#noteszb

[notesz-b]

I think War could totally pull off having his hair braided.

Letting my intrusive thoughts win here...

Gave him a whopping two of them. If those count as intrustive thoughts count yourself lucky lol _

[androgymess]

uhm any death fans still alive? design inspired/based on NoteszB's take on death!

[darkeraurora]

Admissions - Chapter 3

Small Moments

Word count 3617 SFW Spanish translations are at the end.

Content warnings: swearing (our boo does that), and details of how Simon got his face scars.

Image is by NoteszB on Twitter. Look at this beautiful thing and his freaking long blond eyelashes!

MASTERLIST

“Feels like I’m about to blast off.”

Sereza hummed. “MRIs always gave me Star Trek vibes.”

“Is this thing gonna blow up with me in it?” Soap asked over the mic inside the scanner.

“Uh,” the petite female began. From the back of the room, the silent skull and the captain watched her scroll through several images of Johnny’s head. The team had a vested interest in this; if it went well, she’d said, the drain could be removed and the 141 would be much closer to getting back to their hunt. “Nahhh,” she finally answered back a bit too casually.

“Not very convincing Lass,” the Scot griped.

 Slender fingers flicked past several more images. “I’m like, 67% sure it'll be fine.”

“What?!!”

“Steady soldier,” Ghost’s deep voice commanded. Dark irises looked down at the woman when she shivered. An eyebrow arched, inquisitive.

“LT don’t let me die in here!”

Fucking hell, so dramatic. “Keep it tactical Sargeant.”

“Ugh, fine. But I want my chest candy for this!” Soap wagged his finger in their general direction.

“Best I can do is let you keep your grippy socks,” the peanut replied dryly. Price barked out a loud laugh. Even the stoic Brit shook a bit with a silent chuckle before reaching out and patting just above her ponytail. Silent praise for her quick wit.

Both men straightened and came to attention as Raphael rounded the corner, knocking his knuckles against the open door. “Vete a la chingada,” Sereza snapped.

The major smirked. “Well that’s not very nice.”

“Don’t care.”

“So spicy,” he crooned, lifting an arm toward her hair.

Sereza swatted his hand away viciously. “Ya te dije que no hicieras eso!” The corner of Simon’s mouth tugged upward beneath the mask. It seemed the tiny peanut could also be quite the spitfire. It further fascinated and amused him.

Raphael jumped back, wearing an affectionate grin. He enjoyed teasing his sister. “You’re in a mood today. I come to apologize for this morning, like a good big brother, and you’re being mean to me,” he lamented, then ducked to the side as a pen flew at his head.

Perks of being his sister, the Brit thought to himself with a hint of envy. There had been a few majors and others over the years he’d have liked to sling something at.

Price waited. And waited some more, discreetly watching Ghost’s profile. But the skull remained silent and only observed the siblings’ banter. Hm.

 “Cállate, now get lost,” the pint-sized female ordered. “Unlike you, I have work to do. Lárgate.”

“Bloody hell, who you yelling at Lass?” Johnny cut in.

At his interruption, the major gave up and left his sister to her work. “Absolutely nobody important,” she answered into the mic. Price chuckled as he explained to Johnny that he’d missed the squabble and his best guess was she’d told her brother off.

Johnny gasped. “Told off the major?!”

“Yo no dije nada, si eso es lo que estás pensando,” Sereza replied innocently with a shrug. “Now, back to your brain.”

The captain took note. No direct interaction between the younger man and the doctor to speak of, but what hadn’t happened was telling. Despite having no idea what was said, she had been made clear her brother was not allowed to pat her on the head, yet she hadn’t objected to Simon doing the same in the hallway the other day and again just a moment ago. And another, more fascinating thing was missing:  Simon’s customary ‘speak English’ remark.

The Scot was constantly chastised whenever he spoke Gaelic within earshot of the Brit but Sereza, it seemed, got a free pass. And Ghost was not known for giving free passes. To anyone.

How very unlike him. In John’s experience, people speaking another language made the lieutenant uneasy. He needed to know precisely what was going on around him at all times. But he’d stayed calm with her; not a single annoyed remark or complaint.  

What exactly are you doing here, son?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Morning drifted quickly into evening, the arctic sun setting several minutes earlier each day.

The masked lieutenant stood outside Sereza’s office. For a moment he watched her, observed, while her mouse cursor flew across the screen. Head propped up in her other hand.

Unaware of the silent shadow, the little one gathered her long honey-hued curls and rapidly twisted them, exposing the back of her delectable neck, coiling her hair on the back of her head and securing the mass in place by shoving a pen through it.

Simon always wondered how women were able to do that. And so deftly.

It was fucking adorable.

Bloody hell. Such a pretty kitten.

He felt like a damn stalker.

Annoyed with himself, the Brit cleared his throat.

“Holy shit!! Ghost!” The little one jumped in her chair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

“You’re jumpy.”

“And you wouldn’t jump if another one of you just materialized out of fucking nowhere!?”

“No,” the skull deadpanned.

“Ugh!” Sereza moaned dramatically, tossing her head backward and slapping her hands over her eyes. She let out a deep sigh, muttering something under her breath in Spanish, then turning to him with her professional face back on. “What can I do for you sweetie?”

The Brit almost filled the doorway as he walked in. “Anything on Johnny?” he asked, improvising on the spot.

