressure from the aids rather than correct understanding of how to balance their bodies underneath the rider.  You tend to see these horses traveling behind the vertical, braced against the bit (although perhaps FEELING light on the bit to the rider because of the tension held in their necks).  

So, how to we teach horses to tölt with relaxation and understanding, and a joy-of-movement that comes from within (as opposed to being created by the desire to relieve pressure)?

I begin with clicker training.  Once I have established the basic language of clicker training using basic targeting, I progress to using the target to prompt movement, and then I begin to put the movement on various cues.  I reward the movement, and then add in the cue, and once the cue is established, I only reward the movement when it comes after the cue.

I start with walk.  Once I have walk on a firm vocal cue, I train transitions such as walk-halt and halt-walk.  Then, I begin to jog alongside the horse, and I reward the first gait the horse offers me.  Depending on the horse, this could be a diagonal gait, or it could be a lateral gait.  Whichever it is determines which I will teach first.  If it’s trot, I reinforce it and put “trot” on a vocal cue.  If it’s a lateral gait, any lateral gait at all (even an ugly piggy pace!) I reinforce it and put that on a vocal cue (I use a kissing sound for tölt, so I use that).

Once I’ve established that fist gait, teach transitions: walk-gait, halt-gait, gait-walk, gait-halt, etc.  Once these are all established, then I am ready to teach the horse whichever gait they did not offer me initially.  If they offered trot, I will not teach them a lateral gait.  If they offered a lateral gait, I will teach them trot.  

I do this by playing with their balance, so it is dependent on some knowledge of conformation and biomechanics.  Each horse may have something slightly different that prompts them to choose to move within the gait that they did not initially offer.  Some of this will depend on the horse’s conformation, the way that the horse himself is balanced.  Hoof trim, imbalances in the teeth, and issues in the body that may be helped by chiropractic or bodywork can also be factors.  But we know enough about why the horses use each gait to make it a relatively simple puzzle - it’s just a matter of finding what works for each horse.

My current young horse, Bogi, is a fun example because he chooses each gait so evenly.  He is a well-balanced young horse who seems to choose his lateral gaits as easily as he chooses his diagonal gaits.  So for him, when I want to prompt a lateral gait, I hold the target higher, which causes him to lift his front end to look at the target - lifting his front end shifts his weight back, the way a horse would shift his weight to go down a steep hill.  When his weight is shifted in this way, he easily chooses a lateral gait just as he would going down a hill.  If he had a harder time finding a lateral gait, I might actually take him out on a hill and hold the target higher and jog down some hills with him! 

For trot, we know that horses use the gait to propel themselves over deeper footing, or up hills, etc. so a great option if you’re working in a flat arena is to use ground poles. 

However, you could also take them out into a hilly pasture and jog up some hills with them, you could try working in deep snow, an unmowed field where they have to pick their feet up over the tall grass, etc. - play around with it!

The important thing is that in the beginning, we reward ONE step at a time.  Young/green horses are weak.  The object of the game isn’t to get as many steps of tölt or trot as you can, it’s to get one step, mark it, build the understanding that this is something different from the gait they most naturally offered.  Then you can build from there.  

Once the horse knows the difference between diagonal and lateral gaits, and has two separate vocal cues for trot vs. a lateral gait (again, clarity is unimportant at this stage), I put the lateral gait cue away in my toolbox for a while and progress with the process of starting them under saddle using just the basic gaits.  I begin teaching them to longe, working them on the longeline, teaching them in-hand work, working them in-hand, backing them, and starting to work them under saddle.  I use French classical dressage to teach them the aids so that each aid has a clear meaning and is carefully separated from the other aids.  We do not apply driving and restricting aids at the same time.  

Once I back them, I transition all of the in-hand and vocal cues to under-saddle cues.  I briefly bring the lateral gait cue out of the toolbox again, to establish that “hey, these gaits are things that we do when ridden too, not just at liberty/in-hand,” and to teach them the ridden cues for these gaits. 

Bogi working in tölt

Once they are willingly performing a few steps of the lateral gait on cue under saddle (again, quality of gait is NOT important, because I do not expect the horse to have good balance underneath me yet, it is only important that the horse understands the difference between lateral and diagonal gaits on cue!), I put it away in my toolbox again.

Bogi working in trot

And then I do all of the slow, patient work of training the horse.  We build fitness, strength, balance, I teach them the more complicated aids and dressage exercises they will need to know so that I can help them balance underneath me, so that I can shift their balance beneath me and help them to become their best, strongest, most balanced and flexible selves.  Once I have them able to understand and work with me like this, THEN I can dust off that lateral gait cue again, and begin to shape the gait into a clear tölt.  Very often, they are so strong and balanced by that point that the tölt is already clear, but if not, all I need to do is help the horse balance so that they can move forward in clear beat.

Below is a short video of clips showing a bit of this process with my young horse, Bogi:

This process also works great for retraining horses that were incorrectly trained to tölt.  I’ve had some awesome success retraining REALLY trotty older horses, that had to be held and squeezed into the gait for years.  In some ways, you can move faster with older horses, because they are already stronger than a youngster would be, and more developed so there is less risk of progressing too quickly and hurting them.  The initial work, however, can take a bit longer because they may be less trusting of the initial introduction to R+, especially if they have been trained unkindly in the past.  I also find that with older horses, if their cues for tölt have been poisoned by stressful training, I sometimes have to introduce completely new cues for them so that they can truly start fresh.  But I have yet to find a horse that training this way does not work for! 

Happy tölting!

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (21 of ?)

A OUAT WINTER WHUMP FIC

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!**********

***NEW!!!!!!! LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!! AAAAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

5 weeks ago...

“So… we’re really doing this?”

Emma and Killian were both red-eyed and exhausted, having spent most of the night fleshing out their plot and the remainder in the grip of anxious nightmares that weren’t fully driven away by the morning sun. Fresh off of an emotional farewell to their achingly oblivious daughter, it was no wonder that they battled second thoughts now.

Leaning against a tree trunk, his shirt unbuttoned down to the navel, Killian fidgeted with his hook. “I don’t see that we’ve many alternatives. The monster must be stopped; this may be our only chance. Even the bloody Crocodile thinks so.”

“You know we’re desperate when we start turning to him for opinions,” sighed Emma. Killian could only roll his eyes in agreement.

“Believe me, Swan; I’m well aware.”

“This is such an idiotic plan,” she groaned. “They’re all gonna kill us when they find out.”

“Well, by that time, the abductions will have stopped, so they’ll be obligated to thank us while killing us. There’s that, at least.” Killian smirked suggestively. “And if I’m going to be sharing the proverbial dog house with someone, I’m most pleased that it will be with you.”

Emma gave him an assessing once-over. “There’s generally not a lot of room in those things. Do you really think we could still���”

“Oh, most assuredly. Limited space is no obstacle for the determined. And you, lass, are the most determined of them all.”

Drawing closer, Emma ran her hand up his exposed chest hair, grinning. “Damn right.”

She tugged briefly and Killian pounced, trapping her in a tight embrace and locking his lips over hers. She pushed back, inching him backwards until he was sandwiched between her and the tree. They shared the kiss of the desperate, knowing it may be one of their last in a very long time.

Annoyingly, Rumplestiltskin popped up nearby only seconds--minutes?--into the kiss. He cleared his throat to announce his presence, but neither Killian nor Emma would allow him to dictate the length of their contact. And when they did break apart, it was only by inches. Face to face, they soaked in each other’s gazes, communicating wordlessly their love, their fears and promises. Emma broke the silence first.

“In case we don’t get another minute alone before you… go… just... I wanted to say…” Her voice wavered and she trailed off. Killian reached up to wipe away a tear from her cheek, and she leaned into the touch, sniffling. “Sorry. I… I don’t know if I can go through with this.”

“It’s okay, love,” he murmured, continuing to caress her face. He fixed her with his most earnest expression as he offered the words of encouragement that, in all honesty, he needed as much as she did. “I have faith in you, Emma. You can. And if you can… then so can I.”

She still looked stricken, devastated at the thought of what lay ahead. But somehow, she managed to compose herself, gathering the determined courage that Killian so loved in her, focusing on the practical, the present moment, what her husband needed from her right now. What she could give him… while he was there in front of her. Finally, after one more shaky, centering breath, Emma echoed the words she’d said to Henry all those years ago.

“I’ll miss the hell out of you.”

The corners of Killian’s mouth twitched and he gave thanks for her presence, both now and in the days to come. He may not always be in receipt of such direct support from her, but he knew he would never stop sensing her well-wishes, no matter what happened. “Likewise. But with any luck, we’ll immediately hear something useful, and you can come rescue me within the day.”

“You won’t be hearing anything unless we get this done,” Rumple broke in, and both Killian and Emma rolled their eyes in irritation.

“Would it kill you to wait a few minutes, Gold?” Emma growled.

“Not me. I could probably endure a moment more of your PDA. Not sure the same could be said of the Vocivore’s current victims, though. I can’t imagine they’d be thrilled about your groping each other while they're having their brains shriveled.”

As intentionally inflammatory as his statements were, they did bear a kernel of truth, and reluctantly, the couple pulled apart. Emma pivoted to face Rumple as she took Killian’s hand. Finally tearing his eyes from his wife’s face, Killian shot a cold look at his former foe. He caught sight of a plastic contraption, shaped like a pistol but bigger and with a longer barrel. Rumple held it up obligingly, and Killian raised a defiant eyebrow.

“That’s it, then?”

He managed to sound casual, scornful even, but his finely honed self-preservation instincts were jolting a warning: do not let that bastard anywhere near you with that bloody thing!

Rumple was wearing a bland smile. “As I mentioned, just a little something I picked up on my travels. May I?”

Killian nodded permission, trying to regain control of his pounding heart. Emma squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“It’s normally used to implant tracking devices in wild beasts, I’m told. I made some… slight modifications, to suit our needs.” He held up a small metallic shape, similar to a medicine capsule but thicker and longer, with sharply tapered ends. “Your transmitter. It has a battery life of 2 weeks but can recharge itself using the electrical energy of your body cells.”

“I’m not convinced you’ve handled it enough, Crocodile; why don’t you go ahead and give it a lick, for good measure?”

Rumple sneered. “Listen to that; the pirate’s up to speed on his germ theory.” He opened a hidden chamber in the back of the device and dropped the transmitter into the slot. After sliding the tiny door closed with a click, he waved his hand over the whole implant gun, presumably sterilizing the transmitter within. “Satisfied?”

Killian glared at the gun, not saying anything. But Emma cocked her head.

“Why not just use magic to implant it, too?”

Killian half expected the imp to say, Where would be the fun in that? Instead, Rumple explained,

“If this monster truly can influence magic, we wouldn't want him to be able to sense its presence, now would we? Magical insertion leaves a trace, no matter how carefully done. Best not take the chance.”

“More importantly, Swan, the number of times I've had his hand inside of me is more than enough for three lifetimes.”

Emma snorted a laugh, running her fingers along his arm soothingly. “What about healing it afterward? Wouldn’t that leave a trace as well?”

“It may, but the Vocivore won’t be able to discern what’s been magically healed. For all it knows, the pirate is simply clumsy and prone to injuring himself.” Rumple flashed a nasty grin. “Now then. Do you need to be sitting down for this? Wouldn't want you to pass out on me.”

“Just get on with it, Crocodile.”

The Dark One hefted the implant gun, pulled back on some sort of spring mechanism, and then waved vaguely toward Killian’s shoulder. “If you would be so kind…”

With a short-tempered huff, Killian disengaged his hand from Emma’s grip and pushed aside the gaping collar of his shirt to expose his left chest and shoulder. He patiently held the fabric in place in order to give a clear field for the procedure. Rumple produced an alcohol wipe out of thin air and scrubbed roughly at a patch of skin just below the collarbone as a wary Killian watched for any sign of duplicity. Using one hand to stretch the skin taut, Rumple positioned the gun at an angle, its specially-designed guard at the tip of the barrel guiding him as to the proper placement.

Killian wasn’t expecting a warning, and he didn’t get one either. A loud snap preceded what felt like a very hard and focused punch to the area, then a sharp, hot lance of pain immediately followed. It spread into a bright throb as startled nerves scrambled to react. A tightening of his jaw and a slow breath were Killian’s only concession to the discomfort; he certainly didn’t want to give Rumplestiltskin the satisfaction of a wince, not if he could help it.

The absurd image of a cartoon he’d watched with Hope flashed into his mind: a dog is guarding a sleeping bear and keeps injuring himself, but in order to avoid waking the bear, he runs miles away before letting loose with a torrent of reactionary howls. Not that this relatively minor pain merited such an extreme response… but Killian was grateful for the brief distraction all the same.

Rumple pulled the gun away and exposed a dark hole with a diameter somewhat larger than a pencil. A faint, diagonal purple line tapered in the direction of the shoulder joint. Milliseconds later, blood welled from the puncture and dripped down Killian’s chest. The first of many droplets to be shed, came the morbid thought unbidden. Emma spread her fingers, obviously intent on healing the small wound, but the Dark One stopped her.

