#i just like it when different shaped puzzle pieces line up in the notches of the universe

[recurring-polynya]

Soul Society Tattoo Artist AU Meta That No One Asked For: Who Killed Kaien Shiba?

So, you may have noticed Kuukaku and Ganju making an appearance in my most recent Soul Society Tattoo Artist AU comic. That was pretty much planned from the beginning, along with the next one, where they end up doing Renji a pretty significant solid, which got me thinking, how did Kaien’s death play out in this universe, and what role did (or didn’t) Rukia play in it?

See, the fanfic part of this AU (which I know you haven’t seen yet, I’m working on it) opens with Rukia trying to get a dirtbaggy tattoo to piss off Byakuya. Unlike canon Rukia, who entered the Academy barely literate and scrabbling to figure out social norms, this Rukia was adopted by Byakuya as a child, and raised with all the personal attention and high expectations that Byakuya would have given to the younger sibling he never had. Rukia is basically the star of the Academy, and Byakuya already has her twenty year plan to Squad Six vice-captain all mapped out. Except... Rukia’s doesn’t sit comfortably in her nobility. She doesn’t want to uphold the honor of Soul Society and drink fancy wine, she wants to protect people and do good. Mostly, she wants to join Squad 5 with her friends (lolololololol). 

Meeting Renji is a seismic shift for her-- she’s never met another person who questioned their own duty to society as much as she has, and through her association with him, she comes to realize that just because she doesn’t like her privilege doesn’t mean she should try to discard it. So, she ends up joining Squad 6 after all, with the goal of bringing a sense of social consciousness to the elites of the Gotei. 

I had all of this figured out, pretty much off the bat, but it raised a couple of questions, namely 1) how does Rukia end up on the Living World mission where she meets Ichigo, and 2) who went with Ukitake to witness Kaien losing his fight with Metastacia? What if, I said to myself, what if the answer to #2 was...no one. Ukitake is an immensely strong and ancient captain, and I think that he could have taken Kaien/Metastacia down, but at great cost to his health. 

This entire incident is an enormous blow for Squad 13. They’ve lost their Lieutenant and Third Seat, as well as the entire unit that was slaughtered by Metastacia (it’s unclear how many people this represents, but in the anime Metastacia-possessing-Miyako goes through the squad a murders a significant number of people as well). Their captain is effectively disabled for who-knows-how-long. There is hushed talk that Ukitake is going to be replaced (but by who??) or Squad 13 possibly even disbanded. The squad is roundly seen as bad luck, and people are filing transfer requests right and left.

I’ve always headcanoned Ukitake as a family friend of the Kuchiki, and I can especially see him and Hisana getting along. I think Byakuya would have been friendlier with Kaien and Miyako as well (I always make Byakuya 1000% more friendly with everyone in AUs where his wife doesn’t die...which still basically only brings him up to “will tolerate their presence at dinner parties” but anything is an improvement) and I think Rukia may still have done a bit of training with Kaien, since elemental swords run in the Shiba family.  

Rukia, who at this point is Third Seat at the Sixth, and basically shadowing Shirogane in the interest of replacing him, decides she can’t allow this to stand, and begs Byakuya to allow her to transfer to the 13th in order to help hold things together until Ukitake can get back on his feet. More than anything else, this has huge symbolic value: the Kuchiki princess and Byakuya’s personal protégé, delaying her own vice-captain’s exam to go do the paperwork of three people at a squad that’s in shambles, because that’s how important she thinks Captain Ukitake is. 

It works, it stops the hemorrhaging. Byakuya doesn’t like it, but he and Rukia have come to an understanding that her continued role as stand-in Kuchiki heir hinges on him respecting the things she feels she needs to do. She also ends up taking quarters at the Thirteen, which allows her to get some degree of freedom and also allows her the chance to surreptitiously spend some time in Rukongai with Renji, which is good, because she’s so busy now that she’d hardly get to see him otherwise. (Renji, for his part, is extremely proud and supportive of her choice)

When the comics part of the story picks up, Ukitake is doing much better. Rukia has passed her vice-captain’s exam and is on the cusp of transferring back to the Sixth. Ukitake wishes like Hell he could keep her, but he knows Byakuya has been patient enough. Just for old times, he decides to send Rukia on one last deployment, just a few weeks in the World of the Living, since that’s a thing she’s not likely to get to do once she’s an assistant captain. After all, what could go wrong?

#soul society tattoo artist au #it's just very funny to me that rukia was supposed to become byakuya's vice captain on the same schedule that renji did #i just like it when different shaped puzzle pieces line up in the notches of the universe #lt shirogane. weeping: i was supposed to retire. i could be selling tacky sunglasses for outrageous sums of money RIGHT NOW #yeah the arrest scene goes down a little different too #which is not to say that byakuya is still down with his sister getting executed but also his Patience is Very Thin at this point #i do not think ukitake and renji have ever met but renji sends soup and cookies back to squad 13 with rukia sometimes #and ukitake sends back good tea and candy for The Miscellaneous Orphans #possibly also the bougiest dog biscuits for purchase in the seireitei

[maybe-itll-be-someday]

After The Rain

For my beautifully bright friend, @sequinsmile-x. 

Happy Birthday, sweet girl. I’d only ever be able to pull 2.5k words out of my math riddled brain for you. 

Read on AO3

--

Aaron always did hate the rain.

The rain always meant that he would have no choice but to stay inside, a witness to the bottles of whiskey that his father would consume and his mother’s indifference to the situation. The rain meant that he’d have to stay home from the library, where he spent hours perusing through books and living in between worn out spines. Instead, he’d stay holed up in his room until his father’s booming voice beckoned him out, the rain aggravating his already delicate temper another notch.

It drizzled the day that they lowered his mother into the ground. Barely 25, his only suit hanging off his shoulders and circles under his eyes from nights he spent reading through cases and making his life more than his father’s ever was. He doesn’t cry as her casket gets lowered six feet beneath them, so the sky softly weeps on his behalf.

It rains the day that Haley leaves him. He comes home to their apartment, a light smattering of rain drops on their window as he takes in the empty space of their living room. Jack’s favorite toys are gone from the living room floor, where he spent hours stacking blocks and attempting to shove shapes into the wrong holes. The clothes she left in their closet were non-essentials - not anything they needed to live their everyday lives.

(It’s only fitting that he gets left behind too.)

It storms the day he makes the decision to send Emily off to Paris, his heart in his throat when he tells their superiors that the only way they could keep her safe is by letting everyone think that she was dead. Tears sting in his eyes and his fingers cramp from the intensity in which he’s holding the pen as he signs away to her new life, one that just recently slotted him in like a neat puzzle piece.

Thunder rumbles above them when he squeezes her hand, promising her that he would find Doyle and that he would bring her home. The skies crack open and the rain starts to fall when he gets to stamp his affection for her on her lips, sealing whispered promises he had no idea if he could keep.

So he takes the assignment in Pakistan, because when the sky splits open on a Wednesday night, he feels like he’s drowning.

At least it didn’t rain in the desert.

--

It rains on their third date, much to his dismay.

He should’ve checked the weather forecast before committing to taking her on a picnic in the park on a rare weekday off. He even goes to a boutique wine store in DC, asking for advice on what kind of wines would go best with which cheese because he wants to impress her. He wants the flavours to melt on her tongue to be the same sharp contrast of salty and sweet that lingered on his tongue when he tasted her. He buys her favorite wine, wrapped in a label that’s worn with time, because he wants to show

He just wants to tell her how he feels, but it’s way too soon. She’s only been back in the States for a few months, their romance rekindled in the past few weeks.

So instead, he tries to plan every moment of their date to the perfection she deserved.

If only he had checked the weather.

Emily had shown up at his door, white linen flowing down from thin straps and cinching around her waist, delicately draping right above her knees and his mouth going dry at the sight of her. She wrapped her fingers around his neck and kissed him in greeting, his own hands greedily grabbing the fabric under his hands and internally debated if they could forgo the picnic and instead eat the overpriced cheese he bought off of her skin.

But her eyes brightened when she saw the picnic basket he had prepared, running a finger and reading the labels of everything he bought in perfect intonation to their native languages.

“Where did you get all of this?” She had asked, cheeks dusted in a light pink at the realization that he had done this all for her.

“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll tell you.” He’s always been attuned to her movements - a careful eye thrown in her direction. It had started just as a precaution, his opinions on her joining the BAU still up for debate.

It had slowly and too easily transformed into something else completely. It was probably the reason why he had gone to four different delis in DC, tracking down cheese he couldn’t pronounce the names of and two bottles of wine that he thinks cost him more than all the wine he’s ever bought in his life.

He remembers the first time he caught it. Reading a report from over her shoulder, their relationship refining its rough edges as they slipped closer and closer together. He remembers the smell of her perfume, the soft scent of something floral in his nose as he read through her report.

“Good.” He had said, a soft hand on her shoulder in approval when her shoulders tightened ever so slightly. Not in annoyance, or in anger, but in a frustration that he thinks had to do with the way her hips shifted in her seat. He was just starting to learn about her, of the mole that was tucked on her collarbone, of the small rose tattoo on her ribs and the dove that flew across her hip bone.

He spent his time exploring which patches of skin produced which noises, which angle of his caused her to grip whichever part of him she was holding tighter, and which words caused his name to roll off of her tongue in a sweet cacophony of moans.

Her pupils darkened at his approval, his touch igniting something under her skin that when he said it later that night, wrapped in her silk sheets - the words good girl dropped in the middle of unintelligible mutters - she had arched into him and her thighs clamped down around his hips as she urged him to go deeper and faster, chasing her release by embedding him under her skin.

Another button he’s learned how to press and his delight grew as her pupils widened at his words.

“As long as I can hold you to that.” He wanted to tug her back into his bedroom, taking advantage of the fact that his apartment was kid-free for once but she just cackled and tugged on his hand, telling him to grab the picnic basket because she was starving .

They find a secluded area of Potomac park and he asks her to explain whatever it is he bought, because he really was only working off of the recommendations of the elderly Italian woman at the first deli who had written down all the cured meats and cheeses that he should buy when he mentioned it would be for his girlfriend.

Emily tells him which wine would go best with which cheese and he feeds her grapes and cherries that stained her lips in a soft pink, stealing soft kisses when he lingers close enough and enjoying the blush that spreads on her skin when his hand draws soft circles on the inside of her knee.

The dark, grey sky looms over them without warning, the clouds splitting open to let fat drops of rain land on the very expensive cheese that he thinks is an absurd amount for pressed curds of milk. Aaron starts to quickly pack their picnic, calculating the amount of time that it’s going to take to get to the car that they’ve parked on the other side of the road and wonders why the rain was determined to ruin what was going to be one of his favorite memories.

“Aaron.” She says, chuckling and running a hand down his back. “It’s only the rain.”

But she also notices the way his body has gone rigid, jaw set in a tight line as he continues to pack the food back into the basket. He flinches when a particularly fat raindrop hits the back of his neck and she frowns at his reaction.

But she doesn’t press, instead helping him pack away all of their food and letting him coral her under a nearby tree just as the rain pelts the ground in heavy, loud waves. The rain was torrential, their visibility limited to the first twenty feet in front of them and Aaron already knows that they won’t make it back to the car without getting soaked, if they could find it in the downpour.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He mutters, fists curled tightly and Emily pushes the wet curls across his forehead and brushes off his apology.

“It’s not like you can control the weather.”

“I should’ve checked--” He protests.

“It’s okay, I actually like the rain.” Her head cocks, appraising him with a careful eye and Aaron knows that he doesn’t have to tell her that he isn’t a big fan of the rain. She stares at him for a moment longer and as he is about to suggest they sprint back to the car, her hand slips into his and she tugs him out from under the shade of the tree and right into the downpour.

“Emily, what are you doing ?” He asks, his voice loud to try and compete with the rain that was battering the ground beneath them. Emily doesn’t respond, instead keeping a firm grip on his hand as the drops of water soaked her skin, causing the white fabric around her to cling to her skin.

“Dance with me.” She says, a gentle tug on his hand pulling him closer.

“There’s no music.” He says and she just laughs, his pedantics having the opposite effect on her as she steps closer to him, lifting the hand in hers as his arm loops instinctively around her waist. He’s about to protest again, because they really should be getting back to the car because the food is in a wooden basket under a tree, but she tips her lips on his and effectively stops his protests before they begin.

Her temple brushes against his cheek, and the taut pull of his muscles releasing slightly. She curls into him, her hand resting on the small of his back as his palm flattens across her shoulders, his thumb edging the outline of its blade. A shiver runs up her spine at the contact, the warmth of his fingers a sharp contrast to the rain that slid on their skin. She starts leading him in a gentle sway, their movements oddly on beat with the beating of the rain.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never danced in the rain, Hotchner.” He shrugs, a playful smile gracing his lips.

“I’m not in the habit of catching a cold or freezing in wet clothes.” Emily laughs, the soft lilt of it wrapping his heart in a warmth that causes those three words to curl dangerously at the end of his lips.

“The rain isn’t all bad.” She says, glancing up towards the dark sky as she lets the rain pound on her skin. “It brings the flowers. It cleans the air. It helps us savor the sunshine just a little bit more.”

Her fingers twine around a damp strand of his hair at the base of his neck, the scrape of her nails eliciting the release of the tension in his shoulders. He pulls her a little closer, taking the lead her in a soft shuffle

“The rain brings the rainbows.” She says, a soft smile curling at the edge of her lips, as if she was telling him a secret he wasn’t supposed to know about.

He didn’t think he’d ever find himself dancing in the rain. The torrential background of some of his more unpleasant memories is the same background that makes his chest want to split open to let all the light that was building inside of him out. To let the three words that curl dangerously at the edge of his lips to tumble out laced in a million promises and praises he wanted to give to her.

He didn’t think he’d find himself here, her soft figure pressed against his as the rain soaked their skin. He didn’t think he’d get to imprint his affection for her against her lips, tasting the sweet tartness of the cherries that stained her lips. He didn’t think he’d ever get to have her.

The words slip from his lips, his affection for her pouring from him with no warning or forethought. He just needs to tell her because he’s happy, and he doesn’t think he’d ever be this happy in the rain .

“I love you.” He says breathlessly, panic rising in him as she stiffens in his arms. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.”

But she giggles, bright and brilliantly, and tugs his lips right onto hers and says that she loves him too.

If this was his rainbow, he’d happily let it storm for the rest of his life.

--

The next time it rains, he is the one to tug her into the park across the street. He takes her hand and leads her in a waltz he definitely doesn’t know, the cadence of her laugh sweet and light in the air. He sings Blackbird in her ear, low and whispered, because she’s always brought out a side of him that he thought he could keep buried under steel-reinforced walls.

He’d give every side of him to her, if she asked.

