#It’s kind of hard to find a middle ground. That is Pleasant.

[valengory1234]

I want to take a hot bath for my joints, but hot baths make my heartbeat extra hard and make me so tired

[feenoire]

Heartfelt Veils I. New Dawn

stepdad!joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.8k

warnings: slow burn-ish, age difference (18/50), brief sexual tension, sexual acts.

summary: moving to a strange, quaint little town isn't so bad after all, especially after meeting your soon-to-be stepdad, who’s very handsome and nice to you.

a/n: i never knew what it felt like to have a dad or father figure in my life. that’s why i wrote this silly little fiction to fulfill my fantasy. i use the character Joel because he’s my comfort character, and i see him both as a father figure and a lover. please read it with caution, as i know this kind of story is not for everyone. i’m currently writing the next chapters <3

series masterlist

A piercing ring shattered the surrounding silence, echoing in your ears. You don’t remember how you here sitting on the ground. But you can’t see anything, everything is black like the whole world goes dark. You struggle to open your eyes but it’s hard, but you persist until it opens.

You begin to breathe faster as you examine your surroundings. You’ve been here before, but you don't exactly remember when and what happened. All you know is that you can feel an unsettling fear creeping over you in this place, and you begin to cry.

You find yourself encircled by towering trees, as you sit on the cold, damp grass. You feel like someone is watching you, but there’s no one. As you attempt to bury your face in your hands, you notice a bruise on your wrists.

What happened to me?

From the fear, your hands begin to shake. As you try to stand, you hear footsteps behind you, but you don’t dare to look back. Your heart races, and despite the cold weather, you start sweating. Everything else is silent except for your own breathing until a deep and familiar voice speaks from behind you.

“You think you can run away from me?”

You close your eyes tightly. The voice starts low, then gets louder until it speaks directly into your left ear. Leaving goosebumps tingling across your skin.

“I’ll always find a way to get you. No one can stop me.”

There’s a faint, distant voice calling your name over and over until a hand touches your shoulder. You wake up with a gasp, finding yourself in a moving car, your lungs heaving with ragged breaths.

“Are you okay, flower?”

Your mind is still processing the nightmare and trying to make sense of where you are right now. You can feel the sweat clinging to your skin.

“W-where are we?”

“We’re almost there,” your mother says. “We’ll be at the house soon.”

“Oh… right.” Of course, you are.

It all makes sense now as you start to remember things. You admire the buildings, trees, and pleasant views of the small town that will be your new home, from the backseat, with your mother beside you. With a population of just three thousand, it feels almost like a ghost town. People walk here and there, stepping on fallen leaves amid the October fall.

You check the time on the car’s radio display, it reads 4 PM, but the foggy and cold weather makes it feel much later. Meanwhile “Just Like Honey” plays softly on the radio.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your mother asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay. It was just a nightmare,” you reassure her.

The car starts to enter the small neighborhood on the edge of the town. Most of the houses already have jack-o-lanterns on their porches, seems like this town loves Halloween so much.

“I’m excited,” your mother says with a smile, holding your hand on the seat.

You smile genuinely. “Me too, Mom.”

“A new dawn, a fresh start,” that’s what your mother had said when she told you about the move a month ago, to a quaint little town called Silvervale in the middle of Montana.

It came out of nowhere, and you still think about it. You miss your friend from your old school. But with your mother’s enthusiasm, you can’t say no to her, and you want to make her happy. And you like the idea of a fresh start. Why refuse it when you have the chance to begin anew?

A few minutes later, the car stops in front of the house. It radiates a cozy charm that you immediately appreciate. What you didn’t expect is that the backyard is a dense forest, with trees stretching as far as the eye can see. It would be easy for a wolf or serial killer to attack you, but you hope that won’t happen. Your mother told you that the neighborhood is safe.

The house is a two-story structure with a classic, early 20th century architectural style, a white-painted structure with a metal gabled roof and a chimney. It features a large wraparound porch supported by columns.

“Come on, flower.”

You and your mother get out of the car and grab your things from the trunk, with the cab driver helping to place them on the porch. After giving him a tip and thanking him, the driver leaves.

