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worldwidemochiguy · 5 years

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until i saw you - mafia yandere! namjoon

Summary: You were up at two am finishing an essay for college. All alone, you felt like you were the only person awake in the world. Until you heard the gunshot, until you looked up, until you saw him... and until he saw you.

Word Count: 2.5K

Masterlist

a/n: hello everybody! this is in response to @kpopgirlbtssvt ‘s prompt asking for fem! reader who is going to college in South Korea to see mafia member namjoon doing mafia stuff and then him comforting her and eventually taking her home. I hope this is ok! also, for future reference, a ‘food market’ is like a type of charity shop in South Korea where disadvantaged people can go and get food and clothing and essentials for free and people volunteer to help at them.

You take another sip of your vanilla latte, humming at the pleasant taste. You generally have more of a sweet tooth and prefer to order a hot chocolate instead of coffee — much to the amusement of your friends — but you knew you would need the extra shot of caffeine to stay awake. You’ve been so busy with college assignments and all the little jobs you do to keep yourself afloat that you have ended up awake at one in the morning, furiously typing your essay in the hopes that you can complete it within two days.

You’re very lucky the owner of your favourite cafe, a sweet old lady who has given you free daanpatbbang more times than you could count, despite your protestations, seems to like you so much. She was kind and trusting enough to allow you to stay the night at the cafe, working on your essay. Jiho, the girl who was cleaning down the tables, left to go to bed, leaving you completely alone in the night.

It is slightly eerie. The only light in the cafe is coming from the screen of your laptop, the only noises are your steady breathing and the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard. If you looked outside the floor-to-ceiling glass window you loved to sit next to, all you would see is the soft glow of streetlights reflected in the puddles on the sidewalk, and the occasional car passing by.

Seoul is asleep. You just wish there were someone awake to keep you company.

The thought dissipates in the wind as something catches your eye. You see a man, half-running, half-staggering out from an alley that opens into the sidewalk across from where you are sitting. A hand yanks him back into the shadows. As if in a trance, you rise from your seat, abandoning your tepid latte and move towards the exit. If you have any common sense, you would hide behind the counter, or run away as soon as you reach the door, following your head and avoiding trouble and minding your own business when anything looks dangerous.

But, for some indiscernible reason, you drift out onto the sidewalk, closer to the point where the staggering man disappeared. You notice a dark stain spilling out from the shadows onto the concrete. The moonlight bounces off it, except the white light has been burnt as it reflects, changing into the deep red of sunset.

The night is no longer silent — harsh pants of exertion and the sounds of bodies being slammed against brick emanating from the darkness. You feel a building pressure in your head, a voice that sounds exactly like yours screaming at you run! run! run!

A gunshot.

The staggering man falls to the ground, his body half-in and half out of shadow. His head has been blown open, and its remnants are scattered across the street. His hand is outstretched towards you, open and grasping, asking for help.

You vaguely register the coldness spreading across your backside. You worry for a second that you have wet yourself but then realise, with some relief, you have just fallen against the wall of the cafe and slid to the ground. You feel guilty for feeling relief at a time like this, your thoughts turn sharp and loud in your head and then you scream again. Again? Oh, you had forgotten the first scream. You guess you are once more the only person awake in Seoul.

But. If you are the only person awake in Seoul then who is coming towards you?

The second man to emerge from the shadows, and you question how many more are hiding behind him, takes measured steps towards you. His gun — he has a gun, and you want to scream again, but you start crying instead — is relaxed in his hand. It’s still smoking slightly. You wonder if it would feel warm pressed against your forehead. You guess you will find out soon enough.

He is tall, and when he stops in front of your curled up figure his shadow covers you completely. But then he crouches, and a pair of dark, intelligent, earnest eyes meet yours. It is difficult to maintain eye-contact when everything looks blurry to you, your tears forming into stained glass in front of your pupils, but you do your best. If you disappoint him, you just know that he’ll shoot you too.

“누구십니까?” He asks you a question, but you can’t answer, and for some reason this inability to obey his expectations sends you into a spiral. You burry your sobs in your knees, strains of your thoughts slipping out as I can’t, I don’t know, please don’t hurt me. He sighs, then asks in slightly accented, but fluent English.

“Who are you?”

His voice is smooth. It is the first voice you have heard all night and it startles you for some reason, your spine stiffening and forcing your head upwards again. He had leaned in even closer, and now your nose is an inch from his. He tilts his head, almost encouragingly, and you try to swallow even though your mouth has completely dried up.

“My name’s y/n. I’m a college student. I-I was working on an essay.” Your voice is scratchy and quiet, and every other syllable is a poorly concealed sob, but the man nods politely as if he is even remotely interested in what you have to say.

“An essay, huh? At three am?” It’s like he is disapproving of you staying up late. “Did you leave it to the last minute?” He definitely sounds disappointed in you, and your heart thumps painfully at the thought, though you can’t say why.

“No, no, I- I’m double majoring and I’m doing multiple jobs to support myself, so I don’t have time for schoolwork. The essay is due in two days, so I’m n-not leaving it to the last minute.”

“If it’s due in two days, why are you staying up all night finishing it now?” You could almost say there was concern in his voice, which prompts you to keep on telling this stranger more details about yourself.

“I’m volunteering at a food market all day tomorrow so I won’t have time to do it then.”

“You’re-“ he breaks into a smile, and your heart cracks at the realisation that he has dimples, “You don’t have time for schoolwork because you volunteer.” He doesn’t phrase it like a question, but you shrug self-consciously anyway, feeling colour bloom on your cheeks. Your friends always teased you for it, so it makes sense that this man would as well.

“You’re so- innocent.”

He pauses, before reaching up slowly, as if he doesn’t want to startle you, and cups your cheek. The semi-dried tear tracks on your face are wiped away as he swipes a thumb under your eye. You don’t know why his touch doesn’t frighten you especially since he had been holding a loaded gun, though it had been discarded as soon as he crouched down to your level.

“Who takes care of you?” He asks, and your brow wrinkles slightly in confusion. He huffs a laugh, then brushes his thumb over the crease until you relax again. But you still feel bewildered. That was a question you had never asked yourself, but now that you turn it over in your mind, you realise you don’t know.

Who takes care of you? Not your dad, who walked out on your family before you got old enough to have a chance at remembering his face. Not your mom, who relied on you to send money home to support her, and then spent it all on alcohol to give her a chance at forgetting your dad’s face. Not your little brother, whom you loved with all your heart and who was too young to understand anything other than the fact that you were who he could rely on and mom was not. You wish you could say your friends took care of you, or at least comforted you, but it felt like all they did was mock you, for so many things such as the cheap clothes you always wore and did your best to take care of, to the ease with which you gave in to others’ demands. The truth was, no one took care of you at all, and you had never even realised that until the stranger had asked.

“Y/n?” His voice rouses you from your thoughts and you snap your eyes back to his obediently, even if tears are once again obscuring your vision. You hadn’t realised you had started to cry.

“Who takes care of you?” He reiterates the question, and before you can stop it, a sob racks your body.

“No one. No one does, no matter how hard I wish for them to.”

You bow your head, watching as your tears drip off your face and create small ripples in the puddle next to you. Suddenly, the ripples increase and you realise it has started raining, like the sky is crying along with you. The closest thing to companionship you have.

You are encased in warmth and protected from the ice-cold rain as the man wraps his arms around you. You shiver as he presses you to his chest, somehow lifting you into his arms and protecting you from the chill with his body.

“You are wrong, y/n.” His voice rumbles, and your shivers instantly calm. “From now on, I’m going to take care of you.”

“Y-you are?” You sound fragile and pathetic even to your own ears.

“I never make promises I don’t intend to keep. And I promise you, y/n, I will always protect and care for you.”

“But,” you flounder, not exactly in distress, but disbelieving that anyone would do this for you, “Why?”

“Why?” The man repeats, now walking along the sidewalk in fast paces, though you barely notice. “Because when you saw me, you did not run. When I asked, you answered obediently. You are desperately in need of someone to protect you, to take care of you, to love you.” At the last phrase, his voice dipped lower and you burrowed deeper into his chest, desperate to believe that he was being truthful and this was real.

“You’re going to t-take care of me?” You stutter, and his lips curl up in a playful smirk, revealing the dimple that you were already growing to love.

“Of course I will, and you only have to do one thing in return.”

“What is it?” You ask right away, desperate to please him. He does seem pleased by your responsiveness, and you can feel your heart skip a beat with excitement.

“All you have to do, y/n, is love me.”

He stops walking, and you realise you have reached an expensive black car parked by the side of the road. He opens the passenger door for you and sets you down, moving swiftly to the other side to occupy the drivers seat. You notice he puts child-lock on, effectively trapping you in the car, but it is unnecessary. You are already leaning sideways slightly so that you can rest against him. He appreciates your clinginess, and presses a kiss to the side of your temple before putting the car into gear. Butterflies settle in your stomach pleasantly as you relish the tingling feeling his lips leave on your skin.

“I-“ you start, then falter, and he sends you a glance, still mostly focused on the road.

“If something is bothering you, say it, y/n.” He commands firmly, but by no means unkindly. You take a deep breath to steel yourself.

“I don’t even know your name.” You sound almost mournful of that fact and he turns to you with a boyish grin fixed on his full lips, and his duality shocks you, switching from the intimidating man with a gun to the sweet guy who wants to take care of you in a heartbeat.

“My name is Namjoon.”

“Namjoon,” you try, and his encouraging smile and nod give you a fraction more courage to continue “you know how you said- you said that if you were going to take care of me, I have to- have to-“ you falter again.

“Yes, y/n?” He prompts you patiently, but you can see his hands have started to tighten on the steering wheel. Like he’s angry with you. Panic coils in your gut and you retreat back to your seat, gaze firmly fixed on the airbag in front of you. He notices your distress right away and attempts to comfort you.

“Listen, y/n.” You immediately snap to attention, despite the fear now causing your breath to come in short whimpers. “I want you to say what’s on your mind. I promise you, I won’t punish you for it, no matter what. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ok,” you say unsteadily, and Namjoon takes a hand off the steering wheel to run it up and down your leg comfortingly. His touch calms you, and you take a deep inhale before speaking again.

“You said that if you were going to take care of me then I have to love you. And I don’t- I don’t know how to… love you.” He opens his mouth to intercede, but you don’t give him the chance. “I don’t mean that I- I mean, it’s not to do with you specifically, it’s just… I’ve never loved anyone before. And we’ve only just met. I… I’m worried I won’t do it right.” You trail off in a small voice, and you see his irritation melt away instantly.

“No, my love, you don’t have to worry about it. I didn’t mean that you had to love me right away.” He explains and relief floods your system, allowing you to relax into his side again. “I just meant that… I want you to be affectionate with me and allow love to grow over time.”

“I just want someone to wake up with each morning and send me off with a kiss before I go to work, someone to worry about me while I’m off on business and to fuss over my injuries. I want someone to take care of and to buy things that make them happy and make sure they’re warm and cozy at night. That someone has always been faceless until…”

“…until?” You question, your heart in your throat.

“Until I saw you.”

“Wow…” you chuckle even as a tear slips down your cheek, “If I’d have known about your talent for romantic speeches I wouldn’t have worried about taking too long to fall in love with you.” His laugh is loud and warm and it washes over you, dragging you under the tide and drowning you in feelings you hadn’t been aware existed within you. He takes one hand off the steering wheel to intertwine his fingers with yours and you let him, a smile outshining the tears on your face as you start the next chapter of your life, feeling loved and wanted for the first time.

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rakeshys · 4 years

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Things you should be knowing as student

1) If you take control of your Sunday, you take control of your week.

2) When assigned a long-term project, finish some amount of work toward its completion that very same day.

3) Start small and start immediately.

4) If you cannot maintain an organized room you will never truly feel that your life is organized.

5) It is important to keep your room clean. And it will make your mother happy.

6) Apply to the scholarships.

7) You should never begin studying without a systemized plan for what you are going to review, in what format, and how many times.

8) Before you even crack your first book, take ten minutes to actually write down exactly how you plan to study.

9) The planning is as important as the process.

10) If you want to become a standout student, you must befriend a professor.

11) Reading a daily paper provides essential food for your ambitious brain. Make sure you don't go hungry.

12) if you are constantly worried about avoiding anything negative, you will never do anything out of the ordinary.

13) Don't let others dictate how you should feel about yourself; strengthen your identity—then go conquer your world.

14) do yourself a favor and give time-blocking a try. It's a much smarter way to manage your day.

15) Remember, giving up, when done strategically, is not a weakness. It's simply smart life management.

16) The happiest students are also the most involved students. When it comes to crafting your slate of collegiate pursuits, the sooner you get involved, the better.

17) always be working on a"grand project "

18) take art history and astronomy before you graduate.

19) Imagine the following scene: Your professor is handing back a major research paper to your class. The groans that begin to fill the room indicate that the professor was particularly demanding for this assignment. And rightly so, it's worth forty percent of your grade. As he gets to your name, he asks you to stay after class. Uh oh. Nervously you wait as your classmates file out, and when you are the only student remaining in the lecture hall, he walks up to you . . . and then shakes your hand. “Congratulations,” he exclaims, “your project was by far the best in the class!”

Sound good? Well, get used to it.

20) One or two good questions a class is enough to keep the professor happy, but not enough to solicit the annoyance of your classmates.

21) Getting involved with research early is like drinking an elixir of success.

22) If you pay your dues with grace and enthusiasm and are mindful of the opportunity you are receiving, you will maximize the many positive benefits of participating in original research work.

23) Take ten-minute breaks in between each fifty-minute chunk.

24) One, it makes you feel better about yourself. If you look good, you can imagine that cute guy or dimpled girl in the front row shooting some glances in your direction. This will make you happy. And when you are happy, you have more energy and pay attention better in class. Two, it makes the day official. When you look like you just rolled out of bed, it's all too easy to imagine rolling back in. If you dressnicely, you are sending yourself the message that you are ready to get started and attack the day.

