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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 3 years

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Sharing Shipping Space with Amphibian and Reptiles

by Stevie Kennedy-Gold

Your online orders of clothes and household goods might well have shared shipping space alongside preserved toads and snakes from the Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Don’t worry though – museum specimens are shipped following long-established rules and regulations, and the movement of herpetological freight is all in the service of science.

Wait, what?! Well, at a relatively low, but steady rate, natural history museums loan out specimens, and these materials are generally shipped, outgoing and incoming, via regular commercial carriers.

Why loan out a specimen?! Why, to ask and answer awesome scientific questions, to enhance an exhibit, or to use as artistic references! Just as every human has a story unique to their own life and experiences, etched in their wrinkles, freckles, and scars, the same is true for every specimen in the collection. Each frog and lizard, snake and turtle has experienced different environmental impacts, endured famine, parasites, pollution, or predation. Each specimen has its own story. Instead of being written down within the pages of a book, the animals’ stories are recorded within their muscles, organs, bones, and DNA. As such, an eastern fence lizard collected from Pennsylvania in 1893 will likely have a different body size, diet, or parasite load compared to the same species of lizard collected from the same town in 2005.

Scientists request loans from museum collections so that they can examine the specimens, unlock the stories hidden in each body, and answer their scientific questions. Alternatively, we receive requests from artists needing reference materials for their newest works of art, or to more accurately render images of a species they would otherwise not be able to see up close (I’m looking at you, venomous snakes, highly toxic frogs, or now extinct species!). And, of course, museums themselves loan from collections to use in displays as representatives of the far larger number of specimens housed behind-the-scenes. Walk through Dinosaurs in their Time towards Cenozoic – those bones can be considered as an inter-building loan from our Vertebrate Paleontology collection. Head up to the Foster Overlook and check out our hellbender who choked on a marshmallow – that specimen is certainly an inter-building loan from the collection I manage.

But how exactly are specimen loans arranged? The process varies from institution to institution and from section to section, so this description is the process specific to the Section of Amphibians and Reptiles at this museum. Overall, though, the process is a great deal easier than it would seem. Assuming a borrower knows what species to work with, a search of the Section’s online presence at iDigBio or VertNet will determine the specific specimens to request. After that, a formal request letter is required. This document must include details of borrower affiliation, the species and specimens requested, and the reason behind the request along with any planned examination techniques. The next step in the procedure is an email directed to me through the museum website (here), again providing a brief description of the borrower’s intent.

Image 1: Prepping a loan of anoles for a researcher. In the foreground are lists of specimen preferences from the researcher and specimens in the collection which fit the criteria.

Assuming a request is reasonable (i.e., doesn’t involve the complete destruction of the specimen!), I then begin pulling the requested specimens from the collection, placing tiny loan slips in each jar as I go as place holders signifying the specimen’s loaned status (Image 1). The slip has the specimen’s catalog number, the loan number, and the requester. Paper trails are vital in loaning specimens. I also make a notation in my fancy new Loan database, as well as in the general Herp Section Specimen database. Finally, I draft up the loan contract which will be sent out with the specimens. I then wrap the specimens in cheesecloth (Images 2 and 3), give them a good soaking in alcohol, triple bag and heat seal them in, and slap the appropriate documentation on and in the box. The package then goes off to the mailroom!

Image 2: Laying out the specimens on cheesecloth in preparation for shipping. A loan slip can be seen behind the cup on the right side of the image.

Image 3: Charlotte, a recent intern in the section, helps package up a loan of toads.

Once someone has completed their work with the specimens, they normally notify me and ship the specimens back as soon as possible. Assuming all the specimens are returned in good order, the loan is closed, the specimens are returned to the collection, the slips of paper are pulled from the jars, and the specimens once again become available for other people to use.

Unfortunately, some specimen loans, like library books, become overdue. A typical loan duration is 6 months, at the end of which the borrower can request a loan extension (much like requesting an extension on a library book) or they can send the specimens back. If the loan period elapses without any communication, I don my imaginary “Lizard Librarian” hat and kindly request their return as soon as possible.

Due to the size of this collection, the responsibilities of a collection manager, the number of loans we send out annually (some years over 40!), and the recent (with respect to the general age of the collection) technological adoptions within the Section (i.e., creating digital databases), it is not surprising that the retrieval of some loans lapsed, and even the documentation of some specimen locations is unclear. As a result, I recently took it upon myself, with the aid of my fearless and tireless group of interns, work study students, and volunteers, to determine the “active status” for all loans sent out since 1925 (the earliest recorded loan in the section). We have nearly 2000 loan records to look through, but fortunately my predecessors did a decent job tracking when a loan was returned or when contact was made to request the specimens be returned.

It’s a long arduous process making sure that all the specimens are back. Initially, our search to verify if the specimen was returned begins with the jars containing species from the location where the borrowed specimen was collected. This process takes time, and the pace is contingent upon how many specimens were requested per loan and how many specimens (and jars!) of a specific species from a specific place we have in the collection. For example, tracking the whereabouts of a loan of 50 eastern newts from Pennsylvania has taken us a few weeks because we have nearly 20 jars of newts from the state, each containing at least 100 specimens.

Image 4: Before (left) and after (right) images of a selection of jars which we looked through to confirm the specimens were loaned out and for which we updated the jar labels. You can see in the bottom middle jar in the image on the right the loan slip and piece of orange tape which denotes specimens were loaned out from that jar.

If we emerge empty handed after examining all the jars of a specific species from a specific place, we then look in jars containing the same species collected from other locations. This process has resulted in finding almost 10 specimens previously deemed “missing” – some since the 1960s! On top of this process, we also record the catalogue number of every specimen in every jar we examine so we can update the jar labels with the specimen numbers (Image 4). This expedites finding specific specimens in the future and ensures that all specimens are placed in their correct jars. It’s a true labor of love and the process is a museum collection equivalent of an (ultra-ULTRA) marathon, not a sprint. When it all boils down though, I am just a librarian making sure that all my books (or specimens!) are where they ought to be.

Stevie Kennedy-Gold is the Collection Manager for the Section of Amphibians and Reptiles at Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Amphibians #Reptiles #Herpetology #Museums

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gothhisoka · 3 years

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𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖞

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 18- 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Ships: Chrollo x Reader, Leorio x Kurapika, Hisoka x Illumi

Genre: romance, dark academia, royalcore, university AU

Word count: 3k

Background: This is from my (gothhisoka) fanfic on Wattpad and AO3 called Hunter University. It is Chrollo x OC, but I decided to change it around for Tumblr. Both Chrollo and y/n are hiding things from each other but are both feeling the same attraction. A masquerade ball is held at your university. You don’t know if he even wants to dance with you, but apparently he does. He wants to do even more than that.

Tags: Fluff, first kiss, sfw

The masquerade hall was astounding. The high stone walls were adorned with scarlet silk banners. Golden fabric streamers hung from every banister of the second-level balconies. As in the entrance, symbols of cherubs and mythical creatures were splashed across the ceiling in a dizzying array. The light was dim, for all the chandeliers were set low in the traditional style of Venetian masquerades. Candelabras were scattered on every table and upon every wall.

Symphonic music was emanating from the open stage in the front of the room. A live orchestra was playing a gentle concerto as the students poured in. It was only 7:10, so not many were on the floor. The true dancing would start in another couple of minutes.

It was a scene out of a fairytale. The hundreds of breathtakingly dressed students only added to the general fervor of it all.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Chrollo said as he looked towards you. It was unclear whether he was talking about the room or how you looked tonight. Your bright eyes shone out underneath a bronze mask, which was catching the candlelight within its shiny material.

Still entranced, you were led by Chrollo to the table they had reserved. The troupe followed behind, engrossed in their conversation while you both remained in your own little world. He put his hand on the small of your back, simply aching to touch you once again. The feeling was mutual.

On the table, there were glasses already set up accompanied by a lavish bouquet of flowers. Uvogin pulled out a couple of bottles of champagne he clearly swiped from the restaurant. Everyone dropped off their bags at the table.

It appeared as if not all of the troupe members would be dancing. Franklin was already seated with his arms crossed. You looked at him questioningly, after which he said, "I have to guard the stuff." It was clear by his tone that he actually meant "I don't like to dance."

You smiled placidly and nodded in understanding. He was an unusual sort of guy. She was beginning to like him already. In fact, the whole Phantom Troupe was becoming gradually more likable as the night progressed.

You looked for Kurapika to bid him one last warning before he got whisked away by Leorio. By the time she spotted him, it was already too late.

You watched as Kurapika scratched at the back of his head, suddenly unaware of what to do with his arms. He was apparently awestruck by his dance partner's appearance.

The two made their shy greetings. Kurapika reached for his hand as any chivalrous partner would do.

Soon a waltz commenced, floating around the room. A subtle violin and cello duet beckoned people out onto the floor.

You watched as Kurapika led Leorio out, their suit jackets glimmering synchronously as the lights passed. They took position still near their group's table, but far enough to have room to dance.

The wide floor soon filled with numerous other couples. Hisoka led Illumi out alongside Uvogin and Nobunaga. Hisoka and Illumi were practically professional dancers from the very start, moving to an elaborate step that drew the attention of all the students. People nearly cleared the floor to make room for them. This annoyed Illumi to no end, while Hisoka displayed a wild grin. They twirled, dipped, and did intricate step sequences, unquestionably rehearsed to perfection.

The rest were not as remarkably polished. Still, they appeared to be equally enjoying themselves.

Leorio and Kurapika laughed as one of them accidentally stepped upon the other toes or missed a movement. While they lacked coordination, they surely didn't lack chemistry. This was a good sign.

You could see their mouths moving but the music drowned out their voices. Kurapika attempted to guide Leorio in the basic box step, turning him once in a while.

Most ignored the cameramen or simply didn't notice them lurking in hidden spots. You had some otherworldly feeling that sensed them under the shadows in the balconies.

"Are you done watching?" Chrollo asked, holding his hand out to you just as Kurapika had done with Leorio.

You hadn't realized you were still staring out towards the masked partners on the floor. The ball was entirely overwhelming; the sound, the rapid movements, and the room itself were causing your head to spin.

Nonetheless, you snapped out of it and processed what Chrollo had just said. You just got offered a dance. A dance with him.

You knew his indicative gestures were leading somewhere. That somewhere was here, into his arms.

In front of hundreds of students, not to mention journalists itching to get a photo of the boy who was so famous. Not to mention his dance partner, who was no more than a low-level hunter wannabe.

Now's not the time to get nervous. This is what you wanted. Isn't it?

You stared down at his hand as if to ask "for me?"

You peered up to see the most gentle face slowly becoming riddled with doubt.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

Is it?

Now that you are actually here, in the position that used to be visible only in your imagination, you feel immense pressure.

In these weeks past, you didn't even question what you were getting herself into. To be fair, you weren’t sure what this night would be, exactly. Would you be met with a closed-off boy whose coldness warded you away or the courteous man who would rather teach you nen lessons than see you fail?

Is it even safe to get this close?

Chrollo's personality had shifted in the span of the night. It became full of genuine interest rather than his usual impassive curiosity. He, as a person, was becoming all the more real.

Real was dangerous.

This stream of consciousness only took a second. It took one look into Chrollo's eyes to know what your answer would be.

"This is what I want."

It was the first step. No, rather it was your first leap off a skyscraper.

You were falling. Hard.

His grip was delicate, holding your hand as if it was made of glass. Chrollo felt strange, being so unsure. He was normally an expert at figuring out people– what they felt and why they acted the way they did.

You, on the other hand, were a labyrinth. He had always been so hesitant for this reason. Chrollo needed to be able to figure out a person in order to get close to them. With you, there was something buried deeper than you let on. It was virtually impossible to uncover. You put up almost as good of a front as Chrollo.

Or perhaps it was Chrollo's own mind that was muddied at the thought of you. His intentions versus yours, his morals versus yours. It all began to matter very much. What would he think in the end, after he got out of your what he so desired?

Nevermind that now. For Chrollo was feeling a mutual enthusiasm that you were plainly exhibiting. He led you out to the floor.

The Phantom Troupe watched with apprehension. They weren't used to their boss being so amiable. He couldn't be swayed by a simple person, and yet here he was.

"Can you dance?" Chrollo turned to you, putting an arm upon your shoulder. You already almost melted under the single touch.

You had reached the middle of the floor, far from the troupe. Was he that confident in his own dancing? The center could be viewed from all sides and balconies. You were sure to stand out.

"Not well," you said candidly.

Chrollo began a light step, swaying from side to side. This newfound tenderness was surprising. He was treating you as if you were a queen. And you couldn't get enough of it.

Wanting to grasp for more of this certain side of him, you said, "I can do more than this."

"As you wish," Chrollo said with a gracious smile.

He immediately followed a more complicated step, falling in line with the other couples on the floor. You pretended to ignore their whispers.

