#this man is the living personification of ‘I am every age I have ever been’

[rosalinesurvived]

NO BUT WHEN ITS LIKE Derek screaming at Scott about Allison Argent: “You’re not in love, you’re sixteen, a child” and we learn that Kate Argent seduced (read raped) Derek when he was fifteen, and he most likely blamed himself for his entire life turning and then stating “you’re a child” to Scott, when sixteen year old Jackson’s body rejects the bite and Jackson asks “What does it mean?” And Derek just backs away slowly, thinking of the first person this happened to, Paige, also rejecting the bite, dying in his arms, GOD this man is living out his traumas again and again

#this man is the living personification of ‘I am every age I have ever been’ #derek’s family burning and Derek dying by fire in front of his son #trauma circle. trauma conga line circle. #and he’s so angry at Scott for dating an argent. was it because he was scared the secret would be out? #or was he terrified that scott was being used like he was? #when Derek said that Jackson didn’t have a heart. did he look at Jackson and see himself (rich boy arrogant prep jock) did he see Paige? #Derek hale #jackson whittemore #scott mccall #allison argent #Kate argent #anti Kate argent #fuck Kate argent #jackson whittmore is a hale #the last one isn’t relevant but whatever #teen wolf #I could write essays about the projection Derek does on Scott and Jackson

[ego-meliorem-esse]

Staying alive for centuries, if not millennia, and enduring trauma that spans for generations is bound to transform even saints into rats. Day-to-day life in the middle-ages was batshit dystopian (especially in Europe). I'm of the belief that older nations (think england, france, china, india) are far more rat-like and cynical than their much younger counterparts who have witnessed far less war, strife, prejudice and just aren't as burnt out as them (with some major exceptions). Mega bonus points if the youngins received some form of parental care, even if it's not perfect (like zee, australia, alfred).

I love how you emphasize that "Arthur is not a good man". But in his defense, I think none of the oldies are good men. There are personifications that predate Arthur by many millennia (e.g. India, China). To them, Arthur looks like a teenager. They lost power to a pasty little rat completely drunk on power, and so a part of them knows their colonization wouldn't last, so they endure it with an air of haughty annoyance and impatience, I'd like to think. They're still working against Arthur, but there's no seething rage as one might expect. They master the stiff upper lip far, far better than Arthur. Which I imagine makes him envious. I know you don't talk about India or China, but I think their personal interactions with Arthur would be extremely fascinating, be it in the 19th century or present-day. sorry for the long rant, luv your blog

👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆

(I am so sorry i took a millenia to answer this but i always wnated to give a structured and thought out oppinion but never had the time in the last few months to sit down and think.

Having said that Im gonna answer as many older asks as i possibly can. Im sorry once again and your mind is a palace decorated with interesting and fascinating ideas)

So many have come before him. Too many died not having been recorded by the watchfull eye of history.

Arthur is not the oldest of the oldies. He is young compared to someone like China or Syria.

To start off with i think China is the most interesting Helltalia character there is. Just the years and cultures and dynasties and changing political systems and rise to power and fall and rise and again and again. The splitting and putting back together the regions. The innovation and influence. Ahvdnajxbnzksbx

So much creative liberty there and so much to learn and look into.

None of these nations, old or young are good or bad. They also are. In a way that a sparrow is bad for crop growth and good for locust population control.

"Arthur is not a good man" is not a general idea. They are Arthurs own words, about himself. He does not believe himself to be a good man. But then again, there are few nations who think of themselves as 'good' or 'righteous'. Years come and years pass. Now multiply that by a few thousant times. Good decisions lead to bad concequences and bad decisions lead to good ones. Good ideas are good until there are better ones pointing out the horrors of the past ideas. If you try to protect yourself and your family and damn another are you a bad person? Or are you a bad person if you damn your own family to save others? 'Good' is different for every nation. It just so happens that Arthur does not consider who he is to be righteous or benevolent. He has made decisions that damned his own soldiers for the sake of his own blood, his children. But he has sacrificed the lives of his progenies to advance himself and his empire. Its not the fact that he sacrificed his children or soldiers that he thinks make him bad, but he believes his hypocracy to be the thing that makes him "not a good man".

I think the older countries like China, Syria, ancient Rome and Egypt, Norte-Chico, Aksum (etc etc) didnt have what younger nations today got. At least not as frequently and directly. Alfred got a father willing to burn down villages and string up reverends to make sure his son didnt see the hangmans knot ever again. His brother and sister and their weird and tall french brother got to live a life as vomfotable as possible for them at that particular time growing up. They didnt see the world change. They were born into it already having shifted. That goes for other younger nationfolk. Some had harder lives than others but the world was connected and integrated to a certain degree when they were born. Loneliness is the main topic of the ancient nation personifications. If you asked a human in a town or village a few thousand years ago what the characteristics of his nation was he would respond with loneliness and reclusivity. So few knew eachother and fewer interacted regularly. A nation born is a nation doomed or abandoned by their parent nation if they had one. If by death or otherwise.

So what i think really set appart the oldies from the noobs are the inreactions they have with eachother. Old nations have learned and expect the sort of "stiff upper lip" you mentioned more than newer nations. If thats even possible. They grew up lonely, and and to a certain degree every nation is lonely, but the ancient world saw too much. So they stay even more lonely.

As ive mentioned, China is such an interesting character to me. He is very smart and he has lived through double the shit these old Europeans have. The oppium wars is something i studied recently and i kept thinking of how Yao would see all of this: "the gall of that young man to come to my shores and demand to do proper business while pointing a loaded gun to my head".

And after a few more decades he sees this European powerhouse get knocked down by none other than the mans very own bastard boy. As a human man, Yao finds comfort and amusment in that. The irony is rich and plentiful. The revenge tastes sweet.

But as a nation, that is extremly scary. The higherarchy is changing, so that means he has to change. And if he has to change that means old wounds will be reopen and new ones will take their place beside the old ones. And he does change. He adapts and tries to understand. Lots of new wounds are reddening his clothes. Lots of new wounds are reddening the clothes of others. In that change, there is loneliness. He keeps it to himself. Saving face is what he knows how to do. Just as most nations do.

Yao has long ago decided to drop the words good/bad from his personal lexicon. The concept of good is noble but not advantageous when it comes to their kind. Nations are purely bad in some situations, yet they are entirely good in others.

Anyyywayyyyy, im rambling too much at this point. I might do more hcs on China, but i think i should stop here for now. This isnt coherent or logical so lemme stop myself from further embarassment lol

#im dying this is too long nsjsjdnnsjsj #fuck man im sorryyyy #i loev the ask i saw it and i think about it every once in a while #hetalia #ask meli #hws england #hws china #my headcanons #historical hetalia

[d3l3t3d-deactivated]

random niche inner turmoil ahead (tw: sh)

When I started doing drag 3 years ago, I was a horribly depressed, anxious, lonely, cis lesbian who was getting out of a bad relationship. I spent half my time living in a dorm with a roommate who didn't like me, and the other half with my parents who abused me. I viewed drag as a outlet for my anger, an alternative to self harm (while still having really self destructive practices in drag), a way to express my queerness & masculinity, and a personification of the villain I had been made to feel like I was my whole life up to that point. I was deeply sheltered, and had a fascination with what I knew of raves & nightlife from comics and the internet, however had never actually experienced it firsthand being under 21. I developed a character who was this aggressively straight, washed up, gay for pay, dirty scumbag scene guy. He was womanizing, unhinged, & violent, deeply inspired by my own struggles with relationships, abuse, & suppressed masculinity/queerness. The man was a ghost, constantly dying/on the brink of death, because I myself wanted to be dead. Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, Dot Dot Curve, Brokencyde, like, every Wes Craven movie, basically anything hilariously violent and grotesque was my inspiration. This was Shean King.

Over three years later, So much has changed. I've learned to manage my emotions, the anger, the anxiety, the depression, they are still battles I fight every day, but I've learned to cope and regulate myself, and would consider myself a pretty happy guy. I've come out as trans, and live life every day as a gay man who loves drag. I've got friends, weird queer friends who I love for who they are and they return that love a million times over. I've moved away from my parents, rarely speak to them, and am learning to recognize abuse and cut the people who hurt me from my life. I club, I travel, I pursue what makes me happy and abandon what makes me suffer, and am living my life in a way 19 year old me couldn't have ever imagined. Basically, I'm a completely different guy now, and the outlet that Shean King was is obsolete. The hurt, the loneliness, & the suffering I faced during that time will never stop being a part of me, but that part is so so small now, that I don't need this punching bag imaginary friend to cope & build confidence. I've coped, I'm confident, so what now?

I feel like I'm at such a transitional point in my drag. Shean King is no longer a character I play, he's just me. My friends don't call me Nat, they call me Shean! The character of "Shean King" has become something totally different, and I'm trying to figure out what I want out of an alter-ego. I want to explore fashion, I want to be the biggest faggot I possibly can be, I want to make weird, balls-to-the-wall art, I want to feel affirmed in my gender while still exporting parts i don't get to in my day-to-day life, I want to be a force of nature, I want to be a figure in this incredible community, I want to be beloved, and show my art to the whole world, I want to feel like a fucking drop dead beautiful supermodel rock star. My art is now about joy in being trans, joy in being part of a vast, loving community, standing up for myself and others, and being a crossdressing freak and loving every second of it. My character is young, fresh, larger than life, colorful, faggy, and still inspired by the early internet age, absurdist humor, and the comedy of clout-chasing-attention-whoring, but not defined by it. Early in my drag I thought of myself as a black-and-white horror comic antagonist, but today I think I'm like a CGI popstar or something. I'm some kind of vocaloid, I'm daft punk, I'm the Cresendolls, but like the next generation of this idea. I'm tired of living life in black and white.

All this being said, I wonder if the label of "drag king" still fits for what I'm doing. Lately I've been being invited to all king group chats, collectives, shows, hangouts, and the likes and feeling like the odd man out. I've been being referred to as an "AFAB performer" as a synonym for "Drag Kings & Bio Queens" which I have to say I HATE. It's well meaning but nonetheless poor langue that just makes me feel like shit. These "all king" spaces are exactly that, well meaning but make me feel like shit. A lot of drag kings are trans masc, and a lot are queer cis women as well. This makes "all kings" spaces unintentionally segregated by genitals, the EXACT OPPOSITE of what drag should stand for. Why would I want to be in a space void of drag queens? My boyfriend is a queen! Many of my best friends are queens! Are we segregating a space by style of artwork, or assigned gender at birth? I'm deeply uninterested in recreating the gender binary but ~opposite~, and additionally, I do NOT want to be thought of as a "woman dressing as a man". I am a man in drag. I love drag queens, and kings, and things, and DRAG. Being a drag queen feels so open as well, there's bearded queens, and monster queens, and there's something affirming too about the idea that as a man, when i'm in drag I'm a queen. My drag as it is is already such a femme portrayal of masculinity, I'm some faggot-ass scene guy, I'm a supermodel, I'm an experimental artist, if the "character" of shean was in drag he'd be a queen. I had to ask myself, If I were to start drag tomorrow, what would I be? And if I started drag tomorrow, I'd be a queen.

So why can't I start drag tomorrow? A core foundation of my art is to be free, to experience joy and do whatever I want. I've told myself over and over that as soon as drag stops being fun, I'll quit. Well, being the sad, lonely, washed-up scene guy has stopped being fun, so I quit! I want to have my art be as vibrant and full of life as I am. I've built up a bit of a legacy for myself already, I've hosted shows, won 3 competitions, gotten big bookings, and made a name for myself! Myself, Shean King! But the fears holding me back from making this switch are loosing the legacy I've built up for myself, loosing the weird horror-comic style that made me unique, and not being taken seriously as a queen-- being seen still as that cursed term, "an AFAB performer" or just "experimenting with queen drag". The thing is, I don't expect my drag to change all that much as a result of this new label. I expect my drag to change and grow with me, and I expect myself to become more seasoned and skilled with makeup, costumes, and performance as time goes on, however the core of it all (ME!) remains the same. I'm still designing the costumes, making the mixes, writing the poems & captions, everything goes through the filter that is me. Additionally, I don't really express an exaggerated version of ANY gender in drag I think. I'm just a guy in weird costumes, I do draw on a shitty little mustache, but that's about it, and I don't plan to stop. Really all that is changing in my mind is the label, the presentation of it all. A label that feels more open and less dysphoric for me. A label I won't have to explain to people. I guess another fear of mine is people feeling like I "betrayed" kingness in a way. I know there are younger kings who look up to me as a drag king, and I know there are older kings who look upon me with pride, knowing they paved the way for me to be there. And that's true, they did, and I love and loved being a drag king, but above that I love being a drag artist and a trans man, and I want to do what's best for me in and out of drag, not just in it.

[euphoricfilter]

hi honeybun i’m back!! i’ve been on depression shit and i fucked up ny sleeping schedule again (only bc i’ve been getting high every day which i normally don’t to sigh) but just wanted to say hi to my fav<3 recently it became colder where i am and it’s just making me wanna cuddle with all seven gorgeous men, but hobi just would be the coziest <3 i saw a lil video promo for his doc and he just looked so fluffy and cute. wanna hold him !! you probs have already answered this but i’m a bit new so i wanna know, who’s ur bias in the group? for me it’s namjoonie but the rap line has my entire heart<333 ofc i luv all of them evenly but my babies :((( also i declared tae to be my twin flame only bc we are literally born a day apart (on a calendar basis he’s like a few years older than me lmao) but i just luv capricorn men so much and we have some sort of the same personality we r basically the same!!!! jk and jimin are my babygirls they r so cute :,))) and as for jin, the man is too beautiful i would just stare at him he intimidates me sm i would be like pls have mercy on me. i would literally be this emoji 😦 if i ever saw him !!!! gonna go dive into some fluff bc im feeling a bit down and then head to sleep soon bc it’s 5:20 am for me and i haven’t slept so gn/gm bae <333 luv u sm :D-🌙

omg you’re back!!!!! honestly me too 😭 since i’ve been visiting my friend i think my sleep schedule has been wonky but alas i’m still alive, i was slowly teetering on the edge of a depressive episode a couple of weeks and and i just 🧍‍♀️somehow pulled through and i’ve been doing okay recently

fave? babes you’ll give me a massive ego, i’m simply existing

koreas been colder than shanghai has been recently but it’s not unbearable so i don’t mind it, yesterday was pretty nice considering how cold it was when i first got here

i saw the documentary video teaser, hobi’s so cool i wanna levitate 🫶 i’m really excited to his creative process, and how he like organized the album, kept up with the schedules for it, just like a deeper dive into jack in the box and what happened behind the scenes, i always find stuff like that really interesting

noo it’s okay, i think i’ve only mentioned it once like ages ago, idk if it’s obvious by everything i reblog but i’m jungkook biased 🫶 that man can get it, there’s no way a man should be that pretty and get away with it, like i want to be him. i could write a whole thesis about why i love that man and why everyone in the world should love him too and he’s so pretty star cutie 🫶

namjoon is 100% my comfort person, i see him and i just ☹️ words aren’t enough to explain how much i adore his existence, if namjoon had to be an emotion then it would either be comfort or reassurance, simply having him there is reassuring enough that you’re doing okay, that simply living is enough and by some weird miracle, he doesn’t know what we all look like but you feel seen 🫶 anyways i love joonie too i just 🫶🫶🫶🫶 if i could only ever say one thing to him i think it would be thank you

idk which members count as compatible? is that the right word, with my star sign. i know me and hobi are both born in february but that’s it 😭

jungkook is the personification of the word baby girl, you can’t tell me otherwise, there’s just something in the way he holds himself that screams baby girl and i love him so much 😭

me if i ever happened to be in the same room as jin 🧍‍♀️

i literally wouldn’t even know what to do with myself except run in the opposite direction

i hope you feel a little better later!!! and have a good day <3

MWAH 🫂🫂 ily <3

#ask #🌙anon #HONEYBUN 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 #IM GONNA SELF IMPLODE #secrets out #im a sucker for cute petnames #like whyd you have me giggling and kicking my legs 😟

[lubdubsworld]

Desire.

CEO ! Jung Hoseok x  Married ! OC 

Summary : Tall Handsome CEO Hobi meets dainty delicate country girl, Elena and falls head over heels. Too bad she’s already taken. 

Genre : Infidelity, Morally ambiguous characters. 

Chapter 1

On Fridays, Jung Hoseok liked to unwind. 

After a whole entire week of heading Gwihan Inc., going over proposals, signing off on acquisitions and baby sitting his two younger siblings who were just entering the company business, Jung Hoseok liked to relax on Friday evenings, usually with a glass of wine, maybe some good food from the Chinese restaurant down the street and occasionally with some company of the feminine variety. 

As the CEO of one of the largest conglomerates in the country, Hoseok was pretty much a household name in Seoul. Not just because of his dashing good looks and his staggering business acumen, but also because of the incredibly humble, down to earth persona that he wore . 

Never in the history of Korea, had there been a more approachable and friendly multi billionaire Chaebol prince : the very personification of generosity and kindness. 

At the young age of 34, Jung Hoseok charmed reporters and celebrities and his fellow businessmen with alacrity . 

Affectionately nicknamed the Sunshine CEO, Hoseok’s dimpled smile was a staple and he was well known for being fair and even tempered, the first to extend his hand in friendship to anyone. 

Which was a wonderful reputation to carry of course but it also made people forget that for all his sunny disposition, Jung Hoseok was still very much human. 

And he did not build his company ( once on the verge of bankruptcy because of his unscrupulous father ) from scratch, by being a pushover. Which meant that Hoseok had to balance being a good guy and a firm guy and sometimes it was such a fucking pain in his ass. 

“Hyung, come on....it’s just for a few hours. It’s fun.... “ Kim Taehyung could whine like no other. Korea’s top model, Taehyung or V as he liked to be called had a deep voice which could also do a full 180, making Hoseok’s ears ring, when the younger wasn’t getting his way. 

Like right now.

“Tae, i’m so fucking tired, i need a drink and a shower and I’m crashing into my bed. I am  not  bar hopping with you morons. I’m too old for that shit. “ Hoseok groaned, watching Taehyung and his photographer husband slur and sway after one drink too many. It was already a little past eleven in the night and he had every intention of sleeping for the next thirteen hours at the least. 

“Awww hyung...its not a bar...it’s a strip club ... Come on , hyung live a little. “ Jeon Jungkook was adorable,  like a bunny,  but also a brat that never took no for an answer. Together , the couple were pretty much indestructible. 

Too tired to argue with the two of them, he groaned .

It was going to be a long, long night. 

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

The club was called Desire, nothing like the posh high end places Hoseok was used to. It wasn’t a dump or anything but the decor, the furnishings and the clientele all screamed middle class, which wasn’t Hoseok’s usual scene. 

At all. 

But apparently, Jungkook had stumbled on someone here during one of his photography stints. 

A dancer called the ‘ White Dove’. 

The White Dove was apparently, one of the most sought after dancers in the club, because she only performed twice a month. She didn’t do it for the money, no one knew why she did it. But according to Jungkook, she was the most sensuously arousing woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

 she moves like water, Hyung, fluid and transient. ...like the laws of physics don’t apply to her body, it’s like magic. 

Which was high praise, coming from a gay man. 

A gay man who had actually majored in dance in college. 

And even Taehyung hadn’t even looked all that bothered, watching his husband sing praises about someone else’s body .

“Would love to have both of them in my bed at the same time hyung, how do i make that happen?” He’d asked, glassy eyed. 

Hoseok had gagged, elbowed him in the ribs and moved away. 

But his dongsaengs could be pretty darn insistent and so here he was, on a friday night, half asleep from exhaustion, stumbling behind Jungkook and Taehyung as they led him to a private room, at the back of the club. 

The room was wide, shaped like a semi circle, with an elevated stage up front. Just a couple of feet away from the stage, three sofas lines the curved edges of the wall. 

Taehyung and Jungkook lay wrapped around each other in the first one, closest to the door and Hoseok did not want to see them touching each other so he skipped the middle sofa, choosing to recline on the sofa in the farthest corner.

 A very dim light hung right over his head , offering very little by way of illumination but he supposed that was the point. The dancer would be distracted by a well lit audience. 