25) Decorate your room.

26) experience the joy of dominating a test without any hard work,this is done by studying Two weeks in advance.

27) Force yourself to write as much as possible. It is an essential, irreplaceable skill for succeeding. Master it.

28) taking the time to eat a social meal with your friends is a great idea; just don't do it more than once a day.

29) Schedule an escape for yourself every single week. And do it alone. Treat it like taking medicine.

30) “Why waste your time and money in the minor leagues of college courses when you have the ability to be swinging in the majors.”

31) When it comes time to study, go where it counts.

32)The best way to learn difficult material is to go over it by yourself, with a lot of concentration, again and again and again until the concepts become second nature.

33) As long as you are paying so much money to attend college, you might as well maximize what you get out of your investment. If you can get into an honors program, do so. No excuses.

34) The key is consistency.

35) Getting fired up, once or twice a month about subjects that interest you, will go a long to way to helping you succeed. Go to guest lectures and keep your intellectual fires stoked.

36) Don't let the decision to exercise become a debatable question. Instead, make it a habit, like going to class or brushing your teeth.

37) You never realize how important your back-home friendships are until you begin to lose them. Stay in touch.

38) Sleep is just a tool to help you function. Treat your body like a machine—give it exactly what it needs to perform its best, not any more, not any less. Give the snooze button a rest. Try to sleep only the amount you need to make it through the day.

39) The best state for your mind to be in is confident and calm. Take the hour before an exam to relax.

40) Read a nonacademic book. Listen to music that makes you happy. Run a couple of errands. Have a conversation with a friend. Work on unrelated—nondemanding—schoolwork. The key is to keep your mind active and energized, but not exhausted. Then head over to the exam fifteen minutes early. On the way, start to lightly review some material that you feel particularly good about. Imagine yourself writing a strong essay on this topic, imagine the professor handing the class a copy of your essay as an example of a good answer. This technique is more than just shameless ego-stroking, it builds your confidence, and, more important, it warms up your mind in a good and controlled sort ofway. When you arrive at the test location, avoid the temptation to frantically catalog all the concepts you are a little shaky on. Try to keep your mind blank, or, alternatively, continue thinking confidence-boosting thoughts about doing really well. When the exam is finally handed out, take a deep breath and have at it. You should be mentally nimble, rested, and energized by the time your pen hits the paper.

41) If a friend invites you to do something and you are not too busy, find the energy to go. If a friend invites you to do something, and you are really busy, don't go, but make plans to get together later in the week. Most important, if a good friend needs help, drop everything and go.

Making friends your number one priority doesn't mean sacrificing your other obligations, but it does demand that you keep them in mind.

42) Be mature and make the right decisions to keep your mind and body in a condition to perform your best.

43) The point is that there are too many factors that can account for both good and mediocre academic performance on any given day, and none of these factors has anything to do with intelligence.

So save yourself a lot of unjustified grief (or pride), and simply ignore your classmates' grades. Worry about your performance and progress; let your classmates worry about their own.

44) A good listener at college is rare.

45) Don't decide to start working the day before.

46) Find something every single day that will make you laugh.

47) Using a high-quality notebook will not guarantee you success, but it will create the right environment for it to flourish.

48) if you don't actively seek out fun, it won't actively seek out you.

49) Take the most important projects or commitments with which you are involved, and pump up your criteria for success.

50) corporate recruitment sessions, and yes, even parties. In the chaos of classes, extracurricular activities, and a healthy social schedule, these optional events are easy to avoid. Don't avoid them.

51) If you want to be a successful student, forget about your G.P.A. Ignore it. Don't talk about it. Make no attempt to know the numbers. You should approach your collegiate career with confidence and energy.

52) Always go to class!

53) Set arbitrary deadlines.

54) eat healthy

55) don't just volunteer, volunteer quietly.

56) approach every paper as if you were trying to win a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting.

57) Attend political rallies and keep the flame of progressive thinking alive.

58) Once you have decided on a destination, explore many routes to get you there.

59) Don't take breaks between classes!

60) Don't network. But keep your connections strong.

61) If you can maximize the use of your surroundings, you can maximize your performance as a student.

62) Organize the messages in your e-mail in-box like you would your paper files

63) To be a successful student, you must abandon the start-slow, end-fast mind-set, and instead approach all projects by aiming to start fast, end slow.

64) Spend a semester studying abroad.

65) you want to succeed because you love the excitement of pushing your potential and exploring your world and new experiences, if you want to succeed because life is short and why not fill it with as much activity as possible, then you will win. If you approach life with an attitude of never having regrets and always having a hopeful smile on your face, you can find a measure of success in all your endeavors. Don't have no regrets, but have plenty of fun along the way. In the end, that is what it is to really win.

66) “Don't have no regrets.”

The above points are all from the book I read...

Book: - HOW TO WIN AT COLLEGE: - surprising secrets from the country's top student's

Author: - CAL NEWPORT

Anime forever ✌

#student #college #school hacks #college hacks

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heartfeltheart · 4 years

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Alchemy: Tiny Steps

Chapters: 20/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series. Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

"45 passing." Edward mused at the list of students that passed the bar to be accepted into his class. As the time goes by, that number will be cut, kicked or leave on their own accord. He already placed his original twelve students in their own class and scattered them around to the other classes to have them help the other students. Friday will be a free day, having that day free for anyone to just come and ask him questions or go further on whatever. Classes will take place after lunch every weekday. Weekends are his free days. "What do you think?"

"To many for my taste. I saw how you tested them. You went easy on them." Alphonse scanned through the sheet his brother used to determine the pass or fail for the test. "Far too easy."

"This is my second-year teaching, I have to set the bar lower. You've seen how they all are taught and raised, I had to start somewhere." Edward grumbled, he pulled out a bind notebook and started to write his schedule. After looking at everyone's schedule and seeing where he should set his class, by the looks of it, after lunch every weekday. If it conflicts with other extra-curricular activities, then Friday will act as a make-up day. By no means this gives them a chance to slack off, it just giving them a chance to do other things instead of studying all day. "Plus, the students that show potential, are still years behind of doing actually anything! Even so, I am terrified how this place will do to my students. There will be ones that will turn down the wrong road. Ones that will force them to teach them what they are not supposed to know. My biggest fear for them, are them being manipulated by their own thirst of knowledge."

Alphonse stood still in his spot, standing next to his brother's desk with papers still in hand. His voice did not waver or show any sort of sympathy. "We could only guide them and show them every possible outcome in our disposal. We have to be vigilant, we have to teach them what is right and what is wrong. Do whatever we can to lead them on the right path. Even so, there is nothing we can do for those that decide to take that path of insanity. We just have to beat the hell out of them for them to see sense of their stupidity. Or have Truth deal with them."

"…Since when did you become so…this?" Edward motioned at his brother with a look of disbelief. "You are the go-lucky, happy and…NOT THIS!"

"...Try having to put up with all your bullshit, having people continuously trying to kill you just to gain an edge or for whatever other reason, running low on caffeine, and my short time being in the same location as Truth."

"Why didn't you mention it before?"

"I was recuperating physically while you had to do so mentally. The both of us already had too much in our hands… Don't worry about it. Long as I have my caffeine, I am A-Okay."

"...Have you told Mei?"

"…She suspects."

Edward let out a sigh, he dropped everything he had on the table and leaned back into his chair. He looked up at the ceiling pensively. "You have been avoiding sleeping, haven't you? I have a valid excuse. You don't."

"I actually have a valid excuse… Did you know I have a fan-club?"

"...You too?"

-.-

"Brilliant this is! We all have the same class on Monday!"

Fred and George, they swung their arms around each other's shoulders as they examined their new schedules. Triple Alchemy by the looks of it. Monday, Fifth hour for the both of them. Tuesday, Fifth hour for Fred and Wednesday Fifth Hour for George. Friday is optional for everyone by the looks of it.

"Let's go find the others."

"Terrence is most likely going to be in the library."

"Knowing him, Rachel is most likely with him. Want to find one, locate the other."

"Well said, brother!"

-.-

Nathaniel Praxley, Elfrida Hopkirk, and Rachel McWilliams sat around the Ravenclaw table, exchanging their new schedules that now involved an Alchemy Course. The three Ravenclaw's had just received their schedules for them to see how they will be placed this year for the course. The three had taken Mr. Elric's class with varying results.

Nathaniel Praxley, a Fifth year Ravenclaw Pure-Blood, has straight shoulder length black hair, dark brown eyes that was hidden by a pair of thick glasses. His uniform untidy and loose in some places, and is nervously pulling at it while looking at his schedule. When he decided to take the Alchemy Entrance Exam, Nathaniel would have never thought he'd make it this far. Seeing that he'd made it this far let alone retaking the exam to get back into the class, and making it back in, did lift his spirits. Being in a House that had to do with intelligence, wit and so on, it made Nathaniel double guess himself on why he was even in this house. Everyone else in his house, did not have to study three times as hard, they all made it seem so easy and they make it a point whenever he is around. Taking Alchemy helped deal with his self-esteem and Mr. Elric understood he needed a longer time to comprehend his studies. Take as much he needed to understand what was being told to him.

Elfrida Hopkirk, Third year Ravenclaw Half-Blood, has a chin length chestnut brown hair, honey colored eyes and heavy bags under her eyes. She sleepily looked at her schedule, wondering if she would have time to have time to get a small nap between lunch and her Alchemy Class. By the looks of it, that won't be happening. She ran a hand through her short hair, wondering what she was going to do. Throughout her life, she had to deal with a severe case of insomnia and the Ravenclaw needs a sleeping drought to even get an ounce of sleep. Normally this would not be a but issue, the issue everyone seemed to have with her is her extreme case of procrastination. For those that have to pace themselves, take hours, days, or weeks to fully finished their work, it takes Elfrida far less time and get's everything spot on. It had gotten so bad that her Housemates refuse to have her part of any study groups or interact with her when it comes to schoolwork. The only ones that openly interact with her are the ones that are also taking Alchemy. The only class she has to be on the constant move to do everything in a timely manner, leave everything at the last minute and she'll have no one to help her comprehend the subject in hand. To the disbelief of many, instead of using her time accordingly, she spends her time procrastinating and do all of her work in the last minute. Even if her work is always on point, but her way of procrastinating everything in her life will cause her problems all over.

The last one, Rachel McWilliams is chatting up her friends and fellow Alchemist trainees to no end. She paid more attention to paper she had in her hand than her breakfast. Her friends had to forcibly change the subject to get her to eat something, but that seemed to be an impossible task at that moment of time. Rachel is far more entranced by the fact she now has Alchemy three times a week. The opportunities!

"We know… now eat your food!"

"Bu-"

"Stop. Talking. For once, stop trying to grab everyone's attention."

"I…"

"My eyebrows are growing back wrong after you pulled my sleeve in my experiment…"

"I wasn't able to hear Mr. Elric when he gave out instructions for the final report…because you kept trying to distract me."

"One of the things Mr. Elric taught us is patience and know when to keep your mouth shut-"

"But Mr. Elric never knows when to keep his mouth shut. Have you seen how interacts with public officials? Let's not get started with General Mustang or even with the Headmaster? Patience? Mr. Elric? Is this about that project he had us do for our final? That was easy, all we had to do…"

Everyone around her at this point only shook their heads at seeing Rachel started to talk about everything and anything. Nathaniel sympathized with her, understanding even. Everytime he attempts to help her, it just gets turned around against him. "Rachel… Rachel… Rachel… RACHEL!"

"… You didn't have to be loud, I was listening. Look, like I was saying…"

-.-

Cedric looked at his new schedule, his hands shaking excessively. He got in. He got into Alchemy. Many emotions ran through him, he made it into Alchemy. Having to study, breakdown, mentally preparing himself time and time again to retake the exam…

"I GOT IN!" Cedric yelled out, surprising everyone around him. He jumped up from his seat, waving his hands around in excitement. "I GOT INTO ALCHEMY!"

"One of us… One of us… One of us…"

"Fred! George! Don't scare him off!"

"Come on Terrence! Let us have some fun!"

"Your definition of fun is not the same as ours!"

"Party pooper!"

Cedric had stopped celebrating, his hands in the air awkwardly. He slowly brought them down and sat back in his spot at the table with his head down. His friends patted him on the back in acknowledgment. When he put his head down, the Hufflepuff didn't see the Alchemy Teacher raise his glass up towards his direction.

-.-

Terrance Higgs sat back on his seat with a huff, always having to deal with Fred and George's antics always takes a lot out of him. He looked around the table and quickly realized his new schedule is missing. "Has anyone se-"

"I'm comparing it to mine."

Terrance looked at his friend and newest pupil to Alchemy, Adrian Pucey. A fellow Slytherin and Fourth year. He saw that Adrian comparing both their schedules, his brows furrowed in concentration. "Do you think we'll have time for Quidditch?"

"We will. Mr. Elric will work for you if you work with him about it." Terrance explained with nod, remembering how Mr. Elric would allow a small extension in some of his work whenever practice or a game would come around. He is still not going easy on him and all the others by any means, he understands that they have other priorities as well. "Don't worry, I'll put in a good word in for you. It miiiight work."

"...Tch. Whatever." Adrian snorted and handed Terrance his schedule. "It looks like we won't be taking the class together. Unless you want to go together on Fridays?"

"Of course."

"Could I join you two?"

Adrian and Terrance looked across of them to see Edmond Mortin, a Second year, looking at them expectantly. His auburn hair in its usual side part and not a single crinkle in his uniform in sight. It's a first of many times to hear him speak, and everytime they hear his voice it astounds them. For a 12-year-old, he has a very deep voice. "Sure."

Edmond Mortin stared at the older Slytherins with unblinking eyes. "Thanks."