Just as you thought. He is an incredible dancer.

Every time you struggled to keep up he would adjust his pace. You worked like hands on a clock, moving as if set to one another's rhythm. The music now was a quicker allegro beat.

Your attire fanned out as you turned: your right hand in his, your arm on his shoulder.

Now it was the students' turn to stare at Chrollo and you. It was unclear if it was because they recognized the boy under the mask, or they were observing the electrifying chemistry.

You couldn't help but beam as you sailed across the floor. Chrollo did not break eye contact and you did your best to do the same.

A feeling overcame you as you continued to hold his hand in yours. It couldn't be described as fireworks or sparks, as often depicted by the romance novels she's read. It was more of an awakening.

Despite the weather turning cold, you felt as if it was spring. A revival. Things were blossoming, the rain washed away the grey of winter.

He was your spring.

It was odd. For Chrollo could be explained more effectively as ominous and intimidating, unlike a bright spring day. He should've been cold stone walls, closed doors, secret passageways.

But no, he was warmth itself.

If only you would turn away for a second you would notice a coldness settle that hadn't been there before.

The way he looked tonight in his dazzling suit and mask, the way he said all those uncharacteristically gracious words: these were the things you would have etched in your memory for a very, very long time. Now, without Chrollo it would feel as if something were missing.

You would not realize this yet, as you were still in a state of pure elation. It was only the beginning.

But this was the connection you felt. Having it defined opened up a world of possibilities.

Who would've known, it all came into fruition at a masquerade ball.

━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━

After a couple more songs, you left the floor. Sweat prickled at your brow. You were left panting after a rapid final dance.

Several students couldn't help but clap. You hadn't even done a thing. You were sure it was Chrollo's dancing that gained all the attention.

"You're better than I expected," you said.

Chrollo brushed back his hair which had fallen in his face with all the movement. "I would say the same to you, y/n." He smiled, sizing your up.

You didn't dispute his return of the compliment. He was right.

At the group table, Kurapika and Leorio were sitting drinking glass after glass of the bootlegged champagne. It would've been inappropriate to bring alcohol to such a prestigious event if many other tables weren't doing the same. Apparently, the students here did know how to have a good time.

Chrollo went to talk to Franklin as you sat next to Leorio and Kurapika.

"You both were amazing!" Leorio exclaimed as you approached.

You grinned, "Where have you two been?"

"We were on the floor too, didn't you see us?"

You tried to laugh it off, "No... I was a little distracted."

To be fair, you didn't notice the cameras, the students, or the other dancers either.

"Sooo are you two going back out?" Leorio asked, leaning on his hand. His words slurred slightly.

You looked over your shoulder at Chrollo. He looked serious as he talked to Franklin. "I'm not sure. Are you two?"

"Yes, we plan on trying the group dance. Just like we practiced," Kurapika said, giving you a knowing look.

The synchronized dance was the signature of the ball. All those who learned it were allowed to participate. It was the last dance, so they would still be sitting for a while. The time was now around 9:00 and the hall would be closed by 12:00 a.m.

Before they could converse any further, Chrollo gently put a hand on your shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have something to show you, y/n."

He held his hand out again. This time you took it with no hesitation.

"Ok," you leaped up, flattening out your dress.

You were all too willing to go wherever Chrollo pleased. There wasn't even a point where she needed to remind herself who this man was. His charm had influenced you too far already. There was no going back.

Kurapika gave you a warning look. You threw him back a smile. This did nothing to reassure him.

Chrollo interlaced his fingers slowly with yours, hesitating as you crossed under the balconies. You could've dissolved right then and there. It only further confirmed his gentlemanly attitude and respect towards you.

You couldn't even look at him. You felt your face growing hotter by the second. Thank god for a mask and several layers of foundation.

To your surprise, you were led far from the dance floor. You ended up at a small door in a quiet corner of the ballroom. The spot was underneath the alcoves and not a soul was in sight. Moonlight poured in from the tiny stained-glass windows.

"It's through here," Chrollo said, his voice barely audible over the orchestral music.

"Do I get to know where you're taking me?" You stopped in your tracks. You were thinking of what Kurapika would say. Even though you would follow him at the drop of a coin, you weren’t that stupid. He is a man, before all else.

Something flashed in Chrollo's eyes. Was he hurt by your sudden distrust?

"I'll show you. I promise you'll like it," Chrollo replied, creaking open the door.

There was nothing at first, only darkness. But stepping through the door bestowed an even more enchanting sight than the ballroom.

You gasped, "I didn't realize there was a courtyard out here."

Chrollo looked at you as if he were seeing you the first time tonight again. The profile of your face was highlighted by the moonlight. your jawline was your only feature that stood out, the rest of your was soft under the haze of darkness. The surrounding blue contrasted against your fading red lipstick. your hair had grown significantly more disheveled but it still looked utterly smooth. If Chrollo was bolder he would've run his hand through it and took you by your waist and done things he surely would regret for initiating too soon... he wanted to savor the moment when it inevitably came.

He smiled, despite himself. Neither of you noticed the cold, still warmed from dancing only moments ago. Chrollo watched as your eyes soaked in the scene before you.

It seemed as if the bushes and trees saved their last breaths for this space alone. Fall leaves hung over a gravel path. Ivy snaked up the surrounding structures, all encapsulating the tiny yard. A small table sat in the center of the path upon which a lantern was placed. He had come prepared.

The whole night: he had anticipated it all. He had realized your love, and, at this moment, you realized his. What he had yet to figure out was the depth of those feelings or where they came from. Or, most importantly, what was tucked underneath those feelings. That was what tonight was for.

The orchestra still echoed faintly through the ancient walls.

"Shall we dance? I never did like dancing in front of a crowd,"

You redirected your eyes to an equally beautiful scene. You were still in reverence. It was obvious now that he had planned it all.

Your heart swelled like an ocean wave, but all you could manage to get out was, "Are we supposed to be here?"

Chrollo looked at you dangerously, "To remind you, I'm not supposed to be anywhere."

Before you could say another word, Chrollo stepped forward and lifted both his and your own mask off of your faces.

"There."

Chrollo's undivided visage was in view now. The curve of his nose and tops of his cheekbones caught the light of the moon. His downcast eyelashes were full, framing his silver eyes.

As for Chrollos view, he simply needed to see your whole face to be sure that what you felt was really true. When he saw the arching of your lips and widened eyes, he knew it was.

He grasped your hand in preparation to waltz, deliberately intertwining his hand with yours.

Timed perfectly, the music slowed. It was a couples' number. Inevitably, this had also somehow been planned by Chrollo.

This dancing was quite different than before. It was full of significance.

The song picked up with a violin. Chrollo pulled you close, your bodies almost touching. Your heat radiated off of one another. You felt almost giddy with attraction. What you wanted to do to him was far past your confidence, but you wanted it all the same.

His eyes didn't leave yours. A slight smile persisted on his lips. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in years. And the last time he felt something like this, it wasn't nearly as genuine.

You swayed from side to side with only the moonlight and distant concerto guiding your steps. You made a move to rest your head on his shoulder. It was so that you could not look into his eyes as you spoke your next words. You snaked your arms behind his neck while he placed his around your hips. It felt good to be so close. You felt secure in his arms.

You really hoped this was going where she thought it was. But you needed to be certain.

"I want to know if this is true," you whispered, breaking the tranquil silence. Your breath was hot against his neck. It drove him absolutely mad.

Unknowingly, you had echoed back the words Chrollo had been retracing in his head throughout the night. Is this true?

He feigned ignorance of the meaning behind your statement. "What's true?" Chrollo whispered back.

"Is all this premeditation for something else? Another scheme?"

Chrollo suddenly turned serious, "I will never do that to you again. This is for real."

You pulled back to look into his eyes, "But what is this?"

Your face was lined with apprehension. After all that happened tonight, it still wasn't clear. Chrollo needed to change that.

He looked down at you, attempting to convey what you meant to him in his eyes. They overflowed with tenderness, admiration, and worship, even.

You hadn't realized that he had these emotions in him. Now you understood. It was all because they were reserved for you.

His movement was swift. He lowered his face to yours, soaking in your divine scent. You didn't anticipate what was about to happen until his lips delicately brushed against your own, asking for an invitation. He clearly didn't need one, for your body responded immediately. Your hand trailed up to the side of his face. Chollo pulled your hips towards him. Your eyes fluttered shut.

And you kissed.

It was intoxicating.

The taste of him nearly silenced your thoughts. It was a tang of wine and sweetness. You tried to let the feeling seep into your bones, agonizing over its ephemeral nature.

Your surroundings dissolved into the inky night. You focused on how soft his mouth felt, how his hands upon your hips made you want to yield to all he could offer, and, in turn, all you could ever desire.

Seconds later, you unwillingly pulled apart. Your whole body tingled, edging for more. Both of your heartbeats were fluttering a rapid cadence. Remaining there for a moment– foreheads touching, breath tickling one another lips– you savored each other's presence.

Your kiss was unlike anything either of you had experienced before. It was born out of lust but resulted in something deeper. Floating to the surface was an unbound attraction sparked by one mouth on another.

You both were left smiling with flushed cheeks. Goosebumps prickled on your arms.

"I hope that made it clear," Chrollo said pulling away at last.

The warmth disappeared and you were left in a state of longing. You could still feel the touch of his lips upon yours, a ghost of his sensitive movements.

You smiled lightly at him, "It did."

Chrollo held out an arm for you. "We best be getting back now."

You were frozen in place, coming to your senses. Holy shit.

The enormity of what that kiss meant came crashing down upon you. What would this mean moving forward? Everything had seemed so temporary with Chrollo, coming in and out of your life as he did in the past month. Was this temporary as well?

There was no time to dwell upon the future of their relationship. Although the promise of privacy in the courtyard tempted you to stay, there was still one more number to dance.

━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━

#hunter x hunter #hunterxhunter fanfic #adult trio headcanons #chrollo headcanons #chrollo #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x reader #kurapika #chrollo fanfic #hisoillu #hxh #hxh chrollo #hxh fanfic #hxh scenarios

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abraxos-the-phantom · 3 years

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Scum Disciple: Alpha Stage

Alpha, described by google as "...an exploratory phase. Beta means the features have been locked down and are under development (no other features will be added). More commonly: Alpha: Usually the first normally interact-able thing out (private or public use is irrelevant)."

And here are some of the highlights that I liked from the first few versions lol.

Fun Times in Gusu

Lan Xichen walked to quite a strange sight.

While normally he would have greeted the younger Nie with a smile, the image of the famous Wei Wuxian pouting as YunmengJiang’s young master and QingheNie’s second master grinned was a little too ridiculous for him to process without chuckling.

“We both know you aren’t actually going to tell Ming-shixiong,” Nie Huaisang chuckled at the shifted to pat the other.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’m worried though.”

Jiang Wanyin had raised his eyebrow, making quite the image as he looked over his crossed arms, “You’re worried about your brother? QingheNie Sect’s Monster Head disciple? The Youngest Rogue Cultivator in the Generations? The Peerless Prodigy? I think you’re a little delusioned Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian’s nose crumbled at that, “They really call Gēge that? Such lame names.”

“I think brother called him the Crane Dragon once,” Nie Huaisang added. “When you and Ming-shixiong went on a Night Hunt.”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Forget it, that’s not what I’m worried about- it’s just. Gēge has never let me on my own like this before. He gets antsy.”

Nie Huaisang pursed his lips, “I can understand but- A-Xian, you’re one of his best students.”

“He just- he gets this look sometimes,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “He doesn’t talk about it but sometimes he looks at me and I’m pretty sure he’s seeing something else. I never asked because he always looks sad after.”

“Didn’t you grow up together?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ming-shixiong with anyone else besides the three of us but the other disciples.”

“He’s never talked to anyone except father, mother, myself, sister, and some of the disciples at our sect,” Jiang Wanyin said in agreement. “You guys didn’t meet anyone when your Brother was still Rogue?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head in Jiang Wanyin’s direction, expression slightly pinched still, “I wouldn't remember, and I know we’re close- but there’s some stuff I know he hasn’t told me. You guys realize that my brother is nineteen?”

Jiang Wanyin blinked, as well as several other disciples who were not so covertly listening into the conversation about the mysterious prodigal Cultivator of the QingheNie Sect. “He seems much older, I didn’t think anyone knew his actual age.”

Because that was the curiosity wasn’t it, for all that he was well-known, there was never truly anyone who knew Wei Ming, because he would never actually say anything about his past save for vague hints. One could ask Wei Wuxian of course, but the latter had the same result because of the mere fact that Wei Wuxian didn’t know much about his older brother either beyond his personality, likes and dislikes. Any years before Wei Ming had lived with his brother was knowledge he couldn’t even forget because he never knew in the first place. Nie Mingjue never asked, and neither did Nie Huaisang. It took Wei Ying meeting other children to realize that nine-year-olds never talked the way Wei Ming did. They didn’t know facts about monsters, and they certainly never talked about demons. Yet Wei Ming had extensive knowledge since who knows how long, and no one ever questioned it.