The two of you stand on the porch, with bags and suitcases on the floor. You tighten your jacket around your body to ward off the cold, realizing you shouldn’t have worn a dress above your knees. Meanwhile, all your other belongings are still on their way and are expected to arrive tomorrow.

“Where is he?” you ask.

“He’s not home yet, but he told me we could come inside.”

“Wait, are you sure?”

“Yeah, come on.”

You take your bags and go inside with your mother. Now all the stuff is in the living room. You take a look around the place. It’s cozy, with many books on the bookshelves beside the fireplace. There are guitars on the wall and some wood carvings on the table. You draw closer and touch them carefully, they’re beautiful. There’s a bear, a deer, a wolf, and a cowboy sitting on the horse.

Lost in a trance, you don’t hear another person enter the house until your mother calls your name.

“Yeah?” Your eyes are still trained on the carvings as you turn around until you see the man in front of you beside your mother, his arm around her shoulder. “Oh.”

Your mother, with a beaming smile, says, “Flower, this is Joel.”

Joel.

Joel is your mother’s boyfriend and one of the reasons she proposed to move here, to his house. He might’ve asked her to marry him after two years together. And she wanted to start fresh, away from your hometown. However, you have never met Joel. Your mother met him at the local bar in your hometown, Phoenix, when he was on a road trip with his brother. The rest is history.

You only recently learned that your mother dating him, she never told you about it or even mentioned anything about dating. Your mother was single, that’s all you knew since you were a kid. She was always busy working, so she never had time for a relationship. Until a few months ago, when she finally told you about Joel.

She said she wanted to make sure that Joel is a good man for both you and her, and that she wants to protect you. Now you understand why, sometimes every few months she would leave for like a week, over the past two years. She told you it was for work, and you believed her.

She said Joel’s the one, she never really went on a date with anyone since your father. Joel is a good and kind man, and she said she fell in love with him. It was kind of shocking when you heard the news, but you accepted their relationship. Actually, you’re kind of happy for her that she finally met someone she could spend her life with and who will take care of her. You’re almost eighteen, and you won’t be living with your mother forever.

It's the first time you’re seeing Joel in person.

You’ve only looked at pictures of him that your mother showed you or seen him during Facetime calls with her, when she told you to say hi to him.

You know Joel is a good-looking man from the pictures you saw, but you didn’t expect him to look this good in person. His salt-and-pepper hair suggests maturity. He has beautiful features: a rugged handsome face with tan skin, a strong jawline, warm brown eyes, and a sharp nose. Unbelievably handsome. He’s tall and broad, so you have to look up at him. His big arms stretch the charcoal flannel he wears.

In return, he looks at you, inspecting your face as if lost in a trance.

“Joel, meet my daughter,” your mother introduces.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your voice a little breathless as you extend your hand.

Joel shakes your hand warmly. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You smile. “Nice to meet you too.”

“I’m so glad we’re all finally together,” your mother says.

“Me too, Daphne,” Joel says as he kisses her temple.

It’s kind of strange to watch the scene unfolding in front of you, you’ve never seen your mother this affectionate with anyone before. But you are happy for her.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I thought I’d made it on time. I bought your favorite cake, tiramisu, right?” Joel says to your mother, gesturing to the large paper bag he’s holding.

A soft blush tints her cheeks. “Oh my god, thank you so much, Joel.”

“I planned to surprise you with it before you got here, but my car broke down on the way.”

“It’s okay, Joel. It’s perfect,” she says as she hugs him.

“Okay… so, are we gonna eat the cake now?” you say, trying to ease the awkwardness of witnessing their intimate moment.

Joel and your mother laugh at your remark, breaking the embrace with a shared smile. Then, he leads you to the dining room. The table is full of delicious-looking food, and your stomach grumbles at the sight.

“This is amazing, Joel,” your mother says.

The three of you finally sit down and enjoy the food on the dining table. You can’t believe Joel actually cooked all of this, and it’s kind of sweet. You’ve never had someone cook for you, not even your mother, because she’s always busy. So, you either cook for yourself or buy takeout. Joel mentions that he has always loved cooking. Everything on the table is flavorsome, especially the ravioli with spicy cream sauce.

You’re too busy eating your food to notice Joel looking at you until you catch him. He quickly averts his eyes back to his plate, and you can feel a flush rising to your cheeks. But you quickly push the thoughts aside.