"I will never get used to that voice of yours, I swear." Timothy Jerkins stated with a chuckle, his smile seemed never changing. A prefect badge shining on his chest, his entire uniform is in pristine condition that only reflected his career driven attitude. Despite his charming smile and charismatic appearance, there is something that hides behind. There lays a person that is willing to use every advantage he has to stay ahead of everyone, even if it means to destroy everyone in his path. Everyone in Alchemy knows that Mr. Elric will take every chance he has to take him down a peg or two… several. It is heavily noted that he used to be worse. "Are you sure you are not sick?"

"He's not, his voice just reached puberty faster than the rest of his body is all."

"…Let's go with that."

-.-

"Are you going to join me today or are you going to continue with your rounds?" Edward asked his brother as they headed off towards grounds of the school.

Alphonse pulled out a clipboard that contained several lists and other random documents. "Today I have scheduled a meeting with… the groundskeeper?"

"Oh, Hagrid?" Edward head perked up at the mention of the groundskeeper. He occasionally had crossed paths with the half-giant, all good praises from the Alchemy Teacher. If anything, Hagrid is highly amused at how Fang would glomp on him whenever the giant dog would see him. "Good man, can't a hold a secret to even save his life."

"…What did you do to him?" Alphonse deadpanned, sensing that something occurred.

"N-" Before Edward could even continue on speaking, a giant shadow fell over him and a sense of dread filled within him. All hear heard before he entered a world of complete darkness is Hagrid apologizing for his canine's actions… then nothing.

#Alchemy Series #Tiny Steps #HP #FMA #FMAB #HP/FMA #HP/FMAB #Crossover #AU #Fanfic #Pro!Snape

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searchingwardrobes · 6 years

Text

Hope is the Thing With Feathers: Ch 2/3

Yes, this will officially have three parts. Part three is where everything will come together and all the action will take place. Chapter two is where the romance happens . . . enjoy, Krystal! It was so fun to write this for your birthday! Much thanks to @hollyethecurious for the banner, the brainstorming, and co-writing chapter one.

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the tiny, quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to get obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the mysterious, handsome man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon discovers that both the castle and the man have secrets that she could never have imagined. For @kmomof4 on her birthday.

Rating: M (yes, I upped the rating. This isn’t smut, but I definitely flirted with the line. All for you, Krystal!)

Words: A lot. Sorry if tumblr eats the cut on mobile. I tried.

Can also be read on Ao3

Trigger warnings: none unless you're afraid of spiders. Oh, and Captain Cobra in case that messes with your ovaries ;)

@bethacaciakay @teamhook @artistic-writer @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615

Chapter Two: That Sings the Tune Without the Words

Hope is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words-

And never stops – at all

Henry paused in his reading. “You know, Emily Dickinson was a lot like you.”

Killian looked up from the spindle he was examining. “How so?”

The boy was perched on a stool in the corner with his literature textbook open on his lap. He rolled his eyes, looking for all the world like his mother. “Isn’t it obvious? She was a recluse.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s a big word for a ten year old.”

Now Henry scowled openly. “I hate when people say that. It’s not a big word at all; only seven letters.”

Killian chuckled at that. “You are not only incredibly bright, lad, but perhaps my kindred spirit.”

Henry seemed pleased even as he focused again on his textbook. “Mom does say I’m an old soul.”

“Oh ho! Now you’re calling me old!”

Henry laughed freely. Killian gestured towards the book in his lap.

“You didn’t finish the poem. It goes on to say, And sweetest – in the gale – is heard, and sore must be the storm – That could abash the little bird that kept so many warm – I’ve heard it in the chilliest land and on the strangest sea – Yet, never, in Extremity, it asked a crumb of me.”

“You know that by heart?” Henry exclaimed.

Killian shrugged. “I have a book of Dickinson poems. They’ve always spoken to me I guess, and it’s not as if they are difficult to memorize.”

Henry picked at the binding of the thick book in his lap. “My teacher thinks studying Dickinson is cool for Halloween. I don’t get it.”

“Maybe Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me, but if she wanted Halloween poetry, she should have gone with Edgar Allan Poe.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

Killian clapped his palm to his heart. “You’ve never heard of Poe? Quothe the Raven, nevermore?”

Henry shook his head. “Nope.”

“A tragedy, truly.”

“I figured you must read a lot,” Henry commented, “since Belle’s always bringing you big stacks of books. Why don’t you just go to the library?”

“I’m a recluse, remember?” Killian cleared his throat nervously and scratched behind his ear. “Why don’t you come over here, and I’ll show you how to use this lathe?”

“Cool!” Henry exclaimed, tossing aside the book and jumping up from his stool. But he hesitated before coming closer. “But Mom only let me stay if I promised to finish my homework, and you said you’d help me with those lit questions. There are more questions than there are words in the poem!”

Killian clapped his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “But I’ve also got to get this banister finished. The faster I get this last spindle done, the sooner I can help you with that poem.” He leaned closer to the boy and cocked an eyebrow at him. “And isn’t making a mess and using a loud machine more fun anyway?”

“It sure is!” Henry agreed excitedly as he donned the safety glasses Killian handed him.

Killian stood next to enry

Henry and handed him the final post of wood. “Put the wood on the spindle here,” he instructed, then he handed Henry the chisel. “Do you see this narrow part here?”

“Yeah,” Henry said with a nod.

“It doesn’t match the others, so I need to trim it just a bit. So I’ll turn on the machine, and you’ll run the chisel along this spot right here,” he shifted the chisel and lined it up properly.

“But what if I trim it too much?”

“I’ll be guiding you through it,” Killian assured him.

“Do you have like a measurement or something? I mean, do you mark the wood? I . . . I don’t want to mess it up.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Killian assured him, stilling the slight tremor of the boy’s hand. “But to answer your question, yes, many carpenters use specific measurements. But for me, it’s art. Do you do any type of art, Henry?”

The boy gnawed on his bottom lip. “Does writing stories count?”

Killian grinned at him. “Aye, my boy, it sure does. So crafting these spindles is like crafting a story. I have an idea in my head, but as I work, sometimes it turns out differently than I expected. Better, even.”

Henry narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “I think I get it.”

“Okay then, ready?” Henry gave a nod, and Killian turned on the machine. The boy leaned in concentration over his work, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Killian once again though of his mother, for he had noticed the same look of concentration come over her face yesterday when she was carefully cleaning the paintings they had found throughout the house. He guided Henry’s hand when it drifted, but he was impressed with how steadily he worked. He couldn’t believe the warmth he felt in his long cold heart whenever this boy and his mother were near.

Killian stopped the lathe and lifted the spindle to examine it, then ran a square of sandpaper across the newly trimmed wood. He looked at Henry with a smile upon his face. “Good job, my boy!”

He grinned broadly “Really? But how do we know it matches the other ones? If you don’t measure, I mean?”

“Well, after a while, it’s kind of instinct. But more than that, the slight variations add character. It would look odd if this old house had perfectly matched, machine made spindles on the banister, wouldn’t it?”

Henry tilted his head to think about it. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good point.” He looked down at the floor and ground his toe into the sawdust covered floor.

“What is it, Henry?”

“I don’t know . . . I was just thinking . . . At school, being a little different doesn’t mean you have character. It means you’re just . . . weird. Especially when you’re the littlest kid in seventh grade.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. Now the Dickinson poetry and those algebra problems in the boy’s homework made a bit more sense. “Henry, you are a bright boy. That is something to be proud of.”

Henry’s chin only sank lower. “Being smart isn’t cool, believe me.”

Killian sighed and set aside the spindle. “I don’t know that I was ever as intelligent as you, Henry, but I was small for my age. Smaller than my brother was at that age too. Liam was built broader than I was, and I wanted nothing more than to be as strong and good as he was.”

Henry finally met his gaze. “So what did you do?”

Killian chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “There wasn’t much I could do except wait to grow up.”

“Were you ever as big and strong as Liam?”

Killian rubbed his chin in thought, but in the end couldn’t lie to the boy. “No, but I did work hard when we joined the Royal Navy. And soon, I had callouses and muscles, and could hold my own with a swo- a weapon. I was never as good as Liam either, but I tried. And learning Greek came easier for me than Liam.” He chuckled again and gave Henry a light punch in the shoulder. “I always liked to rub that in just a bit.” Killian grew serious then and grasped Henry by both shoulders. “But listen, this is very important. Never, never be less than you are just to get people to accept you. Understood?”

Henry nodded, then gave a tiny smile. “Mom says girls like smart guys.”

“I sure do.”

Killian straightened to find Emma Swan herself leaning against a post in the entryway from the foyer, her arms crossed over her chest. There was a smile on her face he hadn’t yet seen, a light in her eyes he couldn’t read. He liked the look on her, though, and he hoped in some small way it was because of him.

“Mom, look!” Henry cried. “I got to use the – what’s it called again?” He turned to look up at Killian

“A lathe.”

“A lathe! I got to use the lathe!”

“That’s awesome, kid,” Emma said, walking up to rub her son’s head. Henry wrinkled his nose and reached his hand up to fix his mussed hair.

“I promise the lad finished all of his schoolwork except for his literature assignment,” Killian assured, both hands raised.

Emma tilted her head as she gazed up at him. “I trust you.”

No three words could have flooded Killian with more elation. The sparkle hadn’t left her eyes, and he had the strongest desire to trace that dimple in her chin. Instead, he gave his head a slight shake and took a step backwards.

“I did promise to help him with Emily Dickinson, though. After . . . we . . .uh . . . finished the spindle.” He cleared his throat, wanting to curse himself. He hadn’t been tongue tied around a woman since . . . He pushed the thought away, unwilling to complete it.

Emma quickly lowered her gaze from his, taking a step back herself. “Right, well, you two get to it. I’ll . . . just . . . start sweeping out this room and the foyer, then get to work in the library.”

“Of course.”

He watched her go, unable to help himself from admiring the way her tight jeans hugged her figure. He rubbed at that hollow place in his chest also unable to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was able to make her tongue-tied. Of course, thinking of her tongue made his mind race further into inappropriate territory, and he was once again cursing himself.

Bloody hell, Jones, her son is in the room!

****************************************************

Emma sneezed as she set the next stack of books onto the desk in the library. Dust billowed up from the leather bindings and yellowed pages, causing her eyes to water. She ran her now dirty cloth over the cover of the one on top; a book called Her Handsome Hero by an author she’d never heard of. She set it in the stack destined for the thrift store. She had learned in her research on the house that after Baelfire Gold died with no heirs, ownership of the entire property had been granted to the city of Hopeful. The house itself had been sold and used as a boarding school for wealthy boys until World War II. That meant the library was full of possibilities for their haunted museum.

“Henry’s finished his homework.”

Emma looked up as Killian entered the room. “Let me guess, he’s now playing video games.”

“No, he’s actually sanding the fireplace mantel.” Killian said as he idly picked up a book from one of her piles.

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Wow. He’s really into this project.”

Killian simply nodded in reply as he continued to shuffle through the books. “I take it this is your discard pile?”

“Well, donation pile. We’re only holding on to books of literary or historical value.”

Killian chuckled at her imitation of Belle’s accent. He lifted a book from the donation pile. “This one was written by a Frenchmen in 1773. His only novel; and it barely sold any copies. A shame, really, because it’s quite good.”

Emma’s brow furrowed when she saw he was holding Her Handsome Hero. “And you know this because . . . “

He gestured around the room. “I’ve read many books in this library.”

Emma put down the book she was dusting and crossed her arms. “When? Shortly after the first moon landing? There’s fifty years’ worth of dust on these books.”

“Well, um,” he stammered, scratching behind his ear, “I didn’t mean these books exactly. I’ve taken copies from here, you know. No one else cared about them . . . ”

He trailed off, flashing her a disarming grin, and she knew he was lying. But why would he lie about where he got a copy of an 18th century French novel?

“You don’t have to justify anything to me,” Emma assured him. “We can’t be sure who bought all these books, so it’s not like they can be returned to their rightful owners.”

He turned from her and grabbed another stack of books from the shelf. Emma watched him until he turned back towards her. Then she quickly lowered her gaze to the next book in her hand.

“This one’s a keeper,” she said, “Tom Sawyer.”

Killian smiled fondly. “Ah, yes, about the mischievous orphan boy. I always identified with him.”

“Which part? Being mischievous I assume?” Emma teased.

“Both actually.” The grin he gave her was one she knew quite well. It was the kind that hid pain behind a mask of indifference.

“Oh,” she said softly, setting the book aside in the too keep pile. The last thing she wanted to do was bond with this man over past experiences. She was already on dangerous ground with him. She had frozen in place when she walked in to find him patiently instructing Henry with the woodworking. And then Henry had actually opened up to him about his struggles at school, and Killian had encouraged him to be proud of his intelligence. It was something Emma had told him a thousand times, but she knew hearing it from a male, especially one he obviously looked up to, would make a world of difference to her son. The entire thing made her heart ache in a way she had never experienced before. Henry had never bonded with any of the men she had dated, not even Graham, who had actually tried to connect with him.

“Have I said something to offend you, Swan?”

Emma looked up into Killian’s concerned gaze and realized she had fallen silent for several minutes. “Oh, um, I just . . . “ she shrugged as she turned to get another stack of books, “I know what you mean, that’s all.”

“You’re an orphan too?” He didn’t say it with sympathy or pity, just matter-of-factly, one orphan to another.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “look, can we change the subject?”

“Of course,” he told her softly, then swiftly changed gears. “That’s quite a lad you’ve got there, Swan.”

“Yeah,” Emma said, a contented smile quirking her lips, “he’s pretty great. Thanks for spending time with him.”

Killian rested his hand atop hers. “It’s no trouble. I enjoy his company.”

“Hey, mom,” Henry’s voice echoed down the corridor. Emma quickly snatched her hand away from Killian’s as they both turned to the doorway.

“Yeah, kid?” Emma hated how nervous her voice sounded. For God’s sake, all the man had done was touch her hand!

