#to clarify the texture of it: they all have names and i like them sincerely. i dont do it to creep peple out its just a very funy side efect

[crabanarchy]

ages ago a mutual asked me to elaborate on the clown situation but i forgot. so here's just a wee sample of what walking into my house is like

[gloryofluv]

Traditionally Obscure Chapter 5

Svart! Man, I had plenty of fun with this chappy for sure!

Previous Chapter

There wasn’t much time to adjust to the sudden change once she woke up when landing. Rosa had fallen asleep against Vyn’s shoulder and was out for nearly most of the plane ride. There goes comforting him at all. Once they had their bags, Rosa was overwhelmed at the sheer chaos of a foreign language everywhere.

It wasn’t that she didn’t travel as a child. However, this felt different. A different world entirely. Vyn had coiled his arm around her’s and led her through the weaving airport. When someone shoved her while passing, nearly ripping her away from Vyn, he glared back at the man and pulled Rosa closer.

Outside, the air felt a bit frigid and moist. It was definitely different than Stellis. Rosa was gazing at the massive outpour of stunning jittering of society and its differences. They stopped at the entrance, and a man with a plaque approached, speaking to Vyn in his native tongue.

Vyn responded and gestured to Rosa. “This is our escort to the estate. My uncle’s condition is failing. We will change at the estate,” he explained to her.

Rosa swallowed and rocked her head. “Alright.”

Vyn rocked his head and spoke again to the man in the uniform. He took the bags from Vyn and bowed before leading them out of the airport. Rosa wasn’t expecting the flashing of cameras as they walked toward the extended car. It definitely was royalty by the dramatic flags that hung in the back. Well, she was going to look like crap in those pictures.

Vyn ignored them with a soft smile and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. It was almost as if he was shielding her from the people speaking in their native tongue. Likely they were trying to get information from Vyn. He assisted Rosa in the car and gave them a subtle wave before joining her and shutting the door.

Rosa smiled and nodded. “That’s eventful,” she tried.

Vyn chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t need to make me feel better about subjecting you to this.”

“I’m not trying. I’m being honest. I’m an attorney, Vyn. I can handle some press,” she reminded him.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “That’s true,” he paused when his phone rang. Vyn retrieved it from his pocket and answered it. “Yes, we just landed and are on our way.”

He waited while the other person was talking and stared at her. “She slept on the plane. We’ll see you tonight for dinner, Marius,” Vyn hummed.

“Isn’t he already flying?” Rosa questioned.

“He’s flying in his private jet. He has service,” Vyn answered. “Yes, I will inform you when we’re done with the political business.”

Their conversation finished, and he placed the phone back into his pocket. She tilted her head and observed Vyn’s demeanor. It was strained, but he still maintained his air of calm. Rosa reached out and took his hand, squeezing it tenderly.

“So, if you need me to make myself scarce,” she started.

“No,” Vyn shook his head.

There was an underlined statement. Rosa stared at his expression and collected the resistance for her to part from. It was the first time she experienced this time of fractured emotion on the refined professor. He was such a master of his own emotions that this was an uncontrollable event.

“Then I’ll be at your side the whole time,” she agreed.

He glanced out the window, and she followed his eyes. The world around them was vibrant and colorful in comparison to Stellis. Her city was built with shiny metallic jungle features. Tall skyscrapers and sheen newness. This felt something of a fairytale. Older colored buildings with bold outlining. Massive statues of gods or deities of old.

“That’s Balder, of light and purity,” Vyn declared and pointed to the statue they were passing with a staff in hand.

Rosa leaned closer to him to get a better view of it. “There’s plenty of rich culture out here.”

He gestured to a fountain. “Njord is celebrated through fountains and running water through Svart.”

She smiled at him before examining the children tossing coins in the water. “How different from Stellis.”

“Yes,” Vyn agreed.

“I stick out like a sore thumb out here,” Rosa noted as she examined some of the lighter-haired people they were passing.

Vyn tilted his head and met her gaze. “That isn’t always a disproportionate issue.”

The man from the front rolled down the window between them and spoke to Vyn. He responded with a nod and adjusted his glasses. There was a little back and forth before Vyn breathed and agreed.

“He just informed me that my aunt has requested we have tea with her after we see my uncle,” Vyn declared and grimaced in the slightest. “I wasn’t expecting her to want to engage in conversation today. I’m apologetic. I doubt the last thing you’d like to do is entertain after flying.”

Rosa straightened her form and smirked. “Dr. Richter, you’re doubting my skills again.”

“Never, Rosa,” he smiled.

“If your aunt wants to have tea and you want my escort, then I will join you,” she nodded.

The man spoke again, and Vyn scowled and responded with a gruffer texture to his voice. The driver’s tone sounded almost apologetic, but he relayed information in a fast pattern of speech.

“He says Ragnar and my uncle are at the estate today,” Vyn explained.

“So your uncle, Ragnar’s father, is younger than your father, correct?” Rosa inquired.

He rocked his head. “Yes.”

Rosa breathed and dug through her purse, checking her face in her small mirror. It was one thing to go into a royal estate. It was a whole other thing to run into someone who was volatile before. Vyn’s hand made her jerk as it touched her cheek.

“You can freshen up at the estate. Don’t fret,” he murmured as his fingertips brushed back a few stray hairs.

Rosa set down her mirror and stared over at him. Vyn’s expression held sincere care and a hint of relief. All the words of gratitude wrapped in action instead of words. Somehow, instead of shying from it, she felt more than a heated tug at her gut. Rosa felt… bolstered.

She pressed her hand over his and smiled. “Alright.”

Their little tangled thoughts subsided with their arrival at a large gate. Vyn pulled from her and straightened his posture. Rosa replicated him and knitted her fingers as she glanced out the window. Holy crow. Her lips fell apart as she viewed the expanse of the entrance.

There was an intricate garden of trees and flowers that brought a whimsical feeling to Svart’s charm. The car traveled on the driveway toward the entrance to a massive manor with a bright white and gold glow over the vibrate flowers surrounding it.

Vyn said something to the driver and dug in his pocket. He held out his hand toward the opening when the car was parked. The man took the golden trinket with a nod before getting out. Vyn climbed from the vehicle and offered his hand to Rosa. She slid over and out of the car with his assistance. It was only then that she realized her legs felt like jelly.

The potency of sea air mixed with the light floral escape that was created around the property. It danced together with elegance and uniformity. Rosa straightened her cardigan and swallowed. She was completely out of her element, that was certain. However, she wasn’t here for herself.

Vyn offered his arm, and she rocked her head while falling in step with him toward the manor’s entrance. What a shocking sensation. Rosa almost couldn’t believe all of the information she’s collected in the last twenty-four hours. Vyn was royalty adjacent. That was insane.

He didn’t speak as they entered when a worker opened the door. He led her inside, and she stifled her gasp. The description of royal castles could use an update by the country of Svart. As traditional as everything appeared on the outside, that wasn’t the case inside this manor.

Beautiful traditional marble floors that paid homage to the world of old danced with the world of new by the brilliant modern art on the walls. Busts of royalty stood on tables, but alongside beautiful baubles that shouted freshness to tradition.

“Vilhelm,” a soft voice announced.

You both turned toward the staircase to see a woman descending. She was older, but age definitely didn’t seem to catch up to her. Her bright blue eyes were surrounded by soft blond hair, and her deep violet dress surrounded with golden accessories screamed royalty.

Vyn released Rosa’s arm and bowed before extending his hand. “Your majesty,” he declared before kissing her hand.

She beamed and glanced at Rosa before speaking in her native tongue. Vyn gestured to Rosa, saying her name before concluding his explanation. The woman shifted and laughed. “Vilhelm said you came to support us. That’s amazingly kind of you, Rosa. My name is Ester. I’m the Queen of Svart.”

Rosa attempted a curtsey she’d seen in films but soon simpered and scrunched her shoulders. “It’s truly an honor, your majesty,” she said.

Ester laughed and said something to Vyn with a wag of her finger. Vyn’s cheeks were dusted with slight color before responding. The queen turned back to the woman and smiled. “I have something to help you freshen up. Edmar is in decent spirits despite the looming storm. He’s been wanting to meet you for some time, Rosa.”

Vyn cleared his throat and said something else in his native tongue. Ester giggled and reached over, touching his cheek fondly before waving them along. “Vilhelm, you remember where your quarters were? I would like to speak to your companion. She is a lady, and I would like to assist with her comfort.”

Vyn turned to Rosa and smiled. “My aunt wants to introduce you to my two cousins. They are very warm and kind, which I know you’ll have little issue with. Are you comfortable with such an affair?”

Rosa’s cheeks warmed, and she rocked her head. “Of course, Dr. Richter. I’m sure you need a little bit of time to breathe after our long flight.”

“We’ll converge to see my uncle shortly,” he clarified.

Ester scowled and said something in her native tongue. Vyn shook his head and tutted with a reply. “My aunt is expressing your formality as unnecessary,” he smiled.

Rosa laughed and shook her head. “Your majesty, he has earned that title in Stellis, so of course I’m going to use it.”

Ester giggled and rocked her head. “Vilhelm, we shall see you later. I want to help your companion dress for meeting Edmar.”

Rosa stepped toward the queen, and Vyn waved with a nod. The dismissal was tense only in a sense that they’ve only been here a few hours, and she was already being skirted off to meet more of his family members without him? Well, she was prepared for the unexpected.

Ester gazed at Rosa as they climbed the staircase. “You’re an,” she paused and scowled.

“Attorney,” Rosa agreed.

“That’s the word. Languages have different meanings,” Ester laughed.

Rosa beamed and rocked her head. “Vyn was teaching me some of your language on the plane, but it’s difficult to be able to gather enough lessons in hours to hold conversations.”

“He writes that you both work together routinely,” Ester voiced.

Does he write to his aunt and uncle? That was the first she had ever heard of it. There’s definitely a sweet affection between them. It was clear with how she addressed him. However, there was so much of the story missing.

Rosa rocked her head as they paced through a large corridor. “Yes, we do outside of the work with my firm.”

Ester made a sound and said something in her native language. “It means ‘fate plays cards for souls,’” she explained.

“Your kingdom is magical,” Rosa declared.

She smiled and patted Rosa’s shoulder. “We are ways from the gem of Stellis, but we hold charm against the sea.”

“Forgive me for being curious,” Rosa started as they paused at a large set of doors. “You seem rather close to Vyn.”

Ester rocked her head and exhaled. “Vilhelm and Edmar are. We were not fortunate to have a son, and they share similar ideals. It’s very kind of you to come with him. It takes a person of great strength to hold up brilliance when it threatens to dim.”

“I had to nearly break his fingers to allow it,” Rosa laughed and shook her head. “But he would do the same for me. I couldn’t allow him to do this alone.”

“And that, Rosa, is why you and my daughters are meeting today,” Ester smiled and rapped on the door.

There were plenty of things to unbox by their conversation. However, Rosa had little chance. Ester brought her into a room with two young women that mimicked her appearance. The heavy conversation changed to lighter as she was brought inside, offered tea and dresses soon brought in by female workers. This wasn’t just an upper-class type of behavior. This was truly the royal treatment.

[sneezefiction]

sleep over? please.

Akaashi x reader - scenario

prompt: Sleep over? Please.

a/n: Akaashi has my heart, y’all. i thought i’d write from a prompt this time around and i’m about to hit 100 followers, so, being me, i must celebrate with fluffy feels. i love this community. thanks for inviting me in so warmly <3 

warnings: slight cursing

wc: 1440

---

It wasn’t unlike you to be up late. Dim lights on in your room, phone in hand, mind fuzzy and tired.

It wasn’t unlike Akaashi to try and figure out the reason you’re still awake.

Somehow he always knew when you couldn’t sleep. Sometimes he knew by way of instinct and other times you just made your social media scrolls a little too apparent.

Tonight, it was Twitter that gave you away. Your late-night likes, retweets, and posts weren’t exactly incognito, so you expected to get a text from your boyfriend scolding you for still being up, rolling around in your bed sheets.

However, the text you received was far from nagging… 

12:53 am - Akaashi: Saw you on twitter. I can’t sleep either.

12:53 am - Akaashi: If you don’t want to, it’s fine, but I have a proposition...

12:53 am - Akaashi: do u want to sleep over?

12:54 am - Akaashi: Please.

---

12:55 am - Y/n: Give me 10 minutes

You’re not sure why, but his text surprises you. Akaashi has always been self-sustaining, not usually asking for much from you, his friends, or family. So the needier tone in his text gets you wondering if he’s actually okay.

You know better than to ask him ‘what’s wrong’ over text. In-person conversations are more comfortably suited for him. So you slip on some sneakers and swing a jacket over your shoulders, tugging the sleeves up and onto your arms making sure to be as quick as possible.

You pat yourself down for one final check - keys, bag, and wallet... all here. Nodding to yourself, you set off.

As you pull up to his house, you notice that Akaashi is already standing on his front porch waiting for you.

He’s wearing a textured, gray hoodie you gifted him a few months back and some name brand joggers. Akaashi always manages to be unintentionally fashionable, especially when it comes to lounge-wear.

As you make your way up the walkway, you notice his slightly unfocused expression. A clear sign that he’s feeling a bit off. Akaashi only ever got that way under major stress, usually relating to school or volleyball.

He lets out a breath, reaching his arms out toward you and wrapping them around your neck. A hand shifts behind your head, entangling your hair in lithe fingers and pulling your face gently into his chest.

“Sorry for asking you over so late.” He sighs, almost as though he’s disappointed in himself for being needy.

“I always tell you to let me know if you need something, Akaashi. I’m glad you texted.” You muffle out into his hoodie, drawing your arms around his back.

“Let’s go inside, I’m sleepy and I know you are too.” He states.

As if on cue, you let out a big yawn. This guy is something else. A prophet? A mind reader? Just super intuitive?

Ah, whatever, you give up thinking about it. He just is what he is… and now it’s my turn to figure him out.

You head to his bedroom, familiar with its colors of deep blue and crisp white and, as per usual, completely spotless. You’ve spent many a day and night theorizing, studying, and laying next to your boyfriend in this room. It’s a bit of a sanctuary in its own, quiet way.

Akaashi lets you crawl into his bed first so that you can claim your space under his covers. You feels the bed shift slightly as he joins you. He’s relatively silent, but not in his usual manner. It’s as though he’s trying to say something, his mouth barely opening and then closing right after.

So you let him process his words before they inevitably tumble out. In the meantime, you both study the ceiling above you, not making physical contact yet in order to minimize distraction from his thoughts.

“Y/n, do you like me?” He breaks the bubble of silence around you.

“Hm?” A silly question, you think.

“You know I do, Akaashi. I’m dating you, aren’t I?” You chuckle, turning your head to the black-haired boy. His face is entirely serious, eyes still fixed above.

“What do you mean exactly?” You question, matching his seriousness this time.

He runs a hand through his hair, then shifts his head toward you, reaching an arm under the blankets to grab your hand.

Rubbing your hand with his thumb thoughtfully, Akaashi clarifies, “I mean, why are you with me? What benefit do you see in being around me?” He pauses, taking a breath before his next question.

“Do you really see a future with me?” His cheeks are tinted pink, but the question isn’t cute or lighthearted.

It’s anxious.

You can practically feel the self-doubt in his whispers. A masked vocalization of his fears, probably stemming from the beginning of your relationship, spilling out.

You move closer to his body, pulling him into your chest, deciding that physical contact would be the best way to convey your answer.

“Akaashi… remember when we talked about college and plans awhile back?”

He nods. 

“And how we discussed long distance?”

He nods, but clearly the topic was more painful for him, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“You know it’s only a couple of hours, baby.” You remind him gently, “We have every weekend… every slower day… any school break to see each other again.”

“I know, I know.” He sighs, “But, do you really want me? Do you want to drive and wait for me?”

You unlink your hand from his to run your fingers along the outline of his slim jawline. It’s the first time he’s ever expressed his hesitance of your feelings for him.

He needed confirmation and confidence that you care for him. That you want to be by his side.

Throughout high school, he’d had the luxury of being a vital part of his team. They needed his skills. His team relied on him and trusted that he could follow through as a setter. Without Akaashi they would’ve been lost and, at the least, much weaker.

But you were a different issue entirely. You didn’t “need” him per se. His critical thinking and intellect could only get him so far in a relationship. Something he didn’t see himself being in for years… yet here he is, you in his bed, listening to him sort through his problems once again.

You see him flipping through the thoughts in his mind, so you bring him back to the real world, pushing his hair back to place a delicate kiss to his forehead.

He meets your eyes.

“I know you don’t see it my way, but Akaashi… this relationship is more than just some cost-benefit diagram.” You smile, eyes lighting up with humor.

