#I am putting the triggers if the fics

[khr-guilded-cage]

You read Ripples? I was disgusted by it

Timoteo and Iemitsu are disgusting and I am glad Tsuna wasn't born a girl

Begin a girl of Vongola blood would be hell

Just ask Sawada Natsuki and Sawada Chiyohime

They immendiately view anyone of blood as their property

Trying to make a 'deal' that don't benefit her at all? What even as that?

And genuine think she won't kill them? That they would be what? Her advisors? She clearly isnt their weak and moldable Tsuna, she would kick them out the moment she could or kill them, for real

Again, Enemy on the Throne

I need to make this a tag

Those people are dumb

And so is Tsuna (sorry)

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x reader

You die.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TW: DEATH, heavy angst, gore, blood, kind of disturbing, a bomb explodes, derealisation/disassociation, graphic, I'll be so honest this fic is kind of fucked up

Lmk if I should add any more specific warnings!

If you're sensitive to violence and dark themes, you probably shouldn't read this.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

This mission had gone terribly awry. 

It was only meant to be a routine checkup. The IPC was planning on allocating resources from this planet, something the locals had not been pleased about. Aventurine understood. He would not be particularly happy to have his planet drained of all that made it worthwhile either. (He had not been happy. But all things considered, he thought he was being generous. Nobody was being directly killed, the IPC merely wanted a cut of the many materials the planet offered. The Avgins on Sigonia had all been very intentionally exterminated. He was not doing that to these people.)

Still, he couldn’t afford to take risks, hence the many IPC assigned bodyguards he had brought along. Deals like this, where the clients were undeniably on the losing end, were bound to go wrong in one way or another. Often violently so. 

He just had not expected the bombs. He had not expected the mass amounts of guns. The people were more capable and vengeful than he had assumed, then. Ultimately, it was his own fault.

Most of his goons were dead. Most of the government officials were dead too. It made sense they’d want to go out in such a loud and proud way. A declaration to their people they wouldn’t lay flat before the otherworldly corporation that had come to essentially take away what made their planet their home. Bold to be ready to kill so many of their own, but he could respect it. 

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be very angry. It was fair, all things considered. He’d had this long coming; being killed by the people whose lives he was ruining. In their positions, he’d love to kill him, too. The only issue was that this hadn’t happened under normal circumstances. 

No, you were with him. You’d been just a bit away from him when they opened fire, when they set off the bomb. 

It was so stupid. It was so, so unbelievably stupid that he’d let you come with. It was your job, yes, but he should have reassigned you to some other mission. Something safer. Something that didn’t involve visiting planets to drain them of all their worth. Something that didn’t bring about rage from the clients. 

He could see you. He’d been saved from the brunt of the impact, and his luck had once again protected him from serious harm. He had only been slightly grazed by a bullet, had only been slightly burned by the heat of the explosion. Nothing serious. Nothing he couldn’t walk off within a week or two. You had not been so lucky. 

Your arm was outstretched over your head, body lying limply on the floor. Missing the other arm. There was only a gaping, red hole where it had once been attached to your body, a little bit of bone sticking out of the gory mess. The blown off hand with your engagement ring lay close enough to him that he could touch it. Maybe intertwine his fingers with it for the last time. The pinky was missing.  

He pushed himself onto his feet on unsteady legs. He could barely feel his own body at all. One glance down at it told him he’d been right in his initial assumption, though. No parts of him were missing. He was intact. 

He stumbled over to where you lay, your expression calm, almost peaceful. No pained pinch between your brows, no worried frown on your lips. Were you unconscious, or were you dead? Though he knew it was unlikely you’d leave this place alive either way, he hoped desperately for the former. 

He fell to his knees next to you. Something was buzzing beneath his skin. Something was buzzing in his vision. Had the world always been so blurry? Had there always been such a loud noise ringing in his ears? His hands trembled as he carefully reached out, a hand tenderly cupping your cheek. Your face was red, slightly burnt in places. Your hair was singed. You felt hot to the touch. 

No, not hot. Warm. Warm as in alive. He couldn’t hear you breathing, but warmth meant life. Warmth meant life. You were alive, surely.

He brushed his thumb under your eye. Tried to find something to say, but he found his mouth refused to open. Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you onto his lap. He stared at the dust from all the debris that had settled onto you. He couldn’t breathe. 