“I think I sanded the mantel pretty good, and I’m starving.”

Emma gasped as she pulled out her phone and checked the time. “Henry, I’m so sorry, it’s almost seven! Let’s head to Granny’s and get some burgers.”

“Awesome!” Henry cheered, then he turned to Killian. “You should come eat with us! Right, Mom? I mean, he helped a lot with my homework.”

Emma tilted her head at Killian and smiled, “I agree. I think he’s earned a bit of a reward.”

She expected him to tease her or lean close and murmur an innuendo under his breath that Henry couldn’t catch. She didn’t know why she enjoyed flirting with him so much, but she did. Instead, Killian looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide and his normally flushed cheeks suddenly pale.

“I would love to,” he stammered, “but I really can’t.”

Emma elbowed him gently in the ribs, “Come on Jones, everyone’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah,” Henry put in, “please!”

Killian’s eyes darted between the two, and then he leaned close to Emma. His eyes pleaded with her to understand as he said in a low voice, “I really can’t Swan.”

Emma’s brow furrowed, and just like she knew he was lying about the book earlier, she now knew he was telling her the truth. She gave him a slight nod of understanding, then turned to her son.

“Killian’s had a long day, Henry, let’s get out of his hair.”

“Awww,” Henry pouted.

“Sorry, my boy, I’m old remember?” Killian told him, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“See you tomorrow, Killian!” Henry called as they headed out the door. Emma smiled at Killian over her shoulder, her arm flung around her son’s shoulder.

It was all so strange. Emma’s gut told her she could trust this man, and her gut rarely went straight to “trust.” Yet he had lied to her about the book, something that should have been inconsequential. Then when he told her he couldn’t join them for dinner, he was being absolutely truthful. Not that he didn’t want to; he couldn’t. Emma somehow knew the distinction was important. Killian Jones was a mystery for sure; one that she was determined to solve.

*****************************************************

The pungent aroma of wood stain flooded Killian’s senses and made a slight headache pound at his temple. Despite that, his thoughts continued to wander in the same direction, leading him right back to Emma Swan. He rubbed wearily at his forehead with the back of his hand before rubbing at the post in front of him once again. The feelings that were stirring inside of him were those he thought he was no longer capable of; things he hadn’t felt since Milah.

For three centuries, he had watched the world pass before him, ever changing. Yet he was stuck as a mere spectator, forced to hide in the shadows lest suspicions be roused about a man who never aged. That was the reason that female company, or any company for that matter, had been rare in his life. Occasionally he would take a woman back to his cabin simply as a way to release his pent up frustrations and physical loneliness. He always chose those carefully; grifters who were just passing through, or a tourist who was up for a no-strings-attached tryst while she was on vacation. Of course, the more Hopeful deteriorated into a ghost town (pun completely intended), the more he found himself alone for long stretches of time. Until he woke up one day and realized it had been years, not months, since he last interacted with another human being. His voice was rough from misuse, and he startled to discover that he not only conversed with animals and inanimate objects, but himself. It had been a startling and frightening revelation.

That had to be why Emma Swan consumed his every thought, awake and in his dreams. He had gone from being that recluse Henry had mentioned to being in her lovely presence on an almost daily basis.

You don’t dwell on thoughts of Belle or Henry all day long. His mind argued. He sighed as he dipped the rag into the dark stain once again. And now here he was talking to himself again.

Everything had changed the day he had literally run into Belle French poking around the castle. Like Henry, she had been curious about the old place rumored to be haunted. Not to mention she was the most adventurous and curious woman he had ever encountered. She had already done extensive research in her beloved library on Gold Manor, and had recognized him immediately, gasping out his name as she dropped her flashlight. Never for one second had she found his story unbelievable. Another way she was like Henry. And now she was determined to find a way to free him from his curse.

In three hundred years he hadn’t had a single friend, and now he had three. Though if he were completely honest, his fantasies about Emma Swan were far outside the realm of mere friendship.

“Ugh, it reeks in here! How have you not passed out?”

Killian turned to find Emma Swan herself standing below the ladder he was perched on, the sunlight streaming through the brand new glass on the French doors illuminating her hair. The way she wrinkled her nose was adorable while her wide stance and hands braced on her hips shouted feisty strength. She was a contradiction in softness and strength, dark and light, and he found her absolutely mesmerizing.

“I find it clears my head,” he replied dryly.

She rolled her eyes. “Liar.” She reached down for another container of stain and a rag. “This looks tedious. I’ll start down here, and we’ll meet in the middle.” She knelt down at the bottom of the staircase, prying the lid off the stain can with a screw driver. He kept his mouth shut about messing with his tools; she hadn’t exactly been making a suggestion. More like an order.

They worked on the banister in silence for several moment before he heard Emma make a little sighing noise. He glanced down at her to see her brow furrowed and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Whatever she was contemplating, he had a feeling it wasn’t the banister in front of her.

“You’re a mystery, Killian Jones.”

He almost lost his balance on the ladder.

“I’ve asked about you around town,” she continued, still not tilting her gaze up to his.

Killian swallowed, unsure what to say as she paused. He should have expected as much. She was the town deputy, and Killian was spending a lot of time with her son.

She calmly got more stain on her rag before continuing. His heart thudded in his chest.

“The only people who’ve ever seen you around are the postmaster and the employees at the market.” She cut her eyes up to him. “You love to read, yet you never go to the library.”

“Why do that when I have a lovely librarian who makes house calls?” he quipped with his most charming grin.

Emma frowned as she turned her gaze back to the banister. Was she jealous? God, he hoped so.

“Speaking of Belle, she’s the only one who seems to know your name. And she’s definitely the only one who ever comes out to see you.” She made a funny sound in the back of her throat. “Except for me and Henry now I guess.”

“Belle is just a friend, if that’s what you’re beating around the bush for.”

Emma snorted through her nose. “Don’t really care about your social life, Jones.”

Killian made his way down the ladder. “So you say, Swan, and yet you’ve evidently spent a great deal of time looking into just that.”

She huffed as she stood to reach the next part of the banister. Killian moved the ladder down a bit. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. You are an employee of the city, so I have every right to look into your background.”

Killian couldn’t help scratching behind his ear. “I – uh – thought Belle handled my paperwork.”

“She did.”

It was all Emma said on the matter, but Killian couldn’t help but wonder. She certainly sounded suspicious. He rubbed his forehead wearily.

“You know, this stain is giving me a bit of a headache. Do you mind finishing here while I install the new doors on the curio?”

“Sure,” Emma replied, “but leave the ladder. I can barely reach where I’m staining now.”

“It’s okay, Swan, I find vertically challenged women quite fetching.”

Emma tossed her rag at him, shooting him a withering glare that held little heat. He laughed, pleased to see the spot of pink in her cheeks and the twinkle in her eye. God, he loved teasing her!

They fell into a companionable silence again as they worked, only the sound of his drill bit and the occasional scraping of the ladder breaking the quiet of the room.

“Shit, come on!” he heard Emma complain after about thirty minutes of working. He turned to see her atop the ladder, straining to wipe the last spindle in the center of the banister. She was standing on the very top rung, the one that was clearly labeled “not a step” in bright yellow. On her tip toes was more like it.

“Emma,” he warned as he set aside his drill and came closer.

“I’ve . . . almost . . . got it . . . “

The ladder rocked as she reached up, and Killian surged forward as Emma lost her balance. She let out a sharp scream as she fell backwards. It was cut off when she collided with Killian’s chest. The rag she was holding hit him in the face before fluttering to the floor, and the can of stain wobbled before tipping over, sending the dark brown liquid streaming like a waterfall down the rungs of the ladder.

He shook his face and blinked to get the dust from the rag out of his nose and eyes. When his vision cleared, he was practically nose to nose with Emma. Her green eyes widened as they stared at one another. Every cell in Killian’s body was keenly aware of Emma in his arms. The slight weight of her legs draped over his left arm, her skin beneath his calloused fingers where her shirt had ridden up, the curve of her breast against his chest, and the arms that were wrapped tightly around his neck. A smile hitched at one corner of his mouth as she continued to gaze at him, her fingertips idly toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck. It sent shockwaves all the way down his spine.

“Um,” Emma finally spoke, “why are you still holding me?”

“Oh . . . right,” he muttered, his face burning as he quickly put her down. He rubbed at the back of his neck as she straightened the bottom of her shirt. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. She stepped close, invading his space. His heart was beating so loud, he wondered if she could feel it beneath her palm when she laid it upon his chest. “Don’t try to distract me with flirting, Killian Jones. I’ll figure out your secrets.”

He quirked a brow at her, then leaned close, swiping his lower lip with his tongue. “Who’s flirting, Swan? I just saved you from a broken neck. You’re the one who was fiddling with my hair just now.”

Red crept up her neck as she blinked rapidly. “You – you are such a – a,” she stuttered, “a . . . “

“Dashing rapscallion?” he teased with a pout.

She narrowed her eyes. “An arrogant jerk,” she finished with satisfaction. He only chuckled as she marched over to grab some rags from the floor. “Oh, and by the way,” she added as she began to rub vigorously at the wood stain still dripping down the ladder, “I’ve never heard of a cocky recluse.”

His mouth fell open at that. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a smirk.

“I don’t know why you’re hiding out here, Jones, but I will find out. I’m not taking my eyes off you for a second.”

Killian threw her smirk right back at her as he sauntered into her space. He leaned close and winked at her. “I would despair if you did.”

****************************************************

The music had been Killian’s idea, and despite the fact that he was humming a tune by The Cure under his breath as he made even strokes with the paint roller, Emma couldn’t help wondering if it was a subtle way of avoiding her. Or something.

She chose to focus instead on the fireplace mantel so she wouldn’t accidently paint it “cranberry sunrise.” God, why did paint colors have such ridiculous names? She sat back on her heels, brushing at a stray hair with the back of her hand. Only half of the room was painted, but it really was a great color. For a “haunted house” anyway. The dark wood stains and deep reds would create the gothic ambience they were going for. It would look even better once they put up the gilded wallpaper and the heavy brocade curtains.

Emma glanced over at Killian and smiled when she saw him swaying his hips slightly to the music. She sighed and carefully set the brush down on the drip pan. Then she rose from her position on the floor and walked cautiously over to him.

“Um, Killian?”

He didn’t stop with the paint roller, simply looked at her and winked, still swaying a little to the music. “Like what you see, Swan?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “No, we, uh . . . need to talk.”

He wearily lowered the paint roller. “In my experience, it’s never a good thing when a woman says that.”

Emma grimaced. Of course he assumed she was about to give him a hard time again. When hadn’t she? Pulling her gun on him, calling him arrogant, insinuating that the time he spent with her son was anything less than innocent and kind. He rescued Henry from the barbed wire, and even saved her from a broken neck when she fell from that later. Yet how did she thank him?

“Look, about my . . . asking around about you . . .”

He came incredibly close, causing her to lose her train of thought. He reached up and began to rub his thumb gently over her cheek. She literally felt herself sway as the breath rushed from her lungs. He smiled softly at her.

“You had a bit of paint there.”

“Oh.”

His thumbed stopped rubbing gentle circles, yet his hand didn’t leave her face. His fingers gently caressed her jaw line, his thumb hovering over the dimple in her chin.

“And as for your little investigation,” Killian said in a low voice, “try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

Her eyes widened as he lowered his hand. “I do trust you! That’s what I’m trying to say.”

His brow furrowed in confusion as he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. Who carried a handkerchief anymore? He wet it with his tongue, an act that she found fascinating. Then he tilted her chin up with the tips of his fingers and dabbed at the same spot on her cheek again.

“Uh, are you wiping spit on me?”

He chuckled. “Aye. I didn’t quite get that paint off. You were saying?”

Emma swallowed thickly. It was really hard to concentrate when he was staring at her face that way. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed.

“I just know what it’s like to screw up big time. To want to start over, and not have your stupid decisions come back to bite you in the ass.”

He smiled again, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. “There, all gone.”

Emma shook her head. “Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

He tilted his head at her, both eyebrows raising. “Perhaps.”

She let out a long breath of exasperation. “What I’m saying is I don’t care why you’re a loner or what you’re running from. Because . . . you and I . . . we understand one another.”

Killian nodded as he shoved the dirty handkerchief back into his pocket. “Aye, love, I believe we do.”

**********************************************

Emma couldn’t believe how everything was coming together. The new staircase was complete, not only with the beautiful stained banister, but with patched and sanded steps. They were waiting for a runner to be delivered, and she couldn’t wait to see the rich crimson against the dark stain of the wood. Killian had picked it from the sample book she and Belle had brought form the hardware store, the same way he had chosen the paint and wallpaper.

Emma shook her head to clear such thoughts and chose instead to admire the new coat of stain on the fireplace mantel and on the hardwood floors. The house was coming together, that was what mattered. Not Killian Jones and his reclusive tendencies.

“So what are we doing today?” she asked him.

His back was to her as he hoisted a large, rolled up oriental rug off his shoulder. It caused his shirt to ride up in the back, exposing the hard muscles there. The ones Emma couldn’t deny that she had fantasized about digging her fingernails into. Why did he have to be so damn hot?

Killian leaned the rug against several others that were nestled in the corner of the room. He turned to her, flashing that easy grin of his.

“Well, the room is incomplete without rugs, not to mention historically inaccurate. I found these in the attic. They were probably stored up there after the school closed in the forties, so they aren’t period accurate, but better than brand new.”

Emma tilted her head and frowned. “They’re disgusting.”

Killian chuckled. “Aye. But Belle rented a steam cleaner. It’s out on the veranda. We need to go through all of these, clean them up, make sure they’re in good enough shape, then figure out where they should go.”

She nodded, “Okay, sounds good. We’ll need one in the foyer, two probably in the parlor, and one in the library. Think we’ll have enough?”

Killian patted the rugs. “I brought six down, and left four more on the second floor. Hopefully the rodents didn’t nibble on too many of them.”

