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girlwtdragontattoo · 3 months ago

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Painted for me

Stardew Valley Elliott x GN Farmer

Art by O3tofu on Twitter/X

WARNING: 18+, obsessive and toxic behavior, masturbation, general nsfw

Couple Notes: This is my very first attempt at anything Yandere related. I'm tatted and always wondered how Elliott would react to one on the farmer. Enjoy my indulgence! [:

If you're curious what music I was listening to for inspo, it was mostly Florence and the Machine mixed with Bon Iver and Beyonce lol

Word Count: 2k

The unusual warm breeze on an autumn morning seemed to have whispered across the valley: today was a Beach Day!

Elliott awoke with paper stuck to his face, adhering to the tiny drivel of spit around his mouth. The crumbled-up pages decorated his dusty floor, evidence of another night spent frustratingly giving up mid-sentence. The intense writer’s block wasn’t ceasing.

He could hear people laughing outside his cabin.

Letting out a huge yawn, the poet stretched his aching body and wandered groggily to the nearest window.

It can‘t be the Luau again, he deduced, having only sleepily stumbled into that party a few weeks ago.

Peering through the glass, he saw no wild decorations, but most of the villagers in beach clothing taking in the beautiful rays. Elliott scanned the sand for his friends, spotting Leah in a sunhat sketching by the water and found Willy gazing excitedly into the water near the pier.

The writer’s heart skipped a secret beat, when he recognized the back of the farmer’s head, unpacking their gear near his neighbor. They were tying their hair up, the little baby hairs on the back of their nape made the him quiver.

Frantically grabbing his pants and jumping into one leg, Elliott brushed his teeth with fervor. The farmer was always a bit unpredictable with their schedule, so he didn’t want to waste any time. Another chance to talk to them! He could feel the heat of the day seep through the wooden planks of his shack, so he decided against his red overcoat.

Opening his door, he was met with a sweltering wall and was blinded briefly by the blaring sun in his eyes. Blinking to get accustomed to the brightness, he could barely make out the silhouettes of Willy and the farmer, who were moving strangely – what were they doing? The fuzzy movements were unusual for fishing.

Elliott squeezed his lids hard to adjust them quicker to the glare. Once he opened them, his face turned purple.

The farmer was taking off their overalls. So was Willy, but that wasn’t as exciting to him. A flush of hot static overtook Elliott’s entire body and it wasn’t due to the pressing sun above him. He had never seen the farmer with anything other than their work clothes and now…

Th- that’s their underwear!

The writer could see their bare legs emerging from the pants, their skin dotted with little droplets of sweat. And what was that?

Adorning one of the legs of the farmer was an intricate tattoo. The way it curved around their thigh made Elliott moan squeakily. It wasn’t enough that he was seeing parts of them he had been fantasizing about for the past few months. Now, he would give anything to kiss all over that gorgeous painting and work his way up.

The farmer straightened themselves and tucked their T-Shirt up, exposing their stomach.

Oh, sweet Hell, what are you doing to me?

Willy and the farmer were now removing their boots and stepping into the water together, carrying a large net. They chatted loudly, giving instructions on how to hold the net or what to look out for. He could hear a light raspiness in the farmer’s voice, clearly tired from previous work. Their hands were gripping the rope tightly.

“Hey Elliott!”

The way the water caressed their thighs, leaving shadowy marks of it having touched them. How he wished he could leave hand prints all over them.

“Elliott?”

That gorgeous tattoo was teasing him. What other beautiful things could he discover on them, if they let him explore?

“Elliott!!!”

Elliott finally whirled around and was met with Leah staring at him. He had been rooted in front of his door, staring like a mad dog the entire time.

“O-oh, good morning, Leah! Sorry…”, he rubbed the back of his head. His face was crimson, but could be mistaken as the fastest sunburn in history.

“Bad night?”, the artist tilted her head slightly, looking him up and down.

Elliott had to concentrate and not let his eyes continuously slip back to the almost naked body of the farmer. His head felt dizzy. In the corner of his eye, he saw them flip their hair away from their shoulder.

“Just up late”, he mumbled quickly in response, “Seems everyone’s enjoying this lovely day in the ocean breeze!” He tried to pretend he was looking out at the rest of the villagers speckled across the sand, but his eyes were really flittering over to the lower half of the farmer’s soaking wet form.

Leah caught his gaze and grinned to herself: “Yup, everyone’s here…” He pretended not to hear the suggestive intonation in her voice. “Well, if you’re looking for me, I’m over there,” she pointed at her sketchbook lying on a shallow rock near the water, “after you’ve greeted everyone.” She winked and returned to her spot.

Elliott waved at Leah while she walked away and started to come up with a plan.

How can I get closer without being too weird?

The writer scanned the beach. Sam and Sebastian were standing in the shade, deep in conversation. Not a great excuse. They seemed to be bantering about something important. Pam was roasting herself on her towel, occasionally lifting her head to sip from her beer can or burp. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk to anyone, not that he particularly wanted to, either. Emily, Haley, Maru and Penny were sitting together at the far side of the beach, while Jodi read a book serenely behind them. Vincent and Jas were throwing sand at each other.

Too far away. Too much sand in my face.

None of these were the best options for an easy transition to talk to his crush.

What about…

He suddenly showed a particular interest in Alex, who was playing catch with himself. Coincidentally, he was standing close to where Willy and the farmer were working.

Alex! He’s fun to talk to!

Elliott hadn't really talked to him, ever. They just waved at each other, occasionally, when their paths crossed on the beach.

Convinced of his amazing plan, the red-head walked with gusto towards the unassuming gym rat who was too preoccupied with his workout. Before he knew it, Elliott stood near him awkwardly. Alex caught the ball and blinked at him.

“Uh…”, he looked confused, “hi?”

“Hello Alex! Lovely day for stretching and overexerting our muscles, right? You seem to be doing well! Hahaha.” He had no idea what Alex liked to talk about. Probably exercise. The nervous laugh came out involuntarily.

“Oh- uh hi Elliott. Yeah, yeah. I’m getting a good sweat going.” He turned slightly and wanted to continue tossing the ball, but Elliott hadn’t left. He looked him up and down. He clearly wasn’t dressed for a workout.

“Are you alright?” Alex asked.

“Oh yes, of course. Just making conversation!” the writer babbled. His face was still scorching red.

Elliott put his hands on his hips and pretended to stretch, clearly having no clue what to say further. He stole a few glimpses towards the water, where the farmer had stood up straight, still holding the net. Their leg muscles were tense. Their behind peaked out from the short, soaking wet underwear.

Alex watched the writer for a moment, then turned away from him. He resumed tossing the ball and catching it, ignoring the weird stretching sounds Elliott was faking.

Ok I can probably go say hi now, right?

As he gulped, he stopped his pseudo-stretching and slowly made his way towards his goal.

I’ll say hi to Willy first. That’s less obvious.

Inching closer, it took everything in his soul not to continuously stare at the farmer’s ass, while they were bending over and tugging the net.

“G-Good morning, Willy!”, Elliott blurted out when he felt like he was close enough.

Both turned to him. Willy’s wide smile met him as he gave a joking salute. The farmer turned their head at the sound of his voice as well, their face drenched in sweat with a small streak of blush coating their nose and cheeks. Their striking eyes were glittering in the sunlight. Once they smiled, too, Elliott could’ve fainted into the ocean.

“Hi Elliott!”, they said kindly. There were a few pants after they spoke, clearly holding the net against the waves was exhausting.

Oh my God.

“What are you two doing?” He could barely control the shakes in his voice. He was so close to them. The tattoo was so much clearer now. Their whole lower half was so much clearer now.

“We’re catching shrimp! There’s an explosion of ‘em this morning! Farmer Name offered to help me out.”

The farmer nodded in response: “Happy to help!”

In that moment, a giant wave crashed into them. Elliott stepped back a bit to avoid the splash, still wearing his loafers. Willy and the farmer stood their ground, but the might of the current had pulled the farmer’s underwear to the side slightly. It wasn’t exposing too much, but the writer clearly got a brief glimpse at their privates before they readjusted themselves.

“Whoops, sorry!” they laughed, while Willy repositioned his hat.

Elliott’s body froze. His face had now turned a thick shade of maroon and he could feel himself growing against his belt.

“I have to go!”, he spat out and sprinted away with such velocity back towards his shack. Willy and the farmer looked at each other, shrugged and then continued collecting what they had caught in their nets into the whicker baskets beside them. By the state of his face, they could’ve easily deduced he had gotten sun stroke.

The writer slammed his door shut and leaned against it, panting heavily and muffling out the cheerful chatter of the beach.

Elliott stood there, heaving, the bulge in his pants growing larger as he thought about what divine beauty he just glimpsed at. All the things he wanted to do in that moment flooded his senses.

He wanted to tackle them into the water and rip their flimsy underwear off, inserting a finger into them as he kissed them impatiently. He wanted to caress their salty skin and lick the beautiful artwork etched forever on their upper thigh. Painted for him, to adore and use.

He wanted to tear his pants open and take them right there in the shallow water, in front of everyone, while they moaned and begged for him to go harder. He wanted to feel their narrow walls and hold their face up towards his, as he came.

The sound of his belt buckle hitting the wooden floor echoed through the shack. He couldn’t hold it any longer. Still leaning against his door, Elliott touched himself fiercely, imagining all the things he wanted- no, needed to do to them. All of those filthy thoughts circled frantically within his mind, imagining their face in pure ecstasy: he would be the cause of that. Holding their legs up and seeing the art up close, it was too much.

Painted for me.

That phrase etched itself deep within him. He felt electricity crackle its way from his shaft all the way through his lower body, as he threw his head back and moaned harshly, sinking into the orgasmic sensation.

Elliott felt his knees waver, as he slid down the door and sat on the surprisingly cold floor. His right hand was sticky, so he placed his left palm against his forehead in shame.

He could barely last a whole conversation with the farmer, fully clothed. But this, this had been a true test of Yoba, if he could control himself. Alas, he clearly couldn’t.

One day.

Staring across the room, he caught sight of his quill. Could he craft something worthwhile out of this shameful experience? Having just seen his muse in an unprecedented way, poetry engulfed his being.

Picking himself up, the writer put his pants back on, leaving the belt to hang open on his hips. He slid his feet towards his desk and hunched over it, taking the quill in his hand.

On a piece of scrap paper, he wrote:

Painted for me

A work of art no thief could rip from my grasp

I will keep it safe, here by the sea

My fingers ache to trace its creases

He stared at the words. Proudly. A delicious thought slithered up his spine.