“Oh, yeah, mom. I was wondering how I’m gonna finish high school. You haven’t mentioned anything about it yet.”

“Don’t worry, flower. I’ve already taken care of it,” your mother says. “You start next week, but there’s no high school in this town, so you’re going to the one in Lakewood.”

You furrow your eyebrows, you have no idea about anything in this town. “Where?”

“Lakewood, it’s not too far from here. Twenty minutes tops,” Joel says. “Don’t worry, I can take you there and pick you up.”

It’s such a dad thing to say, you thought. You never knew how it felt to have a dad before, and the thought warms your heart and also your cheeks. You must be blushing right now because you can see a hint of a smirk on Joel’s lips, though he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say.

Joel smiles warmly. “I rented A Nightmare on Elm Street on VHS from the store. I thought it’d be nice to watch it together tonight. It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

Oh god. Wait, but how does he know? Uh… your mom must have told him, of course. Stupid you.

“But why?” you ask, puzzled. “We can just watch it on Apple TV or something.”

He smirks playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You chuckle. “Right, okay.”

The two of you share a smile, locking eyes for a moment before you finally look away and return to your food.

“That’s very thoughtful,” your mother smiles and holds Joel’s hand on the table.

After everyone has finished eating, Joel leads you upstairs to show you to your room, carrying your bags. Meanwhile, your mother is having a phone call with her friend. As the two of you walk, you pass a wooden door adorned with painted blossoms and vines, with an “S” initial in the center, but you don’t ask about it. He leads you to the door on the left at the end of the hallway and turns on the night lamp.

“It’s your room, I hope you like it,” he says as he puts the bags on the floor.

It’s such a pretty room, it’s cozy with a vintage ambiance. The walls are covered with floral wallpaper, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. It’s very Joel but in a feminine way. The windows have white lace curtains, allowing you to see the forest. All the furniture is made of dark wood, including the bed frame, bedside tables, dresser, chairs, study desk, and vanity table. There’s a floral carving around the mirror. He placed some unlit candles around the room. The bed is full-sized, and you touch the soft pink bedding with your fingers, feeling the little flowers on it. It’s pretty, soft, and you. What you didn’t expect is the painting of “Fallow Deer with Fawn” above the headboard—your favorite painting.

You gasp at the sight of it and turn around to face Joel, who’s already looking at you. His pupils dilate as he looks at you. But there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes you feel safe and comfortable.

“Joel, how did you—”

He smiles warmly and looks back into your eyes. “I asked your mom if there’s something you like. She told me that you’re crazy about that painting, and even wrote an essay about it for school. So I found a very similar one and got it for y—”

You stride to him and hug him before he can finish his words, burying your face in his chest with your arms around his torso. You feel his arms enveloping you, holding you in a bear hug, and you can feel his face resting on your hair.

You feel emotional from the gesture, unable to believe that someone actually cares about you and your interests so much. It means a lot to you, even if it might mean nothing to Joel. You try to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall, closing your eyes tightly and taking a deep breath, the masculine scent of Joel fills your nostrils.

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper. “It means a lot to me.”

He caresses your hair with his other hand. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Joel’s deep voice is like music to your ears. After a few seconds in what feels like heaven, you realize what you’re doing and quickly break the hug, stepping back. Overcome with embarrassment, you don’t have the courage to look him in the face. You bow your head and focus on your socks.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you say.

Joel takes a step closer to you and caresses your soft cheek with his big hand. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart.”

His gentle voice soothes you, but you’re so embarrassed that your cheeks must be red. You still don’t dare to look at him. After waiting for a few moments and seeing your resistance, he takes a step back.

“Makes yourself comfortable, okay?” Joel says warmly. “If you need anything at all, just tell me. I’m gonna help your mom carry her bags.”

You nod, and Joel takes it as a yes. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

You curl up in your bed, quietly crying for almost an hour. Why did you do that? You feel so embarrassed and stupid about the moment earlier. Lost in your feelings, you didn't think twice before hugging Joel. Now, you can’t find the courage to face him. You just want to sleep and hide under your blanket forever.

