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vhstown · 5 months

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ain't no love; pt. 3

"ain't no love and it's sure 'nuff a pity"

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SUMMARY: Miles G Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life — one in the middle of the semester, the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 ← PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 →

chapter summary: [DUAL POV] The Prowler is someone you never thought you'd run into. Miles thought the exact same thing.

content/warnings: grotesque imagery, depictions of panic and fear, violence, arguments, etc.

word count: 5.8k (dear god)

a/n: thanks to @qiupachups for proofreading cause lord knows i wouldn't have... im not ok guys like actua

“And over here is our robotics department — my favourite, personally.”

All you could think about as the man in front of you talked your ears off — and walked your legs off — was how on Earth you ended up here, rooms and corridors deep into the Oscorp Industries. Trying not to get hit by speeding interns or bump into equipment that cost more than your school uniform, you’d been taking in the winding laboratories and offices that were well past the flashy displays at the reception for the past hour or so, led by the one and only… well, the man had yet to introduce himself since excitedly deciding to take you on a tour. Forming connections, as Ms. Weber had put it, was more exhausting than you’d thought.

“Take a look at this arm for a moment — trained completely on artificial intelligence, and moves just like the real thing!”

You just smiled and nodded, the muscles in your neck starting to hurt from the action. As you did, the metal prosthetic spurred into life, swaying and flexing its bulky fingers in what looked random enough; how realistic it seemed was debatable, though. You noticed small, engraved initials on the wrist, reading “O.G.O”, much like the prototypes in the flashy displays downstairs. You’d seen nothing of the sort up here until now, though. Maybe this one was was just special.

Regardless, you really needed to sit down at some point — preferably in some corner so people could stare at you less. There was always someone throwing furtive glances your way, and right now it seemed to be a gaunt-looking man you’d seen slinking around the department, now in the little laboratory full of strange-looking arms and mechanisms that weren’t nearly as functional as the “A.I” powered one.

“Thank you, Doctor…” You squinted, the faded remnants of the name “MENDEL STROMM” forming on his badge. “Stromm.”

“Professor. Professor Stromm,” he corrected, earnest yet almost with pride. “I always felt like a teacher at heart, anyway.”

You only managed to make it halfway through your umpteenth nod before something caught the corner of your eye. The catching of light from somewhere above you, just for a moment — insignificant, really. It seemed to catch your attention long enough for Professor Stromm to notice your attention had gone elsewhere, though.

“Oh, I must be tiring you. Do you like coffee?” You barely had a chance to open your mouth. “I'll get us both some coffee, God knows I need it— just give me a minute!”

Before you could answer, the man skittered away, his rounder frame creating a noticeable dispersion the sea of people moving through the hall until he was nowhere to be seen.

That left you, a random kid, in the robotics laboratory with probably more than one pair of eyes on you. Or maybe not; when you let yourself look around, there didn’t seem to be anyone in the lab at the present moment. Thank God.

A long-overdue sigh left your chest. As much as you'd been lucky to run into Stromm by the reception (before the less-than-polite receptionist could tell you to beat it), you never expected to be running around so much from place to place, trying to make mental notes of everything he'd been saying.

So far, you had “A.I. arm”, something about “gene editing”, some other thing about “99% efficient generators” and a whole other string of scientific jargon thrown in between half-finished explanations and sporadic spurs of Stromm’s recollection. Admittedly, it stressed you out a little; you constantly had the urge to take a piece of pen and paper and record everything he was saying but you only needed a few brief ideas to go off of on your college essay. That was, if you were even going to go into the science field. You still hadn’t decided, though, if you were going to keep performing like how you did right now in your AP classes, you’d probably have your decision made for you soon enough at the back of those lifeless vegan diners opening up everywhere.

Maybe you could get an internship here, if you were lucky enough. Had you been showing enough enthusiasm? It was hard to match. In fact, the man was so enthusiastic he drained the enthusiasm from you. His passion was admirable, but also somewhat pitiful — like he had nobody to truly share his passions with it. At least until a bumbling, bashful sophomore from Visions came along. You’d rather not think about it too hard — this room was starting to make you feel dizzy. It was like there was something wrong with the ventilation, but you didn’t dare go out, given you’d probably get lost in a minute or two.

It was a week into winter break already, and the realisation made you wince. Just a couple weeks into January and you'd be head-first into exams again, while all your friends who went to other schools lived their lives. Visions just had to be different, it looked like. A couple more of Mr Wellston’s unbearable classes before that, though — instead of learning any math, you’d mastered the art of having one eye on your handout and the other on Miles’.

Miles Morales — you’d almost forgotten about him. Almost. It wasn’t hard, given how every text you’d send him had been left on read. He could’ve been busy, (or given you the wrong number) but the dread of being in that careers fair full of freshmen alone was staring to creep up on you. At least a little confirmation that he wouldn’t disappear off of the face of the Earth this semester would be nice.

Hey?

There was a twang in your chest as you looked over your barren chat.

Read at 2:41AM

…What unethical sort of time is that? He could just be bad at texting — or he just decided to hate your guts now. Either seemed unfortunately probable. Were you enemies, or something? Were you supposed to be annoyed? You’d known this kid for a couple weeks at most. Maybe it was weird of you for wanting to get his number so soon. Miles had his own life, even though he walked you back to your apartment in the middle of nowhere that one time. Why did you even care so much?

Maybe there just wasn't enough time in the day for the both of you.

Beep!

To your surprise, Stromm had come back faster than usual. He had a hand over his face, adjusting his glasses, but… no coffee in sight. The door locked automatically behind him, his badge wrung awkwardly around his neck, like he’d just thrown it on.

“Is the coffee machine broken, or something…?”

“They're completely out of cups, I'm sorry.”

“It's alright.” You could’ve really use that coffee right now, you thought.

Still, you smiled at him, feeling the ache in your face smile with you. The man seemed to be pondering something, standing still with a slightly tense expression on his face. He looked like he could’ve used that coffee too.

“Are you okay, Professor?” You tried asking this as unassumingly as you could, but it got a twitch out of him anyway.

“Yes, yes, I've just lost my train of thought…”

You waited, the faint murmurs down the hallway and the strangled breath of the ventilation system above filling the void of silence.

“Are we going to the next floor…?” you suggested.

“No, no,” he said in that melodic way he did, putting a finger up. At least he was somewhat like himself — just thinking, is all.

You decided to be patient, turning your head to stretch your neck slightly, feigning interest in the light fixtures above.

Just what the hell was that gigantic, moving shadow on the ceiling?

“Um, well I think we should go, it’s kind of warm in here—”

“Actually, I think you could do something for me.”

“What is it…?” Your eye twitched as you noticed a figure starting to form from the shadow.

“You see that robotic arm?” The one on display or the one sticking out of the god damn ceiling? “I think you should try it on.”

“What? Really?” It felt like something you’d get in trouble for, but nobody else seemed to be around — except for, you know, the dark humanoid figure right above you. “I— I think I need to use the bathroom first.”

“It’ll be quick. I mean, it’s already hooked up!” Stromm was already reaching for the device.

“No, it’s okay—”

Krrrrr… Bzzzzt!

The room flooded with darkness. Every light had gone out at the same time, the whirr of machines and electricity dying out.

“What on Ear—”

All but for a blur of reddish-magenta light.

Before you could open your mouth, the sound of a ruthless, metallic thud emerged, immediately followed by the crunching of glass, and then a choked breath.

Your vision suddenly sharpening in the little light there was, you could make out the silhouette of Stromm, staggering into the display which held the arm. Where he’d just been was now a foot, faint purplish light glowing from the underside of a shoe.

And then, a grating mechanical sound followed — it sounded like something was snapping over and over, like the arm you’d seen in the display as it moved its joints. A rim of light flickered around what looked to be a sleeve, which was attached to a giant, metallic set of claws, the sharp edges of which caught the light.

“Who are you?! W—What are you doing here?!” the professor shouted out, his feet heavy and erratic on the floor as he tried to ease himself up. His voice came out strange and desperate, strained, almost unfamiliar. You’d think it was someone else if you didn’t know it was Stromm.

All you could do was watch, taking tiny, careful steps back as you tried not to breathe. The figure moved forward, at an unnatural angle, turning as its mechanical claw clenched and unclenched in a now almost seamless movement. You caught the edge of a strange emblem, scrawled messily across the front of what looked to be a suit. It was familiar, and it sickened you once you realised.

“—In this morning’s report we investigate a disturbing string of robberies and break-ins, suspected to be carried out by a criminal duo including—”

There was no mistake — that was…

“The Prowler,” a voice answered for you, crackling and modulated.

“—Norman Obsorn suspects that Oscorp supply chains have been intercepted—”

An ear-piercing buzzing emerged from the air as threads of energy sputtered from the glowing core of his arm device, climbing rapidly up to the centre of his palm. What formed was a concentrated mass of ebnergy, undulating between the claws and casting harsh shadows around the room. Your eyes darted to Stromm, heart in your throat as you expected to meet a horrified, helpless version of the expression he had mere moments ago — it was anything but.

His face was stuck, slack — near dead. And as you watched the energy inevitably grow, his face began to change. What was once the face of Professor Stromm amalgamated into a shapeless, fleshless form, his skin receding into itself and leaving pallid, bloodless sheets of muscle, twitching with thick shadows in the ever-expanding light. As he lifted his head, deep, glowing pits were in place of his eyes.

The same strange voice that came out of the face, you realised, had never been Stromm’s to begin with.

“You are making a mistake.”

Before you could react, your skin singed with heat, sparks rushing past like missiles as the room threatened to explode into white. That was what finally gave you the sense to run.

“—It seems the notorious criminal and his accomplice have increased their activity among a concerning rise of organised crime. Authorities think they could be affiliated with what is coming to be known as ‘The Sinister Six’—”

CRASH!

Beyond your covered ears, a dull boom reverberated through the lab, a million broken shards of glass and plastic flashing with the aftershock. If you were hurt, you didn’t know, adrenaline ushering through your body. Your heartbeat was sharp and loud, your hands were shaking, bile was coming up your throat.

Get me out of here get me out of here get me out of here leave leave leave leave—

Your eyes were painfully wide, stinging with tears, yet everything was overwhelming and sharp and bright — that was when you saw it.

Glass case. Fist. You gritted your teeth.

CRRAAACK!

Big. Red. Panic button.

SLAM!

Instantly, the room exploded with red, blaring light, sirens howling through the room and beyond the door, the lock disabled. You caught one last gaze from those white electric slits before scampering into the hallway, door slamming shut behind you. All you could hear was the clatter of your feet in tandem with your thundering heart, throat too dry to scream. You just needed to get out of here, they couldn’t catch up with you — they wouldn’t.

Shoving past alarmed faces, you advanced to the end of the hall. Stairs — safest bet.

You scrambled down the dingy stairwell, hip throbbing with pain as you turned sharply against the railing down to the next floor. Sweat prickled at your skin, and you tried to breathe. The stairs seemed endless, but you were soon on the bottom floor, dragging yourself to follow everyone else leaving the building. Until you got out, you wouldn’t slow down.

Staggering into the cold, thin wind bit at your skin, the faint cry of police sirens from somewhere you couldn’t see. You tore the visitor’s badge from around your neck, filling your lungs again in big, painful gulps and squeezing your stinging eyes shut.

Never have you been more grateful to breathe in the musty Brooklyn air that you so, so hated.

“Miles…”

“I wasn’t fuckin’ thinking straight!”

“Miles.”

“I swear I had him I just—”

“Miles!”

“What?!”

“Jesus Christ, man. Calm your shit!”

Miles tensed as Aaron gave him a firm slap on the shoulder, the sick feeling in his throat easing just a little.

“It ain’t your fault.” The cool, collected voice of Uncle Aaron, much to his dismay, managed to break through his racing mind. It was his fault — everything was his fault. He’d messed up everything!

“Yes the fuck it is!”

“Watch yo’ mouth.” Aaron had a sudden severity in his tone, kicking Miles back into normality.

“Sorry,” he mumbled back.

Miles elbowed the punching bag beside him, unable to meet his uncle’s eyes. He’d let the man they’d been chasing for the past month to get away, all because he’d been too hasty — too immature. And you had made a stupidly smart decision to press that damn alarm.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he mutters again, voice seeming to fight itself.

“It’s not your fault,” Aaron repeats.

“He’s gon’ kill more people regardless. He could’ve killed—” He bit his lip, hard; your name was right at the back of his throat.

Aaron met his gaze again, but he didn’t give him the courtesy of returning it, eyes stuck to the ground.

“…There sumn’ you’re not tellin’ me?” Aaron asked.

Miles just shrugged, bottom lip freeing itself with the lingering sting of his teeth. There was probably a lot more than there should be that he hadn’t told his uncle.

Walking over to the drawer, he pulled out the dusty old case file. It had tattered corners and the paper had a weird feel to it, like it was from a long time ago: 3 years, to be exact. It was an older case that had re-emerged some time ago — the last case his dad was involved in.

Flicking it open, he was met with all the reports and notes, ones he’d grown sick of seeing: “Unidentifiable suspect”, “vague circumstances” and “unverifiable” were some of the few reasons why. They weren’t going down the “typical” route of investigation, but it didn’t make it any easier that they could break down a few doors without a warrant.

For the past month, Miles had been searching for leads, clues, chasing down suspects of these missing person’s cases — all of them leading him right back to where he started. Every time he thought he was getting closer, he’d go back a hundred steps. Everything about this case lacked any sense of logic; people would disappear without any sort of reason, completely by random. There was no pattern to these cases, except for the fact that whatever circumstances that surrounded them were vague and undetailed.

No name, no face, no form. But he’d finally managed to catch the fish at the end of the hook, following someone who had yet to go missing: a certain scientist at Oscorp industries, who worked in robotics and hadn’t been seen for 24 hours, but showed up to work the next day somehow.

That man had followed another scientist — Mendel Stromm — only to come back in his body. Miles had let it happen, out of necessity, he thought — to finally see what was going on. And he did, he saw the man transform into Stromm. He saw the man walk back into the laboratory and act as it nothing had happened.

And then, he saw you.

You. He wasn’t blaming you for this, was he? No, it wasn’t your fault, you just happened to be… in severe danger.

Miles could’ve prevented this, had he not been so desperate — so conflicted. He could’ve texted you back, told you to stay away from Oscorp instead of typing and deleting the same awkward replies late at night.

And he was supposed to go back to school and see you, and do that job fair with you, right after he’d saved— Right after you saved yourself — from the Prowler. From him.

“You alright?” Miles whipped his head around to see Aaron looking at him, a slight hint of concern in his face.

“Yeah—” He stopped himself from saying sorry. “Gonna head home.”

Miles pushed the drawer shut, feeling the eyes of the people he’d left behind on him — more recently, Mendel Stromm. He wondered if they blamed him just as he blamed himself.

As he walked back to his apartment, he slipped on his jacket — Uncle Aaron’s jacket. He even felt guilty for wearing it, damn it.

Shutting the door and world outside behind him, he took a hesitant glance at the shoe rack. His mom’s shoes were missing.

“Took an extra shift. Dinner’s in the microwave. Tqm!" (Ily!)

“Y yo te quiero,” (And I love you) he mutters to himself, careful not to crease the note between his fingers.