(He thought back to a time when the dust had been sand. He thought back to the red that had painted the ground then as it did now. He thought back to another body he had pulled closer, with hands much smaller and weaker than the ones he had now. He thought back to the taste of salt as tears fell in an endless stream from his eyes to cover his face and hers.)

He moved his free hand to your neck, gently pressing a finger to where he knew he was supposed to find your pulse. It wasn’t there, but only because he wasn’t searching hard enough. He carefully felt around, and though he couldn’t find it, he knew it was still there. He just didn’t dare press down hard enough to find it. The same applied when he felt your wrist. He was just bad at finding things today. 

(He stupidly hadn’t found a good enough reason to put you out of this mission. He stupidly hadn’t found anything that happened before the explosion suspicious enough to leave early. He stupidly hadn’t found his way next to you quickly  enough to save your life.)

When his hand landed on your chest, absent of a heartbeat, tears started falling from his eyes. But why was that? You weren’t dead. In fact, the longer he looked at you, the more sure he became this couldn’t be you. Your skin wasn’t this hot. Your arms were both still attached. You did not have fresh burns covering your face. Most importantly, you were alive. Alive and well and happy and safe from this little mishap. He had misremembered, you had stayed home during this mission. The hand he’d been so sure belonged to you had been someone else’s, he’d merely mistaken the ring for yours. It was such a bland ring, after all. He’d have to buy you a new, much prettier one once he came home to you, and apologise for his oversight in giving you such a boring design. 

He ignored the repeated whispers of ‘not again, not again’ going through his head. Nothing was happening ‘again’. This was not Sigonia. This was not a person he loved, or even knew. He couldn’t understand why his body curled over the stranger’s, sobs wracking his frame as he pulled them close, soft apologies tumbling from his mouth. He nuzzled his face into your- their hair, hand carefully cradling the back of their head as the other supported their back. 

The body smelled like you. The body felt too similar to yours in his arms. The body had your face, even if your features were a little damaged. The longer he stared, the more he could feel his gut sinking. So he shut his eyes and reminded himself that there was no possible way this was you. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t. The universe would not be that cruel to him, would it?

Then again, maybe he had deserved this. If it was real. He was not a good man. He had not come to this planet with good intentions. Losing the thing most precious to him, the only thing precious to him, after taking away so much from so many others was a befitting punishment. 

But you hadn’t deserved this. Wouldn’t have, if it was real. You were so kind and generous and perfect and lovely, so different from him, so different from the position your job wanted you to be. You didn’t deserve to die. 

Die. Dead. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

You were dead. 

(Aventurine had seen so much death in his life. He should have been used to it by now. He was used to it. He had just forgotten how much it hurt when it is someone he loves.)

He held you tighter. If he held you tightly enough, could it piece you back together? If he held you tightly enough, could he replace the parts of you that were missing with his own? The sobs that escaped his lungs were violent, and quickly, some morphing into gagging. He felt sick. He had to turn himself away from you briefly to throw up, not wanting to soil what was left of you further, before he desperately held you again. Would it be the last time he held you?

Maybe if he took you back to the ship quickly enough, something of you could be salvaged. Maybe he couldn’t piece you back together, but he could find someone who would. There had to be something he could do. This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose like this again. 

He could barely stand. His body was already weak and your added dead weight made it even harder to balance. He picked up the parts of you strewn about on the ground he could quickly spot. Your hand, your shoulder, what he thought might be your bicep. He couldn’t find your forearm and he didn’t have time to properly search for it. Maybe someone could put all of you back together? Maybe you’d be whole again. He wanted you to be whole again. 

(He couldn’t save his people. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save his sister.)

(But things had to be different now, surely. He was a different person now. He had power, he had wealth, he had everything. What would it all be good for, if he couldn’t save you?)

Other IPC personnel met him outside the building as he stumbled out, and Aventurine’s mind was so hazy he couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He was pretty sure his own, now dead, workers had sent a distress signal. People rushed in to find anyone else from the wreckage. After, Aventurine found out he was the sole survivor. (He always was.)

(You had not survived.)

He demanded you be taken into surgery. That the medical staff on board had to get you to breathe again. For some reason, they had been hesitant. He threatened to have them fired or killed if they didn’t get to it. He set you as first priority, putting the best doctors they had on hand to work on you. 

They sewed you back together as best as possible at his insistence. They got your heart pumping blood again, they hooked you up to machines and forced your lungs to breathe. The surgery lasted for four hours.

It did not change the flatline on the screen signalling your brain activity. 

