#and was like . you think the average person can afford those?? most people i spoke to in those were rich assholes

[birbs-in-space]

heard someone say (irl) a while ago that a partial solution to the housing crises/young people generally being priced out of owning was to build more condos.

except here's the thing. i'm financially better off than most of the people in that group. im privileged enough to have savings. i could not afford even a 10% down payment for anything other than a shoebox, and once i moved in, i'd be hit hard by monthly hoa fees, because yes, most condos in the area are in hoa areas. i'd be lucky to get 1k sqft condo for the equivalent of what my dad bought his 2k/7k house for at the turn of the century.

here's the other thing. landlords love to buy up condos and rent them out because in most places in california, condos aren't subject to rent control. i know this because i rent a condo. also? owners also don't have to even worry about common area management because they put their property into the hands of a property management company who just pays the previously mentioned hoa fees.

so. idk i guess it could be temporarily good for temporary slapdash construction jobs but it just feels like an incredibly ineffective solution when, simultaneously, there are literally a large number of massive mansions sitting empty 10-11 months of the year because they're someone's summer home.

[runwayrunway]

No. 42 - KLM Royal Dutch Airlines

Oh, don't worry. I think probably at least a third of the planes in the world are blue. I knew what I was getting into. And blue might be ubiquitous now, but it's hard to hold that against KLM. They're the oldest airline in the world, after all. I think they more or less get dibs.

That said, they also fall into a particular trend in blue planes which merits further examination. I mentioned it the first time in my Vietnam Airlines post - although each does it distinctly differently and they're difficult to mistake for each other, airlines keep deciding to make the bottom half of their plane white and the top half some sort of blue. Another example is Korean Air. I plan to cover several more of these in the near future, but I find the phenomenon fascinating. I have yet to coin a catchy name for it, and would appreciate suggestions, but it just keeps happening!

Well, okay. How does KLM distinguish itself among its blue counterparts? How well-designed is its livery in general? Does it live up to the gravitas its name tends to command? Is that crown earned? I think we can all agree that I am objectively the arbiter of these questions, so read on to see my answers.

It's not an exaggeration to say that KLM Royal Dutch Airlines (Koninklijke Luchtvaart Maatschappij) is one of the most noteworthy airlines in existence. At 103 years old, it is the oldest continuously operating airline in the world. Its first flight was operated in 1920 by a four-seater Airco DH.16, like the one below.

Today it operates a fleet of over 100 jets to 145 destinations, and that isn't even counting its subsidiaries.

KLM is the flag carrier of the Netherlands, a country I sometimes forget is still technically a monarchy! In fact, King of the Netherlands Willem-Alexander sometimes flies for subsidiary KLM Cityhopper. (As a first officer, no less. Can you imagine being a regular Fokker 70 captain at a regional airline and suddenly the king of your country shows up and says tell me what to do, boss?)

I did, in my questionnaire, ask people their opinions of KLM. My reasons for doing this, as with the other airlines mentioned, are mainly to judge if I'm correct or not in various assumptions of mine, because you know what they say about assumptions...they make you look like a complete tool if you're wrong! I was right, though, most responses spoke fairly highly or at least better-than-averagely of KLM's service, which I've always found exceptionally good for a European carrier. Two people stopped to state their distaste for the monarchy; four people said that they like that the planes are blue; one person said the state shouldn't be spending so much on them (good news for you-they're a private company with the Dutch government holding less than a 10% stake); the lowest opinion I got was one person who said 'meh'; and an entire five people said one of their main associations was the Tenerife disaster, which I was surprised by. I think this is a function of me being fairly young; in my experience people in my age bracket tend to not know about it.

For those (potentially in my age bracket) unaware of the Tenerife disaster, just know it happened in 1977 and KLM has been fatality-free since. They've got it out of their system, if you will. Even if aviation weren't generally as safe as it is, KLM is a very safe airline.

So, yeah! This all chimes with the general perception of KLM and also my own, which is that they're a pretty darn good airline if you can afford them. I have a KLM trivia post coming up later, but they have quite the history and it's worth putting your feelers onto a few books or articles if you like civil aviation history, because unfortunately I don't have the space to go into a lot of their little Dutch activities in this post. This post is about one thing only.

I'm not going to give discrete ratings to historical KLM liveries, because none of them are super out there (we aren't looking at dramatic overhauls like SAS's), but I will spend the majority of the post on them. You'll see what I mean by this later, but KLM really only has something like two and a half liveries. They've been around 100 years, mind.

One thing does, first, bear interrogation. Why blue? After all, orange is sort of the de facto national color of the Netherlands despite not being in the flag, as it's associated with the royal family. That's why basically every Dutch sports team has orange kit. I cannot find an answer to this question. The best I can figure is they just liked it, because KLM has always been blue and never any other colour. Focus group testing (my survey with 50 respondents) suggests that this is a well-received choice.

Well, anyway!

Here is a chart showing the evolution of KLM's iconography over time. I have to say that I was fine with the KLM logo before but now I'm sort of miffed that they ever got rid of the 1930 one. It's by far the best-looking of the bunch and I don't even think it really looks dated. Minimalism is a curse upon the airline industry. I will admit the lighter blue is definitely more distinctive, but I just prefer the darker blue (and I think the 1930 logo would be fine in their new chosen shade).

image: RuthAS

Another thing I'm furious left their branding was their very early habit of writing 'THE FLYING DUTCHMAN' on their planes. I had wondered to myself why they don't do that before learning that they used to and later stopped. I am furious that they stopped. It is so obvious, so perfectly created for them, and they let it pass right by. Shame!!!

The stripes on the rudder, by the way, are the Dutch tricolor. I do say that I'm more okay with the overdone red-white-and-blue colourscheme when it's done by flag carriers of nations with flags coloured such, but that doesn't mean I'm not relieved that they didn't.

image: RuthAS.

The description of the above photograph on wikimedia mentions that her name was 'Pallas'. KLM names their planes to this day, though there is no one consistent scheme. Airplanes are generally named according to model, but each type gets a different inspiration - these range from birds and insects to city squares and rivers. Here's a list of the names of their planes as of 2015!

As you can see, these early KLM liveries featured cheatlines, one light and one dark blue, a white top half, a bare metal lower half, a painted black radome, and the 'KLM ROYAL DUTCH AIRLINES' name written in obnoxiously small text. This was all very standard for the time. The only really recognizable feature is the striped blue tail (see, condor? Horizontal stripes look so much better). This was their scheme for a very long time. The above image was taken in 1969, right at the end of its lifetime.

This is the same model of airplane wearing a new scheme, taken in 1972. The livery was introduced in 1971 when KLM received their first 747, which wore it.

This was the era before Eurowhite caught on, when liveries mostly made up of bare metal were only just beginning to fall out of ubiquity. I'm sure, given the context, and given the size of the 747, this was a startling vision of elegance towering over its surroundings. However, I was born closer to when KLM retired the 747 than when they introduced it, and the world is different now.

I can't deny that even now it looks impressive watching this giant roll on by. It's difficult to see from here, but one of the cheatlines still says 'The Flying Dutchman'. It's difficult to come up with better slogans than the one KLM was given literally for free and has let slip through their grasp for reasons beyond me.

I truly wish I hated this more than I do, but I think as a limited-edition or commemorative livery, or one reserved for the 747s, it would look fantastic. As a brand, I'm not thrilled, but as a variant of the brand, I like it. Keep in mind the 747 was the first wide-body airplane introduced to service and was an order of magnitude larger than anything which had existed previously. These planes are huge by modern standards, but at the time they would have been almost unbelievably gargantuan. I've always thought that while the 747 wears a lot of liveries very well the plane by itself is a bit distractingly goofy-looking, but in white and surrounded by buildings that are shorter than it they have an august grace, quietly elegant, easily charismatic, and never thinking twice about their glorious size.

(It looks pretty bad on the DC-9, though. That's not a plane which really commands awe.)

Even compared to this DC-10, the 747 is massive. But do take note of the DC-10! Around the same time as the white-top livery (I've seen both 1971 and 1972 given as dates of introduction) we saw the introduction of today's blue-top KLM livery! That's right - they did it first, as far as I can tell! Earlier than Korean Air's 1985, and definitely older than Vietnam Airlines' 2002.

For a few years they operated this fleet of half-white-top, half-blue-top. And then they made the right decision and realized this white livery would lose all its gravitas the moment it stopped being something new and special and clean and splendid that the world had never seen before.

By the close of 1977 this was the KLM livery-full stop.

I actually find this pretty incredible. KLM's livery has changed over the years, and that's what I'm about to talk about, but I wouldn't say it's ever become a different livery - just different takes on the same one. KLM is over 100 years old, and their livery is over 50. Most airlines aren't that old. KLM's livery is over twice as old as Kosovo. That is one hell of a way to stick to a consistent, recognizable brand. I admire that and I wish more airlines would commit instead of jumping between short-lived mediocre liveries.

The crown really does set the tone for KLM. It's an airline that carries itself with elegance and refuses to be stingy. These engines are clean, shiny, well-maintained, and wearing their logo. It's all executed so perfectly.

Unfortunately, I do not like their livery. It doesn't look fantastic. This is a rare situation where the 747 actually wears it worse than the more conventional tube-with-a-fin models, but that miniaturized logo replacing the wordmark just looks so tiny and weirdly placed. I hate when airlines just use the same logo twice instead of putting an image logo on the tail and a wordmark on the main body. It instantly lowers my opinion of any livery. Reoccurring elements and a consistent design are one thing and repetition is another; it's the reusing-the-same-shot-in-a-film of airplane livery design. The uninterrupted blue just makes me want to pick up a breeze-block and tear it in two with my hands. Something about the cheatline being placed so high makes me want to take a wooden dowel and beat the nearest wall with it until I have a gaping hole in the wall of my bedroom. Like, it's fine. It's not that bad. But I am going to go chew on a towel until I calm down.

Hey. Don't cry. Air Canada's first A320 delivered wearing scarf and ear warmers ok? I'm doing alright now. And while I was getting done crying KLM apparently came to my same conclusions. I'm not sure exactly when the change was made, but I imagine this livery was phased out sometime in the mid-late 80s or early 90s. It doesn't seem to be instantaneous - rather, the cheatlines have almost bled off over time, and you can find a handful of strange in-betweens.

image: Ron Monroe

It wasn't all that bad before. I was being dramatic for a bit. I mean, it looked a lot better on the DC-10, even though it still wasn't exactly fantastic. But it was never, you know, hideous.

While this gay plane may be mistaken for having landed, she is actually in the process of beginning to rotate for take-off.

I like the modernized version a lot more. I love cheatlines, this is widely apparent, but sometimes liveries just look better without them. Cheatline liveries can't really afford to be minimalist - having a big detail like a cheatline makes any attempt at this sort of cleanliness seem quite cluttered and cramped. When the blue is allowed to expand to a proper half of the fuselage it really makes the whole thing feel a lot better proportioned, and I like that they still kept a thin dividing line (though I think it would have been fine if they hadn't, too). All of a sudden this is far from glorious but it at least looks clean. I can say, with confidence, that I think this is acceptable. Not...pretty, maybe. Doesn't fill me with awe. But nothing about it bothers me except the lack of wordmark. I can live with it.

The one thing I feel obliged to point out - and I am far from the first person to say this; it even feels cheap - is that this livery looks like an amount of toothpaste. I am not bothered by this. I am a big fan of oral hygiene. Taking care of your teeth is important! And I do think it's a very nice shade of blue.

Sure, it may not be the most elegant livery in the world. It's certainly not the most detailed, but it maintains all the iconography necessary at bare minimum. It feels like a revision or evolution of the 1971 livery rather than a new one altogether, and it is impossible to mistake for another airline, and that's my minimum, really - be iconic (in the literal sense), don't be repulsive to look at. Goals met. And the white belly really adds to the whale-like appearance large planes already have, which is always a plus. Maybe it's a form of countershading?

And this would be where the story ends, but in 2014 KLM did a classic airline thing. A bunch of absurdly wealthy individuals sat down in a conference room and decided they were going to make things worse.

Now, 'ruined' is a strong word, and in this case it doesn't apply. The original livery wasn't really good enough to ruin, and the change is very very minor. But I am simply not a fan of this new iteration of the livery.

It just looks sloppy. It doesn't look intentional. It looks like a mistake.

Compare it to Vietnam Airlines, which is in the same blue-and-white-halves category and also features a curved line. I gave this livery an A and one of the reasons for that is that its minimalism is deceptive. Each detail of this livery is very deliberate, and the consistent, smooth angle of the curve, the thickness of the separating line tapering with it - these all work together to create something extremely elegant, despite the fact that if you described these liveries with words alone they might sound quite alike.

There is something so fundamentally sloppy about this localised droop. And it doesn't help that this is KLM, the same airline with those crisp white titans. I don't see what it adds, to create the appearance that your airplane's coat has stretched like an old sock until it doesn't quite fit properly. How far we've come, and how little has changed. But those changes can sometimes be tragic in their simplicity. This small adjustment has disrupted the equilibrium that had me feeling fairly neutral about KLM's livery for so long.

I have to leave it with a D+.

I fought myself for quite some time about this. There's nothing truly offensive about this livery despite the things that make me dislike it, but I just couldn't bump myself up to a C- because, above all else, I'm let down. KLM has the budget, the brand, the acumen - and they had a decent livery, too! One of the most recognizable in the world! It didn't need this change!

A lot of airlines update their livery every decade or two. I wonder if KLM felt pressured not to stagnate, if they were ashamed of keeping their livery the same year after year. But, look...if you're going to be parading the fact that you're sanctioned by the royal family of the Netherlands around you shouldn't be afraid of not looking modern.

And I'm not a fan of monarchies, but not all old things are bad. You don't need to feel pressure to change just because other people are doing it. One of the industry's biggest names shouldn't feel pressured by the trend cycle. You've taken a jacket from a thrift store and cropped it, and it looks worse now. It was fine the way it was. You don't need to touch a classic. It's a bit oversaid, maybe, but...if it's not broken, there's no reason to try and fix it.

[canichangemyblogname]

My friend got into her feels about Heartstopper. Watching the show left her with regret for what she didn't get as a queer kid. Heartstopper had her thinking about what could have been despite living in a world where it never would have been.

I spoke with her about this, and we discussed how nostalgia, even for what never was, often looks at life through rose-tinted glasses. She was searching for an ideal world that never existed, doesn't currently exist, and will likely never exist. The world of Heartstopper is entirely fictional. Nick and Charlie are far more emotionally intelligent than the average person in part because the genre and the progression of the story's plot necessitate them working through complex emotions. Young queer love doesn't usually look like what Nick and Charlie have. It's messy and awkward in a way Nick and Charlie never will be because Nick and Charlie's romance is fantasy. Real life isn't nearly as fair or kind to us. Real-life people aren't afforded the same comfort, safety, acceptance, or space these kids in this fictional show are.

And that's the saddest part about the show. The way it contrasts with reality is the most painful part.

She got choked up and, through her tears, told me that she does not even want a relationship right now, but still feels this almost intangible grief which she attributed to not having had a (romantic) relationship like those portrayed in the show. I mentioned that what she's grieving maybe isn't romance, but the lack of a robust support system. I told her that she may need a more diverse friend group full of people who can meet her emotional needs more frequently (more frequently than me). "We work together now, and that changed our dynamics. We don't meet to discuss what we did like we used to. You may be feeling like your relationships; your friendships, specifically, are unfulfilling, and may need to find more friends or build more robust community with a diversity of people." I told her that our emotional needs won't always be met in the way we need when we communicate that need, especially if our support systems are fragile or small, and that being able to reach out to lots of different people for support- a primary theme of the show- is beneficial.

There is an epidemic of loneliness among our youth, and many are throwing themselves at or pressuring themselves into romance to alleviate that pain and this feeling of a void. We often discuss building community, but now how or even if people have access to the space and tools to build that community. We often discuss the need for emotional maturity and conflict resolution but not how to achieve it so that community does not dissolve at the slightest sign of discordance. And that's why unrealistic- nearly idealistic- shows like Heartstopper can be so important for young people, namely teens. The characters don't just model representation but also emotional maturity, conflict resolution, self-care, and how to support friends and loved ones when they are most in need. The show models empathy; an empathy so many are campaigning to counteract through the demolition of DEI and SEL initiatives.

I also feel people are focusing so much on regret for a childhood entirely out of their control that they forget the messages of this show. The show is about creating a kinder and fairer world. It's about making the space for people to explore identity and be themselves. It's about having patience with yourself. It's about the hard work that goes into creating sturdy support systems and communities. It's about taking your time to learn and grow. It's about overcoming adversity. It's about acceptance. It's about how you don't owe anyone anything. You don't owe them a performance. You don't owe them the personal details of your life. And you don't owe them a justification for who you are.

And it's about how there's no timeline. Life has no timeline. Romance has no timeline. Coming out has no timeline. Aging has no timeline.

"Probably a bit late for me to have any youthful moments of discovery." "Don't think there's an age limit on those, to be honest."

Don't grieve something that never died.

[difx-writes]

Wildest Dreams - In the Death of the Night

Masterlist

After turning 10 and losing her soulmate, Marinette would imagine how Damian Wayne would be.

Would he be tall or short? Did he have blond hair or brown or did he dyed it? Would he be shy or have a bold personality? Perhaps he was an artistic soul, a poet, a writer? Or would he be a baker like her parents? Why did his last name change?

The wonders and questions took over her mind for days with no end.

On good days, she imagined how he would interact with her friends, how her parents would take him in as their own son, how he would fit into her life.

She liked to talk to him, pretending there, alive, with her. She asked his opinion on what to wear, how she should do her hair, what colors with go well with the design. He was her voice of reason. Talking to "Damian" brought a smile to her face, even when she knew she was deluding herself.

On bad days, she pretended he was right there with her, comforting her, encouraging her, whispering that everything would be alright... Sometimes it worked and she felt better the next days but most times she felt bitter, she felt robbed of a future where he was in her life.

The realization that the person she was supposed to share her soul with was no longer alive, that his death was painful, gruesome, and... lonely... It always ended with her taking a few days to prevent a breakdown...

When she turned 13, Hawkmoth appeared and Marinette became Ladybug, the hero of Paris.

Soon after, Marinette stopped talking with "Damian", she couldn't afford to wonder about him anymore. She couldn't afford the bliss of her own delusions. She couldn't afford to let herself grief and fall pray to Hawkmoth's manipulation.

As she couldn't fail Paris and its citizens, Damian Wayne mostly disappeared from her life.

But there were days when her “friends” demanded a lot from her, akumas were too violent and draining and everything was just too much, those the godawful days.

On godawful days she wished Damian was there to take her away to a place she could feel she belonged. Away from everything to a place she could call a home.

_______

Most nights Damian recalls a voice talking to him during the time he was dead.

His soulmate, he supposed, talked to him regularly, she started her day asking his opinion on her outfit for the day, when at home she would tell him how her day went, what she did with her friends, what she learned in class, etc...

At first, Damian was pretty much annoyed that he couldn't "rest in peace" with all the noise pollution but after a few weeks, he slowly started to tolerate her talking to him.

Unfortunately, he couldn't talk to her nor see her very clearly so it was a pleasant surprise when Marinette would ask his opinion to make a decision, she always picked what he chooses.

Perhaps it was their bond that allowed her to know what he was thinking without actually hearing each other's thoughts. Or maybe they were more in sync with one another. Most likely it was pure luck on her part. (Him being dead is enough proof of how bad his luck was.)

In the months he was dead, Damian learned a grand lot Marinette. He liked how she made him feel he wasn't alone, like how her voice calmed him when he remembered the family he left behind in his death. Marinette was his only lighthouse in the vast void of the afterlife

_______

Impotent, despair, and hopeless.

That's how Damian felt every time Marinette had to relive his death. He hated it so much. She didn't deserve that and it broke his heart every damn time.

Why did he have to die? Why did it have to be in such a painful way? Why did she have to feel it on repeat over and over and over again? Was it a twisted way the universe tried to make them reunited? If they can't find each other in life, then they can be together in death? That isn't right!

But it always hurts more when she wakes up and talks to him. Wondering if he was happy and in peace, in wherever place he ended up.

He was there but she didn't know.

He felt sick.

After being revived, Damian felt an immense sense of loss. Sure, he was kinda happy to reunite with his family and grateful for being alive again, but he missed her.

It was difficult to readjust to being alive again, it was crystal clear that Damian Wayne wasn't okay. What hurts him the most was how her name turned into a scar on his wrist.

During the day paranoia settled in making him always on high alert, lashing out when it got too much for him.

In the night, he couldn't sleep properly as a feeling of unease latched onto his every nerve and when he did sleep, nightmares plagued him.

Damian tried to calm down in various ways, but ultimately it was Marinette's voice that soothed him and lulled him to sleep.

It quickly became a habit to replay their one-sided conversations as he tries to fall asleep.

He went over what Marinette Dupain-Cheng spoke to him time and time again as to engrave her voice in his mind. Unfortunately, her voice was fading away, every time he recalled it, he hear his own voice.

At least some memories remained, which was relieving for Damian, even when important ones like what language she spoke or the name of her school were completely wiped out.

He never told his family his experience while he was dead, he guesses Jason was the most likely to know about it but he never brought it up to anyone, so Damian did the same.

Now he was lying in bed, remembering about the time Marinette tried embroidery for the first time.

She started by searching up what she wanted it to be and after much talking, she chose a Robin, Damian smile at the eagerness he felt for her to chose it. It was a fun day, with her making comments here and there about the work, he wishes he could see it.

A knock woke him up of his thoughts, Alfred emerging from the door.

"Master Damian, I'm here to inform you a guest will be joining us for tomorrow's dinner."

"Whose guest?" He didn't really feel like dealing with new people.

"It's Master Jason's guest."

Damian groans, perhaps he could go visit Kent.

"It would be in your best interest to participate, Master Damian." Alfred gave him a look.

He sighed, definitely can't miss tomorrow or he'll have to face Pennyworth.

So, I've written another chapter while listening to a sad song on repeat :') I know it doesn’t really connect to the last chapter but I wasn’t feeling okay and didn’t know how to continue from where I left off.

I hope y’all enjoyed this and have a nice day!

P.S.: The taglist is temporarily closed as some tags aren't working. Again, I'm very sorry if I missed anyone. If you no longer want to be tagged please hit me up.

Taglist:

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[adam-banks2024]

Bliss

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Adam steals you during a long study session to go play some hockey like the good old days.

The scent of parchment paper filled the Great Hall, along with that of fresh ink. You could see it shine on the paper if you were seated directly in front of a tall window. The most light comes through during sunrise and sunset, but at the time I’m studying, I wasn’t there during those hours. 

It was almost noon on a Saturday, but here I am, studying. These tables were a place I usually enjoyed, mostly because of the large quantities of food, but it soon had become the place that gave me migraines and a strong urge to doze off every now and then. 

Ever since I started my sixth year, the advanced potions class had turned into a monstrosity that I wasn’t sure I could handle. At first, it started with a few trips to the hall every month. Then it turned into weeks...and now I’m studying during most of my free time. 