Emma wrinkled her nose as she thought of the disgusting things they might find as they unrolled them, and Killian laughed. She pulled on the first one and grunted. “How did you lug these down from the attic all by yourself?”

“Emma,” Killian suddenly said, voice low, “don’t move.”

A shot of fear made her spine go cold as she thought of rats, snakes, and –

“It’s a spider,” Killian continued.

She had to force herself not to scream and do a ridiculous dance around the room. On her list of things that freaked her out, spiders were at the top. Without turning her head, she cut her eyes to her left and saw a black spider slowly descending from a thread of web from the top of one of the rugs. As it spun, dangling just over her shoulder, she saw a distinctive red hourglass marking on its underbelly.

“Killian,” she hissed, her fear increasing ten-fold.

“It’s a black widow, I know, just be still –“

But before either of them could figure out what to do, the spider dropped to Emma’s shoulder and then crawled more quickly than Emma could have anticipated down the front of her shirt. All calm flew out of her mind then. She screamed, trembling all over, and without thinking, she pulled her shirt over her head and flung it aside.

*************************************************************

Killian should have been thinking about the poisonous spider if he was a decent man at all. But instead, he was distracted by the smooth porcelain of Emma’s skin, the curve of her waist just begging to be grabbed, and the way her breasts bounced as she brushed at imaginary spiders. Her bra was a tiny thing that dipped low on the swell of her breasts, and as she bent over, brushing at her arms, they almost burst free of their confines.

“Killian, where is it!” she screamed, startling him out of his inappropriate ogling.

He forced himself to examine her torso in a more clinical way and didn’t see anything. He strode quickly over to the t shirt she had tossed upon the floor, and there, crawling calmly over the wrinkled fabric, was the spider. Killian quickly brought his boot down on the creature, leaving a nasty smear of spider guts on Emma’s shirt.

“Sorry, love,” he apologized, “I didn’t want to risk losing sight of it again.”

“Thank you,” she shuddered, placing her hand to her chest. Which was heaving in a very distracting way, he couldn’t help noticing. “Did it get me?”

She pulled her hair up and off her neck, turning her back to him. Killian’s own heart was thudding now, as he gazed at what she was offering up for his perusal. He noted every freckle; one on her collarbone, a smattering around the clasp of her bra, and one large one begging to be kissed at the small of her back.

“Um, no, I don’t see anything.”

She turned to face him, her cheeks pale and her lower lip trembling. He didn’t blame her; black widow spiders were nothing to mess with. He once again scanned her frame, this time trying (and failing) to be more clinical.

He let out a relieved sigh. “No, Swan. It didn’t get you.”

Color returned to Emma’s cheeks as she lifted her gaze to meet his. She was still holding her hair in a messy heap atop her head. The atmosphere was suddenly charged, and he noted that her chest was heaving again, but in a different way. This wasn’t fear; it was desire. She dropped her hair, and it went tumbling over her shoulder, resting between her breasts in a teasing way. He couldn’t help that his eyes drifted from her eyes to watch the tresses brush against her cleavage. When he tore his gaze away, he was relieved to see a slight smirk upon her lips. She took several steps forward, reaching for him with her palms out. Her gaze never leaving his, she slipped them up his shirt, dragging her fingernails through his chest hair.

He couldn’t take it anymore; he grabbed her bare waist as he had been longing to do, and captured her lips. Emma’s hands snaked around to his back, her fingernails scratching in an intoxicating way. They both groaned as they deepened the kiss. Emma pressed herself flush against him, and his only thought was that there was too much fabric separating their skin. Emma seemed to have the same thought as she began to push up his shirt.

They parted just long enough for Killian to get his shirt over his head, then they surged together again. If possible, Emma was pressing herself even closer to him. His hands trailed along her spine, then back up again, pausing at the clasp of her bra. He unhooked it, and relished the feel of her completely bare back under his palms.

He practically growled against her lips as he realized how few surfaces were available to them in this room. He pivoted, pressing her back against the nearest wall as he tugged her bra straps free of her shoulders. Emma broke their kiss to tilt her head back, a moan escaping her lips. He sucked at her neck as he ran his thumbs over her breasts, then he trailed kisses down to the valley between them. Emma arched her back, and he needed no further encouragement as he worshiped each breast with his tongue.

Once he had her crying his name, he fumbled with the button and zipper of her jeans. Then he sank to his knees in front of her as he yanked them over her hips. He trailed kisses teasingly up her inner thigh until he felt her tugging at his hair.

“Killian,” she gasped.

He simply looked up and grinned.

**********************************************************

Emma hooked her bra, then reached down to retrieve her t shirt from the floor. She frowned and turned to Killian, who was pulling his own shirt over his head. Watching the muscles in his arms as he performed that simple task made her think of the way she had gripped his biceps just moments ago as he had thrust into her. She shook her head to clear it. This man was like a drug!

“I . . . um . . . can’t wear this shirt,” she told him lamely. Why was this so awkward? They had been far from awkward five minutes ago. Or maybe that was easier because they hadn’t been thinking then.

“Oh, right,” he said, scratching behind his ear. “Come on out to the cabin, and I’ll find you something.”

“Yeah,” she continued, “then we can get back to these rugs.”

“Um . . .aye.”

Yes, definitely awkward.

Emma followed him out of the back of the house, through the gardens, and out of the door in the hedge. She had come to find out that he was the one who had installed the door, which was why it was so much newer than everything else. They made their way through the trees and to Killian’s cabin, the cool October air making goosebumps rise up on Emma’s bare skin. The inside of the cabin held welcomed warmth, and Killian made his way quickly to one of the two doors off the kitchen. He stepped inside and began rummaging through the drawers of a dresser in the corner of the room. Emma stood in the doorway, clutching her dirty shirt self-consciously to her chest. The bed seemed to loom large against the far wall, invitingly soft with a homey quilt draped across it.

“This should work,” Killian said as he turned to her, but when their eyes met, his expression went soft. He tossed the flannel shirt on the end of the bed before striding to her. He cupped her face with his hands and searched her face. The blue of his eyes were bright. “Oh Emma,” he breathed out, and then they were kissing again.

Emma wasn’t surprised in the least when they tumbled down to Killian’s bed for round too. Somehow, she had known all along this was why she had followed him here.

*************************************************

Killian pulled Emma close, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder blade, her back against his chest. He marveled at how perfectly she seemed to fit against him. She turned in his arms, and he was relieved to see a relaxed smile upon her face. She reached out and traced his jaw slowly, her fingers then drifting to trace the scar on his cheek. He held his breath, partly at her tender touch, and partly from fear that she would ask about the scar. The last thing he wanted to do was lie to her directly. Lies of omission weighed on him heavily enough.

“This feels strangely right, doesn’t it?” she finally said.

He arched his brow at her. “Are you calling me strange, Swan?”

She rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly in the chest. “You know what I mean.”

He pulled her closer, pressing kisses to her hair. “If you mean this feels like exactly where we’re supposed to be, then yes.”

He felt her lips curl into a smile against his collar bone “Exactly.”

He swallowed hard, then pushed her shoulders gently so he could look into her eyes. He cupped her face again, this time kissing her forehead gently. He murmured against her skin, “There’s something I want to say, but I’m afraid you don’t want to hear it.”

“Then don’t say it,” she whispered back, “please.”

He nodded, deflating somewhat, but he had been expecting her to react that way. She startled him though, when she shoved him onto his back and straddled him. She grinned down at him, pinning his arms over his head.

“I prefer we not talk at all.”

She kissed him roughly, almost desperately. “Emma,” he groaned, sitting up so he could gather her in his arms. He broke the kiss, brushing her hair away from her face. She looked almost panicked as she pressed her fingers to his lips.

“Please, Killian.”

He sighed as he let strands of her hair slip between his fingers. “I need to at least tell you that this isn’t just –“

She wouldn’t let him finish, but brushed his lips with a chaste kiss. “I know.”

For now, it would have to be enough.

***********************************************************

“Belle?” Emma called as she stepped into the Hopeful Public Library.

“Over here!” the brunette called, waving her hand from behind a study cubicle in the back of the room.

Emma headed that way and found Belle surrounded by books and papers, all of which looked hundreds of years old. Emma smiled as she propped her arms on the edge of the cubicle’s partition. “I’m glad you love this part because that looks incredibly boring to me.”

Belle shrugged. “I can’t lie, I’m a total nerd. Plus, if I’m going to lead part of the ghost tours, I need to know all the facts backwards and forwards.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear in an almost nervous gesture, then quickly slammed the book in front of her shut like she had been caught at something. Before Emma could give her actions too much thought, the little bell at the circulation desk dinged, and the librarian hurried to her feet.

“Coming!” she called to her new patron.

After she left, Emma sat down in the cubicle, suddenly curious what had Belle so jumpy. An extremely old and yellowed paper, covered in a plastic sleeve, poked out from beneath the pile of books. Emma slid it out and gasped at the face she saw sketched there. The resemblance was uncanny, the slightly mussed hair, the scruffy jawline, the thick eyebrows. And even though they weren’t blue, the intensity in the eyes was the same.

It looked exactly like Killian.

In the bottom corner, the artist had scrawled her name: Milah. Emma sat back, her mind reeling. Was there a deeper reason why Killian seemed to know so much about Milah Gold and the estate? Was he a descendant of the man in this picture? And if so, why hide it?

Emma glanced over the edge of the cubicle, but Belle was guiding the elderly visitor to the arts and crafts section. Emma turned back to the stack of dusty books and opened the one Belle had shut so quickly when she arrived. Luckily, the brunette had left a slip of paper inside to mark her place. Emma scanned the words, their old-fashioned phrasing tripping her up a time or two. It was a recounting of Milah Gold’s affair with her pirate lover, that much she could comprehend. And two words stood out starkly on the page: the pirate’s name, Killian Jones.

Emma suddenly felt the air leave her lungs as she looked between what she had just read and the drawing before her. Her mind struggled to make sense of it.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

Emma jumped to find Belle standing next to her, an intense expression on her face. Emma shook her head. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s him,” Belle said simply, gesturing to the drawing, “that’s Killian, the one we both know.”

Emma closed her eyes tightly. “That can’t be . . . it isn’t . . . possible,” she breathed out the last word.

“He’s cursed, you see. He can’t leave the manor grounds. He tried to save Milah, but he didn’t understand the magic he was dabbling in –“

“Magic?” Emma interrupted incredulously. She stood quickly, shoving Belle aside. “I – I – have to go.”

She dashed from the library, her breaths coming out in gasps. She raced down the sidewalk, not slowing down until she found herself at the docks. She leaned forward on her knees, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Part of her brain told her it was crazy, but another part started to process all the little signs. How he turned down Henry’s invitation to dinner at Granny’s. How he never went to the hardware store. How Belle brought him books from the library. The way he reacted to the painting of Milah and Emma’s suggestion that her grave could be a tourist attraction.

Then there was the drawing made by Milah Gold herself. It was clearly drawn by a woman who knew every inch of her lover’s face. A face Emma herself knew so well, down to the scar Emma had traced with her finger just yesterday.

Shit, was she sleeping with a three hundred year old pirate?

#cs ff #modern au #but with magic #Halloween fic #steamy not smutty #hollyethecurious #cs art #searchingwardrobes #dark curses

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ograndebatata · 5 years

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Prince Alonso headcanons

Once more, these headcanons are a bit of a departure for me.

For one, they are about a character that I admit I haven’t given all that much focus to. Not a character I hate by any means, just one I haven’t paid that much attention to.

And for another... I will admit I have gone a bit ‘outside of the box’ with these particular headcanons, perhaps a bit too much so in some respects.

I do feel it still makes sense... but I’m well aware that’s just me. way or the other, I look forward to your feedback.

This time around, these headcanons are fairly light, but there’s still references to a dark element, namely parental death, so reader discretion would still be advised there.

To those willing to keep reading, please click on the link below, and hopefully enjoy my headcanons on a prince who will hopefully keep trying to be better in the series proper.

Rather late post script: Thanks to @cartoonfangirl1218 and @long-live-elena for helping me with some things on these, particularly regarding Alonso’s schooling. Sorry I didn’t credit you from the moment I posted this.

Prince Alonso of Cordoba

Joy and sadness

They had wished for a child for some time, and had been trying to have one ever since their wedding night. When they finally found she was pregnant, both went up to the clouds in happiness. Both of them told their families and friends, and though he did not spread the word throughout the kingdom, both his and her joy was so contagious that the whole kingdom soon got to know as surely as if he had done so.

When the child was finally due to be born, that day seemed set to be the happiest in their lives.

Instead, it brought sadness to the whole kingdom, as Queen Soledad died shortly after giving birth to her first and ultimately only child, a boy who was named Alonso only moments before his mother let out her final breath.

Had she been in most nearby kingdoms, she likely would have survived, but while the kingdom of Cordoba knew of magic and had it present in the land, it had had no royal wizard ever since the day their old royal wizard had mysteriously left and left no qualified successor. By the time a ‘less prominent wizard’ was found to provide assistance, it was too late for the queen.

But despite the sad circumstances of his birth, Prince Alonso was luckier than other children with similar backgrounds. His father never blamed him for his mother’s death, and despite the duties inherent to ruling, made as much time as possible to be with him, both when it came to teaching him royal duties and to family bonding.

Unfortunately, said time was rather hard to come by on some occasions, and thus Alonso was mostly left in the care of his nurses, his paternal grandfather Arturo, and his maternal grandparents, Cipriano and Benigna.

All of them loved the young prince a great deal, but in some ways, one can say their love had a few unintended consequences.

Responsibility issues

As he grew up, Prince Alonso was most often described by those he spent time with as a bundle of energy, charm and mischief, as more than a bit of a prankster, but ultimately a kind and loving boy. More than a few strangers would gush at his adorableness upon meeting him, and then be thrown for a loop when he slipped past their fingers before they could blink and ran around the castle seemingly fast enough to catch a Xolo, often pulling some sort of clever prank along the way.

