#pedantic woman strikes again

[ceescedasticity]

Discussion: What are the differences in implication between

Supposedly

Allegedly

Reportedly

Purportedly

#I like words #pedantic woman strikes again

[b-kip]

British Slang, Phrases and Idioms!

Finally getting this done! Special thanks to my Pa, because without him I wouldn’t know as much slang as I do LOL, we talk about this kind of thing on the regular, and he's my point of reference for this.

Remember, all of these phrases are very informal/casual, and the point of perspective is from England specifically, some of these words could mean something completely different to someone from a surrounding country. Some are moreso used by older people, while others are typical of a brit of any age. I’ll try my best to indicate as such!

If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask! Whether it's in the replies, a DM or an actual tumblr ask! I may do another list/add to this list if I remember more later on. Of course, others are free to add on to this, offer corrections or clarifications, etc! :)

Warnings: Vulgar language, very very brief NSFW mentions

Anyway, Slang and Phrases under the cut!!

Nouns

Berk: an insult, a stupid person. Might be more common with people who are older.

Bird(s): Woman/Women ("A couple of birds") - Can sometimes come off as a little sleazy, but not always. Depends on the way it's used. I'd say it's kind of mostly used in reference to women you aren't that familiar with? Can also be used to mean someone's girlfriend "That's X's bird," Used by all.

Bloke(s): A man/men. Again, I'd say it's mostly used in reference to a guy you aren't very familiar with, but it's not always the case. Used by all.

Bollocks: Nonesense, an exclamation used when you’re annoyed/disagree with something or someone. Used by all.

"That's a load of bollocks," / That's a load of bullshit

"Bollocks to it," / Fuck it

Typically used out of anger or exasperation, but can be used in a light-hearted and joking way.

Bollocking: A strong reprimand. Used by all.

Chops: Mouth or jaws, ("Hit him right in the chops,")

Lad: A guy, typically indicates youth. Used by all.

Lass: A girl, typically indicates youth. Used by all.

Muppet: Also an insult, meaning incompetent or foolish. Used by all.

Mard Arse: someone who is sulking. Used by all.

Can also become a verb - "Mardying"/ Or an adjective: “Mardy”

Telly: TV. Used by all.

Trolleys/Kecks/Knickers: Underwear. First two are likely used by older people, whereas knickers is more commonly used by all. Knickers also specifically alludes/refers to women's underwear.

Yank: An American (Used by Ghost in the first MW2) Can very much have a derogatory tone to it. Used by all.

Adjectives

Battered: of an object, damaged by age and repeated use. Of a person, injured by repeated blows/hits. Used by all.

Bonny: Pretty/Beautiful

Buzzing: Very excited and happy, probably moreso used by younger people

Chuffed: Extremely happy or proud. Used by all.

Daft: Foolish. Used by all.

Dire: Very poor quality (Can still be used to mean serious or urgent) Used by all.

Dodgy: Unreliable, potentially dangerous, dishonest Used by all.

Fancy: Want/Like. Used by all.

Flatter than a witch's tit: Extremely flat

Gutted: Disappointed/Devastated. Used by all ages.

Hammered: Very drunk. Used by all.

Jammy: Lucky, getting lucky without effort ("You jammy bastard.")

Knackered/Shattered: Tired, exhausted / Can also be used to describe something that is broken. Used by all.

Minging: Disgusting/Unpleasant.

Pissed/Pissed-up: Drunk (But can still be used to mean Pissed Off/Angry) Used by all.

Piss easy: Very easy. Used by all.

Piece of Piss: Very easy. Used by all.

Thick: Stupid, dumb (Can be extended into a simile Ex, "Thick as pig shit") Used by all.

Verbs

Batter: strike repeatedly with hard blows, beat the shit out of someone. Used by all.

Collar/Collared: Seize/apprehend, or to stop someone in order to speak to them. Used by all.

Faff/Faffing about: Waste time, doing something (typically something useless) in a really disorganised or pedantic way. Used by all.

Kip: to sleep/nap (literally where my name comes from lmao) Ex. "I'm goin' kip," Used by all.

Leg-it/Legged it/Legging it: Run for it. Used by all.

Mouth/Mouthed/Mouthing Off: talk in a loud, unpleasant or rude/disrespectful way. Used by all.

Nick/Nicked: To steal. Used by all.

Scarper/Scarpered: Run away. Used by all.

Shag: To have sex with someone

Skive/Skived/Skiving: Avoid work or a particular duty by staying away or leaving early. Used by all.

Yank: Pull something very hard. Used by all.

Phrases and Idioms

All over the shop:

Can be used to mean "everywhere" ("You're getting it all over the shop!" / "You're getting it everywhere!")

Can also mean to describe something or someone as being in a disorganised or confused state. ("He was all over the shop,")

Used by all.

Armed to the teeth: Carrying a lot of weapons. Used by all.

Bastard: Can sometimes be used in a similar way to "Dammit!" - an expression of frustration. Used by all.

Can also be used like "damn" when referring to something in frustration. (Ex. "Close that damn door!" would be "Close that bastard door!")

Bastard can also be added after an adjective for added effect "Thievin' bastard," / "Mardy Bastard,"

Bastard in general is a very versatile word, it can be used as an insult but also can just be used to refer to someone generally. See it as a sort of replacement for "guy" in some aspects (but not all). ("Poor guy,"/"Poor bastard,")

Combining the above two, you can get the wonderful phrase "All over the bastard shop."

Bone to pick: Having a grievance with someone. In some cases may indicate reprimanding. Used by all.

Built like a brick shithouse: Describing someone who's very big and very strong. Used by all.

By the skin of one's teeth: By a narrow margin, only just, ("Hanging on by the skin of his teeth"/"Barely holding on") Used by all.

Cheers: Casual term for "Thanks" Used by all.

Christ on a bike: Used to indicate shock, surprise or exasperation, a more humerous take on "Jesus Christ" Used by all.

Fuck me: An exclamation used to indicate annoyance, exasperation and frustration. Can also be used to express surprise or disbelief (Kind of in the way you'd use "Jesus Christ") Used by all.

Gagging for it: sort of like "begging/asking for it" / really wanting something/tempting fate. Can be used in a taunting or threatening way. Used by all.

Ex. “He’s gagging for it.”

Give/Gave someone a seeing-to: Similar to battering someone. But can also mean fucking someone (often used humerously in that context). Used by all.

Have a laugh/Having a laugh: Also has two meanings depending on context, used by all.

1. Joking around, generally having fun with something

2. To express annoyance when you think someone is being unreasonable or unfair

Hell's Bells: an exclamation of annoyance or anger. Can be made into an angrier expression by throwing fuck in the middle. Ex. "Hell's fuckin' bells!" - I'd say used by all, but probably moreso older people.

I'll have ya: A threat, similar to "I'll get you," Severity of the threat depends on context, ranging from collaring someone, to beating the shit out of someone to straight up killing them. Can also be used in a joking way between friends. Used by all.

Innit: Short for "Isn't it" or "Ain't it" Used by all ages.

Pack it in: Stop it/Cut it out. Typically used in a frustrated way. Can be emphasised by adding fuck, ex. "Pack it the fuck in!" Used by all.

Pissing About: Wasting time. Used by all.

Pissing it down: Raining really hard. Used by all.

Piss(ing) Oneself Laughing: Laughing uncontrollably. Used by all.

Pissing Oneself: Very scared. Used by all.

Shaking like a shitting dog: To describe someone who's shaking a lot/shaking badly. More of a northern phrase, I think.

Shit/Shat me/you/them up: To scare someone/make them jump

Ta: Short, casual term for "Thank you" Used by all.

Take the piss/Taking the piss: Used by all, has a few meanings

1. Making fun of/mocking someone in a way that isn’t intended to be serious (teasing) (Sort of like “Fuck with,”)

2. To lie about something in a really obvious, sometimes outrageous way. (”What? Really?” “No, I’m taking the piss.”)

3. To describe someone who’s taking something for granted, taking liberties or being unfair.

Rhyming Slang

Tits-up: something going horribly wrong. Used by all. ("It's all going tits-up,")

Wind(ing) someone up: Similar to taking the piss, purposefully being annoying by making fun, teasing or playing practical jokes. ("Where's X?" "He's winding Y up.") May also be used in disbelief when you think someone is being unfair or dishonest ("Are you winding me up?") Used by all.

Wind up merchant: As above, a wind up merchant is someone who enjoys winding someone up, this name is often given in annoyance by the victim

Rhyming Slang gets its own section because it's a wide and wonderful topic. I can't put every possible option, but I'll pick a few favourites. I highly reccommend anyone who's interested to look into it more. Rhyming slang can also just be made up on the spot, and I'd say it's moreso used by older folk.

To use rhyming slang, you just use the phrase in the place of the actual word you're substituing out. Basically just like using synonyms.

Some rhyming slang can be shortened further into just a word.

Bell Ringers/Bellies: Fingers

Boat Race/Boat: Face

Brown Bread: Dead

Butcher's Hook/Butcher's/Butch: Look

Hank Marvin: Starving, hungry

Pat and Mick: Sick

Plates of Meat/Plates: Feet

Septic Tank/Septic: Yank (An American) 

Tea leaf: Thief

Two and eight: State (Describing someone who is dishevelled or upset.)

Extra/Misc

Depending on the situation, "fucking" can be turned into just "kin"

Ex. "Fucking Hell" can become "'kin 'ell!"

This also applies to "Fuck Off" which can just become "Koff"

Ex. "'koff with that shit,"

Depends on the situation honestly, sometimes the "fu" sound can be a lot more emphasised. The art of british swearing is a delicate one.

Insults can also be made out of pretty much anything, so long as it's put after "You absolute-"

Cunt can be a little divisive when used (some have no problem using it, others find it to be too abhorrent to use) but it's used pretty commonly.

#simon ghost riley #john price #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #ghost cod #cod mw22 #there's definitely a lot ive missed but here we go! #hope these are helpful in some way! #i'm sorry for the sheer amount of piss mentioned in this post #also i hope these are wide spread - it's hard to tell sometimes what's a britishism and what's a dadism #like koff. i don't know if that's just smth me and my dad say or if it is infact a general thing

[acatinafancyhat]

Watched Chess Netherlands today because... well, I can 🙃 It was surprisingly not all horrible. Definitely flawed and problematic but it had some parts I really liked! Of course I had lots of thoughts again so here is me venting them. 99% sure no one else cares about Dutch Chess but what the hell, tumblr is for screaming into the void right? ✨️

Act I

- You can instantly tell this is a Dutch production because the championships take place in what looks like a school gym. I mean we do our rubiks cube tournaments there. Is fine for chess, no?

- Explaining chess to the audience bc that's what the show is really missing

- Many Svenska Vibes

- Anatoly with an i is the most Dutch Soviet Russian i've ever met. Just, no nonsense. 'go take care of my children woman.' Calling each other names is how we show affection <3

- I will say the boys (Anatoli's kids) playing chess during the opening is a nice touch

- Story of Chess also has very to the point lyrics. "chess requires reticence so u don't kill each other" see now this actually sets up the show real well :)

- Awkward humor no one laughs at ✅️

- Anatoli's kind of a downer

- Freddie's sort of charming but his relationship with Florence is gonna be garbage i can tell

- strike 1: ableism

- (honestly he just reminds me of every Dutch white guy on tv)

- strike 2: assault

- Florence is already so done with his shit good for her

- also "with me there, he is brilliant" tru tru

- Singing Nobody's Side while random people have a lil party behind her?

- oh it's an excuse for karaoke ONIB

-Are they really gonna do the whole song though do we really need that

-lol Freddie pushes karaoke guy off stage so he can finish the song. honey this is a little early in the show to be getting this drunk what are you doing she hasn't even left you yet

- Arbiter leads morning exercise... ok well why not

- No dancing during the chess game. It's cool we can just watch two guys play chess from a distance for a couple minutes. Fun times.

- Freddie sticks his gum under the table real subtle like he hasn't got multiple cameras pointed at him right now

- Actually on second thought i think the chess game might be better without the dancing. Characters are doing interesting things. The contrast between Anatoli sitting stiffly at the table while Freddie is prancing around fistfighting the cameras is Most Amusing :)

- Did he just try to make Anatoli's move for him omg 🤣

- Freddie @ arbiter "uh it might be time u keep things under control around here" and off he runs HE'S SUCH A LITTLE SHIT ngl i kinda love him here

- However Florence's defense of him just seems completely unreasonable considering toli literally just. sat there. the whole time.

- Anatolyi gets the 'i'm ridiculous' monologue like in Svenska

- 'Hey my people killed your people oops now let me sing a song in the language you probably don't remember and it's somehow romantic and not creepy or overstepping any boundaries at all :)'

- Running away from Molokov in a shittier version of Svenska. Meh. But again they are aware of the lack of embassies in and around Merano which I do appreciate bc i'm pedantic like that

- Freddie: hey what's she doing with that Russian

Freddie: hmmm idk

Freddie: they're definitely talking abt me tho 🤨

- Flo & toli have a healthy conversation about the fact that he just left his kids behind i support that!!

- However this timing/setting for Anthem sucks. He's just singing it to Florence. And it's literally about how he misses his family? Weak. This needs to be an epic declaration of love for his homeland to all the world not whining to your girlfriend. Ugh can't believe they fucking ruined Anthem!

- So far all of this strikes me as discount Svenska but without the investment in Flonatoly and the only thing it's really got going for it is a handful of good lines BUT we'll see about act 2...

Act II

- Why the fuck would you start your second act with Merchandisers?

