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everythingmp3 · 2 months

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𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✧

adult!Van x fem!reader (smut)

you´ve been dating Van for a while and a heated argument turns into something else, when you can’t hide that her rage is kind of a turn on.

minors dni. warnings: bottom!reader, fingering, slight degradation/domination

(disclaimer: a little longer/more plot, inspired by the few outbursts we see from Van in the show, hate sex if you wanna call it that but also more to it. anyway, I hope it conveys the vibe i was going for! enjoy xx)

fights were a rare occurrence for you and Van. you could count on one hand the amount of times you´d actually gotten loud with each other, but there was a through-line with all the fights, the same issue connecting them all: Van refusing to let you in. there were moments when you could tell that something had triggered a memory in her, which made her shut down completely but she refused to talk about it or accept help. she´d brush it off, isolate, leave you guessing, and it ate away at you every time. it was not something that happened often, but that night it just rubbed you the wrong way and it escalated to a fight. you were standing in the living room, she was by the counter in the kitchen nook, both of you pretty riled up at that point, arguing from across the room.

"you don´t tell me shit, Van, ever! I have told you everything about myself, all of it, yet you don´t tell me anything!" you said, visibly pissed off, she shook her head, eyes intense, hands grabbing the counter for support, "that´s not true. i tell you things all the time".

"you know what i fucking mean, not the things that matter! not the reason you sometimes get that look and space out and get all strange for an entire night. how do you think that makes me feel, to not be trusted with any of it?".

"it´s not about trust, i´ve said this a million times! it´s about protecting you, not dragging you into it!" she yelled, arms gesturing wildly, you just scoffed at that, "bullshit, that´s bullshit Van, i am grown, i can take it and you know it. that´s a lame excuse for your inconsiderate way of shutting me out" you were tired of the same old argument.

she got even louder then, "you have no idea what you´re fucking talking about. the kind of shit i am dealing with, that´s not for you to know, okay, it´s better this way."

"you seem to have no idea what´s better for me"

"oh really?" a sudden quietness to her tone that somehow sounded more threatening, she went over to you then, getting closer. "you think i´m wrong? you wanna know about all the fucking horror in my head? you think that´s what you need from me?", she was almost backing you against the wall then, her eyes burning into yours, her stance solid and unmoving, her chest visibly flushed from the anger. you nodded, challenging her.

"yeah? okay, you asked for it", she became spiteful, it all bubbled up in her then, "what detail do you need, huh? that i survived those 19 months in the woods by fucking eating people, friends, teammates, that i did that", you were staring at her then, your eyes fixed on hers, breath shallow, she was seething, "that they weren´t all natural deaths, that we we hunted them like animals, that we set traps, that we turned into fucking monsters out there, that i know the look of human flesh so well, that i get nauseous when i cut my finger. that´s what you wanna hear, yeah? that i was a brutal evil person, that i am scared i might still be? you happy now?" the pain in her voice was just as strong as her anger then, and all you could do was stare at her, take it all in, the sight of her overflowing with everything she´d left unsaid for so many years, her body practically on fire. in that moment, it struck you, all at once, how her strong deep voice, her attempt to corner and intimidate you, the animalistic look in her eyes, her unusual meanness; it was so different to her usual sweet way with you, that it stirred something deep inside of you. it wasn´t intentional, it just happened, your body, a sudden visceral need, a primal kind of pull towards her. you were trying to mask it but not very successfully, at first she mistook your wide eyes and shallow breath for fear, but then, she noticed it, she knew your body too well not to sense the shift, she shook her head in disbelief, leaning closer to you.

"are you fucking turned on right now?" she hissed, her eyes unrelenting, searching your face for an answer you weren´t willing to give, "you are, aren´t you? fucking hell. here i am eaten up by guilt because i am being a bitch to you and you´re getting off on it??" she was at a loss, she expected disgust, fear, shock, but not that, not the look on your face that you usually gave her when you were extremely desperate for her. "oh, so now you can´t talk back anymore, yeah?" she came even closer then, close enough to make you fully back against the wall, her breath so close you could feel it on your lips, trying not to make a sound, initially she was baffled, then something crept up in her: satisfaction. she realized she had the upper hand, which was delicious after a fight where she felt cornered, you could see it in her eyes, the switch, and you knew you were fucked.

"speak." she demanded in a stern tone, hands on your arms then, pinning you to the wall, it was horrible how hard it was not to moan just from that, your voice wavering as you returned her gaze, "i told you, i can take it.", you did it on purpose and she knew it, that way of wording it, rubbing it in her face, the repetition of earlier words suggestive then because the air was so charged, she pushed even closer to you then, fingers digging into your wrists, restraining you, "oh yeah? is that what you wanted all along? for me to be brutal and make you take it?" emphasis on the last words, almost a kind of disdain in there, "careful what you wish for" she said before pushing her knee up between your legs in one hard motion, making immediate contact with your pelvis, a sensation so violently arousing you let out a pathetic moan, wincing from it, she kept her knee there, not moving an inch, but you were stubborn, trying hard to not give her what she wanted, stifling the other sounds that were forming in your throat, so she moved her knee up against your most sensitive area through the fabric, you were whining then, breaking, losing your composure second by second, a slight grin on her face, not a generous one.

"fucking slut" the word hitting you across the face, she was not into degrading you, quite the opposite, the list of sweet names she called you during sex endless, so the harsh tone as she spat that out made you even more dizzy with heat, with the need for her to just have her way, and by that point she was deeply into the dynamic of it all, not truly angry anymore but riled up, willing to be rough, if that was what it was going to take to make you fold. you tried leaning forward to kiss her, but she let go of one of your hands and put her forearm across your chest, pressing you into the wall to keep you from doing something tender, shaking her head "i don´t think so", you were begging her then, "please just.." , an intense expression on her face as she groped your tits pretty hard, forcing more whining out of you, making you surrender, "jesus fuck i´m sorry okay".

you crying those words out softened her a little but she could tell you weren´t actually trying to apologize, you were just desperate to have her fuck you, which she couldn´t deny, so she wasted no time, "what´s that, i didn´t hear you?" she teased, as she took advantage of the fact that you´d already showered and changed, just loose sweatpants and no underwear in the way, her cold hand on your cunt in one second, a sharp breath in from you at the contact, "fuck you" you uttered, not very convincingly, shutting your eyes, she was only pushed further by that, "oh okay I see" she leaned forward, her hot breath on your cheek then, as she felt how wet you were, practically leaking, not even needing to push her fingers between your lips to feel it slick against her skin, usually she´d be gentle but in that moment she couldn´t be, pushing two of her fingers all the way into you without warning, no mercy, a loud cry escaping you then, immediately thrusting her fingers into you repeatedly, while still having you pinned against the wall, her breath ragged against your skin, her voice low and sultry, "this is what you wanted, isn´t it?".

Van was enjoying it, the power, there was a slight pain from her relentless motion but it just added to your arousal, you´d gotten soaked enough for it to feel good, the sudden change from zero to a hundred, your moans almost pornographic then, your walls throbbing around her knuckles, she leaned down, not to kiss you but to leave bites all over your shoulder, your neck, teeth digging in just enough to drive you insane, "fuck Van" you kept pleading, as she was doing her best to push you towards an orgasm, hitting the right spot, doing so with more force than usual, not wanting you to savor it but to be overwhelmed by it, pleasure as punishment, something like that, your hands were free to move again by that point, so your nails were digging into her back hard as you were chest to chest, she had no words left in her as she felt you cumming against her fingers, increasingly turned on herself, mind blank, groaning so close to your ear it just made you finish even harder, her fingers not slowing dow at all while you felt your whole body shaking, once your grip on her loosened she finally let you go, backing away from the wall, panting, her hand cramped up at that point, collecting her thoughts as you almost collapsed to the floor because your legs were done for, so you stumbled over to the couch, falling down against the cushions, exhausted.

the second Van turned and saw you resting there like that, she felt a wave of guilt rushing over herself, she was coming back to her senses and it hit her like a ton of bricks; that all you were trying to do during the fight was to get close to her, that all you ever fought her on was her unwillingness to let you be there for her during her darkest moments. you were younger than her, yet more patient, more emotionally available, which made her feel awful all of a sudden. she walked over to sit down next to you, giving you some space for a moment, the two of you just sitting there in silence, until she turned to you, reaching for your hand, her voice soft and quiet:

"hey, listen. I think I owe you an apology." you shook your head, "it´s fine really don´t-" she interrupted, "no, no i do. you weren´t saying anything crazy, it obviously just hit a nerve because it was true. i should be grateful you want to help me. sorry, really. i´m fucking stupid sometimes." a faint smile from you then, you slowly climbed over to her, half on her lap then, hands in her hair, "it´s fine. you know, i just wanted to make it clear, that nothing you could say or reveal about your life would make me leave you, ever. but i get that it´s hard to talk about it, so i´m sorry if i forced something out of you." her hands on your back then, under your shirt, caressing you as she stared up at you, enjoying the feeling of your fingers pushing her hair back, "stop that, you´re being too sweet, i don´t deserve that right now, not after all that..", you grinned then, amused "right, after calling me a slut", Van shook her head,"god don´t even-", you laughed then, "didn´t know you had all that in you", she was glad you weren´t truly hurt by it, joking about it, her gaze fell to a spot on your shoulder where she´d left a rather prominent bite mark, "jesus christ i really need to get a grip" one of her fingers tracing it, you shook your head, grinning, "oh, that part you don´t have to apologize for. I think it´s hot when you get like that. as you clearly realized and took advantage of", nudging her as you said this, she smiled then, "i did like seeing that look on your face" she admitted, a grin, "but don´t get used to it, i like this much better", leaning in and placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, your neck, pulling your face down to lazily press her lips against your cheek, your temple, your forehead, hearing you sigh softly, pulling away after a while to face you again.