But you still can’t believe Joel prepared all of this for you. The pink bedding, the flower-patterned details everywhere, the candles, the painting—all your favorite things. Not that you're ungrateful, but this is far better than your old space. You love this room Joel made for you.

You remove the blanket from your head and rest your head on the pillow. There’s a little something you didn’t notice earlier—a beautiful wood carving, much like the one in the living room, but smaller. It’s a wolf and a doe and is placed on your bedside table. You smile at the sight. Not long after that, you fall asleep, dreaming about resting on the forest floor with a big wolf hugging you.

The sky is dark outside when you wake up a few hours later. You change into your soft pink nightgown, which is sleeveless with a round neckline. Three small buttons run down the front, with small embroidered flowers beside them. You tie the delicate ribbon at the waist into a small bow. As you brush your hair, you hear a knock on the door.

You put the brush down and go to open the door, finding Joel on the other side. You don’t open the door all the way, keeping your hand on the handle. He looks so handsome, his curls falling into his forehead. He’s wearing a faded black t-shirt that hugs his frame, paired with flannel pants.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

In return, he looks at you. His once-brown eyes darken and dilate as he gazes from your right eye to your left, lingering on your lips. You notice him wet his lips, and then his eyes roam over your body, making you feel self-conscious. His intense gaze sends a hot sensation through your core.

“Joel?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly as if realizing what he is doing. “Uh… I’m sorry, sweetheart. I came here to ask if you’re still up for the movie night.”

“Oh, right. Um… yeah, sure,” you stutter.

“Okay. Uh, are you alright?” he asks.

You immediately know what he’s talking about.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m sorry, Joel, about earlier,” you bow your head.

“Hey, please don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You can come to me anytime you want,” he says, his voice sincere.

You nod.

“Alright, why don’t we head downstairs now? Your mom’s in the kitchen making popcorn. Or do you need more time?”

“No, I’m ready.”

You open the door and step out of the room.

“Do you want a chocolate or something? Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he says as he walks down the stairs in front of you.

Your heart warms at his offer, and you smile softly. “Um… could I have hot chocolate and Oreos?” you ask shyly.

“Of course,” he replies with a smile. “Why don’t you sit on the couch and let me make it for you?”

“Okay.”

Joel walks to the kitchen and joins your mother. Meanwhile, you sit on the couch in the dim living room, waiting for them. You grab the VHS, still inside the box, and examine the back cover. It says, ‘If Nancy doesn’t wake up screaming… she won't wake up at all!’ and you smile as the words send a shiver of excitement down your spine.

A few minutes later, your mother shows up with Joel. He brings a steaming cup of hot chocolate with Oreos and two bottles of Corona beer. Meanwhile, your mother puts a bowl of chips and popcorn on the coffee table.

You can’t help but grin at the sight. “Thank you, Joel, Mom.”

Joel grins. “Excited?”

“Flower, why don’t you change into something a little more appropriate? Don’t you get cold dressed like that?” your mother says, her eyes looking sharply at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, puzzled. “But it’s my nightgown.”

“Just change, alright?” she says, her tone brooks no debate.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

Your smile fades as you stand up from the couch. You catch a glimpse of Joel’s face—his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks confused as he glances at your mother. Quickly, you go upstairs to your room, holding back the urge to cry.

“Please don’t cry, please don’t cry,” you whisper to yourself like a spell as you look for more appropriate night attire in your suitcase.

You’re confused because your mother also wears a short nightgown too, with tin straps. So why is she upset with yours?

So you opt for your winter pajama set: long-sleeved button-up top and long pants. It’s light-colored with a pattern of small bear figures scattered on the fabric.

After changing, you take a deep breath, go downstairs, and sit on the rug with your hot chocolate in your hands, avoiding their eyes.

“I’m ready,” you say softly.

You’re glad your voice isn’t shaking because you don’t want to look vulnerable in front of them. Joel stands up from the couch, puts the VHS in the VCR, and plays the movie. You can feel his eyes on you, but you bow your head and focus on your hot chocolate.

The atmosphere is not as exciting as it was before your mother scolded you, but you try to enjoy the moment. A few moments into the movie you can’t help but giggle and blush at Glen Lantz's appearance, you’ve always had a crush on him.

“You sure your cheeks don’t hurt now, little girl?” Joel says with a smirk on his face, catching you smiling for not the first time.

