#he would most certainly only choose to take the proof of existence of those closest to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raendown · 3 years

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3235 Soulmate au: The one where any tattoo that you get shows up on your soulmate and vice versa

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 218

It had been dozens of generations since the Uchiha clan discovered the secret of their most powerful weapon hidden in the love they so fiercely protected, just as many since the discovery that their greatest strength was also their greatest weakness, the curse that could bring low any warrior from the weakest to the most battle hardened. They were not so self centered to believe that other clans did not love their important people fiercely but there had always been a certain extra level of passion in an Uchiha’s emotions that just didn’t seem to exist for anyone not of their blood. Were they born of any other clan the sheer weight of their love would have been labeled oppressive. For an Uchiha it was nothing less than expected, necessary in a way. Without the crushing weight of love to hold them against the earth an Uchiha was cursed to spiral in to madness with only their bloody sharingan to light the way forward. It was not a future any of them looked forward to.

Some escaped the curse, of course. It wasn’t an inevitability for anyone who chose the life of a civilian or followed a path that did not lead to the battlefields. Madara found himself envious of those people sometimes. The artisans who spent their worries on sourcing materials and feeding orphans had a hard life in their own way but a much more peaceful one. He was willing to bet very few of them had ever come awake at night with their eyes spinning red and their mind filled with horrors that would never - could never - be forgotten. He wished sometimes that he could have such an uncomplicated life.

He wished sometimes that he had never fallen in love.

What should have been the center of his happiness, the anchor that weighed his sanity against the storm of a shinobi’s life, walked ahead of him with confident strides and eyes that looked forward, unaware of the power they held. Sometimes Madara wondered if Tobirama knew about his feelings. To anyone else in his own clan he was sure what he felt was as clear as day. Even if Izuna hadn’t said anything yet he’d felt his brother’s gaze on him when the fire in his veins overflowed in public, something he tried so hard to muffle and failed more often than not. He supposed in a way it could be considered an advantage in this case, the fact that his people seemed to love just a little differently than the rest of the world. If Tobirama knew he surely would have said something. The fact that he didn’t was probably the closest thing to mercy he was likely to get.

Because Tobirama, cold and distant and so very perfect for the man that Madara had shaped himself in to, was not the soulmate he was meant for. The proof of it was right there on his face in three thin lines red like blood. Red like passion. Red like the sharingan he still didn’t seem to trust very much. Madara was only too aware that if they were indeed meant to be soulmates he would have woken up with those same tattoos the day after Tobirama received his own. But he hadn’t. His skin was clean and bare of any marks except for the scars of battles he couldn’t count. Whether that was because his true soulmate was waiting on him to guide them in with ink of his choosing or simply because they did not exist he didn’t know. Didn’t care. It had been a handful of years now since he stopped caring whether they might still be alive out there somewhere.

It was hard to imagine what his soulmate could ever offer that might turn his eyes away from the man walking in front of him now. Harder still to imagine the monumental force it would take to peel the layers of emotions away from his heart until he stopped loving Tobirama. He was, after all, an Uchiha. Not a people known for giving up on love very easily. As a whole they tended to prefer death, not something he was very eager to run towards when the village he’d dreamed of as a child was less than a decade off the ground. He was aware that this love was likely to be the thing that drove him in to his grave and yet as he watched Tobirama stop to soften the blow of a child crashing headlong in to his legs Madara couldn’t bring himself to care about that either.

“Having second thoughts, Uchiha?”

“What?” Madara snapped back to reality to see that the child was leaving, scampering back to her mother with a smile made of crooked teeth, leaving Tobirama to look back at him with one eyebrow raised expectantly. “You wish, Senju. I’m going to grind you in to the dirt!”

“I’m shaking in my boots.” Words spoken with absolutely no inflection. Tobirama blinked once and then turned to continue walking towards the training grounds mostly frequented by him and his brother. It took a special kind of terrain to contain two such powerhouses without the effects of their training spilling over to bother the surrounding populace. Madara would know. He had chosen his own favorite training ground for just the same reason.

Possibly it hadn’t been one of his best ideas to suggest Tobirama spar with him instead after walking in on Hashirama apologizing for having to cancel the time they’d set aside for training together. Madara watched the mesmerizing walk of a shinobi built for speed and decided he didn’t care whether this was smart or not. Their skill levels were close enough and well balanced enough to make for an interesting fight so whether or not he made a fool of himself it promised to at least be an interesting afternoon. If his heart just happened to get broken along the way, well, it had been breaking every day since he first recognized these hopeless feelings for what they were.

One thing he had not taken in to account was the stretching. Sparring was one thing, the rush of adrenaline and the rapid movements as opponents danced around each other, together and apart again over and over. The necessary step of stretching out their muscles was quite another. Without the high of mock battle Madara was forced to turn his body away just to stop his eyes from being too obvious with the way he couldn’t seem to tear them away. He wanted those elegant fingers to trace his skin, wanted those steely arms to cage him in like he was something precious, something to be treasured like he treasured the smallest glimpses of things he would never call his own. Facing somewhere other than the chest he wanted so badly to press his ear against just to hear the heart beneath it was much easier. Instead of making the usual show of himself Madara watched the clouds scudding across the blue sky above them, leaning deeper in to his stretches to let the burn clear his thoughts. Only when he was sure none of his emotions were showing on his face did he finally turn around and demand they get on with it.

“Someone seems eager to injure his own pride,” Tobirama noted with a hint of a devastating smirk. Madara scowled.

“You think a lot of your skills. Shall we dance, Senju, so we can put them to the test?”

“Let’s,” was all the warning Tobirama gave him before the two of them exploded in to motion at the same time.

It felt good to focus on the flow and pull of his own body undulating across the field, dodging and weaving through Tobirama’s attacks, breathing fire hot enough to evaporate the water used against him. Nothing would ever be as good as battle for clearing the mind of any other unwanted thoughts. After barely a couple of minutes Madara was relaxed enough to let slip a feral grin, truly enjoying himself enough to forget his romantic woes for just a little while.

Unfortunately it really was only a little while. With the sheer power they both had Madara thought the two of them could have locked themselves in to a stalemate for a good long while but it seemed as though the difference in their skill sets was just enough to give one or the other the upper hand fairly quickly each round, the victor declared depending on who spotted an opening first. Barely more than an hour had passed before they were half a dozen rounds in and both of them were drenched with sweat from giving it their best effort. Madara chose to delude himself that Tobirama was working as hard to impress him as he was to impress the younger man. A harmless delusion, at least compared to the other ones he entertained when he was alone and free to dream of the impossible.

Or so he thought. This apparently harmless delusion is exactly what cost him the spar, distracting him with a sensation of triumph and a need to overextend himself in an attempt to look good. Like a feral animal Tobirama seemed almost able to smell when his opponent was weak. In a flash he had Madara pinned on his back with a blade at his throat and for one interminable moment in time the wild glint of his eyes was the only thing that existed. The entire rest of the world faded away, narrowed down the same look Madara had been drowning in since his cursed heart first latched on to someone he knew he couldn’t have.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Tobirama frowned and pulled away to stand up. Then he silently berated himself. So much effort put in every day to keep his feelings private, knowing they would not be returned, and now he’d given up all his secrets for nothing but a pair of pretty eyes. Tobirama was a smart man, after all. It would certainly be too much to ask that he not draw the right conclusions from whatever foolish expression Madara had just been wearing.

“I…” Jaw hanging open for the space of two heartbeats, Tobirama closed it again with a helplessly bemused expression. It was obvious he wasn’t sure what to say. There wasn’t really much to be said.

“Don’t,” Madara warned him. “Just...don’t.”

Covered in sweat, breathing like a civilian after running a mile, he was painfully aware of the incredibly unattractive picture he made. Not exactly an image to swoon over, let alone fall in love with. As if he’d ever had a chance of Tobirama falling in love with him. Something dangerous pulsed behind his eyes and Madara turned away before either of them could discuss what his sharingan was trying to do, ignoring the tempting voice that called for him to come back and talk about this like adults. Instead he coiled his legs and launched himself towards the trees without actually paying attention to where he was heading. Anywhere was better than here.

Literally anything in the world was a better use of his time than having his heart broken by a rejection he could have seen coming with both eyes closed.

Avoiding Tobirama was both simple and complicated. Not many of their duties overlapped, their talents leading them to work in different departments. Unfortunately they did sit on a number of the same councils and committees and it was quite the challenge attending each of his duties without getting caught by a man who could move so much faster than he could. It took twisting and planning and every dirty trick that Madara had up his sleeve but he managed it, somehow, for several weeks. He couldn’t imagine what Tobirama could possibly still want to say after so much time had passed but he was very sure he didn’t want to hear it. All he wanted was to enjoy these last few years of sanity before the inevitable curse of his clan at last began to shred the barrier between his heart and good sense.

Obviously he couldn’t run forever, though, not from someone as determined as Tobirama. Madara wondered why he still found that such an attractive trait even as he watched the other man bear down on him in the records room where several heavy layers of seals prevented him from using a body flicker to escape.

“We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” he snapped back in the hopes that his natural grumpiness would cover the dread choking his voice.

“Don’t look at me like that, Uchiha. Are you or are you not the same idiot who faced the Raikage and his personal guard all by yourself with no backup? Quit looking so...so…”

Madara scowled. “So?”

“Afraid of me,” Tobirama finished his sentence with the slightest note of hesitation, like he knew exactly how badly Madara would despise hearing those words. And indeed they did bring a scowl to his face. He’d never been afraid of anything in his life except for losing his precious people. This wasn’t fear. This was nothing more than a healthy predilection for not landing himself in painful situations.

“I’m not afraid of you! Go away!”

Rather than scurrying off for the hills - because of course he wouldn’t, Tobirama had always taken a lot more than one quick snap to run off - he bullied in closer until he had Madara hemmed in to a corner, boxed in on all sides with nowhere to look but forwards.

“Clearly we’re not going to be able to talk about this calmly but I don’t know why I expected any more of you. You’re as ruled by your emotions as my brother is. To make this as painless as possible how about you just shut up and let me lay out the facts, yes?” Raising one hand, Tobirama began to tick off his fingers as he continued. “You have some sort of feelings for me and yet you chose not to speak to me about them. I wondered why until I realized it probably had something to do with either your heritage as an Uchiha or your status as unbonded. As someone outside of your clan those answers were not available to me. However, the second option was one I was more than capable of testing for myself. If you would just-”

Madara tried to balk when pale fingers reached for his arm but Tobirama pinned him with a look so venomous he could do nothing but stand absolutely still while his sleeve was pulled up to reveal his forearm, a particularly boring part of the human body in his own opinion, something he was utterly baffled by the need to see until he looked down and noticed something new for the first time.