Maybe they’d make enough of these memories, of the rain soaking them to the bone but they would laugh and he’d make her hot chocolate after and he’d peel the heavy fabric of her dress off of her skin as she laughed and tell him to hurry up because Emily Prentiss was anything but patient.

Maybe they’d make enough memories to clean the stained ones that followed him whenever it rained.

Aaron always did hate the rain.

But with her, he hated it a little bit less.

--

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron x emily #ckbwrites

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Before Dawn ~ Pt2~

Hii!! This is part two of my new series. I hope every one of you like it, I'll be tagging the story with it's title so it's easier to find.

Warnings: mentions of attempted murder

@wakatosji I figured I should tag you but if you don't want me to tag you its alright, I don't want to be annoying ❤️

Comfort tea

"Ew?" First goes Lynne. Her face is contorted with a puzzled expression as she lifts her eyebrow to Petra's sudden requiry.

"Well, yeah, kinda" Nanaba shoots a glare to Nifa, as if judging her for her choice of words before she simply brushes the question with waving her hand. Seconding that, as if she knows what you were about to say a few moments before she sets her blue set of eyes on you. A gulp finds its way down your throat as her cold gaze pierces through your body and it's not long until you get the message. The girls' voices echo through your head as if you're listening from afar for you're drunk in your own thoughts.

For instant, you hate the fact that the first time you try to willing open up about a new feeling, you're overshadowed. The urgent need to spill your guts on the subject becomes more prominent by every single minute passing and yet you force yourself to keep it in. You're not about to physically burst your guts like a corpse under the hot summertime sun because of your emotions, so you should be fine if you collect your impatient self.

"Shut up Petra, I'm serious." A playful chuckle leaves Lynne's mouth.

Maybe, it's the fact that Nanaba knows you too well that lifts some weight off of you for now when at the same time she's stopping you from saying something you'll regret. And thus, you bite your lip and reluctantly decide to ignore the throbbing of your own thoughts.

"He handpicked me for his squad!"

:readmore:

Oddly enough you don't feel any jealousy creeping in your system by hearing Petra's words thanks to Nanaba putting you in your place. Even though, you're sadly reminisced of various scenes of your past where you've been in this very position after your mother has barked at you to stay in place you utter not a single word. Your head almost always automatically goes blank so you're not taken aback by your lack of reaction. Whatever Petra says you're sure going to overthink later, when sleep won't be willing to take you for the night.

"Captain really needs someone else in his squad right? Everyone has five members and he has four. (Y/n) why are you even in Mike's team, you could fill this blank right?"

"It's a special operations squad Nifa you dummy! He handpicked everyone!" Petra's adorable bunny smile is directed towards Nifa this time who gives her a cute puckered smirk of approval in return. It's almost too precious of an interaction for you to miss.

"Mike handpicked (y/n), right after me." Nanaba's voice bores casually into conversation while she takes her eyes away from her plate and lands them onto you. "So, what were you about to say?"

"Uhm" Your mind trails back to today's most random event "Henning imitated Tomas after I said good morning and scream 'nice tits (y/n)'. I totally gave him the finger." This simple choice of words helps avoid any unnecessary drama in your girls group. At least you had some dignity not to throw hands over a man anyways.

_____

"Hange stop squishing my cheeks, I can't sit with the higher ups."

"But you did last week!"

"You dragged me!"

Hange's response is only a silent hmf followed by her ever so memorable toothy mischievous grin. She begins taking steps towards you that only increase as one foot follows the other. Despite not being in a playful mood, you decide that running seems to be the best thing to do in the moment to get yourself away from her. If she catches you, she's dragging you with her once again.

Your heart is erratically pounding in your chest as you sprint down the many hallways of the headquarters, out of breath and dizzied by hunger. You reluctantly pause for a second to catch your breath amidst waiting for the inevitable to happen. Devil sure works hard but Hange and her determination work harder, you're reminded of that everyday, you tell yourself, not only when her hand lands onto your shoulder. You mentally punch yourself in the throat for not keeping your body in a better shape.

"I am not letting you starve again, let's go!"

All while during dinner you converse with Mike and Erwin on shortage of hygienic and sanitary products, something that concerns the commander excessively. Soldiers' access to basic necessities is always a top priority in the Scouting Region and commanders are to always tend to their needs. Erwin is and should be no different.

Levi seems to have his mind in your conversation and ignores Hange entirely while she's speaking some Titan nonsense to him. His eyes often widen when Erwin expresses concern on lack of soap and talks about his predictions on its practical annihilation, but it's only what you utter next that grabs his attention enough for him to turn his head in your direction.

"We can make soap. We don't have to keep putting orders for it to be made. I was taught to make soap at home and I'm sure many other girls know."

Silence spreads fast as if a traveling shadow on sunset on the table after you speak. Erwin's batting his eyes in yours, Mike too and Levi looks at you with that usual unamused expression of his. How come they had never thought about that?

Well probably because it wasn't always that there was such shortage in almost fucking everything.

"My office after dinner, cadet." Levi speaks, breaking the silence with his stern sounding voice. "There's something I need to discuss with you."

__

"Yes sir!" You reply in a heartbeat with a small bow of your head.

Not long after, the distinguishable tone of the curfew bell fills the air, making most soldiers get up from their seats instantly. Levi sits still in his spot as his fellow higher ups bid him with farewells and goodnights to which he replies with casual, nonchalant hums. Upon seeing most of the plebe has left he orders you to stand up and follow him.

He can't help but take a few vague looks of you with the corner of his left eye and he wonders if you do the same from time to time as you march behind him. It doesn't take long for the two of you to reach his quarters, but when you do he takes a stand to unlock the door before proceeding to let you in, him following asuit behind you.

"Here have a seat." He offers unsure of where to point to except for the dark colored loveseat near his desk. "I wanted to know how you even took the knife out of my hands." He watches as your facial expression turns into something along the lines of an almost undetectable disgust and sorrow, your brows forrow and your lips pucker. You couldn't hide it even if you wanted to and maybe the fact that he provoked such reaction from you bit suddenly on his gut and kept chewing on it.

"Just because you were a thug, doesn't mean you're the only one who gets to handle a knife you know." You finally answer, scratching and scrunching your nose in uneasiness. Almost mechanically, the next question comes out of his mouth without remorse.

"Oi what does a brat like you want to do with a knife. You don't strike me as the thug type. You're too uptight for that." A few moments later his gut is going to make him regret ever asking you in the first place.

"Uptight? Ugh, why would you even care, I bet your mother didn't try to murder you in your sleep or with any chance she could."

He grits his teeth inside his mouth and immediately closes his eyes in horror. That horrible feeling of his gut being chewed forms into bits and pieces of wild inner comburst within his organs. Though he cannot phantom what you have been through, he is able of making vivid potential images in his mind that will probably contribute to another sleepless night.

He turns to face you in hopes of being able to mouth anything that could cut through the uneasy tension he's created but at the sight of you he's overthrown. That heart breaking sob that leaves your lips, those thick streams of tears down your cheeks, he won't make it if he keeps looking at you in this condition, all he wants to do is scream, for he's witnessed enough cruelty and damage in this world and it seems that it's never enough. Human bloodlust is never enough.

"I'm s-sorry. I just. Why did I say that?" You faintly utter with uncertainty masking your shaky voice.

"It's fine, as long as you get over it." He definitely despises himself because of that line because in the name of heaven and hell how do you simply ask someone to get over such trauma without sounding like an entitled asshole. The motions that his eyes catch in the dim light of his office are skinny, hard but fragile at the same time and they all hint to you wanting to leave, presumably due to the lack of consolation on his part. He just determined he'll do better. You helped Isabel back on the day so he lets you this one.

"I-I'll excu-"

"Do you have any prefered beverages?"

"M-milk tea" you quietly huff. He's not quite sure whether a drink will ease your boiling pain, but at least he's hoping it'll soothe your current state.

His heart is officially aching with agony and pain that refuses to mellow even a notch, even if he begs to any profoundly selfclaimed wall God. Ever since a year ago he's been living within the heart of crime and downgrade garbage, respected for his violent ways and easily feared for his inhuman skills. In that dirty, shit smelling drain, overpopulated with humans or rats -or probably both, he can't possible distinguish them- who piss in any corner they find, he thought he'd seen any gruesome thing a man can do, but that rough melancholy in your eyes convinces him he's so casually wrong.

"I apologise for bringing such subject up, (y/n), here's your tea. Though due to shortages we don't have any milk." You matter him a word of gratitude as he sets the cup next to you. He'll never let you know, but he notices you're surprised by his actions even in that state you're in.

"She's dead. My mother. She died last month and-" you trail off your words "I guess it's more of me being emotionally chained to my abuser." Levi just pops his head in his palms and sighs deeply at the sound of that but never comes to find the right line up his textureless thoughts should take for him to form a sentence.

"Kinda looks like piss don't you think?"

"Huh?" If he could hear your words correctly and not partially because of the turbulence in his mind he would have thought of an instant smart come back.

"The tea, it looks like piss." At the sound, he barely manages to hold in a chuckle.

He knows yet he manages to only scoff in response. "I had to tremendously water it down, be mindful." He opts to suggest always in that bland tone of his.

"Do other people except from us drink it like that?"

"I desperately want to doubt that anyone cares to provide for your golden shower enthusiasm, so no. This is some of my personal stash."

The two of you enjoy your comfort tea in sheer silence. Levi can't take his eyes off of you, not that he's trying to, but he tries to convince himself it's only because you've verbally shared your trauma with him. In return, for some of his, he didn't have to share, you were there to see Isabel's head laying on the blood stained grass with Farlans upper body accompanying it. He wants to speak up, but his mouth is seldomly never in a place to voice out the exact thoughts in his head, so even if he tells you about Kenny and his childhood you never get to hear it. In addition, he's not the one to try and overshadow somebody who speaks about themselves by sharing his experience so the comfortable silence that has sprawled in the whole of his office is more than enough.

______

Here's the deal. Henning likes Lynne, Lynne likes Tomas, Tomas likes you and you like Captain Levi, not that hard to grasp right? As long as no one neglects their soldier duties everything is fine.

It's a plain sunny Sunday in the Survey Corps headquarters. Mike is on a day out, perhaps strolling around the city of Trost in chance of finding any merchant to provide for soldiers necessities, while you're assigned with cleaning his office.

Levi is standing at the doorframe, back pressed upon it with his hands crossed over his chest as he supervises the six of you go. He promised the blond squad leader to keep an eye on his team seeing that things would get heated up pretty easily nowadays, ending up in heated arguments most of the time as well.

Every time his eyes meet yours you avert your gaze away, specifically to the floor you're set on scrubbing until your hands bleed. He can't help but notice it. Small little movements of awkwardness from his part make you tense even if you're oblivious to his awareness of the fact.

"Tch" He tries his best to shake you off the territory you're occupying in his mind. It's not right for him to endulge in something frowned upon after having just received a position as a high rank. That's not his purpose here. Emotions should never color your judgement in battlefield.

"I'm taking a break." You call to the others as you stand from your kneeling position. You pat your hands dry on the sides of your hips and you hope Levi doesn't notice, because you won't see the end of this.

"I'm coming with you! Wait for me." Tomas announces and you respond a soft 'sure' along with a warm smile. "Ah God, I'm so thirsty!" The two of you walk past Levi at the door, but you never spare him a look, in fact you're too invested in your small talk with Tomas to even ask for permission to excuse yourselves.

"Love birds, huh Nanaba?" Gelgar elbows the blonde with puckered his lips, a ridiculous expression plastered on his face. "I wonder how long until we get the good news-"

"Gelgar just shut up."

"What Lynne? Poor Tomas might finally get his chance with the kid."

Lynne loves you and your group of friends deeply. She and Nanaba are probably the big sisters of the group. They've stuck with you, Nifa and Petra through thick and thin, through bloodshed and tragedy, so she's not mad at you for having caught Tomas' attention. With your melancholic youthful face, (h/c) hair that blows softly in the wind, with the way you pucker your lips when you're determined or angry. She's probably mad at herself for never acting on that cadet trainee crush she had on Tomas. She sets her mind on recovering quickly from it.

Despite opening her mouth to speak, she notices it's not her voice that's heard, but in fact it's a deeper, almost nasal one.

"Set to work, tch, don't waste your energy on royal teenage drama."

"Sir! Yessir!"

Irritated, Levi bites the inside of his cheek, without ever changing the look in his eyes. You were kind and behaved well mannered to everyone, that was all. That was was led you to act nice to Isabel and what led her to speak highly of you to him. Nothing more. Nothing less.

 

"It's alright! Get up" with your eyes shut, you smile at the redhead who's sprawled across the grass while holding out your hand to her. Isabel smiles back and she proceeds to take your hand, taking another chance to spare with you again.

For a few nights she won't shut up about you. How you don't look down on her like other girls do, how you iron her clothes just like her big bro does.

"I'm going to miss her when were free of here, Farlan!" The red head takes a bite of her bread and munches softly on it. Before she even has a chance to speak another word she feels a hand ruffle her hair but notices that Levi's hands are concentrated on the simple task of feeding food in his mouth. She spares you a heart warming smile and wave but you fail to reciprocate as your friends gesture you to sit.

"You're gonna make me miss her too and I don't even know her." Farlan says and places a hand at the top of his head, scratching a soft spot.

"Ahh, big bro! Can we kidnap her!"

"We're not kidnapping anyone. We need to focus on our mission alright Isabel?"

Isabel shushes at this but doesn't fail to shoot you a glare. And this time you respond with a wave. Whatever you lack in word choosing skills you make up for kind acts. She wishes they kidnap you, she needs a female friend anyways.

Hey you there, yes you, thanks for taking time and reading this, I appreciate it more than I can express. If you want to see me write something for you make sure to leave a request in my askbox! Any comments on how you're enjoying the story are also very appreciated. Much love until next time 💕

#levi ackerman x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #levi #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #attack on titan #snk #aot #fluff #angst #drama #rivaille #rivaille ackerman #before dawn #hange zoe #erwin smith #mike zacharias #nanaba

[artificialqueens]

Laws of Motion / Chapter 3 (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

Hello! If you are just joining now, this is what you’ve missed.

Detective Mattel was tired of her boring little life, with a steady boyfriend and cases that pretty much solved themselves. When she got the promotion that she wanted, instead of celebrating, her friends bailed of her, her heart got broken, and she slept with a woman for the first time in her life.

Detective Zamo was really good at what she did, she always got the weirdest cases, and enjoyed putting freaks behind bars. When her partner got an early retirement, she was confronted with the fact that, the new addition to the team, was the girl she hooked up with the previous weekend.

AO3 Link

Chapter 3 - Blue.

Trixie stared at the same board she had been looking at for the last two weeks.

It felt like a piece out of a movie scene, with pictures and maps and big lines connecting the information.