“I am choosing to be with you because…” It’s your turn to blush, debating whether or not this is the time to say it.

And it really is time. He needs to know how you truly feel.

“... dammit, Akaashi, I love you.”

His heart jumps. Those were 3 words he wasn’t expecting.

You continue, “Yes, you add something to my life. You make me laugh and think deeper than I’m used to. You teach me perspective. You treat me so kindly but…” He’s listening so intently now,

“You are so much more than what you give. You make me want you. To hold you, text you, and call you if you need anything. To just lay here with you… you make little things so much more beautiful.”

Akaashi may not speak much, but this is a new level of speechless.

It’s like you’re confessing to him all over again.

But this time, it’s from the basis of love.

Nothing cute or made-up. Just... sincerity.

“So, please, if you ever think I don’t care about you or want you around, even if we’re fighting with each other or managing too much at one time, just call me. I’ll drop everything to get to you. I promise.”

It takes him a moment to handle everything. To grasp these abstract feelings and apply them to your relationship.

But after a minute of stillness he finally understands.

He feels the same. And he has for a long time.

It’s why he cares so much to hear it from you. To know that you don’t just like him, but that you are actively willing to seek him out. That you want his presence, his rough edges, and his faults in your life.

“I… love you too, y/n.” He manages to respond, unsure as to how he can answer to everything else you’ve just said.

So you bury your face in his hair, letting the flush slowly fade from your own face and breathe in the perfume of his cedar scented shampoo.

“Thank you for trusting me.” You whisper.

“Thank you for coming over.” He murmurs in reply.

“I love a good, emotional sleepover, baby. You should know that much by now.” You quietly jest, eyes closing.

“Yeah,” He hums, “I appreciate them too.” Mumbles Akaashi.

You both drift off into a serene sleep, releasing your hesitations and inhibitions into the tranquil midnight air.

---

From this day forward, you both refer to this moment as “Akaashi’s Therapy.” 

Since then, it’s become an inside joke, but only you two remember how monumental of a turning point this conversation was for your relationship. 

It’s why you both made it through your last year of high school together. It’s why, even with weeks (sometimes months) of distance, you both consistently went back to each other. Study nights, weekend trips, and Christmas parties.

And also why you’re here now, admiring the glimmering diamond engagement ring on your finger. Hand-in-hand with your best friend, now fiancé, at a summertime festival. It feels like a dream, but the many long years apart remind you that it’s very real. That you both made it.

No cost-benefit analysis or prophetic parable could’ve gotten you both to this point. No war strategy and not an ounce of magic could’ve held up...

But a sleepover? Hell yes.

[alwaysalreadyangry]

most of the UK reviews i’ve read of martin eden have been a disappointment, tbh. i don’t know if this is because critics have been busy with cannes or because outlets here just don’t have the space, or because it’s kind of seen as old news. i have seen no real engagement with the politics or form beyond a couple of cursory lines, and it’s a shame because... i think it’s really rich wrt those elements?

so i am looking again at the (wonderful) review from film comment last year and it’s such a shame that it’s not available freely online. so i thought i’d post it here behind a cut. it’s long but worth it imo (and also engages really interestingly with marcello’s other films). it’s by phoebe chen.

COLLECTIVE CONSCIOUSNESS              Jan  3, 2020                    BY PHOEBE CHEN

EARLY IN JACK LONDON’S 1909 NOVEL MARTIN EDEN, there is a scattering of references to technical ephemera that the 20th century will promptly leave behind: “chromos and lithographs,” those early attempts at large-scale reproduction; “a vast camera obscura,” by then a centuries-old relic; a bullfight so fervid it’s like “gazing into a kinetoscope,” that proto-cinematic spectacle of cloistered motion. These objects now seem like archaic curios, not much more than the flotsam of culture from the moment it shifted gears to mass production. It’s a change in scale that also ensnares the novel’s title character, a hardy young sailor and autodidact-turned-writer-célèbre, famously an avatar of London’s own hollowing transmutation into a figure for mass consumption. But, lucky him—he remains eminent now on the other side of a century; chance still leaves a world of names and faces to gather dust. Easily the most arresting aspect of Pietro Marcello’s new adaptation is its spotlight on the peripheral: from start to end, London’s linear Künstlerroman is intercut with a dizzying range of archival footage, from a decaying nitrate strip of anarchist Errico Malatesta at a workers’ rally to home video–style super 16mm of kids jiving by an arcade game. In these ghostly interludes, Marcello reanimates the visual detritus of industrial production as a kind of archival unconscious.

This temporal remixing is central to Marcello’s work, mostly experimental documentaries that skew auto-ethnographic and use elusive, essayistic editing to constellate place and memory, but always with a clear eye to the present. Marcello’s first feature, Crossing the Line (2007), gathers footage of domestic migrant workers and the nocturnal trains that barrel them to jobs across the country, laying down a recurring fascination with infrastructure. By his second feature, The Mouth of the Wolf (2009), there is already the sense of an artist in riveting negotiation with the scope of his story and setting. Commissioned by a Jesuit foundation during Marcello’s yearlong residency in the port city of Genoa, the film ebbs between a city-symphonic array and a singular focus on the story of a trans sex worker and her formerly incarcerated lover, still together after 20-odd years and spells of separation. Their lives are bound up with a poetic figuration of the city’s making, from the mythic horizon of ancient travails, recalled in bluer-than-blue shots of the Ligurian Sea at dawn, to new-millennium enterprise in the docklands, filled with shipping crates and bulldozers busy with destruction.

Marcello brings a similar approach to Martin Eden, though its emphasis is inverted: it’s the individual narrative that telescopes a broader history of 20th-century Italy. In this pivotal move, Marcello and co-writer Maurizio Braucci shift London’s Oakland-set story to Naples, switching the cold expanse of the North Pacific for the Mediterranean and its well-traversed waters. The young century, too, is switched out for an indeterminate period with jumbled signifiers: initial clues point to a time just shy of World War II, though a television set in a working-class household soon suggests the late ’50s, and then a plastic helicopter figurine loosely yokes us to the ’70s. Even the score delights in anachronism, marked by a heavy synth bass that perforates the sacral reverb of a cappella and organ song, like a discotheque in a cathedral. And—why not?—’70s and ’80s Europop throwbacks lend archival sequences a further sense of epochal collapse. While Marcello worked with researcher Alessia Petitto for the film’s analog trove, much of its vintage stock is feigned by hand-tinting and distressing original 16mm footage. Sometimes a medium-change jolts with sudden incongruity, as in a cut to dockworkers filmed in black and white, their faces and hands painted in uncanny approximations of living complexions. Other transitions are so precisely matched to color and texture that they seem extensions of a dream.

Martin’s writer’s optimism is built on a faith in language as the site of communication and mutual recognition. So follows his tragedy.

Patchworked from the scraps of a long century, this composite view seems to bristle against a story of individual formation. It feels like a strange time for an artist’s coming-of-age tale adapted with such sincerity, especially when that central emphasis on becoming—and becoming a writer, no less—is upended by geopolitical and ecological hostility. At first, our young Martin strides on screen with all the endearing curiosity of an archetypal naïf, played by Luca Marinelli with a cannonballing force that still makes room for the gentler affects of embarrassment and first love. Like the novel, the film begins with a dockside rescue: early one morning, Martin saves a young aristocrat from a beating, for which he is rewarded with lunch at the family estate. On its storied grounds, Martin meets the stranger’s luminous sister, Elena Orsini (Jessica Cressy), a blonde-haloed and silk-bloused conduit for his twinned desires of knowledge and class transgression. In rooms of ornate stucco and gilded everything, the Orsinis parade their enthusiasm for education in a contrived show of open-mindedness, a familiar posture of well-meaning liberals who love to trumpet a certain model of education as global panacea. University-educated Elena can recite Baudelaire in French; Martin trips over simple conjugations in his mother tongue. “You need money to study,” he protests, after Elena prescribes him a back-to-school stint. “I’m sure that your family would not ignore such an important objective,” she insists (to an orphan, who first set sail at age 11).

Anyone who has ever been thrilled into critical pursuit by a single moment of understanding knows the first beat of this story. Bolting through book after book, Martin is fired by the ever-shifting measure of his knowledge. In these limitless stretches of facts to come, there’s the promised glow of sheer comprehension, the way it clarifies the world as it intoxicates: “All hidden things were laying their secrets bare. He was drunk with comprehension,” writes London. Marcello is just as attentive to how Martin understands, a process anchored to the past experiences of his working body. From his years of manual labor, he comes to knowledge in a distinctly embodied way, charming by being so literal. At lunch with the Orsinis, he offers a bread roll as a metaphor for education and gestures at the sauce on his plate as “poverty,” tearing off a piece of education and mopping up the remnants with relish. Later, in a letter to Elena, he recounts his adventures in literacy: “I note down new words, I turn them into my friends.” In these early moments, his expressions are as playful as they are trenchant, enlivened by newfound ways of articulating experience. His writer’s optimism is built on a faith in language as the site of communication and mutual recognition. So follows his tragedy.

One of Marcello’s major structural decisions admittedly makes for some final-act whiplash, when a cut elides the loaded years of Martin’s incremental success, stratospheric fame, and present fall into jaded torpor. By now, he is a bottle-blonde chain-smoker with his own palazzo and entourage, set to leave on a U.S. press tour even though he hasn’t written a thing in years. His ideas have been amplified to unprecedented reach by mass media, and his words circulate as abstract commodities for a vulturine audience. For all its emphasis on formation, Martin Eden is less a story of ebullient self-discovery than one of inhibiting self-consciousness. There is no real sense that Martin’s baseline character has changed, because it hasn’t. Even his now best-selling writing is the stuff of countless prior rejected manuscripts. From that first day at the Orsini estate, when his roughness sticks out to him as a fact, he learns about the gulf between a hardier self-image and the surface self that’s eyed by others.

WITH SUCH A DEEPLY INHABITED PERFORMANCE by Marinelli, it’s intuitive to read the film as a character study, but the lyrical interiority of London’s novel never feels like the point of Marcello’s adaptation. Archival clips—aged by time, or a colorist’s hand—often seem to illustrate episodes from Martin’s past, punctuating the visual specificity of individual memory: a tense encounter with his sister cuts to two children dancing with joyous frenzy; his failed grammar-school entrance exam finds its way to sepia-stained shots of a crippled, shoeless boy. These insertions are more affective echoes than literal ones, the store of a single life drawn from a pool of collective happening.

But, that catch: writing in the hopes of being read, as Martin does (as most do), means feeding some construct of a distinctive self. While the spotlight of celebrity singles out the destructive irony of Martin’s aggressive individualism, Marcello draws from Italy’s roiling history of anarchist and workerist movements to complicate the film’s political critique, taking an itinerant path through factions and waves from anarcho-communism in the early 1900s to the pro-strike years of autonomist Marxism in the late ’70s. In place of crystalline messaging is a structure that parallels Martin’s own desultory politics, traced in both film and novel through his commitment to liberal theorist Herbert Spencer. Early on, Martin has an epiphanic encounter with Spencer’s First Principles (a detail informed by London’s own discovery of the text as a teen), which lays out a systematic philosophy of natural laws, and offers evolution as a structuring principle for the universe—a “master-key,” London offers. Soon, Martin bellows diatribes shaped by Spencer’s more divisive, social Darwinist ideas of evolutionary justice, as though progress is only possible through cruel ambivalence. Late in the film, an image of a drunk and passed-out Martin cuts to yellowed footage of a young boy penciling his name—“Martin Eden”—over and over in an exercise book, a dream of becoming turned memory.

In Marcello’s previous feature, Lost and Beautiful (2015), memory is more explicitly staged as an attachment to landscape. Like Alice Rohrwacher’s Happy as Lazzaro, Lost and Beautiful plays as a pastoral elegy but lays out the bureaucratic inefficiency that hastens heritage loss through neglect. Rolling fields make occasional appearances in Martin Eden, but its Neapolitan surroundings evoke a different history. Far from the two oceans that inspired a North American tradition of maritime literature, the Mediterranean guards its own idiosyncrasies of promise and catastrophe. Of the Sea’s fraught function as a regional crossroads, Marcello has noted, in The Mouth of the Wolf, a braiding of fate and agency: “They are men who transmigrate,” the opening voiceover intones. “We don’t know their stories. We know they chose, found this place, not others.” Mare Nostrum—“Our Sea”—is the Roman epithet for the Mediterranean, a possessive projection that abides in current vernacular. Like so many cities that cup the sea, Naples is a site of immigrant crossing, a fact slyly addressed in Martin Eden with a fleeting long shot of black workers barreling hay in a field of slanted sun, and, at the end, a group of immigrants sitting on a beach at dusk. Brief, but enough to mark the changing conditions of a new century.

Not much is really new, however: not the perils of migration, nor the proselytizing individualists, nor the media circus, nor the classist distortions of taste, nor, blessedly, the kind of learning for learning’s sake that stokes and sustains an interest in the world. Toward the end of the film, there is a shot of our tired once-hero, slumped in the back seat of a car, that cuts to sepia stock of children laughing and running to reach the camera-as-car-window, as if peering through glass and time. It recalls a scene from Wim Wenders’s Wings of Desire, which leaps backward through a similar gaze, when the weary angel Cassiel looks out of a car window at the vista of ’80s Berlin and sees, instead, grainy footage of postwar streets strewn with rubble in fresh ruin. Where human perception is shackled to linearity, these wool-coated and scarfed seraphs—a materialization of Walter Benjamin’s “angel of history”—see all of time in a simultaneous sweep, as they wander Berlin with their palliative touch. Marcello’s Martin Eden mosaics a view less pointedly omniscient, but just as filled with a humanist commitment to the turning world, even as Martin slides into disillusion. All its faces plucked from history remind me of a line from a Pasolini poem: “Everything on that street / was human, and the people all clung / to it tightly.”

Phoebe Chen is a writer and graduate student living in New York.

[thegoodprincess]

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together | KTH Ch. 6

Author: thegoodprincess

Pairing: Kim Taehyung | Original Female Character

Genre: romance, fantasy, action, forbidden love, human KTH | angel of death OC, supernatural au

Word Count: 2.6k [series, ongoing]

Rating: N/A

Warnings: None

Summary: After admiring a handsome boy from afar, an Angel of Death reluctantly rescues him from his own demise. As a result of going against her better judgment she inadvertently invites him into her world.

Together We Are Apart, but Apart We Are Together

Chapter 6. Name For a Face

“Tigers die and leave their skins; people die and leave their names.” - Japanese Proverb

While I was awaiting his return, I finished up the remainder of my tea. It had gone a bit cold since it was first poured. Nevertheless, I still drank it, savoring the sweet flavor as it slid down my throat. I decided to lay down on the sofa to rest my sore body. Sinking down into the cushions and staring blankly up at the ceiling, I wondered if I should have went to retrieve the boy’s wallet instead of Malachi. I didn’t want his willingness to help to be misinterpreted as him enabling my own foolish actions. Otherwise he would have been just as much at fault, if we were to find ourselves in the midst of chaos. He had always been eager to assist with whatever trouble I had found myself in, ready to bare the burden with open arms. It sometimes felt like he was too loyal to me, like he was just blindly complying to my wishes. I didn't want him to help me because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to. In turn it made me feel guilty about how I treated Malachi, as if I was exploiting the nature of our friendship.

Lost in the guilt-ridden thoughts of my conscience, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I had closed my eyes. I had fully intended to stay awake until Malachi returned, so I reluctantly opened them. However, I found it to be a struggle to keep them that way. Fatigue was starting to set in as I tried desperately to blink the sleepiness out of my eyes. The calming effect of the rose tea paired with the soothing sound of the logs crackling in the fire created a comfortable ambiance for me to relax to. Eventually my limbs began to feel heavy and my breathing slowed enough for me to finally lose the battle against the Sandman. Just like that, I readily drifted off into the unconscious.

It felt like Malachi was gone for quite some time before I was awoken by a small crashing noise that emanated from in front of the fireplace. Looking drowsily in the direction of the sound, I squinted to faintly make out Malachi readjusting a drying rack I had set close to the fire to dry the boy’s clothes. Through blurred vision I saw him carefully hang the articles back into their positions on the bars, spreading them out to ensure they dried properly.

“That damn thing needs to be moved. Why would she set that cursed thing right there? Stupid human boy and his stupid human clothes. What if I had fallen into the fire and burned my as—,” he whisper-yelled to himself irritated before he realized he had woken me up. “My apologies, I did not mean to wake you.” He bowed his head embarrassed of his crude outburst. I stretched and yawned, feeling the muscles in my back strain from the movement before sitting up. “It’s fine,” I waved my hand with blithe disregard for his unnecessary apology. “How long were you gone? I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“Not long.”