At least she’d never find out. His mom would be off work soon, so he’d get to spend time with her, hopefully. He was just busy himself, with school starting again next week, the job fair, a million different quizzes, meetings with the guidance counsellor…

His dad’s anniversary was right in-between that.

Miles folded up the note, and then tossed it in the trash. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, but he hadn’t done any of his work for the winter break.

So, with a deep breath, he headed to his room, sitting at his desk. Miles tried to ignore the numerous sketches of his own gear, and half-finished faces as he tried looking for a pen in his drawers.

One drawing caught his eye, a familiar face. Well, it wasn’t exactly a face. It wasn’t finished yet, but he could picture the way it’d look if it were finished. It was “a friend”, he’d practised telling himself in case his mom decided to clean his room without telling him — you, without an expression but the curve of your cheek and the start of your hair he’d been so focused on instead of your eyes whenever he’d talked to you.

“~Ain’t no love… and it’s sure ‘nuff a pity…”

As he opened his notebook, faint music played from his phone, in an attempt to get him to focus. Still, he wondered if you’d find it weird that he drew you, how you’d look at him if you ever knew about it.

Miles wondered how you’d look at him if you knew he was the one at Oscorp — The Prowler.

“Guys, I don’t think he’s coming.”

“No shit!” The sound of laughter burst out in the room. All you could do was sigh, head on your desk.

Winter break had gone faster than you’d expected, especially given the amount of time you spent in the police station. They asked you the same questions, over and over and over, until you started to doubt your own memory. It was probably necessary, to prove you weren’t lying, or something, but it was exhausting, and you were just glad it was over.

“Why were you in Oscorp to begin with?”

“Do you remember the exact time it was before he left?”

“Are you certain it was Dr. Stromm that walked in?”

“You’re sure?”

You didn’t want to think about it, and you didn’t need anyone else to know either. It was better to pretend nothing happened, and that you’d had a productive break like everyone else apparently did. Bunch of try-hards.

The problem now, though, was that Mr. Wellston thought it’d be a good idea to disappear on you right before your midterm. He was supposed to finish teaching integration by now, but your class was far from — and of course, it was coming up on the exam.

You didn’t have a supply teacher either, though that was a good thing. Maybe Wellston would get fired, you’d get a new calc teacher, and all would be right in the world. But for now, you had to deal with these overly-pretentious people you called your classmates, (and always seemed to be okay with Wellston’s incompetence for some reason) talk about how easy the exam was gonna be, and about the homework that Mr. Wellston never checked anyway, and about college — because all anyone ever cared about here was getting into an Ivy. Maybe you should’ve just gone to public school. You pushed that thought back before you could seriously started to consider it.

Instead, your thoughts went to the person slouched at the desk next to you: Miles, the kid that had suddenly lost all interest in talking to you entirely. It wasn’t just the boredom of having Calc BC last period, too. For one, he’d never try to start conversations anymore, and two, you couldn’t even hold a conversation with him if you wanted to. When you greeted him in the hallway today, he just walked past, not even bothering to look at you. Maybe he hadn’t been busy over winter break like you thought — he’d just been ignoring you.

“Bro, that’s Principal Evans! Shut up!”

You squinted your eyes, heart dropping as you saw the Principal advance down the hallway, right towards your class. Miles didn’t move at all. In fact, he looked like he was… asleep?

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“Miles…!” you whisper-shouted, shaking his shoulder to no avail.

Sighing, you thought about slapping him for a moment before deciding against it, shaking his shoulder it a second time, The boy got up with a start.

“Huh…? Wha… what? What do you want?”

“Prin… ci… pal..!” you mouthed, furrowing your brows at him and pointing to the door.

“Oh, damn…” He stifled a yawn, rubbing his eyes before straightening up on his chair. As much as Miles liked to annoy teachers, anyone would quickly come to learn that annoying Principal Evans was a death wish — from both her, and your parents.

As he fixed up, you caught a glimpse of his face for the first time today. So much for promising to not look at him. Exhausted wasn’t enough to describe it — he looked like he’d gone to war, or something. At least you’d managed to sleep well enough, without dreaming about Oscorp. Count your blessings, I guess.

You didn’t have much time to relish in your few blessings, though, as the tall, well-dressed woman stopped by the door. She peered in, before her brows knitted together, opening the door.

“Y’all don’t have a teacher?” she said, in that quick, strong voice that put you all on edge. Some of you had the confidence to mutter a “no.” or shake your head. “Who are you supposed to have?”

She shook her head as your class answered, pulling out her phone.

“Gimme one second. I don’t care if the period’s almost over. Fifteen minutes of class is fifteen minutes of class…”

You held back the urge to sigh again. If Wellston showed up, he’d probably force you all to stay back an hour and “catch up”. That, and you had the careers fair to help out with right after this period. The door closed again as Principal Evans took a call outside, and you let your eyes shut.

“Hey Martin, I’ve got a class here that…” Her voice fading into the background and your class starting to murmur again, you opened your eyes, only to catch Miles’ gaze just for a second.

“What?” you said, looking at him, though it came out a little too confrontational.

“What?” he mirrored back, though it came out a little too much like a statement. Miles — always good at making you feel stupid, you supposed.

“What’s up with you today?” you started, deciding it was better to bite the bullet.

“Nothing. Why?” Maybe not.

“Are you going to the careers fair…?”

“I kind of have to.” You probably should’ve slapped him when you had the chance.

“…Yeah, but—”

“Alright! Silence!” Principal Evans was at the door, holding it open with her foot. “Nobody’s comin', so y’all gotta do some work until the bell. I do apologise.”

There was a little commotion as people “got to work”, and you shot Miles one last glare before pretending to be interested in the notebook you’d had closed all period.

And so, fifteen minutes passed by with the sound of scribbling next to you, and when you stubbornly tried to peek, his arm just had to be in the way.

A lot was in the way between you two, it felt like. So much for being friends.

The bell finally rang, and you stretched a little as people left, preparing yourself for another hour or two before you could go back to your dorm. At least you wouldn’t have to talk to Miles, you had… freshman to talk to. Maybe this was a learning opportunity — I hated freshman, but from participating in a careers event at my school, I learnt that they’re not just people I have to shove past to get into the cafeteria. At least you didn’t have to put that abysmal sentence in your college essay until next year.

The chair next to you screeched, making you jump a little. You stopped yourself from cursing under your breath, noticing Principal Evans still lingering by the door. She was ushering the last people out, a crease between her brows.

“What class is this?” Her voice was directed at you, you realised.

“Calc BC,” you replied.

“Calc BC…” She seemed to emphasise every sound as she talked, as if she was thinking about something important. “Well aren’t you a bright bunch?” You managed a tiny smile, feeling like you weren’t a part of that “bunch” at the moment.

“I don’t mean to bother you, but… do you know what happened to Mr. Wellston?” you asked, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. You couldn’t believe you were asking about him, but you really needed to figure out how you were gonna pass — and soon.

“I know as much as you do,” she shrugs, earrings swaying as she turns her head back to her phone. “If you wait, I might be able to find out for you. Is it urgent?”

“I mean…” you started, before you felt a slight nudge at your arm.

“We’re gonna be late.” Miles gave you an unreadable look, and for some reason you relented.

“It’s fine, Principal. Thank you.”

“Take care now.” She moved out of the way for you to leave, but before you did, she spoke up again. “Oh, and Miles — I’m already making arrangements, so expect me to call you up at some point.”

“Cool. I mean— okay, thanks,” he mumbled, starting to walk down the hall.

You followed, having to push to keep up among the many students that were moving past. Damn fast walkers…

Feeling the uncomfortable need to talk, you opened your mouth. “We’re going to the gymnasium, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When can we leave?”

“Like, 6pm, or something.” Great.

“That late? How long’s the fair?”

“Thought you’d know.” Oh, maybe.

“I would, if someone told me,” you huffed under your breath.

There was another stretch of silence between you, the school starting to empty as you walked towards the other side where the gymnasium was. Miles didn’t have his earphones in, so there wasn’t much of an excuse for you to be ignored. Somehow, that made you feel less confident to speak.

“How was your break…?” you tried. He was unresponsive for a moment before shrugging.

“Boring.”

“...Yeah, same.” You didn’t sound very certain. The look he gave you made it clear he could tell. There was an uncomfortable pause that made you regret talking in the first place.

“…You okay?” he asked, suddenly.

“What?”

He took in a deep breath, looking at you more seriously. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… why?” You raised your brow at him, even if he couldn’t see.

“Don’t need a reason to ask.”

“I’m pretty sure you do.”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“How the hell was that a rhetorical question?”

“That one’s rhetorical too.”

When you realised what he meant, you couldn’t help but smile slightly at the stupidity of your conversation. You thought you caught the corner of his mouth raise too.

“Good thing Ms. White doesn’t pick on you, then,” you joked.

“Watch it, I got an A in English.” The way he said it almost made you laugh. Almost. You wouldn’t give him that.

“Right. And what don’t you have an A in?”

“Calculus.”

“No way…” You gave him a dubious look. “Seriously?”

“A plus.” He was definitely holding back a smile.

“Shut up.” You held back your own smile, too.

The both of you made it to the halfway-point of the campus, where the greenery and outdoor seating was — the place where they’d take all the promotional pictures. If only they could maintain the rest of the school like that too. Though you had to admit, it was a nice day out for January.

Miles stayed silent as you walked. You decided to stay skeptical for now, but a part of you also really just wanted to get along with him. Better than being annoyed at his existence for the next 2 hours.

Maybe he’d just had a bad day — or a bad winter break. He’d been absent for a while, anyway. That wasn’t for no reason. Maybe he just had a lot on his plate. A lot to catch up with, especially.

“How are you getting As anyway? Haven’t you like… missed a lot of classes?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, and the setting sun made it clear that he looked more frazzled and tired than usual. His hair looked like it hadn’t been re-braided in a while, though you wouldn’t tell him that.

Still, when he squinted uncomfortably at the sunlight shining right in your direction, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes again. One was slightly more green, the other slightly brown, coppery flecks in each. They were barely distinguishable in the dim fluorescent light of the school, but you couldn’t help but stare.

He was damn pretty. He was everything, it seemed. Smart, interesting, unique, mysterious, good-looking… You cringed at the realisation that this probably wasn’t a normal thing to think about someone you were supposed to be mad at. Were you supposed to be mad at him…?

“Guess everyone that goes here is a genius huh?” you continued in a rhetorical fashion, a part of you hoping he’d made the same awful joke again,

“That include Rafael?” You pressed your lips together at the mention, stopping the laugh from forming.

“He’s…” you tried, and failed. “Definitely something.”

“You’re smart, though.” You almost stopped walking. He said it so quietly you almost thought you’d misheard.

“I am literally failing Calc.”

“You’re almost failing Calc,” he corrected.

“I will be failing Calc in a week’s time.” You might as well admit it. The thought of that exam next week was hopeless.

“You ain’t even that bad at it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s just practice.”

“Right, right, yeah. I’ll do that.” You didn’t sound very reassured. Miles didn’t seem to be in the mood for reassuring, either, shoving his hands in his pockets.

As you approached the gymnasium, you recognised more of those colourful, weirdly-designed posters, the ones you’d posted around school. Who even made those…?

Someone else was in the distance, walking around the corner. You did a double-take as you elbowed Miles.

“Hey, is that…?” You trailed off, the two of you stopping abruptly.

“The hell is he doing here?”

“No clue. Why’s he coming this wa—”

Suddenly, you felt yourself being pulled behind one of the pillars, and then directly facing Miles.

“What are you doing?!” you whisper-shouted.

“Just shut up for a sec…!” he whisper-shouted back, widening his eyes at you before peering past your less-than suitable hiding place.

His face was just a breath away from yours, arm blocking you from moving, or really seeing what he was so desperately trying to look at. Your heart was starting to thump in your ears, and you couldn’t find it in you to breathe, eyes fixed on his hand curled around your wrist for a moment before he let go, focusing on what was in the distance.

“Nobody’s seen him all day,” he mutters to you.

“Yeah, I know, but why are we hiding?”

“He’s— Just keep still.” He giving you a warning look, much like the one he gave Rafael — this time, with a hint of worry.

Deciding to keep your mouth shut, you dared to look past the pillar, just as he did.

There, approaching the gymnasium back door, was Mr. Wellston. The man came to a stop, walking awkwardly beside the wall, glancing around as if he was trying to avoid something.

In a split second, he disappeared behind one of the pieces of foliage. Miles stared hard, grabbing your arm and advancing the two of you closer. You were confused, before Miles’ grip on your sleeve tightened. Only then did you see it.

Almost seamlessly, Wellston disappeared, taking on the form of a police officer, yellow visitor’s badge around his neck — P.C. Williams, officer for the careers fair.

“Jesus Christ…” Miles muttered, eyes fixed on him, right until he went through the gymnasium doors.

You thought the exact same thing.

thanks for reading and soz for the VERY late update im literally being teabagged by my real life lol! lmk how u found it yasss like and subscribe hit that bell

reblogs super appreciated! go back to the series masterlist here or find the rest of my atsv stuff here!

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#miles g morales x reader #42!miles x reader #42!miles morales x reader #atsv fanfiction #earth 42 miles x reader #prowler miles x reader #miles g morales #miles g #42!miles #miles gonzalo morales #prowler miles #atsv x you #atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #vhstown

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dfroza · 12 days

Text

to be befriended like this may take a whole lifetime

(and more)

to see the gentleness of a written seed reach deep into (the inner garden and the inner room) of another to first cross paths in the silence of the instrumental womb

but i’ll never regret all the standing this takes, and all the patient time in growing in pages and in annual rings

because it all points to something that will never end… life in the eternal

where it will always be [here, & now]

“timelessness”

A new transformed body to match the reborn human heart & spirit, remade in the divine image of the Son

(A new Adam & Eve)

it is (A True : Love story) of [metamorphosis : 8]

of being made (inside, Anew)

through the Body (the bread of the Word) & the Blood (as wine freely offered to a friend)

just as this glass is seen (transparently) in written words on an illuminated screen, originating from the growth of the Vine

tending to this (and watering it) has indeed taken some time.

in all my labor, my “work” here on garden earth

my True “calling” in life.

A story read during Passover

(from Today’s email sent by Israel365)

Song of Songs, read on the holiday of Passover, is written as a love story between a woman and her beloved. It describes a romantic relationship, often using very sensual language. At first glance, it seems like such a book has no place among the other books of the Bible. The Bible is holy, the love between man and woman is earthly and mundane. The book’s language portrays a passionate and intense love, which seems out of place in a religious text.

Indeed, some translations prefer not to translate Song of Songs with a literal translation, opting to forgo the simple meaning of the text and providing an allegorical interpretation instead. Since the literal language of the text is too physical, they provide their readers with only the “deeper” meaning of King Solomon’s words.

This, of course, begs the question of why Song of Songs was written as a love story at all.

The question becomes even stronger when you consider the words of the great Talmudic sage, Rabbi Akiva, who said:

“The entire universe is unworthy of the day that the Song of Songs was given to Israel, for all the Writings are holy, but Song of Songs is the Holy of Holies. ” (Mishna Yadayim 3:5)

Does this love story really sound like the “Holy of Holies? Was the whole world created for this?

