A/N: I want to dedicate this one to @peakyxshelby because she is AMAZING! And shared with me how I helped her with her panic attack and coincidently I wrote this before and the reader experiences one and LITERALLLY FOLLOW HER SHE’S AMAZING! This one’s for you!
“You sure you’re gonna be ok?” Your best friend Maggie says as your hiding in the back of the bustling ballroom. You’re hiding behind her as an effort to be modest for Grace’s sake. You knew the Blinders long before she had come into your life, but lately you’ve grown to like her much better than any of the hot-headed men. Her family was polite, and you were not; simple as that. Maggie blocked you from sight as you hike up the skirt of your sapphire dress, releasing the flask from its spot.
“Yeah, as long as I’m drunk and I stay far away from him,” you say as you pour the contents into a cup to blend in, then quickly working to put the flask back in it’s place, “everything will be fine.” You grunt as you struggle to keep the flask upright in your pantyhose. “God damn it, I really wish I had pockets.” You mutter, getting everything back in place and standing up.
“Avoiding him’s gonna be impossible.” Maggie says, taking a sip of her punch.
Remember when Emma took one look at him the diner in S3 and knew something was wrong?
Remember when she didn’t see his ship in the harbor and realized there was something he wasn’t telling her?
And that she knew he was sentimental despite his claims to the contrary?
That his entire thing was that she betrayed him when he had never abandoned her and he told her that, verbally out loud. I didn’t abandon you.
When she just knew the pages were sent by him even though he should have moved on.
Fuck when she knew across realms he didn’t move on?!?
Like what? What am I watching?
They have somehow gone back BEFORE S3 at this point, she was able to read him better back then than she can now. He’s just the untrustworthy pirate to everyone again. After all he’s done. NO ONE HAS FAITH IN HIM not even Emma Swan and that’s so fucked up at this point in their relationship over something that IS VERY CLEARLY A VILLAIN.
Like if they hadn’t had her pick up that ring, put away his flask and everything he left behind it would be a lot easier to swallow, but implying that there is someone trying to kill them and Killian Jones, FUCKING KILLIAN JONES, has skipped town for good and left everything he valued behind is absolute and total bullshit and there is no amount of positivity spin that can forgive her putting these pieces he left behind in a box and not recognizing if he was leaving for good he would have taken them.
The lack of faith in Killian Jones is appalling at this stage when we’ve been working through her walls for 6 years, at some point shouldn’t she have grown, if they are about to be married in less that 5 episodes shouldn’t she show a little more belief in him? Shouldn’t Henry?
Someone? Is this just his life? He goes to the store and gets stuck in traffic and Emma starts packing his shit?
You find a mysterious bag. It’s difficult to open. If you manage to open it, coins spill out. Any time you try to buy something, the item you’re trying to buy appears in your hands (no matter how big). This item is almost exact, but is slightly shittier and will eventually fuck you over.
Sword that looks and feels fine, but just phases through living things.
A pencil that writes everything backwards.
A flask that gives you 8oz of random liquid that isn’t useful to you at this time.
I can see Shockwave using his awesome chest as a temporary shelf when he needs to carry more things than what will fit in his arms and “making multiple trips is illogical when I can carry everything like this.” *turns to reveal dozens of experiments in vials and flasks perched along his monoboob* And he does it w/o spilling, dropping, or breaking anything.
“Second Time Lucky”: After his friend Castiel Novak has a disastrous junior prom, Dean
Winchester vows to make up for it by taking Cas himself in senior year -
just as friends, of course - and giving Cas the prom experience he
always dreamed of. Actually falling for Cas was never part of the plan.[10,708words]
“The Forte!verse”: Castiel is the weird cello prodigy that gets every solo in the school
orchestra. Dean is a cocky mediocre snare drum player, but he still
manages to pick out every flaw in Cas’ performances. When Castiel has
had enough of it, he says something.[5,108 words]
“Right Place Right Time”:“I went to get snacks from the local convenience store at 2am and you’re
laying in the corridor because your room mate has his fiancé over and
kicked you out of your room”[5,704 words]
“Valentine’s Day″: Cas anonymously sending Dean one of those school Valentine’s Day flowers
with a little personalized note, thinking that someone as popular as
Dean won’t notice his message anyway because he gets so many. Little
does he know that Dean sent one to him as well… [2,051 words]
“Wake Up Call”: Cas unexpectedly finds himself waking up next to his very asleep – and very naked – apartment mate of two years. As he takes in Dean’s smooth, freckled, and gloriously unclothed form
lying face down next to him, Cas attempts to figure out why Dean (most
likely) drunkenly came back to the wrong room and subsequently climbed
into the wrong bed. [1,174 words]
“Drunk Kisses”: Dean dragged his kind of awkward best friend Castiel to a party. Castiel
drinks way too much and ends up kissing Dean. What happens next? [1,893 words]
“Single or Taken”:Charlie and Sam drag Dean to a party on campus and he’s a little taken
aback by the system they’re using to identify who is and who isn’t
single. Why does the process of simplifying things have to be so
difficult? [4,917 words]
“The Constellations In Your Eyes”:It all started when a six year old with stunning blue eyes moved in next
door. Conjoined roofs and a few constellations might bring them
together. [5,562 words]
“The Resolution of Stars”:Castiel’s annual New Year’s Eve plans are compromised
when Dean abandons them in favor of celebrating with his girlfriend.
