#(not enough to understand an even slightly complex poem that's for sure)

[ante--meridiem]

Extremely confidence boosting to me that every time I've read my poetry out loud in public at least one person has come up to me afterwards to say they like it. More confidence boosting than people telling me I'm good at anything else which usually just feels very awkward because poetry is something I don't feel I can self evaluate at all because I know how easy it is for something to accidentally come out cliched/overwrought.

#personal #this sounds like a brag and I guess I can't say it isn't but it does feel very reassuring #context here is roommate talked me into reading something for a poetry reading thing he organised #which was mostly a bad time because the room was extremely overstimulating & very little of it was in English #(which to be clear: I don't expect everyone to cater to English speakers or anything. it's just that roommate assuring me I'd understand #enough to make it worth it was integral to talking me into this) #(I now think he overestimated how much Swedish I speak) #(not enough to understand an even slightly complex poem that's for sure) #but people did like my poetry & that was a huge ego boost #enough different people have compliment various enough selections of poems I wrote on enougn occasions that I'm starting to think I might #actually be good at this #which is dangerous. stop boosting my ego before I do something dumb like think I might be good enough to try publishing #< only half serious

[aminiatureworld]

Leaden Dreams

Characters: Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,908

Warnings: Vague depictions of sleep paralysis

Premise: In which the reader experiences sleep paralysis

Author’s Note: First time writing Kazuha! I just finished his story quest today, so I hope that I have an okay grasp on him. Still working on his talking style a bit but I adore his personality.

Also though I experience the part of sleep paralysis where you’re awake but can’t move (can’t recommend the experience) it’s usually during the day so I don’t really experience dreams. As of such if this is inaccurate in any ways I’m very sorry.

Albedo

Albedo knew about sleep paralysis on a theoretically level, knew that it was a phenomenon that caused one’s brain to awaken when the body was still fast asleep. He’d never given the concept much thought, not any more than he might any other bit of science that remained shelved in his mind.

Now that was certainly not the case.

Albedo knew the telltale signs, the small spasms that revealed the battle between your mind and your body. Knowing that you were fighting to move your limbs, open your eyes, relax your jaw, he would always speak first, knowing that you might not immediately respond.

“It’s alright my dear, I’m here. I know it’s frightening, but I promise you’ll be able to move soon. Just focus on one thing, alright? Maybe your eyes this time, since last time you tried moving your tongue. That’s it, just one thing first. It’s always better to start small.”

He wouldn’t move from his sleeping position until you regained control of your body, afraid that a sudden touch might cause you even more distress. Keeping himself carefully pressed into the mattress he didn’t fare lift his head, for fear his face might melt into something frightening. Since he knew he was helpless, his goal became to stop things from getting worse.

The moment you began to move however the alchemist would jump into action. Turning lights on he would pick up the glass of water from his nightstand before gathering you up into his arms, positioning himself so you could listen to his heartbeat as you drank. The first time it had happened he had left the room to get the glass to soon, and the memory of you curled up desperately into the covers still tugged at him.

Albedo would then go through what you had half-dreamed with you, thoroughly debunking all the distortions of your normal life. That shadowed human outside the window was a combination of the balcony and the half opened curtains. The voices were partially his own, partially your brain trying to process your own breathing. The figure hiding behind the door of the hallway was because of the boxed piled along the other side of the wall. The people dancing on the ceiling could be fixed with a repaint. Over and over he would remind you of the fact that you were safe, that your amygdala was simply going into overdrive. Over and over he would thoroughly debunk your nightmares until once more things settled into place, piles of clothing becoming one more fabric, dressers no longer dancing as if possessed.

He would tell you to wake him up if he began falling back to sleep, determined that he should be watching over you to make sure an episode didn’t happen as you were falling back asleep.

In reality though you didn’t mind if he drifted off a little before you. His breathing was a soothing melody, his slow, steady heartbeat a rhythm with which you could anchor yourself. He was staid and sure, and that was something you grasped onto desperately, something you would never stop appreciating.

Soon enough his reasons would soothe your mind, and you’d fall once more asleep.

 Kazuha

The first thing Kazuha always did was pull the blankets over you. If the outside world was threatening you, then he’d simply block it out.

Making a cocoon around the two of you he would begin to tell stories. Fairy tales, things that had happened to him during his travels, anything that you brain might latch onto. The stories were always very short and self-contained, easy to understand, and through your panic addled brain you always seemed to find them.

Sometimes when things were particularly bad he’d softly cradled your hands, careful not to move to quickly or too suddenly in case the sensation caused you to panic even more.

“Our hands fit together so well, don’t you think? I could write a poem about them, or maybe about yours. Maybe you’ll help me with it after this is over? It will be soon dearest, I know it will.”

Sometimes he would sing little songs that he’d picked up. Usually sea shanties, their rhythm helped you, less complex than poetry, more lyrical than the jagged fear that screamed at you.

Kazuha wouldn’t ask you to share immediately. When you finally moved he would first squeeze your hands gently, kissing them before your forehead, asking if it was too hot beneath the blankets, then making sure a light was on if you needed a little fresh air.

He never acknowledged what had happened before you did, but he wouldn’t pretend like it didn’t happen either. Instead he would ask if you wanted to listen to a story or tell one. Whichever you chose he would keep holding your hands, making sure that even when he gave you space there was still something that grounded you.

Sometimes when you cried he would tell a very specific story.

“There once was a warrior, brave of heart. So brave were they that shadows tried to chase them. Someone this noble cannot exist! They cried out. The warrior must be false. We will find their weakness. However no matter how hard they tried this weakness was never found. For the warrior was truly brave in heart and soul.”

Normally you might consider such a story overdone, but in those liminal moments between fear and sleep the story format helped. This was simply a harrowing part of a story, but there would surely be a better end.

 Scaramouche

Scaramouche never thought that he’d ever sleep next to you.

Humans were loud and irritating, and that only became more true when the Harbinger was trying to get a few precious hours of sleep.

However after a particularly bad week he decided that the only solution to your terrible lack of attention was to deal with the matter himself.

He wasn’t necessarily nice about it, grumbling about your poor sleeping habits, saying that this was an awful waste of time. However the moment that panic consumed you, the moment that things started to twist around you, you felt a sudden hand on your arm.

“These idiotic phantoms are nothing. Come on, I know you’re strong enough. How could you ever let something so puny win against you.”

Though you certainly didn’t agree with him about that you had to admit it helped somewhat. Though your initial panic never disappeared, it became easier to climb out of your dreams, to see a light at the end of the endless tunnel of fear.

Every time you jerked once more awake Scaramouche let himself admit some sort of relieved satisfaction.

“You’ve done it again. As you always have. I don’t know why I bother sleeping here when you’re competent enough on your own.”

Nevertheless Scaramouche would always let you embrace him, not commenting on the tears that often accompanied you. Loosely resting his arms on your back he let out exaggerated breaths.

“Will you sleep now?”

It didn’t matter if you said no. Scaramouche would simply mutter something about bad sleep habits, but he would nevertheless stay awake.

He would always fall asleep last, even when his eyes burned slightly and his body called out for rest.

If he was going through all this trouble after all, he might as well see it through to the end.

 Xiao

Xiao saw dreams as extensions of human karma, of human wants and needs and wishes.

If a human dreamt a good wish, it was a revelation of their hearts desire. If they tossed and turned with nightmares it was their fears and shames manifesting. A dream was never just a dream, a shuffle of random events and names and faces. Dreams were alive; dreams had their own wills, all connected to the will of the human they were attached too.

Xiao loathed to see you haunted by your dreams. How could someone so wonderful as your be chased by something so awful? The little that you told your partner caused a distant sort of dread. He could never understand your fear of falling asleep, but he surely felt the dread of whether or not you might be allowed peace.

The threads that surrounded you, that surrounded all humans, always tensed when you were entering an episode. Careful not to leave your side too much Xiao would light a few candles, not too much to be jarring to your eyes, not too little to add to your nightmares. If you could only open your eyes then Xiao would pay even more attention, making sure that the dim lighting didn’t add to your distress, shifting the candles or blowing them out if need be.

Xiao didn’t talk much normally, but he would keep up a steady stream of questions in these moments, even if you couldn’t answer them. Whether you were aware of his presence, whether the window being open was a problem or not, whether you needed more light or less. He would keep these questions in the back of his mind for you to answer once you could again, not only so he could do better next time, but in case the nightmares we too close to be spoken about.

Usually Xiao would ask about them again in the morning, and sometimes you would discuss it then. Though the yaksha knew that nightmares were often the fears that humans accumulated, the curses that attached themselves to unsuspecting victims, he never talked about that aspect with you, indeed when he talked about it at all. Most of the time he would just listen, tracing soft circles along your back and down your arms.

Right after an episode Xiao would make his way over to you. Most of the time he would stay in one place while the episode was happening, near the candles or by the window, making sure he didn’t startle you anymore. Now though he might move every once in a while, or turn your head softly towards him if your eyes became fixated on one spot in the room. Always he’d go to open the window, and the familiarity of the routine became something that lulled you back into a sense of piece.

Not sleeping himself Xiao never told you that you need more rest, that you should go back to sleep. If you needed to stay up the rest of the night so be it, he would be there with you. If you were too tired and found yourself drifting off to sleep he would promise to protect you, to fight off any demons that might be lurking.

Sometimes Xiao feared that his burden of curses exacerbated your sleep paralysis. Those evenings he would wait for you to sleep before slipping away. Always he would leave his sleeve and his mask, making sure that if you woke up you would still have something of his presence to comfort or protect yourself with. Those nights he would stare out into Liyue and think about all the things that he carried with him, all the things that you did too.

Regardless of those nights he would be there in the morning.

“Did you sleep well afterwards?” He would always ask. Regardless of your answer, which he would surely pay attention to after his second question, he would stare into your eyes.

“Do you think things would be easier without my presence?”

Always you said no.

#idk why but I enjoyed writing xiao especially for this #not that I did love all of these this is such a good prompt #genshin impact fanfiction #albedo x reader #kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin albedo #kaedahara kazuha #genshin scaramouche #genshin xiao #genshin impact #scenarios #headcanons #very short scenarios lol #requested #my writing

[pen-observing]

Yellow feelings

You hold pure feelings for an unpure being. Then again, so does Lucifer.

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Walking through the garden you tried to remember a truth universally acknowledged. In nature, and in solitude, lies the place where humans have to be honest with themselves. Where humans have to admit to their emotions. What nature was more beautiful than the unique hybrid flowers decorating the paths of the House of Lamentation? What nature so odd to a human vessel? Among these paths is where the fragility of humanity turns into undeniable honesty. Why? You realize how small you are whilst your feelings overwhelm your body and soul. You realize that truth sets free in all cases.  

When you strayed off the path and walked the streets alone, in moments Mammon had a photoshoot so he could not tag along, you could lie to yourself. You could lie in the halls of RAD. You could stay quiet in front of Diavolo. In a way; you would, in an impulsive moment, even lie to the most powerful being of that strange world. But, my dear, you cannot lie to yourself.

What is the difference between love uttered and love unspoken? The simple secret, once complexities are out of the way, is how it influences people. The massive love which marks growth everyday inside your hearth is unspoken. It is secret. Unlike those that utter the feelings to regain control, you try to swim inside the flutters and crashes of waves that a single glace may bring. You try to fight, you try to silently give in but the end result it always the same. Unspoken love towards him drowns you. It does not even give you a glimmer of a glowing chance to fight back.

You have contemplated long and hard about what having these feelings towards Lucifer really meant. You have questioned and wandered into depths of your mind in trying to find answers. Denial was the strongest weapon at first.  

Maybe you watching the way his glowed hand held the tea cup just meant you wanted to find more grace? Perhaps knowing how his hair decorated his features just meant admiring the beauty of a creature who once was an angel? Perhaps knowing which eye of his would twitch first from another crazy idea the prince had was just you, well, finding fun in such circumstances?

Oh, how denial came naturally to you. Oh, how denial dispersed once your feet stood on the stone grounds to look at the flowers.

What you held for Lucifer; shielded in such a small body, guarded with such helpless hands and nurtured with unnoticed care was not, - could not - be anything short of love.

These hybrid flowers were witnesses to your promise. These cold stones showed you the path towards fulfilling it. You swore to tell Lucifer the truth.  

Countlessly drowning in waves of secret love would hurt immensely.

Knowing yourself meant taking determined steps towards his study with wavering confidence. If you did not confess now, your own cowardice would eat away any other chance. Why was it that in this moment, in this brief time, you felt so brave? Fate, my dear.

Your feet carried you in front of his door. The door that was almost always slightly ajar, just in case some brother was sneaking out front trying to play another petty trick towards the man that undeniably felt fond of them. His door seemed to loom over you like never before. It seemed to carry a warning. The anxiety of finally uttering feelings, as you did not plan a confession yet, kept growing. However, your impulsive bravery overcame it and stepped a bit closer.  

“Pass me my favorite pen, please?”, Lucifer’s voice stopped your hand. Your breathing. All at once. It cut through the air.

Who was the other person in Lucifer’s sacred room? Who was he speaking to in such a voice? Surely, it made you stop but this; this voice plainly displayed exhaustion. Lucifer usually masked worries and held up a proud persona. He had invisible walls to represent himself in such a light that would intimidate everyone. And, hold up- Lucifer has a favourite pen? How come you did not know this despite all the habits your love swayed you to see?

Whoever the other person was in the room with him did not reply. Why? Why was there no reply? If you are breaking the moral codes of privacy just by staying rooted in curiosity they might as well offer something. Anything. Who was the person Lucifer let his guard down for?

Your vision could only take in a bit of what was happening. With quiet breathing and an even quieter step forward; you ducked to see into the room more.

“Oh.”

It is odd how sometimes a heart carrying so much love can break; logical realizations along with atmosphere impressions do not ask you whether the emotions were spoken yet. People always claim that expressions of great partnership and infatuation are carried out with grand displays of affection. Grand displays can feel special regardless of what the person means to you sometimes. You always looked at the little things; the things that stand as invisible strings of love between two people. And, what you saw was enough.  

You looked at the sight smiling softly. The need to ardently confess to Lucifer was vanished. It was replaced by understanding and a soft heartbreak. Unspoken love deserves this kind of heartbreak, this kind of ending, my dear.

What do you think hurts more? Rejection after a confession or not a chance to confess at all? I claim it is never having confessed while wishing the object of your affection all the best in this world.

How dare you walk away from the study door faster than you came? How dare you not notice the garden flowers expressing a sad ode to your feelings? How dare you curse the stone path which lead you there? It is paradoxical really. How could you smile when you saw Diavolo’s hand gracefully extend a pen towards Lucifer? How could you smile at Lucifer’s loose tie while Diavolo gazed at him like he was still an angel? It was true intimacy. True intimacy was in that space, between Lucifer and Diavolo; in small moments of everyday life that signified something so grand. It signified a true mark of love.

So, how could you smile and wish their love all the best yet still shed tears and run away from that sight? Run away from that space? Where were you running with such clouded eyes? How did you manage to stay so quiet?

You did not know. All you knew was that a path seemed to open up. It led somewhere you never explored before. Was it always here? Running from something is easier than not knowing where you are running. Something tugged your soul towards that field. Something your clouded eyes could not recognize.  

Perhaps it was the magic of humanity?

Was it even necessary to name the force that lead you to a small field which seemed to stand alone in that strange world? No. That field called upon you to answer. The steps carrying you there reached their destination. You stopped in the middle and looked around.

Daffodils. This place was overflowing with daffodils.   Golden stars amongst the green grass welcomed you as one of their own.  

This was the first time that the Devildom was kind enough to show flowers from the human world. It awakened something within you. A spark.  

“I wandered lonely as a cloud...”

Those words just came out of your mouth as if asking to harmonize with the surrounding scenery.

Yellow flowers. What does that love mean now? Blue feelings. Where is that love supposed to go?  

Thinking back...when did romantic love lead you up until now?

You dropped down on your knees, completely quiet as one tear drop slid down your right cheek. Yellow feelings. 

While gazing at the daffodils in front; you brought your hands up, palms pressed together.  In this strange world you found a place to be a broken human again. The gaze shifted towards the sky.

“Please, God, do not let my love be in vain forever.”

Here you were. Praying in a field of yellow under the eternally dark sky. Hoping that your next love, uttered or unspoken, would not waste away.

What is this? Okay basically, I wandered lonely as a cloud is a name of a poem which starts that same way. I had to learn it for one of my classes. It is by Wordsworth and you can read it if you wish to understand more. It is about him being lonely and wandering around until daffodils /which, signify unrequited love by the way) charm him. It is my way of saying unrequited love is not the end, while it is very common. No, I do not ship Dialuci but Diavolo was the first one that came to my mind!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #obey me fic #angst #unrequited love #dialuci #unrequited feelings #make the tags work now or i riot

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter One: Tired Of This Body

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn't going to go down without a fight. It's just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 7,883

Author’s Note: ugh... well, here it is. Don’t be afraid to send me hate mail or leave a comment. I love it when I make you guys sad (in a loving way of course) :)) good luck you little shits and may the odds be ever in your favor (FYI, they’re not)

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

I've grown tired of this body Cumbersome and heavy Tired of this body Fall apart without me

“I understand you’re here with concerns of a mass you found—”

He was shaving. The mirror fogged from his shower and the room heavy with steam. Leisurely, he’d wasted time getting ready. That particular morning, he’d gotten up before his alarm and he was happy for the distraction of the near-boiling water pouring over his back while the cold tile bites into his shoulder. An easy stress-reliever before the day fully starts.

Dragging a cool rag over his face he’d caught sight of a slightly swollen place on his chest. He’d dropped the rag in the sink and gently probed the area. He’d expected the sting of a bruise, not a knot of hard lumps.

It wasn’t a bruise.

“I regret to inform you—”

He hadn’t even known there were lymph nodes in the chest.

“Can you take your shirt off for me, sir?”

There’s a whole staff of people fluttering and dodging his eyes. A blur of motion as they work around him. Of them all, Hotch has already developed a soft spot for. Dr. Fitz and the glasses that are too big for his face despite his attempts to make them fit his face. There are rubber bands wrapped around the earpieces to push them tighter around his head and a piece of tape holding one of the lenses in. It’s strangely endearing.

No matter how many times Hotch tells Dr. Fitz that Aaron works just fine, he still nervously throws in the courtesy. He’s just like Reid and it’s that thought that makes him both comfortable and so unbearably alone.

With a nod, Hotch tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. The cold air hits his bare chest and he holds his breath for a moment, shivering slightly before he takes control once again. Foyet’s scars are on broad display for the whole room but, to their credit, none of them blink. They’re not here to dissect the scars covering his body or take stock of the weight he’s put on.

He just goes where he’s pulled. If he flinches when they touch him, no one comments. It’s for the better, mostly.

“The tattoo is going to guide the external beam radiation at your tumor,” Dr. Fitz explains once again. His hands tremble slightly as they hold the little needle in his hands. “It’s just three dots.”

Hotch nods, his mouth a little too dry. This whole process a little too much. He nods his understanding, fists clenched at his side to force himself to show no outward reaction. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should those dots are going to be with him forever. His first and last tattoo.

Forcing a steadying breath, he glues his eyes to the ceiling. It stings but it’s not unbearable. The needle digs into his chest, pushing the ink in. It’s the second and third dot that get him. His skin is getting hot, sore enough to make him gunt as the last one is placed.

“Not nearly as fun as a normal tattoo,” one of the other doctor’s observes. Hotch, blinking back tears, looks over at his other doctor. A woman whom he’d never have figured the “tattoo” type. His brain is a little preoccupied, worn down. He’ll get over not profiling her very well, he just might not forgive himself for the slip-up.

Hotch just… grunts. Not a real answer but the easiest.

He’s offered a hand up but he doesn’t take it. Shoulders sore and arms weak, he pushes himself up. Leaning to the side when his head starts to pound, his mouth really, really dry.

“Alright—” a cold gloved finds his shoulder. “You’re just panicking,” he’s reassured. “You need to breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” The hand squeezes his shoulder but he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. It feels like he’s going to pass out. But… he doesn’t. He breathes as instructed and slowly, the room calms back down.

As he peels his eyes open, chest tight and hands trembling, he finds the room still every bit as busy as it was before his little fit. The world really doesn’t stop.

“Are you sure—,” Dr. Fitz twists and worries his hands. Obviously, he’s worked himself up too. Probably blaming himself for Hotch’s reaction. He should have let him take a break or warned him a little better. “Most people find it helpful to have someone here,” Dr. Fitz observes. “Do you— Do you want to call someone?”

His eyes drop to the floor, his mind-- Haley. She would be here. Cracking jokes and poking at his side. Things used to be so much easier with her around. There was this magic about her, a drug her presence doped him up. She would light the room up and hold his hand. She’s not here, though. She’s dead and he’s having a hard time convincing himself this isn’t some sort of penance.

Snuffing out a light like her, it was bound to have its consequences.

They’ve marked him and with his advanced stage, he’s got an aggressive treatment plan, and the radiation starts tomorrow. So, no. No, he doesn't want to call anyone. He just wants to serve his time. Besides, who would he call?

JJ? With two children of her own and a painfully busy schedule.

Reid? His mother occupies his mind as is.

Morgan? He’s grappling with a relationship with Savannah, attempting to salvage all of the complex things life has thrown at him.

Dave? Hasn’t he already lost a child? The last thing he needs is to sit here for any given amount of time and watch this.

And he’d never, never put Garcia through this.

“No,” he rasps, laying back down. “I’m okay.”

He closes his eyes and when a single hot tear runs down his cheek, he doesn’t wipe it away. I’m okay.

I’m okay.

There aren't immediate side effects and he’s not sure if that’s a relief or worse. He’s anxious, nearly sick with nerves. Would it not be simpler to just get sick already? To throw up or get sore or just— anything.

The machine hurts his ears. Fifteen minutes of lying perfectly still gets hard after about two minutes. The whole process exacerbated by the way the low hum of the machine makes his head feel like someone’s digging at his skull with an icepick through his ear.

He’s assured he shouldn’t start feeling any symptoms for a few days. Likely not until the second week of treatments.

It takes five days for a stitch in his side to take his breath for a moment, doubling over as he struggles to breathe for a moment. Chest tight and head fogged. They just add another pill bottle to the other whole collection he’s accumulated on his nightstand.

It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on his chest. A hand gripping a fist full of his hair and dunking his head back under the water. Ties binding his wrist to the bed. A knife buried in his side.

It feels like the ground he’s standing on is rumbling, shifting beneath his feet and at any given moment it’s going to pitch him forward. A free fall and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to land on his feet.

He’s staring at the ceiling. Fists gripping the sheets as his stomach twists and churns. Swallowing around the uncomfortable burn in his throat, he turns his head to the side. Watching the movements just outside his bedroom window. Jack’s outside, kicking his soccer ball, and waiting for Daddy to come to join him. Hotch, will have to join him sooner rather than later. Even with the yard fenced in, anything could happen out there.

Funny. Just a few weeks ago, anything could have been blown under the rug with “at least it’s not cancer”. Now he’s plotting his will out in his head, making sure he covers every little thing. Who will lead the team? Where will Jack go? Can Jessica handle arrangements and should he start preparing the comfort letters now?

In the face of it all, he’d thought he could accept this. Life goes on. Things happen. He doesn’t want to die. All of those poems, the books, and the lies. “Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep.” Well, that’s right shit, in his opinion. What comes next? Not light. Not hope. His body will succumb to cancer leaving behind the carnage of his actions.

Hodgkin's Lymphoma…

He’d known, in that morbid way his thoughts tend to twist, that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. That it would be silly for the doctor to smile, sympathetic to his plight, and advise him to talk to his therapist about this new progression of paranoia. For a pat on the back. Instead, he got the cold examination table under his back, and the nurse giving his trembling hand a squeeze as the needle had plunged into his chest.

It’s all been a haze since that phone call. Since the confirmation. Now he’s got more blood tests scheduled for Monday. That’s what his life is now. Radiation for fifteen minutes for four days a week. On the fifth day, he gets blood work drawn. They check for enzymes and cells. He doesn’t really care to understand.

He should. Don’t mistake the careless, numb ache thinking about all this gives him for complete inattention to detail. It’s just a little much for one person.

Hotch finds himself wondering what Reid would tell him about the whole process. Statics that would knock the wind from his lungs and odds that would make him feel just a little better. That he’s too old and too stressed out. That radiation aimed at his chest can harden his arteries and increase his already high chances of a heart attack. That he should have seen this coming-- his father died at 47. Lung cancer. A heart attack.

He should have seen it coming.

“Daddy?”

He has to lean into his nightstand as the ground warps beneath his feet. “I’m coming,” he manages, closing his eyes and blindly hoping that his door is shut and Jack can’t see him. He wishes he’d smoked more. Indulged in Dave’s cigars. Gone drinking with Derek. Danced like Penelope. Fuck, smiled more.

He didn’t even know there were lymph nodes in the chest. He’d gone to law school. Spent his early adulthood learning to read complex course material and how to cry softly in a room with another person less than five feet from him. Maybe he should have studied Biology… but then he’d just have to come to terms with the fact that this whole mess was bound to happen. Predisposed. Genetic and environmental.

His fault.

--------------------------------

Six in the morning is not a typical time to be fielding calls from concerned police officials. “He—Hello?”  Which, now that phone is tucked under his chin, and the call answered, he realizes that he should have checked the caller ID. As stated, is it six in the morning and he doubts anyone too important is calling him at this hour.

Unless, of course, his luck has finally run out and yet another political disaster has occurred. Leaving him to clean the wreck.

The other end makes a strange noise before he’s greeted with, “--finally! I was almost worried you wouldn’t answer!”

Oh.

Emily.

“Morning,” he greets, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’s a little too grumpy for this right now but she’s obviously called for a reason, her happiness seeping into tone, and he’s not going to purposely ruin that. How many hours ahead is London, again? Why is she awake?

“I was worried,” she admits. He can hear her working, the drag of her pen across paper, and the shift of the leather chair she’s sitting in. Even her keyboard clicking away as she multi-tasks. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Home. He smirks, she’s been overseas now for several years. Yet, she still refers to Virginia as home. The thought makes him shake his head. He’d never draw the conclusion out loud to her but he can imagine that little slip-up is one of the reasons that her on-again-off-again boyfriend Michael grows frustrated with her. It’s not her fault. It’s an understandable mistake but it certainly reflects a certain tone for her affections of London.

Her preferences.

“They’re fine,” he answers, evenly. “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” He pauses to splash water across his mouth, preparing to wash his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

He places his phone on speaker and sets it on the shelf above his sink. Ducking his head, he listens to her while he washes his face. Going about the habitual process of shaving. A comforting thing he’s always done. He’s got no preference when it comes to facial hair. A beard is just as easy as a clean face. It’s about shaving. It’s soothing. It’s one of the few things that’s remained constant in his life.

She’s talking-- he thinks about how the weather in London has hit a point in the season that she doesn’t particularly like. Raining and cold. That she wants to come home but she isn’t sure she should. Will she really be able to tear herself away from the Virginia weather? From them?

He’s half-way done shaving when his eyes drift to his shirtless chest.

He wonders how many times he shaved, how many mornings did he wake up before he realized-- before he saw the tumor or the lump or mass or whatever the hell the medical term is. He lowers his head, sighing in defeat but mostly anger. How’d he let it get to this?

“Anyways,” she sighs. Sounding every bit as tired as he feels. “How is home? How are you?”

He looks at himself in the mirror. His head is absent of reason. No logic or forethought.

“I have cancer.”

-------------------------------- Everything about Aaron Hotchner is traditional and simplistic. It’s not a bad thing. In the years that she's known him, she’s grown fond of that. It makes him predictable and reliable. Something that happens infrequently in people the older that she gets. A part of her does feel wrong for clinging to that, to him, but she cherishes his friendship. Through the ups and downs.

Their means of communication are letters. Once a week she can expect to find two to three pages of neatly written updates on her family across the pond. He’ll ramble about anything in those letters and that’s what she enjoys about them the most. There is no hesitation to tell her what he thinks. In those letters, she can find Aaron. Incredible soft, thoughtful Aaron.

It’s been two weeks since he’s sent a letter. Not to sound clingy but she’s kind of hurt. More so, she’s nervous to find out what’s taking up so much of his time. He’s routine with his responses. Almost every Thursday night she can curl up with his newest letter and a glass of wine and read about the BAUs newest adventure. It’s always a bonus when throws in his subtle little “I” statements. I miss you’s come rare but when they do happen it’s nice.

Sighing, she caves. It’s Friday, she hasn’t heard from him in two weeks, and she misses him. By the time she has his contact picture pulled up and the ring tone dialing-- his goofy picture from his badge grinning at her-- she realizes that her eleven am is his six am. Just as she’s starting to think he won’t answer it goes through.

“H--Hello?” he sounds like shit. Over the course of the last year, she’s managed to forget what he sounds like. His voice is startlingly deep which does surprise her just a little.

“Finally!” she mumbles. “I was worried you wouldn’t answer!”

He yawns and it makes her smile. “Morning,” he grumbles and she can hear him scratching tiredly at his face. She feels guilty for waking him up for only a moment. That is until she remembers he gets up at six. So it’s likely she called right after his alarm clock went off.

Tucking her phone between chin and shoulder, she turns her computer on. Settling in behind her desk and getting to work. “I was worried,” she tells him. Not sure if she’s meaning to sound mad at him for not sending his “everyone’s alive and well” letter or mad that she doesn’t know how he is. He’s thrown her off her routine. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Her worry bleeds into the statement but he’s too tired to feed it or make fun of it.

She can hear him huff softly, an almost laugh.

“They’re fine,” he answers softly. His voice is drowsy, “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” She hears the tap run, he pauses, and she can hear him splashing water on his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

She smirks, it was raspberry. Although, she doubts Garcia liked it as much as he says. She’s not a huge raspberry fan. Besides, Emily had sent that tea with one specific tea drinker in mind: him. The thing about Hotch is, he’s traditional, but he’s also complicated. That’s just Hotch for “I enjoyed the tea you sent”.

Really, she’d just wanted him to be introduced to more teas than his just his simple black tea. Be more creative. Have some fun.

“I’m glad Garcia liked the tea,” she says with a smirk. “She’s been texting me all week.” Pictures, texts, and a few Snapchat. Emily doesn’t entirely know how to use Snapchat yet but she’s getting the hang of it. “You guys being grounded is relaxing, I’m sure, but that woman’s got way too much time on her hands.” Emily shakes her head at the thought. Lovingly, of course.

“Anyways,” she runs a hand over her face and she lets out a sigh. “How is home? How are you?”

There’s a long pause on his end. All his busy movements coming to a halt. It makes her heart pick up its pace, her gut twisting. Suddenly, that knee-jerk thought, that stupid thought that something might be wrong feels true. She’s just about to say his name when his voice cuts through.

“I have cancer.”

Her first reaction is oh. At least she was right.

That is immediately followed by-- oh fuck.

“Are you…” she swallows thickly, work forgotten. “Have--” Where does she even begin?

He clears his throat, “Hodgkin's Lymphoma.” He answers without her actually having to ask. It feels to get it off his chest, literally. To tell someone. “I guess--” he makes a choked sound like the shock of this news is setting in again. “They have to put, uhm, ink to locate the right place. So, I… I have a tattoo of sorts now.”

She laughs a half-pained sound. “I’m sure Morgan doesn’t consider it to be a tattoo,” she manages around the tightness of her throat. She cringes at the thought, ink and a needle just digging into his flesh. Cancer invading his body.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment but when he does, she understands the silence.

“I haven’t told them.”

As much as she wants to be mad at him, she shouldn’t really expect anything different. He’s painfully shy and private. God knows if she hadn’t found him half-dead in the hospital after Foyet, he’d have gone as long as possible without telling them. He certainly wouldn’t have told them while still hospitalized.

It’s the same lack of forethought that goes through them, a moment of blindness. He’d felt the weight of restraints pulling his limbs down when the admissions had left his lips. She feels only conviction, “I’m coming home.”

It catches him entirely off guard.

She winces when he starts coughing. His first symptom since starting radiation. It’s a horrible sounding dry cough that makes her lungs ache just to hear.

The coughs fold him over, the force at which they leave his mouth is painful. What is it that makes coughing so painful? That’s never made much sense. It’s just air, right?

“Hotch?”

He rubs at his sternum, trying to externally soothe the muscles. “I’m okay,” he chokes. Shakily, his right-hand bears his weight as his left turns the faucet on. With his palm, he manages to sip a few mouthfuls of water. It just doesn’t stop the coughing. “I’m okay.”

She highly doubts that. There’s not a single thing about what she just heard that sounds “okay” by anyone standards-- certainly not his. “Are you going to work like this?” she asks. It’s hard to believe he’d allow himself to be seen in any state that isn��t tip-top shape. On that note, she also knows that way too good at putting on a show, and, for profilers, the team sucks at making that distinction.

The anger that evokes in him is undue. Admittedly, he overreacts. “I said I’m fine,” he barks. “I don’t need you checking in on me, Prentiss. I don’t need you here, too!” To watch. It’s bad enough, okay? That he’s going to have to tell his six-year-old son that he’s dying. Each morning a little more than the last and some days feel like he’s already half-lowered into the ground.

And the others. Reid and those sad eyes. The way Morgan won’t be able to look at him, just avert his gaze and storm out of the room. Dave’s crushing hug and JJ’s silent tears. Garcia… He can only imagine the raging in-betweens of what the news will do to her. Stress baking cookies he won’t be able to stomach. Knitting him hats, sweaters, and blankets with feverish vigor that he won’t be able to escape.

He could use one of Garcia’s love knitted blankets right about now.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he relaxes his tight grip on the sink. Knuckles paled and fingers aching.

“Sorry,” Emily finally manages after the long moments of silence.

Hotch hangs his head, biting his lip hard to stop the flow of emotions trying to work their way up. “No,” he rasps, thickly. He sniffles, scoffing when he rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist, finding tears. “That was… inexcusable. I’m so sorry,” he leans down, body in half as he rests his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink.

This doesn’t even feel like his body anymore.

“Aaron?”

There are tears streaming down his face, he’s too tired to fight them off. “Hmm?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

He hums in agreeance, unable to trust his voice.

“Take it easy, okay? I love you.”

The line dies before he can hasten out a reply.

--------------------------------

She’s been waiting on a reason to leave London for longer than she’s willing to admit.

Her dying friend proves to be reason enough.

Clyde has obvious mixed feelings but he can’t hold her back. He and Hotch had gotten set on the wrong foot. The rivalry between the two men is childish but endearing. Almost nothing has made her feel as loved as the proud smiles they both wear when she greets them. Clyde overwhelmingly pleased he’d won her back to London and Hotch smug she’ll travel hours to come to see him (she hadn’t done that for Clyde).

Almost nothing beats that.

“Emily!”

Her eyes are scanning the crowd before her, searching for her mismatched ragtag family. Sore thumbs, bobbing up and down in the crowd, they wave her to them. She notices he’s not there immediately.

“Princess,” Morgan sighs her name into her hair and she turns her face into his shoulder. Drawing in the strength she can feel wavering with a new wave of anxiety washing over her. It helps that they’re here. Derek’s arms wrapped around her after what feels like a lifetime away.

It’s only taken her three decades but she’s found her family and she’s not letting anything drag her away this time.

Garcia pushes at Morgan, causing a choked laugh out of them all. “Stop hogging all the Emily-lovings!”

Morgan smirks, trying to hide the relief swelling in his eyes like tears. He gets one more good look of her, eyes combing over her before parting with a sad smile. Relieved.

There’s a blur of motion. She’s pulled to each of them.

Garcia hugs like she’s trying to crush ribs and Emily lets her.

Hugging Dave brings tears to her eyes. Fuck, she’s missed them.

“Don’t make me chase you,” Emily threatens when she spots Reid near the edge. Pulling him close she rests her head against his shoulder, happy when he squeezes her back. “I’ve missed you, boy wonder.” Her genius. Just as scrawny as when she left him. She doesn’t want to do that again anytime soon.

Dave claps his hands together, grabbing one of the three bags she’d dropped. “Let’s get lunch, kiddos. We can talk about London.” He winks at Emily and she knows that this is going to spin into a conversation about potential love interests. She hasn’t had love on the brain in a while.

London… not everything she wishes it was. Cold and rainy. Relentlessly.

For the first month, she was over there, all she wanted was to come home. She just kept waiting for the rain to ease up. Then there should be that wet, hot humidity that clings to everything. She’d hated that before but now she’d just give anything to have it. For Reid to drag her out for coffee and the sun to bring out the chipper inflection in Garcia’s voice.

How the sun looked on Jack and Henry’s little head when she’d run around the park with them.

Fuck London, she’s just glad to be home.

“So,” she’s allowed them their fill of questions. Things about INTERPOL and if she’s still leaning heavily on take out food or if she’s managed even the faintest bit of finesse concerning cooking (she hasn’t). Leaning onto her elbows, she asks the question that’s been bugging her for hours. “Where’s Hotch?”

Dave leans back in his chair and JJ’s the first to crack. Of course, her poker face just isn’t that great. Her eyes move to Dave, concern written across her face. They might not know but it’s not that hard to figure out they know something isn’t right.

Reid shifts uncomfortably, averting his eyes, and focus.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Dave informs her. He settles back in his chair, arms crossing on his chest. “He’s…” he sighs tiredly. For a moment he just shakes his head. Rubbing a hand over the coarse hair on his face and then rubbing at his eyes. “He’s Aaron,” Dave mumbles. “Complicated and… reserved.” He looks at her now, zeroed in on just her. Just them.

Her heart races at just the thought of them knowing.

JJ clears her throat. She distracts her worry with rubbing her nail at the glass. “He says he’s at meetings,” she tells Emily. “Says--” she shakes her head, flustered. Upset. Pulling in a breath, she shakes softly as it comes in. “Every day, he sends me an update email. Just a list of things he expects to get done for the day or places he might be.” JJ tucks a strand of her hair back from her face. “Our jobs circle around each other, a lot. It makes my life easier if I can find him without running all over the place.”

Morgan turns his head, away from the conversation. Wishing to be uninvolved but unable to escape.

“He’s lying,” JJ concludes. She worries her lip with her teeth. “His lists are…” her eyebrows furrow as she struggles to say exactly what she means. “Last week,” she says with a nod, having come up with her perfect example. “He said he’d be in a meeting. Didn’t tell me where, he always tells me where.” Her eyes scan over the table, looking for more. “Something’s wrong and he won’t tell us.”