“I wouldn’t. Not yet.”

Gingerly, Killian pressed a finger over the hole and raised an annoyed eyebrow. With strained patience, Rumple explained,

“We haven't tested it yet. We need to make sure no… adjustments are necessary.”

As Killian massaged the ache, he could feel an irritating shift of the foreign object embedded in his flesh. Emma lowered her hand, impatient.

“Okay… ready when you are.”

Rumple stepped back calmly, addressing Killian with his usual aloofness. “We’ll need to travel to a distance equivalent to that which separates Storybrooke and the monster’s lair, to be sure we can hear clearly through the transmitter. So keep talking, Captain. Impress us with your… nautical knowledge, or something.”

The pair of magic users vanished in an abrupt swirl of smoke, leaving Killian alone among the trees. With a roguish smirk that was entirely wasted on the empty forest, he began to speak.

“It’s a damn shame, the fate of the Wish Realm’s Dark One. That can’t have been a pleasant way to go. Still, one could make a very strong argument for why he deserved it.” He allowed a pair of heartbeats to elapse, then added, “Swan, I’m not entirely sure I haven’t gotten the tales mixed up with all the time that’s gone by. If I remember correctly, both Crocodiles had their own brand of suffering to endure, but was it this version or the other who--”

As anticipated, Emma winked back into existence just in front of him, her arms crossed and a look of staged exasperation on her face. “You know you can’t get into that, right? He can’t know that stuff until he experiences it for himself.”

Killian winked at her. “Oh, but darling, wouldn’t it be loads more fun to give him just a hint of what awaits him in his future?”

“You wanna risk changing something, go right ahead.” She reached forward and gently pulled his hand away from the irritated flesh of his shoulder. “He needs you to stop rubbing at it. It’s making it hard to do the sound check.”

Ignoring the small amount of blood dribbling from the puncture, Killian scoffed.

“What’s that, love? I’m making what hard by rubbing?”

Emma simply rolled her eyes and poofed back to wherever Rumple was. Killian took a moment’s pleasure in imagining the sour frown that had hopefully crossed the Dark One’s face as he listened; otherwise, what was the point of winding him up? Sighing, Killian tucked his thumb into his belt and then, in the driest monotone he could summon, he began to list crew and cargo capacities for every type of ship in the Royal Navy.

His two companions were back in short order; without the threat of punishment hanging over their heads for failing to learn all of the details, they must have found the trivia to be mind-numbingly boring. Killian raised an eyebrow at his wife.

“Well?”

She answered by resting her hand over the streak of blood near his collarbone. As she sealed the break in the skin--this time without the protests of a disinterested Rumple--she confirmed,

“It seems to be working. For the next five minutes, I could tell you how many standard-sized crates fit in the hold of a schooner. Just don’t ask me after ten.”

The majority of the pain had vanished with the puncture wound, and no visible trace remained to mark the presence of the implant. But Killian could still feel a strange hardness within his shoulder, the smallest hint of inflammation where tissues were compressed by the new metallic structure trapped inside.

“I may have failed to mention: it won’t transmit across realms,” the Dark One pointed out. “So best not fall through any portals along the way.”

Emma adjusted her husband’s shirt, not bothering to do up any buttons, and Killian’s own emotions were reflected in her eyes. In a way, the success of Rumple’s device felt like some kind of death knell. One final obstacle to the plan surmounted; they were out of practicality-based excuses, and it was now down to courage alone.

Going for nonchalant--Rumple was watching, after all--Killian caught Emma’s hand and gave it a brief squeeze.

“Well then, love. I’ll see you back in Storybrooke.”

She mimicked his act. “Yep. Sheriff station, right?”

“Aye.”

He pulled her close for one more quick embrace. Then Emma produced her magic bean, tossed it toward an empty patch of forest floor, and disappeared through the resulting portal without looking back.

Perhaps she feared, as he did, that any hesitation would cause their tenuous resolve to come crumbling down around their ears.

[isleofandroids]

Alien (Connor x Reader)

Fandom Detroit: Become Human

Word Count 1,675

Summary Connor sees something that urges him to tell Y/N something important

—

The DPD was unusually quiet. Cases of rogue deviants became far and very few in between, and soon ninety percent of the rare calls were pranks or outgoing delivery orders. Most of the officers and detectives were out working while you and a few others were stuck inside doing paperwork.

It was easy to see that the lieutenant in charge didn't see a problem, as he was able to be more carefree with his job. To Hank, less cases meant less problems, so he would take the liberty to go to Jimmy's Bar earlier than usual. The CyberLife android assigned to assisting with deviants - or Connor - always found something to keep himself preoccupied. Whether it was a pile of paper or getting coffee, it was easy for him to stay on his feet with any task. You didn't see it as much of a blessing, however, as going out and actually doing something was better than sitting inside. Part of you was glad the country started giving androids the rights and respect they deserved, but another part missed the excitement and thrill of tracking them down.

Today was particularly slower than it had been, and you found yourself staring at the android sitting diagonally from you. He sat on top of his desk casually, leaning over as he seemed to be studying Hank being hungover. It wasn't a sight he wasn't used to, but it was understandable. Their lieutenant never failed to be entertaining even with only mutters and crabby remarks.

Connor always seemed to enjoy this side of their friend, but the reason never entered your mind. Regardless, you loved how curious he still was about what he came in contact with when it came to humans. He was still discovering himself after the Jericho protest, so he always questioned actions and situations, directing his observations at intentions and emotion. On top of learning more each day, he also gave out information that not many people knew. His sometimes random, but interesting facts were something you grew accustomed to. And the way he held himself even after what he went through was admirable. You truly found the man fascinating.

“Detective?”

You blinked, realizing you were staring too long. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, Connor?”

His eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head only slightly, “You weren't responding to the calls of your name. Are you feeling alright?”

You nodded, turning the chair back to face your desk so you could start to swallow down the embarrassment of being caught. A laugh resonated a few desks in front of you, and you rolled your eyes. Picking up a pencil, you chucked it across the room at Gavin's amused form, smiling when it hit him in the face. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“Being a dick.” You chided, laughing at the clear anger on his face.

Connor watched the exchange, the thirium in his body rushing and his synthetic heart pumping faster. The sensations he felt were strange. It wasn't clear on whether they were caused by the unfolding scene or something else. The RK800 model still wasn't sure of much when it came to what humans called emotions. His programming recalled them being created by chemicals and endorphins, nothing truly physical or emotional.

Although, seeing Gavin react noticeably different with you than with others caused a stir in his system. The LED on the side of his forehead was yellow, yet when he heard you laugh at the otherwise distasteful detective, it turned red.

He got off of his own desk and approached yours, “May I speak with you in private, Y/N?”

“Of course.” You stood from your seat and began to follow one of your partners. Connor's gaze flickered to other man who was now hunched over, mumbling one of the regular insults about the robot when the pair passed.

You let the android lead you into the break room and sat at one of the tables. His LED light was already flashing yellow. The troubled expression taking over his features concerned you - he seemed fine only moments ago. “Are you alright?”

His eyes shifted around the room, looking anywhere but you. When their gaze reached the doors of the break room, he cleared his throat and finally looked at you. “What is your relation with Detective Reed?”

My relation...? You furrowed your eyebrows, and then your eyes widened just a bit. Oh. “He isn't my boyfriend or anything, if that's what you're asking.”

"Oh." Connor barely nodded at your response, looking away. His mouth was ajar, and he clicked his tongue while the words processed.

“Why?”

He wasn't slow to respond, “He is very difficult to work with, yet he shows less restraint with you in being cooperative. I am simply curious as to the reason why.”

Of course, those words rang true. Gavin was already an asshole who hated androids, but once deviants began to rise and one of those 'machines’ started working with the department he got worse. You were the one he made an exception for. And while it never crossed your mind why, you always made the same excuse if another person brought the subject up. “I stand up to him more than the others would, so it's likely a situation of respect.”

“And you do not hold any strong emotions for him?”

The corners of his mouth twitched up for only a second when you laughed lightly and shook your head. “Definitely not. I would rather babysit Hank after he drinks.”

You watched as the color of the LED continued to glow that same variation of orange, not once switching back to blue or blinking into red. The expression on Connor's face was mostly neutral, but the frustration was easier to spot through the little things. The discreet frown, the dilated pupils, the curiosity and confliction in his brown orbs. “I...” His dark gaze flitted toward the ground. “There is a strange feeling I can't make sense of. It occurs each time you are with Detective Reed, but I'm not sure what it is.”

“That's called jealousy. It's usually connected when a person sees someone they uh,” you took time to finish, “like or love with someone else. It's common for humans.”

Love.

“What does love feel like?”

You flashed him a small smile when he faced you directly once more, and he felt the thirium pumping through his veins and insides whirring at the sight. “It's different for everyone, but the general description is it feels like there are butterflies fluttering inside when you're around them. You may find yourself staring, smiling more, wanting to be next to them as much as possible. Your heart will beat faster the closer the proximity is. And you'll make excuses to see them outside of usual meet or hangout points.”

You didn't realize that the man stepped closer until you finished, but when you did it was as if your body froze. Everything you'd just described invaded your mind and body. Your stomach was in knots, a feeling of the delicate creatures fluttering about. Your heart rate quickened and blood rushed to your face as it grew warmer.

Connor, on the other hand, did nothing but search your eyes for an unknown answer. While his LED didn't change, it did begin to flash rapidly as the processing of your words rushed through his thoughts. After becoming a deviant himself, his programming consisted of running through human habits, actions and emotional occurrences. It was more of a challenge for him more than others as only a couple of months after the successful protest he found himself subconsciously doing everything in your description. He'd offer to bring you home after hours, bring up scenarios so he could accompany you if you left during work, even approach you from across the room if he wanted your attention.

Of course, you never noticed because you were too busy doing the staring and daydreaming portion. It was a two way street that always seemed to be going only one way on both sides. But standing there with barely any distance between one another made things clear as day.

Connor analyzed the flushed cheeks, dilated pupils and racing heart, connecting your state with the one word. When he spoke his voice was low and nerve-racked, which was unusual for the former deviant hunter. “I have found that I possess... similar qualities when you're around, Detective L/N. And I believe it is indeed what you described as love."

“O-oh.” If it was possible, the shade of red covering your face grew darker. It became your turn to avoid meeting his gaze while you gathered yourself. It was just surreal. You'd been fantasizing about how this moment would play out since you first discovered your feelings for the man. You just couldn't believe that it was happening much sooner than you imagined.

You phased back into the conversation after noticing the elongated silence must have been making him more nervous. You smiled up at your crush, “I love you too, Connor. And I know you're still going through the process of deviancy and everything is still new to you, so we can go through this change together.”

The brunette smiled the same time the light on his temple turned blue, causing your heart to stop and your own upside down frown to stretch into a grin. “I look forward to it.” He replied as he intertwined one hand with yours. He used the other to caress your cheek, looking at you lovingly. He closed the remaining inches with a gentle kiss, every emotion you were both feeling being poured into the action.

The feelings were alien to Connor even after his confession, but he would never regret expressing them. And neither would you. For those little moments created between the two of you before this were now lasting memories that led up to this point in time. Every smile, laugh, conversation, adventure, and act of hidden love led to a perfect kiss.

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 8

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 8: You Win Some, You Lose Some

Lauren Rorschach’s office was well furnished. Her desk was dark mahogany, with hand-carved elephants marching along the bottom rim in wooden jubilee. Two violet couches lined each side wall, both big enough to hold three people individually. The walls were covered top to bottom with personal certificates and achievements, newspaper articles detailing the success of the institute, and one larger-than-life painting of a bowl of food – not the stereotypical fruit but vegetables instead. It was almost like a statement. The only mindless veggies here are in this painting.

Flug wasn’t very comforted by the thought today.

“You seem to have been making some enemies lately, Dr. Slys.” The director peered at her associate from over her glasses. He slumped sheepishly in his seat.

“Ah, y-yeah, I suppose so,” the psychiatrist offered rather weakly. “So uh, I’m guessing that’s why you called me in then.” There was a confirming nod. “Alright, w-what’s first on the roster then?”

“Well, considering Dr. Bautista came into my office earlier without so much as a knock, I’d say that matter might be a little more pressing. At least, according to him.” She quirked an eyebrow, amused at the dislike on her employee’s face – obvious even through his headwear – and continued. “Supposedly you are ‘out to ruin his reputation and slander his good name’, to quote him.”

“I’m n-not doing anything like that! I’m just, he just…I don’t think he’s a good fit for Black Hat’s case. And I wanted to talk about his intern, Martin. Um, Martin Naaji.”

“You did mention the intern in your email a few days ago. Why don’t you want Dr. Bautista with you on the case? I thought we chose him for his physical backup and your nonconflicting schedules.”

“Let’s j-just say some, uh, some things came to my attention that m-made me think we wouldn’t work very well together.” Flug worded his phrasing carefully. “He is a respected psychiatrist and a fine member of this institute, but he – we all have our strengths and weaknesses and some, clash more than others. And the patient himself doesn’t seem very fond of the doctor. He refused to answer his questions and only addressed me. He ignored Bautista completely.”