Thus, Castiel finds himself at home on the night of the 31st of
December, with no plans other than to drink and read alone while the
rest of the world rings in the new year. But those plans, too, are shot to hell when Dean tries to redeem himself. [2,635 words]
“Close Your Eyes And Trust”:When Cas gets dared to kiss Dean (Dean!) at a party, he decides to flee the scene instead. It’s humiliating, but it’s better than the alternative.Dean has other ideas. [2,094 words]
“The Silent Stars Go By”:At least Cas had tonight to look forward to. He had everything ready in
his backpack – a rug to sit on, a Thermos flask of hot tea, some
sandwiches, and his iPod. He’d worn his thickest coat today, and two
scarves, and a pair of woollen gloves. He was aware – as he sat waiting
for the bus, which would take him up the hill – that he looked
distinctly overdressed, since the cold of the night hadn’t truly set in
yet. The guy sitting on the other end of his bench certainly seemed to
think so; he was staring at Cas out of the corner of his eye, apparently
transfixed by the sight of winter clothing. Cas briefly considered
making a sharp comment, but decided against it when he took a longer
look: the boy didn’t look any older than Cas himself, probably no more
than seventeen or so, but he was wearing a leather jacket and a worldly,
hard-bitten expression that had Cas frowning and shifting his knees
together, making himself smaller. [7,284 words]
“Five Powerless Hours”: The power goes out at Dean and Castiel’s dorm, and sharing body heat has its perks. [3,637 words]
Supernatural: Cheers to the Lonely (Crowley x Reader)
Summary: The reader learns about the pending end of creation (just prior to S11 E23). Word Count: 1325 Warnings: None A/N: My entry for @marksheppardischarming‘s June Writing Challenge. My prompt was for a paranormal/ghost hunter reader.
You slammed the musty tome shut. Dust puffed out from its yellowed pages, the single lamp’s meager light dancing off the particles. Coughing, you waved an annoyed hand in front of your face. Freshly showered, you hugged your robe - a fluffy, if slightly worn, light blue affair - around your shoulders and sighed.
“You’ll get yourself all dirty, love.”
You jumped. Behind you, his impeccable black suit unmarred by the dust, Crowley stood with his hands in his pockets. You glared at him. “Holy crap! Don’t do that!”
“I don’t do anything holy. General principles.” He smirked. He gestured at your robe. “Don’t dress up on my account, muffin.”
“I didn’t know you were coming, snickerdoodle,” you teased. It’d been months, too many months, since you last saw him, but you fell into the familiar back-and-forth banter like a cozy blanket on a winter’s day.
“Yes, well, I was,” he lifted his eyebrows as he contemplated the correct word, “delayed. Forcibly. C'est la vie, pumpkin.”
“Huh,” you grunted. You shook your head, part in amusement, part in disbelief. Here you were, at ease, in your bathrobe of all things, addressing the King of Hell. Funny how life turned out.
What about A? (Fun fact: "Ignis" in Latin actually means fire. Do what you will with that information.) ♡♡♡
or excessive heat”
Ignis must have set the oven too high, because the
pastries are a good deal too brown…
No but seriously.
You just had to
bring Latin into this, didn’t you.
understand, I love Latin so much - I
still have my Wheelock’s book from school, and I annoyed my sister into
learning correct Classical pronunciation ( @paladinical I’m sorry…)
Anyway, um, “ignis” can be either the nominative or the genitive case of “fire,”
which means his name could feasibly translate to “belonging to the fire,” which I absolutely loved and had to
go for… (Sorry this took so long!!)
Prompto doesn’t like
magic very much, but he’s best with ice spells. He’ll take the flasks out and
play with them on hot days, pressing them to his forehead (despite repeated
warnings that they’re not toys). In
combat, he has a knack for freezing monsters in just the right position, like
he’s clicked his camera and caught them in a still life for his friends to
Gladio is always
glad to handle lightning. He grins when Noctis tosses him flasks of
bottled electricity, all that power crackling and ready to be channeled into
devastating bolts. The static makes his hair stick up sometimes, but he only
ever laughs and tries to shock Prompto when he isn’t paying attention.