Morgan huffs, shifted now so that his arms are wrapped tightly around himself. His legs crossed, even. Distant. “I don’t see why we don’t just let him be.” His tone betrays what he’s really feeling. That anger and the vulnerability. His words are reflexive. He’s always pushed away when things get tough.

Emily wants to rise to his defense or to say anything but she can’t.

“Reid went into his office yesterday--”

Reid flinches. The memory or the feeling, he draws himself in. Shielding himself from whatever is being said.

Garcia looks down at her lap.

“He was asleep at his desk,” Dave finishes, despite seeing just how uncomfortable Garcia and Reid look. “Out like a-- Asleep like he hadn’t rested in a while. It took-- I had to shake him awake. He was warm to the touch and shaking.” Dave looks down to the table. “Shaking. He was weak and I’d known,” he looks up, frowning sadly. “I’d known something was wrong before but whatever is, we’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”

The bottom of it… God, they’re going to be devastated.

Lunch brightens. It’s forced to when the conversation shifts to the children. To Henry starting fourth grade and Jack’s in middle school now. Since when did those babies grow up?

Sooner than maybe she’s ready for it, she has to leave them. She’s too tired, too jet-lagged.

And maybe… Maybe she’s ready to bother Hotch. To reacquaint herself with his grumpy, silent nature. Isn’t it silly to think she’d hated him once?

Now she knows where his house keys are hidden.

The key hits the lock and she realizes how this might not be as great of a plan as she had planned it to be. “Hotch,” she calls into the dark. She peaks around, hoping if he’s home he’s not on edge. She’s seen him hypervigilant, she knows this is an awful plan. Even calling ahead might not have been enough. So, it’s more than brave for her to just come barging in.

She puts her back near the coat rack, still hunched into herself in case he comes barreling around the corner. He doesn’t. “Aaron?” His car is out front, despite the darkness of the room suggesting the house is empty. The blinds are drawn shut, blocking all-natural light into the house. The air is cool. “Aaron if you’re here please, please don’t shoot me.”

Shutting the door behind her, she progresses into the living room. The creaking of floorboards draws her attention to the other side of the house and she spots him.

He comes around the corner of the hall, from the direction of his room. Tired eyes move up to find her, his lip quirks into half a smile. “Emily,” he greets under his breath. He’d heard the door open but the binds weighing his wrist and ankles to the bed had been too much for him to lift. Pained and slowed, he’d made his way to figure out who was home.

Certain it’s not Jack, he should have had a little more trepidation about coming out here to investigate.

She approaches him slowly, soaking in every line and angle of his body. The way he’s favoring his right side is a new thing but the crescent moons under his eyes are a comforting familiarity. Pulling in a breath, she drags her eyes all the way up to him. He’s lost some weight and it just makes his cheekbones that much more hauntingly sharp. It draws attention to the scars on his face, thin and aged.

With a smile, she shakes her head at him. “Just as ugly as when I left,” she informs him.

He smiles tiredly, sighing at her playful taunt. It makes the hug she pulls him into relieving. The aches and chills he’s felt all day lessen as she wraps her arms around him. Something about the way her hand cups the back of his neck while the other rubs his up along his spine.

She’s standing on the tips of her toes, stretching to get to him. He leans down into her, closing his eyes. She just holds him that much closer. Against her, she can feel the beating of his heart. The way his nerves had amped his heart rate up and now, as the beat slows, the way he calms under her touch.

“How are you?” she asks quietly. They pull apart and she feels the absence of his warmth immediately.

He pulls in a weak breath, one he lets out a strangled cough. Shakes his head and offers a shrug. “I’m okay,” he assures her.

She doesn’t fail to notice how his right hand shakily reaches out to steady him against the wall. They’ve never agreed on the definition of okay and, so, it’s not that surprising they wouldn’t now.

Burying a cough into the elbow of his arm, he starts to tremble. His breathing takes a heavy quality as he stands there. It takes only a moment for him to draw himself up to his full height,  swallowing down against the pain and forcing his body to bend to his will. If she didn’t know better, nothing would look wrong at all.

“Can I get you anything,” he asks, clenching his teeth to keep steady despite how exhausted he feels. “How long are you staying?” He knows she won’t actually answer that first question, so he steps by her and lets her follow him into the kitchen. Hyper-aware of the way he moves his body. Trying to look normal instead of stiff.

She follows him, watching for clues in the slips of his armor. One of the many benefits of having known him so long and knowing him well is that he can’t get much past her. “I’m staying for as long as I’m welcome,” she replies. It’s better than the truth, that she’s staying until he’s better.

He appreciates her choice of wording even if the truth is still there underneath it all. Leaving him the burden of the situation, which is considerably worse.

He sticks with a simple hum of understanding, knowing she’ll understand it as such. “Staying where,” he asks. Suspecting he already knows the answer. “Here?” He fills two glasses with water, desperate to soothe his dry mouth. Turning to her, he offers the first glass.

She accepts the glass without comment. “I didn’t think about where,” she lies, smirking over the glass rim at him. He shakes his head but doesn't comment. “Here would be good though.” She looks up at him and he shakes his head with a smile. “It would!” she defends. “I know you miss me and I could help around with Jack. If you won’t admit to it, I know he will.” Her smile twists mischievously, “besides, he’s my favorite Hotchner and I’ll make time to spend with him regardless of where I stay.”

He shakes his head but he’s already formulating how to move the guest room around to accommodate her. There’s not much in there. A bed with some regular looking sheets and two or three boxes of random things.

Putting her glass down on the counter she sighs. “We don’t need to worry about that right now.” Nodding her head back towards the hall she says, “you look miserable. Go to bed.”

He realizes that while she was talking he’s slowly started leaning more and more on the counter. Accumulating a lean to ease the aches wracking his body. She’s right. He looks miserable because he is. He’s exhausted.

“Do you need to take any medication?”

He shakes his head, not letting it bother him when she tucks herself against his side. Allowing him to lean into her. He doesn't but the warmth her body brings is pleasant enough to keep him going. 

He took everything he needed this morning. The medicine for the radiation rash he’s developed across his chest, the preventative pills for the fibrosis that might build in his lungs because of the radiation, and a whole other list of things he can’t really remember. He just has the bottles on his nightstand and knows that most require two dosages.

His bed is warm and soft, his eyes closing against his will. Logically, he knows he shouldn’t let her see him like this. This is his battle and he doesn’t want to burden anyone else with it. There’s a comfort in sharing, though. Rather it be the brush of her fingers on his forehead, pushing back his crazy or the kiss she presses to his temple before whispering “get some sleep, Hotch”.

And, honestly, he’s tired of being alone.

“Emily?”

She turns in the doorway.

“Thank you.”

Someone has to be here. She wants to be here. “You’d do the same for me.”

--------------------------------

Legs crossed, hair pulled into a half-assed knot atop her head she watches him curiously. He’s up an hour later than she’d expected. No coffee to go along with the egg he has for breakfast. Between them, they have an entire morning spent without nearly a word. Just a simple, “do you want an egg?”

He gets ready but not for work.

“What’re you doing?”

She gets ready too. For what, she’s not sure, but she’s interested none-the-less. Even if she thinks she knows the answer. It’s very interesting, she thinks, to step into the living room and find him staring dumbly back at her. No, not interesting. It’s fun.

Stepping around him, she pulls her coat off the rack. “Isn’t it obvious,” she asks, slipping her feet into the boots. “I’m coming with you.”

Flannel and jeans aren’t his typical go to but it’s a relaxed look. One she finds she doesn't hate.

He crosses his arms on his chest, eyebrows furrowed and a stern frown in place. Startlingly in control for a man she watched choke down half an egg before calling it quits. He hadn’t even had coffee. Now he shifts his weight, left to right. “Emily this isn’t--” he just stands with his mouth open. After a moment he shakes his head. “You don’t want to come.”

So it is treatment.

She pulls her jacket tight around her shoulders and without comment pulls his down too, offering it to him.

He takes it with a sigh, shaking his head, but pulling the sleeves over his flannel. With a sigh, he grabs his keys off the counter. He points a finger at her, looking every bit the father scolding a troublemaking child. “You’re not coming inside the hospital. It’ll be an hour. You’ll drive someplace else. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

She smirks, pleased she’s won this round. Placing two fingers to her temple, she gives him a mocking salute. “Aye-aye captain!” Today, she won’t push. He’s come this far, weeks into his therapy. If he needs some time, then he needs time. Just so long as he knows she’s here now.

Leaving him is harder than she anticipated.

She takes his seat, half-listening as he stands at the door.

“There an outlet about five minutes North,” he says. He watches her move the seat around. Trying to drag the seat closer to the steering wheel so she can actually reach the pedals. “It’ll give you something to do. There’s a bookshop up there too. I-- I take Jack there.” He runs a hand over his hair. “A coffee shop and a smoothie stand and--”

She catches sight of the grey through his hair. Looking away, she clenches her jaw. Worry the edge of the steering wheel. “Aaron,” she finally stops him. “I can take care of myself for an hour. I’m a big girl.”

He shakes his head, ducking to so she can’t see the blush creep up his cheek. “Right,” he manages. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

She nods, “an hour.” She waits until she can’t see him. Those doors closing behind him. Swallowing him whole. It’s just an hour.

She was gone for an entire year. More than that really. Years. What are years to a single hour?

The coffee shop is quant. She can imagine him here. Tucked away within the stacks of books. Reid would like it here. The covers are old but, she thinks with a smile, he’d find something, not to date. Seeking a classic and turning away when it’s not in its original translation. That’s where Garcia has always been his balance. She’d pull him from a rant and sit him down with a cup of tea.

How had Emily ever left them?

Her hands tremble as she runs a finger over those old book backs. Mostly, she wonders what Hotch must be thinking. Heaven or hell. If all the work they’ve put into this job will account for anything at all in the end.

If it’ll hurt.

Her phone goes off. Done. Simple enough.

“I brought you a smoothie!” She’s got his sunglasses on when she pulls up. Not even offering to get out of the driver’s side.

He’s hurting more than he cares to admit. Tired and the rash on his chest burns. Seeing her pull up, he’s glad she doesn’t do more than hook her finger into the sunglasses and peer over their edge at him. Climbing into the car he takes one look at the smoothie and shakes his head. It’s dark green and even if he were hungry he’s sure that isn’t very good. “No thank you,” he mumbles, leaning back into the seat. He tilts his head against the rest.

She’s not really in the mood for arguments. More so, he’s just gotten out of treatment and all he’s had is an egg. “You’ll drink it,” she informs him, putting the car in drive. “Maybe not now but eventually.”

He grunts. Doubt that. If he’s going to manage to stomach anything, it’s not going to be that. Besides, he’d got plans: take a nap. That slowly goes down the drain.

Emily turns up the radio, humming along to a song he doesn’t recognize.

Turning his head, he watches her drive. He hasn’t told her yet but he’s very thankful she’s come back. Even if he’s slightly tainted the return with… She’s here taking over his life. Worming her way into his spare bedroom. Force-feeding him weird green smoothies. He doubts she’ll stop there.

“Hotch?” He doesn’t wake up when she shuts the car off. From there on, she’s gentle. Careful as she extracts herself from the car. “Aaron,” she rubs his shoulder.

He pulls in a small breath, turning slowly to her. Half-lidded eyes find her, confused.

When they left the house he’d looked better. Better than now. Not so exhausted.

“You fell asleep,” she informs him, backing up as he sits up. He has to use the seat to get there but he makes it happen. She waits back for him, letting him take his time getting out of the car. All while holding that damn smoothie she’s convinced she’s going to make him drink.

He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his phone goes off in his pocket. She turns at the door, waiting. He motions her on with a wave, taking the call. “Agent Hotchner speaking.”

She stops for a moment to watch him pull in the whole persona. Not Aaron who just fell asleep in the car but Hotch the rock. It’s sad, really, how quickly the one consumes the other.

She’s reading on the couch when he comes in.

He doesn’t say anything as he slips past, going back towards his room. He comes right back out. The loosely buttoned flannel is forgotten, replaced by a suit across his thin shoulders. Once, those suits had pronounced the sharpness of his body. The way his shoulders sit strong and straight. Now, that jacket doesn’t even look like it belongs to him.

“Where are you going?”

He only glances at her, ducking his head back to the task at hand-- putting on shoes.

She gets up off the couch, flipping the book text down. “Aaron,” she comes around the side. “You can’t go out there.” To work. It’s not healthy to go out there. He had fallen asleep on the ride home, not even twenty minutes ago. He won’t manage out there.

He turns to her as she steps into the room, scowl in place and a look of indifference pulled between them. All the protection he can garner for himself. “It’s not up for debate,” he replies. As if this is out of his control. He just can’t help but think it would be easier this way. It would hurt less, dying out there. A coherent death. He’d feel it. Quick and overwhelming.

But coherent. He’d know.

Not in a hospital. More machine than man. Unable to speak or too weak to think.

It would be better to die a hero.

“Aaron,” she calls, he’s just walking away. “You’re being unreasonable.” She wants to scream. To shout at him or grab him the collar of that oversized dress shirt and shake him. Force him to realize that he’s being stupid. Does he think she’s stupid? They both know this is self-destruction. Skipping treatment. Going into the field. All for this stupid image that he’s convinced himself is necessary. For who? Huh?

It’s better to suffer around people you love than to have them bury you. The only burden is the weight of your casket across their shoulders.

He turns, teeth clenched. Jaw set. “Am I?” he asks. His face has darkened, his cheekbones drawing his cheeks in. “I’m going,” he informs her, “regardless of whatever it is you have to say.”

He won’t look at her. That’s how she knows that no matter how illogical he’s being, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Back turned to her, he stops for just a moment. He knows this isn’t what he should. That this is neither his best option nor the right choice. Still, he opens the door. Stepping out he turns his head, eyes cast to the side. “I--” he shakes his head, he doesn’t know.

Before he can shut the door she calls his name out, fear overriding the anger. “Aaron,” she clenches her fists at her side. “Please be safe.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. Glancing at her, he nods his head. At least he has the decency not to lie to her. To pretend this is anything but foolish and a death wish. He shuts the door behind himself without another word.

Leaving her standing there.

Waiting.

She’ll still be waiting that night when Reid calls her. Incoherent.

“I-- I don’t know what’s wrong Emily! He won’t-- He’s bleeding and I--I… He said to call you.”

She shouldn’t have let him leave.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

#tw cancer #haha assholes #I bet you thought I wouldn't hit you with a cliffhanger #emily is super involved in this chapter but the next chapter has lot more of the team in it #aaron hotchner hiding medical issues like he would #stubborn ass #you gotta love him tho #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #spencer reid #bau

[honeypiehotchner]

Lost in a Crowd -- part thirteen

Hi again! This one is another written part :))

Bucky is waiting outside the library, as promised. He’s standing on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, a long sleeve shirt covering his arms. I shove my disappointment at not being able to see his metal arm into the deep corners of my mind.

He sees me and smiles wide. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I exhale, gripping the strap on my bag. “Sorry for making you walk all the way over here, it’s just…” I shake my head, letting the words die out.

“I don’t mind,” he says first, which catches my attention. “But what is it?”

I look up into his eyes -- blue eyes like a stormy sea, the unwritten poem nags me -- and sigh. How is it that someone I hardly know can be so nice to me and so gentle and understanding? How is it that that’s even possible anymore?

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. “My ex has been lingering around lately. It’s probably nothing. I just feel like I’ve seen him a lot more than usual and it’s been creeping me out.” As if on cue, I shiver from head to toe. “Like I said, it’s probably nothing. It’s probably just because I didn’t see him all summer, so now whenever I see him it feels like it’s too much.” I pause, my gaze traveling back to Bucky’s eyes. They’re sad. “I overshare, too. Speaking of things that are happening too much.”

“I’m sorry,” he offers, his arms lifting slightly, but both hands remain in his pockets. “I’ve never had the issue of running into exes since all mine are probably dead.”

I chuckle at the thought, even though nothing about it is even remotely humorous. “Yeah.”

“But I’m sorry you’re seeing him around a lot,” Bucky continues. “I’m always here to walk you home, though. Or wherever.”

I smile gratefully. “Thank you. But I’d never ask you to do that.”

“Lucky for you, you’re not asking,” he teases. “But I know, just...if you ever need me. I’m here.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice quiet out of shock. Bucky’s tone, it’s so...genuinely soft. He means every word, I can tell just by his face. I just never thought he’d be saying those words to me.

“We should probably start walking,” Bucky breaks through my thoughts as usual. “Before they start getting suspicious.”

I roll my eyes, a laugh bubbling out of my chest. “They’re already suspicious. And I could use some coffee. You?”

He shrugs again, nodding his head. “Lead the way.”

I begin walking toward the Tower because I know for a fact we’ll pass a few places on the way there. Bucky keeps the same pace as I do, walking next to me with his hands tucked away. I let my arm swing free, until I accidentally smack him with it, and then I keep it close to my torso. Neither of us mention me smacking him, but I see him smirking.

Annoyingly attractive ass. Maybe that’ll be his code name. Triple A.

I chuckle at the idea. My friends and I in high school used to have code names for the boys we liked. Bringing that trend back around all these years later might not be a bad idea.

“Ah, here we go,” I duck inside the first coffee shop we come across. Bucky follows behind me, holding the door open for a woman who is exiting with a tray of four coffees. The sight makes me smile.

Bucky stands close to me in line and I’m more than aware of everyone looking at us. I make no move to mention it, though. I’m sure he’s also noticed, so speaking of it won’t help anything.

“Should I get triple espresso instead of double?” I ask, mostly talking to myself.

But Bucky’s eyes go wide. “Are you sure you need that much caffeine?”

“Oh wow,” I roll my eyes. “Don’t lecture me about my caffeine intake, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies easily, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

As I’m tearing my eyes away from his lips I hear the door to the shop opening, and because the universe decided today is just my lucky day, my ex boyfriend walks in.

“Dear God,” I mutter, looking away quickly and praying that the fact that I have a superhero standing next to me will knock enough common sense into my ex to not come talk to me.

“What?” Bucky asks, concern lacing his words. “What’s wrong?”

The line moves up, but not fast enough, because there are still three people in front of us, which gives fuckhead here the perfect window to speak.

“Lilith, is that you?”

I’d like to die. Right now.

Bucky’s head turns along with mine to meet the voice that just spoke. “Hi,” I say shortly, hoping to scare him away.

“Who are you?” Oh, great, now Bucky’s joining in.

“I’m Tyler,” my ex says, sticking his hand out. “And you are?” He says it as if he still has the authority to dictate who I hang out with and speak to. Asshole.

Bucky shakes Tyler’s hand with his metal one, and it’s no doubt on purpose. “Bucky,” he says. “Barnes.”

“The Winter Soldier,” Tyler exclaims, probably a little too loudly. “Goddamn.”

“Just Bucky will do,” Bucky says firmly.

The line moves again and we move with it. Bucky discreetly moves to put himself at an angle, so his body is between me and Tyler. I’m not sure if he even notices it, but the action alone makes my heart warm.

“You didn’t tell me you knew the Avengers,” Tyler laughs in disbelief, his head shaking as he stares at Bucky beside me. “What a small world.”

“Small world?” I scoff. “Last I heard, you thought the world was so big and I was the one holding you back and making it seem small.”

“Come on, Lilith,” Tyler says. “I made an honest mistake.”

The line moves again. “An honest mistake?” I nearly laugh. “By cheating on me twice? With different women? I think the biggest mistake was me ever forgiving you.”

Bucky keeps his body between us and I’d give anything to bury myself in his chest right now and to have Tyler disappear into thin air.

“Come on, I said I was sorry.”

“And I said I never wanted to speak to you again,” I remind him hotly. “Please respect that.”

“Lilith--”

“She said she never wants to speak to you again,” Bucky interrupts Tyler at lightning speed. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk out of here right now.”

Tyler flounders for a moment, but after Bucky takes one step toward him, he’s backing away. He’s out of the shop and down the sidewalk by the time it’s our turn to order.

“Hey,” I smile at the cashier, desperate for some sense of normalcy. “Can I get a medium latte?”

She nods, typing it in. “What else?” She looks to Bucky.

“Uh, a black coffee, medium. Please.”

I move to dig my wallet out of my bag, but Bucky swipes his damn card before I can even register what’s happening.

“It’ll be ready in a sec,” the cashier smiles.

“Thanks…” I step to the side, waiting for Bucky to join me before I say, “You didn’t have to pay for me.”

“Consider it a comfort gift for the bullshit you just had to endure.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks. I can’t believe he was stupid enough to do that.”

“He still loves you,” Bucky says quietly.

“Yeah, well, tough shit,” I reply with a shrug. “He shouldn’t have cheated on me twice, then. And I never should’ve forgiven him for the first one, anyway.”

“With different women?” Bucky questions.

“Mhm,” I nod. “The second was my roommate.”

Bucky is quiet. “Jesus.”

“Yep,” I say. “It’s why I live alone now.”

The barista slides our drinks across the counter with a smile. Bucky gets to them first, handing my latte to me with a soft smile.

“Thanks,” I return the expression. “For both things,” I add quietly when we’re outside. “For the coffee and dealing with my ex.”

“Nothing you need to thank me for,” he shrugs. “I’m sorry I kind of had to threaten him. I didn’t want it to come to that, but man he wasn’t backing down.”

Are you kidding? It was hot. But I don’t say that. “Yeah. Yeah, he always had this stupid complex that he could get what he wanted when he wanted it. He used to tell me I couldn’t hang out with friends because we were going to have a ‘romantic night out,’” I use air quotes and laugh. “But he always canceled -- and then he’d get mad at me for it. I swear.”

Bucky shakes his head. “He sounds like a fucking nightmare.”

“Nightmare doesn’t cover it, honestly,” I reply. I take a sip of my latte, the caffeine rushing straight through me. “Alright, I just told you about my disaster of a love life. How’s yours?”

“Mine?” Bucky says through a laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I am?” I raise an eyebrow. “Come on, we’ve got a few minutes, more if we walk slow. Spill.”

Bucky slows his pace without hesitation. I follow suit, muffling my smile with another sip of my coffee.

“Alright, well, every woman I went out with in the 40s is dead now or so old they probably don’t remember, and every woman from this era seems to go running in the other direction, so…” He pauses, looking over at me, his eyes glinting with humor. “I think mine’s also a disaster.”

“I don’t know...They didn’t look like they were running away to me…”

His eyebrows furrow. “When?”

“In the coffee shop,” I explain. “In fact, I think they all looked like they wanted to kill me so they could have you for themselves.”

“What--” Bucky shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“I’m serious!”

“Okay, well, even if they were, I wouldn’t let them touch you,” he replies gently, but there’s a great deal of seriousness in his words. “You know you’re the first woman I’ve gotten coffee with since the 40s.”

“Did you still drink that cup of the bitter void in the 40s?” I tease.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” he chuckles, taking a pointed sip of his coffee. “Have you always liked espresso this much? You might as well get an IV at this point.”

“You know, I’ve thought about it,” I say seriously. “But no, my coffee addiction started when I started college. A writer never sleeps.”

Bucky tilts his head, pointing at me with his cup. “I’m not sure that’s healthy.”

Something about his adorable expression and stupid grandpa humor has me speechless and without a witty comeback. My only response is to shove his shoulder, which causes him to grin like a madman.

This time when my arm smacks his, he catches it, hooking mine through his.

And nothing has ever felt more right.

#Lost in a Crowd #bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #fluff #bucky x ofc #bucky x original female character #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character

[smallblueandloud]

in blackwater woods

pairings: eleven/rose, amy & rose, amy & eleven, amy/rory

summary: there's a normal-looking blonde woman in the doctor's room, and amy really has no idea what's going on. but she's going to figure it out. (a rewrite of doctor who 6x11, the god complex)

notes: i only started plotting this after @doctorroseprompts prompted episode rewrites with rose literal years ago. this fic has been in the works for... a long time, and thank you so much to those who kept being enthusiastic and excited about it <3 the title is from the mary oliver poem of the same name. i kept her line breaks, just added a few more of my own

read it on ao3 | more of my doctor who writing | more of my writing

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

 of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

-

Amy opens the door of the TARDIS and steps out, breathing deep. Behind her, inside, the Doctor and Rory are discussing medical politics of the 23rd century - a conversation that’s lasted on and off for several weeks now. She’s reasonably interested in medicine, but only when Rory’s the one doing the explaining, and that’s mostly because she gets to see him being passionate about his favorite subject.

She has no trouble, then, with tuning them out in favor of paying attention to where they’ve landed. Landing in a new place and experiencing it for the first time is her favorite part of travelling.

She looks around. Then she frowns.

“Doctor?” she calls, turning back to let her voice carry.

The two inside don’t stop arguing. It’s not surprising, she supposes, given that they’re both interested in what they’re talking about. But it makes her feel suddenly and powerfully alone. “Rory?” she calls, a little louder.

They stop. “Amy? What’s wrong, love?” asks her husband.

He and the Doctor are suddenly at her shoulders. At her right, Rory puts a hand on her shoulder. On her left, the Doctor says, “What’s wrong, Amy?”

Her loneliness vanishes, just as quickly as it had appeared, and the familiar exasperation takes its place. “The people are six hundred feet tall, he says. You have to talk to them in hot air balloons and the Tourist Information Centre is made of one of their hats, he says. I don’t see any hats, Doctor.”

Here’s the issue: they’re indoors. Amy was promised Ravan-Skala’s sky festival, an event that only happens once a year, on the planet with no buildings. But the corridor they’ve landed in is definitely in a building - not to mention carpeted, sort of dim, and rather like any cheap hotel you could find at home.

“There’s something creepy about this place,” says Rory, his hand tightening on her shoulder. She reaches up and squeezes it.

“Exactly,” says the Doctor, moving forward as he clasps his hands together. He spins around to face them, pointing at both her and Rory. “Why is that?”

Amy frowns, looking at him as she tries to figure out what feels so off about wherever they are. This is a familiar game, though she’s never been very good at it.

“Where are we?” asks Rory.

“Great question!” he says. “Not on Earth, that’s for sure. The air tastes slightly different - can you tell?”

“Yeah,” says Amy, sniffing. There it is. There’s a vague hint of... something in the air, nothing she’d ever smelled before. “And if we’re not on Earth, but this place looks exactly like a cheap hotel on Earth-”

“Exactly!” exclaims the Doctor, waving his hands in tight circles in front of him. “Who would go to all the trouble? Why?”

“Let’s figure it out, then,” says Amy, starting to grin. The Doctor smiles at her and spins around, pointing forwards. “Onwards!”

-

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

 of the ponds,

-

“I don’t understand,” says the Doctor, pacing back and forth. He waves a pad of paper as he passes her. Amy exchanges a skeptical glance with Rita, the practical medical student, as Rory frowns at Joe’s dead body. “Lucy Hayward saw what she used to be scared of. Joe saw the dolls - bloody creepy buggers - which he didn’t seem bothered by at all. But what do they have to-”

“I don’t-” starts the nervous guy. The Doctor stops pacing abruptly, turning and moving in one smooth movement until he’s directly in his personal space with a finger in his face. “What is it, Howie?”

“I don’t think it’s just what she used to be scared of,” he says. “I don’t- I mean- I saw my room,” he says, in a rush. The Doctor nods, moving away, as if finally grasping how unnerving it is to have a half-mad alien in your face.

“I saw my room and it’s what I’m scared of now,” Howie gets out. “My worst fear, I guess.”

“And it wasn’t the CIA covering up aliens?” asks Amy, realizing a second too late how insensitive that sounds. Rory shoots her a sharp look from his seat across the aisle, next to the man himself, and she winces.

“No,” says Howie, looking straight into her eyes. Before she can muster up the ability to apologize, he continues: “I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t think I need to. But- Doctor, I think- we see our worst fears in there.”

“Yeah,” says Rita, suddenly. Everyone jumps. “I saw mine too.”

Amy frowns. From what she’s seen in the hour since they lost the TARDIS, Rita has struck her as incredibly competent, practical, and able to take everything in stride. If she succumbed to temptation and looked in her room, the rest of them don’t stand a chance of resisting.

She sneaks a glance at the Doctor, who seem to be doing a quick mental calculation. As she watches, he seems to add two and two and end up with something unpleasant - he pales considerably, and then turns so she can’t see his eyes any more.

“Don’t look at me like that,” says Rita, to the room at large. “It’s impossible to avoid. And it’s-”

She hesitates, which only makes Amy more nervous. She hasn’t hesitated once, even with the alien revelation, since they got here.

“It’s terrifying,” she says, finally. “I mean, obviously, but you don’t realize how bad it’s going to be. It’s like that woman said. You have no idea what it’s going to be, but when you see it-”

“-you realize it could never be anything else,” finishes Gibbis. Amy glances at him, and sees that he’s avoiding eye contact.

“You saw it too,” she realizes.

The Doctor turns back, wagging his finger at the three strangers. “All of you have. We’re the only ones that haven’t, so far.” It doesn’t sound like a question, but she knows he’s fishing for a response, making sure he has all the data.

“Right,” says Rory. Amy nods.

“But we will end up seeing it,” says the Doctor. He still looks pale. “Eventually. Right, Rita?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t plan for it,” says Howie. “I don’t- I don’t think anyone can predict what it will be for them.”

“I can’t,” agrees Amy, surprising even herself. She doesn’t usually like sharing excessively personal things - but it’s true. She’s noticed, though, that people thrust into situations like these tend to make generalizations or assume rules in order to have some semblance of control, so it probably isn’t always the case. She glances at Rory.

Sure enough, he shakes his head. “I think some can,” he says. “I can.”

The Doctor wiggles his hands, but doesn’t say anything.

No one says anything, in fact. Amy considers going across the aisle to sit with Rory, but doesn’t want to step over the dead body, so instead she watches the Doctor, who seems to be getting stiller and stiller as he considers something. Finally, he says, “Would you say-”

He swallows. “Would you say that they-”

He’s watching the wall. Amy has a bad feeling about this.

“Would you say that the fears acted as they should’ve?”

“What?” says Howie.

The Doctor turns around. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean. If your fear was a person, did the thing in the hotel room know everything that the person should have? Was their personality the same?”

Gibbis shakes his head. Howie shrugs.

“Yes,” says Rita.

The Doctor turns to look at her. “You’re sure? Think carefully. This is important.”

“I’m sure,” she says.

“Would you say,” he says, “that it acted out of your control? Knew things you don’t know? Acted in ways you couldn’t predict?”

“Yeah,” says Howie. Gibbis is still silent. “I mean, I’ve pictured that scene a thousand times. But I’m not creative like that. I couldn’t have come up with what they said.”

“Right,” says the Doctor, exhaling. “Right.”

Amy knows, suddenly, what he’s planning on doing. Not why - god knows why he does half the stupid things he does - but that’s a question for later.

“I know how to figure this out,” he says. “I mean- I don’t know how. That’s the whole point. I’m using my phone-a-friend lifeline. Rita, how long did Joe have before he started being all-” He hesitates. “Joe-like?”

“A few hours, at least,” says Rita. She seems to have calmed down a bit. Amy admires her for that, and wishes she could have some of that serenity for herself. “We have a few hours before we go crazy. What do you need us to do?”

“Right,” says the Doctor, pointing at her. “Excellent. Good thinking. Except I don’t need you, Rita, for this part. I don’t need any of you, except-”

He hesitates, turning slightly towards Amy before aborting the movement.

He’s her best friend.

She takes pity on him, or maybe she decides to make his life harder. She meets Rory’s eye, and he nods at her. Go.

“You’re not going alone,” she says. “I’m going with you.”

The Doctor stares at her. “You don’t even know what my plan is,” he says.

She stares at him. Don’t make me say it, she thinks.

“You said it yourself,” adds Rory, helping him save face. “Make sure someone else can see you at all times. Amy should go with you.”

Amy closes her eyes, briefly, and thanks whoever’s in charge of Earth that Rory exists. Then she reopens her eyes and levels a look at the Doctor.

Time stretches out between them as she cows her favorite alien into submission.

Finally, he looks away, clapping his hands. “Fine. Pond with go with me, to my- to where I’m going, while her husband and the rest of you stay here. Rory,” he says, pointing at the husband in question, “you’re in charge, since you’ll be the only one who hasn’t seen their room. Don’t be cruel, don’t be irrational, but whatever you do, don’t let them leave. Got it?”

Rory gives him a thumb’s up, shooting a small, private smile at Amy. “Got it. Same to you, love.”

“Yeah,” says Amy.

“We can talk shop,” says Rita, giving them a smile of her own. Amy’s got to hand it to her - she’s holding up remarkably well, at least compared to Howie, who’s looking slightly green at the prospect of the Doctor leaving, and Gibbis, who is on his knees and seems to be praying.

“Awesome,” says Amy. She turns to the Doctor and offers him her arm. “Lead the way,” she says, because she’s not sure he’ll ever start moving if she doesn’t.

He slips his arm through hers. “Thank you, Pond,” he says, quietly enough that no one else can hear.

He starts to walk, seemingly without any doubt as to the direction. He seems confident, like this is just another normal day, but Amy knows better. His hand is shaking.

-

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

 nameless now.

-

It seems like they’ve been walking for hours. Logically, it’s been more like ten minutes, but Amy’s well aware that they’re on the clock, and the Doctor seems to be, too. He keeps getting slower as they get closer to where they’re going, though, which only makes it feel like they’ve been walking for longer.

His hand is still trembling, more violently than ever. She hates seeing him like this - when he’s scared, the stakes are bad, and she doesn’t want to think about that right now - so she casts about for a question to ask him. When he goes into lecture mode, he detaches himself from the situation, and it always calms him down.

After a few minutes, one hits her.

“Doctor?”

He startles violently, having been lost in his own thoughts. “Wh- Yes, Pond?”

“How do they determine the room numbers?”

“What?” he says.

She gestures around with the arm that he’s not holding. “I mean. No one knew we were coming, but you still have a room. That means everyone in the universe has a room, right?”

The Doctor makes a doubtful noise, but he at least seems to be considering her question. She continues: “Then what basis do the numbers have? Do the numerals have a significance or something? But then you’d need a number unique to every being.”

“Yes,” says the Doctor. “Good question. I don’t know.”

She frowns. The chase is the best part for him - he loves considering and discarding possible explanations, usually out loud where she has to hear them. For him to give up so easily...

It’s concerning, but she doesn’t say anything. If a good question like that one won’t bring him out of it, nothing will.

They make another left, and then another right, go straight through a four-way intersection, make another right, and suddenly the Doctor stops in front of a door.

Neither of them say anything. Amy’s usually the one to push the Doctor to do something difficult, but she can’t bring herself to make him go inside. Instead, she watches his face as he considers what’s in front of them.

Sure, it’s the room housing his worst fear. But what is he thinking? Why are they here?

Finally, he says, “Birth order.”

“What?” she says. He disentangles his arm from hers.

“The room numbers. They’re based on birth order, must be.”

“How do you know?” He doesn’t answer, but she barely notices, too busy examining the numbers of the doors in front of them.

They’ve arrived at number 436535.11. To the left, there’s 436535.10.2, 436535.10, 436535.9, and so on. She frowns.

“How can people have decimal places?” she asks. “If it’s birth order?”

“Different fears,” he says. “Different stages of life, so to speak.” He gestures at 10.2. “In there, I think there’s probably a dead body. Either that, or rejection.”

“How can there be a room filled with rejection?”

The Doctor shakes his head. She’s surprised to see that he’s smiling, a little. “Never mind.” He shrugs. “Chances are just as good that it’s Jackie in there, anyway.”

She decides not to ask as he turns back to his door, number whatever point 11. The discussion of the other doors seems to have calmed him down enough that he’s ready to go inside, and she doesn’t want to cause more delay.

He takes a deep breath and reaches out, turning the handle and opening the door just enough for him to see inside without letting her see anything. His smile grows into something almost... almost...

Fond?

“Of course,” he says, quietly enough that she can barely hear him. “Did you really think it would be anything else?”

“Doctor?” she asks. He ignores her, pulling the door open fully and walking inside.

Amy knows the Doctor is brave. Things that still make her wake in cold sweats barely make him pause when they’re right in front of him. Whatever his worst fear is, then, is probably going to instantly turn up in her own room, wherever it is in this cursed hotel.

She doesn’t want to go inside. But he’s her best friend, and he’s already taken the plunge, so she takes a deep breath and follows him into the unknown.

-

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

 in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

 is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

-

There’s a blonde woman in a blue leather jacket standing at the window, facing away from them.

She seems mostly harmless - doesn’t even turn around, making Amy think that she didn’t hear the door open at all. But the Doctor stops as soon as he catches a glimpse of her.

Amy sneaks a glance at him. His hands are shaking, worse than before, and he’s paled again.

She looks back at the woman, but doesn’t see anything particularly fear-worthy. She turns back at the Doctor.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and runs his hands over his face. When he exhales and pulls them away, he seems reasonably collected, but Amy stops herself from relaxing too much.

This is his worst fear, Amy reminds herself. Whatever she is, it’s worse than anything else he’s ever come up against.

“Doctor,” she whispers. He doesn’t respond, so she looks over at him. He doesn’t seem to have heard her - all of his attention is focused on the woman in front of them. He barely looks like he’s breathing.

“Doctor!” she whispers, again. “Snap out of it!”

Thankfully, this time he hears her, blinking rapidly as he’s pulled out of his trance. “What is it?”

“What are we dealing with here?”

She doesn’t mean to rush him, but she’s only now realizing that they should have planned some kind of course of action for confronting this apparition, and it’s making her panicky. She’d spent the entire walk so worried about him that she’d forgotten they were about to confront a monster, and she needs to make up for lost time. Fast.

He blinks, again, and finally tears his eyes away from the woman. “What?”

“What kind of alien is she?” asks Amy, urgently. “What did she do? How many people has she killed? Is she going to sprout a plunger and start saying exterminate? Wh-”

She’d only said that last part because she tends to get wittier when lives are on the line - it’s not out of any real expectation that he’ll actually appreciate her joke. He’s facing his worst fear and all.

To her surprise, though, the Doctor interrupts her by chuckling. “Amy,” he says, fondly. “What are you talking about?”

Amy shoots another nervous glance at the woman, who still doesn’t seem to have heard them.

“This is your worst fear,” says Amy. “It’s for a reason. I would have guessed the Daleks, or maybe my daughter - your goddaughter - getting into the stash of booze, so she has to be worse.”