We will answer these questions with another question, a question asked by Rabbi Chanoch Henoch of Alexander, a student of the Hassidic Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859). The seder is a special meal that is eaten on Passover night. During this meal, the Exodus from Egpyt is discussed in question-and-answer format, beginning with four specific questions. Yet we don’t start the seder immediately with these four questions. If the point of the seder is to discuss the Exodus and ask these questions, why do we do a few other things first?

In order to answer this question, let’s imagine the following scenario. A couple has been dating for some time and things have been going well. They are sitting in a romantic spot when the man takes a deep breath and says to the woman: “I love you – will you marry me?” Assuming this young lady feels the same way that he does, how should she respond at this moment? Should she dive into: “But how will we support ourselves?” or “What will our families think?” These aren’t bad questions, they’re important questions! But the fact is that these questions don’t really belong at that moment. Because it is a formative moment, a sacred moment, and a moment that transcends all questions.

Passover, when God took our forefathers out of Egypt, was a formative moment; it was the engagement of our entire people to God. The story of Passover is something that goes beyond the intellect. It is a reliving of that moment of engagement, that moment that every couple will remember for the rest of their lives. First and foremost, Passover is about those extraordinary raw and powerful moments that we, every last one of our people, shared with God at that time.

We don’t begin the seder with the four questions because not everything is open to question. It is only after we speak about the uniquely close and loving relationship that we as a people have with God that we can begin to ask questions. If we would start with questions right away, we would be missing something very deep, something so essential. Because a relationship, a relationship of real love that runs deeper than the mind, doesn’t begin with logical questions.

This is what King Solomon was describing in Song of Songs, and this is what makes the book so unusual and so spectacular. Song of Songs is about the love between God and His people. It is about those moments that come before questions! Song of Songs is not about religion; it is about God Himself!

I believe that this is why Song of Songs is considered “Holy of Holies.” Religion is holy, observing the Sabbath is holy, and the Temple is holy. But there is something that goes beyond holy, and that is our relationship with God Himself. This is also why Song of Songs is read on Passover, because it was on Passover that the love story between God and his people began.

do you see that “i love you” (already inside) A pure “seed” (to be…)?

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judyhopps934-mt-zd · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on Miraculous New York: United Heroez

Warning: Spoilers! I am back! Also, this is my 700th post, so yay!

The new intro is so cool! I stan! Will it be the same for the Miraculous World Specials (ie. Shanghai)??

Mr. Pigeon? Akumatized for the 51st tims?!?!?!?! I thought he moved on from pigeons and went with rats?!?! (Timetagger anyone????)

The Spacesuits! So cool! (By the way, its the purple potion).

Ladybug and Chat Noir are very autonomous, trust connected from their bond, and super efficient! (You will see where this comes into play later on.) Ladybug could have not gotten a better partner than Chat and she says this herself.

The rose scene after defeating Mr. Pigeon! I loved it so much and its better than expected!

Oh Marinette, didn't you say you have moved on from Adrien? I think her heart has yet to catch up with her brain, which takes time. Time will tell...

Tikki is visibly annoyed with Marinette saying she will move on and yet act like she still has a crush on Adrien. First of all, that is the fandom's mood. Second of all, be patient. Time will tell...

The sock puppet film was adorable. And apparently famous in NY amongst the Queens students (thank you Zag for including another NYC borough!)

Miss Bustier is pregnant?!?!? Wait...IS SHE IS MARRIED?!?!?!? Whether she is married or is seeing someone, this is still shocking (unless her prefix in the French version is Mrs.)

Poor Mrs. Mendeleiev. The class was less than satisfied with her being their chaperone. I know she is not the fun teacher, but she still has feelings and I know she is a nice person. People tend to judge and despise teachers based on them being fun or not, which is unfair. But karma comes after the class since throughout the trip, she becomes the teacher they think she is. What? She could have been fun.

Lila was not welcome in New York to begin with. At least she won't be causing any problems on the trip (though I wish she went to Antarctica).

Marinette has done more for Adrien in this episode than in all three seasons when she promised him that she will find a way to convince Gabriel to go to New York. I guess her deciding that he is "just a friend" has allowed her to do more for him than beforehand.

But she still collects pictures of him, so we will keep quotations on "friend". Or we need to give her a break (Alya I am looking at you). We'll see as we go on.

I am happy Nathalie is alive, though I am not happy with the fact that she showed Gabriel the Eagle Talon Miraculous. And he plans to go to New York. And that this is the only reason he lets Adrien go to NY.

Speaking of which, the Miracu-class showed up to his place, with Marinette being the spokesperson to yell at Gabriel Agreste's freaking face. Good for you Marinette for fighting against Gabriel. Though you did not have to put up a long fight, which while shocking, is also worrisome.

Adrien was understandably sad to not be able to go to NY. Kagami seems happy about it though. Maybe too happy...

Yes, I know that Kagami and Adrien are potentially dating (Battle of the Miraculous ending anyone? *sobs in Adrienette stan*), but it still pains my Adrienette stan heart though when she kissed him.

Of course Chat Noir will be sad to see Ladybug go. But she brings this cute cat buzzer and seeing him play with the buzzer was adorable. Ladynoir anyone?

Adrien is stuck with this dilemma: NY or Ladybug? Poor sunshine boy was shocked to hear this news. He initially chose Ladybug and wanted to stay and alert Ladybug about the new situation, but Plagg was like "FREEDOM! GO AFTER IT! BESIDES, YOU CAN USE YOUR SPACESUIT TO RETURN TO PARIS IN THE EVENT OF AN AKUMA!" Seemed like a good plan...initially. (Plagg, I am after you...sorta).

Of course Marinette will miss the bus, but Luka?!?! They either trying to remind me of Miracle Queen or Luka is superhuman for being able to show up to her place and peddle so fast that they caught up with the bus. Pains my Adrienette heart once again to see her kiss him, but he does have a point about her needing some clarity in NY.

Then we have the plane scene. Poor Marinette was panicking over sitting next to Adrien (really now universe?!). There was more to the scene: from the AC trouble to the seat reclining at the wrong time to Adrien placing the luggage in the compartment (not in that order exactly). It was somewhat cringeworthy then seeing that Marinette went to swap seats with Mrs. Mendeleive (though she only did it when Alix whined).

Note to self: DO NOT SIT NEXT TO MR. DAMOCLES IN AN EIGHT HOUR FLIGHT. He is not very conscious about personal space as he took over Marinette's seat when he was asleep and woke Marinette up. And sleeping with a bucket of popcorn? Really?

If anyone has ever been on a plane, turbulence is common, and Marinette's experience with the Bathroom is very relatable. That's why I only go in an emergency.

Adrienette watching a sunrise! (Or sunset? They are not too clear on this, especially since they arrive at the hotel at night, but everyone was asleep on the plane). And get this: Adrien complimenting Marinette and hugging her tightly! (Just a friend now, huh sunshine boy?)

Alya and Nino are a mood when they say that they love their friends, but they wish that they could express their love to each other (Operation: New York).

Alya, did you really have to tell Marinette that NY is the city of love? Thank you for making her feel even nervous.

TechnoPirate and the United Heroez everyone! (By the way, Alya needs a chill pill because she was WAY too excited to be rescued by the United Heroez. And the Owl Mr. Damocles? Really?!)

Note to everyone who does not live in NYC: no, there is not a superhero for every job.

Ladybug and Chat Noir are exceptional superheroes, but Marinette and Adrien cannot open or walk through automatic doors, which is funny and kind of sad. Peoples, your saviors of Paris.

Sabrina has her own story peoples! She is given her own love interest from Astoria! I love them! And how he invited her to the rooftop party.

Alya, do you really have to tease her and Marinette at once. "Maybe you will make a "friend""

Aeon, I agree: Marinette and Adrien are made for each other. But you sound like Master Fu in Stoneheart. Are you secretly Master Fu???

The feeling is mutual Chloé. Marinette and Alya do not want to be your roommate as much as you don't want them to be yours. And I know you do not want to be there in the first place (my city is beautiful btw).But I am happy you did not rat them out for going to the rooftop party.

When they hid from Mrs. Mendeleive, Marinette and Adrien ended up in Jess(Sparrow) and Aeon(Uncanny Valley)'s room.

Magic hotdogs!

Remember the Hotdog Scene I posted over a week ago? That really was Adrienette and it was better than before, with them floating up and dancing to the song from Despair Bear! Yes! Best scene so far!

Doorman! I want him to be my college professor!

Okay, I know I am desperate to see Marinette and Adrien get together, but really Alya, Nino, Jess, and Aeon? Put them in DANGER?!?!? I cannot.

So Marinette and Adrien are put in danger and actual danger. Danger: Jess and Aeon simulating a dangerous situation. Actual Danger: Hawkmoth in New York having akumatized TechnoPirate and make him break into the museum to get the Eagle Talon. Oof.

Then where my Ladynoir heart wears off: Ladybug and Chat Noir seeing each other in NYC to save their civilian selves. They have seen Paris being destroyed by a sentimonster, with Chat supposed to be there and call Ladybug.

Uncanny Valley and Sparrow see Ladybug and Chat Noir in action and decide to be like them because they do not have that same freedom. Look, I feel them, but I still think they should have called for the United Heroez. Plus, cool transformations!

Remember the whole thing about "autonomous, trust formed by their bond, and super-efficiency"? Yeah, that was Sparrow saying that. But Ladybug and Chat Noir are now currently lacking the last two because of the whole "Chat you are supposed to be in Paris" ordeal. Well, you are generally right Sparrow, but now they have their own issues.

Of course, the new lack of trust (and Ladybug making her anger verbal) has affected their ability to fight TechnoPirate inefficient. So much Chat cannot defend himself and while trying to free himself...

HE CATACLYSMED UNCANNY VALLEY!!! This took a dark turn as this is the first time he cataclysmed a "person" (though she is an android, but still a person by standards. I mean Majestia was understandably very upset and I get it).

Majestia punching TechnoPirate into multiple NY buildings: woah.

Ladybug manages to fix everything, but two problems arise:

1. Knightowl wanted to take away their Miraculous and reveal their secret identities. They are now somewhat fugitives in their eyes for almost killing Uncanny Valley.

2. We see the limitations of Miraculous Ladybug. While Ladybug repaired NY, she was unable to repair Paris and the damage caused by the Robostus sentimonster. Which not only indicates that the Miraculous Ladybug cure only repairs the damage created by a specific villan, but that they have to be present. Here, there were too late.

Here is where my Ladynoir heart shatters: 1. Marinette sobs over how she was unable to repair Paris and felt horrible about how she failed them, and 2. Adrien renounced Plagg because of what happened to Uncanny Valley AND for disappointing Ladybug. Then, he runs off and Marinette sobs over losing Chat Noir. It was very sad that I wanted to cry.

I know this part is still very sad, but can I say that Tikki and Plagg are cute together in Marinette's purse? Poor timing? Moving on.

Aeon and Jess are disciplined by Majestia and Knightowl for disobeying their orders and for straying from their mission: protect the French class.

Are Majestia and Knightowl together in their civilian life? And Aeon and Jess are sisters?!?! I stan.

Here's the thing: I like how the special stayed true to this part of the Miraculous Comics. There, we find that Knightowl is a woman (which you can find out from this scene or at the end). And i just stan her relationship with Majestia.

Also, how dare the writers forget the Miraculous Comics! Sure, they might be different entities, but still: how dare they let the United Heroez forget about the power of the Miraculous Cure! I know that Chat Noir should be more careful about his cataclysm and Majestia has a right to be upset, but still: they had a deadly plan set in the comics to defeat a villan and called on Ladybug to cure the millions of dollars in damage. But hey, to each their own.

Also, somewhat unrelated, but Julerose appeared in the beginning and I am here for it!

Gabriel kidnapped TechnoPirate and akumatized him again while giving him the Eagle claw jewel to liberate people from their fears or other factors. Oof.

The kwami for the Eagle Miraculous is relatable. We would all wish we had our previous owner and fear about our power going into evil hands, right?

Now back to Adrien and Marinette, my heart breaks to see Adrien having to go back to Paris because Gabriel delcares NY as "too dangerous". YOU ARE THE FREAKING DANGER THOUGH! YOU MADE TECHNOPIRATE DANGEROUS AND RELEASED HIM FROM DANGER!

Marinette decides to go after him, but falls over from the bike she borrowed due to the rainwater as she begs him to stay.

And peoples, the moment we waited for three seasons (sorta): Marinette finally utters the words "I love you" when referring to Adrien. Too bad he got too far for him to hear her.

Also, who was going to get her off the road when she broke down? Is that her form of closure?

The United Heroez are now under the Liberty Eagle Miraculous' influence, which made them go haywire. Huh. So Jess and Aeon now have to save them with the help of the French Superheroes!

So Aeon was able to uncover that TechnoPirate is akumatized and using a Miraculous through her scanners. I stan her!

Also, she was able to recognize Marinette is Ladybug and Adrien is Chat Noir. And we have a reason to explain why everyone is blind: there is a quantum mechanism in the suits that makes them unrecognizable when compared to their civilian form in the eyes of humans. She can only figure out their identities since she is an AI android. So our theory about everyone having a reason to be blind is correct AND we can cut everyone else some slack. Please.

Marinette confessed that she needs Chat Noir. This was what we wanted to hear after all that has happened: what she said in the beginning, but now in the most genuine form. I have no words other than that this is heartwarming and heartbreaking.

Adrien was worried over Ladybug's disappointment, but Uncanny Valley is amazing in the sense that she recorded Marinette's genuine words, which inspired him to come back.

Plagg, you literally make light of everything. He literally made faces in front of Uncanny Valley because she can't see him. I can't.

Ladybug and Chat Noir's reunion healed and broke me. It was so emotional as Ladybug expresses how worried she was and how she missed him and Chat explaining while admitting his mistakes.

Time to take down TechnoPirate while using Doorman's powers to take the Eagle Talon and freeing everyone. The fight scenes are epic per usual, this one especially.

TechnoPirate counting down the time was alarming, but also funny as he makes light of it.

Hawkmoth, you would have been to blame for the World War III because of your ultimatum, not Ladybug and Chat Noir.

They missed the countdown, but Majestia stops the rocket and sends it to the sun. What the hell?! What if the sun exploded?!?!?!?! (I dunno? It was an atomic bomb for starters?)

So TechnoPirate is defeated and the United Heroez apologize for misjudging our Parisian superheroes and decide to no longer treat their children like kids.

So Paris for the first time in forever needs to undergo actual reconstruction, but Nadja is somewhat forgiving as she mentions that they needed to help the United Heroez and save NYC, where Hawkmoth also was. Hope there are no hard feelings?

Marinette had the idea of having the banner saying hello to Adrien, which he watched on the plane. So nice of Marinette the class to do such a nice thing for him.

Chloé, we might have somewhat forgotten that whole Miracle Queen stunt, but I am glad to see you enjoyed NY even if you will not admit it.

There are more Miraculous around the world. At the end, we need to fear Hawkmoth. Also, there are more Miraculous guardians and I am glad to see Jess convince one of the Guardians to create a new team of next generation superheroes

Overall, the New York special did not disappoint. We got Adrienette and Ladynoir (even if we know that Lukanette and Adrigami are also a potential reality, though good news for the shippers). We also saw the New York superheroes. Though there are some points that really surprised me (ie. The Ladynoir trust fight and Uncanny Valley dying temporarily and Paris being destroyed), I enjoyed watching the special.