Whether that was because Wei Ming knew how to subvert the conversation or because they simply never asked, that was a question no one could really answer. Not even Wei Wuxian, for all that he loved his Gēge, knew where to start.

Sensing the sudden dip in Wei Wuxian’s mood, Nie Huaisang brightened as much as he could, “Well it doesn’t even matter does it? He’s your brother, he’s my teacher- and he scares my brother to boot.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, if a little weakly, “He told me he actually enjoys it a little.”

Jiang Wanyin winced, “Isn’t your brother known to your Sect as the Punisher?”

With an enthusiastic nod from both Nie Sect members, they proceeded to scare everyone else by saying, “300 copies of Consequence, 200 paces across the hills and back in three days and patrolls in three of the Qinghe protected lands by the end of two weeks!”

They silently cackled as the other Sect disciples paled at the prospect.

After gently teasing Wangji of his interaction with Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen bid his brother a good night as he suddenly remembered what he had sought the older Wei out for. The technique he used was quite unique and not among any technique he had some knowledge of, though granted it could purely be because he himself was not well learned in any but the Lan Sect style. Regardless, he was hoping to have a discussion about it and to possibly inquire if the older Wei would use his expertise to critique his own swordsmanship.

He was just about to do just that before he heard an audible thunk and grunt of pain from within the room Wei Ming had been assigned for his stay here.

Lan Xichen abruptly opened the door out of instinct, blinking in surprise to find Wei Ming wielding a brush in his hand and a paper in the other, dark eyes roving the entire wooden table with apprehension.

“Mn?” Wei Ming looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, Zewu-jun. I was under the impression you had retired for the night.”

“I had initially been hoping to discuss swordsmanship with you before,” Lan Xichen looked at the papers, elegant calligraphy lining each and every one save for the large stack of paper at the corner of the table. “I admit, however, that this seems to take my interest far more at the moment.”

“Ah, well.” Wei Ming gestured to the papers. “These are lesson plans, notes if you will- but plans all the same.”

“...Lesson plans?”

Wei Ming nodded seriously, “It’s important for a teacher to understand what they are teaching every day, so as not to leave anything important out.”

“Ah…apologies, considering the subject you are teaching I thought-”

“To be fair, the material I’m teaching does require less theory than practical. Had I been teaching something akin to a bestiary subject or perhaps even medicinal practices, I wouldn’t be as extensive as this,” Wei Ming once again gestured to the large stacks. “This is not the case however, as I am teaching fighting techniques. I also have to come up with tests and exams, sort the students into pairs for sparing purposes, note everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, formulate proper lectures concerning the techniques I am teaching- that sort of thing. Besides the fact that I’m considering adding other techniques so that my students are well informed.”

Though granted the stuff he was doing was easier than when he had been Qing Jing Peak’s head disciple, the paperwork for that Sect was monstrous because of the additional lessons for music and the tactitionary course. Both were a requirement as a disciple of Qing Jing, as they were the main jack of trades within Cang Qiong as their roles were both in support and primary fighters when it came to battles. This was especially true during the pseudo war between Lou Binghe’s forces and during the battle with Tianlang-jun. Shizun would normally do most of the work but with the absence of Lou Binghe, a lot of it arrived to Ming Fan and he didn’t have the heart to inquire about it.

After Binghe’s return Ming Fan just never thought to question it anymore, Shizun was happy and he got used to the workload. It wasn’t as if he never had help either, he took charge of the male disciples while Ning Yingying took charge of the females. After Lou Binghe soon took up some work every now and then; it’s just the way things were after...After.

Wei Ming blinked after returning from his thoughts, “Hundreds of apologies, may Zewu-jun repeat himself?”

Lan Xichen smiled, “Of course, I only wished to ask if you would be open to giving me advice on my swordsmanship? Nie Mingjue mentioned before that your advice had helped him improve his saber technique and I would very much like to also improve myself now that the opportunity is open to me.”

“Or perhaps Xichen-ge would not like to be left behind by his dîdi?” Wei Ming said with an amused smile.

At this Lan Xichen’s ears colored slightly even as he smiled neutrally, “That is also a motivation, but I believe no brother would want their younger brother to leave them behind.”

“Very well, when Zewu-jun is free; we shall spar.” Wei Ming’s lips quirked. “I would also like to know if my observations are correct.”

“Let us have this spar soon Teacher Wei, thank you for your time.” Lan Xichen stood and dipped his head slightly before exiting with a final ‘good night’.

“Gege what are you doing?”

Wei Ming was currently in the Lan Sect library, pouring over old books that amused him and greatly reminded him of some of the brighter moments in his past life. Namely: The Resentment of Chunshan. The book itself was poor in terms of accuracy, but amusing nonetheless. He and the other disciples found themselves horrified and amused by the story described within. Even more so when the Song of BingQiu became popular among the locals.

He was also starring an old map of the land, clearly looked into by someone considering the small hand-written notes in black ink. The penmanship was oddly familiar but Wei Ming couldn’t exactly remember where.

There was also an area circled, the name Cang Qiong Sect written in careful script.

“What do you think?” He asked absentmindedly, fingers brushing over the circled area. It was far from the other Sects, inaccessible due to the mountain ranges that circled it. If one tried, they’d have to do so by climb rather than sword. The air would be thinner; challenging even for a Cultivator.

He vaguely wondered if the land had changed so much as to the sudden growth of mountains around the Cang Qiong Sect area.

“Looks like someone was trying to look for the mythical Cang Qiong Sect,” Wei Ying peered over his brother’s shoulder. Tilting his head at the map. “Weird.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Eh,” Wei Ying shrugged as he sat next to him. “Cause it’s just a legend, no one actually knows if the Cang Qiong Sect is still around. If it ever was around. I mean- demons, the War- it’s described in pretty poetry and details, but other than that- most people write it off as a fantasy since no one’s ever seen it.”

Wei Ming considered the next question carefully, “What do you believe?”

“I think there’s some truth to it,” To himself, Wei Ying vaguely wondered why the sudden inquiry. His brother had no interest in the stories that were normally told to children, he had been busy at the time and Wei Ying only knew of it because the Nie Brothers held a rather large collection of the stories of the illustrious Cang Qiong Sect and one of their most famous Lords: Shen Qingqiu. Nie Huaisang had admitted that most of these were his brother’s, and he himself was promptly amused. Now he was starting to wonder. The stories of the Cang Qiong Sect were often used for the children of Cultivators as lessons, Lan Sect used it too if what was in the library was any indication- it was an impressive collection.

Though it did have nothing on Sect Leader Nie’s secret collection of nearly all the tales of the General from Qing Jing Peak: Huázháo-jun.

“Hm, perhaps,” Wei Ming noted non-committedly, shaking his head. “Let’s talk about what to do for tomorrow.”

“Mn! You should teach-“

[Fun fact about this one up here! In this version of the story, MF brings WWX's body up through the mountains to Cang Qiong Sect in the hopes that he could get help in reviving his brother, thereby re-meeting with his fellow disciples of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect]

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nikstersss · 3 years

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Not How To Pass The PLE

Before I go into the main gist of this post, let me give you a small background story. I was a mid-year post-graduate intern in Manila who started in January 2021. I lived alone in our condo unit near the hospital I went to. My usual routine was to get up early, prep, take a short walk to the trike station where I’d take a tricycle to the hospital, go on duty, insert a coffee or carioca break in between, walk all the way home at the end of the day, then maybe have a short study session with a couple friends after dinner or just chill at home. It was a pretty good setup. But then COVID happened. Suddenly, I was a pandemic e-ntern stuck at home listening to Zoom endorsements and lectures all day. At first I was hopeful that things would somehow go back to normal and maybe I wouldn’t be spending the rest of my internship in front of a screen, but we all know how that turned out.

I finished the first half of my internship with the regular year PGIs online. While they were prepping for their boards, I was on my second half with the new batch of interns (that’s probably you, dear reader)—still online. Now you might think that it would have been wise of me to use all that “free” time to start early with my own boards prep and you would be correct. I thought the exact same thing. And trust me, I tried. And failed. Countless times. I won’t even try to justify it. Admittedly, I still think it was a wasted opportunity to read more and make notes, but then again, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. Besides, while it would have been nice and probably less stressful, I still survived without it. Which means that you can, too. So if you’re one of those who’s berating himself because you “didn’t make the most out of your time”, cut it out. You’ll be fine.

Towards the end of my internship, I enrolled in a review center. Despite the asynchronous setup, the review schedule was super tight and the sessions already started while I was still in the middle of final reports and exams. Needless to say, I was already behind on that before it even began. In fact, I didn’t even get to focus on reviewing itself until maybe around early February because of clearance, paperwork, and application stuff. So if you were to ask me how long I really reviewed for the March 2021 boards, I’d say just a little over a month. Kasalanan ko. Wag po tularan. Stressful siya. Nakakaloka.

And even when I did get to really buckle down and do some intense reading, I didn’t follow the program anymore. I tried to catch up at first, but I was already way behind. But I am grateful for all the summarized material because that meant I didn’t have to pore over the mother books anymore. What I will say, though, is that because I didn’t exactly follow the recommended study hours etcetera, I was able to enjoy the whole process because I did it at my own pace. Sure, there was still that dread that maybe I wasn’t on the same level as the others, but I learned to tune those thoughts out eventually. And that’s where goal-setting and discipline comes in, I guess.

The most common question I’ve been getting is what was my day like during the PLE review season. Honestly, I’d like to say I had a routine I followed, but that’s only half-true. While I did have a structure for my day, I rarely followed it exactly. Nevertheless, allow me to share what it would have been like if I did:

Ideally, I’d wake up at 5:00 A.M. then do my morning routine which included prayer and meditation, making my bed, taking a shower, and brewing coffee. And because I’m the type of person who enjoys these mundane activities and slow mornings, I also took this opportunity to get myself in the zone before all the studying that’s to come. I’d plan out my study goals and outline (something you can do the night before, actually) then maybe have breakfast while watching some videos (could be review-related, or those self-motivational vids, or maybe even Korean street food). I’d do whatever I wanted to wake my brain up without stressing it out too much until around 6:30 A.M. By this time, I’d work on backlogs for about an hour and study until about 10 or 11 A.M.—it depends how in the zone I am. I’d prep and cook lunch and then eat while watching Netflix maybe or even play a bit of Fortnite or Paladins until about 1:00 P.M. At this point, I’m pretty certain to be quite sleepy so it’s either I make coffee or tea, or maybe even go out to study at a coffee shop, and then it’s study all the way until 7 P.M. I then take a break to get some exercise, take a shower, have a light dinner, and if I feel like I deserve it, nap for a little bit. At around 8:30, my family usually calls and then we pray the rosary together. After this, I study again, but more of a recall and review session for the day’s progress until about 11:30. I then have my night self-care routine and then go to sleep around midnight.

The main takeaway from the previous paragraph? “Ideally.”

During the first few days of setting up my schedule or routine, following it was already challenging, but still doable. But then the backlogs started piling up and no matter how much I tried to streamline the whole study process, I just couldn’t keep up. I did what I could to follow study habits and schedules, but the setup was falling apart. And you know what? That was okay.

Normally, my type A self would have been so frustrated already with how poorly I was handling my review season. Admittedly, there were a few meltdowns and anxiety attacks as the exam drew nearer, but for the most part, I just let things happen as they did. I still adjusted, sure, but I wasn’t hard on myself for always having to. I kept changing goals when I didn’t meet them (which was probably 80% of the time). There were even instances where I’d finish a handout and then I’d say that okay, I’ll watch an episode for a reward, but that episode became the entire season. While I considered myself to be the most chill reviewee, I also thought I was the worst because I refused to give up any of my wants for my needs. I resisted, of course, but then they’d bug me the entire time I was studying so instead of staying productive, I’d just annoy the hell out of myself. I was probably just lazy and stubborn. LOL. Long story, short, it was a constant battle.

There were times when I felt confident enough to power through the whole thing. I enjoyed the whole process of studying, actually. Making notes and my own ways of memorizing things was fun. I made use of different study strategies, self-checks, and motivational boosters (more on these on a different post). Aside from these, having review-mates who were just a chat away made things bearable. Breakdown session muna tas aral na ulit. And how could I forget all my sweet friends who would send over coffee ayuda every now and then? To me, passing the boards, while mainly should be for oneself and one’s self-actualization, is also about not letting down these people who have been with you throughout your journey.