What if he sent the farmer a letter?

#stardew valley elliott #stardew valley fanfic #yandere elliott #elliott x farmer #elliott x reader #suggestive #yandere #sdv elliott #sdv fanfic

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kaneandfeels · 5 months ago

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SO A LOT OF YOU ASKED A LOT OF QUESTIONS So we answered every one we were asked

1. What is an element of your story that surprised you?

How quickly the Holmes and Watson dynamic we used as a writing crutch entirely flipped through our characters growing and developing. Feels became the star rather than the sounding board in a way that is really organic and good - Jack

Its scope. I had dabbled with absurdism before Kane and Feels, but never gone full existential horror. I’m more of a like quiet melodrama type so i love that jack was able to get me writing more esoteric bullshit- Oli

I don’t know if it's surprising, but there’s a tenderness to a lot of the series that I wasn't expecting when we started. It sets its tropes out strongly, and then the characters interact in that space and take it in wildly different directions, while remaining true to the genre. - Jude

2. Is audio drama the only medium you've worked in? How does it compare to other mediums?

Audio dramas are the only form I've ever received feedback for really, I have a literature degree and I am constantly making stories but I don't really have any other published works like this. - jack

I’ve studied in other mediums, but not worked in them. I’ve done bits of filming at school but found quickly my talents laid in sound. - Jude

I’m an audio nerd, through and through. Started as a musician, became a DJ, wrote a sitcom, did a degree, made some docs and factual programmes and then it's been audio dramas since then. It's a difficult medium to master but a rewarding one when its’ done right. - Oli

3. What are some audio dramas that inspire you? Both in general and for your podcast.

Welcome to nightvale was a big early touchstone, the work of Dirk Maggs like batman knightfall meant a lot to me as a child, I had it on cassette tapes

HItchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (the radio series) is a big one. I listened to it religiously when growing up. Neverwhere was another one that inspired me from a sound perspective. The shifting brickwork always tickles my brain. - Jude

I listened to a lot of HP as a kid, while going tobed. I graduated onto the BBC7 ‘Comedy Club’ which played a mix of half hour sitcoms and stand up comedy vehicles between 10 and midnight when I was going to sleep… occasionally I would drift into the ‘seventh dimension’ where I’d hear the man in black, Blake 7 and all other sci-fi horrory affairs. When Nightvale turned up, that was a game changer, cause it opened the field to people like me to go make audio dramas without the clout of the BBC behind us. Same with Wooden overcoats.

More specifically though, there is a direct line between Aker and Blacker’s “beyond Belief’ on the Thrilling adventure hour’ and the early drafts of Kane and Feels

4. Who is a character that took you by surprise?

Councilman Geoff Grace. Go listen for why - Jack

Jeanine (the housewife) wasn’t surprising, but she was shocking. I just loved her framing and existence in the story. It's one of those ones where you can feel the screen on the scene. you ‘re looking in at this strange commercial of a woman as she lives this warped 50’s vibe. - Jude

For me, its the monster from wonderland. I had this idea for something grotesque, that pulled apart the idea that words don’t hurt. Of course words hurt. That’s why they can lead us to violence or action or whatever. So I had this idea of a monster who said words ‘scar from the inside’. Jack said ‘this is great, what is this monster?”…. And i hadn’t thought that far ahead. I said ‘I dunno, that’s your job, spookyman’ - so suddenly its the voice of the goddess of spite, we get Vivi P, the most terrifying italian woman ever to grace our studios to do her voice, and then pepper her in through out the series making her a serious big bad. Didn’t know she’d have that milage considering it was essentially a joke about sticks and stones breaking bones. - Oli

5. If you're the writer, how did casting/producing change how you thought about the podcast?

No one gave a fuck about our opinions on this particualr subject. - Oli

6. If you are a voice actor or audio editor, what is your favorite blooper moment?

There's a line with constituents in season one episode 4 that I just couldn't say - Jack

I think a lot of our weird bloopers end up in the show, either as the take or buried beneath some stuff. Season 2 is lousy with them, from Chippie’s final monologue to the sound of me and Oli in Thornbush’s charity shop. To even the joke about Paul Bearer in the final episode. - Jude

There’s one take we never used, where Ali Cambell, Jeanines’ actor, improvised a story about their first hamster. In the story, she crushes it to death. We loved it at the time, but it was arguably better than anything any of us had written so I personally coward’d out and didn’t put it in. - Oli (Id’ forgotten about that - Jude)

7. If you could make a crossover (canon or non canon) with any other audio drama, what would it be?

Am I allowed to say ‘Camlann’? Even though its very recent we’d slot in very well.or Victoriocity - Jude

I mean, I want to be on hello from the magic tavern, but not as kane - Jack

Sandman. Wanna work with Dirk. or What’s the Frequency or if Rose Drive ever resurrects. - Oli

8. What is an inside joke or reference that is hidden in your podcast?

So many wrestling kayfabe references - Jack

I always think of ‘GET BACK VILE BEAST’ *dunstan throws a spanner at a bird* - The real joke is that a lot of the rocks from St Dunstan made it into Camlann episode seven when the hill opens up into the underground.

The inside joke for me is the loops. “Jude’s discount Loops” - hacking these beautiful pieces of music that Oli has made and getting them to work. They’re all like 14 minutes long and there’s chopping that needs to be done.

9. What are some of your favorite podcasts to listen to?

World Beyond Number. Westminster Insider, Too many Tabs, Chapo Trap House. I’m a trash person who listens to trash. (other than WBN, most exciting actual play on the scene RN) = Oli

Is it terrible I’m more of a music person? I’m currently spiraling back into Nonagon Infinity by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. I listen to old audiobooks to sleep. At the moment it's the good omens radio series with Mark Heap and Peter Serafinowitz. - Jude

I have an elaborate weekly schedule of podcasts I listen to, my current favorite is 'mom can't cook'

10. Are the podcasts you make / enjoy making the same kind you enjoy listening to (genre, formatting, etc)?

I mostly listen to character improv comedy and comedy reviews of film and wrestling. A little bit of D&D actual play too. so I guess... no? - J

I can’t just say ‘I don’t listen to podcasts’... I mean I can and I don’t. - Jude

No. - Oli

11. Free space! Tell me something cool about your podcast!

The music is crazy good - Jack

The Sound Design is once in a generation. - OliThe writing is ambitious and exciting - Jude

#kane and feels #Ask meme #chemicallywrit #geekeryisafoot #alegocarmadein #regicidal-defenestration

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humanpurposes · 1 year ago

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Just for a Moment, part i

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Words: 3800

A/n: Me? Starting another series to avoid updating ongoing fics? No wayyyy. This is going to be a 4 part mini series and their song is When the Sun Hits by Slowdive, just so you know. Also available to read on AO3.

Tom Bennett had always had a talent for getting under people’s skin.

Kitty knew it when they were kids, when they’d run around the streets of Longsight and the alleyways behind Slade Grove. He would rile anyone up, regardless if they were older or bigger than him. He didn’t even do it for a reason, he just liked to get a raise out of people.

He used to tease her too, for all sorts of stupid reasons, because she was a year younger than him, because her mother used to dress her in shirts and shorts that used to belong to her older brothers, because when they’d buy bags of Yorkshire mix from the shop, she would only eat the red ones. Every Sunday after Church, they’d sit in the park or on the front step of the Bennetts’ house, and Tom would pick out every sweet he knew she liked, and keep the rest for himself.

When Tom was eleven he moved to the big school, where Kitty’s brothers all went, Eddie, Art and Stevie. Eddie was a prefect. He used to come home with all sorts of stories of Tom Bennett, ‘from over the road’. Tom talked back to his teachers, disrupted assemblies, picked fights with other kids, every offence Kitty’s mind could imagine.

It only got worse when his mam died.

Thursday 12th July, 1928

Kitty had never been to a funeral before. She had a new dress and a black overcoat for the occasion. It was cold in the church graveyard, overcast and windy. Mam had held her hand so tightly she wondered if she’d ever get it back.

The Bennetts stood together, on the other side of the grave. Lois’ hair was braided into a messy plait that stuck out on one side, the ribbon at the end tied into a knot rather than a bow. She was trying to hold her father’s shoulder as he cried, but she couldn’t quite reach. Tom stood a little further away from his father. His hair was messy, his knees scabbed and bruised, his shirt skewed and the buttons done in the wrong places.

Kitty kept her eyes on him, all through the service, the burial and the wake back at number 27. Tom didn’t cry once.

That night, when she should have been asleep, she lay awake in her bed, listening to her brothers whispering and in the next room as they always did. Sometimes she felt sad to be left out of their antics, but tonight she was glad to be on her own, in her little box room at the front of the house.

Until she heard a tapping on the window.

She froze between her sheets. Was it too late for it to have been a bird?

And then it came again, tap, tap, tap.

With a determined little huff, she rose from the bed, smoothed her hands down the front of her nightgown and drew back the curtains.

“Tom?” she whispered.

He grinned when he saw her, perched on the windowsill behind the glass.

Kitty raised the window and before she could invite him in he was crawling through it.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

Tom shrugged and went to sit on the edge of her bed. He glanced around the room, at the little shelf of books, dolls and small wooden animals, the black overcoat hung on the back of the door and the drawings stuck to the wardrobe. He’d been in the Wheelans’ kitchen before, but he’d never been allowed upstairs.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, far too loudly for Kitty’s liking.

She pressed a firm finger against his lips. She held her breath, waiting for one of the lads to notice, but they kept on chatting– whatever it was teenage boys chatted about.

“Keep your voice down,” she said.

Tom smiled against her finger and made a cross over his heart.

She sat beside him, swaying her legs while she tried to think of something to say.

Tom reached for a book on her bedside table and flicked through the pages. When he was bored of that, he grabbed her teddy. He tossed it about in his hands and ran his hands over the ancient and matted fur. It had been Eddie’s, back in the day. Every single one of her brothers had owned it before her.

“I don’t like seeing my dad cry,” Tom said.

Kitty frowned. “Why not?”

“I just don’t like it. He’s always been a bit…”

Dad had often mentioned the case of Douglas Bennett. They had fought in the same regiment in 1914. When Micheal Wheelan came back from war, he returned as a self-proclaimed hero. His boys loved to hear his stories and take turns wearing his medals. Douglas Bennett had returned to Manchester a far more troubled kind of man.