- Nice audience interaction though, it doesn't completely not work

- But following it up with Heaven Help My Heart is hmmmmmm really not ideal pacing-wise.

- Freddie's woman verse is even more cringe in Dutch i can't accurately translate it but it's so..... yikes..... The word he uses instead of "woman" ("popje") literally means "little doll/puppet" (but with slightly different connotations). It's sometimes used as a term of endearment but in this scene it is very much derogatory and ew.

- "here I stand wondering / if I ever knew you / have I ever really known who you are?" I like this translation!

- Pity the Child pulls no punches (does it ever?) He's so pathetic, he's such an asshole, and as a teacher I weirdly feel this one (at one point he talks about how no one ever noticed him at school either and just... oof don't get me started). Also the desperate rapid-fire chess game he plays against himself in the musical break and during the final verse--that needs to be in more versions holy fuck go watch this bit it's GOOD!!

- The Deal but without a political angle. Fascinating.

- No

- no. no no no i hate this i hate this Freddie wouldn't sacrifice his game not even for Florence NO. CANCELED.

- Interestingly instead of honey/parner, Freddie uses the same word as in the woman verse when he's talking to Florence during The Deal but this time it's the endearment variant. That's a little bit problematic.

- Molokov's plan is still to bring Flo and Sveta together even though Anatoli is now supposed to win 🤷‍♂️

- Anatoli casually downs several shots of liquor (vodka?) during Soviet Machine. not sure this will help him win the game but at least he sleeps through Russian Guy screaming that final whoooooooo high note in his ear

- Florence tests Freddie's chair... demands they bring a different one... is she still working for him? idk. I'm guessing it's meant to be sweet but it just looks silly to me idk

- Fuck reverse I Know Him So Well honestly. "he wants me / no he wants me" boo fucking hoo. You two deserve each other.

- Oh! Oh! Talking Chess, yay! 😁

- Gosh this is actually really cute?!? Freddie literally just came to discuss this random chess gambit he came across and thought was interesting? Nothing even to do with their current game just 'hey found this thing i thought you might like and i like and can we be friends now i really like chess 😶'

- Unlike in Svenska and RAH, I actually don't know for sure who is going to win this game. They do a good job of making this really about chess in the end. I like it.

- Freddie reminding toli it's about chess even during their match now that is the freddie i came to see!

- He calmly sips his water as Sveta and Florence are physically removed from the premises

- It is Quite Unfortunate that this production hates women...

- Really they seem to only be here to get in the men's way. Ugh.

- I don't support any of the relationships except Freddie and Toli being pen pals and playing long distance chess for the rest of their lives.

- Ending feels a little OOC but still nice to see some healthy Freddie & Flo interaction for once 😌

tldr; not the worst production out there, worth watching if you've already seen Svenska and don't mind Freddie being the most likeable character. (okay likeable is not the right word he sucks but, you know. He reminds me of RAH Freddie but slightly more yike.) PTC and Talking Chess are highlights!

#chess musical #thoughts #long post #was thinking of making a translation/subs for this maybe but idk if anyone would be interested..?

[monarkhes]

[    crakehall  a    +    claire  forlani    +    cis  woman    +    she  or  her    ]    hear  ye,  hear  ye    ⸻    king  garlan  tyrell  welcomes  cerissa  crakehall  of  crakehall  !  his  great  majesty  is  glad  that  the  fifty  two  year  old  noble  appears  to  be  encouraging  while  overlooking  that  it's  said  they  are  also  pedant,  as  long  as  they  are  glad  to  celebrate  peace  in  the  seven  kingdoms.  fortunately  for  them,  garlan  remains  oblivious  that  they  aren't  happy  with  his  reign  and  that  their  true  allegiance  lies  with  the  westerlands  +  house  lannister  of  lannisport.

full  name  :  cerissa  crakehall.  also  known  as  :  ceri.  title(s)  :  lady  of  crakehall,  ruling  lady  of  crakehall.  place  of  birth  :  crakehall  castle,  crakehall,  the  westerlands.  age  :  fifty  two.  date  of  birth  :  the  fourteenth  day  of  the  fourth  moon  in  the  year  265  ac.  star  sign  :  aries  sun,  leo  moon,  aquarius  rising.  mother  and  father  :  ruling  lady  selsa  crakehall  née  open  (  deceased  in  290  ac  )  and  ruling  lord  tybolt  crakehall  (  deceased  in  283  ac  ).  siblings  :  sybelle  lannister  née  crakehall  (  deceased  in  298  ac  ),  tyrion  crakehall  (  deceased  in  281  ac  ).  marital  status  :  married,  widowed  once  before.  orientation  :  bisexual  demiromantic.  allegiance  :  the  westerlands,  house  crakehall,  house  lannister  of  lannisport.  inspiration  :  rohanne  webber,  barbrey  dustin,  anya  waynwood.

265  ac  :  cerissa  crakehall  is  born  to  the  ruling  lord  and  lady  of  crakehall  castle.  her  birth  comes  as  quite  an  unexpected  surprise  to  the  considerably  older  couple  ─  cerissa  is  born  fourteen  years  after  their  first  child  and  eight  years  after  their  second,  and  with  both  her  siblings  reaching  maturity,  her  parents  have  little  desire  to  begin  again  with  a  newborn.

270  ac  :  arrangements  are  made  between  house  lannister  of  lannisport  and  house  crakehall  to  marry  sybelle  crakehall  to  lorent  lannister.  cerissa,  only  five  years  old  at  this  time,  is  told  that  when  her  sister  goes,  she  will  follow.

271  ac  -  280  ac  :  cerissa  spends  most  of  the  formative  years  of  her  childhood  at  lannisport.  officially,  her  title  is  companion  and  lady  to  her  older  sister,  but  she  is  educated  as  one  of  lannisport's  own  and  develops  a  strong  fondness  for  the  place,  going  so  far  as  to  devote  her  entire  future  to  the  lands  and  to  the  children  born  to  her  sister's  marriage  to  the  lion  of  lannisport.  cerissa  is  present  when  her  first  nephew,  tybolt,  is  born  ─  she  cleans  him  off  and  places  him  into  his  mother's  arms,  witnessing  his  first  breath  and  promising  to  be  by  his  side  until  his  last.

281  ac  :  tragedy  strikes  house  crakehall  as  the  heir,  tyrion  crakehall,  dies  after  being  thrown  from  his  horse  during  a  bout  of  playful  jousting  with  his  companions.  cerissa  is  called  back  to  crakehall  castle  as  the  only  remaining  heir,  though  her  father  is  quick  to  threaten  her  with  disownment  if  she  proves  to  be  a  poor  substitute  for  her  deceased  brother.  believing  that  she  is  incapable  of  ruling  without  a  husband  by  her  sister,  cerissa  is  quickly  married  to  one  of  the  fellow  lords  of  the  westerlands  at  sixteen  years  old.

283  ac  :  the  year  begins  with  the  death  of  her  first  husband  and  ends  with  the  death  of  her  father.  on  paper,  cerissa  is  acknowledged  as  the  new  ruling  lady  of  crakehall  but  her  father's  last  demands  see  her  battling  off  suitors,  eager  to  control  crakehall  and  all  the  potential  that  the  land  possesses. 

285  ac  :  after  a  period  of  mourning  for  both  losses,  cerissa  remarries  ─  though  the  union  is  strictly  political,  her  mother  had  picked  a  suitable  husband  for  her  and  the  two  soon  develop  a  friendship  based  on  their  ideas  to  expand  and  better  crakehall  as  a  town  and  as  a  port.

290  ac  to  293  ac  :  crakehall  begins  to  grow  as  a  trading  port  for  sailors  heading  from  dorne  and  the  reach  up  to  the  westerlands  and  beyond,  but  their  primary  focus  is  building  a  defensive  system  that  will  protect  the  jewels  of  the  westerlands  (  lannisport,  fair  isle,  casterly  rock  and  beyond  )  from  any  potential  enemies  from  the  south.  cerissa  adopts  two  children,  orphaned  by  the  men  in  her  household  and  with  no  other  family  to  care  for  them  ─  she  names  the  oldest  her  heir  and  maintains  that  decision  even  after  bearing  her  first  and  only  child.

298  ac  :  news  arrives  from  lannisport  on  dark  wings,  telling  of  her  sister's  worsening  condition.  cerissa  rides  from  crakehall  to  lannisport  alone,  heedless  of  the  concerns  of  her  family,  and  arrives  just  in  time  to  say  her  final  goodbyes  to  her  sister.  she  remains  in  lannisport  for  three  months  after  the  funeral  to  assist  her  brother-in-law  and  her  oldest  nephew  in  caring  for  the  younger  children,  and  even  after  she  returns  to  crakehall,  cerissa  remains  a  constant  fixture  in  lannisport,  visiting  almost  every  month.

311  ac  :  though  a  man  grown  by  now,  cerissa  wastes  no  time  to  ride  to  lannisport  to  support  her  nephew  after  the  death  of  his  father.  as  pride  in  her  family  grows,  disenchantment  with  the  lions  of  the  rock  begins  to  creep  in  especially  as  the  small  folk  run  from  casterly  rock  to  seek  better  opportunities  in  the  port  towns.  

317  ac  :  present  year.

#conquest.intro

[spookymonthcultau]

Now, even touching the doorknob was scary, but Lila's trembling hand still makes this heavy gesture, and now, she is already inside …

How many eyes were turned to her at that moment…

His heart was beating wildly, his trembling body was about to fall dead. She knew that she had greatly upset the cult of her departure and such a sudden appearance looked at least strange.

Lila? What an unexpected meeting. By what fate did you come here again? came the old, as white day, pedantic voice of the elder.

There was a lump in my throat, my mouth was grabbing air more and more actively, just not to lose control over my consciousness.

For the sake of… calmness… - Lila answered so quietly that she could only be heard a little.

A wave of chuckles went through the crowd as goosebumps ran down the woman's back.

Dear little Lila, a cult is not a gathering of wish-granting magicians, in case you forgot, here we have to sacrifice something in order to achieve what we want.

Lila nods meekly, remembering those rules.

“So why don't you fight for the right to live a quiet life, Lila? the elder continued, turning away and taking out a dagger, which immediately fell on the lady's legs. “Although, if you lose, one of our representatives will have the opportunity to advance your position, so you can succumb if you wish, we all know that you have served loyally in the past.

Lila did not appreciate the sarcastic jokes, because all this time she was silently staring at the floor, where the edged weapons lay, which slowly went into her gentle female hands.

“Christopher, come on, get out!”

Only these words brought the woman out of the trance. And inside of her everything went cold. It looked more and more like a joke. For a bad dream. No, no, no, it all seems to her, it’s absolutely not his dark hair, in which she loved to swarm before going to bed, not his deep and tired eyes, it’s not him, not her husband, he can’t be there! No no no! But alas. As soon as the hood fell from the man's head, the dagger fell from Leela's hands, and her eyes filled with tears.

Christopher…- came the lady's lips abruptly. She was not capable of more, tears blurred her eyes, and an oppressive feeling of guilt in front of her husband, because she had not looked for him earlier, was what she had actually buried. She was ashamed. Incredibly embarrassing. She is to blame for all their problems, if not for her, this would not have happened. She's disgusting, she's reckless, she's a stupid little girl.

Lila. – painfully familiar voice came from behind. Cold fingers ran through the purple strands. - Calm down. Breathe deeply and evenly. I am not at all angry with you, rather, on the contrary, I am grateful that you gave me the opportunity to face something truly great and omnipotent. - black eyes sparkled turquoise. They gave me what I deserve. And I am very grateful to them. Don't worry honey, I'll take care of our baby. Your death will give me many new opportunities, and Skid will certainly not need anything…

Lila swallowed nervously, feeling cold metal on her neck and warm lips against her temple. It seems that one more movement and she can say goodbye to life. For once, the instinct of self-preservation has worked and, grabbing a knife lying on the floor, Lila rushes to the side. A sharp dagger cuts thin skin. Scarlet blood flows down. Christopher was surprised by the resistance from the lady and for a second, he froze. This was enough for Lila to get up and rush to the side. The cultist did not think of falling behind her. With a sharp movement, he turned her towards him, intending to strike …

But Lila was faster.

Lightning jerk and behold, the blade entered the skull to the very hilt.

Lila could not expect such a thing from herself and recoiled in surprise, screaming in horror. The body fell to the floor with a noisy crash, bleeding. There was deathly silence. Lila takes a step back. The earth is slipping away…

Lila was in a state of complete shock. She made it. She did the most disgusting thing possible. She killed a man. And the most precious person to her. Burning pain tore her from the inside, tears flowed in a stream, and she herself howled softly, clutching her hair with her hands. She could fly down forever, literally drowning in her grief, until suddenly a tentacle caught her.

“You should be more careful.

Lila raised her eyes and looked at the Eyes of the Universe, which resembled the stars with their radiance.

"I'm sorry, it's just…when something so terrible happens, it's hard to focus on anything else…" Lila replies softly, looking at her former idol. Now there was no fear. There was only desolation. However, the Eyes of the Universe themselves never did anything to arouse the girl's rejection. Rather, on the contrary, they were touched by their gratitude for the bloody sacrifices. The woman limp on the tentacle, sighing heavily.

Still…leaving the cult was a mistake…

“I don’t think so, living flesh, all you wanted when you left the cult was a quiet life and being who you want to be. - the voice echoed into the void

Since the Eyes of the Universe themselves allowed me to do this without unnecessary bloody sacrifices, then why did the cult insist on this? - the lady says sadly.