He could find the best doctors in the whole galaxy, but he already knew the line would remain flat. Nothing was bringing that back.

He stared at you for hours after your surgery. Interlaced his fingers with yours, feeling the artificial warmth of your hand. It did not feel like you. The temperature was wrong. The look on your face was wrong. Your body was wrong. Everything about what remained of you was wrong. 

He eventually laid his head on your chest, and then he cried.

He cried until the black spots in his vision grew so numerous he could no longer see, until everything faded and he could no longer hear the beeping and humming of the machines keeping you hollowly alive. 

(Why did he ever let himself love again?)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sorry that was messy I wrote everything today because I am con-crunching tomorrow and won't be available for like at least 3 days after this (usually I write over the span of multiple days so I can re-read for grammatical/spelling errors and so my language will be a little more varied + I get fresh ideas). Sorry this fic was ?? kind of messed up ??? I think ??? I think my perception of what's messed up and not is kind of weird (I grew up on warrior cats HELP.) so to me it didn't feel that fucked up to write about Aventurine literally picking up your body parts after you died but I've realised upon mentally summarising that part of the fic that maybe that was kinda horrific. Just a glimpse into my twisted mind heh 😈.... sorry

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[stagefoureddiediaz]

If this scene shows me Medic Eddie tending Bucks wounds whilst standing between his legs - I will promptly expire

[kristannafever]

Big Sky Ranch

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: M WC: 1829

In the foothills off of the Rocky Mountains, resides a generational Ranch known to all in the area. Kristoff, a humble hand on that ranch, works hard and enjoys his simple existence. It isn't until a new woman starts at the diner that be begins to acknowledge his loneliness and plans to ask her on a date. When his plans are foiled by a rival group of men, it sets events into motion that plunge Anna and Kristoff into getting to know each other through some very unexpected situations and their relationship blossoms as their lives begin to change.

--------------------

A/N: This had been my passion project for over a year, and is the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. It is inspired by the ranch setting of Yellowstone and the rural area in which I live.

---------------------

Anna had only been working as a waitress at the diner for a week, and she was quickly learning what the biggest perk of the job was. 

It was the cowboys.

She’d moved to the small town only a month prior, desperate to get as far away from the city where her sleazy ex-fiancé was.  It was the fresh start she needed after wallowing about that cheating asshole for months.  Truly dark times they had been.

After finding a basement suite to rent since she wasn’t sure how long she would be there before she moved on again, she got the job at the diner, and was truly starting to enjoy life again.  And that was in large part due to the clientele. 

The town was surrounded by ranchlands.  Large farms spread out in all directions, and the roads were ruled by pick-up trucks and farm equipment.  Many times, Anna had gone for a drive to clear her head and she’d come upon some large tractor-thing, and she’d have to squeeze around the slow-moving vehicle in the wrong lane, or wait until it pulled into a pasture.  Even so, she never minded too much, because she enjoyed the drives and admiring the lovely scenery against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains.

And every day, rain or shine, groups of men came in for breakfast or lunch.  Most of them in the full cowboy outfit; cowboy boots, jeans, roper or plaid shirts, and cowboy hats.  And no matter the size or shape of them, they were all ruggedly handsome in their own ways.

And decent!  Anna had never met so many decent men.  They were all extremely polite and respectful.  They held doors and said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘ma’am’, and they always tipped generously even if they only had a cup of coffee and a piece of pie. 

Anna truly did love her job, even if was a lot harder work than sitting behind a desk all day like she’d been doing when she worked at that insurance company with her ex. 

That asshole could rot in hell.

Now Anna had her eyes open for a cowboy.  A lot of them didn’t wear any wedding rings, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t married.  She’d asked one of the other waitresses and was told they don’t wear them for safety, not wanting them to get caught in ropes or machinery.  And the ones that did wear them, wore those new rubber ones that could break if they got caught in something.   It made perfect sense to Anna.  Although it certainly made it harder to tell who was and wasn’t attached. 

Which was why for the time being she just had her eyes open.  She never outwardly hit on any of them for fear of hitting on a taken man.  She just hoped that one day, one of them might just ask her out.  And until then, she would more than happily take in all the eye candy.

*****

Kristoff yawned as he got out of his truck and stretched out his tired back.  Him and Sven got up extra early and treated themselves to breakfast whenever they could, and right now they had a short break before calving season when their days were a little less long.

