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[diutive-arch]

𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇  𝐷𝑂𝐸𝑆  𝐷𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻 𝐹𝐸𝐸𝐿  𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸      .      .      .

AN  INDEPENDENT  &  SELECTIVE  RENDITIONS  OF  MULTIPLE CHARACTERS  AS  SEEN  IN  ASSORTED  MEDIAS    [     THIS  IS  A  SIDEBLOG  TO  @brainwashe.      I  CAN  ONLY  FOLLOW  BACK  FROM  THAT  BLOG,    THOUGH  YOU  DON'T  NEED  TO  BE  FOLLOWING  THAT  BLOG  TO  FOLLOW  THIS  ONE      ].

.      .     .      𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸 𝐴 𝐾𝐼𝑆𝑆!

the  roleplayer:      gray,   twenty  -  one,   they/them. rules  &  other  important  details:   found  over  at  @brainwashe.    muses  listed  below. other  blogs      /      platforms:   discord  available  to  mutuals.

BOKU  NO  HERO  ACADEMIA  :

TOKOYAMI  FUMIKAGE.   bisexual   [   he/they/it   ].   sixteen.   tentatively open to shipping with those i trust.

SHIGARAKI  TOMURA.  bisexual   [  he/him   ].   twenty  one.   open to shipping at your own risk.

TODOROKI  SHOUTO.  bisexual   [  he/him   ].   sixteen.   tentatively open to shipping with those i trust.

USAGIYAMA  RUMI.  bisexual   [   she/her   ].   twenty three.   open to shipping.

MINA  ASHIDO.  lesbian   [  she/they   ].   sixteen.   tentatively open to shipping with those i trust.

HAIKYUU   :

KAGEYAMI  TOBIO.    bisexual   [  he/him   ].   sixteen to twenty four.   open to shipping.

TENDOU  SATORI.   gay   [   he/they   ].   eighteen to twenty six.   open to shipping.

USHIJIMA  WAKATOSHI.     bisexual   [   he/him   ].   eighteen to twenty six.   open to shipping.

YACHI  HITOKA.   bisexual   [   she/her   ].     sixteen to twenty four.   open to shipping.

TANAKA  RYONOSUKE.   bisexual.   [   he/him   ].   seveteen to twenty five.   open to shipping.

LEV  HAIBA.   gay   [   he/they   ].   sixteen to twenty four.   open to shipping.

YUKIE  SHIROFUKU.  bisexual   [   she/her   ].    seventeen to twenty five.   open to shipping.

SEMI  EITA.  gay   [   he/him  ].   sixteen to twenty four.   open to shipping.

GOSHIKI  TSUTUMO.   gay.   [   he/him ].   fifteen to twenty four.   open to shipping.

HANA  MISAKI.    bisexual   [   she/her   ].   seventeen to twenty five.   open to shipping.

INVINCIBLE   :

SAMANTHA  WILKINS.   bisexual   [   she/her   ].  seventeen.   open to shipping.

WILLIAM  CLOCKWELL.   gay.   [   he/him   ].   seventeen.   open to shipping.

TOKYO  MEW  MEW   :

MINTO  AIZAWA.   bisexual   [   she/her   ].   fifteen.   open to shipping.

KISHU.   bisexual   [   he/they/it   ].   sixteen.   open to shipping.

SK8   :

LANGA  HASEGAWA.   bisexual   [   he/him   ].   seventeen.   open to shipping.

[diutive-arch]

@diutive shes now a main blog ooooo shes a runner shes a star

[diutive-arch]

ok i’m probably gonna change this into a main blog but i am Adding Miya Osamu

[diutive-arch]

@pridewon   :         "Wakatoshi..." No, decidedly, Leon has a very hard time containing the low chuckle bubbling in his throat. He had known this would be no normal first encounter, but everything now is going beyond his wildest imagination. "Wakatoshi. She's a baby. I promise, she is not going to hurt you." In Leon's arms, little Junko seconds her father with a series of unintelligible babblings, big brown eyes fixed on the giant sitting across them. "You sure you don't want to at least try holding her?" (I had to)