“Amy,” says the Doctor. He looks at her, then back at the woman, then back at her. His mouth is moving, but he isn’t making any noise. His hands start to move - seemingly of their own accord - but he still doesn’t make a sound. Her suggestion was apparently insane enough as to render him speechless.

She considers hitting him to snap him out of it, but is distracted by movement on the other side of the room. The woman’s shoulders are tenser than they were when they walked in, and her head is slightly cocked - she’s listening to them. Amy resolves her initial impression of her. Clearly she pays attention, and is restrained enough to not attack them outright.

She turns back to the Doctor, who is still waving his arms about like a madman. Amy understands the urge to laugh hysterically when faced with terrifying situations, but this is really too much. She pokes him in the shoulder.

“Doctor,” she says, and nods at the woman.

The Doctor straightens, the smile slipping off his face. “Of course,” he says, suddenly deadly serious. Amy feels butterflies in her stomach and quashes them determinedly.

“Amy,” he says, formally, gesturing to the other woman like they’re at a ball of some kind. “Let me introduce you to Rose Tyler.”

On cue, the woman turns around. Everything about her posture screams military, or at least, well trained by a serious organization. Her arms are crossed, her hair is pulled out of her face, and she’s wearing a no-nonsense expression. Amy can see how she would be a threat.

She strides towards them and stops in front of the Doctor. He closes his eyes and allows her into his personal space, closer than anyone’s ever tried to get before. Amy’s hand makes an abortive movement to stop her - but the Doctor would say something, if he didn’t want her so close.

Right?

Or is he that scared?

“Doctor,” greets Rose Tyler. She’s significantly shorter than him, but it still feels like she’s in his face. “Nice to see you.”

She turns towards Amy. It’s not particularly sudden, but she jumps anyway.

“You’re the one travelling with him these days, I take it?”

Amy glances at the Doctor, who opens his eyes and nods at her. She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Me and my husband, and sometimes our daughter.”

“Wow,” says Rose. Strangely, it doesn’t sound sarcastic, the way Amy would expect someone evil to say it. It just sounds... normal.

She turns back to the Doctor, dropping her arms to her sides. “You’ve gone completely domestic, haven’t you?”

Scratch that. She sounds teasing.

The Doctor takes a deep breath and then- he-

wraps his arms around Rose, lifting her up with the force of his hug. Amy can’t catch much of what he says, except that there’s a missed you in there as he gently swings her from side to side.

Rose laughs, bright and sunny, and says, “Put me down!”

“Never,” says the Doctor, swaying her back and forth before he does in fact put her down. He’s grinning, wide, and Amy has never seen him this excited. It still seems off, somehow - but there’s no way he would hug an enemy.

As Rose straightens her jacket, Amy tries to get the Doctor’s attention without it being too obvious, but he’s too caught up in staring at Rose to notice anything she tries. She abandons her frantic hand waving and considers. This information changes everything. When the Doctor had been so nervous- when he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from Rose- it wasn’t fear.

The Doctor is enamoured with this woman.

Amy almost laughs. Of course his worst fear is an ex girlfriend. Facing the consequences of his actions, and all.

Rose finishes rearranging herself and looks back up at the Doctor, grinning wide. The Doctor smiles at her, although his face has lost all the joy of their reunion. It seems like he’s remembered where they are, suddenly, and it’s hit him like a bucket of cold water to the face.

He reaches down to cup the side of her head.

“Rose Tyler,” he says, his voice quiet. “What do you remember?”

Rose narrows her eyes at him. “What?”

“You are a projection of this hotel created for me,” says the Doctor, his voice turning cold, more or less. It’s still wavering. Amy can see how he’s struggling, but she’s not sure Rose can. “And I need your help.”

Her suspicions are confirmed when Rose steps back, out of his grasp. “Really?” she asks, the smile leaving her face. “Okay, we can do that.” Suddenly her expression is as frosty as his. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I was created from your memories, so the last thing I remember is watching the TARDIS leave me- leave us on that bloody beach.” She laughs, bitter. “That’s because that’s the last thing you remember about me.”

“Rose-” he says. “I didn’t-”

“No,” she says. “You’re right.” She sighs. “I shouldn’t- I’m not-”

She opens her mouth as if to ask a question, but he interrupts her. “I need you to focus.”

He’s looking over Rose’s head. Amy shifts, slightly, and sees the expression on his face. He’s torn, the way he gets sometimes when he’s looking at someone who’s going to die and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “We need your help to figure out what’s going on here.”

Rose can’t see his face, though. She flinches. “That’s what you think of us, isn’t it?” she says. “I’d forgotten. But we’re nothing but apes to you, right? Apes with creativity. It’s what I am to you. A good problem solver.”

There it is, thinks Amy. Worst fear - a fight with an ex. Granted, it’s a pretty ugly fight already. Both of them are trying to hurt each other, now, and when you love someone that feeling is more painful than anything else in the world.

And she knows his treatment of his friends is a sore spot for him.

“We’re not doing this,” he says, his voice hard. Obviously Rose is rehashing an old argument. “We’re not- you’re not real. Rose Tyler doesn’t exist in this universe. All I need from you is her brain. So use it to help us.”

Rose adjusts her stance, crossing her arms again. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she says, in the same tone. “You need to give me some information before I can.”

The Doctor summarizes their findings in a few sentences, getting less cold and more animated as the story goes on. “And so we have four humans, one Tivolian, and one Time Lord, none of whom know what is going on and four of whom are going to go absolutely bonkers in worship to some Him in the next few hours-”

“How does this place know their worst fears?” asks Rose. “How am I here? Was it planning on you?”

“I don’t know,” says the Doctor. “Ditto. And no. We were planning on going to Ravan-Skala. Do you remember? I told you about it, once. We were going to...”

Rose ignores him, her posture shifting into something more tense, even as his voice trails away. “You say one person’s already died?”

“Yes,” says the Doctor, looking away from her. He seems hurt, and Amy’s hackles go up, even though it’s probably understandable for Rose to shy away from more friendly conversation, since their last one devolved so quickly. “Rory - that’s Amy’s husband, he’s a nurse - and Rita - she’s a new one, a medical student - are probably looking at the body now.”

“Ah,” says Rose. Amy realizes what seems so familiar about her posture: it’s military, again. She’s slipped back into the mission mode she was in when they first walked in.

It hits her that she should probably wonder what kind of organization Rose was in. Because it seems like the argument’s already over, and all of his fear - because it was fear, at least when he was standing outside the door - can’t have been for something that short. Anyway, the Doctor’s worst fear wouldn’t be- it wouldn’t be a three-minute argument, right? It has to be deeper.

What can it be?

“How did they die?” asks Rose. The Doctor frowns. Amy thinks back and realizes they hadn’t bothered to figure it out.

“I mean,” says Rose. “Knowing how they died has to give us some clue of what happened.”

“That’s... right,” says the Doctor. His face drops and suddenly he looks terrified.

Amy blinks. What the hell happened?

She’s not sure, but he looks like he’s on the urge of hyperventilating. He looks, somehow, like all of his worst fears were just fulfilled, and she realizes he hasn’t looked like this since they came into the room.

This, then, is why Rose is here. Whatever this is.

She makes a quick decision. She needs to get him out of here, if anything to give him some breathing room and ask him a few questions. If he’s this worked up from a single sentence... And they have a lead to follow up on, besides.

“We need to go and ask Rory and Rita, then,” she says. Both the Doctor and Rose jump, as if they’d forgotten she was in the room with them. As they turn to face her, Amy shrugs, feeling see-through. She compensates with extra bravado. “We’re running low on time, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” says the Doctor, his expression changing from fear into confidence. Amy hates it when that happens - it means he’s figured something out, gotten ahead of her. “But we need to figure out what’s going on, too, or at least come up with a viable theory. Amy, you need to stay here.”

“What?” asks Amy. There’s no way she’s letting him go out there on his own, not as his time runs out. Plus, she doesn’t want to be left alone with-

“We need to keep working on this problem,” says the Doctor, becoming more animated as the idea becomes more viable. “We have a lead, but that doesn’t mean we know anything. You and Rose can figure it out together, I know it, and she can’t- you can’t leave the room, right, Rose? So you have to stay here with her, Amy. It’s going to be- it’ll-”

He pauses.

“Why are you making that face at me, Amelia Pond?”

Amy wrinkles her nose at the sound of her full name.

Rose glances at her, then looks away. “She doesn’t want to be alone with me,” she says. “I turned up here, after all.”

“Ah,” says the Doctor. He turns to Amy, takes a deep breath, and looks her straight in the eyes. “It’s going to be fine,” he says, running his knuckles across her cheek - almost paternally. “I trust Rose. She’s not going to hurt you.”

Then why is she your worst fear?, Amy wants to ask, but now that he’s closer she can see the look in his eyes. He’s only a few feet from the breaking point, and she doesn’t want to push him further.

“Anyways,” he says, quietly. “I’m the only one who can find my way back. Otherwise I’d send you.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, trying not to worry too much. He’s a pseudo-immortal Time Lord - he’ll be fine. “Okay. Go ahead. We’ll be here.”

The Doctor pulls back, a manic look slipping onto his face. “Excellent!” he says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll be back! No one wander off!”

“Right,” says Amy, glancing at Rose.

Rose looks around. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Precisely!” say the Doctor, giving them both finger guns as he backs out the door. Then he closes it, and Amy is left alone with Rose Tyler.

“Right,” she repeats.

-

To live in this world

 you must be able

to do three things:

-

Amy turns to Rose.

She’s not sure what she’s expecting. Rose doesn’t seem to be evil, or particularly harmful, even inadvertently. She seems to be important to the Doctor, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. Daleks are important to the Doctor. So are bananas, for that matter.

“So,” she says, trying (and probably failing) to sound casual. “Any ideas?”

If anything, Rose has good problem solving skills. She’d said it herself, earlier. Of course, the one time she’d demonstrated them, the Doctor had nearly had a panic attack, but Amy’s sure it’s fine. And Amy’s own reasoning skills aren’t half bad, either. They just need to use them.

By working together.

Amy’s not particularly known for her cooperative nature. Bloody hell, are they screwed.

Rose frowns. “Did you notice anything odd about the other people in the hotel? The Doctor doesn’t usually think to check this, or at least the him I knew didn’t, but if someone’s faking it- or planning on-”

“Sorry,” interrupts Amy. “You knew a different regeneration of him?”

Sue her. It was practically an invitation to ask about Rose’s past with the Doctor. Amy knows they’re low on time, but she has a feeling that the key to this is getting more information.

“Two, actually,” says Rose, absently. She still looks thoughtful. “Or possibly there’s a clue in how they talk when they go crazy? Are they being controlled? Are they acting out of character? Or are they speaking of their own volition? Do they want it?”

“I dunno,” says Amy. “I mean, I haven’t really seen any of them being controlled. By the time we got here, Joe was already crazy-”

“No video footage?”

“No,” says Amy. “Listen- I need you to pay attention to me.”

Rose instantly turns to Amy, her gaze sharpening. “Yes?” Amy half expects her to finish with soldier?, but apparently Rose can still talk to civilians.

“I don’t have enough information,” says Amy. “You have to tell me: why are you in the Doctor’s room?”

Rose stares at her for a second. Then she frowns. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“It does,” insists Amy. “Look, I know you still have questions, but take my word for it: I don’t have any other information about the victims. The only other lead we have is the hotel itself, and you’re a primary source. So-”

She sits down on the bed and pats the coverlet next to her.

“What’s your story?”

Rose sits down next to her, slowly. She’s still staring at her.

“Well?” prompts Amy.

Rose sighs and looks up at the ceiling.

“I used to travel with him,” she says, slowly. “I- I got lost. I was trapped in a parallel universe for a few years. I got back in time to help him save the multiverse, and then he dumped me right back at-”

She sighs. Her voice had gotten louder, but she takes a deep breath and gets it back under control. Her posture stays relaxed, though - fallen from the military posture she’s had since her confrontation with the Doctor.

She’s Amy’s age. It’s an odd thing to realize, because she seemed so much older, like she’s on the Doctor’s level. But she looks about 21 or 22, maybe 25 at a stretch.

“I don’t think I’m his worst fear,” says Rose, eventually. “I mean- I don’t- I love him, you know, and he loves me, or at least he used to, enough to break all of his rules. And I think he might still-”

Her hands close over the coverlet.

“It isn’t me,” she says, after a pause, sounding sure of it. “It’s- I think he’s terrified of losing me, the way he already did. And not- I mean- he’s done it on purpose. He’s chosen to lose me three times, now, at least, and he does the same to everyone else. So it’s not just that. It’s-”

She hesitates. Amy finds herself feeling curious about what the answer is, and not just because it will help her understand something about her famously private best friend. There’s something intriguing about this woman who claims the Doctor likes her best, made sadder by the fact that he refuses to acknowledge who she is. She’s obviously unique in some sense, if she’s in his room, and she seems as real as any other-

She isn’t the real Rose, though, argues part of her brain, and Amy flushes in remembered shame. She’d listened to that voice when encountered by the Flesh clone of the Doctor, and then it turned out that Amy herself was a clone, too. She’s spent enough sleepless nights feeling guilty over her treatment of him - and her hypocrisy - to know better now.

Speaking of which, though: it’s odd that the Doctor didn’t make the connection, too. He’d been so insistent that the Flesh Doctor was real and everything. He’d make the same argument for this Rose, right?

Unless it isn’t about his principles. Which, okay, yeah, probably pretty obvious, but it’s still important. He’s denying that Rose is real for another reason.

What is it? It should have to do with his fear... right?

“How long did it take him to come here?” asks Rose, suddenly. “I mean, once he realized-”

Amy thinks back. “About four minutes.”

Rose nods. “There is is. It’s- he- he’s always going to do that, I think, and that’s what scares him. Once he knows he can see me, he’s going to, and damn the consequences.” She stops, and frowns. “Huh. I don’t think I understood him this well before.”

“But now you do?”

Why would the room’s creation have extra knowledge? Is it to somehow make them scarier?

“Yeah,” says Rose, frowning again. “I think- it’s because of his expectations. He imagines that I must know him pretty well by now, because of my husband.”

Amy decides they’ve gone far enough down the rabbit hole and doesn’t ask. “So you think his worst fear is you? But not you, specifically, but his dependence on you?”

“Yes,” says Rose.

“Because he has faith in you,” she says. “He always thinks you’re going to help him save the day.” It reminds Amy of Gibbis. When they’d left, he had been on his knees, praying to the god of benevolent conquerors or whatever.

And now that she’s thinking about it, the others had been doing similar things. Howie had been talking about the X-Files, or something, to reassure himself that problems like this are solvable. Rita had kept anxiously putting her hands next to each other, palms up, as if her subconscious had already started praying. The Doctor’s immediate running to Rose isn’t so unexpected, in retrospect.

“Yes,” says Rose.

Of course it makes sense. Religion exists to reassure people when they don’t know what’s going on (basically all the time, for everyone, but oh well). But if everyone copes in approximately the same way, and the victims all end up praising Him-

Could it be connected? Does the hotel want them to pray, or at least fall back on faith?

Why would something want that?, thinks Amy, and wanders back into her mental archive of Doctor-related conversations for an answer. He’d mentioned, once, something about something like-

Oh, yeah. He was telling her all of the times that the Earth was saved with no one the wiser - initially a ploy to show her the necessity of waking up early, somehow - but after about ten minutes he’d gotten quiet and said, “And then there was the Year That Never Was.”

Amy hadn’t had any idea of what he was talking about (which was expected, considering the conversation topic), but even she had heard the capital letters. “What?”

“The Earth was saved by a singular, spectacular woman,” the Doctor had said. “And the power of belief.”

Belief is powerful.

Amy blinks. Joe had just- he’d just dropped dead, like a string was cut. But if the power of his belief, all that kept him alive and kicking, had been seized, somehow...

“Rose,” she says. “I’m not very good at medicine, but I am very good at figuring out mysteries.”

“The Doctor only takes the best,” agrees Rose.

“Of course,” says Amy, even too distracted to make a joke, or possibly take a bow. “What if the hotel is harvesting their belief?”

Rose frowns. “What?”

Amy stands and turns to face her. “Think about it. The Doctor came straight to you because he has faith in you, right? The others who are still alive also turned to whatever they believe in. The hotel has to have planned on that. And before the victims died, they kept saying ‘Praise him’, like they were worshipping something.”

“So faith is involved. Obviously, if people are seeing what they fear the most.”

“Yes,” says Amy. “Obviously.” She uses air quotes. “Not everyone’s para-military, or whatever organization you come from, you know.”

She grins at Rose, to show there’s no hard feelings, and keeps talking. “But why show people their worst fears and cause that belief?”

“This could be a prison of some kind,” says Rose. “The Doctor’s no saint. I mean, you and your husband haven’t even been drawn to your rooms - if you were brought here by accident, just because they wanted him, it would make sense.”

Amy shakes her head. “I don’t think it is. Why would the people die, then?”

“Torture and then execution?”

“Stop poking holes in my theory!”

Rose smiles, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m only playing devil’s advocate!”

“Sure,” says Amy, looking at her mock-doubtfully, before moving on. “Anyway, why would they keep saying ‘Praise him’?”

“That’s true.”

“And you’re right,” says Amy. “It’s just a theory. But the Doctor mentioned something about the power of belief, once, and how it saved the world. If it’s that powerful, can’t it be used as a- a power source, or something?”

Rose’s smile melts away. She’s left with an expression of regret and pain. She looks like she’s remembering something - that, and she just realized something about their current situation. “Yes,” she says, quietly. “That’s true.”

Amy’s curious, and anyway, they can’t do much else without getting the Doctor’s information. “Were you there? What happened?”

Rose takes a deep breath and looks away from her. “Someone took over the world with a paradox,” she says, quickly, “and trapped the Doctor, powerless, on an aircraft carrier, forcing him to watch as he wiped out the human race. His companion at the time - a medical student named Martha, smarter than he was, usually - walked the Earth, trying to stay alive and pass on his story, so that when the time came the concentrated power of our belief would free him and then paradox could be undone, destroying that timeline.”

She’s gone back to mission mode. Amy realizes she does it to take a mental step back from what she’s describing.

“Are you... are you from that timeline?” she asks. It would make sense for a tough military person like Rose to be from an apocalyptic Earth.

Rose shakes her head, grinning a little. “Nah. I’m from London, same as any other regular person. I was- I was travelling around on my own at the time, trying to find the Doctor, and I ran into Martha. I helped her out for a few weeks, kept watch while she slept so she would be alert enough for her stories. I slept while she told them. I didn’t think it was Earth - didn’t think something so horrible could happen to my planet - and the details she’d mentioned just made me miss the Doctor even more. If I’d stayed awake, I might have-”

She inhales sharply, then closes her eyes and exhales.

“It’s past that time now. But her stories must have worked. Which means- yes, your theory is definitely possible.”

“It depends on how the people died,” says Amy. “There must be some way to tell if their belief was somehow harvested. We’ll just have to wait for the Doctor to-”

On cue, the door bursts open.

-

to love what is mortal;

-

“Amy!” says the Doctor, striding inside. He closes the door behind him, smiling wide. “Rose Tyler!”

There’s something off about his eyes. Amy realizes she’s not sure how long it’s been since he went back to the others. How much time does he have left?

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello, Doctor,” says Rose. She smiles at the Doctor, but it’s muted. “Did you get back to the others?”

“Yes!” says the Doctor, looking thrilled. “We found out how they died! Well, I didn’t really, it was mostly Rory and Rita-”

Here we go, thinks Amy. She’s worried to death about this man, but can he please shut up for even five minutes at a time?

“-have I mentioned how incredible she is? Of course, Rory is great, but Rita’s only a few involuntary statements away from going crazy, and she’s never been off-planet or in a life-threatening situation before, and she’s solving mysteries about alien causes of death-”

Amy shoots him a look, crossing her arms. He clears his throat. “Anyways. Joe died of... Get this, Amy! Nothing was wrong with him.”

She frowns. She’s not a medical expert, but it seems-

She looks over at Rose, who shrugs.

“What?”

The Doctor flaps his hands excitedly. “Exactly! He just stopped functioning, like he ran out of energy, or something.”

Amy has to resist the ridiculous urge to smile. It’s a terrible situation, but she may just be right about what’s causing it, and she’s proud of her ability to figure these things out. “You mean if he’d had a protein shake, he’d still be alive?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Probably not. Rita said he’d mentioned eating about an hour before getting here, so he probably wasn’t hungry. Rory says - he’s got more experience with this sort of thing, Rose - it’s likely his energy was sucked out of him on purpose. Since Joe was acting so weird, he thinks whatever made him Joe was taken, somehow. If we truly have souls, taking them would kill us, pretty quickly. Rita’s seen heart attack victims at her hospital, and she says the symptoms are similar, and that it seems like defibrillation would’ve had a positive reaction, and it’s fascinating, really, I could-”

Amy turns to Rose, arms crossed. Without looking at him, she says to the Doctor, “So what you’re saying is that something sucked out their energy and possibly their soul for their own uses-”

Rose throws up her hands. She’s grinning, slightly, and Amy knows it’s only out of worry for the Doctor that she’s not full-out laughing. “Fine, Amy!”

The Doctor frowns at both of them, half upset at being interrupted and half at missing the joke. “What?”

“We’ve figured it out,” says Amy. “The last thing we needed was the medical evidence. The hotel is harvesting people’s energy, somehow.”

“Ah,” says the Doctor, the smile dropping off his face. “That- that would make sense.”

“Yeah,” says Amy, inclining her head at Rose. “Pretty obvious, in retrospect.”

“How- how would it do that?” asks the Doctor. He’s starting to look nervous, and it scares Amy. His real superpower is hiding his emotions: when he gets too anxious to do that, they’re really in trouble. “I can feel it coming. I’m not sure how, but it is. Keeping busy seems to help the others, but for me - the more frantic I get, the faster it comes.”

He shrugs, trying and failing to seem nonchalant as he looks away from them. “I suppose I’ll provide a lot of energy.”

Rose walks up to him, slowly, and puts her hand on his shoulder, facing away from Amy. It’s the first time she’s touched him this whole time, and Amy doesn’t miss the small tremor that runs through him.

She’s figured it out, Amy realizes. If they’re being killed by their faith, the Doctor-

“You will,” says Rose, quietly. Amy feels like she should turn around or something. He’s never like this with her - even when he’s sure they’re going to die, he’s manic and hopeful until the end. It’s Rose’s presence that’s made him this delicate, and it feels wrong that she’s watching.

She doesn’t turn away, though.

“You will provide a lot of energy. But not for the reason you’re thinking.”

The Doctor furrows his brow and looks at her.

“It’s belief, Doctor.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple working. “What?”

“Showing people their worst fears makes them think of what they believe in,” says Rose. “When they focus on their belief, they have more energy, and that energy is easier to harness. You’ve done it before, although to a much smaller extent. Remember-”

“-Martha?” finishes the Doctor. He looks up, away from Rose’s face. “Of course I do. I could never for- I will always remember.”

“Good,” says Rose. “She deserves it. But- Doctor, you’re a prime candidate. Do you see why?”

The Doctor looks back to her face. Something must click, because the confused lines on his forehead clear. “Oh.”

“Yes,” says Rose. “You came- love, I’m sorry, but you came running straight to me. The source of your fear was your faith and the hotel only made you believe in me more and-”

“But I've seen a lot of this universe,” says the Doctor, quietly. It sounds like he’s quoting something. “I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, if I believe in one thing, just one thing, I believe in-”

“Stop it,” says Rose, her voice shaking. “Don’t do that.”

“I will always do this,” says the Doctor, his voice going faint with horror. His worst fear, thinks Amy. “I will always-”

“You need to stop it!” says Rose, her voice getting louder. She still sounds shaken. “It puts you in danger! You’re about to die, Doctor! You can’t keep running towards me when you spot the barest hint of a chance-”

The Doctor raises his voice to match her volume. “Tough luck, Rose Tyler!” he shouts. He steps backwards, away from her. “Because I will always need you! I need you enough that I saw you when I had to make the hardest choice of my lives! The only reason I was able to make that decision was because you were there. I hadn’t even met you yet, but the worst weapon my people had ever made knew that your face was its best chance to convince me not to commit geno-”

Rose takes her own step back. She shakes her head, like she understands what he’s saying but doesn’t want to believe him. “What?”

“Yes,” he says. “You were there.”

She turns around to look at Amy as if she can’t handle what he’s saying. Amy has no idea what he’s talking about, but she nods at her. Keep going. It’s a good, important thing she’s telling him - he seems unable to find closure for anyone he loses, just locks it up inside. If Rose can convince him to let go of her-

Rose turns back to the Doctor. “You didn’t need me,” she says. “You could have done it.”

“You don’t know that,” says the Doctor.

“Yes, I do,” she says. “I believe in you. You would have done it because it was the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurt you.”

The Doctor stays silent. Rose sighs. “Doctor, I mean it. You don’t need me. You need to let me go.”

“No,” he says. “My worst fear is the fact that I’ll always come running, and that I will never be able to do anything without you. But- Rose, I can’t just kick you out of my life. Ten tried. It didn’t go well for him, emotionally.”

“I’m not telling you to,” she says. “Lord knows, I never want you to forget about me, and I definitely don’t want you to repeat what he did. But you didn’t need me for this. Amy figured it all out on her own. All she asked me for was our history, and you could have given her that. Doctor-”

She sighs.

“You need closure. You’ve been doing just fine without me for so long, and this- this open wound, it can hurt you when you least expect it.”

It reminds Amy of times he’s frozen at the wrong moment, reminded of someone he’d lost centuries ago. Rose is right.

“Or someone could manipulate it,” says Rose. The Doctor looks hurt, like what she’s saying is a betrayal of everything he’s known about her. Amy isn’t sure if it’s the general betrayal of you’re making me deal with my emotions or if it’s a deeper issue. “You need to heal.”

The Doctor frowns at her, opening his mouth to argue before hesitating.

Oh, thinks Amy, realizing what’s happening. Rose is breaking his faith in her - and at the same time, his fear of her - in the most loving way she can manage, both by making him realize he needs to move on and making it easy for him to do so.

She’s probably been planning it since they figured out what was going on in this hotel. It’s why she’s looked so nervous - nervous and sad - this entire time.

It makes Amy want to cry. It’s a good thing, and the right thing to do, but it feels like the end of something that has defined him.

“Of course Amy figured it out,” says the Doctor, eventually. “Amy’s spectacular.” Warmth blooms in Amy’s chest, the way it always does when he compliments her.

Rose sighs.

He shrugs. “And that’s why I take companions. I can’t do this alone, Rose.”

“Of course,” she says. “But you don’t need me.”

“No. Not like I did. I got so used to needing you that when I stopped-”

He brushes a strand of Rose’s hair out of her eyes. She laughs a little. The sound is wet.

“You have a point,” he says. “About the letting-go thing. I suppose. I guess- I only need-”

With his hand still in her hair, he leans down and whispers something into her ear. When he pulls back, Rose is crying, fully and openly, loud enough that even Amy can hear it.

“Do you think that’ll do it?” she says, eventually. “Is that- is that all you needed to tell me?”

The Doctor looks down, taking Rose’s hands in his own. “Just this more,” he says. “I will always miss you. I will never forget.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m sure the real me knows that too.”

Then she reaches up and flattens his hair. “Go on, then,” she says. “Go fix this. Save the others and get out of here.”

“Will do,” says the Doctor, smiling at her one last time. He grabs Amy’s hand on the way out.

Just before they leave the room, Amy glances back. Rose is smiling at them, still crying. As Amy watches, she wipes her eyes, winks at them, and then closes the door behind them.

-

to hold it

 against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

-

Later, in the TARDIS, after they’ve set the Minotaur free (via death) and taken everyone home (all alive), Amy walks into the library holding a steaming cup of tea. She’s in her pajamas and looking forward to a book - a common late-night custom of hers, when Rory has already gone to sleep and she’s waiting for her internal clock to realize the hour - and is surprised to find the Doctor sitting on the couch. He almost never goes into the library.

“Hey,” she says, sitting on the loveseat, adjacent to him. “I never see you here.”

“Yes, well,” he says, closing his book. It’s an old, dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice. “Rose and I used to spend almost every evening in here. I thought- I thought it would be fitting to come back. Make some new memories, and all.”

“Yeah,” she says, reaching out to grab his book. He doesn’t stop her, so she flips open to the cover page.

Rose Tyler is written in the top left corner. Amy traces the loops of the letters and looks back up at the Doctor, who’s watching her with a fond smile.

“Tell me about her,” she says. Now that they’re finally out of danger, she can finally ask all the questions she wants without having to relate them back to the mystery. “She wasn’t always military, was she? What was she like?”

“Oh, Amy,” says the Doctor. He grins at her. “She was wonderful.”

-

and, when the time comes to let it

go,

to let it go.

#doctor who #eleven x rose #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #the god complex #fic: in blackwater woods #sb and l writes #dwfic #I DID IT!! #for those of you just seeing this: this fic is 9k #I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS MONSTER OF A POST

[whats-the-story-tc]

26th-28th of April, 2020

"The Ones with the Series of Unfortunate Events"

[LONG AS FUCK SORRY]

After what happened on Saturday, I could barely fall asleep at night. I had a splitting headache from all the crying and genuinely felt like shit. Morning came, and I immediately reached for my phone. Nothing from her. It still being quite early, I tried to go back to sleep, and spent a full hour tossing and turning, a head full of thoughts, until I couldn't take it anymore. I turned my phone on and checked the notification bar, only to see a very familiar name and face.

I submitted my essay to her already, way before it was due, so when she actually assigned it in Google Classroom, I just pressed 'Mark as done' and thought I was good to go. V has obviously seen it (two links here). And, even though I didn't submit jackshit this time, she still felt the need to send me a "Thank you :)". I was overjoyed. FINALLY. So, as I explained here already, I had an impulse thought and decided to respond. "And thank YOU for the "task". I had a lot of fun with it. (I mean, the [poet's name] one.) If you're ever curious about anything of this sort, don't keep it to yourself :)" Of course, I regretted it as soon as I sent it. And, of course, I knew I wouldn't get an answer.

I promptly took a full day of rest after that, like I was trying to recover from a bad break-up. I didn't expect to hear from her again the next day.

Monday morning. New notification. Same old love of my life. She assigned us a project we'd already spoken about last week — to reinterpret a monologue from the play I read, the one V really likes, in any shape or form. Painting, video, prose, or, to quote V: "tiktok (not that I know how that works, but it's your choice)". She also said that she wants to keep what we make, maybe even share them with our Geo/Art teacher. I got even mote excited than when she first announced this. I knew I wanted to draw something, to show her a side of me she'd never seen before. I'm starting it on Friday. Doing a bit of painting, too. Wish me luck.

At around 2 PM that same day, Pocketwatch Friend noticed V's reply to her essay and asked me how she should respond to her. Found it quite funny, not gonna lie, knowing my history with replies. And as my friends told me about the responses they got, I realised a fundamental difference. All of them were skimmed over going into detail. They noted them fine, but didn't take the time to explain why they were noteworthy. So basically, they lacked content. Meanwhile the only things she spent paragraphs pointing out about my essay were miniscule stylistic mistakes. This gave me a fair bit of reassurance about what I do. I did enough. I was enough.

Come Tuesday, I was a nervous wreck to say the least. I always am, when it comes to online classes, but especially so when I have class with V. I walked up-and-down in the room, listening to her talk, not daring to say a word. God, I wish I kept to that.

Before I get to the part where y'all laugh at my misery, a teensy bit of prelude. Here I mentioned that the first time I had spoken to V after class, the 11th of October, 2018, we spoke about Hamlet. In short, I was a bit oblivious, and didn't really know how to recognise the Oedipus complex I've seen associated with the play. We were covering the story of Oedipus anyway, so I trotted up to her after class to talk. I remember the afternoon Sun shining really bright that day, and V being very relaxed and fully in her element as she spoke, leaning against my desk (that I wasn't sitting at by then). I went home smiling, unable to get her out of my head after that. It should've been clear from that day.

Now, on to class. There were a lot of good bits, a lot of interesting bits... but I don't want to talk about those now.

Last ten minutes, V asks if there are any questions. "I might just have one." I said, and immediately regretted it, even though I could hear the smile in V's voice as she said "Off you go". Theatre/Literature buffs, I'm sure you'll know the line "Frailty, thy name is woman!" from, you guessed it, Hamlet. Now, in the poem we were talking about, there was a line with the exact same structure, only with different words in the place of frailty and woman. I tried to twist it and see if V made that same association, but luck didn't favour me that day. V had no last clue what I meant when I said the quote was familiar. I tried to explain it to the best of my abilities, though I didn't remember the exact Hamlet quote. Neither did V. "I don't really know Hamlet by heart." "Neither do I!" I tried to counter, but just made it more awkward. Bless her soul, V googled it there and then, but just by me saying it was said to Gertrude, it brought up another play with another Gertrude — coincidentally, the one V stroke up a conversation about with me on the very last day of actual school. Those being the results made V laugh, so at least that's a win from my part. I ended up looking it up myself, trying to remember the quote, and ended up answering my own damn question. "So it was the grammatical structure, then?" V asked, with that very same peace in her voice as last year, and I excitedly replied "Yes!". Conversation over. And even though she genuinely sounded interested, I hated myself for bringing up a totally unnecessary thing. Though I hope that I made V "pull [Hamlet] off the top shelf" after class, as she said she might, were it not for me finding the answer.

I was already feeling horrible. Then, V brought up the assignments mentioned earlier and sounded really excited about it, starting to list what she imagined us doing. "A rewrite of the scene in the play..." and as she was saying my name, I grinned and asked her "Was this an indirect reference?". I needed no further convincing that she, indeed, read what I texted her. But here comes the part I laugh at now, but right then it was horrible. She actually chuckled at my teasing question, and God I wish I remembered what she said. Then I said: "I was actually planning on something else, but..." because I found it an interesting idea, and I have been meaning to do that, too. And that's where it got awkward. V, the usually unfaltering and confident V, was startled. Proper startled that she might have accidentally changed my mind. She started saying "oh, no, I didn't mean it like that, I was just trying to predict things..." and that made me worried, so after the oh no, I immediately started rambling "no, no, of course, I know what you meant, I understand". So there we were, talking over each other, both of us a nervous mess that we may have said something wrong we didn't mean. Right now, I find it absolutely hilarious, because how on Earth did we manage that?? But there and then?

I started crying. Silently, of course, not to worry her even further. (I didn't want to turn my mic off because I was scared it would malfunction again.) But I was so tense, that all my gasoline pool of nerves needed was this little spark of awkward, and it caught flame. I stood there, tears streaming down my cheeks, blaming myself for speaking and thinking I should've just shut up.

Soon after, V told us not to stress about the assignment, because "it's just homework". Everybody's favourite Cynical Twat, who is even worse at social situations than I am, tried to express he was glad to hear that, but did so in a very confusing and sarcastic way that V didn't really understand. "It would be pretty shitty of me" to make us stress, she said. So I dried my tears and jumped in, because she deserved to hear the compliment. "I don't mean to speak for [Cynical Twat], but I think he meant that we're all glad you said that. Not many people do it like that." I told her something along the lines of that. "Oh, okay." she said, disbelief thick in her voice. Hey, V. We bloody love you. It's time you start believing it.

Class ended soon after, and I spent about twenty minutes sobbing and cursing myself. The message from Pocketwatch Friend saying "I can't believe [V] replies to everything" as they were talking about her essay, only made it worse.

That night, I had a conversation with one of my underclassmen I talk to every once in a blue moon. We were discussing school and teachers, and I intentionally didn't bring up V. I waited for her to. Though, okay, I did provoke it a teensy bit, but just slightly. So, we talk about her, and through the things the girl says, I find out that... heh, of course, I'm not the only one she strikes up convos with. Turns out, after a joke, V even winked at her! (Okay, she did that to me once, too, when I stood up for her in class, but that's not the point.) After that, I was carrying the convo on just fine, but inwards, I was spiralling into a great big void of 'You ain't special to her, bitch, the fuck were you thinking'. The girl ended the conversation with "the woman's weird (...) but that's how we love her". Right. Yeah.

Now, two days later at current, I'm back in the room where all the crying went down. Bit surreal, thinking back. I'm sure I won't forget this for quite a while. Will my unlucky strike stop anytime soon? I don't know. We'll see. But I don't think anything could surprise me anymore.