“Have you considered the idea that Black Hat is doing this in order to separate you both? To turn you against each other and make one of you vulnerable to assault?”

“Oh I considered that, yes, but ah,” he grimaced, thinking back on his inmate’s words during their first therapy session. “I believe it’s highly unlikely. And we don’t, we j-just don’t work well together, I think. So. I’d like to formally request to be stated as the only psychiatrist on this case. For now. Um, until – if something happens. Which it won’t so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Dr. Slys, you don’t have to assure me of your prowess. I’m well aware of that fact.” An honest smile came his way. “I trust my employees, and I know they make the decisions they believe to be the best. I’ll abide by your request.”

The psychiatrist’s goggles lightened, but his director held up one hand.

“However, I also expect the employees to learn to work with each other regardless of differences in personality or background. I won’t force the two of you to work together regularly, but I do expect you to resolve any conflicts you may have within a reasonable amount of time. If there are any more concerns from either of you, I want to hear about them, but I also want you both to try to come to an agreement, or at least a compromise. Is that fair?”

“Of c-course, it’s more than I could ask for.”

“Good, now about Martin Naaji. The problem here seems to be that he hasn’t been receiving proper direction in his work here. Am I correct?”

“Yes, Dr. Bautista – I mean, both he and Martin have told me that they’re unsure about what he should be doing every day. I’m not, it’s not really my business but I promised that I’d ask you about it and get back to them about it.”

“In the message Dr. Bautista sent me, he suggested that the intern be transferred to your guidance.”

“I – me?!”

“That’s correct. Have you ever overseen an intern before? Have any experience?”

“No! No, I don’t at all.” Flug gestured a little desperately. “I don’t have any plans to take on an assistant or an intern, or anything like that. I don’t have the time, I can’t – and all of my patients right now are extremely distrustful or cautious of the unknown, I can’t just pop up with another person for them to get used to after all this!”

“So you wouldn’t be willing to take him on?”

“No I, don’t get me wrong, he’s a sweet kid, a wonderful student but. I don’t know how to help him. That’s why I wanted your input, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Doctor, the best answer to that question is your honest one. I’ll work more with Dr. Bautista about it. In the meantime though,” she considered him, “didn’t you bring him along to one of your sessions with Patient 243? Dementia?”

“Oh yeah, I did do that. It went remarkably well. Why?”

“Would you be willing to let him do it again while we figure this all out?”

“I mean, that is – I think it’d be up to my patient. I wouldn’t mind it myself. But I need to ask Dementia before I could give you a real answer.”

“That’s fine. Do you have time after this to discuss it with her? I think it would be beneficial to both the patient and the intern if he joins you.”

“I can do that, yeah. I’ll ask her today.”

“Thank you. Let me know as soon as you can.”

“Absolutely, will do.” He picked at his shirt just briefly before making eye contact. “Um. Can we d-discuss 505’s situation now? I’m really worried about him.”

“Mm…” She glanced at her computer, pulling up a specific email up on her tab. “I have on record that 505’s physician sent me a message yesterday. He mentioned that you refused to allow the patient’s transfer to Floor 5 for observation and recuperation. May I ask why?”

The psychiatrist clenched at his lab coat. “Because he’s in risk of a b-breakdown up there! It’s completely detrimental to his health, and as his psychiatrist I can’t let it happen.”

“I see,” Dr. Rorschach brushed a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “I’m assuming you’re referring to the…unstable nature of some of the other patients on that floor? Particularly the one who’s been causing the disturbance between you and Dr. Bautista?”

“Absolutely!” Flug bit back the urge to bring his finger up in triumph. “505 might be super strong but he’s never been a danger to anyone. We both know that, everyone knows that. I need to keep him safe and he won’t be safe, especially with – if he’s that close to Black Hat.”

“I see your point, and it’s a valid one. Unfortunately, we also know that 505 is unaware of how much damage he can and does cause. He’s gentle with his handlers, but we’ve kept records of the extensive property damage.” She read off her screen. “He’s destroyed numerous toys meant for stress relief and mind stimulation, broke four of your clipboards, and if I’m not mistaken, he made a six-centimeter dent in his cell during his first week here that we still haven’t fixed yet.”

“That’s true, but –”

“We also have no guarantee that his physical well-being is completely stable. His body may have healed but that could revert itself or produce unknown side effects that we haven’t seen yet from the aftermath of the…event. The bomb.”

“I know, but I don’t think –”

“Doctor, I know how much you care for your patients. It’s a joy to have such a compassionate individual working here, believe me. But I can’t risk any danger to an inmate’s health while under this roof. I can’t risk his life.”

“At the cost of his mental health? His chance to recover his mind, live a normal life?” Flug trembled openly. He wanted to stand, accusing, but ground himself into his chair instead. “This could be irreversible, Dr. Rorschach. You know that!”

“I do know that! Trust me, I do,” she snapped, her sharp painted nails pressing against the computer mouse. “We pride ourselves on our ability for our successful rehabilitation of criminals. But we are also so famous for the physical care we provide. 505’s situation is unprecedented. I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years as director. We don’t know what could happen – I don’t know what could happen, and that scares me.”

The psychiatrist tugged at his bag, noticing in his distress how much of it was mirrored in her body language.

“Dr. Rorschach, please. I’m begging you not to go through with this. I don’t want him to get hurt, but I really don’t want him regressing either. I’ll pay for cameras to be installed, I’ll check in more frequently, I’ll even camp out in his room if that’s what it takes! Just please don’t stick him on Floor 5. Please.”

They looked at each other for a long time in a battle of silence, wills, and the urge to understand. Dr. Rorschach cracked first and looked away with a weary sigh.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Slys. But we need to keep monitoring him and we can’t do it from his current room. I can’t keep him in medical either, they’ll need that room for others. I’ll have 505 placed in the cell across the hall and diagonal from Black Hat. It’s farthest away and it’s the best I can do. I won’t risk liability here, no matter what. You’re welcome to visit him as often as you think is necessary and I’ll increase your spending budget for his material items and toys, but that’s it.”

It was the firmness in those words, the finality of a no-nonsense director who wouldn’t take any answer but agreement that kept Flug’s mouth tensed shut. He bowed his head in stony, expected respect and stood up, straightening his lab coat meticulously.

“When can I expect you to move 505.”

“Most likely later this evening, when he’s been officially checked out of his medical room. I’ll let you know, if you’d like to be there.”

“Sure. Yeah. I’ll move his stuff to that c – to his new room then. If there’s nothing else to say, I’ll take my leave to start doing that.”

“There’s nothing else, no.” Dr. Rorschach usually shook hands with her employees before they left. She didn’t offer it now. “I am truly sorry, Dr. Slys, for what it’s worth. We just don’t have a better option.”

He didn’t respond, just clenched his fingers in his coat and gave a curt nod, turning and trudging to the door in soft, measured steps. There was no glance backwards as he left her office, and the door closed slowly and firmly. Flug refused to give himself a chance to dwell on the situation. He broke out into a steady jog, forgoing the elevator completely and trekking up two flights of stairs into Floor 3 and practically ran to 505’s colorful room.

It was far too empty without the bear’s wonderful presence, and the psychiatrist grabbed the closest thing to his left – a giant stuffed whale – and tucked it under his armpit. He filled his arms with as many toys as he could carry, balancing a green rubber ball precariously on top of a rainbow plastic slinky as he made his way to Floor 5.

Many of the patients were fairly quiet in the morning hours, and today was no exception. He passed Dementia’s room without her notice but stopped when he came close to the four armored cells in the back. One of Black Hat’s guards – Lucas – saw what he was holding and came over curiously.

“Dr. Slys? What’s all this?”

“We’re just, um, one of my patients is being transferred here.” Flug wilted, letting the severity of the issue come to his mind at last. “He’ll be here sometime this afternoon and I w-wanted to move his things here, make sure he’ll be c-comfortable.”

The ball tipped over and Lucas lunged for it, catching the toy before it hit the ground. He rolled it back and forth between his hands as the psychiatrist gave him a grateful look.

“Do you need any help? You look like your hands are pretty full.”

“Mm, I don’t – that’d be nice but d-don’t you need to,” he glanced at the disturbingly quiet cell of his trouble inmate. “Um, guard him?”

“Ah, well, Ben had to go take care of something but he’s bound to be back any minute – speak of the devil!” Lucas was suddenly grinning, looking past the doctor.

Flug turned around to see Black Hat’s other security officer walking briskly toward them. He blinked at the psychiatrist only briefly before his gaze moved to his partner.

“Man, sorry I’m late. All the stalls were full and the line was longer than I thought. What’s going on?”

“I was gonna help Dr. Slys move some stuff for his patient. Apparently someone else is coming over here now.” Lucas jerked a thumb at the cells behind them. “You mind if I do that for a bit? We’ll be back and forth.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary –” Flug started to say.

“Nah, sure, go ahead. I’ll be right here if you need me,” Ben beamed at them both and took his position in front of Black Hat’s door. “Just let me know if you need help with heavy lifting. I’m much more muscular than this guy.”

“Hey! Don’t start with me,” Lucas growled in mock indignation. He looked towards Flug, who stood there a little lost. “So which room we taking this into?”

“Oh, ah, this one back here.” Passing Black Hat’s room made his skin prickle, but no terrifying face appeared at the window to verbally assault him. The psychiatrist and the guard placed the toys in various spots in the large padded room, and Flug found the silver lining in that 505 might enjoy such comfy walls and flooring compared to his other room.

Lucas helped him make three more trips between Floor 3 and Floor 5, making small talk and gushing about his son, who had just turned five last month apparently. The psychiatrist listened politely, not very interested but knowing how to appear so, and when the last of the bear’s stuff was moved – an easel for finger painting set along the far wall – he sighed in bitter relief and locked the door.

“Thank you, really. I d-don’t know how long this would have taken without your help.”

“No problem, Doctor. It gets super boring standing here all day anyway. And you’ve been really respectful to us, it was the least I could do.”

“You don’t…get treated well? From the other employees?”

“Oh no, don’t get us wrong,” Ben jumped in. “I love working here personally, but when something goes wrong, it’s always ‘let’s blame security’ for everything. Gets frustrating sometimes, y’know?”

“Unfortunately, I really do.” Flug had a flicker of memory and pushed it down far away. “But I d-do want to thank you again. For this and for – for saving my life back then. For looking out for me. I don’t know how to, to make it up to you.”

“Eh,” Lucas waved a hand. “You’ve been a pretty good source of entertainment, no offense. You and your inmate both. I’ve never seen anything like it, to be honest.”

“Neither have I,” he mumbled to himself. And I don’t know what to think about that.

At that moment of course, Black Hat deigned the situation important enough to make an appearance. When the psychiatrist risked a glance through the barred window, he saw a single glittering eye in the dark from across the room. He had only a moment to wonder why the lights never seemed to be working back here before his patient glided silently to the door with feigned disinterest.

“Am I to understand you’ve been discussing me without my presence? How rude.” The inmate let the brim of his top hat touch the bars without creasing it. “And to peer into the privacy of my room too, no respect these days.”

“Nnn,” Flug kept the reflexive apology from leaving his tongue and crossed his arms instead. The guards on either side of him shifted to be more prepared, but didn’t seem very alarmed by the criminal’s presence.

“Something on your mind, Doctor?”

“I, yes actually. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” There was the lifting of an eyebrow. “And what might that be? Perhaps to continue our conversation from the therapy session two days ago? I really did want to discuss with you about what I found, that –”

“It’s not that, a-actually.” The psychiatrist stiffened at the look Black Hat gave him as he cut him off, but ploughed through anyway. “We have another patient coming to stay in one of these rooms back here, and I d-don’t want you harassing him.”

“Why would I do something like that, Dr. Flug?”

“Because you’re a criminal, and you haven’t had any problems harassing me or Inspector Daniels, or, anyone really. This patient isn’t someone who can be set off, we don’t want him hurting himself or others and I know you’d – ”

“You don’t know much about me at all, Flug.” Black Hat looked nonchalantly threatening at the three of them. “I have no interest in pursuing actions against an invalid, unless he gives me explicit reason to. Harassing creatures so pathetic holds no value nor satisfaction for me. It’s a waste of time.”

“Then why go after me? Is it j-just because I’m your psychiatrist?”

“If that was the case, Dr. Flug, then I would have lost interest in you quite some time ago. You would not have survived the week.”

Two things wormed their way up Flug’s neck in that declaration. The first was sick, animal fear because Black Hat was not exaggerating or bluffing. He fully believed his patient in this. The second was something he couldn’t yet identify, but there was no small amount of it and he set it aside to analyze later.

“Okay, w-well, as long as I have y-your word that you’ll leave this patient alone.”

“I’m a criminal, Doctor. You said so yourself. What weight could my word possibly have? I’m just as likely to break it as I give it.”

“No,” he responded softly, honestly. “Something tells me that you wouldn’t. You’re a man – person – of your word. I don’t have any evidence for that guess, but I don’t think I need any. Am I right?”