“That wasn’t there this morning,” he breathed. As he spoke his eyes remained fixed on the small shape exactly halfway between wrist and elbow. The stylized leaf of Konohagakure was something he’d helped to design but he certainly hadn’t expected it to show up on his skin without warning. A soul tattoo. If he hadn’t put it there himself then the only possible explanation was that his soulmate had branded themselves with a tattoo at last, echoing itself on to Madara’s skin through the bond they shared. Suddenly it felt very difficult to swallow. Breathing, too, felt nearly impossible as he watched Tobirama hike up one of his own sleeves and turn his arm.

“It appears my suspicions were correct,” he heard the man say in a strangely gentle voice. “We are soulmates.”

“How?”

Startled, Tobirama blinked at him several times before venturing, “What do you mean how?”

He looked even more startled when Madara began to flail like he always did when his emotions got the better of him.

“I mean how! This doesn’t make sense! It has to be some kind of coincidence, someone else saw your tattoo and got the same one. Something! How the hell can we be soulmates if this ink shows up but the ink all over your face doesn’t show up on mine!?”

“What? Oh. Oh! I see.” Confusion blossomed in to understanding only to fade away in to something soft, something very much like the expression Tobirama reserved only for the rare moments he chose to show his fondness for the few people he was close to. Having such a look directed his way made the poor heart in Madara’s chest leap in several different directions at once. Or at least that was what it felt like.

Feeling almost left behind, he demanded, “You see what?” Then he gasped when Tobirama reached up to touch one of his cheeks.

“The marks on my face are not tattoos. They’re seals, much like the one Mito wears on her forehead, meant to store chakra in case of some emergency.” He traced the line of Madara’s jaw and leaned impossibly closer until they were breathing the same air. “Is that why you refused to speak to me? You wanted this. But you thought- ah. My own reticence comes back to bite me yet again. I’m sorry for the confusion.”

“You should be,” was all Madara could think to say. Forming any thoughts at all felt incredibly difficult at the moment.

“And how shall I make it up to you, hm?”

It would have been impossible to name all the many emotions running through Madara’s veins at that moment. Years of watching and yearning in silence, years spent waiting for the inevitable madness so many Uchiha had fallen victim to, years of cursing his heart for treading this path towards his own doom. All of it had been for nothing. The man he loved was his soulmate after all - and more than that, Tobirama had not rejected him, seemed willing to entertain the notion even. Relief and happiness and consternation and anger and joy and confusion and desperation all wound together in a tight knot he feared would never come untangled again. Words failed him. And so he turned to action.

Tobirama, by some whim of mercy, did not laugh at him for having to stand on his toes in order to crush their mouths together. In fact he seemed more eager to reciprocate than anything else and Madara wondered if turning his eyes away so often had left him blind to things that could have been his a long time ago. He resolved not to ask. Whatever the answer was he was sure it would make him ashamed of his own dramatics.

Several minutes had passed by the time his heels touched the ground again, though his hands remained where he hadn’t even noticed them twisting in to the other’s shirt. Madara closed his eyes and simply breathed for a moment. He still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream.

“Uchiha don’t love by halves,” he murmured in warning. “If we do this then we do it for real.”

“I know.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

With a bone deep shudder Madara did. He fell in to Tobirama the way he’d never thought he would and when his soulmate caught him as easily as breathing he thought oh.

So this is what it feels like to be loved.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

34 notes · View notes

teddystrap · 5 years

Text

[神なる君と] Spirit duo - Yuzuru

Hmm I think the recommended order of the routes is: Narumi -> Yuzuru -> Yakumo -> Rei (-> Mikoto). So I kind of spoiled part of Yuzuru’s story by doing Yakumo first. But I wanted to do the two osananajimi routes one right after the other to get a good comparison. Also this route proves why Yakumo will always be my hero, even though he himself doesn’t feel confident enough to fulfil the role.

-Ninokami Yuzuru-

Yes I know your name is spelled with a 「づ」 not a 「ず」, but ‘Yuduru’ just sounds incredibly stupid to my English-speaking brain, so...

Yuzuru is the president of the student body and Yakumo’s close friend and classmate. It was revealed in Yakumo’s route that several hundred years ago, he saved a Takekiyo ancestor from being a human sacrifice by giving him a medicine that brought him back from the dead - thereby extending the curse to the kid’d descendants. Now here we get the full story:

Yuzuru was once a God (his surname ‘Ninokami’ is a dead giveaway), he came to earth and befriended a child (Yakumo’s ancestor). Later he found out that the child would be sacrificed to prevent the Great Demon’s curse, so he tried to persuade him to run away, but the child refused. So in the end the villagers got their sacrificial ceremony, and Yuzuru stole a forbidden medicine from Heaven and brought the child back to life.

For that he was punished, stripped of his godly powers and banished to earth as a demon. A blizzard started happening around the same time that lasted many years and claimed many lives (by famine), and the humans totally thought it was his fault for saving the boy (even though he did it after the fact so there was no conflict). The villagers locked him up in a dungeon and tortured him for many decades. At first he believed that the boy he saved would come and rescue him, but he gradually lost hope, and finally when the boy (now an old man) came to save him, he had already reached misanthropy level 900...

As part of his punishment, he is supposed to perform community service on earth and accumulate enough karma to restore his godly powers and return to Heaven. So he’s been happily (well, deep down angrily) doing that for a few hundred years, until Sakuya and co. came along. Early on in the route, Sakuya was confronted by the baleful spirits who died during the famine, who asked her to avenge their death by killing *a certain demon* (ahem *Yuzuru*).

Not knowing who they are talking about, she went to Yuzuru for help, and ofc he refused. So then she went back to negotiate with the spirits and they started attacking her like crazy. Yuzuru saved her and healed her, using up all his karma in the process, so now he has to start over from zero. He decides to start a new life, so he erases everybody’s memories (yes he can do that) and disappears without a trace.

The next day Sakuya goes to school and enters the *Twilight Zone*, because nobody knows/remembers ‘Yuzuru-senpai’, and there’s no record of him ever existing. Finally she found Yakumo who also remembers the poor bastard. Yakumo speculates that those closest to him have memories that are too strong to be erased by his memory-erasing powers. They hold a group meeting to try to find him, but in the meantime time is of the essence because even their memories are fading...

Yakumo-nii-san totally came to our rescue in this route ｯ(ﾉω･､)ﾟ.+°

Sakuya goes to Mikoto for help, and he takes her to the Ancient God who placed the curse on Yuzuru. For some reason the Ancient God takes the form of Yorihito the stone hound with evil eyes and has a disembodied robot voice. But anyway. The Ancient God tells her Yuzuru’s whole history, and she decides to return his act of grace by helping him return to Heaven.

She eventually finds Yuzuru and latches on to him like a stage-5 clinger because she’s scared he’ll disappear again. Then, with the help of Aki and Fuu-san’s tools, she goes back to find the baleful spirits and successfully sends them off to be reincarnated. This drained a lot of her powers and she fell sick for a while, until Narumi notices something is wrong and her life is at risk.

She goes back to the Ancient God, who tells her that the bad energy from the spirits is slowly eating away at her, and she will die in a few years - unless Yuzuru gives up all his supernatural powers to heal her, and becomes a regular human. So she doesn’t have to die, and he can stay on earth with her. Two birds with one stone, how convenient, you can’t make this stuff up... except Otomate totally did rofl XD.

(Also somebody probably should’ve told her this stuff before she went and saved those evil spirits huh.)

All this talk about the impenetrability of Fate is frankly kind of ironic in a ‘choose your own ending’ visual novel.

So Sakuya doesn’t want to keep Yuzuru from returning to Heaven. She tries to come to terms with the fact that she’s going to die... when Yuzuru found out about all this from Narumi, and decides to give up all his powers to save her. He takes her to a hilltop on hoshimatsuri night and gives her the Kiss of Death Life.

In the good end he gets a job after graduation at the same government agency as Aki and is responsible for watching over the peace of Mikagurayama. He asks Sakuya to move in with him (she agrees ofc), and they get married after a few years. (She also gives him a badly knit scarf but whatever.) I didn’t make enough save states so I couldn’t get the other/bad endings, but tbh I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle a tragedy, after everything that this route has put me through...

[Thoughts] Honestly this route is the most emotional one for me so far, I felt like I really went through an entire relationship in this short span. The common/early events were a riot. I love the back-and-forth exchanges between them - you get some of it in Narumi/Yakumo’s routes, but since they were already close to her to begin with, the later contrast/transition in the interaction is not as great.

Normal couples finish each other’s sentences, but soul mates finish each other’s tsukkomi!

In a lot of ways I felt like Yuzuru really pushed Sakuya to her limits. In Yakumo’s route she was trying to be an emotionally responsible adult, but here she’s giving her best in everything she does - whether it’s working at his store or helping out with the student government events. Also Yuzuru is the only one who’s able to force her to study lol.

And ofc the grand gesture she did risking her own life to send him back to Heaven - she has to make sacrifices in every route, but here it felt like she really did it for him and not just for love. It seemed like she forgot about herself / their future momentarily when she was just thinking of making him happy by fulfilling his wish. I thought it really fit her personality.

Yuzuru is a total sweetheart!! I already liked him in all the other routes, and his own story certainly didn’t disappoint, he honestly can do no wrong. I almost feel like saying, here, here’s an ‘asshole’ character done right - he comes across as an asshole but everything he does is incredibly sweet and selfless (a ‘sharp tongue full of love’, as they say). Unlike in some games where the do-S bastards do nothing but abuse the heroine and she somehow still ends up falling in love with them out of some Stockholm Syndrome or something. But anyway that’s another story.

One thing I noticed is that Sakuya says, ‘うれしい／うれしかった’ a lot in this route, which is proof of how happy Yuzuru made her and what a great guy he is (*/^-^)/. Seriously this game just has one great character after another, I feel like I like each one more than the last and I can’t choose!

When Sakuya told Narumi her fear of losing her memories of senpai, Narumi opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it... I wonder what he was about to say?