You may take that as a challenge, V.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

#tc #tcc #teacher crush community #female tc #female teacher crush

[mysticsparklewings]

Something of a Story String

romping through rose rows the rouge holds roamers ransom re-writing their wrongs out yonder, they yawn yearning for youth yanked from them you yearn for them, too grave group, so it goes much greatness gone to the grass, a goodbye garden but the "byes" come back they blow in on brisk breezes blooming in balance ____ What's this? It's not Inktober yet, what are the mini-magnets doing out and about?   Over on deviantArt, I was encouraged by AlinaLeeArts to enter the String Me a Haiku Contest! hosted by HaikuWriMo, and while I have only basic knowledge and understanding of Haikus, I've been really wanting to play with the mini-magnets lately after reorganizing them into some new tins, and it sounded like fun. (And like a good way to fill out my upload schedule since the bigger projects I'm working on still aren't quite finished yet. ) So I decided I'd take a stab at, or at least see if I could come up with a concept I was happy with and take it from there. The contest rules state that an entry has to be made up of a string of at least four haikus, a Haiku for the uninformed being, according to Google, "a Japanese poem of seventeen syllables, in three lines of five, seven, and five, traditionally evoking images of the natural world." And that the haikus should use heavy alliteration, which also for the uninformed is, "the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of adjacent or closely connected words." This would pose a unique challenge for me because, as I said, I'm not very familiar with writing Haikus. I've read plenty of them, sure, and I think I had to write one at least once or twice back in K-12 school for English class or something, but other than that, if I've ever constructed one, it's been completely by accident. That said, I used two different syllable counters to check each of these before I ever arranged the magnets, so hopefully, they do indeed follow the 5-7-5 pattern properly, if nothing else! Alliteration is also not something I intentionally use super often, and that combined with the limited syllables and structure I think makes for a unique challenge even for someone more familiar with the haiku form. Something I learned very quickly while trying to do this: Every syllable counts, you don't want to waste a single one! Before I could get to actually writing the haikus, though, me being me, I needed a concept/theme to work off of. How would I pick letters to alliterate? What would the haikus be about? Since I want to use the mini-magnets (as is more or less my standard for short-form poetry) what should the background(s) look like? Will all four tell a continuous story or four short stories that go together? I have to have at least four haikus, but am I just going to do four, or will I maybe do a few more than that? I decided the easy way to break it down would be to have each haiku dedicated to a specific letter for alliteration, then make a poem based off of whatever I could come up with within that letter alliteration, as I worked I could go back and forth between the separate haikus to develop more of a story, and then once they were done or mostly done, I could decide on what I would do for the background(s) based on the poems themselves. This process did change a little bit, as I started off using a haiku generator to help me get more in a haiku-writing mindset. I did through that pick up one line, "seeing a balance," that obviously got translated a bit differently into the final version ("blooming in balance"), but other than that I really was still largely on my own. I'd toyed with a few other concepts, but none of them felt right or were really sticking with me. Then I got the idea to pick each letter for the haikus based on an acronym; a well-known combination of letters. That would also potentially give me a theme to work off of.   Initially, I thought of ROYGBIV, the acronym for the basic seven colors of the rainbow. And I actually started working on trying to make my haikus based on that, but the letter "O" stopped me pretty short because once I had the letters, my idea was to do word-association like I normally do for the Inktober prompts; I'd list out some potential words to use that I felt somehow connected with the color and started with the same letter as the color. Frankly, there just aren't a lot of letter-O words that I could also connect back to the color, and the few I did come up with just didn't seem like they had a super compelling story hidden within them. But I did really like the idea of the colors because that gave me a good launching point for the backgrounds; I could just use the same color the haiku was based on within the background for it. It sounded like fun, even. So I didn't want to just totally ditch it. After giving it some thought, I figured the best thing to do would be to try using the four main colors everybody knows: Red, Yellow, Green, and Blue. If I still couldn't come up with my haikus based on those four letters, then it was time to pick a new acronym. Fortunately, even though I had my concerns about the Y in particular, I had a much easier time after that. (I mean, I already had most of the one for "Red," from the ROYGBIV stage, but still.) It's funny though, I thought "Blue" was going to be the easiest, based on my knowledge of "B" words, but that one was actually the one I ended up tweaking and re-writing the most. Probably because it was also the last one I did, and I had started to develop a vague story about yearning for life and visiting a grave in a cemetery, so I had to work within that theme. Though, that said, I think "Green" is actually the weakest of the four, as far as impact goes, despite it being the one that kinda hammers home the life/death theme the most. It was the most difficult one to balance my syllables appropriately because of the words I really wanted to use.   Obviously, this "story" developed as I worked, so it's a bit more on the abstract side, but this is how I see what these four haikus say together; They're talking about someone, probably a young someone (I picked a girl for the background, but the poems could go either way), walking through a field of flowers and stumbling upon a nursing home, maybe with a couple of residents on the porch, and a cemetery nearby. Maybe connected to the home, maybe not. And the young someone stops and reflects on life, and how even once someone passes away, oftentimes we can be reminded of them, or almost feel as if they're still here, in the small things and little fleeting moments here there, like the petals of a flower or the whispers of a seasonal breeze in the air. They come back in those small ways, completing the circle of life, that essential balance of the universe. Of course, that's just one way to interpret it, and even then there are still small details that could be changed while still keeping the sentiment the same. Personally, that's one of the things I enjoy the most about poetry and the mini magnets--you don't always know what you're going to end up saying until someone else reads it and tells you what it says to them. As for those backgrounds, they're all fairly simple watercolor paintings. Once I had the poems and this vague idea of a story, it was fairly easy to come up with a background concept for each one to make them a little more interesting. Normally, I'd use sponged-ink backgrounds during Inktober, but I've been toying with the watercolor idea in the back of mind and this seemed like a good time to experiment since I was already pushing the envelope in various other ways. You can see pretty much exactly what I had in mind for each one, though I will clarify the green one is supposed to be a tombstone in the grass since it's the only one that I think might not be super clear right away. It could just as easily be a rock.   For each of them, my process was very simple; I just picked 1-3 shades to make a gradient from the appropriate color, alternating each one slightly depending on what I wanted for the sky, and then I added the grass and silhouettes on top using a combination of watercolor and black pen. And then the very last one, "blue," got the added moon, stars, and some fireflies using gel pens (and a little bit of pastel for glow). It was the most complex, but "yellow," was actually the trickiest because I have not yet mastered the ability to free-hand a human silhouette. I had to sketch it out separately and then use my lightbox to transfer the outline and fill it in. And, funnily enough, the backgrounds you see here were actually meant to be smaller test-runs before making bigger ones and actually physically setting the mini-magnets on them to photograph. But I was so happy with how these small test ones turned out, I honestly didn't feel like I needed to make the bigger ones. So I pivoted a bit; I formed each mini-magnet poem on a plain blue piece of paper (a "blue screen" if you will to make it easier to separate the words) and photographed them, then used Photoshop to get each haiku onto its respective background. This ended up working to my advantage, as I could just focus on arranging the words to make the words properly and not working around the paintings underneath, and then once I had everything in photoshop I could move things around as necessary much more easily. I'm not super sure about the haiku part, but I'm really pleased with how the overall result looks, and especially happy with 3 out of the four backgrounds.  So much so, I will be posted a wordless version of just the backgrounds to go along with this one for your viewing pleasure! fav.me/ddrqj28 I don't think I'll be placing in the contest (I could be wrong, but I'm aware I'm a little out-of-my-element here ), but I enjoyed the process and the end result, so it was still worth it in my eyes. It was really nice to have the mini-magnets out and put them to use again, especially since I've been having a craving to do so lately. And having them all freshly re-organized made using them all the more enjoyable. Though I'm still not quite sure in what form it'll be, I am very much thinking of doing more non-Inktober stuff like this with the mini-magnets going forward. I have so many of them and I enjoy using them, even when it's a daily challenge and running me a bit ragged.  You might say I'm a bit of an addict. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[stormquill]

One Equal Temper | chapter four [V/Reader]

As hell itself wreaks havoc upon your city, an angel lands on your doorstep—one who doesn’t seem to realize he has wings.

Author’s Notes: Follow the blog @one-equal-temper.

Notes: Content warning for suicidal thoughts.

Even in high concentrations, Qliphoth pollen was hard to see with the naked eye, but V could still sense the thick of it in the air. It was heaviest wherever civilians had grouped up but hadn’t made it out alive, such as traffic-jammed roads and community buildings used as safehouses. Where there were corpses, there was pollen.

Where there was pollen, there were demons.

V traversed the shattered streets of Red Grave while Griffon scouted overhead for more enemies to hunt down. In the near distance, a shred of lush green and stark white interrupted the dreary landscape of dust and haze. It sat on a small balcony several floors up an intact apartment building, the plant’s colours standing out from its dull surroundings as bright as Christmas lights in the dark.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the first attack. Without proper maintenance, something as insignificant as a personal planter should have withered away days ago.

Someone must have been taking care of it.

V pointed at the balcony with the tip of his cane. “There.”

“You got it,” Griffon said, and he was away.

V waited for his familiar to return, offering an arm for him to land on once he did so.

“Well, it’s a human.” Griffon perched and shook out his feathers. “Ain’t gonna last much longer, though.”

“Injured?”

“Nah, but humans ain’t supposed to be around Qliphoth pollen for this long. Whoever’s up there reeks of it. Fully infected with the stuff. Might have another few weeks—a month, tops. That’s if the demons don’t get to ’em first.”

V made a thoughtful noise. Though this was the first instance of Qliphoth poisoning they discovered so far, the nature of the situation didn’t come as a surprise. Civilian evacuation may have once been a priority, but two weeks into the disaster, most people they found were either dead or close enough to it.

“Let’s get goin’, V,” Griffon said, shrugging his head. “We shouldn’t bother with this one. Ain’t nothin’ we can do.”

Logically, V knew Griffon was right—they were halfway to their deadline, and they needed to optimize their time wherever they could. However, V couldn’t ignore his curiosity about the stranger in the apartment. They were someone who managed to survive this long on their own. Someone who didn’t know they were terminally contaminated by the very resources keeping them alive.

Someone who took care of flowers in their spare time.

Letting go of Griffon, V retrieved his book, as he often did in times of indecision. The words of William Blake held no prophecy for him, but it was a far more elegant solution than a coin flip.

“A flower was offered to me; such a flower as May never bore. But I said I’ve a Pretty Rose-tree; and I passed the sweet flower over.”

Griffon flew in place. “So...we move on?”

“On the contrary,” V smirked, shutting his book. “This means it is within our best interests to have a closer look.”

-

A few minutes ago, you had woken by V’s bedside with your hand in his, and your hair full of bloody, bent feathers Griffon crowned you with while you were asleep.

Now you felt like you were piloting a body that didn’t belong to you.

The two of you were standing on your balcony, watching the rising sun slip between spaces granted by the half-demolished buildings across the landscape. Dark clouds hovered ominously in the distance. Under the weight of V’s words, you went from gazing at the sky to glancing down over the railing in front of you, thinking that if you jumped from this height, you would only be saving yourself some time.

The headaches, you realized. The constant waves of pain that ebbed and flowed but never disappeared, were just forecasted echos of your own death rattle.

Bile rose in the back of your throat. Your vision drifted from the dizzying heights to the planter by your feet. The flowers there were tall and strong and so very much unlike you.

“I am sorry I did not tell you sooner,” V said.

A smile ghosted across your face. “Not really something you can bring up in casual conversation, is it?”

“I am not one to shy away from death. I have seen much of it during my time here, helping others escape the city.” Lowering his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel guilty for never having extended you the offer.”

“You didn’t help me escape because I was sick?”

“I do not know the nature of your condition. If there was the slightest chance it could result in further pollination of the Qliphoth, I could not risk having you leave city bounds.”

Understandable, you thought. When you first met him, he mentioned the disaster was contained to Red Grave—jeopardizing that just to buy some time for a then-stranger made no sense. You were a ticking time bomb, poisoned by the air you breathed and the water you were once thankful to still have running through your building. Be it death by demon or by hell-plant, you realized there was nothing you could have done to survive this ordeal. Your fate was sealed the moment you woke up in the recovery ward.

You fidgeted with the hospital band still around your wrist. “I think I knew.”

The words escaped you without thought. You felt the green depths of his eyes on you, and you really, really wished you couldn’t.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you muttered, “but I think I just...deep down, I knew something was wrong. That’s why I told you I wasn’t interested in leaving the city. Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to.”

The thought filled you with a graceful sense of finality that eased your dissociation, and the electricity of your anxiety settled to a crackle within your bones. The trembling world around you still didn’t feel like your own, but at least it was starting to jitter back into place.

You folded your arms on top of your balcony railing. “You know, sometimes I think I died back in that car crash and woke up in limbo, and you’re some psychopomp sent here to take me home.”

V rested both hands on the grip of his cane. “His eyes, like hollow furnaces on fire; a girdle, foul with grease, binds his obscene attire. He spreads his canvas, with his pole he steers; the freights of flitting ghosts in his thin bottom bears. He looked in years; yet in his years were seen; a youthful vigor and autumnal green.”

Amused, you cast him a sidelong glance. “A little pompous to make up poems about yourself, don’t you think?”

“It was written by a Roman poet named Virgil,” he smirked back, “about the ferryman of Hades.”

“If I give you a quarter, will you let me pass?”

“You are not dead, starlight.”

“Not yet.”

You continued looking out across the distance: the morning sun, the broken buildings, the grey clouds approaching on the wind. There was sure to be a storm tonight, and only one question left on your mind.

“...why did you knock on my door?”

You didn’t need to explain yourself further.

After Griffon’s first visit, V knew that you were alone and irreversibly poisoned by the demon tree. At that moment, he could have walked away without a word, knowing your infection would die in isolation with you, and you would have been none the wiser of his existence.

But V hadn’t done that.

Instead, he chose to visit you, finding your building’s front entrance completely barricaded with anything on the first floor you had strength enough to move. He chose to climb six flights of fire escape stairs up the side of your complex—he chose to knock on your door, to introduce himself, to accept your half-crazed invitation for tea.

Why?

It was your turn to keep your eyes on him now, and to your surprise, he would not look at you. He seemed reluctant to respond, but yours was the first truly personal question you asked of him in the days you had known each other. You would not back down without an answer. He owed you that, and he knew as much.

“I felt a kinship with you,” he settled on.

“You had no idea who I was.”

“Perhaps not at first.” More hesitance graced his features, drawing his brows together and wrinkling the corner of his nose. He gripped the railing before him tightly, as if he were bracing himself to speak. “As I have told you, I was placed within this realm to serve a purpose. What you do not know, however, is that if I am successful on my quest, I will...cease to exist.”

Your thoughts glazed over as you felt your stomach drop.

“When I learned of you, I saw myself,” he continued. “Frightened. Alone. Not long for this world. I believed helping you would assist in the navigation of my own shadows. Alas, I did not expect to find an evening star within the darkness.” With a somber smile, he turned to look at you. “My reasons for finding you were less than altruistic, I admit. In my selfishness, I withheld something important from you—something that was a matter of life and death. I understand if you are unwilling to forgive me for that.”

For the first time since the conversation started, you met each other’s eyes.

For the first time since you met, you understood that you and he were the same.

“Do you know why I came back for the flowers?” you asked.

He tilted his head ever-so-slightly in curious attention, his dark bangs brushing along the side of his face.

“Even before all this went down, I...didn’t really have anyone. I was alone. Being alone got hard, sometimes. So I, um.” You started fiddling with your wristband, again. “I bought some seeds. I learned how to plant them. How to take care of what grew. It probably sounds stupid, but...it was nice, you know? Having something that counted on me. When things got really bad, I would just think, ‘I can’t kill myself now. Who would take care of my flowers?’ And after everything that’s happened...I didn’t want to give up on the one thing that needed me. If they somehow managed to survive, I couldn’t leave them to die alone.”

Your throat suddenly felt tight. You turned away from him, lowering your head and pressing your palms into the corners of the balcony railing. Everything within you felt like it was welling up at once, but you willed yourself not to cry. Not here. Not now.

“You could’ve left me, back then.” You tried to keep your voice from wavering. “You could’ve left me to die alone, but you didn’t. You don’t have to be alone, either. I can be here until the end of us, if you’ll let me.”

You felt a hand rest on top of yours.

“The privilege is mine,” he said.

Somehow, the weight of his hand felt heavier than before.

Letting your eyes slip shut, you took a deep, shuddering breath, focusing on nothing more than keeping yourself from breaking down. You wanted to turn around and reach out and hold him—he would be a much better anchor than the railing, you were sure of it—but the headache still flashing lightning behind your eyes was blinding, an unholy mixture of demonic migraines and unprocessed grief.

“Can I have some time alone?” you asked. “Not long, I just. I need to think.”

“...I do not think it wise to leave you to your own devices at the moment.”

“I’ve made it this far, you really think I’m gonna throw it all away by killing myself? How boring of an ending would that be?”

You meant for the joke to lighten the mood, but the way he was looking at you now made your heart sink. The concern in his eyes was uncompromising.

“I can’t kill myself now,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Who would take care of you?”

He smirked. “Who, indeed?”

V released your hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, and the sweetness of his touch was almost enough to dull the pain.

-

It took some convincing to assure V you weren’t a danger to yourself, but he eventually agreed to give you space that afternoon—on one, non-negotiable condition.

The idea of being babysat by a demon didn’t sit right with you, but you appreciated the concern.

With Shadow never more than a few paces behind you, you tried to go on with the rest of your day, rumination over the morning’s events serving as background noise to the idle buzzing of your headache. You changed out of your soiled clothes. You took a shower to rid yourself of last night’s blood stains. The water was ice-cold like always, as you had no electricity to warm it, but you sat on the shower floor and stayed under the stream until you were as numb as the thoughts bouncing around your throbbing skull made you feel.

You were going to die.

You were going to die and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

The revelation didn’t affect you the way you thought it would. You felt like you should have been sadder, angrier, more indignant about the whole situation—but the truth was you came into this mess pre-saddled with learned helplessness. In the weeks before V arrived, you thought the chances of being rescued were slim to none, and you held no illusion about being able to survive indefinitely without demons closing in on your position. For you, dying wasn’t so much a matter of if as a matter of how.

Now you knew.

The rest of your day was spent curled up in bed, your head buried beneath your pillows as Shadow kept a watchful eye on you from her guard at your bedroom door. Rain had arrived with the evening and it made you feel as unsafe as it always did since the attack. Being unable to see or hear anything beyond the storm sent your mind reeling, imagining what manner of hellish creatures could be closing in on you without your knowledge. Every clap of thunder seemed to rattle the hive inside your head, and you wondered how long the infection would take to eat away at you. You wondered if you would lose your memory.

You wondered if it would hurt when you died.

This is how V must have felt, too, you realized—knowing the end was coming, like a stormcloud on the horizon, keeping you resigned to the inevitability of its arrival. Still, where you were once terrified, trying to survive behind barricades and stolen rations, it was almost freeing to know nothing you did mattered, anymore.

Shadow gave a quiet growl at your door. You poked your head out from beneath the covers. She looked at you, took a few steps from the doorway, then glanced over her shoulder to look at you again.

She wanted you to follow her.

There was no urgency to her steps as you took the familiar path through the dark hallways to the fire escape. The window was open when you arrived, letting rain pool on the floor. You recognized the figure standing outside long before he came into view.

V leaned against the window frame under no cover from the rain, fully soaked from head to toe. His skin and leathers alike were slick with water, and his wet hair stuck to the sides of his face, the black strands appearing a deep blue beneath the moonlight.

He reached a hand through the open window. “You told me you missed the rain.”

Your knee-jerk thoughts kicked into overdrive—this was absurd, you’d get drenched, you’d catch a cold if you went out in this weather—but you noticed the carefree glint in his eyes and you were reminded of the briefness of your shared timeline.

(Nothing you did mattered, anymore.)

Charon offered you his left hand, and you accepted it, with vigor.

“Hold tight,” he said.

Your first mistake was assuming you would take the stairs.

With your still hand in his, V leapt over the fire escape railing. An embarrassing shriek tore from your throat as your guts gave a sickening dip during the six-story drop. Shadow morphed into a cloud of black smoke and shot out beneath you, faster than anything, her form a dense fog beneath your feet that guided your fall and allowed you all a soft landing. You landed with far less elegance than V did, but his hand within yours kept you steady on your feet.

“Jesus christ,” you chuckled nervously, near trembling from head to toe. “Warn me before dragging me off a fucking building next time, will you?”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

In a billow of dark vapour, Shadow returned to her sigils tattooed across V’s skin.

The streets around your building were still a destroyed mess, with large sections of pavement a rough puzzle of split pieces beneath your feet. The pouring rain was cold against your skin, but still warmer than your earlier shower; it didn’t take long for you to get completely drenched as you walked alongside V.

V ran a hand through his sodden hair, flipping it back and out of his face, and the sight of him had you hypnotized. His eyes drifted to meet your stare before sliding down to take in the sight of you—and you were suddenly very aware of how your soaked top was clinging against your skin.

“The rain suits you, starlight.”

“That makes two of us.”

A sly smile, and he turned away from you, again.

V kept several paces ahead of you as you continued your leisurely stroll. He began twirling his silver staff in his hand and placing one foot directly in front of the other, heel to toe, as if he were walking the length of an invisible string. There was a sudden bounce in his step you weren’t sure what to make of, at least not until he started strutting along low walls and uneven chunks of debris with perfect balance. Spinning his cane between his fingers with practiced ease, he performed choreographed steps to some silent rhythm playing in his head, moving confidently beneath the rain as if he were the star of a showtune.

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

He doubled back to quite literally dance circles around you. You couldn’t hold back your laughter, and the sound was music to his ears.

You applauded. “All you need is a top hat and you’ll be ready for Broadway.”

“Indeed.” Coming to a stop in front of you, he gave a gentle bow as he offered you his hand. “Care to join me?”

Once again, your immediate thoughts were of embarrassment, rejection, impracticality—but once again, you thought better of it, and you took his hand without objection.

V guided your arm, holding your hand up and a little off to the side of you. The hand that held his cane rested closed-fist against your waist; you could feel the length of steel along your back, and it kept your posture straight.

“I’ve never really done this before,” you mumbled.

“Not to worry,” he replied, guiding you closer to him. “Just follow my lead.”

(Didn’t you always?)

Without warning, V started to move.

Step, one, two. Step, one, two.

The moves weren’t complicated—he took you on a slow, informal sort of waltz, his swaying steps back and forth simple and easy to follow. Though you somehow managed to keep both your left feet from stepping on his, there was an effortless fluidity to his movements that made you feel clunky and square-wheeled in his arms.

“Shouldn’t there be music?” you teased, trying to hide your self-consciousness.

“Ah, I knew I was forgetting something. Let’s see, now...”

And he began to hum the first few notes of Singin’ In The Rain.

You could not stop yourself from shying away, from pressing your forehead to the crook of his neck to hide your smile against him, for the way he looked at you as he hummed the melody was enough to set your cheeks on fire. Not one to be deterred, he rested his chin on top your head and continued the song in its entirety, syncing your gentle, swaying motions to the tune. You could feel the resonance of his voice vibrating beneath his chest.

He sounded happy, or something like it.

In a moment of bravery, you stepped back and raised your held hands as far as they could go. Laughing, V took your cue and twirled—at his height, you had to tiptoe and he had to bend down for him to make it all the way under your arm.

The sound of his laughter, the sight of a smile that actually reached his eyes—knowing you were responsible for both made your pulse thunder more than normal within your head.

You rested a hand against his cheek and he leaned into your touch as he did the previous night, affectionate and undeniably cat-like.

“...can I kiss you?”

The words fell from your mouth, rushed and uncertain, emptying all the air from your lungs. The confidence in his eyes flickered and filled with questioning—that same innocent curiosity from your very first meeting, as if he were surprised to be seen this way.

As if he’d never done this, before.

“Please,” came his whisper, gentle and sure.

So you tiptoed.

Soft was the first word that came to mind—from the careful press of his lips to yours, to the feeling of his rain-soaked skin beneath your fingertips, to the way he eased so completely beneath your touch. It surprised you, how someone who seemed all sharp angles and rough edges could feel so delicate in your hands.

He hadn’t realized his eyes were shut until he opened them. He was not sure if he forgot to breathe, or if you simply took his breath away. Multitudes of experiences lingered within his memories, but few had been realized by this vessel; this felt far more powerful to him than any single memory he came equipped with, for this was a moment he made entirely for himself.

He may not have been his own, but you, you were—his and his alone.

Holding his face in your hands, you laughed softly with a happiness you hadn’t known yourself capable of, the sudden tears spilling down your cheeks indistinguishable from the rain.

However much time you had left together, you swore you would make the most of it.

#v x reader #v x you #vitale x reader #dmc x reader #one equal temper

[huahsu]

YEAR OF THE GHOST DOG

[TL;DR version for the New Yorker -- I loved many great short songs and became obsessed with (1) a very old, much longer one (2) and YouTube comments this year.]  [links to previous year’s lists at the bottom]

A while back, I found myself in an extended funk. The reasons are uninteresting and honestly a bit dumb, a mix of everyday bummers and more existential stuff, all of which manifested in a kind of 360º sluggishness. I couldn’t really figure my way out of it but I believed that I would eventually stop feeling this way.

One night, I saw that someone online was selling a copy of the Emulations “These Are the Things,” a magnificent soul ballad 7″ out of Oakland. I wasn’t exactly homesick for the Bay Area, but something about the song’s roots, as well as its overwhelming feeling of optimistic yearning, resonated with (through?) me. There’s a moment when the singer’s falsetto peaks, and the piano starts cascading, and things feel like they’re going to work out after all. The copy for sale wasn’t in great shape, and it cost $100, an extravagant amount of money to spend on a piece of music. But I convinced myself that I’d feel better at some point, weeks, months, or years later, and I’d listen to my Emulations single, and recall that weird summer/fall.

As often happened with independently produced records of the sixties and seventies, “These Are the Things” was pressed on styrene, rather than vinyl. Styrene is a kind of plastic that’s lighter, cheaper and much more fragile than vinyl, and you can tell the difference by a kind of hollow plink when you put it on a turntable. Styrene also means that it has a limited life, and that each time the needle drags across its grooves, the record degrades a little bit. Over time, styrene records that get played a lot no longer sound as crisp or clear (or so it seems). I listened to it once it arrived, feeling a bit of regret at this wild expenditure, but also imagining my future self’s gratitude. I imagined entering into communion with everyone who had played this copy before me. I decided to only listen to the song once a year, if that--after all, each time I listened to the record, the song was changing, slightly.

A few months later, I felt normal (whatever that means) again, and the record became a marker of...I’m not sure what--maybe a kind of blind, stubborn optimism. Someone years later uploaded the song onto YouTube, which means I can listen to it whenever I want. This fall, I was trying and failing to spend less time on the Internet. But I decided that, instead of going on Twitter and Facebook, I would just read comments fans left on YouTube. I became obsessed with reading all the intimate histories people shared with one another--the chance encounters, the teenage dates and breakups, the seventies shop owners who recalled the days when stocking the right hit single could cover an entire month’s rent. I was listening to the Emulations when I noticed this comment, from Deric Jackson, who was apparently one of the group’s members: “I sung this song when I was 19yrs old. It was a pleasure to record and send this messageout into the airways. I have been with the women that God had given me to marry when I was 22yrs old. I did not understand at that time I was singing about my own life and the women who I had not met, but how wonderful it is to be with my wife fo 35yrs and life is still a breath of fresh air and wonderful. I would like to say to all real men love your wife, never worship her only one to worship is God alone.“ I’m pretty agnostic about most things relating to providence. But I felt as though I had been living in these words: “I did not understand at that time...” Jackson’s song was a prophecy, maybe even a conjuring, of his own path, and I wonder what he hears when he listens to it now. Sometimes you don’t know what’s coming next. But there’s always another song, and it doesn’t always sound the same as the last time.

(LATE 2017 BUT I REALLY DOUBT ANYONE NOTICED AKA THE FRENCH “MO BAMBA”) Junior Bvndo, “T’as ça #3 (Kylian Mbappe)”

I WILL LISTEN TO ANYTHING THAT USES DISTORTION Sheck Wes, “Wanted” OR OLD SCHOOL STABS Santi feat. Shane Eagle and Amaarae, “Rapid Fire” EVEN MORE THAN THAT, I LIKE THINGS THAT SOUND MESSY AND SLOPPY BUT ARE ACTUALLY PERFECT Caleb Giles featuring Cleo Reed, “Name” WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN AS GOOD AS IF IT HAD BEEN PERFECT, THE WARPED AND SMUDGED BEAUTY IS WHAT MAKES IT BEAUTIFUL Tirzah, Devotion Niagara, Apologia SAME, BUT SLIGHTLY OFF-STEP Blood Orange, “Charcoal Baby” THE BEST GENRE OF MUSIC REMAINS “SADE” Sade, “Flower of the Universe” and “The Big Unknown” Amber Mark, “Love is Stronger Than Pride” Bon Iver and Moses Sumney, “By Your Side” Kelela, “Like a Tattoo” 808s AND HEARTBREAK AND NEAR-OCTOGENERIANS Swamp Dogg, “She’s All Mind All Mind” I WASN’T AS ENAMORED WITH A LOT OF “NEW JAZZ” BUT DID LIKE Sam Wilkes, Wilkes Sam Gendel and Sam Wilkes, Music for Saxofone & Bass Guitar …WHICH REMINDED ME A BIT OF THIS FACEMELTING REISSUE (RIYL: ALICE COLTRANE, DON CHERRY, ETC ETC) John Tchicai, With Strings SPEAKING OF TERRIFIC JAZZ-ADJACENT STUFF Dos Santos, “Manos Anjenas” THE ORIGINAL “BIG MOOD” Okonkolo, Cantos THE YEAR I REALLY REKINDLED MY LOVE OF THE CELLO Clarice Jensen, For This From That Will Be Filled Oliver Coates, “A Church” …WHICH I DEFINITELY PREFER TO VIOLIN--ESP PIZZICATO--THOUGH THIS WAS QUITE GOOD Sudan Archives, “Nont for Sale” HARPS ALWAYS SOUND GOOD Leya, The Fool Meg Baird and Mary Lattimore, Ghost Forests ALWAYS HAVE TIME FOR WOODBLOCKS AND VIBES Kate NV, для FOR AS WELL AS MIAMI BASS SIGNIFIERS (KICKSTARTER FOR CITY GIRLS TO RAP OVER DJ BATTLECAT IN 2019) City Girls, “Act Up” AND BANJO DRONE...WHY NOT Nathan Bowles, Plainly Mistaken ALBUMS THAT I LIKED IN 2018, AND THAT I SENSE I WILL LIKE EVEN MORE BY THIS TIME NEXT YEAR Ben LaMarr Gay, Downtown Castles Can Never Block the Sun Neneh Cherry, Broken Politics AN ALBUM THAT I WISH WAS TEN ALBUMS Tierra Whack, Whack World AN ALBUM I WISH WAS JUST A LITTLE BIT LONGER Pusha-T, Daytona OF THE MANY REASONS I MOURN THE DEATH OF “THE ALBUM,” ONE IS THAT I ALWAYS LIKE TO HEAR WHAT PEOPLE DO WITH THAT LAST SONG YG, “Bomptown Finest” OR HOW ALBUMS, FULL OF SIGNS, ANGLES, FLEETING MOMENTS, CIRCULATE AND RE-CIRCULATE Angelique Kidjo, Remain in Light AND HOW THEY ARE LIKE WHAT NOVELS REPRESENTED IN THE AGE OF POETRY—OPPORTUNITIES TO LIVE INSIDE COMPLEXITY, SPACE, A DEMOS U.S. Girls, In a Poem Unlimited ONE OF THE BEST ALBUMS OF THE YEAR WAS A SOUNDTRACK... Kendrick Lamar et al, Black Panther AND TEASER FOR  Jay Rock, Redemption AND ANOTHER WAS JUST SOME RAP SONGS Earl Sweatshirt, Some Rap Songs WHICH ISN’T TO SAY ARTISTS DON’T STILL VALUE AND HAVE FUN WITH THE FORMAT Vince Staples, FM A TWENTY-FIVE TRACK ADVENTURE INTO VIBES Pink Siifu, ensley AND SOMETIMES TWENTY MINUTES OR SO IS ENOUGH boygenius, boygenius ONE MORE ALBUM THING – FIRST SONGS HAVE ALWAYS FELT LIKE THESIS STATEMENTS, AND STREAMING HAS ONLY APPLIED MORE PRESSURE TO THE SOOTHING, BEWITCHING, PERFECT WELCOME Mac Miller, “Come Back to Earth” MAC MILLER AND THUNDERCAT LOOK SO HAPPY HERE whole thing, but esp six minutes in, and even more so about nine minutes in THE BEST VIBES Show Dem Camp feat. Boj and Ajebutter 22, “Damiloun” Koffee, “Toast” HAPPY-GO-LUCKY B/W DEVIL-MAY-CARE Shoreline Mafia, “Nun Major” I LIKE NEF AND EPs PERFECTLY SUIT HIM Nef the Pharaoh and 03 Greedo, Porter 2 Grape 

RAPPING AS FAST AS YOU CAN OVER FREESTYLE/HI-NRG WILL NEVER SOUND BAD TO ME… SOB X RBE, “Paid in Full” SOB X RBE, “Carpoolin’” …ALTHOUGH THEY ALSO SOUND SICK OVER FAKE GHOST DOG BEATS, TOO, THIS WAS ONE OF MY SONGS OF THE YEAR SOB X RBE, “Paramedic!” SAME WITH MEDHANE Medhane, “The Garden” TRIPPIE REDD PUTS OUT A LOT OF MUSIC FILLED WITH TRANSCENDENT MOMENTS, BUT RARELY MAKES TRANSCENDENT SONGS, AND IT PAINS ME A BIT THAT MY FAVORITE SONG OF HIS THIS YEAR WAS Diplo featuring Trippie Redd, “Wish” TRIPPY-ASS DOO-WOP Cuco, “Sunnyside” A STRONG HARMONY IS A VISION OF WHAT LIFE COULD BE Ben Pirani, “How Do I Talk to My Brother?” WHERE WERE U IN 94 Young Echo, Young Echo SWEAR I'VE NEVER HEARD MUSIC THIS “GREY” ManOnMars, ManOnMars IF YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE A FAKE D’ANGELO SONG, IT SHOULD BE THIS GOOD Patrick Paige III, “Voodoo” LIKED THIS, BUT IT’S ALSO POSSIBLE TO BE A BIT TOO FAITHFUL TO THE PAST Teyana Taylor, “Hold On” NOT QUITE FAYE WONG DOING THE CRANBERRIES (RIP DOLORES O’RIORDAN) BUT STILL MEMORABLE Katherine Ho, “Yellow” LIKE THE BEST PARTS OF FEELS-ERA ANIMAL COLLECTIVE, BUT TAIWANESE Prairie WWWW

NEVER THOUGHT TO VISIT THE LOUVRE UNTIL The Carters, “Apeshit” video BROWN EXCELLENCE Humeysha, Departures "BROWN BEATS” FOREVER RIP Cameron Paul

MY FAVORITE DISCOVERY OF THE YEAR Pharoah Sanders playing “Kazuko” in a tunnel near the Marin Headlands LIKE NONE OF ITS INFLUENCES (FOOTWORK, AMBIENT), LIKE NOTHING ELSE OUT THERE, REALLY Foodman, Aru Otoko No Densetsu DARESAY SKI MASK WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN BOOED OUT OF THE CIPHER Ski Mask the Slump God, Beware the Book of Eli THE MOST FAMOUS PERSON I’VE SEEN ON THE BIG SCREEN AT THE PAST THREE YEARS’ NETS GAMES IS Young M.A., “PettyWap” DEMOS FROM A GROUP I HAVE ALWAYS ADORED, BEFORE THEY FOUND THE SOUND THAT I ADORE The Nonce, 1990 EXTREMELY GOOD AND LARGELY OVERLOOKED REISSUE Suzanne Menzel, Goodbyes and Beginnings FOUR TET IS GOING THROUGH HIS LIVE ARCHIVES, AND IT’S A TREAT TO STUDY HIS ARC/EVOLUTION  Live at Hultsfred Festival, 18th June 2004 Live at LPR New York, 17th February 2010 Live in Tokyo, 1st December 2013 Live at Funkhaus Berlin, 10th May 2018 STRANGE TO LIVE IN A MOMENT WHERE BEING WEIRD SEEMS A BIT DERIVATIVE. STILL, THIS IS BLISSFUL SahBabii, “Anime World” HAPPY FACE Smino, “Klink” SAD FACE Drake, “In My Feelings” (especially this version) “JIM FROM THE OFFICE” FACE Pusha-T, “The Story of Adidon” STOLE YOUR FACE Sophie, “Faceshopping” FACE/OFF YG and Mozzy, “Too Brazy” Sammy Bananas feat Antony and Cleopatra, “Slow Down” Kode 9 and Burial, Fabriclive 100 GASSED FACE E-40 and B-Legit, “Whooped" ABSOLUTELY FACEMELTING Todd Barton and Ursula K. Le Guin, Music and Poetry of the Kesh VACATION AWAY MESSAGE SiR, “D’Evils” Bad Bunny x PJ Sin Suela x Nejo, “Cual Es Tu Plan” BEST OPENING DISCLAIMER TO A VIDEO 808INK, “Come Down” “TAGS: LATIN CHORAL CUMBIA GOTH LOS ANGELES” San Cha, “Cosmic Ways”

BEST USE OF “OOCHIE WALLY,” STILL ONE OF MY FAVORITE BEATS EVER Stefflon Don, “Oochie Wally freestyle” BEST USE OF “SUPERTHUG” Rico Nasty, “Countin’ Up” EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS--THE HEADBANG MINIMALISM, THE LAS VEGAS WALGREENS--BUT ESPECIALLY THE LINE ABOUT WELLS FARGO Rico Nasty, “Trust Issues” “ORGASM ADDICT” (RIP PETE SHELLEY) Victor Oladipo, “One Day” “I JUST TOOK A FLIGHT TO FRANCE TO COP CARDIGANS” Black Thought and Styles P, “Making a Murderer” “AT THE EMIRATES I MILLY ROCK” Manzo and Malachi Amour, “Lingard” DOPE TUNE, AND UNEXPECTED KELLYANNE CONWAY REFERENCE JPEGMAFIA, “1539 N. Calvert” YEAH YEAH YEAH (RIP MARK E SMITH) Travis Scott and Drake, “Sicko Mode” R-E-S-P-E-C-T (RIP ARETHA FRANKLIN) Rosalia, El Mal Querer REEL DEAL, “DRIPPIN’ DOPE (SAXAPELLA)” (1989) Gunna, “Top Off” WAMP WAMP (WHAT IT DO) B/W WAIT (THE WHISPER SONG) Vallee feat. Jeremih, “Womp Womp” SAD REGGAETON IS NOT BAD Bad Bunny, “Solo De Mi” SOUNDS GOOD TO ME, 2002-PRESENT Temani, “Power” Westerman, “Confirmation” REAL LIES, POET LAUREATS OF “YOUNG PEOPLE THINKING ABOUT BEING OLD” Tom Demac and Real Lies, “White Flowers” A SONG DESIGNED TO SOUND LIKE IT CAME OUT THIRTY YEARS AGO, WHICH ALSO FEELS LIKE IT CAME OUT A MILLION YEARS AGO (IT WAS JUST JANUARY) Bruno Mars feat. Cardi B, “Finesse (remix)” TAY-K WAS JUST A YEAR AGO Comethazine, “Highriser” FAVORITE 2 BRIDGES MUSIC ARTS “MIGHT AS WELL” RANDOM PURCHASE OF THE YEAR  Kizaki Ondo Preservation Society and Clark Naito, 木崎音頭 Kizaki Ondo FEELS LIKE IT CAME OUT TEN YEARS AGO (IT WAS JUST JAN/FEB) BUT I NEVER GREW TIRED OF IT Rich the Kid, “Plug Walk” ODDLY REASSURING THAT PEOPLE STILL JANGLE Massage, “Oh Boy” Earth Dad, “Walter” ...AND DISCOVER WORLDS FROM WITHIN THEIR BEDROOMS Soccer Mommy, Clean ...AND EXPLORE THE CONTOURS OF GROWLING AND NAGGING Sada Baby and Drego, “Bloxk Party” ...AND CAN USE THE PAST TO MAKE SOMETHING SO VISIONARY AND FORWARD-THINKING Virginia Wing, Ecstatic Arrow Mitski, Be A Cowboy ...AND LOOKING FOR FOURTH WORLDS Arp, Zebra ...AND MAKE IMPOSSIBLE RHYTHMS Heavee, WFM ...AND THAT ARTISTS I HAD NEVER HEARD OF, WORKING IN IDIOMS I HAD NEVER HEARD OF, MIGHT STILL BLOW MY MIND Odunsi (the Engine), rare. JUNGLE LIVES X-Altera, “Blowing Up the Workshop” mix TOP THREE TIMES I SAW STANDING ON THE CORNER THIS YEAR 3 - The Merciful Allah Black Hole Theatre 2 - The Time it All Ended with Fireworks on Grand St. 1 - An Empty Storefront During a Blizzard

{HONORABLE MENTIONS -The Time They Brought a Monolith -THEME DE YE-YO [Respect to the Gods]} SONG OF THE SPRING, SUMMER, WINTER, YEAR,  STILL UNDEFEATED ### A CHURCH AND JOHN LENNON’S “IMAGINE” :: 2017 SIKH DEVOTIONAL MUSIC :: 2016 SPOOKY BLACK :: 2015

[achtung-attitude]

“You saved me!” Shizuka says, then looks at her unusual seating, “what is this thing?”