When she decided to be part of the police force, that was what she had expected the job to be. She had watched just enough television in her childhood to inspire that mental image. She liked the aspect of the crimes being one big puzzle, she only needed to find all the right pieces, and then put them together. She became a detective and none of that happened. She was twenty-six years old and felt like she had wasted the last five years of her life behind a desk.

Now, as she tried to make sense of the pieces of paper thumbtacked down on the cork board, she felt utterly unprepared. A single moment of doubt washed over her, and she allowed it.

Maybe she was supposed to be a desk rat.

Maybe her role in the force was supposed to be minor.

Maybe she was never supposed to have gotten that promotion.

The self-loathing was gone as quickly as it arrived. She was meant to be there. She hadn’t fought so hard to get out of her hometown, struggled to climb up the professional ladder, achieved the position she wanted, just to give up on her first case. There was no way she could give this guy, a weirdo obsessed with turning prostitutes into puppets, the power to ruin her life.

Shaking her head, to get rid of any previous thoughts, she tried to look at the evidence with new eyes.

There had been seven murders total, six over the course of the last year, and the most recent one five months later. All pictures provided the same scene but different girl. They were all at their own place, sitting at their dining table. The arms of all the girls were lifted by strings attached to the ceiling. Impeccable makeup was applied on their faces, and their bodies were completely drained of blood.

None of the apartments showed signs of forced entry, which meant they had all known the killer to some extent. That last part was still inconcrete, since the girls had nothing to connect them other that their profession. They didn’t work on the same street, didn’t have friends in common. Nothing. This man had made them trust him enough to let him into their homes.

But how?

She looked at the dots placed on the map of the city, indicating where the killings had taken place. The biggest one signaled the spot where the last body had been found.

Trixie couldn’t make sense out of them. She had tried connecting the dots, they didn’t form any shape or letter or specific form. There was no hidden message on the distributions of the murders. She had also tried to find a reason behind the actual addresses. There was no play on words with the names of the streets, and the numbers of the residencies didn’t have any resemblance.

What she needed was a break. She was sure she had memorized every piece of information on that board. The best solution would be to distance herself from it and come back with a fresh state of mind.

“There’s a saying where I come from: watching pots will never make them boil.”

When she got no response, she turned around, ready to ask Kennedy if she wanted to grab some coffee, but all she found was a sleeping body. Kennedy snoring softly was actually a lot more helpful than the awake version of her, who was always shutting down theories and never coming up with good ideas. She did more to delay the process than to help solve the case. Katya had recommended to Trixie to just let Kennedy sleep.

Katya.

Things hadn’t been as tense with Katya, as Trixie had expected. There was something about Katya that just made people want to be around her, her company was enjoyable. Trixie quickly realized that she wasn’t the only one drawn to her beyond reason. They were often being interrupted as their colleagues went to chat with her. The constant visits made their interactions easier. Trixie was never really alone with Katya for long periods, preventing awkwardness to seep into their conversations.

On more than one occasion Trixie had caught Katya staring at her, hungry eyes scanning her curves without a care. It was almost as if Katya wanted her to know that she was being watched, observed, wanted. All that Trixie had felt was uncomfortable.

Although, deep down, a small part of her had been flattered that Katya could flirt with her so openly, throwing dirty jokes at her, and making her blush in the most inappropriate times. It kind of hurt to realize that was simply her personality. There was this charm about Katya that seemed to work on both men and women, and she reveled in her bisexuality. She would shamelessly share stories about sucking a penis one day and then rant about how beautiful boobs were the next. It was such a strange sight for Trixie, who had grown up in the deep country, with the simplistic idea of a woman finding a man to put a ring on her finger, and the story would end.

In the two weeks they had been working together, Trixie had learned more about Katya’s sexual career than her actual life.

All the stories of carefree sex also weighed Trixie’s heart down a little, because it meant that she had been nothing but a notch on Katya’s bedpost. She had internally been kicking herself for that weekend she spent picturing the two of them together, not only repeating the night they had shared but turning it into something special. How naïve she had been. Her foolishness had an excuse, though, or at least that was what she kept telling herself. She had just been dumped. Her mind wasn’t thinking straight, her heart wasn’t feeling properly, her soul wasn’t directing the pain to the right person. It was a more than valid reason.

The amount of work they had to go through had also played a big part on mending Trixie’s broken heart. She had a purpose, she had something to do, she had a murderer to catch. They did, both of them; but Katya was constantly asking for breaks, going out for a smoke or needing more coffee.

Trixie wondered if she was trying to take a step back from the case as well. Looking at the clock, she realized Katya had left for the gym over an hour ago and hadn’t come back.

Running sounded like a good idea. Maybe Trixie should go on the treadmill for a bit and try to clear her head.

Just stepping out of the meeting room, that had been reserved for the case specifically, already had Trixie feeling much better. She was not alone with her thoughts, and Kennedy’s loud breathing wasn’t her only ambience anymore. The bullpen was alive, people were coming and going, printers could be heard in the background, and a phone rang somewhere.

Trixie waved at Violet when she passed by the copying machine. Violet only nodded her head slightly in return, always focused and concentrated in her work. Katya considered Violet one of her best friends, and promised Trixie she wasn’t always as cold and distant. Trixie had a hard time believing it; but ultimately trusted Katya’s judgement on people.

On her desk, Jasmine was laughing loudly at something Roy was telling her. Across the room Tempest had her nails digging on Kasha’s back, trying to scratch a spot that she couldn’t reach herself.

With a smile on her face, Trixie walked passed them, changed into her sports clothes, and made her way down to the basement. It was close to the end of the shift, there was only one other person at the gym.

Katya could feel every single muscle screaming at her in unison. She had been straining them to their maximum capacity. The rubber band restricted the stretching even more, and she loved it. She was always trying to break the boundaries of her own elasticity. She felt the plastic biting at the arch of her foot, but she stubbornly kept trying to make her shin touch her ear. Her other leg was tucked in front of her, providing the needed support to remain balanced.

She didn’t notice when someone else walked into the room but she could hear the soft thuds of feet against the belt of a treadmill.

Her eyes were closed, but she could still feel a stare burning her skin. It felt nice to be observed, she liked it a lot. If her sudden spectator wanted a show, she was going to give them just that.

Throwing the resistance band to the side, she extended both legs in front of her. Her back straightened, and she concentrated on the low of her back as she bent forward. Very easily her hands took hold of her feet, she used them as anchor points to have her forehead pressed against her knees.

She then opened her legs, making her head softly drop to the floor. Wider and wider she spread her legs until they formed a perfect side split.

Her heels were planted on the floor, the palms of her hands laid flat in front of her, and she lifted her tailbone from the ground. Her torso pressed hard against the floor as her butt remained up in the air. She dropped back down and waited a few seconds.

The feet on the treadmill sounded faster.

She started bouncing, in slow controlled movements, making her ass hit the floor every time. It wasn’t intentional but she started to turn herself on. She hump the ground faster and faster. Grunts left her mouth in effort but they soon turned into moaning.

The stepping sound stopped, only the belt going around and around could be heard.

Using her arms, she pushed her torso back up. Her legs closed in front of her, and she let out a deep sigh. Her eyes opened. Her lips curled up into a smirk when she spotted Trixie. She had her feet on each side of the machine, avoiding the band that still ran below her. Her mouth was wide open in shock, revealing a piece of gum stuck to her molars. It was a funny sight to say the least.

“Oh, hi,” Katya said as casually as she could. “Didn’t see you there.”

Trixie didn’t move from her spot. She needed a moment to recover but she finally spoke. “You are flexible,” she stated the obvious.

Katya laughed shortly. “I am. You should have known that by now, Mary.”

A button was pressed, the treadmill stopped running.

“You-you… I mean, we didn’t…” Trixie stuttered, making Katya laugh again.

“Maybe we should, then,” she offered with a side smile and the shrug of a shoulder.

The look of shock on Trixie’s face was priceless. Katya couldn’t hold it any longer and started laughing hysterically.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she managed between laughs. “It’s just so easy to–” She was unable to finish her sentence, as more laughter took over her.

“You are horrible.” Trixie took her hand towel and threw it at her, small giggles bubbled up inside her.

The towel landed not even halfway between the two, but it worked to lighten up the mood. Katya watched as Trixie climbed down from the machine to pick the towel up, then made her way to sit right in front of her.

“Did you and Kennedy manage to get something?” The question was clearly rhetorical, Katya knew the answer already. Nonetheless, she asked with a serious tone, hoping that Trixie would catch the humor behind it.

Luckily, she did. Trixie laughed softly, a small “Oh, totally,” leaving her lips. “I don’t understand how she can sleep so much,” she continued, her voice laced with bewilderment.

Katya’s legs kicked the air between them as she laughed uncontrollably. She did manage to catch the small smile on Trixie’s lips, though. She seemed proud to make her hysterical like that. Katya then made a mental note to laugh at her jokes more often, just so she could see that cocky smile again.

“No, but seriously,” Katya directed the conversation back to work. “What are we missing? I feel like there’s something, right in front of us, that we are not seeing.”

“They can’t be isolated cases,” Trixie offered. “There’s no way.”

“And we are not dealing with a copy-cat,” Katya declared. “I know it’s him. I can feel it in my pussy.”

Trixie lifted an overly drawn eyebrow. “You know, normal people don’t feel hunches in their… in there.”

“Oh, there’s nothing normal about this pussy, Momma.”

It looked like she wanted to say something, as if a comeback had died on Trixie’s lips, because she opened and closed her mouth. In the end she just laughed and told Katya they should go back to work. She wanted to share a few ideas with her, and it was getting late.

Katya allowed Trixie to help her up, ignoring the electric shock hitting her palm as soon as their hands met. The procedure felt oddly familiar.

They made their way back upstairs, still in their workout clothes, which made it even harder for Katya to keep her eyes away from Trixie. The leggings hugged her ass tightly, accentuated her fleshy hips and tiny waist. The tank top she was wearing barely did anything to cover her big tits. The term ‘hourglass figure’ was invented just so Katya could put into words the exact shape of Trixie’s body.

The room was empty when they reached it. It was a few minutes past six and everybody on their floor had headed home for the evening. Nobody from the night shift had arrived yet. Would it really be that inappropriate if they–

“You see this?”

Trixie’s voice took her out of her dirty train of thoughts. Her finger pointed at a picture. A picture that Katya had been analyzing for over a year. It was the crime scene of the first victim they had found. There was nothing on that picture that Katya hadn’t seen before.

“What-what? What am I seeing?”

Trixie moved her finger a little, a blue square was next to the foot of the table. “At first I didn’t think much of this. It looked like a random piece of paper, right?” She then moved to the table in the middle, shuffling through files. “Then, I found this!”

She pulled out a picture of the third murder. In the image a bunch of clutter could be seen on a coffee table. Underneath an empty bottle of vodka, a blue shadow was almost imperceptible, but Katya could see it. It was there.

“I don’t know if it means anything,” Trixie shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not even sure if they are the same thing. Maybe I’m just seeing stuff.”

“Nonono,” Katya was quick to correct her. “I think you are into something.” Her eyes were wild, seemingly unfocused, going rapidly through the pictures on the desk. “We need to find a better shot of this. Have you seen it on any other crime scene?”

Even though Katya was not looking at her, Trixie shook her head. “I haven’t really gone through everything, just spotted it on my way out earlier today.”

“Okay, okay.” Katya nodded dramatically. “Let’s do this. Why don’t you go down to the nerds and see if they can blow it up and make out what it says. I will look into the other pictures and see if I can find it again.”

Trixie obeyed without hesitation, running out of the room to find the tech experts.

Katya threw all the pictures to the floor in one swift motion, to get a better view. She couldn’t believe she had missed something like that. She had been studying the same cases for so long and, as happy as she was that they possibly had a new lead, her insecurities still made their presence noticed. It felt like failing, and there was nothing she hated more than that.

If she had overlooked that tiny detail, what else had she missed?

She was not going to dwell on things like that, though, not anymore. She had learned to live with fear and anxiety and used them in her favor, as propulsors to do better instead of crippling her. All the thoughts getting tangled in her mind only drove her to work harder, to focus better. She’d learned to redirect those emotions and put them to good use. That was the reason why, when Trixie came back with an enlarged version of the picture, Katya had found the blue paper in another of the crime scenes.

“What did you get?” She asked Trixie.

Trixie looked around until she found an empty spot on the cork board. “It looks like a flower… a rose, maybe?” Her head tilted, trying to see the pixeled picture from a different angle. “Did you find anything?”

“Yes! And there’s also this.” Katya’s face contorted, a string of unintelligible noises leaving her mouth. “I don’t know. It could be something.” She moved around the floor, where she had spread all the pictures they had from the different crime scenes, until she found the most recent one. “Look at her feet. The blood puddle is oddly shaped on this side. It kinda ends on a straight line. You see?”

She brought the photo closer to Trixie, she could understand exactly what Katya was saying.

“It’s as if… there was… something square stopped…” Trixie trialed off, unsure of how to put into words what she was seeing.

Katya smiled widely. “Aha-aha,” she encouraged her. “As if something square had been there and forced the blood to spill around it!” She concluded.

Trixie’s face filled with recognition. “Oh, my God! We have to get back there!”

She wasn’t even done pronouncing the phrase when Katya was already grabbing her keys.

“You took the words right out of my pussy.”

The laugh that came out of Trixie was unintentional. “Oh wow. You really are obsessed with your pussy.”

Katya stopped walking, her hands up in front of herself, as if Trixie had just said the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, c’mon, aren’t you?”

Trixie didn’t reply. She pushed her playfully to keep on walking, and followed her outside. She couldn’t tell Katya that indeed there was a point where she had been obsessed, not only with that particular part of her body, but everything that she was. That in her mind she had conjured this image of her that had nothing to do with reality. That the reality of Kaya had surpassed even her wildest dreams. No, she couldn’t confess any of that. So she simply laughed it off and got in the passenger seat of Katya’s car, which was a mess.

“Uh, you are just like my sister. Her car is disgusting.”

“Hey!” Katya reproched. “I am an agent of the law, my duty is to put criminals behind bars. Who has time to clean a car when the whole human race is at risk?”

It was meant to be a joke, Trixie knew it but, as soon as Katya pulled out of the parking lot, without checking the road for other cars, she couldn’t help but notice the irony of her words. Katya’s driving was reckless. She never did as much as glance in the rearview mirror, and changed lanes without turning her blinkers on. Trixie held on to the door handle and yelled loudly whenever there was a pedestrian in sight. Katya kept telling her to relax, that everything was going to be alright. She trusted the other drivers to move out of the way. They were the police after all.

They reached the victim’s apartment building after a few minutes, minutes that were enough to make Trixie grateful to still be alive, and made their way up in the elevator. Katya was chatting her ear off, explaining something about the history of the building, but all Trixie could feel was her warmth tickling her naked arm. They should have changed before leaving the precinct.