I can’t understand why I’m struggling with this class in particular. In all of my other classes, I’m performing above average. Apparently, I just can’t get the hang of “the art that is potion-making.” God, if I hear one more uninspiring word from Snape I might jump from the Ravenclaw tower.

At this point I had been studying for at least four hours now, and I hadn’t even eaten anything that would resemble breakfast. Unless two stale crackers count. The best part about the whole situation is that I had only managed to memorize the ingredients of one potion in my whole time studying. One. So, still, I must persist. Because I do not want to spend a study hall with Snape. I let my grade fall once and suddenly I found out how awkward and unsettling an hour with the professor was. It’s not like he would even help me. He just told me to read from the book and stared at me the whole time. As much as I hate to admit it, having no time to relax was better than spending any extra time with Snape than I had to

As I reached across the table for more ink, a separate hand was already there. 

“Hey.”

 A long, dark robe hung from his shoulders, and a green and grey scarf was loosely wrapped around his neck. His cheeks and nose had a blush, while the rest of his face appeared icy. He carried a bag with him that had unorganized papers going every which way. 

“Oh hey, Adam. How’ve you been?”

Adam passed the vial to me and I dipped my quill. He put his belongings on the table and sat on the bench. 

“Pretty good. You?” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm the mess. 

“Eh. I’ve been better.” My voice was laced with tiredness and a pang of hunger. Nothing that would have been noticed, though. 

He paused for a moment and then spoke again. “What’s wrong, Snape got you down because he couldn’t meet for a study session?” 

I snorted. Me missing Snape? Yeah, sure, in his dreams. It took me a few seconds to compose myself before I responded. “No. Quite the opposite actually.” Adam hummed in response and gave a small laugh. 

Once the noise subsided there was an awkward pause. I was waiting for him to respond, and I honestly didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t had a decent conversation with the kid since the beginning of fifth year. Now we’re almost done with our sixth. I decided that maybe if I returned to my studies, he’d take that as an opportunity to drop the conversation. 

I hadn’t even gotten the chance to open my book before he cleared his throat. “Gosh, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” He leaned his arm against the table and rested his head in his palm, fingers twiddling with the feather of my quill. 

I sighed, slouching in the process. “Yeah. Social interaction has been foreign to me.” 

Adam moved his other arm to the table, resting his head in both hands now. “Well I’m glad that you were just studying and not being torn apart by the whomping willow.” 

“Haha, yeah. I think I would prefer the willow.” We both laughed, knowing that potions class was hell. Well, I assumed that he thought it was hell. 

“Ahh, don’t say that.” It looked as though he was trying to think of what words to say. Mouth opening and closing, eyes darting everywhere. He must have pieced together what he wanted to say.  “You should join me and the guys for some skating.” I shrugged my shoulders, not answering. I knew that if I entertained the idea at all then I wouldn’t be productive the rest of the day, so I decided to read over my notes to get my mind off the subject. Still, Adam persisted. “Maybe take away some of your stress?” I paused. A break sounded really nice, but could I really afford one right now, or even have enough energy? 

“I don’t know, Adam. I have an exam on Tuesday.” 

Adam stood up and walked around the table with a childlike bounce in his step. “C’mon, y/n, it’ll be fun. Just like old times.” Now he was sitting right beside me, his lip now forming a pout.

 “Well...I guess skating for an hour or two couldn’t hurt. What time were you thinking?” He pulled me up. “Right now!”

All of my belongings were still in the hall, but I don’t think Adam had any regard for that. He seemed extremely excited that I had agreed to go skating with him. Well, and other people. Obviously. It’s not like it was just an invitation with him. They probably just needed an extra player so the teams were even. Whatever the case, I was glad to leave my studies for a few hours. 

We earned glares from the portraits as we ran through the west wing haphazardly, bumping each other as we went. Giggling filled the air and it was just like it was a year ago. There was no awkwardness, no distance. It was like we had stayed in touch the whole time we were apart. I’ll have to make a mental note to not let that distance between Adam and I grow again. 

“So, this is where I leave you.” I smiled at him as I turned to enter the Hufflepuff common room. “Well, for a moment. I don’t really want to get yelled at for being in  another house.” Adam shifted his feet.

“Oh. lighten up, cake eater.” He didn’t say anything, just stared at me. “Okay fine. If you’re that much of a stickler to the rules, you can stay out here.” He gave a sheepish grin.

As I walked up the stairs to my dorm, I wondered how that kid was even in Slytherin. He follows the rules, he’s super kind, and he brightens the room. Then again, you find tons of kids who break their house’s stereotypes. 

I ended the thought as I reached to grab a coat, scarf, and my skates. It had been at least half a year since I used them, so there was no doubt that I would be a little rusty when I got back on the ice. Once I was all bundled up, I made my way back to the hall where I found an Adam Banks standing in the same position that I had left him.

He gave a small smirk as I exited. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He hooked his arm through my arm and started to tow me to the frozen lake that was above the Slytherin common room. A blush drew to my cheeks, but I wrote it off as the scarf I adorned. Thankfully he didn’t notice. He was so focused on getting to the makeshift rink that I don’t think anything could have phased him. Not even Dumbledore in a bright, pink dress. 

The trek was long, but there wasn’t a lot of snow, so that made the trip more enjoyable. As we neared the lake, I could see the other guys in the distance. I could only make out Connie and Guy because they were holding hands, but there were four other people that I couldn’t see out on the rink. 

“Who’s all gonna be there today?” I looked up at Adam. The blush on his nose was even darker now because of the cold.

“Umm, Charlie. He had the idea in the first place. Averman wanted to come too. I think Connie and Guy. And then we asked Julie and Goldberg so we had goalies.” He smiled as he spoke, his love for hockey apparent.

Adam and I had played together when we were first years, but we hadn’t really known each other then. That’s where I first learned how to even skate. While I was still getting the bearings, Adam was already an extremely skilled player. When we were closer he used to tease me about it all the time, but he eventually stopped, and then just stopped talking to me all together. Maybe that’s why I’m so excited to go skating with him. After all, there’s no better feeling than reconnecting with an old friend.

The lake was pretty bare aside from two makeshift goals on the ice, and a few benches on either side. There weren’t any blue or red lines that we would have for actual games. Just plain ice. 

“And you’re sure the lake is frozen enough?” Images of me falling through into the chilly water invaded my mind. 

Adam shrugged his bag from his shoulder, “I’m a hundred percent sure. And if I’m not, I personally allow you to punch me.”

I rolled my eyes as I started to sit on one of the benches, putting a skate on. “Wow. how convincing.” He didn’t respond, so I just laced up my skates. Looking at the other people skating around, I wasn’t so sure how good I was gonna be. It had been at least three years since I’d really played a game of hockey, and you could clearly tell that these people practiced consistently. 

I stood up once I laced my other skate, and started to make my way to the ice. Much to my surprise, my balance wasn’t awful. I could successfully skate and stop without much effort. There were still times where I would wobble or need to regain my balance, but I should be able to hold my own. 

Adam brought me a stick and nudged my shoulder. I almost tripped, but I caught myself before anything else could happen. 

“You’re real funny, Banks.” I spoke through gritted teeth, still struggling to stay afoot. He offered both of his hands out to help me gain my bearings again. To my surprise, he started skating backwards, pulling me forward. I laughed, “where are we going?”

I could see Adam’s breath as he laughed with me. “To play, silly goose.” An amused expression was painted on his face while speaking, and he gave a big smile after. I started to skate with him instead of just letting him drag me along. After a moment, he just stopped. Because physics exists, I kept sliding and bumped into him. I almost fell but Adam grabbed me by the elbows before I could drop to the ice.

When he pulled me up, our faces were only an inch or two apart. The world around me seemed to fade until it was just Adam. Neither of us had said a word, we just stood there. Staring at each other. It was in that moment when I realized the blades of my skates were slipping on the ice. I didn’t really know why, because the lake was definitely frozen over, like Adam had said. It might have been because my knees had locked

Then I noticed the slight tug on my arms. I realised I was being pulled, not slipping. I was being moved at such a tiny rate that it was almost unnoticeable. Almost. As I neared Adam’s chest, I simply stopped breathing. My heartbeat sped, and I slowly started to lose my hearing. This feeling that I was only now feeling, had it been there the whole day? At the table, running through the hall, walking to the lake. Was it there the whole time? I was just to blind to have seen it. All of the time Adam and I had spent before we lost touch, was the feeling there too? 

Once there was no more room between him and I, Adam started to part his lips. My stomach was instantly in knots, and my mind preparing myself for the moments that were to come. Nothing else was said, and Adam closed his eyes. With no hesitation, he closed the gap between us, and pressed his lips against mine. 

There were no fireworks. No sparks, no pits in my stomach. Just pure bliss, as I kissed the boy that I met in fifth year.

[yhwhsdaughter]

oh, in that chase could i get headcanons or Scenario of Deidara With a fem!S/o who is part of the royal family (of his respective nation) but it´s also (and opposite of how it has to be a princess) a ninja of anbu level and it becomes a traitor of her nation when they discover the relationship

I’m still not that far into Naruto, so apologies if Deidara is a bit ooc. Hope you enjoy ✨

𝔻𝕖𝕚𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕒 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣

As a member of the royal family, you had to abide by the etiquette that was imposed on you at a young age. It was important that, as the nation’s only princess, you act graciously.

You never found the appeal of pretending to be someone you were not, often rebelling against these royal rules.

However, you wouldn’t have to worry about these for much longer. Near your sixth birthday, an assassin would infiltrate the palace killing all members of the royal family, except you, before he was intercepted.

Left as the sole heir, you were destined to take the throne but because you were too young to rule an entire nation, self-appointed leaders began to appear. A civil war ensued, tearing the once peaceful country into shambles.

You had been sent to live with your uncle, the Third Tsuchikage of Iwagakure while the aftermath settled down.

The village was surrounded by mountain ranges, built from the same stone as those. Villagers, especially shinobi, were headstrong. They had rock-hard attitudes they applied to their lives. In fact, many of them practiced Earth Release techniques.

You quickly took an interest in becoming a shinobi to distract yourself from the pain of losing those closest to you. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism but your uncle allowed it. He thought if you used that as an outlet to let your anger and negative emotions out, you would eventually healed.

He was partly right. The events that occurred during your youth marked you permanently and would have led you into a darker, self-destructive path if it wasn’t for Deidara.

You met him through training. He was rather talented and his presence brought you peace. Deidara always seemed relaxed, even in battle, but that wasn’t what attracted you to him. It was his passion. More specifically, his love of art.

The two of you were resting from practice. “You see (Name), art is a fleeting moment of beauty that vanishes gloriously.” Though you weren’t necessarily an artist yourself, you nodded, holding your chin like a wise old man with a long beard. “Hm, art is explosive?” “Exactly!”

Being the Tsuchikage’s niece, you had more insight than the average genin. From time to time, you’d eavesdrop in conversations between high ranking nin and your uncle. “(Name) we know you’re there..” “!!!”

Your skills as a shinobi had improved dramatically throughout the years. Still, you were forbidden from joining any type of elite force as you were still an heir. “(Name)-sama, your safety is a priority. One day, you might become the next Tsuchikage if not the Queen of your country.” “Ugh! Uncle Ōnoki will never step down. He’s too proud to choose a successor.”

Deidara reluctantly let you braid his hair. He knew you were upset and knew that this was one of your most peaceful ways of distressing. Had it been someone else, he would have blown them away. “Deidara, you’re so lucky you get to join the Explosion Corps” you sighed mournfully.

The man in questioned mediated on your words. “I like using my clay sculptures in missions—” You interrupted, “They are great.” “But I want to be greater than this. I want my art to be elevated, yeah?”

Your fingers threaded gently down his scalp, giving Deidara goosebumps from the pleasant sensation. For someone who behaved rather roughly, you sure were tender with his hair. “I heard uncle talking about one of the village’s kinjutsu. It’s only passed through generations..”

Intrigued, your blond companion shifted positions to look at your face. “Supposedly it allows users to knead chakra into objects. Perhaps with your—”

It seems Deidara was thinking the same as you. “I could combine that with my Explosion Release!” He grabbed your hands, “(Name), do you know this technique hm?” You shrugged, “No. Only when I become—if I become Tsuchikage, I’ll be taught this.”

Deidara, initially excited, slumped. “That’s too long.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his change in demeanor. “Are you in a hurry or something?”

Looking into your eyes, Deidara closed the space between you both. His stare felt intimate, speeding up your heart. “If I were to leave the village, would you come with me?”

You blinked in surprise before biting your lip guiltily. “I would love to, but I can’t. As much as I hate it, my duties lie within the village and my country.”

Deidara looked down, absentmindedly playing with your fingers. He said nothing but he didn’t have to, his actions spoke louder. “Why would you want to leave the village anyways? And, how would the two of us live a-alone?”

At your naivety, Deidara stood up ready to go but you grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks. “Wait. Don’t leave me..”

“Would you be able to locate the location of the scroll that contains it, hm?” You stood up, still not releasing from. “I guess so, but why—”

“Could you just do it…please..”

Perhaps you knew from that moment what Deidara had planned but you pushed yourself to think otherwise.

As promised, you used your skills to find where the scroll was being kept before passing on that information to Deidara.

He ran his fingers up your arms before settling on your elbows. “This face.. its so beautiful it should be considered art..” one of his hands settled on your waist while the other cupped your cheek. You figured what he was trying to do and kissed him. Passionately.

It lasted a while. Before this, neither of you had made a move. There were always the longing looks and casual yet intimate touches. Everyone around you noticed the closeness between the two of you, even deciding that you’d make a good couple. “You should go to sleep.”

“Okay..” you bid him goodnight. “See you tomorrow?” He smiled, “Sure.”

It was the middle of the night when you were awoken by loud explosive noises. Some of them shook the tower in which you lived. Clicking your tongue, you detangled yourself from the covers, running towards the window.

Curses left your mouth as you connected the pieces together. “Damn him..!” He’d really done it.

You rushed to get dressed and chase after Deidara. Though you were technically not allowed to leave the village, you could sort that out with your uncle later. You struggled to put on your shoes, jumping around in the darkness with one foot while the other refused to enter the shoe.

You weren’t given the chance as shinobi filled the room. Meeting your eyes with the Tsuchikage, disappointment reflected in them. He knew. He knew that you were the one that had given Deidara the information. The two of you were practically inseparable.

Bringing your other foot down, you didn’t spare anyone a last look before running towards the window and jumping. Shinobi were quick to follow but Ōnoki stopped them. “Let her go.”

The Tsuchikage was showing you the ultimate mercy he could afford. He was never a father figure to you, he knew that Deidara was the only person left who you loved.

Besides, you were an extremely skilled nin despite not joining a special unit. It was probable you would make matters more difficult for them. Not to mention, that no one knew if you’d stolen any secret techniques either.

You tried. You desperately tried to find Deidara now that you were considered a traitor. A traitor to your country and Iwagakure. There was no use going back.

Truthfully, you were lucky the Tsuchikage allowed you to go without repercussions. Like Deidara, you were now a rogue nin without means to travel or survive.

Speaking of which, Deidara seriously considered taking you with him even if it was by force but upon further thought, he couldn’t.

You were better off without him. By stealing from the Tsuchikage, Deidara knew he’d become a traitor and a fugitive. It was safer for you to not be associated with him. Maybe you could find a prince to marry or finally become the Fourth Tsuchikage.

His heart would heal with time. Deidara would be able to forget you, your face, your mouth, your soft lips..

Two years would pass before you found information regarding the whereabouts of your beloved. Word had it that there was a bomber for hire. People’s description of this individual sounded incredibly familiar so you sought him out.

Deidara had been hired by a mysterious person. He’d been given an address to meet and discuss the deal but they hadn’t shown up.

The place was bare so it couldn’t be a trap, but as the seconds trickled by he couldn’t help but doubt. As he was about to leave, a certain figure tackled him.

Deidara had not sensed them. Were they in the room the entire time?? He could barely process this as the cloaked figure grabbed his wrist and pinned them to the side of his head.

During the struggle, the hood fell revealing the individual behind this attack. You smiled, though the anger behind your eyes was clear. “I thought..” your hands tightened around his wrists “I had made it clear that you wouldn’t leave me.”

Not a lot of time had passed but you had become even more beautiful. Deidara couldn’t help but stare. Your face showed signs of maturity; eyes sharp and those sensual lips molding into a straight line.

You had abandoned everyone, everything you knew.. for him? You’d become a traitor, a deserter, a rouge nin for his sake. Was your love for him truly that strong?

Upon spotting the tongues on his hands, you tilted your head curiously, bringing back some of your innocence.

“Well, we can work with that.”

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 6: Lesson Plan: Proper Greetings

The morning sun begins to raise over the horizon, the light peeking through space between the currents on Penny’s window. Soon Penny begin to stir and squirm until she opens her eyes awaking to a new day. She pulls out her cable and starts stretching until to realize her scroll was still in her hand. She had never let it go even in her sleep. She unlocks it to find a notification, she’s got an new message! She quickly checks through her recently received file and finds it, her new lesson plan. The content of lesson plan wasn’t anything too complexed was relatively the same with a few more topics added and some topics were expanded on which made it a bit easier to understand. Everything seemed normal until Penny looked at sent time.

3:26 am he was awake and messaged her at 3:26 am, a time when most people should be sleeping especially a growing teenage boy. This revelation hits Penny with a wave of guilt and worry. Had he stayed up to work on her lessons? Did he go to sleep after or did this disrupt his sleep schedule? Did he get enough sleep after or did he sleep at all with his schedule interrupted? These thoughts whirl around in Penny’s mind her guilt only growing with every new question.

Penny: If he’s awake right now he would have only slept three hours and four minutes. And that’s only if he fell asleep immediately after sending this which is highly unlikely.

Penny continues to fret over the matter for while until she realizes that, one she’s getting behind schedule, and two her scroll battery is on 25%.

Penny: How is this so low? I thought I plugged it in last night-

It then dawns on Penny that she had only plugged herself in last night and forgotten to do the same with her scroll during her freak out. Knowing she couldn’t waste anymore time she plugs it up then starts getting ready. By the time she’s got her boots secured her scrolls only at 40%. She’s running out of time, with no options left she does the only thing a kid In this situation can do. She opens her bedroom door and worriedly screams down the stairs to her dad.

Penny: DAD! MAY I USE YOUR PORTABLE SCROLL BATTERY PLEASE? I FORGOT TO CHARGE MY SCROLL LAST NIGHT AND I DON’T HAVE TIME TO CHARGE IT BEFORE I HAVE TO LEAVE FOR PATROL!

Downstairs in the kitchen Pietro hears her screams and chuckles at his little girl’s little mistake then shouts back a simple “OF COURSE!” then resumes he previous task of making breakfast. Meanwhile he can hear her running around upstairs, trying to herself ready in a rush. Soon she’s running downstairs and into his room to find and grab the portable charger then she runs through the kitchen, giving Pietro a quick hug and kiss before heading towards the front door. She does slow down a bit as she unlocks the door.

Penny: Sorry Dad but I can’t eat breakfast with you today, I’m running behind schedule and if I don’t leave for my post immediately I will be late and the city will be unguarded. I have my plate for dinner tonight so you don’t have to make me anything else. I’ll be home at 10 pm if there’s no changes in the schedule or emergencies. See you soon I love you bye!

And with that Penny’s out the door on her way to patrol and protect Mantle. When the afternoon comes it’s time for her lessons and she’s off to the station, on a train up, into the car, and on her way to the Schnee Manor. Upon her arrival Penny is immediately taken to the dance studio where Whitley is waiting for her, standing in the center of the room holding a large book. A manor maid stands watching from the corner of the room. She walks over to Penny takes her bags and returns to the corner as they are about to begin today’s session.

Whitley: Good Afternoon Ms. Polendina, are you ready to start your first lesson?

Penny: Absolutely!

Whitley: Good. Since today’s our first real lesson We’re starting with one of the easier subject in etiquette, first impressions more specifically how to greeting effectively. Now most wouldn’t think that something as simple as greeting people could require any further explanation then what to say and when to say it. But for the elites of Atlas a greeting is a means of making an impression, one that can establish your presence, personality, and to some degree pedigree.

Penny: But how can a greeting communicate so much about a person?

Whitley: Well I could give you a dissertation on the topic but I believe this would be best explained through example.

Whitley walks pass Penny and towards the door, before she can question him he turns around and puts his right index finger up a mere few inches from her face silencing her. He points behind her at towards the ballet bar.

Whitley: Turn around and walk towards the ballet bar.

Penny nods then turns and walks towards the bar. She’s about two feet from the bar when Whitley tell her to stop and stand still.

Whitley: Look into the mirror and say your best greeting, then I’ll tell you the impression you give off.

Penny: Okay.

Her best greeting? Outside of the usual hello, good morning, afternoon, or evening Penny only had one but she had been told it was very cute and it as of recently it had always made people smile. She looks into the mirror, puts her feet together, salutes herself, gives a sweet smile , and says her favorite word in the world.

Penny: Salutations!

The maid in the corner starts laugh, a bit amused by Penny’s actions, but catches herself and coughs to mask it. Whitley, however smirks then gives Penny as small round of applause. From her posture to her salute to the smile on her face and the bubbly way she spoke, everything was the same as that night. For a moment Whitley feels a pinch in his chest but he don’t acknowledge it and moves on.

Whitley: Very nice, your posture is perfect and your smile is sweet and welcoming. Judging by the salute you use this primarily on the citizens of Mantle while you’re on duty, yes?

Penny: Yes but only recently. Before I was stationed in Mantle I used to greet almost everyone I met this way. Some were a bit perplexed by it at first but after awhile they began to like me and we became friends. Others really enjoyed my mannerisms and would smile back and greet me in return. But since I’ve been in Mantle I used it when I have to address large crowds but sometimes I still do it when meeting some…one..new…like….

Whitley: Like when you met me?

Penny: Y…yes.

Penny looks down trying to hide her now flushed expression only to realize that impossible because the wall sized mirror in front of her. She covers her face with her hands, completely defeated.

Whitley: As for the impression, your posture and usage of a fairly uncommon and formal word like “salutations “ hints at your high intelligence, good manners, and a cultured mind. It would come off as a bit stoic and cold if not for your cheery smile and tone of voice, those elements combined conveys the idea of you as a sweet, bubbly, intelligent if not studious girl. And with addition of the informal salute you project the image of the sweet young military prodigy, well trained intelligent but so endearingly nice and sweet no one could possibly find her threatening. A very good first impression.

Penny: You could tell all of that from one greeting?

Whitley: Yes, mostly do to my understanding of body language but that’s a something we’ll go over another day. Right now our focus is teaching you how to greet properly.

Penny looks perplexed by this statement, Whitley just described her impression in a positive way so what was there to improve? What could be wrong? Penny turns around to face him.

Penny: Was there something wrong with my original greeting?

Whitley: Yes and no. The impression is great for you and the investigation , you’re demeanor does make you seem rather naïve and innocent which makes in more like that others assume the same and be less guarded with you then they would be someone like General Ironwood or an average soldier. They’d more likely speak more openly and freely around you making gathering information much easier. It would all be perfect if it not for one small thing.