I rubbed the delicate skin around my eyes to get a better view of him. That’s when I took in his whole figure. Looking towards his legs I noticed that his pants were thoroughly soaked all the way up to his shins, from no doubt trudging around in the snow. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? You’re soaked. Here sit in front of the fire to warm up.” I quickly scrambled off the sofa and offered him my seat.

“I can assure you I am quite alright. I am nowhere in the condition you were in earlier tonight.” He assured with a sincere smile while taking a seat next to me. I awkwardly sat back down again.

Suddenly remembering why he left, I anxiously inquired, “Did you find it?”

“Yes.” He simply answered pulling it from his robe. The leather of the wallet was cold and stiff from getting wet. “And it did not take me long, it was just buried deeper than we originally thought. The snow has picked up quite a bit since we last left.” I held the wallet not ready to open it as he continued. “I also disposed of the gun and the patch of ice he fell through, you will be pleased to know it froze back over.”

“That’s good. No evidence. Do you think the old man will report the boy’s involvement.”

“No. I already took care of it.” I furrowed my brows confused. “I took the liberty of tracking him down and wiping his memory.” Malachi explained.

“Oh. Thank you. I didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yes. Well, you are lucky I am the best,” Malachi facetiously boasted. I rolled my eyes.

“What about the gun man?”

“Did I wipe his memory? No, I want him to live with the guilt until it consumes him.” The expression in Malachi’s eyes turned unnervingly dark. “And I doubt he will anonymously report the boy’s death. Not unless he wants to involve himself with the authorities or worse get caught by them. He will probably try to go about living his life as if nothing ever happened.”

“That’s horrible. But it’s good for us, I guess. Less of a mess to clean up. Not that I haven’t already jeopardized enough for us as it is.” I ashamedly spoke looking down at the floor.

“You are too hard on yourself.” He frowned concerned.

“I have to be. I can’t make mistakes. Especially when they effect those I cherish most.” I said looking purposefully at him.

“Ha, even a divine being such as yourself is allowed to make mistakes. And for as long as you allow me, I will always be there by your side to help you fix what is considered broken. Even if that means going against the rules of our nature.”

“Yes, but you said, if the consequences were dire then I was to take respons—,”.

Malachi promptly held a hand up to stop me, “I am well aware of what I said. However, if your actions do not bode well, I will still remain faithful to you, and only you.” He chided. He then took a second to soften his voice before continuing, “Allow me to clarify. It is my choice, and I choose to help you not because I feel it is my duty to do so, but because I want to help you. Why will you not understand that? We are as thick as thieves, even when that means cheating death,” he quipped. And with that he chastely kissed my forehead to put my guilty thoughts at ease.

I decided to steer the conversation away from my self-scrutiny, and brought our attention back to the wallet in my hands, “Did you look in it?” Immediately after the question left my mouth, adrenaline started to surge through my veins. I was well aware of the spike in my heart rate and the perspiration gathering on the nape of my neck.

“No, I thought I would let you do the honors.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nervous, I turned the wallet over in my quivering hands and reveled in the feeling of physically holding the piece of leather. The movement made it hard to undo the snap closure, and my slightly sweaty palms were doing me no favors as they slid against the leathery texture. Finally after a brief struggle I was able to open it.

There inside his wallet were some clear card holders with one containing a card with a small picture of him. Holding it closer to my face I realized it was his driver’s license. To the right of his picture, in printed text was the one thing on my mind that I had been wondering for months, his name. “His name is… Kim Taehyung,” I read aloud smiling. “Taehyung.” I repeated again letting the two syllables roll around in my mouth. I wanted to keep repeating his name like a mantra, giddy with excitement that I finally knew it.

“Well, now that you know the human’s name, I would advise you check on him. Speaking of which, I am surprised to not find you with him now. Why is that?” He eyed me suspiciously.

“I was waiting for you. He’s safe in my bed. I could hear the steady pace of his heartbeat from out hear.” This was a half truth, I also wanted to avoid the temptation of staring at his sleeping form. “You, however, were out there in the snow looking for something I needed, cold and alone. I was worried.” I may have been preoccupied with the probability of the boy’s, no Taehyung’s, life; but that didn’t mean I was any less concerned about Malachi’s wellbeing.

“Ah, so you do care,” he teasingly joked.

“Of course I care about you. You’re my friend.”

“As are you.”

“Thank you.” I sweetly hummed the sentiment for the fifth time tonight.

He nodded as to convey that it wasn’t a problem. “It was my pleasure little bird.” He patted me on the head. “You should check on the boy and get some rest.” He nodded towards my bedroom door.

“I will. I suggest taking a warm bath before bed. Goodnight Malachi.”

“Thank you for the recommendation. Goodnight my dear.” He said as he got up and walked towards the bathroom.

After Malachi had left to run a bath for himself, I decided to put out the fire. I could instantly feel the temperature of the room drop several degrees. While blowing out the last candle, I looked towards the window. Through the glass I was able to clearly make out the moon. Its light that penetrated from outside was more than enough for Malachi to see when he came out to go to bed. As I made my way over to my bedroom door I counted my steps until I reached it. I walked with one foot directly in front of the other with my arms out to the sides of me, as if I was walking on a balance beam. I know I must have looked somewhat silly, but it was all in an effort to prolong the inevitable, as well as simultaneously calm my nerves. I ultimately didn’t want to seem too eager to see Taehyung. Finally reaching my door I briefly hesitated before turning the knob. I then walked through the threshold and quietly closed the door. Once the lock softly clicked into place, I leaned my head against the wood and took a few slow breaths in order to prepare myself. I didn’t want to look in his direction just yet because I knew once I saw him it would be difficult to look away.

Over on my bedside table was a candle that I wished to light. Using the moonlight, I repeated my odd ritual from earlier, deliberately looking straight at the floor as I made my way over. Except this time I made sure to walk with normal footing. I would have been mortified if I had tripped and potentially disturbed his sleep.

Placing Taehyung’s wallet on the table, I opened the drawer and blindly felt around for a box of matches. After a few failed attempts, I finally grabbed ahold of one. I plucked one match from the container and struck it against the side of the box. Not wanting the flame to go out, I quickly touched it to the tip of the candle wick and flicked the used match to put it out. Almost immediately my senses were flooded with the rich earthy musk of amber and sandalwood. Closing my eyes, I took a brief moment to appreciate the comforting aroma. The candle’s flickering light intimately lit up the small area around my bed causing our shadows to bounce on the wall. I then leisurely turned my head and saw him.

Tucked into my silk sheets, he laid flat on his back with his whole body, from the neck down, hidden under the blankets. I watched him sleep peacefully as I sat on the floor and knelt near the side of my bed. From under the silky blankets, I could make out the subtle yet steady rise and fall of his chest. If I listened close enough I could hear the sound of his soft inhales and exhales. Continuing my gaze upwards, it landed on his neck and the pretty curve of his jaw. From there I was met with the sight of his beautiful face, his expression passive. Slumber had made his features look innocent. The moles that were on his cheek, lip, and under his eye reminded me of the stars that sparsely dusted the sky on a cloudy night. They somewhat reminded me of a constellation and it briefly dawned on me that if I were to connect them, would I be any closer to navigating my zealous yet enigmatic feelings for him.

Against my pillows his head rested delicately. His hair was almost fully dry. A few locks in the front of his head curled around his face, while the rest fell elegantly onto the pillow like a halo. Its golden hues were complimented by the iridescent pearly sheen of my pillow case, and the sight created a picturesque scene worth committing to memory. I couldn’t help but be enamored by him. He looked otherworldly, almost like an angel. He could have very well been one of the ones that I had come across when I visited Heaven from time to time.

Finally able to touch his face in a way that wasn’t correlated to life threatening peril, I gently brushed my knuckles against his cheek and tenderly traced his jawline with my fingertips in curious fascination. Mesmerized by the feeling of the suppleness of his warm to the touch skin, I pondered how I got so lucky as to be this close to him, while also being able to reach out and touch him. It was almost intoxicating. And what was even better, is that now I had his name to go along with his face.

“So your name is Tae-hyung.” I whispered each syllable slowly more to myself than him, dramatically emphasizing the pronunciation of both. I smiled at the new found knowledge. “It suits you.”

Not long after admiring his sleeping form, I began to feel like my conscious reality was fraying around its edges. Walking a few feet on my knees to the end of my bed, I took a cotton blanket slewn messily over the end of the bed post and draped it over my shoulders. In my drowsy state I placed a gentle kiss against Taehyung’s forehead. I then turned to blow out the candle after my rash display of affection, but saw something that I thought was peculiar out of the corner of my eye. For what felt like a split second I could have sworn I had seen a brief flash of very faint light emitting from around his head in the dim candle light. However, I attributed it to being a trick of the light, after all I was exhausted and my blurry tired vision wasn’t the most reliable at this exact moment.

Taking one last longing look at his face in the moonlight after blowing out the candle [as if this would be the last time I saw him], I rested my head against my arm and was lulled to sleep by the rhythm of his calm breathing, hopeful for whatever tomorrow brought us.

[my-creative-hell]

Comfort (child au)

The young twins were having somewhat if a relaxed day as they sat on the couch, watching the TV as it plays some sort of children’s show in front of them, bundled up in some blankets to keep warm as they sit together. They had been staying with Grave for a week, and they were starting to relax and grow more comfortable, though they still found it difficult at times.

“Books!!!” Grave exclaims as she wanders into the living room with a large smile on her face. This exclamation makes Iden look at her from the couch, and though Hannah doesn’t turn to her, it was obvious she too was listening.

“Books?” Iden questions in a slightly quieter voice, unused to raising his voice still, both twins speaking naturally in a lower tone. He looks at her with questioning eyes as he speaks, confused.

“Books! I got em! And!!! I can teach you how to read!” Grave exclaims happily, having taken classes on how best to teach both of these children to read properly, wanting to make sure she got it all right. This proclamation makes Hannah perk up slightly, facing Grave now when she speaks.

“But I can’t see…” Hannah reminds her, deflating slightly in her confusion and sadness, which runs across her face clearly.

“That’s what Braille is for!” Grave explains, Iden already getting off of the cough in excitement to learn how to read properly.

“Braille?” Hannah questions in a small voice, sounding and looking confused.

“Yeah! It’s like lil bumpy things that mean certain letters and stuff. Its pretty cool!” Grave explains, watching as Hannah thinks it over, a small smile building on her face.

“Okay.” She agrees quietly, allowing Iden to swiftly help her down from the couch so Grave could lead them elsewhere to learn. Grave heads upstairs for a moment, swiftly coming back downstairs with children’s books in her hands, grinning.

“Books, babey!” She exclaims as Iden pulls Hannah over to the dining table, looking excited.

“Books!” He says happily as he drags his twin sister along after him carefully. Grave places the books she has on the floor, sitting down as Iden follows her, dragging Hannah down to sit on the floor with him, watching Grave.

“Book time book time. H e c c y e a h.” Grave’s feet tap happily against the floor a little as she talks, Iden bouncing in place as Hannah listens in an intrigued manner, head turned towards the books on the floor in front of them.

“We get to learn!” Iden exclaims happily as he bounces on the floor, his positive emotions written clearly on his face for Grave to see.

“Yeah!!! Gonna be the book bois!!!!” Grave exclaims happily, making Iden giggle as he looks down at the books in front of them, his bouncing coming to a halt, though a happy expression still remains on his face.

“I’ve always wanted to know how to read.” He says in a slightly lower voice as he looks at the books in a sort of fascination, anticipating the moment when he would understand the printed words inside of them.

“That’s good! That’s very good.” Grave reassures him, her feet tapping more in happiness as she giggles. Iden grins, hesitantly reaching for a book, gripping it gently in his hands as he brings it into his lap.

Grave brings out some learning materials she had as well as the books, which contained alphabet sheets for both children to learn from, as well as some writing materials for Iden to use with his. She carefully hands the materials to each twins, Iden taking his happily, already understanding some of it due to the teachings at the orphanage. Hannah is more hesitant in taking hers, not knowing anything about reading since the nuns hadn’t even attempted to teach a blind child. Absentmindedly she runs her small hands over the Braille on the sheet, feeling the bumps beneath her fingers, looking nervous and confused as they both pay attention to Grave.

“I believe you’re feeling ‘A’ right now…” Grave mentions to Hannah, squinting a little to get a better look at what the child was doing. “Yeah, that’s it.” She nods, Hannah pausing slightly, running her hand and fingers over the letter in a more precise manner. She looks shocked, not speaking for a moment due to the overwhelming feelings inside of her.

“A?” She questions, trying to memorize the textured pattern, wanting to burn it into her brain so she would never forget it.

“Yeah, like apple! That’s the first letter in it.” Grave explains as she quietly flops to lie on the floor beside the child, who looks quite shocked as she keeps going, gently running her fingers over the next letter, Iden absentmindedly paying attention as he works through his own.

“B?” Hannah questions as she feels the texture under her fingers, trying to commit this new pattern to memory.

“B. B. B. Butter Boi the Billionaire… and bees!!!” Grave exclaims, giggling as she wiggles her fingers around. Hannah shakes lightly as her hand moves to the letter C, tracing over it a bit faster, her brain getting used to this a bit more with every letter.

“C?” She still questions, though she’s pretty sure it had to be, due to the ordering on the sheet. The pattern dwells in her brain, and would hopefully soon stick in her memory.

“Mhm, like a cat. Or a chinchilla… wow, that doesn’t sound like what it is.” Grave comments as her mind starts to drift without her meaning for it to, though she still tries to give sincere answers for the small child, who was only half listening now. All of this was so overwhelming to Hannah, but in a good way. She had never been able to read before, to have that opportunity, and now here it was, looking her in the face.

“D…” Hannah continues, her head continuously facing down at the sheet in her hands as small, excited spasms make their way through her body, making it tremble ever so slightly.

“Deception! O-Or December.” Grave sits up quickly, making Hannah jump with the sudden movement as she continues to skim her fingers over the Braille.

“E…” She continues, growing a bit nervous as she keeps trying to map out the bumps in front of her and turn them into letters and meanings inside her head.

“Elephants. They’re lorge and cool and stuff. Absolute units.” Grave says, happy the children were able to learn something. Iden was clearly having his own fun, clearly knowing most of the alphabet on his own. Hannah half nods at what Grave says, though she really wasn’t paying too much attention, not that it would matter since she didn’t really know what an elephant was.

“…F” Hannah keeps going, though the overwhelming situation is making it hard for any of the shapes to even begin to stick in her memory, and it only seemed to get harder the more she continued.

“F…ferrets. Long bois.” Grave comments, nodding slowly. “You’re doing good, by the way!” She compliments the small child in front of her, who is barely paying attention to her anymore. Hannah just wants to get through this and keep going, even though it all felt strange to her now. Besides, she didn’t know what a ferret was anyway.

“…G…” She continues, the bumps on the page feeling weirder in texture with every new letter she tries to map out inside her head.

“Y e e.” Grave nods, playing with her fingers as Hannah continues, starting to shake a little, being overwhelmed by all the new things going on.

“h-H…” She continues as she traces her finger over the letter on the page, which managed to feel both familiar and foreign to her.

“Hannah!” Grave says happily after a small gasp. Hannah nods, and she would have smiled if she could make herself.

“I-I…” She presses her finger into the page a bit harder out of instinct and the small tremors of stress she could feel welling inside of her.

“Iden. The smol bois… y e a h.” Grave replies, making Iden looks up from his own work at the mention of his name, smiling as he works on his own sheets.

“j-J?…” Hannah keeps going, trying to push away the strange feeling of stress inside of her chest as she attempts to remember what she had learnt so far. Grave raises her hands for a few seconds as she thinks, lowering them down again.

“J…Jem? No, jewels… yeah.” Grave corrects herself, Hannah’s face unreadable as she moves along with her alphabet, pausing only for a moment to listen to Grave.

“k-K…” She continues, her voice getting quieter in an effort to make it sound more level and hide the slight tremor in her body, not wanting to make an issue for anyone.

“By the way.” Grave looks at Hannah with a smile. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Learning takes time. And breaks. Those are important.” Grave clarifies kindly, Hannah pausing as she refused to look at Grave.

“B-but I don’t know a-anything…” She tries to reason, though she drifts off, realising she doesn’t know what to argue or counter with.

“That’s why you’re learning it! It’s not gonna rake like a day and them bam, you know the entire alphabet and how to write perfectly.” Grave reasons, though Hannah doesn’t answer her now, frowning as she shakes gently, visibly upset.

“Whats wrong?” Grave questions, concern immediately flowing through her as Hannah refuses to turn to her, instead trying to hide her face in her hands.

“F-feels bad…” Is what she eventually comes out with, though her voice is muffled by her hands pressing into her mouth.