Embarrassed, you lower your head and take a bite of your cookie. “No…”

Joel chortles. “Your cheeks got redder, sweetheart.”

You put the cookie down, curl up, and bury half of your face in your knees at his teasing. If your ears could work like a chimney in a cartoon, you are sure there would be fumes coming out from how warm your cheeks are right now. Damn Joel.

Near the movie’s end, you catch a glimpse of your mother kissing Joel’s face and neck—not the peck kind but the longing kind. You feel deeply uncomfortable and don’t want to look. You try to focus on the movie but can’t. You hold yourself together until the closing credits appear, and then you quickly stand up.

“I’m tired, I’m gonna go to my room,” you mutter before leaving and going back to your room.

Why did they have to do that in front of you? Are they drunk? You throw yourself onto the bed and turn off the night lamp, allowing the natural light from the night sky to illuminate your room as you try to sleep.

After what feels like twenty minutes, just as you doze off, you hear thumps and muffled moans coming from the other side of the wall behind the headboard. And you know exactly what they’re doing, which pisses you off even more, and you feel like you want to cry. So you clutch your pillow and blanket and go to sleep in your closet with your earmuffs on. You didn’t expect your first night here to be like this—sleeping on the closet floor. It takes a while to fall asleep again.

[koiiiji]

hiii! i really love your windbreaker scenarios😭❤️ can i request a hyuk kwon scenarios with friends to lovers trope, if you don't mind? thank you so much!!!

AHHH U READING MY THOUGHTS! i had it in my drafts, but already posted!! so here like a short scenario in same timeline, just take it as what happened in gaps here

author note ; seminar week in uni hits hard, but random tequila shots with flatmates in the middle of the week hits harder.... but don't worry i played through and won this fking hangover and dropping this post now😌🫦

warnings ; fluff, cute hyeok, not proofed

(bro is the type of guy who will show off a trick on his bike he hasn't trained enough yet and end up falling)

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friday evening started out great - all the lectures were over, the weather was beautiful outside, the sun had not yet disappeared behind the horizon and was giving the city its last rays. this week you didn’t miss a single lecture, and in general today you were quite active in class, you also agreed with your classmates to meet next week to complete a group project, so your socially active duty for today has been completed and you can calmly relax on weekend.

entering cozy apartment, you set down your bag and kicked off shoes, ready to delve into usual routine of household chores. you took a slow shower, completed all the steps in the skin care routine and now you wanted to start that series that you had been putting off for a long time when you heard a soft knock sounded at the door, interrupting your thoughts. curious, you opened the door to find Kwon standing there, with his usual calm and relaxed face. his presence caught you off guard a little, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. "hey..." he began, his voice a gentle murmur. "i was wondering if you'd like to go to that shop near our building with me. i wanted that banana drink you recommend me recently... and i thought you spent whole day in uni, so we could take a little walk together... you know to catch some fresh air and stuff..." your initial surprise quickly gave way to excitement, as your lips curling into a grin. despite his usual reserved demeanor, Kwon's offer filled you with pleasant a sense of warmth, joy and anticipation. "sure, i’d love to," you replied, grabbing a jacket and slipping on her shoes.

together, you ventured out into the cool evening air of Seoul, the streets alive with the hustle and bustle of city life. As you walked side by side, you couldn't help but steal glances at Hyeok, marveling at the way his stoic facade softened in the glow of the streetlights. small conversation about everything flowed effortlessly as you made your way to the shop, sharing stories and laughter along the way. but little did you know that Kwon had something else up his sleeve, a secret he was eager to reveal. of course you notice bike he took with him, but you genuinely thought he was so obsessed with these races and bicycles that he just wouldn't get off his bike.

upon reaching an empty playground nestled within a quiet corner of the neighborhood, Kwon's eyes twinkled with mischief as he hopped on his bicycle, a gleam of excitement dancing in his gaze. "watch this," he murmured, his voice tinged with excitement as he prepared to demonstrate a new trick he had been practicing. however, fate had other plans in store, and as he attempted to execute the trick, a misstep caused him to lose his balance, sending him tumbling to the ground with a muffled thud. your heart felt like it skipped a beat as you rushed to his side, concern etched across your features. ignoring the pain coursing through his knee, Hyeok tried to brush off the accident with some kind of incomprehensible emotion. but you saw through his facade, your heart aching at the sight of him in distress. without a moment's hesitation, you took charge, guiding him to a nearby bench and inspecting his injury with gentle hands. rummaging through your bag, you retrieved a pack of cute adhesive bandages adorned with playful images of bananas, a small smile tugging at your lips. with utmost care, you cleaned his wound and carefully applied the bandages, your touch felt so tender that Hyeok could feel goosebumps down his spine.