Penny: Which is?

Whitley: That little salute of yours while adorably patriotic makes your motives painfully clear.

Penny: Really?

Whitley: Yes, it just screams “I’m a sweet little agent of the military sent to investigate your illegal activities!” Anyone with even a hint suspicious about you will notice and use it to discredit you. Which is the exact opposite of what we want to happen.

Whitley continues speaking while Penny looks down at her feet dejected, she had never thought to downplay her loyalty to the military . It had always felt natural to her that she show a great deal of respect as the military was the reason she existed. Her body, her restoration, her home, the energy that powered her, even the clothes she was wearing were only allowed to exist because the military approved it, so how could she not give her respect to the system that allows her existence? so how could she not show her gratitude for the gift of life they afford to her? The idea of not doing so made her feel ashamed and ungrateful but if she don’t she might compromise the entire investigation and ruin they’re chances of getting the project back on schedule. And if the project wasn’t done in time then both Mantle and Atlas….The whole world could be…could be.

Whitley: Ms. Polendina! Are you listening? Can you hear me?

Whitley’s voice pulls Penny out of her fearful thoughts. She had been so lost in own mind that she accidentally ignored him. She looks down again embarrassed by her conduct.

Penny: I can hear you. I am sorry I got distracted.

Whitley: (Sighs) Just don’t let it happen again. Now what I was trying to say that this easy issue to fix. All you need to do is change your motions and pose then it’ll be properly effective.

Whitley walks towards her and Penny turns around to face him. He opens the book he’s been holding to a specific chapter and hands it to her. The book is about first impressions the chapter was on the importance of posture and posing in changing one’s demeanor with detail illustrations and instructions on how to do different types of greeting poses.

Whitley: Look through these and find something you can use to substitute for the salute. Then you can practice until we find one that suits you.

Penny nods and looks through the book, is very expansive having information on greetings from over 100 years ago to around 30 years ago. There was also details on cultural and situational poses for different regions and times of day. Penny finds a illustration, a man with his hands behind his back and his chest pushed out, and recognizes the pose. It was the same posture General Ironwood used almost every time he gave a speech or briefing and would have her do the same if she was standing next to him during. The familiarity makes Penny feel sort of comfortable so she turns the book around and shows Whitley the page.

Penny: I’ve done this one before whenever I stand next to General Ironwood during certain event I have to mirror his posture so I have plenty of practice. It should be relatively easy and look much more natural.

Whitley: Alright, let’s try it.

Penny gives Whitley the book back, turns around, straightens her stance, puts her hands together behind her back, and repeats her greeting.

Penny: Salutations!

There’s a pause as Penny waits for a reaction, meanwhile Whitley is absolutely stunned and the maid is trying her best suppress her laughter. Despite her enthusiasm, Penny’s pose had not conveyed the same “ strong and respectful” image that Ironwood did. Rather she gave off a very “tiny girl trying to look all big and tough” impression. Whitley hangs his head and sighs.

Whitley: That was….an attempt. But it’s still not right, keep looking.

Whitley hands her the book again and Penny starts searching through it again, she stumbles on another familiar pose, a curtsy a formal greeting that was common back in the times of lords and kings. Thinking a classic might yield better results Penny give the book to Whitley and tries again this time with a curtsy. She puts her right behind her left planting the ball of her toes on the floor the bends her knees, holding her skirt on both sides as she bends down.

Penny: Salutations.

When she bends back up she see Whitley looking through the book again. He turns back to the chapter on greetings again and hand off the book. Before she can ask what went wrong this time Whitley speaks first.

Whitley: Good execution but it’s too submissive. While you need to appear non threatening and a little naïve it should never to the point of appearing submissive. In high society submissive stances like are reserved for the service staff, the simple minded, and the easily abused. If anyone with large ego or cruel attitude see you like that they’ll waste no time in destroying your self esteem and self worth for their own sick fun-(yawn)

Damn it he thought he had enough coffee that morning to prevent this but he had been wrong. Not wanting to look weak in front of her Whitley tries to cover up his yawn with a cough but it’s too late Penny had noticed. She looks at him, eyes full of worry and shame, she knows why he’s tired and it hurts her to know her lack of knowledge had cost him sleep but there was nothing she could do about it now except worry. Whitley, knowing he’s caught, tries to give a simple excuse so they can move on and get back to the lesson.

Whitley: Apologies, the afternoon fatigue must be getting to me. But I think I’ve shaken it off so let’s continue with-

Penny: You shouldn’t push yourself.

Whitley: Excuse me?

Penny: You’re young and still growing, you need to take care of yourself so your body can mature properly. That includes getting 8 hours of sleep every night so your mind and body will be well rested and is necessary to keep you healthy

Whitley is a little shocked by her words, it’s been a long time since someone worried for his health like this. It felt odd but not unpleasant to know that someone chose to care for his well being. But what was unpleasant was look on her face. Her smile had been replaced by worried frown and she keeping looking down at the floor like a child about to be scolded. Why was she acting like she did something wrong? Whitley ponders on what it could possibly caused it but he didn’t have much to go on. They hadn’t known each other long and their direct correspondence had been limited to yesterday and the message he se-the time stamped message he sent at the ungodly hours of the early morning. Had she notices the time and blamed herself for it? How immature, he thought that being an associate of Ironwood’s she’d be use to workaholics and how they work but once again she had surprised him. He shakes his head and sighs.

Whitley: Thank you for your concern, but we have more important things to do right now. Let’s focus on our task and keep looking.

Penny nods and they continue with the lessons. They find more poses to try but non have the same flare as her signature pose. After many failed attempts their session almost over, Whitley pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration while Penny is searching through the book, determined to find something that would work. She finds a section on greetings for knights, soldiers, military officials. One paragraph catches her attention.

Penny: Commonly used by knights and soldiers, can be used in both formal and informal occasions and between both higher and lower ranks. There are several variations amongst different social class due to the common use of the same gestures. It coneys a person’s strong spirit and kind heart due to the familiarly of the motions.

Penny, have had a spark of inspiration, close the book and hand it back to Whitley. This surprises Whitley and he returns his attention to the situation, focusing on Penny whose already walk back towards the ballet bar. When she’s at good distance from the mirror she smiles at her reflection then she straightens her stance, placed her right fist over the left side of her chest, and tilts her head a bit to the left and lifts the edge of her skirt with her left hand to add some flare.

Penny: Salutations. My name is Penny Polendina, it’s wonderful to meet you!......How was that?

Whitley is once again stunned by her actions. It was perfect, formal enough not to be leered at but still gave off the sweet non threatening demeanor they were looking for. He had thought this would take a few more days before any true progress was but she proven him wrong. He smirks then walks to her.

Whitley: That was very good Ms. Polendina. It’s just what we’re looking for, how did you come up with this?

Penny: I got from the sections on knights and soldiers, one of the greetings list was one for all occasions and had many variances amongst different classes so it seemed the more practical. So I used the stance and gesture from the knights pose then add some parts from young lady the variant to make it look gentler.

Whitley: Well aren’t you a clever one, you’ve done well today. And since you did so well you shouldn’t have may issues with your next lesson.

Penny: I promise I’ll do my best.

Suddenly a low ringing sound can be heard. Whitley reaches into his pocket and pulls out his scroll, it’s the schedule app notifying him that they’re time is up.

Whitley: It looks like we finished just in time, you need to get to the car soon or you’ll miss the train, Julia see her to the car.

Julia: Yes Young Master.

The maid Julia takes Penny’s things and walks to the door and opens it. Penny walks to the door and retrieves her belongings from Julia, thanks for holding on to her things for her.

Whitley: Have a good day Ms. Polendina.

Penny: Thank you, have a nice day. Oh! And if you have trouble sleeping chamomile tea with two teaspoons of honey can act as a sleep aid and help lower stress levels.

With that she leaves the room with Julia and Whitley is left alone. He leans against the ballet bar and smirks. That girl, and here he thought he might be wasting his energy on her but she proved him wrong. Not only had she been cooperative and pleasant, she had learned quickly, adopted to the situation and when a problem arose she found her own solution. Her execution of each augmented greeting was excellent despite not yielding the desired result and not once had she gotten frustrated or asks to take a break or quit all together. And to top it off she was worried about her instructor’s health and well being, Hmm what a hardworking student. Whitley gets another notification this time alerting him that he’s lessons starts in a few minutes. He puts his scroll away and heads off.

.

.

.

It’s almost sunset and Whitley has just finished the last of his daily tasks. He’s leaving the library and heading to his room when a butler blocks his way. He looks up at the butler Niles and stares at him indignantly.

Whitley: Evening Niles. What do you need from me?

Niles: Good evening Young Master. Master Jacques has called you to his study.

Whitley: (monotone) Wonderful.

Whitley turns around and begins walking towards Jacques’s office. After a few steps he notices Niles following behind him.

Whitley: I know the way to his study Niles, I don’t know to be shadowed.

Niles: Yes Young Master.

Niles bows then leaves, while Whitley heads towards his father’s study. After the long walk around the manor to Jacques’s study Whitley finally makes it to the study door. He knocks three times waits, after a few seconds Jacques gives him permission to enter. Whitley opens the door and steps inside where he’s greeted by the sight of his father sitting at his desk looking over documents.

Whitley: He’s still working , so this isn’t about punishment then. Good evening Father.

Jacques: Whitley.

Whitley: Niles said you called for me.

Jacques: Yes, I wanted an update on the military hound..

Whitley: Oh! Well, we just had our first lesson today and she did surprisingly well. She completely the lesson before the session ended and left for work immediately after.

Jacques: Hmm, any odd or suspicious behavior? Asking any invasive questions, looking around for documents?

Whitley: While she has shown some interest in things around the manor it’s been one of a child like curiosity. She looks at this place like a kid would a castle and besides being a little awkward and nervous she behaves fairly normal.

Jacques: That’s reassuring but still, keep an eye on her. She could just be waiting things until she makes her move.

Whitley: Yes Father. Will that be all?

Jacques: Yes that will be-Wait, one more thing.

Whitley: Yes?

Jacques: She needs to start going to events to investigate the suspects. I need you to find something soon so we can speed this deal up.

Whitley: Of course Father, I actually already have a few feelers and should have a suitable event earmarked in a few days.

Jacques: Hmm, As expected your always prepared. You can go now.

Whitley: Thank you Father, have pleasant evening.

Whitley exits the room let’s put a sigh of relief. He disliked being in his father’s study as he was only ever called there for a two reasons, one was to receive new orders or tasks and the other…..Whitley holds his left bicep and shutters. No… it would do him any good to think about that other reason right now. Right now he needs to focus on fulfill his new task, he takes out his scroll and continue his search hoping to find something before midnight. After an hour or so he stumbles upon something….promising.

[honeyhan-123]

The Artist ~ I

Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.

Warnings: None for this chapter but smut will be present in later chapters

Pairings: Steve x reader, Steve x Bucky

AN: I meant to post this tomorrow but I realised today was Chris Evans’ birthday as well as @jtargaryen18​ who inspired me to start writing so I decided to post it early in celebration. This is also the first chapter of my entry to @that-damn-girl​ pride writing challenge. I would like to say a massive thank you to @imanuglywombat​ for the absolutely stunning moodboard and @magdaleneruth​ for being an awesome beta! 

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He couldn’t believe it. 

Even watching the flyer hang from the board on the wall with his own two eyes, Steve could barely remember the conversation with Nat that led to this moment as he was sat on a bench outside a classroom for the first time in eighty years. 

He hadn’t drawn seriously in decades, probably since before the Battle of New York. The rest had just been little doodles, here and there. Nothing really came from it. But here he was  standing in the doorway of a studio, ready for a life drawing class. 

Steve couldn’t understand the nerves racking his body—he was Captain America for crying out loud, he’s been in far worse situations than attending an art class. 

Why on earth couldn’t he bring himself to walk through a silly little doorway? He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft delicate voice. 

‘Excuse me...’ He was pulled from his thoughts by a voice, soft and delicate. His head snapped to the left, his jaw drifting slightly ajar as he took you in. ‘Are you headed inside?’ You were dressed casually, a warm jacket over what was clearly a man’s button down shirt and your jeans had little doodles on the rough denim canvass. Little splats of paint here and there coated the entire look.  Steve didn’t know quite why, but he was immediately enticed. 

‘I - uh, yeah. I am, sorry I’m in your way.’ He hastily moved out of the doorway, gesturing for you to enter first but you didn’t make a move as your eyes clearly sized him up and he was thankful he had pulled the dark blue baseball cap low over his brow. It wasn’t much in terms of a disguise but that paired with the thick beard that coated his jaw made it harder for the average person to recognise him.

‘Is this your first drawing class?’ You framed it as a question, but it was clear you already knew the answer.

He nodded a little sheepishly. ‘How could you tell?’

‘You just seem a little nervous. Don’t worry, though. It’s really not as scary as it might seem. I remember when I first signed up, I was terrified that someone would say I wasn’t good enough for the class. I could barely keep my hands steady. So, naturally, that turned out to be one of the worst drawings of my life but no one said a word. You have nothing to worry about - you don’t need to prove yourself here.’ 

‘Anytime, but if you are going to come in I suggest you do it sooner rather than later. Madame Maxine absolutely hates tardiness and it’s nearly seven.’ You gave him a small but genuine smile before you excused yourself, your hips swaying slightly as you walked through the doorway and over to an easel. 

He let out a sigh of relief when you’d left - it gave him some privacy to hype himself up and quiet the inner critic screaming his anxieties.Taking a steadying breath, he followed your footsteps and headed for an unclaimed easel towards the back as the rest of the class made idle chit chat, clearly all familiar with one another as they readied themselves for the lesson.

He rolled out his shoulders before sitting on the small stool, pulling his sketchbook and set of charcoal pencils from his satchel. It was a mixed media class and Steve watched in awe as some people set canvases up on their easels, their palets already covered with various colours of paint. 

He felt woefully underprepared with his worn leather bound sketchbook and collection of pencils, but it was how he had always drawn. His mother had barely been able to afford the splurge for real drawing pencils, nevermind paints or canvases. 

There was a portly man standing in the corner of the room stretching his muscles this way and that, and he figured this must be their model for the day. Most of the drawing Steve had done in the past few years had been of inanimate objects, it was much easier than asking one of his many busy friends to sit still for a few hours as he drew them. If he’d felt more in the mood for a portrait, he generally used photographs as a reference point, so having a real live model would be a nice change.

A few more minutes passed before an elderly woman entered the room. Her hair was grey and her curls frayed out in every direction from the messy bun she has tied it in. She wore a green and yellow bandana around her face keeping her hair away and a matching flowy dress with a dark blue half apron tied around her waist. Immediately, Steve knew this woman had to be Maxine. 

She clapped her hands together, drawing the class’s attention as she neared the front of the room. ‘Good evening, I am Maxine Winnefred and I will be your instructor over the next few weeks as we explore the human form. I recognise some of you from my Summer course focussed on the true form of still life in fruits and flowers, and I would just like to say it’s lovely to see you all again.’ She smiled as her eyes rested on those who must be the familiar faces. 

‘To the new faces in the room, there are a few things you should know about me.While I do understand everyone has lives outside of the art world, tardiness remains unacceptable as a hard and fast rule–especially where live models are concerned. Secondly, whether about your own piece or someone else’s, I will not stand for any negative thoughts. We are all here to learn and the only way you can truly achieve that is with a positive mindset. If you feel negatively about a particular piece of yours, you must think of it as a stepping stone. What did you do wrong? What can you improve on next time? The human form is incredibly complicated and it may take a while getting used to if you’re not familiar with it.’

‘Since you have all elected to pay for the entire course, if for some reason you are unable to make it to a session, I also run a Thursday night class. You must call me and let me know that you will be attending that class as I will need to make sure there are enough easels and stools. I will hand out my number at the end of class. Are there any questions?’ 

Although it had barely been five minutes, Steve could already tell he would enjoy this class, especially being under Maxine’s tutelage. She had a no nonsense air that was rare to find in the art world and despite this being a fairly casual, once a week type of get together, Steve knew she took her work seriously. She wanted all of her pupils to be their best. 

The room fell into silence as her eagle eye flickered around the sea of faces. When moments had passed in silence, she continued. 

‘This is Jerry,’ she held her arm out, becaning the man over. ‘He will be our first model. We will be drawing him for the first two weeks, once with clothes and once without, we will then move onto our next model and the same process will follow.’ Everyone nodded their heads in understanding but Steve felt his cheeks flush slightly. He had known that there would be nude models and he knew that it was all purely professional but still… the small kid from the forties never would have even thought about doing something like this. 

‘Right. Jerry,’ she clapped her hands again, eyes locked on just where her model would go in the scene. ‘If you could please get into position A, we can get started. To the class, we’ll have him sit for an hour and twenty minutes. Then another hour after that with a break in between. Somewhere in there we’ll have a vote on whether or not we would like to see a new pose or the same.’ Maxine checked the time as Jerry found his seating on the lone stool in the front of the room. Once he was in position, she prompted the class to begin.

Although he’d been wanting to avoid detection, Steve was deeply regretting choosing a seat so far from the front. On the surface level, his better than average eyesight would be acceptable - and yet, being the perfectionist that he was, he wanted to get up and close with Jerry. He wanted to be able to mark every tiny blemish on his skin, every line of sadness or laughter.

Steve sighed to himself before he picked up his HB pencil, getting to work on his main outline. He hadn’t been working long when he felt a presence at his shoulder, peering over at his work. He’d just finished the vague outline of Jerry’s clothes and the stool beneath him when she spoke. ‘Back in my day, it was considered rude to wear a hat indoors, Mr…?’

He had to at least try and hide his smile over her words, being at least forty years her senior. 

‘Just Steve.’ Quickly he swiped the cap from his head, placing it down in his satchel on the floor. ‘I’m sorry ma’am.’

‘That’s okay son, just don’t let it happen again.’ She gave him a small smile before setting off, perusing the pieces of the other artists and Steve got back to work. 

+

His neck ached from the awkward position it had been contorted to for the past ninety minutes. He could feel the muscles in his hand beginning their protest. It had been a long time since he’d drawn so intently and he wasn’t used to it quite yet.

He stood from his stool, stretching out his back as he did so, wandering over to the small table of refreshments after a few moments. He swiped a lemon biscuit from the tray, catching sight of you from his periphery. You were gesturing wildly as you chatted up an older fellow. Your face was the picture of sincerity and Steve couldn’t help but smile as he eavesdropped. 

‘One of these days you have to teach me your shading technique, Albert. The way you make a simple shadow have so much depth and colour is incredible,’ you gushed.

‘So long as you teach me how you do the detail work around the eyes. Whenever I try, they just come out looking blank!’ he shot back with a smile on his lips. 

‘It’s a deal.’ You held your hand jokingly Albert took it, shaking it vigorously as you chuckled. Feeling his eyes on you, your head quirked in Steve’s direction and you quickly excused yourself.

Steve tried to busy himself and pretend that he hadn’t been caught awkwardly staring at you but your footsteps were growing closer by the second.

‘So? How are you feeling, newbie? Not as daunting as you thought, huh?’ There was a small teasing smile playing along the corner of your lips and Steve couldn't help but laugh along with you. 

‘I really don’t know why I was so nervous, but what you said… Well, it really helped. So, thank you for that. I assume you took Maxine’s summer course?’ he asked, trying to make conversation.

‘Yeah, it was a fruit and flower class, plus I also took her winter human form class before that. I fell hard for portraits, so I just knew I had to take it again this year.’ Steve nodded in understanding, taking a class this way was the perfect opportunity to work on portraiture. ‘And what about yourself? I may have snuck a peek at your easel. You have an incredible eye from what I can tell. How did you capture such detail in only pencils?’

Steve felt his face heat as he took your compliment. ‘I’m honestly not quite sure, but I’ve had a lot of practice. Growing up, I was bedridden more often than not and my best friend used to come over and sit with me for hours. I probably know his face better than my own.’ He felt the familiar pang that echoed around his heart every time he thought of Bucky and those days that stretched into nights when all he would do was stare at the other man, trying to capture his beauty on the page. Steve forced himself to shake off the memories to try and keep his tone light. He hadn’t intended on saying something so personal but there was just something about you that made him want to let down his guard and that was dangerous. 

‘Really? You were bedridden?’ Your mouth gaped slightly and Steve couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes danced slightly down his body. ‘But you look so perfect now - I mean, uh. You look… You look very healthy.’

He smiled, trying not to laugh as dread coated your face. He’s reminded so much of the man he left behind all those years ago…the boy in the back of the car, driving through Brooklyn, although he had to admit, you were far cuter than he had ever been.

‘How long have you been painting for?’ Steve tried to brush the conversation away, he liked talking to you just as a fellow artist and he wasn’t ready for you to recognise him. ‘You’re very talented.’

‘Oh, it’s just sort of a hobby that I do in my spare time. I went to uni and got an Arts degree, but you know how it goes. It only gets you so far in the real world.’ 

‘If you’re not an artist, what do you do for a living?’

‘I’m a secretary at a law firm.’ He nodded trying to maintain control of his thoughts. Being a secretary wasn’t a filler job for a woman any more. Not like it had been in his day. ‘You?’

‘Oh…’ The question took him completely by surprise and his mind went blank. He needed to think fast. ‘I uh… I work for Stark Enterprises. I’m on his PR team.’ Steve tried to justify it in his mind as it wasn’t a complete lie he was a part of the PR team. Plus, he couldn’t have said he was a scientist or something. It would have been clear he was lying if you asked him any type of even remotely science question. 

‘Ah, maybe that’s why you look kind of familiar. Are you a part of his press conferences?’ 

Steve nodded, feeling his throat start to tighten. He wasn’t ready for this to end. Call him selfish but he didn’t want this to end. For someone to treat him as he was, rather than who he was. He hadn’t felt so at home with himself, with someone else, in a long time.

He was saved from further interrogation by the chime of a bell. The ten minute break was up. The group had already opted to keep Jerry in the same reclined pose, so he quickly found his position and the class returned to their sketching. 

While Steve tried to keep his eyes focussed on his drawing, he couldn’t help the constant flicker of his eyes over to where to sat, paintbrush in hand, looking like one of the Greek Muses. 

He only prayed you were one of the merciful ones. 

+

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[madam-whim]

!! for the tesblr ask, how bout 19 or 10?

♥ @reachfolk

Thank you for asking! <3 I decided on 10 for this one! So, here’s how my LDB Rienn made her first friend in Skyrim, who also became the best friend she ever had.

__________________________________________________

Last Seed wasn’t the coldest of months. Farkas knew this. But this was still Skyrim, and Oh, I’ll be fine was not what he wanted to hear from a fragile-looking woman who was currently planning on sleeping on one of the benches surrounding the Gildergreen. Outside. Alone. Even though it was still summer, there was a chill in the air that never really seemed to go away, and with the sunlight now gone for the night, it would hardly get any warmer. The woman simply had to know this, and yet...