She clicked through several screens. “Nothing official for you yet; still waiting on the report. But I can tell you that I didn’t see anything that would make me want to leave the drain in longer. In my personal professional opinion, it’s ready to come out, however I’m not a radiologist, so-” she waved away the rest of her sentence.

Simon nodded. The peanut drew her legs up and folded herself into her chair, making her appear even smaller. His gaze roamed over her, memorizing her, until he stopped at the socks barely peeking over her shoes. “Your socks are really small.”

“Very random Ghost.” She shoved the edge of her desk, spinning in her chair around to face him, “There is a substantial size difference between the two of us, you may have noticed.”

He chuckled until Sereza held up her palm to him. Confused, the skull stared momentarily. Eyes flicking between hers and her outstretched hand.

“Come on, let’s see,” she prompted, wiggling her fingers.

She wants me to touch her?

The Brit, moving almost as if he might scare her off, pressed his gloved hand against her palm and as expected, he completely dwarfed her. A quiet laugh tickled his ears as she pushed back against him, turning their hands from side to side. Simon found himself captivated. Her smile, expression sparkling with her amusement, the feeling of her – touching her –  and the warmth of her seeping through the glove to his…

Sereza fell silent and looked up, meeting dark eyes that had softened and crinkled at the corners. “Ghost? Are you smiling?” she asked, tilting her head to one side and grinning wider at him.

“…Yeah,” he admitted. Somewhat reluctantly, but dammit that beautiful face…

It made him want to tell her things. Things he knew he probably shouldn’t.

Most definitely shouldn’t.

“I bet you have a nice smile under there.”

Ah shit, here it comes. Cue the same old tired lines about his balaclava followed by the pressure to take it off then the endless questioning about why he wouldn’t. Honestly, he had been starting to wonder when this was coming; it always did eventually. People’s curiosity about his mask was understandable, of course, and a few courteously-worded questions were fine, but he didn’t understand their inability to take no for an answer. Removing it was out of the question.

Sereza noticed the change in his expression, how the hidden smile dropped and his posture changed, curling inward almost imperceptibly. Protectively.  He really didn’t like that, but… I don’t think it’s about his smile... “Not that I think you should take it off or anything; it was just an observation. I’m just happy I’m learning how to read you,” she explained. Lacing her fingers through his, she gave Simon’s hand a quick reassuring squeeze before breaking their contact and turning back to her work.

His metaphorical mask was firmly fixed in place. All his defensive walls were up and ready to field yet another attack on the object that provided him a sense of comfort, safety, and anonymity in this god-forsaken world.

Except for once the attack never came.

“Why aren’t you asking about it?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying. Surely she wanted to; everyone had something to say about it. Some unsolicited and unwelcome bit of advice. Or they’d have something to say behind his back at the very least.

Those lean shoulders casually shrugged, “I didn’t have anything to ask, honestly. I think you’re expecting me to bombard you with questions about it but I don’t have any. And before you ask why not I suppose that’s because, in my view, you’re an adult making an adult decision and therefore whatever I think doesn’t matter.”

But do you hate it too?

Simon’s chest began to hurt and he realized that, surprisingly, it would actually really hurt him if she hated the balaclava. Hated this part of him.

“Maybe it’s the surgeon in me that makes me partial to skulls but, for what my opinion’s worth, I think it looks nice on you. Both your styles.”

Like skulls, do ya’ Lovie?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was one instance where Simon disliked his masks – when his facial hair grew too long. He’d never cared for it, even before he began covering his face. Almost as soon as he started growing peach fuzz he’d started shaving.

How John willingly put up with all that hair on his face Simon would never understand.

Ghost could go about two weeks between shaving before the stubble became annoying, but he could still tolerate it when he had to. Long missions in the middle of nowhere had given him plenty of practice. By four weeks his face was beginning to really piss him off and at five he was willing to use his combat knives to get rid of the hair, the resulting razor burn a price worth paying.

Shredding his skin wasn’t necessary this time. Luckily for him and his face, the commissary at Westforge was pretty good. Shave cream, pack of decent razors, body wash he didn’t think would leave him smelling like a goddamn fruit basket after a shower – perfect.

Movie night was in just over an hour; might as well knock it out while he waited. Maybe she’d be there… He shoved the thought away.

Dark gaze roamed from his fingers in the running water, waiting for it to warm up, to his balaclava staring back from where it lay on the edge of the sink, down to the walking boot protecting his fractured foot, and coming to a stop at the bruises and scabs his bone gloves had kept concealed. Remnants of a fight. One that had turned out to be his opponent’s last.

Large hands cupped the warm water over his face and applied shave cream. This part of shaving was an almost automatic task for him; not requiring much focus. His mind began to wander…

Her laugh faintly played in his ears.

The sound of her accent when she’d told him the name of her hometown.

Feeling her touch him while she traced his tattoos. And holy hell that smile.

“I bet you have a nice smile under there.”

She’d held his hand-

Ghost blinked away those thoughts. Fucking hell, get your head on straight. Picking up the razor and taking the first swipe, each stroke revealed more of the disfigured face. Simon rinsed his razor. He exhaled resentfully, having come to the parts he never liked doing – around the scars. The tiny nicks from fighting or the typical mishaps as a kid were negligible. He could, and very often did, completely overlook those.