“What feels bad?” Grave asks, her concern growing as Hannah continues to press her face into her hands, muffling her already quiet voice even more.

“C-cant do i-it…” Hannah admits quietly as she attempts to hide herself away, not wanting to deal with the stress and impending sense of failure she felt.

“O-Okay, um…” Grave lightly taps her fingers on the floor as she thinks. “Touch? I-Is touch good for you right now or-or is it bad?” Grave questions, wanting to hug the small child but not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with it. Hannah continues to hide her face in her hands, but she nods visibly as a sign of permission for Grave.

“Okay.” Grave smiles as she pulls Hannah towards her, enveloping the small child in a soft hug as Hannah pauses for a moment before instinctively moving to gently cling onto Grave.

“S-sorry…” Hannah says in a small voice as she buries her face into Grave, out of sight as she speaks, her voice muffled.

“It’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” Grave reassures in a soft tone as she hugs the child.

“B-but I should k-know how to d-do it…” Hannah uses an even smaller voice, and it was impossible to tell by her voice alone whether the small child was crying or not as she buries her face further into Grave.

“It’s not your fault you weren’t taught how, Hannah.” Grave reasons, smiling gently.

“B-but…” Hannah, unsure of how to finish that sentence or argue with Grave, settles for clinging onto her more, hiding from the rest of the world.

“It’s okay, I promise.” She reassures, hugging Hannah a bit tighter. The small child doesn’t respond verbally, instead clinging on tighter to Grave, making it harder to tell if she was crying or not.

“… I love you.” Grave says to the small child, unsure of what else to do. Those words elicit a small and quiet sob from Hannah as she clings onto her, still not used to so much affection, and not used to the desperate feeling of joy it brought her.

Grave makes some small noises of happiness as she hugs Hannah, feeling an overwhelming need to protect her in that moment as Iden pipes up from his own work, having been watching the situation.

“Break time?” He suggests in a quiet voice, giving Hannah a reason to pause the work, which was clearly stressing her out, and Grave a chance to further comfort his clearly upset sister.

“Yeah, break time!” Grave smiles at Iden, who grins in return as Hannah releases herself from Grave, revealing her face as she wipes some tears from her cheeks in a gentle manner.

“Yay!” Iden exclaims, though he is careful not to be too loud. He smiles at Hannah, hoping a break might lift his twin’s spirits and allow her to relax.

“What do you want for a snack? There’s… stuff.” Grave shrugs, giggling. “I forgot the things that are there, but they’re there and it tastes n o i c e.” Grave elaborates as Iden thinks for a moment, Hannah patiently listening to the interaction.

“Dunno…” Iden admits as he looks at Grave, face scrunched slightly in thought.

“We have… cookies and milk! Very good combo.” Grave offers, watching Iden’s face light up into a grin at that.

“Yay! We’ve never had that before!” He exclaims happily, immediately excited at the prospect of new things. Even Hannah seems to calm down at that; intrigued by this new thing they hadn’t yet tried.

“I’m sure you’ll like it!” Grave reassures them happily, getting up off of the floor and wandering into the kitchen, the twins following after her. Carefully, Iden helps Hannah sit at one of the chairs at the table before sitting himself down, both twins observing Grave in their own ways, Iden pointedly watching her while Hannah listens to her every movement.

Grave pours some milk out for each twin, putting the cups into the microwave for a minute to warm the milk, making sure it wasn’t hot enough to burn the small children.

“Milk time. Aw y e a h.” Grave hands the cups to the children as she speaks. Iden happily accepts his, sipping on it with a big smile adorning his face. Hannah takes a bit longer to find the cup, but she takes a small sip of the milk when she does, looking pretty happy with the result.

“It’s warm!” Iden exclaims as he drinks some of it, finding the sensation weird, but pleasant as he sips the warm beverage.

“Yeah! I just gotta get the cookies.” Grave comments as she moves over to the cookie jar she keeps inside one of the cupboards, high up enough that the kids wouldn’t be able to constantly get inside of it. She happily sets up a portion of cookies for the children, four each, handing them over to the kids.

Iden looks like he could explode with happiness as he bites into the cookie he grabs from the plate, eyes lighting up and smile spreading as he chews on it. Hannah’s reaction is more subdued, but Grave could tell she was happy as she too began eating the cookies presented to her.

“These are so good!” Iden exclaims, though his voice is slightly distorted by the amount of cookie inside of his mouth as he tries to talk.

“I’m glad you like them, cookie man!” Grave comments, giving Iden the nickname on the spot as the childs grin widens as he finishes devouring his cookies, drinking the remainder of his milk happily as Hannah finishes her snack at a slower pace.

“Yeah, they were great!” Iden says happily as he finishes his milk, wiping away the milk moustache he had formed as he smiles.

“That’s good!” Grave giggles, giving Iden a thumbs up as he grins, Hannah even giving off a small and soft smile as she too finishes drinking the rest of her milk, shifting to fiddle silently with her fingers.

“What now?” Iden asks in a curious manner, looking to Grave for the answer.

“I dunno…” Grave shrugs in response. “What do you wanna do?” She asks, watching as Iden scrunches up his face, trying to think of an answer.

“What do kids normally do in a break?” He questions as he looks up at Grave, face still scrunched up.

“Kid things! Like…” Grave crosses her arms as she thinks, huffing. “H m…” She thinks as Iden watches her, not knowing the answer either, since the twins had never really had the chance to just be normal kids before. Hannah listens to the conversation absentmindedly, fiddling with her fingers to keep herself entertained as she starts to feel a little less awake.

“I dunno… we could play a game… or sleep.” Grave poses the options, noticing that Hannah was looking a little sleepy to her as Iden scrunches up his face more.

“Sleep? But isn’t it the middle of the day?” He questions, unfamiliar with the idea of sleeping halfway through the day, not understanding the idea behind it.

“I mean, Hannah looks kinda sleepy.” Grave points out, shrugging. Hannah jolts slightly at the use of her name as Iden turns to look at her, his scrunched up face softening slightly as he can see the sleepiness in his twins face slowly ebbing in, making him huff gently.

“…Okay, we’ll… do that thing.” He concedes, not sure what the specific word for it was, though he was sure there probably was one.

“Yeah, it’s napping. Like sleeping whenever for a shorter time than you usually do. It’s n o i c e and its c o o l.” Grave explains, rambling a little as she talks to Iden, who look confused. But nevertheless, he gets down from the table, moving to help Hannah down as well, who was noticeably slower due to her getting sleepy.

“Where should we go?” Iden asks as he helps her down, looking to Grave when they were both safely down from the table.

“I mean, there’s two guest rooms. There’s nice, somft warm beds and… yeah! It’s pretty comfy.” Grave explains, Iden nodding as he gently grabs one of Hannah’s hands so he could safely guide her.

“Okay!’ He smiles, gripping onto his twin to prevent any accidents from occurring.

“Nap time, babey. Aw yeah.” Grave bounces slightly as she begins leading the twins to one of the guest bedrooms, Iden smiling as he guides Hannah, who looks neutral, not paying much attention to what was going on.

“What are you going to do while we’re asleep?” Iden asks as he follows Grave, cocking his head in curiosity much like a puppy would.

“Probably-” Grave pauses her walking for a moment before continuing. “Sleep. I think. I dunno!” She explains, Iden looking confused as they walk.

“Grown ups take naps?” He questions, face shifting to confusion as the twins follow Grave upstairs quietly.

“Yeah, they do sometimes!” Grave explains as they approach one of the guest rooms. Granted, she personally was lying, and didn’t plan on sleeping. But they didn’t need to know that.

“That sounds cool!” Iden smiles as he nods, leading Hannah carefully to the room behind him.

“It is! Also, do you guys want separate rooms or do you wanna stay together?” Grave asks, wanting to make sure of what the twins wanted to ensure they would be comfortable.

“Together…” Iden clarifies, his face scrunching slightly at the idea of being separated from each other, since it tended to make the twins nervous and jumpy.

“Alright!” Grave exclaims as she opens the door to the room, which contains a large bed that was even too big for Grave, making it enormous to the small children by comparison. Iden smiles as he leads Hannah over to the bed proceeding to jump onto it, wriggling around in the soft covers as Hannah slowly follows him up, climbing onto the bed carefully.

“It’s soft!” Iden says happily as he lays on the bed, Hannah carefully crawling to the centre of the bed to minimise any risk of falling off, also noticing the softness that was now enveloping the two twins.

“Yeah, that’s why I wanted you guys to have it!” Grave explains, her feet tapping on the floor gently out of happiness as Iden grins, laying down in the bed and swaddling both twins in the covers, wriggling around as he does so. Hannah is notable more subdued than her brother, but she looked comfortable enough.

“Thank you!” Iden says happily as the two twins lie in the bed, both turned towards Grave as she looks at them.

“You’re welcome! Is there anything you need before I go?” Grave asks, watching Iden wriggle further into the sheets as he smiles, Hannah gently shaking her head.

“No!” He says happily as both twins burrow into the warmth they have been presented with in the bed, making Grave smile and giggle.

“Okay, I love you!” She says as she softly closes the door, Iden grinning as he closes his eyes to sleep. Even Hannah manages to crack a small smile at Grave’s genuine words as she too closes her eyes to try and get some sleep.

While the two twins are in the room, Grave heads down to the basement of the house, where her lab now resides for her to make whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. Sitting down at her desk, Grave begins messing around with security cameras in the area, checking on the police’s activity and crime counts as she scans the world around her remotely. Fact checking information she’s obtained on criminals and other shitty people keeps her occupied as she sets about solving cases and clues many were too dense to even begin to understand. She is a quick and swift worker, sifting through information and piecing things together at an inhuman pace as she works.

But she only gets in about a half hours worth before Grave can hear some footsteps coming down into her lab, incredibly quiet and soft as they move. Grave hears the sound, though she stays turned away from it as she continues to work on the doodle she was coming up with.

“I’m not even surprised they didn’t do this themselves…” She mutters as she works, the footsteps coming to a halt as whoever it was entered the basement fully. But they didn’t seem to move beyond that for some reason, staying still and silent as Grave lightly pushes her laptop away from her, putting her head on the desk.

“I know you’re down here, by the way. You can come here if you’d like.” Grave comments, knowing one of the twins had come down to join her, though she didn’t know why, or which one it was. The child sniffs a little, but they do wander over to Grave, stopping just behind her to hide out of view.

“Whats wrong?” Grave questions, immediately concerned for the small child she knew was behind her. The child sniffs more, telling Grave that they either had been crying or were currently crying.

“T-t-tired…” Hannah’s voice rings out quietly; barely making a sound as she vaguely tells Grave what was going on, still hiding behind her.

“Well, I don’t know if this is the most comfortable place to sleep but… what could I do to help?” Grave asks the small child behind her.

“I-I-I tried to s-sleep but I c-couldn’t… I d-don’t know w-why.” Hannah explains, crying slightly as she speaks, making her words catch in her throat as she tries to talk to Grave about what was going on. Grave turns to Hannah, opening her arms up.

“Would… do you think a hug would make you feel better?” She asks, watching more tears stream down Hannah’s face as the small child nods, moving closer to Grave to get inside her arms for a hug.

Grave gently hugs Hannah, pulling the small child carefully into her lap, Hannah leaning into Grave gently as she provides a safe feeling presence for her. Grave smiles, hugging Hannah a little tighter, making sure not to hurt the child as she sniffs away some tears, pressing her face into Grave to hide it. Grave’s warm presence was giving the cold and tired child a sort of lifeline to cling onto.

“I-I-Iden fell asleep, w-why couldn’t I-I?” Hannah questions in a small and muffled voice, sounding defeated and saddened.

“I… I don’t know, but I can try my best to help if you want?” Grave offers in a gentle voice. And though Hannah continues to hide her face, her hands come to cling to Grave as she speaks.

“H-how?” She questions in a small voice, sounding defeated as her voice cracks.

“I dunno, what do you think would help?” Gave asks in a gentle voice as Hannah clings onto her, shaking lightly due to the tiredness she felt but couldn’t seem to act on.

“I-I don’t k-know, t-t-this hasn’t h-happened b-before…” Hannah explains, her voice tight as she starts to cry more, fresh tears sinking into Grave’s clothes, making them slightly damp.

“Well… its kinda cold in here, so I could get you a blanket.” Grave offers in a soft voice as she properly holds the small child now, keeping her close to her as Hannah nods gently.

“O-Okay…” Hannah agrees quietly as she shivers, clinging onto Grave as she speaks. Grave looks in a nearby box in the basement, which to her delight was full of blankets for the small child she was currently holding.

“Here we go.” She says softly, smiling as she carefully wraps Hannah up in a blanket. While the child doesn’t speak immediately in response, she does huddle into the blanket as Grave swaddles her, continuing to cling gently onto Grave.

“S-s-sorry…” Hannah eventually chokes out in a tiny voice, her shaking decreasing as she warms up a little with the blanket and Grave’s warmth slowly heating her up.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault you couldn’t sleep.” Grave reasons, using a soft voice to talk to the small child.

“I-I-I don’t k-know why, and i-it’s a-annoying for you t-to deal with m-me…” Hannah counters in a small and muffled voice as she hides her face in Grave’s clothes, clinging onto her a little more, making Grave frown slightly.

“Hannah, its not annoying at all! I love having you here, I really do.” Grave explains softly, watching as Hannah slowly pulls her face away from Grave, allowing her to see how tired the small child looks, tear tracks running down her face.

“B-but…” Hannah tries to think of something to say, but trails off as her mind draws a blank for how she could possibly respond. Grave leans down, pressing a gentle kiss onto Hannah’s forehead.

“I love you, okay?” Grave asks gently, looking at Hannah as she whines slightly, re-burying her face into Grave as she clings onto her again, knitting her small hands into her clothes as the sweet words uttered by Grave make her mood slightly brighter.

Grave gently squeezes Hannah in the hug as she sits down with her happily. Hannah noticeably relaxes as Grave squeezes her, feeling safer as she unravels her hands slightly from Grave’s clothing, though she still holds on.

Graves feet start to lightly tap on the floor as happiness swells within her, making her smile as Hannah warms up from the blanket and Grave’s heat enveloping her, making her shaking stop after a short while as she continues to calm down.

Grave squeezes Hannah again softly, closing her eyes as she tries to make her feet stop tapping on the floor below them. The small child leans into Grave more as she is gently squeezed, starting to get sleepy as Grave hold her.

Grave smiles more as she notices the child getting more tired, Hannah squirming a little s she moves to huddle further into her warm blanket.

“G-Grave?” The small child almost whispers to get Grave’s attention, sounding sleepy as she speaks.

“Yeah?” Grave questions, looking down at Hannah as she pulls her face away from Grave to look in her general direction.

“T-tired…” Hannah admits in a small voice, her word stuttering and slurring as she talks.

“You can sleep down here, I don’t mind.” Grave offers in a soft voice as Hannah’s face turns to a look of nervousness.

“S-s-sure?” She questions as she listens to Grave, eyes wide and innocent as she looks up at her.

“I’m sure.” Grave reassures gently, smiling as Hannah nods slowly, releasing her grip on Grave in favour of curling up inside of her blanket, leaning softly against Grave. Grave makes a small noise of happiness as Hannah’s face starts to relax as she begins falling asleep.

“L-love you…” Hannah says in a very quiet and small voice, as she gets sleepier.

“I love you too, Hannah.” Grave reassures her in a gentle voice, Hannah making a small noise in recognition of the words as she falls asleep in Grave’s arms, feeling safe and warm.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 26

I know the last few chapters have posted earlier in the day, but I’m excited I at least got this up on the right day. Yay!!

Life has been going on over here, and it keeps happening... Which is a hazard of living, right?  Better than the alternative.

As always, feedback is a glass of wine and dark chocolate for me (which I love, sincerely), so please leave any feedback you may have!

After a mild panic, the Council was able to calm down everyone who heard Tyche’s exclamation of poisoned food.  Grumbles were still plainly audible, but any rioting had been averted for the moment.  We had no choice but to clarify and explain what we suspected, but begged everyone not to let the information out until an official statement had been released.  Huynh had suggested blocking everyone’s communications access, but the idea was – thankfully – shot down immediately.  

Once all the food and drinks were tested, Miys was able to determine that anything not sealed had been tampered with.  It was no surprise that nearly everyone on Level One had traces of the drug in their systems, the only exclusions being Derek and Maverick.  Derek, I knew all too well, had severe aversions to food textures and mainly lived on what amounted to granola bars and room temperature bottled water, so the fact that he didn’t have any hydrocodone in his system was almost expected and confirmed that it was only being put in the food.