And while he had been quite opposed to the idea when the evening began, Hoseok couldn’t help but admit , that seated on the cheap maroon sofa, with tacky vinyl upholstery, in a dimly lit room, he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Who  was  this woman?

“Hyung, you’ll love her!! She’s totally your type!” Jungkook called out excitedly . 

Hoseok threw an amused look at the pair, shaking his head before turning around to stare at the stage again. The lights in the low lying ceiling dimmed, the one on the stage turning on gradually and to his surprise, he felt his breath catch when the stage curtain moved, gentle ripples on the satin surface. 

Music began pouring in, smooth and sensual and intrigued and then a voice followed , feminine and soft.

“Good evening. I’m Elena .... or as they call me, the White Dove. Thank you for letting me entertain you tonight.” 

She sounded absolutely delectable and Hoseok felt his eyes widen, lips parting in shock at the voice.

Soft and sweet, dainty and almost elegant. 

Low and submissive, like she wanted nothing more than to make him happy. 

Like honey in his ears. 

It sounded so out of place , in this cheap dingy strip club. 

She sounded like a fucking princess. 

And then the curtains parted, revealing a petite, svelte figure.

 Hoseok sat up straighter, eyes wide as he stared at her. 

She wore a mask, covering the upper part of her face and leaving only her lush, plump lips on display. They were an alluring red, bright and radiant in the golden light. She was dressed in a small robe, full sleeved and falling to her knees , showing off her slim, curvy legs and her skin was honey tinted, smooth to his gaze. 

Hoseok swallowed and as he watched, she threw a smile, soft and gentle and absolutely serene. 

It was the smile that did it for him.

Innocent and altogether lovely, like the kind of smile you would give someone you had loved for a hundred thousand years and he felt himself aching for it, wanting more of that gentle voice, more of that dazzling smile. 

As he watched she stepped fully into the center, the light bathing her in gold as she lightly gripped the pole and stepped forwards fully, lips parted in a smile as she bowed. 

Hoseok had sat through enough strip shows to know that this was different. Elena took small, hesitant steps into the light, tugging on the belt around her waist, the short velvet robe sliding off her shoulder gently. 

Hoseok’s throat went dry when he saw what she was dressed in : A ruby red lingerie set, with satin bows along her neckline, applique orchids all across her torso , the hem of her dress stopping just an inch below her waist, revealing satin bikinis that hugged her ass so tight his finger itched . 

He wanted to touch so bad. 

She grabbed the fabric of the robe  and instead of tossing it away, she folded it, moving to place it on a chair in the corner of the stage, gently before tossing another smile, this time apologetic. 

“I’m sorry, i need to wear this again and I don’t want it to get dirty...” She giggled then , her voice like the tinkling of a bell and Hoseok was so gone , he couldn’t think straight anymore. 

He gripped the edge of the sofa, the last vestiges of sleep leaving his head. 

And then the music began, low and soothing and seductive and she began to move. 

Elena was a phenomenal dancer, that much was obvious in just the first minute. She moved easily, and perfectly, her long legs wrapping around the pole with ease, her hands gripping it with ease but it was her gaze that drew him in....

She clearly thought Tae and Jungkook were the only ones in the audience so she kept her gaze on them, hadn’t seen him at all and she looked at them with eyes that begged for approval. She smiled often, threw her hair back and jerked her shoulders in question, asking unsubtly if they liked it, and Jungkook and Taehyung responded with enthusiasm, cheerful shouts of “ so gorgeous, beautiful sweetheart....” filling the room.

Hoseok leaned back against the couch, his breath leaving him in a harsh exhale. 

This wasn’t the kind of woman he had been expecting.

 He had been prepared, for brash and bold and seductive and sensuous. A woman who knew how to use her body to get what she wanted.... The only kind of woman he had ever met in his entire life. 

But Elena.... 

She looked so desperate to please, so desperate to be good and it was evident in her eyes, the thirst for praise , for approval. She wanted to be good and she wanted someone to tell her that.... to tell her hat she was beautiful, that she was perfect , that she was absolutely scintillating and Hoseok wanted nothing more than to be that someone. 

To be the person who rained kissed all over her body, gentle touches all over her as he breathed praise into her ears, told her how perfect she was, how enchanting and how unreal she was. 

How she was the kind of woman he would never ever tire of......

The kind of woman who deserved to be worshipped on the satin sheets of his king sized bed. .

And he would. This wasn’t going to end like this, he thought , his heart pounding. It couldn’t. 

He felt his heart pound as the performance ended, as she stepped back into the limelight and bowed, all sweet smiles and gentle gratitude. 

Taehyung and Jungkook jumped to their feet applauding cheerfully and she laughed. 

“Thank you for coming today. I hope you enjoyed my little dance. I would love to see you again. “ She smiled, cheerful and bright. 

She finally turned to his side of the room, eyes widening when he finally pushed away from the shadows, moving into the pool of light in the middle of the room.

“You were absolutely gorgeous sweetheart.” He said gently.

Her eyes went wide, lips parting in surprise and e watched her eyes travel up and down his torso, catching on the lean width of his waist, tongue peeking out to lick her lips as her eyes stayed glued to the front of his crotch, where his rock hard dick was probably very poorly concealed. 

“You’re the one to blame for that, princess.” He said with smirk and her eyes jumped to his, a blush blooming on her cheeks so fast that it made his head swim. 

Fuck. 

Fuck she was gorgeous. 

He glanced at his friends, both of who were looking between him and the dancer with knowing looks. 

“Dinners on me tomorrow if you two leave right now.” Hoseok said softly. 

Laughing, the pair waved good bye, closing the door behind them. 

Elena stood on the stage, still staring at him like he was a full course meal and he moved back to the middle sofa, lowering himself down before spreading his legs and patting his thighs. 

“How much for a private....conversation?” He asked quietly.

She hesitated.

“I.. i need to ask the manager.” She said hesitantly. 

Hoseok felt a grin creeping up his face.

He pulled his phone out and dialed quickly. Less than a minute later, the manager stumbled in, bowing almost ninety degrees. 

“Mr. Jung.. you called?” The man was breathless.

“Elena and I are going to be occupied for the next hour or so.... I don’t want us to be disturbed.” 

The manager looked very surprised, glancing at her with wide eyes. 

“You want to... ?” He asked quickly and Elena blushed. Hoseok was oddly impressed that he had asked for her consent. Well at least this place wasn't as sleazy as it looked.  

“Just a conversation.” She whispered. Hoseok felt his eyebrow raise in surprise. 

Wait, did she really think he wanted a conversation? Had he been too subtle? Was the hard dick and the invitation to sit on his lap not forward enough? 

The man gave her a  confused look but nodded. 

“Of course Mr. Jung. Anything you like.” he bowed again and left , locking the door behind him. Hoseok glanced at her, watching as she slowly climbed down the stairs 

Elena hesitated, before slowly moving to get her robe. 

“Leave that.” He said , a little more sharply than he intended and she startled a little at his tone. 

“Okay.” She whispered, scratching the back of her neck nervously and smiling a little.

“I’m sorry...I don’t usually do this... I... I’m married.” She said with a laugh. 

Hoseok froze .

It felt a little like someone had dumped a whole entire barrel of ice cold water all over his head. 

Of course she was fucking taken. 

Of fucking course.....

He was such a fucking fool....

“Oh..” He croaked, voice breaking and even that single syllable dripped with so much disappointment  that she noticed. 

Her eyes flashed with something and she carefully climbed off the stage, walking up to him. He held his breath as she came closer, standing right between his spread legs. He wanted to touch but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. 

Her hand rose up and he felt his breath catch when she lightly touched his hair, patting the strands carefully. 

“you have really thick hair.” She giggled. 

“Does you husband know you’re here?” He said softly. 

Her gaze flitted to him. 

“No. “ She said softly. And then she pressed in closer, enough that her knee brushed his thighs and he gripped her waist with both hands, instinctively.

“No?” 

She bit her lips, eyes shifting away from him.

“He doesn’t... understand.” She sighed. 

Intrigued, Hoseok tugged her closer and she tumbled into his lap. He pulled her in till she was seated on his thighs, legs thrown over the couch as she nestled into his chest. 

He gripped her harder and God, she felt like a delicate bird in his hand. His arms stayed firm but inordinately gentle around her, and he swallowed scared to move because he was afraid he would break her . Scared to let go because he was afraid she would fly way. 

“What doesn’t he understand sweetheart?” He prompted. 

She turned to look right at him and he wanted to take that mask off so badly. To see her face in all its glory. 

“That I need this...” She whispered.

“To dance...?” He prompted and she sniffled a little.

“No.” She whispered. And then her eyes met his again, bright and somehow desperate. 

“What then baby? Why are you here?” He asked although he could already suspect it.

“To be desired. “ She smiled that same sweet smile of hers.

And really, not even a saint could resist that breathtaking smile.

And Jung Hoseok was so , so far from a saint. 

She was the one who owed loyalty to the unknown husband. Not him. So he was going to just take what he was being offered. 

He grabbed her chin, tilting her face to kiss her hard, his tongue forcing its way in before she could get her bearings. She didn’t protest, her body going limp in his arms a he looped her arms around his neck. 

He flipped them over , till she was flat on her back on the couch and he was on her, grabbing her thighs and spreading her legs, grinding his clothed erection down into the heated center of her body as he kissed her. 

She whimpered, hands scrambling to clutch at his shoulders. as she kissed him back. And he wondered if she lied, telling him that she was married. There was a world of inexperience in her kiss , absolutely no finesse in the way she spread her legs wider, hips jerking up to chase friction. 

But what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.

“Relax baby... We don’t have to rush...” He kissed her again, drawing back to stare at her and she looked a little out of it. 

“Please.. I just... i need...” 

Something about the look on her face made him pause. It was a familiar look. He’d seen this look before. 

Not in the last decade no, but ....that desperate, confused inexperience took him all the way back to his senior year in  high school when the Queen Bee , Kang Sejin had finally agreed to let him fuck her. 

For the first time. 

Hoseok stilled completely, refusing to believe it. 

How old was this girl underneath him? She couldn’t be younger than twenty five. 

“How old are you?” He demanded.

She stopped trying to yank him closer and went still, staring at him and licking her lips. 

“I’m twenty seven.” She said finally and he frowned.

“You’ve done this before right?” He asked stupidly. 

Of course she had...she said she was married for fuck’s sake. 

But her eyes widened and she looked away and oh. 

Oh. 

What the actual fuck....

Hoseok scrambled off her, his head swimming with disbelief. She choked out a sob and sat up, hugging herself and he felt his heart break when he saw the tears swell, spilling over her lashes and God, that pout on her face. 

“Elena.... “ He held his hand out, wanting to touch her again but she scrambled to her feet and backed away. 

“I’m so sorry... i don’t know what I was thinking...” She bowed, her tears flowing freely now. “ Please...forget this ever happened...” 

Hoseok stared at her as she ran up to stage, grabbing her robe and disappearing behind the curtain quickly. 

He stood there, still painfully aroused as he tried to process what he’d just learned. 

A virgin, he thought in sheer disbelief. 

The stripper I nearly fucked right now is a fucking virgin. 

His legs stopped working as he collapsed on the sofa. 

So much for unwinding on a Friday. 

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

“Listen, I know this is dumb but you really need to stop bringing this up so often.” My husband gave me an annoyed glare, his handsome face scrunched in impatience as he stuffed a couple of files into his leather briefcase. 

“Why ? We’re married... we’ve been married for four months now!! Why won’t you touch me?! “ i demanded, exhausted and tired and so guilty. 

Guilty because I’d come so close to cheating on him. 

“Because i don’t get a hard on when i look at you. Because I never wanted to fucking marry you in the first place.!!” He snarled and i bit my lips feeling my heart hurt at the familiar words, the pang still just as painful as the first time he’d said those words to me. 

“But you did...” I reminded him, following him to the door. He growled, throwing the shoe closet open and grabbing his work shoes. 

“Elena... I’m not in the mood for this.” He said sternly.” I’m running late and Hoseok ssi’s supposed to be inspecting our department today. Do you have any idea what an important man he is? I need this meeting to be perfect if I want to get that promotion.... I can’t let anything distract me.” 

“I’m your wife...not a distraction!!” I protested. 

He ignored me, tying his laces and giving me one last look of loathing. 

“if this doesn’t work for you, call your fucking parents and go back to that no good village of yours. We’ll get a fucking divorce and I’ll stop paying for your parents Hospital bills and then we’ll see how you survive.” 

I stared at him, hurt and upset. 

“Yesung...”

“I need to go. “ He stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. 

I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I tried to get my bearings. It was so hard, doing this. Waking up day after day to cater to his every need and i wondered if it had even been worth it, agreeing to marry him just for the chance to pay for my parents. 

Surely, there could have been another way? 

Why had I agreed? 

My mind flashed to the gorgeous man in the club the previous night. 

 How much for a private conversation.....

 For a second i had been tempted. 

I had actually considered asking him to pay me in return for sex. Maybe if he wanted to do it more than once.... Maybe he could keep me with him. 

And then I could use the money to pay for my parents’ care and i could divorce Yesung. 

Surely that was better than being shunned in your own home? Being made to feel ugly and unappealing. 

I had been so close to doing it last night. So so close and then that man---he had somehow sensed it. Sensed that I hadn’t ever had sex before. 

How embarrassing that had been. He had guessed that I was a virgin and I couldn’t help but wonder how. 

What had i done wrong? i had hugged him, kissed him back and yet he had realized that i had no idea what i was doing or what i wanted. 

How humiliating that had been. 

I bit my lips.

I missed dancing. 

Twice a month in some sleazy club hardly made up for fifteen years of training to be a dancer.  

I missed the ballet school that I had to quit when my dad lost his job.

 I missed Busan. 

I missed my old life so bad. 

Sighing I went back to the kitchen to fix my breakfast when my eyes fell on the packed lunch and i groaned. 

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

Yesung’s company was easily the most luxurious building I’d ever been. Thankfully, I’d dressed well enough, a yellow summer dress with floral prints. I’d left my hair down, even put on makeup. I looked pretty and i wanted nothing more than for my husband to look at me with a little appreciation. 

Yesung was a tall, very handsome man and i had really genuinely liked him when his parents had offered to set us up for  a  seon.

 He had seemed genuinely interested and it was the only reason I’d agreed to marry him. But apparently, his parents had forced him into the whole thing and he felt nothing but deep resentment for me. 

It was so unfair but i wasn’t ready to give up yet. 

I had every intention of winning my husband over. 

The lady at the reception gave me a visitor’s Id and told me where I could find my husband and I quickly walked over to elevators, nervous because I was the only one in flashy summer colors, all the employees dressed in muted tones of brown and grey. Flushing, I kept my head low as the elevator climbed all the way to the seventeenth floor. When I stepped out of the elevator, I caught sight of Yesung at once. He was talking to a tall man, who had his back towards me . 

“Yesung!! “ i called out brightly. “ You forgot your lunch!!” I held the bag up and my husband’s eyes snapped to me widening in surprise. 

I smiled and kept walking until the man talking to my husband turned around. 

My smile froze on my face, my brain processing the very familiar features. 

I stopped walking , my legs stalling . 

No. 

Oh, God no.

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

“Yesung!  You forgot your lunch!!” 

Hoseok felt his entire heart turn over in his ribcage at the sound of  that  voice. 

No.. No way...it couldn’t  be.

 He turned around, stunned and his eyes caught a flash of lovely yellow, bright and incandescent in the dreary dullness of the office and oh god, it was her. 

It was Elena. 

She looked like sunshine.... Like one of those yellow tulips you saw in wall papers. Fresh and beautiful and even more breathtaking in the bright light of day and Hoseok felt like his brain had been fried. 

She had seen him too and the look on her face said it all. 

Guilt and horror flashed in rapid succession and those lips....those cherry red lips he’d tasted three days ago....they parted in shock. 

Hoseok felt his mouth go dry as she went completely still. 

“I’m so sorry sir... I don’t know why she came here!!” Kang Yesung’s voice drew him to the present and he frowned, watching as the man stalked over to her. His fists clenched as he saw the man grip her arm, hard. 

Elena winced, looking hurt and something in Hoseok just snapped.

Completely forgetting where he was , who he was.... he stalked over , hands coming up to shove Yesung hard. The man, completely taken by surprise, stumbled and fell , crashing into the filling cabinets with a loud noise. 

Everyone in the office went still, staring at him in sheer disbelief 

And he knew exactly what they were thinking?

Did the Sunshine  CEO just physically assault an employee? Was the world ending? 

Hoseok stared at Elena.

“Are you alright? “ He whispered. 

She was gawking at him, but also rubbing the skin where Yesung had grabbed her and before he could stop himself, he was reaching for her arm, brushing her own fingers away and stroking the skin with his. 

“That looks like its going to bruise.” He whispered. 

He whirled to glare at Yesung, who had pulled himself together and was now staring between Hoseok and Elena, shock written all over his features.

“Is this your code of conduct when it comes to women, Mr. Kang?” His voice came out loud and angry , almost a furious snarl. 

Yesung turned an ugly shade of red. 

“She’s my wife sir. She ...she knows she can’t visit me ...” Yesung was gaping at him. 

“So you’re going to assault her?” He demanded. 

Yesung closed his mouth quickly. 

“Are you alright, El-” He stopped himself , “ Mrs Kang.” 

She was looking at the floor.

“Yes , sir.” Her voice shook and he could see her hands trembling. The urge to draw her into his arms was so overwhelming he had to clench his fists to stop himself. 

“Jungkook! “ He called for his assistant. “ Please drop Mrs. Kang back home. Make sure she doesn’t need anything else.” 

Jungkook bowed and smiled wide at her.

“Please, this way, Mrs. Kang.” 

Hoseok stared at her and she glanced at him, one small fleeting glance heavy with guilt and confusion and worry. 

He closed his eyes, trying to get his palpitating heart under control.

Oh, God he was in so much trouble. 

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

Also please give this fic a lot of love!!!!! My baby never gets the love he deserves!!! 

author’s Note : 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

i LOVE jUNG hOSEOK. 

THAT’S IT THAT’S THE TEA. 

Feedback is how you repay me so don’t be shy <3 

#jung hoseok #hoseok smut #hobi smut #hoseof fic #hoseok fanfics #hoseok ceo #bts smut #bts ceo au #bts fics #hoseok fic #hoseok fanfic

[teacup-set]

time will wash every tower to the sea

"Sakura." he says, with the sacredness of a prayer. 'That's not my name', she thinks, but there is such an aching familiarity in his voice that she swears it could have been.

FFN.

-x-

Time will wash every tower to the sea, but never you and me.

-x-

Fated

When Sakiko wakes up that morning, she feels electricity in the air. Static at her fingertips, the taste of metal in her mouth, the weight of lead in her stomach. 

Life at the hospital is too fast paced though, and there is no free moment to consider the anticipation that has been building in her chest till the end of her sixteen-hour shift. Standing over the metal sink, clawing to get out the blood that has dried in the crevices around her fingernails, she finally pauses long enough to feel the zing in the atmosphere. ‘What is it?’, she wonders, ‘Am I forgetting something?’ 

Staring in the mirror over the sink, she regards her tired green eyes and limp pink hair falling out of her ponytail. She frowns as she tries to remember if something was supposed to happen today. It feels like a half forgotten memory trying to reach the tip of her tongue but getting lost somewhere in her throat. She goes over every patient she is assigned one by one, trying to remember if there is something she has forgotten, but comes up empty. 

Frustrated, she gathers her things and leaves the locker room. Walking down the hospital hallway, she ticks off things in her mind. ‘Groceries? I don’t need to shop for another week, I think. Electricity bill? Wait no, I paid that already. What could it be?’ She feels the tingling on her skin grow stronger as she nears the hospital doors. Waving a cheery goodbye to the people at the reception, she turns the handle of the staff exit door and steps out into the dying sunlight. Breathing in the cool evening air, she immediately feels relief in her muscles and wonders if the rumbling apprehension was just a consequence of being cooped up inside all day.

She has barely finished the thought when her gaze meets mismatched onyx and purple eyes that mirror the alarm and surprise in her own, and suddenly every muscle in her body is more coiled than ever before. She feels her throat closing, her body running out of air, and the sudden clarity of her mind.

