#are they not working or am i burned out!! who knows!!!!!!!!!

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.���

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[saintsenara]

I don't know if I have asked this before. I apologise if I am repeating myself. What do you think about the concept/plot where Tom Riddle is raised by someone who accidentally/deliberately time traveled back into the past? In most fics, it is usually Harry. I wonder what you think and if Harry would be an ideal or good candidate to raise a child like Tom Riddle vs Dumbledore/Hermione or any other character. There's a fic that I recommend called 'innocent until proven guilty by Laeveteinn part 1

thank you very much for the ask, pal!

i'm going to opt to focus on the ron-related aspect of this question, because the concept of ron travelling back in time to raise wee tom is immaculately funny to me.

not least because, in all the permutations of "tom is saved from the orphanage" fics one usually sees, the character who's gone back in time - especially if that character is harry - heads straight to wool's burning with some sort of righteous purpose. everything is very serious, and planned, and meticulous.

ron - in contrast - would clearly wind up responsible for tom by complete accident, and then fuck up from bean to cup as he tried to work out what to do with him. cue an epic caper in which ron tries to make his adopted son care about the chudley cannons, dispenses advice over cups of tea, and instils in tom a great and abiding love of knitwear.

[ron would also clearly pull an enormous quantity of women over the course of this adventure, since hot, sincere, slightly flustered men carrying babies are a babe magnet. good for him tbh.]

[reader-wandering18]

Yuu Hunter x Hunter

Strange beasts and monsters. Vast riches, hidden treasures. Terrible places, unexplored frontiers. Mysterious and unknown.

People who are drawn to the magic of those words are known as HUNTERS.

Yuu Freecs, a boy from a vast, cruel and mysterious world, came to Twisted Wonderland.

What was a boy doing at Night Raven College?

Freecs' adventures leave his friends speechless. His kind personality reaches out to all students, including those who are not human.

The first time he arrived at Night Raven College was a moment that surprised everyone at that prestigious institution.

— A child? — Why did the dark mirror bring a child?

— Say your name.

— AMAZING, A TALKING MIRROR!

His surprise and excitement were reflected on his face. The scream he gave let the most observant ones see that he was someone curious and full of energy.

— Another Cheka — Leona sighed tiredly

— What kind of gel use to keep your hair like grass? — Vil commented upon seeing his black hair with green tips. He felt like combing it himself.

If someone young like him was at Night Raven College, it was because he had really powerful magic, right?

Wrong. That child does not contain even a pinch of magic. Many could not believe it and others made fun of him, but the boy did not appear expressionless or scared.

— Magic? JUST LIKE IN THE FAIRY TALES MY AUNT MITO TOLD ME?! I'm really sorry I don't have anything like that big mirror! But I use something very different than magic!

He seemed strangely excited.

— Waaa that boy really has a lot of energy, he's the worst enemy of an introvert like me — Idia had said scared through his tablet.

After that revelation a cat burst into the room. Demanding Yuu's place.

— That cat also talks!

— I'm not a cat!

— Is that so? So you're a magical animal? Mmm I remember Kurapika told me that magical animals can talk. But you don't look like a Kiriko at all.

— What are you talking about kid? I am the great and powerful Grim!

The place caught fire and everyone started running and screaming. Among all the most outstanding was Kalim who got his butt burned. While the other dorm leaders were discussing who should catch the cat, suddenly, that boy appeared in front of them.

— Take it

— Nyaaaaa Let me go!

— !!

The dorm leaders were surprised to see Yuu in front of them when a moment ago he was in the center of the room. And in his hands he held Grim wrapped in Kalim's robe that was previously burning.

Even Kalim looked confused. Yuu appearing behind him, said he would borrow his robe and took it off without any difficulty.

— Sorry, I don't know how to extinguish the fire. Catching it was the only thing I could do.

That year would be very interesting.

In the dwarf mine, Ace, Deuce, Yuu, and Grim were resting on the outskirts of that place due to the mysterious appearance of an ink monster that forced them to retreat. Ace, Deuce, began to fight when Yuu's scream made them shut up.