Pushing the police tape aside, Katya pressed the key into the knob and let them in. The entire place smelled like bleach, making her nose scrunch up in disgust. Forensics had taken care of cleaning all the blood out, taken the necessary evidence, and left all other belongings intact. It was sad, really. Katya felt sorry for the girl. Her mind had already come up with a whole life story for her. She had come from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Her hopes of becoming a movie star stuffed into a single suitcase as she stepped down from the bus. Only to have her dreams crushed by the bills that kept coming and coming and she was unable to pay. That was when an answer came.

“And you gathered all of that…” Trixie’s voice took her out of her imaginary world. “Just by looking at her shit? Damn, you are good.”

Katya hadn’t even realize she was saying it out loud. She was simply trying to connect with the space, with the victim. She could feel embarrassed that her thinking process had been discovered, but Trixie didn’t judge her. She actually went along with it.

“She was pretty, she was young, she could get paid for it. It was easy, so she did it.”

With her bottom lip pressed between her teeth, trying not to smile like an idiot, Katya nodded effusively to Trixie’s words.

“It worked just fine,” Katya added. “Until he came along.”

Trixie’s face seemed to soften. She moved closer to Katya and placed a hand on her shoulder. “We are gonna catch him. We will.”

There was no way for either of the two to know that for sure. Katya had been so close before and he managed to slip away right in front of her eyes. She couldn’t agree with Trixie, she couldn’t feel the confidence she was exuding. So she simply nodded and tapped her hand slightly. The tingling on her skin was burning, causing her to shrug her shoulder and make Trixie’s hand fall awkwardly to her side.

“Okay!” Katya clapped her hands, moving on from the uncomfortable moment. “Let’s play this out. She walked in.” Her hand pointed towards the door. “Was she alone or with him?”

Her question came out more like a trivia. One that Trixie happily accepted, walking to the entrance and analyzing the space. In the wall next to her, there was a small dent. She touched the loose drywall with her finger and looked around for a source. She found it right away.

“He pushed her inside. The door banged against the wall. Here.” Opening the door completely, she could tell the scrape was a perfect match for the knob.

“You are so fucking smart, you know that?”

Trixie simply shrugged at her comment, but the blush on her cheeks didn’t go unnoticed.

“So he attacked her by the door,” Katya continued. “Maybe fought her, but ended up dragging her and sitting her on the dinner table.” She looked around, the whole set had been taken to the lab. She bent her knees and tapped her thighs. “Come on. I’ll be the chair.”

The laugh coming from Trixie was loud and filled with surprise. “I am not going to sit on you.”

Katya stood up straight with a roll of her eyes. “Fine. You’ll be the chair then.”

“Why does anybody have to be a chair?” Trixie’s voice was light, filled with amusement. “Can’t we just use that one?” She pointed across the room, where a perfectly functioning chair sat by the window.

Katya’s mouth opened in surprise. “You want to disturb a crime scene? What are you, five?”

Before they knew it, they were both laughing. Katya couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun with a case. She knew there was nothing funny about the young woman whose life they were invading, whose death was the reason they were there. Nonetheless, there was happiness filling her lungs and making it easier for her to breathe. She knew it was because of Trixie. Katya had a feeling that she had finally found someone that understood her sense of humor. It was refreshing, it was liberating.

“It’s here!”

The loud scream forced Katya to land back in the reality of the situation. She moved next to Trixie, who was kneeling down behind the couch. As much as she stretched her arm, she couldn’t reach the piece of paper they were there to find.

Katya easily slid underneath the furniture, grabbing the blue card with her glove covered fingers.

“How did it even get there?” Trixie asked as she helped Katya to her feet.

Blood had been cleaned, but the outline of the puddle was still visible. Katya put the new evidence down where they had imagined it. The stains on the card complemented the broken line on the floor. It was a perfect match.

“Maybe he kicked it with his feet on the way out?” Katya tried to reason, but everything was still very unclear.

They evaluated the card together. It had the outline of a rose on the front and nothing else. There was no name, no address, no phone number; nothing but the delicate lines forming the intricate design.

“Do you know what this is?”

Katya shook her head to answer Trixie’s question. “No, but I know who might.” She thought about the possibilities before turning back to Trixie. “I need to make a few phone calls first but… what are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows

“Catching a bastard?” Trixie offered with a smile.

A smile that Katya could only return, the same smile that had her repeating Trixie’s words in a sing-song voice.

“We are catching a bastard.”

End Notes:

Thank you so much for reading, please, do let me know what you think. You can also find me on all social media as DenDenMonMon. Come say hi and lets talk fics! -Monkey.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixya #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #brooklyn 99 au #lesbian au #laws of motion #dendenmonmon #submission

[curiosity-killed]

a fine arrangement

have some gd shmoop my pals

Pairing: Altaïr/Malik Warnings: mentions of past emotional abuse Word Count: 2,000

The body has always made sense to Altaïr. It intrigued him when he was young, but like a puzzle, each piece fit into place. As a novice, he would retreat to his corner of the great library to look through the medical texts and memorize the meticulously-drawn diagrams. Other novices had laughed, made lewd comments about the other uses of those drawings and an isolated spot. Malik had mocked him for trying to impress Al Mualim – right before sitting down to continue his own studies. Despite it all, there was something soothing about the knowledge. The body made sense – its rhythms and limits, its mechanics and flow. It wasn’t like conversation or trying to make friends among his peers. There, the logic and pathways were all so muddled and perplexing. A compliment could send someone into a rage as quickly as an insult could be followed by a kiss. There weren’t joints with their ranges or muscles with their origins. What systems could be interpreted from the daily behaviors of thirty-odd eleven-year-olds surpassed Altaïr’s comprehension. The body, though – that he could understand.

Some of it, as Malik had shrewdly noted, was for the application’s sake. He wanted, needed, to live up to Al Mualim’s expectations. Their teacher spoke of such lofty goals, such noble ideas, and he devoted so much of his time to Altaïr. Altaïr needed to repay him in some way for his kindness, and the only way he could was to strive to embody that vision. He lived for the rare reward of Al Mualim’s heavy hand on his thin shoulder and a mild, “Well done.”

Some of it, though, was simply for the sake of knowing. As a child, he would use himself as a living diagram – here is where the arteries run, that is the muscle that flexes the hand. He has always delighted in understanding, in learning. In another lifetime, one where he grew up without Al Mualim’s guiding hand, he would be a scholar.   There were other benefits to the knowledge, though, that he wouldn’t discover for some time. Malik wakes slowly beneath his fingertips, which is, in and of itself, a kind of gift. Rare is the assassin who can sleep while another touches them; it's been trained out of them since before they could toddle after their white-robed elders. To be trusted so consummately by Malik, after everything, is enough to leave Altaïr humbled anew every time. On certain days, it weighs in his chest like a corpse, heavy and pendulous. What would happen if he fell into the thrall of the Apple? What if Malik did not wake when he needed to? What if his trust led him, like Eurydice, to death? He could not live with himself, he knows. He would surrender himself to the noose or to deprivation’s slow attrition. He tells himself that it would never happen. Malik has keener instincts than that. Altaïr could never be so wholly lost. A thousand worlds away, he tells himself, he would still know the rhythm of Malik's heart. It works, sometimes. On days when he's only morose or when it's an idle thought, fleeting and easily dismissed. He believes himself then. On others, though, he cannot. When he wakes with phantom blood dripping hot and scarlet down his hands, with his throat hoarse from screaming for mother, father, Adha, Al Mualim – it does not work then. He is no more than a man, and not even a great one at that. The power of the Apple makes his will seem as supple as a grass blade. Malik seems to have an uncanny perception of those days. Altaïr has never breathed a word of those fears aloud, and yet, invariably, Malik will pull Altaïr to his chest and hold him like a grounding weight. Some days, he'll sing a child's lullaby, his voice low and husky with sleep. He could never be mistaken for a songbird, but his voice is the sweetest sound Altaïr has ever known. Now, Malik exhales, his ribs sinking under Altaïr’s hand. “Good morning,” he says. “Good morning, my heart,” Altaïr says. He leans forward to press a kiss to the top notch in Malik’s spine, just below where he’d sink a blade in a target. He settles back and presses his thumb a little more firmly into the knot below Malik’s shoulder blade. “You’re tense.” Malik groans a little and buries his face back into the pillow. It makes his shoulders hitch up, the long muscles of his back bunching. Altaïr’s hand flattens out to rest over them. “M’back would prefer a thousand Templars to hunching over my quill for another hour,” he mumbles into the pillow. Altaïr smiles, small, and returns to his ministrations. His arm will fall asleep if he stays propped up in this position much longer, but he’s loath to move just yet. There’s a drowsy contentment to their sleep-warm bed and the morning light turning the corners of their room a buttery gold. He presses a little more, coaxing the muscles of Malik's back into a softer state. Malik sighs as one knot gives way. "So this is what you learned in the brothel," he remarks. "I learned many things in the brothel," Altaïr replies loftily, continuing his work. Malik turns his head just enough to grin at Altaïr. "And I thank them for the quality of their instruction," he says. That is enough for Altaïr to pause and reach over to ruffle Malik's hair. He recoils instinctively but not before his dark strands are in disarray. He laughs as he lays back down, and Altaïr returns to the massage with a little smile. The brothel in question was the location of one of Altaïr’s first independent missions. His mark had been a frequent customer, and he’d found it useful to enlist the help of the courtesans. He had gathered the information necessary for his mission, but there were some additional lessons he didn’t include in his report to Al Mualim. Those lessons had come to be of greater benefit than he could have anticipated. He found little pleasure in the acts himself, but he had a vested interest in bringing Malik pleasure. Malik had struggled with that at the start of their gentle descent into domesticity. They had had more than a few conversations sitting among half-discarded robes, working out the line between guilt and desire. Altaïr follows the great muscle of Malik’s neck and shoulder up to where it disappears along the spine. The tissue here nearly crackles under his touch, and Malik seems to melt against the bed as Altaïr presses the heel of his palm back toward his shoulder. There’s a popping sensation deep beneath the bones, and Malik groans. “Were you not Grandmaster, you would have a flourishing career in massage,” he says. “I have time yet to pursue it,” Altaïr answers. “I’ll leave you the robes.” Malik snorts. “And ensure yourself a frequent customer in the process,” he retorts. Altaïr hums and leans down to kiss Malik’s shoulder. “It seems a fine arrangement to me.”

Shifting to allow for better reach, Altaïr walks his hand along Malik’s spine. His thumb and palm press into the meat of the cord-like muscles there that flex and bend his back. His fingertips brush against Malik’s shoulder blades, his ribs, the softness of his side. 

Malik’s body is nearly familiar as his own by now. They have been in orbit since the start of their lives, swinging far or near but always together. He has seen Malik grow from a snarling boy to a sage leader. They have tended each other’s wounds at every age.He could draw Malik from memory, he thinks, each facet and scar. He would build him from the center, heart first. Malik’s body is nearly familiar as his own by now. They have been in orbit since the start of their lives, swinging far or near but always together. He has seen Malik grow from a snarling boy to a sage leader. They have tended each other’s wounds at every age. Altaïr finally cedes defeat to his right arm and sinks down to press close to Malik’s side. His hand continues to run feather-light across Malik’s back. Malik gives a slow, sleepy blink and reaches his hand up between them to cradle Altaïr’s jaw. His palm fits as if it was shaped for this purpose, his thumb resting warm against Altaïr’s cheek. “Ya hayati,” he murmurs. Altaïr pulls him close till they fit together as if dovetailed, a near-perfect union. Malik sighs a warm breath against his shoulder. Noises of Masyaf waking rise from the grounds below them, but here in their room, tranquility is suspended a little longer. “You’re doing well,” Malik says after a while. “As Grandmaster.” Altaïr hums, ambivalent. He trusts Malik’s judgment, but it is a different thing to believe it himself. Change is always hard, and moreso when the departure from the past was such a violent break. Too often, still, Altaïr feels as if the Order still limps along where it used to run. He worries that they will never again be as strong as they were before the fracture. “I fear I am not enough,” he admits. He can feel Malik exhale both in the air that hushes warm against his skin and in the gentle collapse of his ribs. “I am trying but – ”

But it took him his entire life to even suspect Al Mualim of deceit. But he has never been a leader. But he spends most his time reaching out for advice or support from others. “Altaïr.” Malik pushes himself up so that Altaïr is forced to meet his gaze. His brow has furrowed, a deep crease forming in the center. “You are not him,” he says. “You are not who he wanted you to be.” Another time, only a few years before, the words would have had Altaïr’s hackles rising. Now, they are a reassurance. “You are so much more than what he could imagine,” Malik continues. “Your doubt is a sign of your strength.” He is defenseless against Malik’s conviction. If he cannot believe the words themselves, he can believe in Malik having keener sight than him. Malik has never shied from giving his honest report; he would not now. Altaïr reaches up to brush the backs of his fingers against Malik’s cheek. The stubble there prickles against his knuckles. “I could not do this without you,” he says. “Of course,” Malik answers, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am your better half, after all.”

That gets no objection from Altaïr except to pull Malik down onto him, which isn’t really an objection at all. Malik is a heavy, grounding weight against him, comforting like the soil over a tree’s roots. Lying there together, Altaïr knows he would never run away without Malik. How could he? It would be like trying to run without his right leg. When he says as much, in plainer words, Malik breathes out a laugh and props himself up just enough to meet Altaïr’s eyes. He brushes his thumb tip over the scar cutting through Altaïr’s lips and soothes it with a light kiss. “You would not run at all,” he says. “Once, perhaps, but no longer. You are Masyaf’s backbone, and you would sooner shed that responsibility as shed your blades.” Altaïr wrinkles his nose, mostly because he cannot find a proper rebuttal. It’s true, of course – but he would leave them both for a common cause. He leans up to kiss Malik back. “Very well,” he concedes. “Then, if I am not to become a masseuse, I should start my day as grandmaster.” Malik lays back down, like a child pretending to sleep when their parents check in, and mumbles a complaint into Altaïr’s shoulder. Altaïr laughs and wraps his arms around him. He closes his eyes against the morning sun and breathes deep. Their life is not perfect. There are troubles and fears and ghosts at their every step, and he can only guess at what problems have arisen while they slept. But here, now, he knows Malik is right. He would not run away. It is a good life - the right fit. He smiles, now, as it begins again.

#altmal #altair/malik #assassins creed #ac #ac fic #altmal fic #asscreed #my writing #this was pretty much entirely just to make myself write again #so pls pardon the quality

[wolveswithhats]

For WIP Week

Abandoned idea from a few years ago, a melding of two of my favorite things, Buffy and Portal! Of the idea that the Initiative ships off some of its demons to Aperture. Because....reasons. Spike-centric (or, well, Spike-exclusive ). Very sloppy. Outline-quality, lots of meandering, unfinished, unpolished concepts. Riddled with editing notes. I didn’t even bother with capitalization. Still, there’s some fun stuff in here.