She has never seen this man before, she knows, but a voice inside her head whispers ‘This is it.’

-x-

Salvation

In every lifetime, Sasuke wonders what it will be like when he finds her again (because he will, this much he knows), but he never imagined it would be quite like this. 

Stumbling upon her in a small satellite town, where he only stopped by to post a letter. 

He was on his way out of the town when he was suddenly trapped by gravity, rooted in place by a feeling he couldn’t name growing in his chest. 

And just like that, she walked out through the most unremarkable doors, extraordinary forest green eyes finding his. 

He thinks this is what it must be like to find the face of God at the end of a pilgrimage.

-x-

Pinnacle

Sakiko isn’t religious, not particularly spiritual either, but staring at his dark hair against alabaster skin with eyes she could never forget but somehow can’t remember, she thinks she has found enlightenment. 

She feels like an eternity has passed her by as they stare at each other across the street. Suddenly he is moving, unmindful of the traffic passing by, looking every bit as bewildered as her. 

In a blink he is in front of her, eyes drinking her in like she is the pinnacle of some journey, an artist’s magnum opus, a scientist’s greatest discovery, a ghost. 

“Sakura.” he says, with the sacredness of a prayer. 

‘That’s not my name’, she thinks, but there is such an aching familiarity in his voice that she swears it could have been.

-x-

Remembrances 

It doesn’t take long for him to realize she doesn’t know who he is, not in the way he knows her, but there is still a shard of remembrance buried within her mortal soul that has transcended the same lifetimes he has. 

Why else would she bring a man she never met into her home without either of them uttering a word of explanation. 

He sits on her deep navy couch and takes in the small apartment. It feels like an out-of-body experience to see her new life reflected all over the space. Pictures with people he has never known, shelves lined with books he has never heard of, little trinkets with histories that are foreign to him. He feels a pang in his chest. 

But his eyes find her again, leaning against the kitchen counter twiddling her thumb like she did when she was nervous, dressed in blue hospital scrubs (of course she would be a healer, of course), the same vision of pink and green he has yearned for across ages, and he knows with utmost clarity that the entirety of time couldn’t chip away at their familiarity.

“My name is Sakiko.” she says, frowning.

Sakiko, he mulls. He supposes he should have expected her name would be different, but he rejoices that even now her name is the personification of spring. Even after all this time spent searching for her, he has no idea where to start telling her about him and their history.

“I’m Sasuke.” he says, deciding that’s as good a place to start as any. 

Her doe eyes widen as she swallows a small gasp, like the name had been inside her all along, asleep beneath her consciousness, and he wonders perhaps there isn’t as much to explain as he had thought.

-x-

Transcendental 

‘We were lovers,’ he had told her, choking slightly on the were.

Sakiko wonders when all her scientific aptitude her teachers gushed about went down the drain because she believes him with the utmost confidence.

He told her that many lifetimes ago they had been shinobi from the village hidden in the Leaves, that they had been on the same team, had fought in a war together, had fallen in love, gotten married, and had a child together. 

Her mind is reeling as she struggles to catch up. She knew about shinobi, but she never imagined she could be one. She had no idea where the Hidden Leaf was. She certainly hadn’t ever fought in a war. 

But staring into his clashing eyes, feeling the reverb of his voice in her bones, ‘I could have loved him’ she thinks.

-x-

Dread 

He cradles the mug of hot tea she had made for him, watching the steam rise and dissipate into the air. Sakur-Sakiko is sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, quietly listening as he recounted their past lives. 

Through his journey recounting his first birth as Indra, to the incarnation of the Sasuke she had known, and the many lifetimes that had passed by since then till now, she hung onto every word in rapture. Frowning in confusion, smiling in amusement, even crying some tears at the many tragedies that had punctuated his and her life, but she never once looked surprised or disbelieving. 

Many quiet moments pass as he drinks his tea and she lets the information sink in. 

“How do you remember everything?” she asks him, looking helpless at her own lack of memory. 

He sets his cup down. “In every life since the one I knew you, when I turn seventeen, my rinnegan awakens and I remember every past life. Naruto awakens the Six Paths Sage Mode and he remembers too. In most lifetimes we both find each other. Sometimes we don’t.”

“Did you find him this time?” 

“Aa.” 

“Where is he now?”

“He is looking for Hinata, his partner.” 

“Oh. Has he found her before?” 

“Yeah, he mostly does. She is a descendant of the Otsusuki too, and most of the time she remembers and they find each other. Even if she doesn’t, she always remembers when he finds her.” 

Something in her expression shifts. 

“I loved you, didn’t I? Why don’t I remember?” she says, her voice sounding small. 

He feels a tectonic shift in his chest, like his entire heart has been displaced by the fears he had been trying to run from all these years. He doesn’t know how to tell her how absolutely terrified he had been that he would never find her, that her mortal ancestry meant that she was never reborn. How he and Naruto, and even Hinata, had searched for her like savages to the ends of the earth, starting over from scratch every new cycle. How on every deathbed he had longed for her, and prayed for his life to end once and for all if she was no longer on the earth. He wants to tell her what a miracle it is that she is here and he has found her, that her memory is a small price to pay because he will tell her a thousand times if he has to, but he knows the words will crush him on their way out. 

He doesn’t even realize she has moved till he feels the dip in the couch where she rests her knee, and then the embrace of her arms around him. Neither of them has said anything but he knows she understands.

-x-

Kindered

One look at him and she knows what he is thinking. She can read the terror in his eyes as clear as day: I thought I'd never find you. 

She feels the landslide in her own chest, tumbling down to her stomach and weighing her down. 

"Why did you keep looking?" She asks, burrowing her head in his shoulders, crying for a man she has loved without ever knowing. 

He is quiet for a long time and she thinks he isn't going to answer. Then he says- 

"You told me once that you knew we were soulmates when you and Naruto were looking for me after I left, and when you were combing through Kaguya's worlds to find me. You said you could find me through every age, solar system, and dimension. That there was a current that pulled you to where I was-” 

He feels her still. 

“-When I was reborn that first time without you, I understood what you had meant.”

-x-

Luminsecent

She can’t breathe. 

It's all too much. The buzz in the air all morning, the weight of ancient history, the indescribable pull towards the man sitting on her couch. He looked so completely wrecked at the hands of time, like a man who had no choice but to endure in his quest, only to pause at the finish line long enough to take in just how tired he is. He had suffered the ruthlessnesss of so many lives, looking for her. 

‘I’ve been looking for you, too’ something inside her whispers, ‘I just never knew till I found you.’

She knows she is crying, and though she can’t see his face from her position in their embrace, she thinks he is too. 

She looks over behind her shoulder to watch the spring sunrise pour in through her window and slowly inch towards them across the living room floor. She never realized when the entire night passed them by. 

Detangling her arms from around him, she settles on the couch, angling herself towards him. He lifts his head from his arms and looks at her. 

She breathes in deeply...and then begins-

“I was born in a smaller village on the outskirts of this town. I went to the Land of Earth to study medicine, and then returned here to work at the hospital. I never knew my parents, I was raised by my aunt. I like reading philosophy and history, and...I guess I still like sweets.”

He stares at her with wide eyes as he slowly realizes what she is trying to do. She carries on telling him about the life she has lived, the one he missed, and watches as he clings on to every word, like every little insignificant fact she told him gave him a second chance, another rebirth. 

By the time she is finished they are drenched in sunlight, from the same sun they sat under together in their past lives, and she feels like her skin is on fire. 

It’s a new morning, another beginning, another chance. 

“Do you want to grab some lunch?” she asks, struck by the mundaneness of the question in the aftermath of such a transcendental disclosure. 

He clears his throats and nods. 

She flashes him a smile and wonders how it pairs with her tear streaked cheeks, and parts with him briefly to wash her face and grab her keys. 

She pauses at the apartment door and waits for him to join her, only to find him staring at her with an intensity that takes her breath away. 

“I…” he begins, “Thank you, Sakiko”

Something in his words ignites something within her, and she feels like a trapeze sailing through the air but falling just short of waiting hands. 

“Sakura.” she says abruptly, “You.. can call me Sakura.” she announces. 

For a moment he looks surprised, and then smiles like he has been set free. 

“Thank you, Sakura.” 

There is magic in those words that she can feel in her soul, a certainty that surpasses the transience of life, the finality of physics.

‘In the next life, I will look for you.’ she vows, ‘but first, this one.’

They step out into the daylight.

Fin.

-x-

A very indulgent piece I wrote inspired from Samsara by @kuriquinn and Queitus by SeraphinaScribes, both of which I recommend you read. Hope you enjoy!

#ss #ss fanfiction #sasusaku #ss fic #sasuke uchiha #sakura haruno

[firewoodfigs]

amendes honorables

Summary: Riza Hawkeye is appalled to discover that her fifteen-year-old daughter has indicated interest in a boy. Her husband thinks she’s being a little bit of a hypocrite.

(thank you @waddiwasiwitch for hosting @moms-made-fullmetal-2020 ! ^_^)

read on ao3

~x~ 

Roy Mustang was having a very hard time trying to contain his laughter while lazing on the bed with his morning coffee in hand.  He was trying, really - his absolute, darnedest best - palms over mouth, holding his breath, distracting himself with boring, draggy books about legal positivism. But try as he might, it was very, very entertaining to see his stoic Captain, now beloved wife, getting so riled up over their daughter’s predicament.

Between the two, everyone always assumed that he would be the overprotective parent, but Roy knew better. He knew his wife like the back of his hand and had correctly predicted that she would be the paranoid parent who would impose a stringent “no-dating-until-you’re-an-adult” rule. Of course, every rule came with loopholes, and the definition of an “adult” was left up to her (legally, it should have been eighteen or twenty-one, but Roy believed that in Riza’s mind it probably ranged between thirty to forty, or more).  

“Stop laughing, Roy. This is serious!” Riza exclaimed, thoroughly flustered by the fact that their daughter had been the recipient of so many confessions, letters, chocolates and whatever frivolities teenage boys thought girls their age enjoyed receiving on Valentine’s Day.

Given how attractive her parents were it was no surprise that Rae Mustang was the apple of many young boys’ eyes at the juvenile age of fifteen. With thick, raven black hair like her father’s, her mother’s sharp features, and eyes like wood smoke in autumn - a lovely blend of her parents’ - it was hardly surprising that boys were attracted to her like moths to light, and while some girls were envious of her for winning the genetic lottery others had graciously accepted defeat.

Her mother was of course, acutely aware of this curse, or blessing, whatever one might choose to call it, and had taken it upon herself to confiscate gifts and letters she had received on that wretched holiday, on the excuse that it was hardly inappropriate for a girl her age to receive such things, and really, what did boys know about love at that age?

Riza had declared over dinner that night that professions of undying, profound love at that age were nothing but intricate lies designed by deceitful young boys, and Rae shouldn’t bother herself with it.

(Roy wanted to call her out for being a hypocrite there and then, but she shut him up with a threatening glare before the first syllable even left his mouth.)

In response, she’d nodded dutifully before returning to the steak and frites on her plate - courtesy of her father, who had taken it upon himself to “whip up a fantastic dinner for my lovely girls on this holiday about love” and “blessed it with a chef’s kiss” afterwards, but alas.

Alas. Her little girl had inherited their talents in covert operations and somehow managed to hide a very important gift and letter from her mother’s prying hands, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that it was gifted by someone she was interested in.

Riza had been utterly mortified when she found the traitorous piece of evidence sandwiched in between her chemistry textbooks (Rae had attempted to use some kind of alchemy she’d learnt from her Uncle Ed a few weeks prior to seal it, but there was something faulty with the array that foiled her plans in the end), which therefore led to the current situation of her pacing frantically around their room as she rambled on and on to her husband.

(She still didn’t know whether to be disappointed or proud of her daughter for possessing such a natural penchant at hiding things, but it was probably the former.)

Finally, she stopped pacing and turned to glower sullenly at her husband, who was hiding his laughter behind a book that he was pretending to be engrossed in. “I think she should be grounded, Roy. We can never know for sure if she’s been secretly planning dates behind our backs with this - this boy - mmph -” her words were muffled by a passionate kiss and a suffocating embrace.

“Relax, Riza,” he chuckled as he held her close in his arms to soothe her frazzled nerves. “We don’t even know what the boy is like. What if he was like me when we were younger?” He lifted his index finger and thumb to his chin, as if stroking an imaginary beard (Riza and Rae had conspired together to shave that blasphemous mustache off his face in his sleep) and pretended to be deep in thought.

Riza balked. “I didn’t like you when I was fifteen, Roy.”

He put a hand up to his heart in mock hurt. “Don’t be cruel, Riza. I know you did -”

“You did, I didn’t. Back to the topic at hand. I believe the appropriate punishment would be to ground her, and she most certainly owes us an apology for lying and hiding such scandalous affairs behind our backs.”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in surrender, hoping it would ease the scowl on her face. It did somewhat, and so he decided to help his daughter with a little… negotiation. “You can ground her if you think that’s proportionate and necessary, but let’s give the boy a chance. We could have him over for dinner,” her frown was returning, and he hastened to add, “which would give us the perfect chance to interrogate him and analyse their rela - friendship, of course.”

The thought of being able to question him excited Riza just the slightest. She did love a good cross-examination, after all, and no one would touch her daughter without first crossing her. “Fine,” she relented. “I’ll talk to her tonight.”

Roy grimaced at that thought. His wife could be the living personification of the Spanish Inquisition when she put her mind down to it, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be a bad mix with the notorious teenage hormones that plagued everyone at fifteen. “Be nice, Riza.”

~x~

“You can come in, mom,” came her daughter’s trembling voice from behind the door.

Well. It seemed like they were already off to a bad start. As she opened the door slowly she could see her daughter’s quivering frame hunched over her literature homework, the likes of Austen and Bronte all strewn across her table messily as she tried very bravely to hold in her tears.

She groaned internally. Already, Riza felt her resolve weakening, and it was difficult to remain angry at such a sweet child (she often wondered what she and Roy did to deserve such a lovely daughter, but her husband deemed it necessary to discuss, in great detail, how Rae was made, so she never vocalised that thought ever again). She sat on the corner of her bed and beckoned for Rae to come sit with her, and as soon as she sank into the duvet as she placed a comforting hand over her shoulder.

So much for being strict.

Before she could even say anything, though, Rae started apologising frantically, words tumbling out of her mouth like a gushing stream. “I’m so sorry, mom, I know I shouldn’t have lied to you and I know I’ve disappointed you and I know I shouldn’t have and I’m just, I’m so sorry,” she stuttered, choking over her sobs. “I just… I know it would’ve upset you, but he’s… he’s a really nice boy, but I know what I did was wrong, and I’ve let you down, and I’m so -”

“Rae,” Riza called, her tone stern but gentle. “Okay, one thing at a time. I’m not going to lie, I am disappointed that you hid this from me, and there will be consequences, but I forgive you. I always will,” and she pulled her in for a hug, stroking her soft tresses tenderly as Rae sobbed into her shoulder and threw herself into the embrace.

… It truly was a challenge trying to pull a stern hand on her daughter. Her colleagues would’ve found this incredulous, and she never thought austerity was something she would ever struggle with, but Rae had proved her wrong. While she was supposed to be at the age of rebellion - Riza supposed this was it, the defining act - her daughter was quite the little darling, full of sunshine and joy, and it made it very hard to remain angry with her for long. In some ways, she reminded her a bit of Alphonse, although Rae had been adamant that her Uncle Al was wrong - dogs were better than cats.

Another point to Rae.

And though it was equally difficult to swallow her pride and admit that she had overreacted a little, just the slightest, over the gifts that had swarmed her table, she supposed it would only cause Rae to feel like she couldn’t trust her. “You… you can tell me these things, Rae.” Riza wanted to say she wouldn’t get mad, but that would just be an outright, blatant lie. “It’s better than hiding, or lying.”

“Really, mom?” her eyes glistened with hope, and really, it was hard to say no to a face like that. Riza would give her the stars and a mountain made of gold and diamonds if she just asked for it.

“Yes, really. In fact…” she remembered her previous discussion with Roy. Compromise, Riza. “You can invite him over for dinner one of these days.”

A watery smile crossed her daughter’s face, and it was so hopeful that Riza couldn’t resist chuckling a little. “But you, young lady, are still grounded, and will continue to be so for two weeks.”

She nodded glumly, as any other fifteen-year-old would be at the prospect of having to come home immediately after school, but otherwise relented and gave her mother another hug. “I understand, mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” She grinned at the thought of being able to grill this young man, both literally and figuratively. “So, when’s a good time for dinner?”

~x~

Riza had been… surprised, to say the least, when she opened the door to come face to face with a tanned-skin boy with white hair and distinctly red eyes that shone like a dreadful mix of rubies and garnets.

An Ishvalan.

Her immediate response had been to apologise to Rae instead - for how could he bear to look at her and Roy in the eye and seriously say that he was alright with who they were? If he’d bolted there and then, or threw the bag of cookies that he’d painstakingly prepared as a present in her face out of anger or animosity, Riza would have honestly accepted it and forgiven him regardless.

But instead the boy - who introduced himself as Elyas - had proceeded to remove his shoes before asking politely if it would be alright to come in, holding out the dessert he’d prepared with such a delightful eagerness and enthusiasm, and really, it was impossible to reject him.

“Of course, come on in,” she said invitingly, swallowing the bile rising in her throat as she observed Roy’s equally shocked expression. But he said nothing, only smiled welcomingly as he set up the dinner table and thanked him for the wonderful gift.

She’d almost lost her composure when he mentioned that he was an orphan, when Roy asked about his family, but as if reading her mind Elyas immediately sought to qualify his statement with “I’m very sure you two had nothing to do with it, Mr and Mrs Mustang. They died in an accident not too long ago, not because of the Ishvalan War. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, we should be the ones apologising. I understand if… if you are uncomfortable being here,” Riza whispered quietly, suddenly feeling like an incorrigible mother.

Underneath the table, Roy stretched out his hand to rest a palm on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles with a padded thumb. She responded in kind, knowing that the same sentiments, though unsaid, were on his mind as well.

Elyas, though, amazed them all by thanking them. Them, a pair of cold-blooded war criminals.

“Ah, well,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly with an open palm. “I’m alright. If anything, I’d like to thank the both of you for rebuilding Ishval. My parents often emphasised that it was General Mustang’s office that improved the lives of many Ishvalans because of the trade relations with Xing, and we’ve all benefited greatly from that.”

He flashed them a sunny smile, and his eyes conveyed everything they needed to know - that’s in the past now. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Mustang, and thank you for having me over for dinner.”

“Not at all, we’re more than happy to have you here, Elyas.” Riza was unequivocally sure that she owed Rae an apology instead, and vowed to speak with her again tonight.

Her husband had offered to do the same as they stood at the sink together to wash the dishes, but after what happened she thought it best to speak with Rae separately herself first, and so his only response was a reassuring, understanding kiss to her forehead.

“We’ll work it out together, Riza.”

~x~

“Can I come in, Rae?” Riza knocked hesitantly, the nausea and guilt that had settled in her gut previously making an unwelcome resurgence.

“Of course, mom!” Rae skipped happily to where her mother was as soon as the door was open and gave her a tight hug. “Thank you so much for tonight.”

“Not at all,” she smiled weakly. “I think I owe you an apology, Rae. I… I wasn’t expecting him to be an Ishvalan.” Her daughter was not ignorant to the sins that they had committed decades ago, because she’d made it her personal duty, alongside Roy, to explain history accurately to her - for both of them had agreed that it would be worse if she found the truth out by herself.

And Rae, kind, innocent Rae - bless her heart - had accepted the harsh reality of who her parents were with a grim nod, but after a few hours of introspection she’d knocked on their door to tell them that she still loved them regardless, and that she was proud to have parents who were working so hard to rectify the injustices they’d committed.

But this… this was quite a different story. She wasn’t sure if Elyas was just being courteous earlier, or if he was genuinely alright with who they were, with the wrongs they’d done against him and his hometown and entire culture. How could he? “I do apologise, Rae, if I’ve ruined anything.”