“And with mum he–” but he stopped himself with an irritated grunt. “Can I stay here?”

“What?”

“Not forever, I just… can I sit here, just for a moment?”

Kitty took the teddy from him and placed her hand firmly in his. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?”

From then on, Tom made quite a habit of appearing at the window and hiding in her room whenever he was in trouble.

Saturday 2nd September, 1939

Being up and out before the boys are awake is a strange feeling, it’s the only time the house is so quiet.

It’s just before dawn. The sky is a hazy shade of dark blue but an orange glow is starting to appear over the rooftops. Mr Gregory wants her in the shop early to help with a delivery.

Something draws her eyes from her black leather shoes on the pavement, up to the end of the street. A figure makes his way down Slade Grove. She recognises the sway of his shoulders and the end of a lit cigarette in his mouth.

“Alright, pretty Kitty?” Tom says when they’re in earshot of each other, taking the cigarette between his fingers. “What are you doing up so late?”

“It’s early,” she says. He’s in a jacket and slacks, and he has a dazed sort of look in his eyes. She can guess where he’s been but it doesn’t stop her from asking. “What have you been up to?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says, taking another drag. He tilts his chin up and exhales the smoke above their heads through pouted lips. “Just been down the pub, nothing scandalous.”

A likely story. She’s seen the police knocking on their front door twice in four weeks.

“How’s your job in the shop going?” he asks.

It was supposed to be temporary, a little money to make ends meet after dad got laid off from the factory. Six months later and she’s still there.

“Grand,” she says.

“Can you do me mates rates on a packet of Marlboros?”

“Yeah, if you promise to actually buy them.”

He clutches his chest and his face lights up in an ironic expression. “Of course, what sort of man do you take me for?”

The sort who used to sell cigarettes in the schoolyard— God knows how he got his hands on them in the first place. At that age he could talk himself out of anything. That’s what makes Tom Bennett every parent’s worst nightmare, he’s a troublemaker with pretty blue eyes and an infectiously charming smile.

“I should get going,” she says, taking another step until Tom moves in front of her. Her eyes meet with the collar of his jacket and the hollow of his throat. She can smell the musk of the pub on him, the cigarette smoke and the faded scent of his aftershave.

She looks up to his face and his expression has changed, not quite smiling but amused, smug and somewhat severe.

“What?” she says impatiently.

“Nothing,” he says, unphased, “have a good shift.”

The morning drags on at a gruelling pace. Mr Gregory’s getting on a bit now so Kitty has to do a lot of the heavy lifting, piling boxes into the storage room round the back, going through the stock in the shop, filling the shelves, flattening the boxes and bringing them to the bins outside. It feels like hours of work, but when she looks at the clock it’s not even 9. Eight hours until closing. Mr and Mrs Gregory live above the shop, so at least she gets a steady supply of tea, toast and bits of carrot cake.

By the afternoon she feels her eyes start to close. The morning rush is over now and business will dwindle for the rest of the day. She tries to stay awake, fanning herself with her blouse and nibbling on little mouthfuls of cake.

The bell above the door rings. She straightens her spine and smooths down her apron, ready to put on her best customer service voice, only for Tom Bennett to swagger in through the door.

He’s changed his clothes and donned a blue jacket instead of the earthy green she had seen him in earlier.

“Did you get enough sleep?” Kitty asks at the heavy look under his eyes.

He grins it off. “Packet of Marlboros please, Miss Wheelan.”

She fetches them from the cabinet behind the counter and places the packet in front of him. His aftershave smells a little stronger now. “Anything else?”

He drums his fingers against the counter, looking around innocently at the array of chocolate bars and the jars of sweets behind her.

“I’ll have a bag of Yorkshire mix,” he says.

She takes the jar down from the shelf. She can hear him breathing steadily through his nose as she scoops the sweets into a paper bag. When she turns back around he’s watching her.

“Nine pence,” she says, swallowing down a nervous feeling in her throat.

Tom counts through some change from his pocket and drops the coins into her hands, a sixpence and a thruppence. His fingertips brush over her palms and his knuckles are scabbed over. She dreads to think why.

“Nice one,” he says once she puts the payment through the till. “What do you make of this stuff going on in Poland then?” he says, popping a pear drop into his mouth.

She’s only been reading the headlines of the papers when she stocks them in the shop every morning, or hearing snippets from dad’s radio.

“Since when did you start taking an interest in foreign affairs?” she asks.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a raspberry. “Been reading the news, haven’t I?” he says, holding it out for her.

She hesitates for a moment before she takes it. She lets the sugar melt over her tongue. It tastes like summer afternoons after school and weekends in the park, tearing at the grass and watching the boys play football because they’d never let her join in.

“That’s where Harry is, isn’t it?” she says, “Lois must be worried.

Tom tuts and tucks the bag into his pocket. “Posh boys can talk their way out of anything,” he says. “Speaking of, I met Madge’s new man last night.”

“At the pub?”

“Yeah. Right ponce in’t he?”

She purses her lips in irritation. She hates it when he does this, poking fun at others until he feels better about himself. “He’s training to be a barrister.”

“Like I said.”

She shrugs. “I suppose there are worse jobs to have.”

“Is that what you’ll do then? Find some rich boy with a big house and stick up his arse?”

It’s not quite the future she has planned out for herself. Her friend Madge is a secretary in Manchester. There are all sorts of exams she had to pass, but it could be doable. Mam’s always tried to put her off it though. “Parents need their girls,” she says.

��I don't think I’m likely to find any of those in Longsight. Maybe I should ask Lois for advice?” she says, trying not to smile.

“Steady there, Kitty, I didn’t mean to get you all excited,” he says, leaning into the counter. His voice is lower all of a sudden, it sends an odd, jittery feeling though her chest and stomach.

He winks at her before he turns and leaves. The bell rings and the shop is quiet again.

Her feet feel heavy when she walks through the front door. Her bed calls her name but she’s unbearably thirsty. Saturdays are half days and the boys are already home from the factory. Mam’s started on dinner and the others are around the kitchen table.

Dad waves a blue leaflet at her. “One of Douglas Bennett’s pacifist… things,” he says.

“Do you really think there’ll be a war, dad?” Kitty says, shrugging off her coat.

“If there is, it won’t be long,” he says with a determined nod, “no one wants another war.”

Eddie and Art hum in agreement. The oldest of the four Wheelan siblings, they were born before dad went away to war. Their faces are older and more stern, like they can still remember a time when they didn’t have their father around. They still call Stevie and Kitty “the babies,” which she thinks must make them feel more important.

Stevie’s in good spirits though. “Ran into Lois and Connie on the bus, and Connie personally invited me to their gig tonight!” he says brightly.

“Come off it,” Art grumbles, “she was just being friendly.”

“Kitty!” Stevie sings, waltzing over to her. He takes her coat from her hands and twirls her around the kitchen, to mam’s despair. “Come to the Fiddler’s Bow with me tonight, please.”

“So you can ditch me for Connie once their set’s done?”

“There’ll be other people there,” Stevie says, turning her around to face their brothers, “or ask one of these grumpy bastards to join us.”

“Stephen Wheelan!” their mother chides.

Eddie and Art share a pointed look and shake their heads, already backing away towards the front room.

In the end she decides she’ll just have to brave it. After eating, she changes into a flowy, white blouse and an emerald green skirt, pinning her hair up so it won’t go everywhere as she moves. She hides a tube of lipstick inside her purse. Mam and dad would rather die than let her leave the house with makeup. She only owns a lipstick because Lois Bennett had given her one.

Stevie brushes up well, in a white shirt and freshly shined leather shoes, his hair slicked back with wax. They run into each other on the landing and race downstairs.

Mam gives them the usual instructions. Home by 11 o'clock and not a minute later. One drink each. No smoking. No noise when they get in.

Stevie’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket when they’re halfway through the front door.

And Kitty’s breath hitches when, for the third time that day, she sees Tom Bennett. He’s hovering in the doorway, putting empty milk bottles out. When he notices them, he smiles. “Off somewhere nice?” he says.

“Fiddler’s Bow,” Stevie calls back, “to see Lois and Connie play.”

“She’s down there already,” Tom says, his eyes flickering to Kitty for only a moment, “left half an hour ago.”

He’s in a white t-shirt now, that’s just a little too tight against his torso.

“Why don’t you join us?” Kitty says without thinking it through. “Stevie’s going for Connie, I’ll need a partner once he ditches me.”

Tom looks down at the pavement. His lips are thin and his hands fidget by his side. “I’ve um… got something else on tonight, ‘m sorry.”

Her heart sinks. Any lighthearted hope she had about enjoying the evening dissolves right in front of her. Right, of course, because why would he actually want to spend more than a few moments with her?

“Movin’ on,” Stevie says, steering Kitty down the road with a brief farewell to Tom. “He’s no good, you know that?” he whispers in her ear. “Eddie says he nicks scrap metal from the yard, sells it to all sorts dodgy fuckers.”

“Yeah, I know,” she breathes. Her chest feels tight and suddenly she feels like she wants to cry.

Stevie has a good time at the gig. Lois and Connie are first in the lineup and once their set is over, Stevie makes a point of cheering the loudest. The four of them spend the rest of the night dancing.

When Stevie and Connie disappear outside for a smoke, Kitty drags Lois to the bar, to catch their breath and down glasses of tonic water. Lois drones on about her Harry issue, but having three older brothers who presume every word they say is profound and worthy of note, Kitty knows where to hum and nod without really listening.

They walk Connie home first before the three of them make their way to Slade Grove. The houses are quiet now, save for a few lights in the windows, creeping through drawn curtains. Two policemen are standing outside number 27.

“Have you seen your brother?” one of them calls to Lois when she reaches the door.

“No,” Lois says, “but if you see him before I do, will you tell him he’s in trouble?”

Kitty meets Stevie’s eyes and he raises his brows.

“Piss off,” she grumbles.

Mam and dad have gone to bed, but Eddie and Art are playing cards in the front room— or they should be. Eddie is standing by the window, peering through the curtains.

“Who are they after?” Eddie asks.

“Who do you think?” Kitty mutters, but she doesn’t stay to hear another rant about ‘troublesome Tom Bennett’, and slips her shoes off before she makes her way upstairs.

It can’t be said Tom doesn’t make an impression on the people he meets. Mam and dad still have a soft spot for him, though less so since he’s started getting into trouble with the police, and the lads seem to outright despise him.