He usually tried to stay out of other people’s business, but this? This was certainly not fine. Farkas was a man who went with what his gut instinct told him, and it had served him well so far, despite his brother’s repeated attempts at convincing him to “think things through”. Right now, said instinct was screaming at him to help this stranger, who kept insisting that she was alright. Farkas did not believe her for a second.

Maybe it was the way she was dressed – her boots and cloak had seen better days, and the dress she was wearing hardly even fit her. Perhaps it was borrowed, because while it would probably fit a Nord woman of average height and size, it hung loosely on the stranger’s frame and was long enough for her to nearly trip on the hem whenever she took a step. Maybe it was the haunted look in her eyes that made him doubt, or maybe it was that she looked exhausted. One way or another, she more than likely needed help. Or maybe just directions.

“You should really get out of the cold”, Farkas advised her. “It’s only going to get worse until the sun comes back up.” But the stranger only shook her head. “I’m from Bruma”, she said in a small voice, “I can handle a little cold.” Farkas nearly laughed out loud at that. “That’s still in Cyrodiil, though”, he argued. “It’s different here, colder. The wind feels like you’ve been cut with a blade sometimes, if you can still feel your face, that is. And you’re… not dressed for the weather. Also, you’re not a Nord.” At least she did not look like one. More like an Imperial. Or a Redguard, maybe. She seemed to be just about as stubborn as every Nord in existence, though, because she just shrugged, even though she didn’t sound as confident as she probably meant to when she answered. “I’ve had worse”, she claimed.

That was still not even close to what Farkas wanted to hear. Most people who decided (or were forced to) sleep in the streets at least had the common sense to choose a more sheltered spot. And while the stranger did look like she’d had a rough few days, she didn’t look like a beggar. Not like someone used to being out here. Farkas still hoped she was just a bit lost.

“If it’s a place to stay for the night you need, the Bannered Mare’s your best bet”, he tried in another attempt to talk her out of possibly freezing to death. “You must have passed it on your way up here, it’s hard to miss.” “I did”, the stranger replied, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. Then, she sighed. “Look, I’m not stupid. I’m not from around here, as you know. I don’t know much about this place, but I do know I don’t have the coin for the inn. So, the bench it is. It’s got a brazier next to it, so I won’t freeze. Probably.” She still tried to appear confident, but Farkas didn’t miss the insecure look in her eyes. Those were… strange, he’d noticed. They were a shade of brown that seemed almost golden. Maybe that was common for Imperials? He had no idea. He had bigger problems on his hands anyway, like making sure the stranger didn’t die. “So you’re saying you came to the city knowing you had no coin, and still chose to spend the night here?”, he asked with a raised eyebrow. She had said she wasn’t stupid, but that meant she had to have known this wouldn’t work out. “I didn’t plan to be here”, she muttered, defensive. “I didn’t expect to be stuck in the Jarl’s keep for as long as I was, and by the time I got out it was too late to make it back to Riverwood before nightfall. Just my luck.”

At that, Farkas paused. He had overheard some of the guards talking about a messenger from Riverwood earlier, one who’d insisted to see Jarl Balgruuf, claiming to bring news from Helgen. And then there were the rumors about dragons… The Companions had heard about them, of course, half of Whiterun had been talking about them, but if Helgen had truly been destroyed by such a beast, if the rumors were true and this woman knew something…

“Are you the one who brought news of the dragons?”, he asked, lowering his voice just in case someone walked by. The woman just groaned. “Oh, fantastic. Let me guess, the entire city has heard about it by now? Look, I really can’t tell you anything, I promised the Jarl I would keep this to myself until they’ve figured out how to deal with those things. He says he can’t afford a panic right now, and who knows what he’ll do to me if he finds out I’ve been telling people about what I’ve seen?” “Alright”, Farkas sighed before settling on the bench the stranger had been planning to sleep on. This was going to take a bit of convincing, not that he was surprised. “Sit with me.” The woman hesitated for a moment, but then joined him. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. “Now”, Farkas continued, “look straight ahead. See that building?” “The one that looks like a boat turned upside down?” “I… suppose”, he muttered. He hadn’t really thought of it that way, but now that she mentioned it… But now wasn’t the time to think about the shape of the roof. “That’s Jorrvaskr, home of the Companions. Do they ever tell you about us down in Cyrodiil?” The stranger nodded. “Yes, but I haven’t heard much. The Nords in Bruma sometimes tell stories, that’s all. The Companions are similar to the Fighter’s Guild, from what I’ve gathered. Is that right?” “To be honest, I don’t know what the Guild is like”, Farkas admitted with a grin. “As for us, we fight, sometimes for glory and honor, sometimes for the good old septim, and then we drink and swap stories. You won’t find better warriors in all of Skyrim though. So if the Jarl has a dragon problem, he’ll be coming to us sooner or later. Might as well tell me about it now.”

The stranger turned to really face him, as if considering whether she could trust him. And then, suddenly it was as if a dam had been broken, and everything the woman had tried to keep to herself simply bubbled to the surface. “Can’t really get into more trouble than I’m already in”, she muttered. “So fine. Yes. There are dragons out there. Or at least one. I… barely escaped Helgen with my life when it attacked.” There was a story there, Farkas just knew it, but he didn’t interrupt. If he wanted to gain the woman’s trust, he’d have to let her speak. “The people of Riverwood helped me when I got there, and in exchange I was asked to get the news to the Jarl”, she explained. “But he doesn’t have any idea on how to defend the city either, and his court wizard is equally clueless, just… very enthusiastic, and now they want me – me – to go look for some artifact in a barrow on the off chance that it might tell them something useful, but there might be undead there and I’ve never held a sword in my life, and how they got the idea that I’m the right person for the job simply because I avoided being burned to ash is beyond me! I wanted to become a bard, not… not monster food!”

As she spoke, her voice rose and for the first time, she didn’t seem lost anymore, just desperate and angry. That was understandable, Farkas thought – after all, she’d barely survived a dragon attack and now she was being told to risk her life for something that could still turn out to be worthless. “Well, we might be able to help with the barrow problem, at least”, Farkas offered with a smile, but the stranger only rolled her eyes at him. “I still have no coin. Or do honor and glory suffice as payment this time?” She sounded almost bitter, Farkas thought. This was the voice of someone who hadn’t experienced much kindness lately, which was reason enough for him to offer it freely. “There’s enough honor in helping to defeat a dragon for most of us”, he shrugged. “Come on up to Jorrvaskr with me. They’d let you stay the night too, if you tell them how you escaped Helgen. That should make for quite the story. They’ll be entertained, and you, my friend, will no longer be cold.”

He rose, and to his relief, the stranger followed suit. “Beats sleeping under a dead tree, I suppose”, she sighed. “That it does. The name’s Farkas by the way.” “Rienn.” “Well then, come on, Rienn. Oh, and once we get in there… Don’t mind my brother. He pretends to hate everyone at first, that’s just how he is.” “That sounds… reassuring”, Rienn said, but there was a trace of laughter in her voice, and for now, that was good enough.

[benjimirthursby]

"See How They Run. (FFXIV Write Prompt #4 "Baleful." - The Book of Thursby: Scions of Numenor.

“Fate takes a deposit against one’s life. You get the deposit back afterward, or apply it to the next one.” - Katryn Vaunter, “Personal Logs.” The all consuming glow faded. The ground met Bandia’s feet. But the hand pressing on the small of her back remained. As the Aetheryte plaza in Ul’Dah came into full focus she instinctively turned to the right looking for this errand boy of Tatania brought her too, only he wasn’t there. “Madam Sulistian.” her escort said curtly to her left, startling Bandia enough that she jumped in fright. Recovering her indignity cast a baleful glare at the middleman. “Will you please. I have had quite enough of this.” She spat at the man. “Have you now? My heart bleeds. I weep for your inconvenience, and could you demonstrate more tact in speaking aloud than you do your mode of dress. Let us away from here and it’s many eyes and ears.” The man gripped Bandia’s arm with enough force to brook no resistance from Bandia. He lead her out of the Aetheryte plaza and towards the city gate beyond.

As they neared the gate their progress was halted by a caravan from the merchants' district departing under escort. The escort consisted of a pair of riders at the front and others interspersed between wagons, all making open show of the arms the bore. Many of these riders wore patches of a white tree on a black field. Volunteers and militia from the Scions of Numenor. Others displayed the more stylized winged sword and tree icon of the Thursby Company. The courier became agitated as the riders and wagons kept him from the Chocobo porter beyond. Bandia took no pleasure at the sight either. Her rivals had gained greatly as caravans escorted such as this and for her part she could not manage to secure contracts for escorting or the goods being transported. It was maybe the chief reason she had consented to working with the Umberbreakers. “Twinkinrykers.” Bandia muttered. To her surprise the courier nodded and his expression hardened at her saying the name. “Best not forget that either.” The caravan having passed, he continued with Bandia to the porter. “Where are you absconding with me to now?” She asked bitterly. “Noplace thankfully. I am returning to my duties. You however are to return to your business and make ready to assemble the next shipment of Linkpearl sets. I will return with to exchange the companies pearls for our own in a week. Good day miss Sulistian.” With that the courier turned for the porter from whom he rented a Chocobo and he rode away. Bandia considered if she had made a mistake in becoming part of these peoples plotting. But spying the lingering end of the caravan her resentment of her rivals in business was stoked again and she cast those reservations aside and returned to her quarters.

*******

Thirty miles north of Kugane and by design the caravans from the port split into several sections and rode toward different destinations. Each retained a mounted escort. Pitched attempts to extort the caravans, much less overt attacks, had almost ceased over the past year thanks to the efforts of contract escorts. The largest of the groups from the convoy to Kugane was escorted by the Sons of Numenor. The guards were newer, less seasoned and most felt their purpose had largely been filled when attacks by people had ceased. As such the normal routine of scouts and guards riding on ridgelines had fallen out of practice. Drunken Garleans were the most dangerous thing seen in months and easy to see coming. Sober raiders keeping discipline went unobserved. Such was the case again tonight. A pair of riders concealed themselfs, making careful notes of the composition of the escorts. They would break-off once the convoy reached the village ahead and report to their commander in Kugane. *******

Following dinner, Aubreen forsook the Bokaisen Onsen for the more exclusive, traditional Crystal Spring. A considerable walk beyond Bokaisen, it was still segregated by gender. Private suites afforded couples and the working men and women space for rendezvous. The springs themselves were cultured stone and built decades prior by a retiring warlord. The men and women’s springs each had views of the port miles below. The distance ensured the cliente were not the average sailors and relationships of situational convenience.

For the uninitiated an Onsen could be a condensed and unnerving experience. There were kindred experiences in other regions, and anyone serving in uniform learned to lose modest quickly enough. But the tradition steeped details and freedom from distractions could focus people on their insecurities. This began with bathing in a traditional open room with the female patrons. Katryn was far from a prude by any measure, but she never failed to feel more self conscious as she and Aubreen disrobed and placed their cloths in the small baskets which would sit in the dressing space outside the bathing room.

Women were similarly unclad and using the flow of hot water spigots to bathe before and after entering the hot springs themselves sitting on the small stools around the edge of the room. Aubreen and Katryn occupied two of these and as was common enough between them, washed each others hair. The Crystal Sky provided the customary towels to its patrons. The towels were little more than washcloths in size. Not large enough to fully wrap around a waist much less also cover one’s upper body. Each patron had their own traditions of using these towels according to their sense of modesty. Those senses ranged from preserving some modest with wrapping some of one’s body, to folding the town and placing it on ones head to keep it from falling in the water.

Aubreen and Katryn shared the practice of walking their towels in-hand, rolled. They took their time and selected a quite corner of the least occupied springs in the women’s half. Half or more of the women bathing moments ago had proceeded to couples suites. Only a few women had taken to the other spring pools. Aubreen observed Katryn looking around as they sunk into the water. “Were all of those women leaving? I did not think there were many suites here?” Katryn asked. “Guild women mostly, a few women of independent standing.” Aubreen explained. Katryn looked surprised. “Working women you mean, they have a guild?” she asked. Aubreen nodded. “I do not use the term but yes and there is a guild. They have considerable influence in the merchant and hospitality trade here.” Katryn pondered and shook her head. “I’ve never considered such work in the sense of being business, I couldn’t see myself doing that.” She said. “Of course not.” Aubreen said. “Because you have had a path laid before you since you were born. Mind your thoughts though. When you unjustly judge another's station in life, fate has a habit of booking a ticket to the same place.” she finished. Katryn nodded, her eyes focused on her lover as she spoke. But Aubreen’s eyes were affixed on something on the dark horizon. A great shape was dimly backlit by the crescent moon’s light. The airship was a massive, nonsensical mass in the shadows. “There is our mystery contact from yesterday.” Aubreen said. Katryn rose some in the water and looked out. “He’s not alone” She added. Aubreen stood and walked to the end of the spring pool. Like all of her blood, her sight was manyfold better than Katryn’s. “Gunships. The Garlean variety we have been seeing. Also, four smaller vessels, walker skifts.” Aubreen reported. Katryn could not see the could not see the smaller vessels and so sat back into the water her own eyes fixing on Aubreen as she turned and walked back to her. Intimate activities were expressly not allowed in onsens but she allowed herself the privilege of observation for the moment. Aubreen smirked and sat near her.” “Log and report it tomorrow. Where were we?” She said.

“You are saying we are fated to be what we are?” Katryn asked. Aubreen shook her head. “Sometimes, yes. I think we choose to live. In doing so we make a covenant with the great mystery and its sovereign.” Aubreen said. “So some have purpose but not all?” Katryn asked. Aubreen shrugged. “Some find their purpose, or make it. Others have it thrust upon them. Be it by happenstance or design.”

“So we live more than once?” Katryn asked.

“We can, but do we? That again is a choice. In my races’ tradition it is possible but not obligatory. “ She looked at Katryn inquisitively, wondering what was pressing on her mind to be on about this now. “Your own race does too. Many faces, many names but always them.” Aubreen said.

“By that do you mean Benjimir?” Katryn asked Aubreen.

“It does.” She said.

“Does he know?” Katryn followed-up. “Not that he has demonstrated but I believe he has begun to suspect. He had despaired for years before Haydaelyn. No sense he would have a chance to contribute a chapter to the long Thursby story. That sat ill with him. But Dalamud. And over these past six years he senses his purpose for this life.” Aubreen said.

*******

Xyncalla approached Wayng Chun’Chunyt.at the ally near her rickshaw. “The tacky woman was taken. Ul’Dah if I had to guess but that is not my department.” She said. In his even and almost expressionless tone Wang nodded and commented. “Too many elements to reconcile. We need a primer to be able to read these tea leafs.” “I was able to learn the entire Onsen was secured for this evening.” Xyncalla reported. “Umberbreaker?” Wayng asked. “Scheer.” She told Wayng. He nodded. “Very well. It would suggest he commands the beast, it is putting into port as we speak.” He paused. “Return to the Onsen. Find favorable means to know whom is there tonight and what business is conducted. I am off to present my card to the Commodore. We may not have chance to meet again for a time.” Wayng ordered. Xyncalla nodded. “At once. Light’s path Wayng.” She said. “See with the Crystal’s eyes my friend.” Wayng said, bowing his head slightly.

******* The rented Chocobo trailed the caravan from Ul’Dah until it reached the first village beyond. Leaving it with the porter he withdrew his own mount from the village stables he resumed following the caravan studying it and the escorts protecting it until satisfied. He turned back for the village and by it’s Aetheryte plaza jaunted to Umberbreaker compound many miles away.

*******

Wayng sat quietly in the lobby space of the Onsen. As Aubreen and Katryn emerged from the change rooms he stood up and approached the women. With a slight bow he presented a small card with his name to Aubreen. “Well met mister Chu’chunyt. Captain Vaunter of the SNS Andustar.” she said to Wayng. Katryn clicked her boot heels with a smile and bowed. “Your servant captain.” Wayng said. “The beast has returned mister Chu’chunyt.” Aubreen said. “Yes commodore. My observer has made me aware of a gathering of officers and a member of the Umberbreaker clan in Kugane this night.” He reported. “Miss Duskarie?” she asked Wayng. And paused in thought and continued. “I would ask you to have her join us in Tondera Hall, but first may I ask you to have her see what more she can learn of this meeting?” “It has already been so ordered Commodore.” Wayng answered.

“Excellent. We sail for Ul’Dah at dawn, report to me aboard Andustar. We will await you there.” Aubreen said.

*******

Tatania Umberbreaker favored making her briefs with a certain amount of professional decorum and subty. An onsen bought-out for his officers were neither professional nor proper. If she knew he would not overstep his boundaries given her family name, Fleet Legatus Lucium Scheer was a creature who insisted on the full measure of entitlement his rank afforded him. Her orders were to return the Umberbreaker compound which had the function of ensuring she would not linger. However she did not have time to maneuver around this. Knowing this Scheer had ensured the customary separation of genders in the onsens did not apply as he held court

in the main spring pool with his officers. Tatania strood from the bathing room to the steps of the spring pool without any sign of self consciousness. Scheer and the commanders of the escorts accompanying the airship Ascendancy were already soaking in the pool awaiting her arrival.

The officers managed to suppress crass comments and cat calls but their lingering eyes conveyed their sentiments. “We are graced with your presence Lady Umberbreaker.” Scheer said with a smile. “Can your men breathe under water or do you stand periodically so they may kiss your arse Lucium?” Tatania said and walked into the spring pool to and sunk into the water to mid-chest depth, leaving her towel at the ledge. Tatania ignored the officers entirely and locked eyes with Scheer. She fenced with Scheer, arching her back or rising in the water daring him to shift his focus. Above them in an ornamental balcony feature, concealed by shadow and the night, Xyncalla looked listened intently the next two hours as Tatania and Scheer traded crass barbs between discussing dispatches and orders for the Ascendancy. She found it excellent theater.

*******

Some forty miles outside of Kugane the largest of the caravans escorted by the Scions of Numenor reached its destination. A small village, hit hard by the actions of the off duty Garlean troops from the consulate guard in Kugane. Merchants had only begun to restock their wares, trusting in the Scions to protect their orders. The eldars saw to the distribution of food stuffs sent gratis by the Thursby Company. The escorts remained mounted, circulating up and down the wagons. This had the effect of keeping off-duty Garlean troopers from nearing the caravan save for two whom newly arrived were sauntering toward a wagon when the hands of their sargent gripped their shoulders. A stern look and shake of his head sent them back to the pub entrance where several others chastised them as they approach, making off-handed gestures to the Chocobos and their riders.

*******

“Wayng is not a veteran of uniformed service and has not led a naval battle before. However his analytical prowess is extraordinary. “ Aubreen said to Katryn as she drew a large finely crafted wooden box from her sea chest. “He is to be commissioned then?” Katryn asked carrying the courier envelope to the chart table. “Yes,” she replied, taking the envelope and placing it atop of the box. “He has several bright prospects that could serve us well at need and Benjimir is adamant that we improve our intelligence stance.” A knock on the stateroom door concluded their discussion. Answering the knocks Katryn opened the door and welcomed Wayng Chun’nyte into the quarters.

“Good day captain,” said as he stepped in. Bowing his head he greeted Aubreen. “Commodore T’Subaki. Reporting as ordered.”

“Enter, welcome aboard the Andustar. Tea?” Aubreen offered as Wayng joined her at the chart table.

“Please. “ He answered.

Katryn stepped to the serving table near the main chart table. “Sugar?” she asked

“Yes, one lump please.”

Handing Wayng his tea Katryn joined them at the chart table.

“Xyncalla has resumed observations in Kugane, she will report as she learns more about the Garlean.” “Very well. It is well you are able to join us for this crossing to Ul’Dah there is work to be done.”

“Orders?” Wayng asked. Aubreen gestured to the box and courier envelope.

“Take these dispatches and report to Admiral Thursby at Tondera Hall. For yourself, take these. This is my personal set of wargaming pieces and such.” Wayng seemed surprised. He took a moment to open the hinged lid to the box and viewed the contents. Placing his open hand over his chest he bowed his head. “You honor me with this.” Wayng said. “You may thank me by making good use of them. From among your dispatches you will have returned to you scenarios which I want you to begin to work through. Report your results to the admiral, he will review them and complete your training as we have discussed.”

“By your command.”

Katryn flared her brow but chooses to discount the comment. “Anything further commodore?” Wayng asked. “Not at this time, we will speak further during the crossing.” Aubreen replied.

“I will take my leave of you then ma’am.” He said and bowed his head to Katryn. “Excellent tea.”

“Good journey Wayng.”

“Safe journey commodore. Good night.” Wayng bowed slightly and carried the box and dispatches to his quarters.

Katryn replaced the tea cups for the cabin steward to take from the serving cart.

“You will not be training him further?” She asked Aubreen. “Not directly, I am aligned with Benjimir in that we need to build our own domestic source of skilled war and strategic planners. Wayng is part of that plan.” Aubreen replied.

Aubreen sensed the uncertainty in Katryn, another rising star within the chain of command might cause that. “Peace my dear. As we spoke of today. Yours is a different path and true to only you. Let us make ours for tonight to bed.” Aubreen kissed Katryn and led her to their quarters.

*******

Aubreen’s personal journal would later reflect that she fell into a deep sleep that night. In the early watches aboard Andustar her mind was filled with a dream. As her vision began she found herself walking down a green slope below a great hall of white stone. The grass was cool on her feet and moist with morning dew. The hall seemed to stretch beyond the horizon to the north and south.

The slope led her through trees and down into a morning haze until the great hall seemed to loom above her as if set on a cloud. Finally she came through the mists to the edge of a narrow stream. Beyond and high above the fog on the opposite bank was a hall of very great size but entirely different form. On the opposing bank a shadow grew in the fog. Slowly it emerged from the vail. The form was of a woman, dark long hair, limp in posture and head seemingly looking about. The face was yet undefined in Aubreen’s vision and if she thought she felt she recognized it, clearly it knew her. As form came free of the fog it’s shoulder stiffened and head rose at once. A hand rose, palm extended. It began to wave as the vision ended.

Aubreen rose in bed. Choosing not to disturb Katryn beside her, she drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. A gentle, contented smile formed on her lips, but also a slight tear in her eye. The dreams were visions of peace and beauty. However with the beauty came sadness. It meant her gift of foresight had returned.

******* https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865591

[dessarious]

Broken Harmony Pt28

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

Master List 1   Master List 2    Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

“Mlle. Bourgeous.” Chloe and Marinette stopped talking when Bruce addressed her. She straightened back up, defaulting into her original demeanor. It was a front when she felt threatened, similar to his if he was honest.

“M. Wayne.” Her tone held wariness and Damian could tell she was expecting a less than warm welcome. He wasn’t sure if that was just because it was what she was used to or because she was expecting it from Bruce specifically. Marinette rubbed the girls back soothingly and he caught the confused look that passed between her parents. 

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” No one expected that least of all Chloe. She physically recoiled and looked about ready to decline but Marinette spoke up first.

“I’d really like to catch up if you don’t have any other plans.” The poor girl looked like she’d woken up in an alternate dimension. Apparently that lost look moved Marinette’s parents enough for Sabine to go into mom mood. She walked up to Chloe and put an arm around her shoulders.