— Don't worry!

They both saw how the child stood up with great determination on his face.

— They won't be expelled, I won't allow it. His dream is to study at that school. Right? If we work as a team we can beat him. Also, I can't allow you to disappoint your mother — Yuu said looking at Deuce — it must be very important to you as it is to me to look for my father.

Yuu's innocent smile made both young men leave for some strange reason strongly hit… in their ego. How could I let a child save their skin? That would be extremely humiliating!

In the end, they all returned to school with the magic stone in their hands. Thanks to teamwork.

— Being appointed supervisor at such a young age and just entering is a great achievement!

— Is-Is that so?

— Why do you look so nervous? You seem so confident when we were in the mine.

— It's just that… it's my first time in school

—……WHAT?!

Yuu explained to them how she came from another world and lived on an island called Whale Island. There was only one other child on the entire island but he didn't play with her. She never went to school but studied at home with the help of her aunt Mito.

— Hey, now that I remember. In the mine you mentioned your father, right? — Grim asked

— Or yes, he left me when I was a baby. I'm looking for him.

— Are you looking for him? Your dad left you, why do you want to go look for him?!

At that Yuu stopped which made the two teenagers who were after him do so as well. He turned around and they both noticed that in Yuu's gaze there was nothing like remorse for being abandoned. On the contrary.

There was a great curiosity in his gaze.

— My father is a hunter. I also became one, to look for him and to know the world that he chose instead of taking care of me.

Yuu smile while mentioning his father.

— Hunter?

— Hello!

— …Hello

Malleus was in Ramshackle taking his usual walk. He appeared in the dormitory as usual, but was surprised by a child who took him completely off guard the moment he appeared.

He had heard from Lilia about the arrival of a human child without magic at the school. Which surprised him. But he didn't expect to see him in the abandoned dormitory.

The child smiles at him

— My name is Yuu, Yuu Freecss! It's a pleasure!

Yuu extended his hand to what Malleus saw without being able to believe what the child was doing. But it was rude not to greet, so he shakes hands with the small human child.

— … Aren't you afraid of me?

— Mmm, It's true that your aura is strong, but I don't feel a level of threat like Hisoka.

— What are you talking about? I don't know that Hisoka… Don't you know who I am?

— No, I'm sorry. — said the boy somewhat embarrassed.

His reaction seemed genuine, there was nothing like malaise or fear. It reminded him in a way of Silver when he was younger.

— Do you live here?

— Yes, along with a cat named Grim

With each answer that Malleus gave him he could see it. That boy seemed to have so much energy.

— I see. It's a pity, I liked to take night walks around here since it's very quiet. But I guess I'll have to look for another place.

— Seriously, I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to take away your place to explore!

Yuu shouted while bowing in apology, that causes Malleus to become more curious about the human child.

— It's okay, it's not your fault that you live here. Well, I'll take my leave.

— Wait a moment.

But Malleus had disappeared in a bunch of bright lights.

— Wow, that’s amazing — Yuu said, catching one of those lights in his hands.

— I couldn’t ask him his name.

Malleus appeared in another part of the school. He felt a little dejected that his favorite place was occupied, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t get that kid out of the place. He looked up to see how high the moon was until he remembered.

— Now that I think about it. Lilia said that humans should sleep to have energy the next day, or they will have health problems. But that human child was awake at this time.

While, outside the dormitory, Yuu was practicing his NEN.

My Hunter x Hunter fever came back!

The first time I saw it I was very young, two or three years younger than the main characters, time has passed and now I'm older than them buuuu 😭.

Gon is my number one main character. With that personality that I met at the beginning of the anime it was love at first sight. I'm sure that if I met Malleus they would be great friends because you know. Gon being Gon.

This anime was my second Shonen and the only one I managed to stay faithful to until today. No matter the years, for me Hunter x Hunter will be the best anime.

YES YOU CAN TOGASHI!