Ignis has studied
every spell and ability Noctis has access to, has trained with sharing the
power of kings until accessing the Armiger is second nature, can feel the
trajectory of Noctis’s warping before it even activates. He understands as much as
anyone alive what’s happening when Noctis shuts his eyes and absorbs elemental
energy, when electricity makes the hairs on his arms stand up or his breath
crystalizes in a cloud of frost. Ignis is competent with it all.
He prefers fire.
Ever since he
learned that the stars were balls of flame, alone and far away in the heavens,
he’s been fascinated by it: the way something could look so calm and quiet and
still be burning.
He’s since learned
to see the sparks in Noctis’s face, the way the crystal’s power smolders behind
his eyes. He’s learned heat from Noctis’s fevered nightmares, and light from
the piercing glow when ancestral magic overtakes him. When Noctis channels those
flames into flasks for him, it feels familiar to Ignis, like being able to hold
on to something he’s never fully understood.
Even once he’s in
the dark, fire magic is still his bread and butter. He lets the warmth from the
spells soak through his gloves and waits for the hint of a flash as he sends
daemons up in flames. He has a sixth sense for friction, for feeling out the places
on the battlefield that are ready to ignite.
Ignis feels the loss
of magic acutely during his ten long years alone. The darkness isn’t new to
him, but the coldness is: a lonely loss of potential energy. Everything stripped away.
When Noctis hands
him an assortment of flasks before they head back into Insomnia, Ignis spends too long
cupping the fire spell between his hands. It’s a feeling he’s almost forgotten, like holding the heart of a star.
“Ignis,” Noctis calls to him from the
middle of Ifrit’s inferno, “instructions!”
Ignis turns toward
his voice, calm and collected and burning as hot and bright inside as the fire astral could ever hope to manage. This is the final blaze of glory before the end.
Stars burn out. He’s
always known this.
burned so brightly for so long, and Ignis has spent years learning all the best
ways to go up in flames.
“I have just the thing,” Ignis says, and
steps toward the fire, unafraid.
Making absolute (water, oxygen and impurity free) ethylenediamine with lithium metal.
Alkali metals usually dissolve well in amines, the best example is lithium metal during Birch reduction that is dissolved in liquid ammonia. These solutions when dilute have usually a beautiful deep blue color due the solvated electrons. But if even traces of water or anything else is present what could react with the dissolved alkali metal, the color fades quickly. So till my highly impure ethylenediamine contains any water the deep blue color of the lithium metal is not visible, or fades quicky (first 3 gifs). On the last gif almost everything reacted from the amine, so the deep blue color remained in the flask.
At the end I just had to distill the amine from the alkali metal under argon to keep the product pure enough for further purposes.
Cas was having one of those days. The sky was grey, the
sidewalk was hushed with puddles; even the buildings of the town looked tired
of being themselves, the windows sighing back sad reflections to the dismal
sky. Cas, sitting on a bench outside his school with a rumble in his stomach
that lunch hadn’t managed to quell, shifted his books awkwardly in his lap. He
pinched his eyes closed for a moment, trying to shake off the malaise.
Against his chest, he felt the bump of cool metal. His pendant,
cold and calming against his skin.
At least he had tonight to look forward to. He had
everything ready in his backpack – a rug to sit on, a Thermos flask of hot tea,
some sandwiches, and his iPod. He’d worn his thickest coat today, and two
scarves, and a pair of woollen gloves. He was aware – as he sat waiting for the
bus, which would take him up the hill – that he looked distinctly overdressed,
since the cold of the night hadn’t truly set in yet. The guy sitting on the
other end of his bench certainly seemed to think so; he was staring at Cas out
of the corner of his eye, apparently transfixed by the sight of winter
clothing. Cas briefly considered making a sharp comment, but decided against it
when he took a longer look: the boy didn’t look any older than Cas himself, probably
no more than seventeen or so, but he was wearing a leather jacket and a worldly,
hard-bitten expression that had Cas frowning and shifting his knees together,
making himself smaller.
was cold in the throne room of the Fearamid. Cold and dark, and Ford
shivered in the cramped cell he shared with his brother. The
luminescent bars trapped them in a tiny bubble of air. Beyond, they
could see the ocean and the distant impossible architecture and, far
below them, the glowing red X that Bill and all his minions had used
to enter the world.
neither of them were looking. Stan had his head in his hands and Ford
stared blankly at the bars in front of him. There had to be some way
out. Some solution. But he was so tired and so sore and he couldn’t
think. He was surrounded by the sea, which should have been a
comfort, but Bill had taken even that away from him.