She’d be lying if she said he didn’t find him irritating, to a certain degree. Maybe it’s because he’s cocky, maybe it’s because he used to be surprisingly sweet, or maybe it’s because nothing seems to phase him, but something about Tom Bennett makes her restless.

She wipes off her lipstick, takes out the pins in her hair and changes into her nightgown. Her eyes feel heavy, but tomorrow is Sunday, which means the shop will be closed and she can have a whole day of ‘freedom’, so long as that includes helping with the laundry and the dinner.

Dad’s snores are evident and the boys are still distracted downstairs, they’ve even put the radio on by the sound of it.

She’s about to turn off the light when she hears three taps on the window.

He knows it’s unlocked. The window slides up and Tom squeezes through it, slipping his boots off so he doesn’t make too much noise when he plants his feet on the floor. He goes straight to the bed, making himself comfortable over the throw with his hands under his head.

“Lois says the police have been round,” he says quietly.

She looks down at her hands, nervously playing with the fabric of her nightgown. “I saw.”

He turns his head to where she stands. The lamp hits his face like sunlight, catching the sharp features of his face, the point of his nose and the curve of his lips.

She nudges him closer to the wall, making some space for herself beside him. Her body rests against his. He smells like smoke and fresh air.

“What did you do this time?” she asks.

He doesn’t give her an answer. In a way she thinks she’d rather not know.

His arm falls around her and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. Nights with him are often like this, quiet, just two people existing in the same space.

He turns on his side to face her. “Can I stay the night?”

“Tom,” she whispers, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Please, or I’ll have to sleep on a couch in the pub.”

“Are you mad? can you imagine what Eddie’ll do if he sees you walking out my bedroom in the morning?”

“Kitty,” he hums. He brings his hand to her face, gently stroking his thumb over her cheek. His eyes are wide and pleading. “Please.”

It’s in moments like this when she hates Tom the most, when her heart thrums in her chest and she wants nothing more than to lose herself in the feeling of his skin against hers. When their heads are so close together, all she sees are two blue eyes.

Each time she thinks she wants to close the distance between them, something stops her.

Neither of them ever dare to move closer than this.

She reaches to turn off the light and turns back to Tom. Her head falls into his chest and her arm settles around his waist. She falls asleep to the pulse of his heartbeat, the sound of his breath and the warmth of his body.

And by the time the sun shines in through the window, he’s gone.

Sunday 3rd September, 1939

She appears in the kitchen just after 11 o’clock. Her body feels heavy and her eyes are still tired. She shouldn’t have gone back to sleep after she woke up the first time.

Dad’s fiddling with the radio, Art’s pouring tea into six cups, and Eddie and mam are listening to Steive’s retelling of the previous night. He seems incredibly proud of himself, despite the fact the closest he came to kissing Connie was lighting her cigarette.

She helps Art with the tea. They all like it the same way. Strong, with one sugar and a little dash of milk.

It might almost be a perfect morning, if dad were listening to something more uplifting than the news.

“How about some music?” she says as she hands him his cup, but he doesn’t take it. His eyes are fixed on the radio, and his hands are shaking.

“Dad…”

Art appears over her shoulder and turns up the volume. “Quiet,” he says, and the others fall silent.

A voice speaks through the crackles in the transmission, “consequently, this country is at war with Germany.”

Kitty looks at the faces around her, Eddie and Art glaring furiously, Stevie’s wide eyes and his lips fallen like a child’s, mam and dad’s haunted sorrow.

The transmission ends and she wishes it didn’t, it would save her from the grave silence in the house.

She decides to make herself busy. She washes out an empty milk bottle and goes to leave it by the door.

When she opens the door the two policemen are back, only now they’re walking out of the Bennetts’ house.

Her heart sinks. They have Tom in handcuffs.

His eyes meet hers across the road. He doesn’t make a fuss, or try to protest. He hangs his head as they walk him down the street.

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince (comment to be added)

Series taglist: (comment to be added)

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

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smallmediumproblems · 9 months ago

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Propaganda under the cut

Why isn't John/David/Cecil/Obituary Writer/etc here?

I'm specifically excluding narrators who are also primary characters in the story. There are a lot of really good unreliable main character POVs, and some that are very, very popular. There are also a LOT of found footage / "documentary" shows, so the pool of "main character who is technically also the narrator" is monstrously large. This is for narrators who have things to say about the story but are moderately to severely removed from it. You'll notice I've also excluded the Documentarian from The White Vault, because by the time she's commenting on the story, she's also a main character.

Madeleine can stay because she's very polite.

Madeleine the mouse

Madeleine doesn't exactly serve a narrative so much as she plates and seasons it before bringing it out. Part plot device, part confidante, and all bohemian authoress. But please, consider the other candidates long and hard before you vote. She's not really too unreliable, she's just incredibly biased.

The Voice of HartLife

You have to be a special kind of unreliable for one of your characters to break down the fourth wall into your recording studio to kick the shit out of you.

The Historian

*Gesturing at a lithograph of Eisen and Telesphore making out sloppy style* "Truly, it is tragic that the men of our generation have lost such deep platonic bonds as are depicted here. So secure were they in their brotherhood that our contemporary idea of friendship fails to-"

The Narrator

No, not Leon. The other guy. I can't possibly describe what his Whole Deal is without spoiling a major plot twist of the show, but guys. He killed Matt Damon, guys. He killed Matt Damon while trying to murder dozens of other people at the same time. (Hundreds? I don't know how trains work.)

Dubrach

Yes, I know it's not really confirmed. That's what unreliable narration is all about. But what could be more reliable than the literal word of god on the puny machinations of his flock? :) :) :) Also he's voiced by Alisdair Stuart, our dad.

The Malevolent Patreon Hastur

...is specifically not included, because a) people are going to think I'm talking about John, and b) brand recognition is going to skew the whole thing, as if Madeleine isn't going to sweep for that very reason. But I'm mentioning him here because of the time he made people so angry that the actual real live writer had to come out and remind them that this is a fictional character. iykyk.

#audio drama #wooden overcoats #our fair city #The Kingmaker Histories #Greater Boston #The Secret of St. Kilda #also i am so sorry i haven't listened to Midst yet 😭

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ruvviks · 1 year ago

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it took me Several Tries to send this ask bc i forgor their names again. BUT 3 & 41 for artyom and sascha!!!

COMFORT FOOD [x] characters >> artyom mikhaylov (oc), callinan tain (oc), sascha kovalevsky (oc) context >> date unknown; the party is visiting myvetal in the west of scayrius, initially there to help out an old friend but now working for archmage marius jahal, whose true intentions have yet to reveal themselves total >> 1.2k words warnings >> food, paranoia

‘Artyom? We’re back!’

Lorelei’s warm voice echoed through the large entrance hall of the house the party had been calling home over the last few months. A much fancier place than any of them were used to– most of their visits to other towns ended with them seeking shelter in the nearest inn they could find or setting up camp in a nearby field– but it was a welcomed break from the leaky ceilings and creaky wooden floorboards they had grown used to ever since they had started traveling together.

Sascha took off his overcoat and tossed it over the back of a dining chair, smiling as he watched Berry and Teacup dart back outside to run around in the rain. It had been going for a while now; not out of the ordinary for the time of year, and he knew from his studies the fields surrounding town could easily turn into a marsh until the heavy precipitation period was over.

They were staying in Myvetal, the largest city in the west of Scayrius. With its cobbled roads, narrow alleyways and tall houses it was surprisingly similar to Zarevsk and Neryugrad back at home– save for some cultural aspects and the significant lack of steep hills and raised districts, that was. A densely populated center with shops and taverns scattered about, small marketplaces creating cozy neighborhoods within the central district and even at the edge of town, where their house could be found, it was still busy enough to feel like you were right in the middle of it.

But despite the similarities to his home country, Sascha did not like it there.

Perhaps it was the way people stared at him, whenever he was outside. He was familiar enough with it to not let it get to him on most days, but the feeling of eyes on his back burning holes through the back of his skull haunted him like the presence of his patron, a dark shadow hanging over him and unwillingly keeping him alert for danger that was not even there.

Or perhaps it was the business they had stumbled into by accident, the second they had arrived in town. Receiving jobs from an archmage of all possibilities– Marius Jahal, one of the most important men of town if not the whole country– without clear understanding why they had to do any of what he was asking from them in the first place.

Sascha did not trust the man. He trusted Lorelei and Vatha’s judgment, of course; and if they did not question Marius then neither should he, and generally speaking the jobs they’d done so far had gone well and he had no reason to believe they were unknowingly on the wrong side of a conflict.

It was mainly the mage’s interest in Artyom that bothered him. The way he tried to get closer to him, to get a look at his research– his offers to become Artyom’s mentor, to help him with his thesis. None of it sat right with Sascha at all, and while he did not have the best intuition in the world the bad feeling gnawing at him from within was enough to make the hairs on his arms stand up straight every time he thought a little too long about it.

‘Oh, you are all soaked. Weather that bad outside?’

Artyom’s voice dragged Sascha out of his thoughts and he looked up to see his partner stand in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the post with a crooked smile on his face. He waved him over and when Sascha got within reach he gently brushed some of the wet strands of hair stuck to his forehead out of his face and pressed a kiss on his temple.

He had stayed home that day. On Sascha’s request; Artyom had been studying the days away in Marius’ tower for the past week and had barely gotten any rest in between, and to take him along to exterminate a whole nest of ghouls holed up in one of the city’s warehouses would have been far from the brightest idea.

‘Everything went well here while we were away?’ Sascha asked, smiling softly as he allowed Artyom to wrap his arms around his waist and kiss the corner of his mouth.

‘I should be the one asking you that,’ was the answer, followed by another kiss on his cheek. ‘But yes, yes– all is well. No visitors, no trouble. I made dinner.’

‘Hmm– it smells lovely.’

‘Come on, of course it does. I made it.’

Artyom’s confidence had to be one of the most charming things about him to Sascha. And he was right, too– Artyom’s cooking was the best of all of them without a single doubt, and possibly the best food Sascha had ever eaten in his whole life.

‘What did you make?’ he asked, taking Artyom’s hand and allowing him to drag him into the kitchen where Callinan was already peering into one of the pans on the fire. He hadn’t even needed to ask; was able to tell from smell alone it was a wolf roast with honey and glazed onions, with baby potatoes and asparagus on the side. A meal that had been his comfort food for many years now– and considering they had known each other since the age of 12, of course Artyom knew about that.