I am worried about the Love Square, especially with Marinette though, but that is for another post. To sum up, we know what happens in NY stays in NY, but since the season 4 synopsis mentions Marinette struggling to find time to tell Adrien her feelings, I think that the Love Square is not 100% dead, but I am not too sure. Oh well, let's leave that for tomorrow.

I stayed up for another hour or so, so I will sign off. In the meantime, go ahead and watch it on an Instagram Page or on Disney Channel or wherever you can watch the special because I will tell you this: you will not regret it! (I watched it twice and will watch it again tomorrow!)

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four-loose-screws · 5 years

Text

FE4 Suzuki Novelization Translation - Chapter 2 Part 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

———————————

Chapter 2 – Arvis of Velthomer

Part 2

Four days later, Cigyun returned from Balhalla.

She gasped when she saw Arvis.

"Why are you so surprised, Mother?"

"It has been six months since I last saw you, but still, you've changed so much…"

"How so?"

"Well, you aren't that much taller. And now that I've gotten a good look at your face, that's the same as well. But when I first saw you, you looked like an adult. And not just any adult, but a very dignified one, like your grandfather did."

Arvis didn't remember his grandfather, but he'd heard many stories of the man, who had been the duke when he was born. He also liked the large portrait of his grandfather hung on the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

He'd had bright red hair, a tapered beard, and almond-shaped eyes. Arvis didn't have the beard of course, but whenever he looked in the mirror, he could see the resemblance. 'I want to grow a beard like that someday.' He would think.

He took his mother by the hand, led her to a place away from her maid, and whispered, "Mother, did you know that Father died?"

Her face hardened. "Yes."

"Who told you?"

"When I received your letter, it was delivered with one from your father as well."

"Please forget all about Father's letter." Arvis said decisively.

"Why?"

"Because he came down with a very sudden illness. It was, um, a heart… That's right, it was a heart attack. Mendel, the doctor, told me directly. If Father's letter said differently, then he was lying."

"Who came up with that idea? Was it the butler, Oran?"

"No, it was me."

"You did…?" She said with a huge sigh. "I understand. Father died of a heart attack."

"That's right. And it's what I had announced to everyone."

Cigyun suddenly felt her chest become hot. ‘He’s become so considerate in just this year alone. Everyone, I was so, so wrong. I never should have left the forest... I never should have tried to defy fate...’ She frantically pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and hid her face in it.

Arvis thought that she was simply crying over the death of his father. 'But the person that made you sad is gone, Mother!' He wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to.

ー

Victor's funeral was held ten days later.

Because he had been an inheritor to Valflame, Prince Kurth attended the ceremony.

His coffin was put in the shrine behind the castle, and was kept closed during the entire ceremony, as his body had already begun to rot. This also meant that no one saw the red spots on his face.

Afterwards, everyone left Velthomer, except for Prince Kurth, who spent the night in the villa.

The next morning, he approached Arvis to say goodbye. "If you ever need anything, please tell me. I will do whatever I can to help you."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Arvis said, then realized that his mother was not with them. He had seen the prince doing his best to comfort her many times, so he thought, 'She probably wants to thank him.'

"Please wait a minute. I'm going to go get Mother."

"Thank you, but you don’t have to." The prince’s expression darkened. "I don't think she wants to see me anymore."

Arvis realized at those words that something had happened between them, and that he shouldn’t try to pry into the matter, so he changed the subject.

"Will I be able to attend the Royal Academy when I'm older?"

"Of course. Come to Belhalla once you've turned fifteen. I'll be your reference, and they’ll let you in right away. Or, if your Holy Mark appears before then, I'll let you enroll earlier."

"Really? You think I'll get it?"

"You will. No one else within the Velthomer family has one right now, so you'll get it for sure."

"I'll be happy if it happens, but I don't know if it will…"

"Of course you'll be the one. The inheritors to the holy weapons are greatly revered at the Royal Academy, and given special treatment. It is also tradition for all the inheritors around the same age to form a special club. Of course, they have fun together in their free time, but they also work together and come to understand their destiny as the Crusader's descendants. I can't quite put it into words, but since I was one of them, I can guarantee that it will be fun. I'll be waiting for you to come to Belhalla." Kurth said and gave Arvis a firm handshake.

ー

That night, at dinner, Arvis noticed that his mother had a very grim expression on her face.

'She looks just like Father did. What will I do if I lose her too?’

His fears were not just in his head.

The next morning, after they had finished breakfast, she hugged him, and said, "I must leave now. I worried about you the whole time I was gone, but once I saw your face, I was reassured. I know that you will become a fine duke of Velthomer."

He realized that she didn't plan on ever coming home. His heart started to pound. 'Don't go!' He tried to say, but the words got caught in his throat. He knew that if he said them, he would only add to her suffering. Instead, he continued to scream to himself, 'Don't go! Please! Don't leave me all alone!’

She cradled his cheek, carefully etching the feeling of his skin in her mind, so that she would always remember what it felt like to hold her son. Then, she stood up. "Take care, Arvis."

He watched her walk away, not once taking his eyes off her until she had disappeared. He felt like he was tied up, and couldn't move.

ー

He was right. She didn't come home.

The next day, the butler handed him a letter. "This is for you. It’s from Lady Cigyun."

He took it and threw it right into the fireplace. He didn't want to know what it said, but knew that it must have had something to do with what had happened between his father, his mother, and Prince Kurth.

His mother had been his everything. Though he'd never loved his father, he’d always wished to meet the man not as family, but the great duke of Velthomer. And while he may have only just met Prince Kurth, he respected him as well. He didn’t want his feelings for any of them to be sullied.

ー

The public quickly found out about Lady Cigyun's disappearance, and the debate over who was to become the next duke of Velthomer was brought up once again.

As Arvis no longer had a guardian, Victor's younger brother, Lord Dalton, called for a family meeting.

It was highly likely that the meeting would be held, no one would listen to the words of a seven-year-old, and Dalton would be chosen to become the duke.

Arvis already knew how great it felt to give orders, so he did not intend to give up the position so easily. He remembered what Prince Kurth had said to him at his father's funeral.

'If you ever need anything, please tell me.'

He didn't want to ask Prince Kurth for help if he didn't have to. He liked the prince, but also hated him.

However, he had no one else to turn to.

And so, he wrote a letter.

'Prince Kurth,

My father's successor will be chosen in four days.

Please do whatever you can to support my case.

Arvis'

It took two days to get to Balhalla, and that was only if the messenger changed horses and didn't stop to rest for very long along the way. It was nearly impossible for the prince to receive the letter and make it to Velthomer in time for the meeting.

ー

The morning of, the prince still hadn’t shown up.

The meeting started in the afternoon, and ten members of the family were in attendance.

"Alright everyone, let's begin." Dalton said and stood up. "We all know that there are other people in the family that are older than I, but I was the closest to Victor, second only to his young son, Arvis. So please allow me to speak first. Thank you for your understanding.

“I greatly appreciate you all for coming here today to help Victor’s son, Arvis. I thank you on his behalf. As you know, my brother died suddenly, and Cigyun also disappeared suddenly, but we are not here to investigate the cause of these matters. The problem at hand is that of seven-year-old Arvis, who has lost both of his legal guardians. Velthomer must participate in the Grannvalian government, but we cannot grant Arvis’ wish and allow him, a seven-year-old boy without a guardian, to represent us. If he said something foolish to the king, then it would disgrace our entire family.”

Arvis heard someone snicker. He wasn't sure who it was, but his face turned red with anger and embarrassment.

"By the way, Prince Arvis. Has your Holy Mark appeared yet?"

Arvis remained silent, so Dalton provoked him further.

"What's the matter, Arvis? Can't answer a simple question?"

"I don't have it yet." He knew that his uncle had an ulterior motive, and was offended.

"Well, you heard the boy. My brother's Holy Mark had already appeared by the time he was seven. I may have only been five at the time, but I remember that day as if it was only yesterday. When I saw the firey red mark on his hand, I felt great respect for him. However, Arvis does not have his yet.

“If he had his Holy Mark, he would be allowed to attend the government meetings, so long as he stayed quiet. But since he does not, he would be laughed at immediately. Even he would feel humiliated if that happened, don’t you think?

“And that is why we are here today. We're all family, so I want you to feel free to say whatever is on your mind.”

When Dalton sat down, the eldest member of the family immediately stood to speak next. "How about we decide who will discipline him until he comes of age?"

"I think it's more important that we decide who will inherit Velthomer. That's what's been done in the past when a duke's son was too young and his Holy Mark hadn't appeared yet." Said Victor's younger sister.

"I mean, we need to address both of these issues, don't we?" Asked one of the fire mages of the family.

Suddenly, the butler entered the room. "Prince Kurth has come to participate in the meeting."

"What? Prince Kurth? Why is he here?" Dalton asked, but Kurth entered the room before the butler could answer. "Greetings. Prince Kurth. I welcome you to our castle, but regret to inform you that this is a personal meeting between the members of the Velthomer family."

"I understand, Lord Dalton. I have no intention of meddling in your family's affairs. And that's why I'm not here as the prince of Grannvale, but merely as Prince Arvis' guardian. I think that qualifies me as able to attend this meeting."

"You're his guardian? Who decided that?"

"Both Lady Cigyun and Arvis himself requested it." The prince said simply. "There is precedence for a member of Granvallian royalty to be chosen as a guardian of a duke's son, so I do not think that it would be inconvenient at all for me to become Arvis' guardian."

"Y-You are correct, Your Majesty. It would be an honor to him. He’s still too young to answer even simple questions for himself, so I thank you on his behalf…"

"I understand, and accept your gratitude. So, what have you discussed so far?"

“I expressed concern over who would discipline Arvis until he became an adult. But if you are now his guardian, then that is no longer an issue.” The old man said.

And with that, the results of the meeting were mostly decided.

“I have already become Arvis’ guardian, and if all of you, as the members of the Velthomerian family, agree to that, then I don’t believe there are any problems with it. Does anyone have anything else to say?” Prince Kurth asked.

They went on to decide that Arvis would inherit Velthomer, with Prince Kurth as his guardian. Valflame would be entrusted to the prince, and he would hold onto it until the Holy Mark appeared on a member of the family. If that person was someone other than Arvis, then they would all hold another meeting over who would inherit Velthomer.

After all of the details were ironed out, the meeting was adjourned.

ー

T/N: Note on original character names:

Victor’s brother is ドール (Dōru) in the Japanese.

#fire emblem #genealogy of the holy war #fe #fe4 #japanese #japan #nintendo #super nintendo #snes #famicom #super famicom #light novel #translation #fe4 suzuki novelization translation

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kuraagins · 6 years

Note

Do you have any domestic whizzvin headcanons??

Oh boy these are messy and all over the place but I hope they’re good lmao

• They always cook together in the kitchen, particularly in the morning they’ll make breakfast together whilst listening to music and dancing (badly) around each other.• Speaking of music, they definitely argue over what to listen to• Marvin is a fan of slower ballads whereas Whizzer loves the faster, catchy songs.• They can both agree though: Africa by Toto absolutely slaps and that’s their favourite song.• Whizzer is definitely not a morning person though, so whenever Marvin wakes up first he gets up and brings Whizzer breakfast in bed. • Sidenote: Whizzer has a terrible bed head and normally spends close to an hour styling his hair to make it look perfect.• Like it’s bad. It sticks up in every direction and Marvin loves to tease him about it even though he thinks it makes Whizzer look very cute• They’re also super affectionate towards each other• Like, they have to be in contact at all times • Jason always gets really embarrassed whenever they kiss (which is a lot of the time)• He also gets embarrassed because they are both in competition to be Jason’s number one fan• Like at his baseball games they’re both trying to out-yell each other to cheer for him• Don’t even get me started on parents evenings• Trina and Mendel would be those parents who take on board the constructive criticism the teachers give• But Marvin and Whizzer would just be like “???????? Our son is perfect?????”• So all of Jason’s teachers hate them • They’d also be super into cooking shows too • Especially Marvin• He’s that person who scoffs at the contestants whenever they make tiny mistakes • “Babe, can you believe she forgot to egg wash her bread?”• “Marvin you literally undercooked macaroni and cheese today”• Marvin is always using pet names for Whizzer• Anything like honey, baby, sweetheart, sunshine, beautiful, darling. If you can think of it Marvin has called Whizzer it.• Whizzer always pretends to hate it but secretly it makes his heart soar• One time Marvin called him “my rose” and Whizzer got so flustered he couldn’t even speak, let alone pretend to protest.• For sure, Whizzer is the clean one and Marvin is the messy one. • Whenever he gets ready for bed, Whizzer is hanging all of his clothes up neatly in the closet• And he just… drops all of his clothes to the floor and crawls into bed• Whizzer gets mad every time. • “If you’re gonna insist on wearing that shit at least take good care of it!” • And he’ll grumble and tidy up after him before getting into bed lying away from Marvin and try and stay mad for as long as possible • But he’ll quickly give in when Marvin starts kissing his shoulders and neck and whispering sweet compliments.• Whenever Marvin does clean up though, Whizzer is so proud of him and treats him extra specially• Whizzer also won’t go to bed without telling Marvin he loves him.• No matter how bad they fight, he can’t get over their break up so he makes sure Marvin knows that his love is unconditional because of that underlying fear he still has. • That’s pretty much the number one way to get Marvin to back down from a fight, too.• Whenever he hears Whizzer say those words his heart just melts and he can’t bear to be mad at him anymore. • Marvin is also the only person who can calm down Whizzer when he gets upset.• Unlike Marvin who cries at everything, it takes a lot to make Whizzer break down• So Marvin will sit him down, stroke his hair and let him cry until he wants to talk about it• And then he’ll keep him occupied until he feels better• Normally they’ll just watch TV, or Whizzer will do little doodles in his notepad• Whizzer loves to draw, even if its just little doodles, and if he’s had a bad day Marvin will even let him draw up his arm • One day Marvin gets one of Whizzer’s smaller doodles tattooed onto his arm, because he wants a small piece of Whizzer with him at all times.• Whizzer gets so overwhelmed by how sweet this is he cries, and Marvin freaks out thinking that he’s done something wrong• But Whizzer manages to calm himself down and just tells Marvin how happy he is to be with him• Which makes Marvin cry• Whizzer also likes to draw on little notes that he leaves for Marvin around the house• Just little things like “I love you” and “I hope you have a great day” to brighten up his day• He’ll leave them in Marvin’s bag too when he goes to work so he’ll find them in the middle of the day • If Marvin starts crying in the middle of the office, his co-workers have learned just to ignore it.

Uhhhhhhh that’s all I’ve got for now I hope these were okay!!

#falsettos #whizzvin #whizzer brown #marvin falsettos #my writing

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shytiff · 3 years

Text

July 2021

1 - the toners i bought from sociolla arrived yay. loll i got into portal’s hall of fame somehow. usual day at magang. slowww progress of that sympo 1 ppt hhh. went back home and its raininggg yall. this week my hygiene habits and isya prayer was screwed. i cant bring myself to DOOOO things. i basically only get stuff done outside.

2 - started 2nd ppt (i know!!! super slow aaaaa). bought dough lab OG cookies and cookie monster since it was discounted at grab’s PI outlet. bought matcha mcflurry w juan when going back to AR. ate roti canai, the whole mcflurry, and tried the cookies. the sugar, bruh. all this time, im not lacking energy. im lacking sugar lol. watched two set and played marapets lol

3 - binged twoset violin. cant bring myself to do ppt. Finally managed at night.