They just want to please me with such bloody fun … Although, I admit, I have much more pleasure in visualizing the series, the plot of which they describe in between.

Really? - Lila was genuinely surprised. - Then why don't you tell them about it?

Well, I definitely tried, but on the other hand, they are trying for me.

Even as a child, it seemed to me that your will was just a cover for the desire to create chaos and go unpunished.

Do you think I'm just being used?

I don't know how it really is…

Silence fell between them again.

Honestly, you were pretty persuasive just because you're completely honest. Yes, and you do not insist on anything, living flesh … - Eyes said thoughtfully.

– Thank you, you are very nice and… caring. Lila answered quietly, because she did not expect such an answer. The lady put her hand to her neck, the cut on which was bleeding painfully. There was a scarlet mark on the fingertips..Oh, do you really think so? – receiving a nod in response to this, Eyes smiled. - In that case, I will use your philosophy and also leave the cult in search of myself.- Still, descending to earth is really not the most reasonable, albeit an interesting decision … But before I go to surf the expanses of other worlds, I should leave you at the door of the hospital.

#sr pelo #cult au #spooky month john #spooky month skid #spooky month #fanfic #alternate universe #au #spooky month lila #spooky month fandom #spooky month frank

[driftwork]

a tall woman walks - scenes of collision (3)

what is that? what is that? This is pedantic and  a little too serious.  I will have to adapt my writing if I want to move from the past into the unknown future.  I would like to succeed, even if this is impossible. I was thinking how nice it would be to prove to  R that its possible to write a long piece, in parts or no parts at all.  I was reading sections of his novel over christmas, many small parts in his novel.   He says its a novel, whilst  I am sitting here reading his almost completed draft and wondering if that is a possible description. I suppose he is writing in a realist or naturalist tradition, how can he write this is in a liner fashion? Not that I have any big stories to tell. Nor am I really trying to describe my uncrisis filled life, perhaps i should just be sitting down at my keyboard and type. Yes, typing, write with finger ends rather than with a pen.  This is all its about really, words and  fingers touching the keyboard,  which produces sentences,  and the phrases and sentences are connected into paragraphs. Sometimes at least there are paragraph.  It's not scientific or engineering, usually not even grammatical.  R says he works with a subject and writes about human emotions, feelings, thoughts, machines and of course more than anything else conflict. Surely all there is is is words,  fingers, keys depressed, words. Sorry but my typing has been interrupted by...  I'm back but  am now having a network problem with the computer which is not attaching to the cloud.  It's later but not that later... Anyway the next two or three things belong after this

The woman approaches. This evening she has to work carrying out the list of installation tasks on the project chart. Does she need to be there? she is thinking. She is wearing high heel shoes  which are elevating her height until her already long body appears to glide.  She carries two bags and a feeling  that she should be wearing more utilitarian shoes. In one of her bags she has a pair of running shoes, in the other the usual supporting tools of an office bound manager.  Am I a manager these days? She wonders.  The occasional touches of instability as she strides along the pavement, remind you that it is hidden behind the passion, devotion and desperation to make it work, that belongs in her role,  concealed behind her personal history of work and expression.  This feeling possesses  artistry, power and the potential for extreme violence. Once she had been shorter, perhaps when she was a reptile, or a bird, or a human, then she had not really known about feelings.  In those days she had been pure action,  acting on events, reacting to situations, but here she imagines things are different.  Attempting to maintain a fidelity to the events.   Running, acting, waiting, sitting, fleeing or attacking.  Then had come her private ice ages,  everything had dropped as they had tried to kill her. She remembered when her world had been considerably warmer, gentler. Her mother and family.  The long waves approaching the coast, the pacific coast, the warm waters of the ocean.  Krondratiev would be proud she used to think watching the waves striking the coast.  People at home pleased to see her. And now, here,  well the sea is always cold here, though the land is warmer in winter and it rarely snows here. Still as she walked,  listening to the sound of her heels striking the pavement,  she wondered what it would like to have her family around her again […]

I watch her weaving through the pedestrian traffic,  her unique gait making me want to smile.  Her bag occasionally colliding with the legs of some person who gets to close to her. To diverge and yearn for the translation to be complete, this is what feelings are like and are capable of and her, as she walks towards me she is liquid desire.  Almost everything else is a matter of combination and difference. My grandparents and great-grandparents back into the nineteenth century were engineers and modellers.  Before that, if you go back far enough they were peasant farmers, serfs.  Most of my life was in the twentieth century. She though, that woman  who is approaching, with her jacket moving as she walks on her high heels.  tap tap tap. Her forebears were criminals and bureaucrats in the Asiatic mode of production. Further back still we had shared ancestors who were arboreal climbers, expelled from the trees and forest by the strong and the powerful, fists, biting, screaming, being hit by sticks. Our shared ancestors were not very human.  I can see her smiling at the sight of me.  There was no Eve and Adam though,  only a fuzzy set of indescribable beings we are descended from.  And  the set of feelings related to variations in heat and cold.  No woman was ever created out of Adam's rib. No paradise from which we fell.  It was always this terrible. She is  negotiating the spaces between the tables. Warm and cold,  thirty degrees in the tropical sea. I remember when I arrived sitting down in the bright sunshine. She is late and opens her mouth to say hello, sorry I'm late.  I can never forget this, I'll remember this in the chill of the day.  I'll remember this until I am beginning to die.  I feel warmer as she joins me at the table.  Have you finished for the day? I ask her.  She shakes her head, no I still have a long list of tasks to carry out before the installation completes. And you?  I'm going home after this... We collided long ago...

#collision #fiction #London Story

[thelibraryiscool]

Short Story Project – Week 9

What I read this week – as before, no ratings, but I’ll still say if I recommend (R), strongly recommend (S), or don’t recommend (D) a story:

Virginia Woolf, “The Symbol” (R) “The balcony overlooked the main street of the Alpine summer resort, like a box at a theatre. There were very few private sitting-rooms, and so the plays – such as they were – the curtain raisers – were acted in public. They were always a little provisional: preludes, curtain-raisers. Entertainments to pass the time; seldom leading to any conclusion, such as marriage; or even lasting friendship. There was something fantastic about them, airy, inconclusive. So little that was solid could be dragged to this height.”

Alice Munro, “Amundsen” (D)* “Then there was silence, the air like ice. Brittle-looking birch trees with black marks on their white bark, and some small, untidy evergreens, rolled up like sleepy bears. The frozen lake not level but mounded along the shore, as if the waves had turned to ice in the act of falling. And the building, with its deliberate rows of windows and its glassed-in porches at either end.”

Sam Selvon, “The Cricket Match” (R) “Later on, entertaining the boys in the local pub, the Englishers asking all sorts of questions, like why they stand so and so and why they make such and such a stroke, and the boys talking as if cricket so common in the West Indies that the babies either born with a bat or a ball, depending on if it would be a good bowler or batsman.”

Ha Seong-Nan, “Flag” (S) [only partially available via the link, i had to get a pdf] “It's congested here as always, and like any other day, I look up at the maiden on the billboard. The next stop is announced. Someone rushes for the door, bumps my head, and knocks my glasses to the floor. People step on them as they swarm toward the door. The left lens cracks into five pieces, but I don't mind. Through the cracked lens, I now see five maidens.”

Laura Riding, “A Last Lesson in Geography” (D) “Lessons in geography must not interfere with history. Geography contains many errors, but history corrects these errors—which are, indeed, the substance of history—by passing. Lessons in geography are quite unnecessary. For example, if we had not had this lesson in geography, we should, in any case, have learned soon enough that the earth was not round.”

Amy Levy, “Between Two Stools” (S) “Personally I find myself rather desolate. I am willing enough to smoke the pipe of peace with the Philistines, but the Philistines will have none of me. They distrust me: the girls think I want to "come it over" them; and the young men are continually on the look­out for covert snubbing. One is afraid to call a thing by its right name for fear of being thought pedantic; it is not young­ladylike to have one's facts right or one's sentences logical. A pretty haziness, a charming inconsequence—these are the qualities the Philistine male would fain see in his womankind.”

Jamaica Kincaid, “In the Night” (R) “There is the sound of the man stabbing the woman, the sound of her blood as it hits the floor, the sound of Mr. Straffee, the undertaker, taking her body away. There is the sound of her spirit back from the dead, looking at the man who used to groan; he is running a fever forever. There is the sound of a woman writing a letter; there is the sound of her pen nib on the white writing paper; there is the sound of the kerosene lamp dimming; there is the sound of her head aching.”

Caryl Lewis, “The Root” (R) “Eirwen’s gaze followed the tree down to its base, and, to her amazement, she saw its gray roots pushing in underneath the house. She dropped the basket and felt panic rise in her breast. Then, without picking up the basket, she ran back inside. She looked again at the tile. A root had pushed through the old earthen floor and was determinedly lifting up the tile, damaging the surface. Eirwen heard the old clock strike three.”

*I have come to accept that I simply cannot get on with Alice Munro. I can’t accept her outlook and affect. But it’s a well-written story, so if you’re someone of a different mindset you may well enjoy it.

#books #quote #allie reads #short story project

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 10542

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#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #146 texts #ballad

[abybweisse]

Hi! I love reading your blog so much, I’m grateful for the in depth theories you give us, sometimes I can just scroll for hours and be entertained! I was wondering if you could picture a particular voice actor for Othello, it could be either English or Japanese, I’m just curious as to who you think could do his voice, or who you think Othello would wind up sounding like if we ever get the later arcs animated, since he is one of your muses. Who would be your dream voice actor to voice him? Thank you!

Thanks! 🖤

I’m not familiar enough with all the seiyūs out there or even all the English language voice actors, and I’m not sure I would choose one of the ones I know about.

But I do have headcanons for his voice. I imagine it’s normally a little bit high pitch for a guy, but he doesn’t sound like a woman. More like the stereotypical vocal affectation often given to “out and proud” gay men… but subdued. How do I put this? I do interpret him as a gay man, and that it shows subtly in his speech and some of his mannerisms… so he’s not particularly flamboyant. He lowers his pitch when he wants to sound serious/dangerous, but it automatically goes up again if he starts to yell. Also, he should have a general tone that comes across as geeky and pedantic… and even slightly sadistic. However, his speech patterns also strike me that he’s still largely the slacker he claims he used to be. Whoever voices him…. I’d want them to give his voice all this complexity!

In my mind, the sound of his words to Undertaker and Grelle when they both confront Undertaker in ch141/142 is freaking hilarious. He’s trying to sound intimidating, but that approach works just as well as his exercise equipment. After all that cricket practice, our earl could throw a trainee death scythe farther. 😏

[FYI, I saw your re-ask after posting this reply, but I gave up on requiring prompt emojis for asks. Now, I only expect them if I specify them when I’m accepting prompt or meme requests. I will mention it in my pinned post, if I’m expecting asks to include them.]

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #othello #seiyū #voice actor #headcanon #ch141 #ch142 #izzy111213 #asks #i answer #answered asks #sep 19 2021

[unwiltingblossom]

Queen’s Favor (Mysme Jumin/MC AU 6/?)

Summary: Being a maid would be much easier if the cat would just let her do her job.

AU - Instead of joining the RFA via random text, MC is hired on as one of the maids assigned to Jumin Han’s penthouse. Nothing else about the setting has changed, the messenger and the RFA still exist, only the MC’s position has been altered.

'No, I'm not wandering your penthouse naked. That's not what I do normally. Normal people don't do that, and I am a normal person.'

In the end, she made it through the night without being smothered to death by a cat, even though she accidentally fell asleep on the couch at some point. The sound of the door clicking open stirred her awake, and she shot up from where she'd sprawled out on the couch with enough speed that it was for the best Elizabeth hadn't decided to climb on her in the night.

"M'awake! I was on break!"

The blonde, bespectacled woman standing in the doorway blinked owlishly at her. That. Wasn't the owner of the penthouse.

Ah. And she also wasn't on break. As the fog and disorientation of the morning faded from her mind, knowledge of where she was (and why) drifted back to her. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and shook her head. "...Sorry...force of habit."

The look on the woman's face spoke of assumptions she really should clear up. She was, however, much too groggy for that.

Tomorrow. She'd explain it tomorrow.

Most of the instructions were pedantic, some were ridiculous, and a few of them were patently impossible. Thus, she treated Elizabeth the way she'd treated just about any other cat. As she did all the time, really, sans shooing. So far, she hadn't gotten any complaints from the cat, so she considered her job done well so far. Barring some lonely nights - maybe she'd leave the TV on or something, and definitely use the guest bed this time - it wouldn't be terrible to get paid five times the ludicrous amount she was already paid for a three day stint playing with a cat and not worrying about the cat hair.

She stretched as she looked out the window. Dawn barely colored the horizon that showed nary a bump from the other buildings in the city from the height of the penthouse. Whatever schedule he had for her replacement, she couldn't help wondering if the unusually early hour was some kind of slight against her, like a pre-emptive assumption her peasant-self would ruin the place living in it.

Well. She was a maid, not a peasant.

And this maid was definitely going to take advantage of the shower she'd cleaned so many times. Not the master one, as the blonde had (foolishly) decided to start off in the master bedroom, and first impressions had already built enough unpleasant assumptions without adding to them. In the end, though, it didn't really matter. The guest bathroom might have looked slightly less extra, but the shower and various soaps inside worked just as well.

She'd never experienced luxury in the form of a shower before. These days left watching the penthouse might just ruin her for ordinary, normal showers that rained down hard droplets of water on her and expected her to move around to clean herself.