The air was still chilly with the last of winter’s tenuous hold, and their breath came out in white vapors as they walked through the parking lot.  At least the snow was mostly all gone, and while that meant that him and Sven’s work load was going to ramp up, it was hard to argue with the sun shining bright after six brutally long months of snow-covered ground.

As soon as they stepped into the diner, Sven gave him a nudge with his elbow.

“New girl,” he said under his breath, and flicked his head in her direction as they walked to a booth along the front windows. 

Kristoff glanced her direction then turned to Sven and gave him a hard stare.  Ever since he got engaged, Sven had been trying mercilessly to set Kristoff up with someone and it was starting to get on his nerves.  The girl was really cute, sure, he just wasn’t interested.  He was too damn set in his ways to be interested.

They sat in their favourite booth, took off their cowboy hats, and set them on the seat beside themselves.  Kristoff ran a hand through his hair a few times, shaking out the hat line, and the new waitress came over straight away and set menus on the table. 

“Morning, gentlemen.”  She smiled brightly.  “What can I start you out with today?”

“Coffee, black, and a water,” Kristoff said.

“Same here,” Sven said, “please.”

“Coming right up.”  She gave them another bright smile and walked away. 

“City girl,” Sven mused.

“Yup.”  He’d heard her accent too.

“She don’t have a ring.”

“Sven-”

“Come on, man.  You livin’ like that ain’t healthy.  All alone in that cabin.  You should move back to one of the main houses.”

“You know I don’t like being around people too much.”

“You like being around me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one exception and you know that too.”

“You could make another exception,” Sven flicked his head to the counter where she was pouring them coffee, “for her.”

“If you don’t cut this out, I’m gonna strap you to that nasty old bull out in the east pastures.”

“Ole’ Bruce?”  Sven laughed.  “That bull don’t got any fight left in him.”

“I beg to differ,” Kristoff stated.  It was only a month ago that mean old brute had him scrambling for the fences when he charged Kristoff.  And of course, no one had been around to see it and they all told him he was making shit up.  That bull had it out for him, Kristoff knew it.

The waitress came back with the drinks and they ordered their usual; the cowboy breakfast.  It came with two eggs, three strips of bacon, a pair of sausages, hash browns, beans and two slices of toast.  Both him and Sven would eat it all and be starving by noon. 

They ate quickly and Kristoff pulled his wallet out of his back pocket since it was his turn to pay.  The waitress came back with the bill and a card machine which Kristoff waived off because he always paid with cash.  He gave her a pretty nice tip since she’d kept their water and coffee cups full.  He hated it when he was halfway through his meal and he had nothing to drink because the cups weren’t topped off. 

On the way out, when Sven wasn’t looking, Kristoff glanced in the waitress’s direction.  She had her copper hair in braids, and actually, was very attractive.  He always had been a sucker for freckles.  If he was interested in a relationship, he might ask her out, but he was more than content not having to deal with what came in having that sort of thing.

*****

Anna watched the pair of cowboy’s head back to their big dually in the parking lot.  They’d been the best-looking ones yet.  Especially that blond with the big nose and the pretty brown eyes.  He was very handsome.  And built!  The guy’s biceps were giving that roper shirt a serious quality control test.  She felt a little flustered to suddenly think about what being with a man like that would be like.  Her ex had been on the skinnier side and nowhere near as tall.  Not to mention never really left her satisfied.  She had a feeling that the handsome blond cowboy sure wouldn’t disappoint. 

He didn’t really say much, he left her a very nice tip, and he did say thank you when she dropped off their breakfast, even if he didn’t say please when he ordered it.  Anna hoped she’d see him again soon and found herself hoping that he was single and looking.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Sven suggested breakfast again the next morning and Kristoff damn well knew why.  Still, it was hard to argue against a big brekky that he didn’t have to make himself.   They drove to the diner and sure enough, the attractive waitress was working.

They sat in the same booth and she came over a moment later with coffees and waters.  It impressed him a little that they didn’t have to order, even if was presumptuous of her. 

“Same as yesterday, gentlemen?” she asked, after she’d set their drinks on the table.

“You bet,” Sven answered.

“And are we sticking with sunny-side up eggs and rye toast?”  Both men nodded.  “Perfect.  I’ll have that right out to you.”

Kristoff found himself watching her walk away.  She sure had a nice smile.  Very friendly.  Good for getting better tips for sure.   And those eyes were something else.

“You should ask her out,” Sven persisted in a hushed voice.