Black Hat’s face split into a grin, born from surprise and delight. He looked very pleased by his psychiatrist’s deduction.

“You’re correct, Flug. I abide by my word. And I will not come after your precious patient unless he gives me reason to. Fair enough?”

“Yes–! I mean yes. That’s very fair. Thank you.” And he offered an appreciative smile of his own, honest and thankful and the first he’d ever given this inmate. It threw the criminal off, who drew back from the window with a quiet utterance of ‘it’s my pleasure’ and disappeared into the darkness again.

Flug let the smile drop into vague relief and gave his heartfelt goodbyes to Ben and Lucas, waving as they saluted him off. On the way back down the hall, he stopped momentarily at Dementia’s room. She was sprawled facedown across her bed, her hair spread over most of her body.

“Dementia, are you there?” He peered anxiously at the mass of red hair and white straightjacket lying motionless on the mattress.

The lump moved sideways and Dementia’s face appeared behind her hair curtain, blinking groggily at her psychiatrist. “Flug? Izzat you?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry to wake you. I just had a few quick questions, do you mind?”

“Nah, mm, jus’ gimme a minute.” The girl arched her back, catlike in her stretching. She groaned as her spine popped. “So, qué pasa? Need me to take someone out for you?”

“No thanks, we’ve already decided you’re not doing that. I wanted to know what you thought of Martin, from a few days ago?”

“Martin Maje? Sure, he’s a dumb butt. Why?”

“Would you be willing to let him continue joining us for our therapy sessions together? At least temporarily?”

“Uh…” She closed one eye, thinking about it. “I dunno. I guess he’s okay enough for that. This is kinda out of nowhere though, what’s this about?”

“My boss wants him to shadow my work for a while. Or shadow me working with you for a while. It’s not really something I asked for. I told her I needed to talk to you first.”

“Okay. Aren’t you coming in tomorrow? For my freedom free time?”

“That’s not what it’s called.”

“Well it’s what I call it so that’s too bad for you,” Dementia flopped down into her mattress, voice muffled. “He can come for that, I guess. I don’t really care. Just don’t let him touch me. And you better have something fun for me to do while my hands are free, or I’ll scratch him, bite his neck. Haven’t had fresh blood in a while.”

“You’re not a vampire, Dementia. You don’t need fresh blood.”

“Just you wait, Flug. Someday one will come swooping in and transform me, like a bat in shining armor. And then you’ll wish you listened to me, cause I’m not letting you have immortality now even if you begged me for it… Would you beg me for it?”

“No, Dementia.”

“Not even just a little bit?”

“Goodbye, Dementia.”

“Okay fine! I won’t share it with you! I’ll laugh when you get all old and wrinkly and your bag will get wrinkly too and I’ll laugh at you. It’s what you get for waking me up anyway.”

She turned her face away, and Flug might have thought she was upset at him except that she was peeking mischievously with one eye, the corner of a dimpled smile visible from the bed. He shook his head good-naturedly and walked away toward the stairwell.

As the psychiatrist made his way down each flight of stairs, he considered again the feelings that had come out of Black Hat’s not so subtle threat. The one he had been unable to identify, which nearly overcame the familiar fear, was a positive emotion. His shock at the realization made him pause halfway down one step.

It had been glee. An uncommon, traitorous little thing that he hadn’t felt in relation to himself for a very long time. It bubbled up in him now, against his will, and Flug took it reluctantly. He had been complimented before, had felt satisfaction from admiring words before, but it was different here. It wasn’t just because it was from an inmate either – he’d had plenty of those as well.

No, Black Hat acknowledged him for reasons he couldn’t fathom, out of respect or some other thing, and it made him gleeful. Made him happy.

He decided he’d let it be a good thing. For now.

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How To Build A Shed – A Step By Step Guide From.@|how to build your own garden shed@|https://whatshed.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/How-to-build-a-shed-9.png@|21

Authored By: Joel Bird

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Our resident shed building expert Joel was the 2014 winner of Channel 4’s Amazing Spaces Shed of the Year having beat over 10,000 applicants to win. He returned to the show the following year as a judge.

Building a Shed a simple step by step DIY guide

OK, so this page is dedicated to showing you in a general way what you need to do step by step to build a DIY shed. It’s a how to build a shed guide for the typical person that has not built a shed before. All sheds MUST have a strong base, if you want to read our guide on how to build a shed base then that would be fine starting point before you read this guide. Over the years this page has been live, a few of our readers have emailed us and asked us if we could provide some more specific step by step instructions that would help them build a more sophisticated shed. In response to that we have teamed up with the professional carpenter and pro shed builder Ryan Henderson. The plans for sheds Ryan uses are ones that many “professional” carpenters currently use when building bespoke sheds.

The below guide, while not as in depth as those we talk about above, it should however be fine if you are just looking at building something that is fairly simple and basic. If you feel like you would like to add more depth to the step by step guide (so if yo want detailed instructions to add a window or siding etc) then we can’t recommend the MyShedPlans highly enough. OK, so on to the WhatShed step by step guide on how to build a shed.

Step by Step Guide – How to Build a Shed

Step One: Getting the shed build started

Though the actual building of the garden shed/workshop will take more time than the construction of the foundation, it’s without a doubt the much more enjoyable part of the construction process. Watching your very own shed rise up from the ground offers a thrill rivaled only by gazing upon the finished product in its entirety. As you read this guide you will need to decide if you want to add fancy siding or pit in a window.

Keeping everything simple, this how to guide will assume that the shed being built will have a concrete-slab foundation. Though there are other sorts of foundation—including sunken pillar and wooden skid—we have a concrete slab foundation guide already in place.

Now, for those completely uninterested in the laborious endeavor it takes to build a shed from scratch—never fear!—there are several pre-fabricated kit options available. These kits typically come with step by step instructions and all the necessary construction materials pre-cut and pre-labeled. Sure, these kits take some of the fun out of it, but they can be a great time saver for those unaccustomed to working with their hands.

Still, it’s hard for anything to top the sights, smells, sounds and memories that come with the from-scratch build.

Step Two: Tools for the build

Before going any further, the acquisition of several basic tools are absolutely paramount when successfully building a shed.

You’ll need:

Measuring tape

Cross-Cut Saw

Jab Saw

A level

An electric drill with various bits/attachments

Clamps—C-clamps preferably

Claw hammer

Framing square

An array of fasteners—nails, screws, etc.

Carpenter’s pencil

Good pair of work gloves

Although they’re great from the convenience standpoint if already in your toolbox, things like a nail gun or a jig saw are not absolute necessities, so don’t feel the need to go out and spend money on elaborate power tools.

Step Three: Lumber/wood

Unless working with a massive budget and a great-deal of construction experience, the chances are this shed will consist of wood more than any other building material. Sure, steel and composite materials are great if you’re building a skyscraper, but for the purposes a small backyard structure it’s just a tad excessive for most circumstances.

Having said that, choosing the right lumber can make or break a project before it ever gets started, so examine this lumber guide to fully understand the finer points of your main construction material.

More than anything, just ensure the purchase of straight, tight-grain wood and make sure anything touching the concrete slab or surrounding ground has been fully pressure treated, specifically for ground-contact. Long-term, it will be worth the up-front cost.

As for how much lumber will be necessary, that’s difficult to say.

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Depending on the size of the structure, it could be quite a lot, so take the measurements of the foundation to the local lumber yard and talk with them about the details of the project. In all likelihood, they’ve helped customers with similar builds before and will be able to provide accurate estimates.

Additional Perk: If you know the measurements of your foundation and the desired height of the shed, your lumber provider can cut all of your boards and headers to length, which will massively shrink down on prep time. Having already sized wood makes doing sections like roof panels and window areas much easier during construction of your DIY shed. Also, expect to purchase mainly 2×4’s and 2×6’s assuming your project is of relatively basic size.

Step Four: Laying the Base of and Raising the First Wall

Since the beautiful concrete foundation—complete with anchor bolts—has already been poured and set, it’s time to resume the build.

Start by laying your mudsill (sole plate) next to the anchor bolts sticking out of the foundation.

With the measuring tape and carpenter’s pencil, make a discernible tick mark 1 ½ inches from the end of the board, continuing the marking every 16 inches until reaching the end of the board. These marks will serve as indicators for the studs.

Also take care to highlight—using a different mark or indicator than used for the studs—where the anchor bolts line up with the mudsill.

Take your studs and—using the marks you’ve made as directional indicators—fix them to the mudsill by driving a galvanized nail or screw through the board and into the center of the stud bottom.

As they are fixed to the baseboard, go ahead and lay the top plate (the ceiling’s version of the mudsill) across the opposite end and fix it with nails or screws. The finished result should look something like this:

                  At this time, also drill holes into the mudsill for the anchors. The holes should be large enough to let the anchors to pass through, but not gaping.

Now complete, align the drill bored mudsill on top of the anchor bolts and set down onto the slab. The raising process can be particularly difficult if working alone with a large wall frame, so it may be necessary to get an extra pair of hands to help.

Step Five: Wall How to build and Plan for a Door

Though it would be easy to say “repeat the above process for the remaining three walls”, one of those walls will need to have a door if you ever want to actually go inside of your shed, so at least one wall cannot identically adhere to the instructions above.

Much like a shed, the avid builder can happily build his own doors, but often times it’s quite a bit easier to go with the manufactured door from the local hardware store. The only problem is, manufactured doors only exist in specific sizes, so proper planning and measurement are critical when setting about construction of that fourth, final wall.

The insertion of the door will mean the loss of at least one support stud. To compensate for the structural loss in the wall, installing a header immediately above the top of the door will help bear the weight of the roof.

The header can either sit on jack (trimmer) studs—additional boards secured to the framing connector (like a post anchor or joist hanger), though jack (trimmer) studs are more common and easier to install. A cripple stud—usually a pair of 2×2’s or a 2×4—will run between the header and the top plate.

Pro Tip: Also when considering doors that are best suited for sheds make sure the basic opening for any manufactured door is ½ inch larger (in width and length) than the purchased unit. The extra room will allow breathing room for any necessary adjustments and helps to ensure the flush fit during the DIY installation. Additional window or siding can also be added at this stage.

Step Six: How to build the Walls

With all four walls raised and set on the anchor bolts, create a few temporary buttresses to keep them upright and undamaged. As this is temporary bracing that will eventually come off, don’t use expensive lumber—cheap greenwood or even damaged boards are fine. Secure the brace to the wall with a screw or nail and to the ground by weighing the free end down with a heavy weight like a bag of concrete.

Pro Tip: For those up to going the extra-mile, secure the free end to the ground by driving one wooden stake into the Earth and nailing it to the brace board siding.

The wall frames now secure and semi-sturdy, check the squares. Rather than measuring the diagonal from the top corner of one side the bottom corner of the other, use the 3-4-5 rule to check for 90 degree angles.

Assuming square corners and level measurements all the way around, take the washers and nuts for your anchor bolts and secure them.

Though the shed seems solid at this stage, don’t remove the extra bracing just yet.

Lock the corners where the wall frames touch with extra framing, usually in the form of 2×4 blocks fastened to the two end studs. Install an extra corner stud to the filler block for added security if desired. Keep it all level, thats how to best stop misalignment later.

Double the top plate by taking additional boards measured to identically fit the existing top plates and secure them with nails or screw inserted every 8 to 16 inches this will ensure the siding boards are extra stiff. The addition of a booster plate helps to create the stronger, stiffer structure for the eventual support of the roof and roof panels.

[external_link offset=2]

Step Seven: Framing the Roof

Speaking of roofing, someone should probably address that.

Yes, there are various kinds of roofs, but if this is your first shed, it’s probably best to go with the most simple gable roof. Many types of gable roof exist, some with complex siding, some with a window. Whatever sort of roof gable you decide to add the one thing we would stress is that the more complex the roof the harder it will be to align all the roof panels. We have found the simpler the build the less problems you are likely to have later down the road.

For the unfamiliar, the basic gable roof consists of evenly spaced rafters secured to the top plates and the ridge board—which essentially serves the same purpose as a keystone would in a stone structure. The rafters will extend beyond the walls to form an overhang which will help protect the siding from excess moisture during the rainy season.

Although there are three main sorts of rafter, in the interest of simplicity this shed will only deal with common rafters—boards of equal size and length placed at common intervals—normally 12 to 16 inches—along the length of the top plates and ridge board. If possible, set up the rafters so they sit directly over the wall studs.

While the helpful hand at the lumber yard will probably mention this, it’s good practice to mention it again—make sure the ridge board is at least one size larger than the common rafters. For instance, if using 2×2 rafters use a 2×4 ridge board.

Know that the potential pitch of the roof (rise over run) is completely customisable. The steeper the pitch, the more challenging the construction—BUT—the more usable space the shed will ultimately have.

Again, as this guide is for a basic shed construction of modest size, there will be no joists. However, it’s important to note joists are absolutely indispensable for structures of more pronounced size—for example a shed that could house a mid-size car should have at least a couple of joists running across the top plates.

To properly install the roof frame, cut the common rafters—or have the lumber mill people do it—so the board fits flush where the wood meets the ridge board. Also notch cut the rafters with a 90 degree slot so they can stably sit on the top plates.           