"trying to make up for something there, Palmer?" you teased, hands on her neck, she eyed you, head tilted to the side, smiling, just taking in the view of your flushed face, "i think i can do better than that if i´m really trying to make it up to you", you raised your eyebrows, "oh yeah?", she nodded, hands on your waist then, pulling you closer, "yes. I´ll have to get on my knees to really deserve forgiveness, don´t you think?", your eyes wide then, impressed by her sudden smoothness, "i won´t stop you from trying", your lovestruck eyes giving away that she was of course already forgiven, feeling her shift from underneath you, pulling you up, "come on then, let´s go to bed" a gentle squeeze on your hand, making you realize that her being rough had its appeal, but would never compare to the feeling of her being all sweet and loving.

it didn´t fail to make her emotional that night; the realization that you truly did not care about what she´d shared with you, that you still saw her as just as worthy of your love as before. it would lead to her spoiling you even more the days and weeks after, if that was even possible.

#van palmer x reader #yellowjackets x reader #van palmer #yellowjackets #btw feel free to send me ideas or thoughts if you have any

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eleanor-devil · 3 years

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Boruto: Sacrifices [Remade] | Chap.14 - Tears of Regret

Written by: Eleanor-Devil & @mirage-05

Naruto was reading the complete report on the interrogations, Shikamaru standing beside him, neither of them speaking. With each word he was reading the blond was feeling his heart getting heavier. "I... absolutely, completely messed up..." he mumbled finally, shaking his head. "Naruto..." his advisor began with a sigh. "Don't be so hard on yourself..." "And how can I not?!" he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet and began pacing back and forth. "It was my responsibility to keep that child safe! And I failed, I couldn't protect him from those bastards..." There was a pause before the Hokage painfully added. "Or from the villagers..." "You couldn't have known..." "Shikamaru." Naruto gave him a knowing look. "Lame old excuse, and you know it." The Nara didn't say anything else to that. Naruto paced for some more, and turned again to look at him. "I want to hold a second meeting. Inform the clans and tell them that attendance is mandatory, we will tolerate no excuses." Shikamaru nodded. "Any preferences of when?" Naruto thought about it for a minute. "I would've loved to have them dragged out of their beds right now, but let's have it at sunset. Everyone will be present by then."