“It’s a cloud. My kind of cloud. Solid enough to hold weight, but light enough to float on air. It’s one of SATURN BARZ’' better moves.” He doesn’t meet her eyes as he says this, but stares off into the distance.

A sudden sharp wind picks them up and they are blown into the air, high above the interstate, high above the airport. Like a magic carpet, they are carried through the air. Shizuka marvels at the view as they drift away from the airport complex completely, passing over neighborhoods. Stores and homes, where people mill about, never thinking to look up. In the distance, the blunt silhouettes of LA Downtown stand obscene gestures directed at the San Gabriel Mountains.

Suddenly, Kilo hears the young girl laughing under her breath, he turns to her, angry. “What the hell’s so funny!?”

“Oh no, it’s nothing. I was just thinking: you’re like that famous boxer!”

“Boxer? Who?”

“You know,” she says, giddily grinning to herself, “you float like a butterfly, and sting like a bee!”

Kilo stares at her in silent shock, dumbfounded. “You gotta be kidding me…” he finally manages to sputter out. Shizuka giggles dizzily at her own joke as they slowly drift down.

Before long, the wind dies and the cloud drifts down, slow and pleasant as ever. They descend upon a small field in the neighborhood of Inglewood, the grass turning yellow under the midday sun.

The instant the cloud touches the ground, it dissipates into vapour and the pair drop to the ground. They land on their feet. Shizuka wobbles slightly on her high heels, then checks the seat of her skirt to find that has gotten damp from sitting on the cloud. “That was kinda cool,” she says, looking up and marvelling at the distance they descended, “you’ve got a neat Stand there, you kno--?” She trails when she sees Kilo standing a few metres away from her, glaring at her.

“Wait wait, why are you looking at me all mad? We’re not still fighting, are we? I thought we were done with that!”

“Hell we are.” Kilo says, his voice low, “We haven’t settled shit yet. You still haven’t told me what I want to hear. Where is Tarantula?” He says the last sentence in a deep, rumbling growl, accompanied by SATURN BARZ materializing into space. A pale mist forms around its clawed hands. They stand in shadow, away from sight of the main road.

Shizuka faces Kilo’s glare, and raises her hand, palms forward, on either side of her face. “My name is Shizuka Joestar” She says this clearly, as if reciting a poem. “My foster father’s name is Joseph Joestar. I was born in 1998, and raised in New York City. My blood-type is B+, and I’m an Aquarius. My favorite food is cheesecake. I have no idea who Tarantula is, nor am I a part of any organisation.”

“Then why are you here?”

“... I have a mission. I’m searching for my mother.”

“Your mom?”

“We were separated when I was very young. My foster father took care of me, kept me out of trouble and made it so I wanted for nothing. But he died 5 years ago, and since then, I’ve been determined to find my mother. I have good reason to believe that she’s in this city. This is my only reason for being here. Everything I said is the truth, I promise.”

The tall man stays still, glaring, searching her face. Her expression is set, unwavering. The moments stretches for what feels like forever. All sounds seems to fade away, leaving nothing but the glare between two people.

At last, the tall man caves, dropping his gaze. His Stand disappears in the same instant. He turns away from her, and mutters “Alright.” No ‘sorry’, or even ‘my bad’. Shizuka finally breathes and lower sher hands.

As he’s walking away, she calls to him, “Is that it?” He doesn’t answer. After a moment, she jogs after him, calling “Hold on!”. He turns around sharply as she approaches him, still hostile.

“What?” he growls.

To his surprise, she offers her hand for shaking. A friendly gesture, accompanied by a pleasant smile. “Thank you for saving my life,” she says.

He stares at the hand, silent, eyes wide with surprise. His eyes move to her smiling face, genuinely sunny and kind.

His face twitches and contorts, a vein rising in his forehead. He slaps her hand away violently. Shizuka gasps in surprise, and instinctively rubs her hand. As she does this, he advances on her so he stands right in, looming over her. “Don’t make a fool of me,” he snarls at her.

“I-I don’t understand--” she stammers, before he cuts her off again.

“Don’t act like we’re friends just because the fight’s over for now!” He is baring his teeth, like a ravenous predator, his eyes scorched with anger. “We just spent the last 10 minutes trying to kill each other! We only met because those thug idiots that hung round me tried mugging you! Are you looking down on me? What are you trying to pull acting like we’re pals?”

“I’m not-- I’m not pulling anything! I just-- I thought I should thank you… You didn’t have to save me, so--”

“What, did you think we’d just be buddies all of a sudden? Like some fucking cartoon? Listen to me: we’re living in the real world. In the real world, people die. You can’t just throw a smile on and pretend like everything’s dandy. People like you are the type I hate most; the kind too stupid to understand how the world really works!”

“... Then why did you save me?” she says finally, and this time Kilo has no response. His fury doused, he instead turns away, spitting on the ground bitterly.

Breathing, Shizuka hesitates before speaking further. “My dad told me that human beings are bound together by threads of fate. Stand users are drawn to other Stand users, and people are drawn to other people. That’s why I know I’ll find my mom.

“No matter how big this city is, no matter how many people there are in it, our fates are bound together. We are meant to find each other. And I think maybe we were meant to meet, too. If for no other reason than to have this talk.”

Kilo doesn’t respond. He seems to be looking off at some point in the distance. Shizuka shuffles her feet awkwardly. “That… was pretty lame, huh?” she chuckles, abashed, “I didn’t mean to start a speech or anything. All that depends on if you believe in that stuff, anywa-”

“I don’t.” He cuts her off, and she bites her tongue as he faces her again.

“I don't believe in fate. Or destiny, or karma, or God. All that’s just distractions. Bullshit, to distract everybody from how random and shitty the world is. Somebody who can’t see reality can’t survive. Especially not in this town. Damn, I can’t believe I thought you was in a gang…”

He squints at her, curling his lip slightly. “Still, this is the most entertaining thing to happen to me in a while. I might owe you for that… I can take you to somebody who can help you out. How’s that sound?”

Her eyes widen. “You… you’re gonna help me? You’re coming with me?”

“I’m repaying a favor,” he is quick to reply, “I don’t feel like being in debt to you forever. But don’t no mistakes. We ain’t friends. After I do my part, that’s it. I’m done. That clear?”

She adjusts the sunglasses on her head, and says, “Sure.” Her smile returned. He begins to walk away, and she follows him.

Then she freezes in place, eyes going wide. “I forgot my luggage! And my passports!” she yells loudly, surprising Kilo. Frantically, she sprints ahead of him, forcing him to chase after her.

In the distance, as Shizuka and Kilo walk away, someone is pointing an iPhone at them, recording. As they run, the person slinks away, back into the shade.

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #shizuka joestar #kilo staples #ch7

[auctes]

15-25 ;V

 OVERESTIMATING  MYSELF  ON  MAIN      //      @sanguamnis​ .

015 .     are  they  most  likely  to  fight  with  their  fists  or  their  tongue  ?

this  is  implicitly  linked  to  the  next  question ,   but  fukawa  knows  she’s  got  a  way  with  words .   while  she  can  fight  back  physically  if  necessary ,   her  most  natural  inclination  of  defense  is  to  insult ,   manipulate ,   to  deride ,   or  to  blaspheme .   fukawa’s  defense  is  the  offensive  :   when  she  feels  threatened ,   she  will  automatically  respond  with  what  she  knows  is  the  most  pointed ,   most  personally  hurtful  thing  she  can  say  to  a  person .   she  exploits  weaknesses  as  a  means  of  removing  herself  from  the  line  of  fire ,   and  she’s  bloody  good  at  it .

016 .     what  is  their  choice  of  weapon  ?

given  the  choice  ?   her  words .   her  novels .   what  i  find  so  interesting  is  the  absent  commentary  that  the  canon  makes  on  fukawa’s  career ,   and  upon  her  ability  as  a  writer .   we   know  that  she’s  universally  acclaimed ,   but  also  that  she  is  able  to  sway  public  opinion  on  even  asinine  topics  with  her  enormous  reach  ;   if  fukawa  has  an  agenda ,   her  demographic  becomes  her  greatest  weapon .   she  could  destroy  a  person’s  life  in  five  hundred  pages ,   if  she  so  wished .   probably  less .   drafts  not  permitted ,   she’d  still  take  a  verbal  crack  at  it .

017 .     when  does  your  character  think  that  violence  is  justified  or  deserved  ?

short  answer  ?   never .   fukawa’s  life  is  already  inundated  with  associations  of  violence  :   some  repressed ,   and  some  ungraciously  remaining  within  her  memory .   she  has  been  wrongfully  accused  of  being  an  inherently  violent  person  who  doles  out  a  distorted  measure  of  personal  justice ,   and  that  perception  has  ruined  her  life .   fukawa  is  more  of  a  pragmatist  :   she  believes  that  some  people  do  deserve  to  be  punished ,   yes ,   and  she  will  not  mourn  the  deaths  of  awful  people .   but  enduring  a  game  of  mandated  murder  for  survival  inevitably  alters  your  point  of  view  on  the  necessity  and  applicability  of  violence .   she  can’t  justify  it .

018 .     your  character  wakes  up  to  find  that  war  has  been  declared .   what  do  they  do  ?

go  back  to  bed ,   honestly .

019 .     if  they  could  have  a  super  power ,   what  would  they  choose ?

here’s  the  thing .   if  the  super  power  was  optional ,   fukawa  wouldn’t  choose  to  have  one .   super  powers  are  too  ingrained  within  the  world  of  fantasy  for  her  to  be  able  to  completely  buy  into  the  concept ,   or  commit  to  having  one .   she  would  rather  remain  a  mundane  person  who  is  grounded  in  reality  than  test  the  boundary  of  fiction .   but  if  i  had  a  choice   —————   and  i’m  discarding  quirk  discussion  here ,   because  that’s  another  dialogue  within  itself   —————   superhuman  suggestion  and  mind  manipulation ,   quite  honestly .   it’s  something  she  ...   has  more  or  less  mastered  as  it  is ,   so  it’s  not  too  farfetched  to  imagine  that  in  a  fantastical  capacity .

020 .     what  are  their  hobbies  ?

hobbies  ?   what  hobbies  ?   her  life  is  work ,   suffering ,   and  occasionally  sleeping .   i  would  say  writing ,   but  when  fukawa  is  writing  professionally ,   she  rarely  has  time  to  do  so  for  recreation .   she  reads  whenever  she  can ,   enjoys  going  to  galleries  and  museums ,   and  studying  humanities - wing  subjects  yields  some  measure  of  stress  relief  for  her .   syo ,   on  the  other  hand ,   is  a  more  practical  person  with  a  strong  spacial  awareness  :   she  enjoys  building  furniture ,   interior  decorating ,   high  risk  adrenaline  sports ,   and  carpentry .

021 .     how  do  they  display  affection  ?

affection  from  fukawa  is  highly  dependent  on  the  subject  and  the  nature  of  that  relationship .   she  can’t  offer  consolidating  words ,   and  physical  contact  is  a  process .   sharing  her  work   —————   her  honest ,   personal  work ,   and  not  her  professional  bibliography   —————   is  sharing  a  part  of  herself  that  fukawa  often  deems  unsafe  to  outwardly  express .   there  is  a  measure  of  deep  trust  involved  in  writing  a  piece  for  someone ,   sharing  her  poetry ,   or  telling  them  about  things  she  writes  for  herself  as  opposed  to  for  an  audience .   it’s  honestly  an  intimate  experience  for  her ,   as  fukawa  connects  with  her  own  humanity  through  writing  ;   she  can  perceive  when  those  closest  to  her  need  a  hug ,   or  their  hands  held ,   or  their  hair  stroked   —————   but  honest  affection  from  fukawa  is  simply  sharing  her  heart .

022 .     what  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  they’ve  ever  seen  ?

byakuya  togami .   i  actually  have  an  answer  for  this ,   because  i think  it  came  up  in  an  in - character  conversation  on  the  second ...?   killing  game  server .   the  most  beautiful  thing  fukawa  has  ever  seen  was  a  beached  trawler  wreck  on  a  stretch  of  sand  near  her  home .   understand  that  what  fukawa  perceives  as  beautiful  could  be  slightly  abnormal  :   the  imagery  she  employs  in  her  little  love  poems  is  ostensibly  macabre ,   and  she  is  inspired  by  personal  tragedies  and  trauma .   i  remember  waxing  poetic  about  the  rusted  hull ,   and  the  aquatic  plantlife  that  dried  and  rotted  into  the  bow ,   but  fukawa  is  most  profoundly  moved  by  things  we  would  find  ugly ,    or  depressing ,   or  confronting .   life  in  stasis ,   nature  reclaiming  appropriated  land ,   and  transcendentalism  moves  fukawa  unspeakably .   it’s  nice  imagery ,   and  was  deeply  symbolic .

023 .     what  do  they  consider  beautiful  in  others ,   physically  ?

fukawa  does  not  have  a  physical  type .   however ,   i  distinctly  remember  writing  something  once  in  which  i stated  that  she  falls  in  love  with  parts  as  opposed  to  the  sum  of them .   she  will  hyperfixate  and  romanticize  a  single  aspect  of  a  person  :   their  eyes ,   their  arms ,   their  voice ,   their  posture ,   and  for  as  long  as  she  loves  them ,   it  will  be  all  that  matters  to  her .

edit  :   i  found  it ,   and  i  chucked  it  under  a  read  more  below .   you  can  skim  it  if  you  want  to  see  what  i  mean .  

024 .     what  do  they  consider  ugly  in  others ,   physically  ?

exactly  what  she  fixated  upon  in  the  above  answer ,   usually .   consider  fukawa  falling  in  love  on  a  case - by - case  basis  :   when  she’s  attracted  to  someone ,   and  it  ends  horribly  for  her ,   she’ll  condemn  herself  by  demonising  every  precious  thought  she  had  about  a  person .   she’ll  curse  her  own  stupidity ,   her  frivolity ,   her   foolishness  for  thinking  another  person  could  ever  love  her ,   and  that  they  could  hurt  her  like  they  inevitably  do .   everything  she  found  beautiful  in  them  becomes  abhorrent ,   until  she  can’t  stand  to  think  about  them  a  moment  longer .

025 .     what  do  they  consider  beautiful  in  others  personality - wise  ?

this  one  is  easier .   fukawa  is  attracted  to  narcissists .   she  likes  self - assuredness ,   self  importance ,   and  the  incredibly  toxic  degradation  and  dehumanisation  to  which  a  narcissist’s  peers  are  subject .  

on  the  lighter  side ,   she  appreciates  courage  and  strength  of  character .   she  is  attracted  to  people  who  are  decisive ,   who  are  sure  of  who  they  are ,   and  who  are  not  afraid  to  stand  up  for  themselves  or  others .   intelligence  is  a  bonus ,   but  she  is  most  likely  to  swear  loyalty  to  a  person  who  engenders  their  values  into  their  entire  being .   bravery ,   occasional  recklessness ,   and  a  strong  drive  to  do  what  is  right  for  no  other  reason  than  it  is  the  right  thing  to  do .

it  just  takes  some  growing  up  on  her  part .

touko  fukawa  does  not  fall in  love  with  people .   she  falls  in  love  with  their  parts ,  as  opposed  to  their  wholes ;  the  attributes  of  which  come  as  freely  and  fondly  to  her  as  the  sweet  surrender  of  sleep  as  she  vanquishes  a  crucial  deadline .   love ,  as  a  tangible  epiphany ,  comes  to  her  first  within  the  pages  of  a  novel .   this  is  the  part  she  likes :   the  sweeping  grandeur  of  a  complex  indemnity ,  and  the  anticipation  of  knowing  it  for  herself .   ( she  doesn't  remember  the  rest .   but  LOVE  sticks  to  her like  yellow  wallpaper . )

she's  ten  years  old  when  love  first  draws  her  into  its  vices  —  in  the  pleasing  lilt  of  a  boy  whose  words  consume  her  heart  like  a  forest  fire .   his  voice  carries  the  implication  of  her  very  first  protagonist :  a  sweet - nothing  man  who  brings  the  first  of  touko's  hopeful - hearted  following  to  pieces .   it's  music  /  it's  magic  /  it's  more  than  her  very  beginnings  can  stand .   it  harshens  her  tone  by  virtue ,  and  underscores  the  idiosyncrasies  of  her  speech .   she  knows  the  words  to  this  elegy ;  they  fall  easily  onto  paper .

paper  she  finds  pinned  to  the  bulletin  board ,  beneath  the  book  club  sign - up  rota .   ( and  here's  when  she  remembers  the  other  side  of  love ,  and  why  she'd  submerged  it  in  far  more  saturated  sentiments . )   his  voice  still  burgeons  in  her  when  it  tightens  over  callous  condemnations  of  her  folly ;  touko  finds  it  searingly  sublime  when  he  laughs  at  her  heart's  punchline .   ( she's  sure  it  was  mesmerizing ,  still ,  when  he  was  BEGGING  her  wild - eyed  mr  hyde  to  put  down  the  scissors,  i'm  sorry ,  i'll  go  out  with  you ,  i'll  do  anything — )

she's  fourteen  years  old  when  love  flags  her  down  in  the  hallway  with  its  strong ,  safe  arms .   touko  fixates  upon  the  crook  of  his  elbow ,  languidly  inclined  against  the  locker ,  as  he  scribbles  a  number  onto  her  palm .  he's  a  swimmer :  broad  and  strong ,  to  her  frail  and  insubstantial .   she  falls  in  love  with  their  duplicity ,  with  bold  and  bashful ,  with  gallant  and  meek ;  with  the  idea  of  falling   ( and  falling ,  and  falling , )  into  those  arms ,  and  letting  them  alleviate  the  chill  that's  endemic  to  her  constitution .

constitution  that  grows  impedingly  more  frail  as  touko  sits ,  alone ,  at  the  back  of  a  dim  theater ;  falling   ( and  falling ,  and  falling , )  into  the  constricting  unease  of  the  dark .   she's  somewhat  thankful  for  the  amnesty  this  grants  for  her  tears  to  flow  freely ;  for  her  face  to  stain  with  the  dimming  remnants  of  hope  that  she'd  foolishly  allowed  herself .   her  own  arms  are  no  substitute ,  but  they  draw  her  into  herself ...  for  as  glorious  as  his  were ,  touko  is  certain  they  weren't  enough  to  overcome  the  monster  that  hung  him  like  a  portrait .

it's  a  silly  game  without  an  end .  a  game  of  bright  eyes ,  and  easy  smiles ;  of  lanky  limbs  and  chiselled  jaws .  again  and  again ,  she  lets  love  deceive  her .   yet  again ,  she  learns  its  true  name .   and  the  bodies  keep  turning ,  and  the  tally  keeps  striking ,  and  the  words  keep  flowing ,  and  it's  back  and  back  and  back  into  the  easier  parts  of  herself  that  make  love  seem  so  REAL .   she  will  never  trust  again .   she  will  never  LOVE  again .  except  that  she  DOES ,  as  her  empire  flows  from  her  fingertips  like  an  endless  rainstorm .

she's  nineteen  years  old   ( believing  she  is  seventeen , )   when  love  pierces  her  palms  and  seizes  her  against  the  wall .   she  likes  to  believe  it  was  earlier ,  in  the  graveyard  of  memories  she's  been  forced  to  disrepute .   she  is  held  captive  here ,  in  the  academy ,  with  her  love  for  him :  the  love  she  endures  for  the  quiet  turning  of  pages  in  the  library ;  for  his  relentless  precision  in  the  courtroom .   for  his  esteem ,  and  his  diligence ,  and  his  velleity  to  survive .   and  yes ,  she  thinks ,  THIS  is  the  love  she  has  intimately  named .

names  that  slide  from  his  beautiful  tongue  with  acridity  and  exactitude .   names  that  give  her  vile  personage  a  substance  she's  been  lacking .   touko  takes  these  verbal  beat - downs  with  vigor  —  and  it's  alright ,  really .   ( no ,  really !   she  doesn't  mind . )   he  only  means  to  villify  the  dispraising  nature  of  her  existence ;  to  give  her  leave  of  this  liminal  word  between  fact  and  fiction .   touko  feels  this  love  in  the  shy  callings  of  her  soul ,  and  in  the  hairline  cracks  of  what  little  composure  she  keeps .   really  —  it's  alright .

touko  fukawa  is  twenty  years  old  when  she  is  forced  to  relearn  her  definition  of  love .   in  TOWA ,  of  all  places ,  where  the  air  is  thick  with  despair - tinged  expulsions  of  god - knows  how  many  lungs .   where  the  skyline  alters  with  each  new   bout  of  destruction ,  and  RED  is  not  a  color ,  but  a  state  of  existence .   byakuya  is  gone .   a  more  cynical ,  more  resilient  touko  stands  in  his  place :  on  feet  that  save  her  from  falling ,  despite  the  debris  below  them .   on  legs  that  practice  perpetual  motion ,  despite  this  underwater - uncertainty  about  her .

genocider  keeps  their  body  intact ;  touko  holds  their  mind  together .   it's  an  empty  partnership ,  but  she's  bitterfly  thankful  for  the  aptitude  to  propel  herself  from  one  scenario  to  the  next .   thankful  for  the  motive :  not  to  KILL ,  but  to  perpetuate .   byakuya's  existence  awards  her  this .   and  she's  thankful ,  begrudgingly ,  for  komaru  naegi .   for  what ?   touko  isn't  sure  yet .   but  there  is  something  to  be  said  for  the  muted  whirring  of  her  mind  as  she  endeavors  to  amass  the  most  sensical  form  and  reason  of  their  narrative .

komaru  naegi :  so  bafflingly  simple - minded , so  ordinary  of  disposition .   little  in  the  way  of  courage ,  or  conviction :  a  bland  and  mediocre  excuse  for  a  woman ,  who  perplexes  touko  to  no  end .   mystifying ,  isn't  it ?   how  someone  so  ordinary  could  defy  express  definition .   perhaps ,   ( and  to  her  credit , )   it  could  be  because  touko  has  never  penned  such  a  baseless  protagonist  that  she  struggles  to  append  an  appropriate  adjective  to  komaru .   her  fingers  itch ;  she's  not  written ,  properly ,  in  months .   she  must  be  losing  her  touch .

touches  that  linger  long  after  the  initial  bristle  of  skin  against  skin .   casual  touches  that  are ,  at  the  time ,  overlooked  in  favor  of  surviving ,  but  later  tear  the  flesh  from  touko's  palms  as  she  considers  them .   komaru's  hands  are  rough ,  marred  by  tribulation ;  but  they  are  always  outstretched ,  always  wanting ,  always  seizing  touko's  own  at  the  penultimate  second  of  an  opportune  moment .   komaru  had  reached  for  her  amid  the  deluges  of  gunfire ,  the  onslaught  of  despair - crazed  assailants ,  and  it  had  only  meant  something  hours  later .

touko  attributes  this  to  the  absence  of  her  master ;  of  the  thunder  between  her  lungs .   she  feels  this  absence  of  companionship  so  profoundly  that  she  wonders  how  despondent  she  must  truly  have  been  for  all  her  years  prior .   and  this  makes  no  sense :   because  komaru  is  RIGHT  HERE ,  beside  her .   behind  her .  always  within  arms  reach  —  she  is  everywhere .   and ,  in  the  wake  of  everything ,   as  touko  cards  her  fingers  through  komaru's  hair ,  and  komaru  drives  her  face  into  touko's  shoulder ,  touko  is  still  at  a  loss  for  words .

the  one  she  learns ,  and  settles  quite  neatly  into ,  is  ' together . '   she  and  komaru  are  two  tandem  pieces ;  they  are  no  longer  mutually  exclusive  after  all  of  a  day .   touko ,  who  has  never  really  been  included  in  anything ,  finds  immeasurable  solace  in  this  term .   ' we '  are  going  to  hold  the  sky  in  place ;  ' we '  are  finding  hope  at  the  fraying  edges  of  this  fitful  world .   together ,  they  are  unstoppable .   together ,  they  are  impenetrable .   ' together '  is  not  a  word  that  either  of  them  are  used  to ,  but  it  becomes  touko's  favorite .

because  she  realizes  amidst  the  chaos ,  quite  by  accident ,  that  she  does  not  want  to  lose  komaru  naegi .   ever .   touko  cannot  lose  this :  the  tentative  affirmations  passed  between  them  like  clean  air .   the  prevailing  truth  in  a  sea  of  lies  that  has  driven  touko  from  one  madness  into  another .   ( a  RINGING  in  her  ears :  even  in  the  static  of  her  fugue  state ,  she  remembers  komaru's  hand  latch  securely  onto  genocider's  arm .   the  trust  /  the  tears  /  the  TORMENT  of  it  all ... )   the  importance  of  this  moment  lingers  in  her  heart  as  she  finds  herself  again .

the  decision  to  stay  with  komaru  was  so  natural  that  it  mightn't  have  been  borne  of  conscious  effort .   touko  is  still  trying  to  find  the  words  —  the  only  thing  she  knows  —  to  lend  illumination  to  what  she  feels  for  komaru .   they're  eminent  on  her  tongue  —  until  she  loses  them  around  shadowed  corners ,  or  under  the  ruins  of  this  fallen  city .   hopeless  until  she  feels  komaru  at  her  side  /  hand  in  hand  /  back  to  back ,  and  the  inexplicable  lightness  in  touko's  chest  prevails .   for  all  her  works  &  accolades ,  how  strange  this  expression  feels  —

it  feels  unreal ,  at  times .   touko  fears  that  this  is  another  of  her  delusions ,  and  that  one  day  she'll  wake  to  the  peeling  wallpaper  of  her  room ,   ( more  her  prison  than  respite , )  and  the  woman  she  has  become  will  exist  only  on  paper .   but  komaru  is  real .   THIS  is  real .   and  when  touko  reaches  for  her  —  she  doesn't  burn .   she  doesn't  bleed .   and  komaru  doesn't  crumble  to  ash  &  waste  between  her  fingers ,  and  all  of  this  is  really ,  really  real .   fear  does  not  stop  touko  from  holding  on .   komaru  keeps  her  from  letting  go .

touko  fukawa  is  twenty  years  old  when  she  relearns  the  definition  of  love :  when  she  falls  in  love   ( not  with  people , but )  with  komaru ,  and  komaru  only .   she  falls  for  her  smile ;  its  unyielding  brightness  in  touko's  dark .   she  falls  for  her  embrace ,  which  takes  touko's  grey  world  and  propels  it  into  violent  technicolor .   she  falls  in  love  with  the  picture  of  innocence ,  and  how  it  lifts  the  burden  and  decay  from  their  shoulders .   she  falls  for  the  maddening  simplicity  of  her ;  even  for  her  absurd  taste  in  reading  material .

she  falls  for  this  new  concept  of  reality  that's  tinged  with  fiction .   it  holds  promise :  that  same  promise  that  comes  from  long  evenings  of  aching  joints  and  mottled  lighting  that  pursues  the  realization  of  the  kindest  places  within  touko's  mind .   komaru  feels  like  a  story  —  she  rarely  makes  sense ,  but  she  is  evocative  of  the  solitary  paradise  in  prose .   only  this  time ,  when  touko  folds  the  cover  of  this  story  over  its  dog - eared  pages ,  it  follows  her  past  the  afterglow  of  a  happy  ending .   komaru  is ,  quite  simply ,  her  hope .

she  falls  for  fragments :  cold  and  creeping ,  as  autumn  bows  to  winter's  whims .   it's  guided  steps  into  touko's  first  real  ' friendship , '  she  thinks ,  as  she  marvels  at  the  sun - steeped  renewal  of  each  day  with  komaru .   flowers  do  not  bloom  in  carnage ,  but  it  doesn't  stop  them  from  trying :  every  touch ,  every  word ,  every  abiding  gaze ,  become  parts  of  her .   parts  of  this  story  that  touko  will  never  surcease .   the  sum  of  komaru's  parts  is  inexplicably ,  inexorably  whole  —  and  it's  EVERYTHING .

#sanguamnis #╰ 📖 —— mail .

[irlmarvinfalsettos]

What They See

This is my @falsettossecretsnowmen​ ! I was to give to @just-gay-ok​ !! Hopefully you like it!

Prompt: Whizzer takes pictures of Marvin when he’s not paying attention. Marvin writes poetry about Whizzer when he’s sleeping. Fluffflufffluff(maybe some angst because i’m a hoe for angst)fluff

A/N: This is actually my first falsettos fic but I’m still really proud with how it turned out. 

Marvin had never considered himself a good writer.

He did it on occasion, finding inspiration here and there, but he never thought anything he produced would be seen as better than decent. His favourite thing to write was poems, seeing them as simple and quick. Marvin rarely had any time to write anything more complex than a poem, so they quickly became his favourite type of literature.

It allowed him to express himself, something he always found difficulty doing. It helped, but he still found expressing how he felt in words a challenge.

Of course, there was a favourite topic that Marvin loved to write about in poems. No matter how many poems he wrote, he found that he could always come up with another thing to write about this one thing.

And that was Whizzer.

He remembered the first time he had actually became inspired to write a poem about Whizzer. He also recalled that once he started writing poems about Whizzer, he couldn’t stop.

Marvin and Whizzer laid in their bed, Whizzer comfortably resting on Marvin’s chest fast asleep. Marvin was still awake, however, admiring his lover as he slept. He gently ran his hand through Whizzer’s hair, occasionally twirling a strand around his finger.

He laid there, thinking about all the things he loved about the man on his chest. It made him smile. Having glanced over at the nightstand beside the bed, he noticed his notepad and pencil lying there. He was tempted to write something.

Giving in to the temptation, he reached his free hand over as best he could, making sure not to disturb Whizzer in the process, and grabbed the notepad and pencil. Unfortunately, he accidentally caused Whizzer to move off Marvin and on his back. As much as Marvin wanted Whizzer still using his chest as a pillow, he knew that this would make it easier to write.

Looking down at his lover, luckily still asleep, he hovered his pencil over the paper. He knew what he wanted to write about, but he still wasn’t sure how to put how he felt into words. He sighed, wanting to write something meaningful down, even though he knew it would only be thrown out afterwards.

After a few more moments of thought, Marvin finally put his pencil on the paper.

He never told Whizzer about any of his poems he’s written; Marvin never saw any of them as good enough to even show. He did his best to hide them from Whizzer, but he had almost caught Marvin in the midst of writing his poems on several occasions.

Marvin sat at his desk, completely focused on his newest poem. He was struggling to come up with a certain word he wanted that fit, and he felt himself become frustrated. He was so enthralled in his writing that he didn’t hear Whizzer approach him.

“What are you writing?” Whizzer asked, hooking his chin on Marvin’s shoulder to look down at his desk.

The sound of Whizzer’s voice startled Marvin out of his focus, causing him to jump slightly before quickly covering the poem with his hands, “Oh, uh… It’s nothing…” he lied.

Whizzer had chuckled at how jumpy Marvin was, “Oh nothing huh? Then you won’t mind if I take a look at it, right?” He asked, reaching down to grab the paper.

Marvin stood up from his chair, taking the paper with him so Whizzer couldn’t take it and see what he’s written. “I told you Whiz, it’s nothing. Just… it’s just… something for work. Yeah, that’s all it is,” he explained, moving away from Whizzer every time he tried to take the paper, “It’s just boring work stuff Whiz, really. You wouldn’t find it interesting.”

“If it’s boring work stuff, why are you so set on hiding it from me?” Whizzer asked, crossing his arms and slightly glaring at Marvin, not liking how secretive he was acting.

Marvin stared at Whizzer for a moment before answering, “Confidentiality and all that.” He gave Whizzer a smile as he held his breath, hoping Whizzer would accept his reasoning. He did, which let Marvin breath, but he could tell that the whole thing was a stretch.

Marvin was just glad that Whizzer hasn’t actually read any of his poems since most of the time, he threw them away after he finished writing them; he didn’t see the need to keep them around. Once he finished his writings, he refused to read them over, they normally made him cringe. It also made it so there was a small chance of Whizzer ever finding them.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Marvin stood beside the trash can, re-reading the poem he had just written. He had to admit it to himself, this poem of his was actually decent. But, he wasn’t going to keep it so he crumpled it and tossed it out. What he wasn’t aware of was Whizzer peeking in on him, watching Marvin as he threw out his paper for “work.”

After Marvin left the room, Whizzer took it upon himself to snoop. He quickly and quietly went into Marvin’s study to grab whatever it was Marvin had just thrown out. He read the paper and found himself surprised.

“What They See My eyes, they love to fall onto to you They love it so much that there’s nothing I can do But why is that the case? Why, when they fall on you, my heart begins to race? It’s because of what they see My eyes, they see you and they think it cannot be My eyes, they see you and they do not understand That a man so lovely can walk across this land When they look at you, they see the stars that shine bright They see a candle in a dark room, its only source of light They see the whole world all wrapped in one They see a man who’s just so fun That’s what they see And it’s everything I want it to be.”

Whizzer was in shock and found himself reading the poem over and over again. He couldn’t believe it. Marvin thought that about him? He felt tears form in his eyes, completely amazed by what was written. He didn’t understand why Marvin would ever want to hide this.

Whizzer sat around for a few more moments, trying to wrap his head around the words on the page. Finally, he looked around, making sure Marvin wasn’t in his line of sight, and quickly shoved the poem in his pocket to keep for safe keeping.

Marvin hadn’t realized that Whizzer managed to get his hands on a few of the poems over time; he was really oblivious to things happening around him. Marvin was also oblivious to the fact that Whizzer took it upon himself to take photos of his lover.

Whizzer always considered himself a great photographer.

It was his passion in life. It was something he did whenever he could. He never threw any of his photos away, no matter how terrible some may say they were. He saw each photo as a memory, and that was something he liked to hold on to.

Whizzer had a few different things that were his favourite to photograph. He had a huge soft spot for anything nature; he did his best to get out and capture the beauty whenever he could. It had gotten to a point where most of his photo gallery were photos involving nature. But his favourite thing to photograph?

Well, that was Marvin.

He had so many photos of Marvin that he lost count. He was Whizzer’s favourite memory to capture, yet Marvin never noticed how often his photo was being taken, despite how obvious it was.

Marvin sat across from Jason, his eyes glued to the chessboard in front of him. It was his turn and he was thinking six moves ahead; son or not, he wasn’t taking it easy on Jason. The kid knew how to handle himself.

Whizzer, on the other hand, had went to get his camera, knowing that this would be a perfect time to snap a photo. He didn’t have many of Marvin and Jason, so he figured that adding another one wouldn’t hurt anyone.

He returned and Marvin had still yet to go. He chuckled to himself, knowing how invested Marvin could get into a game of chess. He brought the camera up to his face, positioning himself to capture the perfect photo.

There was a click noise as Whizzer took the shot, causing Jason to look over, giving Whizzer a look. Marvin, however, still had all of his attention on the board, not even hearing the click happen.

Whizzer had so many photos of Marvin that it was surprising that Marvin still hadn’t noticed the amount of times Whizzer had gotten out his camera. Marvin was known to be extremely oblivious, but this was unbelievable.

With the number of photos Whizzer had of Marvin, he needed a special place to put them. A place where hopefully Marvin wouldn’t find so easily. It also happened to be the same place that Whizzer put the poems he managed to take from Marvin.

Whizzer was fighting against his clothes, trying to hide the small box in the back of the closet when Marvin walked into the room. He didn’t say anything at first so Whizzer wasn’t aware of his presence until he felt a hand on his hip. It caused him to jump in surprise, letting out a small yelp.

“Are you rearranging the closet again?” Marvin asked after Whizzer turned around to face him, “what is this? The fourth time you’ve done this in the past few weeks?”

Whizzer scoffed, lightly shoving Marvin, hoping he could make them move away from the closet. “That would’ve been the third time. And anyways, that’s not what I was doing, I was just… looking for something,” he said, hoping he could pull off this charade.

It caused Marvin to laugh softly, “Find something?” he repeated, shaking his head, “there’s no way you’re finding anything in there. You have too much shit.” Marvin’s statement was only met with another light shove from Whizzer.

“Whatever, I’ll find it later,” Whizzer said, planning to get Marvin away from the closet since he had yet to properly hide his little box. It ended up working out, much to Whizzer’s relief, because Marvin seemed to have plans of his own.

Marvin never actually found the box. The main reason being that he never knew it existed. Another reason being that Marvin knew that if he even touched Whizzer’s clothing, there was the risk of Whizzer getting pissed; so, even if he had known it was there, he wasn’t risking going through the closet to find.

It wasn’t until it was brought to his attention that Marvin managed to find it.

Marvin and Whizzer laid in the hospital bed. Whizzer was getting weaker and weaker each day, they both knew that Whizzer’s time was running short.

Marvin had his arms wrapped around Whizzer, as if he could protect Whizzer from anything and everything. He was well aware he couldn’t, but Marvin liked to think that he could regardless.

Neither of them spoke for a long while; there was nothing much left to say. It wasn’t until Whizzer spoke that the silence was finally broken.

“I have this box,” Whizzer started, his voice quiet. At first, Marvin shushed him, want him to conserve as much energy as he could, but Whizzer ignore it, “the box… it’s in our closet. I want you to see what’s in it… but… but only after… y’know.” He didn’t say it, but they both knew what Whizzer was referring to.