He turned to Sven and scowled.  “No.”

“Why not?”

Kristoff shrugged and couldn’t really come up with a good answer. 

Sven heaved a big sigh.  “You know what, I give up.  You’re hopeless.”

Kristoff sneered.  “Like you pointed out, she’s a city girl.  Only one way a relationship with her is gonna end up, and that’s me being dumped after a week.”

“Maybe if you would just try-”

“That’s enough,” he said, very serious.  “I’m not in the mood.”

Sven scoffed.  “Fine, whatever.”

Kristoff looked down at his hands and started to dig some dirt out from under his thumbnail.  Sven had no idea what he was talking about.  Kristoff had always tried.  He did his best, even though he was pretty damn clueless about romance.  Which seemed to be why none of the ladies he’d gone out with stuck around long.  He did try, and it was never enough.  It had left him jaded about dating. 

Their meals came out quickly and they ate even quicker to get a head start on their day.  It was going to be another long one, meaning come Friday night, both of them would be more than eager to blow off some steam at the saloon. 

*****

Anna gathered up the tip the other cowboy had left on the table.  It was still very decent even if he wasn’t as generous as the blond.  Neither of the men seemed like they were looking for a date, so Anna gave up on thinking that either of them were single.  Like most of them, they were probably taken, leaving Anna wondered what she had to do to bag herself a cowboy.

Another waitress had been talking about going to a saloon by the highway at the edge of town on Friday evening for some dancing and asked Anna if she wanted to tag along too.  She accepted, giddy at the chance that perhaps she might have her opportunity there to get herself a date, even if she was warned that the crowd could get pretty rowdy. 

--

Next Chapter

[dipplinduo]

Brain Chemistry = INFLUENCED Your Feelings = IN DANGER

When @kyokokusakabe is whispering ideas in your ear ft. @snobithesnorunt screaming "I LIKED THE WAR BETTER" in the background

[creamsiclemelt]

got my finger on her trigger

“You promise this won't make it weird?” Jo asks slowly. She knows the whole ‘gay woman falls in love with her straight friend’ trope is something that happens, sometimes. She doesn't want to put Nate in that position. Nate's mouth curls into a grin. “That won't be a problem on my end, honey.”

Jo gets broken up with by her shitty boyfriend. Nate makes her feel better. (Or: The fic where dirtbag lesbian Nate fucks her straight bestie Jo)

(click here to read)

possibly part of a series but I'm only one woman with a metric fuckton of WIPs and ideas, so who knows! pretty sure @droumack would kill me if I don't eventually post a sequel tho

[firefly--bright]

does anyone want a depression banger fic

[wittyblather]

@ people running various ship tournaments on here: you know that if you hate reylo, you can choose not to include it right

[seventh-district]

wow!!! nothing better than watching your AO3 subscribers stat go down every time you post a new chapter of your current fic!!!

[piratefalls]

y'all, if you don't even like the premise of a fic, never mind its content, and you possess the ability to scroll past it, you should probably just...do that. instead of putting authors on blast for writing a thing you don't agree with.

[chronic-invisibility]

I never had an rp blog back when those were super popular on here but last night i was like “hm what if i made an rp blog for like if charlie spring was on edblr” bc he does canonically have tumblr and lets be real he’d probably be on this side esp when he was doing poorly. But i don’t know the first thing about having an rp blog and it might feel weird making one of a fictional character esp if said character was 13 (bc i’d be starting around when he got outed which was around a year before the comic/show started) so idk, would that be something anyone wants to see? Does anybody even make rp blogs anymore? I’d be like genuinely worried that someone wouldn’t know it was an rp blog and think there was an actual 13 year old on here having a terrible time in life/if anyone found out it was an rp blog and decided to purposely misinterpret it as a 25 year old catfishing minors or something i really wouldn’t want that.

[panspaming]

Don't mind me I'm giving myself therapy in the tags

[fiona-fififi]

...

[tansyuduri]

So I edited like 40 pages today and I might have gone overboard

Also brainstormed ideas for a fic and am now nearing the edge of an anxiety atack.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I'm sooo sleepy and the brainrot is still strong and does someone want me to play with their hair

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You'll Be Home For Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You agree to do a favour for your coworker but it might be more than you can handle.