This idea started with a fanfic of the boys' reaction to a Yuu from different worlds, including Hunter x Hunter. I liked it so much that when I wanted to read it again I realized that they had deleted the fanfic :'v that was found on Wattpad. To get that thorn out of my side I had decided to do this. I'm thinking about whether to make more parts or not. In case you noticed, I'm a person with a lot of ideas, but I never manage to finish a story.

[idontliekmondays]

excerpts from lindsay's old classmate

1.28.13 I have really tried to like Lilith but after two weeks with her I can't. My thinking on it is she hasn't given a reason to like her. It's more like she tries to complain, storm off, be rude, and ignore the rest of us as much as she can. Her special skill is that she can walk anywhere in high heels.

2.05.13 Lilith did not get any roti because she decided to stay in her room the whole day.

Dance lessons. And a full shot of me in uniform. Thai dancing does not require a lot of movement so it can be done in a pencil skirt. Left side, front to back: Deanna, Me, Donna, Lilith. Right side: Dance teacher, Karen.

2.07.13 (I have mentioned before that Lilith gets motion sick. So today instead of getting in the front seat like she's supposed to she climbed in the back of the songthaew with everyone else. The whole time I'm praying in my head "Don't throw up everywhere, don't throw up everywhere" because she started looking sick about half-way through the trip back. I really do not understand her logic).

Drexler is forcing Lilith to go to yoga or meditation (it's so nice she's paying all this money to go to another country to sit in her room on the computer all day.)

2.08.13 More creepy messages from Lilith's talking horse doodle today. She told us that she gets all these from a tumblr account called Crazy Horse(?). I also don't think she gets what all of them mean, because the horse's first message today was "Pumpkin Jokes.PDF". Really confused on that one. She erased that and had the horse say "Becoming a bounty hunter is not easy but I am here." I can see these two coming from a tumblr account, though they make zero sense to me. She then drew a dog and gave it this dialogue "Timid little girls she never put fairies on the summer gathering place for the Nazi elite." I'm really getting freaked out by some of her messages and was very thankful when Ajan Pranut (our afternoon teacher today) erased them.

2.11.13 Watched Lilith fight with a bee for her cake. She hates insects so she literally flew from her chair to get away from it. Then thought swearing would shoo it away. The bee cared more about the cake.

2.13.13 Originally I was going to say writer but Lilith wants to be a writer (today's creepy horse message was "Bring me all the people and I will make sure they are burning." Don't think I want to see anymore of her work)

When everyone returned we had a review session (except Niko and Lilith because her boyfriend broke up with her today. Most of us had to take a moment to go "You had a boyfriend??").

2.14.13 Last post I said Lilith's boyfriend broke up with her. Today she was excused from half of our midterm because she told Drexler she was up all night. Later, Donna informed me that she had downed a whole bottle of wine to help deal with her feelings. That's definitely healthy (sarcasm).

2.15.13 Drexler informed me he was forcing Lilith and myself to go to Tai Chi today with his wife Barbara.

Lilith stood there most of the time refusing to follow the movements and afterwards said "It wasn't her thing". For those who know Lilith at Coe, I saw her wearing ballet flats today, not heels!!

We complained about Lilith and Donna told us the funny story of how at Multicultural fusion orientation, where every African American freshman was, Lilith announced that she hated black people during her introduction. If you ever wanted a stupid idea, here's one of the dumbest ones ever. She has not been invited back since.

2.18.13 Lilith grossed everyone at her table out by hogging the delicious fried chicken, eating it with her fingers, and dipping her spoon (the only utensil that goes in your mouth besides chopsticks) into the soup. I feel Barbara has caught on to her.

Some of the people I'm here with. From left to right: Lilith, Niko, our guide/the Dean, Alessa. This temple was at the second ruins. I think it was a temple.

2.20.13 Forgot about going to Tai Chi today so got going a little later than planned. Lilith did not join us this time (my prayers have been answered!!) so she will be forced to go to yoga or something else. Barbara is the type of teacher who believes that if we talk to her we will realize she's just shy, not a bad person. This makes me remember she has a Hitler poster in her single at Coe. I don't think we'll be painting each others toe nails and gossiping about boys any time this lifetime. Or the next.