“We’d love for you to join us” Tom gave her an encouraging smile and she looked like her brain melted.

“Okay.” Before she could think about it or reconsider they were all seated in the dining room. She still looked extremely uncomfortable but didn’t appear to be ready to bolt anymore. She was situated between Sabine and Marinette and kept inching closer to the latter as if afraid Sabine might turn on her. Given what she’d said about being a bully he could understand why.

“So Marinette have you given any thought to what school you want to transfer to.” He watched his soulmate blink in surprise at the question before her cheeks turned pink.

“No actually. Between making your gifts and talking to the ‘not sisters’ there wasn’t a lot of time. Besides, I’d like to get to know Damian better first because I have a feeling he’ll go with whatever I want but I want it to be a school he actually likes too.”  The boys awed over her sweetness while Damian rolled his eyes before Dick hooked into the other thing she said.

“Wait what do you mean ‘not-sisters’?” Damian scowled before answering.

“Babs decided to hack into Marinette’s computer so she, Steph, and Cass could see her.” The boys erupted into complaints that the girls got to meet her first but Bruce just let out a sigh, running his hand down his face in annoyance. “I told them it was an unacceptable violation of privacy, and that holds for you lot as well.” He pinned each of his brothers with a glare, lingering on Tim.

“I feel insulted that you believe we would resort to such tactics.” Tim’s words were only met with another glare. Bruce stepped in before it could go further.

“Marinette is Damian’s soulmate. They will decide what safety measures to take and we will abide by them. They do not need our interference or meddling. It will also be up to Marinette to decide what she wishes to share with us.” He stared down each of the boys in turn but also lingered on Tim.

“Oh come on, you act like I’m the only one who does research. Besides you’re the one that asked me to clone her phone.”

“You did what?” Damian’s voice was soft but the other boys flinched. Bruce just gave a tired sigh.

“I figured there were things on it Marinette would want later so I had Tim clone it so we could give the actual phone to the police but she would still have everything. After what happened tonight I think we can all agree that giving them the only copy of that harassment is a bad idea.” There were nods and grumbling from around the table but Chloe turned to Marinette.

“What harassment?” His Angel’s cheeks flushed pink again.

“It’s really nothing. They were just getting out their frustration.”  Her words had the effect of a bomb going off. Denials were shouted from almost everyone present. Damian was fairly certain he heard Jason muttering about getting his guns while Sabine said something in Mandarin that almost made him blush. It was Tom that let out a piercing whistle to get everyone’s attention. His wife shot him a surprised look but the rest simply dropped their grumbling to a reasonable level.

“Sweetheart, Bruce showed us those messages before he left last night. That’s not frustration. They were threats and worse and you didn’t do anything to deserve them.”

“Can I see the messages?” Everyone seemed surprised by Chloe’s request.

“I don’t see how that could possibly be a good idea.” Bruce’s words pushed the girl back into her ‘holier than thou’ mode. Damian could practically see the superiority dripping from the girl.

“Because I know them and unlike Marinette I don’t have a romanticized view of those losers. I can tell what is out of character or not and tell you the likelihood of them acting on those threats because I’d be willing to be not all of the are idle. If I’ve learned anything about Rossi it’s that she’s capable of getting people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise. The only people she hasn’t managed to corrupt in some way are Marinette and myself. Adrien knows she’s a liar and she still somehow got into his head enough to make him think this is acceptable and that Mari is the problem.”

Marinette was frowning in thought while the boys tried to dissuade Chloe from wanting to look at the phone. Damian could tell they were just putting her back up more but didn’t see anyway to fix that so he just stayed silent.

“She’s right.” Everyone was silenced by Marinette’s soft words. She looked at Bruce and they could all see the pain in her eyes. “Chloe has both an inside and outside perspective of the situation that’s invaluable. I’m too close to the situation and you’re all too far away. Chloe’s the best bet we have to stop anyone from doing something foolish and making things worse.” 

Damian watched as his father contemplated her words. His brothers just looked at each other. He had a feeling they were trying to come up with another argument. Marinette’s parents were both oddly blank so he had no idea what could be going through their heads. Chloe was just staring at Marinette in shock. She obviously didn’t expect anyone to agree with her.

“Thank you.” The words were soft but the feeling behind them made Damian think they weren’t just meant for this one instant. 

“Tim, give her the phone.” Tim looked like he was going to argue but Bruce’s face made him think twice about it. “We can’t afford to leave resources on the table right now. If Marinette is willing to trust her then that should be good enough for the rest of us.” Tim gave an annoyed grunt but did hand over the phone.

Chloe made sure to angle herself so that Marinette couldn’t get a look at the screen, which Damian was grateful for, before unlocking it to look at the messages. The more she read the more shocked her expression became before turning sickly. He had a feeling she got to the one with the detailed suicide instructions. She handed the phone back to Tim looking a little queasy. 

“I’d say the immediate physical threats would come from Alya, Adrien, and Kim. The rest don’t seem likely to take action on their own, but it won’t stop them from ganging up on Mari or trying to intimidate her through texts and social media.”

“Why those three?” It sounded like a normal question but Damian could tell Tim was using it as a test. Chloe sighed and rubbed her temples.

“Kim used to think he was in love with me and despite my showing no interest and being a bitch actually thought he had a chance. Judging from the tone of his messages he’s transferred that infatuation to Lila and she’ll use it to her advantage in any way she can. The idea to go after Mari would come from her but it would be Kim that’s the most likely to act on it. Adrien…” She paused and looked to be holding back tears. Marinette put a comforting hand on her arm and she took a deep breath before continuing. “His messages are extremely possessive. It’s clear that he considers Mari his property and is not going to react well to her leaving or doing anything he hasn’t approved of. As for Alya, she’s the most volatile. She’s always been brash and jumped into things without thinking but with Lila there to stoke the fire and aim her negative feelings I’d say she’s the most likely to get akumatized and go after Mari beside’s Lila herself.”

Damian had to admit she made a good case and given the interaction last night with Adrien he knew she was right about at least one of them. Marinette was right, Chloe would be a good asset in this battle. Tim looked like he wanted to argue but Damian caught his eye and shook his head. None of them knew these kids well enough to contradict Chloe’s opinion.

“What do you think Angel?” Marinette started a little at his question before looking at Chloe. The two simple stared at each other for a minute before she gave a  small, tired sigh.

“I trust her judgement. I know she’s right about Adrien and as much as I don’t want to believe it of the others my judgement is compromised and I know Chloe’s head for politics makes her more observant and analytical than the average person. If that’s who she thinks is a threat then they are.”

He could tell how much it hurt her to say those words and admit that people she once considered friends were a threat. He wrapped an arm around her and she leaned into his shoulder thoroughly drained. The rest of the table was murmuring about precautions and threat levels but he just wanted to concentrate on his soulmate and offer what comfort he could. It was actually kind of peaceful. That didn’t last.

“Little M! I didn’t expect to see you here, how have you been?”

Master List 1   Master List 2    Prologue   Beginning   Previous    Next

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Thanks for all the positive responses! Here’s the tag list I’ve go so far. If I missed anyone let me know.

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[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 20

"Welcome to your life There's no turning back Even while we sleep We will find you acting on your best behavior Turn your back on mother nature Everybody wants to rule the world

It's my own design It's my own remorse Help me to decide Help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure Nothing ever lasts forever Everybody wants to rule the world"

Tears For Fears – "Everybody Wants to Rule The World"

Erik watched Maria down a shot of tequila and squeeze a sliced lime into her mouth. He sipped on a glass of ginger beer and watched the festivities aboard Le Sirene, Stark's 456-foot-long custom-built yacht. Scalloped sides, silver and turquoise accents and large glass facades gave panoramic views inside the interior. Sailing off the coast of Malibu, the balmy air and fresh smell of seawater relaxed Erik.

Stark spared no expense to wine and dine the interns. Everyone around Erik were in various states of good humor, ecstatic thoughts of the future, and varying degrees of sobriety.

Athena accepted a job with a completely different company in Paris.

Giselle would start a mid-level position in Stark's New York offices.

Valentina accepted a generous package with Stark in Los Angeles under the thumb of Janine.

And Maria…she had two top Stark Industries choices. Stay in Los Angeles with Valentina, or take an opportunity to work for Stark in D.C.

Only fifteen percent of the interns were offered jobs with Stark. The fact that all off his female friends received the careers they worked so hard for pleased Erik to no end. He was also looking forward to being right next to Tony. As soon as Happy from security gave him his new clearance, Erik had access to offices and buildings within the Stark sphere of influence.

Once he was removed from the interns, Erik spent two weeks shadowing Pepper Potts. She informed him that she would guide his transition into more of a junior assistant role. Erik liked Pepper's directness. She wasn't a fun person to hang around. Her tight lips and tight ass personality hid a core rooted in needing to keep the world around her extremely organized. Erik recognized the signs of obsessive behavior. He had it too.

Pepper was easy to read and she seemed to be irritated with Erik's relaxed stance around Stark. She dug into him during a lunch meeting the two of them shared.

"You need to be the one to keep Tony grounded. He's really just a big kid in a candy store and even though he is brilliant, he is also very brash. Impulsive. The key to doing the job right is to keep the riff-raff away from him and make sure he stays focused on the task at hand. He doesn't need another sycophant. Everyone wants a piece of him, so don't be afraid to be rude or abrupt. You and I will be in direct contact and I will be in charge of your itinerary with Stark daily. Any changes that need to be made go through me first."

Pepper always regarded him with a bit of detachment and triple-checked his work often. After two weeks of realizing that Erik was more than capable of handling Tony as her junior, she let up a bit. Just a tiny bit. Erik had to adjust to how he would stomach those other looks she gave him. Looks that always made it seem like she pondered how he was in Tony's orbit. This Black kid with the genius I.Q. and Oakland attitude. So many overly pedigreed interns and Stark chose Erik above all of them. A guy not even out of his teens yet.

Erik also learned another little tidbit about Pepper.

She was annoyed with Devika.

Maybe not annoyed…more like jealous.

The two women maneuvered around each other professionally. But more than once, Erik caught Pepper giving Devika catty looks when she was in Stark's inner office. This piqued Erik's curiosity even more, making him want to know what type of relationship Devika really had with Tony. It made Erik's stomach hurt sometimes to think that his boss had been with his girl in that way.

His girl.

Erik's eyes swept over to the open bar on the yacht's third deck as Devika picked up a champagne flute and tipped the glass against one of the female interns next to her. Prior to coming on board the luxury boat, Erik spent the afternoon with Devika at a café looking for an apartment for him. A basic one-bedroom in a decent neighborhood close to work was averaging three thousand a month.

Money wasn't a problem. Stark made good and gifted Erik with a hefty players fee from the poker game. Erik sent portions of his winnings to his relatives and banked the rest. He could afford a fancy apartment or even a condo himself if he wanted. But spending the night with Devika made him want one thing: to be with her.

He whined to her about having to spend a grip of money in a hotel and hinted that he would look for a roommate situation to ease him into a new living situation. He already had his belongings in her apartment and they were now sharing a bed. He wanted to stay with her during his fellowship. But she was concerned about Tony finding out about them. He was too chickenshit to ask outright if he could live with her hoping she would suggest the idea herself. She didn't.

Erik watched Pepper approach Devika and as the two women spoke to one another, he moved to the other side searching for the man himself. Jazzy tunes were piped in throughout the yacht and Erik tried to go where he last saw Tony.

A wet kiss on his cheek caught him off guard and Giselle's face came into view as she slid around him.

"You're real quiet tonight. Everything okay?" she asked.

"I'm good. Just looking for Boss Man."

"I never got a chance to properly congratulate you on your fellowship. Stark was right about you. From Day One. You were the man to beat."

"You haven't done so bad yourself."

"New York, baby!" Giselle squealed. She closed her eyes and did a little happy dance, "They loved my work with the Expo and I was a good fit for his team out there. I am over the fucking moon. I am going to kill out there."

Her eyes glinted with endless possibilities and Erik caught a glimpse of Tony walking toward him.

"Stevens."

Giselle slipped away from him to join a raucous group dancing in an open space. Tony handed Erik a glass of champagne.

"You missed my grand going away speech," Tony said.

"No, I heard it. I was just up here. Taking it all in."

"This is just one of the many perks of doing what I do. Showing appreciation for everyone giving their best."

"Do you ever get bored with it? I mean, all this," Erik said glancing around at the grandeur and all the decadence.

"Not really. When I was younger, I used to get bored…not with the money, but with the same packs of roving cliques. Money is never boring. Rich people? Yes. Money? Never. I just learned how to spend my money well and surround myself with interesting characters."

Erik drank from his glass and Tony moved closer to him.

"Pepper says you are ready for the big leagues. It's going to be quite a shift from being an intern."

"I can handle it."

Erik followed Tony around the ship, and as the night progressed, he longed to be alone with Devika and just watch a corny movie. She flitted around, and the yearning grew in his heart. It was a new feeling for him. Wanting a one on one. Athena and Giselle were open to him having a goodbye tryst with them, but he wasn't interested, and that shocked him. Turning down exceptional pussy? An abomination in his previous life, but now…

The black sheath dress Devika wore shimmered with tiny crystals at the hem. And she wore the heels that he loved fucking her in. Her hair was tucked into a loose bun on her head and she decorated her forehead with three dark green bindis. He followed her to the starboard side of the yacht and her eyes looked startled to see him come upon her as she stared at the dark water below them.

"Hey," he said, allowing his shoulder to bump into hers.

"Hi."

"You look nice."

"Thanks," she said. Her eyes darted behind him to make sure they weren't being watched.

"I'm on my best behavior, don't trip," he said giving up a bit of space between them.

"I needed a little break from the action," she whispered, folding her hands on the railing she leaned on.

"Pepper and you have been chatty Cathy's."

Devika's eyes narrowed at the sound of Pepper's name.

"Devika, be honest with me. Did you and Tony-?"

"No."

Her tone was curt. But her eyes were soft.

"I didn't cross the line with him. Not all the way. I was…I was really young when I took this job. I was also really good at it. Tony took a shine to me, but it was just an excellent working relationship in the beginning. But shit happens. Late hours. Last-minute trips to exotic places. Billionaire crowd. Working for him is both surreal and astounding at times. The people that he has on speed dial? You would be shocked at who I have called up out of the blue for him."

She took a deep breath and exhaled.

"I had a huge crush on him and he has always been attracted to me. We've had dinners together that had nothing to do with work. There have been times when I could've allowed us to cross the line, and I didn't. Then I met my fiancé and my life changed. Pepper is in love with Tony, and she hates that he still feels something for me even though there is nothing between us."

She turned and looked at Erik.

"I had an emotional connection to Tony and I ended it for the sake of my career. My dignity too, I guess. I look at Tony as a boss and a friend. Pepper hasn't found a balance for her feelings, and we sometimes butt heads."

"Does he still want something with you?"

"I don't think so. He was happy when I first got engaged. Maybe it was a relief for him."

"Does he feel anything for Pepper?"

"I don't think so. She treats him like a child. It annoys him a lot. I think it's why he blows her off a lot. But she is good at what she does so he puts up with her scolding. What's it like for you working with her?"

Erik looked out at the water and gripped the railing with his hands.

"Annoying as fuck. But I'm used to people like her. She doesn't like that I'm not invested in the gig as much as she thinks I should be."

"If you're not invested, why do it? You should go to M.I.T."

Her words made his chest hurt.

"You don't want me around?"

"This has nothing to do with me. God, I hope you didn't take the job just to be around me."

She laughed but then stopped when his face stayed neutral.

"Erik, seriously, you took the job for your future career, right?"

"I have a lot of reasons to take it. You were part of it too."

"Oh…Erik…"

Her eyes dropped away from his.

"Devika…"

"You have to make life choices that benefit you and your dreams."

"I'm still figuring that out, but you're a big perk."

She reached out and rubbed his arm.

"You are so sweet."

"I'm not trying to be sweet, Devika. I'm tryna be your man."

The words not only shocked her, but they made him tumble back from the railing. The champagne had him loose-lipped. Too loose.

Her eyes regarded him with quiet understanding.

"So sweet," she said.

He watched her lean away from him as if she were leaving him. He grabbed for her hand and pulled her toward him.

"You heard what I said, right?" he asked.

"I did."

"You like me, right?"

"I do."

"I wanna be with you. Not just friends."

"We should slow down."

"What?"

His neck tilted to the side.

Hours earlier they had been in her bed and she had whispered crazy things in his ear that made him feel invincible and so grown up. Was she playing him for good dick?

Two weeks of sharing her home together, making him feel like they were a legit couple, and she was standing there telling him they should slow down. He tasted sour spit in his mouth and the muscles in his stomach felt tight.

"You need to focus all your energy on being the best you in your new position. Don't get caught up with me and lose track of your future."

"Caught up?"

He could barely get the words out of his throat. Her words sounded like she was patting him on his head like he was a cute puppy that she no longer wanted to play with. He felt his lower lip tremble and he stepped further away from her.

"Erik…"

"I gotta get back to Stark. I'll see you later."

He felt a little wobbly as he searched for Tony. Once he found him, he stayed by the man's side and finished the evening on his motorcycle by the pier the yacht was docked at. Instead of returning to Devika's condo, he took a room at a Hilton hotel and drank up the liquor inside the minibar.

His cell phone rang and when he checked it, Devika left several messages for him. He called her back at three in the morning after a good hour of sleep.

"Where are you?"

"A hotel. West Hollywood."

"Why?"

"Why? You told me not to get caught up—"

"Erik, you know what I meant."

"I heard what you said."

"Come back here."

"Why should I?"

"Let's talk—"

"We're talking now—"

"Get over here."

"Why?"

"I want you here. Your stuff is here."

"I'll get my stuff later."

"What I said to you earlier…I wasn't trying to be mean. I was being honest with you."

"I don't want to slow down."

He could hear an exasperated sigh in her voice.

"Erik, I'm trying to make you see what I wish someone had told me when I was younger. I'm not trying to hurt you."

"I want to be with you. We get along. You know that. Tony won't find out about us—"

"We need to talk in person—"

"It's late. I'll come over when I check out."

He hung up.

Lying on the hotel bed nude, he stared at the walls.

An hour ticked by.

"Fuck."

He jumped up and put back on his silk shirt and slacks. Throwing on his dark biker's jacket and helmet, he hopped on his motorcycle and roared out of the hotel parking lot.

The highway was quiet as the sky lightened. When he reached Devika's condo, the pink and orange morning glow made him feel easier in the chest.

She answered the door after his third knock dressed in one of his sweatshirts and nothing else.

"Let's talk," he said.

She nodded and he leaned forward to kiss her lips. Her mouth was eager to have his and they took their time with slow drawn out smooching in the doorway. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Suckling his tongue, Devika made him feel that what he needed most was for her to be in his corner. He held onto her ass cheeks to keep her pressed against him, and when she finally released his lips, he had her panting. He slipped a finger down her ass and let it rest against the cotton of her underwear. He could feel how damp she was, her slick saturating the panties. He rested his forehead on hers.

"Tell me your mine," he whispered.

She traced the fingers of her right hand across the back of his scalp sending tingles up his back. His lips touched her lips again and he looked into her eyes.

"Tell me," he demanded.

He walked into her condo with her still wrapped around him and kicked the door closed.

"I'm your man. Say it."

The bass in his voice made her eyes widen. He sent his fingers down into her panties and stroked her swollen vulva.

"Devika, say it…."

He unfastened his pants and pulled them down with his underwear.

"Devika."

Sliding her sticky panties to the side, Erik lifted her up and guided his dick inside of her. She whimpered as he fucked her standing up, her face pressed against his face, her arms laced around his neck.

The squelching sounds coming from her pussy made Erik give her hard strokes as he lifted her up and down his stiffness. She still wouldn't answer him and just gave his ears thrilling moans and yelps from the pleasure he gave her.

His calves began to strain from standing in one place and holding her weight so he spun around and jammed her up against the door. Pressing her into the solid wood, he drilled into her hard and fast, his aggression needing release. She refused to give him what he wanted and it aggravated him.

"Devika…"

"Erik!" she screamed.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and he felt her pussy contract up and down his dick. He reached up and grabbed her throat, his fingers squeezing and pushing her head back. The throbbing in his dick made his back hunch up.

"I want you!" he shouted releasing into her, his head dropping onto her chest as his legs trembled.

He groaned when he felt another sudden wave of semen spurt into her and it made him drop her down to her feet. He faced her with wrinkled clothes and semen still dripping from his tip. He kicked his feet out of his pants and Devika took his right hand and led him to her bedroom.

They made love until Erik was too exhausted to do anything more than stroke her hair as he held her in his arms.

The unspoken was made manifest.

He was going to live with her and she let be known by her loving that she belonged to him.

The world at that moment was his.

Chapter 21 HERE.

###

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[inugirl]

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Mistaken Identity

Chapter 2

Fanfiction: Inuyasha

Rating : M (language, violence, drugs)

Kagome gets mistaken by the mysterious half-demon, Inuyasha, as the woman he was supposed to chauffeur to the big boss’s restaurant to discuss certain business. The stubborn dog ends up making matters only worse for himself, and Kagome.

~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~•~~~

Inuyasha begrudgingly made his way to The Burned Bandit. An oddly named high end restaurant that was only made as a cover by the head man in charge. Just thinking about him made Inuyasha’s stomach upset. He screwed up and now he was going to deal with the consequences. What would have taken the average person forty minutes to an hour by transit, took only him about fifteen minutes to travel from the self-proclaimed college student’s suffocatingly small apartment. Careful not to make himself obvious, Inuyasha ceased his inhuman speed and opted to walk the remaining few blocks to the restaurant. It was imperative that he went there to see his higher ups and although he would admit this to no one, Inuyasha was scared.

Finally, he stood just outside of the restaurant most would never be able to afford to eat at. He took a deep breath and nodded to the doorman to let him in. He was greeted instantly by a multitasking hostess eager to end her shift. Her eyes darted across her computer monitor while her face edged towards him.

“I’m sorry sir, the kitchen is closed now. If you’d like a drink the bar is-oh! I am sorry Mr. Takahashi!” Her eyes finally landed on the man before her. He was still dressed in his black slacks and white button-up shirt, but this time, he had his disguise on. His normal long white hair was now black, the dog ears that adorned the top of his head were now unseen and his iris that looked to have been dipped in honey were now a deep gray. To anyone he looked like a human, an attractive and mysterious human.

“Don’t worry about it, just take me to whatever room he’s in this time.”

“Y-yes! Of course! Follow me!”

Inuyasha trailed the hostess around the upscale double story restaurant to where the private eating rooms were. His posture held confidence but inwardly he was a mess. He fucked up. Such a simple task and he fucked it up. Inuyasha could feel his heart beating from his chest and a lump form in his throat.

The hostess stopped next to the fusuma and bowed slightly.

“He’s in here.”

Inuyasha gave no thanks to the hostess, his concentration was solely to the man on the other side of the fusuma. He was nervous, and the man was known to smell fear. Inuyasha knocked softly on the frame, a sign of his own apprehensiveness.

“Come in.”