Sakuya is also extra cute in this route - the way she held Yuzuru's hand and wouldn’t let go when she finally found him, the way she got jealous that he was polite to everyone else, etc. It almost makes up for her eating up all his karma lol. Also I guess the writers are trying to avoid spoilers, but I kind of wonder what happened to Yakumo in this route, because there was no mention of his ‘condition’ here. (This route did display the epic bromance between those two, though. Even more than in Yakumo’s route.)

...At this point I only have Rei’s route left, before I get to the hidden character ԅ(≖‿≖ԅ) [ミコトさん、私を待っててくれ！]. Rei is adorable even though I don’t get the romantic feels for him (#shouta; I guess the fact that he’s unusually mature for his age makes up for it a little bit), but nonetheless (a) his story is a total mystery, and (b) I’m really curious how the writers would make his ending work, since as a ghost/wandering spirit he’s supposed to find his purpose and be sent of back to the reincarnation cycle.

#otome #otome game #idea factory #otomate #kami naru kimi to #psp #visual novel #wafuu #supernatural #romance #sakurai takahiro

2 notes · View notes

adelmortescryche · 6 years

Text

Faustus//Fausta (Evil Author Day II)

AN: And here’s the second WIP for EAD. For those who aren’t familiar with EAD, Evil Author’s Day gives authors the opportunity to post WIPs guiltfree, with no promises attached. Meaning there’s no set date on when I plan to fully post or complete these fics, though they are WIPs.

This is the 2nd of three: 1, 2, 3

Warnings/Tags: R27, Fem!Sawada Tsunayoshi, Adult Reborn, Massively AU, Canon Divergence, Dark AU, Best bros Tsuna and Xanxus

Summary: She’s as pretty as a picture, innocent and sweet in a way very few are, plain in one breath and bewitching in the next. She draws eyes after her as easy as breathing, but Reborn could always tell that something wasn’t quite right.

(He’s right. Something wasn’t quite right. But he finds that he can’t find it in himself to care.)

(She will burn them all to the ground.)

She reached up to catch his fedora by its rim, and he let it go, smiling faintly as she set it lightly on her head and grinned up at him, laughter singing in her eyes. Something about the expression urged him to take part in that laughter, to in some way laugh at the world with her. He indulged that silent request by letting the smile on his face unfurl wider, as slow and steady as the motion with which he bent down to press a soft kiss to the apple of her left cheek, When she tilted into the motion, turning her face, he easily caught her by the chin, and held her in place till he was satisfied. If the movement of her head brought his mouth closer to the corner of her lips than her cheek, well… Well.

When he finally did pull back, it was to meet her gaze, liquid and dark, swallowing him whole. He smiled again, and ran his fingers lightly over the rim of his fedora, still sitting on top of her head.

“Chaos, Principessa.” He said, and pulled away.

“So what’s your story?”

Reborn spared a short glance over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the window. Even with his eyes focused solely on the road beneath, and the rooftops and windows of the houses opposite his charge’s, he couldn’t quite ignore the pretty, wide eyed picture that the CEDEF head’s daughter made, swaddled in fluffy towels and curled up at the end of her bed.

“Finish drying off and get out of the line of sight of the window, kid.” He murmured, gaze sharpening at the bit of movement he noticed in the window of the closest house. It took a split second to categorise it – child, setting out his bag, civilian, unimportant.

“You’ve got to be someone important if dad’s got you keeping an eye on me while negotiations are taking place.”

Pause. Fingers tightening on the grip of his pistol, immediately loosening back into something practised and ready, rather than tense. He would have written that off as whiny young heiress if he hadn’t seen the girl’s eyes go sharp in the glass before turning dull and pretty again.

“…quiet, kid.”

She hummed thoughtfully, and slipped off the bed. Thankfully on the other side. She was out of the range of the window, so thankfully, he wasn’t forced to watch her dry off and change behind him. Listening to it was distracting enough in itself.

He took a slow breath, and shifted in place. And set his mind to a minor bit of multitasking, the lower levels of his thought process turning to re-evaluating what he knew about the girl while the upper levels continued to focus on any possible enemies appearing.

Sawada Tsuna, only child of Sawada Iemitsu, who in turn was current head of the CEDEF and Don Nono’s Consigliere. She had turned eighteen relatively recently, which was the point at which anyone else in the family had heard anything about her. The moment her existence was made known, she had managed to rock the entirety of the Vongola Family – everyone knew that Iemitsu was a descendant of Don Primo, making her a direct heir of sorts, even if her father had chosen not to fight for his rightful place as heir. But the very fact that Iemitsu had a female heir had left most of the family up in arms.

With good reason, if the negotiations taking place were anything to judge by. Reborn felt his lips twitch into a small, mirthless smile. Judging from the look on Iemitsu’s face when Reborn had stepped through his doors earlier, one careful hand pressed between the younger Sawada’s shoulder blades and guiding her through before him, all the rumours were true.

Well, the reasonable ones, at any rate. He doubted Timoteo would choose to bind the girl to all his sons.

He went still, not moving an inch when a thin arm wrapped low around his waist. The lithe form pressing into his back was proof that he hadn’t imagined the first sensation.

“If I hadn’t already promised the Don that you’d get out of this in one piece, there would be a hole between your brows right now.” He said blandly, not batting an eye. He had to hand it to her, she’d managed to come at an angle that kept her completely out of the line of sight through the window.

A soft snort of laughter, and she smoothly pulled back.

“You’re interesting,” the girl declared. Reborn gave a low laugh, and almost wished that this farce of a protective detail was finished. Whatever the girl was turning out to be, ‘interesting’ was an understatement.

“Do you try to seduce all your body guards?” he asked curiously, taking another moment to glance back at her.

She was back on the bed, thankfully completely clothed this time around. Her short hair looked like a small mountain of fluff piled onto her head, brown and plain aside from how ridiculously soft and fuzzy it looked. She was terrifyingly plain all over, with the kind of face that could never be defined as classically beautiful. Or beautiful in any sense. Clothed in a comfortable, shapeless t-shirt and baggy shorts, with scarred knees and fingers covered in band aids, she looked the very opposite of feminine. Except when she tilted her head just so, and a small smile shifted her plain features into something charming and riveting.

“Nope. I don’t seduce any of them. You just looked interesting.”

“…And because I looked interesting, you decided to hug me and see if I jumped?”

Reborn was almost morbidly curious to know what her reply would be. He could easily admit that this was the first time he’d found himself in such a strange situation. Flirtation, seduction and sex weren’t particularly alien to him – hell, he’d fucked his way through enough of the pretty young things both in the mafia and outside it that he’d developed a rather infamous reputation. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the girl would’ve had a hole between her eyes if he hadn’t already made promises to keep her alive, though.

He wasn’t very interested in people who took liberties with his person – especially not when he was expecting enemy action.

She offered him a sweet little smile, and he rolled his eyes and looked back outside.

“So what’s your story?” she asked again.

“I’m older than your dad, kid. And I’ve been killing people for nearly as long as he’s been alive. Let’s leave it at that.” He said snidely. And, without another word, he set a hand to the window’s rail and pushed it up in single, smooth motion. The next motion had him aiming and firing at the man crouched on a roof two houses away.

The man went down, taking his sniping rifle with him. Amateur.

Reborn waited a breath, to see if the sniper being taken down would draw any more attention to him or the window he was standing by. When nothing else happened, he sighed, and tugged the window shut and stepped back, mentally preparing himself for a long night.

“See? Interesting.”

He blinked, and actually turned to stare at the kid. She shrugged at him, still smiling.

“…the fool clearly didn’t know what he was talking about when he said you were perfectly normal.”

“The fool being my dad? Yeah, mom always said he’s got blinders on when it comes to me.”

Reborn stared at her some more, and after a moment’s silence, decided it wasn’t worth the effort and turned his attention back outside. He didn’t say anything when she came closer to curl around him again, though.

They didn’t see any more action that night, and he handed her over to Iemitsu again without much thought wasted on her. She went with another little smile, and a wave of her fingers. The motion had Iemitsu glaring at him, eyes going hard. The look on the fool’s face made Reborn’s lips pulling wide, the salacious smirk sliding in place effortlessly because why not. Iemitsu going red and sputtering apoplectically was certainly worth the effort.

That, and it had the girl laughing long and loud with delight. For some reason, that was all the more rewarding.

The next time he saw her, he’d been stepping in for coffee at the Estate, since hey, he’d been in the vicinity after a job and Timoteo was amusing enough when he was bored. The Vongola as a whole was an amusing distraction, when he was between hits. He been on his way up the stairs, easily manoeuvring his way through the rush of servants, soldiers and capos that the Estate was usually filled with, all going about their daily duties. And then, suddenly, there she was. Seated in the sunlight, wearing a pretty white sundress made of lace, and delicate slippers on her feet, legs pulled up so she could tuck her knees beneath her chin. She was curled up on a window seat, right outside the main library.

The glare of the light was like a halo around her head.

He didn’t realise he’d stopped short until she looked up. She actually looked surprised, her plain brown eyes going a little wide, but then they sparked with a glint of orange-amber, and all at once, they weren’t plain at all. He was staring into the face of an angel, breath caught in his throat, and then, her face and eyes were plain again. Just a plain faced Japanese girl sitting in the sunlight coming through the window of a mafia estate in the Sicilian countryside, smiling up at him sweetly.

He wasn’t quite certain when he’d walked forward to stop in front of her.

“Interesting guy. Fancy meeting you here,” she said, laughing a little at the look that must have tripped over his face.

“I do have a name,” Reborn grunted. A little awkwardly because, for all that he proclaimed his name with absolutely no hesitation when his hits weren’t actually required to be quiet, he hadn’t come across a situation where he actually had to introduce himself to someone who had no idea who he was in years. Not when that someone was clearly a part of the mafia in some way.

…he didn’t really like how tongue-tied this kid was making him. It reminded him far too much of Luce. And people who reminded him of his old Sky, of the one person who could have been his Sky, had she ever felt the need to draw him in completely, left him with an uncontrollable itch in his hands. His fingers were twitching with the need to wrap around that slim neck and snap it clean.

He could nearly hear the sound of the vertebrae cracking and breaking echoing in his ears. Something about the tilt of Tsuna’s smile on her face made him think she could tell just how much he wanted to murder her where she sat.

“But you didn’t introduce yourself the last time we met.”

Reborn felt his lips spread in a tight smile.

“My mistake. Pleasure, Principessa. Chaos. My name is Reborn. I’m the Strongest Hitman in the World.”