2.22.13 On the way back from buying detergent I walked past Lilith who made a point of ignoring me. I get the feeling she doesn't want to be friends.

2.28.13 Lilith's creepy horse message of the day was "Is the dance floor calling? No."

Lilith, who's half Laotian and this was her first time visiting Laos, spent her time in her room on her computer. Again I wonder why she came on this trip.

3.03.13 The other skit was... awkward. Lilith was randomly sitting on the ground talking about absinthe and Deanna happily stormed out at the end.

3.11.13 I had to sit by Lilith who dressed herself as a hooker. If my grandma saw the way she was dressed, that would be the first word out of her mouth. She bought some platform high heels that don't have a heel. I will take a creeper picture when I get the chance because they are so outrageous. They look like Lady Gaga shoes as a better description.

3.15.13 One thing I did edit out was how completely disgusting and rude Lilith was today. She actually belched at one of the Vietnamese students. Her behavior ranged from obnoxious to 'I was raised in a cave by monkeys'. The students were very concerned that she wasn't having fun.

3.18.13 Watched Drexler try to talk to Lilith about some issues that she has been causing but we watched their body language get more and more closed so it was probably not successful.

3.26.13 When you get out of an elevator it is a common prank to push all the other buttons. Instead, I pushed all the buttons on the way up to our floor. Deanna and Donna took it as a joke but you could feel the loathing rolling off Lilith in waves so much it scared the others. I am not sad to say it made me happy to make her angry. I am a terrible person, but she is worse. One story the host students keep talking about often is how when Lilith showed up at her host's house she asked for potato chips. When none were given she asked to be taken to the bar.

3.30.13 Had to sit by Lilith. Again. I'm starting to believe that I am put in charge of her, that Drexler thinks I can handle this responsibility.

We are the first Asia Term to come here. It's all thanks to Lilith who's half Laotian and her dad wanting her to meet his side of the family. That's happening tomorrow. Perhaps getting sick suddenly would be the ideal way to deal with meeting a family of Nazis. This is her first time meeting her dad's family so we are expecting her to hate them immensely and the day to be awkward or they will make her their new leader.

3.31.13 She decided to wear her hooker shirt today to meet her dad's family for the first time. Hope she doesn't regret that later on.

4.04.13 In previous years Asia Term has been there for a week but because Lindsay wanted to meet her relatives our time in Cambodia has been cut down.

4.25.13 Lilith has gotten on everyones last nerve. Including Drexler's. It's a good thing we're coming home in a little bit.

source

[sukioyakio]

тнє ¢яαzу тнιηgs ι ѕαу

Pairing Gojo Satoru x femreader

An: here is something to eat while I’m working on my choso fanfic.But anyway here a crack fluff writing.Lovesick Gojo.Drabble non-proread so sorry about the grammar.

”Shoko I think I’m lesbian”Gojo said confidently with a wide smile as if he said that he could fly as high to touch the clouds again just like when there were teenagers.

Shoko drop her cigarette onto the ground beneath them,as he turned her head to the side with a shock, disbelief,and dumbfounded all together painted on her face. As she see her friend smiling like a complete fool.

She pauses to grab her thoughts and her intelligence for this.Because what on earth did he just said. . .

As if Gojo read shoko mind.He repeated for her. “I’m lesbian shoko”He stare into the blue sky,of the jujitsu school second floor;where they were at.Shoko still look at him with dumbfounded eyes.

“What?..”She answered with disbelief running as clear as her confused eyes. She was usually good dealing with Gojo stupidity as such as he was very much a man child.But his dumb question wasn’t for her to deal with but for her partner to deal with.And that being his best friend.But sadly he wasn’t here at the time since he was in a mission at the moment.

She look at him and he look at her with such a prideful smile and his clear ocean eyes filled with love and devotion.

Before shoko could ask him for a clearer explanation of his words.He began talking with such animated expressions.