4 - dayslept. Not sleepy but cant bring myself to do anything. Supernova technical meeting at 1 pm and some gmeet with iship wa group and suddenly its maghrib,,, did like 2 slides of ppt

5 - went to post office to get str and arrived 8 sharp. No one was there. Anjeng. They said wait until 9. went to tax office. Closed. Off to rscm. Ugh the traffic!? Surprise of kiara "internship" that on the very same day was cancelled

6 - its a struggle to reach rscm ugh. tried to go through sudirman but the toll exit was closed. so we went through tebet. gajah 2 was also sealed. while waiting for juan i bought snacks in indomaret. lol, got no cash. liqo with kak kartika and fell asleep halfway through lol,,,

7 - this time we’re going through kemayoran lmao and exited the toll at rawamangun. bought saladstop caesar salad just bcss they have this collapsible bowl bundling, together 140k (after added grab promo) lool.

8 - today i didnot went to gastro since its off day due to a gastro staff getting covid. went to RSF for operan with dr dedes. took pictures with dr vera and we made heart using hand lmaooooo my koas soul felt scared doing that. tried the sushi mom bought at lotte mart. she also bought milk buns and it was good! like a marriage between bread and mochi. my stomach felt super bloated to a point where it hurts so i ate paldo wet ramyeon except i put too much water and the seasoning was diluted.

9 - im supposed to do ppt but i cant bring myself to do it. i lazed in my bed literally all day. bingeing two set. reading webtoon. playing marapets. felt like utter shit. thought that id start my day after maghrib but nah. ended up sleeping

10 - still feel like shit and cant bring myself to start my day. And didnt do anything lmaoo

11 - cant bring myself to start my day~ ended up starting work like after maghrib. Its more difficult with things where u actually have to think bcs u need a certain headspace. Got sbux matcha and that shit rly helps me feel "normal".

12 - intern as usual. The 4 ppts are "finished" and i contacted the prof after mustering some strength. Zoom call with prof to check on the ppt. Bought a delicious es jeruk somewhere along the way to AR. Talked to mom abt picking wahana. The list was finally out and it was jakarta fair. Ara called, her grandpa passed away and shes afraid to go back and potentially harming her familys health. Showered but slept right after without doing anything meaningful 😔

13 - today is the 2nd "special batch" of internship idi. Followed along the war as a practice time. Theres a lot of vacant spots. And that scared us wanting to go national lol. I hope everything will be fine. Another zoom call with Prof, ughh theres so much to reviseeeeeee and i havent made any word material

14 - its only nessa and me today at dept. Picked rs krakatau medika together w nessa. Clara told me abt how her mother is sometimes toxic. Cant rly focus on work today bcs of internship stuff. Had headache ec lack of sleep that lasted from 2-6 pm. Immediately slept like a log after isya

15 - turns out nessa also want to pick rskm loll that makes 7 ui peeps in rskm. Did some good progress by alienating myself in Prof's cubicle. Moral message: whatever time you think youd make the ppt, it will be more. Bought martabak tipker orins yum. Its like lekker on steroids. I still prefer martabak pizza more.

16 - did 1 word for the ppt. Bought jco donuts w nessa bcs my mouth was lonely. Sent 1 completed topic to Prof and pamit.

17 - cant bring myself to do anything~ felt like shit~ played marapets and watched tiktok and youtube

18 - pembekalan iship today

19 - more pembekalan iship. Medical checkup today at labkesda. Met nessa mendel adita regen clara agung. Ate kfc together at nessas place. Went to dinkes jakbar for sppd. No ppt progress aaaaaa

20 - packed my stuff. Originally planned ti leave at 2 pm but theres a lot of uncertainty so i decided to leave tomorrow. The real certainty came at like 9 pm.

21 - off to cilegon 05:30 ish. Filled the gas. Arrived 07:15. Moved my stuff. Went to pkm with mom et al and ness mendel. Swab. Back to palm wates. I felt sad when mom had to leave. She must be tired, but she keeps supporting me with everything that she has. I know its always been like that but sometimes distance makes you see things (?) maybe its bcs im outside ar right now. Bought food. Printed stuff at a place 600m away. Did ppt work accompanied by mocca goodday (that i just knew was good lmao)

22 - zoom orientation today. Still managed to laze out and not do my work -___- tri was out so i was alone. Ate gold chick for brunch. That stuff is oil mixed with food. Finally did some work. The night orientation with dr Selfie was pretty shocking, but it was rly informative and i think she did it out of love.

23 - puskes 1st day. Orientation and turns iut we headed straight to poli lol. Had my very first poli umum with the kind dr arief. My first patient had bee sting :) the second was breast lump :) its rly a slap in my face to go study. Stayed in nessa's for a bit to do some work, except i felt rly tired and gave up at like 4 pm. Bought kebab around the corner (15k). Unremarkable. Kanayam for dinner, w some for breakfast 2mrw

24 - slept early so i woke up early. Tri also. We did some working at like 3 am til subuh. Poli was not too crowded since it was saturday. Helped mendel irrigate his ear in the puskes ER. Waited out the 2 pm standby. We ended up driving to merak except for esa lol. Bought kanayam again lol. Ended up sleeping early again

25 - nasi uduk 88 for breakfast. Some ppt work. my family came bringing motor hehe. Moved to mess. Met dr Ine. Learned how to use washing maching. More ppt work. Bought nasgor just in front of the mess

26 - vaccine post today. Zoom with IDI cilegon. Nessa cooked macaroni and meat. Talked a bit and then suddenly its half past 10. No significant ppt progress today. Im rly sorry Prof 😭😭😭

27 - MTBS poli today. Bu ningrum gave me cimol and jantung pisang and sayur and salad buah hehee. Some orientation. Did the last ppt for Prof. Can finally rest (??) nah the words still not finished. Overall mood today: ☺️

28 - poli usila today in bp with mendel. Injected mendel with his 3rd sinovac. Went to dinkes for SPPD.

29 - vaksin with mendel. lots of patients. porridge for bfast. talked about love life lmaoo. tried sate bebek h. syafei. quite good but sate klathak still holds the first place in my heart. finished the 3rd word doc and sent it. just as i was about to sleep, i saw the notif of jk going live. hes basically dancing around in his pjs at 1 am lmaoo <3

30 - paldo jajangmen for bfast. BP. shoot a video for e-promkesline. soto for lunch. bought kopi soe goela merah and croffle. the croffle was not as hard and crunchy and thick as social affair’s. the choco-nut topping was so so. the coffee was bitter like tuku, but not as smooth and creamy (?), not too acidic. did ppt of ecmocard data an hour before the zoom sesh.

31 - vaccine with dr anggi. went back early. bought some stuff in indomaret. lunch was abon, rice and leftover veggies. finished the last word manuscript for Prof along with kopi soe and sent it. vcalled w mom. had simba pillow mixed with sport muesli for dinner.

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eldertwelvecupsofcoffee · 6 years

Text

Another Secret Snowman Gift

This time for @breadtortoise, whose original snowman had to drop out.

The request was pining Mendel, and I wrote it in my MA College AU. It’s like a part 4.5 in the AU, in terms of continuity, but you really don’t have to have read anything else in the AU to understand and enjoy this.

Happy Holidays!

“Can I help you, sir?” asks the perky, bubbly blonde woman behind the counter. Mendel looks up, trying to hide that she startled him. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a way that almost makes her look like the Disney version of Cinderella. She’s wearing a red blazer over a black dress; her lipstick matches her jacket, and she’s done her eyeliner in thick black with wings, like she think’s she’s Adele. Her name tag reads “Annabelle”; Mendel didn’t think people were actually named Annabelle.

“No.” He says quickly, out of habit, then, “I mean, yes! Yes, please.”

“Who are you shopping for?” Annabelle asks him; there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes that makes Mendel worry that she knows.

“A-a friend. Just a friend.” Why is he so nervous? Annabelle doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know any of his friends. And she definitely doesn’t know Trina.

“This is kind of an expensive gift for ‘just a friend’.” She remarks.

“Well, she’s a special just friend.”

Annabelle smiles. “I see.” She pulls a little black binder out from behind the counter and sets it down in front of him, cracking it open and flipping through the pages. “What sort of stone does she like?” Mendel just looks at her blankly. “You know, ruby? Emerald? Pearl?”

“I—uh—I’m not sure.”

“Okay,” Annabelle squares her shoulders, as if she’s recovering from a blow. “When’s her birthday?”

“November 17th.” The date rattles off of Mendel’s tongue with as much confidence as if it were his own. Annabelle nods and turns a few pages in the binder. She points at the stone shown on the page—it’s yellow and sparkly, and Mendel can’t help but think it looks a little bit like crystallized pee, in a pretty way, he supposes.

“This is her birthstone.” Annabelle explains. “Topaz.”

“Will she like it?”

“I think so. Come on, follow me, I’ll show you what we have in stock.”

Mendel stands on Trina’s front porch, rocking back and forth on his heels while he waits for someone to answer the door. Her gift is neatly wrapped—thanks to his mother—and tucked under his arm. The door swings open, and he comes face to face with Trina’s father.

“Mendel!” He cries, clapping a hand on Mendel’s shoulder; Mendel tries not to jump. “How are you, son?” His hand drifts up to ruffle Mendel’s hair affectionately, and Mendel can’t help but grin a little at the familiarity; Trina’s father had been an important figure in Mendel’s life after his own father left, though the importance was left unspoken between the two of them.

“I’m great, sir.” Mendel replies, because familiarity does not preclude manners. “How are you?”

“Amazing.” Trina’s father says, stepping to the side of the doorway. “Come in, come in. Happy Hanukkah!” Mendel echoes the sentiment as he steps inside; he’s pointed in the direction of Trina and Whizzer by Trina’s father, and on his way over to them, Trina’s mother hands him a plate of latkes, fresh from the pan and still sizzling.

“Mendel!” Trina calls his name excitedly, waving when she sees him. Her hair is curled and tied back part of the way, and she’s wearing a dark blue dress with a silver belt. Mendel suddenly feels underdressed in his ugly Hanukkah sweater—which reads “Chappy Chanukkah”.

“Hey!” Mendel says, finally getting over to where she and Whizzer sit. “Happy Hanukkah.”

“Happy Hanukkah.” Trina echoes. “Whizzer, tell Mendel ‘Happy Hanukkah’.”

Whizzer, who is laying on the floor, raises and almost empty wine glass and slurs, “Happy Hanukkah.” But he says it like “Chan-oo-kaw”; Mendel pretends to laugh.

“How is he drunk?” He asks Trina through his teeth.

“My Uncle Aaron.” Trina replies in a hushed and clearly irritated whisper. Mendel nods in understanding. Trina motions for him to sit down beside her, and he does, trying to ignore the way the prospect of sitting beside her makes his heart race and his palms sweat.

“Here.” He says, handing her the gift he’d nearly forgotten was tucked under his arm. “This is for you.”

“Oh! Mendel, you shouldn’t have.” She says as she takes it, but her smile is so big, Mendel wonders how he couldn’t have. She tugs a little at the ribbon, but pauses.

“Here,” she says, pulling her own package from her pocket and handing it to him. “Open mine first.”

Admittedly, Mendel’s more than a little stunned that she even thought to get him a present. Admittedly, he tears into it more than a little too quickly. Admittedly, he can’t help thinking it’s more than a little too expensive, considering they’re ‘just friends’. Admittedly, he loves it more than a little too much.

“I noticed your old watch was getting kind of worn out.” She explains.

“It’s perfect.” Mendel says, pulling the silver timepiece out of its box and attempting to fasten it to his wrist.

“Let me.” Trina says, reaching over and doing the clasp for him.

Mendel’s words come out soft and barely a whisper. “Thank you.” He paused, then, “Open yours.”

Trina tears into the paper with a reckless abandon that is quite uncharacteristic of her. She lets the paper falls to the side as she stares at the jewelry box now sitting in her lap; she looks at him a little oddly, then lifts the lid. She lets out this adorable tiny gasp at the sight of the jewelry hidden within.

“Mendel.” She breathes, delicately lifting the necklace out of the box. “They’re beautiful; they’re all beautiful—it’s too much.”

“It’s not.” Mendel dismisses her fear quickly. He doesn’t add a cheesy line about how she’s worth it, though he considers it.

Trina’s already trying to do the clasp on her necklace and place it around her neck.

“Here, let me.” Mendel says, holding his hand out for her to place the necklace in. She gives it to him, and they shift their positions so that she’s turned away from him. She lifts her dark hair to reveal her neck, and Mendel bites his lip as he fastens the necklace in place; she’s got adorable little baby hairs curled at the nape of her neck.

“There.” Mendel says softly, pulling his hands away. Trina lets her hair fall down and turns to face him again, a small smile spread across her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She says; Mendel thinks she sounds a little breathless, but he might be imagining that. He wants to kiss her. He knows that he shouldn’t. He can’t help what he wants though—“The heart wants what the heart wants”, as his mother would say—he can only refuse to act upon it. And right now? Refusing to act upon it is quite hard, especially given how pretty Trina looks, all dressed up for Hannukah, sitting in the low lights cast by holiday decorations and not much else. But he can’t kiss her, because it will make her upset; he knows it will make her upset, just as it did the last time. So he simply stares. And she stares back—blissfully unaware of what Mendel so desperately desires.

But then, Whizzer has to go and ruin the moment (or perhaps he saves it, Mendel cannot tell), with a drunken, frustrated, “Will you two get a room already?”

#my writing #ma college au #breadtortoise #falsettos secret snowmen #trindel

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shivroyslut · 7 years

Text

Polaroid Memories

So i wrote an angsty nearly 7k word Falsettos fic :) I’m pretty proud of it so hope you enjoy! :) Oh and like if you enjoyed!!

If you have Wattpad, you can read it there. I’ve added a special little chapter there. So thanks!

Context: Set after his death

Homosexuals

Women with children

Short insomniacs

We’re a teeny tiny band

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Show tunes played in the background.

Mendel, Trina, Jason, Charlotte, and Cordelia were cleaning up after the Bar Mitzvah.

Trina hummed to the music, removing the decorations pasted on the wall.

Jason did little happy dances to the rhythm, collecting whatever his mother gave him.

Mendel, completely violating psychiatrist-client confidentiality, told tales of his hopeless and crazy patients, while moving the furniture back to their original places.

Cordelia laughed uncontrollably at his stories, failing to clear the excess food in the process.

Charlotte accomplished what her girlfriend was trying so hard to do.

The two of us were laid on his death bed, hand in hand, my head rested on his shoulder and his head on my head.

For a moment, everything was picture perfect. My tight-knit family all in one room. It felt ironically happy.

That moment didn’t last.

A flat line.

Screams of a child.

Blubbers of a man.

Howls of a woman.

Sobs of another.

Whimpers of yet another.

I, however, stared ahead at nothing in particular in silence for God knows how long. Every sound around me slowly faded away. An emptiness began to grow in my heart. It felt like a hole in my heart of the shape of him that made me feel the need to wipe away non-existent tears that I wanted to form but couldn’t.