Others…

The line near his temple where no hair grew from a time his father had backhanded him, causing Simon’s head to hit the corner of a table. His mother hadn’t been allowed to take him to get stitches until the following day.

As shit as his father had been, he hadn’t been the one responsible for most of his scars…

Small pieces missing from his ear.

Old burns on his neck and chest where they’d put out their cigarettes.

Narrow lacerations through his eyebrow, one extending down across his nose and to the corner of his inner eye.

The corner of his lip sliced through.

Rough, red scars crisscrossing his cheeks.

What remained of a gash extending from in front of his ear, underneath and behind, then up into his hair. Carved into his head by one of his torturers.

A sunken, cross-shaped scar Roba had personally cut deep into his cheekbone. That was probably the worst thing marring his face.

He rinsed the razor and took another swipe. Then stopped.

Or was it his eyes? Dark as coal, just like his father’s, his mother had always said.

“They’ll always be a piece of him in you.”

Simon rinsed the clean razor again. Pausing in his task, the haunting glare at his reflection intensified.

His nostrils flared. With a fierce yell, he hurled the razor across the small bathroom, the plastic shattering against the tile wall. His palms slammed onto the edge of his sink, the porcelain groaning under his white-knuckled grip. Head hanging, teeth clenched, eyelids squeezed shut in an effort to stop other, weaker, signs of emotion from leaking out.

No sense in lying to himself.  He would disgust her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Simon was going to go insane.

If he didn’t get out of here and back to work soon…

Two weeks. Two more fucking weeks, he mentally reminded himself. His heavy footfalls stopped in the middle of the hall leading to the common room. Now what? Rolling his eyes, he backed up a few paces and looked around the corner. He’d been hoping his sight was deceiving him, but no. Simon wasn’t that lucky.

He frowned behind the skull balaclava as he surveyed the room. A herd of random people, gathered beneath an open vent for… what reason exactly? Just as he was getting really curious one of them yelled into the ceiling, “Got it?”

Is there a fucking person in the damn air vent?!

“Almost, not yet,” a feminine voice echoed back from the darkness.

No...

The onlookers had begun teasing, oblivious to the shadowy lieutenant looming behind them, urging her to “get a move on.”

“Could you have some damn patience?”

“Bet I could be faster.”

“Bet not. There’s no way you’d fit in here. It’s like being in a damn coffin, even for me.”

Simon’s pulse raced, his feet carried him into the room and through the crowd until he stood directly under the vent, people scattering out of his way at just his presence alone. Not that he paid them any attention; he was only vaguely aware of them at best.

Alarm spider-walked up his spine. The little one… in the dark… squeezed into a space the size of a coffin. The room felt like it was spinning. Sound became muffled.

He wanted her out, and out right fucking NOW.

His mind screamed at him to get to her, to tear the fucking ceiling apart if need be. Whatever it took to pull her back out into the light where she belonged.

A loud bang almost made him flinch, followed by the hum of the air system as it came back online. “Got it!” she called from within the ductwork. There was a round of clapping and ‘atta girl!’ but Ghost stood still and silent as a statue in the middle of it all, the gaze drilling into the black void in the ceiling. She was taking too long…

The others began wandering off, back to whatever business they had, but the lieutenant stayed resolutely adhered to the floor, wide eyes trained on the vent. There was the rest of the world and everyone in it, then there was her – his little one – and it was taking every ounce of his self-control to not bring the entire ceiling down. Finally, a flash of movement in the darkness; the black sole of her shoe as Sereza worked her way out. Simon could almost breathe again, but not until she was safely back on the ground.

Moving slowly since she couldn’t see where she was going, Sereza shimmied backward out of the vent. Large arms wrapped around her thighs, easily taking her weight, then a steadying grip on her waist lowered her the rest of the way out. She blinked rapidly as oppressive darkness gave way to those stupid fucking florescent ceiling lights she hated. Her hands held onto broad shoulders for support as she was lowered to the floor. Looking up, hazel irises locked with worried dark ones hidden behind eyeblack and a bone balaclava.

Ghost was almost panting, his gaze rapidly skimming over her face and frame. He was worried about her? But there wasn’t even a second to ponder on that before she was crushed against a hard chest, his arms wrapped across her back and masked face buried against her hair. Ear to his chest, she could hear his heartbeat pounding away.

Dios mio… He smelled divine.

Gunpowder, naturally, woven among the scent of leather and the outdoors. Another more subtle scent – cedar? His choice of body wash, she supposed. And buried beneath it all, his natural musk that she could only describe as unmistakably, intoxicatingly, and deliciously male.  No human should be allowed to smell so good, she decided. Smiling to herself, Sereza sighed contentedly and curled her fingers into his hoodie as she snuggled back against him.

For right now, nothing else mattered. She let herself be surrounded by Ghost, his warmth, and his presence.

In the back corner of the room, behind a cigar, bright blue eyes narrowed at the pair.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not until the group reached the common room did Simon manage to peel himself away from the little one’s side comfortably. He still trailed after her, but she headed for the bathroom and he was forced to fully separate from her. Goddammit.

He sunk into one of the ancient, sagging couches. A spot on the outer edge to keep him away from the chattier crowds and also protect his broken foot from getting accidentally kicked, an armrest at his left preventing too many people from sitting beside him – not that they did to begin with… Simon couldn’t have a better spot. A bone glove palmed the contents of his pocket.