“What? No, mom, you didn’t! When I sent him off at the porch just now, he said that he really enjoyed dinner - said that you and dad are great cooks - and that it was an honor getting to know the both of you personally.” She grinned giddily, like a young girl happily in love. “I… I know why you feel that way, mom. But believe me, you can believe whatever he said. He’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met, and…” her feet shifted in embarrassment as she confessed quietly, “that’s one of the reasons why I…”

“Why you like him?” Rae nodded shyly, pink mottling her pale cheeks flatteringly.

“I see. Well, I can understand that, Rae.” She bent down to whisper a secret in her ear, one that only she could hear - just in case her ridiculous father was snooping around somewhere trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. “I liked your father when I was fifteen, too.”

Rae giggled and smiled brightly at her mother when she heard her admission. Then, looking up at her mother curiously with her best set of puppy eyes, she asked, “Does that mean I’m not grounded anymore?”

“No, you still have a week more to go, Rae,” and while her daughter responded with a petulant, disappointed sulk she could still see the happiness sparkling in her eyes. “But feel free to ask him over for dinner anytime.”

#moms-made-fullmetal-2020 #fma #royai #Royai fic #royai fanfic #fma fic #senseless fluff #the fluffiest thing I've written all month methinks lmao #rae mustang #Elyas #Elric uncles LOL

[orcaraminga]

The Shadow’s Groom

Writer’s tip: listen to this song while you read! Polite opinions and advices are welcome.

   Once upon a time there was a man. A tiny, old and grey man. Grey were the hair, grey were the eyes, grey was his skin and grey was his soul. He was so grey, so deeply grey that who looked at him just couldn't understand if once this man could have been white or black. Maybe life just faded him with her merciless timeless dust, or maybe he used to be an evil man that after years just got tired of his own wicked nature, but without the ability of turning pure. Nobody could understand, nobody simply cared.

Who could have ever had an interest in a little man of smudge, after all?

People just looked at him and with conviction decided not to trust him. He was grey, and you never understand where to put grey. Is it nearer to the black, or just a little bit darker than white? There weren't easy answers in that man. There weren't answers at all and this could force human minds to face themselves.

People just couldn't stand this confront. So they banished him from their lives and left him alone with his dead companions. At first, the Grey Man didn't care. Time passed, he got used to loneliness.

And for the darkness he was surrounded by, the world started to call him the Shadow's Groom.

 He had his plans. Also some revenge plans; he had his dead companions (mostly made of futureless and bitter memories), he had clear ideas about existence and pain and people. Actually he couldn't stand people too, he couldn't trust them for the same reasons they would never have trusted him. Ignorance, fear and grief. The man knew grief very well, that's the reason of the dead companions, because they knew grief too. Well: maybe. No one could be certain.

So this faded man spent time trying to put himself out of the living world, almost like his dead companions, but partially failing, 'cause he was still alive. He didn't care so much about others, unless the ones who betrayed him in the past. They could always try to hit him again but that time, he thought, that time he would be prepared to pay back.

So the life of the man of smudge was made of waiting, with a taste of bitterness. There was nothing else left behind.

 But one day, when he was walking on the edge of a place called The Great Abyss, an odd creature appeared to him.

She was known as The Shadow, but she preferred only Shadow.

Strange, isn't it?

 By the way, the Shadow easily noticed the Grey Man. Looking at him with curiosity.

The man stared back. < What do you want? > he asked. Not interested in her name or identity, but he wanted to understand why someone would have watched so hard his...

< Your skin is grey. >

< I never realized. > Yes, the man was mordacious... and sarcastic.

< Did you lost your colors? Everybody needs colors. >

< You seem pretty too dark to say it... >

< You're right, but because I have too much for my own... that's why I am so dark. >.

 Shadow was of a mysterious, attractive and iridescent black. A tall woman that seemed almost made of petroleum, and flashes of colors flowed in her skin like exposed veins. The world stared at her like once we used to stare at stars, never daring to get closer, never even thinking of it.

However, the grey man was totally out from the world or maybe totally out of head to care. He just wanted to study her, to understand if she was a danger to him. Well, she was - of course she was. Shadows always feel like danger to the human race. But the Grey Man always had this ambitious desire to dominate and control everything in order to protect himself.

How silly of him.

< And usually how do you use these... colors? >.

< In lots of way, both good and evil >.

< So you are not grey; in some absurd, non-logic way, you are white and black at the same time... you are ambiguous and for this reason dangerous, unreliable >.

She smiled with a sort of pride. < People don't trust me because I saddle myself. I know I can't be only good or only evil. So I act both. Even if it feels better to be good, looking bad sometime is funnier! >

The man's eyes flashed with understanding and surprise. < You are a personification of Caos >.

< Possibly. Or maybe, something like Necessary Evil. You instead transpire Order and Control. What a boring person. >

< I am a serious person. >.

< Boring men always say so. >.

She never seemed worried. She wasn't scared at all and she was unpredictable exactly as she looked.

The Grey Man didn't like it. He remained silent.

 < But we were talking about colors. Where the hell are yours? > she continued. The other didn't answer, drowning his look into the Great Abyss. < That's none of your business. >

She didn't insisted. Not yet. But the day after, she asked again. And the next day. And the day after that.

And every single time, the Grey Man answered always the same way. < None. Of. Your. Business. > at the beginning quietly, but the last times... growling. Patience is not a quality we are all born with.

Finally his dead companions, with their cadaverous appearance, their cold hands, their pale skins and their empty sight came to him. < Maybe you should just answer... >.

< Maybe you should just shut up. > he replied, crossed arms and look in the Great Abyss as every morning.

 < Don't be mad with your companions just because they love you more than themselves >

He sighed, looking at clouds with exasperation. < I am not mad. I am just tired. >

< Did you know that some colors help renovate spiritual energy? > asked the Shadow with a lightly smile.

To be honest, the Gray Man just wanted to strangle her. Unluckily, she was a being as strong and powerful as him. It wasn't very easy defeat someone like The Shadow and that was another reason to dislike the woman.

< Seriously?! > A second sigh. < I don't need them >.

<Why? Love is the color to our canvas, don't you think? >

<I don't want either color or love. I am fine this way. >

She sneered. < Yeah, of course. >

Shadow was a ironic, annoying creature so the Grey Man simply ignored her or pretended to.

< But you didn't answer the first question. >

Oh, please. Someone just make this foolish woman stop talking.

 His companions were vanished. Of course they were. Dead people are not known for bravery.

And you really needed that to watch the Shadow and the Gray Man together, 'cause you never knew how it would have ended. Screaming? Fighting? Doom knew it. Really.

Damn.

< Where are your colours? >.

An instant eye to eye, and the man of smudge understood that woman would have never left him in peace. Never.

< They stole them from me. A long time ago. > He mumbled.

< Oh. > the genuine Shadow for a moment seemed shocked. For a moment. < I understand now... > a step, and she was touching his hair without asking. < You don't look so old, seeing close. >

He snorted. < Thank you. >

She laughed. < You are welcome. >

The old man wasn't old, no way. Not of age, at least.

He observed her night-dark skin, his hair in her star-shining fingers. She never had exactly the same look of the day before, but she was always dark and you could always see her colours' veins underneath. On the other hand, the Grey Man never seemed to change, like cold stones. He seemed.

< Would you stop touching me? Thank you > asked after a while, with uncomfortable feelings.

< They never told you? >

< What? >

< That you are crabbed. >

< Several times. >

Well, stones don't change easily...

 She slapped him out of frustration. < You are SO stupid, Grey Man! >.

He blinked, surprised, putting a hand on his cheek. < What the hell, Shadow! >.

< You are driving out what you feel! It is so obvious! Why??! >

< I don't know what are you talking about. >

< You are an able liar Grey Man, but not enough to fool me. Do not deny it! I saw them! >.

< What? >.

< Your colors! They may have stole them from you, but nobody can stay without theirs and nobody can keep other's ones forever! They still are within you >.

< I do NOT know anything of this. You are simply delirious. >

< You are hiding yourself from life! You idiot coward! >

< I am not hiding from anything! I am not an idiot and above all, I am not a coward! >

 < Are you sure? Than PROVE it! Show yourself to me! > she ordered with a thunder voice.

After those resonant words, the Shadow's hand transformed itself in a terrifying, bony clawed limb, black as Death Herself. The woman hit the man on the chest, above the heart. He shouted, falling on the ground, scratching himself.

 < What are you doing?! >.

< Sometimes you have to break a wall to find the treasure. Sometimes, you have to wound flesh to see red and blood and life. >

The Gray Man stood up just to back two steps away. And he started bleeding only to discover one, devastating thing.

  That he wasn't gray at all.

His blood was red just like the others' one, maybe more, much more. So were his muscles, his soul, his heart. Only the bones were totally white. Because of the terrible pain, he started crying even if he didn't wanted to. His eyes burned and looking in the new puddle of tears, he saw their natural color turning back again. Blue. Sky's blue.

< What's... what's happening to me? > he asked, thinking about running.

  < You can escape for all your stupid, non-sense life, Gray Man! You know that I'll always be the only one able to repair your wounds! >

She was right. The stretch would never healed by itself, Grey Man knew it.

Maybe it would have stopped bleeding after a while, but it'd never close, or get smaller.

He halted, rolling over his head to her. He did not want to escape from her.

 But the dark woman was angry and she didn't seem to care about anything but her rage. She was nearer to the Great Abyss than ever and she didn't notice it. The Grey Man did.

 When the Shadow fell down the hole, convinced that she would have passed the rest of eternity in the most miserable of all existences, she felt her wrist closely held by a hand. A strong, grey hand, stained by lines of blood and tears.

Only in that moment she noticed the blue eyes of the Grey Man.

The Great Abyss waited for a very long time hungering for their souls, but it was never fed.

 When the two were finally safe, the Grey Man slapped her.

< Ouch! It hurts! >

< Of course it hurts! And this is the lowest! > he answered angry. < You clawed me! You fool! >.

< ... I am sorry. It was necessary. >

Red because of rage or maybe something else unknown, the man grunted. < Brainless woman, you could have died or worse, much worse.  >.

< Fine! I was a little bit out of me >

< A LITTLE bit?! >

< But it was for the better. You had to face your ghosts. You needed to face the truth you tried to hide for years > she breathed heavily, a deep look into his eyes. < That you still are a living creature, my love >.

 The no-more-Gray Man stared at her with attention.

< And you truly are a personification of Caos, aren't you? >.

She smiled.

 < By the way... no. Don't try this, please. > he looked sad. < I am not worthy of you. Love is Giving and I have nothing to give you. > It was already a declaration of noble love from a humble man.

< You have yourself. > she touched gently his  bloodstained chest. The cuts began to heal. < You are enough to me as I am enough to you >.

< I have been grey for so many years... >

< I love you for the Brave Man you are, not for the Grey Mask you covered your heart with. >

 So the two mated, going away from that place of pain.

 And that was how the Grey Man eventually became the Shadow's Groom.

#english is not my native language #allegory #short story #tale #original tale #literature #writers #original #original writing #original story #writing #my writing #words #words typed #my quotes #spilled ink #orcaraminga #oceans of ink and color #not beta read #songfic #inspired by music #my post #mine

[leviathanswingman]

killing me softly, chapter 5: acceptance

Love

Of course Lucifer had to have come to such a life changing revelation at the worst of times. They were in the middle of planning a celebration for the royals of the kingdom Diavolo had last visited, as some sort of peace offering and mutual treaty after a bunch of altercations between their kingdoms.

The celebrations were set to take place in five days.

Lucifer was up to his neck in preparations since he had to plan everything on short notice. Now he had to somehow balance the stress of all of that combined with the uncertainty of whether or not he should tell Diavolo what he'd been going through all these days the prince had been gone.

Even worse, the demon prince had certainly started to get suspicious that something was going on with him, but due to their busy schedules, Lucifer had always managed to slip past him at just the right time. It was getting harder and harder on him, both physically and mentally.

The few hours of sleep he managed to get, he found himself stuck in a drowsy state; not asleep yet not quite awake either. He couldn't escape it. Whenever he closed his eyes he was haunted by pictures of Diavolo, was haunted by his voice when he wasn't even remotely close. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to renounce his position as Diavolo's right hand man. It would've been the right thing to do, yet there was no way for him to betray his prince like that. Lucifer had always taken pride in being like the personification of loyalty itself, so he had quietly and fiercely chosen death over disloyalty.

However, this didn't lessen his suffering. It was as if his body was longing to be close to Diavolo's and Lucifer himself played the part of the ruthless dictator. He denied his body what it so desperately wanted. What it desperately needed. But Diavolo was not in love with him, he was most certain of that fact. Lucifer's heart hurt and his lungs ached at that thought, yet he wouldn't allow himself to slip into foolish illusions. He'd always been a realist. Of course, Diavolo had developed a certain fondness of Lucifer, but that didn't mean anything.

So whenever Lucifer saw Diavolo, he conveniently had to attend business on the other side of the academy, when in truth, he was spending minutes upon minutes in the bathroom, coughing up blood, roses and regrets. What he regretted the most he himself couldn't even tell.

The only thing Lucifer knew was that he was running out of time. He had less than five days left because for the first time in his life, he'd let someone in and had fallen in love. Talk about eternal punishment.

Whenever he thought fate couldn't deal him more malice, he was massively disappointed all over again.

All of a sudden, his DDD rang loud and clear, pulling him out of his thoughts, back to the real world. Subconsciously, he rubbed his chest, right where his lungs were sitting, tangled up in roots and thorns. He shouldn't think this much about Diavolo, he was aware of that, but it was the only thing concerning him that Lucifer could allow himself without doubling over with flowers filling up his windpipe. No matter how much he hated to admit it, he was in love with him after all. What a strange twist of fate.

He picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Yahoo, it's your darling little brother, the one and only Asmodeus!” the melodious voice of his brother rang through the speakers.

A sigh left Lucifer's lips as he rubbed his temples in annoyance. “You are aware that I can see your caller ID, right? I do in fact have your contact saved,” he grumbled.

“Aww Lucifer! You flatter me!” Asmo chirped on, his loud and hyper voice only amplifying Lucifer's ever-growing headache.

“If you consider something like that flattery you might need to get your standards checked. So, what do you want? You know I'm preparing for the celebration, there's still too much to do. I'm not in the mood for your games, so no dawdling unless you want to get punished thoroughly and rigidly,” he said in a brash manner, his brows furrowed.

“Yeah, yeah! No need to get so worked up, I can almost hear you glaring at me again! All that frowning will get you wrinkles at your young age, you know?” Asmo began to babble.

“I am giving you a count to three,” Lucifer stated coldly. “One.”

“Live a little! I Just wanted to-”

“Two,” Lucifer continued, a threatening aura starting to seep from every single of his pores. Asmodeus was really testing him today with the way he was clearly avoiding to finally get to the reason for his little call.

For a moment there came nothing but silence from the other end of the phone, then there was an audible intake of breath. “So... The thing is...” Asmo started, voice suddenly nervous.

“Thr-”

Click

“Eek!” with a startling yelp, Asmodeus had hung up on him.

For a moment, Lucifer simply stared at the symbol signalling that the call had been disconnected. “Oh? Well that just takes the cake. I will teach him his place, that little-”

“Lucifer.”

That voice again. Realization dawned upon him as he turned around. It all made sense now. The nonsensical call, the stalling. All of this had been a setup. There was a reason Asmo had been dawdling around like that.

Someone must've asked him to distract Lucifer. And that exact someone was now standing behind him. Lucifer wasn't even surprised Asmo had agreed to this. His brother knew about his illness and had grand illusions about the way Lord Diavolo felt for Lucifer. Asmodeus now definitely deserved a few proper nights in the punishment chambers.

„Is there anything you need from me, Diavolo?“ Lucifer asked, trying to sound as normal as usual. He was still exceptionally mad about this whole little diversion, but didn't try to show it all that much. After all, Diavolo's plan had worked out just fine. Lucifer  was less attentive due to his hanahaki, and had been even more distracted by Asmo's shenanigans. He tried to represent what was always expected from him:a calm and collected demeanour.

„My my, Lucifer. It's been a while since I've seen you this worked up. Is anything the matter?“ he purred. There was a confusing smile on his face before he let his warm hand run down Lucifer's naked arm.

For a moment Lucifer cursed himself for having swapped out his suit for a sleeveless black turtleneck, but it had simply been too hot. Despite the warm air in the room he found himself shivering under Diavolo's touch.

“Maybe that's because I haven't seen you around all that much lately,” he mumbled, letting his hand run even deeper down until he could run his thumbs over Lucifer's knuckles.

Lucifer shook under the unexpected soft touches. He was used to violence and terror, but soft touches like these were completely strange to him. Involuntarily, he could feel his gut filling up with want, yet he also trembled under Diavolo's overwhelming presence, which threatened to swallow him whole.

“Making up excuses doesn't sound like you Lucifer, and I know you'd never lie to me, which would explain your silence right now. You're avoiding me for a reason, am I correct?” Diavolo asked calmly, with an unreadable expression. His hand gripped Lucifer's more tightly and with that, Lucifer forced himself to lock eyes with Diavolo.

For once, he wished his eyes could express what his mouth refused to say. He had always been the oldest, had always carried responsibilities too big for his beaten body. Now for once, he refused to solve his problems heartlessly and without regards to his own well-being. For once, he disobeyed and decided to be oh so selfish.

As he refused to look away from Diavolo's eyes, an electric shock ran through him. He had made his decision and there was no going back. He truly loved Diavolo.

This was the first time in ages that he had allowed Diavolo to stay this close to him for this long. He felt hypnotized by the prince's eyes, hypnotized by the way they seemed to practically devour him whole.

As soon as it had started, the moment was ruined when Lucifer grabbed Diavolo's other arm in a tight grip without letting go.

“Leave before it's too late, Diavolo. You shouldn't be here,” he forced out, breathing heavily, desperately trying to control his breathing until Diavolo would finally leave the room. “I don't want your pity.

“Before it's too late for what?” Diavolo managed to ask before he saw the other's pained expression. A disturbing smile was painted across Lucifer's face and his otherwise emotionless eyes looked wet and conflicted.

“Before it's too late for what?! Lucifer, talk to me!”

Lucifer opened up his mouth, but before he could talk he suddenly gripped Diavolo tightly by his wrists, leaving red claw marks.

A sea of bloody petals, flowers, thorns and stems forced themselves out of his mouth as he began to crumble to the ground, hands still holding onto Diavolo desperately and painfully.

Quickly, Diavolo lowered Lucifer to the ground and tried to hold him up by his shoulders as best as he could.

“LUCIFER!”

Lucifer was wheezing and choking, but still he held onto Diavolo for dear life. Even if he wanted to let go, he didn't think he could.

With one big cough, a full white rose with a stem and thorns forced itself out of Lucifer's mouth, followed by huge amounts of blood. As he gasped for air, Diavolo carefully put his hand on the back of Lucifer's neck and leaned his head against his chest, letting him rest there for a moment.

“Who is it?” he whispered, but didn't get an answer.

Lucifer had lost consciousness.

Fighting against the panic rising up in his chest, Diavolo picked Lucifer up, one arm supporting his back while the other went under his legs. Barbatos would certainly know how to help Lucifer. He just had to know.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 6 , Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

*nsfw chapter

taglist: @el-does-photography

#my writing #obey me! #shall we date? obey me #dialuci #lucifer x diavolo #diavolo x lucifer #obey me! diavolo #obey me! lucifer #hanahaki au #angst #obey me! asmodeus #i'm not as confident with this chapter as i was with the others #i'm always struggling with the way i write lucifer and while the dialogue is fine #when i write more about his inner thinkins i often doubt myself lots #but i know i included everything i wanted to so #i'm okay

[incorrectwutheringheightsquotes]

Top 5 favourite scenes/moments/passages from WH & why they're your favourite?

Ok, so this is not a definitive ranking but these are five scenes/passages I really like:

1) “You’re fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week’s income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!’”

(Chapter 7)

“‘For shame, Heathcliff!’ said I. ‘It is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to forgive.’

‘No, God won’t have the satisfaction that I shall,’ he returned.”

(Chapter 7)

I cheat and lump these two passages together because they are from the same chapter.

I like the first passage a lot because it is ripe for picking in terms of analysis, it has so many layers. If you have to close read a passage in WH choose this one.