"On it." Just as Shikamaru walked towards the door, it opened suddenly, making him come to a sudden stop. Seeing the person standing in the doorway, Naruto immediately walked over. "Sasuke..." "Lord Seventh." Shikamaru bowed his head slightly before walking out. As soon as he was out, Naruto asked in a low tone. "Where is Orochimaru?" "I followed him, like you wanted." the Uchiha said seriously. "He went to his son's apartment, and he didn't come out." The Hokage was still tense. "That means he saw those graffitis..." "Oh, he did." The look in the obsidian eyes hardened. "He stared at them for a good while, too. He decided to take no action, but I don't know for how long this silence will continue." The blond closed his eyes for a moment and let out the breath he didn't know he was holding until then. "We have to keep an eye on him. If he decides to strike..." "It is not like he doesn't have good reasons." At the look his friend had given him, the man huffed. "But in any case, I am going to keep close tabs on him. I will keep you informed." The Hokage nodded. "We will have another meeting at sunset." Sasuke didn't say anything, simply nodded. When he opened the door, he almost bumped back into Shikamaru. "Naruto..." the advisor said, almost breathless. "The trackers are back." The blond's eyes widened for a moment, and before he knew it, he was already pushing through his advisor to get out of the room. In front of the office building, he found out that already a dozen people had gathered. And indeed, the trackers were approaching, Konohamaru in the lead, carrying an... unconscious...? dead...? He couldn't be sure, but he was carrying a woman, and something about the look on his face... made Naruto almost cringe. There was also another prisoner as far as he could see... He walked forward to meet them, his eyes on the woman who was on her feet. "Is she...?" "No." the answer came from Konohamaru, and hearing his voice... the blond now knew that something was indeed wrong. "Yoshida Suzume was this person." he indicated the woman he was holding. A moment of silence fell upon the gathered. So many questions came to Naruto's mind, but he didn't voice them just yet. Instead, he turned to one of the jounins. "Take that woman to the hospital." Then another one. "And take the other down to the interrogation rooms." Then he turned to the trackers. "I expect your reports to be delivered tomorrow at the latest." "Yes, Lord Seventh." they said in unison. "You may leave." As they turned their back to go, Naruto spoke once again. "Konohamaru... I would like to speak to you for a moment." The young man nodded and turned around to follow him into his office. The Hokage was watching him intently as he closed the door. "What is wrong?" he asked at last when he turned around properly to face him. "Excuse me, Lord Seventh?" the brunet asked, sounding genuinely confused. "I can see it in your expression... What happened there? Something is troubling you..." There was a pause. "I... I’d really rather not get into this right now." "And I’d really rather not have you in this state of mind.” His look softened. “You know you can tell me.” Another pause. Naruto just waited patiently, hands clasped beneath his chin. "You know, Lord Seventh..." the brunet said at last, not looking up. "We are trained as ninjas, capable of withholding our emotions. But sometimes... sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way. For me especially, tonight..." Naruto didn't say anything for a moment, but felt a small lump forming in his throat. "Konohamaru..." "That woman said he... h-he..." the jounin gulped, it was only too clear that he was having a hard time to continue. "She told me that in the end, he was crying..." Shock reigned supreme on the blond's face as he registered the jounin's words. "H-he... what...?" He was trying, hard, to regain his composure, but it had become a hard job... almost impossible... "She told me a lot of things... Just to bring me down, I guess, but I knew those words were lies... but... When she said that, I knew it was true... What they did to him... What we did to him..." "Konohamaru..." Naruto sighed as he brought two of his fingers to pinch his nose... Honestly, it was all that took him to remain calm... He could understand only too well what could have gone through the poor boy's head... How many times had he felt so heart-broken that he just wanted to run away and never look back? How many times had he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of all the hatred? He had promised himself... the moment he had accepted the boy into Konoha, that nothing like what he had gone through would happen again... That was exactly why he had put up a decree even before the child arrived, forbidding anyone and everyone to cause him harm... He felt like he was falling apart to see that he failed... and not just only a little, he had failed miserably... Trying to ease his mind out of those thoughts, he concentrated his attention on the young jounin again. "You can't let this get to you." "Can’t I?" Konohamaru continued, and his voice came out tired, strained... even with a bit of self-loathe if he had to guess, which made the Hokage frown slightly. "How was I any different toward him compared to the villagers? Did I treat him right, did I make him feel wanted?" His voice faded away as he closed his eyes and shook his head. "What good am I as a sensei...?" The blond sighed again and closed his eyes for a moment before getting up and walking towards the jounin. "You are the best sensei I could ever think of for them," he said firmly, causing the brunet to look up at him. "There were no other options. And I never regretted my decision." He grabbed his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "So you made a mistake, everyone does. All you have to do is keep believing in yourself and get right back up." "Some mistakes are not easily reversible though, are they?" Konohamaru said, with the hint of a bitter smile himself. Knowing that no words he said would help and only being sure that time alone could ease the heavy burden on his shoulders, the Hokage let him go and stepped back. "We will have a second meeting at the sunset..." "I will be there." the jounin said, almost in a cold tone. Then he sagged a little. "Lord seventh, if you may... I'd like to... go see him..." Naruto nodded. "You may leave." ... The raw rays of sunshine embraced the hospital building, as if to completely cover what the darkness of the night brought, to right the wrongs. The man's steps were neither too slow nor too quick, he was just striding forward as if a divine order was directing his steps. He quietly made his way to his student's room, his heart thumping loudly. Was he still there? He had to be there, right? He had to hear the news, he had to know he wasn't forgotten, he had to know he was cared for... He stopped for a minute before the room and gazed inside, just to make sure. Their positions weren't changed. Mitsuki was still lying motionless on the bed, the only thing reassuring them being the steady sounds. Boruto sat with his back to him, straight and unmoving. Sarada was sitting by his left side, facing the sensei, her head on the bed, although Konohamaru could see her eyes were open, just staring at their friend. It was a surprise to him that Shikadai was still there too, sitting next to Sarada, but a pleasant surprise. Gathering the courage that he didn't know had suddenly vanished, Konohamaru grabbed the door's frame and slid it open. The three pre-teens turned at the sound. "Sensei..." whispered Sarada. "Hey..." it was all he said as he approached them, pulling out a chair and finding a spot to sit next to Boruto. He stared at his youngest student for a long while, the night's events playing in his head, marveling at how brave this boy had been... reckless too, yeah, there was no denying that... But to face those monsters, completely isolated... He put his hand over Mitsuki's, careful about not touching the IV. A broken smile etched on his face and he had to gulp before he whispered, "Hi there, kiddo." "I…” he heard Shikadai say, and the boy paused for a second before continuing. “I will just be waiting outside…” He could only very clearly hear the reluctance in his voice, even when the Nara started to rise from his chair. Konohamaru was surprised for a moment but that quickly went away as the soft expression returned. He smiled a bit at the young boy before shaking his head. "No..." he said. "I want him to know that we're all here." Shikadai relaxed back in his chair while his students didn't utter a single word, simply staring at their sensei and then back at their friend. The look in the jounin's eyes hardened a little as his gaze, too, drifted to the unconscious boy. "You better prepare yourself for a good scolding when you wake up, Mitsuki." The children were clearly taken aback, both by his words and tone, he could see the shocked expressions on their faces. "W-what do you mean, sensei?" Sarada asked, gulping. "Why...?" "He was attacked..." Shikadai said cautiously, eyeing the sensei wearily. "It's not like..." "It's exactly what it sounds like." the brunette explained simply. "Your friend here thought it was a brilliant idea to engage five jounins in battle for the safety of the village." There was a deafening silence. "...five...?" the Uchiha mumbled finally in a tiny voice. "But that... was he...?" the blond wasn't even able to put together logical sentences. "You mean to tell me... What kind of stupid logic was that?!" he finally burst out. "Why would he do that?! How could he even believe he could win against such odds?!" "That's something only he can tell us... I can't wait to hear the whole story from him, either." Konohamaru went silent again as he looked back at Mitsuki, trying to gather his thoughts. "We did it, kid," he continued. "We got the last member of that damned squad..." Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the kids shifting, now interested. Sarada's fingers curled a little more around Mitsuki's hand. Konohamaru tried to choose the right words, just gazing at the blue haired boy's face. "I'm sorry..." he whispered after a second. "I am sorry we weren't there soon enough. I am sorry you had to face them alone, even when you shouldn't." He sighed. "And I'm sorry... that you ever felt you were truly alone..." This certainly caught their attention. "Sensei...?" whispered Sarada, curiosity but also worry filling her ebony eyes. Shikadai also shifted in his seat, sitting up straight, a frown in his features. "What do you mean... he felt truly alone...?" The young man looked between their faces sadly, this was going to be hard for them. He closed his eyes for a second as, unwelcome as it was, the woman's words about how Mitsuki was... crying... came back to him. He opened his eyes again, looking at the child lying on the bed and lightly squeezing his hand. "One of those damned ninjas..." he began, his voice broken. "She had the power to block sounds. Together with a strong genjutsu they trapped Mitsuki in a place where we couldn't even hear him... couldn't even know he was fighting for us..." He heard the three slightly gasp as their attentions immediately drifted towards their sleeping friend. Konohamaru had to sigh before continuing. "But it seems that he didn't... know about that trap… so they taunted him... about how no one was coming to his rescue, even though he was so close to us..." He felt his lip tremble for a moment but he quickly regained his composure. "Mitsuki... believed that no one was coming to help him... that he was completely alone..." “Damn…” the Nara mumbled, forgetting momentarily the presence of the jounin. Sarada brought a hand to her mouth, the other still tightly grabbing her friend's hand, and tears began to fill her eyes. "No..." she whispered, unable to truly comprehend how that must have felt. They had completely ruined him... The villagers, those ninjas... No one coming for his help... She started shaking with sobs. What did Mitsuki ever do to deserve these...? Boruto was trembling, and tears filled his eyes as he tried to gulp. "How could you ever think we would leave you alone...?" he whispered, so quiet that his voice barely reached his own ears. For a moment Konohamaru let go of Mitsuki's hand before wrapping one arm around Boruto's shoulders and extending the other arm to touch Sarada's hand. He smiled brightly at them. "That's why we need to stick together, to let him know that we're all here for him. Alright...?" "Mitsuki..." Sarada began, trying to pull herself together. "We... we are all here. We are with you... We will see this together..." Her voice trembling, she couldn’t go on . "We will always be here for you..." Shikadai supplied, finally finding his voice again, although the mere effort hurt as he spoke. "Even if you get bored of us at one point, we will stick by you anyway," Boruto said with a strong determination, also trembling a little. It might have been their imagination... but the moment they said that, it felt like the heart rating machine's beeps rose for a moment before returning to normal. Had Mitsuki heard them...? Had he felt that? The sensei gave a small laugh at that, gazing fondly at his younger student. "That's right, kiddo... You are never alone." He didn't know how much time passed, but after a while, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and got up. "Get some sleep, you three." he said, but he wasn't sure if they would listen. Boruto couldn't help himself as a small, sad smile adorned his lips. "Sensei..." he said, not taking his eyes away from his best friend's face. "Thank you." ... Hanabi was preparing to greet the new day, her mind smoothly, effortlessly going over the daily ordeals she expected to face with the Hyuuga. Not long before Himawari had dropped in - not that she stayed long, only long enough for a quick breakfast with grandpa, and then she was off with her friends from the clan. She really didn’t expect anything big to happen today. The general atmosphere in the clan was pretty mild considering the past few days, and she was content that none of her brethren betrayed her decree about obeying the Hokage’s orders regarding the recent hostility around Konoha. She really didn’t expect any visitors either. That was why the knock on the door came as a surprise. She walked briskly to the entrance, and for a moment was at a loss of words when she saw who it was. “Konohamaru…” she mumbled, still not knowing what exactly to say. It had been precisely three days since they last talked. She knew it wasn’t really a big deal, their brief disagreement in the meeting was just that… brief and insignificant. It had been on her mind for a while actually to make things up with her lover. But the blank expression on his face now, one that sent chills down her spine, made it clear to her that that wasn’t his purpose right now. The jounin raised his head barely to meet her eyes. “I didn’t want to go anywhere else…” And then he began to slump forward. “Konohamaru!!” the woman exclaimed, now truly alarmed as she adjusted herself to support the weight of the brunet so she could carry him inside. That was when she got a good look at his back, and a gasp escaped her lips. She didn’t know he had been on a mission… the cuts didn’t look too deep but definitely needed some disinfection. The jounin didn’t react much as she carefully carried him to the sofa. It was when she made to get up and get some supplies that his hand grabbed her wrist, gently but enough to make her stop. “Stay… I’m fine…” “You’re hurt.” she tried to reason, but didn’t pull her hand back. The look in his eyes was so… tired, so lost that the woman started to get restless… just what was going on…? “This is nothing.” Konohamaru mumbled finally, and then averted his eyes. “Nothing compared to…” “Konohamaru…” “He very nearly died… they didn’t even care he was just a child… He was so severely injured… he almost died…” the man had begun shaking, while Hanabi found it almost impossible to breathe with each one of his words. “And now the medics don’t even know whether he will wake up or not…” The Hyuuga was so shocked that she couldn’t even find her voice. “W-what…” she gulped. “Who are you talking about…?” “And all because he decided to fight…” he continued as if he didn’t hear her. “Mitsuki… as always, he put everyone’s safety before himself and decided to fight… even when we made him run away…” His voice caught, and his next words were almost lost. “Even when I made him run away…” “Oh my God…” Hanabi whispered, bringing her hand to her mouth. She didn’t know the full scope but… what he was telling was horrible… And Konohamaru was still not meeting her eyes. Instead, his gaze was fixed on his trembling hands. “Hana… what have I done…?” And just like that, the woman couldn’t hold back her tears. Sitting gently next to him so as not to hurt him more, she put her arms below his and hugged him tenderly. “Sorry… Oh my God, Konohamaru, I’m so sorry…” After just a heartbeat, the Sarutobi put his hand over hers. Neither of them said anything, they didn’t need to. They just let the still morning serenity engulf them. “I don’t know how to live with that… I should’ve protected him against even the village but I did the exact opposite…” Hanabi’s hands tightened a little more. “Don’t… don’t be so hard on yourself, we all made some hard decisions… But I never thought it would actually come to this point…” “I don’t think any of us did.” was Konohamaru’s soft reply. The Hyuuga snuggled a little more