(I don’t care if anyone reblogs, just don’t put it on any of the aggregators, please. This is too rough drafty and embarrassing to be filed away as Content Worth Looking At.)

(captured by initiative again. s4 – s5. initiative shutting down, cementing off. exterminate all demons. riley pulls some strings to have spike shipped off instead of staked. the smallest of favors. i'm still on team riley-isn't-a-total-douchebag. he's aight.)

an hour later, spike and three of his ugliest friends are caged and carted into the back of a semi for a cross country drive across america's finest bypasses. through a hole in the wall watches steel and mortar slowly give off to rolling green-gold fields. teeny tiny farmsteads, clarkston and robin glen and with some disgust, notes the turnoff for a lake angelus, some thirty miles north of detroit.

(his initiative vamp neighbor, 90s grunge clothes, grunge name – trevor – fledge too young to drop game face.)

“christ, i heard about this place. some science lab in a salt mine underground. they say this place does weird experiments.”

met with deadpan, disbelieving stares, and a disgusted tsk from the blond lady-vamp, what's-her-face, something with calendars. april or may or half-past-eleven, day day day, sunday, right, that was it.

“they took my appendix, trevor.” sunday lifts her shirt, revealing a line of stitches, “for their mix-and-match potato head monster. what the hell is a frankenzombie going to do with a shriveled, century old organ? it doesn't even do anything. how is that not weird.”

“no man, I mean really, really weird. cross-dimensional travel, like stargate. bug people. turning your blood into gasoline.”

spike snorts. “I drive a '59 fireflite. gorgeous piece of machinery, but bollocks for mileage. single digits. could due for some petrol on tap.” sad, longing, separation anxiety. his desoto was 2200 miles away baking in the california sun. once he made his way back to the west coast, he'd find those military wankers for a dechipping, kill the whole lot of them, and piss on their corpses for good measure. then he'd book it to south america, away from scalpel-wielding lab jockeys, bouncy-haired slayers and the root of every major humiliation of his unlife over the past three years. bon-fucking-voyage.

ugly demon: “that's why you should switch to a hybrid. my prius gets great fuel economy.” how does a demon that big fit into a mid-size?

(ugly demon = horned, beastly. “your primitive human anatomy lacks the necessary mouthparts to vocalize my true name. what sort of creature only has one tongue? you may call me henrietta.”)

trevor is oblivious. “they were some respected science lab back in the sixties. now? when they're not making you test out their weird experimental products, they make you run through test courses, solve puzzles. and it's all orchestrated by this giant murderous robot. like HAL from space odyssey. once people go in, they're never heard from again. it's true. my cousin knew a guy who was there, he told me all about it.”

“if no one ever gets out, how the hell does your cousin know a guy, you stupid sod.”

trevor's fangs close with an audible click, and he sits sullen for the rest of the commute.

as it turns out, stupid sod and cousin-of-sod actually did know what they were talking about.

housed on the outskirts of a wheatfield, through a gated parking lot, innocuous brick building. on the loading dock, a hispanic man in blue work coveralls wheels a dolly into the back of the mac truck. looks at his living cargo with what spike considers to be an appalling lack of concern, considering the very blatant human trafficking unfolding before him.

“you're not the parts I ordered.” gruff texan drawl. yells to the front, “where are my chamber parts?”

driver swings around front, clutching a clipboard, hands it off. “friday, likely. this is your wednesday shipment.”

“these are people.” texas squints at array of annoyed, tired faces, takes in the gnarled brows, the shackles, and the powder blue scrubs, eyes finally settling on the barbed, hulking form of henrietta. “theoretically. why do I have a shipment of mangled faces, billy idol--”

“hey!”

“--and one-fifth of gwar? are we making a music video?”

the driver shrugs. “i just deliver. sign the thing.”

texas reads off the clipboard: “subject donation from sunnydale university. volunteers?”

“experimental lab rats,” trevor offers.

“prisoners,” spike corrects, growling. “this has got to be in violation of the...what's it? geneva convention. I feel unduly treated. I want an attorney. actual, not one of those 800-number infomercial suits. due my civil rights.”

texas blinks owlishly. “what civil rights? you're not even american.”

“i'm sorry, I didn't realize I needed to shit red, white and blue to not be accosted against my will.”

ignores bitching. “are you even human?” points at henrietta. “i don't think that's human.”

(“what multiverse are you lot from?”

“california.”

“huh. always had my suspicions.”)

he was hoping for an upgrade to trousers, denim, in a dark blue or black. maybe a pale wash if it had a grunge-enough look to it. what they gave him was a pair of coveralls in sunshiny bright incarceration orange, with lines of white piping tracing the seams and a stitching of black lettering across the breast pocket labeling him as HST0017. for fuck's sake.

“i'm not wearing this.”

“as soon as you pass through that emancipation grill, any unapproved paraphernalia is forfeit.”

“meaning what?”

“your current clothes will be emancipated. pffft! you could go naked, wouldn't be the first test streaker, but I gotta warn you, there's the acid pits, the gun turrets, and oh, the lasers. burns like a bitch, and that's not even touching the potential crotch-rotting radiation--”

“just give me the fucking jumpsuit.”

they surgically grafted a band of white metal to the back of his shins, where a long curved spring of steel could be notched, lifting his feet into a painful arch, weight balanced on his toes. he was suddenly that much more impressed with the slayer and her preference for fighting evil in teetering heels, which did wonders for making her teeny weeny hobbit legs look elegant but offered only a promise of scuffed heels and snapping ankles in grave dirt. angelus-grade torture, he decided, hobbling awkward and bird-like from one side of his little glass prison to the other.

he found the entire affair ludicrous, demeaning, and oh, stupid, until he witnessed another test subject slip on a slick of orange goo and nosedive off a platform, pancaking wetly across the tile in a display of hilarious cartoon physics. it was admittedly very, very funny, and funnier still watching jaded custodians squeegee up the red smear that used to be a person, but not something he was looking to experience himself first hand.

“you know, I can see the upside of not doing my best wile e. coyote impression,” he groused, “but you should really have these things in boot form.” shifting uncomfortably as the screws in his knees creaked, puckered and itched.

rick looks at him, surprised. “that's.....that's an idea. we'll take that into consideration.”

(aaaaaaand a jump to the P2 section. slightly better quality, a little less outline-ish. tho very stream-of-consciousness)

waking up with a dry mouth, mouth full of cotton, mouth full of fluffy biker beard, and where had that image come from? like all the moisture had been sucked from the room, stale recycled air like new car smell and musk. where is here? bed, desk, dinged up dresser, ceiling-mounted tv, blacked out and coated in dust. walls decorated with murals of snowy mountains and ski lodges, tacky thrift store oil paintings. the bed he's laying on has a threadbare blue hospital blanket, and a man-shaped crater pressed into the mattress, like a police chalk outline with serious gravity. motel room? UGLY motel room. there's no windows in the room, just slated blinds stretching the length of one wall.

can't move, groggy, wet limp noodle muscles, the dead waking. stares down the length of his body. dressed like a petrol station attendant, orange jumpsuit rolled mid-shin, legs bony and corpse-white. wow, seriously overdue for a date with mr. sunshine.

figure out the who the what and the why after he quenched this sahara on his tongue. room to the left of the bed, loo, good, yes. force himself to move, up and over, muscles clenching in rebellion, stumble over with white white legs buckling like a newborn deer. sink, yes, water churned and choked god why is it taking so long finally sputters out, drinks and drinks tinny tap water until he feels like he's going to burst. sates the fire in his mouth but not the thirst, the hunger, god what is that?

looks up in the dark of the bathroom into the mirror, and sees nothing, just dingy white tile where his face should be. huh. well that's just... different. it's unnatural, he knows, because hello, does still remember how a mirror works, even if he can't remember much of anything else. experiments, lifts the crusty dry slab of soap and watches its reflection bob phantom-like in mid-air. right, so, the mirror isn't broken, just him. but it doesn't feel wrong, like somehow he's just used to staring at empty space in the mirror.

what the hell is he?

sits back on the bed, hands clenching knees.

beyond the doorway, he expects a hallway, maybe, decked out in the same mottled 70s look his room is themed, or a carpark dotted with out of state license plates and neglected marquee signage. but there's no cars, no buildings, no outside. just a massive storehouse, stretching up and out beyond what he can see, dimly lit by flickering yellow halogen. snaking lines of track above his head following the catwalk he's standing on, weaving between towers of grafted metal and grey-green storage units stacked like legos. huge. massive. his own room was in a storage box, labeled next to the door.

test subject packed on 11/17/1999 EXP: indefinite ADT SLM M SHRT

short? was he short? well sure maybe by comparison of the super humongous warehouse he was stored in. not a very helpful selection of information, most of which he had already established. a picture would be helpful. a name. a passport. a blockbuster rewards card. literally any brand of identity.

goes back in, shuffling about, looking for something he's not aware of yet. there's a pad of paper in the desk and a cheap ballpoint pen. picks up the pen, but it feels awkward and childish gripped in his hand. moment of panic that he's illiterate, until he swaps the pen to his left. it feels much more natural.

--mirror challenged. am a ghost? --left-handed. evil ghost? --posh penmanship though --orange is not my color --i could do for a tan

pauses thoughtfully.

--who the fuck am i

sound of screeching metal and cracking drywall, urban destruction at its finest. implied shortness a sudden and unexpected gift as something ghosts over his head, ruffling his hair, clipped english accent as a storage crate cranes above him: “--ten thousand flippin' vegetables--” carves a winding trail of destruction as it tears through crates and cables and catwalks before finally coming to an explosive stop, half buried in the far wall.

his own crate tips, agonizingly slow with groaning whale song of careening metal, before momentum and gravity takes it for its own. crash bang boom, gaudy motel mountain ski lodge avalanches into another stack of crates, creating a domino effect. check-out achieved, in more ways than one. leaves him stranded on a creaking catwalk with no more than an ugly jumpsuit, a pad of paper, and more questions then before. he left the pen on the bed. bugger.

picks a direction and walks. periodically checks crates. like his own, all decked out like vintage motels, oil crusted murals and tacky faux-wood paneling. and on every bed is a person. all coated in a fine layer of dust, gray-skin, perfectly preserved but very, very dead. room after room. men, women, children. old young tall short fat skinny. a varied collection of corpses lined up like sleeping porcelain dolls. flippin' vegetables, indeed.

turns a corner and comes face-to-cornea with a massive metal eyeball. yells in surprise. the eyeball screams, then rears back on the rail suspending it. in its backwards attempt at escape, cracks into a closed door where the rail vanishes, and stirs woozily on its axis.

“what's that then. you alright?” he asks, cringing even as he speaks. it feels more obligate social politeness than actual concern; he honestly could not give one flying fuck about its condition. beyond that, asking a metal eyeball of its well-being seems ridiculous, even in light of this entire weird situation, but it—he—chuckles nervously, looking all at once embarrassed and grateful for the inquiry. an impressive emotive feat, considering he's lacking the other 95% of his face.

“sorry, sorry! you startled me! wasn't expecting a human to come waltzing out of nowhere, considering all of them are dead. corpses usually aren't so ambulatory.” the glowing iris slits to a suspicious blue line. “though in your particular case--”

“you're bristonian,” he says, realization dawning.

“no,” the eyeball chided slowly, with a patronizing squint, “i'm a robot.”

“your accent. you talk like you're from bristol. bristonian.” stubbornly. not getting into an argument with a fucking metal orb. “i heard you speak before, back in that warehouse. you're the one who almost ran me down with a crane. who taught you to drive, mr. magoo?”

“hey now! how about some leeway? bit of a limb deficiency here.” the robot waggles its handlebars in demonstration. “i haven't exactly mastered the art of ten-and-two.” sudden realization: “say, you talk like me! i'd say we came from the same development wing, but that's unlikely, you being organic and all that.”

did he now? that hadn't even occurred to him.

he weighs the language on his tongue, the thoughts in his head, parsing through words, foods, spellings, culture. carparks and car boots, wheatabix, man-u, european craft beers, and a strange smug superiority over chirpy, obnoxious californian twang. and of course, a beautiful array of curse words rolling fluid off his tongue. “bloody hell, sodding, blimey, shagging, knickers, bollocks – oh god, you're right, i'm english too.”

he was a londoner, his accent said as much, though with a sort of languid, unpolished quality that came from excessive travel and extended exile from the mother country. he hadn't been home for a long time. expat? study abroad? he didn't feel like a student, well past adolescence, but he didn't feel like much at all, beyond hopelessly confused.

#lmao this is really bad #so so sloppy #it was fun though #not gonna tag it because god no #and yeah that's a cameo by my headcanon rick #LOVE YOU BRO #tuesday night frights #in defiance of progress #wolves writes #or in this case: wolves outlines #long post

[mynewsblog21]

Gender Perceptions in Romantic Relationships - Know Thyself!

To have an away from of both genders' needs, we should pick up understanding into one zone that barely ever stands out enough to be noticed: Gender Perceptions chat with sugar daddy online Sexual orientation Perceptions seeing someone can be gathered into two general classifications: ladies' relationship view of men and men's relationship impression of ladies, with each gathering additionally subdivided into three classifications.

Ladies' relationship view of men-

Each lady who is or has been in any sort of sentimental relationship sees three classifications of men: the Stereotypical Man, the Utopian Man, and the Woman's Man.

The Stereotypical Man

Comments, for example, 'Men are liars and cheats who can never be believed'; 'All men are the equivalent'; or 'Men are simply after a certain something: sex' exude from the brains of ladies who hold very pessimistic perspectives on men. Ladies blameworthy of depicting men right now do as such in detachment. The dominant part have encountered a progression of bombed connections, either by and by or vicariously through other ladies' accounts. Their existence has been a string of monstrous encounters: tragedy, treachery, passionate injury, and misuse. In spite of the fact that miserable and heartbreaking, the cruel truth remains that with regards to connections, this class of ladies sees just the most noticeably terrible in men. For them, beginning over again or opening another section in discernment is practically incomprehensible.

The lady will always stay careful about the man saw as the Stereotypical Man, regardless of his certified honest goals towards her, since she has a lot of stuff from past frustrations to discard preceding having the correct edge of receptiveness which is required to give the following man a reasonable possibility. So if a man communicates his enthusiasm for a lady, utilizing the correct sentimental convention, and still isn't making progress, he needs to comprehend the lady's relationship impression of him. Something else, his endeavors will be the same as endeavoring to top off gap perplexed compartments with water. The confused idea of all men being the equivalent, or intrigued distinctly with regards to sex, that is sustained by ladies who see men absolutely on a cliché premise, will be tended to later.

The Utopian Man

Where a few ladies see the most noticeably terrible in men, others head the other way, accepting they can get all the best characteristics folded into one. Most needs in sentimental connections are typified in three classes: physical, passionate, and material. A man who faultlessly has or offers each of the three of these characteristics in equivalent measure to a lady could be viewed as excessively optimistic; consequently the term 'idealistic'.