No, but really. The shower gave her a massage. From every direction. And it sprayed a rainbow all around her for no other reason than to be pretty while it did it.

She'd never experienced anything that made her feel so much like a pleb while also making her feel so good before. It had been a mistake to miss out on using this shower her first day.

Stepping out of the shower, she couldn't help the odd urge to want to wave it farewell. Or maybe to take a glass of wine. She did neither, though, because the first important thing...was that she hadn't slept in the guest bedroom as she'd planned, so she didn't get the chance to grab a change of clothes from her bag of supplies before jumping into the shower.

Oh well. She sighed and wrapped a very oversized, downright ridiculously soft towel around herself and gave a little twirl in the full length, angled mirror in the bathroom. Honestly, it was thick and heavy enough to be an outfit itself if she just got a pin or something else more permanent to keep it from slipping through the day playing with Elizabeth. And besides that, maids have seen way more harrowing things than their female coworker in a towel. Even if her replacement happened to be in her neck of the penthouse, it wouldn't be a problem.

She did make extra sure her feet were dry before leaving the room, though. Even if it wasn't her responsibility right now, she couldn't bear tracking wet footprints across floors as expensive as these. Or the rug she'd grown fond of.

She stretched, popping her back a bit, as she made her way across the still quiet penthouse. Dawn colored the front room an apricot pink as the sun finally began to shake off its night-time grogginess, and she took a moment to appreciate the rare view. Normally when she showed up here, it was long after the owner had gone off to work - and thus, naturally past sunrise.

"What a waste, having the couch pointed away from the window."

The rattling of the front door cut through her thoughts, and she spun on her heel, hand immediately going to her chest. 'No, I'm not wandering your penthouse naked. That's not what I do normally. Normal people don't do that, and I am a normal person. You don't have secret cameras set up so you could plan this, right?' No, strike that. That last bit didn't need to be there if the owner of--

Oh.

A young brunette popped her head into the penthouse - gaze quickly scanning for the owner, likely, before falling on her. "Oh! Hey." It was Mina. One of the more seasoned workers in the definitely-not-a-company she, an independent contractor, definitely didn't work for.

Early maid service and two? Now, come on. Just what did that Mr. Han think of her?!

"Are you training the other girl? She got here about an hour ago." Admittedly, if the girl still hadn't left that bedroom after an hour, she probably needed the training. Were she actually working on a timer, that kind of a slow pace wouldn't work out for her at all.

Mina frowned in confusion, lips pursed. "Other girl? I wasn't told about anyone like that."

Wait...

what?

Mina didn't seem to be joking, looking genuinely bewildered. But there was definitely a girl who came in earlier. And that girl definitely hadn't left the master bedroom yet.

Cold dread seeped through the pleasant warmth left from the shower's magical watery fingers. No sounds came from that room. That room which had a whole treasury of valuables not all that well hidden away and a safe with...who-knew-what in it. She broke out into a run - a mad dash - toward the bedroom.

Okay, so in fairness, she was taking care of the cat, not the family jewels or whatever he stored away in there. But she sure as hell wouldn't be getting a positive recc for her next job if she let her boss get robbed while she was right there. Even if the jewel thief probably wouldn't do anything to Elizabeth.

She crashed through the bedroom door, skidding on the floor.

The maid froze, sitting on her knees on the bed. Biting Elizabeth's ear.

really?

Adrenaline pumped harder than her heart in her ears. It was, maybe, a calculated risk to take, but...she charged.

"Oh no!"  The 'maid' shrieked and, fortunately, dropped the cat (who skittered immediately off of the bed and away from her attacker) a few moments before her body collided with the bespectacled cat-napper. For a few moments, the world blurred. Blonde hair flew through the air, limbs tangled and spun, and she landed quite unpleasantly on the cold, hard floor of the bedroom. With another spectacular crash.

All the pains that the shower had hushed away rose up in a familiar, angry chorus.

The 'maid', now bereft of her blonde wig and with her (actually now that she thought about it, totally out of place) dress askew, was very clearly that same red-haired man from before. The very reason she was so sore now. Again. The hands at his arms gripped with renewed strength. And a bit of anger.

"You."

He blinked down at her a moment, as if he didn't actually recognize her - a fact she'd be less offended by if she weren't currently in pain and being crushed by his bony knee and arm right then - before his eyes widened. "Ninja maid! I didn't recognize you without any clothes on!"

A man in a disguise had no place to say something like that.

Also....right. She did forget about the towel thing there in the heat of the moment. The reminder caused her cheeks to heat and more than a few indignant squawks to escape her throat.

"Hey...don't take this the wrong way, but--" His hand snapped down to yank at her carefully tied knot, undoing the precariously positioned towel. Instinctively, her hands flew up to the knot.

Clearly according to plan, the man immediately took advantage of his new freedom by shooting off of her...and in the direction the cat had run off toward.

Sly.

Very sly.

As incompetent as he appeared to be at first glance (and...second), he'd come up with a strategy pretty quickly there, leaving a poor, innocent girl like her to choose between preserving her modesty and preserving the source of her money.

Honestly, it wasn't even a choice.

The wet towel wrapped around his ankle in a way she wanted to attribute to watching many a martial arts movie to, but was probably just blind luck. The fact that it actually succeeded in causing him to crash face-first into the ground probably had more to do with his attempt to run in killer stilettos than any kind of skill on her part, though.

As if she'd let a little thing like modesty stand in the way of her and another day with that shower.

She felt pretty awesome though, standing over his sprawled out form, gripping the twisted towel in both of her hands. Sort of like the ninja maid he'd characterized her as. For all of two seconds, before she remembered the nakedness. True, his face hadn't even attempted to move from staring at the immaculate floorboards underneath him, but even if Mina hadn't run out of the penthouse from the first scream (she definitely had), a situation like this could turn sour really, really quickly.

"If you even try to look, I'll tie you down and choke you to death on Elizabeth's stray hairs."

...Okay...so mental note: don't go with the first threat that comes to mind in the future.

"I-I mean, that isn't really a dealbreaker, but I won't move!" He honestly sounded a little condescending that time. Which was impressive, with his face pressed into the ground and his maid dress shucked up to show off...space shuttle underwear. "I'm not a pervert!"

"...Right."

"That's hurtful."

All of her clothes were on the other side of the building. Any attempt to get them would just mean his escape, but if she stayed put, even if Mina did call the security guards...she'd be the talk of the entire complex, being caught naked in the owner's bedroom, pinning down a man in a maid dress with her foot.

She sighed, releasing one end of the towel. Her foot remained planted very firmly on the back of his head, though, so if he tried anything...at least she'd break his glasses in the process of being bowled over. Given that he'd dressed kind of like a hobo last time she'd seen him, that might mean he couldn't afford just to replace them casually enough to try anything under those circumstances.

Anyway, she quickly redid the knot on the towel, and moved back a step, just to keep any wayward glances away. "If you go for the cat again, I know exactly where the taser is in this room, and I will not turn it off until the guards arrive." There. Better.

"...Geez. I didn't expect the villain to hire a prison guard for Elly while he was gone." He said that to the floor. Apparently he was still taking her earlier threat seriously? Or maybe he just wanted to stay put.

She walked around him, so that if he did try to make another dash after all he'd have to get through her first, and squatted--no, knelt. Must be mindful. She knelt down in front of him, watching him with an incredulous look. "You know that you can just buy your own cat, right?"

"ELLY ISN'T JUST ANY CAT!" His face shot up - as if he just knew it was safe to do so then. Or he was so passionate about the damn cat that he didn't mind risking his own death. "WHAT WE HAVE IS SOMETHING SPECIAL. I can't just replace her like that! And also, I'm not allowed to own a cat."

"I wonder why."

Okay, but really. Elizabeth the 3rd was a beautiful, friendly cat with an uncanny intelligence and a secret sadistic streak both wide and deep enough to drown a man in. But two men both seemed convinced she was literally a princess. In their own...special...ways. What she wouldn't give to have a couple of (moderately attractive, if she had to admit it) men so obsessed with her.

His lips pressed into a frown as he pushed himself up from the floor, mimicking her position. She tensed, ready to move if he sprung into action again. "It's not fair if he went and left her with a protector."

She squinted at him. "'Protector'? Didn't you say something about saving her?"

He pushed up his glasses, the lenses reflecting the dim light of the room, from where dawn filtered in through the open door. "Of course! I'm Hero Seven! Here to liberate the fair princess Elly from her evil captor." He leaned in a bit and winked. "You're the stoic but wily guard determined to keep her captive while the overlord is away."

"...So you're a crazy person."

He clutched his chest over the crumpled dress. "Ow."

She sighed and stood up, crossing her arms. "Look here, 'Hero'. This gig is really, really well paying, so I don't care if you're actually this eccentric owner's friend somehow. If you go for that cat one more time this weekend, I'm calling the cops and you can stay in jail until he comes home and bails you out."

He winced. "So harsh. Is the money truly worth such cruel behavior towa--"

"The only cruelty is your animal cruelty."

"Your words hurt more than your ninja attacks!"

"Anyway." She waved her hand, just...cutting through that nonsense. "You probably spooked Mina so hard she ran away and didn't call anyone. Since I now have to do a bunch of cleaning instead of her - that I'm not getting paid for - I don't have time to deal with the guards or calling up Mr. Han to explain to him that you broke in again. Get out of here and don't come back while I'm here and I'll let this one go."

He shot up, hands reaching for her shoulders. For just a moment, her heart skipped a beat in panic, hands moving up to grip his wrists in defense. Instead of some kind of crazed or aggressive expression, though, what looked disturbingly like genuine tears shone in his eyes. "Ah! So you are a ninja with a heart! I owe you my life! As will Princess Elly, one day!"

He provided her no opportunity to respond, turning and sprinting out of the room. Only the fact that he glanced over his shoulder, waved and gave a little "Another time~!" kept her from chasing after him - just in case.

The door slammed shut a few moments later, and a slightly frazzled cat peeked her head into the doorway.

She planted one hand on her hip, and with the other she pointed as sternly as she could manage down at the little terror. "....You're going to get me killed, aren't you?"

Elizabeth mewed.

#mysme #mystic messenger #707 #jumin han x mc #mysme fic #ooc #fic #I know people like this on ao3 but I dunno if people follow this on tumblr

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

I was just doing a quick Hamlet rewatch and the way he speaks to others is really hitting me. Hamlet almost never speaks plainly, because he doesn't have anyone to be genuine with. He speaks in double meanings which his conversation partners rarely understand. What breaks my heart is how he so clearly wants more. He keeps trying to reach out.

The first meeting with Rosencrantz and Guildernstein strikes me with this. He keeps on trying to open up and be a little genuine. He even tries to explain himself with the whole "I could be bound in a nutshell and count myself king of infinite space" business but they don't get it, they still harp on his ambition. Even after that and their confession they were sent for he's willing to give them another chance because he's so fucking lonely. He says the whole "what a piece of work is man speech" to them. Hamlet never is so raw when he knows others are watching. He's hoping despite everything they can still be friends to him, but instead they just want to make stupid sex jokes. After he says "no nor woman neither though by your smiles you seem to say so" he never tries to think of them as friends again. This may be a little unfair to R&G as you can still care for your more pedantic friends while not understanding their gobblygook, but the fact remains their are not people who will ever really understand him.

His big scene with Gertrude is another strong example of how great Hamlet's need is to be understood, they cut through the bullshit real quick once Polonius is killed. For once there's no "a little more than kin, but less than kind" no "fishmonger sir" no "see the puppet's dallying". He just explodes with everything that has been a long, long time coming and I love productions the best when Getrude and he do have a moment of genuine human connection (*cough cough* RSC company 2009 you guys blew my mind) no matter how utterly fucked their lives are.

Horatio becomes so fucking important for this reason: he's the only one who can pick up what's going on with Hamlet without him needing to scream it from the rafters. When Hamlet does engage in doublespeak, Horatio is always. Always. on his wavelength. Even when Hamlet succeeds in making himself understood, like with Gertrude, she betrays this trust to Claudius. Horatio is the only one who proves a true confidant. I always wonder why Hamlet doesn't seek out his company more in the play, perhaps their difference in station makes it difficult, or maybe when he gets distressed he forgets he can ask for help, but his absence is keenly felt in just how wild he can get when Horatio is off stage.

TL;DR: one of the many reasons why Hamlet is my favorite work of fiction is Hamlet's ceaseless attempts within the play to find someone to understand him. It is so completely relatable, and thank god Horatio is there.

#hamlet #hamlet meta

[ceescedasticity]

Silmarillion war crimes

(Finally motivated to make this because someone said the Silmarillion elves committed 'all the war crimes', and while I know, I know they were just exaggerating for comic effect it still drives me up the wall.)

First piece of housekeeping: Technically speaking war crimes are war crimes because they were defined as such in various treaties. You aren't technically violating the Geneva Conventions if you aren't signatory to them. But, they do often get talked about more like universally applicable rules.

Second piece of housekeeping: I think no one is actually accusing the Fëanorians of, like, cutting undersea communications cables or impersonating the Red Cross. There are some war crimes which are obviously not applicable and I'm not going to discuss them.

Third piece of housekeeping: There are a lot of provisions in the Geneva Conventions. Someone else can go through all of them if they like. So, I'm going to go with this list gleaned from the section of the Wikipedia page on war crimes about the international criminal court:

Willful killing, or causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health

Torture or inhumane treatment

Unlawful wanton destruction or appropriation of property

Forcing a prisoner of war to serve in the forces of a hostile power

Depriving a prisoner of war of a fair trial

Unlawful deportation, confinement or transfer

Taking hostages

Directing attacks against civilians

Killing a surrendered combatant

Misusing a flag of truce, a flag or uniform of the enemy

Settlement of occupied territory

Deportation of inhabitants of occupied territory

Using poison weapons

Using civilians as shields

Using child soldiers

Firing upon a Combat Medic with clear insignia.