“I mean it,like this girl has my heart in diabetes, steroids, drugs!Like When I see her. . . god” He heartfelt-Ly sighs “ It like I’m looking at an angel,or one of those beautiful ancient paintings.She is very different from what am I known;opposite do attracted shoko.

-She feisty,Ambition,Conscientious,Ethical and many more but Holy lord,if you seen the way she trains when she alone,i swear the air between her thigh would be m- ahem. . ." Gojo Clears his throat,looking away from shook face,blush painted onto his cheeks,as he continues.

"She doesn’t give people to tell her what to do,she'll bite back like a hot black Panther-”He says Practically vibrating with energy,waving his hands animatedly while his continues talking.

“She has this side,that makes me feel like I'm Someone around her"-he mumbles lowly'like you and surguru'- "And the way that she willing to protect her students from danger or from the higher up-that to me is Strong signals of love since we do the same for our students.But you should see how kind she is to her students even when she is upset or mad at them and she always insisted gives me sweet for everything she hurts me”He grinning from ear to ear as he talk to shoko about you.And this makes his cheeks flushed with enthusiasm.

Shoko now looks at him,giving out a huff of a sly smile before becoming a sigh.She was still confused with her male friend literally in front of her saying that ‘his lesbian’. She just see him rapid fire he burning love about this girl towards her .Basically letting him yap to her. But she interrupted him.

“Ok but how does this make you lesbian?If your literally talking about a girl who you are in-love with.Do you know what the sexuality lesbian means right?”She announce with her arm crossed.She really doesn’t care who this girl(you) is, it wasn’t her thing to ask him who the mysterious girl is and has no plans too,because if one thing for sure is that he'll talk about his sex life to her and she really doesn't care. (She gonna find out soon enough,time will tell)

That interpretation effortlessly making Gojo stop his yap session and listening to her words completely collecting the words that made out of her mouth and replies.“ Yea,I know what lesbian means duh and yep im totally lesbian shoko.Lesbian,lesbian lesbian that my sexuality doc.” He finishes with smirk with a cocky smile on his perfect pink lips.

As shoko palms herself,and loudly groans.And mumbles “I swear to lord that you do this to make me fucking go dumb,and dumber with each one of your questions,Gojo” Before rubbing her nose bridge with her hand.

Gojo looking at her with offensive look. “I’m being very serious here with you shoko,It not one of my dumb comments or weird questions nor recommendations,shoko” Gojo replied with a serious expression on his face,one shoko seen rare times on his face.

Shoko just shrugs and shake her head with disbelief,before talking again. “Ok. . .but let me explain you what lesbian means because I think your confused;lesbian means when two Females are in love,meaning girls are in love physically and sexually with each other.But If your a male in this situation and you say that you like a girl, it means your straight” She says with a steady voice.Looking at Gojo nods at shoko words.

“Yep still Lesbian” He says with his chest high.Shoko huff out in annoyance as she slaps herself in the face.Having to deal with his stubbornness and over the top random talks.

“I’m very much lesbian,because it means only girls x me,I am very much attracted to girls,Only girls,why can't you see that".-he quietly wines"-Im pretty sad that you don’t understand me” Gojo face drops with a mocking sad face. “I’m done with you,your making me lose brain cells ,when I need them to heal my patients” She answered back to him,as she leave him alone.Walking away from him,just to hear him footsteps come along her way.And chatting with her again about his love of his life,as well covering his eyes with his black blind fold.

While She walks downstairs with him taking most of the space of the little staircase,afterwards they walk towards the hallways where the teaching rooms were set.

Then suddenly shoko hears footsteps walking there way.Then seeing it was you,and somehow notice how Gojo was standing there still with his mouth closed,completely stop talking and his lips turn into a sly smile.Shoko knew you,you were the teacher from Kyoto jujustus high school who had been working with her best friend utahime. ’Oh it (___).Is she here to give Mr. Yaga something from Kyoto’

As soon you walk over there with a quiet smile on your lips,giving shoko a smile and Gojo an annoyed look.Which wasn't uncommon for you to do that.