to her lover as silence once again dominated the space in between them. “Is… is there anything I can do for you…?” she finally whispered against his back. “Just stay… please...?” The jounin’s voice sounded so fragile then, almost like that of a frightened child’s. It was almost hard to watch the ever so collected Konohamaru crumble like this… Knowing him so well, Hanabi could see that what he had witnessed had really ruined him… Feeling like her heart was breaking into pieces, she leaned in gently to place a kiss on his hair. “Always.” Pulling back slightly to tend to his wounds, it became unnecessary to talk any further. After a short while, she felt him beginning to relax and lifted herself from the sofa, making him lie back down so that he could sleep off the night's events. ... It was about two hours later that Himawari came back. The young woman was shocked when she heard the door bang open and stomping footsteps made their way inside. She quickly looked at her boyfriend but he hadn't even flinched, out cold. She quickly made her way out of the room and silently closed the door just as she heard Himawari's angry yell. "And don't you ever come back! I don't wanna play with any of you anymore!" Hanabi winced when the door slammed shut, loudly. When she got there, she saw her niece was literally fuming. "Hima! What happened?" "They are all a bunch of idiots!" the eight-year-old cried out in frustration. "I never want to see them again!" And with that, she stomped to her room. After a moment of stunned silence, Hanabi decided to follow her. The youngest Uzumaki was sitting on her bed, arms crossed and a serious pout in her features. The young woman slowly sat on the mattress. "Hima... what is it?" "It is those boys! Like they know anything better!" "Why don't you tell me from the beginning? But it's better if we try to keep it down, okay? Konohamaru-san is here and he is sleeping..." "Oh..." Himawari blinked, and bit her lip. "I'm sorry... I just thought, seeing that onii-chan is never around nowadays... they had training or something..." Hanabi gulped inconspicuously, not knowing what to say. The dark look returned to the blue eyes of the girl after a moment, and she began to speak. "It's about Mitsu-nii... It was all good at first, we were just playing some games, but then that stupid Shoji came and asked me whether or not we were still speaking with Mitsu-nii and I swear, auntie, I didn't think anything of it! I said of course we are, me and onii-chan regard him like a brother, and that was when another one laughed and said we should better say goodbye to him then!" For a moment, the Hyuuga felt her blood running cold. "W-what did they mean by that...?" Surely, the news shouldn't have reached yet... If they did, though... "Some nonsense about how he should get out of Konoha, how he doesn't belong here! Ha! As if!" Her voice had risen again. "And I told him to shut his mouth, that Mitsu-nii does belong in Konoha and a brat like him has no sat in it anyway!" Her look became even darker. "That's when he said... they already had their say in it." "And by that..." "They boasted about how some of the older children ganged up on him yesterday night and how that was what he deserved!" The girl was so angry that she was shaking now. "And I didn't mean to... Well I did, but... I hit one of his chakra points. Serves him right, though." She frowned again, deep. "Don't worry about that now." Hanabi was angry... really angry... Yes, they had agreed for the exile but not for these despicable harassments, she had made it very clear! How dare any Hyuuga disregard this?! But she couldn't let her emotions show now... "I wish I could go see him now," the girl continued, oblivious, sadness in her tone. "He must be feeling really down... He will need some cheering up, and I know I'm the only person!" The woman now had a lump in her throat. "Himawari..." "I know, I will go find onii-chan, I'm sure they're just hanging out somewhere... It's so unlike onii-chan to pass up a chance to visit you though, auntie, so I wanna know what's keeping him, too..." Then she smirked a bit. "Maybe he's just busy helping Mitsu-nii against those jerks." Finally, Hanabi just reached and pulled her in a hug, burying her face in her hair. "You will know soon, sweetheart..." But it would be best for Himawari to hear it from her parents. ... The sun had lowered its position in the sky, dying the heavens in shades of crimson and pink. The people who entered the hall were talking to each other in hushed voices, gazing at the front to where Naruto sat behind his desk, his head bowed a little forward, resting on his hands clasped in front of him. Even from a distance it was clear that he was wearing signs of weariness, and a grave look adorned his features, making him seem older for his age. The serious and sad aura he seemed to be reflecting was almost contagious, as every single person standing around him kept their silence, too, almost as if the scene was not a meeting, but the gathering by someone's deathbed. The people looked at each other curiously, but didn't say anything more as they sat down. Honestly, the young Nara couldn’t help but admire Lord Seventh for his near perfect composure. Yes, they were all trained to keep their emotions bottled. That was the first rule after all if you wanted to become a ninja. Still, after yesterday's events, a night that almost ended up in a tragedy, even his father had asked him not to attend the meeting, just like how Sarada was excused. But no... Shikadai especially wanted to come. He needed this, he needed to look in the eyes of each and every one person who had been so supportive of his friend's exile, of the countless harassments that drew him very nearly to his death. He needed to look at them and remind himself his reasons to become a top-class ninja. His reasons to protect these people because otherwise... it felt like he might as well quit right then and there. “Hey there, loser,” he then heard a voice, signaling that his resolve was going to be put to test much sooner than he expected. “You really wouldn’t want to mess with me now.” the boy muttered in a low and tight tone, so that only Ichiro and his teammates could hear him. “Awww, and why is that? Don’t tell me your girlfriend dumped you? Where is she anyway?” "Is that really all you can think about right now?" His snarl was so unlike him as he turned to face the Sarutobi, who was visibly taken aback by his hostility. "You are a chuunin, your village just received an attack and all you can think about is harassing people and making petty talk? While people put their lives on the line?" He turned his back with a disgusted sneer before folding his arms. "What a joke." Seeing that Ichiro was about to make a very angry comeback, and a few people sitting nearby turning around, his other teammate, Namida, stepped in between the two boys and put her hands on the older boy’s shoulders to restrain him. “Enough with this. We’re obviously here for a very serious reason. Don’t turn this into a mess.” Well, at least his teammates were smart girls, Shikadai should give them that. Naruto looked at all of the people who had gathered over his fingers, having a much despised dejavu as he took in the faces. A couple of minutes passed in silence. He lowered his hands. "How was your day?" he asked in a low voice, a voice which was almost devoid of emotions. His words were met with an even denser silence. Naruto stood up slowly, and walked to the front of his desk. "How was your day?" He repeated, this time loudly. "Was it sunny? Windy? Was there rain? Tell me." Everyone looked at one another, completely taken aback. Why was the Hokage asking that kind of a question all of a sudden? "It was... nice, I guess." someone said finally. "It rained almost non-stop from the night though." "Well the sun did come up - I think it was generally a nice day." Naruto nodded to himself while people kept murmuring. "I'm glad you, at least, can see and feel how beautiful the day supposedly was." He said and stopped, while the people in the meeting room just kept staring at him. "Because..." he continued, and his voice took a softer tone. "One of us was not able to see it. Not today. Maybe... not ever." There was a silence in the room, most in it not understanding a word at all. “What…?” Namida started to say, the first in her team to react. Before she could continue, though, her gaze caught the expression on Shikadai’s face. It was sad, so sad… almost heartbroken… His words floated back to her, people put their lives on the line… What did the Nara know that they didn’t…? "What... pardon me for asking my lord, but what is it that you mean?" Naruto opened his eyes and the look was so cold that it caused almost everyone's blood to freeze right there and then. They... had never seen such a look in their Hokage's eyes... so cold... so distant... "Konoha... made a very, very grave mistake..." Naruto whispered, in a voice which wouldn't be heard normally if it wasn't very quiet in the room. "The price of which was almost too high for us to pay." The villagers were more confused than ever now - the Hokage was sure speaking in riddles. The people exchanged glances, none of them daring to question what their leader's words meant. "The child... that more than half of you," he gestured to the clans present. "wanted me to exile over something beyond his control..." he continued before he faced them again. "Is, in this exact moment, in a deep coma after he nearly lost his life trying to protect our village from a barbarian attack." The silence was abruptly broken as once again, murmurings filled the room. Only a limited number of people in the room knew about the events of the evening, for others, it was a big shock. "An attack?" One of those among the Akimichi asked, baffled. "By whom?" In spite of himself, Shikadai couldn’t help but feel that his disgust only grew. The attack, it was all they can still think about… Not the boy who, no thanks to them, almost died to prevent it... "Rogue ninjas of the cloud and survivors of the sound," answered Kakashi simply, knowing Naruto had very little patience right now. "And the attack, like your Hokage said, was stopped by a thirteen-year-old boy." Naruto immediately cut in. "Who, if I might remind... left the village in the first place because of your clans' constant harassments." "Excuse me, Lord Seventh..." Naruto immediately recognized Sarutobi Kichiro's voice among the others, and he instinctively stiffened with the strong feeling of dislike. "But how is it exactly our fault? We didn't force that child to leave." His tone was practically indifferent, no regard for the child who was in such a critical condition... Naruto hit with his fist in such force against the table that it left a crack. "Not your fault...? You, Kichiro, have a big nerve in talking... because I have gathered proof that at least the Sarutobi were under YOUR direct orders to make that child feel unwanted!" He punched the table again, another crack... "Despite MY strict orders that Mitsuki was to be left ALONE and out of this matter!" “They… they have no proof my grandfather started all these,” Ichiro started in a simulation of his old cocky, superior tone, but it was all too clear that he was feeling uncomfortable. “We weren’t the only clan to-” “You were the most vocal though, weren’t you? Even right now.” It was still pure venom in the young Nara’s voice, no mercy, as more and more people turned to stare at their small group. Konohamaru was trying to keep his temper under control until this very moment, when his clan leader decided to speak, and right then, he just snapped. "My student..." He whispered, his tone so cold and hateful that Kichiro actually did a double take. "...just almost died right before my very eyes... They were about to announce him dead... So, by any right, tell me who has been mercilessly harassing him, so I know exactly who I will never have the misfortune to speak to again." Kichiro was sweating... hard... the frown on his face clearly gave away how guilty he was in the matter... Before anything else could be said, a clear, female voice rose in the room. "Lord Seventh," Hanabi spoke. "I was one of the few people that knew about what was happening yesterday and therefore, I have taken measures. The Hyuuga involved in those despicable harassments will be given the proper punishment, it does not matter if my clan voted in favor of the child's exile, I would never allow such a thing to go unpunished." She bowed. "I apologize for what distraught my clan caused to the child." "Excuse me, Lord Seventh, but... rogue nins? What business would they have, attacking a village as strong as Konoha?" It was a pretty valid question, although the subtext was clear enough. Kakashi felt the need to intervene before Naruto could say anything. "They aimed to disrupt the peace and assassinate Lord Seventh, therefore creating chaos in the village." Gasps rose in the air followed by whispers and mumbles. "Assassinate someone as strong as Lord Seventh? They wouldn't make it!" "Perhaps... but until they reached Lord Seventh, how many innocent people would have been lost? How many children would have died in a clearly planned out killing?" said Kakashi. "We have more than enough strong ninjas who would defend the innocent... It seems to me like the child's intervention was unnecessary..." "Not when you couldn't even hear their screams, you wouldn't be able to protect people." Kiba growled, his eyes hard as steel. "Correct me if I'm wrong, because I really... really hope for your sake that you are not trying to call the child stupid in front of me." "And what makes you SO sure that the child was not involved in the attack and was betrayed?" someone suggested. "You said yourselves, some were ninjas from the sound village, found by none other than Orochimaru, who, oh so coincidentally is the parent of that child." "You bastard..." Konohamaru was about to make his way over to the low life who had just said that, and two people, one of them being the Yamanaka in his own team this morning stopped him before he could move. Ryu turned to look at the person who had just spoken, a great distaste in his eyes. "I interrogated the two rogue ninjas that were captured myself. I hope none of you will ever have to experience such a thing happening to your child... How that boy was mercilessly taunted, beaten even after he was defeated and on the ground... and even then he wasn’t afraid to do what it takes to stop them." Having watched Shikadai all this time and noticing how almost all the color drained from his face, the haunted look in his eyes… Namida couldn’t help it anymore. Leaning forward, she put her hand on the young boy’s shoulder, just a reminder that he wasn’t completely alone here. She didn’t know the scope and extent of his suffering but in her eyes, no one should suffer such a big burden alone. At the unexpected touch, Shikadai flinched and turned back to look at her. His stiff posture relaxed just a little when he saw the intention was friendly, and although he turned back to the front of the room to continue and watch the unfolding of the events, he didn’t shrink away from her touch. "Well anyone betrayed would-" The phrase wasn't even finished... there was a huge "CRACK" which scared everyone in that room, what had that been?! "ENOUGH!" They heard a strong, female voice yelling. The faces slowly turned towards the direction to face a very angry Tsunade... hell, maybe very angry wasn't the correct way to put it... she was beyond pissed! Some even gulped... they knew well the former Hokage's temper... "I was there, I saw that child's life almost slip away between my fingers, I KNOW the gravity of those wounds and I guarantee you that if I could, I would make each one of you idiots, who keep mistreating a poor child, have those wounds for the rest of your lives!" The woman was seething, literally trying to calm herself but it was hard. "If anything... Show some respect for a child who almost give away his life so that you ungrateful morons could rest at your homes safely instead of fighting for your lives on a hospital bed! Be grateful for each one of your breath, because a child was selfless enough to take the brunt of a vicious attack that could've turned into a village-wide catastrophe!" Her fist was shaking, but she quickly controlled it. Naruto's eyes were hard as stone, his lips set in a firm line, he hadn't even flinched for a moment at the woman's outburst. Quietly he stood up. "I believe we have all made our point clear here." He started to walk away before stopping in his steps. "I don't think I need to say that those involved in the harassments will be punished for breaking the decree..." "H-Has..." There was a moment of hesitation which caused Naruto to turn and face the one who had talked. "D-Does Orochimaru know what happened...?" "Heh... so now you're scared..." mumbled Kiba under his breath. "He's the kid's parent, of course he was informed." The restlessness in the meeting hall was now perfectly tangible. Naruto felt sick that these people were more concerned about another possible threat rather than the well-being of a dying child. "So for all of our sakes... Pray for the child to be safe and for Orochimaru to not find out for what particular reason his son ended up in the hospital." And with that Naruto left the meeting hall, followed by the others. Leaving behind restless clans whose voices soon started being heard in a mix of confusion but which Naruto refused to listen and completely ignored...