I shouldn’t need to explain the second quote. It is just iconic.

2) “But, supposing at twelve years old I had been wrenched from the Heights, and every early association, and my all in all, as Heathcliff was at that time, and been converted at a stroke into Mrs. Linton, the lady of Thrushcross Grange, and the wife of a stranger: an exile, and outcast, thenceforth, from what had been my world. You may fancy a glimpse of the abyss where I grovelled! Shake your head as you will, Nelly, you have helped to unsettle me! You should have spoken to Edgar, indeed you should, and compelled him to leave me quiet! Oh, I’m burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them!”

(Chapter 12)

Psychologically Cathy relives the trauma of being separated from her companion at the age of twelve, but she is trapped in a pregnant woman’s body and in her role as “Mrs. Linton”. It’s a beautiful examination of how women can feel entrapped in roles they had to choose.

3) “ ‘Five minutes ago Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a human being; I felt to him in such a variety of ways, that it would have been impossible to have accosted him rationally. In the first place, his startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with her. That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least: for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day—I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her! Well, Hareton’s aspect was the ghost of my immortal love; of my wild endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my anguish—“

(Chapter 33)

There are many things at play in this quote. On the one hand, it brings things to a conclusion and Heathcliff giving up on his revenge makes the reader heave a sigh of relief. On the other hand there is the sheer terror of seeing the same face everywhere you look, it is the normal human experience of love multiplied by a million. It also gives some insight into Heathcliff’s general mindset. He sees Catherine everywhere, but in his little corner of the world, everything is related to Catherine. He surrounded himself with her relatives and is living in the house they grew up together. It is like his revenge is an excuse to feed his masochistic need to see Catherine everywhere. There is also the self-importance of it all, on the one hand it is poignant that he identifies with Hareton so throughly, but he still is just a “personification of (his) youth”, he still can’t associate with him as an another human being.

4) “ ‘Ah, your favourites are among these?’ I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.

‘A strange choice of favourites!’ she observed scornfully.

Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits.”

(Chapter 2)

I love this scene. In a way it prepares the reader for the experience that is Wuthering Heights. The reader expects cats from the book but will only find dead rabbits.

5) “Linton denied that people ever hated their wives; but Cathy affirmed they did, and, in her wisdom, instanced his own father’s aversion to her aunt. I endeavoured to stop her thoughtless tongue. I couldn’t succeed till everything she knew was out. Master Heathcliff, much irritated, asserted her relation was false.

‘Papa told me; and papa does not tell falsehoods,’ she answered pertly.

‘My papa scorns yours!’ cried Linton. ‘He calls him a sneaking fool.’

‘Yours is a wicked man,’ retorted Catherine; ‘and you are very naughty to dare to repeat what he says. He must be wicked to have made Aunt Isabella leave him as she did.’

‘She didn’t leave him,’ said the boy; ‘you sha’n’t contradict me.’

‘She did,’ cried my young lady.

‘Well, I’ll tell you something!’ said Linton. ‘Your mother hated your father: now then.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Catherine, too enraged to continue.

‘And she loved mine,’ added he.

‘You little liar! I hate you now!’ she panted, and her face grew red with passion.

‘She did! she did!’ sang Linton, sinking into the recess of his chair, and leaning back his head to enjoy the agitation of the other disputant, who stood behind.

‘Hush, Master Heathcliff!’ I said; ‘that’s your father’s tale, too, I suppose.’

‘It isn’t: you hold your tongue!’ he answered. ‘She did, she did, Catherine! she did, she did!’”

(Chapter 23)

I just love this exchange between Linton and Cathy. All the drama of the first half of the novel is relegated to a petty fight between the children of the participants of the drama. And I am intrigued by Linton knowing all this stuff. How much Heathcliff had told him? It is just hilarious.

#wuthering heights #asks

[comradekatara]

niche question ik but how many parallels do you think can be drawn between edgar + edmund and zuko + azula?

NICHE QUESTION?????? NICHE QUESTION???????? HAVE YOU MET ME??????????????????????????????????? 

so anyway. 

i wish i had an archive to refer to because i am absolutely positive i have talked to/yelled at chell about this before. at the time i said something along the lines of zuko is edgar who was cast aside by his father and azula is edmund who was favored by her father. i’m also willing to entertain the notion of iroh filling the gloucester role. but let’s set all of that aside for a minute, and just talk about them. 

the blue spirit is known as “the scourge of the fire nation.” he uses violence (the fire nation’s primary value) to his ends, but without fire (the currency of violence), and this is significant because he has fire, but notably cannot use it in this disguise. the blue spirit is precise and controlled in a way that zuko normally is not. zuko is all frayed edges and trying to block up a dam with a bandaid. but with the blue spirit, zuko uses the fire nation’s foremost mode of operation against them. his performance is his control. 

lear refers to edgar as “the thing itself.” old tom is, indeed, the personification of the lear universe. but, what differentiates his madness from lear’s or gloucester’s is that it is feigned. if the fire nation runs on violence, the heath runs on madness. he is utilizing that madness for his own gain, making performance out of chaos & entropy (the ruling forces of their universe). all life is performance, and meaning is what we make of it; edgar knows this, thus he weaponizes lunacy to maintain control. 

when i flippantly refer to zuko as a theatre kid, i mean it in a much truer sense than in his flamboyance, or even his critiques of love amongst the dragons. he learned at a young age that to survive, one must wear a mask. the blue spirit is to zuko what old tom is to edgar; it is his disguise that is “the thing itself.” 

azula may be “legitimate,” but she is not firstborn, she is not a son. legitimacy is an arbitrary construct, differing in every world order. that is the point. edmund notes that their world is flawed. it is “the plague of custom” and “the curiosity of nations.” their laws are not legitimate. (fine word, legitimate.) if azula wants to take power, she knows she must rely on her skill and her cunning. her “dimensions are as well compact, [her] mind as generous, and [her] shape as true.” but she does not want to usurp her father; her father agrees with her. he, too, was not crown prince. he killed his father to overcome “the plague of custom.” no, it is zuko who is the blind one: “a brother noble, whose nature is so far from doing harms, that he suspects none.” 

we all remember that moment in “the storm” wherein we see azula, here no older than eleven, cheering on the blinding of her brother. much like gloucester, he is deemed a traitor for actions motivated only by good intentions, but unlike gloucester, a) there is no first servant, no noble actor who speaks out or intervenes, only an arena of onlookers who can not only stand the sight of this horrific act, but even revel in it, and b) he only loses one eye: there is still room for redemption. 

“azula always lies,” zuko knows. edgar does not. he seems to think that he and edmund have a good rapport. he also loves his father despite his flaws. edgar can acknowledge that gloucester is wrong about many fundamental principles in regards to the true world order, and still enjoy spending time with him. the second that zuko understands that ozai is fundamentally wrong about the world, he loathes him (as he, obviously, should). this is where the parallels begin to diverge. but the themes remain the same. 

“just you and me, brother: the showdown that was always meant to be,” azula says, and of course, the tragedy of this scene is that she believes it. edmund resents edgar, surely, but he can still recognize that the problem is gloucester, that the problem is custom, and their father’s belief in it. azula has yet to see this. edgar overpowers edmund. zuko overpowers azula. azula’s downfall is that of feeling unlovable––that no one in her life truly sees her or loves her––and this shatters her. 

as edmund lays dying, he says, “yet edmund was beloved,” citing the love triangle between sisters. I find this line very telling, for it illustrates that for edmund, this was not a rampage against custom or any of his supposed principles (those are which he states are not actually wrong, by the way); edmund just wanted to find love, anywhere he could get it. 

edgar had love, and he never knew what it was like to live without it. similarly, zuko had ursa and iroh, who managed to support him just enough that he was eventually able to escape from under ozai’s abuse. at the point we find azula in at the end of the narrative, she will not die as edmund is willing to, for she knows she was not beloved. she cannot rest easy yet. 

zuko is too trusting. zuko’s fundamental worldview is a gentle one, based in kindness and extending a hand––but the world won’t allow it. “I will preserve myself: and am bethought / to take the basest and most poorest shape / that ever penury, in contempt of man, / brought near to beast.” old tom is a defense mechanism, and the only one edgar thinks to take. i’ve often joked that edgar could have just… left, but of course, had edgar truly done so, edgar would not be edgar. had zuko been truly happy as a refugee in ba sing se, zuko would not be zuko. 

azula is too cynical. she sees the world as a game of chess, in which ozai is the king (functionally useless but also the most important piece in the game) and herself as the queen (the most powerful and useful player). she sees a world order with a hierarchy, and with cogs in a machine. the best episode of person of interest (4x11) involves harold telling the machine the following: 

You asked me to teach you chess and I’ve done that. It’s a useful mental exercise. And through the years, many thinkers have been fascinated by it. But I don’t enjoy playing. Do you know why not? Because it was a game that was born during a brutal age, when life counted for little. And everyone believed that some people were worth more than others. Kings and pawns. I don’t think that anyone is worth more than anyone else. […] Chess is just a game. Real people aren’t pieces. And you can’t assign more value to some of them than to others. […] People are not a thing that you can sacrifice. The lesson is that anyone who looks on the world as if it was a game of chess deserves to lose. 

additionally, everyone remembers the scene in which azula says the following to long feng: 

Azula: It’s because they haven’t made up their minds. They’re waiting to see how this is going to end.

Long Feng: What are you talking about?

Azula: I can see your whole history in your eyes. You were born with nothing, so you’ve had to struggle, and connive, and claw your way to power. But true power, the divine right to rule, is something you’re born with. The fact is, they don’t know which one of us is going to be sitting on that throne, and which one is going to be bowing down. But I know, and you know. Well?

Long Feng: You’ve beaten me at my own game.

Azula: Don’t flatter yourself. You were never even a player.

it’s an epic scene, and an epic line, but the fact of the matter is, she’s wrong. there is no “divine right to rule.” her worldview is one of imperialism, and as harold tells the machine, such a worldview, wherein some lives are worth more than others, is untenable. 

edgar kills edmund because king lear is a play of worldviews battling it out both on a physical and psychological plane (if there is any difference, anyway). those who survive are kent, albany, and edgar, who value integrity and decency. edmund is not wrong to call custom a plague or nature his goddess. but he navigates this worldview all wrong. edgar and edmund both know that looking to heavens is “the excellent foppery of the world.” they know that there is nothing behind the curtain––that there is no curtain, even. but edmund chooses to take a path of manipulation and violence, and this is what he gets wrong about the world. his worldview is thus untenable, and edgar must destroy it. 

“my father compounded with my mother under the dragon’s tail; and my nativity was under ursa major; so that it follows, I am rough and lecherous.” without the irony inherently imbued in this statement when edmund says it, it is a deeply apt way to describe the worldview on which the fire siblings were raised. zuko accepted ursa’s love, but azula was too busy seeking ozai’s approval. zuko was too trusting. azula was too cynical. but even then, they both knew one thing above all: the secret to survival is in performance. 

#forgive the fact that i dont cite all my claims about edgar but pleas trust that i know this play by heart #lol #also yes person of interest doth fucketh but i am scant to admit that #anon #asks #analysis #zuko #azula #azula&zuko #synthesis #anon thank u for asking this question i love u so much for making me write this #and even if no one gives a shit i refuse to put this under a readmore bc its my favorite thing ive ever done for l4s and yes that includes #townie.mp4 etc etc

[ohnohetaliasues]

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 1}

(Kat)

This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever read, isn’t it?

Am I going to actively want to die? Yes, most likely. But apparently, because I run a blog like this, I can endure suffering.

Flashbacks to Blood Raining Night.

Here we go. We will start with the introduction, written by the onion lord himself.

I want to be direct, my name is Greg. I go by “Onision” online.

Okay, I dunno what it is, but something feels off about this sentence.

This book is made up of events that occurred in my own life mixed with fiction from the made up life of James. James is essentially a better version of myself.

I can’t imagine how good that could be, seeing as the man who wrote this is a child predator and is just an overall piece of hot garbage.

His home, his school & his life all resemble my own at his age.

Don’t ever use a fucking ampersand instead of the word ‘and.’ It’s just bad grammar.

The people James analyzes and is surrounded by are not so unlike those I’ve known as well.

Analyzes?

Why?

I have experienced much of the loss James has however his happier moments are more often than not also mine.

Then write a memoir. Not this.

I want to share my story without it being purely non-fiction.

I mean, some people do this with books about their lives, but this feels... Odd?

I simply felt this approach would make for a far better book. At points I cried while writing this, at others I laughed.

Congratulations.

I don’t care.

Stones To Abbigale is not just a book I wrote, it is a piece of who I am.

That’s a given for all writers, but I still don’t care. 

I’m going to rip this book to shreds.

Okay here we go.

I was asleep until I met her, but when I woke, I learned the meaning of "perfect imperfection."

Is this Onion boy trying to be poetic?

It actually made me want to die.

I've always been the type of person to focus on stars as we spin beneath them, the cool breeze on a sunny day, scattered patches of grass under my feet, the world around me, often forgetting to even glance at the one within.

‘The one within.’

Okay so the way this is written makes those three things seem disconnected. I often do stuff like this when I write, but I’d write it like ‘as we spin beneath them, focus on the breeze on a sunny day, on the scattered patches of grass, etc.’

You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to rewrite that garbage sentence. This is all very waxing poetic and not in a good well structured way.

I had remained emotionally unexplored for so much of my life.

That must’ve been boring, not experiencing human emotions like the rest of us.

You sociopath, you.

It's painful knowing some can go an entire lifetime without understanding their own heart, an internal lock waiting for the right key to change everything.

Yeah, whatever, shut the hell up, you whiny idiot.

This is like an introduction by a teenager who just opened a poetry book and was like ‘yup. I wanna write like that.’

Except you aren’t William Blake or Walt Whitman and you never will be.

Sorry, Onion boy.

Except I’m not.

Die mad about it, grease ball.

It was the first Monday of November. I opened my eyes, blinded by my recently painted wall-to-wall white room. Even my bed frame, constructed of purely metal, was painted white.

Okay, cool. I’m a descriptive writer and I take every chance I can get to mention details, but even I find this description awkward. It feels irrelevant in this situation.

It bounced off the walls causing my eyelids to desperately clamp together. Painting my room like this was a clear act of subtle self-inflicted psychological torture.

Then why in the sweet hell did you do it? Do you enjoy suffering?

Actually, he probably does.

Because this is edgy as hell.

I was going through another phase, from darkness to light, and repeat. Seemed like the story of my life.

This is so edgy I am in physical pain.

You know your symbolism is good when it’s so random that you have to point it out and explain it to your audience.

My mom could see the darker colors were depressing me, I felt comforted by them, but found there were good aspects of both extremes. I was happy to visit either side, they are both so simple. But right now the intense light bouncing from wall to wall felt like it was ripping my mind in two.

Am I an idiot or is that just... word salad?

My mom didn't wake me. My alarm clock sat on my dresser with no explanation for it's failure to function. The clock only illuminated a blank stare with 8:17 written all over it's face. While entirely robotic, I imagined the clock to have the dumbest possible expression, one complementing its failure to behave any way outside its random glitch-infested nature.

That was the worst way to write a personification ever, but okay.

In the reflection of it's plastic face I could see myself unconsciously making the dumb expression I was imaging the clock to have. I laughed in my casual dorky tone and began to get ready to leave home.

I’m not laughing, idiot.

Without breakfast, I left for school with a bogus note in hand to idealistically explain my tardiness.

You... You wrote a fake note?

Do you realize you could get in trouble for that?

You’re an idiot.

I think most of my teachers were too exhausted to worry about small variances in our appearance from time to time. With how low their pay likely was, I imagined there were very few rules most teachers cared about.

That isn’t true at all. Teachers have to pay attention to rules unless they want to get, I dunno, fired.

It was another cold day in Lakewood. The wind hit my eyes forcing tears to form in the corners as I sped along the sidewalk at a no-doubt unreasonable speed.

I cannot imagine any good imagery for this scene. I’m just imagining this gif:

I passed Lauren and Raymon walking the opposite direction, no doubt headed toward the nearby church where all the students go to smoke, make out and hide out till school ends.

Um okay. Does this guy know that if characters don’t have relivance to the story, if they have no reason to be named, than they don’t have to be?

No.

Because he’s a 34 year old man baby.

They seemed so childish as they held hands and smiled excitedly as if they had gotten away with some tremendous crime.

That sentence seems so robotic I genuinely can’t.

Mr. Hanson, my heavy-set, middle-aged history teacher, rolled his eyes as I walked into class. "James, talk to me after class" he said quickly, looking away from me as if I were an undervalued employee who was barely important enough to make eye contact with let alone deliver a full sentence to.

It bothers me so deeply that a new paragraph wasn’t started when this character talked.

"I have a note," I said. He ignored me, and continued his lecture on yet another topic that would not only be completely useless later in life, but wasn't even relevant for even a few seconds after the words left his mouth.

Why is this teacher acting like a petty teenager?

I’m deeply annoyed by this.

And yeah, it’s relevant. You have tests, you idiot. Take notes. And it’s also history, which is, again, relevant.

In conclusion, shut your mouth and stop bitching.

There was only 15 minutes left in the class, but I felt it would be more stimulating to integrate myself into the room to yet again study my classmates' behavior than to sit in a hall watching the rows of scum covered tiles inevitably slide off the decaying walls.

That’s a health code violation, friends.

Or Onion is an awful writer and he thinks describing a school like this is a good idea. My money is on that.

For as long as I remember I've enjoyed seeing how people move around and talk to each other, like they're all animals at the zoo.

Something is wrong with you, friend. Liking to people watch is one thing, but doing shit like this is something else entirely.

Uh, try sociopath-like?

Creepy as hell?

We’ll go with both.

I would try to deliver a more accurate analogy if I felt there was one

Bitch, there is. I can’t name one off the top of my head because reading this makes me feel like my brain is melting out of my ears, but I’m 100% sure there is a better analogy. Even though this feels more like a simile.

but so many of them seemed incredibly unaware of themselves, just living life as if it were some generic predefined routine.

Oh, and you’re so much better obviously, you pretentious bastard.

Sometimes I felt like an alien who had a VIP pass to submerge myself in primitive human culture just for entertainment.

Congratulations, that’s also what you sound like.

I sense everything I can take in around me. The seemingly limitless audible tones, tremors in the voices of growing children rang in my ears. In studying people, I found myself gradually learning to literally feel the various personality types I encountered.

Do you... Do you have psychic powers?

If not, shut your damn mouth.

I hyper analyzed every inconsistent smell, the seemingly random clothing styles, freckles, and assorted hairstyles filled my mind with questions. Trying to rationalize and understand what sequence of events led them to decide who they would become.

You are the most pretentious protagonist I have ever read. I’m half a chapter in and I already fucking hate you.

This character is so poorly written and immediately unlikable. i cannot relate to him at all and if someone does, I suggest you go get some help because how this asshole is behaving doesn’t sound human.

I took favor of categorizing most everyone around me. The socially inept know-it-all, the dumb attention-seeking drama kid

On behalf of all drama kids, go fuck yourself.

and the bleach blonde bimbo who gets overly defensive at the slightest hint of criticism.

Do you mean you?

Onion obviously didn’t let anyone edit this garbage.

Then there were the kids who just hoped no one noticed them at all. There was so much to be seen, to be considered and organized in my mind.

Mhm.

I don’t care.

Class had just ended so I walked over to Mr. Hanson's' desk &

And*

placed the tardy note down in passing. As I walked out with the rest of my class, he called after me. "James! We still need to talk!" I responded but continued to walk outside the room. "I have to be early to my next class! Let's talk tomorrow!"

You’re an asshole.

And I hate you.

I walked quickly down the hall towards my art class, which was awkwardly placed in a trailer outside my clearly poorly funded high school.

Um.

Okay.

On my way to the class a fight had already broken out between two jocks who, no doubt, both had controlling, iron-fisted fathers who brainwashed them into believing conflicts between men are best resolved with the bloodying of their fists.

That’s a bold thing to assume, dear Onion.

These kinds of men plagued my mind with wonder. I could not conceive a scenario in which they could justify their primitive & pointless mentalities yet they would always continue to perpetuate their self-destructive attitudes as if it offered the slightest legitimate benefit.