A feminine sigh from behind him made his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. To Simon’s complete surprise, the peanut headed straight for him, weaving past Soap and Garrick. Sereza folded herself up and squeezed between Ghost’s side and the threadbare armrest, tiny feet perched on the edge of the cushions.

“She’s like a damn pretzel,” Gaz remarked to the other sergeant.

Sereza pulled her legs in closer. “If I fits, I sits.”

Simon was positively chuffed to bits.

The little one yawned. Fucking hell that was adorable, like everything she did. “Long day?” he asked.

She covered another yawn as she nodded, “Long and very, very early.”

The lights clicked off as the opening credits began playing. Before the show could get started, he dug the noisy package from his pocket and sliced it open with his knife. Sereza’s head tilted his direction. “Yes, Peanut?” his deep voice whispered, laced with amusement.

She shivered again. Was she cold?

Didn’t feel cold in here. Then again, she was a gnat-sized little thing with almost no meat on her bones. Maybe she was.

“N-nothing,” she quietly squeaked.

Ghost’s dark eyes twinkled in the light from the screen. He tipped his hand, offering her the open bag. That smile – that fucking gorgeous smile – spread across her face as she pulled out a gummy worm.

“I love sour gummy worms!” she murmured.

Deadpool was pretty good and Simon didn’t care that it was a bit of an older movie. He wasn’t usually one for the superhero genre but he enjoyed the character’s sass. The mix of action and dialogue was good too-

He started.

A small weight had dropped onto his shoulder.

The little one’s head.

Oh sweetheart.

Her breaths were deep and slow. Poor thing must have been more exhausted than she’d let on. That or she felt safe enough to fall asleep in a room full of men. What a luxury it must be to feel that safe. That included many guys on her brother’s team who also saw her as their sister, but still. Such a thing was beyond Simon’s comprehension.

Midnight eyes looked over the tiny curled-up figure. Even as a few of the lights came back on she didn’t stir. Definitely sound asleep, which meant she was entirely vulnerable. The urge to watch over her consumed him.

Looked like he was stuck.

The room cleared out. Simon waved off offers to help get the little one to her room and shot his most murderous glares at those who tried to wake her up. Johnny smiled and passed him a throw blanket. The Brit slouched back into the cushions, stuffing his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie and getting comfortable for his watch. For as long as she needed.

A new, warm feeling bloomed in his chest as she let out a soft sigh and pressed closer to his arm.

…I want to hold her.

Spanish translations:

“Vete a la chingada.”        

Go to hell.

“Ya te dije que no hicieras eso!”        

I’d already told you not to do that!

“Cállate.”                                                                   

Shut up.

“Lárgate.”                                                                   

Get lost.

“Yo no dije nada, si eso es lo que estás pensando.”  

I didn’t say anything if that’s what you’re thinking.

[hadrians-view]

NoteszB

[vanista]

Volt egy jó felvetés,

talán @odmnd irányából arról, hogy közeledik a front, és közben értéktelenednek el a lakások. Nagy munkaadók el, mindenféle munkaadó el, emberek el, a lakásuk értéke le. A debreceni CATL döntéshozóinak a száz kilométerre becsapódó rakéta nem érzelmi kérdés, hanem csak egy szorzó az Excelben. Viszont 0.9, és nagyon hat a végeredményre.

Mindenféle kockázati felárakban, állami és magáncégek ilyen Excel-rublikáiban dől el, hogy Magyarország milyen tempóban dől be. Szépen, lassan, egyszerre minden szinten, és minden pillanatban jobban, ahogy közeledik a front.

Ezt is írja fel a noteszbe mindenki, aki tapsol Szijjártó NATO-ellenes nyilatkozatainak. És az is, aki nyáron a Fideszre szavaz.

Ha kijátssza a fentieket közben, megoldja okosba, akkor nem szóltam.

Akkor nyugodtan.

[moodymisty]

Kink rating game: kilts

I don't know you but for me they just unlock something in me. Maybe because I'm an ace who only experiences aesthetic attraction.

There was that art of the horsemen in kilts from noteszb and I went wild about it. But also imagine one of the wh40k boy in kilts.

Also any type of an well tailored uniform for that matter...

No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |

I ain't ever gonna kinkshame someone, but I haven't personally thought about it, so i dunno! I will agree that any time of good uniform is <3

[elovir]

Horizon portrait by https://twitter.com/NoteszB !

[granddaughterogg]

GUYS! Notesz made this into a doodle! <3

Long time ago, in the land of the Nephilim...

Young!Death: (wearily) I’d like to hear how have we found ourselves in this situation.

Pre-teen!Strife: Well, Fury said: “I bet even someone as dumb as you won’t eat a whole bar of soap!”

Young!Death: ...you do realize that she was pulling your leg, right?...

Pre-teen!Strife: It would be unmanly to turn down a challenge!

Really Smol War: *burps* *a humongous bubble comes out*

Young!Death: S T R I F E.

Pre-teen Strife: It’s not my fault! You know he just apes everything I do!

Really Smol War: (solemnly) It would be unmanly to turn down a challenge.