Shoko began talking.”Hey (___),what you doing here in Tokyo today,Are you Here to give Mr Yaga some paper or something?” Shoko spoke in nonchalantly to you.

You sigh when you heard her spoke about the topic of Yaga.”Sadly yes,I had to do extra paper work,because of Someone here who decided to go along in my assigned mission and make a complete mess of thing,mhmm.Gojo Satoru”

shoko swear that Gojo just grow a pair of ears and a dog tail wailing in happiness even if he faces shows with a cocky smile.

As Gojo chuckles loudly at your comments about him,making you huff out in annoyance,completely rolling your eyes.

“Why are you so mean”he says with mockery with a smile”I’ll was just looking out for our sweet lovely teacher,plus we can’t lose another beauty,right?” He says with his composure strong, and give you a playful smirk.Hoping you would blush from his comment but failed. Shoko looks at him and you, and instantly realizes that your this man child loving crush.And that only makes her want to roll her eyes out for not knowing who it was instantly;now that she think about it.It was as obvious as a tree in a desert.

You bluff out,before replying back “I am completely fine without your assistance and I was completely fine when I was in my mission,Satoru Gojo and now ill got to do extra work” you spoke in a steady pace,also with a firm voice.Your eyes brow furrowed now in frustration.

Gojo was easily countered with his body leaning forward completely towering you,and leans more close to you.Like he always does with everyone.It in his nature to invade people's personal space.

"My lord,Can't I even visit My favorite teacher in Kyoto. .You know it honestly make me sad that you weren't happy to see your handsome knight in shining armor" He replied back with a teasing manner,As you roll your eyes,with some pink blush forming in your cheeks crossing your arms,not trying to appear weak.

Eyes looking deep into his blind fold."I hope it did made you sad,because now I have to deal with paperwork for my day off" You snap at him with a calm voice,you lean away from your guys close proximity.You notice how he completely hover you so effortlessly, making you wonder'were you this short';you could practically smell his intense yet calming cologne.Before mumbling "Stupid Jake frost wanna be" Not caring if he heard you.

He stop leaning toward you,his heart pounding with eagerness.As he compose himself.Before chuckling in radiant feats;a perfect shade of pink was painted on his face.He found you absolutely adorable, And fucking perfect in his eyes.

You mumble about him being Jake frost made him crackle.It would infrared you that he was mocking you;you couldn't bring yourself up to punching him when he smiling like that.

Shoko stood there,dumbfounded by you and him,like she was watching two pair of dummies Flirt.More like gojo trying to use his teenager boyish type of flirting towards you.

At least shoko could understand your part,how the hell were you supposed to know whether he likes someone,when he this jolly to everyone. But for gojo to be laying around the brushes and not acting like a man,or not having confidence with his next move or not making the first move;was killing her intensely.

'He act like a Teenager-" she mentally groans '-Oh my god,Seeing right in front of makes me even think that the doctor exams were more easy than having to see them' Shoko Spoke in her mind,as she rubs her temples in frustration.

She really needed to smoke a cigarette again.As if on cue,you quietly dismiss yourself that utahime need help in kyoto and so you, walk away from where they were.Shoko was looking at you walk away until she couldn't anymore but she already could tell that he was watching you intently.especially with all six of his eyes.

Turning her head towards gojo,He has this big dorky smile and more blush creep up onto his face.He nonchalantly return to standing right beside shoko.

"That the girl you love"

"That the girl I love"

Both shoko and gojo said in unison.Gojo let out a dreamy sigh before looking down at shoko with his blind fold on.He chuckled a bit when he heard her said the same thing as him.

"I'm sooo lesbian for that girl.That the girl I will deliver the world too" He said with plain calm voice.With a cheeky grin.Effectively making shoko groan loudly."it called straight,lovesick idiot"

She walked ahead of him,shouting at him.,"I'm done with your ass satoru! I need a smoke session without you breaking my brain for the day" She says nonchalantly without looking back as she wave him away,and while walking away she could hear gojo rich, honey driping like laughter;making her sigh with a sly smile before taking out a cigarette a lighting it up.Placing it into her mouth.