Pro Tip: Measure, cut and test a single rafter. Once confirming the test rafter properly sits on the top plate and fits flush with the ridge board, use it as a model for the rest of the common rafters. This will ensure that all cut placements and depth are identical.

Step Eight: How to add the Roof

Take the first two rafters and fix them with nails or screw to the first end of the roof ridge board. For those confused by the language, at this stage one end of the roof ridge board will still have nothing attached to it while the opposite end will have the basic slant-frame of your predetermined pitch.

Repeat this process with the opposite end of the roof ridge board.

Once complete, have someone help to lift the four-rafter roof panels onto the plating and then check for an even level along the set ridge board.

Assuming everything looks good, begin installing the remaining rafters at their predetermined intervals.

Don’t forget to safely fix the rafters to the top plates with framing connectors.

Once the rest of the rafters are installed, climb down of the ladder and take a look at the handsome handiwork. This super structure is the backbone of your homemade garden shed.

Common questions you might have on how to build a shed.

of the rafters are installed, climb down of the ladder and take a look at the handsome handiwork. This super structure is the backbone of your homemade garden shed.

How much does it cost to build a 12×14 shed?

How much do you want to spend? Honestly you get what you pay for an we think that anything from £1,000 up for materials would be a sensible starting point.

Is it cheaper to build your own shed?

If you want a stronger shed that will last longer then building your own can work out best. It also makes adding a window in the location of your choose much easier. A fantastic comparison of the backdown of a purchased off the shelf shed and a home made one was done by Ben over on wood-create.com, its worth a look at if you a seriously weighing up the two options.

How much does it cost to build a shed on your own?

That depends on how complex you want to make it. The addition of a window if you decide to go for cheap horticultural glass can be fairly cheap. If the window you add is double or triple glazed then obviously the cost will go up. Using the shed as as workshop

Do you need a permit or planning permission to build a storage shed?

That all depends, we have a guide on UK planning regulation that you might want to read.[external_footer]

source https://livingcorner.com.au/how-to-build-a-shed-a-step-by-step-guide-from-how-to-build-your-own-garden-shedhttps-whatshed-co-uk-wp-content-uploads-2014-08-how-to-build-a-shed-9-png21/

[tillerman1]

TORMENT (pt.1) [to the page]

BAITING

Torment: A knife on a boil

The summer after my graduation, I was sick and suddenly TORMENT appeared. It was made in one stretch in an old "Latin writing exercises" which had begun at one end, the whole course of events just came, it was like a compulsion. When I finished writing, I read through everything, felt relieved and buried this first, only and as I hoped last writing in the spacious darkness of an old drawer.

How then TORMENT re-emerged from oblivion, was produced, reviewed, made into a screenplay and finally into a film is admittedly a remarkable but completely different story.

For this film, I had three hopes and I'm glad to talk about them.

1.) I wish that TORMENT became a knife on a boil, that it had something liberating to bring while I hope that the spectator would find it worth the entrance ticket.

2.) I wish CALIGULA could be exposed, cleansed, rendered harmless. Namely, there are many varieties of Caligulas, larger and smaller, rather harmless varieties or disgusting monsters, obvious or insidious. But in one thing, Caligula is always recognizable. He creates hatred, strife, destruction among people. He is a stranger to all community, lacks contact opportunities and natural compassion.

3.) I wish you could feel sorry for Caligula, as he is not the perpetrator of his situation. He is like the poisonous snake, the bacterium, a combated pest who by no means understands the evil he will accomplish, but who is always alone, always unhappily chased by raging furies, his own fear and drive to evil. If you look up the word Caligula in a conversation dictionary, it says the following:

CALIGULA: (LATIN = "LITTLE BOOT") B. 12. D. 41 ROMAN EMPEROR, SON OF GERMANICUS. C's BLOODLUST AND ABNORMAL INCLINATIONS SOON MADE HIM SO HATED THAT HE WAS MURDERED.

TORMENT

Film script by Ingmar Bergman.

This film is dedicated to Caligula and all his peers in both dead and living languages, Christianity, geography and history…

QUIDQUID ID IS TIMEO DANAOS ET DONA FERENTES. [Whatever it is, I fear the Greeks bearing gifts.]

(Caligula's first words to his class, significant to his character.)

Caligula is a man of just over fifty years. His appearance is by no means spectacular. He is dark, a little white-haired. The face is mainly occupied by a pair of rather strong glasses with large black frames. When he takes off his glasses, his face suddenly changes and becomes a little insignificant, almost frightened.

It is the case with Caligula, that he has a facade towards the outside world, a facade that he makes every effort to maintain. "Cat history" is significant for his human type. "If I do not bite, you bite and therefore I bite first." This has created an attitude of anger that has developed a strong aptitude: the stiletto-sharp sadism, the desire to see people tormented, to feel the power over them. Within this sadism, of course, is a white spot: "I'm not a criminal, I can not make a craziness for that." He himself is not fully conscious, he is one of those many people, who live half their lives, in a kind of semi-consciousness, where the external events only reach the soul indirectly and thereby loses its original hurtful and consuming effect but also the positive edifying and healing one.

The reason for this violent meadow attitude is based on a given feeling of helplessness which in Caligula has reached a strong (let alone pathological) development. Admittedly, it is dangerous to scold everything pathologically. Things that are based on undisciplined operational satisfaction of one kind or another do not have to be, but Caligula's steps show attachment, his intentional perverted desire to acknowledge his fear and expose himself, his disgrace to fellow human suffering is probably pathological. And if you try to see ahead, what will happen to him, he will definitely end up in a mental hospital or he will be admitted to an alcoholic institution. That he would take his own life is unlikely. People like him do not (they are too suspicious of the possibilities in the next life).

His relationship with the girl Bertha is by no means a Mr Hyde madness, but is precisely because of its simple, almost everyday facility so insanely eerie. From the beginning, the girl is afraid of him, mostly because her limited understanding and intuition cannot comprehend him. This intimidation gives him an advantage which he uses according to the thesis "if you do not eat me, I will eat you."

The "murder", which is not really a murder in the ordinary sense, comes to him as a deep, unusually direct shock, which also re-furnishes terribly in his bedroom of perversity. The relationship with the boy is similar. Sandman, for example, he would never dare. But he chooses this righteous, sensitive boy with instinctive certainty for his victim. It is precisely the category of boys in the class that he plays on and which suggests the horror in the whole class. The insane paralyzing fear that can only (according to my experience) break out in a school class under the guidance of an experienced schoolboy.

Finally, I would like to make a personal confession regarding Caligula and people like him.

I think they arose from a mistake of nature. Their sole task is to suffer themselves and to inflict other sufferings. There perhaps is some meaning with that.

But as human beings, they are unsuccessful, without development opportunities, without happiness opportunities, without real life. The most radical thing would of course be to kill them. Perhaps also the most merciful. "Feeling sorry" is impossible when it comes to Caligula. What you feel is reluctance, disgust, a shiver of discomfort, which introduces the small insects that wedge back and forth and disappear into earth holes under a newly rolled stone.

Jan-Erik Widgren is a boy of eighteen years. He is not unusual in any way. He is a high school student simply with all that entails.

Psychologically, Jan-Erik undergoes a development during the film. When it starts he is a bit swarming, writes poetry, plays the piano, thinks of a pure woman who will be his wife and in between he has a good time keeping track of the "lusts" that force him to do things that he views with antipathy and some resignation.

Through the course of events, he changes.

First, he is confronted with a woman, who provides him with a break in his nicely set principles. He is not in love with her, but at least goes to bed with her and gets up (to his surprise) without too much remorse. Like all high school students with a bit of Sturm- und Drang attraction, he is quite isolated, alone. He finds in Bertha someone who cares about him and needs him in such a way that it does not have to interfere with his own ordinary and very fragile puberty deals with himself. Therefore, he accepts her and becomes attached to her with a tenderness that she responds to, and which gives him a calmed body and thereby a certain freedom in the soul.

But little by little, this good relationship breaks down quite quickly. It is Caligula who breaks it unconsciously, piece by piece. When Bertha lies there snotty, drunk and howling, stands he with even company for her. He was never in love with her, loved her not and this new stress is their relationship not mighty to bear. It's breaking.

Slowly but surely he is driven towards desperation. The first rash is when he beats Caligula, the second is when Jan-Erik in wild despair rushes away from home. It is fully erupted when he takes his home on Bertha's floor where he hides like a wounded animal.

But the knot is not so tight. He is a normal, slightly hypersensitive, law-conscious but largely balanced boy and he lets the principal help him. He returns home, not longer collegian but something bitter, something sensible, with a feeling of how lives probably are damned, indeed sometimes run "on clean sophistication," but also is a good life with obvious meaning in the most as done. The final image shows him lying on the floor, crying, it may seem depressing, but is really the opposite. It would be worse if he kept quiet and bit himself.

He treats his parents like most boys of his category: armed neutrality.

There is nothing wrong with Jan-Erik, he will be a good man.

Bertha, the poor little life! There is not really much to say about her. She is kind to nature, does not really look slutty, but has started to ride a carousel due to the force of circumstances: "You want to be part of it, you want to live". In the end, she has lost count and with her slightly indolent temperament, she has not cared so much about it.

So she has become acquainted with Caligula in the same way as with many other gentlemen, through the tobacco business and its possibilities. Caligula has looked nice and so suddenly she is stuck in a yarn, which she can not get out of. Besides, she does not understand her new lover and what he asks of her and it scares her more than anything else. The fear escalates to the immoderate, mainly suggested by herself and she willingly allows herself to be mentally abused by Caligula.

The company with Jan-Erik gives her some breathing space and shows her who she is: a kind girl, who asks for nothing more than to have someone to like, to have a living person next to her in bed, to avoid being alone.

She suppers death itself. Drinks on Caligula's initiative, allows herself tortured, suffers from malnutrition. Her will to live kind of runs away and she dies almost at her own request.

I feel very sorry for her and wish that she had married some kind man and that she had had many children and a small decent home. Maybe it was her little adventurousness, inability to take care of herself, that led her downhill. In any case, she is a victim and I am now, if possible, even more convinced that Caligula should be shot.

*

The huge schoolyard outside the school. It is deserted and empty. A little boy comes rushing far from behind. He runs at high speed across the yard on the diagonal.

Towards the stairs up to the main entrance. The little boy rushes up the stairs. Stumbles, gets up, rushes on. Gets with difficulty and difficulty up the door that is big, big. Throws in.

Inside the door.

The large vestibule with the doors to the prayer hall. From inside, Bull-Jesus' monotonously echoing voice is heard. The boy (12 years old) looks at the wall clock that shows 10 minutes past eight. The boy swallows a few times. His bad conscience is unequivocal. He slips quietly up the next stairs and - the next. He tries to make himself as small as possible. A teacher walks in the corridors, opens the doors to the classrooms, and peeks in, opens to storage rooms, map rooms and toilets. Snooping everywhere. Moves on.

The boy hears echoing footsteps. He slips in through a door. It is the chemistry room, with a long row of large tables. He dives behind one.

The teacher opens the door to the chemistry room, walks quickly through it. Out again. The boy, crouching, gets up, sneaks up to the door and listens. Opens and slides out.

Long corridor.

The boy is contagious. Sneaks past a cross corridor. Stays like nailed to the ground.

The teacher comes in the cross corridor. He sees the boy, stops.

The boy leaves, rushing like a shot through the corridor.

The teacher turns, slips around a corner.

The boy turns around another corner and rushes straight into the teacher's arms. The boy finds it too good to start howling. The teacher takes him by the scruff of the neck and removes the offender.

A classroom.

The boy, still held in the nape of the neck, howling, is thrown down on a bench. The teacher produces the class book. Staring gloomily at the lad. Turns up the book, writes.

The stairs and the corridor.

Pippi comes walking pretty fast. The hat on the neck. The rock flutters. The white hair tests stand out. He walks past the "boy's" classroom, but stops, turns around and peeks inside. Pippi rattles off -

PIPPI: Good morning assistant professor.

The young, gloomy and zealous teacher turns his head and looks at Pippi -

THE ADJUNCT: Good morning lecturer.

Pippi steps in, looks at the howling boy -

PIPPI: What a crime this sad young man has committed now.

THE ADJUNCT: He's late! Arrived too late for morning prayer!!

The assistant professor closes his class book and prepares to leave.

PIPPI: Well, I did too.

The assistant professor turns around in a flash as if to say something, but is speechless. The boy stops howling and looks up. An explained grin slowly erupts on his snotty little gangster physiognomy.

Bull-Jesus fishes with his tongue for the loose man, who is about to leave, bending his head deep down where he stands in the prayer hall chairs.

BULL - JESUS: Aameen!

The organ breathes, sighs. A tall boy with nervous hands and eyes in the notes intones bluntly "Alone God…"

The school's 856 students plus teacher and principal get up like a man and sing with ho and hi and a certain hug -

SCHOOL: Only God in heaven, our grace and praise belong…

Grönstrand stands dumbfounded, stares at the hymnbook, then he pushes Jan-Erik -

GREEN BEACH: Devils in it. I do not know any Latin today… You'll see if you go there. I had premonitions this morning.