#boruto:sacrifices #boruto #sarada #shikadai #mitsuki #konohamaru #naruto #boruto fanfiction #naruto fanfiction

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emospritelet · 7 years

Text

Cuckoo’s Flight - 3/6

Last time, Gold showed Belle around the library apartment, neglected to call in at Granny’s for the rent, thereby missing Emma, and offered to make Belle something to eat at his house. Here’s what happened next.

AO3 link

Belle felt a tiny surge of adrenaline as he guided her up the path with a warm hand on the small of her back. The street was empty of people, no one to see her enter, and again she wondered at how safe she felt in his presence, as though she trusted him. He let them inside, and she stepped into a wide hallway, the low, heavy tick of a clock the only sound. Gold turned on the lights, and she blinked, her eyes unused to it. The interior was a dusky pink colour, with a carved wooden banister, the staircase turning on its way up to the next floor.

She wondered if he lived alone, and almost before the thought had formed, she knew it to be true. Surprising, that she could recognise the need to be alone in others, having been so starved for contact herself. Solitude rolled off him in waves, the calm, comfortable loneliness that came from self-imposed isolation. She imagined that he didn’t have close relationships with anyone and it made her wonder why he had chosen to let her in, even to this small extent.

Gold let her through to the kitchen, and her eyes widened as she looked around. The room was clean and modern, a table and four chairs next to the kitchen counters, shining appliances ready and waiting to be used.

“Have a seat,” he said. “I’m going to have a glass of wine. A proper glass, not that swill they serve at the bar. Would you like one?”

She nodded, still looking over the place, and he took a corkscrew from a drawer and a bottle of red wine from the wooden rack between two cupboards. Belle slid into a chair as he opened the wine with a practised twist of his wrist and a dull pop. She watched him pour into two large glasses, the wine flowing in a dark red stream, and she nodded her thanks as he set a glass in front of her. She sniffed at the wine, half-expecting the sourness she had experienced earlier in the bar, but this was very different. It was fruity, rich and heady, and she took a sip, the flavours of blackberries and cherries and a hint of spice bursting on her tongue. This was how she had imagined wine would taste. The heat was there too, warming her, sinking down her throat to spread throughout her body, and she took off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair.

Gold took a sip of his own wine and went to the fridge, rummaging around for a moment before taking out a plastic tub of something and holding it up.

“I made lamb stew a couple of days ago,” he said. “Should be enough for two. It just needs heating through. Is that alright?”

She nodded, trying to remember the taste of lamb. The hospital food was salty and somehow flavourless, eaten with plastic spoons that she had been told were handed out because they couldn’t be used as weapons, not that she remembered ever attacking anyone in her life. She watched as he boiled water in a pan and set a steamer insert on top, chopping potatoes into chunks and dropping them in before putting on a lid. The stew went into another pan, and Gold took a mouthful of wine, stirring with a wooden spoon. The light gleamed on his hair as he worked, and the delicious, savoury scent of rich lamb, garlic and rosemary began to drift into her nose. She had almost forgotten how good food could smell.

There was silence as he moved around the kitchen, other than the clunk of a spoon against the pan, or a mutter from him as he tasted something. She was content to sit back and let him get on with it, too unsure of herself to offer to help, even if she had known what to do. He mashed the seasoned potatoes with butter and milk, and her mouth watered as he set a plate in front of her, cubes of tender meat and vegetables, fragrant with herbs, the rich dark sauce glistening next to the pile of fluffy mashed potatoes. He sat down opposite, refilling their glasses, and took a bite of the lamb, chewing as he watched her. She breathed in the savoury aroma, and he gestured with a fork.

“I haven’t poisoned that,” he said dryly, and she blushed, picking up her cutlery.

The stew was delicious, the meat wonderfully tender, and the first mouthful caused her to make a noise that was almost obscene. He smirked, raising an eyebrow, and she took another bite.

“That’s so good,” she said thickly, and his smile widened.

“Take your time,” he said. “You’re probably not used to it if you’ve been in the hospital for a while.”

She thought he was right, and so she tried to slow her pace, but she still cleared her plate before he did. She offered to clear up when they were finished, but he had a dishwasher, and so she found herself being escorted through to a comfortable lounge, filled with antique furniture, a fire burning low in the grate and a clock ticking on the wall. There were bookshelves stuffed full, and she itched to study them, but he gestured to the couch, and she sat down, hands cradling her wineglass, the alcohol just starting to go to her head a little. There was an oak china cabinet in the alcove near the bay window, its shelves filled with porcelain vases and decorative plates, and she ran her eyes over what looked like part of an old tea set. A pot and two cups and saucers, white with a delicate blue flower pattern. One cup had a chip in the rim, and she was surprised that it was on show. Gold put some more wood on the fire, tiny flames licking hungrily around the logs as he lowered himself onto the couch next to her.

“You have such nice things,” she said, looking around, and he shrugged.

“I’m a dealer in antiquities,” he said. “I own a shop in town, and a lot of the pieces that aren’t there are kept here. I like beautiful objects, you see. Precious things. Sometimes I even plan to let them go, and yet they end up staying.”

“If you enjoy them, and they make you happy, there’s nothing wrong with that,” she said. “I think - I think that it would be worse to keep them locked away, don’t you? To hide them away where no one else can see them.”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I think that would be a terrible tragedy.”

He sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. The fire crackled and snapped, warm reddish light flickering over his face and highlighting his cheekbones. She felt that low-down tug again, and licked her lips. He was still staring at her, but then he looked away.

“We can go over the rental agreement in the morning,” he said. “You’ll need a job if you want to pay rent and feed yourself. Any thoughts?”

“I - no.” She looked down at her glass, the wine rippling. “I hadn’t thought. But - but I’m sure I could find something! If - well, if…”

“If Dr Hopper doesn’t decide that he regrets his decision to let you go,” he finished, and she cringed a little. There was silence for a moment. She could see his fingers drumming slowly on the side of his glass.

“I take it you’re literate,” he said. “Numerate? Could you do stock-taking, for example?”

She looked up.

“Oh, yes!” she said eagerly. “I learned to read when I was three! And I used to help my father with his business, before - well, before I went to the hospital. I’m sure I could pick things up quickly, if there’s a job out there.”

He nodded.

“I might be able to find you something,” he said. “We can discuss it in the morning. You must be tired.”

She was too nervous to be tired, but he drained his glass and stood up, shifting the cane to keep his balance.

“I’ll show you to your room,” he said, and she blinked.

“My - my room?” she asked, her voice suddenly high and anxious.

“Well, the apartment isn’t fit for sleeping in tonight, and I wasn’t about to let you sleep on the couch,” he said dryly. “I assure you that I have no evil intent, Miss Longbourn. You’re quite safe here.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” She snapped her mouth shut, and he looked amused. “I wasn’t - you’ve been very kind,” she added lamely.

“Yes, well, don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.” He put his head to the side. “Are you done with the wine, or would you like a little more?”

“I - no, no thank you.”

