#thing to note: many of these ingredients are already banned in other parts of the world

[professorthaddeus]

Mother, Father. This will be my final letter.

You know, I used to find the two of you everywhere. I would see the love I betrayed in the faces of families who are whole. I would hear your terrified screams in laughter. I would see your bodies twisted in agony in the flickering of a campfire. I would feel your blood on my hands every time I cast a spell.

I would find you everywhere, and so I held fast to the possibility that I would bring you back.

Today, I relinquished the chance of it ever becoming a reality.

I could have gone back and saved you. It would have worked. There were puzzle pieces in that chamber that I would have clicked into place; there was magic buried in those relics that I would have unlocked and unleashed.

I would have joined the ranks of mages of myth. I could have unraveled everything.

The chamber is nothing but ashes now.

I still find the two of you everywhere. Your dreams for my potential are in the spells I learned from Essek. Your hope for the Empire is in Beauregard’s pen as she fights for our people, stroke by stroke. Your love is in the grin that Veth shines on her son when he fires a toy crossbow at the ass of a local shopkeeper.

I miss you. I love you. I am sorry.

I hope I can still make you proud.

~

Caleb closes that worn, leather-bound book for the last time. Tucks it back beneath his arm, stands, walks to the entryway of his tower. His hand shakes as he reaches for the handle.

Well, you and the Nein got me to the door. Now I have to walk through it.

He takes a deep breath, then takes his first step outside.

He arrives in Blumenthal alone, visits their graves, leaves his letters in the ground.

And he gets to work. But in this, he is not alone.

Beauregard is there, matching every armload of books he carries with two of her own. They spend their days compiling records and narratives, wielding the truth both in court and behind the scenes—children of the Empire leaving their home better than they found it for the children who will come after them, just as they always vowed.

What wasn’t planned is this: a couple times every week, Beauregard drags Caleb out of the library. They teleport to a remote cottage in a location that few are privy to, where Yasha will have started preparing the ingredients for a new recipe from Caduceus. The instructions are often passed through a jumbled chain of Jester’s messages, and there always seem to be a suspicious number of bugs included for supposedly vegetarian dishes, but they make it work all the same. On more than a few occasions, Caleb plays referee while Beauregard and Yasha spar, safe in the knowledge that their attacks are of their own free will and they will never truly harm each other again.

Jester and Fjord spend much of their time on the open sea, but Jester’s voice is never far from Caleb’s ear. She tells him of everything from her newest tattoo victim to an encounter with a dragon turtle with a grudge, from a shanty about dicks she came up with on the fly to an update on a young half-orc girl Fjord has taken under his wing. Every once in a while, Jester will demand a reunion, too. Some of them are out of necessity—such as when Uk’otoa finally comes knocking and Fjord can no longer sail the other away—but many are not. They meet in Nicodranas when the Nein Heroez docks for a pastry run, they meet in Hupperdook for a night packed with drinking contests and celebone sticks and hugs for Kiri, they meet on Rumblecusp when life becomes too much and the nine of them sorely need to fuck off to a vacation. Soon, even Darktow is open to them, once Kingsley has unseated the Plank King and lifted their ban from the island. His reign is long, and it is magnificent. Until he grows bored.

Caduceus joins them for every mandated reunion, but for the most part, he tends to his garden or explores the world on his own. But he is never out of reach, and when he does not come to the rest of them, they go to him. It is not uncommon for Caleb to arrive in the Blooming Grove to see Beauregard already meditating by the pond. Other times, Fjord will be there drinking tea with Caduceus, and the three of them will share a quiet conversation, each far more secure in their words than they’d been over fish and chips all those years ago. Often it is just Caduceus and his parents and siblings, and Caleb will be invited to a family dinner in a home that Ikithon could not burn down.

Veth remains a constant in Caleb’s life. Of course she does. Sometimes, when the two of them are teaching the neighborhood kids how to point a copper wire, or reminiscing over a glass of sherry, or simply talking while she weaves flowers into his hair on the beaches of Nicodranas, he’ll think back to his old fears of losing her to her family and laugh. After all, how could such a thing be possible when he is a part of her family himself?

There are others, too.

Countless students who pass under his tutelage and grow into young mages who know that power should be used to protect, not to manipulate. A cat—well, there are many cats, but there is one in particular that Caleb does not own, a snowy white fey cat who slinks in and out of his classroom as he pleases, whose eyes seem to flash when the Martinet arrives to have a word, who settles into place around Caleb’s shoulders with a purr when the rare nightmare returns.

An unexpected kinship with Yeza, forged at first through mutual respect and an understanding in their love for Veth, but eventually growing into a friendship in its own right. It is one that unfolds in quiet nights by stacks of books, in gleeful debates when comparing notes on magic and alchemy, in exhausted evenings watching over Luc together while Veth takes a girls’ night out to cause some chaos with Jester, Beauregard, and Yasha.

His old friends, who, try as they might, never seem able to sever the threads that have always tangled their fates together. It is Eadwulf who comes around first, with the silent offering of a bottle and a grim smile as he and Caleb crumble the bricks of Vergesson to dust. Astrid takes time. It makes sense—she has always been a fantastic dancer, and for a while, it appears they will be trapped in a precarious political tango forever, stepping around each other in their roles as the Archmage of Civil Influence and a simple teacher who may or may not be practicing treason in his classroom. But in the shadows, Astrid pulls a few strings to keep Caleb out of prison. Caleb hears a rumor and sends the might of the Cobalt Soul after a colleague who wants Astrid dead. And eventually, she begins joining him and Wulf on their evening walks through the streets of Rexxentrum. They return to the dance hall. They get lunch. They share memories, relearn each other’s old scars, and discover that solace can still be found in each other the way it was when they were children. It will always be complicated. It starts to become beautiful.

And of course, floating by Caleb’s side every step of the way is Essek, a drow who has learned to curb his ambition and care for others, who has decided to make his own amends. The former Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, who now spends his days picking up cupcakes for Jester in Uthodurn, planting seeds in the Blooming Grove. Sitting in on Caleb’s lessons with a different face each week, sketching runes into the floor of Caleb’s home amongst scattered papers and spell components, curling up on a couch beside Caleb and begrudgingly getting through Tusk Love because he promised. A traitor, a hero, a lifelong friend. A steadfast love.

So when Caleb Widogast arrives at the final page of his story, he is no longer shrouded in guilt, or grief, or regret. No, he is surrounded by the warmth of his chosen family when he takes his last breath, when time has run its course and he is finally ready to meet his parents again.

(And even before he sees their faces, he knows. He knows he made them proud.)

—————

also on ao3 | my other cr fics

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble

A/N: A Draco fic no-one asked for! I’m rereading A Discovery of Witches so it’s got me inspired. I don’t plan to post anything over the weekend, I want a couple of days off before I post every day next week. This wasn't requested but I was inspired, so I hope you enjoy!

Title: Macbeth, Act 4: Scene 1

Summary: Draco needs a new stockist.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF - SO MUCH FLUFF.

Word count: 2.2k

Of all the avenues of employment open to Draco Malfoy after his graduation from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, he surprised everyone by staying on at the school to apprentice under Professor Slughorn.

Horace Slughorn had retired once before and was eager to do so again; already fantasising about his golden years in the countryside. Draco Malfoy was his first and only choice for successor to his post – his grades in class rivalling those of Hermione Granger.

Draco’s training took two years where in that time he became able to rattle off ever potion ingredient and method just from hearing the very name of the potion.

Three years into his career and his first year teaching without Slughorn at his side, Draco’s stockist retires – also desiring a life in the country.

It leaves him in a lurch. 

He spends an entire month of his summer holiday researching potion shops before discovering one off the beaten track in Diagon Alley – closer to muggle London than the rest of the shops. So much so that the shop wasn’t protected by the enchantments surrounding Diagon Alley and as a result, the shop seemed to have a steady stream of muggle customers.

Draco enters Cauldron Bubble and is immediately taken back by the sheer amount of stock. Potion ingredients, materials for poppets, prayer candles are just a few of the items that catch his attention. The intoxicating scent of myrrh and sweet orange washes over him. A heady smell that soon opens up to more delicate notes such as vanilla and tansy.

Draco doesn’t immediately seek out the items on his list, but instead walks slowly around the shop, committing it all to memory. There are shelves of books dedicated to the craft of potion brewing but also in the art of divination; particularly tarot readings and palmistry. The entire back wall of the shop is dedicated to what could be hundreds of small draws; each filled with their named herb or plant.

He wanders through the store, feeling entirely at ease with the idea of spending the rest of his day here, discovering the shop’s deepest secrets.

A voice greets him as he finishes his circuit of the small shop, “How can I help you today?”

Draco smiles in greeting, “I’m hoping you have these ingredients,” he says, handing you his long list.

You read over the list, “I do. I have all of these – would you like to take them now or would you like them delivered…” you trail off, looking at him for his name.

“Draco Malfoy. I’m the Potions Professor at Hogwarts.”

“Draco,” You confirm, “I can get these for you now unless you’d like them sent to Hogwarts?”

“Now is fine,” he smiles, “I’m intrigued by your collection if I’m honest.”

You laugh, nodding knowingly, “It’s my pride and joy.”

Draco agrees, leaning on the counter, “It’s bigger than my stockroom if I’m being honest.”

“Now that makes me even happier.” You declare, pointing at the Professor.

The ingredients take time to be collected, but the silence that should be awkward, isn’t. It’s filled with conversation after conversation about the curriculum at Hogwarts and how long Cauldron Bubble has been open.

Draco admits to himself, as you finish tying the final string bow on his parcels, that he feels a little sad about leaving. He had enjoyed his time with you regardless of how short it had been; he felt as if he knew you. He felt as if he could form a friendship with you.

You hand him his parcels in a paper bag, smiling, “I hope to see you again soon,” you say in goodbye.

Draco smiles at you, “I hope to come back soon.” He offers as his parting.

---------------

On a bleak January morning, Draco walks into your shop, stamping his feet to get the last of the sharp, winter cold out of his body.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You smile.

Draco grins in reply, handing over his list, “Another stock up.”

“Another? You came in before Christmas as I remember.” You smirk at the blonde-haired man, “Did someone miss me?”

Draco blushes, stuttering out his answer, “The… the students have had a few weeks off, they’ll have fallen into old habits with potion ingredients.”

You laugh, “You are one smoother thinker, Draco. It’s a good job I knew you were coming; I have your usual stock set aside.” You read down his list, checking you have everything put away, but you stop at one item. “Agrimony?”

“It’s coming up to Valentine’s Day.” Draco offers as explanation.

One of the properties of Agrimony is that it can break enchantments. Draco uses the yellow flower in his antidote for love potions. He frowns at the thought of how much antidote he would have to brew for those on the receiving end of an unwanted love potion. If he could ban any potion, it would be Amortentia. Not that he didn’t believe in love or anything along those lines, but the effects of Amortentia are never real and the aftermath is often worse than being under its spell.

Through his last two Valentine’s Days at Hogwarts as Potions Professor, he had to comfort countless students through the aftermath of the potion as well as deduct house points and hand out detentions to the students who think it funny to unknowingly drug a fellow student.

In his antidote for students, Draco also sprinkles in the petals of Feverfew and Boneset to ensure protection from enchantments or a broken heart, Draco never knows but he makes sure that his students are protected, nonetheless.

You nod at Draco, understanding the need for a potion to break enchantments through this particular holiday. “Here’s your Agrimony as well as your usual stock, is there anything else you need?”

Draco thinks it over, “I better stock up on Boneset, Feverfew, and Adder’s Tongue too.”

You raise an eyebrow, “It’s a very thorough potion you’re making here, Draco.”

He nods, “Too many students are drugged with the Amortentia potion and little is done to control it so I do what I can to protect any student I can.”

“That’s a wonderful thing to do, Draco.” You say quietly; touched by his words.

“I don’t just make potions with the plants and herbs. I make charms to go in their bags and to hang in their rooms too. Anything to protect.” Draco states; thinking back to a group of fifth year girls who had become targets by a group of sixth year boys; each girl suffering through a love potion before coming down from its high. Draco had made sure they each had a charm to carry in their bag as well as a vial of the antidote should one of them ingest the potion again.

You nod silently; overcome by the emotion in his words. You know then and there just how dedicated Draco was to his profession and the students he sees every day. You hand him his bag of herbs and plants with a smile which he returns before walking to the door.

He’s almost out the door when your voice calls out again, “Draco, I know we don’t know each other very well except for when you need to fill your stockroom, but you’re a good teacher and a good man – you know that right?”

He turns to you with his hand on the door handle; silver lining his eyes, “Thank you.” He whispers before opening the door and leaving.

-----

Your words play on his mind through the week leading up to Valentine’s Day and the week after the holiday too. He spends all of his spare time in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey; offering the antidote and words of comfort to each and every student that come in with symptoms of being drugged with Amortentia.

From Madame Pomfrey’s ceaseless ranting through those two weeks, Draco knows that she feels just as strongly about the need to rid the world of a potion like Amortentia.

Draco starts to think of you more and more, especially after each visit to Cauldron Bubbles where you go through his ingredient list with the practiced precision of a Potioneer.

His feelings for you really do take him by surprise. It comes with elation as he finally has a name for the butterflies in his stomach and the racing of his heart whenever he thinks of your smile or your focused look as you check and recheck the ingredients on the list.

He starts to visit Cauldron Bubble more often; making his way through the Professors at Hogwarts to see if they may possibly need something for their class. Professor Trelawney always has something for him to pick up, and Draco feels the urge to apologise to her for every time he was rude to her when he was a teenager.

Draco’s feelings for you only increase with each visit. He craves to see your face light up when he walks in the door; the bell above the door announcing his arrival. The light flirting with each visit was pushing him towards something more.

If only he could think of how to tell you.

---------------------

Draco ropes Madame Pomfrey into his plans to woo you; though she doesn’t necessarily know that

“Please, Poppy, you must have something you need to stock up on… I mean Madame Pomfrey,” Draco corrects when he meets her glare.

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed with the former student, “You’re awfully interested in my stock cupboard, Mr. Malfoy. Whatever for?”

“Call it my New Year’s Resolution.”

“It’s May,” Madame Pomfrey nonchalantly reminds him, replacing the water jugs at the side of each hospital bed.

“Of the New Year,” Draco emphasises, following her, “And mine is to help more. So are you sure there is nothing I can’t get you?”

Madame Pomfrey sighs, bustling back to her desk. She notes down a few ingredients, “I’m running low on these herbs and plants for a tea I brew so you can get these for me.”

Draco beams, taking the list, even going so far as to kiss Madame Pomfrey on the cheek before sprinting back to his private quarters where he can floo to Diagon Alley… and to you.

--------------------

“Draco!” You call, “Back already? You aren’t due another visit for oh… another week or so.” Your eyes alight with mirth as you pick fun at the Professor.

He blushes, waving his list in the air, “Sent on an errand by Madame Pomfrey.”

“Don’t keep it to yourself! Hand it over, let’s see what Madame Pomfrey needs.” You cover your mouth to stifle the laugh as you read over the list from Draco, “Madame Pomfrey gave you this list did she?”

“Handed it to me herself, why?”

“Draco, to say you’re a Potions Professor, you can be quite dense.”

He frowns; you laugh at his puzzled expression. “Madame Pomfrey sent you to get the ingredients for a tea that curbs the menstrual cycle. A form of contraception.”

Draco doesn’t need to look into a mirror to know he’s blushing; he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks – he’s sure it could heat his own cauldron. “Ah,” he begins, “Well, that’s a very responsible thing to have in a school like Hogwarts, wouldn’t you say?”

You nod, “Very much so. Madame Pomfrey to be admired.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“And you as well. For being her humble servant for this task.”

Draco rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “It was nothing. Truthfully, I pestered her until she gave me a list of ingredients.”

“Now why would you do that?”

“To see you,” He admits, eyes shining with truth.

“You pestered the Matron of Hogwarts for a list of ingredients… all to see me?”

He nods silently. Your eyes crinkle with your smile, “That has to be the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me. How long have you been coming here to see me as well as to get potion ingredients?”

Some part of Draco wants to scream as he admits, “Since January.”

“That long?” You ask, eyes wide.

He nods again.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to dinner?”

“I didn’t want to offend you and lose you as my stockist.”

You laugh, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since January you know?”

“No, I didn’t know.” He almost shouts; hating the fact that he could have been dating you all this time but was too scared to make a move.

“And you wouldn’t lose me as your stockist even if we did date.”

“No?”

“Haven’t you noticed that I’ve been undercharging you for your ingredients?”

Draco does the quick math in his head; thinking of how healthy his department budget had been when he handed it in to McGonagall back in March. “No… I didn’t notice.”

You nod your head slowly, “That was my way of flirting as well as the open ended questions.”

Draco rubs a hand over his face, “I can’t believe we’ve been dancing around each other for this long.”

Laughing you make your way from behind the counter. You pull his hands from his face, keeping them in yours, “Hey Draco, want to go to dinner with me?”

He grins down at you; letting the joy run through his body, “I’d love to.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell​ @obxmxybxnk​ @obx-beach​

[poptod]

Miscreation

Description: You're a magician in Ancient Egypt, but you have to keep your magic secret, as it isn't quite 'normal' magic. The youngest prince takes a liking to you.

Notes: i can’t believe i never put this up on this account??? its been written for ages i jus forgot about it. this is the story where piye is from! Word Count: 20k

As the world came to be, magic was instilled within it. It was up to humans to decide where that magic was though - and it was a line you simply couldn’t establish. It’s in the skies, they said, and in our souls. Others would say that it simply did not exist. It’s in the structures we build and the art we make, they said. But it intertwines in your fingers, and the future shines through blind eyes, and though you may not look it, magic runs through your essence. So, in all of Kemet, you were most likely one of the very few people who really knew what magic was.

The high priests and priestesses read from old books that gave shoddy and false potions, with spells and mixtures that did naught but smell awful. You knew, even as a child, that you would never turn down that path. Not only because the reading would be simply awful and very few would believe you, but because of your standing; a half blind, abandoned child in the desert, a cloth over their eyes and wrapped in silk, would never climb very far in life. However, under the protection of the man by the name of Adom who had picked you up, the unwanted child, you stayed in his shop, working for him, and generally living a pleasant life. He never had very much, but he was somewhat of a father, and had his own gift in magic.

“You were born with a gift,” he would tell you as a child. “Not many at all will understand it.”

The year you turned nine, Adom was put under the employ of the palace, as a private consort. His main job was to tell the future, to heal and protect, and in respect to your privacy, not once did he ever mention your own talents.

“In your own time,” he told you when you asked.

You stood behind your father, practically cowering, as the pharaoh spoke of his new duties. He prattled on for quite a while, but your grip on Adom’s skirt did not lessen. As he bowed, and made to leave to new chambers, the pharaoh halted him.

“What is that behind you?” He asked in a soft, and mildly intrigued voice. He leaned forward in his throne, resting his chin on his intertwined hands. You gulped, shrinking further behind Adom.

“This is my child, Piye,” he said, taking your hand and pulling you into the pharaoh’s vision. Despite your fear, you stood tall, keeping your eyes forward.

“Is it going to be staying with you…?”

Adom nodded a yes.

He turned to his wife, sitting next to him, and spared a quick glance at his two sons to his right. The couple whispered to each other for only a minute, before the two of you were once more dismissed. Clutching Adom’s hand so tight your knuckles began to ache, you followed him out of the room.

From that day on, your already hectic life changed drastically into an even more frenetic life. In all sessions you stayed with your father, watching silently from beside him as he worked his own magic in special ways you desperately wished to learn. On the days he had little to do, he sent you off on chores, purchasing different ingredients for both food and spells. With access to all knowledge needed, purchasing books no longer became a problem. Your only main problem was your socialization issue.

He was so lonely, the kings’ youngest son. His brother, as you could tell from their limited interactions, did not get along well with him. Until you came along, it was just the two of them. Yet your anxiety was in such a state that for two whole years you didn’t even know their names. By the time you were eleven, the younger prince was twelve, and the eldest fourteen, and the siblings fighting was at an all time high.

From the corner of the mostly-empty room you watched them bicker, which mostly consisted of the elder throwing verbal abuse at the younger while the younger deflected it with pure intellect and cruelty. Something must’ve struck a nerve, as the eldest stormed off, and the younger sat on the floor and began to cry.

Feeling your heart pound, you made slow footsteps till you made it to the center of the room, and kneeled down beside the boy.

“Is everything okay?” You asked in a meek voice, your mind reminding yourself over and over again that one wrong move could get you killed. Were you supposed to even be speaking with him? Your palms began to sweat at the thought.

“Yes, I’m…” he sniffed, wiping his cheeks dry, “I’m alright. Kahmuh is - he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

You waited for him to continue, but when he didn’t you asked, “what did he say?” in just as quiet a voice as before.

“Jus’ something about my parents,” he mumbled.

You sat fully down, wrapping your arm over his shoulders. Somehow finding comfort in your touch, he leaned in, and soon his crying stopped.

For the next two years you remained friends with the boy, protecting him in instances with his brother, and defending him in the various arguments he’d get into. Overall, you found very little difference in the siblings. Both were entitled, and neither had a very well developed sense of sympathy or empathy. Rather, both boys were so entranced with their own selves that the only real reason you could find them talking to you is if they were fighting over you again.

You, over time, had become part of their feud, like a prize to be won, and from the moment you realized this it sickened you. By your third year in the palace, Adom took you aside.

“When I was your age, 14, I went on a sort of mission,” he said, kneeling to your height as he was monstrously tall. His hand stayed on your shoulder as he spoke to you, keeping your eye from straying in the torchlit hallway. “I looked for myself in the desert, and I sat atop a hill for many days till I… changed. It was just as mental as it was physical. But…” he paused, looking down with a shaky breath, “I’m giving you a choice. You don’t have to do this.”

For a moment you processed his words, contemplating the consequences of either action. To be perfectly frank you had no idea what 'finding yourself' meant, and what physical changes would happen to you. Was it different for every person? So you asked, and each answer felt satisfying.

“What kind of changes happened?”

“My hair grew long, and turned stark white. I also grew very, very tall. I was about your height before. And I could see the future much clearer than ever before. It seemed so simple, and it still is.”

“And… looking for yourself? What does that mean?”

“If you’ve ever felt like you don’t know yourself, or as though you are watching your own life pass as you can do naught but watch, this will get rid of it.”

“Are there any downsides to this whole thing?”

He sucked in a breath, and proceeded to explain what this journey would fully be. You would wander into the desert with only the clothes you wore daily, and you would walk along the Aur* for as long as it was deemed possible for two days. Then, looking out around the land, you would find climb to the highest peak, and sit, until the change happened.

“Will I not starve?” You asked quietly.

“There is food along the nile, and during your meditation, the gods will keep you alive.”

You had your doubts. But you trusted him more than you trusted yourself, and he was encouraging you. And, thinking back to the awful past years you’d been having, you thought a year alone might do some good.

Taking nothing, you left in the dead of night, and by morn the pharaoh was glad to see you gone. Though you weren’t sure if the pharaoh actually hated you, it was rather obvious he had a thing against people who couldn’t see very well. Even with his prejudice, he didn’t all together ban you from the palace - you knew Adom was far too important to simply cast out.

For two days you walked beside the Aur, coming across people that would thin once the city grew far off in the distance. By the first night, you made it to Lisht, passing by without stop. Walk for as long as you can, until you hit the two day mark.

In the morning, your speed has decreased horribly, and by evening, you made it halfway to El Lahun before collapsing in the heat below a shading tree. Panting, you looked around for any source of food. The water was behind you, you could hear the slow churning of water, but it was hardly very clean. Ahket** had already come to claim the land. As your head turned to the side, a spark of red caught your eye. Standing slowly, you walked over to it, finding red berries.

“Hopefully not poisonous,” you breathed out, shoving several in your mouth.

For the next week you spent your hours looking for the tallest peak, using your magic to seek it out and climbing said peak when it was finally discovered. There you sat, wind blowing through your hair, as you waited for answers to come. In that time, you grew, and your skin began to change. The color began to fade, being replaced with the darkest shade of night, as the hair atop your head grew into bright white.