[almavarybabary]

Az 1949-es Janika című komromkom (komcsi romkom) egy kicsit bizarr és meglehetősen idióta filmalkotás, de én azért imádom. Ilyen hibrid mű, Békeffy István a felesége, Turay Ida számára írta, eredetileg egy zenés színdarab volt, még 1946-ban mutatták be. Három évvel később már csak úgy lehetett belőle film, ha jól leöntik komcsi mázzal. Szóval ilyen tipikus magyar-hollywood Békeffy-limonádé, de bele van erőltetve mindenféle propaganda. :)

A sztori amúgy az, hogy 15 év távollét után hazatér Magyarországra a híres színésznő Amerikába távozott férje, hogy a válást elintézze. A nő épp egy kisfiú szerepét próbálja otthon, amikor a férje betoppan. A kisfiút látva a férj azt hiszi, hogy Janika az ő gyereke, a színésznő pedig nem világosítja fel a tévedésről. Elhatározza, hogy kicsit megleckézteti a pasit és annak gazdag, nagyvilági nőjét Daisyt. Janika aztán végül itthon tartja a papát (vagyis a férjet), aki inkább az amerikás nőt hagyja el és többé nem tér vissza a rideg üzlet lelketlen hazájába. Mert közben arra is rájön a faszi, hogy Amerika hazudik, és valójában a komcsi Magyarországon MINDEN JOBB, mint az USÁ-ban. :D De tényleg, itt minden van, jólét, árubőség, virul az ország, az emberek szabadok, boldogok, tulajdonképpen ez maga a Kánaán. :)

És a csávókám ilyen noteszbe jegyzeteli, mi van és mi nincs itthon. Nincs: vasfüggöny, jegyrendszer, háborús hangulat, vallásüldözés stb. Van viszont taxi, hotel, úttörővasút és kifli!!!!!

A filmben amúgy az akkor már 42 éves Turay Ida alakítja a 14 éves kisfiút, rövidnadrágban. De a férjnek ez egyáltalán nem tűnik fel. :) Csak akkor esik le neki, hogy át van verve, amikor megtalálja a felesége parókáját, amiben a fiút játssza. És akkor elhatározza, ő is megleckéztetni a nőt: a film végén jól elfenekeli Janikát. LOL Vagyis nincs dráma, mert nem egy gyereket ver el, csak a feleségét. :)

Amúgy ez a spanking jelenet a film plakátjára is rákerült. :) Sőt, találtam a neten egy érdekes spanking oldalt, ami 3 posztot is szentel a Janika filmnek (ill. a színdarabnak), szerintem ennyire még senki nem merült el ebben a témában 😊

Van még a filmben egy negatív szereplő, egy színésznőcske, aki folyton disszidálni akar, de mindenki beoltja. :D Az is kiderül, hogy itthon már nincsenek sztárok, ez a rendszer megszűnt, itt csak színészek, színésznők vannak

Legjobb rész, amikor Turay Ida faarccal mantrázza az amerikás nőnek, hogy neki milyen jó élete van itt, egész nap boldog, gyárakba, üzemekbe járnak fellépni és utána a munkások még jobban dolgoznak stb. Így simán látni, hogy kötelező propaganda szöveget mond fel, minden átélés nélkül, imádom.

Van még egy mellékszereplő a filmben, a házmester gyerek, akitől kölcsönveszi a ruháját a színésznő. Na ez a gyerek így húszpercenként feltűnik az apjával és kéri vissza a cuccait. De sosem kapja meg, mert a nőnek még szüksége van rá. De ha annyira jólét van itthon, akkor miért csak egy ruhája van a szerencsétlen gyereknek????? Ez mondjuk nem derül ki a filmből. Meg van egy rész, amikor a színésznő majdnem lebukik, mert a férj megcsókolja Janikát, ő meg így szerelmesen behunyja a szemét. De miért csókolja szájon a fater a 14 éves fiát???? Ezt sem értem.

Amúgy a komcsi lapok sem voltak elájulva a Janikától, sőt! Olyanokat írtak, hogy „légüres térben mozgó, naivan szentimentális bohózat, s ezen az sem segít, hogy a vásznon megjelenő tipikusan polgári figurák demokratikus szólamokat mondanak.” „Mezei Mária inkább francia kokott, mint amerikai vamp. Turay Idának meg annyi köze van a realista színészhez, mint a csizmának az asztalhoz.” „Érdektelen típusvígjáték, az író és a rendező nem érezték át életünk változásait, a polgári környezeten kívül eső, számukra idegen területen elcsúsztak.” „A vígjáték kereteit nem tudták szocialista tartalommal megtölteni. A társadalomból annyit mutat meg nekünk a film, amennyit a kávéházi ablakon át szemlélődő előtt a világ feltár magából.” és így tovább

Na mindegy, a legjobb még, hogy az Amerikából hazatérő disszidenst az a Szabó Sándor alakítja, aki egyből dobbantott Amerikába 1956-ban, amikor erre lehetőség volt. A Turay-Békeffy házaspár szintén külföldre távozott. :D Ők mondjuk már 1949-ben is mentek volna Amerikába, csak nem kaptak útlevelet, LOL. :) Ezt a könyvében írja a Művésznő, onnan tudom LEL

[shroudkeeper]

Death was indeed a gentle flower, one that bloomed at gravesites.

Art commissioned of my FFXIV OC, Kikyo Miyoshi - @regalblossom. The artist is NoteszB! ​

[gyavaforradalmar]

Hát ezt is megírtam.