The Utopian Man can be envisioned as a man with the profound pockets of Mr Bills, the physical traits and sexual ability of Mr Skills and the affectability of Mr Romeo (see Statement 2). These three characteristics, but in differing degrees, are fundamental for current connections to flourish - that is, for the material, physical, and passionate should be satisfied. Nowadays, be that as it may, looking for the Utopian Man-one man with each of the three characteristics in equivalent measure - is the same as the recorded quest for the Holy Grail (4); however it might exist, not one soul today could straightforwardly make a case for having it concealed some place - be it in a storeroom or a vault. In a similar vein is a lady's mission for the Utopian Man.

So generally, ladies with this relationship impression of men usually experience an instance of exclusive standards and ran trusts. The shrewd ones cut their misfortunes, getting progressively sensible and deciding to concentrate on the man's most grounded focuses while supporting, tolerating, and living with his shortcomings. The lady, then again, who can't grasp the way that one man can't in any way, shape or form satisfy every one of the three needs in equivalent measure may then hotel to the most established stunt in the book: concurrent associations with three men, every one of whom has one of the ideal characteristics, bringing about what I call a definitive 'love quadrangle', don't bother triangle (see my remarks about Sharon in Statement 2).

(4) Described in Christian Mythology as the cup utilized by Jesus Christ at the last dinner with his followers.

A few ladies may disavow the contention that one man can't grasp every one of the three characteristics with the case, 'My man ought to satisfy every one of my needs'. In answer to that, there can be nevertheless one reaction: Sorry, not by far.

Ladies who are practical have a size of inclination for their necessities. They know which zone needs satisfaction the most and which the least on their rundown of needs. It could be fundamental monetary needs, since she wouldn't like to lie wakeful throughout the late evening pondering, 'Will the children's school charges, home loan (or lease), and the electric bill be paid for the current month?' It could be her passionate needs, which are satisfied by the man with the listening ear, or the sincerely mindful accomplice.

What's more, some of the time straightforward inquiries from the man, for example, 'Nectar how has your day been?' or 'What occurred at work today?' could demonstrate a definitive distinction between her offering a bed to him that night or confining him to the lounge room love seat. Ladies who harbor practical desires in their relationship impression of men long for, or see, what I call The Woman's Man quality in men.

The Woman's Man

The Woman's Man is that man a lady sees as being imperfect, knows his shortcomings, and doesn't attempt to conceal the way that he is no superman. He recognizes his lady's most squeezing need and makes the satisfaction of that need his primary region of accentuation. He values her value, raises her spirits when she is down, and assumes responsibility in unbalanced circumstances. He is the quintessential 'Mr Solutions', who might not have all the solutions to his lady's inquiries, however has a 'let me attempt to make sense of this' mindset. So at whatever point we hear a lady singing her man's commendations, telling the world that he is so extremely valuable to her - on the grounds that he gives her 'beginning and end' - it is the relationship impression of a lady who perceives the Woman's Man in her life. The term 'everything', be that as it may, as opposed to taken actually, ought to be seen emotionally as the principle quality she considers the most significant in her reality. Obviously, for that lady, what is important to her the most, her man can convey - and that man being referred to is none other than the Woman's Man.

Men's relationship impression of ladies

In the event that you thought for one second that we would forget about men's impression of ladies, reconsider. (I can simply envision some male perusers pulling their seats nearer now; as though to state, 'Indeed, this is my preferred part!')

In sentimental circles, similarly as ladies decipher men as per their discernments, men by and large see three sorts of ladies over the span of their affection lives: Ms Right-Now, Ms Right, and The Godmother.

Ms Right-Now

The most unimportant, yet in no way, shape or form immaterial, class is the Ms Right-Now lady. She is the sort of lady the man sees as explicitly and genuinely engaging before he gives her character and knowledge the scarcest thought. His discernment is loaned belief by the principal line of Elvis Presley's hit melody, 'somewhat less discussion, somewhat more activity please...'.Without beating around the bush, in this present reality where each man sees a Ms Right-Now sort of lady, desire more than all else is the name of the game. Furthermore, if the concerned mother of such a man, living in an 'At the present time' just sort of world, gathers the fortitude to ask her child when or on the off chance that he plans to settle down, she may provoke a reaction along the lines of, 'Sure, Mom, I settle down with a decent young lady consistently, and I'm free again in the morning'.(5)

(5) A reaction made famous by Joe Pesci's character, Tommy DeVito, during a trade with his mom in the Hollywood hoodlum great, Goodfellas (Warner Brothers Studios, 1990).

In a world portrayed by feelings free, no-strings, no-stuff connections, the men who depend on this kind of way of life see the Ms Right-Now wonder as essentially top notch.

Ms Right

Each man looking for genuine romance and fondness needs a genuine lady to take into account those requirements, a mainstay of help, and a genuine companion and partner, who truly has his veritable enthusiasm on a fundamental level. That lady is none other than Ms Right.

Ms Right is the men's variant of the Woman's Man. We have heard the ageless truism, 'Each effective man has a lady behind him'. Also, similarly as certain ladies look for that unique man who can satisfy that exceptional need, a few men have experienced (or are as yet experiencing) life searching for Ms Right-mind you, in any event, kissing a few appalling frogs en route. While some have been effective, others - the not really fortunate ones-despite everything see Ms Right as only an invention of the creative mind.

Sorting the records out, being Ms Right isn't a sign of flawlessness, on the grounds that simply like all of us, she is imperfect. In any case, what makes her stand apart from the pack is that she speaks to the first and last pieces in a man's jigsaw puzzle of looking for genuine romance, and real joy with regards to sentimental connections.

The Godmother

The Godmother, for any man who has encountered the advantage of her warmth or the wretchedness of her fierceness, is genuinely stand-out: an 'Unapproachable'. On the off chance that behind each fruitful man is Ms Right, one next to the other with a man's prosperity or disappointment is the Godmother. One thing is sure; she is unquestionably a remarkable type of lady. Also, whatever sort of relationship or course of action she has with the man who sees her in that capacity typically ends up being commonly helpful. She is simply the Godmother since like Karma she employs a type of intensity that can represent the deciding moment any man's vocation corresponding to his activities or practices. Like a grown-up at a youngsters' gathering, she is genuinely present, observing occasions, yet rendering herself imperceptible, deciding not to take the spotlight. Obviously, she regularly works in an off camera style in the fortunes or incidents of that specific man. She should be adored, loved, and regarded for him to savor her sure in

[riccardolll-blog]

Cluing in Puzzled Players

This puzzle was inspired by Knight of Raven’s Mythical Menagerie post.  

Allow me to set the scene for you.

The players are investigating a conclave of wizards with an interest in shape shifting beings and monsters.  In the dark, the workshops are a collection of strange instrument silhouettes, heavy curtains and an almost musty atmosphere.  The silence of the place hangs over them.  As they sneak about, the players come across what appears to be a large circular room connecting all the workshops.  Sick of fumbling about in the dark, one of the players lights a torch.  As light spills onto the floor, the lightness is relieved by the dark grooves of circles and juts of lines carved into the floor.  Waving the torch around, it becomes apparent that the circles are connected in the shape of a nonagon, with a triangle in the center connecting out to the nonagon at three points.

(For those who are more visually oriented, like myself, here is a diagram of what I’m talking about:)

In neat lines around the room are what look to be granite chess pieces, about 2-3 feet tall.  Peering closer a player notices that the statues appear to be in the likeness of various animals.  Dogs, birds, cows, snakes, lions...  One row even contains several humanoid looking statues... 

---

And so it begins!  The Mythical Nonagon.  My players really got into this puzzle.  It seemed to appeal to their creativity and their problem solving skills. 

Aim

The aim of this puzzle is to place a chess piece on each of the circles, so that the combination of the first circle and any other circle it is directly connected to (by a line) must make up a mythical creature.  What does this mean?  

Take any blue circle which is not connected to an orange circle.  Let’s assume your players put a bird chess piece on that blue circle.   Assume you players then travel one step clockwise around the nonagon, and then place a horse piece.  The combination of the two creates a pegasus - success!  Your players must also connect the bird to another chess piece on the circle which is one step anti-clockwise to the bird.  In other words, they must put a piece on the anti-clockwise circle that also makes a mythical creature, e.g. a lion, so that the combination of bird + lion makes a griffin. 

As you may have guessed, the triangle must use a combination of three animals to create a mythical creature.  Each point also connects out to the nonagon to create a separate mythical beast combination.

A list of suggested chess pieces and creature combinations is at the end of this post, but you’re of course welcome to make your own.

Clues for Players

A room with circles and chess pieces might be ok for intellectual characters(/players), but what do you do when your party is more brawn than brain?  You clue them in. (Haha.)

Using clues for puzzles can be a powerful tool.  At a fundamental level, clues can be positive or negative.  Positive clues encourage a behaviour, while negative clues punish certain behaviours.  It’s important to consider the kinds of behaviours you want to encourage, not only for solving the puzzle, but also for your dealing with your campaign at large.  The following are a couple of questions that might help you think about your broader goals:

Do you want your players to leap into action and keep the story/drama moving?  Or would you prefer your players carefully uncover layers of information and misinformation before taking action?  Do you want them to trust or question NPCs?  Are the players meant to consider the morality of the choices they make?  Would you like the players to be tactical in combat?  Or more curious about their environment? Etc.

Example Positive Clues

Every time the players make a correct combination, a holographic image of the creature appeared above the triangle (I used glyphs on the roof as the basis of the simulation for my campaign).  Use one or two sentences to describe what the characters see as confirmation that they made a correct combination, and to give flavour to the task.  E.g. “A centaur hunts beneath a starry sky, an arrow notched in its rowan wood bow.” “The Cerberus’ teeth snap as the foul scent of it’s breath washes over you, making you gag.”  This kind of positive clue is important so the players know that they were actually succeeding at the puzzle.  Some kind of puzzle based gauge is important for sustained player interest and moral.

A more general positive clue could be that after some exploration and investigating the players discover that the walls of the circular room are engraved with some kind of sequencing that appeared to be connected to different types of shape shifting and hybrid monsters.  While the players can’t read the sequencing code entirely, a DC 13 Intelligence check is sufficient for them to work out that the sequencing has something to do with combining different animal parts to make up a hybrid monster (including a couple of potential combinations, e.g. harpy = bird + human, owlbear = owl + bear).  Or if that’s too advanced, have some scrolls on a desk or dumped by the door in one of the workshops which have illustrations depicting a couple of the potential combinations.   By using this kind a clue, you will encourage your players to look around when faced with obstacles and puzzles, or to investigate before running into action.  Come up with clues that suit the kind of goals you have your players’ behaviours in the campaign. 

Example Negative Clues

On the other hand, if the players just tried a random (incorrect) combination or a combination they knew was wrong, I had a jet of flames erupt out from under the offending circle momentarily.  The player who placed the chess piece had to make a DC 15 dex save for the first round the flames appeared (the surprise factor), and then a DC 12 dex save thereafter to avoid being burnt.  A failed save was 2d8 fire damage, and a successful save was half damage.  This would (hopefully) encourage your players to think, maybe look around and see what else they can find to help them solve the mystery.

If you didn’t want to be as tough on your players, you might allow them a chance to get the combination wrong before you activate the flame trap.  Or maybe there’s no penalty for an incorrect combination, but trying to rig the puzzle with multiple combinations of the same monster trips the flame trap.  It’s up to you and your goals.

Suggested Chess Pieces

Birds x 7, Bear x 2, Hyena x 2, Humanoid x 7, Spider x 2, Rabbit x 2, Lion x 5, Fish x 3, Crocodile x 2, Hippo x 2, Goat x 2, Cow x 2, Lizard x 2, Dog x 4, Snake x 2, Horse x 5

Suggested Combinations (in no particular order)

* Indicates that I allowed multiple combinations of the same animal parts to create the different, separate monsters.

(And yes I did allow false combinations that don’t assist in solving the puzzle as a whole. *cackles*)

Pegasus - horse + bird

Chimera - lion + goat + snake

Cerberus - 3 x dog

Merfolk - human + fish

Sphinx - lion + human

Manticore - lion + human (+ bird)

Cockatrice - bird + lizard

Griffin - lion + bird

Medusa/lamia* - snake + human

Harpy/angel* - human + bird

Minotaur - bull + human

Hippocampus - horse + fish

Faun/satyr* - goat + person

Centaur - horse + person

Hippogriff - horse + bird

Ammit - hippo + lion + crocodile

Merlion - lion + fish

Jackalope - rabbit + deer

Drider - elf + spider

Gnoll - hyena + human

Owlbear - owl + bear

Wyrven - lizard + bird

Werewolf - dog + person

Ichthyocentaur - fish + horse + human

Ophitaurus - bull + snake

All the best for your planning and playing.

#puzzle #chess #chess pieces #dnd #dnd 5e #clues #positive clues #negative clues #nonagon #hybrid monsters

[wellpersonsblog]

Indoor Activities for Kids

Here are 35+ Indoor Activities for Kids that are perfect for helping preschoolers and kids in elementary school keep their bodies and minds active indoors when it’s too hot, cold or rainy to go outside.

Hi friends!

A few years ago, I shared these Indoor Activities For Toddlers and Cheap Toddler Activities and they were a big hit! Now that my kids are older and in preschool, I’ve been meaning to compile a list of indoor activities for slightly older kids! Now that many of us will be spending a lot more time at home thanks to COVID19, it seemed like the perfect time to put it together. So here are some simple ideas to help keep your kids entertained and maybe even give you a little time to yourself! These should be good for preschoolers and younger elementary school-aged kids. (PS- If you have good weather, here are some Scavenger Hunt Ideas For Kids!)

Indoor Activities for Kids

Get Cooking – Let them help you cook or bake. As they gain the confidence they can do more and more themselves. Check out these Kitchen Tasks for Toddlers. 

Dot Simon – Make a few colored dots and spread them around the room. Make a home base. Call out one color and have the child run to it and then back to base. Next call the first color + another color. The child runs to color 1 and then color 2. Continue adding a color each time until the child can no longer remember the order once they start.

Recycling Robot – Turn the kids loose on the recycling bin. Give them some tape or help them use a hot glue gun to build a robot or any creation they can imagine!

Make Your Own Puzzles – Draw a picture, cut it into puzzle piece shapes and mix them up. Let them put it back together.

Build an Obstacle Course – Make them as hard or easy as you want, get out a timer and let the kids go through as quickly as they can. 

Make Your Own Workout – Let the kids make up their own workout and then do it with them!

Scavenger Hunt – Tape words, letters, numbers etc around the house and send the kids to look for them. You can write all the words you hide on a piece of paper and give them the list on a clipboard so they can cross them off as they find them. Bonus points if you let them do all or some of the writing. Or take it up a notch and write a bunch of clues so that they have to figure out each clue in order to find where the next one is hidden and leave them a prize at the end.