She drained her glass, setting it on the coffee table, and stood up. Gold nodded.

“This way,” he said, and walked out, mounting the stairs. She followed him up to the landing, and he paused outside a door, opening it up and switching on a light.

“The spare room,” he said. “I can give you something to wear. Bathroom’s across the landing. You can shower, if you like.”

Belle stepped inside, looking around. It was a spacious, pleasant room a bay window looking out on the dark woods behind. A large, heavy wooden bed with carved posts was made up with white sheets, a red blanket over the top. She glanced across at him.

“What about you?” she asked, and he looked at her steadily.

“My room’s at the end,” he said. “I have an en-suite, so I won’t need to disturb you.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For everything. You didn’t have to help me.”

“I know.”

“So…” She floundered, unsure what she wanted to say. “I mean, don’t think I’m not grateful, I just don’t understand why. Why you would.”

Gold hesitated, and if it had been anyone else she would have thought he seemed unsure of himself. It was the first time she had seen him look uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It just…” He lifted a hand, twisting his fingers before letting his arm fall again, his mouth flattening.

“...feels right,” she finished, and he nodded, his eyes flicking back to hers.

“Yes.”

There was silence again, and she could feel a strange, heavy atmosphere building, as though a storm was coming. As though sparks were dancing in the air around them, crackling over her skin, the tension stealing her breath. Gold blinked, looking away and breaking the spell.

“Let me get you something to wear,” he said quietly, and walked out, leaving her with flushed cheeks and a dry mouth and unfamiliar, rising desire.

He brought her a T-shirt, and a pair of blue plaid cotton pants, and she held them in her hands for a moment, unsure what to do. Gold looked hesitant, his fingers opening and closing around the handle of his cane.

“Right,” he said. “Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Sleep well, Miss Longbourn.”

She was beginning to regret giving him a false name. It sounded strange and jarring in her ears, and she wanted to hear him speak her true name, to hear his mouth caress it and let it fall from his tongue. She nodded mutely, and he turned on his heel, leaving her alone.

“Goodnight!” she called, after he had gone, and hoped he had heard.

Putting the clothes on the bed, she decided to take a shower, and so she went into the bathroom and locked the door. The shower gel smelled of herbs, clean and fresh, and it felt good to stand under the torrent of hot water and scrub the hospital from her skin. She washed her hair too, fingers scraping at her scalp until her skin tingled, and by the time she got out and wrapped herself in thick grey towels, she felt much better.

The house was quiet when she opened the door and peered into the corridor, and she hurried back to her room and shut the door, using the towels to dry her hair before pulling on the T-shirt and pants. There was a brush in the drawer of the dresser, and she sat in front of the mirror, untangling her hair with careful strokes until it was soft and shining. She watched her reflection, her eyes dark in the lamplight, her belly still tight with that crawling, tugging feeling. She set down the brush, taking a deep breath and telling herself to get a grip. It was excitement at being freed, at being out in the world again. The surge of attraction for Gold was her body’s response to someone showing her kindness, when all she could remember from the staff at the asylum was at best indifference, and at worst cruelty. But Gold had been kind. He had saved her from the unwanted attentions of Keith, and had given her food and wine and a safe place to stay. It was natural that she would respond to that. It meant nothing.

She flicked off the light, getting in between the cool cotton sheets of the bed, and lay back with her hands behind her head, trying to relax. Her skin was humming, her heart thudding in her chest, and after ten minutes or so she threw back the covers with a sigh. He had books. Perhaps she could lose herself in one of those and take her mind off his eyes and his tiny smiles and the way his hands moved.

She slipped out of bed, opening the bedroom door as quietly as she could and padding downstairs. The lamps were still lit, and for a moment she paused on her toes, wondering where he was. She heard nothing, though, and so she continued on her way, feet silent on the wooden floors. The fire in the lounge had burnt down, the embers glowing red, and the room was empty, so she trotted over to the bookshelves, running her eyes over what was stacked there. He had a mix of classic and modern authors, Shakespeare, poetry, and even non-fiction books on history and politics. She mouthed the titles, finger stroking over the spines and hooking over the top of a leather-bound book of fairy tales. It came free from the surrounding books with a low, whispery sound.

“There are more in my study.”

Gold’s voice made her jump, and she dropped the book. It landed between her feet with a dull thump, and she dropped to her knees just as he did, their hands reaching for it and touching briefly before jerking back. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming hard in her throat, and she licked her lips. He had taken off his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, and she ran her eyes up his chest and over the warm skin of his throat. His pulse throbbed beneath his skin, and she felt an urge to lick it, to run her tongue over him and feel the scrape of new stubble against her. She raised her eyes to his, and they were fathom-deep, ocean-deep, dark as the night and filled with a hunger that made her breathless.

“I’m sorry if I startled you, Miss Longbourn,” he said quietly, and she noticed that his accent had thickened a little. She wondered what he was doing here, so far from home. Perhaps he felt as lost and lonely as she. The thought made her want to be honest with him, to strip herself bare and hold nothing back.

“My - my name’s not Lacey Longbourn,” she whispered, and he smiled.

“Yes, I know.”

“You know?” She frowned at him, and his grin widened, the gold tooth gleaming.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said softly, and she dropped her eyes.

“Oh.”

“Which is no bad thing, really,” he added. “Besides, I presumed you had your own reasons for using a false name.”

“Yeah.” She looked up again. “I - I wasn’t sure if I could trust you at first.”

He gave her a wry smile.

“Well, given my reputation in this town, I won’t bother telling you that you can,” he said. “But I certainly mean you no harm.”

“I believe you,” she said truthfully, and his lips twitched.

He reached out, his hand brushing over her cheek, thumb stroking over her lower lip, and she sucked in a breath, his touch burning her. He pulled back immediately, eyes widening.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m - I’m sorry, I have no idea why I just did that.”

Looking discomfited, he straightened up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet, and Belle clutched the book to her chest. He was having difficulty in making eye contact with her again, and she ached to reassure him, to tell him that she had wanted him to touch her. Her tongue seemed to have swollen and stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she tried to peel it free.

“So.” He grounded his cane, his eyes flicking across to her before looking away again. “What’s your name?”

“Belle,” she said. “Belle French.”

“You’re Moe French’s daughter?” His voice had hardened a little. “I see. I thought he was an unreliable tenant, I didn’t realise he’d locked away his own child.”

She bowed her head, hunching her shoulders a little, and he clicked his tongue.

“Still, none of my business,” he said. “Enjoy the book, Miss French, and feel free to borrow as many as you like.”

“Thank you.” She hugged the book a little tighter. “Goodnight, Mr Gold.”

She took one step away from him, then another, and then it was easier to move, to breathe. Heart thumping, she hurried upstairs, pushing her bedroom door shut with a click and leaning back against it for a moment to compose herself. He touched me. Touched my cheek like I was beautiful and precious. Touched my lip like he wanted to kiss me.

Sucking in a breath, she pushed away from the door, turning on the bedside lamp and getting back into bed with her book. Half an hour later, she heard him come up the stairs, the tap of his cane on the wooden treads somehow comforting. Floorboards squeaked a little as he passed her door on the way to his own room, and for a moment she sat with her hands on the pages of the book, listening. He didn’t pass by again, and she assumed that he had gone to bed.

As beautifully-illustrated as the book was, she couldn’t concentrate on it. The stories of princesses sighing over dashing rescuers didn’t hold her interest, and she found herself drawn to darker tales of cunning sorcerers and dark magic. That only made her think of Gold, for reasons she couldn’t explain, and so eventually she put the book aside, hoping to sleep. Darkness closed in on her when she turned off the light, and she lay there, listening to the sound of her breathing and wondering if he was also awake. He had touched her. He had been surprised by wanting to, as though it was something he couldn’t explain. As though he was drawn to her, as she was to him.

Shaking her head, she threw back the covers for the second time that evening, and bounced out of bed, her breathing unsteady. Do the brave thing. The worst that could happen was that she would make a fool of herself, but she had spent years with everyone around her telling her she was mad. Embarrassment didn’t have the same effect as it once might have.

Mind made up, she opened the bedroom door, staring down the darkened corridor to the door at the end. His room. The first step was hesitant, but she kept going, toes splaying on the cool wood. Her hand shook a little as she reached for the handle, but she turned it and pushed open the door into darkness.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #fic: cuckoo's flight

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t--o--f--u-blog · 5 years

Text

☼☼☼☼☼ also think tank a white lecturer using the n-word when quoting literature in a lecture? I think she used it once outside of quotation as well certainly not meant in a disrespectful way, just seems unnecessary

☐☐☐☐☐ better have a justification at least but if you just use it out of the blue it always seems like some attempt at provocation 'i can say this because my interests are purely academic'

☼☼☼☼☼ mmmmm we're reading uncle tom's cabin, so it's hard to avoid

☐☐☐☐☐ should only be quoted verbatim if absolutely necessary, if there's no alternative I think

☼☼☼☼☼ yeah seems like she could have avoided it pretty easily

☐☐☐☐☐ if she's making no acknowledgement of the word's relationship to her privilege, that's rly not good

☼☼☼☼☼ yeah she's older so there might just be an outdated perspective there 'I'm just quoting the text, it was anti-slavery so I'm fine' sort of mentality maybe?

☐☐☐☐☐ still she would know about the contemporary attitude to the word and she should at least mention that! ugh like it doesn't sound malicious or super super racist, but eh

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah I feel iffffy about it

☐☐☐☐☐ should mention it!