I eventually felt a soft touch on my arm and jolted back to reality. It was Charlotte. “We have to go.” I heard her say, sniffling.

I looked towards him and squeezed his hand. He was a light sleeper. Always woke up when I did as so. But this time he didn’t.

It was then I was struck. The grief surged with every expelled breath, reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by my long intakes of the damp air. Tears began to spill from my helpless eyes onto the white sheets. I pulled his lifeless, yet warm body closer. I held him tighter than I had ever done before.

Everything was supposed to be alright. We were supposed to get back together and stay together. No one was supposed to get sick. No one.

***************

August 18th, 1982. He would have turned 38. I would have attempted to make him breakfast. We would have ended up eating burnt pancakes. We would have had a party. The seven of us all gathered in this tiny apartment, singing along to show tunes, eating cake, and watching Star Wars. He would have opened his presents; a chess board from Jason, a Star Wars colouring book from Mendel(“Colouring relieves stress guys!”), a recipe book from Cordelia, the latest camera from Charlotte, a coffee-maker from Trina, and a puppy, something he had begged for for so long, from me. That night, we would have made love, for however long he wanted.

But that night, weak with grief, I lay on our empty bed. My empty bed. I searched for a hand to squeeze on the other side of the bed. I don’t know what I had expected. Tears began to roll down my face, as I tried to suppress the memories of him. The way he always beat me in every game we ever played. The way he cooked linguine. The way spoke. The way he flirted with me. The way he held my face in his hands. The way he kissed me. Oh, the way he kissed me.

I missed him.

I missed him so much.

After he passed, my life became a void. A dark void. A never ending dark void that consumed everything, so I was left feeling nothing. Empty. I couldn’t bare to pretend that everything was alright. I just felt so alone; so, so helpless.

With great effort, I pulled myself out of bed, despite the unrelenting desire to stay in bed. Since he left me a month ago, I have been feeling so much weaker. A dark thought passed me. What if I had gotten what he had?

I instantly shook it off and went to the kitchen to get a glass of milk.

As soon as I opened the fridge door, a putrid smell entered my nose. I bent over to see what was emitting the smell.

It was coming from a container of leftovers of the last ever meal he made for me.

I immediately closed the door, burying the smell and sight of the container at the back of my head. Forgetting the milk, I got ready for our routine morning jog. My routine morning jog.

I took the stairs down from the apartment on the fifth floor for my jog. But my body was starting to spiral into exhaustion. Exhaustion which prevented me from even taking another step; forget running around the block.

I sat on the bottom most stair, heaving heavily. After a few minutes, I heard footsteps from above me. I looked up to see Charlotte coming down the stairs.

“Marvin?”

“I-I think I’m sick.”

**************

The doctor drove me to the hospital. The entire journey I silently looked straight ahead while she occasionally took reassuring glances at me.

After a doctor which specialised on the newly-named AIDS had tested me, I hailed a cab back to our home. My home. Heck, it wasn’t even a home without him. Charlotte told me that she would get the, “hopefully, no definitely, favourable results” back in a few hours and that she would inform me of them back at the apartment.

I blew off work to sulk and wait at the apartment. For hours I stared at our, my, chess board, hoping somehow a pawn would move. Expectedly, no piece even inched.

The bell finally rang. I opened the door and was greeted with a tight hug. I felt my shirt becoming damp with tears. “I’m so sorry Marvin,” she whispered. I hugged her back, tears beginning to stream down my face.

*************

I broke the news to the Weisanbachfields during Friday night dinner. We were laughing about the good moments each of us had with him when Mendel said, “I miss him a lot, but at least there is still a little memory of him left with us, especially in Marvin.”

“Such as the disease,” I muttered, taking a sip of wine.

“Wh-what?” Jason stuttered.

“I’m sick.”

I received varying reactions: Trina looked at her plate in silence. Mendel looked at me with utmost sympathy. Jason fiercely swept his plate off the table causing it to crack and food to go everywhere, got up, kicked his chair away, shrieked “NO!”, stormed off to his room, and slammed the door behind him.

The three of us adults sat there in silence, listening to the faint sobs coming from the next room.

After about one uncomfortably silent minute, I got up and walked myself out.

************

About 3 am the next day, there was a ring at the door. Rubbing my eyes like a child, I opened it, only to be greeted the same way I had been earlier this week. Except this time the whisper was from a pubescent boy saying, “Don’t you dare leave me too.” I reacted the same way I did with Charlotte. After what seemed like an eternity, we broke off. He picked up his backpack which was lying by his side and entered the apartment without an invitation. “I’m staying with you until you get better. I left Mom a note.”

“Son, what if I don’t-”

“Just shut up! I’m staying with you until you get better!” he interrupted.

“Alright.”

***********

Jason only managed to stay at the apartment for three weeks. It was a Saturday evening and we were playing our weekly game of chess.

“Checkmate!” I said, giving him a cheeky smile. He made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth. Being this close to beating Jason was like getting a hole in one with no experience whatsoever at golf. The last time I won a chess game with him was over a year ago.

Jason rested his head on his palm, thinking of a way to get out of the sticky situation. Feeling a little light headed, I got up to get a glass of water.

The last thing I remember was hitting the cold, hard marble floor.

**********

I woke up in a hospital bed, in hospital clothes which exposed my ass, the right side of my head numb. I looked around the empty room. It was the one he died in. Although, this time it had another bed across the room, with a chess board on it. I smiled weakly.

At that moment, Jason walked in.

“Hey! You’re awake!”

“Hey, kid. How long was I out?

"Two hours or so. If you’re feeling okay, do you want to continue our game? I figured out my winning move.”

“Sure,” I said, struggling to pull myself up so that I was seated on the bed. Jason got onto my bed and put the chess board between us. Within five moves between us, he managed to win.

“HA!” he exclaimed, knocking my King off the board.

“Congrats kid,” I said, as someone knocked on the door.

It was the doctor who had diagnosed me.

“Sir, may I come in?”

Jason looked gravely towards me. “Sure,” I said, trying to dismiss the giant lump growing in my throat.

The doctor walked in and turned towards Jason. “Kid, you might want to leave the room.”

“I’m staying here.”

“Okay…” he said, turning his attention to me. I nodded. “Unfortunately, I come bearing some depressing news.”

“How long?” I asked, voice breaking, already knowing what the news was.

“About two months. More if you’re lucky.”

Jason threw the chess board at the doctor, who merely flinched.

“NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS! YOU CAN’T. You-you just can’t.” Jason bawled. I pulled him towards me.

He sobbed into my chest unceasingly, hands clutching at the thin piece of hospital dress draped over me. I held him in silence, rocking him slowly as his tears soaked my chest.

“Hey, hey,” I said, resting my chin upon his head and gently rubbing his back.

Once the doctor had quietly retrieved from the room, I let the tears roll down my cheeks and soak Jason’s hair.

“Everything is not alright,” he whimpered.

“I am so sorry, son,” I murmured, holding him tighter. We sat there in silence, our never-ending flow of tears soaking the bed and our clothes.

After a while, Jason fell asleep in my arms. I lay him down on my bed and attempted to fall asleep too. However, I just ended up staring at the ceiling until morning, while Jason remained sound asleep, an arm and a leg wrapped around me the entire time. That night was a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts. My days were limited. I didn’t want to leave my son. To leave Trina. To leave Charlotte. Cordelia. Mendel. But at the same time, I didn’t want to live in a world without him. It wasn’t like I had a choice anyways. Like he said, we all gotta die sometime.

*********

Early the next morning, I heard another knock on the door. It was Charlotte and Cordelia. I assumed that they had already found out about the tragic news.

“If it’s a bad time, we’ll come back,” Charlotte said.

I smiled in their direction.

“We’ll come in.” Cordelia replied, “I’ve brought some hors d'oeuvres too! They were his favourites. I think.”

I graciously smiled, hesitantly accepting the container appetisers, careful not to actually eat it.

Cordelia got into bed with us, so that I was sandwiched between Jason and her, while Charlotte stood by her.

“How are you feeling?” Charlotte asked.

“Terrible.”

“Naturally.”

“Oh c'mon let’s not talk about that! Here! Have a bite!” She took a piece out of the container and force fed me, despite my obvious resistant.

“Holy shit! This is amazing!” I said, savouring the bite. She’s a good cook, but Jewish food has always been her Achilles heel.

“Right! She has been getting really good! Her Jewish food taste like heaven now!” Charlotte said proudly. Her girlfriend blushed.

“Speaking of heaven, I guess the only good part of this affair is that I’ll get to see him again soon,” I muttered.

“Oh please,” Charlotte snorted. “There is no way in hell you guys will end up there. I have literally walked in on you guys fucking on the floor. Several times, I should add. Definitely, shouldn’t have given us keys.”

“Touché.” I cackled too loudly, causing Jason to stir awake.

“Oh, hey guys,” he yawned, sitting himself up and rubbing his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” we said in unison.

Jason rolled his eyes before giving me a confused look. “Dad, are you having hors d'oeuvres for breakfast?”

“No…” I said, popping a small piece into my mouth.

Jason rolled his eyes before taking a piece.

********

Mendel came over one weekday. His clients were making him feel depressed he said.

We sat there in awkward, meaningless silence for a while. The only sound was of whatshername on Good Morning America. The last Mendel and I had talked were at that memorable Friday night dinner.

“So Marvin,” he broke the silence and reduced the volume of the television. “How are y-”

“I do not need a therapy session, Mendel.” I interrupted.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“I do in fact,” I muttered, snatching the remote and turning the volume up.

He took back the remote and turned off the television. “Marvin, you won’t even utter his name. You flinch whenever someone even mentions him.”

“I do not!”

“Oh really?”

“I don’t!”

“Whi-”

I flinched.

“See!” Mendel said as if he had won the lottery.

“I don’t have to talk about him.”

“Yes, you do Marvin. I’m not trying to mock you. If you want to get over him, you do have to talk to someone.”

“I don’t want to get over him.”

“Marvin, you have to eventually.”

“You seem to be forgetting that I’m literally on my death bed right now,” I said, patting the bed we were both seated on. “I don’t have to and I don’t want to talk about him. I’m not ready, and I’ll never have to be ready. Can you please just turn on the television?”

“Fine. Have it your way. I was just trying to help.” Mendel murmured, showing defeat. He turned on the television.

“Mendel?” I whispered, turning the volume down again.

“Yea?”

“Do yo really eat dirt?”

“Marvin, why on Earth would I eat dirt?”

“But, Trina saw you!”

“Oh please, I just accidentally put a heavy box on top of a bag of Oreos. And I didn’t want to waste them. You don’t honestly think I eat dirt, right?”

“No…”

“Exactly,” he smirked, turning it back up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged.

“Mendel! That’s gross!”

“What’s so gross about Oreos?” he mocked, smirk still plastered on his face.

“Oh forget it,” I said, looking away from him in disgust. “For Trina’s sake, I hope you’re telling the truth.”

He laughed.

*******

A few depressingly monotonous days of chess, math homework, Good Morning America, and mental breakdowns passed. Cordelia came over while Jason was at school with a box of my belongings.

“Hey, sweety. Got some stuff from your apartment. I brought some of your favourite books and movies in case you felt bored. I also made you some French toast.” she said, putting the box by the bed. She handed me a container of French toast.

“Thank you,” I said, opening the container and taking a bite of bread.

“Oh, there was also this terrible stench filling your apartment. It was of leftovers in your fridge. I threw them out. Oh and I’ve been thinking of opening a cooking studi-”

I dropped the container on my lap. “You what!” I snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Cordelia! Those leftovers were the last thing he ever made for me! You can’t just go to our-my-the apartment and throw away whatever you feel like throwing! Why can’t everyone just stop reminding me of him! You can’t just go through my things! You-you-you-” I burst out in tears as I let all of my suppressed rage go. Cordelia quietly got into bed next to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered.

“No, I’m sorry, I sho-shouldn’t have yelled at you. You were jus-you were just trying to help. I-I just miss him.” I murmured, in between sobs.

“I know.” Cordelia pulled me close to her. I rested my head on her shoulder and closed my eyes, trying to recall how exactly his linguine tasted. I couldn’t.

******

“Your move,” Jason said, giving me a cheeky grin. It was clearly his game, like always. That boy never got tired of winning. A trait he had unfortunately gotten from me.

I moved a knight. Two squares in front and one to the side. He made a ticking sound with his tongue. “Whi- he wouldn’t have made that move.”

I flinched. “No, he wouldn’t have,” I sighed. “Hey, uhm, so, do you know how we broke up all those years ago?”

“No.”

“I was teaching him how to play,” I smiled. “He couldn’t even differentiate between the queen and a pawn. He asked me to let him win and I initially did. But later on, I realised that I wanted to beat him so bad for once so I tried to get back at him. But he beat me in the end. He wasn’t even trying. And he beat me.”

“He never lost anything ever, did he? I mean other than chess with me.”

“No, he never did, before he got sick that was. But back then, I didn’t realise what an honour it was to lose to him. I was just so obsessed with winning. I hated losing to him so much. I just wanted to feel accomplished at something for once in my life. So when he won at something I, with my zillion years of chess experience, could have easily won, everything just fell apart. Every one of his flaws just suddenly hit me. I was so mad. I was beaten at chess by a friggin newbie. A game at which I’ve only ever be beaten by my son. I mean, you’re unbeatable.”

“You’re not wrong…” he smirked.

“Anyways, I grabbed his suitcase from our room and just threw it at him. He left the next day. I was already deeply regretting ever even thinking about breaking up with him. The next I ever saw him was at your mom’s and Mendel’s wedding three months later. The entire time I just wanted to fall at his feet and beg him to take me back. But something stopped me. My heart was screaming to be taken back but my mind wouldn’t listen. The entire wedding passed with us not even uttering a single word to one another. When I saw him at your baseball game, I knew it was my final chance to win him over again. And to think about it, the only reason he won was because I had initially let him win.”

“You broke up with him because you let him win?”

“Stupid isn’t it?”

“Yea, very.”

“Well, if you hadn’t hit that ball he wouldn’t have thought anything was possible. He wouldn’t have gotten back together with me.”

“Well, if he hadn’t taught me how to hit, I’d have never hit the ball. He did a better job at coaching in one minute than my coach did in two seasons. Say, did he ever tell you about when I had invited him to the baseball game?”

“No, he said it was a secret you wanted to keep. And we all know that he was always one to keep others’ secrets.”

“If you promise not to tell Mom… I’ll let you in on it.”

“Wow, being so close to death really makes everyone tell you their secrets.” I laughed.

Jason looked at me gravely.

“Sorry,” I said. He didn’t exactly like me mentioning death around him.

“Don’t tell Mom this but I’m not exactly in my school’s chess club…”

“Wait, what? Where the hell have you been going to after school all these years? You’re not in any gangs, are you?” I blurted out.

“Oh my gosh, Dad, no! I’m not in any gangs!” Jason jumped, nearly pushing the chess board off the bed. “There’s just this really good chess club with people who can actually play chess near his old apartment. He would occasionally come over and we would play together. That’s why he was suddenly all better at chess when you got back together. That’s how I invited him to the baseball game. Can’t believe he really didn’t tell you about this.”

“Well, he was perfect in that way. He never wanted to, and would never break a promise. And to think about how many times I’ve broken promises to him…”

“Oh come on, Dad. He loved you.”