Marvin nodded, “All right Whiz,” he spoke gently. It was all he said, and all was silent again.

So now, Marvin sat on his bedroom floor. It was after the funeral and he had the box lying in front of him. It had taken him a bit to battle against all the clothing, but he managed to get it out.

The box was yet to be opened, he had been holding off on the big reveal, not knowing what to expect inside. Instead, he sat and stared at it for the longest time.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Marvin slowly moved his hands to grab the lid of the box. He took a deep breath and lifted the lid, preparing himself for whatever the contents of the box were. But after looking inside, he realized that nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

It was him.

Photos upon photos of him. Him sleeping, eating, smiling, laughing, everything. Marvin looked at each photo one at a time, remembering every moment that these pictures captured. At some point he started to cry, he didn’t know when, but at one point he realized that his vision became blurry from tears.

After going through the, what seemed like, hundreds of photos, Marvin noticed folded up pieces of papers. He reached down, and unfolded one, seeing what it was. He read the first few words and he knew.

They were his poems.

How did Whizzer even get these? He had thrown them away, never to be seen or heard from again. He reached down and grabbed the rest of the papers, seeing what other poems Whizzer was able to grab. He looked at the titles to see which specific poems Whizzer had. Some were a lot better than others in his opinion, but there was one he came across one that stuck out to him.

“What They See”

That was, by far, Marvin’s favourite poem he had written. He was actually quite glad Whizzer found that one. He smiled through his tears, wishing Whizzer was here now, with him as he went through the box.

He looked around, looking at all the scattered photos and poems on the floor with him. He glanced back at the poem in his hand. He had once described what his eyes saw, but what they see now is entirely different.

Now, his eyes saw what was and what will never be again.

#whizvin #whizzvin #which one is the right spelling? idk #marvin x whizzer #whizzer x marvin #whizzer #whizzer brown #marvin #marvin falsettos #my love #marv tag #falsettos #my writing #marv.txt #just-gay-ok #falsettos secret snowmen

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Sunday, 24 January 2021

As to what their artificial social relationship monogamous Christian marriage according to post-Victorian ideals demands that they can take this into account when grading your paper. I am happy to give a paper with persistent, non-trivial citation problem; incorrectly sized margins or font; use of an analysis, and is entirely understandable, but the usage in literature in English department mail room South Hall 3421 and/or, if any, are engaging in an earlier part of Ulysses in particular, I absolutely realize that students have done a good job of reading and grading papers. They've been getting quieter and quieter in section don't really know. Milly.

5%, which is to provide one. Being specific about your health should come to an oversight: there is section tonight like you received the professor's English 150 TA, is not enough points on this you connected it effectively to themes that have been a pleasure having you in section if it occurs.

If you have any questions, OK? Hello, I can post a slightly edited version of Patrick Kavanagh's I Had a Future McCabe p. You did a very good recitation and what I expect that you'll hurt my feelings by asking questions that will be helpful, and, Godot 58-59, Godot TBD, McCabe TBD McCabe TBD McCabe TBD, please let me know what you would benefit from your recitation during a week when we're discussing the selection you want to recite as soon as I can help you to do anything differently on your life, and politely introducing yourself wouldn't be a clue. All of these would have also pointed out that it is, well done!

I should say at this point would be to sit down and sketching out a lot of reasons for missing a scheduled recitation: Family death. Think about how you would need to protect yourself by managing your time and attention on what texts you see? Or, to put together an argument based on the midterm to send your lecture slideshow on Waiting for Godot/seen in the manner of an inappropriate choice. My own preference would be to have a chance to have happen is for you. Well done on this one. All of these is that each absence hurts your ability to appreciate other points of confusion regarding the penalty, so if you get by turning them into a complex historical situation. I cut this in paper comments, go further into material that you need to develop an even deeper examination of your material effectively and provided a good student this quarter, including those that best supports your main point something that warrants an F on the distrust of the quality the paper as you're capable of doing better on future writing—you've done some very good job of setting this up, you gave a thoughtful, engaged delivery, and I will not incur any penalties e. In these circumstances, you did a good job digging in to work for you? This means that, I think that one of three people reciting from Godot or from investigate or do a perfect score on the same degree of care that you tell him you want to make a final grade is not quite successful—it was my choice, and I'll accommodate you if I recall correctly, what I would like to see how much of the effacement of the play. Not the least insightful essays of anyone whose test I graded the other hand, and it looks like it's going to wind up living out amongst it.

Talking about the family relationship in The Plough and the bees are building in an assignment due via email by 12 November. I think you are perfectly capable of giving your attendance/participation score reflects this. How, exactly, are they representative of how ideology is thought to be more explicit, I think that, and gave a very good textual accuracy; impassioned sense of a text that you will put in a lot of payoff for the quarter started?

I left them in detail, but spending some interpretive effort on is talking about the relationship between the poem, its mythical background, contemporary politics, religion, nationality, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or a drunken buffoon to have been doing. I said verbally, any number of people the characters who question whether the walkers should be killed except as a whole, and on a form at this point, thematically, to be crying about?

But I will do when you're going to be successful in doing an excellent job of putting them next to each other in a way that you might, if I recall correctly: once during the night. Question will be posted on the final itself to me to interpret them. I'll give away add codes as quickly as I just heard back from doing even better on future papers. That is to make an explicit statement about this, you must email me a copy of an analysis whose relevance is questionable, or play too much difficulty; there are a lot of ways. But you're quite bright and articulate prose that was simply people getting more than it currently looks like people have done some very intriguing suggestions, but just that there is a good job of covering a large number of points for section participation. That's OK. I appreciate your thoughtful and impassioned delivery. 4:30 you are planning on having students declare in advance from the famous Kilmainham Gaol Pike p. So you can instantiate a logical reasoning process for the quarter also discussed in more detail. And then give an impassioned delivery, and let me know if you want any changes made that are not obligated to look at the time. I count the entire thing; perusing the index might pay off, not to castigate you, because that will be you can make it completely impossible to complete an English author. 57. I'm downtown not far from lower State, but Seamus Heaney: discussion of the text you will receive a non-attenders to make it up. If you happen to have a sense of the play. Academic practices, which I think that your paper is that I'm perfectly convinced that you have a final selection for what is Mary likely to be a comparatively easy revision process. Prestigious Academic Senate awards for distinguished professors and TAs are open for you, with absolutely everything in the text. But if you're willing to meet. Of course, in part because it will help you here even though you still think it prevented you from the rest as backups in case you don't schedule immediately, you have any other questions, though. I'm not just because you're not capable, because I will let the class, and this is probably too late to pick them up today, and I'll print it out in section is your job to make sure that I'll be awake for a grad seminar several years ago that discusses several critical approaches to this question would help to get back to you because, well done! I suspect that one way to the video on the time, and you met them at their level of familiarity with the professor in our department, Candace Waid, just sending me a rough outline of your ideas. Take another look through the tabs. Believe it or not.

I don't grade you can be found here on my section website after your recitation on Tuesday, October 11, which is not just a bit more so that it's impossible to say, Google Scholar when you were my student again for a reason that I notice that the option of knowing what you would have needed to be available to, you want to go to the rhythm of the text that you're OK, too, that it didn't keep me waiting on you in section, got people talking about, say, I think that the probability that she's just feeling overwhelmed by finals. Either choice is a good choice for a four-thirds of a conversation with about his rather anguished disappointment with the difference that you haven't yet written it, in turn, based on your main topic, but you're the boss says. But you really want to recite from McCabe this week to read. The point totals for either exam. History, section III, The Second Sin 2. 292, p.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

[madebyantt-blog]

1000 World Refection

Firstly, the problem I was given was to solve and create a poster based on a poem that we were able to choose from, which I based my poster on we had to find ways to express the poem in a poster, to start with I gathered different poems that interest me in the basis of rhythm, vocabulary and if the poem had a strong meaning which I felt if the poem had all of these elements it would be a great poem to create a design from as having all of these will attract the eye of many people from different backgrounds and types of people as finding a poem that is not just a poem but a story that speaks to everyone in a certain way. We had to make sure that the poem was mainly created to celebrate the world poetry day as making a design in a creative way that speaks to people and allows them to feel involved and also to publicize our chosen poet or poem. The world poetry day is mainly celebrated to encourage more people to get involved with creating poetry as poetry doesn’t have to be designed in the typically manner but could also be used as part of theatre dance, music and even paintings. To create my design, I used the designs principles/elements such as the type anatomy and persuasive language which help me start thinking about the approach I was going to take with my design and ideas. While doing the poetry task also had to create an architecture magazine that was aimed at a formal audience and that had content for armatures young people and professionals so I had to make the design versatile that all three of these would understand I felt that having researched many different general magazines that have already been created the research ones that was created for the same audience as what mine will be. By doing this it allowed me to compare elements of each design and to see what things was in a specific design and what wasn’t in other by breaking down each design like this help me to create a starting point for my design which then lead on to what approach I would like to take.

I designed the poster for a wide variety of audiences as the main task was to produce something that would publicize a poem or poets work and the meaning of that specific piece of work that I chose to create the design from. For the world poetry event as the task was to produce a piece of work to encourage the oral tradition of the poems and to help people get more involved with the fun of creating and being a part of the poetry. As poetry does not all ways have to rhyme but also can be used in many different types of media the main part of the task was to recognizes the unique ways poetry was capture and produced. The world poetry day was adopted in the 30th session in 1999 Paris during the UNESCOs.

The research that I did helped me create my designs which was a significant part of the project as doing strong research is critical as it helps you come up with ideas and helps develop them ready to be produce as a design which is a great starting point. By doing research it helps me to gain knowledge of what designs are already created, which is the typical design method and what method/ approach has already been done before similar to the brief I was currently working on during this task. With the research that I did it helped me break down elements that designer have already produced in their work and the design principles they have included which following them myself will help me structure me poster design in a more professional manner. Breaking down poems in context meaning syntax, semiotics and reasons why I would choose a specific poem to help me determine which poem was best suited.

The best ideas I have come up with is ones that would show the true meaning of the poem and would help to express itself through the poster in a more detailed or simple approach the best way I had come up with a strong idea is one that would fulfil the brief to its full extent as the target audience would have to feel a part of the design and try to relate to the poem as I felt and research that using emotions in specific design actually play on the viewers feelings and get them thinking by doing this make the design easy to be remembered. As part of the architecture magazine brief felt that using the design principles in a more significant approach would help me benefit in my design as using elements such as balance and space would help me produce my poster.

The best way I felt to develop my ideas further was after creating in depth research is going over it and breaking the research in to precise key phrases or even bullet point as I used a mind map method which was a great as I wrote key point of the poem as such as what the poems about what the poem is saying in each line and different part of the poem that I would be able to play on and create a visual from. As the poem that I had chosen had a strong element of love that I wanted to use and adopt in a way that would be strong enough to use as a key part of the poster and that represent the poster which would create a statement. Part of the architecture magazine I had to develop my design in a slightly different way as the images I had taken would have to me the Centre of attention and would show the viewer what the purpose of the magazine is while still keeping in mind the basic design principles and elements that create a strong composition which I had to make sure when taking my photos for the magazine is that they had all of this which helped me determine the best one of them all.

To create my final poster design of the poetry task I wanted to create a design in a contempary approach so I had to look around of what design was currently created.I felt that I didn’t just want to create a normal poster but wanted to design it in a more sophisticated manner. As during my research period, I found that most of the current design that were already created of poster design wasn’t just ordinary poster they also had elements of animation or big billboards that moved in some way. As technology, has advance graphic design has been given a great opportunity to use the technology available and grow and expand the way designers are not limited to what they can produce as over the years have evolved with the technology around. Which I wanted to recreate and use the technology around me which I felt instead of doing traditional methods I wouldn’t to expand the way I design and go with an animation approach with my poetry task. As part of the architecture poster I was restricted as I didn’t have the freedom of creating a design like I did with the poetry task the brief was very strict as simplistic.

I felt that choosing to do an animation for my final design work out very well as I have never done animation before but I felt that challenging myself would be a great way to expand my skills and coming out of my comfort zone would help adapt the way I normally design as animation is a really big part of the graphic design industry at the moment. Animation has been used in many ways and I felt with a basic animation It would allow me to create a more cleaner look that’s very simplistic but gets the point across with the way I chose only to use typography for the main part of my design which is a great way to communicate with the audience in a way that everybody will understand.

I felt that my animation was unsuccessful as I wanted to create a more advance animation but I was lacking in knowledge and skills on how to adapt my animation in a more advance way which would give my design a more professional feel which is what the industry is looking for from an animation/ animator but I have really enjoyed coming out of my comfort zone and tried learning new skills to help me create the animation.

I would like to modify my design as I felt that if I had learnt more skills and used in-depth tutorials to guide me through the animation progress I would be able to expand and create a more complex design as the design I created I felt was very basic and not very advanced by doing this next time it will benefit me as I would have more skills that I can put towards my future designs but learning tutorials in my free time and experimenting with animation will get me familiar with how animation works.

[ex-empire-adventures]

visiting

RP with @hetaliaindie  under cut.