The path returning home was easier. In the water, you could see your reflection, noticing you really looked just the same - only in seeming contrast. Your vision was much better than it ever had been, though not perfect. In a rather confused state, stumbling over rocks and knocking into tree branches, you realized being tall would take some getting used to.

The same as you left home, you arrived in the night. Being careful of lower ceilings and signs, you wandered through the backdoor of the palace, and crept back into your fathers’ room.

The two of you embraced after the long year apart, and the next morning, you were put to work. Walking through the halls you came across the royal siblings, once more bickering, but left in a confused, stammering mess as you passed by them on your way to Adom’s study. There, in the dim, no windowed library of a room, Adom taught you control of your abilities.

A few weeks after your arrival, the youngest pulled you aside to speak with you.

“Who are you?” He asked, and he would’ve looked mystified if he didn’t look so angry and confused.

“I am Piye. You knew me a year ago,” you told him, recognition sparking in his eyes.

“You’ve… changed,” he noticed, letting go of the wrist he’d held so tight. You nodded slowly, wary of any sudden movements he would make. “I have, too. I wondered where you went, but now that you’re back, I simply wanted to apologize for my behavior as a child. I was - well, I was rather rude.”

“A little,” you agreed hesitantly. “But I accept your apology.”

He smiled softly, and from there, invited you to join him for dinner that evening.

It wasn’t quite what you expected. Actually, it wasn’t what you expected at all. He had taken you down, into a little hideaway beneath trees that had grown tall beside the nile. The chill of night air cooled your skin, quelling any anxieties you might’ve had as the two of you sat on the ground.

“I would’ve taken you to my fathers feast,” he began to say, unpacking several items of food from the basket he carried, “but I wanted to talk to you more easily.”

“Really?” You asked, pouring wine from the bottle into two glasses. “Why is that?”

“You’ve been gone for a year! A whole year - what happened?” He leaned forward with wide eyes, his hands folded politely in his lap as he practically begged you for an account of the details. You chuckled in mild amusement of his antics. It all felt so… distant, now that you’d seen the world for what it is.

“I went on a soul searching mission, as Adom called it. It’s how he came to look, well, like he does.”

The topic interested him, clearly, as he proceeded to ask an avalanche of questions, one coming right after the other without a moments’ pause. In his flurry of speech he made several observations that almost had you blushing; how beautiful your skin was, how heavenly you seemed to glow, and how you resembled a god. Of course, at that point, you chided him, saying that it was rude to the gods. In honest reply, he said, “I don’t care.”

Most of the foods he brought were not finished, lying half eaten on the blanket he’d set out. Both of you spent too much time talking, and as the evening moulded into midnight, all thought of returning to the palace left you. Truly he had grown, and changed, in his manner, and the way he held himself. The tone he spoke in morphed as well - more bold, more meaningful, spoken in such a light and almost sweet way that you’d so easily forget who you addressed.

In this sudden trance of conversation, your thoughts began to slow, and as you stared ahead at him, trying to describe to you a conversation with his mother, you realized you could find a friend in him. That, and perhaps, a companion.

As the sun began to strike dawn above the river, you nearly jumped at your own shadow contrasting so suddenly with the darkness that had consumed you all night.

“Have we really stayed out that long?” Ahkmen gasped, already packing away the half-eaten container of dates.

“Oh dear,” you mumbled under your breath, helping him put everything away, and racing him to the palace. By the time you got there, the sun was just barely peaking over the mountains, the both of you laughing between pants. He bent down, hands on his knees as he took deep breaths, only to lose it again in a laughing fit when you giggled. There was something inherently joyful about his presence, that it could make such an occasion feel exhilarating when it was indeed dangerous.

“Come find me in the throne room in a few hours,” he said, his breathing slowing down as he grasped your upper arm.

“Why?”

“I want to show you something. Will you come?”

You nodded, letting out a breathy yes, smiling toothily as the two of you jogged down the corridors. His fingers trilled against the back of your hand as he dragged you, in full knowledge, to your rooms’ front door.

“Sleep for a little. I’ll see you soon,” he said quickly, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was watching, but always returning to you.

“I should say the same t-“

“Oh, go in!” He whisper shouted, pushing you into your room as a shadow drew near. You pressed your ear to the door, hearing nothing but footsteps. Assuming all went well, you snuck past sleeping Adom, who was passed out at his desk, and into your own bed.

For several hours you slept, dreaming of very little but the experience you just had. Thrilling in a childish way - you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to stay out so long, but Gods was it exciting, and somehow you longed for more. Not that you felt as though breaking rules was a good idea, quite the opposite. Still, there was something nagging at you to get to know the boy better.

Adom pulled the covers off your body three hours after you’d gotten them on, shoving you off the bed, all making you awaken in a crude state. On the floor, your hair a mess upon your head, and entirely disoriented.

“I’ve been called to court. Something important. Want to come?” He asked.

“Wasn’t there a nicer way to do that?” You grumbled, holding your aching head.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said with a shrug, turning to leave.

“Wait, I’ll come! Just a moment to get dressed,” you requested quickly, pushing him out of your bedroom and shutting the door to dress yourself in proper attire. As you finished, you smiled at your father, prompting him to nod quickly, and set off towards the throne room.

There you found a royal proceeding in order, one you’d seen before. The ordering of another temple, whether or not to do it, and if so, where, how many builders, and what the cost would be. A rather dull proceeding, and you began to regret waking so soon, till you caught the eye of Ahkmen. He smiled brightly, rolling his weight from his toes to his heel as he tried to keep a semblance of formality. You gave a small wave, but otherwise payed attention to the pharaoh.

“And which God is this again?” He asked, having clearly trailed off in thought.

“Uh,” Adom opened a scroll, “Amun, my king.”

For a moment, the pharaoh contemplated, leaning forward and scratching at the long beard on his chin. His eyes flickered upwards, to the architect in front of him, before nodding curtly.

“I want you to preside over cost, workers, and efficiency. See whatever budget you find fit.”

The architect nodded, thanking him profusely, before turning and walking spritely out the main entrance. Beside you, Ahkmen crept closer, before leaning down the few steps that separated you and whispering.

“Glad you came?”

“Is that what you wanted me to see?” You chuckled, knowing full well that it couldn’t be.

“Not at all. It’s in a few more appointments.” His father side eyed him, glaring and silently degrading his posture. “Be patient,” he said as he straightened to a position where you could no longer speak with him.

You watched several more meetings, feeling your senses dull as Adom stepped up to be beside the pharaoh. The longing to leave came many times, especially as you saw birds fly past the arches, and a sweet breeze blew into the room. By the fourth meeting, concerning some failed crop, you submitted yourself to your fate, knowing you couldn’t do much without appearing rude.

A man appeared, several boys you recognized to be carriers, who delivered letters and information behind him. Looking rather bedraggled, he bowed deep before the pharaoh, the boys doing the same, before he spoke.

“The plans for the Festival of Opet are all going well. Seems everything is alright, nothing too hectic this year. Your barge to Thebes will arrive within the week,” he said, keeping his head high and his gaze low. The pharaoh noticeably untensed, smiling at the news and nodded for the man to continue. “All that’s left is the feast, here in the city. You’ve ordered,” he cleared his throat, and a boy came forward, handing him a scroll. “for your son to look over the details. Now, you’ve, uh… is this your eldest or younger son?”

“My eldest,” the pharaoh clarified, glancing to his right, where the eldest stood. “And if there are issues with this arrangement, look to Adom.”

The man nodded, bowing and leaving the room. Only then did Ahkmen look at you again, pure anticipation written all over it with a bright smile to accompany. Politely, you smiled in return, unsure if that was what he wanted you to specifically see. As the Pharaoh stood to depart, his sons went their separate ways. Ahkmen to you, and Kahmuh to start with preparations.

“Was that it then?” You asked, following his lead down a different hallway than you came. Adom, too caught up in the Pharaoh’s needs for the impending trip, did not notice your departure.

“Yes! It’s one of the rare times my father leaves, and this time he’s finally putting Kahmuh in charge instead of me! He’s always making me do things, and it gets to be a bit much sometimes,” he admitted to his stress casually, his face still alight with eagerness.

“He puts his youngest in charge rather than his eldest? Doesn’t seem very wise, does it?”

“You haven’t fully met my brother,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“That bad, is he?” You asked, ducking your head as the open-arch hallway turned into a closed one.

“And worse. He’s done some really odd things, but hopefully this’ll mature him up a bit,” he said, turning into the kitchen. You followed, seeing a few servants about doing very little. At the prince’s presence they didn’t jump, so you safely assumed he was here often. Digging his hand into a bowl of figs and pulling out two, he handed one to you, and bit into his own. “But that might be wishful thinking.”

“He can’t screw up a feast that badly, can he? It’s just a dinner. It’s not like he’s controlling the Kings’ march from Thebes to Luxor, or steering his barge,” you tried, an odd attempt at comfort.

“Again, you’d be surprised. You could be right, but still! He’s done some… stuff,” he explained vaguely.

“Could you elaborate on that?” You examined the fig closely, looking up at him as you spoke.

“No,” he said through a mouthful of fig, the two of you breaking into giggles once he swallowed.

After earning odd stares from the servants, you patted him on the shoulder, gingerly leading him out the door.

“He and I don’t speak much anymore. I find it keeps the peace.”

“I saw you arguing with him not a few weeks ago,” you said, recalling the day after you returned.

“Yes, well, uh, that was important. He sabotaged a statue of our mother,” he said in a low voice, pulling you aside from your walk. You paused, noting that it was apparently a big deal.

“Really? What did he do?”

“… cut the nose off and destroyed it. It’ll take them a while to make another one and fit it on right,” he mumbled.

“Hm. No respect for elders or family. What a kind man,” you said sarcastically, continuing on your way down the hall. He agreed easily, following beside you, his steps faster to keep up with your long strides.

“I was taking us to the kitchen,” he said after you made your way out the front of the palace. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, are you still there?” You teased, looking down at him with a sly smile. He punched you lightly, frowning.

“I’m not so small that you’d forget me,” he fluffed. “Now answer my question.”

“Well, you like food, right?” You asked, turning down the street on a path you memorized long ago.

“Yes. But don’t phrase it like that.”

“Of course, your highness,” you said, a toying lilt in your voice. “There’s a place down here that does wonderful things with beer and bread.”

“Really?” He asked, expecting no answer as he followed you through the market, through half abandoned alleyways to this place you spoke of.

“Now it’s not very high class,” you told him, stopping in front of a rather rundown building, one that had no door and very few people inside.

“Should - should I take my things off?” He asked quietly, pointing to his golden necklace and bracelets. You looked around a moment, before pulling him into the alley beside the restaurant, handing him the shawl off your back.

“They’ll get stolen if you put them somewhere, and you’ll get noticed if you keep wearing them in plain sight,” you explained as he stammered, almost refusing but unwilling to present any other solution.

“Alright, uh, let’s get going then,” he faltered, pushing you ahead before going himself, raising your shawl to below his eyes.

Sitting in the corner, you were soon served, and as always, the food was excellent. Ahkmen noted that it was well worth the trip, and requested you take him there in the future as well.

“Do you think I could get the recipe for our kitchens?” He asked at the end of the meal, leaning forwards to get a better view into the kitchen.

“It’s a family secret. I’ve asked,” you chuckled, waving at the man who looked back at Ahkmen, startling him out of his trance.

“What a shame,” he murmured, only looking away from the kitchens when you interrupted his gaze, pulling him out of his seat and out the door.

Upon leaving he handed your shawl back to you, which you took graciously, pulling it over your shoulders as the two of you weaved through the growing crowd. The market was always crowded, and the streets preceding it grew steadily in the people present. You towered over most in your form, so if ever Ahkmen got lost in the chaos, he would look up to find you. Almost always you were right beside him.

“Do you ever worry for your city?” You asked quietly, walking up the steps of the palace. Furrowing his brow he turned to you, stopping you with a soft touch to your arm.

“What do you mean?” He stepped up a few steps to be equal with you.

“I mean, the line of succession. You hardly trust your brother with a feast, how will you think the city will fare with him as a king? Not only the city, but your world?”

“Somehow, you have the hardest questions to answer all the time. Can’t you loosen up? How old are you?”

“I’m 15,” you answered.

“You’re younger than I am, and so worried about the state of things. It’ll work itself out, and not yet. I doubt my father is ready to give up the throne,” he assured you, a small smile gracing his lips as he tapped your shoulder, signalling the walk up the steps had been resumed.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, the thought still bothered you. Perhaps your own father would have a say over it, but you doubted it still. There was really no option, and certainly no advice from you would be heeded, so for the time you tried to let it go.

“The sun is always hottest midday, so I make it a rule of mine never to be out midday,” he told you as shade enveloped you both, cooling hot skin from the beating sun.

“Sounds a fair rule,” you replied.

The two of you ventured through the halls and rooms, making your way past the throne room on tip toe.

“I don’t want any part in the planning,” he whispered, explaining his odd behavior, sticking to the walls and staying silent as possible. You nodded, glancing back to Kahmuh every now and then, hoping your rather monstrous form wouldn’t be noticed.

Right as his foot stepped through the archway to the next room, a boisterous voice called through the room, calling his attention.

“Brother! Come help with this!”

His shoulders slumped, and quickly resuming a prouder posture, he turned with a smile. Good at faking, you noted to yourself, for any future occurrence where it might prove crucial. You followed him, staying by his side as Kahmuh asked redundant questions only meant to irk his brother. He was doing it well, too - Ahkmen was clearly very annoyed. His eyes kept an intense glare, but a friendly smile stayed as he answered.

“And of the musicians? Whom should we hire?” Kahmuh asked, tapping his chin in deep thought.

“Uh,” he stammered, taken unawares by a more important question. “Shouldn’t we hire our usual?”

“Yes… that harpist is rather good.”

You tried to recall the band, but came up with little other than background imagery from the various parties your father had attended with you. With a nod to his inferiors, the eldest prince sent away the servants, leaving just you, your newfound friend, and his rather conniving brother.

“I see you two have rekindled your friendship,” he said, surprisingly calm about it. His face showed no change in demeanor, a small smile on his lips and unusually beady eyes.

“Something of the sort,” Ahkmen replied, smiling curtly. “I was just escorting Piye back to their room.”

“Ah. Well, don’t let me disturb you,” he said, side eyeing you as he turned to face the front of the room. There was something sly about him, and not entirely truthful, but your basis was empty. Thus, you dismissed your speculation as simple fear, following Ahkmen’s lead into and through the halls to your room.

Standing at the open door of your room, he took your hands, looking into your eyes. Behind you, you could feel Adom’s gaze burning into the base of your head. Ahkmen must not have noticed, though, as he spoke rather plainly.

“Tomorrow, I want to meet you at the hill overlooking the nile. Do you, uh, have any prior commitments?”

“None at all. What time?”

“After noon, I think. I have an idea I want to try out,” he said with a playful smile. In turn you narrowed your eyes, wondering what scheme he was cooking up, and whether or not it was something you wanted to be involved in. Either way, if you got caught, he’d take the blame.

“Alright, I’ll join you.”

“Good. Now get some sleep,” he said, patting your shoulder rather awkwardly, a hesitant tap and then a full pat.

With a quick turn, he vanished down the hallway, leaving you with your father. Slowly, you turned around, watching carefully for his reaction. Casually, he looked up from his stew, book in hand, his eyes dull with exhaustion.

“Fraternizing with the prince?”

“He invited me first,” you explained, appearing as fast as you said the words at his side.

“And… get some sleep? Would that have to do with your little outing last night?”

You froze, eyes widening. You weren’t at all aware that he knew - you thought yourself rather silent, actually.

“Um - I just…”

You trailed off, watching as a small smile grew into a grin, till Adom belted out a laugh, moving to his feet. Though his eyes still drew heavy with sleep, he patted you on the back, and the smile remained.

“I’m only joking. I’m glad you’ve got a friend. Even if he’s, well, royal.”

Nodding, you dismissed yourself, just barely reaching your room before your composure completely broke.

What a relief, you thought to yourself.

After a good while of studying law, per Adom’s request, you laid yourself to rest in the evening. The next day continued as usual - breakfast with Adom, reviewing subject material, before court with the King (or, in this case, the kings’ terrible son), till afternoon swung around and your free time began. At least, as long as your father didn’t have any errands he needed you to run in his place.

As the seemingly endless meetings finally came to an end, Ahkmen pulled at your sleeve, breaking you secretly away from your place at Adom’s side. It wasn’t until you reached a darkened hallway, lit by distant sunlight that you finally broke free, and he turned around suddenly.

“What in the world were you thinking?” You hissed, your head whipping back the way you came to see if anyone had followed you, before promptly refocusing your glare on Ahkmen.

“The meetings were especially long today, don’t you think?” He asked as an avoidance of your question, his hands settling on his hips.

“… Yes. There are several things about today that have certainly occurred. Like taking me prematurely from Adom before finding out if he needed me after court!”

“You seriously call it court?”

“That’s what it’s ‘seriously’ called. It’s the official name.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“Well, it’s a bit colder today. Fluctuating weather or something - I wanted to get out before the wind got bad,” he said, grabbing your wrist and once more dragging you down the hall, aiming for that distant hill overlooking the Aur.

Against your better judgement you let him take you, through whatever path he saw fit, your feet dragging behind you as he ran. You could almost roll your eyes at his antics. So childish, you thought, especially for a prince. Even a younger one. Perhaps his immaturity was a result of the exact reason he shouldn’t have been. You could hardly let your mind dwell on it, racing down the short but numerous steps leading down to the ground.

From your position the river wasn’t in sight, but the cliff Ahkmen ran towards was. You pulled at his hand, grasping and intertwining his fingers in yours, finally bringing him to a steady but anxious halt. Panting, he knelt in the sand, looking up at you with a gleaming grin.

“Good exercise, yeah?”

“I suppose so,” you replied, largely unaffected by the exertion of energy. After letting him breathe for a moment, you held your hand out. He took it, and you lifted him to his feet.

“So here’s my idea. You know how the sand here isn’t exactly steady? It’s, sort of precarious?”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking. What if we sort of.. stood at the edge, and stomped our feet, and we could ride the falling sand into the water?”

For a whole of two minutes you stared at him, trying to decipher if he was kidding or not. In that time, he did not flinch, continuing to stare expectantly at you, his hands once more on his hips. Blinking, you decided he was not joking.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course!” He replied immediately.

“You’re an idiot.”

“We all know that,” he laughed. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Sighing, and tilting your head to the sky, you shut your eyes tight.

“You’re going to do this no matter if I join or not?”

“That’s about right, my friend.”

“Fine,” you practically spat, after another moment of contemplation. “I’ll do the - I’ll join you, but only because I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself. I will garner no joy from this.”

“I told you this yesterday, and I will tell you again,” he said, moving to hold your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing softly against the back of your hands. “Loosen up.”

“This could kill you.”

“And?”

That’s worrying, you thought to yourself, unable to express that thought before he stood at the very edge, stomping with his sandals at the loose sand. Rushing to his side, you held his upper arm, ready to catch him if any harm should befall.

“Come on, then! Join me! What with your size, should happen much faster,” he said, and gingerly you began stepping at the ground. Not full stomping, just the weight and strength you’d use while walking. None of that mattered though, as the ground beneath you began to move, and the two of you surged forward.

You would’ve shut your eyes were you not so worried of losing track of the prince. The grip you held on him tightened, making sure that you wouldn’t separate in the landslide running down to the nile. Wind surged past your face, the mild air stinging at your open eyes. Swallowing thick, you tried to breathe, and waited for the fall to end.

By the end, half the sand of the hill had flooded into the Aur, dirtying the water and blocking it from flowing as well. You glared over at Ahkmen, buried in sand up to his shoulders.

“It’s going to take forever to get you out of there,” you sighed.

“At least it only goes up to your chest,” he pointed out helpfully. Rolling your eyes, you cleared the sand with your hands, digging yourself out before helping him.

“This was a terrible idea,” you told him, helping him to his feet.

“Not my worst though,” he said, mumbling a thank you and dusting himself out. His skin tinted a red from the irritation of sand against it for so long.

“Really? What did you do, break your skull open?” You asked, leading the two of you back up to the palace.

“Actually,” he said, grunting and wincing as his skin rubbed against itself, “I tried to befriend an alligator.”

“One of the ones down at the temple? I thought they were rather nice.”

“Those ones are. Not wild ones though.”

You stopped, staring at him.

“Wild ones? Did your mother not love you or something?! How many times a year do you do these idiotic things?”

“About three or four times a week, according to my brother. I don’t think they’re stupid though! And let me explain myself -“ he chuckled, “- I’m just having fun. A lot of it, too, and I haven’t died yet.”

“Half your heart*** obviously has.”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Oh, no offense intended, your majesty,” you laughed, bowing dramatically low as the two of you walked back into the shadowed hall of stone.

“You’re pardoned. For now,” he said, side eying you cheekily, a smile playing at his lips.

Giggling, you elbowed him, partially unbalancing him.

“Ah,” he said quietly, rubbing the place where you hit him. “A bit sensitive.”

“I’ll take you to the baths,” you sighed, rolling your eyes and directing him towards the bathroom. He halted, tugging at your sleeve to stop you. “What?”

“I don’t use the servants baths,” he said, chuckling, almost astounded. Frowning, you turned to him.

“If it gives you such offense, I will see you in a while then. I’d like to take my own bath considering how unclean your exploits make one.”

“No, you can join me if you’d like,” he returned quickly, pulling at your sleeve again as you began to head to your own quarters. For a moment, there was naught but silence as the two of you watched each other.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as next time, you come see what I have to deal with daily.”

“Agreed,” he said with a smile, and the both of you shook hands.

The path to your new destination took you up several flights of stairs, winding through hallways you’d never before seen, all decorated intricately. Torches lined the hall in even stands, all unlit as night had not yet come. Sun still shined through the open arches.

“Just down this way,” he assured you, the pathway growing more and more confusing till you were sure you would never find your way back alone, till at last a door opened to a chamber, the arches open and warm water steaming the air from nearby stoves. The tubs were built into the raised floor, the two of you walking up the short steps to the base floor.

Servants came from seemingly nowhere, waiting on you, undressing you as you tried to brush them away.

“Uh - is this customary?” You asked anxiously, trying to signify to the servants that you didn’t want to be served.

“Hm?” He turned around, laughing when he saw your awkwardness. “Do you not usually have people helping you?”

“No,” you answered firmly. “It’s not usual.”

“It’s not unusual for us, no. Just let them do their job,” he tried to convince you, his voice quiet and smooth.

“I don’t think I will. Please, I can do this alone,” you said, turning to the servants. Glancing at each other, they nodded, leaving you be. You let out a breath, undressing yourself in peace and climbing into the too small bath, your knees coming up to your chest but enjoying the warm water nonetheless.

Behind you, you heard sniggering, causing you to turn. Ahkmen, situated in the tub behind you, was laughing at your condition. Swiveling yourself around in the water, you turned to him, wide eyed and glaring.

“Something humorous?”

“Sort of,” he snorted.

“I’d be ever so indebted if you shared it with me.”

“I was just… thinking of you. Sharing a bath with someone else. I don’t think it’d end well.”

“Sounds too intimate for me,” you replied, ignoring the degrading insinuation.

“What’s that mean? Scared of intimacy?”

“Not at all. But I don’t exactly look the part,” you chuckled heartlessly, looking down at yourself. Sure, dark skin was absolutely beautiful, but… not black skin. Dark as night skin was… well, it made you insecure to say the least. In the very least, you hadn’t met anyone like you except Adom, and your height wasn’t exactly helping your insecurities. When you discovered what you looked like, the dawning realization that you were no longer attractive, not in this culture, came very slowly, but it came nonetheless.

“What in the world do you mean by that? Are you saying you aren’t attractive?”

“Yes? I don’t exactly meet societal standards -“

“That’s a load of shit, and a horrible way of thinking. I think you’re very attractive as you are. You’ve got a nice face, and your freckles are white, which I think is very cool.”

“I have freckles?” You asked softly, your hand coming up to stroke your cheek. How had he noticed something about you that you had not seen before?