She stared up at him, wide eyed. And then, she fell back, laughing helplessly. Reborn stared down at her, eyes catching on the line of her neck, the way the lace highlighted the gentle rise of her chest. The pretty picture the hem of the dress made, riding high on her pale thighs.

“Reborn, then. It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Reborn. My name is Sawada Tsuna, and I’m the fiancée to the next Don of the Vongola.”

The cut of teeth in her smile was like staring at the broken edges of bones, white and sharp.

“And who would that be?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

He bare shoulders rose in a careless shrug.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t think anyone’s going to know until they actually inherit the ring.”

Reborn’s brows rose in interest. And more than a little dark amusement. He didn’t think anyone had any idea that the little Princess knew what the final test of heirship entailed.

“Have you had tea yet, Reborn-san?” she asked, smiling up at him.

Reborn spared a moment to think about Timoteo, coffee, and the endless amusement that could be had by needling the old man about his sons and their dalliances and bad choices. Then shrugged, just as carelessly as Tsuna had before, and held his hand out to her to tug her up.

She eyed his hand strangely, then brushed it to the side and got up herself. It made an involuntary, and rather inelegant snort of laughter escape from him. When she glanced up at him questioningly, Reborn raised a shoulder in non-answer. Rather gratifyingly, Tsuna didn’t do much more than stare up at him with a little smile before she led him away in the direction of, if he wasn’t mistaken, one of the sun rooms that had been installed by Ottavo, back in the day. He hadn’t been inside them in years, possibly since back when Ottavo had still been alive and being in his twenties was a novelty and not a sign of Tri-Ni-Sette induced immortality.

“And how did the Don and your suitors react when they found you in these rooms for the first time?” he asked, curious yet again, when they were set up at a table decked out with little cakes, scones and sandwiches, and with a little tea pot of black tea, cream and a tea cup set aside for Tsuna. Thankfully, the maid serving them had the sense to bring him the usual double dose of expresso he was partial to if he was having coffee at the estate.

The disgusted look on Tsuna’s face when the maid had handed the steaming mug over to him had been the closest he’d been to laughing uninhibited in years.

“They’re hardly my suitors, Reborn-san. They aren’t exactly courting me. Enrico is busy taking care of the various businesses the Vongola is attached to, Massimo is… busy, with his own affairs. Federico is kind, but he’s too busy looking after his own people to pay too much attention to me.”

There was telling silence after that. Reborn tilted his headed to the side, just a little bit. Took a dainty sip of coffee from his mug. Savoured the flavour. And then, after a sufficient pause, dutifully asked the question that was expected of him.

“And what of Xanxus?”

Tsuna’s brows rose, questioning, though he could see the glint of good humour hidden in their depths.

“What of him?” she asked.

“Does he make a good suitor?” Reborn returned, lips curling ever so slightly.

She didn’t answer him immediately, turning to the little cakes and fresh fruit, spending a few minutes deciding which one she would choose to eat. Reborn waited patiently, all the while growing more amused. Oh, he’d been wrong to think that the brat would be as much a fool and a bore as her father before her.

Iemitsu was a spineless worm with no imagination. That had been apparent the day he’d fallen in with Timoteo’s Family by accident and had made no effort to win over any more power than what Timoteo had been willing to hand out. Tsuna, it seemed, was neither spineless, nor a worm, and had imagination in spades.

“Not exactly,” Tsuna murmured, once she was satisfied with what she had selected, setting a small sponge cake decorated with lemon crème before herself, along with a little bowl filled with strawberries. Reborn eyed the container of dipping chocolate she tugged closer, and then pointedly tore his eyes away.

“He isn’t a good suitor?” Not that that would surprise Reborn all that much. The brat was far too self-centred be a good suitor in any sense.

Tsuna’s lips quirked in a sweet smile again, oddly enough. Almost as though she could sense the direction of his thoughts.

“It’s not that he isn’t a good suitor, Reborn-san. He just doesn’t think he’s in the running, so he doesn’t really make any effort to treat me like a potential fiancée.”

Reborn paused in the midst of raising his mug for another sip. Turned that thought over in his head. Finished taking that sip and carefully set his mug down again.

“I hadn’t realised that Xanxus was quite that pathetic,” he said blandly, reaching out to a plate of chocolate drizzled biscotti. He pointedly ignored the mildly exasperated look the Sawada was shooting at him.

“He isn’t pathetic, Reborn-san. I told him about how the ring selects viable heirs. He was angry in the beginning, but he let it go. Now… he’s just amused whenever Timoteo-san urges us to spend time together.”

Reborn gave her a long look, carefully taking apart the statement in his head. From the fact that Tsuna had actually managed to tell Xanxus, of all people, that the Vongola Sky Ring wouldn’t choose him, had then made him back down, to the fact that she had calmed his anger over time. All without Timoteo realising what had transpired.

Interesting. Very interesting.

“…and why, exactly, is he amused when his father expects the two of you to spend time together?”

Tsuna took a delicate bite out of the strawberry she had dipped into the bowl of chocolate sauce, and gave him another of her sweet smiles.

“Why, because Xanxus finds it amusing that the Don still thinks he’s got him fooled.”

Reborn felt a chill run down his spine, even as he laughed, and reached out to snatch a fresh strawberry out of Tsuna’s plate, dipping it into her bowl of chocolate before she could snatch it back.

“You’re such an interesting child, Tsuna.” He murmured, his lips and tongue caressing the words even as his teeth bit down into firm, red flesh.

The smile on her face, he noticed, seemed to have become rather fixed. He smiled back, licking away last of the tart juice and chocolate left over on his fingers.

Even after he’d taken his leave of her and had situated himself in Timoteo’s office, smirking in the face of the long-suffering expression on the old man’s face, his mind couldn’t let go of the look that had been on her face when he’d left. Wide-eyed, liquid and wanting.

It’s possibly a good thing that he’d already had some forewarning about Tsuna and Xanxus. The first banquet he’s invited to attend at the Estate after the fool’s little Princess had been brought to Sicily, it’s to be treated to the sight of Massimo chomping at the bit while Enrico looked strangely resigned. Frederico simply looked amused, chatting quietly with his Sun Guardian towards on end of the gardens.

All the while, the girl everyone’s attention was unanimously focused on had her arm hooked into the crook of Xanxus’ elbow, smiling sweetly and seemingly smitten while the Varia Boss ducked his head low to whisper in her ear.

Reborn hid his laughter in a mouthful of wine, finding himself incapable of looking away from the pretty picture the two made where they stood, beneath the trees and just removed enough from the rest of the men and women scattered across the grounds - eating, talking, smiling, gossiping – that it was making the mafia mothers’ tongues wag. It wasn’t like the two had already been promised to each other, after all. And Iemitsu’s get was promised only to the next heir of the Vongola Famiglia.

That she had apparently chosen the youngest of the ‘four’ brothers left the upper echelon horrified enough that Reborn was beginning to think he wouldn’t even need to seek out fresh entertainment in the coming months. This was gearing up to be a fine spectacle all on its own.

…she barely reached the centre of Xanxus’ chest, even when her artfully styled spikes added nearly two inches to her diminutive frame. Clad in yet another white sundress, decorated with lace, ribbons and delicate ruffles, she looked the very picture of purity and careless youth, an image only emphasized by the sheer breadth and height of the man standing beside her. Xanxus was devastatingly handsome - Reborn had absolutely no qualms in appreciating beauty in any form or gender and the younger man definitely settled well within a range that even Reborn considered arresting. But it was an aesthetic edged in both blood and shadows; the loose sway of his uniform coat thrown over his shoulders was a glaring reminder of who he was. What he was capable of.

Such a pretty picture they made together. The dichotomy was appealing enough to be near-grotesque.

Reborn felt his lips pull in a particularly toothy smile behind the rim of his glass, and forced himself to tuck the expression away before it attracted unwanted attention.

“Reborn.”

Reborn glanced over his shoulder, and raised a hand to tip the edge of his fedora in a lazy greeting.

“Chaos, Don Nono. Fun little party you’ve got going here.” He drawled, and was treated to the sight of Timoteo grimacing like a little boy who’d bitten into a lemon and had found it to be sourer than expected. So very, very precious. It brought back memories of a softer, kinder youth who followed Don Ottava around like a little puppy, helpless without the care of its master.

Even with an entire decade separating them, the sight had caused Reborn enough amusement that he’d just… stayed. The Vongola as a whole were delightful enough that, even while being a free agent and not truly attaching himself to any one Sky or Famiglia, he couldn’t help but return to savour the ridiculous insanity decking the corridors of their Estate. Reborn had been possessed of murderous intensity and potential even when he’d been a thirteen year old brat, fleeing a dead home and a name that was more a shackle than anything else, but Timoteo had given him a reason to keep coming back. Even if it was only to laugh at how pathetic he’d been when he was younger.

“Cut the crap, Reborn. What do you think?”

“My my, Timoteo. What language. I’m sure poor Enrico would be traumatised if he heard you right now.”

The pained look the old man shot him had him chortling into the last of his wine.

“Is she any good?” Timoteo asked in a quiet voice, once Reborn had managed to get himself under control, setting his glass aside. The question had Reborn smiling, not quite able to contain how ecstatic the entire situation was making him.

“She’s quite the catch, I should say. Your sons are very lucky,” he mused, voice pleasant.

The sharp look his words earned him made it clear that Timoteo wasn’t taking his words at face value. Reborn wasn’t surprised. They’d known each other for long enough that Timoteo already knew that anything that gave him this much cause to be gleeful was something to be wary of.

“She was treasure, when she’d been younger. I can see glimpses of that child in this young lady, but not enough of her to comfort me.” The Don murmured, after a long moment. Reborn’s brows raised, interested in spite of himself.

“You met the girl before your fool brought her here?” he asked curiously.

“Reborn, for heaven’s sake, stop calling Iemitsu my fool,” Timoteo’s voice was pained enough that Reborn felt a rather uncharacteristic cackle rising from his throat before he smothered it.

“But, yes. I have met her before. Iemitsu had suspected that she’d released her flames much earlier than expected, and he requested me to check and make sure it wasn’t stunting her growth in any way. Since I needed to be in the vicinity of Tokyo around the same time, I agreed to visit his home, just to make sure she was ok.”

“Oh? And had she manifested her flame?” Reborn was mildly impressed. Early manifestations could spell either ruin or success, depending on whether their impeded the development of an individual or not. Seeing as Tsuna seemed well in control of her faculties, possible tendency to court conspiracy aside, her manifestation had apparently been a success.