Character: Clark Kent

Day Nineeen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - fake dating becomes too real.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"I know it sounds weird, but, my mom's getting up there..." Clark looks away as he pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

You're not sure how he does it. How someone like him can make himself look pathetic. He's a big man. Mountainous really. He dwarfs just about everybody in the office. Even the desks look tiny next to him. And the chisel of his face is so sharp yet in that moment, he looks heart-wrenchingly soft. 

"It's just you two this year?" You ask. 

"Um, yeah," he rubs the back of his neck then drags his hand around and down his chest. He shifts in his chair and clears his throat. "Look, I know I can be nosy but I overheard you and Maggie. You said you don't have any plans this year--" He cringes and leans forward, putting his elbows to the desk as he covers his face then peeks out between his fingers. "It's a dumb idea." 

"It seems like you're pretty stressed," you fold your hands behind you. You don't want to agree with his last statement and make him feel worse. 

"Yeah, after Lois..." he shakes his head, "my mom's convinced I'm going to be alone forever and she keeps telling me how old she's getting. Says she wants to live long enough to see me happy." 

"Wow, sounds worse than my mom," you kid but quickly deflate. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make light." 

"No, it's ridiculous," he heaves and drops his eyes. "I've asked two of my neighbours, I asked my mail lady, and oh, yeah, the girl who made my coffee today. I'm all out of shame." 

"Can I think about it?" You ask. You know you're going to say no, but you don't want to do it right away. 

He perks up and his blue eyes flick to meet yours. His brows rise hopefully and he rolls forward in his chair, "really?" 

"I didn't say yes." 

"But you're the first person not to say no," he smiles. 

Oof, there it is. You've always had a hard time in situations like these. You're a people pleaser in the worst way. 

"Anyway, I should get back to work," you say. 

"When-- when will you know?" He asks. 

You hesitate. 

"End of today?" He suggests. 

You nod. Alright. You just need to get out of there before you cave to that puppy dog sparkle in his eyes. A man who looks like that shouldn't be able to make himself so pitiful. 

✨

You don’t know why you said yes. You really were going to say no but when Clark came back to check in, you weren’t prepared. So absorbed in your work, that you forgot about the odd request. 

So here you are, right beside him, wound as tight as a spring as you try not to show it. It’s not how you imagined spending Christmas. When your typical traditional obligation felt through, you were almost relieved. Now that dread has returned but in a new flavour. Meeting someone else’s family is somehow more intimidating than your mother’s judgement. 

Clark’s own anxiety pales in his knuckles as he drives silently. Only the radio provides some softness in the tension between you. It’s always strange to spend time with coworkers outside the office and now you’re jumping headfirst into their most personal facet. 

You fidget in your seat and let your eyes blur out the window. You didn’t expect his mom to live this far, yet you should have. He’d mentioned before he grew up on a farm. It must have been nice in a way, peaceful, out where you can’t hear the city honking and hollering. 

The snow thickens as you get further into the country. His large truck doesn’t falter as he steers cautiously through snowed over tire tracks. Would the plow even get this far out here? If it did, you don’t imagine it would come very often. 

Your mind latches onto those random things to avoid the obvious. You’ve always been this way. Instead of worrying about your mother lecturing you about your stagnant work situation, you’re usually more concerned with how your hair lays or if she’s going to the like that bottle of wine you spent too much money on for her. 

“Thanks again,” Clark’s baritone rolls over you like thunder. “Really. I know it’s... strange. I’m just not ready to date again but... my mom...” 

“Trust me. I get it. My mom can be... a lot,” you chuckle, though it’s really not that funny. 

“Oh yeah? I didn’t want to be nosy, but...” 

“Right, uh, you know, my brother asked if we could have dinner on Christmas Eve instead and the rest of us agreed. She insisted that Christmas Eve isn’t Christmas...” Your heart picks up with the anxiety you bury deep down. “Well, she cancelled Christmas since no one agreed with her.” 

“Wow, really?” 

“Uh, yep,” you can’t look at him. It’s embarrassing. It’s like when your mother dumped your birthday cake in the garbage because you pointed out you were 13 not 12 that year. Or when she walked out of your graduation because your grandmother wouldn’t switch seats. “It’s whatever. Family, right?” 

“I guess,” he says. “My parents always loved holidays too. Especially when dad was around.” 

“I’m sorry about your dad,” you murmur. 

“Don’t be. Sorry if it seems like I keep bringing that up,” he sniffs. 

You look ahead to the sole structure as it looms closer and closer. A farmhouse that comes clearer through the drift of flakes, and a barn like a shadow near its rear corner. It’s like one of those classic festive paintings printed on an advent calendar or some 1950s domestic dream. 