“Um,” he said, choking up when he realized he’d definitely just confessed to staring at your face, “yeah. I mean, they’re nice n’ all, uh…” he trailed off, sinking into his bathwater.

“… thank you,” you mumbled, still absently stroking your cheek.

The rest of the bath was enjoyed, or tolerated, in both warmth, comfort, and extreme emotional discomfort.

As night approached, the sun disappeared over the mountains, leaving the land in a shadowy state. Torches were lit by servants, and both you and Ahkmen, fully dressed in cleaner and nicer clothing, wandered down the long hallways once more towards your own room for you, and the dining hall for him.

“Despite todays failings,” you said, looking pointedly at the red stomach shown by his lack of clothing there, “I had a good time.”

Quietly he chuckled, growing slowly louder till he finally spoke.

“You said you wouldn’t enjoy yourself! Ha! I win!”

“Win what?!”

“I told myself that I could make you have fun in a stupid way, and I just won!”

“It doesn’t count if I don’t know about it!”

“Ah, or perhaps not, my friend! You see, if you knew about it,” the two of you had now stopped walking in the hallway, facing each other, “you might not have told me that, even if you did enjoy your day.”

“I don’t lie,” you sniffed, feeling mildly insulted.

“Sure you don’t, but I don’t know that about you yet. In the future,” he straightened out his skirt, leading the way as you began walking again, “I will tell you about such competitions.”

“Right. Well I thank you then, my prince.” Once more you bowed, but his smile faltered for a second, before regaining its’ regular brightness.

“Have a good dinner,” he said as you stood outside your door.

“You as well. Don’t fight your brother.”

“You can’t make me do anything.”

“But I can advise you so I can tell you ‘I told you’ later.”

Glancing at you, a smirk upon him, he nodded.

“Fair game.”

For the next several days, you counted your lucky Gods that he hadn’t tried to make you do anything else dangerous. He was nursing a bad burn from the sand, so you thought that’d keep him sated in the very least. You were deeply, unequivocally wrong.

He sat in bed, the burn having gotten worse from the night before. All along his body, medication in the form of cream and lotion sat upon his skin, rendering him immobile. This fact, while annoying him, did not deter him from annoying you and pushing your emotional energy past its’ limit.

“Do you think it’s edible?” He asked as you sat beside him, reading from one of the various scrolls Adom had given you.

“What?” You asked blandly, not looking up.

“You know, the stuff they put on me. It smells good.”

“I’d assume not. If the smell is making you hungry, I can go fetch something.”

“I’m going to eat it.”

“No you aren’t.”

Though you kept your eyes trained on your reading, you could see him, from the corner of your eye, dipping his finger into the lotion and bringing it to his mouth, before gagging at its taste.

“Oh Gods.”

“I told you.”

“Oh my Gods that’s… that’s awful.”

“I definitely told you.”

“Yes you did,” he said, sucking in a breath.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I am not!”

“You just ate skin medicine.”

He turned away from you, pouting without another word said. Clearing your throat, you went back to reading, ignoring his little session of anger. Slowly, the humor got to you, till you began to audibly chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, turning to you.

“Nothing. You’re rather… odd,” you settled on, hoping the description wouldn’t offend him terribly. Instead, the opposite effect took place, where he broke down into his own giggles, spurring on your own laughter till the two of you were giggling meaninglessly.

The next occasion in which he pushed himself in a direction he shouldn’t have, he picked a fight with his brother. It had been a few days, and his burn was much better, to the point where he could move like a mostly normal person. He walked alongside his brother, who was trailed by several servants and nobles, all worried about the upcoming celebration. Whenever they would try to speak to him, Kahmuh would wave them off, and continue talking to his brother. It wasn’t a kind voice he spoke in, rather a ridiculing one, and a tone with words so carefully chosen that Ahkmen couldn’t logically argue.

You walked in quiet step behind your friend, trying to keep your distance from the others following Kahmuh. Instead of bothering with their mean-spirited conversation, you looked at the greenery, blooming even in the colder season. Innovation was certainly thriving in Memphis, especially so in its’ gardens. From where you were, you could hear bits of their conversation, not fully absorbing yourself in their words till Kahmuh must’ve said something conniving, for which Ahkmen retaliated by grabbing the back of his brothers’ neck, and forcing his face into his raised knee.

Jumping forward, you grabbed Ahkmen’s arms, restricting him, and pulling him out of the way of what was sure to be a painful retaliation. As you left, Kahmuh cursed the both of you, before speaking in hushed voice with his fathers’ advisors.

“What in the world was that?!” You hissed, still restraining his hands and forcing him through the doors and back into the palace.

“He just insulted my parents!” He bit back, his eyes wild and angered.

“You can’t go into a fit every time he says something about your parents,” you tried to convince him in a hushed whisper, thinking past to several years ago, when the two brothers had been simply awful to each other.

“Piye, I don’t think you understand what he just said. I’ll say it in simpler words so you can understand; he can’t wait for them to die.”

“Don’t insult me,” you spoke bitterly, releasing him and pushing him forward. “I don’t have your education, or your status. I don’t have your experience, but do not believe me to be lower than you. No man is lower than you, nor is any higher.”

He rubbed the area of his arm that you had been holding tight, eyes downcast as he thought over his words. His stance remained tight, and his brow furrowed.

“I have an idea,” he finally said, looking up at you. You nodded, gesturing for him to continue. He cleared his throat and did so. “You should be my adviser.”

“That’s the first good idea you’ve had in months,” you commented with your arms crossed, mildly impressed.

“Well you can’t bully me if you’re going to agree to it,” he said with a comically exaggerated frown. You chuckled, breaking your stern exterior with a pleasant smile.

“None can deny you’re in desperate need of advice. Maybe some growing up to do, as well.”

“You’re insulting me again, you know,” he said as the both of you began walking down the long hallway in a slow meander.

“Is that not my job?”

+

As the days progressed into weeks he explained further what your job was to truly be. Into the details of how he didn’t really need an advisor, to which you quickly cut in, saying that he’d probably die if you weren’t his advisor. He agreed easily.

“That’s not the point, though,” he told you, sitting across from you at a wonderfully crafted table in his private room. “Only the Pharaoh needs advisors and all that. I’m not to become Pharaoh.”

“Now we’re getting into realistic fears.”

“I - I’m sorry?”

“A while back, I asked if you were concerned with your brother becoming King, considering his decisions aren’t exactly, um, sound, so to say.”

“Oh, right, right. Yes. Maybe we could run away,” he suggested, clearly joking, but for some reason, a feeling deep in your stomach told you that if you asked, he would comply.

“… Right,” you said slowly. “For now I’ll just label my job as ‘trying to keep an idiot alive.’”

“Again with the insults?”

“You literally, purposefully started a landslide. That’s on you.”

“You came along. And you had fun,” he pointed out with a goofy smile.

“I swear I’ll never tell you the truth again.”

“Then I will know you’re lying, and I’ll assume the opposite.”

“You’re infuriating, you know that, right?”

“A little. My parents love me.”

“That’s because you’re nicer and cuter than your brother.”

“You think I’m cute?” He leaned forward, a shit eating grin on his face as his eyes crinkled in teasing delight.

“Hardly,” you took a sip of your beer, “but I’m sure your parents think you are.”

“Aw,” he pouted, his bottom lip pushed out. You chuckled, shaking your head.

From there, conversation continued in small, quiet phrases as the two of you read your separate homework documents. Him, with his hieroglyphs and politics, and you with your magic and potions. Not that he fully knew what that was about - you had told him, during that first dinner, that you were training to become a healer. You told him nothing about the fact that you didn’t really need ingredients to produce fire, or water at the edge of your fingers. It wasn’t something Adom told you to easily share.

“When’s the festival again?”

You set your scroll flat on the table.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No, I wasn’t really paying attention. It was nice to not have to, you know?”

You sighed, understanding his logic. “It’s in two days.”

A cracking sound resounded in his chambers as he slammed his book down, eyes wide and alarmingly white.

“Two days? I haven’t even gotten measured for the - oh Gods, I need to talk to my brother!” He jumped out of his seat, rushing out the door and slamming it behind him. For a moment, you sat in the silence left in his absence, wondering what had just happened. Then, the door flew open once more, Ahkmen poking his head back into the room. “Come on! I haven’t got all day!”

“That’s not technically correct you’ve got two days,” you grunted out quickly as you stepped out of your own seat, running after him.

He had little reason to be stressed. Watching him from the corner of the room, relaxing on a comfortable pile of cushions, you felt more sorry for the people who had to put together an entire outfit for him in such a short amount of time. Still he fidgeted where he stood as they held gold and green fabric up to him.

“No green, please,” he requested, to which they quickly obliged.

“Why not? You only ever wear gold,” you commented, lazing your hours away.

“I’m not going to look like my brother and he loves green. It's his favourite.”

“If you began to look like your brother I think my eyes would start burning,” you said blandly, picking at your nails. He snorted, his posture slacking till one of the men measuring him pushed his back back into place.

“You can’t insult a prince in front of other people.”

“And you shouldn’t leave things like this until the last moment,” you retorted with a laugh.

He shut up after that. By the next day, his hurried costume was finished, decorated ornately with various streaks of gold and jewels. You tried to compliment the seamster on their work, but by the time you turned around, they were gone. Turning back to Ahkmen, you admired the way it fit him.

“It’s good, I think,” you said.

“You don’t think I made a mistake with the green?”

“Let’s just say you don’t look like your brother,” you joked, handing him the heavy golden crown. With a grateful smile and slight bow he took it, settling it gently upon his head. Looking into the floor length mirror in front of him, you tilted the crown slightly so it wouldn’t fall to one side. He murmured a thank you, fiddling with the thin cape he wore.

“You sure it looks okay?” He asked again.

“You look regal.”

“Don’t I always?” He teased, biting at his lower lip thoughtfully.

“Not covered in white grease and choking on it because you thought it might taste good.”

“That was one time,” he groaned. You still laughed at his discontentment, sitting back in one of his luxurious chairs he kept in his room.

Adom woke you early in the morning, hurriedly telling you of his duties, and warning that he would be gone for a while. As he rushed out of your room, you threw your covers off of yourself, running out after him.

“Adom! What do you mean, what’s happening?” You asked groggily, wondering what in the hell could have him so worried.

“What? Nothing, I need to prepare the image of Amun-Re for the celebration. You know, marching through the streets? You watched me a few years back,” he said, stuffing several herbs into his bag. In sudden recognition you nodded, a small ‘ah,’ escaping you as he flew out the door with a quick good bye. Blearily, you dressed yourself, and went to visit the prince.

Most mornings the halls were moderately filled - enough room to move about freely, with groups of people passing by every now and then. Though you expected this, from the years passed, the sheer number of people filling room left by stone walls was shocking. You towered above their heads, repeatedly excusing yourself and apologizing as you practically trampled over the horde. It didn’t help that everyone was going in different directions, either, rather hindering most everyones sense of direction except yours, the only one capable of seeing above the raucous crowd. When at last you met the wood doors sealing Ahkmen away from the noise, you slipped inside with a nod to the diligent guards placed outside his room, on either side of his door.

In a tangle of blankets, lying on his stomach, legs sticking out in two different directions and his arm over the back of his head, was the royal Prince, a supposed half god on earth, and a direct line to the deities. He snored softly, partially muffled by the soft pillows beneath him. Groaning quietly, with a small roll of your eyes, you stepped forward, pulling the blankets off of him with a harsh tug. With a bit of effort he at last unraveled, letting out his own ungraceful moan at harsh sunlight hitting his eyes and cooler wind upon his half naked skin.

“Today’s the day of the feast, and you’re sleeping in?” You asked, more astounded than you were annoyed, though fully annoyed nonetheless.

“I am a vessel of Ra’s power, and he says I can sleep,” he mumbled, pulling a pillow over his face.

“I thought you liked Khonsu more,” you said, taking the pillow from his grasp and setting it a safe distance away from him.

“Does it matter?” He looked up at you, his eyes dry but wide.

“Yes, now get up.”

He moaned incoherent complaints the entire time, rolling off the bed and landing straight on his back. From then on, he spent the rest of the morning complaining about his back hurting, far into eating breakfast, past preparations for the ceremony, and through getting dressed for the upcoming feast.

“I think,” you said, grunting slightly as you adjusted the gold and lapis jeweled collar upon his shoulders, “you should be glad.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, continuing to observe the both of you in his mirror.

“Back before history began, the Opet festival stretched -“

“For twenty-seven days, I know. I read too,” he interrupted with a playful glare. “How does that make me lucky?”

“I don’t think you have the energy for something like that,” you said with a smile. He turned to you, his brow furrowed but a smirk still prominent on his face.

“On the contrary. I think you aren’t suited for something like that.”

“I sat on a mountaintop for a whole year without food or water. I think I’m perfectly suited.”

“That’s just sitting. Can you hold the stamina for dancing?”

“I suppose we’ll find out by tonight,” you chuckled, correcting the crown on his head, as it had once more tilted to the right.

The two of you entered the brightly lit hall, torches lining the sides in bright orange and blue. Marveling, you took your seat, a few seats away from Ahkmen but still at the same table. Adom would not be there, you realized, as Kahmuh, head of the table, stood with glass in hand.

“To the many prosperous years ahead of us, and thanks to the Gods,” he said, and from his glass he drank red wine. In unison, the room at large raised their own cups, and drank. Servants that stood nearby bowed their heads in respect, their trays level from years of experience, eyes cast down out of a learned fear. You took a sip from your own cup, the warm liquid burning down your throat in a pleasant sensation. A quick smile to your friend, one that was easily returned, and the feast began.

Stretching out before you must’ve been enough to elegantly feed the entire city for at least a week - plates of fish, salted and spiced, fruit stacked head high in ornate designs, plates of various vegetables fried with legs of beef, and massive pitchers of wine and beer separating the neat piles of food from each other. Relatively, you sat near the head, the long wooden table stretching for forever down the immense room, the ceiling towering high above you, so far that the light did not reach the ceiling before it spanned into darkness.

To the sides of the room, and at the entrance musicians played, their instruments in perfect sync with the singing voices, harmonizing with the peaceful chatter of the many people there. Women danced in skirts and dresses, gold sewn into the sheer fabric that shimmered in the dying light of the sunset, hips moving with the music.

You filled your own plate gratuitously, but thankfully not enough to turn any heads. That fell mostly to one man, sitting across from you and slightly to the right. With as much gusto as he ate, he ended up missing half the food he’d gotten, as it flew from his mouth and landed on the dissatisfied and rather disgusted people sitting beside him. As Ahkmen glanced your way, you gestured with your head towards the man, and the two of you giggled under your breath.

Once the sun had finally set, it felt as though the energy had gone through the roof. People stood on the benches and seats, drinking and singing boastfully, their arms wrapped around each other. Kahmuh looked on in his usual, quiet demeanor, his brother whispering to him every now and again. You stayed seated where you were, amused by the antics of drunk nobles.

It must’ve been only you, noticing the clanging outside. Every so often you’d turn to the door, expecting someone to come bursting through, but for the first five times nothing happened. Anxiously you rubbed your hand together, wondering what could be causing such a racket to be heard over the laughter of over a dozen people. Swallowing thick, you tried not to linger on it. Tonight was about celebration, not worry.

He flashed you a smile, bright and excited, one that might’ve calmed you if it had not fallen so quickly to a frown. Drifting, his gaze landed to the right of your head, and you turned, finding a bloodied soldier, spear in hand, panting on his knees. Ahkmen let out a sort of yell, one that caught the attention of Kahmuh, who quickly stopped his conversation with a woman beside him as the soldier caught his eye.

“There’s - “ he couldn’t stop panting, “there’s, a… there’s an army, you need,” he took another deep breath, “you need to evacuate!”

For a split second the hall was mute, with not the sound of fire of torches crackling out of a sudden and deserved fear. Then, a sound like the screams of hell, as each and every dining person stood with shaking hands, their voices seeming to come unwillingly from themselves. The soldier fell to the ground, landing face first. From your seat you leapt, surging through the crowd and falling by his side.

Placing your hand on his chest, you felt no movement. You pressed your hand against his neck quickly, finding no pulse. With a groan you stood, knowing this was no time to worry for a body. A hand wrapped around yours, pulling you away, and the light of the dining hall disappeared as the crowd of nobles was lead far away from the palace.

Turning to run, Ahkmen stood beside you, holding your hand. You intertwined your fingers together, holding him as tight as he held you. Behind you and in front, guards protected you from every angle, ready for any sudden attack.

“Who the hell could be attacking on Opet?!” Ahkmen exclaimed, not even turning to face you. Through the noise of running footsteps and nervous shouts, you barely heard him - just enough to make it out.

“Now isn’t the time for questions,” you said, your voice an anxious murmur. At first, you were afraid he couldn’t hear you, but he nodded, running faster and pulling you along.

The crowd led you through twisting halls, through the quickest route to the back door. You’d taken it several times before - when your friend had started a landslide, or when the same friend had taken you on that midnight picnic.

“Pray they aren’t waiting for us,” a rather fat man beside you said, mostly to himself, but overhead by others. It did very little to calm the fear pounding into the group.

To the instant relief of the people, no one was there. But it was a small door - two at a time ran through it, rushing down the small steps and running for the Aur that was only a short walk away from the stairs.

“Not that way!” A guard yelled, making it down the steps and directing you into the desert. There was no way this man would be trusted without at least one of the princes allowing it, but somehow enough terror had occurred that evening that most people had lost most of their logical thinking, immediately heading where the guard led. You found yourself among that population, your hand still tight around Ahkmen’s, Kahmuh trailing angrily after everyone else. In the distance, you could hear yelling, blood curdling screams that seeped right into the bone, implanting itself into your mind to repeat over and over again. A particularly loud scream, followed by the sound of choking and gurgling sent a terrible image of some poor person getting stabbed ruthlessly in the street. You closed your eyes, shaking your head to clear the image.

It’ll be okay, you told yourself, with no Adom to confirm it, and no source of comfort but the pressure around your palm, pressing its’ medicine into your heart.

The hours following the evacuation were, if there were any true word to describe them, chaotic. Most of the nobles had never known danger, or the feeling of fear, so it ran potent through all. Even you, who had gone through quite a lot in your short lifetime, could feel it pouring off of them in great spouts. The twenty-or-so of you sat around a large rock, sheltering you from sight of the city, with Kahmuh sitting atop it and thinking of what to do next. You did not envy his position.

After much thinking, and as the sun began to peak over the horizon (many of the people had already gone to sleep; the others stayed up, too wary to drift off), he stood, his shadow towering over the huddled mass.

“We must travel to Thebes. Half our military force is there, and combined with Thebes military force, it’ll be easy to overtake those who have invaded us,” he decided, with much conviction in his voice. Beside you, finding no ease in sleep, Ahkmen furrowed his brow and stood with his glare.

“It’ll take fifteen days, and that’s with physically fit people. None of us have walked more than that in all our lives, we couldn’t possible do it in time! Even if we could, we have no clue as to what their numbers are. Further, we don’t know who they are, either. The only person who saw them died as he told us,” Ahkmen contradicted, and the people seemed split on who to agree with. On one hand, Thebes sounded nice, and Kahmuh was technically in charge. On the other, Ahkmen had a severe point - Thebes was far away, and even with their militia, there was no guarantee.

“How exactly do you know how long the walk takes?” He bit back with much venom in his eyes.

“The carrier from Thebes to Memphis, she travels by land, not sea, and on foot it takes her around ten or so days, and that’s with resting. She’s more than physically fit, above average I’d say, and taking into account all the gathered information, I believe it’d take around fifteen days.”

“And are you a mathematician, dear brother?”

He coughed, clearing his throat, and shifted his weight to his other foot rather awkwardly.

“No,” he admitted. “But it takes a fool to not see what’s blatantly in front of him.”

An audible gasp emitted from the crowd, and you kept your head down, trying desperately not to laugh.

“Do you propose a better plan?”

“Send our strongest man with a message. It’ll take him, or her, less time than a whole group. This person could cut sleep without complaint from others, and deliver the message much faster, and bring the army back in time.”

“Our best bet is to stick together. What if it takes just enough time that all of these people die at the hands of those barbarians?! Besides, I’m acting Pharaoh.”

“Not really,” you cut in, playing with your fingers. “Your father took a chance that this would be something easy to do. Otherwise, it all would’ve fallen to your younger brother.”

“Oh, shut up, you miscreation,” Kahmuh drawled, rolling his eyes. Crossing your arms, you sat back against the rock he stood on, and shut your mouth. You might’ve missed the absolutely filthy glare Ahkmen shot his brother if you hadn’t looked to him for some source of comfort.

“They aren’t wrong. There’s an issue of power here, and I think the way to solve it is to give our people a voice.”

A beat of silence passed, filled with a tension you prayed would dissipate no matter the decision, but you sort of knew that it would continue to irritate you.

“Alright,” Kahmuh turned to the huddled crowd, “we’ll have a vote on the matter.”

“All in favor of sending a messenger to Thebes say aye,” Ahkmen said, and somehow he had changed his tone in a second - he commanded respect. Before you could wonder in awe how a person could switch so quickly, you chimed in with your own ‘aye.’

“All in favor of traveling to Thebes ourselves and sticking together,” said Kahmuh, who clearly enunciated the last two words while staring straight at his brother. From there, you noticed half the people agreed with Kahmuh, and the other with Ahkmen. Clearly the brothers voted for themselves, so with that, there was an impasse.

“Ahk,” you whispered, and he knelt before you, clearly open to whatever you had to say. “Combine the ideas.” He lit up, a bright smile taking the place of his serious grimace. With a pat to your shoulder he stood, ready to propose his, or your, idea.

“I have a solution to our issue,” Ahkmen said, all eyes turning to him. “We send our fastest person out to Thebes to arrive first, but we go ourselves. By the time we reach there, the news will have already come, and if our take back of the city is successful, we can travel back by barge.”

Slowly nodding, sly eyes turned to you, and a suddenly sick smirk fell upon Kahmuh’s face.

“I agree,” he said slowly. “Piye is clearly the most healthy. That’s who should go.”

Ahkmen paled, his posture dropping before quickly recomposing himself. He looked nearly as terrified as he had just a few hours ago, running from the feast. You could feel your own mouth go dry, but it was only logical - even if Kahmuh didn’t have it out for Ahkmen, and therefore you, you would most likely qualify as most fit. Certainly as one who could run the longest distances, and had the most experience with it, and you might’ve even volunteered yourself if you didn’t know Ahkmen would’ve choked you himself.

Holding that close in your mind, you stood, and with a solemn nod agreed with the prince.

“I will go,” you agreed, watching the lurid smile grow on Kahmuh’s face, “but I require one of your guards’ sword. Can’t send me out with no weapons, right?” You cocked your eyebrow, and slowly, and so clearly reluctantly, he agreed. With a motion of his hand the guard nearest you regretfully handed you his sword.

“Take care of it. If I lose it, it comes out of my pay.”

“I will reimburse any loss or damage,” you chuckled. As was the case with most of the swords you’d seen, the origin was clearly from somewhere around Persia, cast in bronze and given the loving name ‘khopesh.’ For a moment you inspected it, before sheathing it in the belt the guard gave you.

Once you stepped foot out of the makeshift encampment, Ahkmen grabbed your arm, stopping you. Behind him, his brother addressed the crowd at hand, but did not capture the attention of either of you. Instead, the intensity of Ahkmen’s heed was focused entirely on you.

“Do not take chances. Be safe, my dear,” he told you, his voice deep and grave. Something you rarely ever heard from him, but one that was becoming scarily regular.

“I should be telling that to you,” you chided with a small smile, but the sentiment was not returned. With a harsh tug, he pulled you into a hug tighter than any you’d felt, pressing his worry and good wishes deep into the settlement of your heart. It was not for a long time that he let go of you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and breathing deeply, only then releasing you.

“You’re going to see me again,” you tried to laugh, the sound weak as your heart.

He did not reply.

You knew, that if hell did not await you out in the vastness of the desert, it would certainly await the brothers in Thebes. Any of their explanations, especially Kahmuh’s, would not be listened to. Their father wasn’t one to listen to excuses, and he said so on many occasions, though these excuses were all perfectly logical. Half the military force of Memphis was in Thebes, and almost everyone was drunk, only the threat of torture and death sobering them. Still - the fall of the capitol city. Not something to be taken lightly. As much as you knew you shouldn’t have thought it, you were grateful the blame would fall on Kahmuh.