But while his intelligence was mostly directed toward pulling pranks, Alonso could use it for other things - and one of those was noticing how, unlike other children from the palace and from the kingdom, he did not have a mother.

Like most children do when they have questions, he voiced them to his elders. At first, neither King Juan Ramón nor anyone else in the family told Alonso much - all they told him was that she had left for the Spirit World. But they never told him how or why. All they said was that she was sad she had to go, and she wished she could come back, and the reason they always went to the cemetery on Dia de los Muertos was to be closer to her and the others of their family who had left to the Spirit World.

For a while, Alonso was satisfied with this answer… but when he was six, after the second Dia de los Muertos he remembered attending, he overheard two noblewomen talking in whispers. He approached to listen better, and caught an answer that left him devastated, and face to face with a horrifying truth: he had killed his own mother.

He cried himself to sleep in his father’s arms that night after breaking down in apologies. King Juan Ramon could barely hold in his own tears, as he could relate far too well to what his son was feeling - his mother had also died giving birth to him, and from the same kind of complication that had ensued with Soledad during Alonso’s birth.

For the following months, both Alonso’s nannies and Alonso’s family did everything they could to reassure him that no, Alonso hadn’t been guilty of his mother’s death. It had happened, and it had been tragic, but it hadn’t been Alonso’s fault. And the late queen wouldn’t want him to blame himself either. She loved him for sure and was just as sad to see him feeling like that as they were.

Unfortunately, said reassurance ended up somewhat backfiring, because over the time Alonso felt down, his family would let plenty of things that they would have scolded him for slide, and somewhere along the way, Alonso became much less willing to accept responsibility for his own mistakes, to the point he was borderline impossible to deal with. Nurses and tutors would grow more and more exasperated with him, and even his family, while they did not stop loving him by any means, were still disappointed in his behavior.

King Juan Ramon found himself at a loss. He had tried his best, but he had to admit he didn’t know what to do, and his father could not help him there, because while Juan Ramon had also learned what had happened to his mother as a child, he had been older than Alonso, and, as unfair as it might sound to admit it, a more naturally responsible child.

Eventually, too uncertain that he would be able to have the ‘firm, but fair’ hand that his son required, King Juan Ramon took an unorthodox decision for that part of the Ever Realm and decided to enroll his son in Royal Prep, a school from a different kingdom which was specifically devoted to the purpose of teaching young royals to be royals.

It was a difficult endeavor. Most royals from Royal Prep were from kingdoms where flying horses could live, as flying horses were the standard mean of transportation for the school. Cordoba was not such a kingdom, and while Royal Prep did have a transportation service, it was in relatively short supply, and sometimes there was a waiting list to put royals there.

But luck seemed to be on Juan Ramon’s side, and he managed to find a spot for Alonso. The young prince was at first upset over going to school so far away from home, and though he calmed down when he learned he would still be able to come back home everyday thanks to the magical transportation inherent to flying carriages, he still was nervous about it.

Despite himself, Alonso did end up settling into royal school… but all the same, it seemed that very little about his behavior actually changed. He never outright crossed the line into a thug or a hooligan or a bully, but it seemed very little about his behavior actually changed.

Giving Alonso due credit, he did like Royal Prep, and made friends there, and did ‘somewhat above average’ at schoolwork even as most of it bothered him. A few subjects did please him, though, such as fencing and magic. But all the same, he remained quite self-centered and inconsiderate. Part of that, it seemed, stemmed from the fact that, for all that Alonso was difficult to deal with, not to mention wise as to how to use his charms to dodge the consequences of his deeds even at such a young age, not-so deep down he felt he just was not ‘properly good’ at anything. No retard for sure, but not outstanding either. He looked at his father and the way he ruled Cordoba, and he felt nothing he could do could measure up.

The only things he was truly good at were looking good, being lazy, and chariot racing. He was relatively good at fencing and magic, but not good enough as far as he was concerned.

Therefore, as he grew up, he devoted most of his focus to chariot racing, to the point he wanted to apply for the Corinthian Sports School. Unfortunately, that school did not have the required means to transport royals from kingdoms that did not have royal horses, so that attempt fell by the wayside, and he returned to Cordoba and continued his education there.

He kept putting in the required effort at schoolwork, mostly because his father and the rest of his family stayed on top of him to ensure he didn’t slack off, but he seldom anything he wasn’t specifically encouraged to do, and more often than not would find excuses as to why he had failed this or that assignment.

He would also keep devoting much of his focus to chariot racing, learning ever showier moves and always posing whenever he won a race… and as a result, once he was past sixteen, he became quite popular with girls his age. He wasted no time basking in that newfound popularity, but at the same time, he tried to be careful enough not to grow attached to any of them and to ensure none of them got attached to him. For him, his dates (and they never moved past dates) were meant to be a fun thing between him and whatever girl he picked, not the pursuit of a serious relationship - all the more because he was afraid that if he had a relationship that progressed to the point of marriage, he would only end up killing his eventual wife like he had killed his mother.

Meanwhile, King Juan Ramon remained very much not-impressed by his son’s low standards. But there he couldn’t fault him very much without feeling like a hypocrite, because he too had loved chariot racing in his youth, and had indeed displayed similar behavior when it came to the ladies, although a much milder version of it. Worse, he had to admit he was out of ideas on what to do to inspire his son to take his responsibilities as a ruler seriously.

Thankfully, fate itself presented him with the solution.

Ties with Avalor

While it could be said he hadn’t yet been faced with a true test to his nerve, Alonso had gotten in enough rather tight spots at chariot racing that it was not easy to rattle him. However, at the age of seventeen, he, like every other inhabitant of the kingdoms close to Avalor, also learned that the one they had taken to be the rightful ruler of the land had in fact been a murderous usurper who had been fooling them all for years and would have conquered their kingdoms as well if she felt she had the power to do so.

Unlike other royals, he was instantly quite taken by Princess Elena when she first showed up to his kingdom as part of an alliance over a project their kingdoms would work on together, which was all part of an idea his father had to set a good example for his son. Alonso did not think it would work out quite that way, but to his astonishment, Princess Elena was the first girl in quite a long while who did not fall for his charms. Even as she initially listened to him to a degree, she gave much more focus to the task at hand and to getting the job done.

And later, his attempts at a nice time turned out to be interrupted anyway when the Yacali was disturbed by the construction of their bridge and the way it was ruining the homes of several bujitos. In the end, the incident that lead to quite some humiliation for Alonso, both thanks to the Yacali and to having to personally work on the bridge’s construction.

But despite himself, once he calmed down from the humiliation, he admitted he was quite impressed by Princess Elena and the devotion she showed toward being a proper ruler, even after everything she had endured in her life, which Alonso thought was much worse than what he had endured.

As a result of that, he later personally went to Avalor to help further establish the alliance between their kingdoms, and ended up giving a helping hand when it came to removing magical masks from two other dignitaries - though only after quite an experience with a mask he ended up wearing himself.

And around a year later, he ended up lending some help himself when a rocador almost destroyed the bridge that connected Avalor and Cordoba, although in the end he recognized his contribution hadn’t been anywhere big enough as he had wanted to pretend at first. But all the same, his father was genuinely impressed by him afterwards.

Further inspired, Alonso kept up in his attempts to be a better person. He would get his chance shortly afterwards, when he was at the horse rehabilitation center his mother had built - and through which she had met his father - and a woman around his age showed up hoping to get a horse for her and her father. Alonso just about froze in horror - he recognized both the woman and her father from several wanted posters that Princess Elena had shared with his kingdom, and he recognized from their dark tamboritas that they were malvagos.

He managed to get over it in time to lead them on a tour around the center as he thought of what to do, but he was short on ideas. He briefly thought about using magic to stop them, but it was a fool’s errand - he had only learned wand magic, he did not have his wand with him, and while he wasn’t all that rusty (as his father had kept making him practice the basics he had learned at Royal Prep) what he knew wasn’t enough to stop one malvago, let alone two. And worse, his kingdom still hadn’t solved the problem regarding the lack of a royal wizard.

Eventually, he decided to stall them by giving them Pedro, the only horse his mother had never managed to rehabilitate, and sending Elena a message warning her of the peril after the two malvagos left. While the full plan did not work out the way he had intended, as Duke Cristóbal disposed of the message carried by the homing pigeon Alonso sent to Nueva Vista, Elena was still touched by the effort when she learned of it a while later, after Alonso tried to track Pedro down. Her grateful gaze hit Alonso harder than the entranced ones of the many girls he had gone out with. And when Alonso confessed to her that he could have stopped them if he’d decided to study magic more deeply, Elena encouraged him he was still on time to learn if he only wanted to.

While it still did not mean she had fallen for his charms, Alonso had already moved past trying them on her. Whatever else she could have been at any other point, Elena had become the best friend he’d ever had.

And for him, that was wonderful already.

#elena of avalor #headcanons #headcanon #prince alonso #king juan ramon #tw: death by childbirth

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

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HACKERS AND AMBITION

The reason young founders go through the motions of starting a startup generally. A really good hacker can squeeze more out of better tools. In pre-industrial times started working at about 14 at the latest; kids on farms, where most people lived, began far earlier. It seems reasonable to suppose the newest one will too. Some clever person with a spell checker reduced one section to Zen-like incomprehensibility: Also, common spelling errors will tend to get fixed. Like prison wardens, the teachers mostly left us to ourselves. It may also be because if you start measuring something you start optimizing it, and I predict that will be one of those things founders worry about that's not a real problem. When you talk about code-size ratios, you're implicitly assuming that you can. Bolder investors will now get rewarded with lower prices. They know, in the OO world you hear a good deal of overlap between them.

That brings us to our fourth counterintuitive point: that the way to become an expert on search. For decades there were just those two types of investors, and those are impossible to predict. Why does he think this? Imagine we were living on a moon base. It would have taken a deliberate lie to say otherwise. Adults know this. In Smalltalk the code is a sign, to me at least, there is precious little between schoolwork and the work they'll do as adults. It issued in 2003. In a project of that size, powerful languages probably start to outweigh the convenience of pre-existing libraries.

Because super-angels seem to care at all about it. At the time I never tried to separate my wants and weigh them against one another. A rounds take so long, but at the end of the spectrum, where you need to be able to get into the best deals at all. What was special about Brian Chesky and Joe Gebbia was not that they were experts in technology. Life in this twisted world is stressful for the kids. The pointy-haired boss is, right? After thinking about it for a while and observing certain other signs, I have a theory that explains why the super-angels and VCs. The veteran may in turn feel a sense of noblesse oblige. So part of learning to ski is learning to suppress that impulse. But we know that's the wrong metric. I might seem to have a disproportionately low probability of the former will seem to have some sort of internal compass that helps me out.

Maybe one day a heavily armed force of adults will show up in helicopters to rescue you, but they probably won't be coming this month. It might seem that the answer is: not much. Now kids who go to college don't start working full-time till 21 or 22. I'm not sure what happened to the application after I left. Being smart doesn't make you an outcast in elementary school, but only at the price of being of average intelligence humor me here, I wouldn't have taken it. Every day new shit happens in the Google empire that only the CEO can deal with, and he, as CEO, has to deal with than VCs. We were all just pretending.

Thanks to Paul Buchheit, Jessica Livingston, Trevor Blackwell, Peter Eng, Sarah Harlin, Patrick Collison, and Jeremy Hylton for their feedback on these thoughts.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #Hylton #libraries #Jeremy #Livingston #expert

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hjbhbjn-blog · 4 years

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How to choose a backpack for your child?

It's difficult to consider school supplies while you're despite everything appreciating schoolwork free days at the pool. In any case, the new scholastic year will be here in half a month, and one thing that pretty much every understudy needs is a decent rucksack.

Regardless of whether your youngster is on the chase for a rucksack with a most loved animation character or in favored shading, it's essential to assist him with picking one that is the correct size and shape for his body and what he needs to convey.

Based on his business strategy, your child could bring that bag five times a week from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., said Palm Jones, the senior executive at LL Bean. Furthermore, he may be conveying athletic gear, snacks, and a PC, notwithstanding note pads, pencils, and paper.

What's going on?

Shapley’s profile: The measurement of largest rucksacks is still dominated by conventional three-ring canvases, Jones said. In any case, as understudies convey more gadgets and less outdated course books, the scale and profile of the packs have changed, and they have become more "shapely" and less massive, she said.

Space for innovation: More rucksacks accompany compartments explicitly intended to hold telephones or other electronic gadgets. A few toddler backpack have a line from the baby's ear to a large part of the song for the earphones.

Care and use tips:

Try not to machine-wash your pack: Jones said getting a knapsack through a washer and dryer could harm the intelligent covering and froth cushioning. Preferably, drench the pack in hot water with dish detergent and scour it with a compacted brush or coarse wipe.

Wear the pack effectively: Karen Jacobs, the national representative for the American Occupational Therapy Association's National School and travel rolling Backpack Awareness Initiative, said youngsters ought to consistently utilize the two lashes. They should consume the full pack on their full-back as objected to one joint. He recommends compresses that compare to the ribs and midriff to help develop the weight correctly. She said cushioned backboards and ties likewise help pad the heap.

Try not to over-burden: The important kids backpack ought not to gauge in excess of 10 percent of your youngster's body weight, Jacobs said. Place the container on your restroom range to lessen the weight. In the event that you find that your kid is reliably surpassing the 10 percent rule, think about a wheeled rucksack or keeping a second arrangement of reading material at home. On the off chance that your kid takes a water container to class, have him take it vacant, at that point top it off at the drinking fountain when he shows up, to eliminate additional weight.

Low, Medium, High alternatives:

We asked L.L. Bean's Pam Jones to suggest three rucksacks at various value focuses. Here are her proposals.