‘You said we were having stew today!’ Callinan dramatically pointed out, the disappointment in their voice obviously fake and they only barely managed to dodge Artyom’s incoming swatting hand with a suppressed smile on their face. ‘I trusted you!’

‘That was your first mistake,’ Artyom playfully replied, managing to land a hit on Callinan’s wrist and effectively stopping them from trying to taste some of the still simmering sauce. ‘No, butcher had fresh meats in so I changed plans. We will have stew tomorrow.’

‘Well alright. Holding you to it.’

‘You are welcome to do so.’

Sascha stopped paying attention halfway through the conversation, leaning back into the furniture as he watched Artyom douse the fire with a single flick of his wrist and Callinan take out plates and utensils to set the table. The quiet moments were always his favorite; no danger lurking around the corner, just him and his friends in the safety and comfort of their own space finally getting the rest they deserved.

And perhaps one day his whole life could be quiet moments such as that. He was still young, of course– but with everything happening in the world, the unexplained rifts they had continued to run into, and Cthulhu’s influence gnawing away at his entire being, the thought of settling down brought him comfort like nothing else could.

His gaze wandered to the window and his eyes locked onto the dark storm clouds hanging above their heads. He could feel something tightening deep within his stomach– as if he was hungry, starving, and despite it being around dinnertime he knew very well that the hunger wasn’t his, and no meal would be able to sate it either.

A flash of lightning startled him, and he suddenly realized he was left alone in the kitchen.

For a second he could’ve sworn he saw the silhouette of a tentacle reaching out of the sky.

#asks #awful-roffle #writing asks #nuclearwriting #THAMK U i've missed my boys. i just think they're neat #i love doing little fics like this for my d&d guys because it forces to me write more about some random city #myvetal's potential... chef's kiss. if you ask me #the whole surroundings turning into a marsh during the rainy period is so good because it just #effectively cuts off the town from most of the outside world. except for the rapid transportation system #which is entirely under marius jahal's control. like that man is so powerful it's terrifying #anyway yes he's a very evil and also very old man but i can assure you this is not the gilf you're wanting him to be so keep that in mind

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felikatze · 2 years ago

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[IMAGE NOT FOUND]

Rudyard & Antigone (Wooden Overcoats): These two depressing siblings run a funeral home on the island of Piffling. It used to be the only one. It isn't anymore. With the arrival of the new undertaker Eric Chapman, the two try everything in their power to undermine their competitor. Well, mainly Rudyard does. Antigone is in love with (disdainful voice) Chapman, which she is very mad about.

Why I like these guys: They're just hilarious. Rudyard is a sad little angry man and everybody hates him. Antigone was diagnosed with depression at birth. Wooden Overcoats is a great comedy with sincere moments. Besides the joking at their expense, their character growth is notable, too. Over the course of the series, it becomes apparent running the funeral home is only dragging them down. As the two find their own passions, they become actually likable to others. It's incredible. I love when comedies make me cry sometimes.

Stocke & Eruca (Radiant Historia): Stocke is a secret agent in the service of the technological nation of Allistel. Eruca is the princess of Granorg. The two nations are at war. When Stocke is ordered to assassinate Eruca, he quickly discovers that more is afoot. Eruca, meanwhile, vows to bring peace to all to make up for the death of her brother. Between government conspiracies and Stocke's time travel shenanigans, you can see where this plot twist is going...

Why I like these guys: they make me so insane. the foreshadowing in radiant historia is RIDICULOUS it's a masterpiece. Eruca gets super sad about her brother's death and looks at Stocke like. you sure do look like him. Stocke meanwhile called the royal family barbaric for their dark magic rituals and one time used Eruca's bros name as an alias. Eruca also uses GUNS. that's her weapon. Stocke is a fencer but Eruca shoots people. They r sooo tragic siblings and it makes me insane. Eruca sold her soul to save him. Stocke doesn't even remember. Fucked up shit!! I love it!! Did I mention that Radiant Historia is abt time travel yet? That owns.

#Feli's Blorbo Brawl #wooden overcoats #radiant historia #feli speaks #pitted them agaisnt each other cuz siblings lmao #also yeahh rh spoilers yeah yeah but the game is old at this point #and now you get to see all the fancy foreshadowing and dramatic irony <3

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heyyyitsmaddy · 2 years ago

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Reading Response 2

1) The Wooden Overcoats story is told with voice acting for the written script. The narration is told in the perspective of the mouse, Madeline. The story emphasizes the telling of the action through in-depth detail of the surroundings and character descriptions. The characters are developed through the dialogue and further evolved through Madeline’s perspective of them.

2) The story is engaging because it is told as if the scenes were happening in front of us. The characters are also entertaining so it makes it easier for the viewer to actively listen to what is going on. The voice acting also contributes to the active listening because the characters are a bit over the top.

3) We could think of characters in other interactive platforms somewhat differently than we would in a video game. For example, you probably wouldn’t have a video game character in a TV show. Video game characters speak and interact with the player while TV show characters can sometimes do that, mostly they interact within their own environments.

4) We could also think of characters as real life people. Everyone has a “character” to them with different qualities. We also all interact within our world differently and create our own stories. We could think of ourselves as characters telling our own stories and playing them out. We may not have a player but we do sort of have NPCs with our friends and family around us.

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fantasies-fairytales-n-fics · 11 months ago

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Thranduil and Josie Pt. 167- Fever Dreams

Summary: Bash feels the heat. Charles is in charge. Josie has a bad trip. Merlin and company for hire. Josie finds Lola in an unusual place. More pieces of a puzzled past come together. Legolas's time has run out. The Elvenking makes his next move. Rahl receives some well deserved karma.

*Chapter Warnings* language, angst, blood

Chapter characters: Bash, Rahl, Charles, Haldir, Delphine(Jocelyn), Legolas, Josie, Catherine, Ashur. Merlin and his posse, Lola, Thranduil,

Chapter word count: 4,724

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

"GAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" Bash bellowed in agonizing pain as the 250 pound panther, blacker than the night, pinned the warlock on his back and sliced his falcate acute claws clean through his overcoat and down his abdomen.

"Now you will join me brother." Rahl's voice telepathically taunted as it radiated from the mammoth cat's glowing globes.

"Hey pussy!" Charles snarked as he stood aiming his silverbane tainted arrow directly at the malevolent monster. "How about a little catnip!"

Using his powers on his father would always be a last resort for Charles for two reasons. The first and most important one was that he could accidentally hurt him very badly and secondly, he swore to himself he would never willingly use it on people he loved after he once almost drowned Claude in a sibling rivalry dispute.

The black beast riposted with a sinister snarl as he leered into his stout son's targeting eyes and then he charged him.

The arrow snapped free from the bowstring and struck the muscular feline in the shoulder, right where Charles had aimed for so he could disable Rahl without harming his father in a way that he could not recover from and he owed his polished precision to none other than papa Narcisse himself with all of his archery training.

The force of the hit disrupting the cat's speed caused him to spring up on his hind legs, standing almost 8 foot tall, and tumble backwards onto his side as he released a rage filled roar that echoed far and wide, even into your dream.

The pissed off panther chomped down on the wooden arrow and ripped it from his body, then bolted off into the darkness, knowing he would soon feel the effects of the witch poison and be rendered powerless for many hours because it had directly entered his bloodstream this time, unlike when you sneezed it into his eyes which only briefly succumbed him.

"Bash!!" Charles shouted and skidded to his knees at his uncle's side.

"I am alright. It's not very deep." the warlock reassured as he sat up, giving a lying hard wince. "Where is Delphine??!! We must find her before Rahl does!"

"He won't be able to do much of anything soon enough and will be lucky if he even makes it back to the castle before he drops. It will be light soon. We must get you back." Charles insisted.

"I cannot leave her out here unprotected and we need her!!"

"My brothers, myself, Aragorn, Boromir, Bard and Gimli will locate the witch and deliver her to you. Use the time wisely that you have gained and go now." Haldir advised and then led the others into sea of trees.

Bash turned to the guards with a scowl. "Cowards! All of you! Return to the castle. You are useless to me!"

"Yes my lord." one of the warlocks shamefully obeyed, then gave a head bow and all departed as ordered.

Bash then turned to Charles. "Ride hard."

"Stephane!" you gasped as you awoke from your sweat soaked sleep.

As you sat up and let your eyes adjust to the dimly lit surroundings, you saw Legolas, beautifully displayed like an angel on the sofa as he peacefully slept with his hands folded over his stomach and at his feet was a curled up Merlin. Smiling in relief, you stood up and went to Leean who also peacefully slept, looking just like Thranduil as she did so. They were the two most beautiful beings you had ever laid your eyes upon. Would it ever stop hurting so much? His permanent absence? You knew the answer to your ignorant question before you even asked it of yourself.

The sun was peeking over the horizon and you were now sober and ready to start the day with trying to figure out how to get the amethyst from the cabin that was off the beaten paths of middle earth. There just simply wasn't enough time to travel there and back before the solstice and it certainly wasn't safe to do so either. so for the moment, a much needed relaxing bath would do first.

Keeping your hand free of the healing water, you slowly sunk down into the satiny warmth and soaked it in for a good half hour until you began to shiver and feel queasy so you quickly got out, slipped on a robe and went to dress.

Once your hair had been vigorously towel dried, you sat at the vanity mirror and tended to your pale skin and forehead's returning perspiration with some powder and a rosy blush on your cheeks for some color. As you sat quietly, gazing at your reflection, an eerie feeling came over you, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand straight up. Sarah always told you it was because someone was standing behind you and in that moment, she was so very right.

Appearing in the mirror like some mirage, stood a glowering Catherine and it was a look, directly into your eyes, that could kill.

Gasping, you spun around and there she was, as real as the fireplace shovel she had tightly clutched in her fist.

"I told you to leave." she hissed through her clenched teeth. "But you had to stay and take all that was mine. It is time Cinderella for me to take back MY shoe!"

Before you could even react, she raised the iron spade and swung, striking you in the forehead and knocking you off of the stool.

Hot wetness poured from your head as you pressed your hand over it, stumbling to keep your balance and searching for your voice through your erratic gasps. Your eyes gaped in confusion at the sleeping Prince, wondering why he was not waking up.

"L...Leggg...Leggg..olas!!" you panted vehemently and then you collapsed to the ground, too weak to stand.

"He cannot save you. How the tables have turned. You're in the cage and I am the tiger and now you will pay with your life!"

Catherine dropped the shovel and forced her way on top of you and began to choke the air from your lungs as her hands squeezed your neck.