He pulls up to the house and shifts in his seat. Concern needles in his cheek as he squints over the steering wheel. He wrenches the shifter into park and kills the engine. You sit futilely and let him take the lead. 

“Lights are off,” he mutters. 

You nod, unsure what to say. Is something wrong? 

He gets out and you watch the snow dust into his dark hair and across his broad shoulders. He is unfettered by the deep snow. You zip up your coat and turn to your door. You push it open and look out into the perilous carpet. 

Clark surprises you as he comes around. “Here,” he puts his arms out, “it’s deep.” 

You grab his hand and his other goes to your waist. He as good as lifts you and sets you down in the path he’s stomped through the piles. You thank him and awkwardly detach. He shuts the door and moves around you closely. 

He leads the way to the porch so you can walk through his footsteps. Your lashes catch the snow as you look up at the grey sky. You don’t think you’ll make it home that night. Shoot. 

Clark kicks off his boots as he digs in the pocket of his coat and pulls out some keys. He unlocks the door and gestures you in ahead of him. You try to clear off your treads before you enter. He reaches around the frame to flip on the light. 

He crowds you as he enters. You try not to step off the mat and make a mess of the floor. You slip free of your Adidas, not the best choice for the weather, and shuffle aside. He hangs his jackets and combs his fingers through his hair to clear the flakes out. The dark strands glisten with the moisture. 

“Give me your coat,” he reaches for you. 

“Oh, yeah,” you unzip your jacket and hand it over. It isn’t exactly climate appropriate either. You’ve been meaning to invest in winter gear. A lot of times your intentions are only ever that. “Thanks.” 

“Quiet...” he mulls as his eyes skim the ceiling and he hooks your jacket on the rack. 

“Yeah, a little.” 

“Ma’s probably laying down,” he utters with a hint of concern. “I’m gonna go check and see what’s going on.” 

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” 

“No worries. She stays up all night reading,” he shakes his head. “Feel free to make yourself at home.” 

“Right, er, okay.” 

You back up as he passes you. He heads upstairs and you slowly pivot to take in the interior. The pale wood is marked with knots which give it an even more rustic atmosphere and the decor is simple but in a quaintly traditional way. The details etched into the slender drawer of a side table or the dainty trim of the area rug give a lived-in effect. 

You tiptoe into the front room and hug yourself as you feel a draught whisper in around the window. You find the light switch and flip it on to cast more light across the neatly arranged furniture. There's an old-fashioned iron firestove in the middle of the room, the flue built up to the ceiling.  

You can hear Clark moving around above. The rest of the house is silent. You look at the old grandfather clock standing against the wall. It’s just after eleven in the morning. 

You turn as the stairs creak. Clark appears in the doorway with a sober expression. “Mom’s just waking up. It might be a while. She... she’s having a tough day.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she sick?” 

“She is and she isn’t. Just getting older, you know? Ever since she broke her hip last year, she’s been a bit slower,” he explains. 

“Oh, gosh, Clark,” you say. “Is there anything I can do to help? You said she was planning on dinner but I can get all that started for her.” 

“Sure, she usually thaws the turkey in the sink overnight,” he says. “We should probably start there.” 

“Right,” you chew your lip. 

“It’s nice of you to offer but if it’s too much--” 

“No, no! It’s cool. I’ve just never stuffed a turkey on my own,” you say. “I was always just an observer.” 

Your mother never believed anything was done right unless she did it herself. Then she’d complain about having to do it. 

“I can help,” he offers. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan. I think she might appreciate the help, huh?” 

He smiles but doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, he only stares. He clears his throat and nods at last, “she would—will.” 

“Show me where it all is,” you show your palms, not wanting to presume too much. 

He beckons you after him as he leads you through the doorway perpendicular to the one you came through. He turns on another light. This place feels desolate with them off. 

“So uh...” he begins as he goes to the counter and peeks in the sink, “yep, turkey’s in here.” 

“Great, hopefully it’s dethawed,” you say. “Alright, do you mind if I poke around?” 

“It’s all yours. I’ll try to help but gotta be honest, as a kid, I was out in the field,” he stands back to watch you. 

“Right,” you come forward to look the turkey over. Good thing is it won’t need extra time due to being half-frozen. 

“Hum... do you know if your mother does stuffing from scratch or a box?” You turn back to him. 

“Scratch, probably,” he shrugs. 