Summary execution

Rape, sexual slavery, forced prostitution or forced pregnancy

Fourth piece of housekeeping: I'm not just going to look at the Fëanorians. That's not fair. There's elves vs. other elves, elves vs. dwarves, dwarves vs. elves, Angband vs. everyone, everyone vs. Angband, etc. I should probably define some of these groups starting out but I'm not going to.

So. This will be long.

1. Willful killing, or causing great suffering or serious injury to body or health

I'm a little puzzled about this one, actually. I thought that was just… assumed to be part of war???

Killing as more than a means to some non-killing-related end???

At any rate I'm inclined to say everyone conducting war in the Silmarillion did this. I don't think anyone was trying to minimize military casualties.

Edit: Have been informed it's meant to be killing of people protected under the conventions. In which case it's a lot more questionable. For some people.

2. Torture or inhumane treatment

Angband did this, obviously.

A lot.

Really a lot.

We don't have any record of any elves doing it, or dwarves, or Edain.

…Except Túrin's outlaws but they're kind of a weird circumstance.

3. Unlawful wanton destruction or appropriation of property

(Seems like there might be a lot of wiggle room in 'unlawful'…)

Well, anyway, Angband also did this, obviously, a lot.

The dwarven sack of Menegroth counts as this.

Seizure of the swan-ships arguably counts as this one, though I'd actually hesitate on that one. I think that wasn't a war crime, that was a crime crime, because they weren't at war.

If the Fëanorians scavenged from Menegroth before leaving that probably counts, but that's speculation.

The Host of the West did destroy Angband, if you want to count that.

Edit: And the Fëanorians destroyed the Havens of Sirion.

4. Forcing a prisoner of war to serve in the forces of a hostile power

Angband, yet again. It's a little less obvious here since it's not like they put prisoners in the regular army unless you count orcs, but brainwashing prisoners and sending them out as agents probably counts.

Also their treatment of prisoners of war generally violates a lot of stuff in the Third Geneva Convention.

I do not think we have grounds to say anyone else did this, partially because I'm not sure we have grounds to say anyone else ever took any prisoners.

Elrond and Elros are a gray area, but if they ended up fighting with the Fëanorians there's no reason to believe it was against anyone but Angband.

Oh, and I suppose the Host of the West took prisoners, but I'm sure they didn't do this.

5. Depriving a prisoner of war of a fair trial

I mean, you could say that prisoners of war in Angband got the same kind of trial that anyone else in Angband got?

But otherwise Angband again, yeah.

The Host of the West… I'm not sure. Do you count the judgments of Ëonwë as a fair trial?

Everyone else: No prisoners, not an issue.

…Look I don't know what to say about Túrin and Mîm. I'm inclined to say a lot of the outlaws' bad behavior was crime crime not war crime. I don't know.

6. Unlawful deportation, confinement or transfer

Angband back in the definitely column here.

I don't think anyone else is. Sure, Menegroth and Sirion were abandoned, but it wasn't because the Fëanorians stuck around chasing people away.

7. Taking hostages

Angband, explicitly with Maedhros and I think implicitly elsewhere.

The Easterlings serving Angband also explicitly took hostages.

The Fëanorians took Elrond and Elros. It doesn't seem to have been terribly effective, but it was hostage-taking.

Celegorm and Curufin holding Lúthien could be this if you consider the Fëanorians to have been at war with Doriath at that point, but that's sort of dubious? Maybe a war crime, maybe a crime crime.

8. Directing attacks against civilians

Angband.

The Fëanorians attacked the entire communities of Menegroth and the Havens of Sirion. They may or may not have made any attempt to avoid deliberately killing noncombatants in one or both cases, but they were unavoidably attacks on civilians.

The dwarven attack on Menegroth is similarly an attack on civilians.

If you consider any orcs, trolls, balrogs, vampires, werewolves, etc. to be civilians, then the Host of the West almost certainly did this. You can argue that none of them counted as civilians; you can also argue that the Host of the West managed not to attack e.g. orc children, but I don't think that's very likely.

The Easterlings serving Angband did have civilians, but I think it's more likely the Host of the West avoided attacking those.

9. Killing a surrendered combatant

I don't think anyone is directly attested as doing this?

The overall impression one gets of the First Age is a general deficit of surrender.

But: if anyone surrendered to Angband's forces rather than trying to fight or escape until they physically couldn't, I'm sure some of them were killed (and some weren't, because Angband wanted slaves).

If any orcs/werewolves/vampires/trolls/dragons/balrogs dared to surrender rather than fight to the death or escape, I'm sure some to most of them were killed.

If any dwarves of Nogrod tried to surrender to Beren and the Ents, they were killed.

We don't know about the dwarven sack of Menegroth or any of the Kinslayings (on either side).

The Host of the West accepted at least some surrenders, but we don't know if it was all of them.

10. Misusing a flag of truce, a flag or uniform of the enemy

Angband doesn't get much of an opportunity for this because no one trusts their truces and it's not like switching flags or uniforms would help, insofar as there are uniforms.

But they did propose a negotiation under false pretenses.

Of course the Fëanorians also agreed to it under false pretenses.

The Silmaril Quest is absolutely full of people disguising themselves as Angband's forces. If you want to get pedantic about it uniforms and flags were not the key part of those disguises, but I think it's the same idea?

Edit: Unless you want to count them as spies, not soldiers. There are different rules for spies, which is to say I don't think there are any rules about spies, either what they can do or what can be done to them. I think that may be a better frame for this.

I feel like the Easterlings who announced their allegiance change mid-battle may also count as this?

11. Settlement of occupied territory

Angband generally prefers the scorched-earth approach, but they do settle their Easterlings in occupied territory.

No one else does this.

Like the Fëanorians had enough people left to 'occupy' anything.

(Or I guess arguably the Host of the West occupies Angband but not for very long and they definitely don't settle there.)

12. Deportation of inhabitants of occupied territory

Angband does some of this in the form of enslaving them back in, uh, Angband, but it's true that mostly it depopulates by slaughter and most of the survives flee with no deportation as such. It doesn't deport the Edain.

Again, most others have no occupied territory.

Though everyone does have to leave Beleriand. :( Should that be attributed to the Host of the West?

13. Using poison weapons

Angband: yes.

Everyone else: No evidence of this. I wouldn't necessarily rule out them trying it against Angband if they thought it would work.

Although I suppose you could argue that weapons inimical to Angband by nature could count as poison…? Naahhh.

(Edit: Eöl used poisoned weapons, but that was murder not combat.)

14. Using civilians as shields

I don't think Angband did this one, actually?

Edain civilians as hostages, yeah, but Angband didn't have much in the way of its own civilians and didn't expect anyone to try to avoid hitting them.

Angband's Easterlings most likely tried to keep their civilians out of the way like sensible people.

15. Using child soldiers

Whether it was possible for Angband to do this with orcs depends on your interpretation.

Everyone else…

Not child soldiers in the 'take them from their families, indoctrinate them, send them out for shock value' sense.

But child soldiers in the sense of 'people we would consider children are considered adults and treated as such', yeah.

And I expect also in the sense of 'people who are not considered adults and who no one really wants fighting, but there is no true place of safety and no one wants them helpless, either, so'.

16. Firing upon a Combat Medic with clear insignia

Existence of combat medics with clear insignia is uncertain.

If they existed I'm sure Angband fired on them and tbh I wouldn't bet against anyone else doing so.

17. Summary execution

Okay, this can mean killing combatants who surrendered again, but to avoid double-counting let's say we mean non-combatants.

Well, Angband, regardless.

It would not surprise me if the Fëanorians did this in Menegroth, considering that Celegorm's servants expected to get away with murdering children, but that's not definite.

18. Rape, sexual slavery, forced prostitution or forced pregnancy

Angband's Easterlings did this in Dor-lómin.

The rest of Angband…

It seems likely? In one context or another. But I don't think there are direct statements on it.

—Or actually I guess they made promises to Maeglin about Idril! Not sure if that should count when they didn't actually do anything and I'm not sure they ever meant to.

Eöl and Aredhel in the worst interpretation was not part of a war. It was a crime crime and a diplomatic disaster.

Celegorm and Curufin's behavior towards Lúthien was only questionably part of a war and I'm not sure whether it qualifies here, so I'm going to say no.

Eighteen in the somewhat arbitrary list…

Fëanorians: Definitely five four (1, 3, 7, 8, 10), possibly/arguably as many as nine (1, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 15, 16, 17).

Non-Fëanorian Exiles: Definitely two (1, 10), possibly/arguably as many as five (1, 9, 10, 15, 16).

Iathrim+Lúthien&Beren: Definitely two (1, 10), possibly/arguably as many as five (1, 9, 10, 15, 16).

Dwarves of Nogrod: Definitely three two (1, 3, 8), possibly/arguably as many as five (1, 3, 8, 9, 16).

Host of the West: Definitely one (1), possibly/arguably as many as seven (1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 12, 16) (that's what you get for winning).

Angband and associates: Definitely thirteen (1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 17, 18), possibly/arguably seventeen (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18).

Admittedly it's silly to look at Angband at all when it was in a constant state of total war against basically everybody…

#tolkien #unsolicited fandom opinions #pedantic woman strikes again #a tolkien tag #i know i know i'm no fun at all

[shirtlesssammy]

14x12: Prophet and Loss

Then:

Drama llama Dean spent an entire afternoon in a workshop surrounded by half naked men, and now he’s gonna bury himself at the bottom of the sea.

Now:

We open with Dean in the ma’lak box at the bottom on the ocean.

It is uncomfortable to watch. I’ve had a lot of thoughts about Dean dreaming about being in the box. It’s a huge call back to 3x16/4x01 and him yelling for Sam and waking from Hell in his own coffin --the coffin Sam insisted he be buried in --the coffin that Cas, the naive angel that lacked the people skills to know not to just reconstitute him and leave him six feet under. This is as bad, if not worse, than Hell for Dean. Dean’s been very low in the past, but to listen to Death and admit that he doesn’t have free will over this situation? Gah.

It is just a dream though, albeit one that was so visceral, he woke to bloody fingernails and scratches on the motel wall. Sam, who’s also awake, tries talking to Dean about his plan.

For This is a Beautiful Shot Science:

Sam insists that there has to be another way. Dean sees no other option than to lock himself away with Michael for eternity. (Sidenote: I just saw this post come across my dash about Swan Song, and I’M DYING.)

Aaaaaand, it wouldn’t be Buckleming without some torture porn! A man has a woman tied up. He’s dumping salt in a vat of water. Oooh, maybe super crazy demon torture? J/K, just a regular girl who doesn’t deserve to die tortured. Sigh. He carves something into her arm and sends her into the water to drown. Positive Note: She’s fully clothed.

Nick’s in the hospital and and as soon as his leg heals, he’ll be spending a lot of time in jail. Nick’s playing the “devil made me do it” card. And he’s also crying silent tears. NOT BUYING WHAT YOU’RE SELLING, EUGENIE.

On the road, the brothers take a moment to further dissect Dean’s plan. Both Sam and Mary hate it. Cas and Jack don’t even know about it. Sam calls Cas --who clearly gets the newsletter Sam sends out to everyone. He knows.

Rowena and Cas have been on the case to extract Michael, but both have come up empty. Cas offers to speak with Dean. Sam doesn’t think that’ll matter.

Torture Man has a new victim! This time it’s a dude that he’s trussed and laid out on a plastic sheet. Torture Man utters warped Bible quotes while he slits the man’s throat. He then carves something into his chest. Oh man, I have a high capacity for violence on TV, but this WAS NOT COOL TO WATCH. Do. Not. Like. After carving up his victim, he hears whispers and says, “I am the Lord.”

On the road, Michael continues to scream and pound on the inside of Dean’s mind. And, guh, Dean pulls himself together and side-eyes Sam to see if he noticed. He didn’t. SAM. I mean, I get it, he’s doing what he can to stop Dean’s plan. And if Dean really wants to convince his brother this is the best idea, why worry if he sees you struggle?

Anyway, Dean jumps into talking about their childhood, and how he “wasn’t always the greatest brother” to Sam. Sam’s baffled as to where this is going. Dean was his constant family when they were kids. Sam recognizes that Dean was not just there for him as a brother, but he raised Sam. Dean continues, apologizing for siding with their dad, for trying to keep the peace. I AM LIVING FOR THIS CONVERSATION. Dean admits that John would send Dean away when he would get mad at Dean. And, like we know this, and I’m still crying? Sometimes I feel like while every episode adds to the story of Sam and Dean, they’re often forgotten or never mentioned again, so did they really happen? If I ended up in an alternate world where I was rich and famous, I’d think back and rehash the fun in that on occasion. In any event, 9x7 did happen, and it happened on multiple occasions. Sam makes it clear to Dean that he let all that go a long time ago, also please stop with the deathbed apologies. Kthxbye.

Nick outsmarts the cop guarding him and escapes from the hospital.

Sam’s found a case! A nice distraction from their Road Trip of Bad Decisions. They head to investigate.

They arrive at the home of the brother of the last victim.

I found this shot SO weird, but didn’t really think about it again until I saw @neven-ebrez post, and was glad someone put some thought into it. :D We’re kind of hit over the head with brother parallels here. Dean gets to hear what it might feel like for Sam when he’s gone. Sam explains that the graffiti carvings were really Enochian. 