Or, at least, that’s what he’d assumed until he noticed the closed look on the Don’s face.

“No. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t manifested her flame. There was the possibility that her flame drew back on itself, there have been cases where a child’s flame retreats when it manifests too early for the body to cope, but whatever the reason may have been, there was no sign of her possessing a Dying Will before her time.”

That drew Reborn up short. He gave Timoteo a probing look, but the man very pointedly did not meet his gaze.

“…a naturally manifesting dying will. That was what Sawada asked you to ascertain.”

It wasn’t a question.

Timoteo sighed gustily, looking away.

“…I’m not sure if I’m impressed or appalled.”

Reborn knew his face was set in an unkind expression, lips stretched in the kind of smile that had had left people skittish around him for days, weeks, months, years.

“We had to know. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been appalled at my choices.” The old man said, almost defensively. Reborn snorted rudely.

“I wasn’t talking about you. And your choices have never appalled me. Amused me, yes. Delighted me, certainly! But appalled? Never. Not till date, at the least. No,” he said, beginning to sneer, “I was talking about your fool.”

That earned him a wary look.

“It was a perfectly reasonable reaction, Reborn.”

“Oh? And it wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that one of the sure signs of potential heirship to the throne of the Vongola would be the ability to naturally manifest the dying will flame now, would it.” he returned snidely, vindicated when his words had the Don stiffening beside him.

“Reborn…” Timoteo said in a hushed voice, clear warning etched in every syllable of his name. Reborn gave a low laugh, feeling amusement rekindle in his gut.

He’d been such a soft-hearted young man when Reborn had met him, all those years ago. Maybe it was a side effect of being forever frozen in a semblance of youth – the Don was nothing but a sepulchre of that gawky, soft hearted young man, yet he never ceased to provide Reborn with new instances of hilarity.

That man would never have dared to threaten Reborn for having any knowledge of how the Vongola heir was selected, after all.

“She’d make a good bride to any of your sons, Don Nono. Rest easy,” he said, stepping away while waving mockingly over his shoulder.

He made a detour to snap up another glass of wine from one of the attendants, and found another quiet corner to ensconce himself, for once not quite interested in mingling with any of the pretty young mafia lambs being paraded about by their mothers. Even the arrogant little capos from allied Famiglia weren’t attracting his gaze, strangely enough, though it had always been pleasure to break those unbending backs until they begged.

…his eyes kept being drawn back to the slip of a girl tucked into Xanxus’ side, almost against his will.

Seemingly having gotten bored of whispering sweet nothings to each other in the shade of the trees, they were strolling about the gardens now, with Xanxus introducing Tsuna to anyone he found worthy of his attention or patience. It wasn’t exactly a small number – for all that Xanxus was notorious for keeping his own company and counsel, he was as charismatic as any of Timoteo’s sons by blood, and he’d made several acquaintances over the years.

She still seemed so plain and unassuming. Except when she was not. Reborn didn’t need to observe the rest of the crowd spread out through the gardens for long to realise that nearly everyone present had already been sucked into the harmonising pull of Tsuna’s flame. It wasn’t anything overt, Reborn would definitely have been able to tell if she was actively manipulating anyone in her vicinity. But the pull had ensured that the only thing people were seeing was the vision of loveliness that he was unfortunately familiar with.

…if Timoteo and Sawada actually believed that she hadn’t manifested her flame when she was a child, more the fool them.

He was still watching when her head tilted sideways in a pretty little laugh, pressing up against Xanxus’ shoulder. It didn’t stop her gaze from locking on his, even when they were nearly on opposite ends of the space in which the party was taking place.

His lips curled, the smirk spreading out as easy as breathing while he tipped his glass her way, silently saluting her. He knocked its contents down in a single go right after, eyes focused unerringly on hers.

For all of a moment, he saw the sweet, coy laughter retreat from her face, leaving behind a face that was plain, easily forgettable, and yet with an expression that seemed utterly transfixed before it was smoothed into something more demure.

It made something twist sharply inside him. Fingers tightening infinitesimally on the long stem of his glass, he made no move to look away, the rich taste of red still staining his lips and tongue. He kept watching, even as Tsuna tore her gaze away, looking up to ask the man on her arm a question with a shy little smile. Whatever she’d said, it had the girls they’d stopped to speak to burst into tittering laughter, while Xanxus looked unnervingly indulgent, the expression softening his face into something that only made him even more attractive than before.

The entire tableau had Reborn wanting to laugh till he was sick. He turned away, grinning wolfishly and terrifying an attendant nearby enough that the poor man spilt all the glasses and the salver balanced on his hand.

Well. Not all the glasses. Reborn neatly rescued one of their number before they crashed to pieces on the ground. He offered the gibbering man a conciliatory smile before strolling away, cheerfully sipping at his prize.

And if there were eyes still directed at his back… well. He would deal with them on another day.

“Take me out.”

He glanced up, actually surprised. He’d been in the process of taking leave of the Estate – it had been a while since he’d received such an interesting assignment, and he was looking forward to getting his fingers dirty again. He certainly hadn’t expected to be drawn short by Sawada’s little princess before he managed to get out.

No pretty little sundress today, he noted. He actually hadn’t seen her in a while; it was adorable how she seemed to think she’d successfully avoided running into him since the banquet. Like a little mouse scurrying away to hide in a hole. It seemed she’d finally decided to come out into the open again, though. And rather than being dressed to titillate with fleeting glimpses of flesh and flirtatious innocence, she’d instead dragged on a loose tee over pair of cargo shorts. Coupled with the sandals and the backpack, she looked like a fifteen year old boy ready to undertake an expedition of some sort.

He stared at her silently, caught between bemusement and sheer incredulity.

“Pardon me?” he drawled, finally, once it became obvious that she wasn’t going to speak up.

“Take me out. I’m bored, Reborn.” She repeated plaintively. He rolled his eyes, and didn’t hesitate to walk away, making no move to stop even when she squawked and chased after him.

“Sorry, Principessa. Find someone else to entertain you today, I’m afraid I’m busy.”

“Then just take me with you,” she insisted, still following him doggedly and making no move to back off even when he shot an unimpressed look her way.

“Finally tired of Xanxus’ charms, then?” he asked blandly. It had her glancing around surreptitiously, making sure there was no one near enough to hear what he’d said. The reaction was comical enough that he nearly stumbled over his own feet before his natural balance kicked in.

“No. Xanxus is fun, I don’t deny that, but the old man wants me spending time with all his sons. I’m supposed to be spending time with Massimo today.”

“I see,” Reborn droned slowly, voice absolutely uninterested. Though he did keep his attention on the emotions fluctuating across her face. It made for an amusing diversion.

He did come to a stop when she forced herself in his path, though. He stared down at her, eyes hard. She was rather entertaining, when he lacked something more engaging to whet his attention against, but nothing was allowed to interfere with his focus when he was under contract.

Her gaze was nearly beseeching, when she looked up at him. He absently noted that her head topped off at chest level to him before he brushed past her without another word. Or, at least, he tried to brush past her. Her fingers wrapped around his right elbow like a vice before he actually managed to get away.

The feel of her fingers gripping at his limb had him twitching, once, before he whirled, dragging her closer because of that hold and slamming her harshly into a wall.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, Principessa.” His lips brushed lightly against the shell of her ear, voice a quiet murmur and entirely unamused for once. He was close enough that he could hear her voice hitch in her throat.

“Re-” she started, voice choked, but he broke her off with a jerk.

“I am not at your beck and call. And I have done nothing to give you that impression. Don’t play at toying with me, child. You will. Not. Win.” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss against her temple and feeling her shiver like a thing of feathers in his grasp before she went still.

“I need to leave the estate. Just for today.” She bit out, making no move to twist away from him. It had his lips curling in a small, appreciative smile against her skin.

“Oh? And why should that make any difference to me?” he questioned idly, making no move to step away or gave her space.

She shuddered against him, soft and fragile to the touch, but the way she didn’t waste any time in attempting to break away told tales of the unbending nature of the steel writ in every line of her.

“I… I don’t want to spend time with Massimo. He makes me uncomfortable.” She said, almost sounding pathetic.

“Does he now.”

She stiffened in his grasp before slowly relaxing again.

“He does.” She repeated, turning her face to stare into his eyes, daring him to make something of that. It had him baring his teeth in the semblance of a smile before he brusquely tucked away what little amusement her defiance was drawing out from him.

“I don’t know what stories you’ve been hearing, child, but for all their dalliances, Timoteo’s sons are all perfect gentlemen. None of them would dare court your ire. Certainly not when you’re to be either bride or sister-in-law to them, depending on their individual fate.”

So suck it up and deal, was what went unsaid. She clearly got the gist of what he was implying, if the revolted look she shot him was anything to go by.

“I don’t know about them being perfect gentlemen, but Massimo is a jealous little brat. He hates that I get along well with Xanxus, and it has him behaving atrociously whenever we’re expected to spend time together. I certainly don’t want to remain at the estate when rumours of me spending time at the Varia Compound are being spread about.” She rapped out, eyes cold.

It made him eye her with slowly increasing interest.

“Rumours, you say?”

She blinked slowly, and all of a sudden, rather than the plain faced brat who looked more like a teenage boy than anything else, Reborn found himself staring down into the amber eyes of the arresting young woman who’d playfully flirted with him back in Namimori. It made him draw back slightly, mind already working at taking this new angle into consideration.

For all that Tsuna went around smiling sweetly and capturing the hearts of every man, woman and child present under the roof of the Vongola Estate, charismatic in only the most incidental sense, this specific avatar was one that he hadn’t been confronted with at all, since she’d been brought to Italy. And he was certain that Timoteo and his sons had no inkling of Tsuna having this specific facet to her personality, or they would all be far warier of her than they’d made any effort to be, so far.

He seen the barest glimpse of this, in Ottava’s sun room. On the window seat, before that. And even then, it wasn’t precisely this.

This Tsuna was loose-limbed and confident, completely unconcerned by the tightening grip of his hands on her arms. Even the set of her face had relaxed into something that looked unnervingly polished and aristocratic, to the point that it boggled the mind to know that these features existed on the same face as the plain faced brat he’d been warning away earlier.

Sky Attraction, he tried to tell himself. But he knew the answer wasn’t as easy as that.

Plain and unassuming, blending in with the surroundings, not worthy of concentrated observation or attention. Sweet and demure, laughing coyly and capturing and breaking hearts at her whim.