As you desperately fought back by grabbing her face, her hands gave way just enough for you to scream.

"Help me!! Legolas!!!!!!"

"Josie! My lady!! Stop! Stop fighting me!! Open your eyes! Look at me!!" Legolas shouted as he struggled to contain your swinging arms and then suddenly you froze solid when you saw his image replace Catherine's.

"Leg...what?? Cather...where..." you stuttered and then panicked as you pushed Legolas away, sprung to your feet and pulled your knife on him.

"Josie! Lower your weapon. You are safe. It's just another hallucination." the wide eyed elf pleaded.

Your eyes darted to the mirror and then back to his. "You call all this blood a hallucination??!! Maybe it is and you're not real!! Maybe you're really her!! Or....no...it can't be you..."

Your gasp was now intense when you saw Ashur and his beady black eyes ogling you, the now dead warlock deputy who had attacked you on Narcisse's ship.

"Who Josie?? My lady, there is no blood and no one is here except you and m..."

"Shut up! You...you were trying to have your way with me again!"

"Josie, put the knife down. Please don't make me take it from you."

"Ohhhh I would love to see you try big boy. If Stephane left any parts of your anatomy down below, I'll chop the rest off and then I will kill you all over again!!!"

"Damn it." Legolas swore under his breath and grabbed your wrist so fast, you never saw it coming.

You now found your backside planted against the martial artist's elven chest with his one arm draped over you, snuggly holding you there and his other hand gripping your wrist of the hand that was now knifeless.

Legolas closed his moonstone eyes as he gently pressed his cheek to yours and whispered.

"It is Legolas, my lady. Feel me. Hear me."

His sweet minty tea breath crawled right up your nose and momentarily brought you back to reality.

"L..Leggy??" you whimpered as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

The Prince sighed as his forehead rested on your ear and then he released you and claimed your knife from the ground.

"Did I harm you?" he asked, his eyes full of pain and sorrow.

You began to shake something awful as you tried to speak.

"I...I cannot believe I...I held a knife on you...I...I would never....I...I...what is happ..."

Your eyes caught the mirror again and all the blood was still there which induced another panic episode.

"I...I can't stay here!!! I..I have to find Stephane and tell him about Catherine and Ashur!!"

"Josie, no! Wait!" Legolas hollered as you turned and raced out the door.

As he instinctively ran after you, Legolas skidded to a stop in the doorway and spun around to stare at Leean's crib. He could not leave her in the room unattended and he certainly did not want to carry her off with him for her to see you in such a feverish state, but because of your condition, he knew he had to find you.

Legolas stepped back into the room and then froze as his brows deeply furrowed, then he slowly backed into the hall to see three pairs of large round cat eyes gazing at him from a doorway across the hall and they belonged to none other than the royal King of cats, Merlin and two other Maine Coons that like Merlin, also portrayed high stature and elegance.

When he locked into the elf's eyes, Legolas watched in astonishment as Merlin, clearly the leader and most beautiful of the salt and pepper pack, began his high tailed swagger to approach the Prince. His brow then arched as the bushy haired gentle giant strutted right into the room with no invitation needed.

"Were you not just in here? How did you get out here and who are your friends that look like they eat small children??" Legolas whispered and then watched as the other two felines followed suit, both giving low emitted growls, followed by twinkles in their eyes at Legolas' bad joke.

(Not my video, but it's so bad ass. Turn on the volume! I wouldn't mess with these beautiful baddies! LOL)

Legolas quietly closed the door behind him and tilted his head as the furry trio gracefully took their seated stance in a triangle barrier around the foot of Leean's cradle.

"Alright then. So...YOU are going to guard the Princess while I go find the Queen? You...are guardians of children?"

Each set of big bright eyes offered a single slow blink as they loudly purred the hymn of their people.

The corner of Legolas' lip slightly curled in delight when he then came into tune with their thoughts, for like his father, he possessed the ability to speak with animals.

"Well...I suppose there is a first, even for me in all of my 3000 years. Apologies for my terrible sense of humor, that being because I do not have one according to Josie." he frowned.

With a subtle head bow, Legolas spoke their names. "Merlin, Melvin and Marvin, I will return within the hour."

As the Prince departed, he found himself shaking his head that he had not only bowed to a cat, but to three of them.

"Stephane!! Where are you??"

You raced through his living chambers and entered his bedroom to surprisingly find Lola, whom you startled, standing at the window as if she were watching for someone.

"Lola?? Where's Stephane?? I..I have to speak with him now! Catherine, she...she attacked me and...and...Ashur....he's back from the dead!!"

"What?? Josie, are you alright??? Where are they??!!"

"What do you mean am I alright?? Look at me! I'm covered in blood. She hit me with an iron shovel!"

"Josie...you...there...there is no...blood?"

"What? Not you too! Are you all blind??"

You ran to the body length mirror, typical of the arrogant Narcisse to have, and gasped when you realized Lola was right. There was no blood and you weren't even wearing the same dress that you saw yourself in earlier.

"But I...Lola..."

"Josie, let me walk you back to your chambers. I think you are hallucinating again."

"No...no. I am fine." you flatly stated as you stared at your reflection in shock, then you spun around to her with perplexed eyes.

"What are you doing in Stephane's room??"

"I...I was...waiting for him. I..I need to speak with him as well."

"But you are his servant. He does not permit servants in his chambers, specifically that of his sleeping corridors. So I will ask again. Why are you in here in the wee hours of the morning and why are you not with my daughter????"

"L..Legolas and I...we...had an argument last night and.."

"And you came here because of that?? Have you..been here..ALL night??"

"Josie, if you would let me explain..."

"Explain that you are fucking him?" you huffed and marched around the curtain to see the untouched bed you had slept in only nights ago.

"WHAT??? God NO! You don't underst..." Lola continued as she quickly followed you.

Reeling at your own words and actions, you sat on the bed, holding your chest.

"Oh god, forgive me. I don't know why I said that. Lola...what I said before though, when I told you he's not himself. It's true. You saw for yourself how he was all over Claude. But you, there's something else you don't know about him or Charles either, that your mother kept from you about your father. I...I just found out last night that..."

"Lord Narcisse is possibly my father?" she quietly quipped as she sat down beside you. "Which would make Charles my brother."

"You...you know? H..how...Lola?? How long have you known???"

"Not long. Do you remember that I told you I was having dreams about my mother? During my bath yesterday, I dozed off and had another one. She was tucking me in like she did every night with my favorite doll. It was porcelain and had such beautiful blue eyes and blonde hair and she told me to always keep it close for it's heart held the key to keeping the big bad wolf away. She said it was a magical gift from my mysterious father before he died and that it would alert me of danger. I remember the doll but I do not know where it is now. One night, I was in bed and it's eyes, one of them began to bleed and I heard a girl's voice. She was crying and told me to run before I ended up trapped like her."

"I screamed for my mother and then after that...I have this unexplainable memory gap, but Josie, when I awoke, I had this memory flash of Lord Narcisse giving me the doll and then I remembered how it always smelled of peppermint, so I came here to ask him about it but I saw him leaving last night and he has not been back. It would seem it's true then since you know? Why would my mother not tell me he's my father and tell me that he's dead when he's not?"

"Lola, as far as I know, Stephane does not know he is your father and right now, as I told you before, he's not even Stephane right now. He's the man I asked you about...Rahl. A very bad man who lives inside of Stephane that he cannot control and it sounds to me like your mother believed Stephane to be gone, or dead per se, when Rahl took over his body, which could be why she never told you who he was or...told Stephane...because he was Rahl when you were conceived. Whether she knew that or not, I don't know and after what he tried to do to Claude tonight, he may have even forced your mother with his magic. What I do know is you shouldn't be here. You need to try and avoid him as much as possible. Lola...I did not cut my hand on a mirror. Rahl did it. He can shapeshift into a very large black cat and his claws are venomous as is his bite. I am sorry I lied to you. I myself have just learned everything about him from Bash and it all happened so fast...oh my god...Bash and Charles. You said you saw Stephane leaving last night??"

"Yes...it was after Legolas found you unconscious and..."

"He...he went after them! I remember now, Rahl, he told me he knew Bash had told me all about him and he said he would pay for it. We need to find them now!"

"They're not here. I have been standing at this window all night and no one has entered the gates."

"Well, we still need to get out of this room before Rahl finds us here."

"Wait...first tell me what this Harker has to do with me and my mother?? I mean, she was just a servant and sick with cancer and then she died??"

"Lola...that...that's not what happened. Stephane, he...he told me awhile ago, before my birthday party. Harker, he's the big bad wolf your mother spoke of. He was a ringmaster of a traveling circus called Harker's World of Wonders and kids would go missing. The reason you don't remember some of your childhood is because you were one of those children and it traumatized you. Stephane and his men raided their base camp, killing many of Harker's men and rescuing you and some other children, which is why Harker is terrorizing Narcisse's lands and killing his men too, not to mention he wants Ashmole. Lola, I am so sorry but, your mother was never sick. Harker cursed her and later tricked her into giving you to him and he took you from your bed in the night. As far as the doll, it sounds to me like it was a harbinger, alerting you that Harker was near which means there was something of Harker's inside of it. Something that could destroy him possibly since Stephane gave it to you. It must be the night he took you if you don't remember anything after that."

"Well a lot of good that stupid doll did me! You knew these things of my life and did not tell me? So your crazy uncle still thinks I belong to him?? And what about my mother?? Is she even dead???"

"I'm sorry Lola, Stephane did not want you to know because of the trauma you had endured. He said you didn't speak for months when he brought you back. Stephane said when they found you, Jocelyn was not there and he could only assume Harker killed her...and out of his guilt, Stephane took you back to his castle and raised you. Lola, there's something else Rahl made very clear to me, something I still can't wrap my head around and I feel you should know."

"Why not! You seem to know more about my life than I do so have at it." Lola snapped her eyes filled with tears. "What else was all a lie??"

"Lola, I understand your anger. My entire life was a lie too and even now, I am still finding out things, such as my mother is responsible for bringing Rahl back all those years ago, making him more powerful and more evil than he already was."

"I...I know you do and I'm sorry I snapped. Your mother told horrible lies but my mother was nothing like her. This all shouldn't be so shocking really considering how relevant Narcisse, Julian, Jareth and Harker are in each other's lives. So go ahead, tell me what else you know."

"Alright. I'll just come out with it. Your mom, Jocelyn, she...she is Sarah's mother."

"Your...best friend that Harker killed??"