The brother talks about a friend, Tony Alvarez, who was more into Bible quotes than the average Millenial.

A Story in Three Parts:

I mean, really. REALLY? Cas has no chill. He also has no filter and spills that he knows about Dean’s plan. At first I was like “oh Cas bby, no” but now I’m ok with it. It’s almost more painful to know that Cas knows about Dean’s plan when Dean doesn’t know about Cas’s deal. (And equally painful to think that Cas doesn’t think about his deal because he doesn’t see himself ever being happy.) (Natasha: curls up into an unhappy knot on the floor.)

Anyway, Dean doesn’t want to talk to Cas about his plan and jumps right into why he called. Does Cas recognise the name Tony Alvarez? Cas says that he’s in line to be a prophet. Dean cuts him off, awkwardly tells him it’s good to hear his voice, and hangs up. He instantly chastises Sam for spilling his secret. “Dean, it’s Cas. I had to tell him.” Sam and Cas are the best brothers-in-law. HUGS.

And if Tony is now a killer prophet, is Donatello dead? Dean checks in with Donatello’s doctor. He’s still around (brain dead and all, but not dead dead.)

Dean and Sam break into Tony’s home, which looks perfectly normal EXCEPT for a creepy office covered with Enochian writing and pinned up photos of victims. They realize that the killer is cycling through different biblical deaths.

Cut to the Sphinx Machine Shop, where a deranged Tony has strung up his next victim. He gets ready to burn him (and I’m just cringing in horror please stop). Fortunately, the Winchesters rush in just in time. Sam tackles Tony while Dean puts out the fire and saves the victim. Tony babbles that God was telling him to kill those people. He manages to get a hold of Dean’s gun and kills himself.

U G H

Anyway, just like that, the whole case is over.

They go over the case with Cas, who speculates that Donatello’s not-dead-yet status has somehow triggered a malformed line of prophets. The answer seems clear...they’ve got to kill off Donatello.

Nick breaks into his old house and flashes back to the trauma of his family’s deaths. (Somehow there’s still electrical service? I’m going to chalk that up to an overzealous realtor, perhaps.) The room ices over as the ghost of his dead wife, Sarah, manifests. He addresses her as...“Lucifer?” AWKWARD. Sarah, played by a jarringly different actress, tells Nick that she’s been a ghost...the whole damn time. She saw him get possessed by Lucifer and that is part of the unfinished business that keeps her tethered to Earth. There are some major you’re-cheating-on-me vibes coming from her.

“You wanted him,” she accuses him. “You still do,” she says, surprising absolutely nobody. Nick tells Sarah that he’s gonna go find Lucifer and he leaves her behind to be a super grumpy ghost for all eternity. Thanks, man.

At the Happy Daze nursing home (rly?) a doctor tells the Winchesters that pulling the plug on Donnie is the right choice. Dean practically smirks at Sam like, “SEE? The nice doctor is telling you to let me be tortured for all of eternity.” Cas meets them in the guise of a doctor.

Doctor Sexy: A visual story in three parts:

Sam heads off with the (real) doctor to see what sort of babbled “nonsense” Donnie’s been dealing. (I take a break to pedantically google the difference between brain death and vegetative states.) Dean gives Cas some serious side-eye and sass about checking up on Donatello, but Cas pulls him back. He explains that what he did to Donatello was necessary at the time, but he still regrets it. Dean attempts to commiserate and Cas spits out, “Please don’t compare this with your suicidal plan. Just STOP.” 

Dean pleads with Cas to support his decision. “This is goodbye?” Cas demands in response, and then SAM BURSTS IN. God DAMN it, Interrupting!Sam.

Ugh. MAN. Give Dean and Cas five freakin’ minutes to talk through their issues 2k19. (You know I love it AND I hate it, bbys.)

Anyway, the footage of Donatello shows him speaking Enochian. He’s muttering about striking down the first born of Egypt...he’s just spewing out the Word of God. Cas thinks Donatello’s mind is rebuilding itself and stumbling through old prophecies. (Me: passive-aggressively googles vegetative states again.)

They head into Donatello’s room where Cas, bless him, continues to show an utter lack of an appropriately scaled cover persona. He orders the real doctor out of the room with a cursory “Get out.”

While Sam and Dean wait for Cas to try his healing mojo, Dean flinches as he continues to struggle with Michael. Oh, Dean Bean.

They reunite with Cas just in time for Cas to have his breakthrough healing moment.

For Science

They turn off the life support machines and, after a brief jolt, Donatello pulls through. It’s a miracle! He’s probably not evil, right? I mean, the lack of soul will almost certainly steer him well. (Lord, we’re going to be stuck with this chicken-addicted prophet forever, aren’t we?) 

Donatello wants to know what happened and Dean slaps Cas on the shoulder and somewhat snarkily leaves the job to him. Dean. Bean.

Sam greets Dean back at the Impala with beer and misery. After the “win” of getting Donatello back, it’s time for them to head on home so Dean can lock himself into his torture box. Sam delivers an emotional speech about their shared experiences and accuses Dean that he’s checking out of the world too soon. “If you quit on us today, there will be no tomorrow.” Sam rails at Dean, begging him to give them all a chance to save him. “I believe in us,” Sam shouts and punches Dean in rage and pain. 

Reluctantly, Dean promises to go home with Sam and hold out for another option for as long as he can. Dean offers a contingency agreement: if they have no other choice in the future, then Sam and Cas have to let him go.

“Let’s go home,” Dean says to them both. Hooray! And...that should get to me but what really quietly wrecked me was Dean telling Sam quietly, “Don’t hit me again, okay?” before they all climbed into the car. Welcome, hello, my heart is now in a coffin at the bottom of the ocean.

After they all depart, the title card fades ominously to white. 

Everybody knows what makes Doctor Sexy sexy is his Quotes:

Well, the woman has a remarkable command of profanity.

If we could not have conversations that sound like deathbed apologies, I would really appreciate it.

Dean, it’s so good to hear from you.

Thank you, and it’s good to hear your voice.

“Doctor.” “Doctor.” “Doctor.”

Dean. If there’s a spark, a hope, then I have to try. You taught me that.

No rest for the self-destructive.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

#spn recap #spn 14x12 #prophet and loss #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #nick #donatello redfield #dr sexy #supernatural season 14

[rohobi]

Tempus Lovers 02 | (m)

Min Yoongi | Soulmates AU | Time | Accountant Yoongi | Rebel Reader-insert | Plane Crash | Swearing | Angst | Fluff | Smut | Humour | Weird family dynamics | Wholesome Yoongi |  

STORY SUMMARY: ❝ After surviving a plane crash, you awaken with the ability to see time and how close a person is to death. Running away from your arranged marriage, you meet Min Yoongi on the train, an ordinary man with an extraordinary ability.❞ Read: Part 1

↳ MASTERLIST

Ignoring the cans rattling against the beige and blue tiles of the metro floor in the wind and the sound of distant trains crossing train tracks, Min Yoongi was alone and on the train when he met you for the first time.

It was post the roughest day of his life, where Yoongi had wondered darkly about a life he no longer felt was his own. He was a simple hard working man, deployed to Dubai to replace the assistant his boss fucked and fired hours prior to closing the companies biggest deal.

He had no choice but to come.

And he hated the heat, it made him feel dumb.

Yoongi was supposed to be an average joe.

Wearing a black and white suit and tie, gifted black leather shoes and a black satchel, he looked like the epitome of an overworked 9-5er. With the absence of a luxury brand apparel, he truly blended into the multinational environment.

His mousy brown hair was disheveled, displaced by the many times he had grabbed at the strands in frustration that evening. The shitty imported soju that had escaped from the bottle he had tried to shove down his throat walking from work to the station had left a strong smell of spirit on his white shirt. He's over this shit. Seriously over this boring ass life and who couldn't blame him.

Dark circles were wrapped around his dead brown eyes from the insomnia he couldn't escape from and he was low in spirits from a life he didn't want to live; he felt lifeless and no one here spoke Korean.

He felt alone for the first time in such a long time. A true privilege when Yoongi was timeless; a person who could manipulate and bend the concept of time. Albeit, never wanting to try.

Never needing to.

Indents from his teeth lingered on the supple flesh of his bottom lip from the occupational habit he had picked up trying to abstain from cursing his mind off in his office. He hated the assholes he worked with even more than he hated how boring his life had become.

Dubai didn't fit his lifestyle, he hated shopping and he hated the heat.

He missed kimchi and he missed speaking in Korean.

He stands languidly, feeling the soft material of the hotel bed's mattress phantomly against his back as he stands behind the precautionary yellow lines, waiting for the last rush train back.

He can't even remember the last time he hadn't slept alone because he seriously couldn't remember what the feeling of a woman's touch felt like anymore.

Loosening his tie, he turns to his right. The dinging bells of his approaching train fill the almost quiet station as the train slows down to his platform. He shifts on his feet, adjusting the strap of his bag. He just wants to go home and sleep but fate, as it seems, have other plans for him.

"Hey, you get back here ma'am!" a man shouts in the distance. "We aren't done with you yet! You can't be running around like that!"

The sound of bare feet slapping against the tiles echo off the walls but Min Yoongi is in no mind to pay it any attention. He just wants to go home and sleep, wake up and then do it all over again.

Because what else does he have to live for.

Walking onto the train, he stands by the window with a sigh. Pulling out his handkerchief from the front pocket of his suit, he places it on the inside of the hanging strap above his head. Grabbing the strap, he makes sure his fingers are only holding on to the fabric. He was so pedantic about these kinds of things and it was an aspect of himself that he hated but never felt bothered to change.

The doors begin to close and Yoongi closes his eyes too, feeling the desperate need for sleep begin to sting the whites of his eyes. In another way, you are glad that the glum-looking stranger had his eyes closed because then, he didn't see you coming.

"Oh shit, move!" you shout, jumping through the closing doors and running towards his figure. You move as fast as the wind with enough force to make a hurricane but your quick solution to the fast-approaching problem behind you, only sweeps you off your feet as you smack right into Yoongi's chest.

The pain you anticipate as your head hits his collarbone is strangely non-existent as a feeling akin to the jagged edges of a lightning bolt strike through your body. Your heart flutters rambunctiously as Yoongi wraps his arms around you, an automatic response, catching you from bowling him straight over.

And it was his first mistake.

"Woah," he chokes, when you completely wind him. He takes a desperate breath in, crouching over your shoulder. "J-Jesus."

"Don't move," you whisper, wincing at the sudden intense stinging nettle kind of feeling across your chest, radiating down your left arm. You'd never felt anything like it before. "Fuck, am I having a heart attack? Oh god, p-please, don't move."

You look over your shoulder as the police officer and two photographers stare defeatedly at the now-closed train doors as cameras flash pictures of you in the arms of a mystery man; dispatches newest article.

You can see it now. "Billionaire heiress runs away from Wedding and into the arms of a man on the train."

Actually, that sounds interesting. You'd read that.

"What are you doing?" Yoongi groans but you're still looking at the photographers staring at you. The torn wedding dress from when you pulled off the eyelash trim marital restraint from around your legs, or whatever it was called, and his suit didn't do you any favors either.

Turning to your stranger, you do the only thing you know that could lever answers that would make sense. You loved someone else.

You hold his face, brush your nose past his and kiss the living daylights out of him. You don't stop until you are certain there were pictures. You don't stop until he pushes you away.

"What the hell was that? Public displays of affection are illegal here!" he shouts, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist and that is when you see it.

Stepping back from him, you stand a foot away, trying your best to ignore the sudden loneliness your soul feels. Looking at the time on the train's clock, you turn to your left, looking at the next stop on the line. You needed to stay low before your flight tomorrow morning. "This never happened and you did not see me."

The train begins to move down the tracks, leaving the destruction from your hurricane behind. You can't say it's a relief watching the train leave the station when you know that despite everything, you've started a paper trail.

"I never saw you?" he whispers incredulously, now aware people were watching as you tried to cover your face. "You can't just kiss someone, who are you?"

"Please, just leave me alone."

Yoongi holds up his phone and takes a picture of your face. "There we go, now I have evidence that this really happened and you're in fact real. What's wrong with you? I'm taking this to the police."

You wince at the word.

Disappearing would be harder than it seemed.

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts stories #bts fic #bts #bts yoongi #bts suga #bangtan scenarios #Bangtan imagines

[bleu-moo]

Biblichor, chapter 5.

Thirty excruciatingly long minutes later, you rounded the corner to the hallway where Venable’s suite was located. You stopped before her door, passing your hands over the fabric of your shirt a few times. Your palms were clammy; you had butterflies swarming in your stomach at the thought of being alone with her again.

You knocked twice before the door opened and you entered. You turned, coming face to face with Venable. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the woman before you.

She was dressed differently this time, her usual attire had been replaced with a regal purple bodice over a light colored shirt. Her hair was back in a low ponytail; she was looking at you hungrily, but made no move to approach you. You smiled, she seemed as nervous as you did. The thought of the two of you acting like this made you snort. You took one step towards her, and she took one towards you. You were now an arm’s length away, and you reached out to touch the material of her top. You suddenly felt underdressed as the only thing you’d done to prepare is pull your hair up in a high ponytail.

“You look lovely. I never told you, but purple is my favorite color.”

She laughs sharply, shaking her head as she slips an arm around your waist. You drape your arms around her shoulders as she pulls you closer to her. Right before you meet in a kiss, she murmurs against your lips.

“Mine too.”