Stan raised his head, reached into his jacket and pulled out Ford’s
sealskin. He held it out and Ford snatched it away, clutching it to
himself. He’d thought it was lost. He’d thought Bill had—
saved this,” said Stan. “He carried it for days. Through
everything. Think he’d hoped to give it back to you himself, but—”
curled close around the skin, tight as the spiral of a snail shell.
There wasn’t room in the cage to transform. He couldn’t escape. But
he had an anchor now. He could breathe.
shook his head. “He’s gonna die. Both the kids. They’re gonna
die and it’ll be my fault …”
said Ford. He was almost surprised to hear his own voice. He moved
next to Stan and wrapped the sealskin around both their shoulders,
the way the younger twins did when they needed comfort.
made the deal with Bill. I caused this. You would have seen right
pulled out his worn flask—his other anchor—and took a long drink
before passing it over.
tipped back the flask. “Fine. We both ruined everything. So what do
we do now?”
hung his head. He’d been searching for a better answer, but there
was only one thing he could think of. “I’m sorry, Stanley. I have
to take his deal.”
I know it’s small but I love everything I got!!!💜💙💚
7.5 x 4 lush bath bombs
13 Rhinestone flask 💎
23 Waterproof better than sex mascara 💦
40 Anastasia glow kit
33 VS two tone bra🔥🔥
14.5 VS mint panties
38 Laura mercier translucent powder
38 Becca pressed powder
8 gem ring🔮
55 NARS Yachiyo kabuki brush (who tf is going to pay that much)
9 cactus stickers🌵
Using a Soxhlet extractor to get out my highly fluorescent product from the tarry reaction mixture. The raw reaction product is placed in the upper part of the extractor in a paper thimble and it is continuously washed with fresh solvent (in this case acetone) till the extracted solution is fluorescent. The solution flows down to the flask at the bottom where it boils and gets back on the paper thimble. The extracted compound is concentrated in the bottom flask and at the end everything what I need from this mixture will be in that flask what already emits a very-very bright blue light under UV(:
Soxhlet extractor is a piece of laboratory apparatus invented in 1879 by Franz von Soxhlet. It was originally designed for the extraction of a lipid from a solid material. Typically, a Soxhlet extraction is used when the desired compound has a limited solubility in a solvent, and the impurity is insoluble in that solvent. It allows for unmonitored and unmanaged operation while efficiently recycling a small amount of solvent to dissolve a larger amount of material.
Coupling diazo compounds with copper bronze (ultra fine copper powder). It exactly looks like glitter powder in the flask.
Even through it was a heterogeneous reaction (the reaction took only place at the surface of the copper) a relatively high percent of the desired product formed. Good point: the side product could be removed easily via distillation, so this was a quite easy method for producing a compound. Copper and other transition metals are often used as catalyst for coupling reactions, the most popular is palladium, it is good for everything.
Chemistry is exactly like Schrödinger’s cat. There is an 50/50% that it will live or it will die even since it is kept under exactly the same conditions.
In this case I performed a large scale (2 molar, 600g in a 6000 cm3 flask) reaction and the product of this, besides of the previous, good results was a big zero. Everything in the flask turned into big gunk and 0% of the desired product have formed.
It was not my reaction, but the person who did it was quite happy, because the side product of his reaction was dissolved in the upper water phase and had a purple color, while his product dissolved in the bottom organic layer and was quite pure.
And what everyone will complain about: who is on the pics is not wearing gloves, since the lab where he works just ran out of nitrile gloves and luckily the product of the reaction and everything what was inside the flask is not more toxic than a chocolate bar.
A/N: A little nothing that came about after hearing FourFiveSeconds for the millionth time. Not beta-ed, just all kinds of Bellarke Modern AU feels. Hope you enjoy!
Rating: Teen for language
The loud ring waking him from a dreamless sleep immediately follows the phone’s screen lighting up the entire room and Bellamy sits straight up in bed. He has always been a light sleeper — taking care of a younger sister who had a knack for wanting to sneak out in the middle of the night once she hit her hormonal years will do that to a man.
It only takes a second for the sleepy haze to fade from his mind as he reaches toward his nightstand: his heart already racing when he sees the name on the screen.
“Octavia?” His voice is deep with long forgotten sleep. “What’s wrong?”
“Bellamy? Oh thank god, you answered.” Her speech is somewhat slurred and she’s speaking louder than necessary. “Don’t freak, okay?”
“What the hell is it, O?” He nearly yells, already climbing out of bed and scrambling to find the jeans he knows he threw across a nearby chair.
“Everyone is fine. All limbs attached, healthy — maybe a little intoxicated, but other than that —“
“Octavia, I swear to god if you don’t fucking spit it out!”
“Clarke’s been arrested.”
He pauses in the middle of the dark bedroom, squeezing the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes tight, “I’m on my way.”