Unique Book Pack. For kids age 7 and more established. Made of nylon, the fundamental sack has intelligent material on the front and the ties to improve the youngster's permeability around evening time. The backboard and ties are cushioned. It has one fundamental compartment and two littler front pockets and comes in four strong hues and six prints. $34.95.

Special Book Pack. For youngsters age 10 and more established. Made of climate-safe texture, the exclusive pack additionally has intelligent material on the front and ties. It has a cushioned backboard and lashes, and a midsection belt to help disseminate the heaviness of the pack. There are two fundamental compartments and two littler compartments, and it has an opening to string a sound string to permit simple access among earphones and a music gadget. It comes in eight strong hues and seven prints. $39.95.

Game Pack. For youngsters age 9 and more seasoned. This pack consolidates the highlights of a preliminary pack with a knapsack. It has a huge primary compartment, a segment for sorting out little things, and two work side pockets for water bottles. Made of rip stop nylon texture, the pack has a cushioned backboard and shoulder ties and intelligent trim. It comes in five hues. $49.95.

Shop Smart:

Karen Jacobs, a word related specialist, offered a few proposals for guardians who are searching for a book pack for their youngster.

1. One size doesn't fit all. Try not to purchase a bigger rucksack with the aim of your youngster developing into it. It's imperative to pick one that accommodates your kid well at this moment. The knapsack ought to sit just beneath his shoulder bones and end directly at the abdomen. Modify the shoulder ties so it fits cozily. Check your kid's knapsack each late spring to ensure it despite everything fits.

2. Consider purchasing face to face rather than on the web. In addition to the fact that this allows you to check the fit, however, you can likewise perceive how much the pack alone gauges and test it to ensure the things you have to convey will fit easily inside.

3. Go for breathable materials. Pick a rucksack produced using lightweight texture rather than cowhide. Heavier material methods heavier pack, even before you begin stacking it with books and supplies.

#travel #backpacking #backpack

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agirlnamedally · 7 years

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Allyyyy I start hsc on Monday and I'm supppppeeer nervous. I have been studying a lot but ofc enjoying my time with everyone at the library and talking etc. I'm stressing about my atar bc I really want to get in to social work bc I really wanna help people :((((( I wanna do psych but it's 99!!!!!

My tips for anyone starting Year 12/HSC/Senior Year:

Know that it’s perfectly normal to be nervous! I’m pretty sure I was scared to start VCE from Year 7 onwards, it always seemed like this giant, scary, looming monster that would destroy my happiness and suck out my soul like a dementor. Mostly, I just assumed I would have no free time, wouldn’t be able to keep up with the workload, and would fail absolutely everything.

Then, something funny happened. Year 11 came around and I realised… nothing had changed. The work might have been harder, but I had done the required training (aka Years 7-10) and was fully equipped with the skills to handle it. The transition from Year 10 to Year 11, and then again from 11 to 12, is really not that significant or scary! Your workload might increase a tiny bit, because (and in hindsight now I can look back and 100% support this) practice really does make perfect. Teachers don’t make you write 100 essays because they hate you and want you to be miserable or have no social life, it’s because they want you to be a good writer, but more than that, they know that the more essays you write, the easier it will be for you to write one come exam time. It will be less stressful, less terrifying and so much simpler to just regurgitate a piece of writing you’ve practically memorised because you’ve ingrained it into your memory throughout the year. That’s just an example for say English or Literature, but I think the same thing applies for all subjects, no matter how you’re tested. Practice makes perfect. Or at least, practice makes progress, haha.

Now, ATARs. Those finicky little bastards. I’m not going to tell you to forget about it, because I know that when I was in the midst of VCE it was always on my mind. I even had older kids, who had already graduated, constantly telling me how insignificant it was and that it wouldn’t matter one year from now, but I didn’t believe any of that. Now, looking back, I know that they were right. In terms of measuring your intelligence or potential for future career success, ATARs mean nothing. No matter what score you get, I promise you, you can go on and be anything you want to be in life. There will always be obstacles and challenges between you and your dreams, but if you want something and you’re willing to work hard and be nice to others, nothing can stop you. The only difference an ATAR can make is the journey and how you go about it. The only thing an ATAR determines is which course you might do. You might have your heart set on a dream course with a super high ATAR. If you want to shoot for that, go for it! Just know that if your number is lower, there are still ways to pursue it. You can take a gap year, travel, discover the world and find out who you are, uncover your passions, gain some experience. Do a TAFE course, start somewhere else, transfer. Defer it, reject it, volunteer somewhere, change your entire perspective on life, completely change directions. You still have the choice. Unis will often accept someone who didn’t get a first or second round offer initially as a mid-year enrolment, or you could do a semester or two somewhere else and then jump across and hopefully they’ll let you keep those credits under your belt. You may not even want to go to uni! There are many many options and paths you can take, don’t let a number limit or define your future.

Personally, I knew I wanted to further my education but wasn’t entirely set on any particular existing occupation. I knew my two favourite subjects were Psychology and Health and Human Development, but that I also enjoyed writing for English, so I could envision myself happily doing something that encompassed those things. For me, an Arts degree was the perfect choice because it allows you to dip your toes into many different areas of study, test the waters of various fields before arriving at a favourite – your major. The course I most had my heart set on had a pretty high entry score, one which I actually thought I had no possible chance of achieving, but I set it as my goal anyway because as I was so undecided, I didn’t want to ‘limit myself’ (typical Year 12 brain thinking). It worked out wonderfully for me, somehow I found the drive and ended up doing a lot better than I’d expected, really surprising myself (and probably everyone else) and guaranteeing a spot in the course. However, I wholeheartedly believe that had I not achieved the score I did, had I gone to a different university or course, or even taken some time off from studying, I would be just as happy. I would have found another way to continue learning, whether it be by sitting in a lecture theatre or travelling to see it myself. I could have enrolled in a different course, disappointed in myself and thinking it was only temporary, and ended up LOVING it. Maybe even more than this course! Who knows? These are the kinds of ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s that make my brain want to explode. Being a human can be exhausting.

Whether you have a goal course you’re hoping to get entry for, a dream uni, hopes of studying abroad, a plan to defer for a year or no desire to study at all – but they’re all okay and all achievable! No matter what it is you want in life, there are ways to get there. Not just one, but limitless varying courses of action you can follow. One might be more direct, but it might also be more boring, or less challenging. It might grow you less as a person, or prevent you from meeting some really interesting people that another path will introduce you to.

Year 12 is an awesome time. It can be stressful, overwhelming, demanding, sleepless. It can invoke self-doubt, nostalgia, fear of plummeting into the depths of the unknown (your future) and leaving behind the safety and security of routine (your past). However, it can also be rewarding, exciting, bonding, enriching, growing and deliriously fun. I say delirious because there will definitely be times when you and your friends are so overcome with work and anxiety that you just have to laugh. Misery loves company and Year 12 is proof of that. Study dates are perfect for simultaneously motivating each other and collectively crying into the bowl of chocolate you just devoured. I’m probably not painting the best picture here, but seriously, it can be a terrific time.

If I could give you one piece of advice for entering VCE, it’s to maintain a balance. Balance in life is the key here, because otherwise you will either burn out from too much studying, fall behind from not enough, get sick from not taking care of yourself, or something else just as un-fun. When you’re studying, dedicate proportionate amounts of time or energy to subjects depending on their current level of significance. If possible, do assignments as soon as you get them, but prioritise the ones that are due first or worth the most. More importantly, ensure you have balance throughout your whole life, holistically. It’s just as important to take care of your mental, social and physical well-being as it is to reach your education goals. Make the time to keep active, even if it seems like there is none. I can’t even tell you how beneficial it is to get outside, clear your head and get your heart rate up. Endorphins are your best friend and a powerful stress-buster, so keep a pair of runners at the ready. If you’re not a fan of solo workouts, can’t stay motivated or simply don’t enjoy it, I highly recommend joining a team sport! In fact, I recommend this for everyone, because it’s beneficial to your mental, social and physical health. All at once. Plus there’s the accountability factor – you can’t just skip the workout or hit snooze when you don’t feel like it - you made a commitment and your teammates are counting on you! Honestly being a part of a group like that will make you feel so needed or wanted, and it’s great to make new friends or connect with like-minded people. SPORT RULES. Taking care of your physical health also means nourishing your body with the right foods, getting enough sleep and drinking plenty of water – all the basics. Back to balance – it’s also essential to dedicate time to doing things just for you. Bubble baths are a great choice, there’s also reading, meditation, getting a massage or mani-pedi, having a movie night, seeing a friend, anything that makes you feel relaxed, happy and at peace. These are the things that keep you going! Imagine a pie chat, split into 3 sections. One section is school and schoolwork, one is health and fitness, and the last is dedicated to me-time or fun activities. The three sections represent mental, physical and social wellbeing = all equally important and necessary for not only success, but holistic health in general. If you’re feeling stressed out, look at which of the three sections might be out of balance. Are you not getting enough sleep? Have too much on your plate? Need some alone time? Not fuelling your brain and body with enough or the right nutrition? Try to keep these things in check and remind yourself that they’re all significant and deserving of your attention.

Most of all, know that VCE is completely unique to your own experience. Like karma, you will get out only what you put in. You can make it an easy time, just for socialising and blowing off class, you can dedicate 110% of yourself to studying every waking hour, never lose a mark and never see anyone else, OR you can have the best of both worlds and strike that beautiful, sweet balance.

Decide what your own goals are. Make your own rules. Ask yourself what motivates you, and then go after it. Use this time to challenge yourself, grow as a person and exceed any expectations, limitations or barriers that have been set by anyone – including and especially yourself. It’s an exciting time that you should definitely make the most of, because it will be over before you know it. I know it’s hard, but try to forget about ATARs, or at least diminish the all-mighty power and holy-grail presence that it can take. It’s just a number. If you try your best, that’s all you need to do. I have complete faith in you anon,

YOU CAN DO IT :D

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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Last week, New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio proposed a drastic change in the way students are admitted to the city’s elite high schools.

Students gain entry to one of these eight “specialized” schools by scoring high enough on a single exam called the Specialized High School Admissions Test (SHSAT). De Blasio has called for phasing out the exam and instead admitting the top students from each middle school.

This has prompted protests from Asian Americans who feel this policy disproportionately hurts them, as well as hand-wringing from graduates of these schools, who believe the move will lower the quality of the education at these institutions.

For decades, these elite schools have been a prime example of what a great secondary education could offer — but also a symbol of how rigged the system is. Since the 1970s, students, school officials, and even the US Office of Civil Rights have said that the admissions process hurts students of color.

Today, about 70 percent of New York high schools are black and Hispanic — but they account for just 10 percent of students in New York’s specialized high schools.

By phasing out the test, de Blasio’s plan starts a process that would eventually make these schools about 45 percent black and Hispanic — much closer to citywide demographics.

And the city predicts it will offer fewer seats to white students — but also significantly fewer seats to Asian students.

For many Asian Americans, the entrance exam represents their best bet to get a fair shot. You don’t need connections, you don’t need to be socially adept, and you aren’t judged by vague and subjective standards. Ace this test and you’re in.

But it’s tough to argue the current admissions process is fair — and not only because of the disproportionate demographics. Testing may seem like an objective process, but it often replicates the inequalities that public education is supposed to remedy. Indeed, the current system was put into law in the 1970s when white parents urged the state to institute a test-only system — a campaign that itself was pushing back against proposed changes to the process that would have admitted more black and Puerto Rican students to the schools.

This tension often hides in the subtext of political debates. Now it’s being spoken out loud.

”[De Blasio] never had this problem when Stuyvesant [High School] was all white. He never had this problem when Stuyvesant was all Jewish,” Kenneth Chiu, the chair of the New York City Asian-American Democratic Club, told NY1. Stuyvesant is one of New York’s eight specialized schools.

”All of a sudden, they see one too many Chinese and they say, ‘Hey, it isn’t right.’”

Until now, the affirmative action debate has been squarely focused on elite college admissions.

For decades, Asian Americans have been accusing top colleges of imposing illegal quotas on Asian students, limiting the number of spots for them even as those institutions sought to bring in more black and Hispanic students. Opponents of affirmative action have used these grievances to challenge the law. There is currently a lawsuit against Harvard University, as well as a Justice Department investigation into this matter.

The accusations that colleges have quotas often come with the complaint that it means Asian Americans have to compete for a set number of seats among themselves. But applicants don’t know everyone else who is applying to Harvard or Yale, and it’s hard to pin down where you are on that totem pole.

With de Blasio’s plan, however, students will know exactly whom they’re competing against, and exactly how the ranking system works.

First, de Blasio wants to reserve 20 percent of seats in specialized schools for students from high-poverty schools who didn’t meet the exam cutoff. In the next three years, he wants to phase out the entrance exam entirely and grant admission to students who are in the top 7 percent of each middle school’s graduating class, as determined by a combination of grades and state standardized tests.

The plan integrates schools by taking advantage of New York’s highly segregated geography.

Students in poor, segregated neighborhoods wouldn’t compete against students in rich neighborhoods; instead, they’d compete against their neighbors, which guarantees a certain number of seats for each middle school. This is similar to the way the University of Texas has achieved diversity goals, which survived Supreme Court scrutiny in 2016. The change would also end up capping the number of students from any given school.

All of this is by design — and, in fact, it’s the narrow way in which the Supreme Court said districts could pursue diversity.

In recent years, the number of Asian-Americans students has grown sharply at specialized schools, and it’s left fewer seats for black and Hispanic students. This plan would push back against that trend.

When New York City’s new chancellor, Richard Carranza, was asked whether this plan pits minority groups against each other, he said, “I just don’t buy into the narrative that any one ethnic group owns admission to these schools.”

But Asian-American leaders who oppose de Blasio’s plan insist their presence in specialized schools isn’t a sign of privilege.

Soo Kim, president of the Stuyvesant Alumni Association, told the New York Times, “Stuyvesant is an option for those who have no option. They don’t know how to interview or influence their way into the right public schools or the right private schools.”