JAN - ERIK: Where are they?

GREEN BEACH: In the stomach. Boy! vikken diarrhea.

SCHOOL: For all the grace he has lovingly done with us.

BROBERG (sings in falsetto): Do not you think it sounds appropriate when another sings soprano?

Östergren stands with the Latin grammar in full swing -

ÖSTERGREN: Shut up. I'm studying. Do not bother me! Volo, nolo, malo, cupio, juvo, studeo…

SCHOOL: He gave the earth - great joy and peace…

Bergman and Krefler.

BERGMAN: Tira on the little home sadist Caligula.

Caligula treads up and down. Cranks a little with his left arm as if he had rheumatism in it.

BERGMAN: He has rheumatism today.

KREFLER: Does he get cool. Jojo!

BERGMAN: Cool… He becomes sublime.

SCHOOL: And man may well rejoice at -

Sandman, bald, burning eyes, strange revelation, lying with rapture.

SANDMAN: You see, another became quite familiar when the donna said that she had fallen on a dumpling.

Göterström, small, glasses, impressed -

GÖTERSTRÖM: Oh, oh you.

SANDMAN: You know… stabbe, you have not intended to be… yet…

Sång-Pelle stands with closed eyes, hands on his stomach, happy. Singing so it thumps -

SCHOOL + SONG - PELLE: God's eternally good viiljaaaaaa…

The prayer hall.

Everyone's heads are bowed at Bull-Jesus' initiative. Dead quiet.

Two schoolboys lean together and pretend to sleep. Panorama. One stuffs the textbook into his pants. Another stops carving on the bench with his penknife. A third wakes up to where he has been standing and dropped the hymnal on the floor.

There will be a break-up signal.

Long lines of trains now, row after bench, row after bench, out of the prayer hall.

At the door are two teachers.

Each student who passes by shows their book of psalms. Then comes one - no hymnal -

TEACHER I: No hymnal.

STUDENT: Mine is stolen.

TEACHER 2: At least do not lie. Watched.

The student is joined to a small cluster of other individuals -

STUDENT 1: Will it stick?

Student 1. does not answer. Just make a very ugly and very grimace.

The train of students.

Faces in long lines. Characteristic, intense. Lots of faces. The huge stairwell. Lots of boys outside the classrooms. The bells are ringing. The stairwell quickly becomes empty. There will be teachers. They enter the classrooms, whose door closes. It's getting quieter and quieter.

Shoots and noise, whistles and screams. Neck.

It is quiet and empty everywhere.

The classroom.

It's pretty quiet. All 25 students sit still, waiting. The ceiling lights are on. The day is gray outside, the rain is pouring down along the three large windows. Panorama. Caligula in the chair.

He gets up. Goes quietly and easily. Gets the stylus. Goes through class. Speaks so slowly and low -

CALIGULA: I do not intend to put my fingers in between. Do you disregard me so - disregard - I - you. (pause) Do you want it un-nice-so so happy for me.

Up with the stylus straight into the view of the pimple and hart when horror hypnotized Grönstrand. Poke with the stick against his larynx -

CALIGULA: Maybe Mr Grönstrand would like to continue.

Green beach sighs. He bends his pimpled and constantly worried face over the text and reads with a high and low voice -

GREEN BEACH: After Fabius Maximums had thus broken up, the army marched for ten days, after which it encamped on the river Igas. The non-commissioned officers were called to the consul's tent, where he appointed them… where he appointed them… with att unless the campaign plan would and then, however, it would not be incompatible… that they… that they ida unless…

Grönstrand bends his face, his eyes are confused, scared, he has a shiny face.

Caligula stands still and then he starts pulling his fingers, one after the other, slowly -

GRÖNSTRAND: I could not get this sentence out of the lecturer.

CALIGULA: Well.

Caligula pulls at his fingers. The class is tense, quiet. The rain rushes against the windows -

CALIGULA: Then maybe Mr Grönstrand wants to start on the next sentence?

Grönstrand makes a valiant attempt to bluff. He's starting healthy -

GRÖNSTRAND: This seemed to be the legacies… and then… individually… among themselves… but this in spite of if not…

Dead quiet. Mot Caligula.

He takes his hand to his glasses, straightens them. Sits in the chair, leans forward, puts his hands under his chin -

CALIGULA: Grönstrand has not opened the books until today. (pause) (chops hard) At least not where the lesson was. (smiles)

Around Grönstrand.

Some strained giggles from the surrounding -

CALIGULA: I will give Grönstrand an opportunity for reflection. - Mr Widgren continues.

Jan-Erik jerks, starts looking among the lines, finds, starts a little choppy -

JAN - ERIK: This seemed to the legacies to be a good task.

CALIGULA (breaks off): It says so… Karling?

Karling sits just behind Jan-Erik -

MAN: Prediction.

CALIGULA: Continue.

JAN - ERIK: A good prediction. And after they had consulted among themselves, they agreed that a great gift should be given to…

Caligula breaks off. Rappt -

CALIGULA: Can Mr Jan-Erik Widgren not speak Swedish.

Jan-Erik looks up, licks his mouth, tiger -

CALIGULA: It's not called giving a gift… It's bad Swedish (fast). What's the name, Mr. Widgren?

Jan-Erik stares in front of him. Staring and thinking. The brain has locked up. Dead quiet.

Caligula gets up from the chair, with the stylus in hand, and walks quietly and slowly down the room towards Jan-Erik. He pokes with the stick on Jan-Erik's neck -

CALIGULA: It's to be thought of quickly.

Turns around in a flash -

CALIGULA: Power!

Ström, a round boy with mild, melancholy eyes, takes his finger out of his nose, terrified -

POWER: Hand over a gift!

Caligula again. He smiles a little wickedly, cheerfully -

CALIGULA: Has Mr Widgren heard that before?

Widgren. He grins silly -

WIDGREN: Yes, yes.

CALIGULA (suddenly scornful): Yes, of course yes. Continue.

WIDGREN: They appeared before Caesar and assured that they were ready.

CALIGULA: Thank you. That was where we had.

The class sighs in relief. Jan-Erik corrects himself. But the deadline will be short.

Caligula begins to go up and down between the benches quite quickly.

Questions and answers come like machine gun mats -

CALIGULA: Prepare some joy, Widgren!

Jan-Erik -

JAN - ERIK: Afficere aliquem laetitia.

CALIGULA: Give someone fear.

JAN - ERIK: In iqu aliquem timore.

Caligula. He stops -

CALIGULA: Submit.

Jan-Erik can not speak -

JAN - ERIK: In…

CALIGULA: Now!

JAN - ERIK: Inject.

Caligula swings the stylus around so it whistles in the air.

CALIGULA: Someone was whispering. Genitive in impersonal verbs. Example.

Cross. Kreutz, calm, turns his head. Easy going, straightforward.

KREUTZ: Miser, penis girl, pillow, taedet.

Caligula. Kreutz's way teases him -

CALIGULA: Skona, Karlsson.

Karlsson -

KARLSSON: Parco, pepper, parsum, parcere.

Caligula. He now lets the pointer wiggle around in a chorus -

CALIGULA: Skin, Bokstedt.

Bokstedt is taken by surprise -

BOKSTEDT: Plango, plantisi.

CALIGULA: Wrong. Bergström.

BERGSTRÖM: Plano, planxi, planctum, plangere.

Caligula walks up to Widgren, stands behind him -

CALIGULA: Caesar hostem agressus devicit. Widgren.

He puts the stick between the shoulder blades of Widgren -

WIDGREN: Caesar attacked and defeated the enemy.

Responds without turning his head. Holds the desk tightly -

CALIGULA: Example of what.

WIDGREN: Participal construction.

CALIGULA: Which of them.

WIDGREN: Participium conjunctum. It is a predicative attribute.

CALIGULA: To what.

JAN - ERIK (stonewalls).

Caligula turns around and sits down on the desk right in front of Jan-Erik -

CALIGULA: Didn't Mr Widgren read his homework?

Jan-Erik stares Caligula straight in the eye -

JAN - ERIK: Yes, I have.

CALIGULA: I think (whisper) I think Mr Widgren - lying!

JAN - ERIK: No, I do not!

CALIGULA: Not that.

Caligula.

He stares at Jan-Erik with his eyes enlarged by glasses.

Silence.

Jan-Erik.

He stares back. Excessively tense, but not really scared.

JAN - ERIK: No!

Caligula gets up. He goes one stroke upwards towards the board -

CALIGULA: Well. Yes.

Turns around. Throws out -

CALIGULA: At which verbs is the genitive?

Jan-Erik is, as it were, gripped by an icy fear. But he sticks together.

JAN - ERIK: By verbs that mean remind, remember, forget, accuse, convince, judge, acquit. In business verbs.

CALIGULA: Example.

JAN - ERIK: Aestimo.

Caligula looks at Jan-Erik. Nods interested -

CALIGULA: Well!

JAN - ERIK: Facio, duco, puto.

Caligula as above -

CALIGULA: Well!

JAN - ERIK: Camo. Mercor (tries) dono.

Everyone follows the course of events under silent tension. Caligula is slowly approaching Jan-Erik. Dead quiet.

CALIGULA: Mr Widgren still believes that Mr Widgren knows his lesson.

JAN - ERIK: I knew it then yesterday.

CALIGULA: Mr Widgren is lazy. Mr. Widgren ignores me and my homework.

JAN - ERIK: No, I do not.

Caligula has now passed Widgren. And is at the bottom of the classroom.

CALIGULA: Well! Not. Look up the book. Start with today's lesson.

Suddenly slams with the stylus into an empty desk with all its might -

CALIGULA: FAST. FAST!

Jan-Erik and Caligula in the background.

JAN - ERIK: For three days the battle raged. Finally, the Romans made a storm attack…

Caligula sneaks silently on his toes behind Jan-Erik and leans over him and squints in his book -

JAN - ERIK:… and chased Hannibal's troops on the run. A large number of soldiers were captured…

Caligula bends down at lightning speed, slams his hand over the book, picks it up. Raises it in the air. Long silence.

Jan-Erik's face.

It kind of pulls together. His eyes crawl into his skull.

Sandman. Stare, dumb.

Grönstrand narrows his eyebrows in a childishly desperate grimace.

Caligula and Jan-Erik.

Caligula speaks softly -

CALIGULA: What is this!

Caligula looks around the class in silence. So -

CALIGULA: Mr Widgren uses unauthorized aids.

JAN - ERIK (low): Forgot to erase.

Caligula raises his eyebrows, as if he were very surprised by the enlightenment. Plays a bit -

CALIGULA: Forgot to erase.

Speaking mildly -

CALIGULA: Yes. Of course. Forgot to erase.

It's done. Turns over, furious -

CALIGULA: Cheat my lord!

Throws down the book -

CALIGULA (continued): CHEAT!!

Caligula slowly ascends to the chair. Fixes the glasses, stares sadly in front of him -

CALIGULA: Sad to be forced to punish a student for this criminal act two months before the student, fourteen days before the writing.

Turns up the classbook -

CALIGULA: It's very sad. Very.

Jan-Erik.

There is hot despair in his eyes. It's quiet. The only thing that can be heard is the rasp of the pen in the class book.

Caligula.

He hits the book again. Corrects the glasses -

CALIGULA: I'll talk to the principal (pause). We probably get to do a lot with each other, Jan-Erik Widgren.

It's ringing -

CALIGULA: Good dinner.

Caligula slips out.

There is violent excitement in the class -

SANDMAN: Such a potty.

GREEN BEACH: You would snap the ace alive.

Students start packing their books. And walk to the door. They are still occupied by Caligula.

Sandman throws himself backwards -

BERGSTRÖM (throws out - his eyes glow in his skull): Sadist.

SANDMAN: It's damn good for me when you get this misery. Then you should slag. Oh what to slag and crib and live the roll and give shiny it in this facility. Come Widgren, we'll go and buy crackers.

They go out.

Widgren and Sandman.

Göterström sits and digs with his spindly hands in his hair. Speaks low to himself -

GÖTERSTRÖM: I will get a life-size picture of him and then I will stick my eyes out at him and then I will shoot at him. Latingrammatics…

He produces it -

GÖTERSTRÖM: I will have Latingrammatics as dass paper if it is suitable for it.

The tobacco business.

Jan-Erik and Sandman come in.

A newspaper-reading gentleman is standing in front of the shop -

SANDMAN: Hello my sweet Carmen.

Bertha turns around, laughs -

BERTHA: What should it be. A coal. You know I'm not allowed to sell tobacco to schoolboys.

SANDMAN: Will buy for dad.

BERTHA: What did he say!

SANDMAN: Bäh.

Sandman extends a courtesy hand and fingers on Bertha (properly treated) -

BERTHA: Wow. Do not.

Jan-Erik is noticeably embarrassed -

JAN - ERIK: Sandman. Can't we go, huh!

Bertha and Sandman laugh.

The door opens and Caligula enters.