"What an idiot” she mutter before puffing out airs of smoke that cover her with her the nature smell of a cigarette.

As Gojo was nagging you,as you punched him to stop annoying her.

Thanks for reading this and may your day be the best day. Also tell me your thought on this 5:am written story.

@sukioyakio 2024

@lil-annonie @mxrgodsstuff @scoobysnakz @lynxslokley @mononijikayu

[remembertheplunge]

We cannot unsee what we have already seen--the 1980's

April 28, 1988

It’s now a Thursday—

Some post scripts from somewhere in the “last” night and from yesterday by Judge David Vander Wall “The 1970’s don’t seem that long ago. The 80’s are just passing me by…” DA Mike  Stone replied “The 70’s weren’t worth anything anyway.”

I watched last evening “a A Walk Through the 20th Century with Bill Moyer. The 1920’s" :

Flappers and fun flanked by Fraud and Famine. Poo Poe Pee Do! The truth was that the poor (in the 20’s) didn’t realize they were poor until long after they weren’t!. They had a general feel of contentment despite their financial situation.

What about us in the 1980's? In the KPFA Radio Folio program guide,Life in 1968 is compared with life in 1988. The 80’s were condemned as the 1950’s relived. 1988 Yuppies are the men in charcoal grey suits. Ahhhh! But, what bridged the years is the depth of awareness setting in. We cannot unsee what has been seen. We close only to heal and tp grow internally. The individual reform we know is the only true change. Only true “life” takes place on an individual basis. More and more we learn "..oh..when I had the Mercedes and miserable marriage I was poor. Now, I am…,Me!" 

To me, 1980 or 1981 were just about like 1988 in terms of styles, attitudes, money, etc. Pretty much the same. Music hasn’t changed much. Nothing has really. And yet, imperceptibly, everything has irrevocably changed, improved. Come a bit more into its own. 

Only you, the future, may be able to give it perspective. What, if anything, do the 80’s mean to you? Don’t forget us. We are a part of your past and thus a part of you.

I offer up this diary entry to you as a revelation of one person- traveler’s time notes written during  his time-space journey.

End of entry

Notes: 9/21/2024

I love the fact taht I included the line “We cannot unsee what has been seen” in the above 1988 entry. 

That has been my fight song passing through these turbulent times where the Republican Right is attempting to cancel our collective progressive progress. They can ban and burn our books and the Supreme Court can strip us of our rights. But. We have seen. We know. We will continue to live our lives and assert our  values despite and because of their orders. We have seen. We will act. We have agency.

I also think that it’s interesting that I said in the above entry that there was not much difference between life in 1980 or 81 and life in 1988. In 1980, I was not yet a. Lawyer, I was way in the closet and Aids was not yet publicly known about. By 1988, HIV  had been  known about for 7 years in which time it decimated many lives. In 1986, I began working as a volunteer helping men with Aids through their illness and death. I had been a lawyer for 7 years by 1988 .I had been emersed in the heavens and hells of criminal law defense. I had married in 1982 a woman who I left in 1984 as I began to emerge as a gay man. By 1988, I was fully out. So, actually I was a much more evolved person in 1988 than I had been in 1980. But, maybe because the evolution took place slowly over  years, I wrote about the decade as if very little had happen.

Judge Van Der Wall was a judge in Modesto California. I spent my 40th birthday in a murder trial in his court. His clerk, Linda, gave me a happy birthday cup cake that birthday morning in court! They have both since died. I just thought Judge Van Der Wall and Mike Stone’s  take on the 70’s and 80’s was interesting. Time was  just passing them by. Have you noticed the no one now in the mid 2020’s ever talks about the 20’s? I mean the 2020’s. We are living it . We can’t see it This now has no name . It just  is. But, I imagine in 20 years, they will be screaming about “The Outrageous 20’s!"

Flappers were the early forerunners of the women’s empowerment movement. They wore shorter dresses than their predecessors had and advanced women’s rights through word and action. 