You grin and share a long overdue kiss; she tastes very faintly of the wine she drank at dinner, and you pull away slowly when the kiss ends. She is looking at you with such adoration, it makes your heart skip in your chest. She is the first to speak.

“I have missed you, terribly. This has been too long.” Her arm tightens around your waist.

You lean your forehead against hers as your fingers brush the nape of her neck. She closes her eyes and hums contentedly as you speak.  

“We’ve seen each other every day, but I agree...I missed you, I missed this.”

You kiss her forehead, her cheek, her lips. You spend another minute kissing, her free hand splays across your back as she tries to pull you closer. You break the kiss, and to your amusement she actually pouts.

“Are you going to invite me to sit down, Ms. Venable?”

She grins at you, and leads you to the sofa across from the fire. You take note of two boxes on the table, along with a bottle of wine you recognize from the supply room, poured into two glasses.  Your eyebrows raise inquisitively.  

“What is all this?”

She gives you a sheepish smile, looking towards the fire for a moment before returning her gaze to you.

“I guess you will have to sit down and see, won’t you?”

You laugh and take your seat. She takes a seat next to you, handing you the first box.

“Happy birthday, darling.”

You have always been a sucker for presents, and you kiss her quickly before opening the box to find two bars of chocolate. Your face lights up.

“No shit! You remembered?!”

“You only queried me several times a week regarding the fate of your beloved chocolate. How could I have forgotten; you’d never let me!”

You grinned, turning the bar over in your hands.

“Can we have some?”

She chuckles, placing her hand on your knee. “If you’d like. It is yours, after all.”

You tore the wrapper off half of the first bar, popping a piece in your mouth. You made a very undignified, indulgent noise as the candy melted on your tongue. You broke off another section, holding it out to her.

“You gotta try this, its so good!”

She wrapped her slender fingers around your wrist and brought your hand to her mouth. She took the sweet from your fingers with her teeth. Her eyes slid shut, breathing deeply, as she savored the snack. After a moment, her gaze met yours and she licked her lips.  

“Delicious.”

You were speechless, looking from your hand to her mouth, wondering how every move this woman made managed to fluster you like this. As she noticed this reaction of yours, a smug smirk crossed her countenance. You reached blindly for your beverage and downed half the glass in one swig. She was laughing now, apparently taking pity on you for the moment.

She picked up the second box, motioning for you to hold out your hand. You did so and she placed the rectangular box in your palm. She had moved closer to you on the sofa, and was now watching you expectantly.  You lifted the lid and brought your hand to your chest in shock.

Inside the box lay a necklace with a simple silver chain; an amethyst gemstone inlaid in silver rested at the bottom. For the second time in minutes, you were speechless.

“Where did..., how did you...?”

She took the box from your hands and laid it back on the table. She lifted the jewelry from its container as she spoke.

“I brought this with me, I had quite a collection from before. I couldn’t bear to part with some of them. This piece is a part of a set and, if you would have it, it is yours. For when we are apart, there will always be a part of me...with you. ”

Her bravado from before has vanished, and she holds the necklace in her palm. You lightly take her chin and kiss her, softly, as you feel tears gathering in your eyes.

“Thank you...I love it, its beautiful.”

You kiss her again, cupping her cheek in your hand as you pull away. She is looking at you with such powerful emotion, you feel as if your heart may burst. As your thumb strokes her cheekbone, you suddenly notice the earrings she is wearing. They bear an uncanny similarity to the necklace she has just bestowed upon you.  The smile that comes to your face does not go unnoticed by her. She presses her lips together bashfully, as you voice the thought in your head. You gingerly touch the earring, then caress the area behind her ear with the back of your fingers.

“Would these earrings happen to be...part of a set?”

She nods, biting her lip. “Is that...acceptable to you?”

She seems timid, as if she is almost expecting you to say no.

“Of course it is, that makes it even more special...to share something like this. You are so wonderful.”

She smiles, leaning across to kiss you, and you sense the trepidation leave her. She relaxes, and you touch the pedant in her hand. “Would you put this on me?”

She beams and nods, and you lift your hair and tilt your head to the side. Her arms encircle your shoulders and she works to secure the clasp. You watch her, noting with a great deal of amusement that the tip of her tongue sticks out between her lips as she concentrates. She fastens the clasp and you expect her to pull away, however she brings her hand up to turn your shoulder slightly. She traces a finger across the shadow visible under the edge of your shirt.

“What is that? Do you have a tattoo? May I see it?”

You nod, pulling your shirt down a bit to try and give her a better view. You realize she can probably only see part of it due to the way you are sitting. She moves away from you and you stand, beginning to unbutton your shirt. Her eyes widen at your actions, and her mouth opens and closes, yet she makes no sound. You hesitate, your hands stop at the third button of your blouse. You realize with a deep blush the reason for her reaction. Neither of you has seen any skin to this point, and you unthinkingly almost stripped without an explanation.  

“I have to at least do this, if you want to see it. It’s between my shoulder blades. Do...you--, I mean, is that okay?”

Her voice is soft as she answers you.

“Yes.”

Her eyes dip to the bit of your bra that is already exposed as she folds her hands in her lap. You can hear her nervous swallow from here. You turn your back towards her and take your seat again. You are thankful you can no longer see her eyes, because the obvious hunger so blatantly displayed in them was playing dangerously with your self control.

You hear her breath hitch, and you feel her fingertips smooth across the moth between your shoulders. You feel her move closer behind you, and her other hand comes up to draw light touches across your back. You are not sure, but you think you can feel her soft exhalations on your skin. You close your eyes and bite your lip, harder than necessary, to stop yourself from leaning back into her touch.

“It’s lovely...what does it mean to you?”

You open your eyes and look down, your hands clasped together in your lap.

“I told you that my father and I were fortunate enough to spend some time together, after we had reconnected?”

She makes an affirmative noise,  but she does not interrupt you.  Her fingers continue tracing the outline of your tattoo.

“Well, he was an entomology professor at a university, about twenty minutes away from my last foster parent’s home. It was kind of funny, I had given up on finding anything out about my parents. The records from the hospital my birth mother left me at were shoddy at the absolute best. I had hardly anything to go on, and I just...gave up. One day not long after, I stopped at a coffee cart near the apartment of a woman I was seeing. I had forgotten my wallet, and the man behind me offered to pay. When he looked into my eyes, I swear I felt a connection. He later told me he did too. We sat and discussed our lives, and found there were striking parallels between us.”

You smiled broadly at the memory, and you pressed your palms together.

“Have you ever met someone, and though you know nothing about them, you felt in your heart that they will be important to you?”

Her hands pause their ministrations, and you hear her murmur, so softly you hardly hear it.

“...yes.”

You clear your throat and continue, feeling something tug at your heart at the way she answered you. As you begin to speak again, you realize her hands are touching you softly beyond the outline of your tattoo. You feel goose bumps race across your body.

“Well, we became friends and eventually decided to take a paternity test. I think that...we both knew the day we met what the results would be, but to actually have it on paper that--that he was really my dad, and we found each other...” your voice catches, and tears slip from your eyes. The woman behind you curls her arm around your waist. She shifts, moving to press her lips to your temple. This action calms you enough to continue.  Her chin rests on your shoulder.

You cover her hand with yours, and her fingers toy absently with  a button on your shirt. You lean back into her, and she nuzzles your neck.

“Before he got sick, I lived with him, he had a huge deck on his house. We would sit outside at night and talk well into the morning. He was some kind of bug whisperer, they would almost swarm him and he loved it. I asked him once, if he had a favorite insect. He said it was like trying to pick a favorite star in the sky. He eventually narrowed it down to Lepidoptera after I bothered him enough. I got this the week after he passed.”

You fall silent, and Venable whispers against your ear, her voice is low.

“Thank you, for sharing that with me. You were fortunate to have him.”

You both sit in comfortable silence for minutes, and your melancholy mood dissolves away.

Now, you can definitely feel her breath on your neck. She is drawing lazy circles on your clothed abdomen and you want so much to feel her touch on your skin again. You take a breath and hold it, popping the button shed been playing with earlier open. On the next pass of her fingers, they came into contact with your skin. It was a soft touch, her fingertips barely grazed your skin, but you heard her breath catch hard.

You released the breath you’d been holding, only to gasp as her lips touched your neck, just below your ear. She then pressed a series of light, almost shy kisses down your neck and across your shoulder.  Finally she placed her lips between your shoulders, in the center of your tattoo. For the umpteenth first time this evening, you were breathless, but this time you couldn’t ignore it. You slowly extracted yourself from her embrace and turned around to face her.

The sight before you was indescribably sexy. She looked up at you through hooded eyes, and you could see her breath coming in short pants. She held out her hand to you, licking her lips. You spoke softly, taking into consideration her condition before you took any action. You could hardly believe you were asking her this question. Your voice sounded foreign, even to yourself. It was low and husky with the desire you felt for her. “If I, if I straddle you, will that cause you any--,”

She shook her head no vigorously before you could even finish the thought. You carefully straddled her,  and she leaned back into the pillows she had positioned behind her. Her eyes fell to your mostly unbuttoned blouse, and she looked up at you, questioning.

Your hands came up to unbutton the remaining few, and she put her hands over yours as you undid the last one.

“You’re trembling.”

You leaned down to kiss her as she slid her hands up your bare torso. She pushed off your shirt in one smooth motion. You gasped against her mouth as she kissed you, and she moaned low in her throat in response. Her hands slid up your back, then down again to draw her finger nails down your spine, and you hissed with pleasure. You pull her hair from the tie it is in, pressing kisses across her throat as you run your fingers through her hair. You tug on it lightly and she gasps.  You feel her hips move below you as she pulls you back to her mouth.

Your lips met again and again, each time more insistently. You were intoxicated by this, by the feel of her, the taste of her. Judging by the noises she was making beneath you, the feeling was mutual.

Just as her fingers slid tantalizingly slowly under the bra strap on your back, there was a loud knock at the door.

You sat up like a shot and Venable met your eyes in a panic. You scramble off of her, she clears her throat and calls out.

“Who is it?”

The answering response from the opposite side of the door makes you throw your hands up in frustration.

“It’s Meade. You asked me to come and give you the perimeter reports from this morning.”

Venable pinches the bridge of her nose, and bends down to search for her cane. “Just a moment.”

You snap your fingers and gesture to the other side of the chair, she reaches for it and stands. You are searching for your shirt as she begins to make her way to the door. You grab your blouse from the floor and before you have a chance to put it on, she motions for you to stand beside her bed. You realize that the door will block any view of you Meade may have.

You hear Venable cough to cover the laugh that slips from her lips as you roll across the bed and crouch on the floor beside it. You give her a thumbs up and grin. She attempts to smooth her hair down and adjusts her top. You watch her posture change as she reaches for the door. The wanton woman you were just necking with on her couch has become the stern leader once again. She pulls the door open, just enough.

“Yes, I had forgotten. Something else came up. Thank you Ms. Meade.”

From your place near the door, you can hear Meade’s responses. You hear paper shuffling as she hands a file to Venable.

“Is everything alright?” The tone of Meade’s voice seems to indicate your presence here is not entirely unknown. You peek up over the side of the bed, she cannot see you but she must be able to see the items on the table from earlier.

“Yes fine, everything is fine.”

You move to get off of your knees and bump the bedside table behind you. It scoots back, hitting the wall with a thud and you grimace. Venable leans around the door and when she see you, you realize Meade will notice the smile that slips onto Venable’s face. You hear a sharp laugh, and Venable snaps back to face her. You hear Meade’s voice lower, but you are still able to hear.

“She’s in there, isn’t she? You’re on a date!” You hear what sound like the sound of Meade’s palm hitting her knee. “I knew it, I knew it all along!” Her tone is not unkind, but amused. You rub the bridge of your own nose now. What an interesting development.

Venable ignores her comment.

“That will be all, Ms. Meade.” She moves to close the door, and Mead raises her voice to make the following statement. You’re certain it is directed towards you. “Indeed. One more thing , if anyone were to spend the night in quarters that were not their own, I would suggest returning to where they belong before the entire outpost is awake!”

Venable raises her voice in return, repeating around the door as she shuts it. “Yes, thank you Ms. Meade, that will be all!”

The door latches behind her, and you hear Meade chuckling as she departs. You just finish buttoning your blouse as Venable turns to face you. You cross the room to her side and put an arm around her. You kiss her cheek as she rubs her eyes and sighs.

“That actually went better than I expected. How long do you think she’s been onto us?”

“I’m sure I have no idea. Nothing gets past her, in the end. I assume it was only a matter of time.”

You follow her to her bed, she takes a seat on it and pats the space beside her. You sit next to her and take her hand.

“Are you upset? Can we trust her?”

She answers without missing a beat. “We can absolutely trust her. I trust her with my life. If she had ill will towards you, you would be well aware of it.” She takes a breath, then. “And I am not upset. I am..”

She considers her response, looking you over and glancing at the bed you both are sitting on. “I am quite ready to lay you down right here and ravish you. Right now. However...,”

You feel your cheeks burn and your eyebrows climb almost into your hairline.  She takes both your hands in hers.

“The career path I chose left me little time for any sort of...long term relationships, of any kind. I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves, based on some...urges. I value our connection, I cherish what we have now. I don’t want to rush into anything, however much we may both want to.”

She ran her thumb along your knuckles, you turned your hand over so that she would stroke your palm.

“And believe me, I want to. I just...” She entwined your fingers, you leaned your shoulder against hers. She trailed off, and you brought your clasped hands to your lips. You pressed a kiss to the back of her hand and met her eyes.