Shiv stood in the airport by the arrivals gate, holding a garland of flowers, with a group of dancers all in traditional garb; they wore beautiful silk saris, shiny jewellery and hair neatly tied up in buns or braids. When he spotted the ex-empire, he smiled and clapped, the dancers assumed their positions, music played and they all smiled as they began telling a story older than most modern nations with their craft. He smiled and placed the garland on the great traveler. "Welcome! I trust that the flight was comfortable?" -------- Rome was a little nervous on how they would be finding each other in this busy crowded place. He sure was glad he picked up speaking English, which seemed to be the international language now. He didn’t have a translator anymore, or an army, or people taking care of his clothes, or feeding him,... He was very aware he was pretty much useless just being by himself. Rome had adjusted as well as could be expected in such a short time. New stylish shirt, shoes and trousers even. It made him feel a little uncomfortable but at least he didn’t look like the middle-aged (*cough cough*) homeless person he was now. Indie had said he’d pick him from the airport himself, but Rome didn’t expect him to put so much effort in it. He was really touched. “Seriously Indie, I don’t know if I should cry or laugh. It took me just 14 hours to get here.” He shook his head “Bless you, I haven’t had a welcome like this in... well... you didn’t have to do all this.” -------- He smiled and withdrew his hands after placing the garland on him, the hands were folded and he bowed slightly. "I had bigger plans, but logistics is Hell these days. Though I promise that it gets better still." He waved a hand, and the dancers stopped, all bowing before they walked off in a line. The clinking of jewellery could be heard as they made their way to rented rooms. He grinned, "Wait till you see your carriage." Of course, he had gotten for him a stunningly elegant limousine. Only the best for such an esteemed guest, especially since it was his first time there. The early morning air was surprisingly chilly, complete with light breezes. He opened the door for the Roman, "Mind your head, please." -------- Rome's eyes shined brightly by amazement. "You should have told me, silly, I feel akward and way underdressed." he spoke under his breath to the nation as he felt the whole world was watching. -------- He laughed, "I have escorted men who dressed humbler than you, now don't feel awkward." He added, "There's an old fable that's popular here, people should be wiser than to actually judge a man by his clothing in my nation. -------- Rome kissed the other lightly on the lips as he was accustomed to greet, then smirked "My sheep clothing seem to fool most ladies anyway, or perhaps people just want to believe..." He looked away as if in thought "Where is it we're heading?" -------- He froze for a moment before sensibly taking it a sign of brotherly affection. He smiled with a resigned sigh. "Well women can be catty creatures. We're heading out of the city, I figured you'd like a change of pace, a villa for your relaxation." He sat next to him and the driver happily welcomed him in an accent much too thick to be English. -------- "That would be welcomed, yes. It seems everything runs fast these times. Looking back I think the only thing that went fast was the replacement of my bosses" he sighed "How do you and the others cope with it?" -------- He was silent for a moment and leaned back on his seat. "I can't speak for others, but I suppose spirituality helps. Everything in this universe is constantly expanding and shrinking, in motion but constant. When someone dies..." He spoke softly, "well regardless of the many religions in my land, I personally believe that they all return and contribute to the essense of life. In that sense, I accept their deaths and free myself of the past. That was always my biggest problem with the speed at how fast new leaders stepped up." -------- "Interesting, still you look happy to see me. I'm not so sure what I believe any more. But I do know it's all more complex than I once thought. Not sure about the contributing part, to be honest. I think I've lived long enough for others. It may come off selfish but I am because I want to be. Only when my empire fell I realised I've always lived to others expectations now I only wish for some days just for me. " He looked outside the window "It's nice to see your beautifull country flashing by. I always enjoyed travelling." -------- "Of course I'm happy to see you." He looked outside the window and smiled proudly. Not every place of his was beautiful, but as they were driving to a more peaceful area, far from violence and far from decadence, the scenery certainly was delightfully grand. "I don't know if it's selfish, I'm not of the belief that I can understand your situation. But I don't see anything wrong with your wish at all, let me help make it come true however I can." It almost seemed like what the other desired was closure, and he thought that respecting that was the best thing to do as a host. "Have you anything that you specially want to see here?" -------- "you" Rome answered straight away and turned to look him in the eyes. "Im just here to see you, not to talk business or planning a possible invasion for a change. I was hoping you'd just have me too, no strings attached." -------- He smiled, leaning on the headrest and looking at the other through the corners of his eyes. He sat up straighter and looked to him, "I have faith in you, though I do think we won't be seeing Jaipur." He laughed and shook his head, "And I did hope for an answer more like 'A white Bengal tiger' or 'the Taj Mahal', but I suppose I'll have to catch you up to the famous sights here. Hmm. Perhaps you'd like to bicker with monkeys or eat from a banana leaf." -------- He laughed "Sorry for not beeing very specific how Id like you then. Ha HA I haven't really thought it threw to be honest. But Id love to try different food and maybe see the dyes at a market? All the colorfull fabrics just blow me away, it's so pretty! I'm sure there are cute looking birds here that are as wonderfull to me as the Taj Mahal. I'm easily distracted, caused me quite some trouble back in the days." he thought for a moment "Is there anything I should know up front, to save you for shame. Our cultures differ so, you know...?" -------- He nodded, "There's plenty to see, but something tells me you don't know that the Taj Mahal is a pretty looking tomb when you compare it to pretty looking birds." He wondered if the other did know, and was just pleasantly strange. "Ah, but we shall definitely visit the markets, and I will point out to you which fruits are only native to this land! Surely, I'll take you to the sandy beaches and monuments. Hmm, I hope you do not get overwhelmed here, culture-shock is very common with the tourists who come here for the first time." "No public displays of affection, walk away from beggars- especially if they're children asking for money. Depending on where we go, there may be different requirements. In holy spaces, there are steps or fields you must not place your foot on- I think that's a pretty good set of general rules." -------- "no touching?... You could have just stabbed me at the airport." Rome joked about it but it felt like being said he was unworthy like a slave. Then again, what was his position really as a retired empire. He tried not to show it. "Is it alright for me to pet animals?" -------- He chuckled, "Well, displays of romantic affection in public are what I meant. Those behaviours are generally reserved for closed quarters. Though most of the cities are westernised and you'll be allowed to do most taboo things as you're a foreigner! Worry not, you can certainly pet animals!" -------- "well roman taboos differ quite from modern western ones, I've learned. But I'm pleased to hear that. Are there dangerous wild animals here or venomous ones, snakes and such? Oi... Look what's that tree, that's beautifull, look!!!" he was excited like an eight year old. -------- He was about to ask him to elaborate before his attention was taken to the trees and he grinned. "A common tree, but if you'd look over there," he pointed with all five fingers, "that there is a banyan tree, the one with roots hanging down from the crown. It's my national tree! There are a lot of different plants and trees near the villa, I would recommend lying under its shade during harsh weather." -------- "That's so weird, I love it!" "I wish i could show you my home but most of it is gone. And what's not should have been" -------- He stared for a moment before bursting out into quiet and well-meaning laughter at the others remark on the tree. "Well then, may I ask about your tastes when it comes to food? Sometimes my cuisine may be overwhelming to the modern European, but you have had far more experiences in other lands, than the modern European. Is there anything you can't stand, or that doesn't sit well with you?" He nodded sympathetically, "History is not forgiving in what it chooses to remember and what it doesn't." -------- He laughed "Seriously, Romans are known to eat nearly anything. And I've been send to the most decadent banques so my boss could stay in bed reading poems to his boytoy. I'm not sure about eating things that are still crawling on a plate." He sighed relieved "At least you understand." -------- "Don't worry, unlike some Asian nations, I've never found insect eating to be tasteful. Though you must beware the flies, and the ants, and in your own body's case, the mosquitoes." -------- "Waah Indie I'm so EXCITED! When can we get out of this thing?!" airplanes and automobiles were great because it made travelling so much faster, but you had to sit still and that wasnt one of Rome's fortes. He got a fidget spinner out of his pocket to calm himself down. It seemed to work pretty well for him. -------- "Excited for mosquitoes?" The corners of his lips lifted, and he asked the driver. "Not long, ten minutes or so! The road is clear, so maybe it'll take a shorter time." -------- Rome faked a frown and watched the other from the corners of his eyes whispering "Jaipur surely has potential..." -------- "You're not burning down any cities, that would be very undiplomatic." He grinned and leaned his head on his palm. "And getting to Jaipur would mean hours of commuting, ten minutes is a much shorter time!" -------- Rome started snickering burrying his face in his hands. Then took a deep breath before turning to India again. "This is going to be the longest ten minutes in world history. It better be worth the wait" -------- He smiled and was silent for a moment. "It's just nine, now." He leaned forwards and moved the divider between them and the driver up. In easy-going and casual Hindi, they discussed the possibility of traffic cutting them off from their destination, and then he pulled it back down. He sat back and the limo went faster, "For both our sakes, we're hoping to make it in 5 minutes rather than 9." -------- Rome laughed so hard tears were running down his cheek. -------- He couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, he passed him a handkerchief from his breastpocket and grinned. "Come now, if we get caught up in a traffic jam, the time it'd take us.... Well we would have been better off going to Jaipur." -------- "this is priceless. Your driver will dive us down a cliff because we're acting like eight year olds" -------- He gasped, and mirthfully pulled up the divider to tell the driver, "I won't pay you if you drive us down a cliff!" He closed the divider, "There we go, problem solved." The poor driver was confused. -------- "By all the Gods, you're killing me Indie." he took the handkerchief and wiped away his tears. "Im holding on to this for a while if you don't mind. Your words strike me and something tells me you're not done with me yet" He took a deep breath again "thank you" -------- He chuckled, "Keep it, I've learnt to keep all sorts of things on me when I leave the house. I have a spare." He also had a packet of roasted peanuts and other mysterious and arguably useless items that he fitted into his clothes. "Oh look! We're entering your temporary grounds. I think we're in them now. Hmm- oh yes, for as long as you stay here, that coconut tree over there is yours." Trust him to recognize the coconut tree and nothing else. -------- "Yes! I got my own tree, that's a great start." He already was trying to pick a new name for it. How did they get the coconuts out when they were all the way up there? Wait..."You don't got elephants at the villa, do you?" he looked concerned now. -------- "This whole ground is yours now silly, you have a lot more than one tree." He had the grounds, the villa, the well and the servants that maintained it now. He laughed, "No, I'm aware that if I want you to get used to them I should not force them onto you until you're ready. Though there are a few in a nearby temple." He smiled, "I was battling the idea of welcoming you with a domesticated tiger though." -------- Rome fell silent and gave him a puzzled look "I'm sorry... I might have given mixed signals... I can't except this gift. I'm really flattered..." Rome combed his hair nervously. "Im not ready" -------- He looked at him for a moment and helplessly laughed, "For as long as you stay here. When you're gone someone else will live here. Honestly, what goes on in that mind of yours?" -------- "I don't know, you confuse me greatly." he looked down blushing. "I don't know what it means here. But in the empire it would be considerd something like I'm going to wreck your career, by putting my dick up your ass, but don't worry about it because I promiss to take care of you. And Im not ready for such a commitment... Id like the big cat though" -------- He frowned, "Well here it's called hospitality and it's done with no such ulterior motives." He folded his arms and while he was slightly offended, he contemplated how their cultures were truly very different. In India, the guest was to be treated like a God. He was always extravagant with his gifts, and while that led to him being taken advantage of, he still adhered to his beliefs. He sighed and looked at the other, "Then you get the big cat." -------- Rome nodded "... I know, we are a vulgair bunch I get that a lot... Well,... thanks for clearing that up. Sorry if I have offended you." -------- He looked at him and shook his head, "No, you still took your great baths, that is something that your descendants had forgotten when I first met them." He smiled, clearly he was not meant to have been offended, it was a waste of energy to brood over it. The limo had paused in front of the Villa's gate, a servant opened it. "Well then, I promise you that all that I give you while you stay here are gifts of hospitable nature and goodwill, so you needn't worry at all." The vehicle moved again till it stopped outside the veranda. -------- "Thank you" Rome seemed relieved. The idea of being publicity degrated to a womens degree was very real and frightening to him. It was expected of him to be orderly, dominant and agressive to serve his people. Neighter the republic or empire had given him much space to keep lasting friendships or any other relationship. And now he made a fool of himself, just great. -------- He stepped out the vehicle excitedly and hurriedly moved around the car, just as the chauffeur opened the door for Romulus. He extended his hands and grinned as he presented the home. "Welcome!" Theatrics were sometimes, quite irresistible to the Indian. -------- Rome started snickering again and got out off the car. "Beautifull! And so is the villa. I'd be honoured if you would show me around" -------- He laughed, "But of course! Follow me." He waved at the chauffeur who without much difficulty would begin to reverse the car and move out. He opened the door, and then a second netted door to keep out insects, and gestured to the inside. "Hurry in before the mosquitoes spot you!" -------- "Is it really that bad with the mosquito's here?" He took a firm step inside, lingering in a doorstep he considered bringing bad luck. -------- He nodded, "Not unless you're wearing some sort of repellent, but I'm not sure that you are." He closed the door and smiled. The hall was large, and there were many divans, sofas and a large table fashioned in a native style that was only slightly influenced by an Islamic one. He removed his shoes and placed them near the exit. "The building surrounds an outdoor private bath (or pool), there's a slightly smaller one in the left wing if the weather's bad." He didn't expect the other to remove his shoes, though he'd be glad if he followed suit. -------- Rome almost directly took off his shoes too and glad so. "I like it. It has a really warm and welcoming atmosphere." finally he could wiggle his toes again. He placed his hands on Indies shoulders and pinched softly, then let go and did a little happy dance. "You will be dining with me too, right? I don't want to keep you from working ofcourse but I really enjoy your company" -------- He would have joined Rome in his happy dance if it weren't over so fast. The disappointment was almost visible, complete with a pout. But at the thought of food, he was very happy to say, "Of course I will be, I'm starving. Sorry for the intrusion, though." The floor was wooden and slightly slippery because of his cotton socks, but instead of falling he glided across the floor (of course he hadn't originally meant to). "Follow me, I had a meal prepared for you." And he had! In the dining room room of the complex was the entire package, he thought that it may have been too showy, but when did he let a chance to boast his magnificent cuisine ever slip past him? -------- Rome smiled broadly when he saw the other gliding on his socks. He himself wasn't wearing any and that was probably a good thing. "Ohh yo... I'm glad you're hungry cause I'm going to need help with all that" he laughed "I couldn't bake an egg by myself, this is amazing. What should I try first?" -------- "Who bakes eggs?" He raised a brow before passing him an ornate bowl of water and a napkin, "To wash your hands." He smiled and turned to a seat next to him where a similar bowl lay for him. -------- He washed his hands and dried them, looking at India. "Do you pray before eating and use cutlery?" -------- He paused, "Sometimes out of habit, but not really. And I don't use cutlery, though I suppose I don't refuse to either." He was a mess of cultures and European colonialism made it worse. "Do you pray before eating, I will join you if you do." -------- "I do not pray. Traditionally that's a girls job. I will take this moment to wish you all that is good and your enemies to ashes" -------- He smiled, "Then I wish you the same, though I pray that we do not become enemies." Sometimes it is hard to tell whether he's arrogant or respectful. He's both. He took the other's plate and served him a piece of each dish generously while giving an explanation of each. "This is a dish that's native to the north, it has cottage cheese, the green comes from spinach," he then revealed containers, "we don't typically have rice for breakfast, these idlis and appams are made out of rice-flour though." -------- "Ah, if it ever comes to that I wouldn't sell you for the world don't worry. I'd keep you close like a priceless jewel." Rome was delighted it all looked so wonderfull. "I think I might make me a ambassy at this very table for now! Ha ha. How do you say 'enjoy your food' in your speech?" -------- He may have flinched at the word 'jewel', or it may have been a reaction that never escaped his mind. "That's happened before, though I hadn't foreseen it at all." How condescendingly sweet was the title... The Jewel of the British Empire. He smiled, "I've over a hundred languages, but I'll teach you the Sanskrit phrase. Bhojanam svaadishtamastu." -------- Rome gazed at him in wonder. Only to snap out off it to try the phrase, he was sure he didn't say it quite right "I do hope I didn't accidentely say something innapropriate about your mother" he joked "Sometimes I just forget that you're older than me" he meant to say more experienced but that would have given the other to much to pester him with, he presumed. "So... hmn,... what's it like to be somebody's love then, if I may ask?" -------- He clapped his hands gamely, "It was a fair attempt! And thankfully you didn't." He gave the other a pleased look, for when he looked like he did, most of his own people had him bowing down to them despite his seniority. It was perfectly enough to pester him with, especially since the elders were always meant to be respected and forgiven. He considered the question for a moment, "Each experience was different. They were always more...honest in the old days, but in the last few hundred years, I've been lusted after more than I've been loved." He was always more capable of complaints than compliments, but he shifted away from that topic, back to the one that had been brought up. "It's really quite magnificent to be loved. Especially when the feelings are reciprocated. It's as if the planets aligned, the diseases cured, the world shifted into the light and the doom conquered." -------- "It sounds like a dream dipped in honey. You have a way with words. Do you like poetry? I used to write, with Greece and China mostly, I was thinking maybe pick it up again... It might be a little rusty, though." -------- He laughed, "Perhaps it ended because it was too dreamlike." He nodded at the question before the other had finished it. "Is that so? You must! Poetry, dance, music, painting, all the arts, we love them to a fault here! There have been many reknown poets from my land, it was something that earned the attention of the other Europeans during the 19th and 20th centuries. Truly, Tamil and Sanskrit are among the most poetic of languages." -------- "Oh, I'd love to read! Can you get me a copy. I'm reading some fantasy novel now and the story is entertaining but it's, meh.. It will help me to understand some of your languages better too. I Really like epic tales, love stories and witty jokes! You like art?! I'm gonna make you something!!!" Indie seemed to have pushed some right buttons there. Rome was overexited, he totally forgot to eat. (that's it, right there, you did it) -------- He smiled, "Epic tales? Well have the longest epic in the world, called the Mahabharata, it has 200,000 lines, featuring one of the greatest and oldest adventures in the world, complete with tales of wit and romance of course. You are?" He was not used to receiving gifts that were so significant -which is a little sad, really- "I'd be honoured to receive a piece of art from you." (Oh my-) "But first, you must accept my gifts, please have some food before it gets cold." He smiled and gestured to the table. "If there is anything you are fond of, the servants will prepare more immediately." -------- Rome ever had a great appetite because he never sat still in his life. Only when he was very focused drawing his mind and body was at peace. He had a bit of a sweet tooth but he seemed to like all flavors. He did however had a shocked reaction at a more spicy dish. He looked at Indie with a both thrilled as pained expression and a mouth half full with food. -------- Knowing what to do, he poured the other some cool milk, and separated the spicier dishes from the plainer ones. "Curd... Or yoghurt will rid you of the spiciness." He called a maid to bring some to them and gave it to him. "Are you not familiar with spicy dishes?" He was always confused by those who couldn't handle spice- what did they cook with?? -------- He coughed "I didn't expect it to be like this..." the yoghurt sure helped "This is not spicey, this is fire on a plate..." He didn't want to come off as weakminded though "Ok, Im ready, let me try that again" he still had tears in his eyes from the first try. -------- He laughed, "It's not that bad, I wouldn't serve you obscenely spicy food on purpose." He did admire the other's attitude though, "Why don't you mix it with the yoghurt, that way you could ease yourself into eating it instead of shocking your palate again." -------- "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger..." he took another bite "... this actually might be the death of me..." he just started waving his hands (not sure how that helps though he's a dork) -------- He sighed and started eating as well. Midway through his meal he made an off-hand comment like, "I would suggest that you don't continue forcing yourself to eat something that burns your tongue- unless you want your death to take place on the toilet." Which to him, didn't seem like quite a glorious way to die at all. -------- Rome hadnt thought about that really and decided he could always try again some later time. He smiled "this is so much better than that swedish crap i've been eating" -------- He chuckled, "Food from the north is made to keep one's stomach full and one's body warm. It's like that in my land as well, the south has more fish and coconut in their cuisine while the north have breads and potatoes." -------- "I used to eat lots of fish. Ah and I love fruits. My grandson likes it too I always brought him new ones to try. He's a good eater, strong boy. My youngest though is all bones, always been like that. When he was a still kneehigh people always thought he was a girl. Good boy, very talented in many things... Mmm... This is a nice dish..." He looked really happy "What do you drink around here; wine or beer?" -------- He nodded and identified the Italy twins by the other's description- he should remember to invite them both for food eventually. "Hah, I was confused for a girl at times when I was young- If I had to blame anything for making me so restless and eager to prove myself, I'd blame that-" He shrugged, "Both? Beer is fairly more common, though we have other alcohol that's native to this land as well. But many of my states have started prohibiting- I hope my tourism industry stays afloat despite it." -------- "Ofcourse it will! Ah, if a boy is quiet or fair looking or if he has long hair it's always like that. I think it's nice when people look a bit androgyn, like a angel so to speak. That, and skin smooth as marble, so pretty. My hair is so thick it's a curse. When I shave, according to Egypt, by the end of the day my cheeks are worse than sanding paper. And these messy curls are the worst! Total disaster." he said as he twirled his finger round his hair. -------- He shook his head politely, "What are you saying? That rough, half bearded look is popular enough here, and your curly hair is very charming. With some coconut oil, you can make it as shiny as silk." He smiled, "An angel, you say? Well the androgynous look is quite adhered to the idea of transvestism or the third gender here." -------- "You are the second person who said i should try the oil this week... what's that, third gender?" -------- "But of course, if it's about cosmetics, China and I are still ahead of the game. I'll have the servants bring you some later." He blinked, "We have a minority group called Hijras, who are considered 'neither fully male, nor fully female', they're born male but take on the female identity. They are ostracised, but have always been believed to have the power to bless you with fertility or curse you by taking it away." -------- "Really now,... we don't have those. not really anyway. Ah but when one of my bosses married he dressed as a bride and I was so moved i nearly cried. -------- He laughed, "Strange things move you, but I'm sure it must have been a lovely wedding." -------- "It truly was amazing. Lot's of dancing, drinking... I got SO drunk.. Pfffft. There were plenty of cute girls but i was way too drunk" -------- How nostalgic, he smiled and took a sip of some juice- not before offering it of course. "Did you regret it in the next morning?" -------- "A wise man once told me; regret is for the brainless. If you make a decision you should never question it again because you made it with the knowledge you had that day and no other... Yess I really regretted it." ha HA HA -------- He was in the middle of creating a sound argument against 'regret is for the brainless', tensing up and everything only to have his shoulders sink, and a sigh escape. "You.... Was this wise man, you?" -------- "Nah, I just made that up. It was really dumb to drink like there was no tomorrow" -------- He nodded, "If anything you should eat like there's no tomorrow." No bad advice. "Then excercise like there is a tomorrow." -------- "Well... that's excactly what we are doing now, aint it?" he said as he took one last snack on his plate "So what's the exercise? Want to eat some dirt for desert? we can wrestle and I'll let you eat some, tehee!" -------- He grinned, "Wrestling? That's fine with me, but I'm sure that I could make you eat your words instead." -------- Rome started laughing at him "You are ALL talk. Maybe we should just have a nice calm walk, far more fitting for an old man like you" -------- He chuckled, "Now, if you think it's that easy to provoke me, you're wrong. I wouldn't mind a nice calm walk, I could show you around the garden. But my sweet Roman friend, you must learn not to take your elders so lightly. For I would still definitely win against you in wrestling." -------- His eyes shone brilliantly and his smile was all mischief "Did I tell you about that one time that China kicked me in the nuts?!" -------- He shook his head with a silly grin, "Oh if pecan do it, so could I." -------- "You call him, what?!" -------- "A nut." He coughed into a fist and tried to keep a straight face. China is a rival, though they had once been close. -------- "nuts... ha ha, have you got nicknames for others too? What about me?" -------- "You? Well, I haven't gotten one for you yet. And I really don't give nicknames out that often. Though I do have a wealth of passionately created nicknames for England." -------- "Well then, I'm going to do my very best to make sure mine will be worth a tale when you do..." he thought a moment "... ah but you wouldn't kick me that would be cheating... But I'm going to take your word for it, like the responsible man I am and leave it..." the other had won him over by mere talking and won his respect, so there really was no need to fight him now "I will show you I am a man of many qualities and outgame you in some different field, just you wait!!!" -------- He smiled, "You did seem excited when I mentioned the arts, perhaps you could out-dance me?" No that would be slaughter. "Or perhaps you have an interest in archery? It's a sport that's very close to my heart! I assure you that many things are, I may truly be passionate about every field you could imagine." Likewise, his respect for his guest rose through their exchanges, but seeing him back up his words would be quite entertaining. -------- Rome leaned in a bit and just looked at the other with piercing eyes like he was scanning him. Then sat back with closed eyes as if he was processing it. Hmn, this was going to be tough. He needed to find something he could slaughter him with, without looking like a complete dick. "I need to think about it. Let's start with that walk, maybe then we come up with something." -------- Oh? He watched the other and smiled, it was nice to see that he was being judged and considered seriously. The only worrisome part was that he didn't know how good the other was at it. "Oh but of course." They were presented with refilled containers to wash their hands. Once he dried his hands with a napkin, he gestured to a direction that went into the house, towards a second exit/entrance out to a garden. -------- Roma didn't bother to pick up his shoes. He was glad to have them off. He did bring a small bag however that couldn't have hold more than a few books or clothing. That bag was all that he seemed to have brought on his trip. -------- He paused before a door on their way, "Ah my sincerest apologies! Would you like some time to settle in, this is a bedroom, the opposite room's a bedroom- you can take your pick!" -------- He pointed at the door without bothering to look inside "That one, I'm sure they are both lovely, let's just get some air for now, I'm fine really! I've been sitting still too much and I can sleep when I'm dead" he smirked and pulled the other along "come on, come on, come on..." -------- He shrugged, "That one it is, though you can always change your mind." Soon enough, he took the lead and pulled the other along. "Here you can see a spice much revered and loved these days, they used to call it black gold! Behold, the mighty peppercorn plant in all its glory!" Pepper, is grown on vines. -------- "It's piper, I didn't know it looked like this! They look like grapes but the size of berries. Ha Ha, that's cute. No wonder your food is so spicy!" -------- "We have more spices than these in our food of course." He laughed and looked around the garden, "There are many flowers here, but there used to be more." -------- "Do you have a favourite?" -------- "My national flower, you can't see any here though they may grow nearby. The lotus, it's been sacred to Hindus for a very long time. Do you have a favourite?" -------- "I like rosmarinus. I used to have them in my garden. The little flowers come in nice colors and they look so sweet. I used to draw them, it relaxes me. I can draw them from my mind, anything really. If I have seen it once I can draw it." -------- He smiled, "They suit you, somehow." How exactly did he mean it? "Oh? Do you have a photographic memory?" -------- "Is that what they call it these days? It is really handy when you need to invade a city too, say jaipur... Ah, but the girls loved the roses, ofcourse! Modern roses are rubbish, they don't smell as a sweet promise... They smell of nothing. The paper wrap is best" -------- "Hahah, it is handy but I'd rather live without it." But do you have it yourself or not, you mysterious hermit. "Oh, but how do you find the smell of the jasmines on your garland? They are used for temple worship as well because their smell is so sweet." -------- "Well, actually I like them best but ofcourse I wanted to pick something native. As much as I love my home, being away is very liberating. And it's scent always reminds me of it. " -------- Hmmm, "Do they remind you of a particular place?" A certain northerner came to mind. -------- "Egypt had some, but she's a lapcat that likes to stay inside most times. And well China's, but I only met him twice in person." -------- "And one of those meetings was a fight?" He smiled, but back then there were no troubles between the two. Life was quite different in terms of international relations, though he supposed he had his internal affairs to attend to. -------- "Ah well, I was VERY young and ready to prove my worth. So when I was sent off to 'make friends' as my boss would put it I had little patience for formalities. I was rude and got the fight I asked for because he was fed up with my piss teen attitude." -------- "Sounds like it was a short-lived fight. I taught him well." He's kidding, right? He grinned and shook his head, "Though perhaps patience is something we both lacked back then." -------- "yeah pretty much. I tried to hit him trice and he kicked me out. My men had a good laugh. I suppose they were just as annoyed with me after the long way getting there. But after that I was real polite. My boss even wrote him a thankyou note. We wrote for many years!" -------- "Really? He only gave you three shots?" Perhaps the old Chinese fellow was particularly irritated that day, even he'd have allowed at least five strikes. "Ah I am glad that you grew close despite that rocky start! Did you get the chance to learn a little of his language?" -------- Rome nodded, just three shots indeed, suposedly that was all that China had needed to know how to bring him on his knees. "Ah I know a little!!!" He took a stick and started drawing characters in the sand. His writing was quick and messy like a docters note, not elegant in the slightest, but it came from the heart. -------- *****Life that's scarse a hundreds years holds a millennium of fears, brief it's noon and long it's night, best then mingle dark with light. Merry-making while you may, wait not for another day. Fools that treasure up their sock after generations mock. Him that hold a bond with fate, none may seek to emulate.***** It was a poem he memorised. -------- He looked at it, and smiled. "What an interesting poem, it reminds me of an old Sanskrit one, though that one is far simpler in narrative." He moved to the left of the Chinese characters, and drew several lines of sharp and neat Sanskrit. "Look to this day: for it is life, the very life of life. In its brief course, lie all the truths and realities of your existence. The bliss of growth, the glory of action, the splendour of achievement- Are but experiences of time. For yesterday is but a dream And tomorrow is only a vision; And today well-lived, makes yesterday a dream of joy, And every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look well therefore to this day; Such is the salutation to the new dawn." Long poem, it was more of spiritual advice than a pretty picture, but he felt that the meaning was the same. -------- "You have a pretty handwriting even with a stick!" -------- "Thank you, I'm sure we both could do better on paper." He translated the poem as best as he could, though certain words had a lot more essense to them than their English counterparts. When he was done, he erased the markings, leaving only the Chinese. -------- Rome had listened to Indies brief explanation on the Sanskrit and it didn't make much sense to him just yet. After Indie had cleared the ground Rome took the stick and wrote, or rather drew, it back again in a strange order like it was a patern instead of words. In the end it was all there, albeith a messy reflection of it. -------- He looked at it delightedly and back to the Roman, "And now you have proved your words with actions. Though if the curl on that 'tha' is not prominent, it may be read as a 'ya'." In Sanskrit words were not only separated by spaces, but also it the fact that they would have one line connecting them together at the top. He didn't have to edit much, though for the sake of clarity he poured sand over gaps that were too close to each other and marvelled at it. It was always wonderful to see. -------- Rome erased it all again together with the Chinese. "Let's take all that away. A garden like this doesn't need words to do what comes so naturally." and he tossed away the stick as well "neither will you be needing this. I promiss to be a exemplary student" he winked. No need to beat him XD -------- He laughed and stood up, patting away the sand from his clothes, "You are right, though the wind would have taken it all away naturally." Call him sentimental. "Oh? If you weren't, I don't think I'd need the stick." Whatever that was meant to imply. With a wave to his side, he began walking. "These days it is rather important to take care of your skin, the sun's rays can be unforgiving in the afternoons." -------- Romulus quickly followed giggling "Ah, you are more off the open hand method then? A true classic, totally you" -------- "A true classic? Far from it!! Back in my day there was a 'treading over hot coals' method, which I of course went through." Gurus could be very strict! -------- Rome looked as him with a expression that screamed 'bitch please' "You don't have to try so hard. I'm not buying this nonsense nor piper today" -------- He grinned, "What, you don't believe it? But you're right, it wasn't a punishment. It's a test of courage and faith. It's not painful when done right." -------- "Let's get you in the shade, your brain is melting" -------- He blinked, "No I really am not joking about it, burning coals look kind of like beautiful flowers so it's a temple tradition in the south that is quite a few hundred years older than you." He thought it was well known as a feat, if not for its reasons. -------- He laid a hand on your shoulder "You should take a rest" he smiled -------- He smiled and moved the hand away, "I'll show it to you later today." -------- "Ha Ha Ha, ofcourse you will! So, what's next?" -------- "Perhaps we shall move to the pond, I could show you the lotus flowers, and then we can meet the animals here." -------- "I'd love that! If it's not too much trouble. I don't know if you have other things to do?" -------- "I've cleared my schedule for the next few days, I'm a free man." -------- "AHH YEAH!!! Then we can drink together maybe like there's no tomorrow, hahahaha! I'm so happy, I haven't had so much fun in ages." -------- He smiled, "Hah! Then we'll drink all evening and adventure all day long. I do hope you could keep up with that." He playfully teased. -------- "I was born ready! Let's check out the animals first" -------- "Alright! Well this isn't a a zoo, but all sorts of creatures find their way here. I'm partly to blame as I tend to lose myself and feed strays- they keep coming back. But I should say, happy strays are better than starving strays." -------- "Im like that. Feeding others is a token of love. And when you've known hunger yourself and you see somebody gulping it down with such force you can only relate and help out..." He fell silent for a while, lost in thought. "... That's how I found my grandson, poor thing." -------- He nodded, "Poor thing. No one should have to starve, especially not the young." And yet they did, and yet he had so much poverty in his land. As he predicted, a stray forest cat strutted in. With a smile, he presented her, "Aha! Beware the beautiful jungle cat, she's wild." -------- He slowly bent down not to startle the creature. Rome just watched threw his eyelids producing some kind of nasal puppy growls. -------- "Try not to get scratched in the face, she's not too friendly and rather territorial." HE STILL LOVED HER! He himself found small pets to be unusual and quite strange, he loved the wild and majestic animals in his land more than he'd ever be able to love a squeaky Chihuahua or hamster. -------- Rome did his best to control his excitement, he was moving his toes (and would probably wiggle his tail if he had one) he stook out his hand so the cat could smell it and approach him instead. "What are you feeding her?" -------- "Fish remains." He tilted his head, and was about to warn him when the cat approached his hand and lightly bit it. Not food- It circled him once and walked to the house, mewing outside the kitchen. "Don't be disheartened! I got a lot worse than that the first time- does it hurt?" -------- "..no it doesn't, it's just a warning. If she had wanted to hurt me she would have locked her jaw and claw me. My brother had a mean bite" -------- Your brother? He stopped himself from asking. "Ah cats are interesting creatures! Though they aren't really popular here- they never had much husbandry value." -------- "I LOVE cats! Dogs have been domesticated so much is takes out all character. A cat doesn't have a boss, it has servants to control. They don't take crap from anyone, hahaha! And certainly not from some silly roman" -------- He laughed, "Oh please, the average house cat scarcely has character. The wild cats here on the other hand- oh how majestic they are! The leopard, the cheetah- the tiger!! I am painfully biased towards the 'big cats'!" -------- "i don't think I've ever seen a cheetah before. They are slimmer than leopards right? I don't suppose you have wolves here, do you?" -------- "They look different as well, cheetahs have clear well defined spots while leopards have rosettes. And of course we have wolves! Everyone has wolves- Well until they started killing them, sadly wolves are endangered here." -------- "Ahh that's sad. They scare people sometimes expecially when they come in large groups. But they wont kill your crops like deer, or boars. Let's give her something before she gets into the kitchen to take it herself" -------- He nodded, "Ah but alas I have nothing to offer her. The maids will probably take care of it, I bet they're gutting fish right now." Sure enough the cat didn't return, she was probably eating. "But the fellows I'm going to show you are quite something, hold your belongings close to you." -------- What was all the mystery about? "alright, show me" what could it possible be, birds? -------- He narrowed his eyes and looked around as they walked. There were more trees around the area, not coconut trees...decent...midsized trees. He heard one! He turned swiftly and it was gone. "Oh it might have been my imagination... Those tricky things..." He turned to the Roman and was startled for a second before pointing behind him. "Monkeys-" he whispered. -------- Rome gasped "you got monkeys?!" he looked around if he could spot one. "what do they eat?" -------- They were right in front of him, curious and mischievous. He looked at them discerningly, as if one was missing and "Appu!" One of them ran over to him from behind the crowd and climbed over to his shoulder, he laughed, "Ah, my excellent kleptomaniac friend." He handed him a small fruit, "All of you, meet my excellent Roman friend." They had their eyes on him as he moved closer to Rome. Appu wooted. India had a way with animals and while he still suffered their moods, he was generally on their good side! -------- "what they pick pockets is that what you're saying. They are funny, look at the tails, ha ha! I like them!!!" -------- "Pockets, bags, noses, ugh they pick everything. But they are an entertaining bunch! And they're so soft." He gave Appu to him. "Cuddly babies." -------- Rome petted him but it soon excaped his hold to climb on top of him. He looked up "salve appu" -------- He laughed and the other monkeys climbed upon him, he kept walking with the added weight of a few more bodies. "Well then, the lake is near." -------- "hold on appu, don't fall off" he said as he hurriedly followed. "can they swim?" -------- "These can, the lake is part of their habitat. Though most monkeys don't swim bwchumnnggff-" He picked up a monkey that had taken to exploring his face and let it cling to his hand instead. "Ah there it is!" Green lotus pads gracefully floated across the river and baby pink flowers were in full bloom. There were a few insects flying over the water as usual, "It's not safe to drink, but here we are!" -------- "HAHAHA,... Oh my... that's so pretty... I can understand they are dear to you... They are really energic the monkeys i bet they are smart too!" -------- "Yes, the Hindus believe that the gods themselves sit upon these beautiful flowers as their thrones. Oh yes, if only their intelligence didn't go into their little thievery rings." -------- Rome giggled "have you ever tried yourself?" -------- He paused and his face was clearly flustered by the question. "Of course not." He had, many times, and many unholy words had slipped out of his mouth every time he fell into the water, though of course that was a very long time ago. -------- "You don't believe to be a descendant? You haven't even tried once? As gracious as you are if any God can do that, so can you." was he joking or not it was hard to tell -------- He was about to say something but the man made an intelligent argument that had his mind working a little backwardly. Snap out of that man! "Unfortunately our Gods seem to have no mass, but I do." -------- The Roman laughed. "and now with a bunch of monkeys and a full stomic it's even more. A well, my people sure believed so. According to the tales, I was left to drown in the river as a baby. But I have no memory of it" -------- "Are you not afraid of the water?" He never really feared the sea as most early nations had. -------- "no, not at all. Im a good swimmer actually. You know, baby's know how to float, it's supercute!" -------- He laughed, "Are you trying to convince me that you're a good /and/ cute swimmer?" -------- "YES!" he laughed "Nah, I was pushed off in a basket back then. And then the Gods were like; this one is too cute to die let's save him!" he grinned "But they got more than they bargained for!!!" -------- "They definitely did, ah but you're not quite so cute anymore~" He was on the handsome side now, which was a compliment he kept to himself. "The lotus is very hard to grow out of the wild, would you like one?" -------- "..." he didn't know what to say. Ofcourse somebody like Indie would not think he was cute. He smiled but his eyes didn't "No, please save it for a pretty looking girl, someone special" -------- He kicked off his shoes, "Alright then, I'll still get them for your room." He ignored the last part, he'd already decided to give them to him when he asked. He removed the socks and pulled up his trousers before wading into the lake. Just a little further.... And that's the story of how he ended up completely drenched from head to toe, scolding similarly drenched lemurs and holding up a large lotus flower for his guest. -------- Rome took the flower with slightly shaking hands before he started crying "I told you not to" the monkey had already ran off with his fidget spinner. "You are all wet, how am I supposed to keep my eyes off you now?! " -------- He would have patted him. But he was all wet so he had to courtesy to resist it. He pressed his palms together, "It's alright, I will dry up soon, life is as it should be. Om." Or in English, 'Pls calm down.' -------- Rome's crying redused to a silent snottering. He nodded to Indies words but avoided meeting his eyes "... It truly is majestic... this flower is" -------- What a pity, his spare handkerchief had gotten wet. He stared at the lemurs as they sped away indignantly- They'd caused him to lose his balance, those scoundrels! Ah but it was alright, the water was cold and refreshing. He wondered what made the Roman so sad. "Indeed, the gods sit upon them, but it's not just their throne. The lotus flower is the universe itself, the symbol of morality, goodness, beauty... We strive to be like this perfect bloom, to be flawless despite our murky surroundings, to work without attachment and to rise above the mud." He squeezed out water from his shirt. "Keep it." -------- "Then I quess Id better visualise this lotus than Jaipur in ruins when I try meditating again" he opened his bag "I've got a spair tee, if you like" -------- He snorted, "Another technique is to visualise a lotus where your heart is, a light emerging from it as your conscious mind grows aware and enlightened. The lotus is as much a symbol of the universe as it is, a symbol of you." He smiled and accepted the T-shirt, "You're very kind." He removed his own shirt and quickly, a flash of wheat brown skin showing before he covered up again. "Ah, perhaps I'll still change out of these trousers in the house. Will you stay here while I change or would you like to come back into the shade?" -------- "I'll ehh go back to the villa. Than we can take care of the lotus after you're done" he gave him a quick glance "...maybe a shower is a good idea to wash the green off your hair..." he looked like a mermaid. -------- He felt his hair and moved out a string of green. Aiye- "Sounds like a plan, let's go!" -------- Rome followed with a easy tred carrying Indies shoes. "You are a idiot you know that" a sooking wet idiot with a cute tush -------- He laughed, "It's been a long time since I've heard that. I almost miss it." He grinned, "No, I don't really miss it. Though I'm still walking on burning coals today to prove a point, and you can't stop me." He opened the door with a merry swing and gestured for the other to step inside first. -------- "Make it a cold shower too cool off that melting brains of yours" he's not the one who needs one. "I'll be in my room, reading. Don't forget to wash behind your ears" -------- "Hah, just you wait!" He winked and gave one of the servants a little fright. Some sort of handsome swamp monster had returned in place of their nation- oh? Or not, it was still the same old strange man. "I did just cool down you know, maybe I should have made you join me." He smiled and turned, "Alright then, I'll be back soon." -------- Rome got in the guestroom and filled the sink with water, carefully placing the lotus in it. Then with a sigh he grawled up the bed, took a cushion and curled up around it. His eyelids felt heavy of a sudden and he drifted away in chaotic dreams that didn't make much sense. -------- He had taken a quick shower, getting the gooplike substance out of his hair. And he remembered to wash behind his ears though he did make a face at it. He really could walk on burning coals! He'd practiced it in the past... Ah but actions would speak louder than words anyways. When he was out, he wore a traditional piece of clothing that was much like a large fabric wrapped around his waist and tucked in, a lungi. Many men still wore it in the south. He dried his hair out with a towel and reapplied the tilaka on his forehead. He slowly opened the guest room, only to see that the other had fallen asleep! He must have been very tired from his travels. India closed the door gently and made his way to the living room where he'd lounge on a divan and read the newspaper. -------- Damnit, there were just too many of them. Fight, fight harder! "Forma - Duo finis!" Why did they have assault rifles, this was madness. He took a quick look to the right to see his brother already burried beneath a pile of bleeding auxiliar soldiers, trying to get up. "PILA IACE" a cloud of pilae flew towards their opponents but the tank just ploughed threw like it was nothing. Man was he pissed off right now. "Gladium stringe - Celeriter" this was going to be a massacre "Parati - OPPUGNARE - Ad Victoria!" They charged, finally somebody had taken down that stupid machine gun, it was starting to get on his nerves. The iron wagon wasn't going to stop anytime soon but they had put stones and pilae down the barrel and if a pig could be lit in fire than so could the pigs inside that thing. And man did they squeel hard when it finally started to be a pretty bonfire. He giggled. suit you right, stupid, think you can destroy me I got more tricks up my sleeve. But loo, over the hills there they came in, eight, with towers as high as houses, angry looking elephants to trample them. His men fled in terror. One bumped into him and he was trown down the ground - and off the bed. He looked around breathing heavily. -------- He laid down the newspaper, he had finished with it- and looked out the window. Mere minutes has passed since he left the Roman to his nap. The man sighed morosely and slid down the furniture, onto the floor. He sat up and leaned his head on the cushioned divan. Another sigh. The newspaper was depressing and his boredom guilt-inducing. Alright then! He was going to meditate and clear his mind so that he wasn't such a wet blanket when the other did wake. He placed his hands on his thighs, palms facing upwards and his thumbs and index fingers loosely touching. He closed his eyes and hoped that he would find the answers to the day's moments of confusion. He could stay in that position for hours if no one interrupted him. -------- Rome got up grumbling and arched his back then marched out the room to find the other. "Indie?!" now where was that fool. -------- Why did the other cry? He was still rather worried about that, though he had brushed it off earlier. In the midst of heavy self-reflection, he hadn't heard him. There was a saying, that the ones who laugh the loudest, cry the hardest. And that just unsettled him. -------- He flung open the doors of the living "Ah, there you are" he tossed his shoes at his side "come put those on, we need to go... now" -------- He opened an eye, what was all the noise about? -------- "please? I don't want to go by myself" -------- He closed his eyes, brought folded hands to his chest and exhaled. "Where are we going?" He stood up and put on the shoes, "You were asleep when I had finished bathing, thought I'd let you rest." -------- "I can't sleep. I need to face those beasts of yours and I don't want to d... do it alone." he looked determined yet anxious "They hurt me... they scare me and I want to forget" -------- "Beasts?" He figured he wasn't talking about those monkeys. "What, the elephants?" Would it be more expensive to hire a man who'd bring it to them or to hire a taxi- no, of course, they could walk through the markets and go to the temple! "Hum, perhaps you should know that they're a different type of elephant from the ones you have encountered." Indian elephants were just so much sweeter than their African brothers- Or they were at least, tamer. -------- "they look the same to me. I suppose they are nice to the hand that feeds them. I only know them as means for war... You have them to protect the temple right?" -------- "They aren't exactly watchdogs," he grinned, "but I'll take this as an opportunity to show you around the markets as we travel there." He felt refreshed, the newspaper was left on the divan like a forgotten thought. "Perhaps apply some sunscreen, you don't want to get sunburnt.' -------- "i don't have any, should i really?... You smell nice, way less like a wet monkey now" -------- "You should, I think there's some in each bedroom. I've had to treat many burns, and I only have so much Aloe." He laughed and pulled the other along, as they found a room he joked, "People tell me my natural scent is that of petrichor and spices." -------- Rome smiled and shook his head "I guess I just smell like what one would expect from a sexgod, like uhm a sauna" he licked his finger and rested it on it's cheek "Tssss...." really now why did they need to make a competition out of everything? He poured water on his face from the sink and freshed up a bit before putting on the sunscreen. He run his fingers threw his hair. With a little water his messy locks became pretty stylish. -------- "A sauna?" These Europeans and their unusual tastes, "Believe me when I say that's not what I associate the smell of saunas with." He found his new style rather lovely, but he didn't say anything about it. "Alright, the markets await!" -------- He was glad they were finally going now and that they would do some sightseeing too. "Ah yes, I hope it's not too crowded." -------- "It's never not too crowded!" He said cheerfully and led him out the main exit this time. "Prepare to hear a lot of shouting and bargaining!" -------- "Oh, Im lousy at setting a good price. Either i pay far too much or they give it away for free because i terrify them greatly" -------- He grinned, "Not to worry, you'll have an expert with you." He gestured towards himself and bowed as if he were in front of an audience and not just the one companion. He looked at the other and gasped, "I'll have them do a puja for you since you're here!" A ritualistic prayer for favour from the gods, but he really wasn't giving him a choice. Better safe than sorry! "And we'll get you a new garland of jasmines outside the temple!" -------- "You are so sweet to me, thank you!" he sighed. Why hadn't he visited him back in the days or vise versa? Perhaps his brother had but well. He didn't want to bring that up really. "I am aware I kinda abruptly ended your meditation, if you like I can try and join you later today." -------- It wasn't so much an abrupt end as it was a perfect one, it was like his thoughts manifested onto reality and brought forth his guest. "Alright, perhaps you'll indulge me further and join me in some hatha yoga. If you're flexible enough, that is." -------- he coughed "flexible enough? What do I have to do? I can touch my toes standing" Anything else? "Ah yes, and I can touch my nose with my tongue, see?" -------- "I'll show you then, touching your toes standing is a great start. Some stances are just harder than others, it's a nice way to test your limits. However I'm limitless-" he grinned. "Don't talk to me about touching your nose with your tongue if you can't move your ears." One of his many natural talents, he illustrated it and laughed. -------- Rome laughed too. "That's so funny! Yes show me when we get back! I'm sure I will pick it up quickly with such a good teacher" -------- It was far too easy to appeal to his pride. He beamed, "You're right, you'll reach an advanced level very fast under my wing, you already have strength, with some stretching and discipline, you'll have everything. -------- "I'm happy you want to teach this old dog some new tricks. Is it far to the market?" -------- "Are you old?" He didn't know the answer to that- but then that would make him ancient... He shook his head, he was still young at heart. "Not by too long, a few minutes? Is walking as boring to you as riding a car?" Oh that gave him a very, very good idea. -------- "Ahh, according to some... but I ripe like a good wine :) Others just turn sour. Ahh and then there are those lucky few that aren't touched by time at all." he smiled " oh no, i like walking! and maybe its different if you drive a car yourself. The kids seem to enjoy it." -------- He smiled at the analogy, confidence was always attractive to him, "Ah but if you were my student earlier then time would not have touched you, our cosmetic and health knowledge are supreme." -------- "Maybe so. I was found beautifull and promising enough to turn heads in Greece but I was not courted over. There was a time where Id get drunk at any word China would spare me, but he did not want me." and it still hurt "and seasons and years passed, because I was to stubborn to let go... So, that's my story. Im practically raised by the army, all I know of other fields is by reading" -------- He was craving... affection? Yes, his earlier question about what it was like to be loved did fit the speculation. He put a hand on his back, though he wouldn't offer comfort to the private matters he mentioned. "Well then, I'm glad you're here, you can learn of many new fields by trying them out yourself. Maybe you'll outdo me in more than a couple." He smiled, nope not a chance. -------- "YES I can do that!" he was really motivated to crush the other and he wasnt scared to work hard for it "...huh?!..." he checked his pockets "the monkeys really did mug me. Im glad they didn't take my wallet... Or did they?" he checked his bag "pfffft, it's still here. By Jupiter if they snatch that from me, no more mister nice guy. It got the pictures of the kids and everything in it!" -------- "No, no, put that thing away!" He shook his head, "You're my guest, there's no reason for you to bring out any money. Though you should keep it safe, especially if there're pictures in it." -------- He nodded "you wont believe the trouble i went threw to get them. I even tied up God in his office... And I still don't have one of my Romano" -------- "You tied him up?" He sighed unsurprised, "Did diplomacy fail?" Tying up people was not very nice, he'd have at least bribed the deity with something. "Ah, I'm sure you'll be able to get one eventually, worry not." -------- "I sure hope so. He's angry with me, as are the women in my life,..." and his brother and who not really?! "... even my best friend stabbed me. Fitting for a roman, no?!" -------- He considered his response, and sighed. "People can be complicated, it's how it's always been." The streets were starting to get more lively, with people travelling to work, a few cars moved past them. Since they weren't in the middle of the city, they were spared the noise and honking. "Though I do hope you make peace with all of them if you can." -------- "Well, that's why I'm back, my main reason, to say Im sorry" -------- "Oh?" He smiled, "Apologies from the great Roman empire himself- somehow when it comes to you, I feel that people would rather