Amber eyed and cold, every line of her demanding his attention and regard, accepting nothing less than his wholehearted obeisance.

He breathed in sharply, meeting her gaze for gaze. She slowly blinked, large eyes shuttering behind her lashes, and the amber slowly winked out. And he was left with nothing but the embers and ash of that that burning flame.

She made a soft noise, and it was only then that he realised that his fingers were digging into her arms hard enough to leave bruises behind.

It was his turn to shiver, the reaction juddering down his spine like the smoothest of silk against skin, making his lips reflexively pull apart in a hard grin that had her staring up at him, transfixed. Her lashes lifted up in an expression of such earnest fascination that he couldn’t find it in himself to muffle his low laughter.

“Oh, Principessa. You spoil me.” He said. And kept laughing, even when she blinked up at him. Still fascinated, but also confused.

After all, what else was it but being spoiled when the girl kept dropping new sources of entertainment right in his lap?

42 notes · View notes

nighttimelights-prompted · 7 years

Note

What would you say the big 4 Au skelebros Love languages are?

(i got a sudden spike in messages after that last post, thank you all so much! i love to hear what you think about my responses to these prompts, be it in asks, replies, or simply talking in the tags. i quite liked this one and could squeeze it in time-wise amongst the longer ones i’ve got going, so here’s something shorter on this excellent imagine.)

(more on the love languages here, if you’re interested~. note too that these are just my headcanons for their primary love languages - i imagine most/all of them have close seconds that mean a lot to them as well.)

UT Sans: Acts of Service

“For these people, actions speak louder than words.“

After all he knows/has seen of Resets and related time shenanigans, with the way he guides/follows Frisk through the Underground, with the way he looks after his own brother, Acts of Service is absolutely the best fit for classic Sans. The rest means a lot to him as well, but he’s most inclined to and most affected by actions that show just how much you care about him. Not showy ones, by any means - even little things like taking the time to know his brother better and indulging him in a cookoff, or grabbing him his favorite drink before you come over, or washing his spare hoodie he left at your place with your own laundry because you remembered him saying how much he likes the smell of your detergent mixed with that special thing you always smelled of.

UT Papyrus: Quality Time

“This language is all about giving the other person your undivided attention.“

He’s got so many ideas and interests and passions, and he just wants to be able to share them with you. You don’t necessarily have to agree with all of them, but just show your own interest and participate in them with him as you’re able to. He shows his love the best for you the same way, actively making time for you in his absurdly energetic schedule, keeping in touch even when you’re apart to check in on your day, and wanting to share in the little things he loves with you, even if it’s just to catch up on the latest MTT vlogs with you in his arms, or vice versa if you’d like an enormous skeleton to be your little spoon.

UF Sans (aka Red): Acts of Service

“For these people, actions speak louder than words.“

Underfell lives by the darker twist on what could happen when you shove an entire people indefinitely underground with dwindling resources and high tension after a brutal war. Kill or be killed, or at least certainly appear willing and able enough to do so. Words are more or less empty air, easily manipulated - and even when they get to the Surface, that’s a feeling that’s hard to shake with all the vague political promises. So showing him that he matters to you is what’s most valued for him, just as he’ll do little and big things alike to show he cares about you (even going with you to visit those old friends you feel obligated to see that he doesn’t trust one inch, or perhaps taking care of some shady business behind the scenes in a way you may never know of - because he wouldn’t feel the need to tell you, he’d just do it because it would take care of you). So taking care of the trash after waking up one morning before Edge could see he’d forgotten it, or sneaking Edge recipe tips casually by sharing on social media, or simply bringing him some coffee and passing him tools as he works on his latest project - these things mean the world to him.

UF Papyrus (aka Edge): Acts of Service

“For these people, actions speak louder than words.“

For similar reasons to Red regarding the universe they live in, Acts of Service is also the primary love language for Edge. He loves praise, of course, don’t get me (or him) wrong - but when it comes to someone he truly cares about, actions will be the biggest tell for him. The same way he takes on an excess of obvious responsibility and gains renown for both the pride and ability it demonstrates and the safety it affords not only him but Red as well, he’ll work just as hard for your sake without ever vocalizing his ongoing efforts and the reasons behind them. He’ll show up, unannounced, at your place, simply to cook you a meal and appraise the chosen outfit for that Big Thing you have to do. So if you take care of him in turn, showing him more than anything perhaps in the way you set his boots to dry one rainy night when he comes home from a security detail in the early hours of the morning and simply passes out (not that he’d ever admit to overlooking that detail), or in the way you clean up your living area when he comes over because you know the order makes him feel more at ease, or in the way you start teaching yourself how to cook the kinds of savory dishes he prefers… well, that will go over extremely well and be appreciated by him.

US Sans (aka Blue): Words of Affirmation

This language uses words to affirm other people.

Blue’s a little trickier, I’ll admit. He’s incredibly observant, and can pick up on most ways people show their care, and is willing to adapt in a lot of ways himself. In the end, though, I feel that Words of Affirmation just barely wins out in preference. Because he’s so observant, outspoken, and capable, sometimes it’s easy to miss the way that he actively seeks to reaffirm other people in positive ways, and the ways that he, at least internally, hopes to be affirmed. Verbal recognition of his skills and efforts go so incredibly far with Blue. Taking the time to talk through your problems with him affirms his importance in your life to him and your trust in him, and listening and talking through his own troubles - and joys, and more - with him does the same. He’ll happily spend hours talking into the night with you, or meet up over coffee just to share your latest endeavors and experiences.

US Papyrus (aka Stretch): Physical Touch

“To this person, nothing speaks more deeply than appropriate touch.“

Permanence is something Stretch deeply struggles with, his apathy through and after the time shenanigans alongside his chronic anxiety (which he hides well through practice, humor, and an easygoing approach to most people and situations). He’s so tired, though, so just being near someone shows his care, love, and trust - so even if he’s napping (truly napping, not just faking with his eyes closed), he’s near you, and the amount of trust it takes for him to do that around you is staggering by his count - and the same in reverse. Being able to put his arm around you when you’re out, offering a fist bump as a small measure of affirmed support… other small touches to reassure him of your presence, hugs (if you’re really close) when you see him, even just casually sitting on the couch, side-by-side, these little actions show him how much you care… and how much he cares about you.

SF Sans (aka Spike): Physical Touch

“To this person, nothing speaks more deeply than appropriate touch.“

While Spike shares this value with Stretch, it’s for different reasons and under different approaches. Very few people are close in the Swapfell universe, and each person tends to have a nearly-measured value in another’s life. Things relax a little once they make it to the surface, but the same remains true in that outside of generally being on the side of ‘monster’s rights to exist’, monsters only trust and truly value a chosen few. So for Spike, if you’re among those, then that means that him choosing to be in the same room when he doesn’t necessarily have to be (or have some other desired goal or desire in that room) is a clear show of caring. He’ll read or be jotting down notes in the same room as others he cares about, and even if he doesn’t speak to them for hours, he’s very actively showing his care. For those he’s closest with, touch itself is valued to a high level. His few close friends he will touch their shoulder for reassurance, clasp their hand in understanding or even support, or sit side-by-side with them while working out a problem. Behind closed doors and in private, he values hugging as well, adoring when his s/o hugs/kisses him in greeting or goodbye, and spends/enjoys spending a lot of mutual time casually touching his s/o, sitting next to them while working, appreciating when they come behind him and wrap their arms around him in a silent, supportive embrace as he’s sorting through something particularly convoluted. His brother, too, despite his harsh words, receives small touches (hand on the shoulder, a squeeze of the hand, even a hug on occasion) to demonstrate how much Spike cares. And too, of course, his s/o will be able to appreciate (and ideally for Spike, return) a significant amount of intimacy of the decidedly NSFW kind.

As I’ve said previously, his relationship isn’t for the faint of heart, but he does not put up airs to deceive otherwise in the beginning. And again, should you be able and willing to match him wit for wit and will for will in a longlasting and positive way, he will prove to you that it is not a regrettable choice.

SF Papyrus (aka ‘Rus/Russ): Quality Time

“This language is all about giving the other person your undivided attention.“

Intriguingly, Russ is the only one to match UT Papyrus in that his strongest love language is that of quality time. For similar reasons to Underfell of the harsh nature of his home universe, he’s not one to put his greatest stock in words- but neither is he inclined or expecting actions as proof. Instead, with how little he takes for granted (his own life and happiness included), Russ values time spent together the most. This is why he’ll spend time with his brother so frequently even though they don’t always see eye to eye or enjoy all the same activities, because for him he’s expressing his deep care for his brother by spending his time with him regardless. He’s not vocal about this being his love language at all, however - so if you’re his s/o, hopefully you pick up on or naturally match this value of his, because he’ll perceive how much you care for him largely through that aspect of quality time. It’s not a demand for all your time, either, by any means. But spending quiet and busy moments alike with him, listening to him when he decides to share something, taking part in his hobbies (or perhaps more frequently, offering to include him in yours as can apply - especially if you’re able to twist it in a way that better incorporates or acknowledges him), and making the time to spend time alone together… you might as well have just handed him the stars themselves.

131 notes · View notes

goldeagleprice · 4 years

Text

11 Quick Tips for the Liberty Seated Dollar Collector

By Brishen Foley

Editor’s Note: The following article has been reprinted from the E-Gobrecht Newsletter, Vol. 16, Issue 7, with the express permission of the Liberty Seated Collectors Club.

Here are some tips I think would be helpful to people that are contemplating starting a Liberty Seated dollar (LSD) set. They are not in any particular order and can all be equally important. One thing that goes without saying (even though I’m about to say it), join the LSCC! It is an incredible value and has been beneficial to me along the way. Hope these “Eleven Quick Tips” can help some newer collectors avoid some hard lessons and painful tuition.

Buy Coins with Original Surfaces Most people start off buying the cheapest example they can find for each hole in the set. After assembling a handful of these examples you should be able to notice that while they may be straight graded, they certainly are not problem-free. Instead, they were deemed market acceptable. If the cheapest market acceptable coins are what floats your boat then more power to you. But make sure you do not pay a premium for them because you will have a tough time recovering any premium paid. For me, it is much more rewarding to pay more to find a problem-free example that is original and PQ. It may sound easy enough for those who are new to collecting Seated dollars but I can assure you that after years of building this set, it is tougher then you could ever imagine trying to locate PQ examples. I have spent countless hours searching for these rare treasures and with the help of a few great friends and dealers, I have managed a humble 41 of the 43 (minus the 1870s) I originally laid out as my goal. There is no way to get a precise number of surviving examples with original surfaces, but I lean heavily on the CAC population to get a rough idea of the number of original coins for each date. Another way to get an idea of how tough it is to find a nice original Seated dollar is to do a quick, simple search on eBay. I would guess nearly 90 percent of the dollars on eBay have been dipped, cleaned, damaged, or abused at some point in the past. That includes both raw and certified examples. If you are lucky enough to finally find a date you need that is strictly original and PQ… buy it!