I motioned for Maverick to sit down with me and Antoine.  After some debate on what amounted to a criminal investigation, Eino had pointed out that I had the most experience of the people present when it came to interacting with anyone on the autistic spectrum.  Antoine was with me in his capacity as a companion, as he would be the least threatening back up I could have with me while still being more than capable of intervening if it became necessary.

“What did the short you say about poison?” Maverick asked almost immediately, eyes wide with mild panic.

“Someone put Vicodin in most of the food and drinks,” I explained.  I didn’t see any point in sugar coating it, having noticed in the past couple of days that Maverick was nearly impossible at picking up on subtlety. “Most of us have had symptoms, and Miys tested us.  They say the majority of us have enough in our blood to affect us.  You don’t, and I need you to explain why.”

He relaxed immediately, to my shock. “Is that all?  I’ve only had bottled water and black coffee since I came up here,” he shrugged like it was no major deal.

Antoine’s eyebrows furrowed.  “You are saying that, in nearly forty-eight hours, you have not eaten a single thing?”

“Well, yeah,” came the response, as though it should be obvious. “I didn’t like any of the food that was brought in, so I didn’t eat.  I’ve been taking supplements!” he declared defensively as I started scowling when I found out he hadn’t eaten.  “It happens, like, a lot, so I always carry them with me just in case.”  He took the bottle out of his jacket and rattled them for emphasis before handing them to me.

A glance at the label gave me the impression that they were just robust multivitamins. I handed them to Antoine, knowing he would have a better idea of what he was looking at.  He nodded and confirmed. “They’re just vitamins, but these are for geriatric patients?”

With a shrug, Maverick stated matter-of-factly, “Those are designed for people who don’t eat enough to meet their basic requirements.  Usually, yeah, it’s old people, but I end up missing meals pretty frequently, so those are the best ones.  That’s what the doctor told me back on Earth.”

To say I was horrified was a dramatic understatement.  How long had he been just skipping meals because he had what sounded like food aversions?  “Maverick. Jake. You can just tell me what you like, and I’ll make sure we have food for you. I do it all the time for Derek, and for his friend Sam.  Hell, I do it for anyone just about.  You don’t have to starve yourself and live on multivitamins and water.”

“Nah, I know I’m being a pain in the ass about food.  It’s fine, really. But please top calling me Jake.  It’s legally Maverick.  I changed it.  I earned the name Maverick.”

I was so confused.  “But you introduced yourself as Jake?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Terran Defense never updated my records, so they are all under that name. I wanted you to be able to find them. But it’s not my name.”

Oh.  I was starting to get angry, not at him, but at the people who made him so nonchalant at the sheer level of fuckery people had used in regard to him in the past.

“Can you go get Derek?” I asked Antoine quietly before looking back at the pilot on the opposite side of the table. “You aren’t being a pain in the ass.  I believe that you’ve been told that for a very long time, but that doesn’t make it true, and it certainly doesn’t make it right.  I am the one who will be deciding what food is brought up from now on, and Miys will be testing it.  So, if I say you can ask me for whatever you will actually eat, no one else gets a say in that.  Does that make sense?”

“Whatever,” he grunted.

I was saved by the arrival of Antoine and Derek. “Maverick Okima, I would like to formally introduce to Derek ‘That Guy’ Okafor, scourge of sysadmins everywhere. Derek, I am trying to convince Maverick that it’s okay to ask for different food if he doesn’t like what we are bringing in.” I focused on using Maverick’s own term – don’t like – rather than calling it a food aversion, mainly because I wasn’t sure he had ever had the difference explained to him from what few clues I was able to pick up.

<Sophia’s okay> Derek signed. <She likes feeding us food we like.  She says if we don’t like it, there isn’t a point in having food to begin with.>

Maverick looked very confused.  “My father said something like that before he died.  It’s a very Japanese thing to say.”

I pointed at my face. “Cajun, among other things.  I do not believe in ‘eating to live’. In my family, we live to eat.  The short me, as you call her, is gluten intolerant, some of my family doesn’t like spicy food, I love spicy food, so does Antoine.  I still manage to make one meal a week for all of us, cooked by hand I might add, and try to include Derek as much as possible when he feels up to.”

Derek snapped to get Mavericks attention before adding, <No spicy, no sour, no squishy.>

“He likes food with firmer textures,” I clarified on the ‘squishy’ comment. “Nothing mushy, or creamy, no cake, ice cream, or gelatin, that kind of thing.”

“Don’t you get mad that they’re picky?” Maverick asked, still suspicious.

I shook my head vigorously. “Absolutely not.  It’s a challenge, and if they don’t like it, that’s a failure on my part, not theirs.”

“She makes very good turkey,” Antoine mused before smirking. “Although her sister makes amazing doughnuts.”

<The mushy fish was gross.> Derek wrinkled his nose in an exaggerated fashion.

I just rolled my eyes. “I literally told you that you wouldn’t like it. I don’t like poached fish because of the texture.”

That seemed to be the comment that Maverick needed to hear. “Wait. You cooked something you don’t even like for someone else, because they wanted it?”

“Kind of?” I squeaked uncertainly. “Arantxa over there.  She didn’t ask for it, but as a holiday gift from me to her, I learned how to make one of her native dishes. I had no clue that it was poached fish when I made that decision. But she mentioned it the day I met her, and also that she didn’t know how to make it….” I trailed off and shrugged. “Personally, I like my fish seared, grilled, baked, or sashimi.  Poached is just… too weird for me.”

Antoine nodded very seriously. “It was very good, as a person who does like poached fish.”

“Rants seemed to like it,” I shrugged again. “All that mattered.”

“So, if I wanted mochi, because I didn’t get any the first time, that would be okay?” Maverick asked tentatively.  “Even red bean mochi?”

I moaned, “Oh my gosh, absolutely yes.  If there were any red bean mochi last time, I am sorry to say I didn’t get any.  You and I can just hog them all.”

<Hide them from Zach,> Derek joked. <I think he ate most of the gross dumplings last time.>

“Heathen,” I muttered jokingly.  It was really no surprise that Derek didn’t like mochi.  Glutenous foods definitely fell in the category of ‘squishy’.  I patted Maverick on the arm gently. “Okay, I’m pretty convinced you didn’t drug the food, mostly because you’re a terrible liar, which is something to be proud of.  On the food thing, please just make me a list of foods you like, or at least a list of stuff that makes you not like certain foods, and I will happily make sure to take that into account.  Real quick, though, I’m about to put in the request for tomorrow, so other than mochi, what do you want? Try to give me as many things as you can think of off the top of your head, because I want to be sure it’s in the system.”

“Miso soup, for sure.  Boiled eggs? Scrambled eggs are weird, but I don’t know if the consoles can do boiled eggs, and I never asked. Savory crepes are good, though. Ooo! Pizzza!  I love pizza, especially anchovy.  I know a lot of people think it’s gross, but it’s really good, I swear. Fried pies are good, too.”

“So, strongly flavored, savory and/or salty dishes.  Got it,” I murmured as I made a note in my data screen. I flicked my wrist absent-mindedly to dismiss it before musing “You probably would have liked the bacalao al pil pil.”

“Is that the mushy fish thing?” he asked skeptically.

“Yep.”

“Nope. I can’t do mushy fish. Mushy means it isn’t cooked right, which means I’ll get sick.”

I chuckled. “I totally agree.  The good news is, at least now I have someone other than Tyche to share pizza with!”

“No one else likes pizza!?” he gasped. “No way! That’s sacrilege!”

“Oh, tons of people like pizza,” I assured him. “But Tyche is the only other person I met who likes anchovy pizza.”

“They’re stupid. It’s awesome!”

I shot him a look. “Please don’t call people stupid because they don’t agree with you. It’s rude, and I can’t stand rude people.” It was a slight exaggeration; I had a pretty flexible definition of what was and wasn’t rude, but calling someone names because they disagree with you definitely fell firmly in the rude category.  “A lot of people don’t like fish, or can’t have too much salt, or just don’t do well with really strong flavored foods.” I nodded toward Derek, who flipped Maverick the bird.

“Okay, okay,” he apologized. “That was wrong of me. I didn’t think of that. Still, it’s really good.”

“Well, you have two other people to eat it with now,” I smiled.

Rather than celebrating, Maverick looked like he just realized something. “Wait.  Who is Tyche?”

“My sister.”

“You – Wait. That’s short you?”

“Yes, and for the love of whatever your favorite body part is, do not call her that to her face.”

“Noted,” he nodded seriously and gulped. “She’s scary.  Like, scarier than you, scary.”

<Be nice. They own the cat.> Derek warned him, slapping him lightly on the arm.

“I like Mac,” he considered. “I guess that makes you less scary.  I’m still pretty sure your sister could kill me, though.”

By this point, Antoine looked completely confused. “Why is everyone afraid of Tyche? I don’t understand.”

<Why aren’t you afraid of her?> Derek rebutted.

I shot Antoine a dirty look before he could reply. “I have absolutely zero desire to hear whatever tooth-rotting, fluffy nonsense is about to come out of your mouth,” I told him flatly.  The last thing I wanted was him to accidentally de-fang my sister’s well-earned reputation.

He balked slightly before straightening his shoulders. “Fine. I will let them be afraid of her. I was just going to say I’m not afraid of her because I am her partner, just like you are her sister. And Maverick has three other people to eat the anchovy pizza with.” He pointed to himself. “You never asked me, Sophia. Do you really think Tyche would not have me try it?”

I held my hands up placatingly. “Fair, fair.  I didn’t know you had tried it since the last time I mentioned it.”  I turned back to Maverick. “So, now that we’ve established your alibi - can’t consume drugs when you aren’t consuming anything at all - I’ll have Grey and probably Pranav fact-check it, just to completely rule you out as a suspect, okay?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled in what sounded like relief.  “Do you think it will take long? I have to pilot the ship to Meenie pretty soon, and I don’t know if they’ll let me while they’re doing all that?”

“That’s honestly Xiomara’s call, since we decided the flight crew fall under her jurisdiction.  It shouldn’t take more than a day, but I understand that we only have a couple hours before we’re done at Eenie, right?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Can you check with Councillor Kalloe, please?” he begged. “I don’t want my flight privileges revoked.”

“You bet. Antoine, are we done here?”

He gestured affirmatively. “I don’t know what else we can do right now, so yeah, I would say we are done. You,” he pointed sternly at Maverick, “will eat.  I will send Noah for the food myself. It is not safe for you to do something as important as piloting a ship when you have been starving yourself, but I also do not want to make you sick. You said you like miso soup, yes?” When Maverick nodded, Antoine stood. “I will ask our host to get miso soup, and I will watch you eat two hundred milliliters before you pilot. Sophia, if you could relay this to Councillor Kalloe when you speak to her, please?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

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[iwannafuckyexiu]

A TEASE A DAY BRINGS YOU CLOSER TO DEATH  002

TIGHT P.E. UNIFORMS AND AIZAWA'S KINKY BANDAGE SCARF to think about it, this whole anime can become a hentai if you have great imagination.

Click.

A boy stands beside the door, blazer slung over his shoulder, the top button of his uniform wide open and crimson tie hanging loosely around the collar. The first thing that most notices about him was his long and narrow but charming eyes then the ruffian temperament he has.

Overall, people conclude that he has nice looks to woo some girls but he seems too much like a rascal down the back alleys instead of a hero in the making.

And yes, it is Y/N.

"Woah, this class is full of beauties," he comments and flashes a slovenly grin to them as he leaned on the wall just beside him like he has no fucking bones.

"Who do you think is the prettiest then?" a familiar mustard head boy retorts with a very difficult question for anyone that has seen too much high score faces.

To that, Y/N just laughs: "Of course it's—"

"YOU!"

"I remember you asshole from the exam, you fucking stole one of my kills!" a pissed off voice calls, and oh boy Y/N thought it was familiar enough, as he did get kicked by him in the middle of his sleep when they first met.

"Language, Bakugou-san! We should be civilised and educated h—" this guy with glasses makes an attempt to lecture 'Bakugou-san' but gets cut off by that unkempt boy by the door.

Y/N walks over to Bakugou's table and plants his hands on his desk, veering down to grin at him, "Oooh, well isn't that Tsundere-kun who's oh-so passionate to me?" Tipping his chin up with two fingers, Y/N shifts his lips towards Bakugou's ear — to the point where the latter can sense Y/N's mellow breath against his left ear, "Why, missin' me?"

The close proximity and resonant voice of his finds Bakugou with a flaming face that stays even after Y/N backs away. "S-SHUT UP DIPSHIT! AND FOUR EYES I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT BEING A CIVILISED PERSON!"

"Okay, okay," Y/N puts his hands in the air and saunters away from the scorching piece of wheat, but his tone still as amused as ever, "I'll see you later boy."

"Hey Y/N!"

Rotating his head, Y/N recognises the mustard hair boy in one glance. His eyes arch as a lively leer contorts his features, "Ah, if it isn't blushy boy Denki here."

"Likewise, s-scoundrel."

"Awh I thought I'd at least be a charmer or something."

"Nah man, your whole body just shrieks: 'I like flirting with anyone that looks decent' and that's exactly true to you."

"But you're not decent — you're," Y/N pauses for a while, "pretty good." Not only pretty good. His yellow hair and semi-long fringe frame his face and jowl to perfection, those phoenix eyes of his when they curve into crescents as he smiles adds to the glamour. And not to mention his well-kept figure. All that makes him overall attractive to almost anyone — absolute hot punk boy there.

But all that description is just in Y/N's mind and he just can't really piece all his words together properly in one go.

"Pfft," Denki snickers at Y/N's lack of vocabulary and questions with a cocked brow, "did you run out of words from your dictionary or something?"

"Yep, I'm too illiterate for this shit," Y/N admits with a generous grin, splaying his hands out. But he continues shamelessly: "But at least I have a good personality."

Denki comically sweatdrops, "Good personality, sure."

"Uhm ... is this—is this c-class 1a?" the colossal door gapes open once again and a tiny broccoli head kid walks in, hands fumbling at the hem of his blazer and head poking out to check around.

Skin limpid as jade, cheeks still plump with some baby fat, peach lips a coral hue and teeth ivory white. He has an endearing face that makes all girls want to be his mother and freckles to add to it, but those lofty glaucous eyes and that innocent, chaste but anxious smile are the main highlights here.

"No, this is class 1c for crackheads," Denki says which makes a few other students including Y/N to choke on their giggles.

"Hi! I'm Uraraka Ochaco, remember me? Thanks for helping me in the exams!" a girl with mousy hair scurries over to broccoli kid, and she holds both his hands in her palms to show her gratitude and sincerity — which broccoli kid in reaction goes into a tint of crimson at.

"Oh shit, that guy gettin' some pussy there."

"Ahahah ..." broccoli kid laughs, quite strained as he turns to the speaker of that comment. Taking a brief glance at Y/N, broccoli kid's eyes enkindle once he remembers who he is and he exclaims, "Oh! I saw you uh—uh use your quirk to help a lot of people and you looked awesome running around!"

"A-And when you launched off from the wall to the kick the robot!"

"It was epic!" he concludes, doe eye glistening like the stars in a dark night as he gazes at Y/N with elation.

"He only got the kill because I was fighting it first!" Bakugou tries to interrupt but his signal's just too faint for Y/N to give a fuck at the moment, so this boy gets brushed aside.

"Thanks, freckles! I'm L/N Y/N but you can call me," he halts for a dramatic pause before resuming, "tonight." Y/N ends it with a classic wink which leaves freckles' poor heart in havoc for the second time of the day.

"A-Ah I'm Midoriya Izuku!" broccoli boy juts his hand out enthusiastically, so enthusiastic that his dainty fingers are trembling slightly.

Stepping forth, Y/N takes his hand and squeezes it as he cleaves onto it, "I'll take note of that~" After he lets go (which Izuku is so glad of because he feels like he's going to pass out from high blood pressure very soon if Y/N doesn't stop the pinching at his hand), he says to Izuku, "Anyways, I'm gonna go take a seat at the back there, see you later!" Once again, he leaves another victim of vigorous teasing and flirting shaken in his original spot for quite some while with his heart battering way too fast for his lungs to keep up.

Y/N ensconces himself at the back, in the seat just beside a boy Melanie Martinez hair that can without a doubt be the most beguiling person in the room. But the boy just seems like he doesn't want to socialise with anyone in the class, perching by his seat all on his own, completely silent.

So Y/N decides to speak to him, beginning by tilting over towards his desk, "Heyyyyyy." A pregnant silence fills in the gap between the pause before Y/N speaks again, "Aren't you gonna say something?"

"Say what?" half and half boy unexpectedly glances over to Y/N, chiselled features void of any sentiment at all, gelid and impassive.

Y/N: "Hol-y shit."