In no way were you properly dressed for this journey, sinking into the weak sand with sandals that kept slipping off your feet. At one point you fell to the ground, ready to chuck them off, before feeling sharp rocks stab at the palm of your hands, and thinking differently. As for the nights, they were cold. You kept along the nile, but all the areas that would’ve healed your aching heels were flooded from the inundation. To your luck, however, date trees were still in reach.

By the third day your pace noticeably slowed. Dragging yourself along the path that no one would’ve wished to willingly take, you kept your head up, using your shawl to cover yourself from the heat of the burning sun. The lack of sleep didn’t take long to get to you, either. Eve would draw closer and so would your eyelids together, desperately wishing for a bed to rest in. Instead, you made do pulling the leaves off trees, if only to keep yourself off the ground.

Besides the usual aches and pains, the trip was… rather normal. The only time you unsheathed your sword was to cut open hard fruits, or cut branches. Come the eighth night, it began to rub your mind raw, wondering if perhaps you just weren’t being observant enough. You got little sleep that night, but made it through the next day with the comfort that you would be sleeping in a real bed by  in two nights’ time.

To your surprise, you must’ve sped up, ending up in the city by that evening. All were peacefully unaware of the turmoil of their capital, something you tried not to pay attention to. Instead, you focused on the largest building, smack in the center, standing tall as a reminder of the power of the rich.

Act normal, you told yourself, and with this reminder, most of the guards payed you no mind. It wasn’t until you reached the steps of this supposed city hall that you were stopped by a rather muscular woman, who was nearly as tall as you.

“You can’t enter without a pass,” she told you, her voice stern and rather deep.

“I have grave news from Memphis, I need to see the Pharaoh,” you said, trying to convey the urgency in your voice. “My father works for him, tell him Adom’s child comes to seek a hearing.”

“Sure. I’ll do that,” she said sarcastically, clearly irritated, before tacking on the end, “like I can just go up to Amun on earth.”

Think, think, think, you commanded yourself, turning away from the woman. An idea sparked - terribly wicked, and questionably ethical, but it would have to do. You turned back to her.

“Could I have your name, please?” You requested. She looked skeptical, but gave it anyway.

“Selma, daughter of Ahaouty.”

“Now, please step aside,” you said quietly, and though she appeared horrified, she stepped aside. With a wave of your hand, your hold on her could have been broken, but you couldn’t let that happen - not until you spoke with the King. Racing up the steps, you only stopped to give a cursory glance back to Selma, who was trying to get her mouth to open. Giggling, you tried reminding yourself that you shouldn’t have done magic in the first place, and that it was very rude to giggle.

The run to the courtroom gave you enough time to sober up, climbing up various staircases and through halls full of guards, some of whom you even recognized. Not giving them enough time to even question who you were, you burst through the doors of the courtroom, finding the mayor and the King engrossed in a game of Senet. The two looked up at you, the mayor clearly horrified, and the King mostly looking pissed off.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, loud and demanding as he stood. Clearing your throat, and attempting to make yourself look smaller, you tried answering.

“Memphis was sacked in your absence. Your sons escaped with a handful of people, they should be here within a few days. They sent me ahead to warn you.”

Barely giving you the time to finish, he raced out the door, leaving you with the mayor.

“What’s your name?” He asked, stepping in front of you with his arms crossed.

“Piye,” you answered hesitantly, unsure of what he wanted.

“… Really? That’s my name,” he said, nodding his head as though your answer was satisfactory.

“It’s… a good.. name.”

“… Yeah.”

He sent you away, directing one of his servants to show you to a guest room. It was certainly a nice room, you noticed as the servant left you with a bow. Nice, arching windows with a smooth floor and well decorated walls. You might’ve appreciated it more, had the uncertainty of Ahkmen and Adom’s fate not been squeezing your thoughts dry.

Not three minutes later, and a servant, a different one this time, came knocking on your door. Keeping her head high, she informed you that your presence was requested at a meeting. You kept your surprise to yourself as she led you there, wondering when the Pharaoh’s opinion on you changed from ‘get that thing away from me,’ to ‘best invite them to an important meeting.’

This room was much smaller than the courtroom you’d initially seen him in. No windows, lit only by dim rushlight****. A long table took up a good chunk of the space in the room, chairs surrounding it, filled by superiors, and at the head - Merenkahre himself.

“Sit,” he commanded, and you obliged, sitting across from the mayor. “Tell us all you know.”

“I’m, uh, afraid, my King, I know very little. I was ordered by Kahmuh not to return to the city. He thought it may endanger the remaining citizens.”

You watched as a subtle expression of either anger or horror grow on his face, and in your own fear you continued.

“Around twenty of us escaped, including your sons and myself, and a few guards.”

He nodded, intense eyes set low as he thought over his situation.

“We need time,” one of his advisors spoke, and he turned to her, listening intently. “Our best shot is to find out who the enemy is - it’ll help us decide how to proceed. If it’s just ruffians, we’d rush the city, for example. Different armies have different strategies.”

“You’re right, but it’ll take too long. A siege is our best bet. I’ll take the soldiers I took from Memphis, and half of Thebes, travel by nile.”

“With all due respect, I think we need our army, especially after what has now occurred. What if their next target is Thebes?” A man beside you said.

Once again, the Pharaoh grew quiet, contemplating for any easy answer. For a moment all that passed was silence, till he stood, grabbing your elbow and pulling you outside to speak in private. Your first reaction was that you’d done something wrong, that he blamed you for the absence of his children, but instead he only looked worried.

“I know Adom’s secret,” he whispered to you, and the realization crashed into you. He knew of his magic?

“The…” you didn’t want to say it aloud, so you made an odd gesture with his hands. There was no possible way he could’ve understood what it meant, but he nodded anyway.

“I am praying you have that gift as well. Without Thebes’ army, I can’t even begin to think about taking back Memphis. But,” he poked you in the chest, “if I can promise them a savior… they may believe me. And we may win back our home.”

It was a clever choice of words, but you supposed he needed to have that talent. We win back our home, raising you up from being called an ‘it’ to being a supposed savior. However, the twist of words didn’t mean anything when things were in such a dire state. So you agreed - and in an instant, he relaxed, smiling at you for the first time. Quickly assigning you a task, he reentered the meeting, dismissing you to your assigned room.

Several hours later you received the message that you were to look after the brothers once they reached the city, and that Merenkahre had left his wife and a few advisors, including you, behind to travel to Memphis. It was a lot of information to absorb, that you were now more or less at the mercy of Piye (the mayor - not you) and whatever he may wish of you, and Shepseheret, though the only interactions you’d had with her were quite nice.

As expected, by the next morn news of his departure had reached the city in general, and as the next few days passed, you kept busy staying by Shepseheret’s side. She had no need for you, and told you this many times, but you didn’t have a place - something you weren’t used to. For the most part, however, she let you tag along to her dinners and spa treatments. It wasn’t till your sixth, or was it seventh? day there that the survivors entered the city, the bright gold tresses and sullen makeup catching the eye of many guards, most of whom ran into the palace, alerting everyone in sight that there were lost nobles entering.

Hearing these shouts you raced from listening to Shepseheret’s personal servant going on about salaries, wind blasting past your ears as you skipped down the steps four at a time, racing to the front gate of the city. Spotting you through the crowd, Ahkmen forced himself through the growing crowd, practically smacking into you with the tightest, most forceful hug you’d ever embraced so happily. Your chest ached with the impact, or maybe it was only with your longing - either way, it wasn’t till a long time had passed that you let each other ago.

“I missed you,” you finally murmured, your throat tight as you clutched the cloth on his back.

“As did I. I was worried… well, you know. That you wouldn’t make it,” he spoke just as softly, releasing you slightly, still holding you against him. He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath.

“You know to think higher of me,” you chuckled.

“You’re pretty weak, I dunno,” he shrugged, forcing giggles out of the both of you. Trailing with slow steps, you followed the crowd of nobles, a crowd you noticed had not decreased in size in the least. In easy conversation you caught him up with your trip to the city, what had occurred once the news reached the Pharaoh’s ear, and what you’d done in the lonely six days more it had taken them. He ended up getting the room next to yours - something both of you were excited about, but never to each other. Instead, you mostly bullied each other, till night caused the two of you to part, sleeping beside each other, with only a foot thick wall in the way. Not fantastic, but better than a desert.

“Will I see you in the morning,” he asked, standing far too close to you as you stood outside your room that evening, “or will you be magically gone?”

“I’ll be returning the guards’ sword in the morning, but you will see me. I’m afraid I can’t magically disappear,” you replied cheekily, feeling as though the sudden closeness was naught but natural. Usually the two of you kept a respectful distance, which was expected of good friends - but you didn’t mind the touch. Somehow, it wasn’t odd in any way. He scoffed, shaking his head, but still smiling. With a pat to your shoulder, he said good night, and you parted for the evening.

When the sun rose you did as you told you would do; returned the sword of a very pleased guard, who bowed in thanks. Afterwards, glancing down mostly empty halls, you tried to find your suddenly absent friend. He wasn’t in his quarters, nor was he in the dining area, or even in the kitchen. You couldn’t find him on any balconies either (which was something you had learned earlier that he loved - something about wind), or outside in the gardens. No, instead, you found him embroiled in an argument between his mother and his brother, all three of them somehow disagreeing with each other person. It felt like an awful thing to interrupt, who knew what Kahmuh would do to you, so you turned, and you left.

That’s none of my business, you thought to yourself, grimacing.

Instead, you stayed in the gardens, watching birds flit by in the bright sunlight. Through the irrigated river fish would swim by your feet, the bench you sat on right at the waters edge. Turning your attention to the clouds, drifting by with the gentle breeze, you tried to ignore the footsteps getting closer to you. Maybe they weren’t headed for you -

“Piye, there you are,” said an awfully familiar voice; one that you did not like hearing too often. Maybe he was talking to the mayor you hadn’t noticed standing right beside you, but, then again, he wasn’t standing next to you. So at last you turned your tired expression towards Kahmuh who looked positively fuming. At least you could enjoy the image of his childish anger.

He sat beside you, his leg jiggling in his anxious state.

“You know my brother rather well, right?” He asked, and you nodded with a hum. “Could you hazard a guess as to why I get blamed for everything?”

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t know that. That has to do with your parents and I don’t think they like me,” you said, nodding to yourself but not meeting his eye.

“Not hard to figure out why,” he muttered to himself before continuing with the pertinent conversation. “There must be something that makes him more likable than me!”

“For one he’s nicer, and he treats others as his equal.”

“See, I’ve never understood that,” he said, his lisp beginning to come out in his unchecked anger. “We aren’t equals to others, we’re the blood of Gods and Goddesses, what we say is rule. I shouldn’t have to treat others as I treat myself.”

“You could at least treat your parents with the same respect you show yourself. They are, technically, not even your equals. They’re higher than you.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands, letting them drag over his skin and pull at it.

“I could tell you the truth if you’d like, but I worry for my life,” you chuckled, a teasing tone, but he took you far too seriously. From there he requested you tell the truth, the whole truth, and disregard his royalty.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you told him nervously.

“Just do it, okay?!”

“Alright, alright,” you hissed, taking a deep breath. Where to start?

“You’re insecure,” you decided to begin with. “You aren’t sure of yourself and somehow you’ve blamed that diffidence on those around you, even though the only root is the lack of love you get from your parents, which is really your doing. Maybe you’re simply insecure because your brother is more handsome than you, or something, but clearly you’ve hated him since he was born, which has led to even more fragility in yourself and your masculinity. You’re unsure of yourself and of the world, so you try to take control of it but it doesn’t work because you aren’t respected by your people or your parents. That’s because you’re insolent.”

After that sentence you couldn’t continue, not with the hand tightening around your neck, and the obsidian knife pressed into your stomach, almost breaking the skin there. You kept yourself calm - there was nothing he could do to hurt you. Then again, just because you wouldn’t die, doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.

“I’d advise you don’t murder someone, especially not in the gardens. Can’t clean up blood from dirt, and it clashes terribly with the sand,” drawled Piye, the mayor, who had shortly occupied your thoughts not moments earlier. With as much ferocity as he’d pulled it on you, he sheathed his dagger, releasing you with a slight push and stomping away.

“Thank you,” you murmured to him, brushing yourself off and rubbing the area he’d poked you.

“It’s alright,” he said with a knowing smile. “Us ‘Piye’s’ have to look out for each other.”

He left after a short conversation with you, mostly discussing what you’d done to anger the prince in the first place. You didn’t linger in the garden long, the energy suddenly putting you off. Perhaps the kitchens would fare better times - yes, you thought to yourself - the kitchens would do nicely. If Kahmuh attempted to approach you again, you could simply put bread in your mouth, and excuse yourself by gesturing that you couldn’t speak.

Upon entering the doors of the kitchen, you suddenly remembered what had brought you to the gardens in the first place, leading to your encounter, and your subsequent trip to the kitchens. Finding Ahkmen, who was currently crouched in the corner, probably crying, and holding a jug full of wine in his drooping left hand. With cautious steps you came over, grabbing the drink from him and setting it on the floor before he could drop and spill it. Servants and cooks looked warily over at the pair of you, and in return you smiled, which put them off a little bit.

“Hey,” you said softly, setting your hand on his shoulder and trying to get him to face you. He wouldn’t, instead burying his head deeper into his arms crossed over his knees, brought up to his chest.

“He’s really, really… such an asshole,” he mumbled, muffled by his arms. You leaned in closer.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kah-m! You don’t… like him, do you? God, he’s so.. conniving-mmnnm.. I wouldn’t put it ‘bast’ him t’ turn you against me,” he slurred, his limbs suddenly flopping open and onto the floor.

“You’re drunk,” you noted blandly, furrowing your brow slightly. He giggled, still not looking up at you.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You look awful.”

“Don’t I always?” He questioned, finally looking up with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Let’s get you out of here,” you said with a grunt, raising him to his feet and nodding towards the kitchen staff for their patience. This time, they answered with tiny smiles.

“Avoiding the quesssstion, I see,” he grumbled, leaning into you far too much. With him practically nuzzling into you, you headed down the path you knew took you to your room. Not that you were actually taking him there - his room was right across from yours, and he needed to take a nap. Day drinking was a terrible habit to get into.

Kicking open the door, you set him on the bed, and making sure he couldn’t see past your back, you flicked a few ingredients into existence. Main problem was rehydration, you thought, filling the tall glass with water, adding into it chamomile and ginger. Not the best tasting, but it was a cure you’d learned from Adom after seeing him use it on the Pharaoh periodically after feasts. Swirling it around, you waited till the ingredients fully seeped into the warm water, turning to Ahkmen as you did so.

He hung upside down off the bed, wig on the floor and his necklace dangling in front of his face. Sighing, you helped him up as he protested.

“Drink this,” you told him, helping him sit straight and not sway. Rolling his eyes, he took the drink from you, gagging when he swallowed it down in one gulp.

“Disgusting.”

“You’re not supposed to drink it that fast,” you chuckled, sitting beside him and stilling his sway as he leaned into you once more. You looked him up and down, just a quick glance to check if he was alright, you told yourself. In a soft voice, you asked, “what were you and your mother and brother arguing about?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, that. Mother tried to, um, tell him that, uh, tell him something about my father being, um.. really upset, about something… something about royal, um… duty. ’N Kahm’ said it was all my fault, but mam was buying NONE of that shit. Thank the Gods, right? Anyway, uh… Kahm’ got pretty mad, guess I don’ blame him.”

Through that prolonged sentence you picked out what the argument was about - punishment for Kahmuh for the loss of Memphis. Not something to be taken lightly, but in all technicalities it really wasn’t his fault. Not the way you looked at it, at least, though the boy did need to be put in his place.

“I see,” you said, even if you didn’t really see what had upset him so greatly.

“Yeah, whole situation was… just ridiculous,” he grumbled, falling back onto the bed. You watched, unwilling to join, till he tugged harsh on your arm, making you fall next to him. Shifting uncomfortably, you stayed where you were.

“Why’d you get drunk?” You asked, glancing at him sparingly.

“Oh, yeah. He said.. somethin’ about you. Wasn’t very nice,” he said, growing quieter as he fidgeted with the material of his skirt.

“… what was it?”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking..?”

“No, wait,” he sat up suddenly, patting your bare stomach as he did so, “I meant I purposefully didn’t tell you. It’s a bad idea.” He leaned in as he said his last words, the stench of alcohol coming quite ripe off of him, making you shrivel up your nose.

“Why’s that?”

“Secrets, my dear,” he murmured, lying back on the bed with a great sigh. As his breathing slowed you stood, maneuvering him so his head rested on the pillow. An hour from now he’d be sober, you told yourself, which would be in time for dinner. No one needed to see a drunk prince.

+

“Is it bothering you?” He asked, keeping his voice quiet in the dead of night. Maybe letting him sleep in your room for the night was a mistake - he’d asked, so naturally your first instinct was to comply. Now he lay on the floor at your bedside, a few blankets and a pillow on the ground for his comfort. Moonlight kept the room alight just enough for you to see the outlines of your bed, and the ceiling, and if you bothered to look down, you would probably be able to see him.

“Is what bothering me?” You asked in return, keeping a dull tone as you stared at the ceiling.

“You know,” he came up, resting his head on the edge of the bed and looking at you with doe eyes. You looked over at him. “Your father.”

Oh. You weren’t expecting him to really think about you, at least not in the terms of where he’d be worried about your well-being, especially concerning the people you were close with. In fact, the question had taken you by surprise enough that you didn’t answer.

“Piye?”

“Uh, yeah. Guess so. I’ll get over it,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your hands. In the darkness, you could barely see them above the sheets.

“He’s a strong guy. I’m sure he’s vanquishing my fathers enemies as we speak,” he joked, his tone lilting playfully as his head tilted to the side. Tips of his short hair tickled at your shoulder.

“Sure,” you chuckled. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he said, shifting into a more comfortable position, his shoulders now visible above the edge of the bed.

“Why’d you ask to sleep in my room?”

In dim light you saw him tense up, the color in his face getting darker but indistinguishable in the cloak of night. Knitting his fingers together, he tried to answer, once, then twice, opening his mouth with nothing coming out. The third time he tried, he found an answer.

“Just wanted some company,” he replied softly, his hand untangling and reaching up to you. With a touch you could barely feel, he tucked a few loose strands of your hair behind your ear.

It wasn’t often you saw him without his wig, but he always saw your natural hair. White as death, Kahmuh had once called it, but Adom never wore a wig, and implored you to accept yourself as you were. And, well, you trusted Adom far more than you trusted Kahmuh. For the most part, Ahkmen didn’t comment on it, but you knew he noticed. Now more so than most times.

“Good enough reason,” you mumbled. “You comfortable on the floor?”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied as you turned to face him. His hand remained close to your face, just shy of touching.

“Sure about that?”

“There’s not much of an alternative,” he snorted.

You remained quiet. In that silence, mild insinuations occurred, mostly consisting of eye twitches and nods of heads. Slowly he rose from his position on the floor, slipping in beside you underneath covers. You shuffled to make room for him. It was a little odd, being so close to him, especially since this was your first time. One could complicate the situation with all the intense emotions felt beforehand and after, and during, and all the dread that had occurred leading up to the moment, but in all honesty, it was just two children. Two very frightened children, who had no idea where their fathers were. With closed eyes you faced each other, drifting into sleep as his hand reached for yours, falling short by mere centimeters.

+

For a month now you’d heard nothing, not that you’d expected to. It took an army to walk from Thebes to Memphis quite a while, and though a barge was much faster, there weren’t enough to supply such a massive amount of people. Fifteen days passed and you safely assumed they’d arrived in the city, and thus you began to wonder how long the fighting would last before message would be sent, or if any message would be sent at all. Ahkmen seemed rather confident in both the army and his father, while Kahmuh thought their father was incompetent. Shepseheret expressed no opinion; at least, not to you. As the days seemed to grow longer you found yourself less interested in the affairs of others and more preoccupied in your own anxiety. Much of your time was spent alone, which was to Ahkmen’s quiet chagrin.

His behavior had turned a different direction from yours. Maybe it was the difference in the way the both of you were raised, or maybe it was because the two of you were simply very different people. Either way, he began to socialize more, talking to any servant that passed by and attempting half desperately to get you to talk to him. You supposed it would probably be healthy for you to indulge once in a while, to avoid the isolation, but you couldn’t find the energy within yourself to do so.

“You’ve changed,” said Ahkmen one day, catching you napping midday in your room. You had been asleep for most of the day, actually, until he’d so rudely awakened you by pulling the blankets off of you and opening the curtains to expose bright sunlight. You groaned as he did this.

“No shit,” you grumbled, burying your face in the soft pillows.

“Come on, it’s not healthy to.. do whatever it is you’re doing. I want to go for a walk,” he said, jumping onto your bed and straddling you as you still lay on your stomach.

“I’m not stopping you.”

“I want to go with you,” he practically whined, tugging at your hair. Mumbling incoherently, you pushed him off of you, sitting up with tired eyes. Sighing, he stood once more.

“Well I don’t want to walk. I want to go back to sleep. I did my fair share of walking,” you mumbled, falling back onto the pillows after pointing a vindictive finger at him.

His attempts at getting you to move didn’t stop there - if you didn’t know better, you would think he was trying to annoy you to death. But no, that’s just who he was. Indescribably annoying while at the same time far too caring. Sometimes, often when he was dragging you places, you wished you’d never met him.

Days grew long and uneventful as he came to the conclusion that you weren’t open for talking about anything, or doing anything. Every now and then he would sit in your room and study while you either carved or slept; the two activities that took up the majority of your time.

“I think Memphis is much more entertaining than here,” he said one day, looking up from his scriptures.

“Better gardens,” you added in a mumble, half asleep.

“Good view of the Aur, too. Closer to the sea.”

“Mmm.”

Somewhere around the two month marker a messenger came, dirty but unharmed, note in hand. Piye 2, as Ahkmen affectionally titled him (the mayor hated it), read the note aloud to the courtroom at large, which consisted of several servants, a few nobles, the princes, their mother, and you.

“I am writing to inform you that I and the militia I have been supplied with have arrived safely to Memphis. Outside the city, opposite the nile is a mass grave. I write this upsetting news in hopes that I will, at some point, be able to identify those who have died in this attack. We have not yet found any lone groups that may have escaped - I suspect they may have fled to another city, or that they have been either imprisoned or killed.

“From the vantage point upon a nearby hill I have found what I believe to be Nubians inhabiting the city. As much as I loathe to say this, we may have provoked this attack, though with the violence given I plan to return with just as much vigor and might.

“I hope all is well in your city. Share this letter as you see fit; tell my wife that I miss her and that I am sure of the safe return of our home. Relay the same message to my sons.”

A mass grave wasn’t exactly a comforting image, thought, or idea, and as much as you began to despise those who had dug that grave, you reminded yourself that the kings of the past had done the same to them. Nearly too deep into your own thoughts, you only came back to reality as Kahmuh rushed past you and out of the room. Most everyone stared at him as he did so, wondering what in the letter, or in his thoughts, could have provoked such a temper in him.

“Well,” Piye cleared his throat, “dinner is in a few hours.” With that, those remaining left. You left to your room, as usual, this time with Ahkmen trailing behind you.

“There’s still hope, you know,” he spoke soft but firm, holding your upper arm to keep you from locking yourself in your room. He stopped you right in front of your door, looking up at you with an expression far too confident for your liking.

“I know he’s alive. You don’t need to assure me,” you bit back, pulling yourself harshly out of his grip and slamming the door behind you as you entered. His words only made that sick feeling in your gut worse, tugging your heart to be just as sickly as your thoughts. He followed you into the room before you thought to barricade the door. In the moment you hadn’t realized, but you fell to the ground, your hands gripping tight at your hair. Swallowing thickly, you watched him come closer till he knelt before you.

“I’m sorry, for my words,” he apologized slow and quiet. “I’m not used to such… disaster. Not an excuse, I know. But it is an explanation as to why I suck at this.” He chuckled, heartlessly, a laugh that you did not join in.