Oh, shut your pretentious mouth.

Most everyone nearby crowded around the fight. None of them likely cared who was winning, what it was about or how far it went. All they ever seemed to show concern for was their own amusement, always excited to see violence without having to pull out their wallets to pay for it.

Are you joking?

Where are the teachers?

This is complete bullshit.

This is high school, not a fucking fight club.

Does Onion even try to make this believable? Or is he just vomiting all over his keyboard and just accepting whatever nonsense that makes?

As the sounds of flesh collided fist to cheek & chest quickly followed the howls from the surrounding students. They would scream "Oooohhhh!" as if it were sincerely delightful to witness creatures like themselves suffer & fall apart before their eyes.

The use of ampersands is making me lose my goddamn mind.

Even if I had time to stop, I never really took pleasure in seeing strangers hurt each other. Most all fights seemed avoidable and were often initiated for a senseless reason.

Go choke on air. This protagonist annoys me more than any protagonist has. I’m not joking. Fuck this dickwad.

I know, you could say it's more complicated than that, I would like to think it were as well, but reality trumps the way I wish things would be. There's no sense in fighting it when doing so rarely helps anyone.

While this is true, this is worded in a way that’s so pretentious it’s painful and also in a way that paints this protagonist in such a white knight-y way that it makes me want to die.

As I approached my next class the image of Abbi's face illuminated the neon walls of my mind like a projector teasing a theatre screen with fleeting moments of depth & purpose.

That is complete and utter word salad. Stop immediately.

Ever since I met her, she had occupied a part of my consciousness; whenever I wasn't near her I missed her to an unrealistic extent. You could call my longing sad especially considering we had barely talked; she just had a strange effect on me, one no doubt similar to a willful addiction.

That’s called a crush, but the way that was just described is so creepy.

There are people in life which we pass by on a daily basis, barely aware of their existence, but on an exceptionally rare occasion you can find a person who fills an area inside your little world you didn't even realize needed filling.

While that’s technically not untrue, it feels like a lizard person is trying to tell me what having a crush on someone is like.

As I walked up the creaking stairs into my art class trailer I could see Abbi was sitting at her shared-desk, alone, same makeup, hairstyle & general appearance I had thought about repeatedly over the last couple days. She was drawing pictures on her blue-lined paper, distracting herself from the cold that filled the oddly glowing room.

This... This imagery is so fucking weird.

I smiled slightly trying not to be too obvious and sat down on my chilled metal chair positioned a few seats to the left in front of her. Glancing over, I could see she hadn't moved at all, I felt like she didn't even notice me come in.

You aren’t the center of her world, so yeah, she’s focused on something else. That’s just how it is, asshat.

I wanted to inspire some acknowledgment of my existence from Abbi so I opened my mouth to greet her when my fingers brushed up against freshly smeared gum under my desk. "Eeew!" I shouted out on impulse. She looked up at me with a blank expression.

I’ve accidentally touched gum on the bottom of my desk before, as I can imagine everyone has, but I’ve never shouted about it like a lunatic.

Bursting into the room came a group of boys. "Dude I think John's done bro!" one of the other boys laughed, saying "Won't see them for a week at least."

Nobody talks like this. Have you ever spoke to another human?

I looked back at Abbi to see she also didn't react to their outburst. Strangely knowing that her apathy was generalized and impersonal gave me comfort.

There needs to be a comma after ‘strangely,’ but whatever.

Her influence on how I felt was obviously dangerous but I didn't care as no matter how fond I was of the idea that I was not of the world, I knew my place and had no real interest in pretending otherwise.

Explain to me how in the hell that’s dangerous.

Jason, one of the boys energetically praising the fight they had just seen, sat in his seat next to Abbi. I smirked watching her shoulders shift away from him. Her body language sent a loud message that she had the same impression of Jason as I did. He was just another moron, placed on this Earth to live his life completely unexamined,

That word is not used properly in that sentence.

a pawn that had no awareness of its own role let alone that it was just another tiny component within a massive unstoppably twisted game.

Shut your pretentious mouth because that doesn’t make any goddamn fucking sense.

I know it sounds morbid and condescending but my attitude was just something that naturally developed the more I studied human behavior.

Bullshit.

I would be more optimistic but I find doing so would be like walking into a room with no windows and turning out the light. If you refuse to see the world around you for what it is you're just wasting your eyes.

Being optimistic means looking on the good side of things. You’ve heard the glass half empty or half full thing. it’s that. And as someone who jumps between optimism and pessimism, being optimistic isn’t like this at all.

Don’t try to be poetic or funny, Onion. Those are two things that you aren’t.

Art class was about to begin. My teacher, Mrs. Stanley, who looked like she should have retired a ridiculous thirty years ago, approached the front of the room talking about how art is sacred. She also discussed the random object she had us all draw the previous school day and ironically graded it by using her own narrow-minded definition of art.

That isn’t ironic.

I always wondered how teachers could even attempt objectively grading art. Is there any logic behind validating a form of self-expression using a cold black and white mathematical system?

It’s a class where you have to follow the curricula. Shut your damn mouth.

And this is coming from someone who hated her art teacher. But this art teacher was so utterly closed minded that she didn’t accept anyone else’s creative process. She basically told us that if we didn’t follow her process, we weren’t real artists.

"Today I'm going to place you with partners" Mrs. Stanley said as she pulled out sheets of paper outlining our activities to come. "To keep this simple, I'm going to partner you with the person you are currently assigned to share a desk with" she said. I sighed knowing I was bound to be paired up with Alex, a guy I had specifically asked to be seated away from ever since he peed in a jar literally right next to me under our desk, acting like he was so cool for publicly exposing himself while simultaneously urinating.

That... He expected to be treated like he was cool for this?

That’s fucking disgusting.

It happened weeks ago and I still can't figure out what kind of crazy it takes for you to, in the presence of people you barely know but have to see nearly on a daily basis, pee in a jar held in your hand just beneath your desk in the middle of a classroom.

At first when I read this, I thought that the wayit was worded made it sound like Alex forced James to hold the jar while he peed in it, but okay, whatever.

What then? You show it off like you will be praised and accepted as if it were an accomplishment? Alex, despite being borderline mental, was one of my least favorite people to study.

It is actually physically exhausting to read this shit. James is a pretentious asshole.

I couldn't help but feel there was some defect in his mind that invalidated the point of conducting a thorough analysis of him.

This just makes it seem like James has mind reading powers.

He was completely irrelevant when considering the realities of normal human behavior.

Behavior you don’t act according to, you lizard person sociopath.

As I was off on a tangent in my own mind I heard a familiar voice ring out, one that inspired the very same emotion you experience when a song you had forgotten you loved, randomly plays in the background of your daily life. "Can I be paired up with James?" her voice was just as I remembered.

Is this Abbi?

I have a friend who spells her name like this, so I really hate that there’s a character in this shitty book who shares a name with her.

Despite her having not spoken in class in some time, she hadn't changed a note. Abbi had interrupted the teacher just to partner with me, but I asked myself if was it really just to work with me or just to get away from Jason.

Um. Okay.

The teacher, looking irritated but understanding Abbi's discomfort with Jason responded "Alex and Jason, you'll be partners. James, switch seats with Jason" "Thank you!" Abbi said with a slight smile. With a cocky grin Jason stood up and in a comedic fashion smelled his armpit. "Wow, I didn't know I smelled that bad" Jason said as he walked over to sit by Alex.

That isn’t funny and Onion boy isn’t funny.

Approaching Abbi was no doubt a way scarier act in my mind than it was to everyone around me, I felt like my head was burning from the inside out.

That’s a little extreme.

Nevertheless I continued to remind myself that her public outcry to partner with me could have meant nothing. I sat down next to her and did all I could not to turn into a complete dork on her. She reached out and grabbed the project outline that was being passed out. Mrs. Stanley began to read the description of the assignment. "Today you will both be taking something meaningful, but expendable, from your own homes."

If something is meaningful it isn’t expendable. Stop.

Mrs. Stanley looked up and emphasized, "That you own!" then looked back down at her paper. "You will tear those items apart here in class. You will then take those items and, using the adhesives, staples and the strings available in class, find a way to create something new out of those possessions."

That’s actually kind of an interesting idea. But like. Maybe with a cup? I don’t wanna rip apart something I care about.

She looked up and said in a low voice sounding somewhat like Dracula "Two, will become one."

That is unnecessarily creepy. It reads like an innuendo.

Also, what in fresh hell does Dracula’s voice sound like?

Did she say it with a Transylvanian accent? I’m confused.

Jason raised his hand objecting, "All due respect Mrs. Stanley I'm not breaking something of mine for this class."

Jason has the right idea.

She replied putting her hands on her hips, "That's fine Jason. We'll supply you with a toilet paper rolls, we have plenty of extras around here." Jason suddenly looked disturbed and sarcastically spouted "Freaking great!"

Why???

That’s better than ripping apart a t-shirt.

Mrs. Stanley asked, "Are you sure? Your grade shouldn't suffer that much if you two just take Alex's piss jar and tape it to a toilet paper roll. You're already failing this class."

What in the literal fuck?!

You cannot say that to students. No, you can’t say that to anyone.

Jason couldn't believe what she had just said

Same.

and Alex maintained an awkward frozen facial expression with his mouth slightly open in his normal weirdo somewhat robotic fashion.

"Oh my god" Abbi whispered under her breath with a slight smirk. I grinned uncontrollably; just seeing her amused was amazing to me.

That wasn’t really funny, it was just shocking.

I could hear a scream in the back of my mind reminding me my dorkiness and borderline obsession was escaping through my face.

It's not that I couldn't help being in awe of Abbi and basically every little thing she did, I simply didn't want to change how I felt. In a way, she was like your favorite song or book, you could pretend not to like it and in time with the right mental coaching maybe you would sincerely dislike it, but life just felt so much better embracing your condition entirely, letting all your nerdy admiration flow freely.

This just reads like an obsession. I don’t have the energy to actually express how romantic feelings actually feel, but this is terrifying.

Mrs. Stanley continued, "If there's anyone else who has an issue, please take it up with my 1800 number which is?" She put her hand up to the air signaling the students to react but only a couple kids replied aloud with her catch phrase. "1-800-BOO-HOOO" they mumbled.

Sweet Jesus.

So this is what it feels like to lose my mind.

She continued, "Good, now for the rest of class please work with your partner on what you plan to bring and draw up a prototype sketch of what you feel your final piece of art will look like." Mrs. Stanley walked to the back of her room and sat down at her 1950's looking rust-infested desk.

Is this school just a giant health code violation? And what the hell do you mean by ‘1950′s desk?’ All I got when I googled that were pictures of wooden desks.

I would always laugh internally when I looked at the old thing. Maybe it was my way of coping with the fact I attended one of the most run down schools in the state.

I have nothing that isn’t full of curse words and fact checking to say here.

"What are you going to bring James?" Abbi asked.

This sentence is put so Abbi looks like she’s asking if James is going to bring himself without the comma after the word ‘bring.’ Did Onion really not edit his book at all? These are simple and fixable grammatical mistakes.

It was amazing hearing my name pass her lips but I had no time to think, if I didn't respond right away she would think I was totally awkward. "I... have no idea..." I responded. Smiling she said, "I'm going to bring my hamster cage", I asked, "Did he die or something?" she laughed, "No, I never got one, the cage was just a gift from my dad."

But you’re supposed to cut it up.

Hamster cages are made of metal.

Does Abbi just have superhuman strength? Is she going to bring a pair of bolt cutters?

"Your dad didn't get you a hamster... for the cage?" I asked.

My question exactly.

Sometimes you just...

You just gotta give your daughter a hamster cage but no hamster.

She paused and started to lose her smile.

Oh fabulous, she’s one of those characters.

At the first sign of her smile fading I felt a crushing pressure in my chest. "Hopefully you can find something that will work with that," she said. I couldn't help but feel like a total jerk despite not even knowing what I did wrong.

That interaction was so... Weird? Robotic? i don’t know. Something felt wrong about it.

I had the overwhelming urge to fix how she felt so I took a gamble, "Well, I could always bring that weird vibrating thing my mom hides in her drawers all wrapped up in a cloth" I said.

What is wrong with you?

I cannot fathom what made Onion think this joke was funny.

She busted out laughing hysterically as a huge grinned filled my face. I was so happy I could get her to smile again. "Eeew! James!" she continued to laugh as the extent of my grin began to stress my cheeks. I couldn't remember a time when I was this obvious about how I felt.

This... Something is wrong with just... all the dialogue.

And with the formatting. You make a new paragraph when someone starts talking. A 34 year old man should know this. He writes like me when I first started writing, and while this probably means he just started writing, I was 11 years old when I wrote like this.

He is a 34 year old adult. There is no excuse for how bad this formatting and how generally terribly written these interactions are.

Abbi's laughing trailed off and she paused. Turning to me she said, "You... you didn't actu- ally... your moms?"

*Pained groaning.*

I responded, "No, I wouldn't know about that, but I'm glad it made you laugh." She responded, returning to a soft laugh "You're more goofy than I thought James." I sat next to her looking at my fingers interlaced in front of me; my wide smile relaxed but still filled my cheeks with warmth.

This entire chapter, everything here, is so awkwardly written.

As class came to a close Abbi patted me on my arm. I turned and she handed me a note. Instinctively I put it in my pocket and said "See ya tomorrow", she just smiled and walked away.

????

On my way to my next class, I opened the note. I didn't understand why, but it read "NISEONE."

Not knowing what to make of it and with little time, I stuffed it back in my pocket to look over later.

Yeah, that’s cryptic as hell.

Not feeling like skating home,

Oh, we’re really getting into edgy 2000′s shit now.

I got on the bus to see all the normal rejects and misfits waiting. Davis, a short and scrawny kid who had been my best friend since middle school despite being one grade behind me excitedly waved me over.

Oh, good, more terrible characters.

"James! Nice to seeeee you!"

Oh, this bitch needs to die.

he said in seemingly the dorkiest way possible. I smiled as he stood up giving me the window seat, knowing very well by then that I preferred it.

Um. Okay.

As I sat down I began looking out the window, analyzing the little humans running left and right to get on their busses.

Buses*

And I am going to eventually kick your ass for this pretentious bullshit.

Something reached out and caught the corner of my eye. I immediately shifted my head to see what it was and quickly realized it was Abbi standing in the parking lot by some beat-up sedan.

"What'cha looking at James?" Davis asked. Without hesitation I began to respond, "Oh, it's Abbi, she's in my art..." my heart sank as I witnessed a boy I barely knew, named Seth, walk up and kiss Abbi on the lips.

Oh, boo fucking hoo. Get over the fact that she has a life outside of your crush on her.

"James?" Davis said, but by that point his voice was a faint echo in the darkness my mind instantaneously lost itself in. I felt like after a life of numbness I was finally about to truly feel warmth for the first time only to have it all taken away in an instant, leaving me hopeless in the shadows, alone once again.

Cry me a goddamn river.

You angsty pretentious idiot.

Don’t give me angsty word salad about how sad this makes you, I don’t actually care at all.

I looked down at my knees feeling as if I lost all muscle control in my neck.

That isn’t a thing that happens ever when someone is upset.

"Are... you ok?" Davis asked. I responded with hesitation "...I'm... just stupid."

You spoke to her once, you fucking dumbass.

"No you're not. You're one of the coolest guys I know!" Davis replied. I continued my silence as he offered words of encouragement. "Okie dokie, well, you're awesome and should be super happy so if you want to talk, I'm your buddy so... so I'm here to talk."

That’s uh, nice of him.

But the way he’s talking sounds like... almost mechanical? All he’s done since he was introduced has been compliment James.

I was too focused on the con- flict raging in my mind to hear anyone at that point. I couldn't think about anything but Seth kissing Abbi the entire trip home.

Oh, get the fuck over it.

That night my mom was literally just serving lentil beans she prepared on her crock-pot for the billionth time, a fair exaggeration but still, it was excessive to say the least. My sister was behaving as she usually did at the dinner table, talking about how stupid she thought school was and how she couldn't wait for college. "How was work mom?"

I mean, I’m also tired of high school. I’m really done with judge-y teenagers.

I asked trying to keep my mind off the haunting images looping in my mind.

YOU HAVE HAD ONE FUCKING CONVERSATION WITH HER. CRY ME A FUCKING RIVER, YOU BITCH.

Any normal person would express disappointment over the fact that a person they like has a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner in general, not go into a damn depression about it.

"Well, no one at work respects me or listens to me and I generally can't stand it, but you know, we still have food on the table" she said in a stern tone.

That

That is weirdly passive aggressive and mechanical.

My sister barked as food flew out of her mouth, "Well at least it's not high school. I'm learning how to be a successful person from a bunch of low-income losers."

Oh, I guess bitching runs in the family.

My mom replied "Whatever your teachers are, they have full-time jobs, which is more than a lot of people can say." My mom gave my sister Lisa a disap- pointed look. Lisa was well known for showing little respect for hard-working people. To her it didn't matter how much you gave back to society, it only mattered how much money you made.

That’s a very black and white way to look at things.

After the rerun of lentil soup I washed the dishes per my mom's orders and headed to the shower. I sat on the floor of the tub thinking about Abbi, barely feeling the water as it hit my chest.

Sat on the floor... while water hits your chest? Are you like sitting with your back arched so the water can hit your chest?

This imagery is so odd.

I was so consumed with what I had seen that I had completely forgotten the note until that moment. I quickly reached over to my pants resting on the toilette.

Why the fuck did you spell toilet like that?

That’s literally the word for ‘toilet’ but in French. It isn’t a spelling used in English. It just makes you sound even more pretentious.

Also, he reached over to the toilet to grab the note from his pants while he’s in the shower?

It’s gonna get wet, you idiot.

I had hoped I read it wrong the first time and that it would make sense with a second look only to see it read exactly what I gathered in my initial passing glance. "NISEONE"

I fucking hate you, Onion.

This literally looks like you scrambled your screen name up.

Die.

In a fire.

I mumbled to myself. I joked with the idea in my head that she handed me the wrong note but still assumed it wasn't a failed attempt to say "Nice one," which could be taken as a compliment if you were desperate enough.

That joke, while just a little funnier, is still fucking lame.

Seconds into looking at the note my eyes widened, having figured out what it meant, I jumped up slipping to my feet and screamed "YEAH!!!" I had cracked it, only to immediately after feel completely stupid for not having figured it out sooner.

I’m just done functioning.

My mom screamed through the door from her bedroom "WHAT?" I responded "Sorry! Nothing!" I hurried to finish showering.

I’d just assume he got really into jerking off.

I’ll see myself out.

Staring at my phone wearing only a towel, I smiled as I typed in "NISEONE" or "647-3663" into the number keys.

That is the most cryptic and strange way to give someone your phone number.

I assumed we shared the same area code otherwise she likely would have given me a longer sequence of letters and I was right. After two rings I got an answer.
"What do you want?" a disgruntled man's voice asked.

This... This girl gave this guy a home phone number?

I guess that’s fine since this is probably set in the early 2000′s, but it’s still odd.

Like a bad engine struggling to start in a monster movie I clumsily belted out a response "I... uh... I was looking for..." An unenthusiastic female voice in the background said, "Give me the phone." "Whatever" he said dropping phone in front of her.

James can apparently see through the phone, or he wouldn’t know that probably Abbi’s dad did this.

"Hello?" I could recognize the voice now it was Abbi.

Trying to hide my excitement by maintaining a normal tone I said, "This is James." Abbi excitedly screamed

Like how girls screamed in Disney Channel shows?

That’s ridiculous.

and responded "Oh my god you figured it out!" Hearing her optimistic tone I laughed saying, "So... why..." She interrupted. "I was hoping to find out if you figured out what you're bringing to art class."

Why the hell didn’t you just fucking ask? Or give him your regular phone number? This is just unnecessarily complicated.

I said "Oh!" and looked quickly around my room. I couldn't see anything immediately so I just said, "I'll... surprise you!" She then replied "Oh come on, tell me." My eyes locked on to a plausible item for the project. "How about my... bear... I'll bring my bear!"

You’re okay with destroying a teddy bear? Okay, I guess.