"Yes..but...I'm not so sure she's dead and what you told me about that doll makes me believe that even more...Sarah..she had blonde hair and blue eyes and...Jareth, he had showed me the vision of Harker killing Sarah. He...he turned her into porcelain! and then he shattered her."

"And I heard that voice inside of the doll...oh my god, Josie do you think that she...she was trapped inside of it?? And...OH MY GOD...she's my sister??? How...how is this possible?? Why were we separated?? Is Narcisse her father too???"

"I..I don't know why or how all this happened. I do know that Sarah, like you, did not know her her father was."

"But you said she was a witch?"

"Well, back then, I thought she was full of shit and just went a long with it...but yes, she was..or is."

"Well my mother wasn't....was she?? So...Sarah must have gotten it from her father....Jesus, am I a witch too???? I..I don't want to be a witch!!!! I DON'T WANT TO BE A...."

Just then, the bedroom door swung open, sending you and Lola screaming into each other's arms.

"Josie. Are you alright??" Legolas blurted out in despair.

You and Lola sighed in relief at the sight of the elf and unlocked your death grips on one another.

"Legolas...I am fine...for now anyways. I know I imagined everything before and...wait..if you're here...who's with Leean??!!"

Legolas's eyes slightly grew as his body tensed up.

"About that...she's...with...Merlin."

Now your eyes grew. "You left my daughter with a cat??"

"Well, technically...three...cats. Josie, it is alright, they are child guardi..."

Legolas's words faded as you began to hear Peter's bellowing laugh echo through the room and then your eyes saw it. A giant wolf spider crawl under the door, but it wasn't just any door. It was the door to the bathroom in the cabin that Peter locked you in to punish and torture you by releasing the eight legged freaks under the doors gap.

"No...no no no...noooooo....make it go away! Legolas stomp on it!!! you cried as you backed against the wall and became paralyzed with panic, watching the creature with a thousand beady black eyes, bee line across the floor to you and scurry up your dress.

"I do not see anything!" the surprised elf shouted as he stomped his foot around the floor with guessing eyes.

Your scream was shrill as you beat your body with your own hands and then raced out of the warlock lord's chambers with Lola right on your heels and as Legolas rushed behind Lola, a voice in his head ceased his steps.

"Adar..." he muttered as his entire face cringed.

"LEG...olasss." The Elvenking hissed as he sat atop his beloved elk. "The dreadful winter sun rises in Mirkwood like clockwork in the Northeast as it does there in young-land country. Tell me, do your elven eyes view the same ball of fire that mine do? Or..is there another sun that only you can see that has not yet risen in the land of Gwinion that has delayed you from reporting to me in a timely manner as ordered?"

"Our eyes share the same sun." Legolas simply replied, knowing that his father's observance of the sun's whereabouts were leading up to his whereabouts.

"Then tell me, Nin réd(my son), are you and the bowman in route to my halls with ALL of my goods?"

"Bard joined the others in the search for Haldir in the city and they have not yet returned. I remain in Dorwinion with my decision that it is not safe to travel, especially now. Adar, Josie is not well."

The Elvenking stiffened as he felt Thranduil's heart flutter.

"How so?"

"Surely you knew of lord Narcisse's alter ego per se and that Jareth would call him forth, yet I am only learning of the one known as Darken Rahl. Josie's mind and powers have been poisoned with his venom and she is darkening by the hour. I have witnessed the unsettling change and her behaviors have become unpredictable which would deem the travel even more unsafe. Lord Rahl wishes to take her as his Queen, I am certain of it. He is a clear and present danger and you spoke of no warning. A witch doctor is being sought out to heal her, for it is the only way."

"An elf of your skills should require no warning. You speak of the dangers of travel when you have just validated where the real danger lies, within the walls where my daughter resides, at the mercy of a dark warlock lord and her unstable mother. Time is short and your time is up. My daughter will be protected within my halls and anyone that gets in my way will die."

"Speak for yourself!" Legolas retorted. "Are you not a dark and unstable elf lord?? You knew of the dangers and said nothing to protect your family! You speak nothing but lies of your healing. I do not need skills or sight to know you are not my father and to know that YOU are what Josie and Leeanduil need protection from! You are willing to place your daughter in the middle of a war all to claim her! You do not even care for or speak of your Queen who's body, mind and soul are in need your love and healing before her light is lost in the darkness...but you will not give it to her for it is your light that is lost. Your Queen has grieved you, STILL grieves you and she is better off to do so than to be a prisoner of the one she trusted with her life and who was supposed to save her!"

The scorned Elvenking tilted his head and spoke no more as he turned and joined his army on the beginning journey to reclaim what was his.

Over the river and through the woods, to the castle Rahl ran, having his own moment of lucid hallucinations from the silverbane poisoning as he believed he was being chased by Satan himself and as the wigged out warlock tripped and tumbled down a hill, he literally landed flat on his back in a freshly dug grave that ironically, he fit perfectly inside of.

"No! No no noooooo!!! Let me out!! he irately shouted when he realized his whereabouts and that he could not move.

"How does it feel to be trapped, dear brother?" Stephane's voice taunted from within his mind. "There's only one way out and that's in. Let me out and you will be free."

"Never!! I am in control! I am real!! You don't exist...brother!!! It's the poison. A fever dream. When it goes away, your power will go away!"

"Oh but I do exist. It is my heart that beats in this body...MY body. Maybe you need a little...incentive to show you who's in control."

Stephane's wicked chuckle hammered through Rahl's head as dozens of colossal sized cockroaches swarmed over his bare neck and face, another disabling weakness that Stephane knew his alter had.

"No! Get them off!!!" Rahl belligerently begged, but more kept coming, threatening to crawl inside the openings of his nose, mouth and ears.

The wicked warlock began to break from reality as he weakened.

"Please...please make it stop." he pleaded through stuttered breaths as his entire body began to involuntarily convulse.

Paralyzed with shock and fear, Darken Rahl's body then shut down as he succumbed to his state of induced panic and all went black.........

@redeemer46

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captainclickycat · 2 years ago

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3, 7, 11 for the ask game!

Cheers Artie! Pre-emptive happy new year! 🎉

3. Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year?

Possibly Sammy J (with or without Randy) who was introduced to me by a friend with a similarly morbid sense of humour to mine. Although I also came across Sam Sweeney’s solo work back in November which I really really loved… YMMV on how much that counts though since he was formerly in Bellowhead who I’ve been a fan of for about a decade.

7. Favourite actor of the year?

Beth Eyre. I mean, obviously it was always going to be Beth. I feel like I’ve already done a considerable amount of gushing over her on other posts and should probably talk more about her work, because she’s a brilliant voice/stage actor and seems to be on the fast track to becoming one of those Very Familiar people in the world of audio drama. You know the type, that person who’s face/voice you recognise even if you can’t put a name to them. She has a lovely voice and this great knack for comic delivery and a particularly Shakespearean way of hamming up a performance and she’s going to be brilliant in Re: Dracula even though I’m dreading it slightly because it’s going to be very sad. I’d suggest anyone interested in getting into her work to start with Wooden Overcoats, but then again I’d recommend Wooden Overcoats just in general.

(Also she was really lovely to me in person and makes me go all fizzy inside. She asked if she could put her arm round me for photographs and in many ways I’ve never recovered.)

Where was I.

11. Something you want to do again next year?

To spend time with a lot of the same people I did this year. It was a very good year for making new friends and reconnecting with old friends and just generally keeping good company. And see more shows! I’m going to see Foil Arms and Hog again in September so that’s one thing guaranteed. (Very funny youtube sketch troupe who also do live stuff. Check them out.)

#clicky original

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boombox-fuckboy · 3 years ago

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Hi! Weird ask: but do you have any podcast recs where the voices are mainly British ? (Including Irish and Scottish). I know it’s silly but I like to have podcasts on in the background and I find American voices too distracting. I really like wooden overcoats , Magnus archives and the beef and dairy network. Thanks 😊

I do! Here's 20 podcasts from around the UK and Ireland that I've quite enjoyed:

The Amelia Project: Comedy. The Amelia Project is a secret organisation, highly specialised in faking people's deaths! A new client each episode, with their own wacky backstories, followed by the client and interviewer planning how to fake the death. Very funny and never a dull moment.

The Antique Shop: Urban Fantasy. Maya, a university student in desperate need of work, finds a part-time job at an old antique shop under the eye of the enigmatic Madam Norna and surrounded with items far from mundane. A new customer every episode, and a new item each time, every one as strange and interesting as the last.

I Am In Eskew: Horror. Tales from a man living in something which desperately wants to be a city, and from an investigator who was, in her words, hired to kill a ghost. Told with gentle voices and unending rain. Some of the most creative horror I've encountered, and I really enjoy the writing style too.

The Lost Cat Podcast: Horror (Cosmic, Soft), Weird Fiction(?). A man loses parts of himself, befriends strange entities, and drinks an awful lot of wine as he searches for his missing cat. Fun horror which values kindness and connection, with great writing which has always stuck with me but is also just the right amount of cliché to be very satisfying in the moment.

Lost Terminal: Sci-fi, Hopepunk. Gentle podcast about a lonely AI living in a space station as he contemplates life, learns more about the world around him, and makes friends. Really charming, great music, takes a respectful look into mental health (including anxiety, depression, ocd, did, loneliness) and talks about all kinds of fun topics like radio, D&D, orbital mechanics, and plants. Big favourite of mine.

Maps of the Lost: Supernatural, New Weird(?), Urban Fantasy, Light Horror. A guidebook style podcast to the strange happenings, people, places, and creatures around the UK. A few of these per episode in an almost microfiction format, all really fun and creative, and read in a wonderfully soothing voice.

Middle:Below: Supernatural, Mystery, Adventure, Comedy & Horror Elements. Ghost adventures! Humans Taylor and Heather, Gil the Ghost, and occasionally Sans the Cat travel to the Below, the land of ghosts, to solve mysteries and to help or contain the spirits that live there. This one makes me feel a bit like a kid again, it's very fun and has really crisp audio.

Modem Prometheus: Urban Fantasy, (Horror?). From the same team as Lost Terminal, this is a newer podcast featuring 'modern folktales', stories which feel like myths but are set in the city in the modern day. Each one tells it's own story, but in a shared world established by subtle consistant elements and sneaky references to the other tales. Good audio, music, writing, and I like the narrator's voice.