ushijima sat on the couch, arms crossed over his chest...     leon was the picture of domestic bliss,  junko held easily in his arms,   a natural smile smearing across his lips   [   they are eternal opposites:     the jovial tone meeting ushijima’s furrowed brow   ].     THE UNEASE IS NOT CAUSED BY LEON.    there are very few people that can make him feel as welcome as his old friend,   a lovely hug wrapped up and tied away into an eager present.    but the baby is a new factor   --   she is all ruffled glee and little laughs,   small hands reaching out for ushijima as she senses the stranger in the room.    he hasn’t had much experience with...   children before.    he keeps attempting to flash a smile at the little bundle of joy,   but it comes out more and more like a grimace.     his arm jerks out a little.    it looks as if he’s considering holding her,    but his hand drops against his knee instead,   flashing another grimace - smile.     his shoulders roll,   a deep breath is taken.       ‘        what if i drop her?   ...   i’ve heard that’s bad for children.        ’

[diutive-arch]

i will not give kageyama tobio his own blog, i will not give-

[diutive-arch]

@pridewon   :       is       that         what         you       wanted?       (       iwaizumi         to         kageyama        ).

a wiggle of a frown,   a crumple of a brow...     kageyama’s features sit uncomfortably over his face   [   kageyama’s body sits uncomfortable atop of his bones,   a hunch of the spine,   a whimper of the shoulders:     water spills over his hand as he fills up his water bottle,    his frown growing deeper over his lips   ].        ‘       i guess,        ’        kageyama relents,    but his voice is lukewarm in his throat.        MEMORIES OF MIDDLE SCHOOL WEREN’T EXACTLY CHERISHED BY HIM.     he was wise enough to keep them covered by a thin level of film,   barely accessible,    camera flashes of thoughts that barely lasted a few seconds in his mind   --   there was a boy with nothing but a crown,   supposing it was the entire world.      he pulls his water bottle to his chest,   gave warming the far wall,    because looking at iwaizumi hurt a little.     another absent feeling he couldn’t pick out from the weave of emotion that seemed to thrum through him.          ‘         i don’t know.      i wanted to win,   but i didn’t want to win...   like that,  i guess.    it’s all different now.         ’

[diutive-arch]

antineko​:

what’s    the    most    important    thing    about    studying  ?                [    …    ]                the    part    where    you    eat  ,          of    course  !                    there’s    the    absentminded    munching    as    you    go    over    every    topic    and    then    there’s    the    official    snack    break  ,                the    most    essential    part    of    a    study    session    and    point    today’s    protagonists    find    themselves    at  .                k uroo    holds    a    bag    of    potatoes                (      shrimp    flavour  ,                these    things    are    delish      )                with    might    and    fully    on    guard    from    the    stealthy  ,                prying    hands    of    his    study    buddy  ,                relaxed    sitting    position    now    having    developed    into    a    mild    manspreading        ────────────        but    worry    not  !                courtesy   has    lead    to    his    jacket    resting    across    his    legs  .                          ❝          y’know  ,                you    should    start    making    bo    pay    a    fee    everytime    he    doesn’t    return    your    notes          ❞                          it’s    a    passing    thought  ,                said    as    a    new    handful    of    potatoes    enters    his    mouth    and    with    his    head    thrown    back  ,                even    tilts    the    bag    towards    her    so    she    can    indulge    on    the    shrimp    miracle  .                          ❝          what’re    you    missing    right    now  ?                i’ll    lend    you    mine    if    it’s    something    i’m    done    with  .          ❞                    @diutive​  ,        for    yukie  .

kuroo was totally guarding his snacks...      what was often a rather lax posturing became warped and determined as he pulls out his potato chips,    which did nothing but spark yukie’s curiosity   [   she had her own snacks in her lap,    a strawberry oatmeal bar and some beef jerky,   but those chips were calling to her   ].      WHAT SNACK WAS SO GOOD THAT IT NEEDED TO BE GUARDED?          ‘        shove over,        ’         she huffs,   knocking her knees aggressively against his own,    munching absently on her strawberry bar.     it was good...     but the potato snacks had to be better.        ‘       if i don’t give him my notes,     he doesn’t make the grades.     if he doesn’t make the grades,    you don’t get anyone fun to play against.      so,   if you think about it,    i’m doing it for you   --   what flavour are those chips?       ’         she peeks over his side.    TACTIC EMPLOYED:   i’m doing something for you,   so give me a chip.    success rate:   4/10.    but his offer made her slump back into her seat,   small smile settling over her lips.       ahhhhh,    so that’s why she studied with kuroo.    he was actually a nice guy   [   sometimes...    food hoarding notwithstanding   ].       ‘       week six and eight,    that’s what i’m missing.        ’