I said. She replied "Oh, ok, oh! I have an idea. Instead of the cage, I'll bring in a stuffed animal of mine and we'll make like, a zombie bear."

Sounds fine.

I don’t care.

You guys are fucking boring.

I laughed "Awesome" I said. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow ok?" she replied happily. I answered "Ok, byeee."

I would appreciate it if you would fuck off.

I can’t believe this shit is on GoodReads.

Just before she hung up I could still hear her laughing, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment and a lasting smile as if it were painted across my face.

That’s the end of chapter one?

Oh god, okay.

That was.

Terrible.

The characters are bland and flavorless and I cannot get attached to any of them. I can already tell I’m going to completely despise this.

I’ll see you next time. I need to go think about my life.

~Kat

#self-insert #onision #i want to scream #mod kat #i'm dyin here #what is this #Why am I doing this to myself? #this is terrible #burn this #in a fire #end it #I like literally none of these garbage characters #mary sue #gary stu #huge self insert #like actually end my suffering now #i want to die #Mod Kat reviews stuff #Mod Kat reviews things #stones to abbigale #bad fanfiction #except it's a bad book #bad books

[johnnymundano]

The House That Dripped Blood (1971)

Directed by Peter Duffell

Screenplay by Robert Bloch

Music by Michael Dress

Country: United Kingdom

Running time: 102 minutes

CAST

"Framework"

John Bennett as Detective Inspector Holloway

John Bryans as A.J. Stoker

John Malcolm as Sergeant Martin

"Method For Murder"

Denholm Elliott as Charles Hillyer

Joanna Dunham as Alice Hillyer

Tom Adams as Richard/Dominic

Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews

"Waxworks"

Peter Cushing as Philip Grayson

Joss Ackland as Neville Rogers

Wolfe Morris as Waxworks Proprietor

"Sweets to the Sweet"

Christopher Lee as John Reid

Nyree Dawn Porter as Ann Norton

Chloe Franks as Jane Reid

Hugh Manning as Mark

Carleton Hobbs as Dr. Bailey

"The Cloak"

Jon Pertwee as Paul Henderson

Ingrid Pitt as Carla Lynde

Geoffrey Bayldon as Theo von Hartmann

Jonathan Lynn as Mr. Petrich

NB: I watched this via the 2019 Second Sight UK Blu-Ray release and the picture is really fantastic (technical term there). So, if you were wondering, now you know; this is the copy to own.

The House That Dripped Blood is a British 1970s anthology horror movie from Amicus, and I make no bones about the fact that I am totally partial to that jam, pal. I grew up watching these movies, from a ridiculously unsuitable age, on Friday and Saturday nights with my mum while dad was down the pub. Their ridiculous delights are fused into my brain by the flame of nostalgia, more thoroughly even than those of ‘70s Jonah Hex comics. (And ‘70s Jonah Hex comics are pretty fused in there too. Tony DeZuniga; he da boy!). You came to the wrong place for impartiality, basically. The House That Dripped Blood is horrortastic.

Putting the lie to the spectacularly enticing title there is no actual blood in The House That Dripped Blood, but there is definitely a house. And it’s around this house that the four fear inducing stories revolve. But every proper portmanteau demands a framing device and so the movie starts with the arrival of uppity Inspector Holloway (John Bennett) who has been dispatched by Scotland Yard to investigate the disappearance of horror movie star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) from The House That Dripped Blood. Obviously the house is never referred to as “The House That Dripped Blood” as that would put prospective tenants off; bit of a real estate tip there for you.

Unlike most police investigations, Bennett’s takes the form of people telling him far-fetched stories about the previous occupants as though this might give him a clue as to Henderson’s fate. It’s an interesting approach to policework. Luckily, Bennett, a copper singularly lacking in ratiocination, at no point even begins to wonder how exactly the people telling him the stories know what happened, since most of the people who could have told them end up dead or insane. The answer would be that these are a bunch of punchy shorts scripted by pulp wonder Robert Bloch and the house is just a big old McGuffin to hang them off. And learning that might be a bit too meta for a common movie plod to handle.

First up is Method for Murder wherein debonair horror author Charles Hillyer (Denholm Elliot) rents the house to get some peace in which to write another of his (apparently terrible) potboilers. Unnervingly Hillyer’s new opus concerning Dominic, a strangler with a bowl haircut and British Teeth©™®, starts to bleed into his reality, and the possibility that he may be losing his mind may not be the worst option on offer. Denholm Elliot (1922 – 1992) was never a star, but he was a fantastic actor all round; his particular forte was a kind of nervy self-assurance constantly on the cusp of crumbling into wild-eyed desperation. The kind of thing it takes a lengthy, poorly constructed sentence to describe in English but in German is probably encompassed by a single word that sounds like someone cheerfully stamping on chicken bones. Elliot’s very good at it, whatever it is, and he gets plenty of chance to demonstrate it here, as Bloch’s plotting turns the screws until he pops. Everyone else is very good, particularly Robert Lang as Dr. Andrews, who is the perfect oily 1970s personification of a psychiatrist. And it would be remiss of me to omit to mention Denholm Elliot’s superb salmon pink shirt. Personally, I find fashion is one of the finest characters in British ‘70s horror movies, and in The House That Dripped Blood fashion is on fine form.

As is soon apparent in Waxworks when Philip Grayson (the always marvellous Peter Cushing) sports a spellbindingly classy cravat and jacket affair. His gobstopper red smoking jacket is also quite special, but it’s the cravat ensemble which carries him through most of the episode and takes the trophy. This eerie creepster is about a retired financier who rents the house to brood while listening to records and looking at a photo of a woman from his past. When he isn’t posing by the weir in a melancholy way Philip walks into town where there are actual shops (this is before the Internet and 10 years of Tory government had reduced the English high street to charity shops, boarded up windows and Gregg’s The Bakers) and finds the world’s most morbid waxworks. Haunted by the display of Salome (who is supposed to look like the lady from his past; you have to take this on trust since the waxwork isn’t exactly life-like) Philip is visited by his old chum Neville (the ever forthright Joss Ackland), who has a penchant for neck scarves that resemble an acid trip made silk. Both men have the woman in common but prefer to elliptically skirt around the troublesome issue and pretend it doesn’t matter anymore; Bloch knows nobody does emotional cowardice quite like the English. Soon Neville meets Salome too and the blokes race each other to the horrific finish. Joss Ackland is great, obviously, but it’s worth noting that, as ever, Cushing puts in a performance far more moving and tragic than the material deserves, and so makes it sting all the more. Fans of ‘70s unconscious misogyny might risk getting all turgid since Waxworks is all about a woman who ruins men’s lives but doesn’t actually feature a real woman. Ultimately though such people will have to go home empty handed as it’s clearly the men doing it to themselves and blaming it on a woman, which is a pretty clever bait and switch by Bloch.

Bloch’s quietly understated intelligence is even better demonstrated by Sweets to the Sweet which looks like it’s about witchcraft but is actually about the damage a lack of love can do to a child. Widower John Reid (Christopher Lee) moves into the house so he can commute to the city and do his business in whatnot and whathaveyou and have his child Jane (Chloe Franks) home-schooled in a controlled environment. Reid is all about control and Christopher Lee is ideally suited to the role, bringing all his not inconsiderable clipped prissiness to bear without totally eliminating Reid’s humanity. Reid loves Jane but he also fears her. But why? (why does he fear her, not why does he love her; c’mon, people, work with me here). It’s a conundrum Jane’s newly appointed teacher Ann Norton (Nyree Dawn Porter) unwisely seeks to solve. Plenty in this one to chew on viz a viz kids, parental responsibility and the need to keep a close eye on candles and razor shavings. Probably enough for a dissertation in fact, but, putting the chalk and elbow patches to one side, it is mostly about witchcraft because that’s spooky fun; no one wants to watch an unvarnished 20 minute segment on the emotional abuse of a child in a horror movie. That’s what Home Alone (1990) is for.

Seeking to send the audience out into the ‘70s night to catch the last bus on a bit of a high, the final terror tale, The Cloak, spoofs about in an enjoyably goofy fashion. Prima-donna horror star Paul Henderson (Jon Pertwee) moves into the house to be near the filming of his new (apparently terrible; probably based on a script by Charles Hillyer) movie. Being a great believer in authenticity and disappointed by the cloak provided by the doddering wardrobe mistress,  Henderson sources a suitably eerie item of attire from Theo von Hartmann (Geoffrey Bayldon), a ridiculously freaky tat shop owner with a suspiciously Teutonic moniker. When wearing the cloak   Henderson’s portrayal of a vampire becomes a little bit too authentic for comfort and he learns a steep lesson in the Hollywood food chain from his comically pneumatic co-star Carla Lynde (Ingrid Pitt). It’s slight stuff but pretty funny with everyone camping it up like a cub scout sleep out will be arriving imminently (camping; tents; scouts; c’mon, folks). I vaguely recall reading that Pertwee claimed the whole movie was supposed to be in this mirthful mode, and that he based his character on co-star Christopher Lee, but didn’t tell Lee (obviously). If I ever get the time to wade through the multitude of extras on the Blu-ray maybe I’ll find confirmation. As it is, watching the movie was pleasure enough for now. But like I said I’m practically marinated in this stuff. Nevertheless I persist in the belief that people who haven’t been knocking about for half a century would still find something to enjoy in The House That Dripped Blood; even if it’s just that cracking picture quality.

#The House That Dripped Blood #Movies #Horror #Anthology #Amicus #Peter Cushing #Christopher Lee #Denholm Elliot #Nyree Dawn Porter #Robert Bloch #Peter Duffell #1971 #The 1970s #United Kingdom #Ingrid Pitt

[land-of-brains-and-chocolate]

god it WILL NOT stop bothering me until i talk about it. the way we got here. it’s not just about the book anymore, not at all, and it’s certainly never been about “shipping”, at this point it’s how helpless the tactics of the guy make me feel.

step one: refer to people who have read previous venom books and noticed the trend throughout the nineties to portray eddie and the symbiote as a man and an agender alien in an ambiguously or not-so-ambiguously romantic relationship, which was picked up on and completely unambiguously canonised in the very last run, consistently refer to these people as “shippers”, lovingly condescend to them, do not ever treat “the ship” as existing beyond their imagination

[I LOVE THAT YOU GUYS EXIST]

result: make people forget that this is a complete misrepresentation and he has received no criticism whatsoever for “not making a ship canon” because that is not what he did, he decanonised it and then denied doing so and painted everyone it ever meant something to as essentially deluded - and, considering that that’s all they are, he’s being awfully kind and accommodating, isn’t he?

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step two: actively seek out these no-good shippers on tumblr! tell them that you’re watching them! read their detailed posts in which they express their grievances about your comic book to their friends and misrepresent their points on your twitter so your bajillion followers can affirm that Those People are categorically wrong about everything!

[EDDIE IS CODEPENDENT]

people are mad at him because he said eddie was codependent! not because he’s reframing the extremely rare story of a troubled queer relationship that was ultimately still a redemptive force in these characters’ lives as an unhealthy compulsion that corrupts, hm, what a fresh and unfamiliar take, no reason why this would strike a nerve - and, recently, of course, as something inherently abusive, every bit of hope and change for the better vile and fake.

literally just start vaguing about people’s personal tumblr blogs on your professional twitter account with the little, little blue checkmark and everything, use that to make passive-aggressive references to people’s posts! why not!

[LOVE EACH OTHER]

people talk about how they like a symbiote and its host getting along (and they did, that very night, talk quite a lot about ngozi)? that is so dumb and lame.

[EVERYTHING IS AWESOME]

people get sick of edgy shock factor writing that throws one dark theme after another at them without treating any of them with the consideration they deserve? people expect some moments of levity in a venom book?

they’re asking for stories with no conflict where nothing bad ever happens! but it’s okay, he knows better, he knows you just don’t know what you want! it’s not like endless sadness is just as likely to be dreadfully boring or unintentionally hilarious as endless happiness!

result: o w n e d god he sure is shutting down every point no one has ever made

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step three: literally get so mad at people on tumblr talking about your comic that you not only boil their opinions down to THE SHIIIIP but literally say that their opinions don’t matter because they literally would never say it “to your face” literally because it’s “easy to be brave on tumblr”

literally

say these words

[IT’S EASY TO BE BRAVE ON TUMBLR]

call people chicken shits for NOT talking to you directly! and then! BLOCK everybody who talks to you directly! or quote retweet them so your followers can descend like vultures! actually acknowledge that it takes bravery to interact with you if you’re in the Tumblr Demographic, you know, one of Those People, and frame yourself as in the right for it???

am i losing my mind???

[SIX PEOPLE ON TUMBLR]

get so mad at people on tumblr talking about your comic that you not only claim they’re the only people ever to talk badly of it but imply that you’re one step away from namedropping the specific perpetrators. that’s not ominous at all!

it’s an age-old question: how many times does one of marvel’s top writers with legions of fans have to imply his antagonistic awareness of your specific existence before you’re on a first name basis? and also paranoid?

result: stir shit. be a shit stirrer. faint when your shit stirring does in fact stir shit. you can’t go “you would never” and be surprised when people do, you... can’t...

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step four: whip out your ally card... to whip the people you’re supposed to be allied to with it. try to use your knowledge of queer issues to shut down actual queer people.

[I DON’T THINK IT’S APPROPRIATE TO ASSUME GENDER]

either that, or straight-up make a “did you just assume my gender” joke. i can’t find the original tweet anymore, so it’s possible it was that and he deleted it because it was too blatant, lol.

result: MAYBE YOU GUYS WERE THE PROBLEMATIC ONES ALL ALONG

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes!

step five: remember that interview where he outright stated that he just wants to, just to be the definite venom run? just to put the biggest dent in canon he can? just to break everybody’s toys and emerge victorious as the one person with the valid take on venom?

yeah, those things become more noticeable in the actual book, over time, and acceptance of that is, uh, not universal? not everybody’s up for him spending several issues in a row on e s t a b l i s h i n g  d o m i n a n c e by having eddie sit around as other characters tell him that a ton of stuff other writers from michelinie to thompson to costa to kaminski to slott to jenkins have done actually sucked and was wrong and fake and never happened? through retcons that make no sense, like, factually don’t fit?

people don’t like you walking back character and relationship development to further your end goal of recasting the symbiote as the personification of addiction and abuse instead of itself a survivor of extreme abuse who has been constantly denied personhood in a way that is frighteningly resonant and who has been going through a genuine redemption arc for years now?

people don’t like you acting like eddie never had a reason for being who he is before and you had to make one up? one that doesn’t fit the character at all, which you didn’t realise because you apparently thought the character had no characterisation before you came along?

you can imagine how these things might spark nerd rage?

and you can probably imagine who this nerd rage was blamed on, yeah?

these criticisms inherently require knowledge of venom canon, because they’re largely about disrespect for it, these criticisms are not related to shipping of any kind - but of course the only thing people could possibly be mad about is the "ship", the only ones making a fuss are those “shippers”, those casuals, Those People who only care about One Thing and don’t understand the real gritty reality of the, god you get it i’m making fun

[I KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT]

you’re the only one, don. it’s true.

and i know, i know for a fact, that he’s been aware of criticism from other groups all along, that he was, for example, witness to this livestream that spends like a solid hour a month mercilessly dragging him through the dirt, and you know what the extent of his response was?

thanks for checking the book out.

that’s it. that’s all. this guy hasn’t gotten any less loud about criticising him, either. wishing for his book’s cancellation and retconning. but nothing more. he gets to keep to himself. he is #valid.

people have been taking the piss out of him on youtube, on reddit. only tumblr ever earned his ire. only tumblr gets namedropped at convention panels.

and now, now more than ever? you better believe your regular run-of-the-mill nerds, straight, male, utterly uninterested in the icky stuff, everything, are mad. almost everyone who’s truly tits deep in venom lore is mad.

and so he’s said he’s received threats. and i’m sure he has. i’ve received threats. you’ve received threats. it’s never okay. it sure as shit never helps to send them.

he’s gotten a lot of fucking inappropriate personal vitriol! lots of it actually “ship”-related! i’m categorically against contacting the guy for any reason!

but who is to blame? who do people accept as being to blame? who do news outlets report on as being to blame? when, i presume, not every single one of them actually went “i’m doing this specifically because i’m a (thunder clap) shipper”? when large-scale retcons are literally always met with nerd rage? when a shipper-less fandom probably still would’ve had threats?

[THIS IS INSANE]

[IT’S THE SHIPPERS]

result: if all criticism = “shippers”, and “shippers” = harassment, then everyone who has no actual idea of what’s going on but who doesn’t like “shippers” is automatically on his side and nobody who isn’t a “shipper” wants to risk the association by criticising him.

get this stuff out to his followers, to news outlets, to people completely uninvolved and contextless, and watch the bile run over everywhere because lots of people are ready to accept this narrative in comic book spaces.

have people in the replies and comments eagerly discussing how this is more proof that c+o+m+i+c+s+gate was right and they’re the only reasonable ones. how disgusting and crazy "shippers” are. how donny should keep doing his best to trigger the gays. there’s no pushback against these ideas.

and i’m so fucking stuck between wanting to defend the man, wring my hands and apologise on behalf of the other These People, because i don’t see anything justifiable in their actions, and in being... just... just so frustrated... with everything... with throwing everyone out to the dogs... and claiming that he doesn’t mean to... when he has this whole history of belittling "shippers” specifically... of making sure their public image is that of people who just don’t know what they’re talking about and are in no way worth empathising with... of only drawing attention to the aggressive ones and blocking the reasonable ones

when he literally only stands to benefit from doing all this. 

this is massive amounts of free positive pr.

this makes him essentially immune to criticism of any kind.

evaluation: a reason to harass him? no! really kind of manipulative? yes! 

i forgot! somewhere along the line, he did do something very good and disavowed association with co/mics/ga/te!

[C0M1C5G8]

why the fuck am i censoring? tumblr search stopped working decades ago.

anyway, it should come as no particular surprise why these people assumed he would side with them. not that any high profile writer who values his standing would, really. are there any? maybe there are, i’m not up to date on this drama.

i just think it’s funny - genuinely not his fault, but hilarious - that this was apparently enough to inspire a “boycott”? and it was a fart in the wind?

which is the least surprising thing ever because there is actually nothing whatsoever to hold these people’s ire to be found in venom? excluding aliens, there has been one real and present character who isn’t a white guy in 11 issues? it is actively less queer than it was before? donny has never caved to the essjaywoo pressure in any way, shape or form? what were they... thinking? it’s almost like these people are dumb?

all they've done is ensure that, without it actually doing anything, venom gets the commendation for being A Comic The Gators Don't Like?

anyway.

what do we do moving forward? i don’t know. nothing. not harassing anyone. keep being salty on tumblr. do not engage him. i think i’m more about stalling the chain reaction he’s caused than the man himself. if you’re not a “shipper”, of course, keep posting your criticism, maybe stand up for “shippers” who are being dogpiled over genuine criticism, don’t let people say This Is All Proof Of How You Can’t Have Queer Content Because Queers Are Crazy.

and be nice to mike costa.

#i feel a lot better actually #it sure took a lot of words to achieve that

[citizenscreen]

When you find out Turner Classic Movies (TCM) is spotlighting la grand dame of movies as their Star of the Month in November, you know you have a lot to be thankful for. Few actors can help you take your mind off your troubles more effortlessly than Bette Davis and few could be as bitchy doing it. Bette Davis was a gem. I invite you let me know what your favorite Bette Davis movies are as you watch them on TCM. I’m @CitizenScreen on Twitter, Citizen Screen on Facebook, or simply leave a comment down below.

The TCM Bette Davis month-long festival begins on Tuesday, November 5 with films starring Davis from the 1930s. Each week features a different time period of her career through the 1960s. I’m particularly excited about the Davis films I’ve yet to see like William Dieterle’s Fog Over Frisco (1934) and Bretaigne Windust’s June Bride (1948), but the month is replete with Davis standards everyone must see. To me this is a perfect opportunity to turn people into classics fans. Bette Davis has the kind of presence that makes it impossible to ever forget her.