A single command by the man who Inuyasha feared the most. It was a simple command yet petrifying to the ear. Inuyasha opened the fusuma only enough to let himself in and closed it behind him. He waited in place and didn’t dare look around the room. Inuyasha could smell who was present. His inhuman qualities were only hidden to the eye.

“So glad of you to join us.” Inuyasha unknowingly held his breath and kept his vision down. ‘Fuck I’m pathetic right now. Some of the higher-ups are here too. I feel like a fucking pup showing off my belly.’

“Well look what we have here, it’s the Mutt!” It was Koga. A vicious man with the qualities and pride of a wolf leader itself.

A soft echo of chuckles spread throughout the room. It was easy to make fun of Inuyasha. He wasn’t one of them to be exact. He could never be one of them. He should have been killed years ago or exiled as an outcast. He was an infection in a perfectly hidden world amongst the humans, he was-

“You are alone.” The man's words silenced the room to an immediate hush. No one dared to even breathe too hard; how would Inuyasha respond?

He didn’t dare to.

The room stayed silent and quickly became awkward. Normally by now Inuyasha would be on the floor bleeding and trying to catch his breath. But he wasn’t. That only put more fear into him. It was worse than any punishment he has ever received thus far. It was unknown to him, and it was becoming unbearable. Inuyasha gulped. He swore it was loud enough to be heard even by an average human if they were sitting in the room. Ever so slowly he looked up at the man he feared the most. His hidden amber eyes met the man’s deep black eyes.

Naraku.

“I am not surprised however. It was called off.”

Inuyasha’s posture didn’t lax, but his eyes grew wide with shock. The direct eye contact with Naraku didn’t pass as he continued to speak.

“I assume you were not aware of the update. You were to be told hours ago, Koga here was supposed to give word out to you.” Inuyasha finally broke eye contact to look at Koga who sat to Naraku’s right. All eyes went from the lily-livered man to the new man in question.

“Wha-I, I had that taken care of!” Koga’s icy blue eyes darted between Inuyasha and Naraku, his own fear and embarrassment rising.

“Inuyasha, lend me your phone.” Inuyasha reached into his pocket to pull out his smartphone. It was at that time he wondered why he just didn’t call one of the higher-ups to ask what was going on with the meeting. ‘I was probably too caught up in the moment with that girl to think straight.’

Naraku took the extended phone and unlocked it. He tapped away at it and Koga tried his best to not peer over the man’s shoulder. He glared at Inuyasha, a silent snarl on his face. If Naraku wasn’t going to punish him, Koga was sure to.

“As I thought. I don’t see any incoming calls or messages from you Koga, or any of your members. Do you not take my instructions to heart?”

“Ah-no! Of course I do! Naraku, I swear I-“ Before Koga could spew whatever reasons he had for his mess up he felt a powerful force on the side of his jaw. He groaned and fell against the people sitting beside him. Koga could feel his cheek already starting to pulsate and swell. He could taste the bitterness of his blood and he was sure he had bit his tongue.

“I do not care for excuses, Koga.” Naraku now stood tall, wiping what little blood was on his knuckles with a handkerchief and tossed it to the person beside him. No one dared to move as he crouched down to grab the top of Koga’s hair. He pulled up roughly at Koga’s hair to bring his face towards him.

“I hope you can take my words more seriously now Koga.” Naraku’s words were always bitter and to the point. His eyes black eyes were easy to get lost in. The kind of lost where you feared the black curtain of emptiness surrounds you. Unable to see your hands you question if your eyes are even open. Although his human disguised eyes were petrifying, Inuyasha preferred those eyes to his natural demonic red-colored eyes because at least in his black eyes, he couldn’t see his own terrified reflection.

Naraku towered over Koga who continued to lay the henchmen he fell against, all who were avoiding his gaze and from assisting Koga in any way. A soft vibration and a playful chime caught his attention. He was still holding onto Inuyasha’s phone. He naturally checked it and noticed a notification from a mobile puzzle game. Naraku arched a thin eyebrow and handed back to Inuyasha his phone. Flabbergasted, Inuyasha took his phone back and looked at his notification.

‘Today is such a weird fucking day. Everything he’s doing is freaking me out.’

Inuyasha placed his phone back into his back pocket. He wanted to leave immediately. Inuyasha knew it was only a matter of time before Koga would attack him and he’d rather save that for another night. Right now, Inuyasha has never let a day just exhaust him the way this one has. However, he couldn’t leave on his own accord. When Naraku was in the room, it was only him who could demand the entry and exit of someone.

“Well Inuyasha, it appears you are no longer needed for the remainder of the night. If Koga here has learned his lesson, he will be giving you my orders on what to do next.” Naraku sat back down in his initial spot. Inuyasha eyed Koga who fought against the help of his posse beside him. With fresh blood still dripping out of his nostril and lips, he held the side of his swelling face and glared ruthlessly at Inuyasha.

Inuyasha closed his eyes and took a quick deep breath. He bowed to Naraku and bid him farewell; he couldn’t wait to leave the room. He turned on his heel to open the fusuma and inwardly winced at his own causal mistake of showing his back, but before he could lay his hand on the frame Naraku spoke.

“Inuyasha.” He froze in place. Naraku has only called him by name a handful of times. The only time his name was ever spoken in praise from Naraku was when he got promoted to his current status within the gang. Hearing his name fall from Naraku’s lips made him feel nauseated.

“You smell of a woman.”

For a split second, he thought he might have actually hurled.

‘I thought I got rid of her scent on me! I basically rolled around in fucking dirt, trying to get her smell off of my clothes!’

Inuyasha turned around with a poker face hiding his internal screaming. Naraku arched a brow and chuckled softly. “You sly dog. Instead of reporting that the woman didn’t show up, you used the spare time you had to go see a girl.” The smile that corrupted Naraku’s seemingly handsome face made Inuyasha’s skin crawl.

Naraku wasn’t one for smiles. In all the years Inuyasha has known the man, he has never once genuinely seen the man smile. However, the smile the wicked man had on his face was something to be feared. Naraku’s nefarious smile is ingrained into Inuyasha’s memories from all the beatings he’s received from the demon. This one, however, baffled him. It was a smile he has never seen before. Could it even be considered a smile? How could a man with such a small mouth, grin so widely? Naraku’s smile would make anyone wish they'd never seen it. It was horrendous. If the pure vile presence of the man couldn’t make one nervous, Naraku’s almost ear-to-ear smile would certainly make anyone shit themselves. But this smile wasn’t right. Inuyasha kept his gaze to Naraku’s face, hoping he wasn’t looking as creeped out as he felt. The ominous feeling of horripilation on his arms and legs; he desperately wanted a shower more than ever. The depraved smile that somehow fit so perfectly on his face wasn’t meant for Inuyasha. No, it was meant for the woman he smelled of. The woman he scared shitless and made faint.

‘It’s okay. She’s fine. He doesn’t know her. Even if he smells her, it's faint. Not even a wolf would be able to find her from this faint scent. She doesn’t have to get mixed with all this.’

“It’s faint, but she smells fantastic. Why, I could just eat her up.”

“I wasn’t with anyone sir. A, uh, a drunk woman bumped into me on my way here.”

Naraku narrowed his eyes to slits. He kept his gaze on Inuyasha’s face searching for any holes in his unbeknownst lie. “Well,” His eyes closed completely to add to his eerie smile. “It’s a surprise she smells so nice. Inviting even. You may go now.”

Inuyasha quickly bowed and avoided the gaze of everyone else in the room. Without turning, he reached behind him for the sliding door, slid it open and walked backward to step out. It was out of pure experience that he learned to keep his back away from the higher-ups. Inuyasha calmly made his way out of the closing restaurant and stood out front to hail a taxi. One soon pulled up and drove away following the directions Inuyasha gave.

Around thirty-five minutes later they arrived in front of a house. Inuyasha got out, paid the driver and watched him drive away. He stood in the warm night outside of his Naraku approved household. A place Inuyasha would never consider his home, but he lived there nonetheless. It took years before Inuyasha was able to earn the trust he had within Naraku’s power. He used to live in an apartment with other low-level demon lackeys. Most of the jobs they had were to be debt collectors. Inuyasha and the other demons would have to find and collect payment from anyone who was late on paying back the red-eyed demon in charge. By any means necessary. Inuyasha has been in more fights than he could remember trying to get people to pay him. He’s been stabbed, shot, seduced, and even almost hit by a train after chasing a runaway client. It had been Inuyasha’s job for years collecting owed debt for Naraku. It wasn’t until a few months back that he actually moved up a tier and became useful to Naraku for more private affairs. He didn’t know why he moved up the food chain and he didn’t dare to question it. With his new unknown title Inuyasha was given his own place of residence.

Thankfully, Inuyasha lived alone, but he had controlled privacy. He knew he was being watched inside his home. Hidden cameras were set up in every room of his home. Inuyasha assumed it was in case of treason or if the police were to question him on any matters. He hated being home. The time wasn’t what Inuyasha would consider late. He had too much energy to just go to bed early too. Still, he unlocked his door and stepped inside, taking off his shoes at the entrance.

His house wasn’t at all grand or massive. It was simple, boring if one were to describe it. Aside from a gaming system, Inuyasha’s flat was accommodated with the very basics of modern living. He went straight to his refrigerator and looked inside for a while searching for nothing in particular.

‘Gotta make it look like I have a reason to go out. I have a feeling Naraku is going to keep closer eyes on me for a while.’

Inuyasha closed the door and released a loudly obnoxious sigh. “Fuck, there is nothing to eat, and I don’t want to cook.” He opened his pantry cabinet and did the same search for nothing. He needed to look convincing, just in case.

He groaned in annoyance and went back to the front door and placed his shoes back on. Inuyasha needed to talk to someone, and there was only one person he knew he could speak freely to about his troubles. He closed and locked his door and made his way to a local convenience store he always went to. There he would not only be able to eat some ready-made food, but he could tell the attendant how he royally fucked up.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes at the thought of the attendant. ‘He’s going to love what I’ve got to say.’ He dug his hands deep into his pockets to pout about his mistakes. It was then that he felt something odd, something that shouldn’t be there.

‘Wait, I put my keys in the other pocket. What the hell is thi-fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Realization struck him. They were keys. Her keys! They were so tiny and simple, she didn’t even have a keychain charm on them.

‘Shippo is really going to get a kick out of this.’

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXII: Wendy City

As I sat outside with a few friends at the break of dawn, my mind kept returning to just last night. That scene couldn’t be shaken away and while those folks conversed with pudding cups and oranges in hand, I mulled over that lady’s words.

“Rhea? Is that you?” She asked.

“Rheain’t,” I should’ve replied with. Rather than such a statement as, “now that’s a name I haven’t heard in years.” God damn, could I have been any more ambiguous? Sure, it made sense to me at the time, but I probably gave my would-be bounty hunter the wrong impression.

Now that I thought of it, we were similar in stature and I suppose (although it was a bit of a stretch) that in the dark, my purple hair could have been mistaken for her blue. Still...the implications of being mistaken for such a person left me just a little unsettled.

Pensive, I fixed my gaze on the space between the four of us, then allowed a smile to form.

“Last night I ran into someone who mistook me for an old co-worker of mine,” I announced to the group.

My arms were crossed and I glanced around now and took note of the food in each person’s hand; Otis, with his thick red mittens which held a queen sized candy bar. Gloria, frail and heavy in perfume (who knows how she got hold of such a thing) shook her hands as she spooned pudding into her mouth. Bernard, whose brown and balding hair matched his brown leather clothing, all full of holes. He held an orange in his hand. All the while, my stomach growled.

“You had a job?” Bernard grunted in disbelief.

“Yes, I had a job. Why is that so hard to believe?” I protested. “In fact, it was a little over a couple years ago that I was laid off. Well, all of us were laid off. The company is no more. Just like that office building beside us. Whatever occupied it once doesn’t occupy it now.”

In some respects, good riddance. In others, good grief.

“What kind of job was it?” Gloria, now interested, set down her pudding cup and asked. Bless her frail heart.

Now what can I tell them to make it palatable?

“We were housekeepers, of sorts,” was the answer I came up with.

“What, like you cleaned houses?” Bernard again.

I put my elbow over my knee, palm on my forehead, and shook my head.

“We cleaned...messes. Going from place to place, each of us with our little jobs. Some of us were really good at getting rid of things, while others, it was more about tidying up or moving things around. Brooms, mops, sprays, vacuums, feather dusters. You name it. Everyone had their specialty.”

In truth, our organization never had a name. Those who knew of us outside of the organization would call us ‘janitors’. Then again, some of us did as well. That, or something like it. Custodians, waste disposal, cleaners, plumbers, renovators, whatever. To think that it all stemmed from a joke we all passed around about how we ‘cleaned up after others’ messes’. Then again, how many messes did we clean up and how many did we make?

“You know, back in the day there used to be a term for mafia hitmen. ‘Guy who paints houses’. Were you something like that?” Otis at last gave some input, and I wondered where he heard that bit of trivia. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty.

“No, nothing like that,” I chuckled. “Get that idea out of your head.”

Because it’s too close to the truth for comfort.

“Anyway, about this old co-worker of mine…” I began, but I was no storyteller; I could spend the rest of my bloody life reminiscing, but that didn’t mean I could give a recollection worth a damn. Yet I tried. Important or not, the need to tell these strangers I’ve shared light meals with tugged at me. “What you have to understand is that many of us shared a bond together. Despite the fact we’d always have our jobs at different places from one another and although sometimes we’d be asked to work as a group or paired together, more often than not, we were off doing our own thing. But we still got together, whether it be at taverns, or the…” headquarters. “Office.”

I paused. Not for effect. Not for feedback. But for the simple fact that I wasn’t sure what name to give this mystery co-worker.

“So if you think of us like a grade school classroom, this co-worker, let’s call her Rhonda. Rhonda…Civic. Yeah, that works. Anyway, Rhonda would’ve been the quiet kid in the back. She kept to herself, didn’t really interact with anyone, and had a few quirks. Some odd ways of speaking. Feeling. Others picked up on it, and of course, like a grade school, she’d get teased. Others would talk about her behind her back,” kinda what I’m doing now, except how else am I supposed to talk about someone who’s no longer around?

“I’ve had situations like that,” Bernard grunted as he gave his input. “I used to operate a forklift for a pet food company. Me an’ the boys would shoot the shit when the manager wasn’t watchin’. Most of us, ‘nyway. There was this youngish guy, flannel shirt and overalls. Same attire every day. Didn’t know how he got away wit’ it, but that’s what he wore. He moved bag after bag of dog food, but never once so much as said hi. Not a peep from the kid. We all thought it was weird. Anyway, he quit one day, we never found out why, and that was that. I didn’t even think much of him ‘til you mentioned somethin’.”

“Yeah, it was the same for me,” I replied, and I looked up at the clouds in the sky. “Funny that, I didn’t think much of her back when I worked for that company and now out of the blue someone mistook me for her and it was like, ‘oh yeah…’”

“What about you, Wendy? You’re always off on your own at night, going at it with your projects,” he countered.

“We all have our eccentricities,” I concurred. “I’m also not much for conversation, either, most of the time, but I still enjoy the company of others. If for nothing else than the spectacle.”

It was far too early in the morning, but how I wished to have a warm cup of tea or sake in my hands so I could take little sips as I spoke.

“I never thought anyone outside of the company ever knew her, be it an old friend or an old enemy,” I carried on, unsure if I had any conclusion to this or if it was just early morning rambling.

“What? You think she had enemies?” Otis spat and I could swear that bits of chocolate just flew right by me.

“That’s the thing: I don’t know. There wasn’t really anything I knew about her apart from I heard. Sure, I watched her a few times, but that didn’t tell me much. Whether she had friends or enemies, I could never tell. When I think back on it, I wish I did know. That I had tried to find out more. But it’s kind of that whole ‘you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone’ type of thing. Then again, here she is gone, and I still don’t know what to make of it.”

“Gone?” Gloria must have taken notice of my choice of words. For the record, I didn’t know what became of her. Not any more than I knew what became of the rest of the people I once associated with. Considering that I couldn’t go back to the headquarters (not that I had any desire to return), I had to assume they were all dead and that the place was no more. It made the most sense to me.

“Yeah. Terminated. It’s funny that way, how to them we were all replaceable and they had no problem exploiting us, but even that couldn’t save them.”

“Damn if I don’t know that,” Otis bemoaned. “I have a nephew, and my nephew has a friend who was working when a sign fell on him. Broke his leg. Next thing he knew, management fired him, worker’s comp didn’t cover for his injury, and when he tried to sue, the company’s lawyers blocked him. Then, I knew this other guy who did what he was supposed to. But he got paid scraps and the stress got to him, so one day he came to work all hopped up on coke and his boss fired him on the spot. All those days of doing what he was told and scraping by, and one day was all it took for it to come crashing down. He ended up killing himself some time after that,” after those last words came a sniffle. No tears, though. Maybe it was a runny nose.

I shook my head. Sympathy and grief was a difficult thing to muster given the life I had; countless moments of killing and watching others die. Those I worked with, laughed and shared drinks with, gone at any moment. It wasn’t a case of ‘kill or be killed’, but it was a life defined by the death of others, all the same. So what I felt when Otis relayed his tales of people he knew, all I could feel was hatred and disgust. If I knew their bosses, I would have killed them on the spot.

“You okay, Wendy?” Otis’ voice of concern broke through my thoughts. How I must have stared with that same pensive look I often did when lost in thought.

“It’s just not right, though, is it?” I glanced from person to person as I asked, my question rhetorical in nature. They all shook their heads and murmured, “no” or “not at all”.

Then Bernard waved his hand away and grumbled.

“Bah! Right, wrong, who gives a damn? I’m still alive,” he retorted, then turned to his back and laid himself down over sheets of newspaper.

That was a point I was willing to consider. To some, there was a profound difference between ‘alive’ and ‘survive’, but really, he was no less alive than someone with the privilege of a roof over their head and a bed to sleep in. Food in the pantry and some form of stability. Such things were all an illusion, anyway. People get busy, food goes bad. Bills pile up, costs increase, wage stays the same. To compensate, work extra hours, sleep less. Everything comes at a price few can afford and the compromises are seldom in one’s favor. Locked into a system in which the average person is always just on the verge of homelessness, yet the state of being homeless itself was punished.

Once I had asked Bernard, “if you were given a home, would you take it?” Based on that premise some other minds had, that people such as Bernard only lived that way because they wanted to. That it’s ‘on them’ or whatever. His response? Something like, “show me something that won’t be taken from me, otherwise don’t waste my time.”

That may have sounded like, “I’m here because I want to,” but at least to me, the difference couldn’t have been any more clear.

But enough rants. I stretched my arms out and yawned, then smiled a cheeky grin.

“Well, you know what they say, duty calls,” I announced as I got up. “Time for me to go digging for cash and get myself a bite to eat.”

That was how I went about most of my day: I’d get up, chat with a few folks around the docks, walk around the city ‘til I got a bit of cash, spend it on deep dish pizza and cheap beer (the staple of Chicago), then head back to the docks, bathe in the lake water, and resume my work in the office building. One of those days I’d have working lights, and then I could get to work on giving those folks a more comfortable place to sleep at night. Something like a home. Although it was unfortunate to think that in the eyes of the law, they’d still be considered homeless. Even the most idealistic of endeavors could result in a losing battle.

Whatever actions I might have to take in the future, I focused on the agenda for the day. It was during the day in which I was neither a rumor nor a killer. Daylight meant that I was just a person. Hell, at times a superhero; case in point, an old lady gave me a few bucks after I got her cat out of a tree (yes, as cliché as it was, such a thing happened quite often). Soon after that, I headed down to Cosmo Corner (a popular downtown tavern).

It was about noon now and my favorite bartender would be in soon: Wanda. Nice young lady, all covered in tattoos. At least a dozen on each arm, when I first met her I thought she was part of a crime ring or in a street gang, but nah. Apparently on the side, she liked to paint in her studio, but that was as hardcore as she got. Oh, well, being a bartender could be hardcore too. Not everyone can handle being a bartender.

Right now it was Stickbug (no, I don’t know why he was called that, but everyone called him that. Maybe that’s just his name). Fitness guru with a pencil thin mustache who was disastrous at mixing drinks. But amiable, I’d give him that. None of the conversations he’d strike up were ever ones I was interested in having, but he didn’t have a mean word to say about anyone. Maybe that was the problem: you had to have boundaries. You couldn’t show everyone the same level of sympathy.

“Say Wendy, have you heard of the fall of Constantinople?” Stickbug asked whilst he flung glass after glass in the air and began juggling them. Upon a quick glance, I noticed that there weren’t many people at the moment. Fine enough. I guess no one would give him dirty looks. As for me, I let my head fall onto the counter, the effects of my lack of sleep setting in.

“No, I haven’t,” I replied.

“D’ya wanna hear about it?” He continued to ask, and I already knew how insistent he could be with his topics.

“No,” I told him, to no avail.

“Okay, so we’ve got this city named Istanbul and…” he began, but it didn’t take long for my thoughts to drown out anything else he said.

Why couldn’t I have come in just a little bit later? No, it’s not bad. I could learn things if I listen, I’m just not in the mood to do so. I just want to eat and drink and...oh. Oh my. This must be what Rhea had to deal with all the time...wanting to order food, but never wanting to socialize. Not to mention how anxious she seemed to be in any situation that didn’t have to do with violence. Girl could kick ass but had trouble ordering a sandwich at a sub shop. Not to mention the general bodily discomfort she apparently dealt with.

‘I, and I cannot stressed this enough, am stressed’ I imagine she must have said at one point or another. Seemed to fit, anyway. That, or ‘I, and I cannot stress this enough, need a sweater’ or a blanket. Ugh. Why am I thinking of some weirdo who had such a minuscule presence in my life? Could it have to do with that woman last night? Yeah, probably. Well, a name’s a name. It could have been anyone named ‘Rhea’. Hell, the one I’m thinking of used a different name for each person she met, so I doubt anyone would know her by that name. Probably something else instead, like Sharpay D. Em.

Anyway, I ought to be thinking of more important things. Like the fact that the woman last night wanted to kill me. First of all, couldn’t she have waited? I was busy and I don’t really like being interrupted from my work. All I’m asking for is some fair warning and furthermore –

“...And that is why if you suspect you have a mouse in your home, you should leave a piece of cheese on the floor overnight,” Stickbug seemed to have concluded his little history lesson, except I must have missed many steps, because I wasn’t really sure how we got there.

“Wait, what?” I lifted my head and asked with a dull expression planted on my face.

“Want me to start all over?” He beamed, and I’m sure he could have talked all day and night if someone let him.

“How about later? Isn’t your shift over soon?” I reminded him with a slight sense of pride.

“Oh yeah! You’re right! So glad I got someone to remind me! Otherwise I’d be here all day!”

And nobody wants that. Hell, I don’t even think you’d want that.

“Before you go, I may as well order, seeing as I haven’t done that yet.”

“Oh no!” He gasped. “I hope you haven’t been hungry!”

Funny to think that his concern is real and not sarcasm.

“In fact, I am hungry right now,” I corrected him. “By the way, I’ll get my usual: pepperoni and spinach, large.”