Guess It Box – Put 3-4 small objects in a box. Cut a hole and let the child stick their hand in and try to guess the objects just by feel. 

Homemade Playdough – Let them whip up a batch of homemade playdough

Play Cards – Teach them games like go fish, crazy eights, rummy, war, solitaire etc

Paper Airplanes or Origami – Find some instructions online and challenge them to create a paper airplane or an origami animal

Tongs – Challenge them to do anything with tongs! Cut a slot in a box and let them use tongs to put the magnatiles through the slot, spread pom poms on the floor and have them put them into a cup, etc

Build a City – Connect multiple kinds of toys -Make structures and roads with magnatiles/blocks, make schools for people, a farm for animals, garages for cars, etc

Take an Adventure – Use the Nugget or some couch cushions, or even painters tape, on the floor to make a boat or plane or train and go on an adventure

And Scene! – Make a stage and let them film their own show or movie

Make Your Own Game – Play some board games for inspiration and then let them create a game of their own, make the rules, design the pieces etc.

Free the Dinosaurs –  Freeze mini dinosaurs in ice cube trays. Let them melt the ice cubes with hot water and a syringe

Toy Wash – Dump some animals or cars in a bin with dish soap and water. Give them a toothbrush and towel and let them go to down. Bonus points if you go rub the toys in some sand or dirt first to make it more fun. Worried about a mess? Let them sit in the bathtub.

Cosmic Kids Yoga – You can find it on youtube or Amazon Prime for free!

Make A Collage – Grab some magazines/newspapers/junk mail catalogs/grocery store ads etc and let them make a collage

Make Puppets – Use old socks or some paper lunch sacks and make puppets!

DIY Things – Give them a theme and let them use stuff around the house to make their own musical instruments, superhero masks, stuffed animals etc! 

Find the Treasure – Draw a treasure map for various rooms around the house and see how quickly they can find the treasure.

Bowling – Set up some cans and go bowling with a tennis ball. 

Toss It – Set up paper plates or tape circles on the ground and practice tossing a small toy onto certain ones

Play Restaurant – Let them write a menu, write down your order, pretend to (or actually make) the food etc

Build it – Practice fine motor skills by making paperclip chains, building structures with toothpicks and mini marshmallows/grapes etc

Cut it – Let them practice their scissor skills!

Writing practice – Give them things to tracing or write, make dot to dots and mazes

Go Camping – Have an indoor campout with a tent (real if you have one or make a fort with blankets), sleeping bags, a flashlight or lantern etc

Pillow Fight – No explanation needed.

Painters Tape – Endless things to do with it! Make shapes and have them do different activities to each shape (ie run to the circle, hop to the triangle, crabwalk to the square), put a couple lines on the floor in a row and have them jump/hop/backwards/run and jump etc from a starting point to see which line they can reach each time….

Draw Your Own Story – Roll out a long piece of paper or staple a few folded pieces of paper together, let them make up their own story and illustrate it! (You can help!)

Hot Balloon – See how long they can keep the balloon off the ground with their hand, a spatula, a fly swatter etc

Go Skating – Put some paper plates on the floor (or wear some empty kleenex boxes to skate around the floor.

Match the Paint – Have some old paint chips lying around? Challenge them to find things in the house that match the colors.

Active Puzzle – Grab a toddler puzzle with 6-8 pieces and spread them around the room. Have them do a movement from each piece to put it in place. Ie wheelbarrow walk, crab walk, hop on one foot etc. 

Science Experiments – a quick google search will give you lots of easy ideas, or this book Awesome Science Experiments for Kids is great (aff link)

Drawing Lessons – Check out Art Hub for Kids or search for draw with me videos on YouTube

If you’re looking for more physical activities, check out my Sensory Diet Ideas for Sensory Seekers post. 

If you’re looking for a few new toys to purchase like Magnatiles, craft supplies, puzzles and more, I have lots linked in my amazon shop in the KIDS section (all affiliate links). 

I’ll continue to add to this post as new ideas come to me!

Enjoy! –Lindsay–

First found here: Indoor Activities for Kids

[noellebrand]

Special Education Classroom Observation

Abstract

The author observed Mr. Reynolds moderate-severe special education class at Bradley Elementary School in Corralitos, CA. The class works with students, 3-6 grade. Mr. Reynolds used a modified curriculum, taught life skills, encouraged and coached social interaction and utilized Universal Design for Learning (UDL) throughout his curriculum and classroom systems. The author noticed that while Mr. Reynolds class holds a different structure and ability level than a general education classroom, he utilized UDL in the interactive curriculum he provided along with asking his students to present or utilize information in different formats. The class is filled with different needs, abilities and behaviors; all of Mr. Reynolds students have a different goal and different limitations towards that goal. The author was impressed with how the class was managed and the curriculum presented while working toward, often successfully, involvement from each student.

While the author did not get a chance to experience an environment with more inclusion, they were able to see and learn about the areas of full inclusion that work for that particular class. The class was organized to ensure each students’ need was acknowledged and met. Mr. Reynolds had a calm cadence while remaining in-control of his class. The author noticed, all the life and social skills presented in Mr. Reynolds class, are skill sets that need to be taught and coached in each grade level. While moderate-severe special education is a small and very specific area of education, the lessons taught of social awareness and independence are needed in every class.

Observation

I observed Mr. Reynolds’ special education classroom at Bradley Elementary School in Corralitos, California. Corralitos is in Santa Cruz County and is part of the Pajaro School District. The town is based in agriculture; Driscoll Berries, apple orchards and various vineyards surround the school. Well kept, large homes and horse ranches sit on the hills above the farmland. Corralitos is about 30 minutes, without traffic, into Santa Cruz proper and a ten-minute drive to a larger town or to a grocery store. Demographically the students at Bradley Elementary are white or latino and come from either middle-upper class families or live below the poverty line, there is little middle. The income gap highlights racial inequities. Most of the students living below the poverty line are latino while many of the students in upper middle-class families are white.

I was impressed with the students and staff at the school; every student, teacher and administrator looked genuinely happy to be there, cared for and everyone made me feel welcomed. I met Mr. Reynolds at the beginning of the day, 8 am, in the office. We walked together to his class where his aides were with the kids. There are eleven students in Mr. Reynolds class, all have moderate – severe learning disabilities; all are latino and come from Spanish speaking homes. The student’s range from third through sixth grade, except for one student who is in the second grade and behaviorally is a better fir for Mr. Reynolds class. When I observed, ten of his students were present. Four of Mr. Reynolds students are non-verbal or very verbally delayed and use tablets as “talkers”. The desks are

arranged in a U shape with a classroom rug in the middle. Mr. Reynolds has a projector that links to his computer and shines on the white board. There is a play area in one corner of the room with games, different forms of imaginative play, books, blocks, and puzzles. The white board has the class schedule, date and reminders. Mr. Reynolds has a refrigerator, microwave and toaster oven in his room – he stores snacks and lunches, warms them up for the students and loves to lead cooking projects every Friday.

While Mr. Reynolds set up for the day, his students had time for free play. At 8:10 am Mr. Reynolds starts the day and announces it is clean up time, as each student cleans up, he gives them points, each student can earn up to 5 points. He uses the computer which is projected on the board. Each student has an emoji for themselves and as they finish cleaning and are seated Mr. Reynolds gives each student points, the faster they finish the more points they earn. Once all students are seated, the day starts. Mr. Reynolds calls on students to tell the class the date, Thursday, September 19th, 2019. He asks what the day was yesterday (Wednesday) and what day will be tomorrow (Friday), he awards points to each student that participates. Before he begins his math lesson he has his students shake it out and say a cheer “Our feet are still, our legs are standing, our back is straight, our arms are strong, our eyes are open, our ears are listening, our brains are smart, our hearts are kind, we are awesome!”

Mr. Reynolds then announces that it is Math time. He splits the class into 4 groups, one aide takes two students, another takes three, two aides take four students and Mr. Reynolds works with one student. Every station plays a different game, all of them are related to addition, subtraction and pattern making. The larger group works on grouping, sorting, patterns and then counting.  The other groups have number and counting games. Mr. Reynolds’ worked with a student on a more advanced counting game and used a toll of blocks with notches on them to mark units of measurement. He had the student find the number 58 by finding units of measurement with tens and ones, the student worked with him to pull 5 of the ten-unit blocks and 8 of the one-unit blocks.  The two small groups work with games that focus on matching and counting. Each student is given a card with pictures on them, an equation is written through pictures, i.e. a card has five apples in a row, and then three apples in a row how many apples do you have? Students have actual apple pieces that they lay out with the prompt from the card equation. All pictures have the number required written on the card.

After 20 minutes, students start to lose focus. The aides move onto the reward games promised and used as incentive during math time. All the reward games practice fine motor skills, there are also number cards which have a textured number printed on a card. Hi students liked to hold them and trace the textured number. All of Mr. Reynolds games have a hidden purpose. At 8:50 am it is time to clean up, gather snacks for the kids and get them ready to line up for morning recess at 9am.

Mr. Reynolds leads his kids to recess and brings a modified toilet for his students (including diapers and wipes) to the bathroom where the aides help students use the bathroom. We then walk out to the main yard. During this recess Mr. Reynolds had me look in other classrooms to see how teachers set them up, introduced me to general education teachers and the principle, who spent five minutes of recess talking with us. All students on the yard were engaged, active and happy. Mr. Reynolds class stayed close to the swings and a larger play structure. After the bell rang and the students went into class Mr. Reynolds gave his students a couple more minutes and then lead them into class.

When we entered back into class Mr. Reynolds gave points to whoever was ready. Once everyone was seated Mr. Reynolds began his writing lesson. He asked students to volunteer and has them come up to a large paper tablet. He has the letter “A” written on the paper. He then instructed the student to write the “A” while instructing, “forward slant, lift, back slant, line” he then had the student repeat the direction just given. Other students came up for “B”, Mr. Reynolds instructed “down, lift, around, around” again, the student repeats this instruction. Each student wrote A-D on the tablet.

Mr. Reynolds then split his class into three groups; one group of students was able to work on the task independently, the other three groups worked with aides and Mr. Reynolds. Again, each table received curriculum games. All the games include laminated sheets that have a list of three letter words written on it. There are either tiles with individual letters or foam letter cutouts for the students to then place on the laminated sheet in the correct sequence which word is spelled. Once the students had gone through these games/worksheets two times, Mr. Reynolds and the aids had the students practice writing again. The students who are more advanced at writing filled out a white board with upper- and lower-case letters, A-F. Many of the students had modified grips on their pencils, one student had a round ping-pong ball with lots of holes, the pencil went into the pin-pong ball and came out the other side; the pencil was glued or taped to the ball. This created a large enough grip for the student. Another modification was using foam to create a larger grip.

At 10 am, Mr. Reynolds has his students move to their desks for the “news to you” part of their curriculum. This lesson was called “we have responsibilities”, the week before it was “we have rights”. The lesson talked about responsibilities; what they are, how they look, what it means to be responsible and they are asked what responsibilities they as students have. It was their government lesson. The lesson centered on the requirements of community and social adjustment, this philosophy and lesson reminded me of beliefs held by Johann Fichte, “The school, according to Fichte, is a miniature community where children learn to adjust their individuality to the requirements of the community” (Spring, American Education 18th Edition, p.15).

During this time Mr. Reynolds had the lesson projected onto the board. Each student got up and read a sentence of the lesson, the written lesson had pictures above certain words to help prompt. If a student was not able to read the word, they could touch the picture above the word and the computer would speak the word. After the computer prompted them, Mr. Reynolds had them repeat the word. At the end of working though the sentence, Mr. Reynolds then asked the students to either read the whole sentence or touch the computer prompt that would read the sentence out loud. After the class worked through this lesson Mr. Reynolds noticed they needed to move. While he gathered the rest of his information and supplies for the remainder of “news to you”, he put on a dance video. The video featured two men rapping about “you got to read with conviction!” the kids loved it and had some solid moves.

Once the song was done, Mr. Reynolds had the students break back into small groups. They worked on various activities based on their ability. One group sat with an aide and read through the “news to you packet”, two students read stories independently, two students worked on sight words with an aide and the rest of the group worked on creating story boards with Mr. Reynolds. Mr. Reynolds also used this time to give students who were in the “yellow zone” based off behavior or task completion, a chance to complete work. If the work was not completed the student had to do it at recess.

At 10:50 Mr. Reynolds started getting his class, organized and ready for lunch. He heated up food for students who brought lunch from home and then lead the class through the cafeteria, making sure each student received either a hot dog or sandwich, one vegetable, one fruit and milk. We then walked out onto the yard and ate outside. During this time, I had a chance to talk with the students, Mr. Reynolds and his aides.  We talked about inclusion, support from the district and how Mr. Reynolds coaches’ other students and classes that facilitate peer tutors and share elective courses.

After all the students were done eating, I was asked to play catch by one of Mr. Reynolds students. My previous work had been centered in youth development; I was a P.E. teacher and the head of the lunch yard at Berkeley Arts Magnet Elementary School for 4 years, it felt seamless and like a breath of air to be laughing, playing and engaging with students. Lunch ended at 11:45am, by the time the students got back into their seats it was close to 12pm and I said my goodbye.

During our time at lunch I was able to talk with Mr. Reynolds further about his students and different ways he facilitates inclusion. Bradley Elementary has 2 special education classrooms, both are moderate-severe and are broken up K-2 and 3-6. The other students who are dealing with learning disabilities are not on Mr. Reynolds caseload as his focus is special day. There is no special education teacher specifically on site for students with light to moderate disabilities and needs. To facilitate inclusion for his class, Mr. Reynolds combines art classes with general education and works with peer tutors for reading. Mr. Reynolds talks with and coaches each class his students will be entering. He takes time with the students and classes that facilitate peer tutors and share elective courses with his students. He discusses what to expect and how to react to a new or different behavior.

He has a few students that are able to participate in P.E. with the 5th grade general education classes. Mr. Reynolds has one student he is thinking of moving into a general education classroom. Her adaptive skills are the best out of his class, from my observation I can see this student is able to cope with the demands of school, has developed interpersonal relationships, developed language skills, developed socio-emotional skills and is capable of their own personal care (Slavin, R. Educational Psychology, Theory and Practice p.306). Mr. Reynolds feels she would be able to work in and benefit from a general education class. I asked Mr. Reynolds if he has strong behaviors in his class and how he deals with it. He responded, “oh yeah!” one of his students, if presented with a task he does not want to do, will scream at the top of his lungs. He said they have noise cancelling headphones for the other students and they work through it. I asked if they ever take that student out of the class, he responded; “no that would be a win for him”. I asked him what was the most difficult part of the day? He responded when his aides took their breaks in between 10-10:45am, depending on the day it can be a long 45 minutes.