☼☼☼☼☼ Trying to work out if I should send email and if so how to word it

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ be interesting to actually properly discuss it

☐☐☐☐☐ yep

☍☍☍☍☍ heck I’d be interested to know more of a history of the word basically teach properly why its offensive

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah, I might bring it up in the tutorial different teacher, but maybe good discussion

☐☐☐☐☐ mm that seems appropriate i'd love to hear how that goes

☍☍☍☍☍ uhhh there was someone who used it at Bar Oussou the host reallllly should’ve said something and I normally would but just too tired for confrontation

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah ☐☐☐☐☐ was telling me Sounded very cringe

☐☐☐☐☐ v unfortunate most disappointed in yhe host tbh

☐☐☐☐☐ he maybe had a old-worldy attitude to it and didn't mind or was too cowardly lol which do u think?

☍☍☍☍☍ I think he thought it was in the context of the poem she didn’t use it to degrade someone directly, but the word itself is degrading

☐☐☐☐☐ ugh but the poem is in the context of fuckin oussou yep ppl need to have a think before using words

☍☍☍☍☍ I just think its great to have a stage to do emotional work, but it can cross a line into normalising shitty white behaviour

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ I went to a coloured school so I can’t b racist wah wah wah

☐☐☐☐☐ and you have to consider your audience if your rant is dehumanising or brushes aside/causes suffering u gotta reconsider felt pretty ashamed on behalf of bartender/various black audience members not saying that dumb white shit would be acceptable with a different audience, but her obliviousness was kinda astounding

☼☼☼☼☼ wow yeah cringefest

☍☍☍☍☍ lol spoken word scene as a whole can b so lame haha rings true to why I/we left

☐☐☐☐☐ mm so macho! that's what I liked about talkbox some sensitivity there, gentleness

☍☍☍☍☍ still, I just wish people read more lok *lol

☐☐☐☐☐ yep I wish I read more

☍☍☍☍☍ like the stylistic range is generally pretty lame

☐☐☐☐☐ I guess that's why anyone reads mmm

☍☍☍☍☍ I wish I read more too

☐☐☐☐☐ hahahaha

☼☼☼☼☼ :')

☍☍☍☍☍ don’t mean to shit on everyon, I just think the scene as a whole and the conception of poetry is lacklustre - it doesn’t seem like the time for poetry, sometimes

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ ppl too distracted by netflix uwu sounds like phones but too much

☐☐☐☐☐ doesn't seem like the time for art, sometimes! hahhh

☍☍☍☍☍ its definitely a time for music

☼☼☼☼☼ I think there's a place for poetry It's just raps and memes

☍☍☍☍☍ yeh but I play dat long game there might not b a place now but I’mma fkn make one whether you like it or not lol

☼☼☼☼☼ Oh yeah fair go 4 it

☐☐☐☐☐ loll

☍☍☍☍☍ I just mean that I think 'poetry' has evolved into other forms, and now the traditional form is struggling to find a place I mean does anyone pay attention to Victorian satirical cartoons? I don’t I think it’s also tho that the low brow is more apparent in the moment, the high brow more apparent from a distance the shit sinks, basically

☼☼☼☼☼ elaborate?

☍☍☍☍☍ time brings forward higher brow material while a lot of lower brow stuff falls back or like there’s an art for getting through your days, and there’s an art for elaborate long form spiritual liberation

☼☼☼☼☼ so u don't mind about a lack of audience now if your work has staying power?

☍☍☍☍☍ different works have different digestion time and yes that is what I’m saying

☼☼☼☼☼ hmmmmmmm

☍☍☍☍☍ hmmmmmmmm?

☐☐☐☐☐ personally I don't know whether I'm prioritising the reception of my work or its value to me right now i feel poetry/art in general are useful tools for thinking about the world useful philosophical tools i guess and idk whether i'm learning for the sake of my own knowledge/making 'better' art or learning so what I put out into the world is better received I suppose the two aren't mutually exclusive but yeah - feeling fairly indifferent to the idea of creating work that will persist right now part of me feels more comfortable with being lost forever lol or at least that I should become comfortable with that, bc that is what will happen inevitably

☍☍☍☍☍ I just think in this atmosphere of complete denial of the arts as an important component of society, as well as the stigmatisation of ritual and other mystical practices that used to house what we now might describe as an artist, its important that we follow our intuition rather than give in to a system that routinely prevents us having access to basic resources like I want to be there for whoever is there when this period comes to end and those peoples are looking for anything to rudder them, whether or not I’m alive

☐☐☐☐☐ you want to add to the cultural record?

☍☍☍☍☍ I want provide a map for future generations is how I would put it

☐☐☐☐☐ mm how do you feel one can ensure the persistence of their own work? or are you just hoping it'll be around for others I suppose whether or not anything lasts is out of ur control past a certain point

☍☍☍☍☍ for one I make an effort to give away a lot of work

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ I also store it all and make sure that that stockpile is kept w care but I also think there’s something to be said that I try and operate within many pre-existing canons I also it’s important to use the more meme-y, short stay work to bring attention to the slower works yeah, re: canons, like tanka and before that wakka as poetic forms stem back as far as a thousand years - perhaps more by putting myself in conversation with the ancients... idk it feels a bit like entering a cultural refrigerator haha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ sometimes I find it better to see my individual works as modules that make up a whole more prescient than its parts (Morton lolz) soo... maybe my work won’t carry the same weight until I finish, so to speak who knowsss but this how I think about it lol

☐☐☐☐☐ best to try and contribute something I spose rather than do nothing w ur resources

☍☍☍☍☍ I’m weird with this shit u don’t have to be

☐☐☐☐☐ mm it seems fairly simple to me and not that weird

☍☍☍☍☍ not everyone should spend their life tending their gravestone it’s a job for a particular type of person, and I am it

☐☐☐☐☐ but in a sense everyone does anyway everyone does things with the future in mind or without it in mind I suppose

☐☐☐☐☐ and i guess that influences what you leave when you die eheh, whether you do it consciously or unconsciously

☍☍☍☍☍ I just am particularly stubborn that I have something to offer - I think its partially a result of being denied that a lot in school, I found other ways to have social bonds that were more... non linear bonds with past peoples, and inadvertently bonds with future people

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ I find it frustrating that its seen as arrogant to suggest your work should be read after you die - if anything its remarkably humble as I'm acknowledging that I will never properly see the fruits of my labour it's a ridiculously isolating position to find oneself in, where your best friends - books, music, content - have no form of human intimacy with you and completely defy all survivalistic, lizard-brain humanity plus you're just on a total different dimension from most people you meet

☐☐☐☐☐ mm you're in a very specific position here

☍☍☍☍☍ lol goodluck catching up ☼☼☼☼☼

☼☼☼☼☼ unrelated btw

(☼☼☼☼☼ posts a meme in chat)

☍☍☍☍☍ see y'all @ da rally (in reference to the meme)

☐☐☐☐☐ where and when is this? oh oops thought you meant a real one

☼☼☼☼☼ hahaha

☍☍☍☍☍ xD

☼☼☼☼☼ structurally is the meme ok ? took the photo the other day, and just added the text.

☍☍☍☍☍ yes are u going to weigh in on the conversation tho lol

☼☼☼☼☼ nah not really

☍☍☍☍☍ meme fine

☼☼☼☼☼ I have so little to add

☍☍☍☍☍ well hm why make memes? why not write novel? do memes have staying power?

☐☐☐☐☐ it's a question of what timescale is important to you at any given time maybe

☍☍☍☍☍ oh absolutely - not trying to infer a hierarchy here, I just think there are different approaches for different problems

☐☐☐☐☐ sometimes I'll say something to someone so they'll remember it for tomorrow, sometimes I'll say something to someone and hope they'll remember forever lol mm I don't think I care about staying power that much

☐☐☐☐☐ memes have such a short lifetime, they're like cultural mayflies haha

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah defs

☍☍☍☍☍ why tho lol

☼☼☼☼☼ Because the art itself can date while still inspiring change

☍☍☍☍☍ yeah so using it pragmatically like a single use tissue

☼☼☼☼☼ If you create something short lived, it (with the help of other artists producing similar work) is able to push art and society in a specific direction The butterfly effect I guess

☍☍☍☍☍ it's true that you have more effect in the current conversation

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ but that conversation draws intensively on a language formed by the ancients so the two are dependent on each other, a back and forth

☐☐☐☐☐ and that's dependent on their work's longevity?

☍☍☍☍☍ not following ur question

☐☐☐☐☐ not following your point haha hmm

☼☼☼☼☼ so you're suggesting a works longevity is crucial in that it helps reinforce and update the ancient language in which short term work of the future will be influenced by?

☐☐☐☐☐ mm also - what if of all the work you make, it's only a meme that survives the passage of time?

☍☍☍☍☍ basically... like you're just reiterating points that have been made more in depth in 'higher' brow culture - that's definitely how I feel when writing raps

☐☐☐☐☐ like Roman graffiti surviving on the walls or whatever

☍☍☍☍☍ did you a hear copy of the I Ching, the Chinese numerology classic more than a thousand years old, was found in the 70s and had a heap more sections and a different order? effectively completely changing the understanding of the I Ching gotta get those nice lead storage chambers ayyyyy ahahaha it was found buried in a coffin, obvs haha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ a lot of Chinese philosophers only exist in so much as someone else described them

☼☼☼☼☼ But what does that changing of contexts of that piece actually mean for us? Is updated Ching from the coffin helping us in any way?