Bill Moyers was a Public TV host. He did stories on interesting people and events past and present.

Per Oxford Languages Dictionary, a Yuppie was "a young person with a well-paid job and a fashionable lifestyle."

[lildoodlecat]

h

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

ON THE SUBJECT OF A MARCH 1ST UPDATE LIVESTREAM.

so due to newly-employed circumstances, i most likely won't be able to stream my exploration of the update until the Sunday after it drops - March 3rd, likely around 10 am pst.

im not gonna ask anyone to wait because that's unreasonable and absurd, However! I am curious:

[triglycercule]

if dust takes off his hood and scarf then nobody can recognize him. he has literally no permanent traits that make him recognizable (which actually kinds upsets me because,,,,, there is no physical representation of his character development from sans to dust BUT EAAHHHH whatever,,, we cope with it.) but in like a silly goofy comedic way. it's like perry the playapus ans dr doofenshirmst (incorrect spelling but only by societies standards)

dust with hood down and no scarf

killer: a sans?

he puts on the scarf

horror: a GENOCIDE sans???

the hood goes up

killer: DUST SANS AKA MURDER SANS AKA DUSTTALE SANS FROM HIT AU DUSTTALE?????

horror's skull breaks a second time on the other side from sheer shock

[wormchaser]

you are complaining about complaining too much while complaining about the fact that maybe people dont like you because you complain too much while complaining about being alone. just stop complaining and do something about it. talk to people. reach out. dont just wait for someone to come to you first.

i have tried reaching out to different people in the past year or so but it never works. i understand its my own fault for letting relationships decay because of my own insecurities and issues but that doesn't mean i can just will myself to think or believe different things about myself. it's a self fulfilling prophecy ; i think people don't like me so i don't reach out so people don't like me etc . i am sure you do not want to hear me list all the things i want to say in response so i will put them in the tags.

[yanderespamton78]

the current state of the arg

sorry guys the art isnt arting D:

(btw if youre confused on why i drew turnip like that i was referencing the picrew he did ages ago bc idk it looked fun to draw anddd i dont like taking reference off real life images)

[topicaltropic]

oops! all wips

[jaevy]

your room was square

i once noticed from there

in your bed, as you slept

and i held my breath

everything had its own place

and i wondered what space would i take

in the order you kept

[quietwingsinthesky]

there’s a progression in there, somewhere, of even going from ‘the master might kill me any day now :(‘ to ‘the master is going to kill me :) she’s not going to let someone else do it after all this time’

[wild-at-mind]

Not reblogging it for reasons, but I really agree with that person on here who said people are reframing depression and generally feeling shit all the time as a good thing because of the horrors of Gaza. There are people on here heavily implying that you feeling bad and finding it more and more difficult to live with yourself is actually an appropriate response to war and genocide. In some way, it might be. But the thing is, where does that lead? Does it lead to decisive action in accordance to your values, or to nihilistic stewing and self isolation from your community?

The post went on to call it anti-recovery culture- I don't know if I would call it that, because I get why people don't like recovery culture, especially in relation to addiction, but mental illness also. I think that's something I'm not qualified to speak on. So I wouldn't call this anti-recovery culture. Instead I would call it pro-burnout in activism culture. Do you honestly think people who are the most productively working in their communities and participating in actions to help overseas are feeling like this? Or do you think they have learned to use self-accountability and community support to reign themselves in when they begin to burn out emotionally, and rest and recuperate their mind in order to come back stronger? Ask yourself, is that wrong of them to do, because they should be feeling bad, because after all that is the appropriate response....does it mean they don't care, because they don't spend all their time feeling shit? Or perhaps, the truth is, they do care, and are demonstrating it all the time, but they also understand that them feeling shit literally doesn't help anyone. Why can we not talk about or acknowledge this?

[blujayonthewing]

thinking about how melliwyk had a reputation in her career for ruthless ambition but actually she knowingly went into a dead-end field with realistic expectations about it because that's what brought her the most sincere excitement and joy