[diutive-arch]

five years of writing kageyama tobio....meow

[diutive-arch]

minto trans

[diutive-arch]

antineko​:

@diutive​​    said  :                 “ please, help me.  ”  y achi                /                open   ,   source  .

pov  :          it’s    summer    and    we’re    battling    to    death    on    a    training    camp  .          we’re    sweaty  ,          we’re    dehydrated  ,          there    are    mikasa    volleyballs    raining    down    at    full    strength    from    every    corner  ,          this    may    as    well    be    the    jungle  .                    geeeeeeeeeeeee  …                everybody    sure    is    feeling    feisty    this    year  .                yeah  ,                yeah  ,                it    has    always    been    intense  ,                competition    has    always    flowed    copiously    through    their    every    vein                [      …      ]                but    recent    studies    confirm    this    extra    edge    is    a    biological    response    to    the    new    blood    in    this    humble    court  .                which  ,                speaking    of  …❝          hm  ?          ❞                          frame    turns    around    and────────────                well  ,                that    sure    is    a    deer    caught    in    the    headlights    if    he’s    ever    seen    one  ,                somehow    standing    straight    in    the    middle    of    mayhem    and    with    seemingly    no    way    out  .                it    surely    emphasizes    just    how    intense    and    chaotic    things    get    during    these    training    camps  .                          ❝          alright  ,                come    here  .          ❞                          hands    rest    themselves    with    faintness    on    her    shoulders  ,                steering    the    first    year    away    from    ground    zero    and    giving    them    a    single    pat    once    they’re    out  .                          ❝          done  .                how    did    you    even    end    up    in    the    middle    of    the    court  ?          ❞

sometimes,  bravery is stored in shaking hands and blown - wide eyes...     it is journeying into the untouched wilds while her hands are wrapped around a water bottle,   gifting it to tsukishima who replied with barely a nod,   and then finding herself stranded amongst a thousand volleyball - soldiers   [   THEY NEVER GET LESS INTIMIDATING,   DO THEY?   ...   especially since most of them were strangers   ].     it’s with a stuttering breath that she asks for help,     thankful that kuroo takes pity on her and steers her free from the crowd.     ONCE SHE’S CLOSER TO THE WALL,   HER HAND RESTS AGAINST IT.      she sucks in three deep breaths,   in and out,    a technique that her therapist had taught her.    managing anxiety was difficult,   but not impossible   --   it had gotten easier lately.     she wiped her sweaty hands against her skirt,   finally collected enough to turn her gaze back to kuroo - san.         ‘         water bottle,        ’        she said,   as if the rest was obvious.     IT WASN’T.        ‘       i was giving a water bottle to tsukishima - san and,  uh,   it’s a little bit of a blur from there.     i think someone stepped on my foot.     is it safe for that many volleyballs to be flying around at once?        ’

[diutive-arch]

@tomoge​

it’s impossible to miss the familiar gesture — it reminds him all-too-vividly of scorching summer days in miyagi, and with the reminiscence come dozens of tucked-away memories, some good, some less so. some, like the picture of tooru’s prone form in the wake of an especially strenuous practice game, hunched over and pressing a chilled can of pocari sweat to that damn knee of his. now, somewhat older, somewhat wiser, and with a lot less weight laid upon his shoulders, hajime is gracious enough to let the moment pass them by and keep his informed commentary to himself. besides… he doesn’t doubt tobio’s teammates handle that duty just fine as is.  