☍☍☍☍☍ I think for me finding the I Ching and looking over it is like a person in a thousand years finding a functional iPhone it gives great insight into human impulses regardless of time and offers a way of writing the past a new, which in turn presents a new future (thinking of the cowboy article you sent me) reconceptualizing the past IS the future look at 'Make America Great Again' or calls to restore the caliphate both are founded on histories that have more to do with our current state than the actual happenings of the past

☼☼☼☼☼ I do see where you're coming from I like the idea that it's important to preserve our work for understand the past better And I hope that someone in the future will have a clearer understanding of our time through your well preserved works But what fucking future is it

☍☍☍☍☍ haha but like looking back we see people been asking that for a veeery long time I get it seems on a new scale but we're on a new scale too

☼☼☼☼☼ It does seem that yes Also if we do survive and keep on teching on

☍☍☍☍☍ I'm for an integration of the human/natural binary where we properly acknowledge our mutual codependency, the earth and humanity that is

☼☼☼☼☼ Are we even going to be translatable? Is the functioning iPhone found by the future person going to even be able to be translated? Or will it be meaningless because everyone is already part of the grid

☍☍☍☍☍ where artificially effecting the climate for the benefit of 'nature' isn't seen as strange but completely akin to Aboriginal burn back practices

☐☐☐☐☐ i guess it's productive to hope that it will be translatable

☍☍☍☍☍ we've always interfered in the running of nature

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ ehhh idk we translated fucking hieroglyphics

☼☼☼☼☼ Or future tech can look into the past and someone is watching our lives as we type this now, constantly being understood through our context in a way we can't comprehend through our recording processes shrugs

☍☍☍☍☍ I mean yeah, imagine if the internet was even vaguely archived

☼☼☼☼☼ You probably have a better understanding of how the future will pan out than I do tho

☍☍☍☍☍ even if 0.1 % was kept, it would be a massive resource

☼☼☼☼☼ No sass intended there, I'm sincere

☍☍☍☍☍ lol idk I just try to see a bigger picture and it keeps me calm remember me old saying? we survived the plague and nukes lol

☼☼☼☼☼ I just don't see the issue with creating short term work, especially if it is preserved

☍☍☍☍☍ oh neither do I

☼☼☼☼☼ Like a meme may have more impact than a novel rn

☐☐☐☐☐ well it could be argued that we're yet to survive nukes but I see your point impact on various timescales

☼☼☼☼☼ I've heard the plague make be thinking of making a comeback too haha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☍☍☍☍☍ oh duh peasantry is fully hip rn

☐☐☐☐☐ but like

☍☍☍☍☍ bring back the boils, they look great with my Balenciaga sneakers

☐☐☐☐☐ lol bubonic chic

☼☼☼☼☼ Pretty close to heroin chic tbh haha

☍☍☍☍☍ not jking that was tb

☐☐☐☐☐ but like, I don't find a huge amount of solace in the fact that we survived the plague

☍☍☍☍☍ "The Victorians romanticized the disease and the effects it caused in the gradual build to death. For decades, many beauty standards emulated or highlighted these effects. And as scientists gained greater understanding of the disease and how it was spread, the disease continued to keep its hold on fashion. and the severity of the corsets was known to harm the lungs in such a way that would increase the likelihood of transmission LOOOL

☐☐☐☐☐ mm Balenciaga look out idk it's a question of what capacity we survive in

☼☼☼☼☼ lollllll

☐☐☐☐☐ quite depressing to think about

☍☍☍☍☍ eating disorders have a pretense

☐☐☐☐☐ what if ecocide leaves a few insular eco fascist regimes who gradually diminish over centuries always engaged in pointless wars of attrition with one another lol

☍☍☍☍☍ I mean you could probably say the same thing of colonial regimes now

☐☐☐☐☐ just because we can survive, doesn't mean my outlook should b at all rosy :((

☍☍☍☍☍ point is its a big ol' world that has plenty of room for pain AND love any future pain you think is imminent probably already is happening, and nonetheless breakfast tasted good this morning

☼☼☼☼☼ 'The hipster middle class would dress with raggedy beards and large jackets and refuse to use deodorant, perhaps to reflect the look of people suffering from homelessness at the time. It is suspected that this made them less likely to be hired, and therefore more likely to become homeless themselves.' ☍☍☍☍☍ ahahaha

☐☐☐☐☐ mm that's true hahhh

☼☼☼☼☼ Planning on making this into a full essay. Might not be popular now, but I think it has staying power? Soz for shitposting haha

☍☍☍☍☍ I was talking with ☲☲☲☲☲ a while back, and something struck me - she said, "I never thought this age would have its own fleet of particular medical conditions." (or something like that lol, translated via my nerd brain)

☼☼☼☼☼ Yeah that didn't quite sound like her But that sentiment is great

☍☍☍☍☍ 'fleet'

☼☼☼☼☼ In that ofc there is, but also wow yeah ofc!

☐☐☐☐☐ mmm hahh these conversations should be recorded so we can all think about em without scrolling up endlessly

☼☼☼☼☼ I do like the idea of people reading these works in the future tho

☐☐☐☐☐ and also so that they can be preserved for 10,000+ years of course

☼☼☼☼☼ In the same way we read the letters sent between dead artists now

☐☐☐☐☐ mm very true

☍☍☍☍☍ mmm

☐☐☐☐☐ messenger is not a particularly stable storage medium and also is more vulnerable to third party scrutiny although the fact we're reading artists letters now means that medium is also pretty fucking vulnerable to scrutiny lol

☍☍☍☍☍ I fucking found the word! (sorry was searching for it so hard) Neurasthenia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neurasthenia

☼☼☼☼☼ Americanitis lol

☍☍☍☍☍ uhh the page doesn't rly talk about this, but its like a condition of over-working effectively, and people would try and get prescribed the pills to treat it as a way of signalling they were a dedicated worker its total hokey

☐☐☐☐☐ wow yeah you mentioned this a while back

☼☼☼☼☼ oh I've heard a similar thing in Japan were workers will pretend to fall asleep at their desks to show how hard they're working No idea the trust behind it tho

☍☍☍☍☍ to this day, "In Japan, shinkei-suijaku is treated with Morita therapy involving mandatory rest and isolation, followed by progressively more difficult work, and a resumption of a previous social role. The diagnosis is sometimes used as a disguise for serious mental illnesses such as schizophrenia and mood disorders." a dignified mental illness uwu none of that lower class shit I'm a classy fuck with money, I don't get the same mental conditions as the poor lolol reminds me of now: I don't have shitty parents, I just have adhd (not to deligitimise all uses of adhd, just over diagnosed)

☼☼☼☼☼ mmmmm i feel u yes this has been a wild ride

☍☍☍☍☍ yes I’m leaving to get late lunch uwu have a good day in this cosmic spider web lololol

☼☼☼☼☼ :')

☍☍☍☍☍ Like the burning of this charcoal fire, our years too will soon expire Kobayashi Issa listening to Krista Tippet talk with Maria Popova, this particular phrase resonated with our conversation: we live in a world where disruption over-fetishised; we need cultural stewardship to help along new waves of disruption

☼☼☼☼☼ How would u define cultural stewardship in a practical sense?

☍☍☍☍☍ caring for the legacy of those past as a means of refreshing their insight for a new age a very straightforward example would b the importance of new translations, in this regard - as our understanding and depth of connection to Japanese society has deepened, so too have our translations dusting off the books so to speak in some sense I see that in our music too or reappropriating to a new context

☼☼☼☼☼ Well remasters are a time terry literal example Fuck

☍☍☍☍☍ time terry

☼☼☼☼☼ Pretty* not time terry lol

☼☼☼☼☼ lime berry yeah exactly

☼☼☼☼☼ Slime Jerry

☍☍☍☍☍ I mean rereleasing is an obvs example mhm but more abstract examples are how I’ve exported into both your brains Bridle/Steyerl/Haraway via conversation and art lolol I’m helping it move from one place to another same w Zappa lol

☐☐☐☐☐ also - looking after artist friends being generous I feel these are acts of pre-emptive cultural stewardship

☍☍☍☍☍ haha yeah definitely different time scales it could function on

☐☐☐☐☐ looking after and maintain communities

☍☍☍☍☍ hosting open mics lol helping teach ppl poetry lollll

☐☐☐☐☐ not allowing hate speech to creep into open mics lol

☼☼☼☼☼ Truuuuu Or anywhere for that matter

☐☐☐☐☐ not becoming so dusty that you actually have a detrimental impact on cultural progression

☍☍☍☍☍ I think religions only exist in so far as they have active practitioners

☐☐☐☐☐ mm

☼☼☼☼☼ Tru

☍☍☍☍☍ I think my sense is, in religion, this same argument plays out with orthodoxy versus mysticism Maintenance of buildings is in there too for religion People being assigned paid positions as the keepers and givers of religious knowledge oh yeah thinking a lot here of Shanzai, ☐☐☐☐☐, and the idea of an object as a lived practice

☐☐☐☐☐ when home I'm gonna do my best to archive this conversation mmm

☍☍☍☍☍ you’re going to steward our conversation bout stewardship ...

☐☐☐☐☐ this is all going in

☍☍☍☍☍ ...the tv where I am says “The comedian getting behind ‘Know Thy Nuts’” and there are big walnuts on the screen

☐☐☐☐☐ ???????

☍☍☍☍☍ “I didn’t realise chemotherapy would be such great comedic material!”

☐☐☐☐☐ ¿¿¿¿¿¿

☼☼☼☼☼ Huhhhh

☍☍☍☍☍ lol highly recommend https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/on-being-with-krista-tippett/id150892556?mt=2&i=1000429408054https://itunes.apple.com/au/podcast/on-being-with-krista-tippett/id150892556?mt=2&i=1000429408054

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