“You want to take things slow?”

She nodded, worrying the corner of her lip. You smiled and kissed her lightly.

“I agree, completely. We can go as slow as we want.”

She pulls your joined hands into her lap, drawing her fingers over the skin of your wrist.

“Thank you...,” she leans into you, and you bring your lips to hers again. This is different from before; where earlier you were both demanding and needy, you were now exchanging unhurried kisses at a languid pace. You smiled against her mouth, and she laughed. “I must say, this is...very nice.”

“Oh, I agree. You know I--,” you covered your mouth as you yawned loudly, and she snickered.

“Tired? Big night?”

You nudged your shoulder playfully against hers once more, rubbing your eyes. Now that you thought about it, you were quite tired. You told her this and made a move to stand. She grabbed your arm as you stood, and looked up at you. She took a deep breath and spoke in a rush.

“Would you like to stay with me tonight? I would rather, that you didn’t leave? We can just sleep together. I don’t mean that, I mean...you know. Of course if you would like to leave, you can very well--”

You hooked your finger under her chin, leaning down to press a swift kiss to her lips.

“I would love nothing more.”

#venable x reader #ms venable x reader #wilhemina venable #venable ahs #femslash #wlw #biblichor

[kuriquinn]

The Springtime of Our Lives [2/3]

Original Prompt: “Can you write about team 7 going through puberty? – Anon"

Author’s Note: It’s weird writing about puberty from the male perspective when you’re a woman…this was an interesting exercise for me. Also, because I don’t think Sasuke was the typical teenaged boy...

Beta Reader: None just yet. Will get to it when I get to it :P

Part I

Part II: Stripling

Not again.

The sentiment is the only coherence Sasuke’s mind is capable of just then as he rouses suddenly and uncomfortably from his sleep. His heart races, lungs heaving and legs shaking, and he’s agonizingly conscious of the unpleasant dampness across his legs and belly. The last of the haze fades with his sleep, annoyance and disgust rapidly replacing it.

Somehow, the cold darkness of his room seems even more so in his discomfort.

Fuck.

He shoves his thin blanket aside and bolts from the hard cot, stripping off his clothing with economic efficiency. He ignores his body’s instinctive shiver of protest as he stalks across his cavernous quarters.

The grotto where he sleeps is dimly lit with torches, but he doesn’t really need their glow to light his way. His eyes are better than any lamp, and though the rock of the riverbed is slippery beneath his bare feet, his footing is certain.

Like most of Orochimaru’s hide-outs, the cavern complex is located underground in one of the numerous damp and twisted tunnels. Sasuke normally feels a distant sort of annoyance with life underground—it feels too much like hiding to him, which is a coward’s way—but this bolthole is to his liking. It’s constructed around an underground river, one of whose tributaries flows through Sasuke’s own lodgings. That means instead of the communal facilities in the centre of the complex, he can bathe or wash his clothing in privacy.

Right now, he does just that, scrubbing doggedly at the loose black trousers he sleeps in. He beats them against a rock outcropping, intending to eradicate every trace of stain there. It’s not blood, though he’s had to clean that out of his clothes often since arriving to train with the legendary Sannin; Orochimaru does not pull punches just because of Sasuke’s age.

In some ways, it’s so much worse than blood.

Despite the cold, Sasuke’s cheeks burn.

When he first started having mornings like this, waking surrounded by damp bedsheets, his immediate reaction was panic and shame. Bedwetting is the action of a child and—barring the horrible months directly after his clan’s murder, when memories of Itachi’s genjutsu often loosened his bladder at night—Sasuke hasn’t wet the bed since he was three.

Unsurprisingly, realising the actual reason for the soggy sheets in the morning did not make him feel better or less ashamed.

A shinobi’s education is beyond comprehensive for matters of biology and physiology, and that doesn’t even account for everything Sasuke has learned since Orochimaru started teaching him. He had classes in biology at the Academy, of course, and memorized that information with ease.

The connection between physical body and chakra is more than a mental one, often manifesting physically. There’s also the necessity of knowing the exact placement of internal organs, or the junctures where joints are particularly weak, or the exact breaking point of certain bones. Shinobi are often assigned assassinations, after all.

Even before he lost his family, and along with them anyone with whom he might connect personally over these types of problems, he was passive in his knowledge of the human body. It was just another tool to mould in his ever-present quest for revenge.

He spent almost ten years of his life forcing his body to bend to his will and obey him in everything.

To discover that this was something he had no control over was…frustrating, to say the least.

And it didn’t stop him from trying to control it.

Once the confusion and shame wore away, replaced with angry resolve, Sasuke dealt with the matter as well as he could. He woke up earlier than before, pacing back and forth until his traitorous flesh returned once more to his control. He wore looser clothing to disguise his lower body during the day and became an expert at making comments that distracted others from noticing his physical discomfort. Or worse, when he had to readjust his shorts.

He soon learned fretting did nothing; if anything, it made his problem last longer. There wasn’t anything more to do than sit uncomfortably and grit his teeth, because any wrong movement sent tingling jabs of sensation shooting up through his body.

There was one morning that he took care of the issue himself, impatient to make it go away faster. The task itself wasn’t unpleasant, and for a brief moment he actually experienced fully body relief as the coiling tension within him let go.

But almost immediately, he experienced a sense of shame and rebuke well up within him.

How could he dare to give in to his unruly hormones and treacherous body? How could he dare feel anything good, or let his mind focus for an instant on something other than his lofty goals for revenge?

His inner recriminations were enough to erase whatever pleasure came from the act, and eradicate any future temptations for self-gratification.

These days, Sasuke sleeps on his side, training himself to keep blankets or clothing from twisting across his body. When he wakes, he tries to move carefully, not wanting any part of his body to react to stimulus. On particularly difficult mornings he recites whatever technical treatises Orochimaru or Kabuto give him to read, anything pedantic enough to keep is mind busy while his body returns to its normal state.

But every now and again—more often than he would like—there a mornings like this one, where he wakes to the evidence of his body’s rebellion.

Despite the fact that he has an excellent memory, and the Sharingan preserves images so well, Sasuke never remembers the dreams. Probably it’s because they’re the product of an overactive brain, and not something his eyes have copied.

(He thinks that’s probably for the best.)

The icy burn of the water temperature is almost painful now, to the point that he would almost—almost—rather wait out his discomfort on his bed. But that has its own complications.

Cohabitating with someone like Kabuto has been an experience.

The medic is always taking skin or hair samples from other subordinates, those who have volunteered or been co-opted into Orochimaru’s experiments. The whole practice unnerved Sasuke when he first realised what Kabuto was doing. That was about the time he started being very careful about leaving any trace of himself within reach of the medic. Before leaving his quarters, he would study his room with the Sharingan for minute traces of anything that might be used for…untoward activities.

Perhaps not wanting to alienate an already distrustful child, Orochimaru decided that Sasuke’s physical health would be monitored personally by him.

By them, Sasuke corrects with a small frown, stumbling over the best way to describe his teacher. The confines of grammar are somehow insufficient to deal with a being like Orochimaru.

Sasuke hasn’t had to worry about needles or invasive tests or anything beyond what he would undergo in the care of a regular physician. The only difference is he undergoes monthly physicals instead of biannual ones, as a means of keeping track of his progress, as well as a regimented diet to optimize his energy output. There’s not as much fruit and vegetables to it as Sasuke would like (it’s mostly bioengineered soldier pills), but it does the job.

It strikes him as odd, and perhaps a little ironic, that he feels less threatened by the Snake Sannin than their subordinate. But then, Orochimaru has always been up front about their intentions and the way they intend to achieve those.

Kabuto speaks out of two sides of his mouth.

It’s clear that he is used to finding peoples weaknesses and exploiting them without mercy. It’s a tactic Orochimaru uses, too, but somehow different. The Snake Sannin always has some larger goal in mind and doesn’t mock or taunt beyond the exact increment needed to achieve a desired result.

Sasuke was surprised in his first months training with Orochimaru to discover that they were not an entirely the malicious entity he had expected. In fact, he’s come to realise that Orochimaru is just very, very amoral. They’re a scientist first and foremost, and it’s the pursuit of results in their studies which have made them ruthless.

Kabuto does not seem to have any other goal but to manipulate those around him.

It’s easier to trust a scientist than a spy, I guess, Sasuke decides, wringing out the sodden material in his hands. Goosebumps spread across his bare skin, up the flesh of his calves and back, eradicating whatever lingering warmth might remain from the nocturnal…incident.

Sasuke hates his human body for it inborn weaknesses.

Worse than the embarrassment are the erections themselves, because those aren’t limited to his sleeping hours.

It happened to him during training a few weeks ago, and luckily he was sparring with Orochimaru at the time, instead of Kabuto.

“This is a normal biological function,” the Snake Sannin dismissed when Sasuke’s flustered anger led him to make several obvious mistakes. “Simple evidence that you’re a healthy adolescent male. Undisciplined, perhaps, but healthy. There’s no reason such a thing should distract you.”

Sasuke snarled at that, not wanting to acknowledge the subject.

“The human body is but an earthly vessel for the spirit—a temporary transport. You know this,” Orochimaru continued, gesturing to their own host body. They had long since shed the outward appearance of their last host. “Your mind can control that when you’re awake, but when you sleep, you relinquish some of that control.”

“Then how do I stop?” Sasuke demanded at last, albeit through clenched teeth.

“Practice, of course. What do you think I’ve been trying to teach you? It’s not just training your body to become strong, but your mind must be strong as well.”

Or else it won’t survive the Fushi Tensei, the snake Sannin didn’t say, though Sasuke was just as aware of his teacher’s end goal as always.

“I can’t focus on training either when I’m dealing with this,” he complained. As if to add insult to injury, his voice cracked, making his words end on a high, questioning note rather than a low growl of menace.

For a wonder, Orochimaru hadn’t mocked him, though they looked amused.

“If you are so impatient to control your baser human urges, there are other options,” they suggested. “A simple operation, and that bothersome testosterone will never trouble you again.”

“No.”

Sasuke surprised himself with the speed with which he refused that offer. And though Orochimaru chuckled at it, they didn’t pursue it.

Sasuke frowns in the darkness, going over the incident again.

Oh, he doesn’t believe that he’ll ever have children. Given the fact he’s dedicated himself to annihilating the last of his family, he doesn’t believe he deserves to build another.

But agreeing to a sterilization procedure might suggest he believes Orochimaru to be some kind of threat that might use Sasuke as the progenitor of countless, mindless Sharingan-wielding bodies. It would seem like a coward’s safeguard, a confirmation that he worries Orochimaru will defeat him at that arbitrary future date.

And Sasuke is too stubborn to give the old snake the satisfaction of that.

Against his will, his thought stray to Sakura and Naruto and Kakashi. He tries not to dwell on the idea that losing himself to Orochimaru has anything to do with them. It’s a challenge, but one that gets easier each time.

He no longer thinks of his home or the people in it with a gnawing feeling of regret. Sometimes he can even manage distant detachment, when he’s exhausted himself of chakra and his body no longer moves at his command.

That surprised him most when he first arrived here: the homesickness.

It wasn’t that his resolve wasn’t strong; he’d almost killed his best friend in his determination to prove that. But severing bonds, it turned out, wasn’t like the cut of a sharp sword. Much as he tried—and he should have known this from the years spent grieving and hating Itachi—his emotions persisted in longing for impossible things.

It honestly felt more like the fruitless hacking of a blunt axe than anything else.

He knows Naruto is no longer in Konoha—Kabuto reported that a few months after Sasuke defected. He suspects his former teammate has gone off with that white-haired degenerate who taught him the Rasengan. And Sakura might have remained behind in the village, but she’s training as a medic, according to Kabuto reports.

Having seen what Orochimaru’s underling is capable of, Sasuke understands just how dangerous an opponent this will make Sakura, should they ever encounter each other. The way Orochimaru speaks of the Fifth Hokage is never in the same dismissive vein as their feelings on Jiraiya. There’s a grudging respect there that Sasuke has only ever detected when the Sannin speaks of the Third Hokage or Hanzō of the Salamander. Sasuke imagines the only times the Snake Sannin has ever come truly close to death has been during encounters with one of those three.

He’s even more curious about whether Orochimaru would change the outcomes if they had the chance. Orochimaru enjoys learning from mistakes almost as much as succeeding.

His clothing now clean and his raging blood once more under control, Sasuke climbs out of the water and pads toward his bed. Beside it is the only furniture in the room, a low table, where his garments and belt are folded.

Taking up the clothes to dress in, he lays out the wet trousers flat so that they can dry better. Though they are now clean, he still scowls down at the wet fabric.

It could be worse, he thinks grimly, as he shakes out his white shitagi. I could still be in Konoha right now and going through this nonsense.

第七班

I hope I voiced Sasuke okay in this. I figure up until a certain point in his life he probably viewed sex as an obstacle, so I tried to evoke that here. 

And yes, Orochimaru is gender-neutral. I don’t care what anyone says. Also, based on how he answered Mitsuki’s questions, I figure he would be pretty chill about puberty stuff. Like, of all the adults except for Tsunade, he’d probably be the least embarrassed. I’m always reading these fics where Orochimaru is after Sasuke in a sex way, and (except for that one fic where it was only just alluded to), I just don’t see it. I’m pretty sure he’s ace or some permutation thereof and getting involved in anything sexual just takes time away from becoming immortal or whatever.

クリ

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#naruto fanfiction #prompt fic #fic prompt #sasuke uchiha #orochimaru #slice of life #hidden years #puberty #awkward #introspection #character study