The boy's voice isn't exactly low and deep but it has soft and refined texture to it, serene tone adding an eccentric touch to it. And when Y/N sees his face — skin ashen as snow with the exception of the red patch to his left eye, knife-shaped brows and heterochromatic irises protruding his pretty features.

Half and half boy: "???"

"I'm just surprised of your front face and voice," clarifies Y/N, seeing his creased forehead and the modest curve of frown on his pale lips.

"Oh."

"So—"

Y/N switches his focus to the big yellow pile at the door, "Wait is that a big dick in a condom?"

The classroom gradually hushes down as they all stare at the condom-looking thing, all at a loss of words as the condom writhes into the room like a caterpillar.

"That took eight seconds for you all to quiet down," an exhausted voice comes from the yellow condom. And a man's face shows itself from the zipper, slowly getting out while he continues to speak, "Hello, my name is Aizawa Shouta and I'm your homeroom teacher for this year and probably the next and the year after."

He heaves a deep sigh: "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Doesn't look like it."

Not taking any attention to the remark, Aizawa just remains in his own world. He fishes out a pile of sapphire clothes and says to the class, "Okay that's that, now change into these P.E. uniforms, we're going outside."

"Where are the changing rooms, Aizawa-sensei?" four eyes questions the already tired teacher, glasses glinting in the artificial light.

"Look at the sig—ugh nevermind, I'll just tell you."

"Go out, turn right, turn right, turn left, then turn right."

"Thank you, sensei!" Four eyes bows literally ninety-degrees to Aizawa, to which the latter just hums tiresomely.

"Are we gonna like do track and field with our quirks or something? Because I can't think of anything else we can do on the field and train for being a pro hero."

"Probably, I'm fine with either since my quirk literally is designed for dodging and running away."

"Hah, fuckin' pussy."

"Is that a new pet name?" before Bakugou even retaliates something back, Y/N swivels to face him whilst he walks backwards. An impish smirk brimming his lips, he says, "because if so, I'll gladly accept it."

"Looks like our friendship has increased ey?" As he approaches Bakugou, Y/N skips forth and hitches an arm around his shoulder.

"Who's your fucking friend?" Bakugou smacks Y/N's arm away, a contemptuous look sweeping over his face, "you're just an extra."

"I don't mind as long as I get to see all these pretty boys and girls."

"Sicko."

In the chaotic changing room.

"Turn over, you fucking weirdo!" Bakugou glowers menacingly at the pair of eyes just staring at his figure, clutching onto a plastic bottle, ready to just fling it at Y/N directly in the head.

"Okay, okay," Y/N chuckles as he pivots around towards the vast sink.

"But L/N-san's still staring from the mirror ..." Izuku, the only person who's honest and morally righteous, mumbles before getting shushed by Y/N.

"Shh."

It is absolute heaven in the changing rooms to Y/N, good ass bodies everywhere. Especially Bakugou, Denki, and Izuku's — the well-built type, slightly fit type and the holy-shit-he-fucking-has-eight-packs-like-bakugou-only-has-six type. Although Y/N wished to see half and half's body, but that clearly didn't happen as the guy probably dislikes being open with other people and changed in a stall.

"L/N-san? L/N-san?" Izuku goes over to Y/N, seeing that he's just gazing over at Katsuki and Denki as they change into their sports uniforms. Receiving no responses from the boy, Izuku proceeds to hold his shoulders and swing him back and forth. "L/NL/NL/NL/NL/NL/N!!"

"A-Ah, stop shaking! I'm back!" Y/N opens his eyes wide, hastily halting the broccoli from continuing to shake him to avoid a tragedy that ends with him getting a concussion. After Y/N wears off the feeling to puke, he finally says, "Yeah what is it, Izuku?"

"What were you blanking out at, L/N-san?" curious baby, Izuku, queries with his pristine, glistering emerald eyes.

To such a cuteass Izuku, Y/N only responds with: "Well, my brother — that's ..."

Izuku: "...?"

"Nothing."

"You'll know once you get into the world of zeroes and ones."

Izuku: "?????"

Izuku can't do it anymore and just says, "Okay ... but L/N-san, aren't you going to change?"

"Oh right, thanks for reminding!"

Y/N unbuttons his white uniforms and slips it off swiftly, revealing a whole patch of hirsute skin. As he gets out of his pants, he steps into the P.E. uniform and skids it up his body in his own leisure pace.

The three victims of his can't help but stare at his slender figure, lips agape to a slight extent. Obtrusive collarbones and unmarred complexion are uncloaked for a brief moment, rather bewitching and ravishing to them. His draped eyes entranced into unbuttoning his shirt, lashes flickering slowly as his slim fingers flick open the clasps.

It isn't until Y/N walks out of the changing that the three crack out of their daze. Let's just conclude this with: they try their best to convince themselves that they're straight with the: 'I am straight as a flat surface' persuasion.

"These P.E. uniforms look cool as fuck on us!" this rock-n'-roll-looking boy blurts out, enlivened, his fists toss into the air, making him look like a complete teenager who's too outgoing and lively.

"Yep, I agree. I mean look at it sticking tightly onto their bodies, I'm—oh shit." Y/N feels a surge of heat flow through his nose and before he knows it, a habitual scent floods his senses.

"Your nose is bleeding!"

"Oh it's fine, I get it a lot," Y/N responds, his voice distorted by his fingers pinching at his nose to halt the bleed, expression composed enough to see that he's gone through the same process quite a number of times.

、、、

"Alright we're gonna do a Quirk Apprehension Test, so listen carefully," Aizawa says and proceeds to explain what they're going to do today and 'threatening' the students with: "Our school is pretty chill about freedom on campus and that also applies to teachers too, so guess what you little bitches? I get to use any teaching method I want." Cue the crooked smile that just gets intensifies thousand times with his pale complexion and dry eyes.

"Bakugou," Aizawa makes his call of death (to the others anyways), "how far could you pitch a softball in junior high?"

"Sixty-seven meters."

Hurling a ball at Bakugou (which he does catch), Aizawa orders, "Now, use your quirk this time and you can do whatever you want as long as you stay in the circle."

His hand gripping onto the ball so clinched, Bakugou paces forth into the circle. He takes his ready position, arm swaying back and legs proding into the ground. And he swings his arm forward to fling the ball out of his hand!

"DIE!!"

He thrusts the softball further by generating explosions, and the ball charges across the air at an impressive speed, tendrils of amber flames trailing behind.

"I bet he has mommy issues," Y/N whispers into half-half boy's ear, gaining him the look of daggers from Bakugou (don't ask me how he hears it) and a blank stare from half-half boy.

Aizawa lets Bakugou go back and unveils his score to the class — a whopping 702.5 meters distance. The whole class's jaws disjoint at the unbelievable mark, facial expressions just overwhelmed with revelation.

"Hold on we have to use our quirks for these tests?" Y/N looks around at everyone, they're all either gushing with self-confidence or abasing themselves. Only the nicest of them all, half-half boy gives him a nod.

"Fuck, man."

Embarking with the first activity, fifty meter dash, everyone has been doing a lot better than Y/N thought (which may just be him being an arrogant little shit) and that frets him. With four eyes' score of 3.04, ribbit-ribbit 5.58, and kinky-tail guy's 5.49, Y/N can sense peril in his own self-reliance.

Then it is Katsuki (after shamelessly annoying him, he finally got his first name) and Izuku's race. Both their veins are bulging out from their arms and necks, thigh muscles clenching taut.

"Oh, the cauliflower and broccoli are going against each other," Y/N remarks as he squats down by the side of the track in an amusement, speaking to probably the souls in the grass, "my favourite cp, bro."

"Cp?" Denki cocks his head.

"Couple, of course."

"OOOoooO," jeering with laughter, Denki takes in Y/N's 'you know what i mean good bud' smile with one of his own.

By the time the two immature teens set the seal on their conversation, Aizawa's already displaying the results of the dash for Katsuki and Izuku. And it is Y/N's turn.

He turns to take a brief look at who his opponent is and fuck. If he doesn't take a look maybe he can just act okay and chill, but he takes a look and holy shit.

"I'm up against you, my brother."

Half-half boy just hums as an answer which gets Y/N stunned in place until the a shrilling squeal from the whistle makes him realise that he's still in a race. Half-half boy's already skating on his ice when Y/N begins sprinting with his quirk, "Wait up, wait for me!"

Spoiler: half-half boy didn't wait for him (naturally but just gonna tell y'all). The whole way, Y/N concentrates his eyes at his feet for some reason, not paying any attention to his opponent and surroundings. Making it to the end, Y/N jogs over the finish line for a little bit before just lounging himself over the grass at the side, chest rising up and down as he regains his steady breath.

"Hah ... hah ..."

"What did I," deep breath, "get?"

"3.41 seconds, L/N-san," Izuku skips over towards the patch of grass Y/N is killing by laying on with an ardent beam and bottle of water, "that was great!"

"Thanks~" Y/N seizes over the bottle of water (he ignores Izuku's protest at him drinking from his bottle), stifling a snigger at the All Might sticker on it giving a thumbs up. He sits up properly with two legs in front of him and knees bent then gulps down a fuck ton of H2O, instantly drinking away half the water inside the bottle, "But what's next?"

Izuku blanks out when he realises that it's an indirect kiss since Y/N drank from his bottle lip-to-tip, not hearing Y/N's question.

Y/N repeats, this time louder: "Izuku, Izuku?"

That gets Izuku out of his thoughts, and he flusters up once he realises what he was thinking of but he still replies to you, "G-Grip Strength test."

"Let me die! Don't hold me back!" Y/N pretends to ram his head into the dirt as he kneels on the ground, arm swinging at the back randomly. He persists to do that for some time until pure broccoli calls him.

"Uh ... Y/N? We're going indoors."

"O-Oh, coming!"

Grip strength, Y/N's quirk and arms say no to that. And that's exactly what his score says too, sixty eight. And to that, Y/N only shrugs and comments, "Well, that isn't very optimistic." But that chill attitude shatters to fragments in seconds when he exclaims, "Even Tsundere-kun got such a high score!"

Katsuki who's just minding his own business by the sidelines with his always-looking-pissed face hears and whoosh! The fire has been lit. "Hey, what do you fucking mean?!"

"The literal meaning, of course," Y/N slims his eyes into a sly grin at Katsuki and diverts his attention to Denki whose score is just being showed, "Naisu, Denki!"

"Thanks!"

Strolling over to sulking broccoli, Y/N pats his shoulder and consoles him a bit, "It's alright Izuku my son, I'm sure you'll probably do great with the next activity. And even if you don't, the next next activity, next next next activity, you'll do good in at least one of them!"

"I can see your potential!"

"Mostly because you look like a typical anime protagonist but yeah I'm not gonna tell you that," Y/N mutters rapidly, too fast to the point that Izuku didn't get it.

Izuku, once again: "?????"

The next activity is the standing jump test, where it's basically like long jump but they just call it standing jump? Anyways, Y/N takes an advantage on it due to his quirk but beyond the mountain is another mountain and four eyes got the highest score.

The final test is the pitch-a-ball. He observes the girl before him, Uraraka, draw her arm back and hurl the softball out like anyone would do, but the ball never came back??? In the end, she got infinity — Y/N is just purely dumbstruck at the fact that it's a thing to panic about his turn.

And when it is his turn, he just breathes one big ass breath in and sends the softball propelling through the sky. Then it falls after one second.

L/N Y/N    71 meters  

Y/N makes an attempt to defend himself, "That's purely my arm strength, I swear."

"Sure, pussy," Katsuki gives him a white eye.

"It won't be good for Midoriya if he keeps doing this," Iida (Y/N finally got corrected by Iida when he said: "Woah, four eyes' gettin' all that scores.") remarks at the sidelines, hands behind his back, making him look unfathomable and profound.

"Of course not, he's a quirkless weakling after all," condemning Izuku with every chance he can, Katsuki laughs icily to the point where he can compare to half-half boy's quirk.

"Quirkless?" Iida frowns and faces Katsuki, "It doesn't seem so from what I saw he did during the practical exam."

"What?!" The fire has been flared up again.

"Aha, you sound like Izuku cheated on you or something."

"Forty-six ...?" a quivering voice sidetracks Y/N's focus, only to see Izuku with his green pupils dilated and face empty of his usual naive smile.

"I stopped you from using your quirk," Aizawa speaks, directing Izuku to stare at him.

"But ... why?"

And then Y/N can't eavesdrop on them anymore due to Aizawa hauling Izuku towards him with his kinky ass bandage scarf that just looks like tendrils in tentacle hentai — Y/N swears he's seen the same product on AliExpress once under the sex toys category. But anyways, when Izuku finally walks back and does his throw, it is magnificent.

The moment Izuku slowly lets go of the ball, his fingertip transforms and the ball gets propelled into the air, cutting through like a keen knife! His score shows up at an impressive 705.3 meters, although his finger did break from overloading too much force into the tip, Izuku's brows finally untangle and he cracks into a grin.

But Katsuki just has to ruin the moment with his shriek, "What's this Deku?!" Sounding like a housewife that just saw her husband cheat, his eyes mantle with red veins, he continues screaming into poor Izuku's face, "I thought you were quirkless?!" Katsuki hoists a fist up to cast explosions at Izuku but a familiar roll of kinky bandage tows him away from the waist.

"Stop making me use my quirk, I have dry eyes now! Fuck!" Aizawa finally snaps, it's probably the class's idiotic-ness that pushed him to the point of swearing in school.

"Sensei, I think you should use some eye drops or something like dang your eyes are literally popping with veins," Y/N attempts to give helpful™ advice, "you can try Thera Te—"

"Shut up."

Y/N: "Alright, alright."

"Is your finger okay, Midoriya-kun?" Uraraka strides towards the beaming broccoli, questioning him with concern present on her face. Y/N blows a whistle at that — to which both teens take no mind to.

"Ah, y-yeah!" Izu·virgin and haven't talked to girls much·ku stammers over his words when Uraraka suddenly slaps his shoulder for his good job. Beads of sweat literally stream down the side of his face by the time Uraraka turns away to speak to pink avatar and invisible girl.

"Y-Y/N," Izuku rolls his name on his tongue, walking over to tug at the boy's shoulder, Th-Thank you for believing in me!"

"No problem, man!" Y/N springs up and thwacks his arm onto Izuku's shoulder, putting all his weight onto the tiny boy.

、、、

"Well I got third to last, that's something to at least cheer for since I'm not last hah!" Y/N stands with his arm akimbo, guffawing out loud for some reason before quickly adding, "oh sorry Izuku, not saying you didn't do great because you did good as fuck in the pitch test! I'm sure you're not getting expelled."

"That asshole of a teacher is probably just telling us that to make us do our best," cambering his chin at Aizawa's direction, speaking in a low voice to Izuku.

"Right, I lied about the expulsion thing."

Fucking silence.

Everyone's just fucking stupefied and maybe a bit pissed at Aizawa.

To everyone's blankness, big tiddy rock-n-roll hair girl just says, "Of course it was a lie, you'd get it if you really used your brain for a little."

"N-Nani."

"I feel betrayed."

"You haven't even known him for more than six hours, so what do you mean betrayed!"

TO NOTE skskskksks i am gonna start updating a bit slowly, so yep that's that

NOT PROPERLY PROOFREAD BECAUSE IT'S TOO LONG

[elegiesforshiva]

Ghosts IX: Homage

Masterpost

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Ino is touching Sai.

Sakura can tell.  It’s subtle, but the movement of a right arm beneath the duvet is making a repetitive, vertical motion.  If that isn’t evidence enough, the hushed grunts and gasps leaking through Sai’s lips are.  The couch makes a rubber squeak under the shifts of his body.

To be fair, Sakura knows it looks like she is asleep.  She is lying on another couch and had dozed off enough to let go of the mask of her chakra earlier.  Naruto is openly snoring on the other side, having passed out drunk with Hinata curled comfortably in his arms.  The credits of a terrible movie they had been watching are now rolling on the neglected t.v. screen.  Sakura supposes, had she been Ino, she would have wanted adequate entertainment too.

She listens in, peeking now and then with a sideward glance.  Sai’s breaths are coming in shorter, his stature increasingly rigid.  She sees Ino slant her face into the crook of his neck and then she makes a sound too.  The motions of Sai’s right arm are harder to detect than Ino’s, but when Sakura looks for it, she sees it clear as day.  She hears Ino sigh sweetly, and then there’s the sound of a wet suction that can only be a kiss.

Sakura wonders if the fact that she’s more intrigued than disgusted makes her a pervert.  Or possibly a voyeur.  She knows she would openly watch if she could.  She wants to study them, note how their hands move over skin, memerize the discourse between eyes.  