I sighed. “He always did.”

“You know, I hated every other man brought home, simply because they weren’t him. No one took pictures as well as him. No one cooked as well as him. No one played sports as well as him. No one played chess as well as him. No one cared for me as well as he did, no offence to you, mom, and Mendel. No one could do so many other things as well as he could. Dad, he was so perfect.” Jason said, desperately trying to hold back tears.

“He was,” I said, pushing the chess board away and pulling him towards my chest. “He was so perfect. Except for his bald spot, everything else about him was unusually perfect.”

“Hey, it’s not like you’ve got a full set of hair!” he said, lifting his head off my chest and wiping away the tears which had formed in his eyes.

“I mean, he was bald first.” I snickered.

Jason smiled. “I miss him.”

“I miss him too, kid. I miss him too.”

*****

“Jason’s at school. Mendel’s at work making some depressed bastard well. Cordelia is catering at an adult party. And Charlotte is somewhere in this place doing whatever a doctor does. Oh, and the dog finally passed. I could use the company, and I guess you could too. You look awful, by the way.” Trina said, standing by the doorway, a drinking flask in hand.

“Well, I’ve spent the entire morning reading Jason’s Spider-Man comics, and we all know I’m not one for them,” I smiled. “So Useless died, huh.”

“Yea, it got hit by a bus!” Trina said too excitedly, walking in and plopping herself onto the bed. I put the book away.

“I brought you some tea. Earl Grey,” she said, handing me the flask.

I graciously accepted it and took a sip of tea. “His favourite,” I said, savouring the flavour.

“He put boxes of tea bags in my apartment so that whenever you two came over, he could have some.”

“He was obsessed with tea.”

“He was…” Trina sighed. “I liked him a lot, you know. I wanted to hate him so badly for taking you away from me. But I couldn’t. He was the nicest, sweetest, and most lovable enemy I ever had.”

“He made it impossible for anyone to hate him. Even when we broke up, I didn’t hate him. Not once ever. No matter how many times I told him so.”

“You guys always loved each other. It just took a break up and two years for you guys to figure it out.”

“Yea it did. I left you for him. I left Jason for him. And all he wanted was sex and money.”

“And what did you want?”

“Well, I wanted the idea of you in him. I wanted him to be the housewife you were. I thought I loved you. I thought that was the only way I could show love towards him. But I was wrong. I didn’t love you. I didn’t understand that to show love to him I shouldn’t restrict him to how I wanted him to be. It took me two years to fully comprehend that.”

“You guys used to fight a lot.”

“Fighting was a foreplay, for all the sex he wanted. He thought love was about sex. It took him two years to comprehend that it wasn’t.”

“The relationship you left ours for was really unhealthy.”

“It was. But so was ours. We didn’t love each other.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“But now you’ve got a wonderful husband who loves you and who you love dearly.”

“I do.” She laughed. “I got together with the love of mine. The handsome, smart, dirt-eating, and kind of problematic love of mine. You got together with the love of yours. The incredibly good looking, talented, tea obsessed love of yours.”

“I’m forgetting him you know. Memories I’ve wanted to last forever and ever just fading away.”

“Oh c'mon Marvin. It’s not like you’ve an eidetic memory! Don’t beat yourself up about that.”

I sighed. “At least I’m dying soon. I’ll leave with some memories left of him. Too bad I could only be in that happy and healthy relationship for only a year before he was taken away from me.”

“Oh come on. You have a happy and healthy relationship with Jason! And one with Charlotte and Cordelia! You grew one with Mendel! Despite you being incredibly jealous of him initially. And we don’t hate each other’s guts anymore.”

“No, we don’t”

“He may not be here anymore but you still have us.”

“I do,” I said, a small smile appearing on my face.

“I was crushed when you left me, you know,” Trina said, letting her head fall on my shoulder.

“I know.”

“But it was the best thing to ever happen to us.”

“It was.”

“Jason met his best friend.”

“Yea he did. Our son literally trusted him more than he did us.”

“Those two really connected. He was the reason why our son has turned into a sensible young man. Hey, you might not know this since I asked him not to tell you but we used to have coffee together some days while you two were separated.”

“What! First Jason, now you! Did he know the lesbians before I even introduced them to him?”

Trina laughed. “The only reason we met up was because I followed Jason downtown once.”

“Wait, you knew about his other chess club?”

“Of course I did! The school called me saying that Jason hadn’t shown up to almost every chess, so naturally, I drove after the bus Jason was in. And there he was, in a park, playing chess with our son.”

“You stalked our son and he didn’t know. Huh. I’d thought between the six of us he would have been brighter.”

“He has six parents, not six parents who are actually capable of parenting.”

“Fair point.”

“He may not be so bright, but at least he’s friggin brilliant.”

“Yes, yes he is.”

“Anyways after Jason left the park I confronted Whi-him. He said he saw Jason at the park playing chess with 20-year-old nerds. I mean, he missed Jason. Maybe even more than he missed you. So he ended up joining that chess club so he could spend time with him.”

“How did this end up with you two having occasional coffee together?”

“You may not believe this, but we both missed each other too!”

“You two? I thought you hated him.”

“Please, I only hated him initially. Anyways, after confronting him he asked if I wanted to join him for coffee to catch up with each other. I agreed and somehow that led to us meeting up almost every week.”

“But-but at the baseball game you weren’t too pleased with him for being there!”

“Of course I wasn’t! I didn’t invite him! Jason did!”

“But you were so against us being back together!”

“Yes! I wanted you to suffer like how you made me suffer when we got divorced!”

“Oh.”

“I wanted him to be happy. He was such a sweet and lovable guy. He respected me more than any man ever did. More than you. More than Mendel even. I was upset because I didn’t want you to be in a relationship with someone like him. I wanted you to feel hurt like how I felt.”

“Well, ouch.”

“I took way too long to forgive you. But then I realised that he was happy with you. And my want for him to be happy outweighed my want of you to be lonely. So I forgave you.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” I laughed.

“I miss him so much, Marvin.” she sighed.

“So do I, Trina. So do I.” I replied.

****

I was left all alone when Jason was at school the following day, tired of watching the minute hand making rounds around the clock. My life from then on was four walls and pain medication until I died. Perhaps if I screamed and screamed for pain medication I could have gotten an overdose and slid into the arms of Death. Like he used to say, maybe Death would have welcomed me into his arms, telling me to embrace his attack before it all turns black.

But instead of yelling at the nurses to numb the pain surging through my body, I took out the box Cordelia gave me, searching the bottom for anything more distracting from the pain than the documentary on penguins on tv. I grabbed the bottom-most thing my fingers touched.

A tape.

One I don’t remember owning at all.

It was labelled, 'For Marvin…’, in his handwriting.

I pushed myself off the bed to get Jason’s Walkman. I put the tape in and let it roll. And through the headphones, I heard his voice, for the first time in three months. I closed my eyes to take it all in.

“Hey Marvin, it’s me. Surprise! Well, if you’re listening to this, I’m probably dead. I gave this to Cordelia to give to you after I, well, kick the bucket. Killed by a godforsaken illness. Not even hit by a van, a friggin painful illness.

"Well, you’re probably mourning me right now. I mean of course you are, you love me. And I loved you. 'loved’ because I’m dead right now. Okay, I need to stop making jokes about death. Well, at least death means I’ll never be scared about dying again.

"Anyways, I made this mixtape for you! It has all of our favourites. Hope you like it. I put all of my dying effort into it. Okay, I’m sorry.

"Before the first song starts, I just want to say how gosh darn much I appreciate you. You’ve always been there for me, Marvin. Even when we broke up, you were alway in my head, in my heart. I love beating you at everything, cooking for you, holding you, kissing you, having great, well almost great, sex with you, I loved being with you. We probably didn’t realise this two years ago but we completed each other. We fit just nice. We fit.

"Marvin, even if there is no afterlife, I will miss you. If I could trade anything to just be with you for a few more years, heck even months or weeks or days or hours or minutes more, you know I would. And I know you would too.

"I know I’m dying, or well, dead by the time you get this, but Marvin, we’ve lived. No matter how short our lives were together, we lived. And now I have to go.

"I hope you enjoy this little mixtape. I love you, Marvin Feldman…”

I slowly opened my tearful eyes as Mr. Blue Sky by Electric Light Orchestra started playing.

I looked at the ring I was wearing on my finger. This was the song that was playing on the radio when he proposed about four months ago, in this very room. Gosh, I missed him so fucking much.

Jason came in halfway through the final song.

“Hey, Dad! What are you doing with my Walkman? Are you crying? Is everything okay?”

I wiped away my tears. “Yea, everything is okay.”

“You sure?” he said, hugging me.

“With you here? Of course.”

***

October 20th, 1982. I was woken by the sound of someone blowing a party horn into my ear.

“Geez, Mendel! I’m literally dying!” I yelled, sitting upright. By my bed stood Jason, Mendel, Trina, Charlotte, and Cordelia, all in party hats.

“Happy Birthday!” they cheered. Jason threw confetti at me.

“You guys…, you shouldn’t have!” I said, brushing off the confetti on me.

“Oh come on Marvin, after everything, the least you deserve is a birthday party!” Trina exclaimed, before putting a party hat on me.

“Did you guys literally decorate the place while I was asleep? I was that knocked out, huh.” I said, eyes wandering around the room, and hands fidgeting with the hat. “Wait, are those…”

“Yup. I found like three shoeboxes full of polaroids he took while collecting your stuff. One just contained way too many polaroids of you. We thought you’d like it if we decorated the room with all of them. I mean there’s enough of them to fill three entire walls.” Cordelia said.

“He took pictures of me naked while I slept…”

“Apparently so.” she replied.

“Why the fuck is Astro the dog on my penis?”

“Well, Jason said he didn’t want the Jetsons stickers he had. Plus, we couldn’t think of a better way to censor you.” Trina chimed in.

“Let’s make it clear that I would not have said that if I had known what they were going to be used for.” Jason defended himself.

“Guys, I really truly appreciate this. You don’t know how much. Thank you so so much.”

“You deserve this,” Mendel said putting the horn in his mouth.

“I swear to God, if you blow that one more time I will punch you right in the face, I don’t care how weak I am.”

He slowly put the horn away.

“Oh, presents!” Jason piped, grabbing a nicely wrapped box from under the bed. “Open it! It’s from all of us!”

“Wow, you really shouldn’t have…” I said, keenly unwrapping the box.

A puppy.

“His name,” Mendel said, knowing my trigger word.

“His name,” I replied, taking the puppy out of the box, placing it on my lap and tickling its belly. “Thank you guys so much. He would have loved this little guy.”

“We know,” Jason said, taking the puppy from me and holding it closed to my face. It started licking me.

“Jason! Hey!” I giggled, taking the puppy away from him and wiping the saliva off my face. Everyone laughed.

“Who’s taking him when I go upstairs.”

“Oh please, upstairs? Like you’ll end up there!” Trina blurted. “I’ve literally walked in on you guys having sex so many times!”

“Ew! Mom!” Jason said, pretending to throw up.

“That’s exactly what I said!” Charlotte piped in, ignoring Jason’s act of disgust. “Like why they ever trusted us with keys, I won’t know!”

“I know right!” Trina responded.

“Oh my God! It’s staying with us okay!” Jason cried.

“Really, just a few weeks after Useless ran away? Don’t you guys need more time to grieve.”

“We’ve had enough time grieving while having to tend to Useless every time he needed a hand to hold as he shat,” Mendel said. Cordelia burst into laughter. We stared at her.

“No, not funny? Okay.” She stifled her laughter. Charlotte wrapped her arm around her.

“You guys are honestly the best dysfunctional family a man could ever ask for,” I said, holding back my tears.

“Well, that’s on irony.” Mendel laughed, trying to make the atmosphere light-hearted.

“No, but seriously, I don’t know what I would have done without you guys.”

“Marvin…” Mendel said.

“Trina, I’m so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you. I’m so very sorry.”

“It’s okay Marvin. I forgive you.”

“Thank you Trina, but I don’t deserve your forgiveness after everything which has happened.”

“Marvin…” she cried.

“Mendel.”

“Marvin.” he said, voice cracking.

“I never really thought of you as a good psychiatrist.”

“I get that a lot.”

“But, you were honestly the best there is.”

“Well, that’s new.”

“You kept this family from breaking apart.”

“Marvin…”

“Promise me you’ll take care of Trina and Jason?”

“Marvin…”

“Promise me that.”

“I promise.”

“Jason.”

“Okay.”

“I’m so very proud of you.”

“Okay.”

“Take care of this little guy, okay?” I said, picking the yapping dog from my lap and handing it to him.“

"Okay.”

“I love you so much, son.”

“Okay.”

“Charlotte, Cordelia.”

“Marvin.” they said together.

“You guys have been the best of friends anyone could have asked for. You guys have always been there whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on. You guys have helped me come to my senses on so many occasions. I doubt I would have made it this far if not for both of you.”

Two of them smiled.

“Cordelia, please continue to bless this world with your amazing food.”

“Oh come on, my food isn’t that good…” She said, offering me some Gefiltah fish.

“Sorry but I haven’t been able to eat solids for days.”

“Oh.” She said closing the container.

“It’s fine. And you can have my apartment for that cooking studio you wanted.”

“Really?” She said excitedly.

“Yea. I would love for you to have it.”

“Charlotte, continue to save lives, like what you’ve done for mine. You’ve been so kind to me. You and Cordelia helped me out so much when I first broke up with him. I don’t know what I would have done without you two.”

“Oh fuck you Marvin.” the doctor cursed. “Give me a hug.”

“Me too.” the rest of the adults said in unison.

The four of them gave me a group hug as Jason sat silently on the bed, gazing off into space. I took hold of his hand.

“I love you guys so much,” I whispered, holding back tears.

My party, spent with the others coming close to finishing all the food Cordelia made, sharing limitless good memories with each other, and playing some of Jason’s board games, ended up going on until late at night.

By 11 pm, everyone else was fast asleep. Trina and Mendel on the chairs by my right, Cordelia and Charlotte cuddling on the chair to my left, and Jason next to me on my bed.

I, however, was still awake, my body getting weaker and weaker every second that passed. It felt as if death was already in the room, choking me tighter and tighter. I started to breathe faster, hoping he would loosen his grip. But the more breaths I took, the firmer his clutch become.

After a few minutes of fighting him, I let him take over, knowing that time was up.

I lightly squeezed Jason’s hand. He woke up.

“Hey,” I weakly whispered.

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

“You’ve made me so proud, you know that? So fucking proud.”

“Dad…”

“You’re gonna grow up to be someone so damn amazing.”

“Dad…”

“I’m so sorry Jason.”

“Dad!” he yelled, causing everyone to wake up.

“Marvin, you okay?” I heard Charlotte ask.

“I love you so much, Jason.”

“I love you too Dad, please don’t go.”

“Marvin…” Mendel said softly, putting his hand on my shoulder

“Take care of the puppy for me ok?”

“Dad no…”

“Marvin please…” Trina whimpered.

“I love you, Jason. I love all of you guys.” I said, looking around at all the despondent faces the room. I cupped Jason’s face with my hand and kissed his forehead.

“Dad, please don’t do this. I love you! Stay for just one hour more, please. One hour more.” Jason whined, tears forming in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“One hour more. Please, Dad! Don’t leave me.”