“  stories about me, huh?  ”  there’s no small amount of humor in his tone. he still doesn’t understand the interest, but he won’t pretend it doesn’t amuse the hell out of him. doubly so when he the topic of everyone’s interest has, according to hajime’s track record, proved to be regarding the second most uninteresting period of his athletic career — just a step above being eight years old, new to the neighborhood, and standing at future volleyball star oikawa tooru’s doorstep with his mothers’ disapproving stares at his back, apologizing to tooru’s mother because he’d given her son a hell of a bloody nose via unitentioned spike to the face.  “  and what’s it you’ve been telling ‘em about me?  ”

kageyama doesn’t feel young anymore...     he has never been the reflective type.   his past was grainy noise not meant to be twisted apart   [   kageyama is of no stable mindset,   a constant flicker of half - formed light down a shaded corridor,    but he treats the past with appropriate caution:     something to ward him from mistakes,   but not something he cared to dwell on   ].      his hands have welted with deeper callouses,   his left ankle sometimes felt a little sticky when he went to try a new move.    HE IS GROWING UP IN A BODY THAT STILL HOLDS A CHILD’S HEART...     the uncomfortable spot of almost - a - grown up didn’t suit anyone.    old friend   /   old mentor   /   old rival.      they all meet together in one word:     iwaizumi.    they all meet together in one night:     winter’s welp.

‘        nothing embarrassing.     i’m sure oikawa - san tells them all the embarrassing stories...     like the time you sprained your ankle trying to get a dog out of a tree.        ’        the trail of childhood is a complicated one,   a surrealist painting in the making:     each brush stroke was fading with time,   a piece of art made only to be destroyed   [   the local sand - beaches of the mind   ].            ‘        just about...    what you were like when we were kids.    i think you were one of my favourites on the team.     no...    you definitely were.          ’

[diutive-arch]

going to add stella from winx club and marinette from miraculous lady bug!

[diutive-arch]

unvince​:

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓,   because he had truly anticipated will’s response.   the hand on his chin,   elbow in the table,   giving him the same look his mom gives him when he has alien guts on his shirt at the dinner table.   [ part of mark yearns for when their lives weren’t as convoluted as they’ve become:   getting into fights on the playground,   coloring on desks with crayola markers.   is this what dying youth feels like? ]      ❝   i don’t think you’ll get much of a tan in paris,   will.   probably too distracted by the french guys to sit in the sun.   how about cancoon instead?   see all the guys at the beach.   it’s a win-win situation,   really.   ❞      these exchanges have become to routine for the two of them:   a schedule followed since elementary school line leaders were a thing.   mark’s calloused fingers come to snatch a fry or two from the basket,   grimacing every so slightly at the state they’re in.   [ he reminds himself to flag down their waiter and order fresh ones,   for william’s sake. ]   mark had gone to sip the drink william presented to him,   but the liquid comes shooting out of his nose as he dissolves into a coughing fit.   or is that laughter?   it’s hard to tell the difference as he shoves a napkin in front of his mouth.      ❝   yeah,   well,   i hate to break it to everyone,   but i kind of get my ass   ‘ vinced ’   on the daily.   maybe i should change my name.   got any suggestions?    ❞

william sighs so deeply that it slides into his skin and escapes out of his nose...     the fries had gone soggy,   the ice cream in the milkshakes had melted down,    the afternoon light was casting them all in its cool glow   [   there is a thousand stories ending in this tiny diner,   lovers kissing for the final time and friends embracing with shaking hands,    but will only cares about their own   ].      the world has always felt will - and - mark - centric to him:     they had carved out a nook of untold joy and buried themselves in it,   one body after another,    poking the world around like uncooked vegetables on an eaten plate.     THE HERO BUSINESS MIGHT BE CHANGING ALL THAT...     but will clung,  as he always had,   as he always will.       ‘       ugh,   but i’ve spent so long trying to learn how to speak french,   mon amour.   oooh,   a little too gay,   i bet.    mon ami?    mi ami?   ...   maybe i should study a little bit harder.       ’        he swept up his milkshake and took a long sip.        ‘       besides,   have you seen french men?    they’re very attractive.    and i think they have beaches.   maybe.       ’       will’s nose wrinkled in sympathy as mark snorted his milkshake over the table.   HE PLUCKS UP A FEW NAPKINS AND HOLDS THEM OUT TOWARDS THE OTHER.         ‘       you’re so gross.    why do i put up with you?       ’        an easy tease,    a little twitch of his lips.       ‘       i’m trying to be supportive.    i’ve seen you get vinced enough times.       ’

[diutive-arch]

skaet​:

@diutive​​    :      ❛  can  i  come  with  you ?  ❜ from langa

“      of course,    dude!     you’re definitely comin’to the park,    that’s the whole point—      ”      you,    the paradigm of unsullied optimism    —    though unruly    &    often frantic in your functioning,    have no hesitation in drawing langa to the core of your rambunctious behavior.     this time bares uncanny resemblance to situations the same before it.     (    maybe it’s under the pretense of unbridled excitement,    eager for your trained knowledge to be shared,    or maybe it’s the commotion of a new friendship,    a common collective of identical interests,    another enthusiasm of yours brimming with barely restrained satisfaction.     )    

regardless of what part of your companionship pulls your bliss to the forefront of your character,    no uncertainty is inherent in your disposition:    your laughter,    thunderous over the formulation of his quiet inquiry    —    a habit only befitting of langa    &    not vexing because of him.    you,    contradictory to his mild tendencies,    indicate such as bracing him into a partial headlock to drive home your rowdy demeanor.     (    how fascinating,    if not peaceful to act in juvenility,    like your childish nature isn’t troublesome.   like it’s welcomed.     )     in spite of your adherence of his request,    no time wasted to comply with either,    you continue on with your own self-regarding pride:    

“      i mean,    how else are you gonna learn to skate if not from my awesome teachings,    ya’know?      ”

rowdiness is apparent in every welcoming gesture reki makes,   an inviting beast who becomes entirely arms and smiles as he embraces langa...     it is not a typical embrace   [   to believe that anything about reki could be typical would be a fool’s mistake   ].    arms loop around his neck and tug him downwards,   a shoddy headlock,   all sloppy movement rife with friendship.     IT IS NOT THAT LANGA HAS SOMEHOW SPENT AN ENTIRE LIFE WITHOUT FRIENDS...      it was simply that,   as indeed the world’s nature dictates,   like calls to like:    his friends had always been quieter,    diluted misshapes blurring into the canadian horizon.     REKI COULD NOT BLUR,  HE COULD NOT FADE.

‘        how did you learn to skate?       ’        cobblestone curiosity patches over langa’s usually blank face,    sitting low and proud across his brow   --   there is something about his expressions that seem expressionless,    as if all the correct pieces had been slotted into place and yet there was no true movement   [   the painter’s brush had rendered him lifeless   ].     reki had appeared to him fully - formed,   perfected in all the ways that mattered...     IT WAS HARD TO IMAGINE HIM AS SOMEONE WHO HAD ONCE BEEN LEARNING HOW TO SKATE.     someone in langa’s position.     but it must have happened...        ‘        did you just learn from videos?   ...   because that means i could learn without you.        ’       a long pause extends ever outwards as langa contemplates solitary celebration.        ‘       not that i’d want that.        ’

[diutive-arch]

jupitersnake​:

he is found thrown out of himself -  heart racing       with bewilderment taut on youthful unknowing.    there he goes  skating with such speed it seems that he is a flash of light , and though he tries to count himself down to hold himself together  there is nothing in him that cannot say things are  as           THEY HAVE BEEN              and so he  misses his mark and crashes into langa. 

“     langa  i am so sorry !!! @diutive​     "            he rushes to go  lift langa back up , checking his body once over to ensure he hadn’t done anything horrible  and  there is a tip in his mood now .        a  slow drag  of actions. so wholly humiliated              that  he rushes to hide himself within himself with a soft uneasy timbre scolding himself for his outbursts .          -           “        oh no ,  are you okay   ???    “

reki flies at him top - speed,   the burning flash of a rubble - swept body colliding with his own...     there is a feral spark of pain that bruises his back,   the imprint of a reki - shape that would form against his skin in the coming weeks   [   langa hits the ground hard   ].     HIS KNEES GO FIRST,   A THANK - YOU - NOTE TO HIS TRAINING.    his elbows bundle beneath him to make sure his face doesn’t get scraped against the concrete.