Love between the bodies exists—Sakura knows it does.  But her curiosity was buried with the horror of unwanted hands on her flesh.  Bloody tomoe swirled lazily in her head that day, sparked with the same madness as her intruder—yearning for a past that hadn’t survived.  Those cruel, witted eyes took her desire from her, took everything from her.

But Ino has been through the miasma too, hasn’t she?  And Sai, poor Sai—still learning to express himself without coming off as an unlubricated machine—is choking out a moan.  The two of them are here, doing it right on her couch.  They’ve found the secret she is still searching for.

Sakura drinks every bit in, savoring the texture of their pleasure in her mouth like a full meal after too many years of famine.  It continues, the uneven breaths, the wet kisses, the small noises.  Ino is a little louder than him, but Sakura’s sure it’s only because Sai is making a greater effort to be quiet.  

Eventually they begin to fumble beneath the blanket, then remove it to go down the hall, Ino leading Sai with her hand clasped over his.  Sakura hears a door open and shut—no doubt Ino’s old bedroom from when she used to live in the apartment.  The light from the t.v. screen flashes against the adjacent wall.

Sakura starts to hear Ino’s cries of pleasure, followed by thumps and creaks of a bed.  She curls up closer into her own comforter, careful not to disturb Naruto and Hinata on the other side of the couch.  

Ino has had sex with countless other people in that very same room, on that very same bed, in what could only be described as a deeply confusing and painful period of her lifetime.  Hearing the soft moans of her friend then, with a man she is undoubtedly in love with, softens something inside of Sakura.  

She traces intricate swirls and circles on the arm of the sofa, drawing glyphs to the sound of love making.  Sakura thinks her hands must be something foreign to move so delicately like that, her skin an opaque blue from the television screen.

When the sounds quiet, Sakura lifts her head up to look over at Naruto and Hinata.  Naruto’s nose is burrowed in Hinata’s charcoal hair.  She has the wisp of a smile , eyes closed peacefully.  The image is surreal and oddly fascinating.  For a moment, Sakura imagines that they’re both dead, holding one another in the most peaceful sleep life has to offer.  Then Naruto lets out an audacious snore, shattering the image in an instant.

Sakura stands slowly, turning off the t.v.  They hadn’t been planning a sleepover—even if Naruto did bring sake as an apology, (only to drink most of it himself.)  The movie they chose was just so dull that they all ended up dozing off, Sakura exhausted from her shifts in the hospital, Naruto pleasantly drunk, and Hinata unnaturally relaxed from the massage Sakura had given her.  

Sakura switches on the living room light and the Hyuga begins to stir.  “Hinata,” Sakura calls, her voice a soft whisper.

“Hm…?” Hinata moans, “S-Sakura-san?” she slurs, saturated with sleep.

Sakura moves over to the couple.  “Sorry for waking you,” she whispers.  “I just thought it might be better if you two moved to the bed.”  Sakura has to hold back from smiling, Hinata straining to look at her through the brightness of the room.  The Hyuga heiress looks downright adorable.  “I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you two weren’t crammed on the couch like this.”

“Oh,” Hinata murmurs, closing her eyes.  She exhales gently and asks, “And you?”

“I’ll take the couch,” Sakura explains.  

Hinata’s lips pull slightly downward.  

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.  It’s much more roomy when there aren’t two other people on it.”  

Sakura thinks Hinata is about to protest, but she just nods tiredly.  “Okay,” Hinata mumbles.   

She lets Sakura guide her to the bedroom,  and easily makes herself comfortable on the plush mattress.  Sakura doesn’t bother waking Naruto up, just carries him from the couch to her bedroom, gently laying him by Hinata.  Hinata curls into him almost instinctively, probably too tired to bother with modesty.  And Naruto responds to her, even in unconsciousness, wrapping a muscled arm around his wife.

“Good night,” Sakura whispers, before heading back to the living room.  

Despite being on a sofa, Sakura sleeps better than she has in weeks.

“Sakura, right?”

Sakura turns her head to spot familiar green hair she had seen only a few days ago.  “Oh.”  She offers him a tired smile. “Hi Kaito.”  

She sees the way his eyes twitch wide at the sound of his name and Sakura feels her abdomen twist in an empathic ache.  She knows what it’s like to be forgettable too.

His focus is timidly fixed on her.  He seems agitated, she observes, his lips scrunched together, shoulders tense.  “Is everything alright?” Sakura asks.

Kaito nods, offering a smile much more sincere than hers.  “Yeah, I’m just visiting a friend,” he explains.  

He’s still rigid, but there isn’t terror in his tone so she can only assume his friend isn’t dying.  That’s good.  She nods her head, to herself and to him.

“It’s a shame you can’t be on the mission with us,” Kaito says.  

Sakura fights the stiffness in her jaw and fingers, and she prepares for an interrogation.  Busy at the hospital.  But Kakashi said he spoke to Tsunade.  Fuck. Chakra block?  Then she wouldn’t be here at work right now.  Sick friend. Completely bonkers. Needs my help. But then what kind of friend would she be to not commit them to a psych ward.  

Maybe he notices her anxiety, because his eyes quiver, stricken with the kind of panic that accompanies a heinous blunder.  “Ah—I mean—you’re a brilliant shinobi, is all,” Kaito amends.  “I’ve really enjoyed working with you.”

Oh.  He isn’t going to ask.  

Sakura smiles softly, and she finds she doesn’t need to make an effort to give her features vibrance.  “Thank you,” she murmurs, then adds with more confidence, “I’m sure you’re a great shinobi yourself.  Hokage-sama wouldn’t have chosen you for such a high class mission if you weren’t.”  And it’s true.  Kakashi is methodical and calculating.  He favors fail-safe options over risky calculations.  He’s lost too much to chance already.

“Although we won’t see each other on the mission,” The sensor says.  He lifts quivering knuckles to his lips and clears his throat.  “Maybe we can see each other after?”  Kaito says, and she watches the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows thick.  “On a date?”  He clarifies.  

There’s a tense pause where she tries to grapple with the proposition, flustered, because although this isn’t entirely uncommon for her, it’s not so often these offers feel so earnest.  Kaito is looking straight at her, his brown honey struggling to refrain from melting, unease blaring and palpable.  Sakura becomes increasingly aware of the purgatory she’s putting this poor nin through as she tries to process the new, tightly wound ball that’s floating in her stomach.  

He speaks again, his tempo comes in fast.  “I know, this is probably inappropriate—you’re working—I-I just thought…”  

He pauses, breaks eye contact for respite before reconstructing himself with greater confidence.  “You’re beautiful.”  His sincerity is found raw in the texture of his voice and Sakura feels the thing lodged in her gut flutter.  “And I would really like to take you out.”

“Yes,” Sakura says quickly, before she can second guess herself.  “Yes, I would love that.”  She feels a wide smile stretch onto her face, remembering an earlier conversation that implored she give love a fighting chance.

She watches the relief cascade through him, shoulders falling while a saccharine smile bursts through his lips.  “Oh...wow.  I kind of wasn’t expecting that,” Kaito gives a semi-nervous chuckle.  He exhales, stretching the tension away.  “Alright, I guess I’ll just come by the hospital after the mission?”

“Sure!”  Sakura nods, and she can feel the warmth on her cheeks, the slight speed of her heart.  She’s never been on a date before, and she can’t help but feel excited.  “If I’m busy or not around, just leave a note with whoever is at the front desk.  I’ll get in contact and we can figure out the details.”

“Great,” Kaito nods his head and doesn’t even try to fight back his grin.  She likes that.  It reminds her of Naruto.  Smiles like that are wonderfully contagious things.  “I’ll see you then.”

When Sakura walks back home that evening, her thoughts are wrapped in white silk.  The sun doesn’t come out as early, and the leaves are nearly all gone now, but she’s warm with the knowledge that she’ll soon be having her very first date.

Some part of Sakura knows she shouldn’t have said yes—that she was sentencing herself and him for disappointment—another little death to survive.  Because she isn’t ready.  She couldn’t be.  There are just too many phantoms flitting around right now and she shouldn’t be dragging someone else to meet them.  They cradle her with claws while she sleeps.  Sakura is sure of it.

Nonetheless, she’s smiling more often, and even treating herself to small meals and snacks.  She imagines and reimagines her first date with Kaito, each one ending with a pair of puckered lips and the heat of being gathered in a pair of bronze arms.  Suddenly, Sakura remembers what it’s like to want again.

“Not that I’m not happy for you,” Ino says, dipping a roller in pale green paint. “But maybe you should slow it down.  You don’t know him, Sakura.”

“I know,” Sakura says, smiling. “That’s why it’s perfect.”

The living room walls are decided to be Sai’s new project.  Ino plans to surprise him by doing the base and so he can skip straight to the decorative illustrations when he comes back from his mission.  Sakura has just finished moving the furniture to the center of the room.  

“That’s a dangerous game, forehead,” Ino says, rolling a splotch of mint over the base.  “We all did that with Sasuke and—”

“He’s not Sasuke,” Sakura interrupts with crass certainty.  He isn’t.  Nobody is.

Ino looks over at Sakura with a slight pout, before smiling.  “You’re right.  Let me stop being such a downer.”  The paint makes a wet squelch as it meets the wall.  “I’m just really protective of you, you know.”  And Sakura does.  

She watches as several wet lines dribble down from Ino’s workspace.  The color is so light it almost blends in with the white beneath it.  Almost.  “But first dates are super fun.  The best part is when you realize it’s going nowhere so you just start making shit up just to see how they’ll react.”

“Pig!” Sakura laughs aloud, the sound foreign to her own ears.  It must be to Ino too, because she sees her arm quiver.  Fortunately, Sakura’s in a good enough mood that she can ignore it.  “How many times did you resort to that?”

“More times than I can count.  I was making up completely different personalities too, when I was younger.”  Ino says, a wistful grin on her face.  “Wasn’t that hard, considering...”

“Oh yeah,” Sakura says, remembering her best friend who wasn’t quite herself anymore—lost in mannerisms and memories that weren’t hers.  “How has that been, by the way?  Did you ever tell Sai about it?”

Ino just shrugs, looking bored.  Sakura nearly cringes at that.  “I don’t use the jutsu for that long anymore.  It hasn’t gotten that bad in years.”

“You should tell him, Ino,” Sakura reproaches, before hastily amending her tone. “You know, just incase.  So he’ll know what to do.”

Ino’s brow twitches and there’s a pregnant pause of idle painting.  “I don’t...I don’t want to make it real,” she says, then stares down at the roller in her hand.  Sakura makes a sharp inhale and looks away.  She didn’t like that statement.  She had that same thought when she was younger, and was longing for her love to return.  

“Ugh, it’s fine.” Ino groans to herself suddenly.  “I manage it so much better now, it’s not even a thing.”

Sakura looks at Ino again, frowning.  “But if it happens again, he’ll need to—”

“Forehead,” Ino sighs, her shoulders slumping.  She stares at Sakura, half pleading, half chiding.  Sakura feels anger unfurl in her chest, and a twinge of guilt too.  “If I thought it was a problem, I would tell you, okay?”  Ino looks back at the wall, dips her roller into the tray of paint.  “It’s in the past.  Let’s just keep it there.”

Sakura frowns, wondering how it can be that simple.  But she trusts Ino enough to believe her.  She mercifully changes the subject.  “Before I get my hands wet, do you want me to make tea or something?”

Ino stills, brings a hand to her chin in contemplation before shrugging.  “Nah,” she decides.  “The only tea we have is some foreign crap Sai bought.  It’s supposed to help with cramps or something but it just tastes like ass.”

Sakura smirks fondly.  “Sai’s too cute.”  She lifts the other roller, admires the way the soft bristles saturate in the green hue when she dips it into the tray.  “At least he tries.”

“Yeah, he’s super sweet about it.” Ino smiles.  “You’d be surprised how many guys out there get uptight about periods.  Meanwhile Sai comes home with some new weird product or technique every month,” she scoffs.  “Mind you, the only suggestion I’ve actually liked is fucking.”

Sakura rolls her eyes, smirking. “What a surprise.”

“So tell me about this guy,” Ino says, and Sakura finds herself instantly smiling.  “You’ve been on a mission with him before, right?”

Sakura nods, extending her arm upward to roll slick paint on.  “He’s a sensor.”

“Oh,” Ino says.  “I think a sensor would be good for you.  They’re really perceptive.  Kind of forces honest communication.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,” Sakura snorts.  She sees Ino’s cheeks heat up ever so slightly.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s…” Sakura pauses, considering.  “Attractive.”  She smiles. “And he has green hair.  Like green green hair.”

“Oh shit, I think I’ve been in a team with him!”  Ino exclaims.  “Oh my god, that dude was so hot!”  She gushes, “I mean—not like Sasuke or Sai hot, they’re just superhumanly sexy—but shit, I remember he took off his shirt when I was healing him on a mission and ooohh gurl!”  Ino says, “Total heartthrob!”

Sakura chuckles, “Pig!”  She tries to swallow her nervous smile and hopes her cheeks aren’t as pink as they feel.

“What do you think your babies will look like?” Ino asks.  “What color will their hair be?”  

“And she tells me to slow down,” Sakura mumbles, her stomach squirming in shared excitement.  “Let’s just wait until the first date before we talk about babies, okay?”

Ino laughs lightly, “Yeah, you’re right.  We gotta make sure he’s not just trying to get laid or marry rich.”

Sakura nearly chokes on her spit.  “Marry rich?  I never even thought of that.”

Ino just shrugs.  “You’re probably going to be head of the hospital when Tsunade retires, everyone knows you make big bucks.”  She lathers the roller in more slick paint.  “Y’know, I think if he doesn’t work out, you should try dating a civilian.  They’re way less maintenance and drama.”  

Sakura tenses because this is code, she’s learned, in ways she didn’t want to.  

“She can be difficult,” Kizashi had said casually to a friend, when he was too tired to love her okaasan anymore.  Sakura knew she wasn’t supposed to be listening in on their conversation like that, but that’s exactly why she did.  Something was wrong with her okaasan and everyone kept pretended like there wasn’t.  Sakura had been sick of it.  “High maintenance—you know,” Kizashe had amended, not liking his previous diction.  “I thought she’d be better after her father passed—that she’d let it go.  But she didn’t.”  

Sakura recoils, as if she’d been slapped across her flushed cheeks.  Her brows furrow and she frowns.  “What makes you think I care about that?”

“I mean—I thought that—”  Ino falters, hands still as her lips twitch.  “I don’t know, simplicity is nice.”

Sakura’s frown deepens.  “What?”

Ino bashfully meets her eyes, lips twisted in an anxious line.  “Nothing, it was stupid.  Just forget it.”

Sakura opens her mouth to question her further, before there’s a sudden, hollow thump thump.  The two kunoichi look over at the window, spotting a small canine.

“A mission?” Sakura asks, and Ino walks over to open the window.

“Yamanaka-san!” the orange spotted dog greets, “Hokage-sama has summoned you.  He would like to see you as soon as possible!”  Ino turns to give Sakura an apologetic look.

“It’s okay,” Sakura says, nodding gently.  “Go ahead.  I’ll just finish up this wall and head out.”

“Thanks, forehead.”  Ino smiles soft.   She gives her a goodbye hug and squeezes tight.  This shouldn’t startle Sakura, but it does.  

The embrace is not apologetic, Sakura realizes.  Perhaps grateful, but mostly just warm.  Affection for the sake of it.  It’s so good, the awareness of her own yearning for intimacy tsunamis through her.  Sakura has been needing this.  She’s been needing it forever.

 But then Ino’s pulling away.  “You’re the best,” Ino says.  

Then she is gone.

“You remind me of my niece,” Yuuto says, a weary smile on his lips.  The white tiles and walls, reflecting too-bright lighting is hard on Sakura’s eyes today, and she doesn’t know why.  Lack of sleep, her body thinks.  Lack of dreams, her head replies.

“Oh?  How so?” Sakura asks, running her palm along his bare chest.   The vibrant green of her hand is iridescent and makes the pain behind her eyes worse.  

“Do you feel discomfort when I do this?” She asks, applying slight pressure to the breastbone.  She likes the way he tenses against her, knowing it’s not of pain.  It happens often when she’s with patients and she hasn’t tired of it yet.  It’s one of the subtle reminders that she’s not just good at this but she belongs.  And Sakura never felt like that until Tsunade.

“No, no pain,” Yuuto tells her, and her hands move to his head, gently presses against the forefront of his skull.  “You have these moments,” he says then, answering her previous question.  “Child-like.  I used to think we were all dead before you.”  

Sakura’s hands still for a moment, and she gauges the sincerity in his eyes.  She wonders if the poison has already ensnared the cognitive functions in his brain.  

“Not like innocent, but you’re...well...”  He struggles in his search, before his tired eyes marginally lighten, like they’ve caught onto something. “Cute.”