Mr. Reynolds also talked about ways he raises money for his class as well as grants and funds that are accessible, along with different ways to purchase curriculum. He mentioned all the curriculum games the students were playing were bought with money he had raised. I asked if he felt supported by the school and principle. The answer was he felt very supported by the principle and school, but received little support from the district. Mr. Reynolds invests a lot of personal time and money into his class. It shows in his lessons, the relationship he has with his aides and the overall energy and spirit in his class. He loves his job and is happy to do the work. I really enjoyed observing Mr. Reynolds class, I was impressed at how calm and easy going he was. I never saw him frustrated, worked up or exasperated; he was always, coolly and in control. It was clear his students love his class and love him. He was also very gracious, taking the time to introduce me to the principle, other teachers and the office staff.

Observing this class gave me a different and deeper understanding of a moderate-severe special education class, this is the first time I have seen a moderate-severe special education class on an elementary level. The schools I went to were small or private and did not have the resources to serve a student with moderate-severe special education needs. When I worked at schools in Berkeley there was full inclusion with an aide, the students had appointments with specialist throughout the day, but their home class was a general education class.  If the case (mainly behavior) was severe enough there was a life skills/special day school the students would attend. 

It was fascinating to see the different ways Mr. Reynolds Utilized UDL. All his lessons included visual, audio and sensory learning. He used technology in lesson plans and the doubled back over that information using reading and writing. When his students approached a difficult concept or activity, ie writing “A”, he showed and spoke the direction, then had the student speak the direction and write the letter. Each student saw heard and felt the movement of writing the letter “A”. All of Mr. Reynolds material and methods are evidence based, each student has a goal and Mr. Reynolds has access to many layers of assessment information surrounding his students. Every game that is played, cheer shouted, and modification created is to move the student forward and create an as equal a playing field as possible.

       References

 Slavin, R. (2018). Educational Psychology: Theory & Practice. (12th edition). Boston, MA: Pearson Publication.

Spring, J. H. (2019). American education. New York: Routledge.

[heartattack-ff]

Chapter 00

A small huff slipped from Renee’s lips as she hurriedly pulled her Louis Vuitton Damier luggage along the marble floors of John F. Kennedy International Airport. As her phone vibrated in the pocket of her denim jacket, she attempted to use one hand to fish around her pocket for it but eventually gave up on the task as she neared the sliding glass door exit. Time nor her patience had been on her side since she started her morning. After mistakenly ignoring her morning alarm, she woke up a half an hour behind her scheduled wake up call. Though she rushed through her morning routine and dressed as swiftly as she could, she still left out of the house much later than she should have. The morning traffic further tormented her already hectic morning as the car service driver attempted to find every alternate route to LAX and the news that she missed her flight was the final blow. Luckily for her, for an absolutely ridiculous price, they were able to book her a seat on a later flight. Sitting in an airport for hours was surely not apart of her plans for the day, but that’s what she was left with until they finally announced the boarding call for New York City. “Where is he?” She mumbled the statement to herself as she scanned her eyes back and forth over the busy area. As she walked along, she continued to search until her eyes met a pale faced man holding up a white sheet of paper with ‘Renee Atwood” written in black bold letters. Her heavy Azzedine Alaïa boots pounded the pavement as she jogged to the black SUV. She acknowledged the driver with a head nod and quickly slipped in the backseat once he opened the door for her. As he closed the door, she began to fish around her pocket for her phone once again and she successfully pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Rather than returning Alicia’s call, she texted her and assured her that she landed safely and was on her way to the check into her hotel. “The W, please. Downtown.” “On Albany Street.” “Yes, that’s one. Thank You.” As the driver turned up the sounds of Hot 97’s afternoon show, Renee stared out of the window at the busy Queens, New York traffic while tapping her fingers along the side dash. For the first time, she flew out to New York City for business affairs of her own. There’s no celebrity styling gig or client event that she had no choice but to attend. This is all for the growth of her own brand, the belief in herself and success, and an investment in her future of position in the fashion industry. No matter how many doors may close in her face or doubters there may be, her self-confidence and drive is what’s going to be the force behind her mission. For months, she went back and forth over her designs pondering if they were ready for the world’s eyes or good enough to be on people’s backs. There were days when she loved it and could envision some of fashions most elite strutting down sidewalks or into events wearing her designs and there were those gloomy days when she thought she was a fool for even considering releasing the line. She tweaked patterns, fabrics, cuts, and colors on just about all of the pieces until she was truly satisfied with what she believes is a great collection for the fall. The ride to the hotel was a little over forty minutes. Once she retrieved her luggage from the driver, she walked inside and checked in at the front service desk. She then went upstairs to the one bedroom Wow Suite, where she had views of the 9/11 Memorial and One World Trade Center. She tossed her purse on the three-seat multicolored sofa and rolled her luggage into the bedroom. She sighed as her body sank into the soft bed and she stared up at the white ceiling while attempting to mentally strategize the rest of her week. Tomorrow, after visiting Milk Studios and going off the show design with her team, she’d be doing interviews with Claire Summers of Fashion Bomb Daily, Essence Magazine, and Marie Claire. Throughout the rest of the week, there will be nothing but run throughs with the models, and finally, the show itself. There’s just one final piece of the puzzle that she’s trying to secure and if that runs over smoothly tonight, then her stress levels should drop down a notch or two. Rather than heading out for a bite to eat, she ordered truffle fries covered in a dash of sea salt and crab cakes from the hotel’s room service as a snack to hold her over until her early evening dinner. While eating, she absentmindedly checked out Vh1’s “Black Ink” and skimmed through various e-mails. Though he officially has someone else working for him, she’d forgotten to send out a mass e-mail announcing that she’d no longer be working for Trey. In the midst of the e-mails pertaining to her life, were many different offers from clothing designers more than willing to send him their latest pieces for no charge for the free advertisement of him wearing them. Through working for him, she was able to develop a number of great relationships with certain designers and clothing boutique owners, so the e-mails aren’t annoying. They’re painful reminders. The thoughts of what could have been or rather what should have been arise at the sight of his name, the sound of his voice on the radio, or the sight on his face on television, the internet, or whatever social media platform. Her thoughts of him aren’t random, they’re constant. Loving him from a distance will undoubtedly be one of the biggest challenges in her life for quite some time. By six in the evening, she freshened up and readied herself for the business meeting she’d be having over dinner at New York City’s famous Da Silvano restaurant. The blue leather pants, graphic Givenchy shirt, and Alaïa boots were the perfect casual evening look and fashionable enough to make a good impression on who she’d be meeting. For a bit of street edge, she tied a flannel shirt around her waist and slipped into a pure white light wool duster coat for the cold weather. She then switched her necessities into a black Chanel bag and rushed downstairs and out to the awaiting SUV so she’d arrive to her destination on time. Luckily for her, time was on her side and the driver was able to get her to the restaurant in literally ten minutes. Upon arrival, she was seated at very particular table at the far back of the restaurant, near the window, and she ordered a glass of Pinot Noir red wine for the wait. Though the wine was supposed to aid in calming her nerves, she couldn’t help but thinking about the meeting with Elise Dandrige. Her harsh criticism and crudely dismissive behavior left Renee with a bit of a tainted view on world renowned fashion figures. If she felt that way after having only viewed her work for a mere few seconds, then how would everyone else react after having viewed her entire show. There are the up and coming designers that are lucky enough to earn co-signs early on and there are those that have to grind it out until the acknowledgement eventually happens. For Renee, it’s not necessarily about the co-sign, what she’d like is the respect and if she’s lucky enough, a possible mentor to lend some advice and knowledge about the business. She didn’t know what she was getting herself into tonight, but hell, it’s worth a try. Whether she earns a yes or a no, the show must go on. Some excitement had finally happened for the awaiting paparazzi outside of the restaurant. Renee sat up in her seat as she glanced out of the window and she slowly gulped down the wine as the woman in the midst of the various flashes came into view. Robyn Rihanna Cole effortlessly walked through the crowd of men and people looking on with a small smirk on her face and confidence that nearly everyone admires her for. Just yesterday, Renee had flipped through her latest racy V Magazine spread she’d done with legendary supermodel Kate Moss and she read the interview. During the interview she openly talked about motherhood, her exhaustion, and how she was still working on her post baby body. As she stepped inside of the restaurant, Renee couldn’t spot a sign of exhaustion on her face or within her body language as she happily wrapped her arms around the restaurants manager. In addition to that, judging by her body in the photo shoot, if photos of her pregnancy weren’t online, you’d think that she was a liar. Not a single portion of her body is out of shape. The Saint Laurent Coyote Fur and Leather Jacket was the perfect contrast to her beige Alexander Wang Silver Simona Fur Sandals. She too had her hair in a bob, but unlike Renee she had a bit more length and bangs with her style. Though it was clear as the evening sky that she was someone of importance, her energy was warm and her smile was genuine. As she turned to approach the table, Renee quickly stood up and Robyn immediately opened up her arms for a hug as soon as she was in arms length. As their frames meshed together, Renee immediately noticed they were wearing the same fragrance and that small relatable trait lessened her nervousness. “Renee! How are you? It’s been so long.” As they pulled away from one another, Robyn smiled once more and gave her arms a slight squeeze as they stood there. “I know? I feel like I haven’t been out here in so long. I’m doing well. How are you?” “I’m great. Everything’s good. Sit, sit, we have to catch up. When was the last time we were together? The night at the club right?” As they settled in their seats, Robyn placed her black Rick Owens bag on the table and took off her jacket. “Yeah, it was then. A lot has happened since then.” “You’re so right about that. A lot has happened. ” “You’re married.” Renee grabbed her left hand and playfully pointed at both her engagement ring and wedding band. “And you had a baby.” “I’ve been busy huh?” Robyn joked and her wink caused the two of them to erupt into laughter. She indeed had been busy. “Absolutely. How is old is Jaxton now?” “He’s four months and so damn adorable. I’m so in love with him. I literally can’t get enough of him.” In true proud mother fashion, she quickly took out her iPhone and began to show Renee various pictures of her infant son. For each picture she had either a story or a description that could warm the hearts of anyone and spark involuntary baby fever. “He’s so handsome and I know you hear this all the time, but he looks just like Cole. He’s literally a splitting image of his father.” “Well damn Renee, just rub it in why don’t you?” As Robyn playfully side eyed her for the all too familiar comment about their son’s looks, Renee giggled and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s the truth.” “Yeah, I suppose he does look like that guy,” was Robyn’s playful response as she tossed her phone back into her bag. “How’s Cole?” “He’s doing well.” As the waiter approached the table, Robyn too ordered a glass of red wine and they ordered their appetizers and entrees they’d be having. Robyn, who frequently visits the restaurant made suggestions for Renee and she ordered based upon that. She’d rather trust her word than order something that’s potentially disastrous to her taste buds. “Can I ask you something?” “Of course you can. Ask whatever you want.” “Well, how do you do it?” Renee asked and Robyn raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “How do I do what?” “How do you manage to be one of the world’s most sough after models, a business a woman, a fashion guru, a wife, and a mother all at once?” “Well, if I told you it was easy, I’d be lying my ass off. It’s not easy at all. Believe me when I say that I have my days when I feel like my head’s going to explore. I get frustrated and annoyed. Sometimes I feel overworked or exhausted. I have my ways when I want to rip my hair out and then I have those days when I really crave time to myself. For me, the most important of it all is, it’s all worth it. No matter what you’re feeling, going through, or how tough something is, when it’s worth it, you’re going to give your all. My career is worth it and over everything else, my family is worth it. They deserve the best version of myself and I strive to give them that daily. When it’s all worth it, you’re willing to make the sacrifices and have those tough days. Ultimately, you know you’re going to be satisfied and have a smile on your face at the end of the day.” “Now see, that’s goals.” “Hey, hey! Stop acting like we don’t all get to look at you and think goals too. You’re young, beautiful, and dating one of the worlds biggest sex symbols. On top of it, Trey truly adores you. That’s goals girl.” Renee lowered her head a bit and she shifted her seat at the mention of Tremaine’s name. She surely wasn’t expecting her to go there and she wish she hadn’t. Not only is explaining their break up emotionally draining, but it’s also just…complicated. “What’s the matter? Uh oh, you’re mad at him?” Her joke earned a saddened smirk from Renee and she shook her head. “Trey and I are no longer together.” The revelation shocked Robyn. She hadn’t seen anything on the popular gossip sites talking about Trey and Renee’s relationship, not that she went looking for said information, but ‘Mr. Steal Your Girl’ becoming single again was bound to make some headlines. Renee and Trey had never officially made statements about their break up though it happened somewhat amicably. After they had their little talk about her moving to Cali to pursue her dreams they’d still been spending time together up until the day she left. With so many lines blurred between them it was hard to sever all ties immediately. All the hanging out being done was like them trying to change the inevitable. It was a tactic where they held on to a false sense of security hoping something might change. Even the night of her going away party was a mess.   It was the move that officially ended things for them. Renee had to practically force herself to end all communication with him and the first few months it was hard; hell it was still hard.  Every time she found something exciting going on she wanted to call him and share the good news, but she couldn’t do it. She had ended things prematurely before they even got a chance to figure it out and every time she thought about it she regretted it, but then she reminded herself she had done it for her career and that seemed to be going well so at least she was winning in some sense. “Umm, things ended a while ago we've just been lowkey with it I guess. I haven't shown any ill face towards him and luckily for me no one has been asking about him whenever I do appearances. It's strictly been about my work." That was one thing Renee had been grateful for. She always assumed Trey and her would have this link but so far their names hadn't come up together too frequently. "Basically, I was going to start the line out in LA and I decided it'd be best if we ended things because I didn't feel I could balance my career along with my love life. I needed my career to be my main focus and I didn't want string him along while he wasn't a main priority." Renee said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. Just thinking about everything had her emotions going haywire, but she did her best to keep a straight face. This wasn't the time nor place for Tremaine to haunt her, but she couldn't help it. Robyn's words were resonating with her. 'If it's worth it you'll give it your all'. Trey wasn't perfect by any means but he gave his all and instead of Renee returning the favor she'd  threw in the towel. A sigh escaped her lips. She was getting too emotional and just needed to get down to what was really important: business. "So you know I'm up and coming designer. I've done a few interviews talking about the Renee Atwood collection and now the time has come for me to show the fruit of my labors. Basically it's my everyday wear line. I have a show and I'd be honored if you'd give me the pleasure of walking the runway. I think you're the perfect candidate. You embody what the RA collection stands for. I don't think fashion should be put into some little box and have these boundaries and clearly you don't either. Why can't we switch it up? You can go from extremely girly and chic to sophisticated and sexy. There are no limits here. Clothes should be a extension of oneself and you do that effortlessly." Robyn chuckled. "I appreciate the compliment Renee." No matter how many times people praised Robyn’s work it never got old to her. It was always a good feeling to know you were doing something you loved and people were enjoying.