But it wasn’t always a hyped-90s-movie-transformation-montage kind of environment. Other times, I was just worn out and dejected by my lack of progress. In the already meager time I had to study, I still had plenty of off-days. Concepts just wouldn’t stick and it was disappointing how I’d already forgotten what I just read a couple days ago. It got really tiring even if I was staying indoors all the time. I missed the comfort of coffee shops and the company of study buddies. I missed my family. I wanted to hug our dog. There were days when I couldn’t even bring myself to make coffee and open my notes. I even reached a point where I was sure that I wouldn’t finish reading all the material. (I kid you not, I have handouts I never got to open.)

Yet here I am. Here I am writing about how I survived all that and got those two letters attached to my name. I am not a good example, obviously. There are hundreds better than me and you probably should be taking advice from them instead. I’m simply writing this to tell you that you don’t have to worry. This is all just to ease your anxieties about the PLE. I’m not saying it’s an easy feat that you can just achieve just like that. While I seemed rather complacent, I still put in the work, after all. Admittedly, I know I could have done more, but again, I’m not going to dwell on that anymore. It’s done.

My goal in writing this is to let you know, my dear future doctor, that you’re going to be just fine. Here’s someone who understands the huge disconnect that stemmed from being a pandemic e-ntern. Here’s someone who’s always been doubtful and full of anxieties about the PLE even before she filed her application at the PRC. Here’s someone who constantly prayed that the PLE be moved even for just a month (or kahit two weeks lang masaya na ako nun) up to the week before the exam along with a rising number of cases. Here’s someone who barely has the capability to maintain focus for more than an hour. Here’s someone whose reading pace was literally at 10 minutes per page (yes, I actually timed it and IDK if that’s slow or really slow). Here’s someone who still allowed herself to study at coffee shops and even have samgyup (with proper health protocols, of course) even if she knew she was drowning in backlogs.

My point is that if I managed to pass despite all that, you can, too. My close friends know that I developed a rather funny mentality to ease the jitters as the boards drew nearer. I knew and claimed it for myself that I would already pass. I viewed the whole PLE as just a “formality”--a means for His plans of me becoming a doctor to manifest in this realm. I believed it so much to the point that I thought that no matter what bloopers and slip-ups I have during the test, I’d still see my name on the list of board passers. I’m not saying you should totally ease up and just have a come-what-may attitude. Again, I’m not the model student you should be following here. What I’m saying is to have faith in yourself, your capabilities, and in God. So chin up, Doc. Just a little more ‘til you get to legally practice with that MD at the end of your name.

#nikstersss #PLE

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unlockthelore · 4 years

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Influence

Considering Tsuchigomori was being stingy with the exam answers, there’s only one recourse — studying. Thankfully, Hanako can help Yashiro with that. Right?

Part 1 of the Rumors of Kamome series. For more updates, follow the rumors of kamome tag on this blog.

It was uncommon for Tsuchigomori to see the 7th School Mystery alone as of late. At least during the day. With his newfound assistant and “overseer”, Hanako was almost always surrounded by others rather than aimlessly filling his day with his duties and distant observation of the students coming and going.

Overall, it wasn’t a terrible change of pace.

Tsuchigomori enjoyed watching the trio blunder through one mystery after the other. Their squabbling often leading to another embarrassing secret or special moment in their books, entertaining him when the weight of everything felt too heavy.

Yako took pleasure in knowing what the group she dubbed the “Toilet Trio” were up to. The two of them taking to talking about it in their spare time, carefully avoiding any mention of the moments none of them wanted to remember.

Ones bathed in sadness and drenched with ill feeling, a look-alike to the ghost they called their leader, pain twisting a young boy’s resolve of peace to revenge, and the impending loss of a tiny light — too bright and too good to go out so soon.

It was easier to pretend that these lazy days would go on forever and nothing would change. But, like all dreams, Tsuchigomori knew it would end one day. For now, living in the present was bittersweet. Ignoring what was to come and making every moment count.

Poetic as it sounded, Tsuchigomori couldn’t help but notice the irony. He was a supernatural and yet he wanted to ignore the future, bask in the present, and move on from the past — just like a mortal. Even his books weren’t as comforting as they’d been before.

Knowing how things ended didn’t give him any sort of satisfaction as it used to.

But if fate could be changed once, he hoped it would be again, just so these children could find a happy ending in a world where there were few.

─── 地縛少年花子くん

The afternoon school bell rang and as the students left one by one, Tsuchigomori bid them farewell with a slight nod of the head or a wave. It took some cajoling to get Minamoto Kou through the doorway, Yokoo and Satou leading him out with one pushing at his back while the other grasped his hands. Kou sputtering about seeing something and trying to call over his shoulder with both boys telling him nothing was there. Tsuchigomori waved when the blond looked at him helplessly, sighing once the door slid shut and the room was quiet aside from the buzz in the halls.

“Honorable Number Seven, don’t you think this an abuse of your power?” Tsuchigomori asked with a tired sigh, glancing up from the doorway to the ghost lazily floating through the air.

Without even a hint of repentance, Hanako floated over with his legs crossed and hands rested on his knees. “Ehhh~?” He drawled in a light-hearted tone, tipping his head to one side, his hat slipping over his eyes for a moment. “Whatever do you mean, Tsuchigomori-sensei?”

Throughout the entire class, strange things had been happening. The students were wise enough not to interrupt Tsuchigomori’s lecture but seeing as he could pinpoint the source of the disturbance — he couldn’t be upset with them if they had. Hanako floated from one corner of the room to another.

Giving students cold chills, messing with books, poking erasers until they tumbled to the floor and adjusting small things. It was enough to be noticeable but not enough for the students to panic. All aside from Minamoto-kun.

The poor boy was close to breaking his glasses with how tightly he clenched them. Having gotten fed up with Hanako poking at the temple earpieces tomato them lift then fall over and over.

Tsuchigomori took some pity on him with answering questions but tried not to let it show. Hanako was doing a stellar job of getting under the blond’s skin, an unwise decision considering the boy’s older brother was still out for the 7th Mystery.

Still, this was the thirty-sixth class in a row the 7th Mystery had disturbed even in his own way. Eventually, the students would start catching on and although he knew Hanako took his duties seriously — he didn’t need to deal with their murmuring and rumor spreading this close to exams.

Gathering his class roster and the stack of papers he would have to grade, Tsuchigomori kept his voice low when a group of students passed by. “I know that you want to help Yashiro with her exams, but there’s other ways to go about it then interrupting my classes.”

Hanako hummed, pressing his finger to the underside of his chin, his head tipping to the other side and hat following suit. “It would be easier if you gave me the answers,” he suggested cheerfully, as if it were the easiest solution to come to. His hands clasping together with a bright smile. “And then I could give them to Yashiro to study.”

Tsuchigomori blinked slowly, then narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Ehhh~?” Hanako sighed, floating over as Tsuchigomori started patting down everything to see if he had all he needed. “Why not?” Eyes narrowing, Hanako studied him critically then gasped. “Don’t tell me, you have an honor code as a teacher?”

Out of all the things he could have come up with. An honor code, really? Tsuchigomori sighed, really wishing he could smoke now but with most of his co-workers nearby and the students it would really hurt his image.

“No,” Tsuchigomori groused, tucking the materials under his arm and leveling Hanako with a flat stare. “There’s nothing in it for me.”

Hanako blinked at him a few times then rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest and floating backward. A few of the Mokke beginning to make their way through the classroom through one of the openings in the wall. “Stingy,” Hanako sighed, and the Mokke repeated the word enthusiastically, hopping up and down.

Tsuchigomori narrowed his eyes at them. “I’m not above letting Yako eat one of you, she would enjoy a snack and I could go for a few minutes of peace and quiet.”

Immediately, the chanting stopped and Tsuchigomori pressed his fingers to his temple. There had to be a way to help Hanako understand the importance of this. Although, Tsuchigomori couldn’t deny the curl of pride he felt with how fiercely the 7th Mystery went at this. He truly wanted to help his “assistant” even if it meant spending his free time pestering him.

No, was that pride or annoyance?

Ah, he couldn’t tell now.

“Think about it, Honorable Number Seven,” Tsuchigomori began, setting one hand on his hip. “Yashiro Nene isn’t long for this world — right?”

The Mokke which gathered near Hanako as he floated to the ground, immediately went rigid. With his back turned to him, the ember sun rays outlining his translucent form, Tsuchigomori felt a thin trail of regret. Especially when Hanako didn’t reply right away. The knife he often used wasn’t summoned to his hand but his hands fell to his side, palms open and shoulders loosened.

They didn’t speak of the Picture Perfect world or the promise he must have made to Yashiro Nene there. He and Yako were aware of Number Four’s doings but the curiosity in the 7th Mystery’s lack of an attempt to stay her hand was what puzzled him. Whatever conclusion Hanako came to must’ve been for Yashiro’s sake but at what cost —

“Studying can be taxing on a student’s health, both mental and physical, if she’s procrastinating then she may be stressing herself with how the results will turn out…”

It was a deplorable truth. Students were meant to take tests on subjects which might not have had much bearing in their futures but decided their future. He wasn’t fond of the process even now with how much it’d changed over the decades. But he could only lighten their burdens so much.

In spite of Hanako’s silence, Tsuchigomori continued on with his preparations to leave. Thumbing through the books despite knowing all he had was there in his arm, trying to buy time for the words to sink in.

“If she’s studying too hard, then it may have the same effect,” Tsuchigomori continued, ignoring the tension in Hanako’s shoulders. “Instead of pestering about the answers, why not be her solution?”

The Mokke gathered around cast him venomous looks but they dispersed from Hanako’s side, quickly leaving the classroom like rats jumping over a ship’s side. Hanako’s shoulders slowly rose and held before lowering with a shuddering sigh.

“Tsuchigomori…” He muttered, his voice hollow and softer than a whisper on the wind. A silent declaration for him to get on with it.

Quietness aside, Hanako had seemed different ever since he returned. Whether for the better or worst, Tsuchigomori wasn’t sure but there was a way to lighten his burden even indirectly.

“She isn’t long for this world, and I knew that…” Tsuchigomori acquiesced, remembering their earlier argument when Yashiro glimpsed her book and he hadn’t stopped her beforehand despite knowing she had stepped foot in his Boundary. “But she wants to live a normal life, doesn’t she?”

Hanako turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth visible, downturned into a sullen frown.

“This is part of it. Studying for exams, spending the days wondering what comes next —“ Walking to the door, Tsuchigomori placed his hand on the handle and stared down at his feet. “Waiting on friends.”

His own shadow wasn’t what it appeared to be but those who weren’t aware of the supernatural wouldn’t see. Hanako on the other hand —

“There are better ways to spend your time, Honorable Number Seven.”

A long moment of silence passed between them and not once did it cross his mind that keeping his back to Hanako may have been dangerous. Counting backward from ten in his head, Tsuchigomori nodded and opened the door, feeling a light brush against his back.

“Thanks for the advice, Tsuchigomori-sensei…”

Turning around sharply, the empty classroom awaited him without a hint that the 7th Mystery had even been there.

─── 地縛少年花子くん

Hanako’s fingers twitched as he walked. Seconds from summoning his knife to hand, he had to remind himself there was no point. Tsuchigomori might not have been the best at fighting but he also wasn’t wrong. There was no sense in being angry. Even this — lingering around trying to garner the answers for an exam — was a distraction. He wasn’t sure what they were all doing half the time. Simply trying to wish away a problem and hope that nothing else would go wrong. Attempting to smile when they knew it would end in heartbreak.

He wanted to laugh bitterly. God, that “arbitrary” being who gave him this solemn duty, did he know that someone like her would cross his path? Someone who he would be willing to give up everything to save. Did he put this time limit on Yashiro’s soul to punish him? Sending a tiny light to save him from despair only to let it flicker out the moment his hands touched it?

Fists curled, he couldn’t even feel the press of his nails against the palm of his hand. Searing pain was no longer something he knew well. But he was learning again. Learning what it felt like to be torn from the inside out by the world around him. Clinging to one person to try and find comfort in the twist and turns of fate.

Taking a deep breath, he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling of the hallway in the old building’s third floor. Tsuchigomori. Would he be able to find it in himself to forgive him even when it was no one’s fault in the bitter end?

Even he knew Yashiro wasn’t long for this world but he didn’t know how he would feel for her. Couldn’t Tsuchigomori have warned him of that? So he wouldn’t have felt this pain.

Did he want him to?

Hanako sighed, opening his hands and dropping his head, the brim of his hat covering his eyes. Two students walking down the hall from the opposite end were talking warmly. Passing by him without even a backward glance and he was grateful. Like this, he didn’t want to be seen. He wasn’t sure if he could put on a smile even if it was mocking. As they walked home, talking about their plans and the homework they had, supernaturals watched them — kept only at bay by the presence of the 7th Mystery who promised a swift punishment if either of their souls were touched.