“Right on!” I handed him the cash I had gotten from that old lady earlier. I still had some left over for sake, but I wanted to wait until Wanda got in.

I wonder what kind of food that woman from last night likes to eat. I feel like she’d eat chicken legs and large chunks of steaks. Just, a lot of steak. You know, why am I wondering such a thing? I’ve got better things to think about.

About five minutes later and a glass of water downed, Stickbug waved goodbye. In his place came Wanda with a bandanna over her head and covered in sweat which ran down her face.

“Intense painting session?” I asked.

She wiped her forehead and huffed.

“You know it. Were you waiting for me?”

“Heh,” I flashed her a smile. “It’s just not the same with Stickbug.” Really, how did that name come about? I think he said his name was Steven once, but I’ll be damned if I can remember.

“Is that so?” She asked, then went to the back to put her stuff away and get settled in. About the same time she came back out, the pizza arrived as well.

I took a heaping slice as layer upon layer of cheese and bits of spinach fell off of the pizza and back down onto the plate, unable to sustain itself on the thick cake of dough. Upon taking a large bite, my mouth was filled with the warm and gooey taste along with the combination of squishy spinach and savory pepperoni. One strong gulp later, and I was ready to take a drink. Next to me was my cup of sake, and when I looked up, Wanda winked.

“By the way, someone came in last night asking about any abandoned buildings,” Wanda mentioned as I sipped my cup of sake.

“Oh yeah?” I hummed, which came out more like a “mm-hmm.”

“Yeah. I just told her about the office building you’ve been hanging out in.”

I spat out my drink. Some might have gotten on her apron, but that was her problem, not mine.

“What did you do that for?! I don’t want people coming in and interrupting me while I’m working!”

Then I thought it over.

“Say, what did she look like?”

She put her finger on her chin and looked up.

“Hmm...big and muscular, brown poofy hair.”

Ugh. Yeah.

“Oh yeah. She came by and visited. Tried to kill me,” I replied, almost nonchalant about the whole ordeal, despite how much it had been on my mind.

“What? Are you serious?” She balked.

I shrugged and took another bite of my pizza.

“Yeah, but she wasn’t hard to deal with or anything.”

My main concern was why she was there at all. It’s not that I never expected anyone to come after me, especially when I all but deserted my job. But when no one came, I just expected that I was free and I could live out my life as I pleased.

“Jeez, did you kill her?” She accused. Rather baseless, too.

“No,” I scoffed. “I just sent her back home. Don’t know why she went after me, either.”

“Look, Wendy, I know you’ve killed people. Can’t really say I didn’t see something like this coming.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong: I get why, I just don’t get why, y’know?”

She shook her head.

“It’s like, she said there was a request for my death. She didn’t even know who I was, she mistook me for someone else. What I don’t get is why, rather, how such a request came about. Like, someone knows about me, but is sending people who don’t know about me to do the job.”

“Well, do you know what the request says?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Then maybe whoever made it didn’t know who you were either, but noticed some things around the area.”

“Yeah, maybe.” It was all too possible I was overthinking things. But when it came to things like that, a fair deal of suspicion was necessary. “Whatever the case, if such a request like that is out there, then I doubt the person last night will be the only one.

“It’s kind of an open secret among the circle you talk to that you’re the one behind the murder of those cops. I don’t blame you, plenty of people around here don’t like the police and I really do wish you well, but most people don’t have the privilege to do what you do. Most people don’t have the ability to murder those they see as committing an injustice. Not only that, but most people don’t have confidantes that would be willing to keep their secret. You know why?”

Great. Just what I wanted while I was at the bar with some good food and drinks: a lecture.

“If you’re going to tell me because it’s illegal, I’m going to argue that it’s only illegal if you don’t have a badge and a uniform. Most serial killers are the ones who are hired by the state and demand your respect.”

Her face lowered and she turned from me.

“Yeah, I get it. I’m not saying I disagree, just that the average person isn’t capable of doing such things, even if they wanted to. Even if they ignored the legality, it doesn’t matter. Just as you said, you’ve got got hordes willing to kill whoever they see fit without consequence, decked in highly-militarized outfits and weapons. Their numbers are too great, their power is too great, and if you even show the least bit resistance, they’ll throw in the rest of the military alongside them. So the best most of us can ask for is to avoid them as much as possible. But here you go, picking off anyone who rubs you the wrong way and not only do you manage to sneak on by and keep going, but it’s like you boast about it, too.”

“I don’t boast – I never said I enjoy it.”

“No, that’s not what I mean, sorry.”

“But you’re right: I am very fortunate. In the past, I’ve evaded my demise and have slaughtered entire armies that wished to pursue me. I’m not saying that to boast, though it is quite a feat, I admit. I’ve had a long life, a storied and bloody past, and I really wish I could stay out of trouble, but I just can’t seem to help myself. Old habits, I guess.”

“You’re not that old, are you? You don’t look much over thirty.”

I managed a chuckle.

“Would you believe me if I said I was well over five hundred years old?”

“Quit joking around.”

It’s not exactly wrong. I was born sometime early in the Sengoku period, but time travel sure does let you skip ahead a few years. There’s no way I could explain something like that, though.

“Let’s just say I’ve got a good skincare routine.”

That time, I was joking. There’s no way in hell that bathing in Lake Michigan would preserve your youth.

“Either way, I’m used to not sticking around places for very long. If things get too hot, I’ll leave town. So don’t worry about me,” I assured Wanda.

“I’d like it if it wouldn’t have to come to that,” she replied. “You’re a good customer, and make for good conversation.”

Well, I couldn’t say I wasn’t flattered, but hopefully she wouldn’t hold it against me if I did decide to ditch this place, reside elsewhere and try to lay low. Eventually I would have liked to settle down and be an old lady. Maybe knit sweaters in my spare time, or get a dog and a garden. Become the friendly old lady in the neighborhood that no one knows anything about.

None of that was likely. People like me weren’t meant to last long. As far as age went, I was already pushing it and as far as I knew, I really wasn’t much over thirty. It was just hard to tell where in my thirties, since my concept of time has been all screwed up.

I left the bar soon after. Despite my enjoyment of Wanda’s presence, my head just wasn’t as much in it as I thought it would be. So, still middle of the day, I returned to the docks, ready to get back to work.

I still don’t have the solution. Not enough power. Every time I think I’ve got a spark, it only lights one area. What I need is a lightning rod. Maybe I could stand one of my swords up to the roof to collect electricity. Or antennae. No. That still wouldn’t be enough, not without the right circuitry and places to send the electricity to. There’s more than one component and I can’t just do one without the other. If I’m lucky, there might be some generators downstairs I haven’t discovered. But even if I have to steal or build power generators, I want to give these places a semblance of a home. Some place to rest.

But even if I’m successful, it still wouldn’t be legal for them to reside there. What would I do, then? Fight off a whole force? Or would I run with the knowledge that I would be outnumbered? When I consider the eventual outcome, it was a futile effort and good intentions will only get me so far.

I shook my head as I entered the darkened building through an opening with a loose board. If that woman had been more attentive, she would have seen that not all of those boards were as well covered, and one of them actually served as a door.

Inside, an absence of light. I reached to my right and grabbed my helmet and katana which lay on top of a tall cabinet.

Upon placing the helmet on my head, I had a much clearer view of my surroundings. The infrared visor on my helmet allowed me to see in the dark, albeit some objects showed up blurry.

Outside, it was still light. Dusk wasn’t expected for another few hours. In other words, I had time. I could do my work in peace, take a little nap, not worry about anything. If no one was going to come after me until well after dark, then I could prepare.

So I did just that; I patrolled the area, climbed up each floor, checked out each room, then headed back down to the first floor. All around the first floor I searched for a hatch or a door, a flight of stairs, something that would lead to a basement. No such luck. It seemed that there were no passages, hidden or otherwise. No basement. No generators.

Maybe that’s what I’ll have to resort to. I’ll have to dig out a basement, fill it with concrete, get some generators built or setup...argh! Why is it so hard to get this going? I should just tell everyone, “sorry guys, I know I hate to make false promises, but looks like I just set my sights too high!”

I sunk down to the floor along a wall, right next to a door which would have led to someone’s office.

“Who am I kidding? It’ll be a miracle if I don’t leave before I get the chance to figure this out.”

I leaned my head over and soon felt the weight of the darkness creep up on me as it guided me to a gentle sleep.

When I awoke, I brought myself up to my feet and decided to climb up the many flight of stairs once more.

If I’m lucky, I’d like to at least get the elevator working. Something.

Short rests were all that were ever afforded to me. If I had gotten three hours or more, that was oversleep for me. With the way my body operated, perhaps adapted, I never worried myself with dreams. On the rare occasion where I had a dream, they were brief windows, photographs, still frames cascading down. Images of being beheaded. Of watching my head roll down into a river. Typical things like that. Such things weren’t memories, but just reminders of what should have been long ago.

Never mind. Several flights later, I saw the bits of collapsed roof on the floor. Above, the glow of the moon illuminated the floor. It was the only source of light I was afforded, save for the helmet.

So I see. It’s evening now.

“Damn, couldn’t she have found a different way in other than breaking down the roof? Now I’m going to have to repair that as well…”

If another came after me, I really hoped they wouldn’t drop down from the roof. That would make things too easy for me.

I’m going to consider that it’s still too early for something like that. Not that I have a watch or a phone, but I doubt it’s been night for very long. I just can’t imagine anyone attacking me until late into the night. Any time earlier and it would just be rude.

Just like the night before, I went down to where the top of the elevator was, along with the open panel in the wall. If I had to start somewhere, I figured I’d get done what I could. That was, if I could get anything done at all.

So as I crouched down and got to work, my helmet lifted as I did so. I struck a match and held it between my lips as I worked, plucking it out every now and then to help bind the wires together. There were two wires left with just a little bit of juice. I pulled out a pair of rubber gloves, then held the two wires together and rubbed them; as soon as there was a spark, I used the flame from the match to bind them together. Behind me, a couple rooms away, a light turned on.

Now let’s hope it stays on. Which reminds me: I need to get new light bulbs.

One day, if I ever got (or built) a generator and a basement to place it in, I would test the breaker board. It would be a beautiful sight if one day the whole building could light up. Even as it was, the light from the room remained and leaked out. I was impressed to see that it had stayed on.

Now if I flick the switch off, then on again, will it turn back on?

As I turned to work on the elevator, I was stopped in my place when I heard a thump in the distance. It could have been nothing. Those pipes were old, after all. The vents too.

But even if it was nothing, I had to check it out.

Down one flight of stairs, the sound of movement and creaks against the vents could be heard.

Could it be that I’ve got a guest?

That same sound continued in little spurts. Less noise, but still there. Unavoidable. I could tell, there was movement of some kind. Rat, pebble, raccoon, or a person. Further down the hallway, the sound grew closer, more pronounced. Little shimmies and brushes. Metallic clangs.

I stood in place as the sound seemed to be just above my head. I took off my helmet. No need for it.

“I know you’re up there,” I announced.

Silence. No more movement. Nothing.

Seconds went by. Still nothing.

Stillness passed through the air, and so I had no choice but to accept that I may have just been hearing the old building making noises.

I let out a heavy sigh. Defeat. So soon, too.

“Guess I was just hearing things. I’ll head back now.”

Still no sound of movement. How disappointing. I unsheathed my sword and flashed a toothy smile.

“...Just kidding,” I said before I plunged my katana into the vent and sliced the thing in half.

If there had been a person, or just a rat, surely they felt that.

As I did so, the noise of steel against steel, the grating being slashed apart couldn’t mask the undeniable sound of movement heading backward.

I held my katana up and dragged it against the ceiling as I walked toward the sound of someone retreating from within the vents.

Around the corner, I heard a drop, and the hard tap of a shoe against the floor.

So it was a person. And I missed. I really must be losing my touch.

As I approached, someone small and frail looking peeked out from the corner and threw a knife my way. I caught it between my fingertips and just as fast, threw it back. In a panic, the intruder let out a squeak and ducked back behind the corner, then picked up their knife and ran.

“Were you thinking you could kill me with that? Or were you planning on me blocking it, then running toward me with another knife, the thrown knife being a distraction?” My smile grew wider, almost a grin. It didn’t take much to know their strategy; too many times I’ve dealt with similar tactics. Smart, but amateurish.

Does this person really think they stand more of a chance than the person last night? Or are they just expecting to run around like this is some endurance test?

I wasn’t about to let them experience such a luxury. I ran after and watched as they almost got behind the door to an adjacent room, but before they could do so, I grabbed their wrist and held on tight. Once I pulled them forward, closer to me, it turned out the intruder was a young woman with wavy, green hair.

With my other hand, I raised my knife and readied myself to slice down against her arm.

She scowled, then with her free arm reached for my wrist to free herself. Before she could puncture me, I swung my blade down, at the same time let go of her wrist. Just in time, she jumped out of the way. I turned to make a quick slash, but she blocked it with her knife. Such a measly thing. All I had to do was push harder and it began to show little cracks.

She let go and jumped out of the way again.

“Nimble one, aren’t you?” I observed. Then she charged, but I moved out of the way. She tried to slash with her knife from the side, but I blocked it with my blade, then let go and kicked her to the floor.

Short on breath, she picked herself up. So far all of her efforts, while quick-witted, had been feeble at best.

“Let me ask you this: why do you want to kill me? Is there money involved?”

“I...I don’t want to kill you. That’s...that’s not why I came here,” she spoke, her voice rough, but high in pitch and she fixed her gaze on me as she tried to recover her breath.

“Then why?”

“I want to know who you are,” she answered.

That was such a ridiculous answer. But at least it was some kind of answer.

“I’m a serial killer,” I replied through my teeth. “I leave a trail of bodies in my wake. Sliced open, stabbed through the chest. Cut to ribbons. Does that answer your question?”

Her face turned to shock and she took a step back, but shook her head.

“No, I already knew that much from the request.”

“That again. The request to kill me, correct?”

She gave a nod.

“But I would rather not have to try. Not if you’re anything like who Sunny thought you were.”

“Sunny?”

“The one who tried to kill you last night and got herself beat real good. She thought you were –” I stopped her.

“Rhea?” I asked.

Another nod.

“What was so special about that name? There’s probably plenty of people in this city with that name.”

“Yes. And I looked up every single person with that name in Chicago. There were a lot more names than I thought, and not all of them were happy about receiving a phone call from a stranger.”

…

“Are you a dunce? Did you really?”

“Yes.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of someone actually doing that. I sunk down to the wall and sat.

“Sit,” I commanded. “And if you try anything funny, I will kill you.”

Wordless, she crouched down and sat against the wall across from me.

“So what does that name mean to you?” I questioned.

“Nothing. But it means plenty to a few of the people around me. Rhea Flection, they call her. Apparently she was both feared and admired. Some people want her dead, or revenge on her, others just seem to wish they could see her in action. My cousin and her wife were apparently one of her targets. Someone I admire apparently worked in the same company as her. Says that she died. Yet all these other people keep bringing her up.”

Damn. That name. So it really was the same one that I knew.

“Heh,” I leaned my head back. Absurd as it was, I not only stopped the fight, but also let my guard down. “I wonder if I’ll have my own fan club as well when I die.”

“I take it to mean that you’re not her?” She asked, something which I would have thought was obvious.

“You mean that socially awkward iceberg? No. I’m not her.”

“Iceberg?” She tilted her head, which made me wonder just how much she actually knew.

“You’d have to have been there.”

“So I take it you knew her?”

“Yes. We worked in the same company. But that’s ancient history. For the record, I’m Wendy Day. You?”

“Demetria. What kind of name is that, by the way?”

“I picked it out because I wanted an English sounding name, and it sounds like ‘windy day’. Not very clever, I know. I used to be called Mizue Soyokaze, but I threw that name away long ago, along with the rest of my younger self.”

“Cool. Lore. Can I sit next to you?” She asked, rather sudden, too.

“Go ahead. But I’ll remind you not to get any ideas.”

She got up and as she approached me, she looked away, ashamed or uneasy.

“I probably should have tried to kill you, seeing as I don’t want you to go around killing people, but I was more focused on getting some kind of answers,” she said as she sat down. Then turned away from me. I took it to mean she was shy.

“You don’t want me to go around killing people?” I scoffed. “I don’t want me to go around killing people. I’ve tried to put this life behind me, not get myself into trouble, but then I see others do things that I just can’t abide by.”

“Like what?” She asked, and her voice quivered. If only I had dragged out the battle, maybe she would have shown more bravery.

“Sexual abusers, for starters, but that should be obvious. Then there’s people like landlords and debt collectors who couldn’t care less if they let others die in the name of money. Greedy fucks all around. Still, I can’t catch everyone out there, only the ones that I see. Even then, I try not to let my blood boil, not let it get to me. I try to sit by, abide by the law, but then I witness a child running around with a toy gun with his best friend playing some kind of game, like cops and robbers. Then an actual cop comes and shoots the kid dead, a cruel irony. Said cop walks off, no remorse or recourse, all the while that kid just wanted to play and now their life ended. That I can’t abide by.”

“Wow,” she mouthed.

“But, in case you start thinking I’m some savior, acting only in the name of justice, let me remind you that I’m a murderer and violence is what I know. If anything, I find excuses to take lives, not unlike some of the people I so despise. It’s not even so much a craving or an addiction, but I don’t think this world will ever grow kind, and neither will I.”

“But why did you ever start?”

“Because,” I began. I had to pause, and I thought to myself, wait. Am I really going to go through my life story with a stranger I assumed wanted to kill me? Fuck it. I’m doing this. “I’m all too familiar with authority abusing their power. Back in my old life, when I was young and still had a family, there was a high ranking member of society who was found dead, a puncture wound through their chest. I was blamed for it, an unassuming girl who stayed home all the time and helped out with her family. But once I was accused, that same family disowned me, regardless of whether or not I had actually committed such a thing.”

“Did you?”

“No. But that didn’t matter, I was just a commoner, so my word didn’t mean much, and there was less proof that I didn’t than proof that I did, even if either way was inconclusive. Regardless, I was set to be executed; beheaded, actually. Two men with swords beside me, one in front. All against my throat. However, I managed to fight back and steal the two men’s swords, then cut them all down. After that, I hid out in an abandoned shack. Later on, I found out who the real killer had been and killed him myself. After, I fled. That didn’t stop me from being pursued, but I cut anyone down who dared to try.”

“That’s kinda badass,” she commented. I had to stop her right there.

“No, just bad. My life should have ended that day, as the person I am now was the person I was once accused of being. But no matter how many close calls I’ve had, I’m still here, like some kind of cockroach.”

“And your company?” She asked, and I knew where her real focus was.

“They picked me up a few years back, though in my mind it was centuries ago. They told me that they could offer me protection, be paid to take out those who would abuse their authority. By then, I knew it was only a matter of time, with whole armadas after me. So I accepted.”

“I see.”

“Do you know what we did in that company?” I pondered.

“I get the gist of it. It’s unpleasant, but I can’t just fault everyone when I don’t know them.”

“Huh. Interesting answer.”

I stared down at my blade, then sheathed it. It had been a while, but not unheard of, since I just...sat next to a would-be victim and heard them out. I kind of missed it, as often when it did happen, I would end up sparing said person and coming to a better understanding of them.

“Say, back when you worked there, did you know of someone named Remora?” She asked again.

Remora...Remora...does that ring any bells? No, I don’t think it does.

“No, sorry,” I replied.

“Uh...shivers a lot, always cold, doesn’t understand people well. Looks kind of like you, except not really. I mean, your guys’ faces and hair is totally different.”

“Oh, you mean Rhea,” I corrected, as there was no other person I could think of who was like that.

“No, no. Her name’s Remora. She says she knew of Rhea, but was never in the same place as her.”

Hmm...that was a curious thing, all right.

“Sorry, but I don’t think there was anyone named Remora, but you definitely described Rhea. One time, we were all at the bar, and she ordered a screwdriver. So I watched as she sat alone at a table and she pulled out an actual screwdriver. I watched her lick the screw driver, make a disgusted face, then looked around to make sure no one saw her. But I saw everything.”

“Is there a difference in taste?” Demetria asked, and I really had to wonder how someone so dense could exist.

“That’s not the point. The point is that she may have been this serious person who wanted to be left alone, but she was also just a total oddball. Even her attempts to be serious could be odd sometimes. Like one time, she tried to do this verbal takedown on a guy named Douglas Fir by listing out all his negative traits in alphabetical order.”

“I don’t think I could do that, but then again sometimes I wonder if I’m dyslexic,” she replied. Again, not the point.

“Whatever the case may be, I didn’t really think of her that much at the time, other than a few notable occurrences, but looking back, I kinda miss her. Then again, I miss most everyone in that company. Save the really shitty ones, but that’s neither here nor there. I know we were all eccentric amoral people, but it was like a community to me, and it felt like the closest thing I had to a home at the time.”

Really, I could reminisce for days.

“There was this other woman, Aurora B, and I suppose her, Rhea, and I could’ve been a ‘dream team’ except if put in a group, one of us would have killed the other two rather fast, thus negating the need for a group. Aurora because she wouldn’t be able to get us all to cooperate, Rhea because she prefers to work alone and would probably use her teammates as bait, and I’d probably notice something about the both of them that wouldn’t sit right with me and decide they’re both scum. Still, the idea is fun.”

“Wait, Aurora B? There’s an Aurora B in the arctic! She’s got a train and a band of thieves! I stabbed her and she robbed the restaurant I worked at!”

I blinked, then burst into laughter.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! There’s a version of her in this timeline and I bet she’s still just as rowdy! Oh, that must be fun!”

“What? Version of? This timeline?” She seemed confused.

“Yeah, like, you know, time travel and all that. Multiple universes, multiple versions of the same person.” I was surprised she knew about the company and yet didn’t know about that.

“I never considered that…” she muttered, then got up. “I think I’ll take off now. Thank you for that.”

“What? Already?”

“Yeah, I’ll just say that you were too strong for me and leave it at that.”

“Well if that’s all you needed, you should’ve just come by in the daytime. We could’ve had a nice chat over pizza.”

She waved goodbye, as if I wasn’t some dangerous force of nature, and I continued to sit and shake my head.

“I must be getting soft. First I injured someone rather than killed them, then I let the second person just walk away unscathed, and we had a nice little chat. I’m betting the third person who comes by I’ll end up buying them a drink.”

I couldn’t help but imagine the insanity of it all. My howls and laughter echoed through the almost empty building.

Once I calmed myself down, I stared up at the ceiling. How I wished I could fix up the place. Now I had to fix up the vents as well. There was always one more problem.

“What about you?” I addressed my last guest of the evening. “Have you come to kill me or just to chat?”

In one of the nearby rooms, a door opened up. Soon a figure approached me, a long rifle in hand.

“I’ll be quick. I just wanted to confirm that you were who I thought you were,” replied a low, icy voice.

“What, did you stalk her? Were you listening in on the whole thing?” Whoever said guest was, I would have at least liked a knock or something.

“No to the first one. Yes to the second.”

Direct. I liked that, at least.