Monstrous Agonies: Supernatural. "Agony Aunt" radio show (where listeners can write in with their problems and receive advice), but for the supernatural in a modern world where humans, former humans, and people who were never human, live together. Featuring one of the most soothing voices in audio drama, really well written, supportive, full of fantastic advice, and very queer. Another big favourite of mine.

Murray Mysteries: Comedy, Supernatural. A queer, comedic, modern, and delightfully faithful adaptation of Dracula. Taking the form of Mina's podcast, I really enjoy how it's subtley altered the characters to fit a modern setting.

Neighbourly: Horror, Supernatural, (New Weird?), Some Sci-Fi Elements. Welcome to Little Street, where behind each door lives one or more residents with their own strange lives and curious secrets. Narrator has a great voice and you can never be quite sure what flavour of strangeness you'll be in for.

The Orphans: Sci-Fi, Thriller, (Horror?): While I could spoil this podcast and it'd still be great, I'm not going to. I will say it's a very well made, far future sci-fi featuring AI, unethical science, quality worldbuilding, heart-crushing tragedies, and a dash of political intrigue.

The Petrol Station: Horror. A short podcast featuring stories of the weird encounters of a petrol station attendant living in an isolated British village. If you enjoyed TMA, you'll probably like this a lot as well, it's very well written and I have all my fingers crossed for new episodes.

The Secret of St Kilda: Mystery? Thriller-ish? Cult Horror? Unsure. Podcast about a former conman who moves to the mysterious island of St Kilda, fleeing his past and into the arms of the strange island cult, who both think they need him, and deeply distrust him.

Spirit Box Radio: Supernatural, Mystery, Horror Elements. After the famous and supposedly powerful radio psychic Madam Marie goes missing, her enthusiastic young assistant takes over in her place. The first, but certainly not only, problem is he's never had much talent for the arcane before... Not that he can remember learning much to begin with, anyway.

Tartarus: Horror, Sci-Fi. An astrobiologist gets a job at a research facility in Antarctica which isn't quite what she'd expected. Along with the tearse station manager, and facility AI, she finds herself now responsible for protecting humanity from the monsters contained within. Really new but full of promise, looking forward to seeing where it goes.

The Tower: New Weird? Magical Realism? Idk. Short, meditative podcast about a young woman who decides to climb a seemingly endless tower. Modern setting with it's own delightful ancient lore. Fantastic music, quality soundwork, strange, reflective and enchanting. By the same folks as Middle:Below (Above).

VAST Horizon: Sci-Fi (space), Horror, Thriller(?). An agronomist tasked with kickstarting agriculture on a new world wakes on the ship before they arrive, to discover something has gone horribly wrong. The ship is adrift and riddled with issues, and nobody but the malfuctioning AI is left aboard... Right? She must do her best to save the ship and herself, and work out what happened. Stellar piece of audio by Fool & Scholar, who also do arctic horror podcast The White Vault, which has a very international cast and also highly recommended.

Victoriocity: Mystery, Adventure, Steampunk, Comedy. In an alternate steampunk 1887 London, an inspector and a journalist team up to solve a bizzare mystery, possibly even a conspiracy. Full cast, great sound design, full of wacky characters.

We Fix Space Junk: Sci-fi, Comedy, Adventure. An interstellar repairwoman, her AI best friend, and their brand new fugitive socialite assistant travel the stars to complete various tasks at the behest of the evil monolith of a company they are in debt to. A new job every episode, full cast, crisp audio and sound design.

I hope you can find one here which appeals to you!

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guinevere01 · 2 years ago

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Hey Dracula people! If you're enjoying Dracula Daily, why not have a look at this crowdfunder for Re: Dracula (link in the reblog cause you know how tumblr is). @re-dracula is a (largely*) text accurate podcast adaption using the chronological drop system from Dracula Daily (yes, with permission from Matt Kirk, the mind behind Dracula Daily), with a full cast of voice actors known from, among many other shows: Wooden Overcoats, The Magnus Archives, Victoriocity, The Amelia Project, and The Secret of St Kilda.

Specifically, the cast includes (and this is only people I recognise): Alan Burgon, Alasdair Stuart, Ben Meredith, Jonny Sims, Karim Kronfli, and Sasha Sienna. A lot of cast teasers can be found on @re-dracula!

The team behind Re: Dracula consists of Tal Minear, Hannah Wright, Stephen Indrisano, and Ella Watts.

The perks from backing the campaign includes everything from practical stuff like ad free episodes and an audio book version of the podcast, to awesome fun stuff like a recipe zine, a friendship bracelet from Jonathan, or even a Dracula themed watercolour painting.

Stretchgoals include:

-Original music! For what is a good spooky podcast without bone chilling music?

-Bonus episodes! We've all seen that there's periods of no updates on Dracula Daily, this is the perfect time for interviews with experts and behind the scenes features, maybe even some bonus Dracula fiction?

The campaign is currently at 76% funded in a day and a half, if it reaches 80% funded by the end of today (October 2nd 2022) we'll get: a 10 minute version of the song Bite, a full cast announcement right here on tumblr (today!), and of course the show will be greenlit for production and they can start a month early! This is on top of the in character read of memes we're getting for every 10% funded!

*largely text accurate in that they'll be removing some of the racism

Once again, link in the reblog (see the notes), so please reblog that version!

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fillinforlater · 3 years ago

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Hey man… can I get a quickie fluff of hugging minmin to sleep

A Collection for a Special Date: Part II

Male Reader x Kim Minju (fluff)

Length: 1050 words

Tags: cuddling, slow kisses, calm atmosphere, being in love, tired!Minju

TW: QUICKIE. BARELY EDITED. Also: No smut!

(A/N: Happy Minju Day! My first ever pure fluff, I really liked writing this. More will come in the future, with more story and even more hugging, kissing and loving :) Part 3 is totally different though. evil laugh)

“Oppa… I’m home.”

A cutesy whine reaches your ear, and you shoot up from your seat faster than a bullet train. Of course, you know the voice and its tone, paired with the sound of the door creaking slowly all too well. It’s the typical ‘I had a rough workday, help me’ introduction of your girlfriend Minju.

Hasty feet carry you to the front door, where you see the curvy shape of the girl you love. Her shoulders hang low and the second she sees you, the remaining tension leaves her fingers; a briefcase and an overcoat drop onto the dark wooden floor.

“Minmin, I’m glad you are home.”

Slowly, gently, cautiously, you wrap your arms around her smaller frame and close the remaining distance with a tight embrace. Minju’s arms still hang idly, almost lifelessly to the sides, but her head snuggles into your chest, mumbling and whining with an adorable pout, you can’t see, but perfectly imagine.

“I can’t anymore. Work is too hard. All the paper, all the tabs, all the instructions. The nicest people yelling, the insane stress. I can’t take it anymore.”

This is the moment where you always stay silent. One hand rubbing her back to hopefully alleviate some of the stress, the other on her hazelnut hair to pat her head. You are more than okay with giving her this attention and care, especially on a week where you worked from home with very little stress, while she got ordered and bossed around by her higher-ups.

Minju’s murmurs turn to barely audible sighs, until all is quiet for a second. It’s eerie how every one of these encounters is so similar. You have every step planned ahead in your mind and when she looks up at you—tired, teary eyes hit calm, loving ones—you know what to give her: a tiny peck on her puckered lips. The softness is addicting, but you can’t let yourself get carried away. It’s not the time for a make-out session.

Two arms find their way around your nape, and two feet around your hips. Minju is so light and fluffy, you can easily carry her everywhere. While her chin rests on your shoulder, you admire the smell of her body and hair. Fruity, of course mixed with a little bit of sweat, but still sweet, nonetheless. Your feet take deliberatly gradual steps to the living room, the interlaced mix of love lost in the world that is their hug.

“Do you want to eat, Minmin? I can order take-out or cook something for you. I heard of two new restaurants you might like and there is still cheese kimbap in the fridge.”

Minju shakes her head, her cheek meeting yours for just a moment. The soft skin on her gorgeous features and her chin digging further down, now into your collarbone, are a clear sign that these choices were no good.

“Anything else for my lovely angel?”

“Yoghurt.”

It’s a raspy, pouty answer, as you place her on the sofa cushions and lightly put a blanket on her shoulders. Minju’s hands still rest at your body, not wanting you to leave, but there is no fight in her. She asked for the Yoghurt after all. Caress and peck her cheek for her to let you go.

“What flavor?”

“Vanilla.”

Finally, you’re not the only one smiling. Minju’s might still be small and short lived, but so is the time it takes you to get a spoon and the small, yellow plastic container from the fridge. You place it in her tiny, elegant hands and position yourself behind her on the couch. Arms around her sides, her back pressed onto your tummy, you start to place kisses on her nape. If you did it any faster, it would tickle and annoy her, but your pace is perfect.

Forever would not be long enough for you too really savor hours like these, but with the way you two adore and rely on each other, it’s at least going to be a bunch of decades. Decades of sharing love, going on vacations, having deep conversations, playing dumb games—or just being silent, completely, while only this embrace matters.

To your surprise, Minju places her meal on the table and moves her head backwards, forcing you to get out of the way. She now rests on the back of the sofa, with you in between, not in the most comfortable position, but that changes quickly.

Minju moves her butt up and starts to sit on your lap. With her now sideways on your thighs, you can finally admire her face again. Her brown eyes, a mystery you are never going to solve, not even with the combined efforts of a million Einstein’s in a billion years. Her excellent nose, just the right size and co-author of hilarious or gut-wrenching sighs.

You could go on and on about her cheeks, lips, hair, body, jawline—but your index finger betrays you. Mindlessly, it runs across said jawline, tracing it, confirming your disbelief that it exists. She exists. Minju is perfect.

Like two magnets, your lips meet. And like two turbines, your tongues rotate around each other. It’s a slow, careful endeavor, and every outsider seeing it would scream in agony, because each rotation of the two wet muscles takes unbearably long—but not for you.

No way you want this to be faster. After all, this is not a ‘I want to get you riled up and horny’ kiss, but a ‘I love you and will never leave you’ kiss. An avowal of love, your lips seal the contract, just like they form a perfect seal around each other.

A minute or ten later—time does not matter, not this evening at least—you feel Minju’s body get weak. Your loving hands guide her down to the cushions, where you wrap her in the blanket that is yourself. The couch is cramped with both of you.

Before she completely dozes of into dreamland, you place a finally peck on her temple, making her smile again. Finish it off with a whisper in her ear:

“Good night, Minmin. I love you.”

“I love you too, oppa.”

What a way to love her…

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