in that vulnerable moment, when he saw you on your knees before him as you tended to his injury with unwavering kindness, Kwon felt a surge of emotions wash over him, his heart swelling with a newfound warmth. as he looked into your eyes, he realized with startling clarity that what he felt for you already went beyond mere friendship.

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[topgun-imagines]

Day 6: Part Of Me

Pairing: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x fem!reader

Synopsis: When you wake up to horrific pain in the middle of the night, you immediately know what’s wrong.

Warnings: Miscarriage, blood, death, panic attack, mention of hospitals, mental breakdown & descriptions of pain.

Word count: 1.5k

The world around you was calm. For 3:17, that was perfectly normal. A soft breeze flitted through the open window, making you shiver in your sleep and curl into Tom. Even in his sleep, his arm tightened around you. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you were finally at peace. With Tom’s never-ending workload, the two of you could hardly ever find time just for yourselves. So, you relished these moments. Even if you were simply sleeping next to him, the two of you were together and that was all you could have needed.

This was the kind of peace you longed for. Being held like this, in his arms, didn’t get to happen very often due to his busy schedule. Oftentimes, he was on the other side of the world on a ship, making it hard for the two of you to even say goodnight. It was safe to say that being snuggled against his warm skin was a pleasant change of pace.

Tom lay sound asleep next to you, flimsy sheet draped across his waist and soft snores falling from his parted lips. No matter how peaceful the outside world appeared, that was far from the truth. Even your fiancé was blissfully unaware of the moment you woke up in a stomach-churning pain that left you breathless. Regardless of the cool sea breeze blowing through the window, your skin was warm and sticky. Sharp gasps escaped you and tears welled in your eyes at the immense pain.

You didn’t know what to do. Panic began to flood through you. Without making a sound, you hobbled out of the bed, hardly able to walk. You paused and flicked on the lamp. The sight on your side of the bed almost had you collapsing onto the ground.

It had been two months since you found out that you were pregnant and it had been the happiest eight weeks of your life. Now, however, you were watching all of that come crashing down around you. You had read every book on pregnancy you could find and as much as you wanted to deny it, you knew exactly what was happening.

You had heard horror stories of women miscarrying. Stories of nights where everything seemed fine at first, only for them to be in the hospital a few hours later. Tom had assured you that that would never be the case with you. Oh how wrong he was. You should have seen this coming when it was so difficult to get pregnant. You should have known. How could you have been so careless? This was all your fault.

The thought had you shaking, hand clasped over your mouth tightly. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stifle your sobs. You were crying hysterically now as the reality of the situation sunk in.

You had lost your baby.

You did everything right. You had made sure to follow every rule, no matter how foolish or silly or redundant you thought it was, you followed it. Every. Single. Rule. Even random advice from family members that had absolutely no business being a fact. You still followed and listened. All because you wanted to keep your baby safe. Now, it seemed as if none of that mattered.

Through the thoughts racing around your mind, you couldn’t hear the way you were nearly hyperventilating. But Tom did. Within seconds of sitting up groggily, he was by your side. Your sobs only grew louder at the feeling of his gentle touch. You had failed. You had failed him. Why was he comforting you? Surely you didn’t deserve it. He would pull away when he finally understood. You were positive.

Only, he never did pull back. Not even when you tried to tell him what was wrong. “Ice-” You gasped through your sobs, struggling to breathe properly. All he did was hold you tiger, tears of his own welling in his eyes. They were fixated on your side of the bed. He was staring at the dark spot on the crisp white sheets; the spot that was covered in blood.

Ever so slowly, the tears began leaking down his face. “I know, baby,” It was softer than a whisper but it spoke volumes. Together, the two of you sobbed as his head collapsed into the crook of your neck. “I know.”