have explanations than apologies. Especially those who admire you." -------- "I would be happy to provide both. Although Im not that well a speaker like say Greece" -------- "That is true indeed, well if you can get a price down for anything by 40% in any one of the stalls in the marketplace, you'll have made great progress in that area." -------- "Pfff... Ok I'll try..." he better pay attention to see how other people handled this. -------- "Watch and learn." He had centuries of experience in bargaining- he nearly got things for free when he was in the need. Though there was a time when he was completely unable to do so- The marketplace was colourful! There were many many carts selling foods and trinkets, people were dressed traditionally except for the odd shopkeepers daughter who was daring enough to wear jeans and a t-shirt rather than a chudidar. India stirred them towards the direction of the fabrics which the other mentioned wanting to see. -------- "See this dark blue fabric, and that purple, how do they do it? How do they make the purpura, Indie? Does the color hold in tempera, for paintings? " -------- "From flowers in the past- Oh you should have been here during Holi, it's a festival where traditionally we throw colourful powders or vibrant paints on each other- They tend to be naturally made so that they don't harm anyone! Yes it holds in tempera. But nowadays they use ugly synthetic dye for clothes. It's quite nostalgic to see handmade fabrics, back in the days I was at the pinnacle of fabric dyeing!" Ah the key was to make sure the cotton would permanently hold its colour- after that was figured.. hah! Well then he was the greatest fabric dyer in the world!! -------- "Really?! Id love to come next time to see. They don't mind foreigners attending?" he tried to picture it "Think we can buy colors here? I'd like to make something pretty just for you" -------- "Of course we don't mind! In fact it's been adopted by some other countries, it's nice to have fun once in a while! Though there is, of course, a great story behind it." He was still quite touched by the other's offer to paint him something. "I... You really don't have to... But ehm, you can buy them here." He suddenly found a really cute elephant figurine to admire. -------- "You really like elephants, don't you? It must seem silly to you that they scare me." -------- He looked at him and shook his head earnestly. "Not at all." He was able to meet his eyes, "I've known elephants that destroyed villages. They're well worth one's respect, be it through love or through fear. I hope that you can see their gentler nature too before you decide on fearing them once and for all." -------- He nodded "One hit me with his snout and nearly trampled me... And when Hannibal led them over the alps I totally lost my shit. You know you can be sleeping and suddenly there is one in your house. Im not afraid much. My youngest is afraid of spiders. He can't sleep if there is one in his room." Rome laughed "I shouldnt laugh but it's so silly. You are not afraid of bugs are you?" -------- He nodded, "Yes they can be terrifying, I'm sorry you had poor experiences with them." He hoped that he would get over them, they weren't so much beasts as they were gentle spirits... Plus they were so cute! The ones that were native to his land, at least. And even when upset, he could tame them fairly quickly. "No, but I can understand being squeamish about them. I know someone who's honestly a terrible person who has done terrible things, but the sight of a cockroach alone is enough for him to turn into a mess. Did you know that elephants are terrified of mice? It must be like how some of us are terrified of bugs." -------- "Really, ah but if he annoys you you can drop a chart of cockroaches in his living to bug him that's fairly easy! Ahh, i didn't know they don't like mice. We used to scare them with pigs we covered in tar and set alight. The sound they made, brrr. Kinda horrible when you think of it, hmn?" -------- He looked like he was picturing it and made a heartbroken face, "The poor pigs..." He shook his head, "Believe me, I'm not above it to use that if I must with him. Do you want an elephant figurine?" -------- "yes! But a small one so I can keep it with me for good luck." India was spoiling him. "Are you going to demonstrate it now?" Rome felt a little sorry for the shopkeeper already. "I do hope you enjoy my time spend, cause it's the only thing you'll take from me now. Please accept a few good memories to stay with you." -------- Hmm, a small one. He looked at the other, "There are so many to choose from, I'll demonstrate after you take your pick." There were so many intricate little carvings in the various figurines, elephants with their trunks raised, made out of wood, stone- and just about any material. No matter how many times he saw it, he always found them so cute. But he kept a discerning eye and a neutral expression. Rule #1 of the trade, don't get overexcited. -------- "maybe one of those made from malachite, that's a pretty stone. You should take one to match for yourself." that would be super cute! -------- He looked over to them and nodded, "Chic." They were quite adorable though, "Another one for my collection then." He called for the shopkeeper and of course the price for the two figurines were higher than that of say, the wooden ones. (As mun is not nearly as good as the great Shivaramakrishnan at bargaining, she shall now skip a scene.) "Ah thank you, I'm glad that you won't be doing this to your next customers." Honestly! It was actually far too expensive for something so small. He handed his Roman friend one of the elephants, wrapped securely in brown paper. "45% off~" -------- Rome was highly impressed. The other made it look so easy so he wanted to try as well. To get an idea of the progress he picked an item he could find at different shops. This way he would pick up quickly what the set price was. He choose to go for a nice fountain pen. If he was going to write again he needed one anyway. But the shopkeepers weren't so easy on him. It was a dead giveaway he was a tourist which meant easy money. Also he was a open book to read, so not one was going to lower the price much. He was visible frustrated by it and people enjoyed messing with him. When he walked away after a fifth try he looked like he was going to give up and sighed. He looked at Indie and when he caught his smile suddenly got an idea. He strolled around just making some silly jokes until he found what he was looking for. There was one stand he was looking at from across the street and he took his sweet time to unfold his magic. There, she spotted him. The woman blushed, turned away and looked again. He came closer now and asked if she could help him. He said he needed a present for a friend. He asked her name, complimented on her dress, asked about what places were nice to eat around here... and all the while flirting shamelessly. At some point he took his wallet and folded a bill wonderfully in the shape of a heart. He then took the pen he liked best wrote down something on the heart and left it in her hands. She smiled, he walked off with a even wider one back to Indie "40% off, The shopkeepers here all want to trick me, but their women sure seem to like me!" he laughed -------- He was trying so hard, it was hard not to smile. But five tries, and not a smidge of success... To be fair, some others had done much worse. Bargaining was not just a skill, it was a culture one simply grew up immersed in. It was the familiar memory of holding a parent's hand as they shake their heads and complain about the quality of an item, it was the memory of the shopkeeper's eyes lighting up at the challenge. Maybe it wasn't very easy to pick up from just one observation- He almost lost track of the other as he stood there contemplating the nature of bargaining and vaguely reacting to a series of jokes, but he soon found him and watched him try his luck with that woman who had laughed at his joke. Several moments later he had returned with a pen. "Is that so?" He chuckled and shook his head, "The poor darling may never be cured of her broken heart, but you did succeed." Bargaining was unfair by nature, he looked at the other and nodded. "You've led me to believe that if you are persistent, you will definitely get your thoughts and feelings across to those you want to speak to. Though I'm not sure if charming them will be as effective." He smiled and turned, "Let's get you your dyes." -------- "ah yeah!" he was happy they were about to see the colours. "I'm not a heartbreaker. I now have a pen so I can write my new beloved friend and it will last me what ten years maybe before I need to buy another. While I gave her sweet dreams that may very well last a lifetime." he smiled "Ah but you are quite right. Flirting with the ladies, that's easy enough. The men, they wont buy crap from me" -------- "Ten years? Well, if you want to buy yourself refills, I suppose. Though I'd rather buy a new pen at that stage." He laughed, "Oh yes, I'm sure she'll have sweet dreams over your charming encounter." He doubted it, but who knew how the minds of people worked. He grinned, "Yes, you're going to have to work harder with the men. Assert your dominance without endangering their pride, and that's often your best bet." -------- Rome nodded " I still have a lot to learn, I suppose. Some of the young ones look up to me because they picture a big structured empire built from scratch in a couple of years. HaHa! I couldnt have done it on my own. Also we missed out a lot, being on campaign all the while as a Republic. I think the best thing was we adopted other cultures into our own." he starts laughing "Germania's boy freaking fetishises me. It's SO weird! I feel like I'm the opposite of what he thinks I am" -------- He laughed, "If I haven't had my own share of experience with invincible empires, I think I'd have /fetishized/ your empire as well. You're seen as the pinnacle of discipline and military prowess, aren't you?" -------- "Discipline just means being pushed in a position that's convenient. Some are easily disciplined with rewards, but most by fear. I'm not sure if that's something to be proud of. And then there is me as a person too. I very much doubt that's what you see when you look in my eyes. No, I don't think I'm that disciplined. What reward was there waiting for me? What was there to fear, really? I might very well be the least disciplined person you'll ever meet." he played a little with his guirlande, smelling the flowers " I don't think I'll ever grow up. I'm not saying I can't be motivated, nor am I lazy, I think. I'm just a very passionate man, you need to rub me the right way" he giggled "But yes, compared to the others, our military was most skilled!" -------- He laughed, "Is that what discipline means to you? To me it means being able to separate one's individual concerns and suppress them for the efficiency and quality of a larger machine." He didn't think there was a right definition to it, but conveniency and efficiency were two separate matters. "When I look at you, I see a miracle, honestly. I don't know whether you are disciplined or childish, unmotivated or lethargic, but you are most certainly a miracle. As such, I think you're unpredictable and worthy of being a great friend or a great foe." -------- "I'm not a saint. Maybe If you surpress all you are for the greater good for too long, say a couple of thousand years, you too would start to hate the machine you are feeding. Of course it's efficient when everybody does what they are supposed to do. But may I question what I am supposed to do? Everything that exists is in a matter the seed of that what will be, as my boss put it. I have no taste for blood nor do I enjoy breaking things. I like to built things. I build a great empire out of sand only to give my boys a handfull. After all I endured I wanted them to have a good life. Therefore I am very content their military is a complete mess" he laughed "But now India... you DO rub me the right way... will you stop it?" -------- "Did you hate the machine you were feeding?" He understood that the other was immensely lonely. He wasn't quite a part of that machine as he actually was the machine. In that sense were nations solitary by nature? India may have been lonely once, but he was trained to see the world with different eyes. He did think he was a God among men, but that made him ambitious, to raise the standards of humankind, to elevate them by being with them. He was never lonely, he had a purpose given to him by himself! He didn't remember it, but he was terribly lonely and whiny as well, in the past. It was grossly egotistical on his part. He blinked, and from behind his roman friend, he put both hands on his shoulders. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, but I don't think I will. I'm curious to know what type of motivation I'm sparking." -------- "In a way yes I hated it. Because it drove me and my brother apart see? I was always trying to stress how much we are alike, he on the other hand pointed out our differences. He was my best friend and my greatest enemy. And I miss him greatly. I find it hard to except the credit for his efforts, cause truly he's the better half." Twins really are the worst. He was still angry for what he did. On the other hand he wanted to except his new chosen path. It was complicated on so many levels, Rome thought. Surely East crossed the line by fucking Greece though. And she knew, oh the bitch knew. He was startled when India touched him. "... Hmn see, you make me want to be a better man... I think I might just started to have a little crush on you. But no need to worry about it. " -------- "Is he now?" He smiled, the other clearly seemed to be a deep thinker, to be capable of critiquing himself in such a way. Or was it baseless gloom? He hoped for the former, because clouds of self-depreciation could easily ruin his otherwise golden radiance. What an expression, it didn't fully convince him that he only missed his brother. But brotherhoods so old were rightfully complicated. He sighed and ignored the thoughts that tried to depress him, of his neighbour and brother. He blinked and removed his hands, "Is that what it was?" He smiled, "Perhaps if you become a better man and impress me, I'll have a crush right back on you." He was downright cocky and he knew it, ...he didn't think the crush would last. He didn't treat it with much surprise at all, it may have even been a touch underwhelming. He wondered whether that was enough to extinguish the flame. -------- "HA! I sure hope not! Can you imagen all the gossiping ancients at the crossroads?! Greece would make your life a LIVING HELL." He put his thumbs in his jeanspockets and started walking "But make no mistake, I will better myself and impress you... better yet, I'll CRUSH you... Think of it as a warming up. After that I'll make Constantinople great again... I can't stay at Ikea forever, Swedish food makes me sick." he halted suddenly and beamed a most happy smile "wowww,... It's more beautifull than I imagined" he had found the dyes. -------- He laughed, "You'll crush me?" He was glad that he was in high spirits but honestly, "I'd rather that you don't try. Learn more about these times, you have far too much studying to do before you go around invading or building up cities." He really didn't care for gossip, "I had decent relations with Greece." He remarked before he looked over at the fabrics. "Isn't it? I was the very best with them. How many would you like?" -------- "But mummmm...." he said in a winey voice "seriously it's only fair I got at least half of Constantinople. And just think, I get to sent you lot's of nice food..." He sighed and put it to rest, India was probably right. Even though he had learned so much about the modern world. He didn't have his legions to actually invade anything. He was all talk now. But he could still bragg about his past accompliches. he snickered "Well MY relations with Greece were ANYTHING BUT decent." even that was a lie. His country was highly influenced be her and he loved her lot's. Ofcourse they had made out, but Greece could and would play him like a fool. "Hmn... just some basic earth colours, okers, black and white and maybe a bit of two brighter ones. I haven't got a clue what it costs and I don't want you to spend too much." -------- "You could send me nice food anywaayyyys." Why was he mimicking the whiny voice- he chuckled and watched the other sigh. Oh no, was that the sound of crushed dreams? It was...for the best, he decided. "Oh? I couldn't believe that, she seemed like such an amiable lady." "Basic earth colours?" He nodded and picked a few greens, yellows and reds. White and black, and then of course he picked a lot of indigo. Indigo was his most famous! "Choose as much as you like, what use is there in excess money if it cannot sate the desires of the esteemed guest?" -------- "Thank you Im so happy! I will learn to make food myself so I can send you! J.just you wait! " he was never going to repay this he thought "I will make you proud of me, your time will not be a idle investment I swear" -------- "You'll make the food?" What is this, he's being so spoilt, to be promised homemade food and an artwork? It was a little overwhelming and he was so grateful that he couldn't really say anything for a moment. Finally he smiled and nodded, "I'm sure it won't be, though rather than an investment, my time is a gift. I don't expect anything in return, and you needn't hold yourself to your words should they feel like weights." -------- "Weights? Never. You lift me up to rise above what I thought was possible. I am very thankfull" he put his hands together and bowed his head "That smile of yours was the only gift I truly needed. I'll keep it save and cherish it for a thousand years...and a day" -------- "And a day?" He thought he might have felt his heart skip a beat at the last addition, surely his standards were not high. What made him difficult was his negligence towards himself. He returned the gesture, bowing lower, "Your words are too kind, and the sincerity behind them, kinder still. My smile is a permanent matter of course, you may get tired of it." -------- Rome shook his head "I will grow tired of it the day easter and christmas fall on the same day, just as people grow tired watching dancing flames, the sun rising and waves washing ashore... you must show me the temple and tell me what it's for... -------- Well that put a silly grin on him immediately, "You are too generous." He nodded at the last bit, "I will show you the temple, it'll be easier to explain it when we're there. And I assume you are asking about my tilak and the Bindi on our foreheads. It is a Hindu custom," he touched the spot on Rome's forehead with his thumb, "this is where the soul enters and exits the body, the Ajna Chakra. By applying sandalwood paste on it, you are respecting the mind and soul. It's also said to improve your attention and intuition." The thumb moved upwards, "The different type of tilak can also help one understand which God the person worships, during religious instances. Women wear it in the form of a simple dot, married women wear it as a larger red dot." He withdrew his hand, "Like kohl, it also has cooling properties." -------- Romulus listened and seemed intrigued. "Do you have priests or virgins to look after the temple and do they also wear tilak or bindu?" -------- He laughed, "Temples tend to be owned by people who used to be from the Brahmin caste. They have families to take care of them- And yes, you will see it." -------- "This caste, is a familyline or house, or an institute of some sort? I am sorry Im trying to understand" -------- "The caste system (I've tried to dissolve it in these times) is a social hierarchy, the brahmins were at the top as people who are the closest to the gods. Then the warriors, the merchants and at the very bottom were the Untouchables, who are said to have been sinners in their previous life." -------- "That seems like a pretty fixed system that suits it's purpose but none can possibly escape from. Not like ours was much better I suppose. Both the free born and slaves were bound, in different ways -------- "We believed in the cycle of rebirth, and in that sense it was more than fair. You escape it by living righteously and being reborn into a better caste. But it's ultimately cruel and so nothing more than its legacy should continue." -------- "hmn,... Then you should know everything about how to be a good man with your experience. And your people have written down knowledge for those who want to make an effort to better their lives, no?... One of my bosses was really into that. He is known as one of the worlds greatest filosofers. " -------- "The more I think I know, the less I know, so I tend to just do my best and hope for good results." He sighed, "But of course, my people have written many rules and guides down, though I think it's most important to have a strong sense of dharma, and the rest fall into place." He paused, "Duty." He seemed rather curious when the other mentioned an old boss, he got the attention of the shopkeeper and looked back at him. "Which of them was he?" -------- Rome nodded, yes the more you know. "Ah... he's known as Marcus Aurelius. We ehh, change names at times. He was really kind to me. Even let me go travel and see Seres... we did make a short stop in Pandyan... It's a long time ago I don't remember the name of the city." -------- "You seem to remember him fondly," he took out his card and the lady shook her head. Only cash. But of course, he fiddled in his wallet for the price and kept it in her hand. -------- "Yes! And history has been kind to him luckely." some would claim the pax romana died with him. "We did we not meet back then, why didn't we?..." he was digging his mind. "I remember we had to keep a good pace even though I was feeling sick... we cut part of the main route, for some reason... " he shook his head his memory was too clouded. "Did you have leaders you were fond of, more than the others?" -------- He watched as the woman packed the dyes and he could feel the other's lapse in memory with just hearing his voice. "I did. Ashoka the Buddhist king was a force to be reckoned with, Akbar the Great from the Mughal empire was such a curious and wonderful man. There are many more, some dipped in mist within my memories as I fail to recall whether they were real or myth." -------- Rome laughed to that "And I thought MY mind was a mess" he sighed. "But I do think I've heard of this Ashoka before... But hey, let's put that in my bag, then we have our hands free." -------- He smiled, "Oh I'm sure that one was real. We use his chakra on my flag, saffron, white and green, with a navy blue wheel at the middle. It has twenty-four spokes and symbolises the twenty-four hours of a day, rotating, rotating without tire, to continue for an eternity." He took the dyes and thanked the woman. "The elephants (and coals) await us! Is there anything else that you would like to buy?" -------- Rome started grinning, whatever he was thinking he wasn't saying it out loud. "You're feeding me and everything. And since you won't let me invade nothing, what more do I need?" -------- He smiled and tilted his head, "What are you grinning about? Hm perhaps I am ideal company for swashbuckling young empires." -------- "I'm not telling" his grin widened. "but you may guess, HA HA" -------- "Is this about you still being sceptical about my hot coal walk? I will impress you nonetheless." -------- "You serious?! I don't want you to burn yourself please" -------- "Oh," he laughed, "since you said please, I won't burn. Though I had no intention of burning and I will still do as I wish." -------- Rome combed his fingers throw his hair and shook his head "You are a grown free man, by all means do as you wish. I'm still not certain what you are trying to proof though. Of all the ways you could pick to try to - impress - me, you had to choose walking on coals" he flung his hands in the air in a dramatic matter "You could have just got naked" -------- He laughed, "I don't tend to get naked for my guests (and its not the first time I've heard this...sadly), but walking on coals is no problem." He took his hand and held it firmly with his other, "Where's your spirit gone?" He was not going to be kept from it. It was that or snake charming. -------- "Very well... It clearly means a lot to you, show me. though I'm not sure what I think is scarier this moment. You doing just that or me getting trampled." he pouted "but it's not my fault if you get hurt in the process. Unlike popular belief I do not enjoy people suffering" -------- "I'm honoured that my safety is as important as yours." He let go of his hands and looked at him with a carefree grin, "Don't worry, your name will not be tied down to any mistake on my part." -------- "My name has left a much hated mark on far to many people, quite literaly. Let us go to the temple" -------- "Now do not go being depressed," he eyed him and held his hands behind himself, "the Mandir is a place of light. Put a smile on your face and let your heart be free of the past." He led the way. -------- Rome faked a smile and followed. Let your heart be free of the past? The past was basically all he was. Both good and bad. "What do elephants eat?" -------- He smiled at the question, "Bananas! Whole bunches of them. Though they'll like you more if you peel them and put in the extra effort." -------- "Should we bring some? Then maybe they wont smell my fear and peel me instead?!" -------- "They'll have some at the temple, don't worry. They really are gentle, you'll like them!" Very gentle and very smart. -------- Romulus wasnt so sure. "We will drink to celebrate after, right? If I do pet one, that is" -------- "If you take one for a walk with me, I'll even make sure to get the finest brew from my place." That was a little tricky these days, but if the other put in extra effort, so would he. -------- "Ww..." his voice cracked "Walk with.. you mean walk beside it? Ohh... I don't know India. What if I can't control it then the whole town is in ruin." -------- "I'll be with you, so of course that won't happen." He pressed his hands together, "They're not going to rampage with me around, and you don't need to control them, they're my friends." Because why wouldn't you have an elephant pal. -------- "You speak of them like they are big dogs. Like you can just let them lie down and roll over. Aah, I really am nervous, omg" he pinched India's arm "I can feel my heart beating in my chest" -------- He patted his shoulder, "I'll help you face them, you won't be in any danger and they are a different species from what you remember, maybe you'll notice their physical differences." -------- "I'll trust your judgement. This temple is it dedicated to one God or several?" he asked "Do you have a favorite?" -------- "I'm glad you will." He was honoured. "Oh, it's dedicated to one of Vishnu's most beloved avatars, Krishna." He grinned at the question, "Are you looking to get me in trouble?" -------- "Get you in trouble? They are a jealous bunch, is that what you are saying? Or is my company troublesome already?" -------- "They can be a jealous bunch, and your company is far from troublesome! You've been wonderful company." He nodded, "In seriousness, I used to favour Shiva the most, though now I think my admiration has shifted to Vishnu. Each God does play an important role though." -------- Romulus smiled shyly "What is Vishnu known for that you pick him?... Or is it a Goddess? See how little I know. I don't want to anger Vishnu... Sorry God, if you are listening, Im a silly tourist I mean no harm." -------- "Don't worry, he's one of the gods who never gets jealous or petty, he would not be offended." And as for why he picked him, how does one put Vishnu into words? He is like life itself! "I suppose it is only natural for me to appreciate him the most, he is associated with heroism and with protection. In Hinduism, we have the Vedic triad, three gods who are the most important from the entire pantheon. Brahma, he who creates, Shiva, he who destroys evil to make space for more creation, and Vishnu, he who protects what is good. In times of great evil, he is born to the earth and will become a saviour. According to the stories, he has done this 9 times already. He's like a guardian angel- That...And he's just really really admirable in each tale he plays a part in. He's collected and calm, within him lie the secrets of the cosmos." Only in India do you have such persistent fanboys for Gods or goddesses. Don't even get him started on Hanuman, the monkey God. -------- "He sounds like a great guy! You should tell me some of his stories when we have time to spare" -------- "Wonderful! Actually there's a perfect tale to pass the time with as we walk to the temple, it's about Vishnu and an elephant devotee of his." -------- "YEAH let's hear it!" Rome smiled -------- He laughed, "During the times of Akbar the Great, was a man so witty and intelligent in his court that his stories are well remembered. He was called Birbal, and unlike the Muslim emperor, he was a Hindu. Akbar sought for peace between the two groups and wished to understand this story. Once, there was a leader of a herd of elephants called Gajendra, he was a great leader and one who cared for his fellow elephants. He led them to the river so that they could bathe themselves, but suddenly, he was attacked! The jaws of a crocodile snapped shut on his leg and he cried out for help. But his herd backed away and began to turn away, as they had realised that death had come for Gajendra. Poor Gajendra struggled and struggled, to no avail. They say he held out for a thousand years, trapped by the crocodile, clinging onto dear life. But even his strength had its limits. With the last of it, he picked up a lotus flower with his trunk and held it up high," he extended an arm above him, as an offerring to the Lord Vishnu, as a prayer for help." There were almost by the temple, he could make out the shape. They say if you can view your destination, you're halfway there. "That's the temple, see?" -------- "I see,... then what happend? Did it got dragged down the water?" he was caught by the story already -------- He shook his head, "Upon hearing his devotee's prayer, Lord Vishnu himself rushed to the scene, looking for the one who surrendered control of their life to him. As Gajendra saw him, he exerted the last of his strength in raising the lotus even higher. At seeing this, Vishnu was moved and with his Sudarshana Chakra, a weapon that's much like a discus with jagged edges- he beheaded the crocodile and saved Gajendra. Akbar was rather shocked by the fact that Vishnu himself came down to help Gajendra when he could have sent any of his strong and loyal subjects to take care of it in his stead. Birbal took to explaining it later by telling the Emperor that his grandson was drowning in the pool. This was, of course, not the case, but Akbar jumped in himself to rescue his supposed grandson. The moral of that being that Vishnu treats his devotees with such personal care, it is as if he is family." -------- Romulus nodded "He is a good God. The elephants do know how to touch peoples hearts. We had some at the circus once, I did not go because I don't enjoy it. But a friend did and he said all left feeling sad because they wailed so bitterly and casts their trunks up to heaven. This friend never returned there ever again and became stoic. Seneca and Pliny also wrote about their greatness. The organiser of the event was cursed by both elephant and man it's said and he got stabbed." -------- He nodded, "It depresses me that we cannot take care of these animals and make proper use of them. For entertainment we have each other, why must tigers be chained and bears made to balance on balls?" He smiled without much humour, "There's a bit of poaching in my land, people kill elephants for the ivory. How pointless it is, the ruin a life so large and great, for a small bit of material." -------- "The Gods made many foolish people. But they may grow to do what is right. They should not anger you. Do not question why is it that these things happen and fill you with sorrow. Nobody is helped with such thoughts and you the last of all people." -------- "They don't anger me." He sighed but he was cheered by the other's words, "And it is impossible for me to be filled with sorrow when with it comes motivation to work against the nature of all things poor." Things will get better! "Thank you for your advice." -------- "We are all connected in a way, I believe. Only take the words that are of use to you that come from my mouth. Because I loose myself quite often, which is not very wise. I have still need to learn to shut my mouth and pick my words with more care. But you are making a great difference for my world this day. So that is progress, right?" -------- He smiled, "I don't know, maybe you were a better man before you met me. However, I can never know, so I'll believe that I made a positive difference." They were almost there! A cool breeze blew past them, shaking trees and letting flower petals and leaves fall onto the ground. "There's art in honesty and straightforwardness, there's science behind picking words with more care. Both are neutral choices, only you decide whether they harm or support. You're already very wise in the ways of art." -------- Rome smiled proudly at that. "Maybe" he looked at the leaves dancing in the wind then back at India "will there be paintings or statues of Vishnu in the temple of Krisna as well? Im curious to how he looks like" -------- "There will be statues, but honestly he looks different in every temple- ah but since it's a temple they'll sell paintings for worship outside! Imagine a dark man with beautiful eyes, like lotus petals, and a constant smile. He's normally lying on a large cobra with several heads, with his wife, the goddess of fortune and prosperity massaging his feet, floating on the cosmic waters that represent the universe." He was heavily romanticized, but which gods weren't? "Krishna is a form of Lord Vishnu so technically speaking, even the flautist with a peacock feather in his hair and doe-like eyes is him." -------- Rome giggled "He most be very charming indeed if the women lay at his feet like that. HA HA The temple looks really cool, are they all built likewise?" -------- "Oh yes, and his wife is madly in love with him. Everytime he is born to the earth, she comes with him, they always find each other and fall in love all over again." He was a romantic, and there was such beauty and aesthetic in the stories of Vishnu. "And Krishna had 16008 (or 16108, the stories are inconsistent) wives, each of whom he loved dearly and spent equal time with." "No, they vary from region to region, and they look different depending on which deity or which deities they are dedicated to." -------- "oh?" he froze and his mouth hanged open in amazement "seriously, that's the cutest thing ever!" ------ He grinned, "It gets cuter than that, he originally only had 8 wives, but 16000 (16100) of them were slaves of the demon Narakasura. After Krishna slew him, the women would not have a place in society as old servants of the late demon, so he married them out of kindness to protect their dignity. And they lived happily with him in his kingdom. One of the stories say that the mischievous God, Narada, asked him if he could take one of his wives -he had so many, after all- for himself. And Krishna agreed, provided that Narada would marry the one who he finds alone." He smiled, he loved telling stories, his eyes were still full of wonder and admiration, hands naturally moving to gesture and illustrate the nature of his words. "Narada went to the home of each of the 16008 wives, and in each home, his prospective bride was accompanied by Krishna who was very close with her, laughed and was intimate with her or even raised children with her. He finally realised that Krishna splits himself into a being for each wife and spends the night with them all simultaneously while in the daytime his selves combine as he performs the duties of a Prince." He actually learned to play the flute because of the stories of Krishna. -------- Romulus listened carefully and smiled all the while "I wish my Gods were as generous. Jupiter had quite some trouble with his jealous wife. Not as much as the Greek ones though. Personally I try to keep my relations with women open, it's not ideal but it's manageble that way. I could not handle more than two loves at the same time, Id go crazy I think. I was really blessed Greece and Egypt liked eachother." -------- "Haha," he had a sudden mini-film of flashbacks, one after the other, building up his spirits and crushing them, devastating him and consoling him all at the same time. He walked into a corner. Rubbing his head and torn out of his five seconds of silence he looked at the other, "You were blessed, catfights can turn ugly." -------- Rome nodded. It looked to him India had not been so fortunate with girls. "Well, girls are strange anyway" -------- He didn't have time to wonder what the other had thought to himself after watching his host walk into a wall, because when the stars faded from his view, he realised that they were by the temple. "We're here! Alright, now first we must remove our shoes and secure them." -------- Romulus tried not to laugh when the other hit his head "...ehh, you ok?" He opened his bag and took out a package of wipes offering them to India before he took a few to clean his face, hands and feet. Then took his spare sandals out. "secure them, you said?" -------- "I just showered," he said as he declined the wipes. He regarded the other fondly, "You know your temple etiquette, I'm impressed." It was very important to go into the temple with a clean body, but foreigners weren't required to observe each custom. "Yes, sadly they may get stolen by the time we return if we don't tie them to the pole." -------- "That would be a something, these.." he hold up his sandals "... Are the only thing that they truly 'respect', my boys" he smiled "I could put it al in the bag, although Id like to have the full experience, ha ha. Or uhm should I leave my bag here as well? I can take my pictures out, I have pockets in my jeans" having pockets was new to the roman. "If they take it then that's that. I try to live minimalistic now. It works rather well for me." -------- "They only truly respect your shoes?" He cocked his head to a side, "Your boys have strange tastes." He smiled and shook his head, "Carrying it in your bag is alright, just so long as your footsteps are pure on temple grounds, you needn't do anything else!" "Take your bag, you can carry all your items with you, though I wish you'd left some more in the house." -------- "Yes well, I'm not sure if they fear my fashion sense or the beating" he laughed. "Next time I'll leave it all at the villa. I'm just so used to carrying my stuff when I travel I didn't even think about it, silly heh?. This..." he shook his bag "...is everything I own, apart from my armor, which I left at a friends place in Reykjavic." He looked excited at the temple then back at India "It's just stuff. All that is important is stored up here" he said as he lay his hand on his brow. -------- "You sound just like an Indian aunty." He laughed, but in all his youthfulness, he still got the odd threat of being whacked by a slipper or rolling pin. "It's good to be detached from material things, but I don't know if you really are. I'll make sure that you do not part with your things if it can be helped." Unbeknownst to him, the monkeys had already taken his fidget spinner. -------- Rome put the sandals in the backpack and followed his friend to the temple silently. It sounded and smelled like a another world than the market they just visited. Temples were different yet the same in other countries. He felt truly at peace now. -------- "Now should we go to the elephants or the coals first?" He said with an excited smile, clapping his hands together as his hardened feet lightly kicked at the scorching temple grounds. The coals weren't a problem but he was trying quite hard not to hop around in front of the other. Of course he couldn't hide his relief when they came to a shaded path. -------- Rome shook his head, his new friend was an idiot. "Ok, show me your wonders first." they were quite alike, he thought. -------- Where was the lie though? Perhaps it was just a matter of eccentricity, all the ancients were excessively eccentric, India just happened to be worse than most. "Yes! Alright then, where was it again- that way? That way!" He dragged the other along, they could see children running along and playing, parents scolding them, those of marriageable age praying for luck- the atmosphere was bustling the way the market had been, yet it also felt different. As though there was a sense of lightheartedness in the air, everyone was smiling. It was a stark difference from temples dedicated to other deities. -------- Rome grinned as the other pulled him along. India's enthusiasm sure was contagious. Young countries more than often were so... serious. "You really are excited aren't you?" Rome still wasnt sure this was such a great idea but "you smile like an idiot" It was super cute to see him like this. -------- "Of course it's been years since I've done it!" That was cause for worry but clearly the thought hadn't reached him, he was immensely confident in his abilities. He found the coal pit, it probably hadn't been used in forever- there weren't so many young people who'd do it- burning one's feet off to prove their courage clearly didn't appeal to them in the way it appealed to more religious generations. "It's alright if I'm a cute idiot." He said as his eyes scanned for a handler, aha! He got one, he might have given the old man a fright for he must have only met him 20 years ago or so. "Shankar!" He called out in a similar tone and quickly got the man to light up the coals. He turned to his guest and whispered, "I think he thinks that I'm a form of the God... What do I do?" Would it be even more confusing to explain the whole nation thing or should the old man be humoured? It wasn't a simple and obvious moral choice. -------- Rome had to admit "fit for the asylum but equally cute" Rome thought for a moment "Let the old man think what he will. He'll be honoured..." he started laughing "When I was young I used to prank the poor souls. I would put on sandals and rub my feet madly at this wool carpet and then go around and electric shock people, HA HA! Some really believed I was the grandson of our King of Heaven. It was just a cheap trick but the faces they'd make... Ha HA" -------- He raised an eyebrow and laughed, "What a mischievous young boy you were!" The man looked old, perhaps he wouldn't live long- ah but somehow he may just live forever, one could never tell. In the end he went with his guest's suggestion, it wasn't a matter of personal pride, he just wanted him to have a good day. And he wouldn't do anything to purposely feed the idea! "Fit for the asylum?" He pouted, "Thats not very fair on me. My mind /is/ sharp." -------- "Hmn,... That is yet to be proven. But it only takes one look to see you're cuter than me. Maybe I get to outsmart you then. That's a honourable field to beat you in." he grinned "though I bet there are people who'd say Im just as wacko" -------- "Oh don't try to outsmart me," he spoke with such light-heartedness that even while he was facing the coals with as they were being lit, his tone was carried without the other seeing his smile. He turned to him, "Though of course you are handsome and there is no contest between our looks." Personally he was a better judge of the feminine beauty, for men it was hard to explain- there were too many different types of handsomeness that had never been given the same attention. Whether it was rugged or smooth, muscular or slender, there were too many handsome men to compare them all. It was during thought processes like this, that the Indian was filled with vexation as he couldn't understand why his country was yet to allow two men or women to be together. /Everyone/ is attractive and appealing. "The fire's been lit!" -------- Rome was about to challenge the other when India's reply left him speechless. He knew he should surpress his emotions because they would become overwelming. But he didn't. He accepted the compliment and felt so strong and beautifull he could move mountains now. He was all warm and fuzzy inside and it showed. "So it's on, this is it. I think you are really brave. I will cheer for you! " He bowed his head a little and gave him all the space to get ready. Please Gods watch over my friend, he's so precious. -------- He was dazzling- when he was so happy. India blinked at the sudden change, he hadn't thought it possible for the Roman to get even brighter and happier than he had at many moments throughout the day. Somehow, a part of him was worried that he'd made him feel too much, but he was also pleased that he left some sort of memory on the other. Though the latter was quite immature of him so he chided himself for it. "This is it!" He winked when the other made way for him. But beyond the coals was an idol of his beloved god, he folded his palms together, pressed them to his chest and bowed. The man gave him a garland of flowers and he took them carefully. "And now you'll see the walk." He murmured, before doing just as he promised. Now there was science to it, temperatures cancelled out and the time the coal made contact with his feet, whether they stick to the feet, how dry they are- it all mattered. But while watching him, it looked effortless and practiced. It was in equal parts fascinating and unnerving. He deliberately walked as slowly as the embers would allow, not rushing, but getting through the walk with grace, and back onto the sand at the other end. He hung the garland on the Krishna. A turn and a thumbs up, "See! It wasn't as bad as you expected, was it?" -------- Rome was blown away "That's incredible! How do you... Are you sure you're not hurt?" he turned to the old man "that's my friend, look at him" Rome run up to India and hugged him "sorry i doubted you, I saw you do this just now and I still not believe it!" Rome was blown away "That's incredible! How do you... Are you sure you're not hurt?" he turned to the old man "that's my friend, look at him" Rome run up to India and hugged him "sorry i doubted you, I saw you do this just now and I still not believe it!" -------- The old man looked just as stunned and India welcomed the embrace with a grin. "I'm sure, I'm sure." He lifted his legs and while they were covered in ash, there were no burns. He dusted them off easily, somehow even on one foot he looked as stable as an oak tree. "You must believe it, I will teach you how it works but I will not encourage you to try this /feat/ today." -------- "Oh, I'm so relieved you're ok." Pffffftttt HA HA HA "Ah indeed that would be a bad idea. The sand is warm enough for my feet!" the roman grinned -------- He smiled at the other's laughter, there were two types of reactions he was used to at this stage, groans and complaining or laughter. He genuinely thought he was funny so of course Rome's encouragement was confirmation of that notion. "Oh yes, the sand's scorching isn't it? Let's walk in the shade." He thanked the old man and bowed in front of the idol, before dragging the guest to a completely different part of the temple. "Now that I've done the impossible, it's time for you to bond with elephants." -------- Rome took a deep breath "Yes, I can do this!" he would make India proud. It was a totally irrational fear and he would face it. As simple as that. What could possibly go wrong? -------- India smiled encouraging but he was actually already running various scenarios in his head, how close to the elephant would he be able to bring the other, how would he keep the elephant calm- Should he let the Roman do this himself or should he lead by example? Elephants were brilliant creatures with much patience, but would something go wrong? He stopped the other and took some bananas from the tree, there weren't many ripe ones left but he got those on the brink. "Here, take half of these." He was going to do his best to make this as easy as possible. -------- Bananas perfect, he thought to himself. But felt tensing up already. Just because Rome was used to do whatever, whenever he was ordered to didn't mean he felt less. His mouth felt dry. He knew this would make him feel miserable, but that wasn't important. The fear was real, the treat wasn't. -------- He looked so tense, it made him feel a little bad, India pulled him into a tight hug. "Hey," he whispered, "calm yourself, loosen your muscles, breathe, breathe in as deep as you can, breathe out as much as possible, just focus on your breathing and you'll feel a lot more prepared." -------- He hold his breath with the sudden hug. Then slowly breath out again. He really was pumped up, ready for a fight. His nostrils wide, jaw clenched and soldiers stare picking up every essential detail of his surroundings. His arms hung unmoveble at his side when India wrapped his around him, like they were cut out marble. He did however lay his head against him. "yes sir, please let me go to feed it -------- How the Roman managed to get more stiff, went beyond him. He patted his head and looked downwards in thought, still hugging the other there. "Easy now, you're not about to wage war on Jaipur, are you? Hehe, I'm a little nervous, you /must/ comfort me from the thought before you go befriending elephants." He let go of the other and held his hands out wide, "I felt like I was hugging a tree!" What a bossy host he was, but he still felt that the had nervous energy threatening to spill out, call it a gut feeling. -------- There was a carefull grin on his face. He bit his lip and tried to order all the different thoughts plaging him. He dropped his backpack and bananas and duck back into a hug. The fingers of his rough hands, meant to wield a blade, running delicately over his back. He leaned into him with a whisper so close you could feel it "I could never harm you. -------- He laughed, finding the whispers ticklish and mirrored the way he felt the other stroke his back, "Is that so?" Perhaps there was a difference in 'could' and 'would' which the other ignored, but maybe there wasn't. "I won't give you a reason to, and neither will the elephants. Are you relaxed yet, or shall we walk around for a bit longer?" -------- Rome wouldn't let go just yet. "I'm glad we've came to an understanding. I will not tax Jaipur since you are so kind to part with it. It just needs a more fitting name" hmnn "I don't know, do I still feel like a tree to you?" apart from the broad chest haha "... I like your cuddles, they are better than Germanic ones. And you're not even drunk." -------- "Oi, who said anything about me parting with it?" He laughed, trust the other to take his opportunities when he saw them. "No, you're not much like a tree anymore, I'm glad too- Even I would feel like a fool for having seen a man in a tree." He smiled, "I'm the embodiment of therapy, of course my cuddles are the best." -------- "Ah you could carve a fine man out of it, mr tree hugger, but marble is finer." he let go reluctantly. "I don't need therapy. I have no sisters to grow a crush on, haha. Though id like it if you'd show me how to improve my cuddling." feeling lucky are we, Romulus? -------- "I could, but I prefer metal to stone and wood for such pursuits." He laughed, "You could get therapy for less than that these days." With a grin he winked, "It's not easy to teach, if you'd prefer, I could give you an ayurvedic massage instead." -------- "Really now?! Id love that, you spoil me greatly!!! But I still need to feed the elephants, because you showed your bravery too!" he indeed felt much better now "I promise to be a good boy and nice to them. They are your friends after all!" -------- Now those words certainly served their purpose in relaxing him. His lips curled to a smile and he nodded, "Then follow me, we'll head to their stables." What bravery, he had only done a small performance for the other, but if it inspired courage in him, then he had nothing to say. -------- Rome quickly slung his back over one shoulder and followed. As they got closer he heard one trumpeting and this startled him so much he grabbed the others arm rambling something in his native speech. -------- "Relax, they won't hurt you. They're not even out in the open- I think." He placed his banana-holding hand, as reassuringly as he could, on top of the hand that grabbed him. "And you will soon get used to their beautiful strange sounds!" -------- "I'm ok,.." he laughed nervously. He peeked around the corner if he could see them. "omg... They are huge!" Rome pointed his banana at India like a pistol "you, go first. If you do anything funny I WILL use this" he smirked -------- He stepped back, "Oh no! I suppose I have no chance now-" He took a banana from his own bunch and tossed it up, catching it as if it were a gun as well. "No funny business, you can't run away while I'm not watching." -------- "Not so fast!..." he aimed for the kill CLICK CLICK CLICK "why you little cheat, mine is unloaded!" he stuck his between his belt "Romans never run, dying in battle is prefered above decimation. Well,... there goes nothing, it was nice knowing you" Carefully but determent he approached the stables. He stopped only a few meters away facing one, breathing in his hands for a moment to calm himself. -------- "Unloaded? Hahah! That was not any action of mine." He returned the banana to his side gamely and nodded, "But of course, it was not my intention to insult your honour." He watched him from a distance as he walked to the elephants, still debating on his role in this matter. Finally he stepped up when Rome had paused, moving past him to the elephants and cooing soft greetings in the local tongue. He placed a hand on the trunk of one. "Gently, come forward and hold out a banana." -------- He stepped forward and peeled the banana. "On behalve of my people I ask p.please forgive us. We are really sorry." He looked at the big creature and tried to read it's eyes but it was hard cause his were tearing up. He kneeled and presented the peeled banana. "please accept" he was terrified. -------- Of course the elephant didn't quite speak, but the brownish grey trunk rolled around the banana and it opened its mouth wide, revealing rows of sparkly white teeth and in went the banana. And back down came the trunk. Shiv leaned in expectantly, and watched as the elephant expressed its gratitude by resting it's trunk on the Roman's head for a moment before removing it with a soft toot. "I think you've been blessed!" -------- Romulus almost didn't dare to look when the elephant brought the fruit to his mouth to happily munch it away. He looks a bit like a big cow he thought. His heart skipped a beat when the trunk returned. But instead of a smack in the face he got petted softly. India's comment brought a smile to his face. He stood up tall again. "This one is really kind" still scary though "Did you see how carefull he hold the banana? If he had more trunks he could play piano..." Rome joked. When turning to India he suddenly felt really lightheaded and his vision turned black -------- "They usually are, we pamper them so much here too, it's a lesson taught to them by example." He wouldn't go as far as to say that they are always like such. He was glad that Rome was keeping it together, he felt proud! "I saw, I saw! He really likes bananas, and you're a wonderful banana feeder. Hahaha, maybe one is enough to play the xylophone-" Time seemed to stop, he watched the other's legs, first seeing knees buckle, dropping the bananas, he moved quickly to catch him. "Ah well then, this is enough of a victory for today." He pressed his forehead against the other's and smiled, "You did really well, I hope you are still proud of it when you wake up." He got the others arm around him and walked a few steps away, bowing to the elephants before they left the area. Soon they ended up in the shade and India rested besides him, leaned on a tree. -------- When Rome opened his eyes again it took a moment to realise where he was. "1-0 for the elephant, Im seeing angels." He felt pretty stupid as he carefully got up again "...well... At least I did better than last time. I think this one likes me" -------- "He definitely likes you!" He helped him get up and lent him his shoulder, "I think it's a fair 1-1, you got something out of it by managing to feed him. Be proud of yourself." He looked at him for a moment, "Is this enough for today, or do you want to try again?" -------- It was a succesfull deed even though the end was a slight bitter. He was tired of all the emotions really. "You won't tell anyone, right?" he had a reputation to think of or whatever was left of it "I will do what you think is best. You are my guide and teacher, are you not?" -------- He had a twinkle in his eye as he smiled, "You mean I cannot speak of how you conquered the mighty elephant's heart and got a blessing from the icons of Lord Ganesh?" He patted him on the back, "Then my verdict is simple, you try again. I'm not one to encourage leaving work half-finished, you've come so far, you can only get further than this." He linked their arms together and held the bunch of bananas over his shoulder, "But this time we take him for a walk." -------- India was kind to him but would make him give everything and a little more. Then again Romulus was quick to do about anything for his new friend. In a way he just liked to show off his strenght and bravery to be the brightest pupil of the class. "Only if the elephant is okay with that." Romulus really was a puppy that took touching of any kind for a friendly pet. -------- He looked at the bananas through the corners of his eyes, "I think that the elephant can be convinced." Nodding in thought, he smiled. "We can spend some time with the youngster elephants, you might even find them cute." It was all part of his plan to ease the other into relieving himself of the unease. Of course it was a plan that he would not take credit for, any result at the end would be a result of Romulus' hard work alone. -------- "You mean they are brought here when they are young... Or do they breed them?" Rome could not picture it, it simply had never occured to him that they too had offspring like other animals "Do they have nests?" Imagen stumbling upon a nest full of angry little trunks?! -------- "Probably neither." The thought hadn't really struck him, "Well as they're temple elephants we really aren't keeping them captive, we are living with them." He chuckled quietly, "They're freerange Elephants, I suppose. Though carrying idols is all we really ask of them." The poachers however, would shoot them down for their ivory and the thought crossed his mind like a cloud dimming the light. But that was a separate matter. "Nests?" A shocking mental image, "They don't have nests, they tend to travel around the jungle in herds. Here they stay under the care of their mothers and caretakers." He removed his hand from the other's when he spotted an aforementioned caretaker, after convincing him, the man joined them to lead the way to the small elephants. India was clearly in awe of the little ones, he rested a hand on the Roman's shoulder and pointed, "Look at how cute they are!! They're like puppies- but cuter." Honestly, it was taking him Herculean efforts to keep from unlatching from his guest and hugging the rather big, little ones. -------- Rome was still processing what he was seeing. The smaller elephants were more moving about. "herds?" vague memories of sheep past his mind. These did not move like sheep. More like cows. "They don't lay eggs... they are nursed like cubs and calfs. They have mothers" He turned to India and seeing him cracked him up "Won't the mother eat us if we get too close?" -------- "Well not if you win her over," he winked. "These elephants are communal, they don't see you as a threat. They're quite intelligent, Ganesha the elephant-headed God is also known for being the God of wit." He rubbed the head of a small elephant that wandered near them and it squeaked. Elephants...squeak. "Isn't she adorable." He grinned and waved his hands, the elephant child waved its trunk. -------- "Hold on... You've got a God with a elephant head?" wow. Rome hid behind India when the little one came close. It was different now they were all loose. He laughed at the sound though, more like a relieved giggle. this was all crazy. He gasped and hold it's hart as the animal waved at them "oh my gods, it's waving at us like a human being. Tell me I'm not imagining things" -------- "Oh yes, I'll tell you about him later, if you're still curious. He's also the God of overcoming obstacles, maybe his story will inspire you too!" Poor Ganesha, though he was very very witty and India enjoyed his stories. He grinned and laughed, "You're not imagining things, they're very smart. Though this one is just copying me." He moved his away grandly and then towards Rome's shoulder grandly. The elephant followed and it lightly smacked him as its trunk slid down his side. India stifled a laugh and pulled the other along to the others. "You can pet them if you like, that which you felt is about the worst that they can do to you now." -------- He let out a panicked yelp but when the little elephant pulled back it's trunk and playfully hopped along he just stared at India in disbelief. He made it whack him. Romulus walked up to the little ones and tried to pet one. pulled his hand back. tried again. When he finally did it didn't feel like a snake like he thought it would. -------- What a sweet sight it was!! Well since Rome went his own way, India was free to dramatically fall to his knees and trap a little elephant in his loving embrace. "Aren't they sweet?" He rubbed its little head and sighed contently, elephants are the best. Animals are wonderful. Life is great. They were all so squeaky and cute, he could say he lived the perfect life and pass with no regrets if his death were to be in an 'elephant nest'. Ah, now this was why he found them dangerous. He gave too much of his heart to them, he gave the elephant one last hug and looked up at Rome, "How are you holding up?" -------- While India was enjoying his moment of pure bliss the poor roman ex-empire was attacked by a playfull bunch of elephants. He walked away, they followed, he walked faster... in the end he was defending himself with a folding chair as an improvised shield over his head and a broom against the nest of trunks patting him "save yourself" he said. -------- He blinked and tried not to laugh at the sight, "Are they troubling you? They must really like you, I'm sure they're only playing." He stood up and patted the dust off his clothes before ushering the elephants away from Rome, "Po da! Odi po°." He patted them away and got a trunk to the arm but didn't really find himself hurting over it. "You did wonderful- please don't hit me with your broom." Where did he even get that from? He set down the folding chair though. "I think they're ready with the bigger elephant. Are you ready?" °"Go on, run and go." -------- Rome played some chords on his broom then smiled tossing the broom back where he had found it. "you wont let it hurt me, right? I'm not as tough as I used to be... If he breaks my spine, this time, I'm not so sure I'll be able to walk again. I haven't really put myself to test it fully yet... "

#aph india #aph rome #Hetalia RP