“Cool, uh, I need bread,” you declare. It’s almost nice being in charge. A very new but refreshing feeling. 

✨

The smell of turkey wafts from the stove as you work at the other fixings. You follow the list on the fridge. The paper is a bit yellowed but you can read it nonetheless. At least Clark’s mother is a planner. Although a few of her ingredients are a bit... aged. Nothing you can’t use but the spices have a little extra dust on the caps. 

Clark appears again. He’s been pacing in and out, helping where he can, but he seems too restless to focus. You tap pause on your phone to stop the music. You don’t get any signal out here but you have a bunch downloaded. It helps ease the silence that thickens with the fall of snow. 

“So, how’s mom? She doing okay?” You ask. 

“Mom?” He hesitates, “yeah, she’s getting there. Sorry about this. I know the whole reason you did this was to make her happy. For me. I just didn’t expect--” He blows out a heavy breath and leans on the counter. “It’s hard when you get older and everyone you love starts to leave. Or change.” 

Your heart flickers. You try not to frown too deep, “I’m sorry, Clark.” You look back down at the bowl of soaking cranberries. You take your family for granted. The might be a little toxic but they’re there. 

“Not your fault. I just... I thought I had it figured out with Lois. Everyone was happy and my mom was ecstatic,” he clutches his hands together. You meet his eyes sheepishly. “I just wanted her to be that way again. And you’re so sweet and nice.” 

“Aw, Clark. Well, you know, I should thank you. At least I’m not alone on Christmas,” you try to pep yourself up. “Um, I gotta wait for these cranberries a little long. Could I use the bathroom?” 

“Right, er, it’s just down the hall,” he points towards the second doorway that interconnects with the same hallway that leads back to the stairs. 

“Thanks,” you wipe your hands on a dishcloth and leave him with a thin smile. 

As you flit out, your chest sinks. You think of everything you’ve said since you got there, how insensitive it must have seemed. And back in the car when you complained about your mom. Ugh, he must think you’re so ungrateful. 

You close yourself in the bathroom and tend to your business. You’d been holding it since he picked you up from your building. You wash your hands, pumping the soap bottle hard to dislodge a clog in the tube. You finally finish up but find the smell of mildew stuck to your hands from the towel. 

You come out of the bathroom and look up and down the hallway. You shift to see the framed picture a bit better. Those must be his parents, and little Clark. You can’t believe he was ever that small. 

There are other pictures across the table below. A cluster of frames; class photos, impromptu snaps of memories, and posed family shots. Beneath one, there’s a slip of paper. You try not to be intrusive but the fading font catches your eye. You lean in as you tilt the frame to see the full letter, the card bent and forgotten beneath. 

‘Our condolences. We were so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. Please do let us anything we can do for you.’ The message is signed Mallory and Chuck. You blink in confusion. Maybe it’s an old card meant for his mother; for a grandparent. 

“She died last year,” Clark startles you so you whip up and nearly tip as you stand straight. “It’s my first Christmas without her,” he continues. “I’m sorry I lied but I didn’t want to be alone.” 

You shake your head. Confusion swells through your stomach and clouds your brain. The fog clears and your eyes wander up to the ceiling. 

“Your mom?” 

“I miss her,” his voice cracks. “She took care of me.” 

“Oh, well, yeah,” you quaver unevenly. You’re reeling. Why would he lie about that? And to get you here? You’re just coworkers. “That must be hard.” 

“Mhm,” he nods and pouts. As he comes closer, you tense, wavering with his steps. “You’re not mad at me?” 

Your lips part then close. The wind whistles outside and reminds you of how isolated this place is. Clark drove you here... 

“I’m just... wondering why you need to lie,” you eke out. 

“I know it’s wrong but... if I told the truth, you might say no.” 

You nod and as he reaches for you, you wince away. You hug yourself and push your shoulders up. You swallow, “Clark, what is the truth? Why am I here?” 

He tilts his head and his eyes drift to the side. The light fades in his pupils and his jaw clenches. His fingers twiddle by his leg. 

“To be with me,” he looks at you again and smiles. A smile shadowed sinisterly beneath the worn bulb above. “You’re alone too.” 

You stare at him. Terror floods your veins and paralyses you. You want to turn and run but you won’t get far. All you can do is bide your time and hope that you can find a chance and way to get out. But for now, with him so close, so much bigger, you have to pretend. That is exactly what he asked you to do, after all.