When you let out a sound akin to a scream was the moment that Tom finally rose from the ground. His movements were quick as he helped you to your feet, helping you change from your flimsy shorts into a loose pair of his sweats. Soft words of assurance were whispered against your temple as Ice picked you up bridal style and carried you to the car. Deep down, you knew that he was much more terrified than he was letting on, but he was keeping a brave face for you. In your hazy mind, you couldn’t find the words to thank him.

In the air, Ice was a very calm and collected man. One of the most important things to him was his ability to follow rules to the letter. He never let anything mess him up, not even Maverick. But now, he was breaking more than several traffic laws to get you to the hospital quickly. Right now, he didn’t care how recklessly he had to drive, he was going to get you to that hospital.

Within ten minutes, Ice was parking the car in front of the doors. It was hard to focus on anything but the pain surging through your body, setting your nerve endings ablaze. Once again, you were lifted into his arms and rushed into the building. “Help!” Even through your unfocused, fuzzy mind, you could hear his cry for help. At this point you were delirious. Your head lolled against his chest and you seemed seconds away from passing out. “Please! She needs help!” The last thing you saw before everything went dark was the concerned face of your fiancé.

When you woke up, you were no longer in pain. Honestly, you weren’t quite sure if that was good or bad. The second you were coherent enough, you were looking for Tom. After everything that had happened tonight, all you needed was your pilot.

Unsurprisingly, you didn’t have to look far. Ice was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair beside your hospital bed. The sight of him sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands instantly formed a pit in your stomach. Of course, Ice was a serious person. But after a night like this, he wouldn’t be sitting like that if it wasn’t bad news. Almost instinctively, your hand reached down to hold your stomach. The joy you once felt from touching the area that held your baby never came.

“I’m so sorry,” Tom’s head snapped up so fast that you were surprised he didn’t get whiplash. The man was by your side in an instant. There was a look in his eyes, one that you had never seen before. It only added fuel to the fire. “It’s all my fault.”

That had him shaking his head adamantly. This was a terrible turn of events but he would never, ever, blame it on you. Unshed tears lined his eyes, clinging to his dark lashes. “No, baby,” Delicately, Ice reached up to cup your cheek. His tears began to fall. Not very long after, yours followed suit. “It’s not your fault. You couldn't have done anything to stop it.” While his words were supposed to be comforting, they had just confirmed your worst fear. Your baby was gone.

“Listen to me,” He tried again to comfort you, both hands cupping your cheeks and using his thumbs to wipe away your tears. “There was nothing we could have done.” Whispered words of assurance did little to calm your racing mind. How did he know that? How did he know for certain that there was nothing that you could have done better to keep your baby safe?

The sad smile on his face was the straw that broke the camel's back. You burst into tears once more. That was how the two of you remained for as long as you could remember. Your head in the crook of his neck, his hand on the back of your head and arms wrapped tight around you as the two of you snuggled on the scratchy hospital sheets. You were sure that your combined cries were loud enough to be heard on the other side of the hospital. Even so, you couldn’t find it in you to care. And as a nurse passed by the closed door, her heart broke for the couple inside. The couple that had just lost their baby girl.

a/n: hope you enjoyed! Join the taglist!

Tagging: @ohtobeleah @xoxabs88xox @els-marvelvsp @kmc1989 @nyx2021

[vulcan-bourbon]

writober 2023

Day 16 - Patron

Grian felt incredibly awkward being a freshman transfer in the middle of the school year. An unpleasant turn of fate in the form of the loss of accreditation of his own university and an emergency transfer to a completely unfamiliar (by all measures) educational institution forced him to catch extra weak attacks of anxiety that did not allow his brain to calm down.

And now he tiredly wandered along the corridor, looking for the right office, completely lost in the walls of this building. Everything could have been better if he had turned on his inner “social devils” and made friends even with the first one he came across, but due to the current situation, there was absolutely no strength and “spoons” for unnecessary social relationships.

Violet eyes, full of lack of sleep, glanced wearily at the vending machine. The taste of synthetic instant coffee automatically reflected on his lips; this is not the most pleasant drink, which he would prefer to drink exclusively for emergency purposes when he is broke. For example, unfortunately, now. Due to the unexpected relocation, as well as unexpected expenses, it was worth not spending much until a way out of this unpleasant financial hole was found.