Learn to Grade the Series Before You Buy There is an endless amount of knowledge to learn about LSDs. It is fairly easy to find out the basics such as how many coins are in a full date and mintmark set, which year was a proof only issue, and which coins are considered to be a key date. So I won’t bore you with those basic details. Learning to grade is an important part of becoming an expert in the series. You can not rely solely on what the plastic says. There are many dates that suffer from poor strikes and learning how to grade them yourself is essential. I would also strongly suggest getting a grasp of the survival estimates and how rare each particular date is taking into account originality. There are many dates that are considered “common” (if there is such a thing in this series), but I’d bet some of these “common” dates will take years to find a fully original PQ specimen. Once you’ve mastered this, you’ll be able to make a quick decision if you come across a date on your want list.

Buy LSDs that are Slabbed The market is flooded with counterfeit dollars from China. The best way to avoid buying a counterfeit is to purchase dollars that have already been authenticated by the top two grading services. Another benefit when buying certified coins is they are protected from future potential damage. These coins have managed to survive 150 years worth of wars, silver melting, natural disasters, the Great Depression, etc. The least we can do as owners is protect this large heavy silver coin from a rim bump from an accidental fall. Lastly, you’ll have a much easier time finding a buyer for a slabbed Liberty Seated dollar when it comes time to sell. Yes, we have all heard “Buy the Coin, Not the Holder,” however, when it comes time to sell, there is definitely a hierarchy and PCGS CAC approved coins are king followed by NCG CAC approved examples. Then comes a PCGS non CAC coin followed by NGC non CAC. I have bought and sold all of the above, and this has been my experience.

Send Your Coins to CAC for Approval Whether you love them or hate them, CAC has proven itself in this market. There is absolutely no reason not to send your Seated dollars to CAC. The demand for CAC-approved coins is undeniable and is proven through the higher prices realized at auctions time and time again. I can not think of any other series that this approach is more profound. Seated dollars can sell for multiples of price guides’ listed value and in my opinion, they are worth every single penny and in many cases more. Failure to send your coins to CAC simply leaves money on the table when selling choice PQ dollars. Luckily, if you are a collector member of CAC, it means you only pay for coins they actually sticker. A fair deal if you ask me… whether you divest your Seated dollar set yourself or you leave it to your heirs. CAC will ensure the most money possible at the time of sale. Another benefit of handling CAC coins is you can learn a lot about grading and identifying coins with problems. JA is very tough on Liberty Seated dollars and his eye has taught me a lot.

Ensure You Are Not Buying a Mis-Identified Proof Once you’ve narrowed down the field to just strictly original pieces, you’ll be faced with an additional challenge. While building a set of business strike dollars, you will inevitably come across a circulated proof that is identified as a business strike. Research on this topic was almost non-existent until Dick Osburn and Brian Cushing put in the time and effort required to study the dies and published their book “Liberty Seated Dollars, A Register of Die Varieties” in January 2018. This is a must-own for those building a set. This is the only way to identify your coins by OC variety. Some years seem to be plagued by this more than others (hint: 1862.)

Take Time to Choose a Grade Range that is Manageable to Your Budget When I started collecting Liberty Seated dollars, I chose EF-45 as my target grade. I felt it was manageable and offered the best bang for my buck details-wise. I still believe this to be true, but realized quickly that an all EF-45 set of choice original dollars is almost an impossible task. The closest I’ve seen is the Old Chelsea Collection (which can be viewed through the PCGS registry). This set was actually the catalyst for the start of my own Seated dollar set. I can tell you what he has managed to do is absolutely amazing and probably can never be duplicated again. And any attempt to duplicate this feat would have to involve many years of waiting, searching, and a bottomless wallet. My set is falling short of my initial goal and now spans a wider grade range. I’ve found that the grade of the coin is less important than the originality of the coin. So do not get hung up on a single grade. I suggest you open your range up a bit to allow yourself a chance to actually complete this challenging series. I also suggest keeping the grade range as close as possible to avoid a coin looking too out of place.

Meeting Fellow Collectors is a Must! I’ll let you in on a well-known secret… Most choice LSDs never appear on the open market. They sell amongst fellow collectors. I have met a lot of people since I started my set and a few of them have become some of my best friends, not just coin buddies but friendships beyond coins. We buy, sell and trade amongst each other and constantly look out for each other’s want lists. Simply put, I would not have the set I have today without them. This hobby is so much more rewarding when you have friends who are like-minded and who are looking out for each other. If possible, try to have multiple people to bounce things off of. This can help a newer collector identify coins that have problems that may be beyond his knowledge when starting a new collection.

Choose a Mentor Wisely When attempting to put together an original set of business strikes, I highly advise you to gain a mentor who has knowledge of the series and who genuinely has your best interest at heart. Just because a person has knowledge of LSDs doesn’t make them a mentor. One must take the time to properly vet this individual… Ask around, you’d be surprised how small this Seated dollar world is. Any Seated dollar specialist will inevitably have a reputation. In this business, reputation is everything. Some guys have a reputation of being solid as an oak while others will do or say anything to make a buck. Ask the dealers off the record about a potential candidate and their answer should give you a decent feel for the situation. In this hobby, your word is everything. There are guys I’ve never met in person, but have done 5-figure coin deals with nothing more than a phone conversation. Literally, sending coins before payment and vise versa. That is the level of trust I have built with certain LSCC members. Sadly, this is not the case for everyone and this must be learned through experience and word of mouth. Everyone has their own level of trust they are willing to extend, but no matter the level you feel comfortable with, a good mentor is necessary.

The “Time to Buy” is When You See Her Once you have found a choice PQ original example of a date you need and you feel comfortable with the price… it is time to buy! Even the slightest hesitation can turn into you waiting a decade or more before another premium example presents herself in your desired grade range. I have a want list open with several well respected, high integrity dealers and have gotten some incredible coins that way. When they call, you should be able to make a pass or play decision fairly quickly. That is the least you can do to show the dealer you appreciate having a shot at his material. That being said, I’d suggest only purchasing coins that are good enough to have in your set forever. This takes a tremendous amount of patience and willpower which I myself have fallen short of many times. Upgrading constantly can be, or shall I say is, an unnecessary cost in an already expensive series to collect. So try to avoid constant upgrading when possible.

Stay Focused Attempting a Liberty Seated dollar set with this approach will test you in many ways. For one, you’ll have to find these rare gems. Once you’ve found them, you’ll have to have the financial means to complete the purchase. Once you’ve gotten through half the set you’ll find the coins you need are all extremely scarce, and months or even years can go by without finding a coin that is needed towards your set. This downtime can cause a collector to lose focus and spend his or her money elsewhere sometimes moving on to other series or worse another hobby. I would suggest trying to resist the urge although I am actually guilty of this myself and have admittedly started a Trade dollar collection to fill in the time in between Seated dollar purchases. I justify this to myself by the fact that in a second’s notice, I am willing to sell off my Trade dollar set in order to purchase the right Seated dollar.

Take a Few Coins Around to Shows Once you have a small group of Seated dollars in your possession, take a few representatives to a coin show and show them around. You may be surprised at some of the feedback. Ask them what they believe your coins are worth. This will give you a rough idea of how well you did with your purchases. Speaking to dealers that are knowledgeable in the series can be a great educational experience. Once you develop a relationship with these dealers, they will keep in touch as they locate nice examples. They can also look at coins in auctions for you and provide some great feedback from their first hand, in-person inspection of the auction lot. A relationship with a good group of dealers is important and needs to be maintained to get a crack at fresh material coming on to the market.

The post 11 Quick Tips for the Liberty Seated Dollar Collector appeared first on Numismatic News.

#Precious Metals

0 notes

kapmarvin · 5 years

Text

Rimbaud in Africa, a book review

The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable. These words of Arthur Rimbaud encapsulate the thirty seven years of suffering that constituted his life. One cannot help feeling that the awe with which he is viewed, both for his writing and for the enigma of his life, obscures many to the simpler and more humane fact that this was a person who suffered unbearably and bore it all to the bitter end. Born of an utterly loveless woman, so repugnant to him that even on his death bed he preferred to travel to the other side of France just so he could die in the clinical care of a doctor who sawed off his leg, he could never overcome the wounds inflicted by her and the many ripple effects her existence caused.

Charles Nicholls book Somebody Else; Arthur Rimbaud in Africa focuses on the years between his revolt against Literature and his excruciating death. They are marked by an utter, and as ever utterly self-flagellating, desperation to gain financial independence in a world that had already rejected his raison d’etre. So wounded is he by this rejection that even when the world begins to catch up to his genius (unusual for the world to do so in a geniuses own lifetime, though certainly grist to the mill of this rather unbelievable story) he cannot reopen his heart to it. It is a heart so wounded that it would have been improbable if not for his genius that he found any outlet for his suffering at all. But having done so, only to have it rejected, that heart, connected as it was to an iron will that would have made even Nietzsche blush, seems to have been condemned to be condemned, in the architectural sense.

Charles Nicholls book is unfortunately a bit scant for a book of over 350 pages on information actually pertaining to Rimbaud himself. One might protest that the subject is not exactly one that lends itself to knowledge, that the mystery regarding Rimbaud in Africa is one that is as open as the subject’s heart. But that would only throw the purpose of such a book’s existence into question. So inevitably a lot of the book is what the more cynical might justifiably call “filler”. But looked at another way – and this seems to be common among writers on Rimbaud – the book can be looked at as the personal journey of a lover of Rimbaud following in his footsteps. (And it certainly has that detective element to it). The book is composed of quite a bit of bulk; firstly a larger than expected introduction to Rimbaud’s pre-Africa years (the man from the Ronseal advert would not be happy), personal authorial anecdote, past and present description of the geography and it's socio-political context; all of which is fair enough except when all this is taken out there is actually very little Rimbaud that we do not already know. So though it is not a criticism, as some may still enjoy the world that is created with Rimbaud as its inspiration, others may tire of being constantly derailed from what the title suggests is the subject of the book.