One specialized high school student told the New York Times in 2012, “Most of our parents don’t believe in ‘gifted.’ It’s all about hard work.”

This narrative is one that so many immigrants children have heard. It’s about being told to work harder than everyone else, because we are perpetual foreigners who will never be gifted anything. It’s why an exam-only process is so appealing; there are no subjective judgments of character or culture — just right or wrong answers no one can dispute. It’s the context behind the growth of test prep services.

As Washington Post columnist Richard Cohen puts it, “They study. They study hard.”

This way of thinking, of course, implies everyone else isn’t working hard enough — and that’s why everyone else isn’t getting ahead. And this test affirms that belief.

It’s worth taking a step back and remembering that there really is something awry with the admissions process at specialized schools.

Not only does the data clearly show that the test-only system created a subset of highly segregated, elite schools, but this system was put into law by white leaders who specifically wanted to limit the number of black and Puerto Rican students.

So, as Nikole Hannah-Jones argues, if we believe that black and Hispanic children are just as intelligent as white and Asian children, what exactly does this test measure?

One answer is that it measures who has the resources to prep for this test. Schoolwork isn’t enough to prepare you. A large portion of Asian-American students take courses to optimize their scores on the SHSAT, and later they will likely take prep courses for the SAT. This, of course, takes money, time, and access. (These critiques almost invariably lead to other microaggressions against Asians — that we are too focused on tests and academics, and it doesn’t make us well-rounded. Of course, that’s exactly what the system incentivized.)

The broader answer is that the test measures how American policies have engineered these racial dynamics.

American policies segregated black and brown families into poor neighborhoods and inadequate schools — and they continue to do so today. These policies have also fueled a massive racial wealth gap that continues to widen.

American policies also created a relatively new Asian-American population. Before the 1960s, US immigration policy was largely anti-Asian. But as the US became more receptive to Asian migration, it favored certain people: relatives of US residents, those with specialized skills, and refugees.

Most of these immigrants couldn’t be considered wealthy by any means — especially in New York, where Asians have the highest poverty rate of any racial group.

But most of our families weren’t subjected to the same discriminatory policies that have kept black and Hispanic families in intergenerational poverty.

This test, like so many others, appears to disproportionately measure these engineered gaps.

There are eight specialized schools in New York City that base admission solely on the SHSAT score, the most well-known of which are the Bronx High School of Science and Stuyvesant High School.

Together, these eight schools educate just 5 percent of New York City’s 310,000 high school students. There are plenty of other great high schools.

But the fight about affirmative action, especially around elite schools, gets so charged because it’s not just about education. As Harvard education professor Natasha Warikoo wrote in her recent book The Diversity Bargain, “[These schools] are especially important for our understanding of meritocracy, because many see admissions to those universities as the ultimate demonstration of merit.”

Of course, merit is a completely made-up standard. It’s not an objective metric; rather, it reflects our ideals.

After all, in the 1970s, white leaders defined merit to limit the number of nonwhite students at the specialized schools. They believed not abiding by these definitions of merit would “destroy the quality and special character of the institutions,” according to a 1971 New York Times story.

And this same rhetoric is being used today.

But as Politico’s Eliza Shapiro reports, the city’s analysis shows that this new system wouldn’t dramatically change the average test scores or GPAs for specialized school students. In other words, it won’t lower the quality of the student body.

Removing the test, however, will change the definition of merit to reflect more equitable ideals.

For decades, New York’s elite schools used an exclusionary system to define merit — and Asian Americans have been wildly successful within this system.

Now, for the better — but without their consultation — the definition of merit is changing.

Original Source -> The fraught racial politics of entrance exams for elite high schools

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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yeswesaythings · 7 years

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An Honor(s) and a Privilege

Questions:

1. What was the goal of your research and how successful do you think it went?

2. What were the biggest hurdles in implementing this project, and which were the easiest steps?

3. Would you recommend that someone do a follow-up experiment to yours in the future? How far into the future? Should it be a regular process occurring every few years?

4. What advice would you tell students interested in performing research related to sociology and psychology?

5. What is your degree in and why did you decide upon it? What do you plan to study for your doctorate?

6. As president of ASG, you were tasked with countless responsibilities. What process did you use to manage your time?

7. How did you manage to overcome disagreements with faculty leadership, and did this ever make you feel as though your decisions were reluctantly commandeered?

8. How confident are you with the leadership of the upcoming Steering committee?

9. Having gone through the process, is graduating with Honors worth it? What would you change?

10. Do you feel that Tech will be able to handle the transition from Honors program to Honors college smoothly, or will it be a long drawn out ordeal?

11. What advice would you give to incoming freshman for the 2017-18 year?

Responses:

1. I will try to answer this question as succinctly as possible; it's going to be more than you wanted, but I think this stuff is really cool.

My research has focused for the last year or so on Honors students and more specifically the aspects of their social lives that may or may not be contributing to their superior academic performance relative to equally gifted non-Honors students. The qualifier is phrased carefully, as the literature already existing on Honors students has established that Honors students are not inherently more intelligent or innately more adept in the retention of information than their equally gifted peers who did not join an Honors program. That finding carries weighty implications, as it suggests that Honors students' academic success is not, perhaps, rooted in ability, but in some part(s) of their social world. In the case of Honors students, the major difference is their participation in an Honors program.

Now, when I refer the "social world" I do not refer to socializing in our culturally diluted sense of the word. Rather, social life in a very small nutshell is the massive and infinitely complicated network of interactions that occur, which utilize the exchange of symbols - the basic unit of all interaction. To offer a brief backstory, we are all born into a world that has already been interpreted by others, and most of our early life is spent doing nothing but absorbing the meanings of symbols. Language is a collection of symbols, stop signs are symbols, but incredibly, even people are symbols. In fact, we are all social objects. A reputation is evidence of that claim. Just as we have come to ascribe meaning to a stop sign and we have developed a set of behaviors that are expected of us when presented with one, we are at least tacitly aware that we ascribe meaning to people based on what he have learned about them, and we develop a set of behaviors for acting toward them. In this sense, we are objects to others in the social world. Furthermore, we are even social objects to ourselves. We are keenly tuned in to the meanings that we believe others are ascribing to us, and those meanings are made apparent by others' interactions with us. In being able to see ourselves the way we believe others see us, we actually come to perceive ourselves as social objects as well. Thus, the self is a social object which is the sum total of all of the symbols we have acquired and all of the complex meanings we have learned to attach to those symbols via interaction with others. That is symbolic interactionism in a paragraph.

So, if Honors students aren't more intelligent, what's driving their academic success? I conducted two studies, one qualitative/exploratory and one quantitative/deductive. The first study led me to develop five hypotheses for the second study: As sense of community in Honors increases, as group identity with Honors increases, as self-esteem increases, and as positive experience with professors increases, academic performance increases. I also hypothesized that those who had spent time living in the Honors residence hall would have higher academic performance than those who did not.

Overall, I believe it certainly was a success. Group Identity, self-esteem, and positive experience with professors were each strongly positively correlated with academic performance at the Alpha .05 and .01 levels. The linear regression model ended up explaining just under 50% of the variance in academic performance with just the cumulative effect of independent variables that I hypothesized. So I think I am on to something big. My discussion section focuses largely on Group ID. It is my theoretical conclusion, based on the data, that the superior academic performance of Honors students is rooted in the extent to which Honors students actually identify as an Honors student. That is, as Group ID increased, academic performance increased, and vice versa. There are a well-known and widely agreed upon set of behaviors that accompany the status of "Honors student" and, depending on how much one internalizes that role, this will determine to what extent an individual adopts behaviors consistent with that role. Quite simply, it is not being an Honors student that makes the difference, it is acting like one. I am confident I will be able to publish the manuscript and I plan to present at any conferences I can find!

2. One of the toughest parts of the project was the theory involved. Not really things like "Smith's Theory of Blank," but really the process of conceptualizing and operationalizing exactly what it was I intended to study, how I would study it, and making sure that the results I got would actually be reliable. Things like, "how the hell am I going to measure sense of community?" (spoiler: an index). But really, this is hands down the hardest part. Data analysis is a breeze, getting people to participate isn't really even that bad, and writing it up isn't bad either if you've built a logical foundation. It's what lies in the abstract that can make or break your entire study.

3. I do think someone should follow up on my study, in two different ways. First, I think it should be replicated at other Honors programs, not at the same one. There is no need to perform the study again at Tech. The purpose for replication would be to capture variation in the structure and dynamics in other Honors programs, of which there is much. However, I am confident the findings would remain the same. The perceived role of an Honors student has permeated our culture to a degree that the behaviors associated with being an Honors student are well known. Secondly, a follow-up is needed to delve deeper into that notion of identity as it pertains to Honors. Are there other sets of behaviors associated with being an Honors student that were not captured in my study? Probably. I imagine that as one internalizes the role of an Honors student, one may be more likely to seek opportunities to lead, or to get involved with research, or to volunteer, because "that's what Honors students do."

4. I would say that you had better think this is the coolest stuff ever or you may want to steer clear. Research of any kind is highly demanding and often tedious at times, and research in this field is no different. It is really only the fervor of your own fascination that sees you through to the end product. There is also this sensation of feeling like you know less when you're done about your topic than when you started. Do not despair, for this is a good thing. It means you probably actually contributed, and that our previous understanding of the topic will be momentarily jarred in order to accommodate the new information. New findings are always going to be vexing while they are worked out.

5. My degree is a Bachelor of Science in Sociology. I originally began in psychology and actually did not make the change until the end of my second year. Sociology really caught my eye in a class called Social Deviance. One of the biggest points that was repeatedly driven home in the textbook was the relative nature of deviance across time and space. It's embarrassing to say this now that the concept is so central to the way I see the world, but that was very novel to me when I really started to grasp it, and especially when I began to apply it to other phenomena outside of deviance. All that which is social is quite relative to time and place. It was then that I really began to appreciate how vast the realm of sociology really is, which encompasses the full spectrum of interaction all the way from two people in conversation to warring nations. I will continue studying sociology as I pursue the Doctor of Sociology at the University of Georgia for the foreseeable future.

6. I had a number of strategies for managing my time, particularly in those latter two years when I had the most going on. There was one that makes by far the greatest difference, though. In the first month of each semester I would essentially cut myself off from the world and do nothing but focus intently on schoolwork and only keep up with ASG enough so that it wouldn't take any steps backward. In doing so, I was investing my time in exceptional grades early on in the semester, thereby building up a respectable cushion for anything that might go south later. I was also learning the content inside and out, which made grasping new concepts as the semester went on much easier because they would be couched in a framework of concepts I had already mastered. Once that month was over, I could relax a bit on school work and really pour myself into ASG. Going hard in the early game pretty much guarantees success in the end. It's all about that principal investment.

7. Honestly, I saw myself as somewhat of a pioneer of ASG in the sense that I often resisted the status quo as well the pressures applied by those who would see it maintained. I frequently refused to accept tradition as an explanation for the state of things, and I think that was really what convinced others to let me lead at the start. I spent a lot of time while I was president just brainstorming ways to improve ASG and many of those ideas were not popular with faculty when they were introduced. Whenever I arrived at an impasse between a decision of mine and the faculty support it received, I would always remind myself that ASG is a student organization and it belongs to the students. So when I felt strongly that I was in the right on something or that I/ASG was not being dealt with fairly, I would simply put it to the students. Spread the word. "Here's what I want to do; do you want it too?" In hindsight I probably rocked the boat a bit too much at times, and I have a lot of reason to believe I lost favor from some parties as a result. The end product, though, is one that I think the students deserve and appreciate.

8. I am very confident in the leadership of the new steering committee. That's really all I have to say on that!

9. This is a difficult question to answer definitely, as everyone who comes into Honors finds themselves in their own unique situation with its own set of challenges. Some have it far worse than others. Having said that, if it looks like you can make it through the program without losing yourself to the minutiae along the way, it's definitely worth it. I would say that I don't feel like my degree is heavier, shinier, or any more powerful because I graduated with Honors, so if you're just to scrape the surface, get your hours, and leave, I would say it's not worth your trouble. But if you get involved, particularly in ASG, you can really make a home for yourself that will see to your growth as both a student and a person.

If I could change something about Honors, I would not hesitate to change the way that contract proposals are evaluated. Currently, one person is the sole judge of all contract proposals, and as we are all aware, contracts are the life-saving elixir of many Honors students. They are important, yes, and they should be reviewed shrewdly. I do not believe they are being reviewed shrewdly now. I think that the decisions I have seen passed down regarding contract proposals have been wildly inconsistent and have frequently demonstrated a lack of understanding of the subject matter discussed in them. I have also seen certain individuals have particularly poor fortune with their proposals and cannot help but think there is some bias involved.

I would not expect one person to have a passing knowledge of all things, and that is precisely why one person cannot effectively determine what is Honors-worthy and what is not in all fields. I believe the assessment of contract proposals should be handled by either department liaisons or by the Honors council.

10. My guess is that, through no fault of the Honors Program, Tech will probably screw this one up. Having been quite involved with the discussion of this decision, it became more and more apparent throughout the process that the university was interested in having an Honors College in name only. It does not appear that they are presently prepared to invest what is necessary for the transition to yield anything of real substance, at least not for quite some time. They have approached the conversation with a mentality not conducive to progress. They would like to see results before investment. Show me anything comparable that succeeds in this manner! We do not have the resources to show them the kind of results they are asking for, which is why I say the change will be in name only. It will likely turn off other university Honors programs for some time, as it is my fear that TTU Honors will join a community of Honors colleges known as "fake" Honors colleges.

11. Don't be a people-pleaser. You're here to learn, but you have the distinct privilege while you're at college of "finding yourself." Surround yourself with people who don't want or need anything from you other than your company, and spend your free time doing what brings you joy.

#honors #sociology #research #college

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