2018 elején volt, hogy egy barátnőm kemény reality checket adott nekem – arról, hogy ideje lenne a saját utamat járnom és nem a barátaim minden rezdülését figyelni obszesszíven, hogy le kellene foglalnom az állandóan járó agyamat valami önmegvalósítással. Nem mondtam el neki, hogy épp a napokban formálódott meg bennem egy történet alapötlete, és akár itt helyben tudnék neki mesélni egy lányról és egy fiúról, meg egy másik lányról, aki átverte, majd megmentette őket. Valahogy nem volt alkalmas rá a pillanat.

Amit akkor még nem tudtam, az volt, hogy valójában mennyire lefoglal majd ez a kis önmegvalósítás. Majdnem hároméves munka lett belőle, összesen 93 ezer szó. A kihúzott szavakkal és kimaradt jelenetekkel együtt talán kétszer annyi is. Amikor nekikezdtem, még minden szereplő idősebb volt nálam, most meg a huszonkettedik szülinapomhoz közelítek. Lassabb munka volt, mint az eddigiek, de szüksége is volt rá a történetnek. A jelenlegi tudásommal lehetett csak megvalósítani azt az ötletet, amit a tizenkilenc éves énem bízott rám, aki néhány bevezető politológiaóra után eldöntötte, hogy kettős disztópiát fog írni.

Ez a mappa is tele van olyan ötletekkel, amik hálistennek, hogy nem kerültek bele a végleges változatba. A papírmennyiségből úgy tűnhet, olyan kézzel írós, utólag begépelős típus vagyok, de fogalmam sincs, így van-e. Ha valamin csaknem három évig dolgozol, akkor a világon minden módszer szóba fog jönni. Írtam én külön erre strukturált noteszbe, egyetemi füzetek hátuljába vagy a telefonom jegyzeteibe hajnal kettőig. Kiköltöztem a kertbe, hogy ne vonja el a figyelmem a net, visszaköltöztem, hogy Google Mapsezni tudjak. Félreraktam érte az összes többi történetötletemet, aztán mégis elő kellett vennem az egyiket, hogy a kettő dinamikái ne hasonlítsanak túlságosan. Százszor kivázlatoltam a fejezeteket, hogy aztán improvizálva kirázzak a kisujjamból egy újabb csavart. Csináltam playlisteket, pinterest táblákat, szociogramokat és oc question memeket, elolvastam kismillió cikket egy-egy mondat kedvéért, kiszámoltam a dátumokat, hogy eltaláljam azt a fél megjegyzést arról, hánykor sötétedik. Annyi elemzést le tudnék vezetni róla, hogy abból egy életre elegendő irodalomtudományi karrier kijöhetne, miközben még azt se tudom, jól sikerült-e.

Ki kellett volna találnom valami ünneplési rituálét a befejezés napjára, mert most fogalmam sincs, mi lesz velem. Gondolom, ezután cikkeket fogok írni és verseket és egy könnyedebb, sitcom-szerű történetet. A lelkemet meg már most beteszem díszdobozba, ha esetleg lehetőségem lenne eladni egyszer a publikálásért. Bizonyos halvány reményeim most is felmerülnek azzal kapcsolatban, hogy ezt kiposztolva rám talál egy könyvkiadó, és gondolkodás nélkül felajánl nekem egy élethosszig tartó szerződést, esetleg egy Netflix minisorozat-adaptációt is elintéz a sztoriból. De tudom jól, hogy a könyvpiac állapotának legrosszabb pillanatára időzítettem ennek befejezését, és ennél szebb időket élve is kevesen olvasnának egy ennyire POLITIKAI történetet. (Már a szakdolgozat-kérdőívemet is ezzel a szóval kritizálták, amit értelmezni máig nem tudok.)

Szóval nem tudom. Talán csak örülni szeretnék magamnak egy pillanatig. Végre elkészült egy könyv, amit három éve el akarok olvasni – még ha ezzel egyedül is vagyok a világon.

[larauslorraine]

I dont know what made me decide to post this, enjoy some reaper half Death x Reader smut?

The idea had came from Noteszb's design of half reaper form Death.

Excuse the grammer, I was half asleep when this was made.

"D?" Y/N looked at the lurking form, she stumbled back when the wings shifted and he was suddenly caging her to a rock. 

His large hands wrapped around her upper arms as he leaned down to take a deep inhale at her neck. 

She shivered at the low appreciate growl.

"Death?" 

They had been working on turning into their superforms, a theory if the council had truly cut them off. Death had been trying it out with Y/N off to the side in case something went wrong. 

It had. 

Y/N grunted as she was flipped around and pressed over the boulder itself, she felt those powerful thighs hold her own still as his hands began to take her clothes off.

"Whoa whoa here?! We need to make sure your ok-!" She reached to grab at his hands, one hand took both her wrists and pinned them to the rock. 

She began to kick her legs, wiggling and bucking to get leverage. A growl of pleasure vibrated from the nephilim as something hard and large rocked back at her wiggling rump.

With one last tug, the human was free of her clothes. Y/N was red in the face as she felt her core throb with arousal. 

She rested on the boulder as Death let go of her wrists and knelt behind her. 

She knew he took his mask off when she felt him part her thighs a bit and a wet tip traced along her slit.

She covered her face at the animalistic manner and suddenly let out a loud moan when something large and slippery poked into her vagina.

She whimpered and shifted in place as it explored and tasted, ooooh it was too long to be D's normal tongue.

She arched her back more as he brushed against her g spot. 