“Cute,” Sakura repeats, wrinkling her nose.  She regrets the occupancy of the word in her mouth as much as this conversation.

Yuuto howls then, and she jumps.  He’s laughing—rough and throaty but so honest that it steals the breath from her lungs.  “Just like that!”  He gasps then, before taken by a fit of loud and forceful coughs.  

It’s in this moment that Sakura confirms her suspicions.  She likes Yuuto.  She likes him very much.

Sakura places a chakra loaded palm on his chest and rubs her fingers against his warm skin soothingly.  “Easy there,” she says, her smile sincere and taunting.  “Laughing to death might be a pleasant way to go, but I’m not done with you yet.”  His lips turn upwards and based on the pinch of his brow and heaves of his chest, the smile is painful for him to hold.  But he wears it just the same.

“It would be, wouldn’t it?” Yuuto muses with a hum.  He looks at her with a fondness in his eyes.  Sakura feels undeserving, but her heart pumps forcefully against her ribs, devouring the image with need.  It reminds her too much of her Tousan to deny herself the painful pleasure of smiling back.

Finally, she brushes a loose pink strand from her face and begins to scribbles notes.  He’s doing worse, unsurprisingly.  “We have a new medicine for you,” Sakura says then, skimming over numbers in his chart.  “It’s not a cure, but it will slow the poison down.”  

She meets his eyes, and she can see the grave dullness has returned.  For a moment all she feels is pure anguish for bringing it up.  But professional as always, she keeps the rot from her voice.  “A nurse will be coming in to administer it through an IV.  You’ll probably get a little nausea from it, and maybe a headache, but that should be the worst of it.  If you feel anything else, let a staff member know immediately, okay?”  He stiffly nods his consent.

“Will I see you again?” He asks then, and Sakura’s self loathing increases incrementally, looking into those lonely eyes of his.  She wants to stay, keep him company.  But she has to go back to the lab so she can keep him alive.  Her medicine isn’t a cure.  Not good enough.

“Of course,” she says.  “You’re my patient.”  

Yuuto doesn’t look satisfied, the frown on his lips still neatly placed above the wrinkle on his chin.  He nods anyway, stern and stiff.  It’s practiced—the nod of a shinobi after being handed a suicide mission.  It makes her sick to her stomach.

“You’re a strong man, Yuuto,” Sakura says.  “We’re going to get through this.  I promise.”  And she sees the weight on his shoulders marginally lift.

When she leaves, Sakura spends her walk to the lab pondering why life demands so much from the dying.

Sakura closes her eyes and tries to block out the rest of the world, her fingers splayed along her lower stomach, gently rubbing.  She takes a deep breath, tries to coach herself through this the way she often does.  Just relax, Sakura.  We can do this.

She considers picturing Kaito.  He’s handsome enough.  And the thought is at least tangible, something written in the realm of possibility.  But the concept is too strange with her not quite knowing the man.  So Sakura pictures nothing.  

She tries to recall that stranger from her most eerie and pleasant dreams. A man—an Uchiha—she recalls.  It’s hard to remember when she’s awake, but she’s catalogued factual pieces the last time she woke up:  Long, dark hair, like Madara, with two locks wrapped in strips of cloth to frame a regal face.  Bold, azure lines tracing his bottom eyelids.  None of it stands out like his Sharingan.

She remembered thinking he was a deity, when he undressed her in her dreams, placed his hot mouth between her legs.  He was a man of unmatched caliber, this Uchiha, who wore holy white robes and Sasuke’s sinful smirk.  And she remembers she had called him that, because he felt so much like her ex-teammate. She called him Sasuke-kun—like he was ever hers.

Sakura can’t quite grapple onto the memory of yearning in his eyes, but she imitates the way his hands had danced between her legs.  It works, and soon enough, she’s sighing at the feel of her fingers meeting her lower petals, parting them gently.  With great care and patience, she rubs sweet friction along her folds, working herself up to her peak.  It takes longer than it should, her climax evading her.  She forcefully exhales, and moves her fingers faster, hoping the stimulation will bring her closer.  

It doesn’t, it leaves her feeling raw and distraught.  She’s becoming more antsy, feeling herself growing dry.  Sakura steals a determined breath and struggles to focus.  I can do this.  She used to all the time, though she hardly remembers it.  She breathes in and out, honing in on the pad of her finger as it grazes her sensitive nub.  Then there must be progress because she’s tossing her head to the side to mewl, stomach tight.  Something coils inside and the moisture grows.  She runs her fingers further down, probing her entrance gently with a single digit.

And then she feels a nukenin’s cold hands on her body, a man possessed forcing himself on her.  Inside her.

Her hand stills and her eyes snap open as a tremor crawls through her.  She sighs, pulling her hand away to stare up at the whiteness of her ceiling.  All traces of her high vaporize, as if it were never there.  Sakura buries the feeling that she’s been robbed of something, and with a heavy exhale, she sits up.  She smears a frustrated tear off her cheek and crawls out of bed.

The stream from the showerhead is a bleak, liquid winter.  Sakura turns the knob and makes it even colder.  She has to use all her willpower to stay rooted in that spot, shivering.  But that’s okay because she’s gotten good at doing things she doesn’t want to.  It’ll help, she thinks, honing in on the loud buzz in her head.  Sakura rocks back and forth on her heel, nails pinching hard into her arms as she holds herself.  It’ll go away.  It always does.  It’s just a matter of when.

His tongue was slimy, she remembers.  Her nails scrape at her neck, following the path he had forever marked  You have her face.  The nin had said, wearing a delirious smile.  Sakura’s fingers move over her cheeks and wonder if they were ever really hers.  Did that girl he saw die during her lifetime?  He’d pushed inside her so painfully, so desperately—like he hated and loved her at once.  Sakura wonders if she had always been wearing the face of a dead woman.

“Fuck!” Sakura mewls in pain, a burning sensation tearing her from the monochrome.  She jerks from the water and her body shakes with the force of her gasps.  She looks down at her trembling fingers, cheek throbbing.  Her nails are stained with blood and chunks of skin.  She’s shaking bad and she’s sure it’s not because she’s cold.  She doesn’t want this.  A life defined by deaths.  She sees okaasan’s eyes—open, chapped lips slightly parted.  

“Your kaasan doesn’t hate you,” Kizashi had told her, back when he was alive and full of mirth.  He had sounded as if her suggestion was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.  “She’s just had a hard life.”

“Well, she must think I make it harder,” Sakura said, clutching the fabric of his shirt, trying to keep the tears from her voice.  Her pout was as obnoxious as her sadness was honest.  Her otousan’s large hand smoothed over her hair.

“She loves you, Sakura,” Otousan said.  “She has a hard time showing it, but she loves you.  She’s just had a hard life, that’s all.”  His voice was mechanical, like this was a mantra he’s spoken for years, though it’s the first time Sakura had heard it.

“What happened to her?” Sakura asked.  She felt Kizashi’s arms tense.

He ran his fingers through her hair again and she felt the warmth of his other hand moving up and down her arm, trying to chase a chill away.  “It’s complicated,” he had said, and when she looked up, he was staring forward at the wall.  “But it’s not your fault.  I promise.”  He held her closer, and kissed her forehead.  

She’d frowned and said nothing.  She wanted to believe him, but found she couldn’t.

Her youth didn’t come with naivety and she knew her otousan was wrong.  Okaasan looked at her for too long sometimes—like she was seeing through her.  It was as if she had already made up her mind long ago.  

She imagines if she had come to the bedroom before her mother had passed out, Mebuki would have spent her last breath whispering You did this to me. before her face became the mask of a dead thing too.  

Sakura places her palm over her chest, willing her second heart, with it’s second face, to stop beating.  She moves back under the shower head, teeth chattering, skin frozen.  And her blood is just droplets sprinkled in the water now.  Sakura watches it dissolve, fading into liquid clarity.  She shuts her eyes and listens to the rush of the cool stream.

It’ll wash away, she thinks, feeling gore on her face and between her legs.  It always does.  It’s just a matter of when.

A/N: Special thanks to Timafa, who encouraged me to write in that transitional scene. Hopefully future chapters will read smoother for it.

[angrycollectordaze-me-blog]

Assignment代写：The theme of love in Renaissance poetry

下面为大家整理一篇优秀的assignment代写范文- The theme of love in Renaissance poetry，供大家参考学习，这篇论文讨论了文艺复兴时期诗歌中关于的爱情主题。文艺复兴运动，将人们的情感从中世纪的宗教桎梏中解放出来，而爱情作为感情的强烈表现，也在文艺复兴时期的文艺作品中得到了尽情的展现。在众多的爱情诗中，爱情的主题也各有侧重，或谈情，或言性。在诗人的笔下，爱情呈现着不同的姿态。每一个诗人，每一首诗，都言及一面，共同描绘出了一个绚烂无比的爱情的宏大主题。

The Renaissance liberated people's feelings from the shackles of religion in the century. Love, as a strong expression of feelings, was also fully displayed in the Renaissance works. In many love poems, the theme of love also has different focuses, or talk about love, or speech. This paper chooses three different love poems of different poets in this period. By comparing the similarities and differences of the images in the poems, it reveals the diversified love views and different ways of expressing love in this period.

As a movement, the Renaissance, after a century, swept across Europe, swept away the clouds and shackles of the medieval "dark age", and let the light of human nature shine again in all aspects of human life. The ancient and unchanging love also sheds a new light in the human nature. In this period, each kind of art is extolling love in its own way. The sweetness, sanctity, variety and diversity of love are especially favored by poets. In their writing, love takes on a different posture, or fragrance, or tenderness, or passion of temptation, or sanctity. Every poet, every poem, all speak one side, and together they depict a grand theme of gorgeous love. The author selected three love poems of the three poets in this period, hoping to get a glimpse of the unique expression of love theme in Renaissance poetry.

When it comes to love, whether exquisite or sublime, we often think of the passionate feelings between lovers or the lovey-dovey couple world. However in edmond spencer's "one day, I wrote her name in the sand," a poem, people realize in the romantic poetry is bold and unrestrained feelings, or already familiar with the heroic action in the ancient Greek drama has disappeared. The heroine and the "I" is more like two metaphysician rather than lovers, is talking about the xuan talk rather than on love affairs, call each other also let a person feel no enthusiasm, in the poem of appellation is not about sight that specific vivid image, the lovers and often about such as "immortal", such as "good" and "virtue" abstract concepts. Though your name is full of "light" in the poet's heart, it is only "written in heaven". The heroine's exclamation to the hero is just a "conceited person", which does not sound half passionate, but is just an objective and calm criticism. There is not a word of love in the poem that relates to these two, but to "my poem" and to eternity: "my poem perpetuates your rare virtue." The "I" in the poem is more like a knight in the middle ages, only the sword in the hand turns into a sonnet to win the "good name" and "brilliance" for the heroine whose appearance is hidden in the poem. And the knight for all her action is no longer a battle sword, but the reduction of a monotonous move: "write her name in the sand", this behavior is not in contact with her, and leave no trace, because "the waves to the" will "wash away the name", this kind of behavior is more like a meditator, rather than the love between lovers will happen, but now that the names have been wiped out the waves and that will not assume any responsibility, then this behavior will not cause any results. Accordingly, a whole "she" image has been reduced to a mere name. Even if this "good name" could be made immortal, there would be nothing left but an empty symbol. Though this is a love poem, it loses its sweetness. It seems that once love is distilled, all emotions vanish into clouds.

Christopher Marlowe's "shepherd's song", the opening with a warm imperative sentence invites readers to share in love the enthusiasm of the shepherd: "come on, and I live together, be my love." The abstract pursuit in Spenser's poem becomes the earnest call, the fame and glory become the secular life. Most of the actions in the poem are directly related to the two lovers who are in love with each other. Otherwise, they also express the shepherd's strong determination to pursue and his sincere praise for the lover being pursued. In stanzas or stanzas, the plural subject "we" triggers a series of actions. On the one hand, the modal verb "will" promises his lover a beautiful and bright future, on the other hand, it shows his strong desire to achieve such a future. From the beginning of verse 3, a series of actions led by "I will" reveal the shepherd's will and determination. Whether the "I" in the poem is "a bed made of thousands of bouquets of flowers" or "a belt made of ivy and aromatic grass", it is to "move" and "your heart". Readers will be surprised by the many concrete images in the poem, such as "valley countryside", "lamb", "bird", "rose", "gown", and so on, compared with the abstract concept of "good name" or "virtue" in spencer's poem, all of which are not in the concrete and vivid life. All these concrete images together paint a vivid picture of personal life. At this point, we should notice that the images of nature in the two poems are different. In Spenser's poem, the image of nature exists only as a pure background. As soon as the subject is lit, it will be invisible again in the dark. In marlow's poem, nature is light itself. "Come and live with me" is to live in the "beautiful valley of the lambs". Besides the eagerness, initiative and directness of the shepherd, the image of the heroine in the poem is also embodied to some extent. From verse 3 to verse 6, the image of a girl who is dressed up to be loved, entertained with all her heart, and loved, appears vividly in the eager discourse of the shepherd. However, this beloved girl is still invisible in many images, only in this rich rhetoric of existence.

Spencer girl didn't play in the poem, Marlowe girl in poem in a figurative sense only to the presence of John donne "bait", seems to describe a complete woman. From verse 2, the poem celebrates not only her glowing "eyes," but also her actions: "swimming in that flowing bath." The image of a woman is no longer an abstract name, not a fancy dress, but a flesh-and-blood woman who can act. In poetry, women's behavior is condensed into a tantalizing bait in the phrase "you are your own bait." This echoes an image at the end of the first stanza: the hook. "Silver hook" brings the reader a sense of cold, sharp, ruthless and cunning, as well as a desire to conquer and initiative. The image along with other image at the beginning of the poem, such as "cold water", "slippery line", the sense that gives a person is far from comfortable, but annoying and disturbing, this poetry and poetry parodying Marlowe open sentence "come on, and I live together, be my love, / us fresh happiness is endless" give a person look forward to in different ways. It wasn't long before this uneasy feeling became a whole cruel picture of love. Others who try to win love must "freeze in the reed," "cut their legs," or use "broken nets," or use "flies" as bait, while the woman in the poem "needs no such trick" to win love easily because she is "her own bait." Though still the object of the chase, she was distinguished for her beauty, and could seduce men without the need for them to seduce her with eternal or perfect life. It is also almost impossible to find a suitor as clearly as it is in spencer's or marlow's poem, in which only the image of a group of pleasure-seekers emerges in the form of a shoal of fish. Trapped by the bait, the fish from every river "happily went to catch" her. The love in the poem is more like a game, full of temptation, trick and catch - release process. "Bait" this image is not only exists in the metaphor, but everywhere retained actually layer surface texture, such as "hooks" and "amorous" and "catch" word, contains a strong meaning of sex. Compared with the abstract concepts of spencer's poetry or marlow's pastoral life, the bait is more detailed, direct and specific, but once hooked, the cruelty, coldness and ruthlessness of love are as specific as physical pain and bloodshed.

Although the three poems are love poems, they are different from each other. Spencer's abstract ideal of love may be longer than marlow's idyllic life, but there is no sense of truth to it. Similarly true and concrete, donne's sexual love, which is full of seduction, is stronger, but it is also colored with pain by its intensity, losing the purity of spencer's poem and the sincerity of marlow's. But it is difficult to discern clear linear development in the three poems. If dorn and marlow's poems are more concrete than spencer's, this abstraction may be just spencer's personal style. The same theme is much more vivid in Shakespeare's 18 sonnets. The insignificance of nature in Spenser became the key in marlow's poetry, and this love of nature failed to continue; In donne's poems, the once-sweet images of nature became rough "reed marshes," "shells and weeds." The female image seems to be strengthened and gradually clarified in the three poems. But passionately in love shepherd also did not describe the image of the lover eagerly, the specific decorations, utensils covered the specific female image. Marlow's shepherds and spencer's meditators are not that different. They are in control of their love and not paying attention to their lovers. Only the women portrayed by donne caught the "thread and hook" and took the lead. However, the women in donne's poems were only endowed with sexual attraction rather than the power of love, so donne failed to establish the image of a woman in love.

Although simplicity is dangerous and harmful, it does not hurt to say that love is expressed in its pluralism and pluralism. The three poems above prove this truth. Love glows eternal in spencer's poems, a warm pulse beats in marlow's poems, and in donne's works, sensuous enjoyment and temptation becomes another melody of love. It is this variety that keeps love alive, and it is love that is loved by poets. The diversified expression and the diversified presentation jointly depict the beautiful image of love, which is unique in the long middle ages. Meanwhile, it also opens up space for poets in later generations to express love with stronger feelings and bolder words.

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