Sandman speaks a little forced -

SANDMAN: It was an Allers yes, miss.

BERTHA: Go ahead.

SANDMAN: Thank you. Good afternoon.

Both boys greet measuredly and disappear out of the store.

Caligula looks after them.

It's quiet for a while. Caligula looks annoyed at the newspaper-reading gentleman -

CALIGULA: Havana II.

Bertha brings out the requested -

CALIGULA: And then a little box of Virginia.

Bertha brings it out. She seems nervous -

CALIGULA: Do you want to be kind and cut it up. I have such bad hands, so clumsy.

BERTHA: Yes, of course. Certainly.

She cuts. Cut a small scratch in the hand -

CALIGULA: Oh, let's see. Did nine is bad.

He takes her hand. Squeezes out little blood. Hold it, look at it. Pause. Then Bertha suddenly shakes her hand. Pale.

BERTHA: Uh, that was nothing. Nothing at all. Was it something else like the senior lecturer…

Caligula. He shakes his head, staring a little silly. Then he collects his boxes and pays. Going. Light his cigarette.

At Caligula's home.

He pushes the cigarette into the ashtray with an energetic movement. He is sitting at his desk with his back to the room. Piles of exercise books. He pretends to read. Aunt Elisabet appears behind him. She is small, thin, dull, pale face, cold eyes with a spark of passion. She stands silent for a moment. So:

Aunt ELISABET: Why do you not answer?

His face bears traces of horror-mixed anger. He's silent.

AUNT ELISABET: You should not, should not be like this to me. It's still not right of you… I just want you well… Answer then… Say something… You have been ill, you know what the doctor said! … I love you so much… It's so empty, I'm so lonely. You are also alone… Not at all homely here.

The room bears sight of the legends. Aunt Elisabet is standing in the middle of the floor.

A handkerchief creeps wildly out of the sleeve.

AUNT ELISABET: You have never had another home... We had such a good time… Then answer something. My dear boy.

Caligula flashes. Furious.

CALIGULA : GO!

Aunt Elisabet closes her eyes, clasps her hands over the handkerchief -

AUNT ELISABET: That you CAN, that you only CAN!

Caligula curls up in the chair. He is furious, scared, furious…

CALIGULA: I do not want to see you. You. Go, go, go.

Now the first tears fall along Aunt Elizabeth's pale cheeks.

AUNT ELISABET: You are evil… evil. When you were a little boy, you came and said: Dear little aunt Elizabeth.

She sinks into a chair and buries her face in her hands.

Caligula rises pitiful, angry, humiliated, angry.

CALIGULA: Please. Do not cry for God's sake.

He stands handcuffed.

CALIGULA: I WANT to be by myself. I do not want to continue that monkey game with mother and son… It's disgusting, disgusting.

Aunt Elisabet shakes her head back and forth, tears flow and she sobs -

AUNT ELISABET: You lived in your little room inside the hall and every night I had to come in with tea for you and I had to stop you before you fell asleep. I still got to be like… like your mother.

Moved to the breaking point over her own voice, she falls into tears again -

AUNT ELISABET: Why do not you want to come back. I'm so lonely… You're so lonely too…

Now everything happens very fast. Caligula takes Aunt Elizabeth in her arms, pulls her out of the chair. She screams, turns around in a flash. But he gets hold of her again. Gets the door open and tries to push her out. Aunt Elisabet suddenly becomes another. Cold, bitter -

AUNT ELISABET: Beware. Look out.

CALIGULA: Get going!

AUNT ELISABET: You'll get this back. Look out.

CALIGULA (laughing): That's good. Then you can go now.

She twists out the front door, which closes again with a bang.

Caligula stands still for a moment. Then he walks around. Gradually collapses after tension. Stops in front of the bookshelf. Takes down a photograph. It represents Aunt Elisabet somewhat youthful and a little boy in a feminine suit. She leans her head against his.

Caligula's hands break the photograph in half so that the pieces of glass swirl around. Then the broken card goes in the trash.

The dining room at Widgrens.

At the dinner table sit bureau director Widgren, Mrs. Widgren and the little boy Bror and Jan-Erik, who is gloomy, very gloomy. It is eaten in silence.

Brother puts down his spoon and licks his mouth and looks under Jan's hair.

BROTHER: Hörru Janne. Why do you look so withered?

MOTHER: Little brother, mother has not said a hundred times that you must not rock the chair.

BROTHER: Janne looks just as withered anyway.

Jan-Erik does not look up from the soup -

JAN - ERIK: You should give seventeen in that.

MOTHER (mildly reproachful): Should you say so when Brother wants to be kind.

JAN - ERIK: Little boys would hold the nap when they crib.

Silence descends again over the congregation. So the bureau director looks up from his plate, wipes his mouth and speaks -

FATHER: How has it been at school today?

Jan-Erik is not looking there -

JAN - ERIK (nonchalantly): Good, I guess.

FATHER: Is that true?

It's quiet for a moment. Jan-Erik gives his father a quick glance -

JAN - ERIK: No.

The mother immediately suspects that something terrible has happened. She sets a compassionate, slightly complaining tone -

MOTHER: Something sad has happened. Say, what's happened?

JAN - ERIK: Got a stick.

FATHER: For cheating.

JAN - ERIK: How does father know?

FATHER: Your Latin teacher called me. The remark seems to have been justified.

Jan-Erik. He lowers his head.

MOTHER: Jan-Erik, how can you make us so sad.

JAN - ERIK: It was not cheating. I could not see for myself what was written there. I wrote it there during the italics translation, then I forgot to erase it…

FATHER: It's terribly uncomfortable, now just before the student.

The father looks upset. He has a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead -

JAN - ERIK: It's not that damn dangerous. (despair in the voice).

The father is silent for a moment -

FATHER: It depends on how you take it. You seem to take it relatively lightly. But mother and I are very sad. My opinion is that you got a stain on you. A tingling. Shall we get up.

The father folds his napkin.

The family leaves the table. Jan-Erik walks to the window.

Brother enters the hall again, where a servant is just about to set the table. He approaches Jan-Erik.

Jan-Erik has a hard time keeping his lip away. But he masters himself male -

JAN - ERIK: Well, it's not criminal either.

BROTHER: And you should not get bored of what the staff talk about. You know what he's like… You… Sandman is on the phone wondering if you can go to the movies.

Jan-Erik and Sandman sit at a café. Sandman smokes greedily.

It's evening. Sandman yawns -

SANDMAN: Really sleepy man. You would have, like the guy in the film, a nice, big and wide snark - such a paulun or whatever it's called, on the other hand, a nice jack.

Sandman smacks. Jan-Erik laughs a little, shakes his head -

JAN - ERIK: You say that.

SANDMAN: Gosse! And a smorgasbord and burnt and distilled drinks a lot. And the jack and the snoring.

Jan-Erik looks at his partner with a certain admiration -

SANDMAN: You would not get up in 14 days. Just slag and crib and crib and slag and use the jack. Feathers in it.

Jan-Erik pours tea for himself. Sandman lights a new cigarette on the old one with a used hand gesture -

JAN - ERIK: You're all a seven-part materialist.

SANDMAN: Yeah.

He stretches, yawns once again loudly and voluptuously.

Around Jan-Erik. He looks a little beyond Sandman. Am really a little embarrassed -

JAN - ERIK: No, you see, I see everything in a different way. I intend to write as much as I want and play as much violin as I want - when this whole thing is over.

Jan-Erik becomes thoughtful. Drinks from his cup and turns and twists it -

JAN - ERIK: Then with ladies and stuff like that… I'm just going to have one and her I'm going to be in love with

SANDMAN (interested): So you have nothing now. But that bean Lena or whatever her name was…

JAN - ERIK: Well, I'm not in love with her at all. Should…

SANDMAN: Love! You're crazy. Ladies are used.

JAN - ERIK: Do it. Not me anyway.

Sandman blows clouds of smoke and rings. Staring at the ceiling -

SANDMAN: No, because the one you should have should be clean and untouched and stuff like that. Va!

JAN - ERIK (embarrassed, but determined): Yes.

SANDMAN: Such animals do not exist.

JAN - ERIK: You say that.

Sandman teaches. High school student cross-safe -

SANDMAN: All ladies' hours are whores. And if they are not, then they want to be. Both Nietzsche and Strindberg say so. Miss, we have to pay.

The two boys are walking down the street. Then they stop outside a gate -

SANDMAN: If you come up.

JAN - ERIK: No, go home and read Latin.

SANDMAN: Caligula is an ace.

JAN - ERIK: I do not know. I mostly think it's a weird jeep.

Sandman takes out his keys and opens them. He turns around -

SANDMAN: You know, when you turn rocks, you find nasty animals. Caligula is not a really real pig, he is a nasty, poisonous insect.

JAN - ERIK: I do not think a human being can be just evil.

Sandman lights the candle on the stairs, they have a hard time separating -

SANDMAN: You're in high school. Wait boy. Wait, you'll see how devilish it is, everything. It encounters pure sophistication. Good night brother.

Sandman extends his hand. Jan-Erik tackles it -

JAN - ERIK: You think I'm very larval.

SANDMAN: You're crazy. You're the only person you can talk to. You can not help that you stick to ideals and talk about innocent women. Hi.

JAN - ERIK: Servant.

Sandman disappears at the gate. Jan-Erik turns and drives down the street. He walks strenuously with his hands deep into his pockets. He looks very thoughtful.

Another street.

Jan-Erik goes as before. Suddenly he raises his head and fixes someone in front of him.

A girl walks in front of Jan-Erik on the street. She sways heavily here and there. Swaying more and more. Suddenly she walks with one foot in the street and the other in the sidewalk. Jan-Erik stays. He looks at her unexpectedly.

The girl now stops and leans against a house wall. She emits strange squeaking sounds. Then she kneels down.

Stands on all fours, leaning against the wall.

Jan-Erik thinks for a moment. So he approaches the girl.

Touch her -

JAN - ERIK: How is it going?

It's Bertha in the tobacco shop.

She turns her face to Jan-Erik. It's swollen and she's panting -

BERTHA: I feel so damn good, so that's not true.

Jan-Erik can not camouflage his surprise -

JAN - ERIK: Miss Olsson!

The girl laughs, but does not answer.

JAN - ERIK: Can I help you?

BERTHA: Uh, shut up.

She returns to the starting position, tries to get up, but sinks back again, unable to move.

BERTHA (angrily): Do not stand there staring. Come and harass a lady. (furiously) Give yourself away.

Jan-Erik bends down over her and takes her by the shoulder -

JAN - ERIK: You're not smart. You can not handle yourself.

[magnusontireandwheelinc-blog]

What's Killing Your Tires?