‘        ouch,        ’         langa sighed,  pulling himself up into a sitting position.    his lower back stung.     every part of him stung,  actually:     his knee might be bleeding.      even so,   he plucked out a small smile,   an attempt to assure reki that he was fine.        ‘       what distracted you?   ...   i’ve never seen you eat dirt that hard before.        ’        he stood up,   watching a red spot bloom over his knee.       ‘       i’m bleeding.        ’

[diutive-arch]

sensshi​:

hungry,     hungry,     hungry.     stomach  grumbles  as  he  searches  his  bag’s  pockets  for  even  a  CRUMB  of  food.     shoyo  of  the  past  has  failed  him  with  an  unfortunate  lack  of  foresight:     no  lunch,     no  wallet,     no  after  school  snack.     he  will  surely  succumb  to  hunger  on  the  bike  ride  home,     a  collapsed  commuter  left  to  the  elements.     eyes  glow  with  fire  first,     an  instinctive  retort  to  brusque  criticism,     but  the  smoldering  coals  are  extinguished  with  an  extended  hand.     “     don’t  mind  if  i  do     !     ”     boy  lunges  forward  from  where  he  is  perched  at  tobio’s  side  to  take  a  bite  of  the  offered  pork  bun.     muscles  still  burn,     but  the  ache  is  largely  unseen  in  unfaltering  enthusiasm.     “     what  do  ya’  mean  about  my  hands     ?     ”     question  is  presented  in  between  chewing,     mumbled  around  the  food  in  his  mouth.     “     put  ‘em  higher     ?     nishinoya  -  san  DID  tell  me  to  bend  my  arms  more     …     hey,     give  me  another  bite     !     ”

hinata eats food like a feral street cat...      what begins as a single offered bite quickly becomes the ginger whining for more   [   tobio looks down at the pork bun and considers tugging it out of reach,   but the thought begins to give him a headache when he thinks about how much hinata would fuss over it   --   best to just get it over with   ].       he nudges the pork bun back in front of the boy after taking a bite of it.      after hinata is finished,   kageyama pulls it back to him,   taking his own bite.    FOOD SHARING HAD BECOME AN ODD NORM BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM:     their closeness exists on and,   more reluctantly,   off the court.          ‘          you’re greedy.    you’re going to waste your entire work - out,           ’          kageyama huffs,    even though he offers hinata another bite once he’s finished.        ‘        put them higher,   and bend your elbows a little more.   spiral them out,   too,    so they’re stuck out a little bit more.        ’

[diutive-arch]

unvince​:

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐄,   if not the remnants of a bad dream.   mark watches the fabric go round,   and round,   and round the washing machine:   the plastic doors foggy with condensation from the unairconditioned room.   [ it’s june:   and i am tired of being brave. ]   watching the blood leach into soapy water is an addicting task,   something so monotonous that it takes the mind off the horrors of the day.   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔   —   𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?   mark’s answer is not so simple.   he sees closed palms,   snapped necks and windowsills crumbling beneath his fingertips.   he sees exploding coins in the night sky,   purple spandex numbers and orange painted nuts and bolts.   [ but most importantly he sees smiling faces,   a mother’s tears at being handed back her safe child. ]   and mark’s answer is yes.      ❝   of course it’s special to me.   ❞      but eve has moved on now.   he’d hardly noticed,   watching his thoughts drain away with the washing machine.   mark’s eyes widen a bit with the realization of how silly what he said sounded:   and his lips quirk up to match her own with a shy shake of his head.      ❝   yeah   —   yeah,   uh,   can you   [ … ]   please update me on cecil’s update about the mauler twin’s updated location.   in his weekly update emails he sends out.   to update us about the week.   ❞

this is what youth looks like when youth is all that is left...     it is the type of youth that sticks,   the type of memory that lives forever:    it’s june and samatha is choking on all her bravery   [   she thinks that,   if every part of her was scraped from the bone,   the very mildew that grew beneath her skin would taste of bravery   ].      she is not even a skeleton anymore.    she is the thing below the skeleton,   the shadow it casts upon her fragile muscle,   the leftover breath of a near - dead mouth.         ‘        some superheroes don’t really have any sort of relationship with their suit...         i mean,    some people just see it as a thing to use.   like their gadgets.    i don’t know.    i think some people see these things as just   --   a means to an end.      ’         she makes a vague gesture with her hand,     a wry smile falling upon her cheeks.    it is june:     it has never been any other month.      she does not believe he sounds silly...     she thinks of mark only in fond flashes,   in the lilac - tint of sweeter moments,   in hands reaching out for a friend and getting the world.     THE SPELL ENDS AND SHE THROWS A GRIN AT HIM,   AN EYE ROLL AWAY FROM LAUGHTER.         ‘         are you talking about the weekly update email he sends where he updates us about the week or when cecil takes us aside to update us about the weekly update email?         ’