Sighing, he sat beside you, leaning into you and gently untangling your hands from your hair, till the only pressure you felt was his head on your shoulder. Though your entire mind felt like the color black, as though it would collapse upon itself, you let yourself breathe.

Several more weeks passed before the next message came, telling the nobles, as well as the royal family and you, that passage returning to the city would be safe. The exact details of what had happened were murky, as the Pharaoh said he would explain the full situation later, when everyone was safely in their home.

As arrangements were being made for a barge to sail the 22 survivors back to Memphis, you were allowed to sit in on meetings.

“It’s rather even, actually,” one of Piye’s advisors told him, holding a tablet in front of him. “Three boats, around three days supply of food. Little extra, just as a precautionary tidbit - it can be ready within the hour, sir.”

“And a crew to man each boat?”

“Um - well, that… it’d be easier if the guests rowed themselves. It’d cut down the number of boats, the time it takes, as well as the food supply necessary.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Piye cleared his throat curtly, laying his folded hands on the table. “Make arrangements for a crew as well.”

With a curt nod, the advisor stepped to the side, conversing with several people before returning. For the rest of the meeting, you only retained the pertinent information - five boats, now, with four days supply of food for much more than 22 people. By next morn you sat behind Ahkmen and Kahmuh, the shade allowing for comfort as several people logged the boat into the nile, beginning to row the people and the food back home.

“Let’s hope for an uneventful and fast trip back to Memphis,” Kahmuh muttered, mostly to himself, though he was overheard by both you and his brother. Staying silent, Ahkmen simply nodded his agreement. You showed no acknowledgement that you’d heard him.

For the first day things went rather smoothly, clouds shadowing and allowing for those rowing to do so in a slightly more comfortable environment. By the second day several people were complaining about the speed, as well as the fact that they had to ‘save food’, to which Kahmuh tried to politely explain that they weren’t saving food. They were extending it so it would last them till the end of their journey, something most of them simply couldn’t understand. By the third day, you were desperate to get this venture over with. Sure, returning to the city, seeing Adom again would be fantastic, but dear God you wished you’d gone alone. Ten days of walking alone was better than another minute with the overly pompous and far too glorified rich people that now surrounded you.

Come the end of the third day the land around you became recognizable, as you docked off on a nearby stretch of dry, shadowed land. Growing tall and undisturbed, date palms swayed in gentle wind as blankets were strung about for both sleeping and protection from weather. On the first day, you remembered fondly yet annoyed that most people thought that Ahkmen and Kahmuh should sleep together. In fact, they thought this to be so true in their minds that the brothers were forced to sleep together for the night. No sleeping was actually done, by anyone, and from then on they slept separately. You tried to find humor in the whole situation, but what with the discomfort of the day, and the slow movement of the landscape passing you by, it was more infuriating than funny.

As you got closer to seeing your father again, your mood lightened drastically. And, as you sat in your own thoughts, you felt worse and worse for your treatment of what was once a very good friend. You and Ahkmen hadn’t spoken much, not since you’d lashed out and he tried to comfort you. Sure, his attempt wasn’t worthless, but it couldn’t be worth more than a few silver rings. He was right; he wasn’t very good at comfort. Either way, he had avoided speaking in length to you, and you’d done relatively the same, not actively avoiding but certainly nor pursuing.

I should apologize for my behavior, you thought to yourself as a few of the servants and guards set up tents and blankets on the ground. He sat underneath a date tree, leaning against the hard wood and admiring one of the flowers that had grown in the sand at his feet. Though a small smile tugged at his lips, he remained mostly stoic, unreadable chaos behind his eyes.

Gulping, you stepped forward, readying yourself for any outcome of the coming conversation. He could easily forgive you - he was that sort of person, kind and fair, and understanding. Yet he was also a prince, and spoiled, so there was also the chance that he would never partake in the enjoyment of your company again.

“Ahk, hey,” you began with, keeping your voice low as you sat beside him.

“Oh, hi,” he said, smiling as you did so.

“I, um,” you hesitated, trying to find the right words as your eyes stayed fixed on the flower petals Ahkmen was currently tracing with his fingers, “I want to apologize, for my behavior the past few days. I never meant to hurt you, and I don’t have an excuse, nor an explanation other than I was anxious and worried.”

He chuckled, turning to look at you with just as dopey a smile as he did many moons ago.

“Piye, you don’t need to apologize. I understand. I just thought you might want some space, so I gave you some,” he explained softly, patting your shoulder with his hand.

“Oh.”

“Nothing to worry about,” he murmured, cuddling up to you and holding your arm as though he was hugging it. You could do little but hum an acknowledgement, wondering how to fully express your appreciation for his forgiveness. Maybe you could —

He began to snore, softly, as you knew he only did in comfortable sleep.

“Must be tired,” you mumbled to yourself, looking down at his crown-less head. As comfortable or warm as he might’ve been, it wouldn’t do well for your spine tomorrow if you were to stay like that the rest of the night. So for a while you let him sleep, staring up at the heavens and wondering if you had any pull or say in your own life. After you’d fully gotten over that, gently you shook him awake, causing him to mumble incoherently and grip you tighter.

“You need to lie down,” you said, and he mumbled a bit more, but didn’t protest when you helped him to his feet. Directing him, his eyes half lidded through the camp, you set him down beneath a tented blanket.

“Sleep with me,” he slurred, grasping your hand in his. You contemplated it, but came to no conclusion before he pulled you down, collapsing you to your knees.

“Fine,” you half grumbled, settling yourself in. “Again, I’m sorry.”

“Mm. No need,” he murmured, quickly falling back asleep once more.

When the sun arose in the morn, the guilt that had been bothering you had vanished in a rather neat fashion. He woke first, helping with the various things he could help with. Granted, he wasn’t very strong, so he couldn’t help with major heavy lifting, but he did help with taking down the tents. You watched, too tired to move. Once the sun was fully visible in the sky, Ahkmen pulled you to your lazy feet, and you boarded the boat in hopes of a short trip home.

As short as the trip really was (you kept track of the time by looking for the sun behind the clouds that had amassed) it felt longer than ever, your excitement regarding your return elongating the time that passed seemingly slower than ever. You tried to pass the time by having small games with Ahkmen, but the both of you were rather distracted.

“I miss my vases,” he commented to you around noon, his voice quiet to avoid the attention his brother.

“Seriously? That’s what you miss?”

“Well they’re very beautifully done!”

“… Uhuh.”

The two of you chuckled, quiet but certainly there. In front of you Kahmuh rolled his eyes and let out a soft grunt, which only spiraled you into an even worse fit of laughter. Still, you tried to retain an ounce of dignity and self respect, though that was quickly going down the drain.

When at last the dredges of civilization, the very edge of what you knew to be a grand city came into view, the citizens hidden away within the small structures of the boats came out in their awe and excitement for quiet celebration. The energy on the boats was beginning to grow, and suddenly the nobles didn’t care for the food that had been dwindling away. Much better food awaited them in the city, and as it came into the sight, the ruins and burning houses of the poor did little to stifle their happiness. As long as their homes, way up in the center of the city were unharmed, you noticed that they couldn’t possibly care less about the lower citizens.

“Sad sight,” you commented to Ahkmen, who was furrowing his brows together as he stared at the charred homes.

“I can hardly believe it really happened, but, here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.”

Eventually, you docked more near the center of the city, the large palace towering in the distance. Excitement trilled through your fingers, making you antsy as you stepped off the barges after the princes.

“Well, besides all the blood, still looks like home,” Kahmuh noted on the blood splattered walls of downtown, taking higher streets before coming before the main attraction - the palace. Skipping the pleasantries, you squeezed Ahkmen’s hand, motioning forward. He nodded, and you left towards your room. Adom had to be waiting there; receiving people, guests or family, was not a formality he was ever included in. As you got closer you began to run, the excitement bubbling through your stomach and getting to your head. What new stories would he have to tell? He always had such an entrancing way of telling them, and an invasion would surely be one of his best yet.

Before you could actually make it to your room, you were stopped by a servant boy, who held parchment in his hand.

“Uh - excuse me, please stop,” he said as you tried to make your way past him, the door right in your sight.

“What, what is it?” You asked hurriedly, finally looking down at him, your breathing slightly heavy from the running.

“A message, from the Pharaoh,” the boy told, handing you the parchment.

What in the hell does he want now? You asked yourself, unravelling it as the boy left.

To whom it may concern;

I have the unfortunate task of notifying all surviving family members and friends that Adom has passed, giving his life to protect our great city. His burial will be presided over in the highest fashion, the smallest honor I may give him.

And there it ended. Not signed, the most impersonal message possible, without even a mention of your name. It couldn’t be right - maybe they’d found someone else’s body, or maybe this was the wrong name, or perhaps…

You could already feel your face draining of blood, a horrid, putrid sickness feeding off your doubt and crawling beneath your skin.

With slower footsteps you made your way to the throne room, where you knew the Pharaoh held court often. As you thought more and more about how wrong the Pharaoh had to be, the faster you began to walk, till you sprinted down the hallways, the dull pounding of your heart barely affecting you through the rush of the wind.

Entering, the Pharaoh sat upon his throne, looking regal as ever, his sons at his side and the nobles at his feet. He was obviously imparting to them some information, most likely about the invasion, and what they should do in the event of a loss of property. That didn’t matter to you right now, though, anger boiling through your veins till all you wanted in the whole wide world was to punch your Pharaoh.

He noticed you almost immediately, your energy clearly different and stifling compared to the emotion of the rest of the room.

“What is this?” You asked, holding the parchment that you hadn’t realized you crumpled in your hand out to him.

“Ah. That. I thought it’d be best to inform you of your fathers’ death before you found out by some other means.”

“You mean you weren’t even planning on telling me originally?! What was I supposed to do, assume he was wandering around the city?!”

“Um, Piye -“ Ahkmen tried to stop you, stepping forward, before he was held back by his brother, who tutted his disapproval.

“I will not be spoken to in this manner. I did as I saw fit. I am paying for him to have the proper funerary services. Do not direct your grief at me,” the Pharaoh spoke, suddenly sounding a lot more commanding than you’d ever heard before. This new tone did not deter you.

“You couldn’t have sent a letter, when you found his body? I know you must’ve seen it, it’s not like he’s hard to find since he’s a fucking mutant like me! Why couldn’t you have told me earlier?!”

“You shouldn’t speak to your king like that,” Kahmuh said, stepping in front of Ahkmen and looking at you in a rather condescending way.

“No rightful King would treat a human like this!’

You were starting to lose control of yourself, you could tell. The last time you felt this lost in your own emotion was before you went on your mission, and now it seemed as though it was all for naught. Not only were you losing grip of yourself, but your accusations were becoming outlandish, and you knew it, but somehow you continued, trapped within your own mind as you yelled profanities. Your heart hammered in your chest, anger swelling in your aura.

“Guards! Take this thing out into the desert. Do not let it return into the city,” Kahmuh hissed once he realized you were not going to back down.

“What? No, you can’t - surely there’s a better way to do this,” Ahkmen cried, trying to grasp your hand as you were tangled in the arms and spears of soldiers. With his elder brother in the way, he couldn’t reach.  You tried to fight back, tried to assure your friend that you’d be alright, but you couldn’t manage it.

The Pharaoh did nothing. As much trust as he had put into you to guard Thebes and his sons, he watched as you were dragged away, banished from the only place you’d ever called home.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Thanks For Listening | Chapter Five (Finale)

Square: Free Space

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,480

Warnings: hurt!Reader, pining, eventual smut, dirty talk, voice!kink, unprotected sex.

Summary: Sam hosts two podcasts - a secret one for hunters called the War Room and a public one with fellow hunter Y/N called Criminal History. Y/N and Sam have never seen each other, let alone met, but that doesn’t stop Sam from worrying when Y/N suddenly goes missing.

Betaed by @manawhaat​

Written for @spnkinkbingo​

Header by me and Mana

Masterlist - AO3

--

You're woken by Sam's mouth leaving a trail of kisses across your shoulder. His body is spooned up behind your own, strong arms looped around your waist.

"Mmm, good morning, Chief," you sigh, turning to catch his lips in a soft kiss. You brush his hair back. "Didja sleep okay?"

"Always do when you're here," he says.

His mouth starts a journey along your jaw and down your throat, sending jolts of arousal through your core as it goes. You catch a glimpse of the clock on the nightstand, though, and reluctantly push Sam away. He pouts.

"We slept late," you explain. "If we want to get all the recording that we need to done, we gotta get going."

Sam groans but acquiesces. You both dress quickly before heading down to the bunker kitchen. You're glad Sam didn't go on his usual morning run and is here to guide you through the maze that is his home. Even after a month of staying in the bunker, you still get lost sometimes. Part of you feels like the bunker is a giant, ancient creature who just likes to mess with you, moving hallways around like the staircases in Hogwarts. Part of you thinks that's crazy. Then again, how crazy would it really be?

Sam's hand linking up with yours breaks your train of thought. He finds the kitchen with ease. Dean is already sitting at the table, armed with a mug of steaming coffee. He gives you both a little salute as you enter, clearly not quite awake yet.

Sam pours two mugs coffee while you start getting together the ingredients you both like in scrambled eggs.

"Sam, can you get the medium skillet down?" you ask, digging through a drawer in search of a few forks and a spatula.

"Anything for you," he replies, easily retrieving the pan in question from its hook above the center island. "Do you need butter to grease it?"

"Knew I was forgetting something. I think it's behind the leftover pizza."

Sam makes a face as he pulls the pizza in question from the fridge. "Dean, this is disgusting."

"Hey!" Dean protests as Sam tosses the pizza in the trash. "That was a perfectly good pizza!"

"Dean, that wasn't pizza. That was Darwinism."

You roll your eyes at their bickering, letting the obvious love between them warm your own heart. They may not have the healthiest relationship on the planet but it's clear to even you, a newcomer to their little bunker family, that there's nothing they wouldn't do for each other.

"Here ya go," Sam says, pulling you from your thoughts.

You take the stick of butter he's holding out, cutting off a chunk to grease the pan with. Dean got new pans recently - the old ones were, well, old - and he's extremely picky about what goes into them. Cooking spray specifically has been banned from the kitchen.

Sam returns the butter to the fridge and gets a small bowl from the top shelf of the cupboard without being asked.

"Mind reader," you tease, taking the bowl.

"Maybe I just know you really well." Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Ugh. Someone shoot me," Dean grumbles, though you know he doesn't mean any harm by it.

"Why?"

You glance over to see Jack standing on the top step, rubbing at his eyes in a way that makes him look just like the two-year-old he is. His golden locks are a tousled mess.

"Good morning, Jack," you say, beckoning him over. He comes willingly and you straighten his hair out with a few brushes of your fingers.

"Morning, Y/N." Jack eyes the eggs and such you have laid out. "Scrambled eggs?"

"Yep. Do you want some?"

He nods. "Yes, please. You make them the best."

"Excuse you." Dean clutches his chest dramatically.

"You make the best burgers," Jack says with the brutal honesty of a child. "But you always overcook eggs."

Dean sputters indignantly but doesn't form an actual reply.

"Get a few more eggs out," you tell Jack as you crack the first egg into the bowl.

While Jack gets his eggs, Sam sidles up behind you to curl his arms around your waist. He tucks his face down against the side of your neck with a happy sound.

"Hello," you laugh, reaching up with one hand to pat the side of his head. "You gonna be helpful and start cutting things up? Or are you just gonna hang all over me?"

Sam hums softly and presses a kiss over one of the many hickeys he left the night before. "I like it right here."

"I like it too," you reply, turning your head to catch his lips in a kiss. "But the sooner we eat, the sooner we start recording, the sooner we can get to… other things."

Sam's eyes darken with lust and his grip on you tightens a little. Pink tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"What other things?" Jack asks innocently, setting three more eggs next to the ones already on the counter.

Sam blushes, cute little splotches of red on the apples of his cheeks. "Um, we uh - we wanted to watch some TV."

"Oh!" Jack, of course, is totally oblivious. Thank God. "What're you gonna watch? Can I join you?"

You exchange a glance with Sam before answering, cracking more eggs into the bowl as you do. "Not tonight, Jack. We kinda want to just have a little night to ourselves. How about we watch a movie tomorrow night, though? We can even get some snacks and stuff."

Jack dimmed a little at your refusal but he brightens again once more when you suggest a movie night. "Okay! That sounds like fun."

You add milk and start mixing up the eggs, adding the other ingredients as you go. "Maybe Dean and you can go to town today for some movie treats."

"Can we?" Jack practically begs, whirling to face Dean where he still sits at the table.

"I suppose," Dean grumbles into his mug. "We're running low on toilet paper too so I was already planning on making a run. Should just do a full grocery run."

Jack does a little happy dance.

The eggs cook up quick and soon you're dividing them up onto three plates. Jack snatches his plate up, mumbling a "thank you" around a mouthful of food as he heads to the table.

"He's been spending too much time around Dean," Sam says for your ears only, his soft smile telling you that he really doesn't mind.

After breakfast, you and Sam fill your water bottles and head down to the office. This is quite possibly your favorite room in the whole bunker after Sam's room. You love the cozy lighting, Sam's dark wood desk, the "Quiet Please. Recording in Progress" sign above the door.

Sam has added a second desk so you have somewhere to do your own work from the podcast but you've decided to just share a microphone when you're together like this and you happily wheel your super comfy desk chair over to sit beside Sam.

"Got your notes ready?" Sam asks out of pure habit - he knows you always have them.

"Do you?" is your teasing response as you flip open your laptop and find the tab with your notes file.

Sam just chuckles, reaching over the arms of both chairs to weave your fingers together at the same time he flips on the sign outside the door. "Ready when you are."

"Start the recording, big guy."

He does just that and you see the waveform on the recording software begin. Both of you stay silent a moment and then Sam gives you a nod.

You lean in a little closer to the microphone, Sam mirroring you on the other side as you say, "I'm Y/N-"

"And I'm Chief-"

Your eyes meet his over the mic and he gives your hand a squeeze before you continue with, "And this is Criminal History."

Sam glances over at his notes. "Today we will be discussing the case of the Servant Woman Annihilator, a serial killer from early Austin, Texas that history has, for the most part, forgotten. Y/N, you travel a lot. Have you ever been to Austin?"

"I haven't," you answer honestly. "But I've heard great things and I really want to visit."

Sam's smile softens a little and he brings your hand to his lips. "Maybe we could visit together?"

Warmth fills you, starting in your chest and making its way out to the end of every finger and toe until it feels like your whole body is glowing. You have a feeling the two of you are going to be doing a lot of things together for a very long time and you can't wait.

"I would like that, Chief."

--

Like this fic? Support me longterm on Patreon HERE or make a one-time donation of Ko-Fi HERE

--

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @imsuperawkward​

Team Sam: @saxxxology​

Team TFL: @wonderfulworldofwinchester @kickingitwithkirk @muchamusedaboutnothing @ellen-reincarnated1967  @linki-locks11 @sydneytea

[tinkeringwithcannabis]

Tinkering with Cannabis CBD Review # 10

Product: CBD Vape Additive 600 mg per 30 ml Bottle

Company: Panda Styx

Website: www.pandastyx.com

 

Hello again to all my cannabis loving and canna-curious friends, and welcome back for another CBD product review! Today I will be coming at you with a review of the Panda Styx CBD Vape Additive. So, let’s talk about this. First, considering the recent vaping epidemic and the ongoing vaping bans currently happening in 11 states, I want to point out that Panda Styx does NOT put vitamin E in their vape products. Their third-party lab reports are available on their website, and when you are reviewing this product, the link is directly below in the description. Now, let’s jump into this review! So, I grabbed this product to add to my closed system Boulder Rock vape pod. My intention is, was, and has been to use the CBD vape additive in combination with my regular nicotine e-juice to help me swap over to vaping completely and get off the cigarettes all together. To start, this product is unflavored, there are no terpenes in this additive, and the ingredients consist of Vegetable Glycerin (VG), Propylene Glycol (PG), and Hemp Extract (Aerial Parts). This product does not contain nicotine, is formulated with CBD isolate, and a 50/50 PG to VG blend, allowing you to add it to your favorite e-juice without drastically changing the flavor, or if you prefer, you can vape this on its own.

 

Per my personal preference, I like to fill the dropper up to the bottom where the narrow portion widens to the main neck of the dropper. This is the full amount that I add to my vape. I cannot accurately provide a measurement of how many mls this may be, but I would say it is roughly 0.5 mls. The remaining 1 ml of my pod is filled with my favorite e-juice. As far as flavor goes, I have found a very slight change in flavor, causing a slightly sweeter taste, but not overly noticeable. When vaping, I noticed that after a few hits I am finding that I am getting the same relaxation feeling I would get from a cigarette. This is something I really didn’t get a lot with my vape, regardless of the type of juice, nicotine, or style of vape. Adding this CBD additive really seems to have given my vaping experience more of a smoking sensation, providing the nicotine fix with the true “ahhhhh….” Relaxation I find when I smoke that cigarette. Although I have not fully stopped smoking as of yet, I have found that a pack of cigarettes lasts me a few days, rather than going through a pack to a pack and a half a day. This is especially significant to note because I have been under extreme stress for the past month, which normally would have me above a pack and a half of cigarettes, but this CBD vape additive has really helped to keep me more focused on hitting the vape, than smoking cigarettes.

 

When it came down to deciding just how much of this product to use, I took two things into account. First, I always start off low. You can always add more, but if you add too much, then you must dump it all out and start over again. That is a waste of juice and CBD. Second, I have found that some CBD additives can wreak havoc on your vape coils, causing them to “gunk” up fairly fast. So, in the interest of both things, I went with the lower dose, and thus far have found that it works pretty well for me. If you prefer more CBD, well this 30 ml bottle has you covered. Regarding longevity, this would depend on your vape setup, how often you use your vape, and how much vape additive you are using, but I have found that after close to a month of using this product, I still have more than half a bottle left. Again, my system is a small closed system, so I do not run through juice as fast as the sub-ohm devices that are out there.

 

Overall, I really enjoyed this product and I would use this again in my vape setup. I liked how relaxed it makes me upon vaping it, as well as how it does not have a major effect on the flavor of my e-juice. Not only has it decreased my cigarette cravings, but it has done so while I have been under severe stress, it has helped me be able to go hours without a cigarette craving at all, and it has helped me find the sense of relaxation that I was unable to previously find when changing from cigarettes to my vape. I honestly believe that this time I will be able to get off the cigarettes all together, as this vape additive has already made a huge impact in my stress smoking habits. The only thing I found that I would like to see changed with this product is the bottle, and here is why. First, the dropper is not easy to use when filling small pod system vapes. The dropper hole is almost as large as the hole on the Boulder Rock refillable pods, and it makes it a little hard to be able to get all the additive in there without making a mess. Once you get used to using the dropper, this does get better. Second, the bottle with the dropper looks too much like an oral tincture. I would really like to see this product moved into a unicorn bottle, which would be easier to use to fill any type of vape pod or tank, and it would help more easily distinguish this product from oral tinctures. Aside from the bottle, I have found this to be an amazing product, and extremely helpful in weaning myself off cigarettes. I know that if I keep going, I will be 100% on my vape within the next few weeks, and off the cigarettes all together. Panda Styx, great job on this product! I give this 4.8 stars!

 

 

(NOTE: I will be doing a post on this soon but let me note right here DO NOT VAPE ORAL TINCTURES AND DO NOT TAKE VAPE ADDITIVES AS ORAL TINCTURES. The two are completely different, they are meant to be consumed in the manner in which they are advertised, and consuming them in an alternative manner can, and most likely will have very serious health repercussions, so please, do not do that).

 

 Well my friends, we have reached the end of this review. Thank you for joining me, and stay tuned for my next CBD product review!!

Disclaimer:

*****Please remember, this blog is an account of my personal experience with this product. Not everyone has the same experience with every product, and that’s okay. I always recommend starting out with one to two hits to see if that is enough, and you can always increase your dose from there.*****

Also, if you find this post helpful, please help me get the word out to other patients by liking and re-blogging this post! Thanks!