She felt a rumbling chuckle vibrate her sex and screams tore from her lips as his tongue began to abuse the spot.

Y/N didn't know how many times she had come, she had lost count after the third orgasm. 

Her face was still flushed, drool escaping her lips to pool on the large rock. 

Purring, sucking and squelching was heard as the reaper violated her insides with his tongue. 

She shivered when the long appendage pulled out, a jangling and rustle was heard before something Waaaay to big kissed at her entrance. 

She snapped out of her post orgasmic bliss and began to fight to get away.

"No! Nonono! Thats not gonna fit D! Oh fuck I cant really hold you in your regular form!" 

Y/N felt the air leave her as an arm went across her shoulder blades and pushed her into the solid rock. 

The other hand made her ass rise a bit in the air, his arm wrapping around to rest on the top of her ass.

With a strong thrust, the human shrieked as she felt something more Larger and Longer than a tongue expand her insides.

A fast brutal pace was set, moans and screams filled the air as she felt him fuck her puss.

Drool was heavily escaping her parted lips as she felt saliva and self lubricant make a loud squishing sound from his cock plunging in and out of her. 

"Oh god... Harder- harder D- oh it's so good.." 

She shivered as a low growl like chuckle escaped her partner. 

She bit her bottom lip as an orgasm escaped her again. She sobbed in pleasure as he continued to fuck her like an animal. 

Mounting and just taking her body.

It took awhile before he growled, shuddering as he snapped his hips to dig into her ass and thighs. 

Y/N was a drooling mess as she felt something hot fill her insides, she gave a soft whimper as he stayed inside her longer than needed until finally pulling out. 

Her legs shook, the rock was drenched from her previous orgasms, long strings of cum ran down her thighs. 

A delicious cream pie.

[kosztolanyi-karinthyja]

Döcögünk a távolba

A vonatállomást átjárta a téli délután lehangoló, zord hangulata. A napot már egy hete nem látták a borongós felhők vastag takarójától. A borulás, január tájt, hót is jelentett, és nem is keveset. A szép magyar alföld buja, zöld mezőinek se híre, se hamva nem maradt a huzamos zivatarok után. Mindent belepett a szinte világító fehérség. A végtelenségbe nyúlt hólepte földek sora.

Az állomás tetejét szintén beterítette a vakító világosság, de meg sikerült védeni az alatta húzódó kis peront. Két régi, kopott pad is állt a tető alatt, az egyiknek vendége is akadt, egy elegáns férfi alakjában.

A férfi könyvvel a kezében töltötte várakozásának monoton perceit. Néha-néha ki is dugta fejét a könyv rejtelmeiből, és olyankor hosszas töprengésbe kezdett. Szemei csillogtak, a fakó téli napfény foszlányai pedig táncot jártak retináján. Arcán viszont semmilyen érzelem nem mutatkozott, amit valószínűleg a vastag, vörös, fél arcát elrejtő sálra lehet fogni.

Szinte lehetett hallani a vonat halk zakatolását a távolban. A férfi erre felfigyelve kizökkent mély gondolkodásából, és folytatta könyve olvasását. Ahogy erősödött a zaj a férfi elrakta könyvét nagy kabátja zsebébe, és lassan fölegyenesedett a rozoga padról.

A vonat hangosan pöfögve futott be az állomásra, és nagy zajjal lassan meg is állt. Az ajtók kinyíltak, de nem meglepően senki sem szállt le róla, ahogy senki más sem várt rá. A férfi fekete bőröndjével együtt lépett fel a vagonra. Az utaskocsi rendesen meg volt telve, de szerencsére maradt egy-két hely üresen, mégha nem is ülőtárs nélkül.

A férfi gyorsan ki is szúrt magának egy tátongó lyukat a kényelmesen elhelyezkedett utasok között, és sietve oda sétált. Meglepetésére egy magához hasonló elegáns ifjút talált az előre kiszúrt ülése mellett, aki épp egy világot látott noteszbe firkálgatott. Egy frissítő arc a sok középkorú és már-már nyugdíjas ember kavalkádjában.

-Szép jó napot! Szabad ez a hely? - kérdezte lelkesen Frigyes.

A férfi felpillantva füzetecskéjéből elmosolyodott a derűs megszólítást hallva. Bólintott egyet, és kicsit arrébb csúszott az ülésen. Frigyes le is huppant az üres helyre, miután táskáját feltette a poggyászpolcra.

Frigyes egy ideig csak a kocsi belsejét fürkészte. Megfigyelte melyik nénikének van a legtöbb csomagja, hány bácsikának van szemüvege, melyik hölgynek van a legdivatosabb kabátja, hány kisgyerek szaladgál a vagonban, és hogy van-e olyan férfi, akinek szemében csillog a szerelem szikrája.

Szeme lassan befejezte a vagon elemzését, és végül a mellette ülő férfi ölébe keveredett pillantása, pontosabban arra a világotlátott rongyons noteszra. Hosszasan bámulta, ahogy a kissé göcsörtös kéz firkálja a szavakat, amik egymás után, mint a katonák, folytak a toll hegyéből.

Mikor Frigyes ráeszmélt milyen udvariatlan az ilyen viselkedés, azonnal elrántotta tekintetét a szó katonák töltötte sárga lapokró. Mégsem illendő egy idegen gondolataiba belelesni.