The pair exited the building slowly and Hanako watched from the window, pressing his hand to the glass. Warmed from the sunlight, it chased away the chill in his “skin” but only for so long.

“What am I doing?” He sighed, clapping his hands together as he rocked back on his heel. “It’s about that time, I should start heading back, huh?”

Turning on his heel, he clasped his hands behind his back and walked with a hum. Perhaps Yashiro would be there, he thought with a smile. Or maybe she was preparing a way to tell him that she had to head home.

「 Studying can be taxing on a student’s health, both mental and physical. 」

Hanako’s smile fell gradually.

「 If she’s studying too hard, then it may have the same effect. 」

Would it be better if she went home for the day? What if she worked herself too hard? There was nothing he could do from here.

「 Instead of pestering about the answers, why not be her solution? 」

Standing outside of the bathroom door, Hanako’s hand hovered over the handle and he hesitated. If she was there then what would he say to her? If she wasn’t there, then what would he say the next time he saw her? He’d been spending all of his time trying to help by gaining the answers for her that —

He brought his hand to his mouth, pressing his fingers to his skin then pulling them away, grabbing the door’s handle. He would look after her. One way or another, he would do his best to look after her.

“Yashiro!” Hanako called, cupping his hand around the side of his mouth as he opened the door. “Y—“

He sniffed, glancing down and his eyes widened. Curled up on the floor with her head resting against the wall and an open textbook propped up on bent knees, her ashen-teal hair slipping over folded arms was Yashiro. In the shade of the bathroom sinks, her skin seemed much paler and he couldn’t see the rise and fall of her shoulders very well. Alarm rose in his chest and in an instant, he was at her side, reaching for her shoulder.

Wake up, Yashiro. You’re just sleeping, right?

The cold brush of his fingers against her skin elicited a low grumble and he’d never been happier to hear that sound. Her brows furrowing and twitching as she fought likely to remain in the last vestiges of sleep. Slowly, her eyes opened. Hazy ruby a blessed sight and Hanako felt the tension dissipate, his hand resting on her arm. It took a few minutes for Yashiro to wake and he glanced down at her notebook in the meantime. It was outlined with notes in the margins, doodles of the Mokke, and other things.

He squinted slightly when he saw something written with ‘H’, trying to peer closer when her hand obscured it. A yawn parting her lips as she rubbed her eyes, undeniably cute with the little pout to her lips.

As if registering him being there for the first time, she smiled sheepishly. “Hanako-kun, sorry… I was trying to study a bit before I started cleaning.”

Studying… and cleaning?

He wanted to ask if that was too much. Surely, she could just go home and get some rest. But she came here to clean. Hanako reached out for the book, brushing her hands aside despite her protests.

With a cheery smile, he said, “Nope!” and shut it.

“Eh…?” Yashiro stared up at him as he rose to his feet with the book in hand. “H-Hanako-kun!”

“Noooope~!” He waved the book back and forth, tapping her lightly on the head, a smile curving his lips despite the ache in his core. “That’s enough studying, Ya-shi-ro~.”

A soft pink blossomed across her cheeks and her breath hitched. Two things he adored greatly, though his mind traitorously mentioned it would be two things he missed sorely. Yashiro’s voice cut through his thoughts and he stepped aside when she stood, reaching for the book. “I already told you what’ll happen if I don’t pass, right?”

As if he would forget. Still, he wouldn’t let Yashiro put herself hard to see him only to make herself feel worse.

Wait, she could just be trying to avoid supplementary classes so she doesn’t have to take them. It’s not necessarily for me, is it?

“Hanako-kun!”

Oh right, she was waiting for her book.

Tossing it up and down, he smiled back at her. “Mhm. And you’ve been working hard,” he turned back to face her, hiding it behind his back. “Which is why today, we’re going to take a break.” Spying the Mokke peeking out from behind one of the sinks, he let one part of the notebook show as Yashiro tried to process his words. Strolling past, he turned on his heel when Yashiro glanced back at him suspiciously, reaching out for the book and narrowly missing.

“What do you mean we are going to take a break?” Yashiro huffed, folding her arms across her chest, her cheeks puffing.

Hanako almost dropped the book in his shock. Why was she this cute? With his hands freed, he stepped toward her and the pout fell as he leant closer. His reflection in her eyes the closer they got and he grinned.

“I mean we,” he said, spinning past her then reaching out to lift her up in his arms.

The sudden movement had her sputtering and she wiggled in his grasp. Narrowly avoiding having his hat knocked off with one outward strike of her arm. Really, she was getting good at that.

“W-W-Wait a minute, Hanako-kun!”

Hanako adjusted his hold on her, smiling softly. “You’re tired, right?” He asked, tilting his head, fondness easing where doubt had been when she stopped flailing and stared up at him with wonder. “Don’t worry, I’ll carry you.”

There wouldn’t be anyone by this time and he didn’t have to worry about the Minamoto brothers either. Carrying her out of the bathroom, Yashiro’s arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers curled in his uniform jacket. Having her so close to him was a little distracting but he tried to keep his steps as light as possible and his face from reddening.

“But I’m—“

“You’re not heavy,” Hanako interrupted, giving her a side-long glance when her lips parted again. “And you’re not a burden.”

He hated that look on Yashiro’s face. A flicker of pain, hurt, regret — she always spoke of him saving her and looking after her. Granting her wishes. Didn’t she know that she granted all of his? That she was what he wished for.

No.

Perhaps she didn’t.

And maybe it was his fault for not letting it be known. Her head tucked against his shoulder and he glanced down at her, his eyes softening and cheek pressing to the top of her head. Another moment neither of them would speak of.

So close and yet so far.

Opening the door to the rooftop, Hanako grinned. “And here we are!”

He turned to look down at Yashiro and tease her for being so quiet when he heard the quiet breaths.

“Yashiro?”

Her hold on him was loose, one of her hands curled up at his chest, a grip on the front of his uniform while the other was draped over his shoulder. Listening to her breathing and the gentle cadence of her heart was better than any song.

“…. You were that tired, huh?” Hanako muttered, walking to the edge of the roof and sitting down with Yashiro in his lap, his head resting atop of hers. “An hour or two is fine, the sun won’t go down til then…”

He looked up at the sky, watching a pair of birds soar on the wind currents and disappear into the honey-gold sky. Yashiro sighed and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, drawing his attention back to her.

Maybe their story wouldn’t end like her fairy tales. And he wasn’t the type to kiss someone when they weren’t awake to tell him if he could. But he held her as close to him as possible as if he could protect her from anything and everything — even time itself.

“Sleep well, Yashiro.”

For now though? He would guard her dreams.

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #hananene #yugi amane #yashiro nene #tsuchigomori #fanfiction #my fanfiction #rumors of kamome

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sciencespies · 3 years

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Meet the Western Soil Scientists Using Dirt to Make Stunning Paints

https://sciencespies.com/nature/meet-the-western-soil-scientists-using-dirt-to-make-stunning-paints/

Meet the Western Soil Scientists Using Dirt to Make Stunning Paints

SMITHSONIANMAG.COM | Jan. 26, 2021, 8 a.m.

In September, as wildfire raged in Medicine Bow National Forest, Karen Vaughn watched smoke billow in a choked-off Wyoming sky. The sun was reduced to a matte neon-pink disc behind the haze, and Vaughn worried about her research site in the burning mountains. One of her graduate students still had one more day of fieldwork to complete, and the roads would soon be closed, if they weren’t already. Vaughn’s family—her husband and two kids—were outside too, watching as a light gray layer of wind-blown ash settled onto the landscape. The ash and vivid colors sparked something in Vaughn, who continually sought new inspiration for the paint she makes. She began dashing around, scraping the sediment from every flat surface and encouraging her kids to help collect the fine powder. She decided to incorporate that ash into watercolor pigments with hues reflecting the fire, indelibly preserving the moment. The small batch of paints, distributed to friends and local artists, would be used to create depictions of the destructive forces that allowed their creation in the first place. “You’re breathing that air, even in your house, and you look outside and see that weird orange glow,” says Vaughn. “You couldn’t help but be a part of that.”

A soil scientist and a professor at the University of Wyoming, Vaughn sees a lot more soils than the average person, and certainly knows them more intimately. Over many years spent examining them, she has come to appreciate their natural beauty and immense variability. Two years ago, she began channeling that appreciation into a product she could share with the world, turning the soils she loved into watercolor pigments. Now, she and her collaborator, Yamina Pressler, a soil scientist at California Polytechnic University, use soils to make pigments and paintings, bridging the gap between science and art. By sharing both their creative processes and scientific knowledge on social media and connecting with artists, scientists and the public, they aim to make soil education entertaining.

Vaughn’s research is in pedology, which means she studies minute, subtle changes within a soil. Does the size of the grains change? Do the colors fade into each other or get cut off abruptly? What microorganisms are present at different levels in the soil? The very nature of her field, she says, is subjective. “It is an art form,” she says. “It takes a nuanced eye to really be able to see the changes within a soil.”

Her job requires her to hop in a deep hole, map out tiny changes few people notice and interpret the soil’s history. Her specialty is studying water in soils: How much is there? When is it present? How does it change the soil’s chemistry? What features does it leave behind? Her work helps us understand how soils form in unique environments, like wetlands in the otherwise arid Wyoming mountains, and how fragile soils like permafrost might respond to climate change.

To the uninitiated, the landscape of Wyoming might seem like a monotonous stretch of tan dirt. But that idea is exactly what Vauhgn is trying to change through her art. By explaining to artists and curious laypeople how the myriad hues in soils come to be and sharing them visually through both her own creative works and those by other artists, she hopes to give people the ability to see soil as more than “just dirt.”

Soils, paints and swatches from samples collected throughout Wyoming and Utah allow a glimpse at the belowground natural beauty of the western United States.

(Karen Vaughn)

“Sometimes art opens the door to people wanting to learn about science,” says Laura Guertin, a geology professor at Pennsylvania State—Brandywine. Guertin too has brought art into science, both for her classrooms and her communities, by crocheting temperature records and quilting climate change stories. “Using different perspectives to introduce a topic, like soil, can help people understand and connect with it a little more.”

Soil is often overlooked in basic geology classes, says Guertin, and understanding how it works and where it comes from is important. “Without soil, you don’t have the rest of Earth’s systems,” she says. “It’s such a fundamental material, it’s the basis of our food systems.” And society’s indifference to soil led to the Dust Bowl, one of the greatest environmental disasters in the history of the United States. “With my students, I talk about the Dust Bowl and how it was a loss of soil that triggered a chain reaction, impacting a broad cross-section of society,” says Guertin.

Vaughn began making pigments as a fun way to engage with her kids, now ages 7 and 9, and keep them away from screens. They come soil collecting with her, and occasionally help mix the pigments and paint. But the main reason she makes pigments now is to share her perspective on soils’ inherent beauty with the public. “I found all these amazing soil colors,” Vaughn says, “and I wanted to do something more with them. I wanted them to persist longer.”

She recognized that by making paints she could share science with people who lack her expert training. “Spending all that time as a pedologist looking at soil formation and thinking about how much the colors of the soil can tell us about the natural history of that area, I wanted to let people in, open their eyes a little bit,” she says.

Vaughn collects soils for pigments almost everywhere she goes, from dirt collected in a wetland study site high in the mountains to coal unearthed in her backyard. On a family road trip to Florida in a campervan, for instance, she grabbed a small bag of soil from every stop, with the intent of creating a palette that reflects that memory. One dull pandemic day, she and her kids took to their bikes on a scavenger hunt near her home for as many colors of the rainbow that they could find. It was a change of pace for Vaughn, who is normally more opportunistic than intentional in her soil collecting. She made a palette of red, brown, orange, white, yellow and purple to represent that effort. And, of course, she has the three-hue palette from the September wildfire, corners of which were still smoldering away when we spoke in November.

Because it was just a small batch, Vaughn distributed the ash-infused pigments to local artists and a few select clients to create works reflecting the wildfires. California artist Tina Pressler, Yamina’s mother, painted a patchwork American bison, the West’s once-ubiquitous megafauna, and Bethann Merkle, a Wyoming artist and science communicator, created a series of three abstract paintings of fire-wrought forest textures. The ash-infused pigments felt fluid and heavy, says Tina. “The addition of ash made it seem really tactile, in a way, and I loved it.”

Artist Tina Pressler used pigments made of ancient Wyoming soils and recent ash to paint this bison, which she says “represents a visual amalgamation of flora and fauna over time.”

(Tina Pressler)

“I’ve long had a fondness for rocks—my windowsills are piled up with them at home and at work—but [Vaughn’s] work and pigments have helped me expand that curiosity and appreciation to the soil,” says Merkle.

Before Vaughn began sharing her pigments with artists, she had to spend some time getting the day-long pigment-making process down. It took her a few tries: “My first pigments,” she says with a laugh, “were chunky and terrible. But I gave them away with a disclaimer.”