“Jason, everything will be alright,” I whispered, before turning myself to face the ceiling. I let the excruciating pain throughout my body drain out the cries as I braved myself for the darkness to come.

White.

Pure, blinding white.

Pure, blinding, endless white.

Contrary to the current situation, I felt so much more alive than I had in months.

I looked down at my clothes. My favourite suit, not an uncomfortably revealing gown.

“Marvin.” I heard a familiar voice call.

I looked up. There he was. In his favourite suit. Looking as handsome as I could remember.

“Whizzer.” His name fell out of my mouth almost instantly.

“Long time huh.”

“Too long.”

“I missed you so much.”

“I-I was forgetting you. I was forgetting memories of us. I was forgetting so much.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t?”

“Who the hell forgets me? I’m super unforgettable!”

I grinned widely. “You’re- You’re here. In front of me. Flesh and bones!”

“I’m pretty sure we’re dead souls. I highly doubt that souls have flesh and bones.”

“I-I mean, I guess? So, uh, are we in heaven? Cause all of our friends are convinced that we would’ve ended up down there.”

“Uhm, not really…” he said, reaching out his hand. “Come, I’ll show you.”

I hesitated. I haven’t touched him in so long. I’ve forgotten what he even felt like.

“You trust me, right Marvin.”

“Whizzer, you know I do,” I said, taking his hand his hand, his soft touch sending tingling feelings down my body.

He grinned, before pulling me along.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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I’M NOT SURE what to call Patricia Hampl’s The Art of the Wasted Day. Though the tone is retrospective in a memoiristic way, it’s not quite a memoir — there are too many ideas on the table. It feels more like a book-length essay, one that reflects on the form as it chases the spirit of the form’s father, Michel de Montaigne. But that is only one of its many pursuits. Anecdotal and associative, thoughtful without the usual posturing of thoughtfulness, the work attains a meditative momentum that very nearly overrides the bereavement at its heart.

Categories are a special curse for the writer of personal nonfiction, as Hampl knows well. She is a veteran practitioner of this shape-shifting genre. Her Blue Arabesque took its departure from her fascination with a painting and escaped ready labels; The Florist’s Daughter was a family portrait rendered slant through memories of the family business. And late in The Art of the Wasted Day, an extended meditation on leisure and the cultivation of inwardness, she reacts to a novel by writer Gustaf Sobin, announcing: “[T]here was too much magical realism for me, I suppose, or maybe I was becoming allergic to widow books, determined never to write one. Though — look at me.”

It is a tricky moment, a literary “tell,” conveying both Hampl’s determination to avoid and the countering impetus. The Art of the Wasted Day is not a widow book, even as the ghostly subnarrative, start to finish, is the recent death of her husband. That her sadness at the loss is felt throughout illustrates the paradox of restraint — how reticence, handled artfully, can resonate an emotion as fully as any direct expression. In the narrative, Hampl moves from place to place, pursuing her themes — solitude, writing, self-communion — but then every so often she will, figuratively speaking, turn to her absent partner with some remark. The effect is of an intensified intimacy; it is at once sorrowful and affirming. Even in absence she keeps his immediacy.

The Art of the Wasted Day is aptly and cunningly titled — aptly because the subject matter has to do with contemplative leisure (hence Montaigne), and cunningly because the phrase is a preempting of certain expectations. No one would expect such a book to move with logical agenda or, necessarily, come to a definite conclusion. It claims for itself the province of idleness and daydreaming, has as its aim the savoring of the passing moment.

Indeed, Hampl begins the book with a brief prelude in which she introduces the figure of Montaigne and sets the key signature for what is to follow. She writes, concluding her description: “He divined early the value of being sluggish, lax, drowsy […] He was not, as people now say, the first modern skeptic. He was the first modern daydreamer.”

From here she proceeds directly to her first section, “Timelessness,” in which she narrates a few scenes from her girlhood through the lens of her theme. She begins by remembering her neighbor, a Mr. Kinney, who liked to sit on his porch before dinner, sipping whiskey. He is the first of Hampl’s many contemplative dreamer avatars. But Mr. Kinney also has a housekeeper, his opposite number, and she takes Hampl’s measure straightaway: “She recognizes me […] for what I am: her natural enemy. A girl up to no good, lazing my days away, conducting music no one else hears. A time-waster. A daydreamer.”

That word again — it signifies. When Hampl is preparing to make her First Confession, the Sister at her Catholic school gives her the Baltimore Catechism to study, and there, among the listed sins, “shockingly, without explanation,” she finds daydreaming.

“I’m thunderstruck,” she writes.

Yet also oddly confirmed. A faint bell chimes within — of course the imagination is up to no good. You know that, you were born knowing that. It’s the real, the true occasion of sin. […] But connected to everything, conducting the unheard harmony that is the truest music. The sweetness of it. […] You possess everything that passes through the mind. It’s divinity. That must be the sweetness.

But connected to everything … Hampl is here laying the groundwork for her aesthetic, the life of writing as she will practice it. And as her rambling account, her flânerie, unfolds, she presents an array of scenes that together offer a nuanced apologia for the alternative life — the life in which being trumps doing and the apprehension and appreciation of our fleeting existence is the sovereign good.

Loose and associative though its agenda may be, a work like this still needs a certain structure. The Art of the Wasted Day is set up as a series of self-assigned exploratory travels, and though it is not billed as any sort of travelogue, the reader does eventually realize that nearly all of the “action” happens while Hampl is away from her native St. Paul. This accords perfectly with her reflective subject matter. Travel, for a sensibility like Hampl’s, is a state of heightened noticing and reflection. Escaped from habit, forced to navigate new circumstance and to interact with strangers, the writer takes nothing for granted. She finds her way forward, improvising, carrying on much like the essayist who writes to find out what she really thinks.

Hampl’s first destination is in Llangollen, Wales, where she looks to gather impressions and lore about two women, Sarah Ponsonby and Eleanor Butler, who in the late 1800s escaped Ireland and set up housekeeping together in that village. Their plan, which they fulfilled during their long lives together, was to create a routine of activities — reading and study, writing, gardening — in order to wrest from their days a maximum of self-directed pleasure. They had means, and shared the ambition. A newspaper article written a few years after they settled there bore the headline “Extraordinary Female Affection.” Writes Hampl: “The implication was clear: they were Sapphists.” But they were left alone to tend their lives. “Life lived, life described, the bits and pieces of the day collected, vignette by vignette. And thus, life affirmed. More than enough.”

Just as interesting as the description of the ladies’ life at Llangollen is Hampl’s counterpoint detailing of her days in the village, her various errands and interactions, her observations, her reading of Colette as she eats alone in the inn. Here is the beauty of the form — that it can accommodate her own daily notations, and at key moments convey the sense of the present merging with the past:

I feel slightly elderly — or possibly I feel stately, moving forward with my walking stick, a woman of means surveying my domain. I’m headed toward the nature walk the Ladies loved, the “Home Circuit,” what still exists of it, running along the Cuffleyman that rushes and burbles over the stones Eleanor often described in her journal as she did on a fine day in April 1788. The Ladies have taken their books into the garden, rising at six to an “enchanting morning.” Their morning reading is Sterne. Wonderful to think of them reading Tristram Shandy, a novel that is a meandering bunch of narrative snippets and essays. Another writer belonging, if more narratively, to Montaigne’s tribe.

The trip to Wales is followed by a section in which Hampl goes to Czechoslovakia, the ancestral home, where she follows the trail of the monk Gregor Mendel, another practitioner of orderly devotions. Mendel spent decades tending pea plants in the garden of his abbey, carrying out the studies that eventually led him to one of the great discoveries of science: the principles of genetic inheritance. “What I saw in his charting,” writes Hampl, “was clear evidence not of genetic theory, but of patience, tenderness […] Care and tending, the pacific life of gardening, the Edenic assignment that predated laboring ‘by the sweat of your brow.’” Here it is again, the counter to the ethos of industry, the celebration of the contemplative way. It is a fitting approach to her main exemplar, Montaigne.

Montaigne, the 16th-century humanist philosopher who lived and died in Bordeaux, served for a time as the mayor of that city, but retired in midlife to a tower room on his estate and lived out his days writing the essays that established him as the father of the genre. Montaigne was not writing to argue any point, unless that point was the ongoing exploration of the self. For Hampl, he holds a double appeal. There is his celebrated withdrawal from the ruckus of human affairs to study and write, and then there is what he wrote. Essays. Such a wealth of implication in the word itself. An essay is a venture, an attempt. It proposes not the Q.E.D. of arrival but ongoingness, forward motion.

The second half of the book, while loosely structured for digressive latitude, gradually gathers shape around these themes of Montaigne and the contemplative essay. Hampl is in France, on a literal pilgrimage, one that will ultimately lead her to Montaigne’s tower in Bordeaux. Her approach is unhurried — how else to stalk the master meanderer? — and allows her a number of side-road reflections on writing. These musings reveal the heart of Hampl’s own practice even as they shed generous light on Montaigne and the genre as a whole.

Thinking back, for example, on the lock-and-key leatherette diary she kept as a girl, which she calls “a book that was a room to live in alone,” Hampl explains how that writing was a practice of attention, which she regarded even then as a truth different from what was purveyed to her in religion class. It was not dogma.

This other truth was fluid, the mote in the eye, the sniff of the nose, the stroke of the hand reaching out. It was the truth of noticing, the patchwork of reality. It had no superstructure, no organization. Its order was the integrity of the eye, moving over chaos, but repudiating chaos by the fact of its attention.

That last phrase, repudiating chaos by the fact of its attention, gets us very close to the heart of the essayist’s — and artist’s — impulse.

A few pages later, Hampl takes up the decidedly unsexy business of tinkering, the endless-seeming process of trying to get it all right on the page. “Montaigne called what he was doing ‘meddling with writing,’” she observes,

as if it were impossible simply to latch onto a subject, write it for God’s sake, and be done with it. He discovered that the act of writing gets all tangled up with what is supposed to be “the subject.” Writing becomes the subject, or becomes part of the subject.

And, recalling how the writer J. F. Powers claimed to have spent the morning “trying to decide whether to have my character call his friend pal or chum,” she asserts that “whatever truth writing lays claim to resides in a passion for just such mad micro-distinctions.”

Hampl enfolds many of her observations about writing in her meandering account of her pilgrimage to Montaigne’s Bordeaux. One thing triggers another — that’s how it is with the essay. Looking back at her own evolution as an essayist, she pauses to reflect on Nabokov:

Perhaps only someone as thoroughly divested of his paradise as Nabokov had been of his boyhood Russia, his native language, and all his beloved associations and privileged expectations could enshrine the detail, the fragment, as the god of his literary religion, could trust the truths to be found in the DNA of detail, attentively rendered in ardent description. The dutiful observation that is the yeoman’s work of description finally ascended, as Nabokov demonstrated, to the transcendent reality of literature — to metaphor.

A reader could easily speed through these sentences, carried along by the sway of the language, but they repay a closer attention. That “DNA of detail,” and the exhilarating suggestion that the precise capture of a subject can render it transcendent — these are insights that can only come after long apprenticeship, and their meanings deepen with contemplation.

Hampl herself is herself a canny deployer of detail, with a developed instinct for strategic placement, for of course a detail is always a detail in context. If the writer has worked things right, and not too consciously, she can get a seemingly peripheral observation or moment to resonate the greater reality of what she is narrating. At such moments we experience a kind of “un-staging” — a feeling that we have gotten in behind the writerly orchestration — even if the effect itself has been subtly orchestrated.

A case in point is her focus on the shoe. Long after I have forgotten much of what happens in this book, I know I will remember this one detail. It is for me the axis of the book, and retrospectively everything else gathers around it, like the wilderness around Wallace Stevens’s famous jar in Tennessee. Writes Hampl:

When you come upon the statue of Montaigne in Paris, you find him amid overgrown greenery in the Carré Paul-Painlevé, across from the main approach to the Sorbonne on the rue des Écoles. He’s sequestered in the bushes, as if in bronze he preferred the margin he chose in life. The first thing you notice is his shoe. Even at night, the shoe emerges clearly, golden against the dusky bronze of his casually seated figure, cross-legged, bending forward as if to catch what you might be saying there on the sidewalk.

Hampl’s first “contact” with the great Montaigne may be the most vivid. This has everything to do with the specificity of the sighting and the mini-narrative she spins around it. She is here remembering being in Paris some years before with her husband. It’s evening and they are hurrying through the rain to get to a restaurant when she spots it. Of course they have to stop. “Out with the iPhone. Snap snap, “ she writes. “Got the shoe. Didn’t, couldn’t quite, get the face.”

But then:

You were patient, standing there in the dripping cold, holding the black umbrella over me as I got the shoe, tried for the face. Only now I see you were glad to pause in the rain, glad not to keep up the pace. It was the beginning of slowing down, the beginning of your bum ticker deciding things, the beat slowing, slower. Stopped, finally. But we didn’t think that then — or I didn’t.

This is lightest of touches here, but it gathers reverberating power as we read on about the more recent road trip to Bordeaux, the pilgrimage, which she is making with a friend. Her traveling impressions are wonderfully sensory, as when she describes having dinner in a country house where they have lodged for the night: “Candles, the rest of the wine, chicken unctuous in a bronzed sauce, pale shallots pillowed under the soft lacquer of the sauce, and sweet. Then some kind of nut liquor in tiny shot glasses. Sipping, sighing.”

It is after Hampl and her friend have arrived at Montaigne’s chateau the next day that she ducks to pass through a low doorway and smacks her head into the wall. She sees a swirl of stars, and remarks the cliché with a certain bemusement. But she also remembers from her reading that Montaigne, riding, had once collided with another rider and had fallen from his horse; he had been knocked unconscious and taken for dead. Of course, he recovered to write of the experience, as Hampl writes of hers, finding in that accident one of her culminating realizations: “To express experience accurately you must, paradoxically, be knocked out of yourself — knocked out of the inevitable narcissism and egotism that is our narrative lot.”

There are blows like this, knockout events, in every life. By now we understand that for Hampl it was the death of her husband and great companion. How to carry on? She has declared herself resolved not to write “a widow’s book,” and contrary to her own suspicion, she has not. But there is also no denying that the whole of her essayistic meander has been touched by sorrow, hinted at but mainly skirted. Finally, though, she takes it on more directly. In the last pages of the book she shifts her address, speaking less to the reader and more fully to her absent partner. We get the all-powerful second person, as well as the embrace of the first-person plural. Hampl has gone to sit on their old boat, which is docked on the Mississippi, and now her tone takes on a more intimate cast. “I still come down here,” she says, “sit, read, stare out at the river as the barges go by this scruffy city marina tucked under the High Bridge. We never thought of mooring the boat out of the city.”

There with their dog, Hampl lets the memories of their times on the river come back to her. Should she keep the boat or sell it, she wonders. The question hovers, but she does not press it too hard. Instead, she succumbs to her reveries, savoring the spirit of the long marriage, and then lets herself shade back into thoughts of Montaigne. She quotes: “Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately.” To the reader it feels that she has — the pages are the evidence. And there is the suggestion of a wink as she adds, turning back to her originating theme: “To do this you must be idle. He says this in his Essai titled — what else? — ‘On Idleness.’”

Sven Birkerts most recently authored Changing the Subject: Art and Attention in the Internet Age.

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