Hogy lekösse izgő-mozgó figyelmét, Frigyes elővette kabát zsebéből a könyvét, és újra belemerült saját gondolataiba, ahogy azt az állomáson is tette. A kellemes melegben minden könnyebben ment. Az oldalak lapozása, a távolba meredés, még maga a légzés is.

-Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre? - zökkentette ki Frigyest koncentrációjából egy ismeretlen hang. Tekintete találkozott a firkáló férfijével, és végre megtaláta a csillogó szempárt, amit az előbb keresett, de meglepő módon a meleg tekintet nem egy csinos hölgy felé irányult, hanem maga Frigyes szemébe meredt.

-Hát persze. Szinte klasszikus. - mondta a meglepődésből kiábrándulva Frigyes. - Frissítő látni, hogy valaki ismeri Goethe munkásságát kis hazánkban. Sajnos a fordítás hiánya akadályt jelent e területen.

-Egyezek. - felelte a férfi szemmel láthatóan még jobban felbátorodva. - Kár, hogy a fordítói pálya nem felkapott felénk. Szívesen elolvasnám a lefordított változatot, vajon milyen lenne, ha ékes magyar szavakkal fűszerezve áshatnánk bele magunkat ebbe a mély alkotásba.

- Hát, ha megemlíthetem, most éppen azon dolgozok, hogy magyar nyelven is elérhető legyen. - szólott kicsit szégyenlősen Frigyes. Nem sűrűn kérkedik munkájával, főleg nem idegeneknek, de valahogy ez a fiatal ember olyan elbűvölő, hogy Frigyes nem tudja megállni, hogy ne folytassa a beszélgetést.

- Dezső vagyok. - mondta hirtelen a férfi - Kosztolányi Dezső.

Dezső, gondolta magában Frigyes, milyen hívogatóan kellemes név. Kipróbálta belső hangjával egy párszor, vajon hogy is hangzana, ha kiejtené a száján... A nagy képzelgésekben szinte észre se vette a várakozó szempárt, ami figyelmesen fürkészte Frigyes arcát.

- Karinthy Frigyes. - válaszolt a kelleténél kurtábban. De mielőtt bármi mást mondhatott volna felsipított a vonat sípja, így jelezve, hogy megérkeztek a végállomásra.

A két férfi leszállt a vagonról bőröndjeik társaságában. Egy pillanatra úgy tűnt ez lesz a vége. Frigyes hirtelen szomorú lett. A halvány gondolat, hogy lehet soha többé nem látja majd azt a csodás barna szempárt, majdhogynem a depresszió mély gödrébe rúgta. Mondhatni túlzás ilyen végletekbe menni, viszont abban a pillanatban ez volt az egyetlen racionális kimenetel Frigyes gondolataiban.

Ahogy ott álltak a peronon egymással szemben, Dezső magabiztosan Frigyes kezéhez nyúlt. A csuklóját elkapva felemelte, és a notesz egy lapját nyomta tenyerébe.

-Majd küldd el a fordításod, ha befejezted. Szívesen elolvasnám. - mondta mosolyogva a már nem is annyira idegen idegen, és sarkon fordulva elsietett.

Frigyes álmodozó tekintete végig kísérte Dezső alakját, amíg az el nem tűnt a peronról, majd a kezében lévő sárga papírfecbit kezdte vizsgálni.

"Örülök, hogy találkoztunk. Remélem még látjuk egymást... Az alábbi a címem, ahova elküldheted a befejezett könyvet, vagy akár bármi mást.

××× ××××× ×××× ×××××

~Kosztolányi Dezső

[cirkuszka]

anna ahmatova szfinx-pózban

nyírfakéregből készült titkos noteszbe másolt versek egy lágerből

puskin-portré, abazsúros lámpa, és anna ahmatova kislányának kedvenc majma (replika :()

és maga az anna ahmatova múzeum a szökőkutas házban. a lakás eredetileg nyikolaj punyin művészetkritikusé volt, aztán a forradalom után “be kellett lakoltatni” minden szobába valakit. szóval  lényegében egy szép nagy kommunalka, amiben most a költőnő személyes holmijai tekinthetők meg. meg lehet kövezni, de engem ez a híres emberek személyes cuccain nyáladzás túlzottan sosem indított meg, viszont így, hogy a lakás maga érdemes, megér egy vizitet. pláne a kedves teremőr nénikkel, akik akár azt is elmesélhetik, hogy 18 éves korukban megnyertek egy diákolimpiát és jutalomból két hétre kiutazhattak a szojúzból egyenesen a meseszép magyarországra! és még most is elérzékenyülten sorolják, hogy szjeged, gyebrecen, khjeviz; mennyi finom  étel, micsoda ikarusz-buszok! :)

[vanista]

Jimmi mesélte a katonaságon

amikor vártunk a vasútállomáson, hogy melyik kábítószer mit okoz. Azt mondta valamelyikről, hogy képzeljem el, hogy a sínek ide-oda tekerednek, egymásba bogozódnak. És tényleg azt látom, tehát nem úgy érzem, mintha. Felírtam a noteszbe, még nem ellenőriztem le.

De rózsaszín felhőről nem mesélt.

[welcome-to-the-darksideuwu]

ᛞ Notesz. 🐗 (@NoteszB) / Twitter.

I have been having the hardest time accurate ly sighting this artist. Omfg. Twitter, let me use you!