“That’s me: an old kazoo with some sparklers”

I should mention that William Wyler’s The Letter, one of my favorite Bette Davis films will not air as part of the November festival. It will be featured on TCM in December instead. During this festival, however, you will be treated to such enduring classics as Jezebel, Dark Victory, All About Eve and cult favorites like What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? in addition to many less known features plus a few surprises. As you plan for family gatherings, include a Bette Davis movie or two or three. They’ll bring you closer together.

in ALL ABOUT EVE

in JEZEBEL

in MARKED WOMAN

in DARK VICTORY

in DEAD RINGER

in OF HUMAN BONDAGE

  There are a few other interesting festivals on TCM in November: Wednesdays will feature movies celebrating the 100th anniversary of the American Society of Cinematographers, Dennis Miller and Friends offers an eclectic array of films from various eras, and daily spotlights include the films of the great John Ford, to name a few happenings. It will be a busy month for movie fans. Have fun.

Quotable Davis:

Bette Davis remains one of the most quotable Hollywood figures in history. At least by my estimation and with good reason as you’ll see. I can’t resist her and offer some of my favorite Davis quotes about life, the film industry, Hollywood players, acting and Bette Davis. This should hold you over from Tuesday to Tuesday during her Star of the Month tribute.

I’d marry again if I found a man who had fifteen million dollars, would sign over half to me, and guarantee that he’d be dead within a year.

Old age is no place for sissies.

Everybody has a heart. Except some people.

I was a person who couldn’t make divorce work. For me, there’s nothing lonelier than a turned-down toilet seat

I’m the nicest goddamn dame that ever lived.

With the newspaper strike on, I wouldn’t consider dying.

I am just too much.

From the moment I was six I felt sexy. And let me tell you it was hell, sheer hell, waiting to do something about it.

[referring to her parents’ divorce when she was 7] Of course I replaced my father. I became my own father and everyone else’s.

[on Greta Garbo] Oh, Garbo was divine. Soooo beautiful. I worshipped her. When I became a star, I used to have my chauffeur follow her in my car. I always wanted to meet her.

Acting should be bigger than life. Scripts should be bigger than life. It should all be bigger than life.

I never did pal around with actresses. Their talk usually bored me to tears.

There was more good acting at Hollywood parties than ever appeared on the screen.

Hollywood always wanted me to be pretty, but I fought for realism.

In this business, until you’re known as a monster you’re not a star.

Today everyone is a star – they’re all billed as ‘starring’ or ‘also starring’. In my day, we earned that recognition.

[about Katharine Hepburn‘s tie for the 1968 Oscar with Barbra Streisand] I wanted to be the first to win three Oscars, but Miss Hepburn has done it. Actually it hasn’t been done. Miss Hepburn only won half an Oscar. If they’d given me half an Oscar I would have thrown it back in their faces. You see, I’m an Aries. I never lose.

My favorite person to work with was Claude Rains.

[on John Wayne] I certainly would have given anything to have worked with John Wayne. He’s the most attractive man who ever walked the earth, I think.

[on Errol Flynn] He was just beautiful . . . Errol. He himself openly said, “I don’t know really anything about acting,” and I admire his honesty because he’s absolutely right.

Davis’ most memorable quotes pertained to Joan Crawford with whom she shared a legendary rivalry.

[on working with Joan Crawford in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962)] We were polite to each other – all the social amenities, ‘Good morning, Joan’ and ‘Good Morning, Bette’ crap – and thank God we weren’t playing roles where we had to like each other. But people forget that our big scenes were alone – just the camera was on me or her. No actresses on earth are as different as we are, all the way down the line. Yet what we do works. It’s so strange, this acting business. It comes from inside. She was always so damn proper. She sent thank you notes for thank you notes. I screamed when I found out she signed autographs: ‘Bless you, Joan Crawford.’

[After hearing that Joan Crawford cried copiously over “Dark Victory”] Joan always cries a lot. Her tear ducts must be very close to her bladder.

[Of her longtime rival] We must hand it to her. Where she came from and all that–she accomplished *much*. She became a movie star, and I became the great actress. There is of course a need for both in this business, but you have to know *when* to put a stop to the nonsense that goes with the job. Stars are people *too*. They have to eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom too, without applause or a standing ovation. But I don’t *think* Joan Crawford ever sleeps. She never *quits* being Joan Crawford. I find that tedious and quite insane.

I was not Miss Crawford’s biggest fan, but, wisecracks to the contrary, I did and still do respect her talent. What she did not deserve was that detestable book written by her daughter. I’ve forgotten her name. Horrible. I looked at that book, but I did not need to read it. I wouldn’t read trash like that, and I think it was a terrible, terrible thing for a daughter to do. An abomination! To do something like that to someone who saved you from the orphanage, foster homes, who knows what. If she didn’t like the person who chose to be her mother, she was grown up and could choose her own life. I felt very sorry for Joan Crawford, but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate my pity, because that’s the last thing she would have wanted, anyone being sorry for her, especially me.

[when told by director Robert Aldrich that the studios wanted Joan Crawford as her co-star for Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964)] I wouldn’t piss on Joan Crawford if she were on fire.

[on Joan] She has slept with every male star at MGM except Lassie.

Why am I so good at playing bitches? I think it’s because I’m not a bitch. Maybe that’s why [Joan Crawford] always plays ladies.

[on the death Joan] You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good . . . Joan Crawford is dead. Good.

[Joan Crawford] and I have never been warm friends. We are not simpatico. I admire her, and yet I feel uncomfortable with her. To me, she is the personification of the Movie Star. I have always felt her greatest performance is Crawford being Crawford.

The best time I ever had with Joan Crawford was when I pushed her down the stairs in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

“I have been uncompromising, peppery, intractable, monomaniacal, tactless, volatile, and oftentimes disagreeable. I suppose I am larger than life.”

  Bette Davis Spotlighted on TCM in November When you find out Turner Classic Movies (TCM) is spotlighting la grand dame of movies as their Star of the Month in November, you know you have a lot to be thankful for.

#Bette Davis #TCM

[adhdusagi]

Princess Tutu episodes 14-end

I watched the entire second half of the series in one day because I make good life choices

Previously on Princess Tutu Watch:

Okay I can get back to Tokyo Mew Mew now

+++++++++++++++++++

It was a lie, I could NOT

EPISODE, UH, FUCK……… 14! - The Raven

asdklsdhflhdl (google docs stop capitalizing my keysmashes) they’re bringing back “once upon a time there was a man who died”!!!!!! Honestly that might be one of my favorite lines in this whole show

Gotta love the sarcasm in “and they lived happily ever after”

The theme song…… it’s so good

Oh nooooooooooooooo

This scene is literally just the “I’ve got a headache that comes and goes” meme

Fakir you complete dork. You’re all dorks

“Princess Tutu and a crocodile are totally different” you tell ‘im, Mytho

Duck speaks so much more regularly than the other main characters? I mean, there’s Fakir over there like “Shall we go?” and Duck saying things like “I’m gonna be late!” and using “like” and “stuff”... I mean, I know this is the dub, but

Duck why are you using Fakir’s dumb excuses omg

Lilie is just the personification of my negative thoughts

BUT WHAT DID MYTHO TELL FAKIR

Awwwwwwww Duck, no

They’re in a terrifying Raven Dimension with like, ominous music and people wailing in the background and meanwhile Kraehe and the Raven are just having like, a normal conversation

Also, are the white feathers supposed to be like, what’s trapping the Raven there?

Duck please

Wait, Princess Tutu transformed on her own!

Episode 15 - Coppelia

Also, watching Fakir try and fail to stop Mytho from jumping out the window is Pain

Lilie you are a Strange Child

STEALTH DUCK RETURNS!

Oh no?? Fakir doesn’t want to get Mytho in trouble???

alsdfksfh the entire student population is Here For The Drama

Duck don’t yell in the library

Fakir just doesn’t make good decisions

Oooh that doesn’t look good

Sad Kraehe Theme Alert

You “just happened” to do a lot of things, Lilie

Omg Lilie “Want to just happen to go see?”

Rue just shows up to trash talk Fakir for a minute and then leaves

I say as if I’m not in So Much Pain

Yeah! Every single time Princess Tutu transformed in the first season, it was because Drosselmeyer said something, but now she’s transforming on her own!

Oh no Mytho

Also I like how Tutu doesn’t just flat-out say “you don’t actually love him” and instead is just like “how about you try doing things you enjoy with the guy you like instead of giving him Your Actual Heart”

Episode 16 - The Maiden’s Prayer

Wait is Angry Narrator back or did the other narrator just regain the heart shard of Withering Scorn?

Lilie isn’t even interested in the love triangle, she just wants Duck and Pike to fight

Is that Goatette

“So pretty…. What? Oh yeah I meant the flowers of course haha” Duck

Such a serious child

“Love only me, hate everyone else”/“The prince who loves me and me alone”

This child is amazing

It was such a good decision to give Fakir a little sister. A good decision for everyone involved

aslfsdjhklgdlghdjghfdklkdkalh Kraehe told him that Duck would suffer if she knew what was happening with Mytho so Fakir isn’t going to tell herrrrrrrrrr Fakir please don’t internalize that!! You are breaking my heart sir

Oh my god it wasn’t Goatette it was the sloth

*The Can Can plays loudly over a sloth just kinda hangin out*

Episode 17 - Crime and Punishment

This may or may not have been the last episode I watched the first time I watched this show?

“Eyes of truth” huh?

This dumbass child

Femio, from the other side of the school grounds: “DID SOMEBODY SAY ‘PRINCE’????”

What the Fuck are you doing with your hands, kid

Why are you a cow

Honestly as over-the-top as Femio is he is also simultaneously the most realistic middle-schooler in this entire show

Oh my god he’s on probation

I’m sorry I’m just talking about Femio but he’s hilarious

Truly a Grade A Idiot

What is he even doing with his life

I’ve become Lilie

These characters have emotional crises over people saying the stupidest things and tbh I relate to that

Oh dear!

The thing is, Femio would be really annoying in real life, but in a tv show he’s just amusing

Rue’s FACE, she’s so done

I like how Duck can tell which building Rue’s in just by the amount of crows around it

Tbh all the students probably have noticed what’s going on, they just think it’s some kind of weird performance art thing. Wouldn’t be out of character for this school

Fakir and Uzura really are siblings, I love this

The best part about this episode is it’s this completely ridiculous person unintentionally getting in the middle of everybody’s emotional issues

“I feel kinda like something happened, and kinda like it didn’t” Duck you are absolutely correct

And of course the Aquarium is good once again

Episode 18 - The Wandering Knight

Incidentally, how old are these kiddos? We know Mytho is older than Duck, so Fakir and Rue probably are too?? But like, probably only by a year? Who even knows what their actual ages are

I mean, Duck is a duck so

It’s! The trees from the opening!

I don’t know if I’ve asked this before, but why does Fakir have a horse?

Oh my god Lilie

Can everybody STOP picking on Fakir for being afraid to die? He is 14, leave him alone

Ahiru is trying so hard to be helpful, give her a chance Fakir

Once again Rue shows up to get in a burn on Fakir and then leave

I swear every time the Aquarium plays in this show

Oh noooooooo Ruuuuueeeeeeee

Literally Protect All Of These Characters

Save These Children From Their Own Emotional Issues

FAKIR PLEASE

Pride is absolutely the worst feeling Mytho could get back right now?

“There’s something sinister going on that I’m not a part of!” And that really gets to you doesn’t it Dross. I bet it’s really… grinding your gears!!!

(why do I feel so proud of insulting a fictional character)

Episode 19 - A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Wow we really are starting this one off on a sinister note (it’s Drosselmeyer’s revenge on me for that pun)

Of course he can’t tell you, he doesn’t fuckin know what’s going on

Fakir please stop basing your entire identity around being a knight

Oh no, Mytho’s regained the heart shard of Basing Your Entire Identity Around Upholding A Role

I wonder if Hermia being tall is like, a meta Shakespeare joke, cause in the play Helena’s really tall and Hermia’s really short, but in every production I’ve seen it was the other way around

Rue stop projecting your insecurities onto your boyfriend

Ohhhhhhhh dear

Finally someone tells all the crows hanging around to shut up

Oh my god she really is super tall

Or Ahiru’s just super short

I am learning so much about ballet mimes

Cool bird shadows

Whoa, different raven background. And the Raven isn’t speaking with him this time? What does it mean

On no, Tutu

Hahaha oh no

Aaahaha they’re the same

THEY EVEN DO THE SAME ARM-FLAILY THING

Episode 20 - The Forgotten Story

ALRIGHT, TIME FOR THE FAKIR’S SAD BACKSTORY EPISODE

Raetzel: *walks in*

Uzura: And where do you fit in the shipping chart, ma’am

THIS is a High Quality Directatorial Decision

Oh no Duck. oh no she’s so earnest nooooo

It is just Extremely Wrong to see Mytho dancing to something besides Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

Mr. Cat can hear the word “wedding” from three floors up

Oh my GOD they put broken heart stickers on the window

I mean, I say they but we all know it was Lilie

Again, Duck knows exactly where shit’s going down just because that’s where all the crows are

Oh no!

Everybody needs to stop giving Fakir shit Right Now. Everybody needs to stop thinking it’s a bad thing that Fakir didn’t fucking Die, and that includes Fakir OKAY????

I’ve been thinking… Raven Mytho keeps saying things like “people only want love because they want to be loved” and I wonder… if that was sort of his experience as a prince. Or maybe I’m just getting this mixed up with Utena lol. But it does seem like a genuine issue he has as opposed to just something he says to manipulate people. Hm.

Episode 21 - The Spinners

Every time the narrator says “once upon a time there was a man who died” I Will Flip

Duck tries to lean nonchalantly against a door, it goes about how you’d expect

Duck that’s not how writing works (ughgfjdghskjkgf my pain)

AW NO

Oh no Duck is too relatable

UUAAAAAA TREE GHOST TREE GHOST

“Follow my every order and be prepared to die if you should fail” it’s almost like you WANT me to hate you. FAKIR DOESN’T NEED THIS

See Duck agrees with me

PETITION FOR PEOPLE TO LEAVE FAKIR THE FUCK ALONE THAT MEANS YOU TREE GHOST

Ohshit it’s that old guy from the bookshop???

Uzura is NOT “unrelated”, obviously she is Fakir’s baby sister

“I’m just watching again” oh no Duck

Autor what the Fresh Heck are you doing to Fakir

YOU ARE NOT FINE?????????

Honestly Fakir needs to get in touch with his emotions, not get sleep deprived and hallucinate in a field

This tree is saying things Edel said??? Was Edel made from the wood of this tree?????? Oh my god???????????

Anyway that was Intense

Listen, Raven Mytho has real issues and you can fight me on this

Ah, I see Dross is practicing the time-honored authorial tradition of “If the Story Isn’t Working, Hit It With a Wrench”

Episode 22 - Crown of Stone

But who’s going to protect Fakir huh? Answer me that, Duck

One big-ish happy familyyyyyyyyy

I needed this life advice tbh

Aaaaaah Uzura’s talking to Rue!

“Are you the Rue we’re worried about?” I love how she just included herself in that

Autor, I’m……. not sure you want the tree ghost cult to acknowledge you

Uhm, I’m pretty sure Autor doesn’t fit into the shipping chart and I think Uzura would agree with me

Ah fuck!!! Fakir turn around

Wait it’s an owl on a grandfather clock?? Is that actually a thing? These watchnotes are coming full circle

“I want people to love me, but is it okay to just be loved?” yep, the prince is having issues

Autor, I’m pretty sure Ahiru is figuring all that out right now

And like, the Book Men totally know it too, so

HOLY CRAP THIS SEQUENCE

AND THE MUSIC THE MUSIC IS PERFECT

SKLAFDJKVHFJK;JKLSdf;DSLKJFAKSDAKFJHFKLJJFGKLHGJFHSDLJ

I love this show

EPISODE 23 - Marionette

OH! OH! IT’S THE MUSIC EDEL ALWAYS PLAYED BUT SPED UP! That’s actually kinda creepy!

Anyway now I know why I’m so protective of Fakir, we’re both writers who can’t write anything

Oh noooooooooooo Rue

Oooooooooooh don’t like that

Ruuueeeeeeeeee please don’t stab your boyfriend we’ve been over this

Incidentally, hulu needs to quit it with these bogus commercial placements

Drosselmeyer: How dare you try to resolve your emotional problems!

Dross that’s called character development

Hahahaha joke’s on you Dross!

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I! LOVE! THEM!

No of course your heart is lovey-dovey Uzura! Your heart is the lovey-dovey-est!!!

Incidentally, Autor is That Guy who says just because you haven’t finished/published anything you’re not a Real Writer. And he is Wrong

Episode 24 - The Prince and the Raven

Okay, just from this title I know I won’t be able to handle this

THIS ISN’T EVEN THE PENULTIMATE EPISODE

YOU ARE HITTING ME WITH ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A MAN WHO DIED RIGHT OUT OF THE GATE I CANNOT BELIEVE

Okay but and then this story explains all of Raven Mytho’s emotional issues as well???

*sigh* Autor……. Fakir literally just told you his motivation is to protect people and you’re still going on about controlling the fates of all mankind… are you sure you’re not Drosselmeyer’s direct descendent?

Rue don’t go into the crow building

Honestly I’m still dying over the fact that you can tell where things are happening purely based on which building all the crows are at today

Tiny Rue is breaking my heart

UUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAA TINY RUE IS DOING BALLET

Omg Rue in the beginner’s class!

Oh noooo Uzura’s saaaaad

I KNOW I’ve heard this songgggggggg

THAT WAS A BIT OF THE FOSSILS FROM CARNIVAL OF THE ANIMALS???

Okayokayokay so it’s not Carnival of the Animals but DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS it’s another piece by Saint-Saens and DO YOU KNOW what that piece is called????? fuckin Danse Macabre!!!!! I am immediately filled with a sense of foreboding!!!

The music choices in this show are going to destroy me one day

HOLY CRAP????

I can’t believe so goddamn much happened in this episode???

Episode 25 - The Dying Swan

I’m not rrrrrrrrreadyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Not even the narrator’s obvious disappointment in Drosselmeyer can give me solace

Oh my god so is the Drosselmeyer we know just a character in Dead Drosselmeyer’s story?

I think it’s a testament to this story’s power that I’m having so many emotions about it even though I know what’s going to happen? Like, some stories, reading the summary is pretty much the same as hearing the story, but Princess Tutu is not one of those stories

Like I just overcame my social anxiety to ask my roommate to be quieter, that’s how good this story is

Aaaaaagh Rue’s change from saying “you love me” to saying “I love you” my HEART

Oh shoot! Mytho’s angry! I thought one of the gate heart shards might be anger

Oh my god Autor literally no one cares what TEA Drosselmeyer drank look at Fakir he’s so done

Aaaaaaaa ohno

EVISCERATE HIM FAKIR

Holyshitholyshitholyshit

Okay but see the lake is outside the city so Dross just took some random normal duck and plunked her down in his fairytale town and that’s why like, a cat teacher seems weird to her because she’s not from inside the story

OH NO THEY’RE PLAYING THE SWAN BUT THIS TIME IT’S RUE

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr fuck OFFFFFF

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh it’s the sword birds

excUSE you Dross, the knight has NOT “long been useless”

Episode 26 - Finale

I can’t believe after 9 years I’m finally going to finish watching this show

Okay it’s happening

It begins and ends with “once upon a time, there was a man who died”, the absolute most perfect first line in the history of first lines and you can fight me on this

Okay I’m already almost crying just from the theme song, like the Tchaikovsky fits perfectly into it? I’m gonna sing it

I’m just screaming???? They’re all in distress

BUT DUCK IS NOT GOING TO GIVE IN TO DISTRESS

RUE IS THE SWAN

DUCK DECIDES TO WRITE HER OWN STORY AND THE MUSIC FROM THE END OF THE THEME SONG STARTS PLAYING MY HEART

I’M ACTUALLY CRYING

IT’S ALL THE PEOPLE SHE HELPED

THEY ARE PLAYING THE THEME THAT PLAYS WHEN DUCK IS HAPPY

FUCKING -- AND YOU HIT ME WITH ONCE UPON A TIME THERE WAS A MAN WHO DIED NOW

LOOK! LOOK THE SCENERY OUTSIDE THE TOWN FADES IN

I watched it.

#princess tutu watch #i still cannot believe