In the first step of her process, Vaughn removes the sandy portions of the soil, leaving only fine silts and clays mixed in water, which she then pours into a cookie sheet and bakes in the oven for a few hours. After all the water has evaporated, the soil appears cracked and desiccated, like a mudflat after a long summer drought. “Look, mom, it’s all wrinkly like you,” her daughter once helpfully said. Vaughn grinds the baked silt into a fine, homogenous powder. Then comes Vaughn’s most meditative step: mulling, or combining the soil with the watercolor medium— a mixture of water, gum arabic, honey and vegetable glycerin. Only then does she get a sense for what the final hue will be. “You might start with an amazing green soil that, all of a sudden, becomes this dull, greenish white. And that’s okay,” Vaughn says. “It’s always a color I’ve never made before, so I’m thrilled.”

After Vaughn bakes the pigment, cracks appear that reflect patterns seen throughout nature—such as in this ancient orange soil pigment collected in the Red Desert of Wyoming.

(Karen Vaughn)

The colors of the paint come straight from the soil’s geologic past: Bright reds and oranges mean the soils were exposed to the oxidizing effects of intense climates, long stretches of time or both. Dark browns and blacks represent rich organic matter, reflecting the cycle of life and death at the Earth’s surface. Brighter hues result from minerals with specific elements; the presence of copper lends minerals blue-green colors, sulfur creates vibrant yellows and manganese presents as faded purple. Stark whites could mean acid once trickled down through the soil from a pine copse, or that ash once settled over the landscape, like that which Vaughn collected in September.

“Everything has a story,” Guertin says. “What’s been here in the past? Where do these colors come from? Where do these materials come from that give us these colors? I love that [Vaughn is] taking the soil science and showing how you can break it down to materials, to these pigments that have cultural meaning and to painting, which people already have a familiarity with.”

Vaughn describes her soil collecting, her artistic process and the science of each soil on Instagram, where she answers questions about chemistry, location and geology. Sometimes artists send in questions about the science of pigment-making itself, but many are just interested in learning more about the natural world. Depending on how much detail people want, she’ll even send along some scientific papers in a private message. Because so many of her clients are interested in learning about the soils, Vaughn is planning to start including a “soil story” with each palette shipped out.

Vaughn’s connections with artists sometimes grow from the virtual world to working together in person. Diana Baumbach, a Wyoming artist who Vaughn collaborated with a few years ago, loved going into the field with the scientist to forage for natural materials, including soil. “I really hadn’t thought about soil or considered it as a material before,” Baumbach said. “Looking at soil profiles with [Vaughn] was totally new for me. We both pulled each other into our worlds, which I thought were quite different. In the end, it was surprising how many intersections there actually were between my work and her work.”

While Vaughn does paint with her pigments, she doesn’t typically share her work; she leaves that to the younger Pressler, for whom painting has become a public affair. Growing up with an artist mother, Pressler says, meant that art was always in the background. “But it wasn’t until I started painting soils that I began to embody being an artist as part of my identity.”

Created during a soil art live stream on Instagram, this piece by Yamina Pressler is painted on post-card paper as a reminder that the beauty of soils is meant to be shared far and wide.

(Yamina Pressler)

Pressler also connects with an interested audience through social media. She hosts live paint-along sessions in her ‘virtual soil art studio’ on Instagram, inviting participants of all backgrounds to create soil-focused art inspired by where they live. These two-hour public sessions are open to children and adults, scientists and laypeople.

Tatiana Prestininzi, who has a bachelor’s in agricultural science but never cared much for soil science, now brings her young niece and nephew to Pressler’s paint-along sessions. “It’s not only from the artistic side, but we’re also getting the educational side of things,” she says. “It’s not just the 15-to-30-somethings on Instagram, she’s got 7 and 5-year-olds learning about soil profiles… so now I can go hike around San Diego with my eight-year-old niece and have a conversation about the soils she sees. She’ll ask to paint it and send it to the ‘soil doctor.’”

Through Vaughn’s art outreach and Pressler’s educational outreach, the scientists aim to inspire in the public the feelings children have while digging in the dirt and wondering at the world around them. Vaughn’s process of finding soils for pigments has a sense of play that is really infectious, says Baumbach. And while Pressler does draw soils realistically, she’s more drawn to whimsical doodles that reflect her feelings towards soil, which she shares on her Instagram sessions, along with the science stories behind them.

Yamina Pressler’s painting “Mojave Dreaming 28” was inspired by the unexpected winter tones of the Mojave desert.

(Yamina Pressler)

Tapping into her artistic side has helped Vaughn re-imagine what college soil science classes can be. She has her students sketch frequently, and she occasionally has them paint with soils. Her collaboration with Baumbach led the pair to cross-pollinate art and science further, with Baumbach bringing her art students to Vaughn’s science labs to talk about color and Vaughn giving guest lectures in Baumbach’s art materials courses. “Really, basic things like observation and analysis are at the core of what we both do, and we’re communicating through materials and visual forms,” Baumbach says. “The students are just starting to think broadly about materials, so hearing Karen talk about soils as a raw material is really interesting for them.”

In addition to giving talks about soil science and life as a researcher at K-12 schools and museums, Pressler works directly with teachers, taking them into the field and lab so they can get firsthand experience with soils. “They can then go back to their students and talk about soils and ecology, and the process of science, from their perspective,” says Pressler. “It’s more meaningful to the students that way.”

Michelle Bartholomew, a middle- and high-school science teacher, jumped at the chance to head into the field with Pressler in Colorado and Alaska. They developed soil science classes together, did some drawing and studied soils. “That was the highlight of my time with her, working on those tundra soils,” Bartholomew says. “It’s doing science, you know? Even though we’re science teachers, we don’t get to do that. It rejuvenated me… and gave me new ways of teaching old concepts.”

Artist Bethann Merkle, who has worked with scientist Karen Vaughn for two years, used soil pigments created from a burned area to paint scenes of the charred landscape.

(Bethann Merkle)

Pressler and Vaughn also believe in the importance of being role models who break out of the compartmentalization so common in science today. “It’s about showing young people that there are lots of different ways to be a scientist,” Pressler says, “that you can be colorful and explore different parts of your curiosity and still be a scientist.”

“We used to be Renaissance people,” Vaughn says. “Now it’s, ‘You need to stay in your box so you can do well at that.’ I feel like we’ve almost made it okay to be artistic while also being a scientist.”

#Nature

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tutoroot · 2 years

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Individual Coaching for IIT-JEE Aspirants

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queenofthebench · 4 years

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10/30/19

Wow, it’s almost the end of October. Time sure does fly! We had our first snow the other day, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy about it. Snow is so festive, and it makes the cold weather worth it! Fall is beautiful here, but I’m ready for a change. We’re supposed to get 3-5 more inches tonight!

Dog parent life has been going well. Camila has been settling in nicely, and we no longer have to crate her during the day, which is nice. We do have to pay better attention to our schedules though, and make sure someone is home at a reasonable time, which is weird for us. Normally we both work kind of long days, and I especially have a tendency to stay late to finish something up in lab or continue imaging. It just takes a bit more coordination in advance to make sure one of us is home to take her out in the evening. Nothing too bad though. Makes me glad we got an older dog instead of a puppy. Boy, I don’t know how people manage that! She’s a bit nippy sometimes when she gets excited, and not very obedient, so we’re going to take some classes and learn how to work with her better. She can be a bit reactive to other dogs sometimes, so we’ve been hesitant to take her to a dog park, but at the same time she has so much energy after being home all day so it would be nice to let her run! Hoping after the classes we’ll be more confident and be able to try things out. As she gets more confident, the reactivity is diminishing, so I think all it will take is some time and patience on our part, and learning how to be calm and less anxious on her part.

Research is going well, but definitely slowed down since I started TA-ing. Our original deadline for the paper being submitted was mid November, but that is not happening now. I feel bad about it. I know we have a grant renewal coming up and we wanted to say we had something submitted by then, but it is looking like it wont be ready in time. My advisor keeps adding more experiments, and also the one that I have left just is so difficult to do. I’m running into a bunch of roadblocks. Trying to keep focused and not worry, but I can’t help but wonder what my advisor is thinking. He hasn’t said anything to pressure me, but that is kind of what worries me. I don’t feel like I have a clear sense of how urgent anything is, or if my pace is adequate.

Teaching/TA-ing has been fun and informative. I think that the students definitely get to me though. They are so whiny sometimes and are a bit lacking in respect for me and my knowledge. They are so focused on the grading being “fair” or questions being “unfair” that it has turned into more about scrounging for points than actually learning the material and enjoying the class. When I explain why an answer they gave was incorrect, they have a tendency to fight me on it instead of accepting my answer as correct. It takes some of the enjoyability out of the whole process for sure. The professor for the class is pretty bullet proof for that stuff, probably because he has seen it all. At the same time, I wonder if I might be more resistant to it if I had the authority to control the grades. Sometimes I don’t want to give definitely “yes” or “no” answers to their complaints because I don’t have the authority to really say “Nope that is a fair question, you just got it wrong”. I have to say “Well this is what I think, but I can check with Professor [X] and let you know”, which has a bit less confidence to it. I’m looking forward to next semester when I don’t have to TA anymore and can focus on lab work again as my top priority though.

Just a few more months!

How are you guys doing? What’s new? Sorry I haven’t been posting as regularly on here anymore. My “fun” time on the computer has been drastically cut down this fall. I need to make it a point to check in more often though. I will try to be better about that!

-Q

#fromthequeen #cell biology #phdblr #gradblr #grad school #grad student #teaching assistant #science

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argylemnwrites · 5 years

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More Than Enough

Pairing: James Ashton x MC (Emily Day)

Book: The Freshman Series (Post The Senior)

Word Count: ~1700

Rating: PG

Summary: A volunteer event at a school causes Emily to wonder if James is reconsidering key elements of their future.

Author’s Note: Written for Day 18 of the Choices July Challenge (prompt - Family). Sorry this is a day late, but work wiped me out yesterday, so I didn’t get a chance to finish this piece until tonight. All the baby talk in TRH got me thinking about my MC from TF series, who I always saw as childfree. So if TRH baby talk is not your thing, this one might be more your speed!

Emily spun the ring around her finger, a nervous habit she picked up in the first few weeks after James slid it onto her hand on the roof of her first dorm. It was a perfect proposal that seemed to bring her four years at Hartfeld full circle just as she was closing that chapter of her life. At first the size and weight of the stone had caught her attention all the time. As wonderful as it made her feel to carry around a symbol of their relationship, to broadcast to the world that she was his and he was hers, quite frankly she was not used to jewelry, and so playing with it was a natural response to something so out of her realm of normal. But now, over a year later, she barely registered it most of the time. It felt as if it has always been there, just another part of her left hand. Still, futzing with it when she was anxious was just habit she picked up somewhere along the way.

She shouldn’t be nervous. She understood this on an intellectual level, but deeper in her heart and soul, she just couldn’t help it. The way he had acted about the whole thing, with such energy and enthusiasm, was completely unexpected. And quite frankly, she didn’t know how to process it.

It started two weeks ago when James had come home from work unusually happy. He had been working as an editor at this publishing house for about four months, and Emily knew he didn’t love his work. It had been harder than the two of them had hoped it would be for him to find a job when he followed her to London just over a month after she had moved there. And his first job, working as a script advisor for an low-budget film company, had turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. Calling it a “company” was a vast overstatement, as it was just two men and one woman, none of whom seemed to have shared any of their visions for their film with each other, instead arguing over tone and pacing of their project through James. After six weeks, he’d quit out of sheer frustration and fear that any future paychecks were unlikely to materialize given the overall financial state of the group. It hadn’t taken him as long to find this job, but it still wasn’t something he loved. Nevertheless, it was more likely to give him further industry connections, even if James clearly wished he could spend more of his time writing his own work as opposed to editing and revising the work of other writers.

So when James came home nearly giddy, pulling a bottle of fairly expensive Merlot out of his bag, Emily had assumed that he had gotten a promotion or an interview for a different position. Instead, he’d announced that his company had asked him to volunteer at an outreach event aimed to increase reading and writing in schoolchildren.

“Tina said they were asking all the published authors to participate. I’ll be expected to read a story to some of the younger children, then the older children will have a session where they get to ask questions about being a writer!”

Emily had taken a moment, trying to gauge just why James was so excited about this event in particular. But before she could even wrap her mind around his enthusiasm, he had placed a glass of wine in front of her, kissing her on her cheek as he sat down next to her and opened up his laptop. She assumed he was working on his poetry, but when she passed behind him on her way to grab the bottle of wine, looking to top off both their glasses, she was surprised to see him browsing the children’s book section on Amazon. And as the days trickled on, getting closer and closer to his “field trip,” not only did a package containing Oh the Places You’ll Go arrive at their address, so did a comical striped hat and a matching shirt. James was clearly committed to being a hit with the random children, and that fact caused an inkling of doubt to take root in Emily’s heart, growing and flowering like it never had before.