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

Strive Pt. 20

{PART 1} {PART 2} {PART 3} {PART 4} {PART 5} {PART 6} {PART 7} {PART 8} {PART 9} {PART 10} {PART 11} {PART 12} {PART 13} {PART 14} {PART 15} {PART 16} {PART 17} {PART 18} {PART 19}

Pair: Tomarry

Rating: M-E(depends)

Tags: Mild Language, Homosexuality, Sexism, Obsessed Tom, Time-Travel/Dimension-Travel, Teacher/Student, Eventual Romance, Teacher-Harry, Grey!Harry, MoD(sort of), Death!being,

A/N: I forgot to add the Tumblr version of this chapter months back!

The very first day where he was no longer a Hogwarts student, Tom found himself perusing the library's Restricted Section. As he was now free to come and go as he pleased since he was legally an adult as well as a new member of the staff, he decided to get in as much study time as he could while he had the chance. And that meant research.

There was a limit to how many books he could remove from the Restricted Section at once though. And that was one. A single book was allowed to leave through one person at a time no matter who it was, just as a precaution. It was definitely a bit of a setback but Tom was just grateful to even be able to get to the books in the first place without someone interfering, so he wouldn't dare complain to anyone about it or they might think him too immature to handle the responsibility and may ban him. Also it would no doubt have Potter angry and Tom didn't want that.

He had full use of any of the school owls and he got a first hand look at who was caring for them. Hagrid. The boy was being groomed to be the perfect groundskeeper and often times, Tom would see him thumping along behind Dumbledore as they went on walks of the grounds. Tom made sure to avoid those places once he memorised their schedule well enough. While not necessarily feeling hatred toward the boy, he was angry at Dumbledore's insistence upon pampering him and favouring his precious Gryffindors all the damn time.

Dumbledore didn't seem to have a life outside of Hogwarts which was exceedingly annoying. He was always around even when he shouldn't be. Others like Slughorn, had homes to get to and living family to spend time with. And friends to see whenever they wanted. Apparently, the great Dumbledore had none of that save for a brother who lived in Hogsmeade and didn't like him all too much, which Tom found to be amusing, and a couple men here and there who rarely visited the school.

The paragon of Light and goodness wasn't even liked by his own family and could count his number of friends on one hand. Now if only Tom knew the reasons behind such things, then he'd be able to use the information to his advantage.

Being able to stay at Hogwarts also meant that he was free to go to Hogsmeade whenever he so chose, and found himself travelling down now and then either for the scenery, for a stroll around the bookshop, or for a Butterbeer because even Tom had to admit that they were delicious. And without the stress of having to posture for his fellow Slytherins, he felt more calm.

His absolute favourite thing however, was whenever he and Harry - he'd given Tom permission to call him by name since they'd officially be coworkers come September! - sat down for tea. And tea was never just tea. It was talking. Either about Defence, Grindelwald's War, World War 2, or their different opinions on controversial topics.

Harry also felt that the wizarding war was ridiculous. He held absolutely no respect for Gellert Grindelwald and explained exactly why.

The symbol the man used was that of the Deathly Hallows. The items belonging to The Necromancers Three. A myth told that Death had gifted the very objects to the brothers when they'd cleverly evaded a gruesome death at the being's hands. The one to gather all objects was supposed to become immortal and the Master of Death or so the legend proclaimed.

Grindelwald had perverted a simple story from Britain's roots. He used the symbol of the Deathly Hallows to spread fear and hatred across the European Continent. Enough for people to misunderstand what it originally was meant to mean. And while he was slowly trying to take over, he was also searching for something precious to him.

The odd attacks and the strange behaviour he'd been exhibiting for several months now, was finally explained.

According to Harry, the man was searching for the most powerful wand in existence. He truly believed it existed and was murdering people left, right, and center just to get his hands on it. And he wanted the Elder Wand as much as he wanted the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak. He wanted immortality and was causing a ridiculous amount of strife just to get it.

Tom's method had been better if he was to be so bold as to claim. The ritual had hurt of course, but it had been quick and easy enough to perform both times he'd done it. No unnecessary bloodshed involved. No more exertion than a flick of the wrist and the drawing of Runes.

But Gellert had blinded himself by his own greed. Yet he also proved how selfish he was. As Tom had noted months before, he wasn't doing this to help the wizarding world. Grindelwald wanted to rule over everyone. He wanted them all to bow down, magicals and muggles alike. And that was why Tom thought his idea was stupid.

He was also incredibly bitter over his hand in Hitler rising to power because the man and his following had put Tom through some hell as a child and he hated them all!

Tom couldn't wait for Harry to just finish Grindelwald off for good. He was waiting for it, but knew he had to be patient if he wanted to win that bet he'd participated in.

But slipping the idea into their conversations was easy enough. Especially since Harry was already angry at the Dark Lord's actions. It would take one truly terrible thing to make him go after Grindelwald personally.

Other things they talked about were magical creatures. Harry was very adamant that they deserved rights, especially those with a level of sentience. He had read the recently published Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newton Scamander, and found himself siding with the magizoologist on many things. He then happily explained some of his experiences with magical creatures.

House Elves, Dragons, Gnomes, Thestrals, Basilisks, Cornish Pixies, Dementors, Boggarts, Acromantulas, Merfolk, Grindylows, Demiguises, Phoenixes, and so much more. He'd come to understand them and felt that just because each could be dangerous, didn't mean they deserved to be killed off and sold for potions ingredients. That just because some were considered Dark, didn't mean they were evil and must be eradicated.

The man was a firmly Grey wizard and Tom had to be honest when he said that he'd met no one as split down the middle as Potter.

The only thing that annoyed him about his stay at Hogwarts, was Dumbledore's presence. Everything else was perfection!

Tom stared down at the stationary in his hand. It was a light shade of blue and the script was golden and glittering. He didn't read too much into that for his own sanity.

It was an invitation to dinner. With the Potters. Charmont and Ella Potter to be precise. And the invitation had been given to him by Harry, who had been lightly flushed as he handed it over while saying, "Ellie wanted me to give you her letter. She said you needed some new correspondence."

Lady Potter wanted Tom to come to a dinner she and her husband were having. A dinner that was, according to her letter, just between them and Harry, and Tom if he decided to come.

And the difference between being invited to a Potter's home, verses being invited to a Malfoy's home, was that the Malfoys had a negative agenda no matter what. Ella Potter actually seemed like a decent person and while she had been a Slytherin in her youth, she'd willingly married a Gryffindor and let him mellow her out.

Also, while she certainly had an agenda as well, it most likely had to do with her attempts to match Tom and Harry together. So such an agenda worked to his benefit and wasn't being done with malicious intent. She wasn't planning on using him later, he was certain. And he couldn't find it in himself to believe that Charmont Potter had a manipulative bone in his body. The man had a reputation for being generous and a bit naive.

So with all of this in mind, Tom decided to put his quill to the parchment and write out his acceptance of their hospitality. This could also be a chance for him to learn more about Professor Potter and it would be foolish to pass it up. This would give Tom the upper hand over everyone else and establish a more secure connection between he and the man he most admired.

And because Tom coveted attention and information and things others didn't know because they would put him above them, nothing would pass from his lips to his followers. They didn't deserve the privilege of knowing Harry Potter like Tom would. Tom liked to keep his most treasured possessions close and any knowledge about Harry Potter was to be kept unlock and key in his own, impenetrable mind.

He was welcomed with wide smiles from the Potters and a shocked look from his… coworker. Harry obviously hadn't known he would show up, and Tom was thrilled to be a surprise.

The man was also attired in the most fanciful robes Tom had ever seen on him. Potter didn't often resort to magical clothing, preferring more freedom of movement in the newer, more modern clothes being introduced through various trade agreements with other nations. He was most likely dressed so well for the Heads of his House.

"It's so lovely to see you, Mr. Riddle," Ella said with a smile. "I've been dying to pick your brain over certain topics. This is my husband, Charmont."

Charmont was a messy-haired brunet with blue/green eyes, a sharp jaw, and a charming smile ironically. He was the same height as Tom at 186 cm, and came across as a kind individual upon first glance.

"Good to know you," the man said with a calm smile. "My Ella has had many a thing to say about your first meeting. I do hope you and our Harry get on well enough, yes?"

Tom plastered a not so fake smile on his face, genuinely pleased to speak about his former professor. "Harry is a diamond in the rough, sir."

Said man sputtered, his face taking on a lovely shade of pink.

"Come! Come! Dinner is being served as we speak and I want to get all the details from Mr. Riddle!" prompted Ella, shooing them toward one of the many open rooms off to the right of the grand, marble foyer of Potter Manor.

Dinner was a lavish affair. Not as pompous as something a Malfoy would host, thank Merlin, but still proper as expected of a Pureblood family. Though there were no veiled insults being thrown around and no one seemed to be trying to outdo another.

Tom had been asked every possible question under the sun, and occasionally Harry would be called into the conversation to give his input on certain topics. Ella seemed endlessly fascinated by whatever Tom responded with, and constantly sent Harry knowing looks that he seemed to pointedly ignore in favour of his wine. And he ended up drinking a lot of wine as a result.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle is such a unique name," said Charmont at some point near dessert. "It makes you sound mysterious and I find it to be fitting."

His smile became a little more forced. "The other children in the orphanage mocked me for it. Marvolo isn't a muggle name and they said it only made me weirder. I have come to dislike my name. Tom is bland, Marvolo is too strange, and Riddle sounds very..." He couldn't even finish his thought. He hated being connected to that piece of filth.

Ella smiled with understanding. "I know all about hating your given name, Tom. My true name is Avariella and I despise it. Sure, it means 'woman of great strength' but it sounds atrocious to my ear. Thankfully, Charmont was very understanding and adopted my nickname easily," the woman said, aiming a dazzling smile at her husband who smiled back with just as much affection.

"I like both of your names," Harry interjected quickly, pouting. "Names that make you think twice. Interesting sounding in my opinion. A sense of strength to them."

Ella beamed and Tom flushed lightly, looking away from the man's imploring, green eyes. Harry Potter had this odd affect on him and it wasn't fair!

"I apologise for my aunt's curiosity this evening. Ella tends to like to talk and she takes issue with not knowing enough of anything," Potter said with a small but mischievous smile that made Tom's heart flutter abnormally in his chest. "She means well."

"She is good company," Tom decided to say. "I like her." He was shocked at how true it was. The woman had been very interesting to speak with and she was very sly as she managed to drag Harry into the conversation by somehow finding a similarity between he and Tom for her to comment on.

Tom had learned that his former professor loved green. That he once Apparated when he was a child. That he could regrow his hair immediately if it was ever cut too short. And sometimes he would change his teacher's appearance whenever they annoyed him. Such as turning someone's hair blue for criticising how he did his homework.

During his childhood, Tom had done similar things, and it had been refreshing to hear that Potter was very much the same. Tom used to hate it when anybody did the exact same thing as him. He had always had the desire to be unique. Finding out about magic had been in both parts amazing and terrible because it meant he wasn't the only one and he wasn't as special as he thought he was.

This kind of attitude followed him well up until this point in his life. He liked being able to do things others couldn't. He liked knowing things others never would, or would have to rely on him into order to learn. And yet when he found out that him and the man he admired most were a lot similar than at first glance, it made him feel... dare he say, tingly inside.

He'd somehow gotten an invitation to return to Potter Manor in the future for their small celebration for Harry's birthday which was coming up on the thirty-first of July. Exactly six months away form Tom's birthday.

He had to think about the gift he should get the man. Potter had given him Slytheirn's Locket for his birthday. He'd found one of the only things remaining from Tom's family's history and had returned it to him instead of keeping the priceless artifact for himself. Not many people would ever do such a thing. How could Tom possibly top that?

Harry liked Quidditch, so a broom would probably work. At the same time he was a Potter and they had money. Anything Tom got him could be easily acquired on his own if he didn't already have it. Tom had to be unique.

A/N: Making up for forgetting to post this on Tumblr before uploading it on AO3 and FFN back in August.

[continuations]

World After Capital: The Power of Knowledge

NOTE: Today’s excerpt from World After Capital dives deeper into human knowledge and why it is so powerful.

The Power of Knowledge

Have you watched television recently? Eaten food that had been stored in a refrigerator? Accessed the Internet? Played games on your smartphone? Driven in a car? These are all things that billions of people around the world have access to and often use daily (there are over 2 billion smartphone users). Many of us take these capabilities for granted and rarely do we ask where they come from. And while these are produced by different companies using a wide range of technologies, none of them would be possible without the existence of knowledge.

Knowledge, as I use the term, is the sum total of all information humanity has recorded in a medium and improved over time. There are two crucial parts to this definition. The first is “recorded in a medium” which allows information to be shared across time and space. For instance, stone tablets were some of our earliest ways of recording information. The second is “improved over time” which separates knowledge from mere information, provided that the process of critical inquiry is allowed to operate (we first encountered this process in the chapter on Humanism).

A conversation I had years ago but didn't record cannot be knowledge. However, if I write down an insight from that conversation, or even the conversation verbatim, and publish it on my blog, I've potentially contributed to human knowledge. The conversation isn't accessible to anyone who wasn't there at the moment it happened. Even my own recollection of the conversation will fade. The blog post, by contrast, is available to others across space and time. Some blog posts will turn out to be important and become part of human knowledge. As another example, the DNA we carry in our cells isn't knowledge by my definition, whereas a sequenced and recorded genome can be. Every person's DNA sequence is ephemeral, i.e. disappears with our bodies. Recorded sequences though can be maintained over time, shared and analyzed. Ones that turns out to be medically relevant, such as the BRCA mutation that increases breast cancer risk, become part of human knowledge.

This definition of knowledge is intentionally broad and includes not just technical and scientific knowledge but also art, music, literature. But the definition is also narrow in that it excludes anything that is either ephemeral or not subject to improvement. Computers these days produce tons of recorded information, such as logs of activity on a system, that are mere information, unless they are subsequently analysed.

I started this section with examples of everyday technologies that would not exist without the power of knowledge. An even stronger illustration of its power is that without knowledge many of us would not be here today. As we saw in the chapter on population, Malthus was right about population growth but wrong about its most dire consequences because he did not foresee technological progress powered by knowledge. It is useful to go through one specific example to show just how powerful knowledge is and how it improves over time.

Humans breath air. But for the longest time we did not know what air consists of. Both oxygen and nitrogen, the two primary components of air, were not identified and isolated as elements until late in the 18th century (around 1770). Separately the systematic study of manure as a fertilizer, which had been used in agricultural practice dating back to Egyptian and Roman times, didn't start until the early 19th century. That study led us to understand that ammonia, which consists of nitrogen and hydrogen, is a powerful fertilizer. Progress in chemistry and industrial processes eventually resulted in the so-called Haber process for nitrogen fixation, which means converting atmospheric nitrogen into a form that can be available to plants. The Haber process, which was invented in the early 20th century, became a crucial ingredient in raising agricultural yields globally and thus averting the Malthusian dystopia.

How successful has this been? For most humans today, about half the nitrogen in our bodies has been touched by the Haber process on its way into plants and animals that we subsequently ingest. Put differently: knowledge is so powerful that we are now made from knowledge.

What my much compressed history of nitrogen fixation doesn't capture are the many false starts along the way. It seems hilarious to us now, but at one point a leading theory as to why some materials can burn had nothing to do with oxygen but was attributed to the material containing “phlogiston” which was thought to be the part of the material that “disappears” into the air when burning. Without the improvement of knowledge over time, we might have remained stuck at that theory.

When thinking about the power of knowledge, we must remember that a year, or a decade, or even a hundred years are all trivial in the time scale of humanity, and in turn, humanity's time scale is trivial compared to that of the universe. When considering longer time frames, we should regard as possible all speculative propositions that don't explicitly contravene the laws of physics—a line of thinking inspired by a new theoretical foundation for science called Constructor Theory [57].

Consider for a moment what knowledge might allow humanity to do in the future. We might, through further discovery, rid ourselves of fossil fuels, cure any disease, take care of every human's basic needs, and travel to other planets in our solar system (organizations like SpaceX and NASA are already working toward this goal [55]). Eventually we might even travel to the stars. We could, of course, also blow our own planet to bits before any of that can happen or be struck by a massive asteroid (this is why allocating our collective attention properly is so crucial). Now, you might say: “Travel to the stars? That's impossible.” Actually, it isn't. Extremely difficult? Yes. Requiring technology that doesn't yet exist? Yes. But impossible? No. Interstellar travel is definitely not imminent, but with the further accretion of knowledge, it will become possible.

Knowledge is the essential human project. We are the only species on planet earth that has created knowledge. This is also why I include art and music in my definition of knowledge. Art has allowed humans to express our hopes and fears, and its accretion into culture has helped motivate the large scale coordination and mobilization of human effort. We can broadly think of technical component of knowledge as underpinning the “how” of our lives and the artistic component the “why” And if you have ever doubted the power of the art portion of knowledge, just think of the many times throughout history and the present when dictators and authoritarian regimes have banned and destroyed works of art.

[paulvannoy5]

Weight Loss For Idiots - 5 Really Easy Ways To Rapid Fat Loss Results

No carb and low carb diets are followed by millions consumers today for one reason alone. They effort. Whether you are trying to burn fat or you controlling your blood sugar due to diabetes, reducing the amount of carbohydrates in your daily diet is important.

I am not in order to lie. The key of the dietary plan plan still needs the golden rule of not consuming more calories than your system needs. So, you possibly be consuming around 1,600-1,800 calories for women and it very well be about 1,800-2,100 for adult. Now do not be discouraged when you hear of this because the Flat Belly Diet won't leave you hungry or craving foods because having it . depraved of fats or sweets. Come on, important things it; fat is tends to make food taste better. Provides it flavor and enables you to be feel full and complacent. The Flat Belly Diet encourages you to consume a healthy mono unsaturated fatty acid with each meal. This is when the nuts and seeds, oils, olives and dark chocolate come into play.

The Potato Chip exercise came about while To become working having a student who was trying create distance to his crunch crisp chips drives. On his backswing I remarked that his jaw muscles were clamped so tightly It was not respectable literally look at cords inside the neck glow. He was really "trying hard" to hit it distant. The tension from his jaw radiated down his neck, into his shoulders, out his arms and down his down. Yet he weren't able to feel the strain in his swing.

Chicago is now considering a comparable ban. Note, however, just because something is reduced trans fat, does not mean it's low in fat. A variety of empty calories in a potato chip, even are going to was fried in a healthier gel. Also, even if served in a restaurant, any food that comes packaged on the manufacturer, to provide a bag of potato chips or a cookie, is exempt inside ban!

It's in order to have vegetables, so exactly what you should move to next. Learn how to of fresh tomato freeze, everyone likes a good tomato. South Florida's diced tomatoes are no exception. These tomatoes are locally grown and taste it really! Then top rid of it with greatest part, delicious Caesar dressing, bringing every one of the ingredients together.

Most women to start gaining weight after choosing with her boyfriend. Also try hypnosis . what is going on to you, it may be because you attempt to stay abreast of your partner's eating addictions. Eating together can enhance appetite and in case your boyfriend is eating a lot, you can end up eating more too. Purchase both eat healthier by going dieting for lovers. That way you can be a proficient influence on each other instead of encouraging the other to eat more.

Fast Food - Most fast food such as hamburgers, nachos, French fries have an increased fat content that really bad with regard to you and substantial very good for calories with very few healthy things.

As however see, many home-prepared foods can be made much more nutritious compared already-prepared products on the market. It is up to parents to direct the food selection and help their kids make good food choices.

[xtruss]

Don’t Blame Bat Soup for the Coronavirus

Racist memes target Chinese eating habits, but the real causes of the virus are more mundane.

In countries where clashes against ethnic Chinese are rampant, misunderstandings over the origin of the coronavirus have turned nasty, even fueling government and public prejudices, FP’s James Palmer writes.

— By James Palmer | January 27, 2020 | Foreign Policy

A vendor (C) wearing a facemask offers meat at a near-empty market on the eve of the Lunar New Year in Wuhan on January 24, 2020.

As news of the novel coronavirus spread online, one video became emblematic of its claimed origin: It showed a young Chinese woman, supposedly in Wuhan, biting into a virtually whole bat as she held the creature up with chopsticks. Media outlets from the Daily Mail to RT promoted the video, as did a number of prominent extremist bloggers such as Paul Joseph Watson. Thousands of Twitter users blamed supposedly “dirty” Chinese eating habits—in particular the consumption of wildlife—for the outbreak, said to have begun at a so-called wet market that sold animals in Wuhan, China.

There was just one problem. The video wasn’t set in Wuhan at all, where bat isn’t a delicacy. It wasn’t even from China. Instead it showed Wang Mengyun, the host of an online travel show, eating a dish in Palau, a Pacific island nation. Sampling the bat was simply an addition to the well-trodden cannon of adventurism and enthusiasm for unusual foods that numerous American chefs and travel hosts have shown in the past.

At a time of heightened fear over a viral pandemic, the Palau video has been deployed in the United States and Europe to renew an old narrative about the supposedly disgusting eating habits of foreigners, especially Asians. Images of Chinese people or other Asians eating insects, snakes, or mice frequently circulate on social media or in clickbait news stories. This time, that was mixed with another old racist idea: that the “dirty” Chinese are carriers of disease. Many Americans long believed that, as the New York Daily Tribune wrote in 1854, Chinese people were “uncivilized, unclean, filthy beyond all conception.” Today, those same ideas have often been transferred to other groups such as South American refugees, yet they still persist in the way some Westerners think about China.

At a time of heightened fear over a viral pandemic, the Palau video has been deployed in the United States and Europe to renew an old narrative about the supposedly disgusting eating habits of foreigners, especially Asians.

These prejudices can fuel fear and racism. As the virus spreads, the Chinese as a group are more and more likely to be blamed for its incubation and spread. In countries such as Malaysia and Indonesia, where there are already clashes around ethnic Chinese, those sentiments could turn nasty. In the West, especially under the Trump administration, it could fuel both government and public prejudices.

To be sure, the treatment of wildlife may be at the root of the virus. Wet markets where live animals are sold, mostly for food or medicine, still exist in most Chinese cities, and the Huanan Seafood Market was originally believed to be the source of this outbreak. The Chinese government has banned the wildlife trade until the epidemic is over.

But as it turns out, the market may not have been the cause of the outbreak at all. A new study shows that the early known victims had no contact with the market. And although the virus, at present, does seem to have originated in bats, it’s unclear how it made its way to humans. It’s quite likely no chowing down on the creatures of the night was involved.

Many Chinese people certainly like tucking into dishes Americans would consider unusual, though a lot of this is confined to very high-end or weirdly macho audiences, such as Beijing’s penis restaurant. But the standards of what animals we do and don’t eat are culturally arbitrary. Vegetarianism is morally consistent, but deploring the eating of dogs while tucking into companionable and intelligent pigs isn’t. (I myself have eaten many things others might find gross: dog soup, insects, Chicago deep-dish pizza.) And it goes both ways: A lot of East Asians, for instance, find the taste of lamb disgusting. The range of tastes inside China is as great as it is outside; the Cantonese habit of eating “everything with four legs save the table and everything that flies but the airplane” is a standing joke in the rest of the country.

And when it comes to disease, it’s not what’s being eaten that matters as much as the conditions—such as the standards workers are trained to meet, the lack of barriers at markets, and the absence or bribing of regulators and health inspectors. The H1N1 virus, after all, started not in any uncommon species, but in pigs.

And that’s where China really does have issues. The country’s food safety standards are notoriously bad, despite numerous government-led initiatives to improve them. Food scandals are common, and diarrhea and food poisoning are a distressingly regular experience. Markets, like Huanan, that aren’t licensed for live species nevertheless sell them. Workers are undertrained in basic hygiene techniques like glove-wearing and hand-washing. Dangerous additives are commonly used to increase production.

China’s conditions are not unique. It looks, in fact, a lot like the United States did in the past, before muckraking exposés led to the creation of modern regulation systems. Even today, the United States can lag behind best practices on such issues as antibiotics in feed, cattle slaughter, or poultry washing. And, as with the American public of the 1900s, the Chinese citizenry badly wants change. Seventy-seven percent of the public ranks food safety as their single biggest concern.