“So what about the gun? I take it you’re the only person so far who even stands a chance against me.”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

“Mm,” I mulled it over. “I see. So I take it you know who I am already, but that’s what bothers me. I don’t seem to know who you are.”

“Yes. I’m not sure if you ever saw me. I was never around at the same time she was. I couldn’t have been. For the most part, I was kept isolated from most everybody else. Not that I minded.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have. So, why Remora?” I wondered. “You’ve got over a thousand different names, don’t you? Couldn’t you have started a new life with one of those?”

“It’s because...I met someone important to me the day I chose that name.”

I shrugged. “Who am I to judge? One time an old man decided to call me Trout. True story.”

It didn’t take much for me to figure out what was going on. Who I was talking to.

“So you’re an alternate version, huh?” I asked. Rhetorical, I know.

“Yes. I am younger than she was, but I went through similar things and took on missions all the same.”

“They used you like a back up, I take it. In case the main one died. Which is what happened. Doesn’t that disgust you?”

“It is what it is.”

Right. Such emotionless responses.

“In a way, though, it’s relieving. Knowing that there’s a version of her that’s still around and can experience freedom, like me.”

“I’m just a version of myself. I’m me. Not her.”

“But you do share several names and a background, yes?”

“She was irresponsible. She knew what her job was and she got tired of it, so she died. That’s all. She didn’t even have to, she just wanted to. Yet people won’t shut up about her when she was never worth the attention to begin with,” she growled, working up a rant. It seemed I actually struck something of a nerve.

“Hey, that’s my friend you’re talking about. Don’t talk about my friend that way,” I shot back.

“You two weren’t friends,” she scoffed. I wondered if that was the most mad she had been in a while.

“I just decided that we were. Seeing as she’s not alive to object, I think I can make that decision,” I gave a sly grin.

“That’s not how that works. Did you two even talk?”

I lifted up my index finger and closed my eyes.

“Once. Just once.”

“About what?”

“Some guy was bothering her and she was uncomfortable, that much I could tell. She also looked ready to break a bottle over his head, and I wasn’t really interested in a fight breaking out. I think I said something like, ‘is he bothering you, queen?’ Then pushed him aside. She looked confused, asked ‘queen?’ And I think I laughed and said not to worry about it. I remember she thanked me, and chattered her teeth while trying to sound out the words to do so. I told her not to mention it and offered to help her with anything if she ever came to me.”

“And?”

“Needless to say, she never came to me. I think when I told her that, she said something like, ‘thanks, I’ll think about it’ while turning her head from side to side, so she probably wasn’t ever going to consider it. But makes me wonder about what could’ve been. Like maybe it would’ve changed something.”

“It wouldn’t. There’s nothing you could have done. That’s just how she was,” she replied, all brisk and choppy.

“Yeah, I guess so. Still –”

“Shut up about her,” she snapped, although her voice didn’t even manage to raise all that much. I could just tell with her gestures. The shake of her fist. Everywhere shook, in fact, like it was more than just a shiver.

“It bothers you that much, huh? Is it the name, or just being reminded?” I really wasn’t trying to push any buttons. I didn’t even realize there were any buttons to push. But I guess that’s what I needed to expect, with there being differences and all.

“No. I’m not bothered. It’s just a name. Just someone who’s not around anymore. That’s just why I think people should shut up about it. That person’s gone. Gone. Poof.”

Real convincing.

“Is it because it feels like you’re constantly being compared to with another version of yourself? Or how people might see her as a superior version of you?”

I waited for a response. When I got none, I figured I hit the nail on the head.

“I’m me. Just me. I’m the only version of me there is,” she concluded. Less robotic, but still choppy. Almost downtrodden in her tone.

That’s fine as long as you believe that.

“What about that friend of yours? Demetria?”

“We’re not friends.”

“But she’s important to you, isn’t she?”

“In a way.”

“So you care about her, then?”

“No.”

“Were you worried I was going to kill her if she found me, so you followed behind?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

Oh bother. It was fun at first, but now it’s like I was talking to a child.

“That whole aloof thing you got going isn’t a very good look for you,” I lectured.

“I’m not aloof.”

“Sure Jan,” I looked over and replied. “Look, I used to be like you, so I get it. I wanted to do everything on my own and I didn’t have much to share with others. But I’ve been blessed to have met a few good people here and there. I’ve survived due in part to the kindness of others.”

“Well…” She thought it over. “I don’t want to be aloof.”

“Bark like a dog, then,” I commanded.

To my surprise, she did just that: her best impression of a dog barking, anyway. I expected more of a Shiba Inu, but instead it came out as a yip, like a Chihuahua.

I cracked up; burst into laughter. Sides split and everything.

“Now you’re a woof,” I told her.

She growled, and I was inclined to say like a dog, as well.

“I hate you, you know that?” She whined.

“Aw, but I thought you loved puns,” I teased.

Changing the subject, she went back to a topic I thought would make her uncomfortable.

“By the way, do you even know what her last job was?”

Probably referring to the R-word.

“No. I was already here doing my own thing when it happened, so I never got to find out,” I explained.

“Well, if you ever want to know, I can give you Ves’ number.”

OK. Someone I don’t know about. Not useful at all.

“Why? Is she single?”

“Stop that. She’s got a cute wife.”

“Oh? Cute?” I should’ve told her I wasn’t really interested in either, as I knew she was the type to take everything seriously. “Like Demetria?”

“She’s cute too, yes.”

“So you admitted it,” I observed.

“Objectively speaking, anyway. Besides, that’s not the point – Ves was the one who killed her. She could fill you in better than I could.”

I see. She should’ve explained that sooner. I looked over and blinked.

“I don’t have a phone.”

She stared as well, then said, “oh.”

“Well, look: I’m working at this diner in the arctic for these people named Sunny and Ray. They thought I would be fun to work with, and not, well...me,” it seemed like Remora was just trying to proposition me with something, anything. I didn’t understand why. “So if you want to sometime, you could go up there. You’re probably more what they were looking for to begin with.”

I shook my head.

“No thanks. The cold’s your thing. I’m not really tied down to a motif. Besides, I’m a homeless old bat. How do you expect me to get up there?”

“I don’t know. You’re resourceful.”

True. I couldn’t deny that bit. Before I could answer, I started to cough. Like a tickle or a scratch at the back of my throat.

I leaned over and covered my mouth with my fist. Remora looked down.

“Are you sick?”

“Why do you care?” I smiled, even as I continued to cough.

“I don’t, but if you are, I don’t want to catch anything.”

As soon as she said that, the cough went away.

“Don’t worry. It’s not something you can catch.”

“What is it, then?”

If you or a loved one have been diagnosed with meso – no, it’s not that. I don’t think so, anyway.

“Sometimes a cough is just a cough. I’m getting old, anyway. I might die any day now.”

“Somehow I doubt it. You’re like a cockroach.”

“Yeah, but even cockroaches aren’t immortal,” I reminded her.

There was a moment of silence. That moment grew. Nothing more was said. Nothing more that I could recall. I soon drifted off to sleep, the silence having consumed me. In spite of the intrusions, I think I got the deepest sleep I had in a while.

[joylessnightsky]

As a dyslexic person…

You know, often times people hurt us without intending to. Us just meaning humans in general. We’re a stupid species, and we make mistakes. That’s okay. And everyone’s feelings are different, I know. Still, sometimes I have to really wonder how people don’t realize how what they are saying is hurtful.

And this post is half a vent and half a cautionary thing. If you ever talk to a dyslexic person, please be mindful of these things. Whether or not they’ll actually be hurt by some of these is not for me to tell you but for them, but you should still be mindful of it. Conversation and stuff, works with people of all kinds, you know?

If you have dyslexia yourself, please feel free to add on with your own experiences. And please read the post yourself, too. Because, as I already said, sometimes we hurt each other without wanting to, because different things hurt different people.

Now, let’s get to it:

1) A lot of the time people will say something like “That’s great for someone with dyslexia!” And I know they mean to compliment me. I know they mean to say that it is an accomplishment. And it probably is. But by saying that, you’re actually devaluating my accomplishment. It’s basically the same problem as if someone said “You’re so nice for a man.” or “That’s such an impressive career for a woman.” There’s a serious difference between giving a compliment and giving a compliment in relation to something about you.

I worked for the reading speed I have. I worked for the capability to write with so little misspellings that I could pass as just another student. I worked for being able to read a text I haven’t read before. I worked for being able to read out loud to the class without making an utter fool out of me. I worked, for years, about an hour a day, in therapy and at home, until my head hurt form the effort, despite the frustration, despite the insults, despite questioning if anything would ever actually help. So the last thing I need is for you to tell me that my efforts and my work make me “good for a dyslexic person”. Tell me I did good. I’d love to hear that. Tell me my work can be seen. But don’t remind me that my efforts will only ever be seen in the context of my diagnosis. At one point, I managed to become one of the top students in my literary class when it came to spelling in exams. And I still only got praised with that phrase. It’s honestly gotten to the point where the compliment makes me feel bad about myself. It’s not a compliment anymore! Just… Don’t. Don’t.

2) One time I was talking with my teacher about how the others would call me pretentious and say I only relied on my diagnosis and the “advantages” I supposedly got (they meant the stuff that was supposed to make my disadvantages less bad, I think). And she said that I shouldn’t take it to heart, that they didn’t know what they talked about and “whoever says someone like you shouldn’t be here is stupid.” A little context, we have a system with different forms of schools, the one I choose to attend is the form with basically all advanced classes.

Now, in on itself, this was a really great thing to say. The reason it’s still stuck with me years later in a negative sense is because no one had, in fact, questioned my position at said school. I had never even heard anyone say that dyslexic people being at this form of school was weird or anything. Never. The first time the idea that I had to prove myself capable of belonging there had been placed in my head at that very moment. She didn’t meant to do that, I know she didn’t. And that makes it all the worse, because she was trying to make things better and she was so kind about it. I can’t even be angry at her for planting that thought in my head! And the way she so casually said that, as if it was a known fact that people would think I didn’t belong there, as if it was only natural for people to say something like that to me - even if she said they’d be stupid and wrong to do so - really hurt. A lot.

So all I’m asking is, please check what was said to someone. Don’t assume what they might have heard others say about them. If you’re wrong, knowing that people could possibly think that on top of everything else can feel… icky.

3) I’ve meet a lot of ignorant people in my life. We all have, haven’t we? And one of those people was my teacher for one horrible year. I pity everyone who ever has to live through her classes at this point. Why do people who can’t respect others have a mind of their own become educators again?

Anyways, I’ve posted about this before, but she was sure that she knew better than me what dyslexia meant, as well as that dyslexia had to be the same as reading and writing disorder and I had my facts wrong. Surprising no one she never really cared much that I couldn’t do the things my classmates could do. And one day she had the nerve to tell me that “class is over and you should have been able to write that down in time if you’d actually worked. So, if you really need these notes, just ask someone for them. I’m sure even you can manage that, right?” and take the notes down from the board. She didn’t have to do that, and she had put those notes there in the last minute. I’d told her they were too small for me to read and that I couldn’t tell the letters apart like that. She hadn’t cared. Yeah… That was one of the few times a teacher made me cry in the bathroom.

So, even though I can’t believe I have to say that, don’t assume you know what someone can or can’t do, and listen to them when they talk about their experience. If they say they can’t do something, they can’t. And no matter how much you think to know about a disability, when someone lives with it, they know what it’s like in a way that you could never know.

4) I’ve also had a math teacher, and he was great! One of those teachers that just make sense and that actually really care about their students and them understanding things rather than learning them like vocab cards. He was the only math teacher who I’ve ever felt comfortable with enough to confess that measurements can be tricky on some days. Does it say “cm”, “dm”, “km” or even just “m” there? Is it “L”, “cL” or “dL”? “g” or “kg”? He was really nice about it and we made a deal: In every class test I got the measurement would not change within one task. Helped a lot. And yet…

Students talk. They noticed. Because what my teacher had done, you see is adjust just my class test. I didn’t need to switch between measurements, the others did. and I see why that wasn’t considered fair. It really isn’t, because that doesn’t have much to do with reading or writing. Yet the issue at the bottom was still there. What I’m saying is that if you change a task so that a dyslexic person can work with it, don’t change it just for them. Especially not if the task itself changes then. Dear teachers, if you’re reading this, do it for everyone or not at all. Yes it helps if you do that, but no it isn’t fair if it’s just for one person. And I honestly still feel like I cheated after hearing what my classmates said.

5) Sometimes people will tell me that it’s impressive that I work against the dyslexia, you know, did the therapy and everything (even though many people just can’t afford it and would do it if they could). In that context a little sentence often fell that I just hate from the bottom of my heart: “If only everyone would do as much. It’s great that you don’t just rely on your diagnosis to take care of everything.”

First of all, I was lucky. I was lucky my health insurance covered not only one but two therapies. It didn’t for my brothers, my parents had to pay for that themselves. And that is not cheap! Not everyone can afford to do therapy. Not everyone has the chance to do therapy. That the therapy worked as well as it did was, again, luck. That my dyslexia was on the lighter side to begin with was also luck. That I knew I was at risk and got tested early on, so that I was diagnosed at an age where a real difference could be made through developmental psychology was also luck. Don’t ever make the mistake to think that one person who got lucky can be used as the bar.

Secondly, everyone’s dyslexia is different. You can’t compare mine to other people’s struggles. Again, my form of dyslexia isn’t that bad. Both my brothers have it worse. Sure, it might not be the easiest to deal with and it’s not the bare minimum for the diagnosis, but others have it worse than I do. And they have different symptoms. I can’t even deal with most of mine, they are just easy to conceal until I have a better day. We’re not all the same, so don’t compare us in a way that makes it look like we are.

Third, a lot was my own research. No one told me that there is a fond that was developed for dyslexic people to read easier (”OpenDyslexic”, if you are interested. It’s free to download). No one told me about all the side effects, no one told me “hey, this might actually be because of your dyslexia, too”. No one told me having subtitles on in a language I already spoke would help remembering the spelling of words. No one told me how to articulate things. I didn’t get an awful lot of help along the way, you know? Keep in mind, I come from an environment in which I got more help than on average. And you saying that is basically pushing the responsibility onto us. You made a world in which we have little to no access to help, and you’re shaming us for not finding any.

Last but everything but least, you make it sound like the treatment and the way we handle this is what makes the dyslexia valid. If you’re really thinking so, you’re wrong. Like, really wrong. I chose to work my ass off to teach my brain how to keep up. I managed to find information on it. I was lucky to get the possibility to do so, because of the way you are handling this. None of that makes my diagnosis valid. It doesn’t, because it already is. My struggles, my feelings about it, my experiences, my symptoms are what makes this valid. The diagnosis, dyslexia? That just gave it a name. 

6) “That might be hard for you to do. Are you sure you can handle this?” I’m glad that you are concerned on my behalf. But as someone who also has a lot of anxiety and has lived with this shit in my mind for my entire life, I can guarantee you that I do, in fact know my limits. I have lost many opportunities in my life because I wasn’t sure I could handle it, or because I couldn’t tell beforehand if I would have a “good day” or a “bad day”.

I’m aware of the risk. I decided to take the risk, or am in the process of decided whether or not to take that risk. You aren’t helping. If you are concerned, offer to help me should I struggle. If you can’t help me, offer support. If you can neither help nor support me, I don’t know you well enough for you to be meddling with my choices so you should just leave me alone.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for taking your time to read this. I hope this’ll help. And if you do make a dyslexic person uncomfortable or hurt them with something you say or do, please remember that that will happen, no matter what someone’s dealing with. Even my brothers will hurt me sometimes and I will hurt them sometimes, even though we are all dyslexic and have known each other for literally all our lives, because we all experience this differently. And that’s okay. You can’t always know what will hurt someone and it’s not you job to read their mind and figure it out on your own either. Important is that you recognize you’ve made a mistake and that you make a conscious effort to avoid said mistake in the future. And remember: Sometimes it’s not what you’re trying to say but rather how you’re saying it that hurts. Formulations can make a huge difference.

[nomolosk]

Snapshots (AU Yeah August 2020)

read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655623/chapters/63153622

Day 18- Bookshop

Hawkmoth was getting impatient. Universal had been at large for two days, heading into three, and so far there had been no results whatsoever, except for the mother of all backlash headaches resulting from that momentary ‘star-crossed lovers’ universe, or whatever she’d called it. Moreover, he’d had to spend most of his time transformed, which was putting him rather glaringly behind on the designs for his newest line. Of course, he was also getting some excellent inspiration from all these different universes, but…

He decided enough was enough. If Universal couldn’t draw out or find Ladybug and Chat Noir in the next twelve hours, he would pull the akuma and try again. Activating his link to Universal, he readied what he was going to say.

“Universal,” he began in his patented Intimidating Voice, “I am growing tired of this endless parade of universes, none of which bring the miraculouses or their bearers any closer to me!”

“You promised me the power to change reality itself, Hawkmoth!” Universal started to complain.

“But only if you would do the work to find my nemeses so I can finally defeat them and take their miraculouses,” Hawkmoth reminded her. There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then she spoke again.

“I actually think I may be close,” she said in a quieter tone. “Of all the pulls between two people, this has been the strongest I’ve felt, and… it’s quite strong, Hawkmoth. It can only be because these two have also got miraculouses.”

Hawkmoth narrowed his eyes, somewhat surprised that she’d actually fulfilled her side of the bargain. After all, there were only a few of his many hundred akuma who had even come close- so many had been utter failures, and the rest had not been up to the challenge, even with the powers he gave them.

“Let me see,” Hawkmoth commanded, and the link between them strengthened enough for him to see what she was seeing. It robbed her of agency, stopping her in her tracks, but that hardly mattered. It wasn’t like she was a particularly offensive akuma. Her strength lay in not being noticed. In fact, with the masquerade ball universe she’d currently got going, the glowing butterfly symbol might well have simply been a part of her mask and no one would take notice.

Hawkmoth peered through the gloom until he could see two people wrapped in a passionate embrace. However, even with the darkness, the masks, and the costumes, he could tell they weren’t the ones he was looking for. Their skin tones were too dark, the heights didn’t match, and moreover, he recognized them. They had borne miraculouses a few years ago, but after Miracle Queen had exposed their identities, Ladybug had never called on them again.

“That’s not Ladybug and Chat Noir! That’s the Ladyblogger and her boyfriend!” Hawkmoth yelled. Fury roared through him and into the link, making Universal seize up with pain. He didn’t care. She’d raised his hopes only to dash them again. She should feel his wrath. 

“You have twelve hours,” he threatened. “Don’t disappoint me again.”

----

Universal shuddered in relief as the pain vanished along with Hawkmoth’s presence in the back of her mind. She cast a sullen look at the pair of lovers who had inadvertently caused this pain. It wasn’t their fault, but she hadn’t been akumatized for being rational. She decided to get back at them by making them star in the most boring universe she could think of. And just to make it extra mind-numbing, she extended the same Paris-wide effect as she had for the university life universe.

The headband on her head pulsed in time with her thought, and an indelible sphere of change spread out from her. She smiled grimly as the two before her were transformed from the mysterious and alluring masked couple into two average bookstore workers. She’d put a little more power into the memory editing part of the spell, trying to make sure that the two people in front of her wouldn’t remember what they’d been doing or why they were in the same part of the store. The two of them broke apart under the influence of the mind wipe, and found themselves apparently manning the counter of a large chain bookstore.

“You let the magic and mystery of the universe I gave you carry you away, but you’ll see… Romance doesn’t last long when confronted by the horrifying mundanity of everyday life,” she muttered under her breath. She was on a timer now- she had to make every second count. But first, she was going to ensure at least one of these people had a bad day.

She marched up to the counter, determined to act like the most disgruntled and entitled customer she could be. She would give him hell, and then she would track down that snake and mouse couple.

----

Alya blinked. For a moment she could have sworn… but then reality reasserted itself and she noticed that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. 

“Alya, what are you doing here? Get back to work!” Nino hissed at her, then pasted on a smile for the evidently quite disgruntled customer stomping up to the counter. Alya smiled but turned away, a little hurt at Nino’s insistence. He’d managed to score a coveted customer service position lately, but he’d spent more time in the warehouse where all the books came in than she had. Had he just forgotten what it was like to escape the mindless drudgery even for only as long as her break? It wasn’t like she didn’t know not to interrupt when there was a customer to help, and she could have tidied the gift bags, or something while she waited.

It honestly baffled her why the grand bookstore that was practically its own city by now, couldn’t keep more than one person on a counter at a time. It seemed so counterintuitive, she thought. She came back around the counter and hopped on the off-brand segway used by store employees who couldn’t afford to spend a good half-hour walking from one section to the next. She glanced back at Nino, only to see his smile grow strained as the Karen at the counter ranted at him. She spared him some pity- the backroom might be boring and dull, but at least she didn’t have to put up with harassment. She took careful note of the woman, the purplish headband she wore, her... questionable clothing choices, and the way her manicure was so cheap the colors had actually leached onto her fingertips.

Wait...

----

Marinette giggled as Adrien spun her out, narrowly avoiding the bookshelf to her left. He tugged her hand and she obligingly spun back, crossing her arms over her torso to hold his hands as they swayed together, back to chest. She giggled again, bright and happy. Still, they were at work.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this,” she said, grinning up at him. “But shouldn’t we get back to work? I mean, what brought this on?”

“It’s quirky and fun,” Adrien replied promptly. “Plus, we both need a break from shelving overpriced textbooks, and... I like dancing with you.” He smiled. 

She felt herself blushing, but fortunately she was currently too relaxed and into the moment for her overzealous anxiety to rear its ugly head and ruin everything. She sighed and closed her eyes, just for a moment, enjoying being so close to her crush and hearing him say he liked dancing with her.

The approaching whir of one of the store scooters made her eyes shoot open again and she tore herself away from Adrien, heart pounding. If it was one of the many managers and they got caught doing anything but their actual job…

She got to work, making room on the shelf before hefting a stack of heavy textbooks into the cleared space, making sure the spines were right side up. When she glanced over at Adrien- just to see if he was hurt or offended by her sudden leap away from him- he was working away at the next shelf over. His expression was neutral, but when he saw her looking he took the time to smile and wink at her. She smiled back. 

Marinette really hoped he didn’t think she suddenly hated him, or was ashamed to be caught dancing with him. But he probably didn’t. Stocking the shelves was one step up from unboxing and labeling the books back in the warehouse, and no one who had escaped that wanted to go back to it.

Marinette hoped that the scooter would pass them by, but unfortunately it came to a stop at the end of their aisle of shelves. 

“Pssst!”

Marinette looked up to see, not an overbearing manager, but her friend Alya, who had started working there a lot more recently than any of her other friends and was consequently still stuck in the warehouse. She must be on her break, Marinette thought. I wonder why she’s not with Nino?

Curious, she went over.

“I can’t talk right now, Alya, I’ve got all these to shelve and there are more where those came from.”

“Nino just got chewed out by the weirdest customer guys,” Alya said, and only then did Marinette realize that Adrien had joined them. “You’ve gotta come check it out!”

Alya zipped away, and Marinette and Adrien shared a look of mutual mischief before tearing after her.

@auyeahaugust