The two of them had not really discussed having children since their weekend away during her senior year. It had not seemed necessary since they were so clearly on the same page - they did not envision children as part of their future. But here was James, acting giddy at the thought of spending half a day volunteering with some children at a random school. Was it possible that James had changed his mind? Had he decided that becoming a parent was something he wanted?

Emily’s stomach was in knots at the mere thought of the idea. Sure, in college she had been the “mother” of the friend group in numerous situations, but that didn’t mean that she wanted an actual child. Helping out an adult was one thing, but being completely responsible for another human life was a terrifying prospect that held almost no appeal to her. Plus, why would she want to give up her clean, tidy, modern flat for mess and chaos? Why would she want to forego spontaneous weekend getaways for play-dates and trips to the local park? Why would she want to spend all her money on clothes that her child would outgrow in a few months when she could splurge on a new pair of heels for herself?

But if James wanted children now, she had no idea what she would do. It was bad enough listening to both her parents and his parents drop hint after hint that they were hopeful for grandchildren soon after the wedding. If James started making such statements, it would break her heart. She loved him completely and irrevocably, but she was not sure if she could give him that. It just was not what she saw for their future, no matter how hard she tried to imagine things.

So here she was, waiting for him to get home from his day with the schoolchildren, torturing herself by staring at his company’s Pictagram which had numerous posts from the event. He was so happy; there was such a joy in his eyes. He was clearly good with the children, a short video clip showing him adopting different silly voices with the students completely engrossed. Emily could hardly bear to watch.

“Good evening, my dear!” James called out from their flat’s entryway. Emily could hear him hanging his jacket up on the hooks they had placed by the door, buttons clicking against the wall. “I hope you’re hungry, as I grabbed Thai food from that new restaurant down the street, and I may have bought way too much. It just all smelled so delicious, I couldn’t resist.”

He dropped the takeaway bag on the table, heading into the kitchen, continuing his so-far one-sided conversation, “How was your day?”

“It was fine, nothing too exciting.” Emily paused for just a moment before she continued, asking the question she dreaded, “How was yours?”

“It was wonderful! I had such a good time!” James returned from the kitchen, placing two plates and some silverware on the table with the food. “The younger children were so much more attentive than I could have hoped for, and some of the older children had some really insightful questions.” He sat down next to her at that, grabbing one of the plates and opening up the takeaway containers.

He was radiating pure joy as he talked about the children. She had to bring this up now, before the wedding got any closer. “James, I have to ask, is this something you want now?”

“To eat? Yes?”

“No… children. Do you want to have kids at some point?”

Her question clearly caught him off guard, as he stopped scooping rice onto his plate and stared at her. There were several agonizing seconds of silence before he spoke. “Have you changed your mind about parenthood?”

She shook her head. “No, but with the wedding only a few months away, I just thought we better get this cleared up now. I know you had a great time with the students today, James, but I still don’t want to have kids, and I don’t think that I’ll ever want kids, so if that’s something you’re realizing you want, I think we need to have an honest conversation, because I don’t know what that will mean for us.”

James placed his plate back on the table, grabbing her right hand in both of his. “I like kids, and I did have a great time with them today… for one afternoon, where I didn’t have to worry about actually parenting any of them, and I was not responsible for anything other than reading and answering some questions. One afternoon, after which I returned home with takeaway Thai food to a clean, quiet flat that is the perfect size for two adults.”

Emily let out a shaky breath, feeling an immense wave of relief wash over her. “So, you are still okay if we don’t have children?”

“Okay with it? Emily, I adore the thought of us growing old and grey together, side by side, just you and me. I love the life we’ve built together, filled with eating out and fine wine and going to the ballet and taking expensive vacations.”

“And you’re fine with not having a family?”

James shook his head, “You are my family. We don’t need to have children to be complete. You are my muse, my perfect partner in so many ways. Why would I need any more than that?”

Emily smiled, leaning over and kissing him gently. It almost felt silly now, how worried she had gotten over the mere thought that James might be good with children. She had faith in the life they had created for themselves, though. And James was right, they were a family, and she didn’t see herself ever needing more than the two of them. He was enough. They were enough.

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thecoroutfitters · 5 years

Link

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violettebernal1-blog · 5 years

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loverontheleft · 6 years

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Ready to Leap (17.2)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut. Chapters 1-16 can be found on my Masterlist.

Brendon x reader.

Warnings: language, dirty talk, sex, I don’t even know at this point I’m so tired I didn’t proofread fight me

Word count: 4.2k

-||-

“You can shower. I wanna have you on my fingers and lips all day, reminding me who I have coming home with me at night, who I’m gonna make love to until we both pass out.”

His words are echoing in your head the rest of the morning, and you’re jolted out of your thoughts by a knock on the door. The kids jump a little too, they were fifteen minutes into their Silent Sustained Writing, each of them enthusiastically, some more facetiously than others, recalling their favorite day of school. You cross to the door and open it, only half-surprised to see the floral arrangement of pink peonies - he had hinted he’d do something like this as he leaned against his bathroom counter, watching you shower.

Tyler again, with a knowing smile. “Ms. Milton, these were delivered for you.” There’s a chorus of “oooohs” from behind you and you grimace, but gratefully accept the bouquet. Tyler waves to Jessica behind you and you shut the door with a grin.

“Thank you Tyler, she’ll see you later.” You turn, slipping the card from its holder. Your fingers toy with it, turning it over and over. To open it or not open it? Your students have five more minutes of writing; you have time. You slide a finger under the flap and lift, pulling the creamy cardstock out.

“Don’t let your students talk you into reading this out loud. I’m thinking about our last kiss, the way you taste-“ you flip the card over and close your eyes. You know exactly what kiss he’s talking about, and it’s certainly not innocent enough and you know your students would pick up on that. “-and I can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t panic. It’ll be fine. I love you.”

“What does it say?”

You’re still staring at the card so you’re not sure who asked. “Hm? Oh. Nothing.”

Eric grins. “They sent you flowers and a blank card?” Brian nudges him and they mutter something to each other.

“Gentlemen, knock it off. No, it’s not blank. They’re from Mr. Urie and - stop,” you point at Jessica with a knowing smile. “Stop or I won’t tell you anything else.” You wait and they all sit back, eyes wide, clearly intrigued. “Why are you not this engaged with Coleridge? Never mind. Mr. Urie and I have been seeing each other for some time now and are official and exclusive and labeled and whatever else I can say to make it clear he’s my boyfriend.” You hold your breath and wait. The class processes this for a moment before erupting. Some are cheering and a few of the girls look enraptured, Jessica is asking a million questions, and Eric is handing Brian a twenty. “You bet on us?” You ask both of them, a little incredulous, and they nod shamelessly. “What was the bet?”

Brian slips the cash in his pocket. “I said you’d be together before homecoming. Eric said after homecoming but before prom.”

You just smile to yourself and hold up both hands. “Okay, I can’t dedicate anymore class time to this today; I know you have a ton of questions so just write them down and turn them in, l’ll answer the appropriate ones tomorrow instead of giving you a quiz on today’s material; your focus is going to be shot anyway.” They cheer again and every pen is flying as they scrawl down questions. You shudder to think what some of them will be.

When the period ends and second block kids come in, it’s clear that the phone tree has been at work and he’s told his first block; several of them are already asking questions. You make the same deal with them in the attempts of keeping them on task, but they’re definitely more preoccupied with this news. At least they’re all excited, you reason, recognizing that he is definitely the hottest male teacher at the school and more than just the freshmen in band think so. You wonder how they took it in class - you both agreed in the car on what to say and both promised to talk to all of your classes. Poor girls, you muse, as you pace the room checking annotations. Having their hearts broken so early in the morning.

It takes everything you have not to dash out of your room and down to his the moment the bell rings, but you force yourself to slow down. You wait until your room is empty and then leave, keeping yourself and your pace in check. You knock on his door and he opens it, a wide smile on his face.

“Milton darling, light of my life, love of my heart,” he murmurs, closing the door behind you and kissing you softly. “How did your group take it?”

You snuggle into his chest, wrapping your arms around him tightly and tucking your head under his chin. “They were excited. A lot of questions. I told them to write down their questions and I’d answer the appropriate ones, so you and I have a date tonight sorting questions,” you grin. “And yours? How were the freshmen?”

He looks solemn. “Mostly great, but the freshmen girls cried a little.”

You fight back a peal of laughter and look up at him seriously. “Are they going to be okay?”

He shrugs. “Probably. Let me know if they do or say anything to you though.” He pulls away from the embrace to lead you into his office. He drops onto the couch and you collapse beside him, sighing contentedly when he drops his arm around your shoulder. “What’s next on your agenda for planning?” He asks, and you groan.

“I actually have a ton to do, I just wanted to come see you,” you admit and he squeezes you gently before standing.

“Let’s get you back to your room then,” he says with a soft smile. He extends and hand and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet and into him for another hug. He breathes in the scent of your hair and runs a hand over your back. After a moment, he pulls away and takes your hand again, leading you to the hallway and then to your room.

“Feels good to hold your hand like this,” you murmur. “Not having to hide entirely.”

He nods, and once you reach your classroom, he brushes his lips over yours - just barely touching. “I just want everyone to know how I feel about you,” he whispers, and you lean up against your doorframe, holding both of his hands. “But you said I couldn’t rent out that billboard, right?” He grins and you shake your head, laughing. “So I’ll hold your hand and tell every person I meet about my beautiful, wonderful girlfriend and I’ll show them photos of you and us until they beg me to stop - which they won’t, because you, m’dear, are breathtaking.” He grins, and you roll your eyes, embarrassed. “No honey, don’t roll your eyes. Accept it.” You’re still in your doorway and all you want to do is drag him into your room and shut the door so you can kiss him properly, but you agreed, the school rendezvous would stop to keep you both safe. He must see it in your eyes because he licks his lower lip and he must be able to taste you because he gives the quietest, shortest moan of pleasure and it sends waves of desire through you.

“Dang it Urie, you know I want you,” you hiss and he smiles innocently.

“Call it four more hours to be safe,” he tells you, “and you’ll be home with me and we can play however you want.”

You grin. “What if I don’t want to play at home, what if I want you to take me out now that we’re official, or at least officially out at school?”

He laughs a little. “We can do that too. Whatever you want, Milton. I’ll make it happen.” You squeeze both of his hands and he kisses your forehead chastely. “Go get work done. It’s an abbreviated practice today, so I’ll come to you at the final bell.” You nod and he smiles once more and leaves you in your doorway, watching him walk away.

-||-

You’re sitting at your normal spot in the lounge, picking at the grilled chicken he packed for both of you, distracted by his promise of whatever you want, when Gina sails into the lounge and drops into the seat across from you - her normal spot. “So Ms. Milton,” she says with a grin. “I heard something from a student today.” You look up and she is practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “I heard,” she draws it out, “that you and Urie are a thing.”

Jennifer walks in and adds, “oh yeah, I heard that too!”

Helen turns the corner. “Heard what?”

“Y/n and Urie are dating.” Jennifer is giddy and Helen nods.

“Yep, a freshman girl was crying about it at the beginning of 3rd block.”

Gina leans forward, jabbing the air with her fork. “Spill.”

You shrug. “What do you want to know?” There’s a pause as your coworkers consider.

Finally, Gina speaks. “When, where, how, and how often?” You blink, obviously thrown by the last question. She huffs indignantly. “When did he ask, where did he ask, how did he ask, and how often do you make out? The man is gorgeous.”

You laugh a little. “We’ve been together for…” you try to calculate. “About two months I think, maybe a little more. And we kissed on the band tower and it just sort of rolled from there, we just fell naturally into things. And I plead the fifth on the last question.”

Helen shakes her head. “Nuh uh. We want details. We are old married women-“ she waves down the others’ protests; “and the man is more than gorgeous and you’ve kept this a secret this long so we deserve details.”

The others agree and Gina smirks. “How often Milton?” You feel yourself blush and you know she can read it on your face. “Oh my god, you’ve slept with him.” There’s a clamor from everyone else, demanding more and you press both hands to your face, embarrassed. “No no no, we’re not judging,” Gina is quick to reassure. “Hell, some of us are jealous. Just give me this - is he good?”

You can’t help but smile. “Incredible.”

Jennifer groans and stabs at her salad. “You can’t just leave it at that, Richard must be on some speed challenge because we’re over and done in eight minutes and then he’s knocked out, dead asleep.”

You try to not look horrified. You don’t know what you’d do if you only had him for eight minutes. “I mean...he’s just incredible. He’s so good at being in control-“ there’s an outbreak of chatter but Gina waves them down; “-but he’ll just…he’s...I don’t know, I’ve never been with anyone like him before.”