As with so much else in China, politics gets in the way of sensible policy. Exposés of the kind that drove reform in the United States have a hard time finding traction in China’s censorious media environment, where the interests of billion-dollar corporations and their party backers often override those of the public. When the author Zhou Qing wrote a groundbreaking exposé, What Kind of God, on the Chinese food industry in 2006, two-thirds of the book was removed before publication and its success eventually forced him into political exile.

Part of China’s problem can be attributed to the power of traditional Chinese medicine, which is responsible for much of the trade in wildlife. Many wild animals in China are killed not for culinary reasons but for essentially magical ones. Whether it’s tiger paws or pangolin scales, quack cures persist on a vast scale—even in cases like bear bile where a real active ingredient existed, has been discovered, and can be produced in labs without animal cruelty. The government has been heavily promoting traditional Chinese medicine, especially under President Xi Jinping’s new nationalism, and while officially pharmaceutical companies following this model eschew the wildlife trade, the propaganda around such traditional medicine in general helps ensure belief survives.

If the fallout from the Wuhan outbreak changes anything for the better, it may be that it gives a vital push to reform and more teeth to regulation. But as with so many past disasters in China, it could also mean a brief period of change before profits and power take precedence once again. Whatever happens, amid the current moment of fear and panic, support for the Chinese public will make a bigger difference than culinary judgments or racism.

Editor’s Note: This piece originally used the term “Wuhan virus” to refer to the coronavirus. It has been updated in line with WHO recommendations.

James Palmer is a senior editor at Foreign Policy. Twitter: @BeijingPalmer

[liliannorman]

Help for a world drowning in microplastics

Look around you. How many plastic items do you see? If you are like most people, there are probably a lot.

Research shows that people recycle only nine percent of plastic wastes. The rest — water bottles, pens, shopping bags — can end up in our water, air and soil. Exposed to light and waves, plastic breaks down into teeny-tiny bits. Known as microplastics, they have become a growing concern. That’s partly because when they end up in the environment, they also can end up in animals, our food and our drinking water.

The most recent estimate suggests that Americans alone eat or drink some 70,000 of these polluting microplastic bits each year.

Discarded plastic is not the only source of them. Some bits are made on purpose, for use in skin-care products and toothpaste. They’re used to scrub away dead skin and cavity-causing material on teeth. When we shower or rinse our mouths, those microplastics go down the drain. From there, they end up in our waterways.

Researchers have even shown that washing clothes made of fleece and other types of plastic sheds bits of lint. Those fibers also go down the drains and into the water.

Scientists began reporting microplastics in the ocean as far back as the 1970s. Since then, several hundred studies have shown that microplastics taint the environment. This includes the world’s oceans, lakes and rivers.

But research is underway to slow the growth of this pollution — and perhaps clean up some of what’s already out there.

The problem with plastics

Our drinking water comes from lakes, rivers and groundwater aquifers. Any of these may be tainted with microplastics. Our bodies will pee out plastics we’ve ingested, but no one knows how long it takes for them to move through the body, says Sam Athey. She studies sources of microplastics at the University of Toronto in Canada. The longer microplastics stay in our bodies, she says, the greater our exposure to them.

Scientists Say: Microplastic

Researchers don’t yet know the risks, says Athey. But she finds reasons to be cautious. One is that plastic is made from oil and includes many different petroleum-based ingredients. Scientists don’t yet know how many of these might be toxic.

Ingredients in some plastics, such as polyvinyl chloride, can cause cancer. And phthalates (THAAL-aytes) — used to soften some types of plastics — can mimic the activity of hormones. These false hormones can cause unexpected changes in how cells grow and develop. Such changes may lead to disease.

Plastic also can soak up pollution like a sponge. The pesticide DDT and PCBs (a type of insulating fluid) are two types of toxic pollution found in plastics floating in the ocean.

Plastic bits also have been turning up in fish, birds, corals and other aquatic animals. That’s a problem because plastic does not provide the energy and nutrients these creatures need to grow and thrive. 

The case for saying no to plastic

The simple solution is to not buy plastic items, says Peter Kershaw. He is an independent marine scientist who lives in Norwich, England. He wrote a 2018 report for the United Nations on alternatives that could help reduce plastic litter in the ocean.

“Ask yourself,” he says: “Do I really need that plastic bag to carry my shopping home?” Or do you really need a plastic straw to drink your soda or milk?

Straws make up a lot of the plastic trash found washed up on ocean coasts and lakeshores. One way to cut down on your plastic use is to avoid straws (if you are able to drink without one).Chemist 4 U/Flickr (CC BY 2.0)

The leaders of some countries also have been asking that question. They’ve decided the answer is “no” and have banned single-use plastic items. These are things, such as packaging, that we use once and then throw away.

Bangladesh, Kenya and New Zealand are three countries that have banned plastic bags. Some U.S. cities and a few states also have banned them. Representing 28 countries, the European Parliament has agreed to ban nearly a dozen single-use plastics by 2021. Europe’s ban includes single-use cutlery, plates, straws and drink stirrers. Canada announced a plan to ban these, too, by 2021.

Such bans are a good start. But scientists say people must do more.

The promise and peril of biodegradable materials

One strategy is to find alternatives to conventional plastics. Some companies are starting to replace single-use plastic items with biodegradable alternatives. These new products are designed to break down into harmless chemicals.

Materials decay when microbes feed on them, breaking big molecules into smaller, simpler ones (such as carbon dioxide and water). Other living things can then feed on these breakdown products to grow.

This environmental activist calls himself the Bag Monster. He posed for the camera at the Oceans Conference in New York City in June 2017. His suit illustrates how many plastic bags an individual shopper might use in a year.Peter Kershaw

Traditional plastic takes a very long time to decay. That’s because it’s made from petroleum, and few microbes choose to eat that. Biodegradable plastic, in contrast, is made from biological materials on which many microbes happily dine. These range from trees, sugarcane and corn stalks to shrimp shells.

But there is a problem with such materials, says Kershaw. They decay only at very high temperatures — typically 50º Celsius (122º Fahrenheit). Plus, those high temperatures must be maintained for several weeks for microbes to do their job.

Some cities have industrial compost systems that meet those conditions. But many do not. Instead, biodegradable plastic items can end up in a cold ocean or lake where they can take decades or even centuries to break down, depending on the type of plastic.

Sunlight can speed their breakdown. But scientists recently showed some biodegradable plastic bags were still strong and intact after three years outdoors. In that regard, they were not much better than regular plastic.

The other problem with biodegradable plastics is that people often toss them into the recycling bin with regular plastic.

“Once you mix them together — and they look the same, so people do it — it makes it harder to recycle the plastic,” says Kershaw.

Filtering microplastics from the laundry

Researchers at the University of Toronto are testing this washing machine filter in 100 homes. It is designed to capture microplastic lint from clothing. The researchers want to see how much microplastic pollution it could keep out of local waters.Courtesy of Wexco

Cleaning clothes has become an enormous source of waterborne plastic. Washing machines tumble and wear down fabrics. This releases lots of little pieces of lint. If the fabric was made from nylon, polyester, polyethylene or polyamide, for instance, those lint particles will be plastic.

One 2018 study found that polyester fleece was a big culprit. A study that came out two years earlier showed that washing a single 6 kilogram (13 pound) load of clothes made from synthetic fabrics could release some 700,000 plastic lint fibers into the wash water. That explains why some researchers are looking for ways to keep that lint from going down the drain.

One project has been testing special filters to catch those fibers. It’s being run by researchers at the University of Toronto and at Georgian Bay Forever (a local environmental group). This past July, they installed the test filters on washing machines in 100 households in Parry Sound, Ontario. Parry Sound is on the shores of Canada’s Georgian Bay. It is part of Lake Huron.

The local water-treatment plants aren’t designed to remove microplastics. So any lint microplastics from the town’s wash will end up in the bay. The test filters are about twice the size of a standard water bottle. In recent tests, they removed roughly 90 percent of microfibers, notes project leader Lisa Erdle. She works at the University of Toronto.

This is how much microplastic lint one family in Canada produced during a month’s worth of laundry. An experimental filter on their washing machine removed the plastic lint before it could drain into nearby Georgian Bay.Georgian Bay Forever

“Testing in our lab shows they [the filters] work in a controlled setting,” she notes. “We’re curious to see if they work [just as well] in real people’s homes.” Whether they do may depend on whether people use the filters properly. For instance, she notes, “How often do they change the filter?”

Erdle and her team tested the wash water before the filters were installed. They are now repeating those tests to see how well the filters reduced the release of plastic lint.

The study will run for two years. Its results will be shared with the public. Because Parry Sound has a population of just 6,400, Erdle suspects the decrease in microplastic fibers will be noticeable.

The ideal solution would be to not manufacture plastic-based clothing in the first place, says Erdle. But filtering lint out of wash water and then burying it in a landfill would at least keep the pollution out of our waters.

Can nanotechnology bring mega benefits?

What about the microplastic pollution already polluting rivers, lakes and the ocean? In July 2019, researchers in Australia reported a potential solution for breaking microplastics into smaller, harmless molecules.

They created nanometer-scale coil-shaped tubes. Made from carbon, these tubes are too small to see (even with a classroom microscope). But they may produce a very visible change in water pollution by breaking down microplastics.

Here’s how they work: The carbon nanotubes are coated in nitrogen. When mixed with a compound known as POMS (short for peroxymonosulfate [Per-OX-ee-mon-oh-SUL-fate]), the nanotubes create new chemicals. Known as reactive oxygen species, or ROS, these new chemicals crumble microplastics into smaller components.

This tiny carbon nanotube (twisted into a coil to make it more rugged) was imaged by a scanning electron microscope. When mixed in water with a compound called peroxymonosulfate, such nanotubes produce chemicals that break down microplastics. J. Kang et al/Matter 2019

Chemical engineer Jian Kang led the research. He works at Curtin University in Perth. His team added their carbon nanotubes to 80 milliliters (one-third cup) of water tainted with microplastic particles. Then they warmed the water to 120 °C (248 °F) for eight hours. Heating the water speeds the process. Manganese embedded within each nanotube made the tubes magnetic. This meant the researchers could use magnets to pull them out of the water for reuse.

The treatment reduced the amount of microplastics in the water by about a third to one-half, Kang’s group showed. It reported the findings on July 31, 2019 in the journal Matter.

Chemicals produced by the plastic’s breakdown don’t appear very toxic, notes Long Chen. He is an environmental engineer at Northeastern University in Boston, Mass. Chen was not involved in the work. The Australian researchers exposed green algae to water containing the microplastic by-products. After two weeks, they saw no change in the algae’s growth.

Clearly, more research is needed. But the early testing does appear promising.

“It’s great to have this option as a tool in a toolbox” to curb microplastic pollution, says Bart Koelmans. He is an environmental scientist at Wageningen University in the Netherlands.

However, researchers caution there still is a lot of work to do. What’s more, Koelmans says, such new programs to clean up plastics “should not dismiss us from thinking about what the real problem is — and that’s the [release] of plastic into places where it does not belong.”

Help for a world drowning in microplastics published first on https://triviaqaweb.tumblr.com/

[weasley-kings]

Beguiling Bubbles

Pairing: George x Reader Request: Request where (Y/n) gets dosed with a love potion by someone else, but she accidentally falls for one of the twins instead A/N: Sorry it’s been ages! It’s very late at night so this hasn’t been edited. Also, where I go into detail about how the first person the drinker sees is who they fall for, that was pulled directly out of my ass souly for the purpose of the story because the wiki didn’t have much on the other potions that weren’t amortentia so I made it up  Squicks: little bit of swearing

~George’s POV~

He sort of blackmailed me into it. Seamus Finnigan knew about the shipments for the store that we were hiding in the Docks, and threatened to go to McGonagall if we didn’t help him out.

“Which one of you is the least crap at potions?” he had asked me and Fred, smiling while thinking of all the possibilities now that he had us under his thumb.

“Neither of us are shit at potions mate,” Fred stood up for himself, sneering down at the little stain who thought he could boss us around.

“Alright, if one of you can get a love potion to me by tomorrow night I’ll keep your little secret, howzabout it?”

We had no clue what he wanted a love potion for, but we didn’t really care. The less we had to spend dealing with that git the better.

“You’re the least shit at potions,” Fred said to me once Seamus had buggered off, “do you wanna make it?” I groaned in response, honestly not wanting to go through the trouble of sneaking into Snape’s little pantry to get out some shit that I don’t even want, then go to the trouble of making this damn thing, again when it isn’t even something I want.

We stayed up that night making the blasted potion, Fred insisting that he was there for encouragement purposes. Not many people knew that I was actually alright at Potions, especially since Snape would never dream of giving me the marks to show it…

At around 3 in the morning, the stupid potion was done. We poured it into one of the empty bottles from the ingredients that we nicked, and snuck back up to Gryffindor tower. On our way back up to our dorm, we made sure to make a stop on the way. “Oi, what the f—“ Seamus started, freaking out at the sudden awakening of Fred shoving him, “There’s your perfume, now get off our backs,” I whispered sharply at Seamus, as he took the bottle and told us to piss off.

— — Morning (Regular POV) — —

Fred and George were at the Gryffindor table, their lack of sleep evident in their flippant attitude and tired looks. They broke out of this mood, however, when Seamus grasped their curiosity. He was whispering to Dean, holding the glass bottle filled with the cherry pink potion that George had made a few hours ago.

“What have you got, Seamus?” Ron called out, nothing his shifty behaviour as well as the unusual bottle. He was immediately shushed and shot an intimidating glare with wild hand movements, “Keep it down, Weasley! It’s a love potion idiot, I’m going to get Y/n to be all over me!” Seamus laughed, while Ron, Hermione and Harry all looked awkwardly and warily each other.

Fred’s eyes widened as he looked over at his twin, who had an angry expression on his face, mixed with fear. George, much like Seamus, had feelings for Y/n, and Fred knew about it because, well, of course he does. The two weren’t particularly close with Y/n, but that didn’t stop George crushing over her constantly.

Seamus and Dean laughed, as they nodded to each other, silently setting their plan in motion. Before George had the chance to do anything, Dean had started a conversation with Y/n, causing her to look away from her breakfast, while Seamus poured the contents of the bottle into her orange juice. George looked at Seamus with a panicked expression, only to have it returned with Seamus’ glare, wordlessly sending him a warning of what he’ll do if George blew his cover.

Fred quietly swore to himself, the gears in his brain trying to work out a solution, while George weighed out his options: lose Y/n or lose the shop. In these moments, the answer was obvious to George, but as he looked back at her, she was already bringing the glass to her lips.

“Y/N—!” George tried to warn her. As she drank the liquid she looked across the table at George, her eyes lingering on him. Seamus and Dean laughed and high-fived from behind her, as she put the glass back on the table.

Now would be a good time to take note on the assortments of love potions. There are five known assortments of love potions, each with assumingly different effects. George, having not opened up the shop with his brother yet, had not yet needed to test out these different types. Unlike Amortentia where the giver of the potion is the one the drinker will be infatuated with, it’s the first person that the drinker sees that they will be infatuated with in this case.

— — George’s POV — —

She kept staring at me, as if something was stopping her from looking away. A smile slowly formed on her lips, as she rested her head in her hands, still staring at me.

“Y/n? You alright there?” Fred asked, moving his head next to mine to try and get her to look at him. She kept staring, her smile big as she replied in an airy voice, “never been better”.

Seamus, clearly annoyed, sat directly next to Y/n and moved her head with his hands so that she was facing him, “Helloooo?” he said into her face,

“I’d rather look at George Weasley,” she giggled, looking back at me, her head resting in her hands again, “God, you’re handsome, isn’t he handsome, er, whatever your name is,” she said to Seamus, causing Fred and Dean to laugh and Seamus to look like he would explode with anger.

“Uh, how about we go for a walk?” I suggest quickly, standing up as more people start to pay attention to the small scene.

Y/n gasped with excitement, “yes! Let’s go on a loooong romantic walk together!”

I start to walk toward the door with Y/n walking on the other side of the table at the same pace, watching me still with that smile.

Fred nudged me, “George, mate, don’t get sucked into it, it’s the potion talking—“

“I know,” I say quietly back, “we’re going to the hospital wing”.

Walking all the way up to the hospital wing was nothing short of a nightmare. All I’ve wanted was for Y/n to have feelings for me, but there’s only so many compliments, hand holding, cuddles and heart eyes one man can take in the space of five minutes.

“What’s the problem?” Madam Pomfrey asked,

“Y/n’s been slipped a love potion,” Fred says, as I hold up my arm which Y/n is hugging.

“Ah, I see,” Madam Pomfrey says sceptically, “I hope you realise that love potions are banned from Hogwarts…”

I explained to her that I wasn’t the one to slip Y/n that blasted potion, but how I was the first one she looked at afterwards. She thankfully believed me, and sat the dazed Y/n down on one of the hospital beds and handing her an antidote.

“Isn’t he dreamy…” Y/n giggled, eyes back on me.

“I think it best that the two of you leave, or else the antidote will take much longer to work,” Madam Pomfrey explained, as Y/n flipped her hair and sent me a wink.

Fred and I both agreed, and we said good-bye to Y/n, to which she started crying. “Noooooo George, I don’t want you to leave, pleeeeeeease!” she whaled.

“It would make me really happy if you just stayed here and got some rest, alright?” I asked her, looking down at my hand that she had taken in her own. It stung that she was only acting as if she was in love with me because of a potion, and that she didn’t really have any of these feelings towards me, not really. I wanted to get out of there soon as possible so I wouldn’t have to think about that, but there was also something that felt perfect about my hand being in hers.

After a few hours, a healthy Y/n walked cautiously through the portrait hole of the Gryffindor common room. A few people saw her and giggled amongst themselves, embarrassment clear on Y/n’s face. A few hours ago she couldn’t keep her eyes off me, and now she couldn’t even bring herself to look in my direction, instead looking at the floor as she walked past the Gryffindors, towards the stair case leading to the dormitories.

“Y/n, hold up,” I say, taking hold of her forearm as we were half way up the staircase. She turned around, taking a moment before gaining the confidence to look up at me.

“Y/n, I know you probably feel like shit, and if there’s anything I can do I’ll do it, but I didn’t slip you that love potion, I wouldn’t do that to you,” I try to explain. I wasn’t trying to defend myself, I just wanted to ease some of the embarrassment that she was feeling. I repeat the story of how it all happened, and I could see her face soften. “I wouldn’t do anything to force you to have feelings for me, I know you don’t feel that way about me,” I say, not meaning to sound as deflated as I felt.

Y/n looked at me, not the same way as this morning, but with a curious look, as if briefly studying me.

“I do like you, George,” she said, smiling at the look of astonishment on my face.

“You… What?” is all I manage to say, causing her to laugh,

“Yeah, I like you a fair bit, maybe not crazy in love like this morning,” she smiles, “but there’s definitely something there. I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of you today, so I might as well admit it all now,” she says with a shrug.

I don’t say anything for a few seconds, because what do you say back to that? The girl who went from head-over-heels in love with me to what I thought would be her despising me, and now meeting in the middle to her fancying me, it’s a lot. So, with no words coming to mind to save me, I kissed her. I wrapped my arm around her, my free hand resting on her jaw, as she kissed me back almost immediately.

We parted, and I couldn’t help but smile. Who knew that Seamus being such a dick could’ve turned out this good?

[bravehardts]

Day 6 - Edinburgh: History and Haggis

Lo and behold, we were awarded with another beautiful day here on what we worried would be a rainy and cold vacation. I hope this doesn't jinx our luck but today was the warmest and clearest day yet. Traveling up The Royal Mile from our hotel, we met our close friends Brendan and Esther Cooney at a breakfast place called Hula Juice Bar for avocado toast (so California) and porridge (so Scottish). It was great to catch up and see some familiar faces this faraway from home. After cajoling a couple of passerbys to take our picture together outside, we parted ways and wandered further up towards the most popular attraction here, Edinburgh Castle. As we approached the castle, the crowds kept getting more and more dense. Fortunately we had purchased our tickets beforehand so we could skip the queue and print them right away. We passed through a large stadium that is hosting the "Military Tattoo" during festival season--on display was a giant military jet suspended above the entrance and a navy helicopter. As we would soon learn in the castle, Scotland is VERY proud of their military, both past and present. Walking up towards the castle, we were transported back to medieval times (not the restaurant, but similar). This would be the third castle we visited, and by far the best! The layout was winding and asymmetrical--probably an advantage for any invading hordes, trying to conquer the castle. Perched high on a hill, it also has a huge tactical advantage. It could likely only be attacked from one side, since the other sides are steep cliffs overlooking the city. As our friends advised us, we headed straight to the top of the castle (which is a series of independent buildings, all part of the greater structure). We entered an area to view the Scottish Crown Jewels, after seeing a series of historical mannequined recreations. No pictures were allowed in the room with the Crown Jewels--but there was a sword, a scepter, and a red velvet crown, just as you would imagine from British royalty. There were some other types of jewels but Alex was already antsy so we didn't get to spend too much time in the final room. We visited various other areas of the castle, though it was already starting to get packed with throngs of international visitors and tour groups. Of note, we visited the "Great Hall", decorated with swords, muskets, and armor (YES!), the War Memorial (no pictures allowed), a quite stunning indoor memorial to Scottish soldiers, navy men, nurses, etc. It felt like a small cathedral, and was very moving to see all the different divisions of the Scottish military's honored deceased. Other attractions were Mons Meg--the largest cannon of that era, that could fire a 300 lbs. cannonball 2 miles; the Prisons of War Exhibition--recreations of prison cells from various eras of the castle (definitely in Allison's wheelhouse)--St. Margaret's Chapel, the Dog Cemetery, and at least three military museums (including the National War Museum). If we had spent the time to really read every sign, look at every artifact (swords, medals, rifles, kilts, helmets, gas masks, machine guns, flags, etc) we would have been there for HOURS. But of course we didn't, because first of all Alex can't read, and second of all after you've seen 50 swords they all start to look the same. But I was pleasantly surprised by the bagpipe soundtrack blaring the "Last of the Mohican's" theme song, which I didn't realize was either 1) an original Scottish bagpipe song ripped off for the movie, or 2) a really great song from the movie that is cool to play on the bagpipe (will look up an answer shortly--and more on that song soon). A quick side note--we grabbed lunch within the castle at a delightful cafe. As it had one of the only bathrooms in the area, I wandered down the stairs to take Alex, and noticed the longest, most miserable line of women I have even seen, waiting for the Lou. I've seen happier people in line at the DMV. Heading out of the Castle, we passed by absolutely massive lines of people waiting to buy tickets. We were lucky to have entered the castle first thing in the morning, and clearly it would only get more and more crowded during the day. Walking back down The Royal Mile, the crowds did not get thinner by any means. And top of that were throngs of street performers with terrible costumes and loads and loads of youngsters handing out flyers for various "free shows" during festival week. We powered through these masses of people--a nightmarish sea of activity for folks like us who don't love big crowds too much. Eventually we got back to the hotel, for a little rest and Lego Star Wars. For the afternoon, we planned to grab another Hop On Hop Off bus pass, and move around the city. Sitting on the open top of the bus, the sun was fully out and actually getting uncomfortably hot. This bus tour did not cover as much area as the one in Dublin, but the traffic was so thick that it took forever to get anywhere. But the sights of hilly Edinburgh are so stunning from almost any spot in the city, I would call it a good choice for us to get our bearings and see more of the city. We decided to get off the bus at Grassmarket, an active area of pubs and restaurants not too far from our hotel. The first pub we went to told us that we could only have a kid inside if he ate a "full meal" (liquor regulations I guess). The second we tried was more lenient--as long as he had a snack, that was fine. And have a snack we did! The pub was called "The Last Drop" (love it!) and we had a cozy little area in the back. Alex had mac and cheese which he annihilated. Allison had a vegetable broth soup. I went all in and tried the Haggis with Neeps and Tatties--because how could I leave Scotland without trying it? For those who only know Haggis as a joke in "So I Married an Ax Murderer", it is apparently banned in the US because it contains an ingredient not allowed to be put into our food: Sheep lungs. Oh, it also has sheep heart, liver, and is cooked in the stomach. That being said--it was pretty good! Not good enough for me to eat the whole thing, but the Neeps (mashed turnips) and Tatties (mashed potatoes) were just great when drizzled with whiskey cream sauce. The haggis itself was like a hearty thick paste with some spice to it. I could see getting used to it, but of all the exotic things I've tried, lungs is a new one on my list, and a little hard mentally to get past. I also tried a local beer--Innis and Gunn Lager. Tastes like a lager, and not much more to say about it. We hiked back to the hotel, staying on Cowgate (far enough away from the busier streets to be sane) and crossing under bridges, before ascending the hill to our hotel. There are loads of bridges around here, but no river. They just cross between hills and over streets far below. Before dinner, I took Alex to the little pool in the basement of our hotel. The small pool was a big hit, as would be expected. And finally, we took a nice long hike to our dinner restaurant, The Fisher House--the best meal we have had so far. The fresh seafood was fantastic--Alex devoured his sole (I helped him polish off the squid ink gnocchi), Allison fell in love with her lobster and scallops, and I went batty for my Panang curry with shrimp and fish. Also, a fried octopus appetizer started things off with a bang. Alex finished the meal by using Allison's lobster claw to crush any remaining food items in sight.. As we walked back to the hotel, there were still loads of people out--the setting sun was beautiful on the stone monuments and statues around the city. The festival attractions (pop up restaurants and bars, bands playing all around the city) were making us regret not having a babysitter so we could go out on the town. Oh, and we walked by a street band again playing the "Last of the Mohicans" theme song on Bagpipe, but this time with a full drum set and electric guitar. I loved the jam, and so did Alex! While I write this in our dark, quiet room in the back of the hotel (with Alex trying to fall asleep), we are so close yet so far away from the bustling city life that will surely be drinking, dancing, and doing whatever else there is to be done here, all night. No regrets though! This was a hugely busy day for us, and tomorrow we get to fill in the gaps of our Edinburgh experience. There are so many historical buildings, winding streets, mysterious closes (the walking alleyways leading from the streets), that even a week wouldn't be enough to see all that this amazing city has to offer.