When Rimbaud does appear, it is a mostly melancholy picture. Loneliness, desperation, seething, repressed rage. It is the story of a wounded child, desperate to grow up, desperate for independence from a punishing childhood and a past now abandoned with shame and disgust, but completely without the tools to do so. It is the story of an emotional wound festering without intervention to the stage of gangrene. One cannot help wondering at the close whether his suffering was worth the poems they spawned for such a short time; and if so, then what an artist is when they cease the flow of their art. For such an existentialist exemplar, Rimbaud’s life post-Literature does beg the question whether we choose our raison d’etre, or whether it chooses us, and our only volition is whether we accept it or not. It is perhaps idle to speculate what could have been for this poor man had he not been so traumatised so young, because perhaps then, what poems did come would not have, would have had no need to. It is a mystery among mysteries; which is probably to say that life is far more random and hazardous than we try to make it with our words. And this book is such an attempt, and an admirable one. The author is more than simply a detached detective. His is a labour of love.

The upshot of the book is certainly in seeing in more detail just how revered Rimbaud was in Africa. His colleagues, natives and customers alike tend to express a unique admiration, and almost love, for this individual they readily confess to being surly and morose; they seem to accept this as just a sad trait of one they understand to be broken deep down. His genius follows him even without his art, and is born once more in the eyes of those who behold him, far from the literary world of Paris that is only just waking up to his gifts. It even seems that perhaps in Africa, Rimbaud found what might be described as the closest thing to human love that existed in his life outside of his relationship with Paul Verlaine all those years earlier. And though this experience of love would end in similarly tragic circumstances, at least this time it was not human malice or folly that was to blame. The proof being in the longing and regret the people he left behind felt at his sickness and departure, and equally in his insistent desire to return to the fold as soon as possible. But it was never to be.

Nothing said about Rimbaud in Africa would be ingenuous without commenting on the accusations regarding two subjects: the alleged killing of a man in Cyprus, and his involvement in the African slave trade. Both subjects seem doomed to inconclusion for the time being. The killing, if it happened, was an accident, but Rimbaud already being of a fugitive heart, a feral and desperate child, fled the country in fear. And that ends that, as far as knowledge is concerned. The slave trade is a far more difficult situation to gauge. It would appear that slavery was something so common in the context of the time and place that no European could avoid coming into contact with it, and that even with the strictest moral compass, such proximity alone would go some way to scrambling what moral boundaries exist outside such conditions. A contemporary example might be the way we today deal with homelessness. We know it is wrong, and yet it is everywhere. Do we raise our voices in protest? Do we always give aid? Do we take them into our homes? Do we do anything that can be deemed sufficient as a moral response? These, I imagine, are the conditions in which a European would find themselves in nineteenth century Africa. And Nicholls does a good job of placing things in context, and employing his investigatory acumen in the service of drawing a line between fact and fiction, speculation and proof on this thorniest of issues, and even uncovers sheer irresponsibility on the part of certain commentators whose careless pronouncements in the past have played the greater part in proliferating these stories about Rimbaud. But it must always be remembered that when dealing with Rimbaud we are dealing with extreme love and extreme hate in the shape of his admirers and detractors, as is always the sad case in matters of literary legends. One must always err on the side of caution when looking upon such figures, and not let the words obscure the human.

In the final analysis, it seems to be in the very essence of Arthur Rimbaud to evade detection as a matter of course. He is like the headlights of a car at night, perpetually illuminating just how little is not steeped in darkness. And perhaps the person he most evaded was himself. This young man, never loved at the crucial time, the beginnings of a self sabotaged by his own distrust and the rejection it elicited, then fleeing from that self in disgust and seeking it in some of the most inhospitable regions of the Earth for any nineteenth century European, let alone one who had barely ever left behind his childhood, understandably had a lot driving at his heels. His fate seemed doomed from the start, totally without the tools needed to thrive. To himself he really must have seemed quite another.

0 notes

tanmath3-blog · 7 years

Text

As you know i recently read and reviewed Depraved Desires published by HellBound Books Publishing. It’s was an amazing book and included several authors I had not met nor read before. There was one that stood out from the rest. The last story in the anthology by a man named Jaap Boekestein. So I set off trying to find out who he was and if he had written other books because I had to have more of his stories in my life. It took me awhile to find him (because I’m a dork and was spelling his name wrong) but I sure am glad that was corrected and there he was. Somehow he saw my review of Depraved Desires and sent me a message and told me he was glad I loved it. That became and instant friendship and I have enjoyed getting to know him and talking with him. He has an amazing sense of humor that I love and is incredibly smart. I am a luck girl! If you haven’t read anything by him you need to immediately. I can’t recommend it enough! Please take some time and read one of his stories you will not be sorry you did! Please help me welcome Jaap Boekestein to Roadie Notes…….

1. How old were you when you first wrote your first story? I think I must have been around twelve. Back then I was a big fan of the science fiction and fantasy writer Jack Vance and of course I imitated his style. Poorly, I might add. I wrote purely for fun until I discovered there were Dutch and Flemish science fiction competitions and magazines. “Hey, I can do that better!” I thought. Of course my stories were pretty awful, but I kept going on and story by story I learned to write. The fun remained, but now I had the ambition to be published. My first story appeared in a Flemish SF-zine back in 1989. My first English language publication was 1992 but since 2015 I mainly write in English. The Dutch market was never big, but now almost has ceased to exist (Not my fault!). Apparently I do something right, because I get published English pretty regularly by now. So if some Dutch guy can do it…

2. How many books have you written? Five fantasy novels in Dutch, a bit in the style of the Cugel-stories of Jack Vance and Sword-stories by Fritz Leiber. A children’s book, a few novella’s and anthologies, and around three hundred stories. Three of my novels are about three half sisters, dancing-girls, who try to make a living in a city full of evil wizards, corrupt officials, criminal lowlife and monsters.

3. Anything you won’t write about? Well, I can’t think of any subject I won’t at least mention in a story, but I wouldn’t be comfortable writing a story focusing on pedophilia or incest. Those are definitely two areas I am not interested as a writer to explore. I guess there a few more, but I don’t really have a list.

4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids, do you have another job etc... Ha ha, I’m born in 1968, you can do the math yourself. No wife, no kids, no pets. I have good friends who are pretty liberal about relationships, as am I. Writing I do strictly for fun, currently I make a living as a civil servant doing things with computers. I live in the ancient town of The Hague and I can see the North Sea from my living room.

5. What’s your favorite book you have written? I have no favorite. If I choose one, the other buggers will haunt me.

6. Who or what inspired you to write? Like I said, first I wanted to write like Jack Vance, later on I added Fritz Leiber, Clark Ashton Smith, Tanith Lee and Dutch writer Robert van Gulik (Detective stories set in ancient China) to the list. As a starting writer you’re influenced by everything. I think that almost thirty years I managed to find my own voice.

7. What do you like to do for fun? Well, writing! Taking pictures, friends, movies, museums (we have lots of them) and exploring a few alternative lifestyles. Oh, and listening to life jazz and blues.

8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book? I am more a short story writer, but I have a few traditions during and after writing. I can write everywhere, but I prefer to start early (8 am) in a coffeehouse (no, not a coffee shop), drink cappuccinos, eat cake, look at the waitresses and write. After lunch I usually meet friends or do something else. Of course that’s only in the weekends and on my day off. When the story is finished I sent it off to my proof readers and move on to the next. Basically I have a list of interesting calls for submission and I just start with the next one I find interesting. It is a pretty structured routine by now. O, and the traditional sacrifice of a virgin, of course. No, kidding. They don’t have to be virgins.

9. Where do you write? Quite or music? I need noise. This can be music, but it is usually people talking, kids shouting, babies crying, the hordes from Hell singing my praise (Maybe that’ one is only my mind). Every writer I know has his or own thing, but I try to be as flexible as possible. I once was the PA for Terry Pratchett for a weekend on a Dutch fantasy festival. He really could write anytime, everywhere. I try to do the same. It certainly helps to write lots and lots of stuff.

10. Anything you would change about your writing? I would love to have the patience to write full length novels. The five novels I have done, are mosaic novels, so each chapter is basically a short story. I tried writing real novels a zillion times, but I usually get bored around 20.000 words.

11. What is your dream? Famous writer? To live forever. No, I’m not kidding. With enough time I can do or become anything I want. So gimme a mind and body that keeps going forever and I promise to bake you the ultimate chocolate cake. Deal?

12. Where do you live? On the seventh floor (The way the British count) of a grey tower in the wind-swept town of The Hague, city of the Peace Palace, the international court and some pretty interesting clubs.

13. Pets? My lady friends objects to be called that by me. And no, they are definitely not my pets. I have some bunny ears somewhere, that is the closest thing I have for a pet.

14. What’s your favorite thing about writing? Except the cappuccinos, cake and flirting with waitresses it is getting in the reader’s mind and fucking him or her up. Like most writers I am sadist (a sweet one) and I love to toy with my readers. Get them scared, mad, or aroused.

15. What is coming next for you? More stories. I have to finish an undead steampunk story about a black lesbian lady with a brass arm. I guess that will be two or three days work. There is a body horror story I want to write, and a Cthulhu story. A shapeshifter erotic story and a gay superhero story. And a music horror story. I guess that will keep me busy the next two months. After that… I have this idea about a horror novel with lots of kinky sex and demons, but suspect that won’t make it past the 20.000 words… 😦

16. What kind of things do you write?

Well science fiction, fantasy, horror, thrillers, erotica and whatever I find interesting. I tried things like children’s books and YA, but I find them to limiting. I don’t like continuously asking myself if what I write is suitable for the reader.

I do write horror, but unlike most horror writers, I don’t get scared (That’s a long and nasty story). So actually for me it pretty difficult to know if something is scary. Luckily my proof readers – bless their little bleeding hearts – can feel fear. If they say things like “You evil, evil bastard!” I know I am on the right track. A “Woohoo!” is also a good indicator, but usually of something else.

Thank you for the interview. I love to portray myself as witty, experienced writer with an interesting live. And to mess around with readers, of course.

You can connect with Jaap Boekestein here: http://jaapboekestein.com/ https://www.amazon.com/author/jaapboekestein.com

Some of Japp Boekenstine’s books:

Getting personal with Jaap Boekestein As you know i recently read and reviewed Depraved Desires published by HellBound Books Publishing. It's was an amazing book and included several authors I had not met nor read before.

0 notes