Tracy, who has come in late but has figured out from context, grins. “I’ll be the one to be rude and ask; as the youth say, what that mouth do though?” You blush and she amends. “His, not yours. I’m not interested in the details of what your mouth does, no offense.” She smirks and pops an almond in her mouth. “Well? With the lips on that man…”

You shift in your chair a little. “He is…” you want to say this diplomatically. “He is not a selfish lover; he prefers to give more than receive and he is quite, quite good at what he gives.” You fold your hands primly and the others sit silently for a moment before the questions explode again.

Gina takes your side finally. “Okay okay okay, you hussies, you’ve gotten your scandalous sex details, now let the girl eat her lunch.” You smile at her gratefully. “She obviously needs to keep her strength up, if she’s receiving as often as I think she is.” She finishes with a smirk of her own. So much for being on your side. You don’t really mind; they don’t mean any harm; they’re just curious. But as open and free you are with Brendon in your bed, you’re as reserved and cautious outside of it. You’ve never been one to swap sex stories, and these women seem to want more than you’re willing to give up. They take Gina’s direction though and eat their own lunch while asking much more socially appropriate questions, like where your first date was, for the rest of the lunch period.

The lunch bell rings and you head back to your room, desperate to get more work done so you can focus on him tonight. When you approach your desk, there’s a single, long-stemmed pink rose resting across your keyboard with a card under it. “First, you forgot to lock your door, honey. Second, be as productive as you can so I can have you all to myself tonight; I have big ideas. Third, you need a vase for your classroom; I’m going to make a habit of sending you flowers. Let’s get a vase soon. I love you.” You smile, brushing your fingertips over the petals and sigh happily.

“So you like it?”

“Jesus Christ!” You shriek and drop the rose, and he’s crossing the room, apologizing, taking you in his arms, kissing the top of your head.

“That wasn’t nice, I’m sorry, love.” He’s smoothing a hand over your back, and holding you tight.

“That,” you gasp, “wasn’t only not nice; that was mean.” But you’re laughing a little so he knows you’re not too upset.

“You’re right, I’m sorry baby.” He sits you on your desk and steps between your legs, kissing your forehead. “We’ll do whatever you want tonight.”

Your eyes narrow. “That was already the deal Urie. I’m gonna need something more.”

He pretends to think. “Something more, hm?” You nod and he grins before biting his lower lip in a way he knows drives you crazy. “Why don’t we see where the night goes, and I’ll let you use your something more whenever you see fit, whether it be tonight or down the road.”

You nod again, crossing your arms. “I want to do something totally strange and out of the ordinary tonight.” He arches an eyebrow and smirks a little. “Not sexually, Urie. As a date.”

He laughs and kisses your cheek. “I can do that. Strange and out of the ordinary and nothing sexual. Got it.”

-||-

“Urie, I need a dress code please.”

He follows you into the closet. “I’m honestly not trying to be difficult when I say I don’t know and that you look gorgeous in anything.” You smile, leaning back against his chest and he wraps his arms around your waist. “So I’ll tell you that I’m wearing dark jeans that could pass for nicer pants as needed and a button-down shirt.”

“Urie, what are we doing?” Your voice is muffled as lean forward and pull your shirt off over your head. He moves his hands up to cup your breasts and his head drops down to your neck.

“I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass when I say I don’t know,” he repeats with a smile against your skin. “But I don’t know.” You’re on the edge and he can tell. “Okay. Have you heard of,” and he pauses for dramatic effect, “the penny date?” You turn to look at him quizzically and shake your head. He beams. “Great. We need to pick a number between-“

“One hundred and thirty-six.”

“-one and fifty…” he gives you his teacher look. “I don’t know if…”

You turn fully in his arms to kiss him firmly. “One hundred. And. Thirty-six.”

He shrugs. “Okay, well, let’s head to the car then. But in an hour, remember this moment.”

You’re settled in the car when you look at him. “You never explained more. What’s the date? Why the number?”

He grins, putting the car in reverse. “We flip a coin to decide which way we turn. And the number picked is the number of times we flip.”

You groan. “I regret some stuff,” you tell him and he laughs. “But we’re sticking with the number,” you say firmly. “We commit.” He takes your hand and smiles.

“We sure do.”

-||-

“Brendon, we’ve been circling this neighborhood for 30 flips.” You sound exhausted. He nods wearily. “But we committed.” You can hear the question in your voice.

“We committed. We’ve got 6 more flips to go, let’s see if we can’t get out of here.”

You nod, squeezing his hand and flipping the coin as you approach a stop sign. “Left.” Silence. Stop sign. “Left.” Silence. Silence. Stop sign. “Right!” You haven’t gotten a right in a while and this is promising. Silence. Stop sign. “Left…” Silence. Stop sign. “Right.” Silence. Silence. Silence. Stop sign. “Left.”

He stops the car and you both start laughing. You’re parked outside a house - or what will be a house once it’s fully built. Right now it’s a frame and some plywood makeshift walls. “Well, this is our date,” he says dead-pan. He turns to you. “We can go get food?”

You point at him playfully. “Only if we get something from a drive thru and come back. We committed.” He notes the address of the closest completed house and you search google for drive thrus near your location. “Sonic?” You suggest and he nods. “Yay! I’ve been craving mozzarella sticks.” You’re wiggling in your seat excitedly and his hand curves over your thigh.

“We don’t have to commit; we can go get real food and go back to our complete house,” he tells you and you give him a surprised look.

“No sir. We’re going back and we’re going to have a wonderful time doing who knows what. I don’t need a fancy formal date to enjoy myself with you, so let’s go get greasy Sonic food and slushies and go see what possibilities that house has.”

Food acquired and GPS on, you’re back at the construction site in twenty minutes. He parks the car and you both get out. You’ve got a carton of mozzarella sticks and a strawberry limeade slush, while he opted for tots and blue raspberry. You interlock arms as you stroll through what would be the door and look around. “Wow,” you whisper, and he nods. It’s unfinished obviously but it’s going to be beautiful when it’s done. You’re standing in what will be a two-story foyer and you can see what you assume is a sunken living room through an opening ahead. You wander around together, trading snacks, sharing sticky, stained-lip kisses, and trying to guess what different rooms will be, decorating as you go. The living room is going to have a great leather sectional, one that you wouldn’t mind getting Brendon naked on so you can ride him. You shake your head a little to clear it before he comes back inside. There’s a dumpster outside so he pitched your empty trash and is back quickly, holding you to him.

“I’d do a soft blue paint in here I think,” he murmurs in your ear when you make it to the master suite. “The windows are set up to let the sunrise in, and it would be really lovely. Carpet or hardwood?” You consider.

“Hardwood is easier to clean but carpet is nicer for the morning...unless we did hardwood with an area rug under the bed. But still - I’m not sure, maybe hardwood?”

He nods thoughtfully. “Do a dark hardwood floor and a pale ceiling to draw the eye upward; then you can have a floor rug in an accent color.” You marvel at him, telling him how good he is at this. “Again, my parents. My mom was big on making places both homey and beautiful. They two, she always said, weren’t mutually exclusive. And my dad let her do what she wanted; he told her she had a vision and he had a checkbook.” Brendon laughs a little and you smile as he leans down and kisses your cheek. “I can’t promise you that kind of financial freedom,” he murmurs, “but you’ll have that kind of love and devotion.”

You melt a little and turn to face him, kissing him softly and moaning a little when his tongue parts your lips. He scoops you up easily and you wrap your legs around him as he presses you against the wall. He deepens the kiss and you tug at his hair, wanting to be closer.

“Let’s keep looking,” he pulls away with a gasp and his words are rough. “Gotta stop teasing myself.” Your feet touch the floor and you continue your exploration of the space. There’s an opening to a room off of the master suite that is too big to be a bathroom or a closet so you take turns guessing. “Sex chamber,” he finally suggests with a smirk. This is for those people who have big stuff like swings and wedges and stuff, things you can’t tuck in a bedside table.”

“Wedges?” You look perplexed.

“Mmmm,” he purrs, pulling you back flush against him and letting his fingers wander down to tease the button on your jeans. “Wedges. Sturdy but comfortable foam wedges that you, m’dear, would rest on instead of a pillow. Depending on the wedge, you’d have a variety of angles for me to fuck or suck you at.” You moan a little when you feel him hard against you and he licks the shell of your ear. “You want one, baby? You want me to be able to get those pretty hips tipped up and good and ready for my tongue or cock, depending on your mood? I’ll buy you one, if that’s what you want.” You nod weakly and his fingers slip down the front of your jeans. You know you’re wet and now he does too - you both let out a sharp moan when he makes contact, fingers sliding against you easily. “Let’s go back to the car,” he suggests lowly, and you nod eagerly.

He opens your door for you and you slide in, but as soon as he’s seated, you’re clambering over the console to straddle him. “You’ve got me so hot Bren, can’t wait any longer.” You kiss him and start grinding against him, delighted to find him still hard for you. “Am I hurting you?” Your voice is soft and he shakes his head, but shifts you over so you’re straddling his thigh, one of yours brushing his erection. You moan and rock against him, and he grabs you by the hair and slips his tongue into your mouth, meeting yours and teasing you. His other hand slips up your shirt and is caressing and cupping your breast, squeezing lightly every now and then; you know it must turn him on because even with his jeans on, you can feel his dick flex against your thigh whenever he gropes you. He tugs your hair a little and you moan, grinding down harder in sloppy circles, the friction working your clit.

“Love seeing you like this, babygirl, knowing you’re gonna come all over my thigh, knowing I drive you wild, knowing you can feel how wild you make me. Wanna be in you, wanna see you come all over me, wanna slip my hand down into those sexy lace panties I watched you put on this morning and get my fingers covered in you, so I can have an appetizer for the ride until I can get you back to our bed and spread you out, get you moaning my name,” he pauses breathing hard and you whimper, bracing yourself on his shoulders to get more leverage. You’re close.

“Wanna come for you,” you tell him, barely able to keep your eyes open as he flexes his thigh under you, making you yelp at the new sensation. “Wanna come all over you,” you practically insist. “Gotta get these pants off, shit,” and you’re mumbling under your breath as his lips close over the pulse point in your neck.

“God babygirl, so good,” he whispers, tugging your hair again. “Leave the pants on, wanna see you come for me, fully clothed.”

You start a slow grind, leaning back a little, giving in to his pull. “Gonna,” you insist. “Oh fuck, Brendon, baby, I can feel it I’m almost - oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry, and he bites your neck; your orgasm only intensifies. “Oh fuck,” you squeal, slumping back against the wheel and making both of you jump when the horn gives a short blast.

“So sexy to watch babygirl, love seeing you come for me.” You’ve moved forward and are resting your head on his shoulder while his hand moves slowly over your back.

He freezes after a minute. “Hey baby?” You make a small noise, acknowledging him. “Remember how I said I’d agree to three conditions with the babygirl thing?” You make another small noise. “Figured out which one I couldn’t agree to,” he says, sounding a little nervous. “Need you to get back in your seat honey.”

You lift your head and your vision is blurred with blue and white flashing lights. “Aren’t you glad we kept your pants on?” He says with an anxious tone.

#brendon urie #my work #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie smut #ready to leap #work in progress #brendon x reader #fanfic #imagine #im so tired #I didnt use hashtags on 17.1 #will go back

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The particular role of test preparation in getting admission from a highly regarded university abroad

If you are intending to study abroad next you must have come after the various tests engaged in a top admit. SAT coaching in Kolkata be the English proficiency exams such as this IELTS/ TOEFL, as well as the aptitude tests such as GMAT/ GRE/ SAT/ TAKE ACTION, you would have come over a few challenge or often the other such as these tests. Here we will go through the roles that each regarding these exams play inside the admissions process to analyze overseas at a good college. We will look at the most often asked questions we find out about English proficiency plus aptitude tests. Do My partner and i need to take typically the language proficiency assessments? Why don't start at the outset. Typically the short answer to help this issue is Of course, and No! Puzzled? 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The short summary of each and every of the tests is given under: SAT/ ACT – The particular SAT/ BEHAVE is an skills analyze taken by students throughout high school for admissions to help universities in USA, Europe and some different parts of the earth. It primarily tests men and women at English and Maths. SITTING Subject Tests ~ A few colleges in the US ALL call for subjects test found in places such as Physics, Mathematics, Biochemistry, Dialects as well as World Record. GRE : The Scholar Record Test (GRE) or perhaps the GRE is one of the recommended understanding tests for universities providing top engineering and other programs, especially often the ones in the ALL OF US. GMAT – The GMAT can be conducted by typically the GMAC for admissions to help top universities and colleges in often the management programs. A great GMAT score is the place to start of getting a fine MBA admission. How do I prepare for these types of exams? 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