[themoneybuff-blog]

The pink tax: The hidden cost of being female

Women working to achieve financial independence face an extra hurdle: the hidden cost of being female. Though its cheekily referred to as the pink tax, the additional cost women incur for personal-care products, toys, clothing, dry cleaning, health care, mortgages, and vehicle maintenance is no joking matter. It inflates our budgets, limits our ability to save, and sometimes hinders our ability to access affordable and safe sources of credit. Based on that semi-intense description of the pink tax, you may think its already been made illegal to charge someone more on the basis of their gender. But thats not true. Theres no federal law prohibiting companies from charging different prices for products that are identical (or very similar), but which are marketed by gender. At least not currently. Only one U.S. municipality Miami-Dade County has banned this practice. California enacted a similar restriction in 1995, but it applies only to the pricing of services. New York City followed in 1998. On top of the pink tax, women still earn less than their male counterparts. The average woman is paid 82 cents for every $1 her male colleagues earn; the discrepancy is much worse for women of color. When youre paying more for basic goods and services from birth until death just because youre female its easy to understand why so many women are pushing to Ax the Pink Tax.

What Is the Pink Tax? Twenty-five years ago, in 1994, the State of California studied the issue of gender-based pricing. They found women pay about $1300 more each year for the same services as men. Accounting for inflation, that figure is now closer to $2135 per year. If that figure doesnt shock you, maybe this will: By the time a woman turns 29 (like me), shell have spent an estimated $39,203 on the pink tax alone! Can you imagine how much money I could have right now if Id put the money I spent on the pink tax in a savings account? Especially one with compounded interest!? In 2015, the New York City Department of Consumer Affairs (DCA) published a report on the pink tax entitled From Cradle to Cane: The Cost of Being a Female Consumer. The report found that womens products cost more than mens products 42 percent of the time. 42 percent! By comparison, mens products cost more than the female version 18 percent of the time. According to the DCA report, products for female consumers were likely to cost more across industries: Girls toys cost more 55 percent of the time, while boys toys cost more 8 percent of the time.Girls clothing cost more 26 percent of the time, while boys clothing cost more 7 percent of the time.Womens clothing cost more 40 percent of the time, while mens clothing cost more 32 percent of the time.Womens personal-care products (shampoo, conditioner, razors, lotion, deodorant, body wash, and shaving cream) cost more 56 percent of the time, while mens products cost more 13 percent of the time.Senior home health-care products (supports and braces, canes, compression socks, adult incontinence products, and digestive health products) cost more for women 45 percent of the time and cost more for men 13 percent of the time. Nowhere is the pink tax more evident than when it comes to personal-care products. Personal-care products geared toward women cost approximately 13 percent more than similar products marketed toward men. Similarly, women are financially penalized for having their menstrual cycle. The U.S. government has deemed menstrual products a luxury item despite the fact that menstrual cycles are a monthly reality for all women, not a luxury. For comparison: Prescription and non-prescription drugs and medical supplies are exempt from sales tax. This includes aspirin, DayQuil, ChapStick, gauze, Viagra, and condoms. But all hell breaks loose if an end to the tampon tax is proposed even though a study published by the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists found that two out of three low-income women in the U.S. couldnt afford menstrual products at least once each year. The study also found that tax breaks on tampons are extremely beneficial for low-income women. Despite this growing body of research that it costs way more to live as a woman than a man, proposals to eliminate tampon taxes or other pink taxes dont get very far. In New York, where a tax on menstrual products was eliminated, the state has recorded a $14 million loss in tax revenue as a result. In California, former Gov. Jerry Brown vetoed a bill in 2016 that would have eliminated the states tampon tax for fear that the state would lose $20 million in annual taxes. The Pink Tax in Action What does the pink tax look like in action? At Target, a red Radio Flyer My 1st Scooter marketed at boys retailed for $24.99. The My 1st Scooter Sparkle, the same Radio Flyer but painted pink with glitter, retailed for $49.99.

Until, that is, the DCA study came out. When questioned about the price difference between the two Radio Flyer scooters, Target referred to the extra $25 cost of the pink scooter as a system error. The retailer now sells both scooters for $29.99. Even childrens short-sleeved uniform t-shirts showed a gender price difference, with boys tops retailing for $10.95, while girls tops retailed for $12.95. Anyone have a clue why the girl version costs $2 extra?

The gender-based price difference is even more blatant when it comes to adult clothing. Womens clothing costs more than mens clothing in six of seven categories! The only category where men pay more than women is underwear men typically pay $2.44 more for underwear than women. However, women are paying more than a $2.44 difference when it comes to dress pants, dress shirts, sweaters, jeans, shirts, and socks.

Its not just retailers though that pass along costs onto female consumers, for really no other reason than to boost their own bottom line. Its also service providers like dry cleaners and car repair shops that are guilty of charging women more than men. Suzanne McGee knows all too well the additional cost thats incurred when a female goes to the dry cleaners. Ive been hit with the pink tax again, she wrote in a column for The Guardian. I knew it was coming; I should have been prepared with better arguments. But I couldnt avoid itI ended up getting charged $7 for cleaning my female shirt and not the $3.25 a man would have been charged. To prove her theory, McGee had a male friend return to the dry cleaner with an identical shirt to see how much he would be charged to have the same plain, cotton, long-sleeved shirt dry cleaned. McGees male friend was charged just $3.25, while McGee had been charged $7 to dry-clean the same top. Mortgages, Cars, and Loans While its illegal for your gender to play a role in determining your mortgage rate, theres a slew of studies showing women pay higher mortgage rates than men in relation to their risk of defaulting. According to a report in the Los Angeles Times, because income was once a determining factor in ones ability to obtain credit, women were often denied as a result of earning less than men. A similar trend was found in the small loans market. Studies found that women were rejected more than men when applying for loans. When women were approved, they were given smaller loans, but because so many women feared being rejected, most didnt apply for loans in the first place, the Times reported. A similar occurrence happens in the auto industry. It sounds clich, but a study from Northwestern found that women who acted uninformed when asking about having a radiator replaced were charged more. Women were quoted at $406 for a service that should cost around $365. Men who acted unfamiliar with the repair, just as the women had done, were quoted $383 for the same service, the study found. No Evidence of Discrimination? In 2015, New York officials concluded that because the pink tax is largely unavoidable, its a greater financial burden for female consumers than for male consumer. Consumers dont control the textiles or ingredients used in the products marketed to them, the DCA report noted. Additionally, consumers can only make purchasing decisions based on whats available in the marketplace. However, a report from the Government Accountability Office (GAO) concluded differently. Because there isnt a law preventing companies from charging different prices for men and womens versions of products, and companies have a legal right and responsibility to maximize profits, the GAO couldnt conclude the gender price disparity was unfair. The GAO even argued that its up to consumers to understand any price differences. I may have been able to let that ill-informed conclusion slide if they hadnt added this part: Concerns about gender discrimination were not studied due to very few complaints. Stop Paying the Pink Tax! Until the gender pay gap and gender tax are eliminated, is there anything we can do to try to level the playing field economically? To start, you can choose to purchase the mens version of many personal-care products in order to save money. Or, if youre like me and prefer to stick to feminine versions, many female-centric online retailers now offer pink tax-free personal-care products via subscription services. This way you can save money and still enjoy a pink razor. The other thing we can do is use our voices on social media especially to speak up. When youre shopping, check to see if theres a price difference between the womens and mens versions. If there is, look to see if the size and ingredients are comparable. If theyre the same, take a picture of both products and use the hashtag #AxThePinkTax. Some companies whove become aware of the price discrepancies of their own products have made changes to level the economic playing field.

Author: Katie Utterback Curious is one word to describe Katie Utterback, a former investigative reporter, who fashioned a microphone from cardboard at a young age and perused her neighborhood with a hand-held camcorder looking for stories to share with the world. Katie now uses her writing skills to further improve financial literacy in the Greater San Diego area, while sharing insights from her own debt-free journey at DebtWave Credit Counseling. https://www.getrichslowly.org/pink-tax/

[rainy-days-and-cabbage]

100 things the Lodgers are no longer allowed to do

1.       ‘For the good of science!’ is not an appropriate response to ‘Why is everything on fire?’

2.       Unrelated to the above, Mr Sinnett and Mr Luckett are not allowed to combine their work in any way without written permission from Dr Jekyll.

3.       Related to the above two, Mr Luckett is not allowed in the Chemistry Lab. Ever.

4.       Mr Hyde is no longer allowed to make comment on or imply anything about any of the Lodgers’ sex lives.

5.       Including his own.

6.       Especially his own.

7.       Do not taunt the repair kraken, we don’t want another incident.

8.       Do not make comment on any Lodgers’ height. Especially the blonde ones. We aren’t pointing fingers. Honest.

9.       On that note; don’t make comment on any lodgers’ weight, social background, ethnicity, gender or weight. They are passionate, slightly mad and have easy access to dangerous lab equipment. You have been warned.

10.   Do not mess with Dr Jekyll’s morning cup of tea. Just don’t.

11.   Dr Griffin is not allowed to turn any more mice, rats or similar rodents invisible.

12.   Nor is he allowed to breed the already invisible mice, rats or similar rodents to create more. Seriously we have enough problems with them as is.

13.   Progress Reports SHOULD NOT NEED to start with ‘I can explain…’

14.   Dr Jekyll is to stop leaving his coat, hat and other clothing garments littered all over the society. Or said items will be sold for the good of the society!

15.   If it makes Mr Hyde giggle for longer than 15 seconds, it’s not allowed.

16.   Rachel is not to wander around the society covered in blood, wielding a kitchen knife and/or making ominous sounds when guests are present.

17.   Nobody is to do the above, on that note.

18.   Alcohol is not to be consumed in any of the labs or whilst working. Drunk science may seem fun but it is a bad idea!

19.   I don’t care if Mr Hyde said it was allowed, it isn’t.

20.   Lodgers are not allowed to have a contest to see who can make the biggest “boom”.

21.   Because Mr Luckett will win and the repairs will come out of your monthly research grant.

22.   The Secret Rogue Scientist Fight Club is hereby disbanded and banned.

23.   Mr Doodles’ confectionaries are not to be taken without his permission. Ever. Please, you’ll make him cry!

24.   Please do not laugh manically around members of the public or the police.

25.   Please do not mention potentially illegal activities around members of the public or the police.

26.   Nobody is to suggest, imply or outright state anything pertaining to Scotland being less than great within ear shot of Mr Hyde and Dr Jekyll.

27.   Lodgers are reminded not to fall asleep in the middle of conducting experiments.

28.   Wine is not a substitute for breakfast.

29.   Nor is tequila, vodka, whiskey or anything other than actual breakfast.

30.   The following words and phrases are never to be uttered within the same topic of conversation in any combination: “Necrophilia,” “I hate everyone on this society and I wish they’d die,” “Dr Maijabi’s mystic powers,” “Experimental lubricant,” “airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow,” “the many uses of cheese,” “it’ll be fine so long as we don’t tell them,” and any mentions of Mr Mosley being part mole.

31.   Adding more ingredients does not always fix the problem.

32.   Tea parties on Dr Maijabi’s floating furniture are banned until further notice.

33.   Please respect that no one in the society shares the same sleeping pattern and keep the noise down at all times.

34.   That means you, Edward.

35.   Unless Rachel has given you permission, the Lodgers are not allowed to cook their own meals. We don’t need another exploded oven, thank you.

36.   Do not make potions in the kitchen. You have your labs.

37.   Do not use Mr Sinnett’s pyrotechnics to cook.

38.   Not even if it’s to make s’mores, we still haven’t cleaned up the mess from last time!

39.   I don’t care what your excuse is, nobody is to steal or ‘borrow’ anyone else’s equipment or experiments without their owner’s permission.

40.   "Hyde made me do it" is not a valid excuse for anything, especially when he didn’t.

41.   Likewise, lying that ‘Mr Hyde did it’ when questioned by Dr Jekyll will not end well for you. He will somehow know that you are lying and Mr Hyde won’t be happy when he finds out.

42.   If Dr Jekyll asks to see you, please don’t start the conversation with ‘You can’t prove anything!’

43.   ‘It wasn’t me!’ is not a valid alternative to the above.

44.   Nor is ‘I’ll clean it up! I promise!’

45.   Please avoid intentionally or unintentionally scaring Dr Lanyon. Please, he’s fragile and easily startled.

46.   Dr Jekyll is not to be provoked when he’s doing paperwork.

47.   All the many betting pools found in the society are unofficial. Enter them at your own risk.

48.   This should go without saying but please do not lick any of the lab equipment.

49.   Dr Griffin is banned from the kitchen following an incident where a large portion of food was turned invisible.

50.   Please do not repeat the above for pranking reasons.

51.   Should anyone or anything claim to be from the future, avoid it at all costs and quickly inform Dr Jekyll. He can take it from there.

52.   Glitter is banned within the society. End of argument.

53.   No, neither Dr Jekyll nor Mr Hyde are in violation of the above. They just seem to sparkle naturally. We don’t know how either.

54.   Do not insult Dr Jekyll. He may not react, or more worryingly start agreeing with you, but the rest of Lodgers will find out and will not be happy.

55.   Do not dance on the furniture.

56.   Yes, Hyde does it but he’s screwing the boss.

57.   Do not mention Hyde possibly screwing the boss.

58.   Do not refer to Dr Jekyll as ‘the boss’.

59.   Please remove the above three statements immediately! – Dr Jekyll

60.   It is impossible to keep anything a secret for more than a week in the society. You have been warned.

61.   Gossip in the Society travels at a rate that is just slightly slower than the speed of sound. Again, you have been warned.

62.   If you don’t know what it is or what it does, DO NOT touch it!

63.   If it’s leaking fluid and it shouldn’t, either fix it or back away slowly and hope it doesn’t explode.

64.   Zosi did not eat anyone’s lab equipment, monthly reports or left sock. Stop blaming it on them!

65.   Do not attempt to pick Mr Bird’s plants to make flower crowns. Half of them are poisonous, the other half will eat you.

66.   Do not take Bryson’s hot air balloon on a joy ride.

67.   Likewise with Dr Helsby’s Bathyscaph.

68.   Do not steal Dr Jekyll’s sparkly carriage for the same purpose either.

69.   Also do not steal Mr Mosley’s Hollow Earth Submarine. That man owns a drill and will use it on you.

70.   Please do not mess about with Mr Doodle’s candyfloss machine. Flooding the upstairs with candyfloss might seem fun at the time but it’s a pain to clean up. And it took us three hours to get Mr Hyde down off the ceiling last time.

71.   Clothing must be worn at all time in communal areas of the society. Invisible clothing does not count.

72.   Dr Griffin is not allowed to flip any more table unless all the work on them is his own and he pays for the table if he breaks it.

73.   Dr Jekyll is not to be referred as anyone’s ‘mother’.

74.   The Lodgers must not present any of 'the wonders of science' to children without a RESPONSIBLE adult's oversight.

75.   Mr Hyde does not count as a responsible adult.

76.   Nor do most of the lodgers either on that note.

77.   Don’t ask why Mr Hyde is sometimes seen wearing Dr Jekyll’s clothes.

78.   Or vice versa. It just happens.

79.   Dr Griffin is not to go to West Sussex ever. Especially the area near the village of Iping and the town of Bramblehurst.

80.   The lodgers are to note that ‘It is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission’ no longer applies to them. Dr Jekyll is more than willing to give permission, but do get permission first!

81.   Please do not release the repair kraken on the streets. The general public and the Police do not appreciate its presence there.

82.   Any bake sales hosted within the society grounds are to give at least two thirds of the profits to the society funds.

83.   No lodger is to take the laws of physics as a personal insult to their work.

84.   Nor are they to take the laws of reality as a personal insult either.

85.   No unnecessary science in the lobby!

86.   If you see one of Miss. Flower's butterflies, carefully catch it and return it to her as soon as possible.

87.   DO NOT EAT IT!!

88.   Do not eat any of the science!

89.   Expect Mr Doodle’s, with his permission. As mentioned above.

90.   No fire flies near the chemistry labs please.

91.   No, Mr Penniebrygg is not building an automaton army. Or at least he shouldn’t be!

92.   No lodger is to go within twenty feet of Mr Tweedy or his equipment when he is working. If you ignore this and are electrocuted, it’s your own damn fault.

93.   Do not send threatening or angry letters to the Theatre across the road.

94.   If you must, do not sign them with your’s or the Society’s name!

95.   Making ‘time of the month’ jokes around the female Lodgers or Mr Kaylock is not appropriate.

96.   Do not try to feed Mr Kaylock dog biscuits.

97.   Do not try to feed Mr Hyde cat food!

98.   Do not feed the leviathan. We still aren’t sure what it is or if it eats or what it eats. So please don’t.

99.   Midnight dance parties are banned unless Mr Hyde is invited. All chaos cause by said midnight dance parties must be cleaned up by the morning.

100.                       Do not let any member of the public see this list.

[themanuelruello]

Honey Currant Jam Recipe

Homegrown fruit and I do not have a good relationship.

The apple trees I planted?

Dead within 10 months. 

The blueberry plant?

It didn’t stand a chance.

The raspberry patch?

I get about a cup per summer if I’m lucky.

The strawberries?

Maybe a bowlful on a good year.

It’s not entirely my fault… Wyoming’s growing season isn’t exactly conducive to fruit orchards. I gave up for a while, until I started doing a little research.

What did the old-timers plant around here? Currants.

What can you find still growing around many old prairie farmhouses? Currants.

So currants it is.

And we got our first substantial fruit harvest in over a decade.

It’s a lesson in going with what naturally wants to work, instead of stubbornly beating your head against the wall repeatedly (I usually have to do the latter for a while– just how I roll.)

Anyway.

I planted a couple currant bushes 2-3 years ago, and they are already loaded with fruit.

They don’t care if I forget to water them, the 70mph winds don’t phase them, and they are one of the first plants to start greening up in early spring.

Dear currants, I LOVE YOU.

If you’ve never had a currant, it’s definitely on the sour side– but with a little sugar or honey, it transforms into a old-fashioned delicacy.

There are a different varieties of currants, but we are growing the black ones right now.

Why? 

Because that’s what the guy at the farmer’s market sold me.

So yeah, not a super compelling reason… but that’s where we are.

However, any of the varieties will produce berries that you can use in dozens of homestead-style recipes, so I don’t think you can go wrong, regardless of what type you go with.

From what I can tell, red currants are a bit more mild, while black currants have a stronger tart flavor and contain more Vitamin C.

(Interestingly enough, I found out that currants were formerly banned in New York and other parts of the USA because they were thought to carry a disease that effects some varieties of pine trees… Thankfully, the ban has been repealed.)

What Do You Do With Currants?

Currants make delicious jams, jellies, syrups, quick breads, and pies with an old-fashioned twist. They contain a lot of natural pectin, so you don’t technically don’t *have* to add additional pectin to make your jams/jellies set up.

Because they are decidedly tart, they aren’t a fruit that I’d want to eat raw or plain, but with a little sweetener, they have a beautifully bright flavor.

My currents ripened in stages, so I picked the berries as they turned dark purple, removed the stems, washed the fruit, and popped them in the freezer until I had enough to justify making jam.

If currants naturally contain pectin, why did you still use boxed pectin?

Unfortunately, many of the no-additional-pectin-added jam recipes required white sugar to make the jam set.

I much prefer using honey to sweetened my homemade jams, so to avoid any snafus, I chose to stick with my usual jam technique using Pomona’s Pectin. I’ve been using it for years and it allows me avoid using cupfuls of white sugar as a sweetener (which normally is required to ensure that jams gel properly).

Here’s the recipe I used– it’s been a hit with the whole family.

Honey Currant Jam Recipe

4 cups mashed currants (any variety)

2 teaspoons calcium water*

2 teaspoons Pomonas Pectin powder

1/2 to 1 cup honey (this depends on your taste preferences)

*This ingredient is unique to Pomona’s pectin and is included in the box. Make the water by placing 1/2 teaspoon of the calcium powder into a jar with 1/2 cup water. Shake well. Will last in the refrigerator for many months.

Place the measured fruit into a large pot or saucepan. Add the calcium water.

Place honey into separate bowl and stir in the pectin powder.

Bring the fruit to a full, rolling boil, then add the pectin/honey mixture. Stir well to dissolve the pectin completely. (This is also a good point to do a quick taste test to see if the jam is at a sweetness level you like).

Return mixture to a full, rolling boil and boil for one minute. (A rolling boil means a boil that keeps bubbling away even when you are stirring it vigorously with a spoon.)

Check for gelling (see note below). If achieved, remove the pot from the heat.

If you want to can the jam: Ladle the hot jam into waiting hot jars, leaving 1/4-inch of headspace. Affix lids and rings and process in a boiling water canner for 10 minutes plus 1 additional minute for every 1000 feet you are above sea level.

How Do I Know if My Jam Has Gelled?

(REMEMBER: Pectin only sets up when it’s cold– don’t expect to see hot jam gelling up!)

Place a small saucer in the freezer before you start your jam making. When you’re ready to test, place 1/2 teaspoon of jam on the saucer and place it back into the freezer. If it is set within a few minutes of being in the freezer, you’re good to go! If it is still runny after several minutes, keep simmering.

Homemade Jam Kitchen Notes:

Homemade currant jam on from-scratch biscuits. Does it get any more homesteader than that?

If your jam isn’t gelling after the minute of boiling, it’s OK to boil slightly longer. However, keep in mind that over boiling the jam will also result in lack of gel, so try to keep the cook time minimal.

Resist the urge to double your jam batches. Increasing the quantity can affect how the pectin works and result in un-gelled batches. If you need to make a larger quantity of jam, simply make multiple batches in different pots.

If you’d rather not can your jam, you can also just pop it in the fridge and use it within 10 days, OR place it into freezer-safe containers and freeze for up to one year.

Wishing you could feel confident enough to can your own jam? I’ve got you covered! I created the Canning Made Easy system that’s the next best thing to having your Great-Grandma in the kitchen with you showing you the ropes.

Here are a few more of my favorite fruit preservation recipes:

No-Cook Honey-Sweetened Freezer Jam

Peach Butter Recipe

Canning Peaches with Honey & Cinnamon

Canning Pears with Maple Syrup

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