Improper inflation A tire-failure study by the American Trucking Associations' Technology and Maintenance Council showed that 90 percent of all tire failures can be traced back to improper inflation. Tires not properly inflated for ambient temperatures, the anticipated load, and particular wheel positions will suffer a number of indignities, including weakened sidewalls, irregular tread wear, and in rare cases of over-inflation, increased susceptibility to punctures and casing damage. Underinflated tires tend to exhibit several types of wear, depending on the tire type and wheel position. Watch for wavy and/or accelerated shoulder wear on rib tires, irregular wear rates on inner ribs, and increased wear on alternating lugs (block pumping) on lug-type tires. Under-inflation will also accelerate spot, diagonal, and tread-block edge wear. TMC tells us that a tire run underinflated by 20 percent will lose 30 percent of its expected life. When inflation drops 40 percent below the recommended level, the tire lasts only half as long. "If there's not enough air to properly support the load, the sidewalls will flex more than they were designed for, and that flexing causes excessive heat buildup," points out Tim Miller of Goodyear. "Together, the weakening of the steel cords in the sidewall and the softening of the rubber caused by the heat can trim 15 percent off the life expectancy of the tire." So what's normal or ideal operating pressure? Load limit and inflation tables are available from every tire manufacturer. Use them. The truth is, what works for drive or trailer tires in a dual assembly in a typical on-highway application will be insufficient for a steer tire. Inflation tables suggests a pair of 295/75R22.5 load-range G steer tires would need to be inflated to 110 psi to carry a steer-axle load of 12,350 pounds. Inflate those tires to only 100 psi and their load-bearing capacity would be reduced to 11,560 pounds. Conversely, the load and inflation tables tell us that the same tires in a dual assembly would need only 75 psi to meet the 4,250/tire load in a tandem axle dual assembly. Mechanical problems There are a number of problems lying somewhere other than with the tire that will cause the tire to bear the brunt of the damage. Any condition that prevents the tire from running straight and true, with constant and consistent contact with the pavement, will cause accelerated wear. It will often occur in patterns on the tire that can aid in diagnosing the problem. Misalignment is responsible for a high percentage of premature wear, but it can come in many forms - drive axles out of alignment or bad steering geometry for example. Take feather wear across a rib steer tire tread. Feathering is when the ribs wear from high to low across each rib. If the feathering pattern is identical across both steer tires, suspect drive axle or chassis misalignment. If the feathering patterns are in opposite directions, suspect a toe-in or toe-out condition. Loose wheel bearings, bent axles, or axles that flex excessively can cause rapid wear of the inner shoulder of the inner tire on a dual wheel. Worn shock absorbers will allow a tire to bounce more than it should, affecting the contact patch of the tire. Since that type of defect is random in nature, watch for irregular patterns of localized cupping or a scalloped appearance. TMC's "Radial Tire Wear Conditions Analysis Guide" is an excellent resource in diagnosing tire wear problems. It's available through the Technology and Maintenance Council and can be ordered at www.atabusinesssolutions.com. Induced flaws and failures Tires are often damaged through neglect or inattention. Running mismatched tires in a dual assembly is an easy way to kill two tires for the price of one. The larger diameter tire will bear more than its share of the load, which will ultimately damage the sidewall. Because of the differential in diameter and revolutions per mile between the two mismatched tires, the tread on the smaller tire will scrub off very quickly. "While that may not sound like much, a diameter mismatch of just 5/16 inch, means the larger tire will drag the smaller one a distance of about 13 feet for every mile, or 246 miles for every 100,000 miles," says Guy Walenga, director of engineering for commercial products and technologies at Bridgestone Bandag Tire Solutions. Many fleets don't bother at all with tire and wheel balancing. If they do, they'll probably do only the steer tires - and mostly to avert driver complaints about vibration. Many argue that given the quality and consistency in tire manufacturing today, balancing is hardly necessary, but that doesn't take into account the rest of the hardware spinning around on the axle spindle. Peggy Fisher, a highly regarded tire expert and president of TireStamp, says a properly balanced tire will wear more evenly over its life, so there are advantages to taking the extra step, if only because it's cheap insurance. "Unless you have a flat spot from a skid, or something mechanical goes bad that causes the tire to run irregularly, in most cases, if it's left to its own devices, and if it was mounted correctly and balanced, it should run okay," she notes. "But if a fleet is really interested in getting every last 32nd of an inch out of a tire, they'll balance." Improper tire selection One of the easiest ways to kill a tire is by running it in the wrong application, says Michelin's product marketing manager, Don Baldwin. "Running truck tires not suited for a specific application is a sure way to reduce the tire's effectiveness." If a truck runs approximately half of its operation time in an off-road environment, but the tires are strictly on-highway tires, that presents a potential tire-killing situation. Taking advantage of an application-specific tire will greatly help with the tire's - and ultimately the vehicle's - performance and productivity. Road hazards Punctures are almost unavoidable, but proper repair procedures can preserve casing life. Have the driver notify the maintenance department of a flat repair so an inspection can be carried out if the service was done at an outside facility. Puncture damage can be minimized by maintaining proper tire pressures and keeping a minimum of tread on the tire before removal. Cut and slashed sidewalls resulting from curb strikes can cause irreparable damage to the tire, so inspecting tires for this type of damage is important. Aside from the inconvenience of a roadside flat, the value of the casing will diminish if there are too many puncture wounds, and if they are not properly repaired.

[dominichash3043-blog]

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[tsw-story]

Chapter 55 - Happy New Year?

The final night of the year eventually approached, and along with it came an uneasy stillness. Kevin had gone home to his parents to spend the holiday with them, while the rest of the crew enjoyed the peace and quiet, not quite knowing when it would pass. Tyreth and Noah would hopefully keep themselves busy for a long enough time to allow all of them to take a breather.

Knocking drummed against Eldrian's door as he lay on the couch on his own. He arose, and made his way over to answer it, and on the other side was an immediately recognized face—Arlandria the elf.

As usual, there was an alien aura to her like none other he'd experienced before their first meeting. It was like seeing Lucy or other demons, but there was a bright, unnatural beauty, like an angel of mythology. She had a smooth grace to her movements and her words.

This time, however, there was no smile on her face. She was troubled.

“Greetings, Eldrian,” she said. “I wish to speak with you about something. May I come inside?”

He nodded, and motioned a hand into his apartment. “Of course. What's up?”

They made their way inside, and the two sat upon his sofa for a quiet moment. Her emerald gaze averted to stare to nothing but space, but after a brief pause, her focus moved to him as she began to speak.

“Tyreth has the Blade of Shadows.”

“Already?” Eldrian replied. “That was a lot faster than I expected. I wonder how he got it from Noah. Well, that's pretty much what we wanted. Now we might have only one person to deal with for now. But how do you know?”

“I found him... or maybe he found me.”

“What? Are you all right?”

She nodded. “He didn't hurt me. I don't exactly know why. Maybe it's because I'm not human, or maybe it's because he doesn't care. But this was a bad idea. Now that he has that sword, he'll stop at nothing to succeed his other goals.”

“Yeah. We still need to stop him. I bet he's not done hurting people.”

“That's why I came here. I found the location of his hideout. I think it might be where the gateway portal is that brought him to Earth to begin with.”

“And if we destroy it, he might struggle to come back.”

“It's worth a try.”

“We need to go now then, right?”

“Yes,” Arlandria said with a nod of her head. “He was heading that way not long ago.”

Eldrian pulled out his phone, and he began to tap his finger on the screen, until it called up Daveon. It ringed, and ringed, and ringed some more, but eventually the druid did pick up on the other side.

There was naught but chaos on the other side. There were explosions, sounds of hefty breathing, and finally, Daveon's voice struggling to speak in the heat of the moment.

“I can't talk right now, Eldrian!” he shouted.

“What's wrong? We need help shutting down Tyreth.”

“Deena and Renatta are here with me. We're a little busy. Don't worry, though. We've got this one. If you got stuff with Tyreth to do, get that done. We'll be fine on our own.”

“Geeze. I can't leave you guys for a day without some kind of battle happening.”

“Oh yeah. You're one to talk. Anyway, I gotta go! Sorry, Eldrian.”

The call ended. Eldrian and Arlandria looked to one another with a silent expression. The wizard fell back against the seat of the couch, and let out a lengthy sigh.

“That was unexpected. I guess the rest of them are all fighting someone,” he said. “Well, whatever. This could be our only chance. We need to take it. Though now I'm getting a little worried about the others.”

“Would you rather us go to them?” Arlandria asked.

“No. Daveon said they could handle it, and I have to trust them. Those three are really talented. And plus, it was my plan that gave Tyreth the Blade of Shadows. I owe it to you to help. Come on. Let's get going right away.”

***

Out in the barren, flat lands, was nothing but a single, worn-out shack with a tin roof and peeling wooden walls. It could easily have been mistaken for a gardening shed before anyone would call it a home, and therefore, it looked as if it hadn't been touched in years. Though they knew that to be false. There was at least one man passing through on occasion.

The entire land was shrouded in the midnight's dark blanket—lit only by stars and a bright moon above them. The ground had a thin layer of white, which reflected the light above like a glowing sheet. There wasn't a soul around them. It was just a blue-garbed wizard next to a white and green elven girl.

“I'm cold,” she whispered.

“Do you want a coat?”

“No... It isn't that kind of cold. What do we do now that we're here?”

“It's simple. We bust down the door.”

They marched straight up to the front of the building, and Eldrian hovered his hand a few inches from the knob. With a tense of his muscles, a shock of force exploded from his palm, which caused the door to snap from its hinges and fall inside the one-room structure.

Inside had no chairs, tables, couches, or video games. It was completely empty besides an arching gateway made out of gold on the opposite end, swirling with a vortex of green energy. It provided an eery glow in the otherwise dark interior.

“So this leads to the Elf World, yeah?” Eldrian asked.

“That's right. My homeland.”

“I've always wanted to see it. But that doesn't matter now. We'll destroy it, so Tyreth can no longer go between. That'll at least buy us some time. Are you all right with this, knowing it might also be your only way home?”

“Yes. I've made my decision.”

“How noble of a sacrifice,” came the deep, unsettling voice of the elf Tyreth behind them. “Though, it isn't really, is it? You've always had an interest in Earth, for reasons unknown to me. You might as well be a human too, Arlandria.”

There, in the doorway to the outdoors, stood the black-haired elven man with a sword in his hand shrouded in shadows. It couldn't be mistaken for anything but the Blade they had spoken of before.

“I didn't even see you,” muttered Eldrian.

“No. Neither of you are very perceptive. So, Arlandria, I spare your life, and you thank me by following me to my house and invading my privacy? That's incredibly rude of you. But I guess I'm right after all. You're just one of them.”

A swirling mass of darkness appeared above Eldrian's hand. He had enough of Tyreth and his boasts, so he finally hurled a Shadow ball in the elf's direction. Unfortunately, he saw such a strike coming. He stepped to the side, and the spell instead exploded a gigantic hole in the wall behind him.

Tyreth counter-attacked with a diagonal swing that cut through the air near Eldrian's face with such ease that he hardly heard the air being cut. Even if he was wearing a full suit of armour, the sword would glide through and cut him in two, just like what almost happened with Kevin and his shield.

Eldrian moved up his hand to blast him with a Push, but with a swift movement of his own hand, Tyreth formed a powerful ward of magic that buffered him from the force of the attack.

“What is it with you, Tyreth?” Eldrian shouted out. “You think elves are better than use because your ears are cooler, or what?”

“I think humans are a filthy species, frankly, of chaos, not unlike demons.”

“And I've met a handful of nice demons too.”

“Now you're really being foolish,” he snapped back before swinging once more, but before it made contact, Eldrian was across the room in the blink of an eye.

Then, there wasn't just one Eldrian, nor was there two. There were now seven Eldrians populating the room, all moving independently of one another. Each, one by one, started readying completely different types of spells.

“Like I said, foolish,” the elf grunted as he stepped calmly forwards towards the one in the center. “You think my eyes would be tricked by something like this?”

All of the Eldrians grinned excitedly. He was walking towards the incorrect one! This was his chance. In a moment, he could unleash his real attack, from the real Eldrian, and knock him completely off-guard and into the portal.

Tyreth was practically breathing down the fake Eldrian's neck.

“Let's see if you can make a noble sacrifice, Eldrian. How much are you willing to lose to accomplish your goals? I guess we'll never know, because it's time to die.”

Everything happened at once. Tyreth brought back his blade to swing, Arlandria gasped from afar, and Eldrian was ready to unleash his strike. But little did he know that Tyreth's other hand was doing something completely separate. The elf spun, and slammed one ring of a handcuff pair over the real Eldrian's wrist, just as he thought he had him fooled.

All of the illusions vanished. It was now just a cuffed wizard, and two elves, standing in a quiet room.

“Not again,” Eldrian muttered. “I can't keep letting this happen. Not again!”

Tyreth slammed his boot into the wizard's stomach, expelling the air from his lungs, and sending him flying into the debris that was once a wall by the front door. The elf's eyes turned to Arlandria.

“And now you're going to try to protect him. So let's skip that step, where you throw yourself in front of him, and guard with a ward of your own,” Tyreth spoke. “Because this sword would pierce straight through.”

“Tyreth. Don't do this. You're making our people look like mad, evil lunatics,” she said.

“What?” he yelled. “You're the one making our people look weak. We're a proud, ancient people. Humans get carried away, just because they're the only ones that can be born wizards. They're no different than the creatures from Hell. But I guess you forgot that. I'll give your father my condolences.”

He swung down his blade, but suddenly, Eldrian rammed his body into his torso, causing his weapon to miss to the side. Furiously, Tyreth threw the wizard away once again, and knocked Arlandria to the ground as well. Pressed against the wall on her rear, all she could do was watch Tyreth step closer.

“You wizards can't do anything without magic,” he grunted. “Don't you get that? As long as that anti-magic metal is on your body, you can't cast spells. Now if you tackle me again, Eldrian, I will cut you in half first.”

He was right. With the handcuff on, Eldrian once again was helpless. It was tightly bound against his flesh, so there was no chance of him shaking free this time. It rendered the fact that he was a wizard completely pointless.

“You know,” Tyreth continued. “Your father thinks you're dead already. He'll never know his happened. And now you won't ever get in the way of my goals again. Goodbye, Arlandria. I'm sorry it had to end this way.”

Once again, his sword swung up towards the sky. There was nothing she could do. With a single, fluid motion, the shadowy blade sliced through the air and came down towards the elven woman.

But suddenly, she was thrust out of the way. Eldrian stood in her place, with the strike landing on him instead. It slide through his upper arm like his flesh was no different than the air around it, lopping his limb off to land in a bleeding puddle beneath him.

“What—“ Tyreth said sharply.

“You're right,” Eldrian grunted with a flow of crimson pouring down from the stub protruding from his shoulder. “As long as that anti-magic metal is on my body, I can't cast spells.”

Tyreth was too caught off guard to react to the scenario in any other way then to hesitate—and it would be his final mistake. A swirling ball of shadow massed in Eldrian's remaining hand, and it was thrust directly into the elf's gut, causing a chaotic explosion to send him soaring back into the portal, trailing a line of blood behind him. He crashed through the vortex, sending him somewhere far away, and that was the last thing Eldrian remembered.

He fell to the ground with a reverberating thud against the old, hard wood of the shack's interior floor.

[the-fitsquad]

Netbook Vs Labtop Vs I

Pedal Although You Function, Workout At Your Desk, Pedal Power

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