But, as luck would have it, the vending machine itself stood at the entrance to the chain cafe from which came the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee, the knocking of the holder, and the pleasant sound of espresso, which could now be flowing in his body instead of blood.

Xelqua lets out a sad, quiet groan looking towards the intersection of the machine and the cafe at the same time.

- Hey, new guy, are you looking for something hotter? - He heard giggling next to him and, shaking his shoulders slightly, he automatically turned towards someone else’s voice.

Standing nearby was a thin guy with blue eyes and blue-blue hair that looked like fire when he moved slightly. He was a head taller than Grian, from which the feeling of his elevation clearly made itself felt. His strange dark clothes, reminiscent of a black thin raincoat, some kind of stupid turquoise sweater, pale skin and smile evoked the vibes of some villain from a comic book. The ones about super heroes...

- Suppose? - Grian said thoughtfully, drawing out the words and looking away from the guy towards the coffee shop and sighing heavily. — I doubt you can offer me anything interesting.

- And I think I can. To begin with, — the guy holds out his thin fingers stained with red and blue ink, — My name is Tango and I know that you are new here, I want to introduce you to our university.

— Grian, — Xelqua tries to grin in response, as if trying to inflate his worth and pretend that he is a self-sufficient adult guy and in general such an acquaintance for him is like rubbing two fingers on the asphalt.

- So, Grian, what about finding you a patron within these walls? - Tango giggles, lowering his palm and crossing his arms over his chest, smiling contentedly.

- Do you offer this to everyone? - Grian snorts quietly, looking at how self-confident Tango becomes before his eyes after such phrases.

- No, only such handsome handsome men. — Tango winks, making Xelqua try really hard not to blush. It's not often that such hot guys flirt with him.

- Oh, Tango. Let's buy me some coffee first, I refuse to flirt with my sleepy brain. - Grian jokes, nodding towards the machine gun. If he saves a couple of coins, it will be better.

- No problem. - Tango smiles contentedly, nodding towards the machine, but walking past it and heading towards the coffee shop.

- Hmm, Tango. I can get by with synthetic coffee.., — Xelqua says hesitantly, internally not believing that he can be treated to real coffee.

- Well, first of all, this is my friends’ coffee shop and I can buy a drink at cost. Secondly, I heard that sad sound that you made literally looking towards the coffee shop, well, and thirdly, I can’t afford to kiss someone’s lips that just touched artificial coffee. - Tango jokes, not hiding his laughter, - Okay, the last one was too much. I can simply afford to treat a person that I like coffee. How do you like that?

In just a few words, Tango managed to get upset at how stupid he was, to be touched by how cute he was, and almost roll his eyes at his cute nonsense.

-Are you always this stupid? - Grian snorts, hiding his smile and walking ahead of the guy into the cafe.

- No, only with such handsome guys who suffer from caffeine. You are the easiest victims. - Tango giggles, from which he immediately receives an elbow in the side from Grian, but sees how Xelqua is pleased with such stupidity, he only smiles guiltily. On the other hand, how else can you approach handsome strangers?

// I carefully remind you that еnglish is not my native language, I’m just learning and thank you for your understanding,,,,

[oya-oya-okay]

Oh love the new designs, it does fit Sebastian well. I am really surprised the- nevermind this is Crowley we are talking about. He is gonna let someone like him as professor.

But I can tell the other staff will be suspicious especially when they can sense dark magic from Ciel and now from him.

Does he live in Ramshackle or in the teachers' dorm? I recalled they live outside of school grounds given the Halloween event they mentioned that they were suppose to be leave the school but stayed for the Halloween party to which Crowley didn't attend.

IT'S INTERESTING!!! Now I will explain how I planned to arrange all this!🙌

Yes, Sebastian will give off an unpleasant aura, but not many people will be able to feel it, perhaps only experienced wizards such as teachers. Students should want to feel his dark power intentionally and try very hard, because they are not quite experienced yet. But maybe Leona and Lilia, Malleus will immediately feel something not very pleasant

But that won't mean that everyone will find Sebastian intimidating and avoid him. NRC teachers would invite him to parties or have a drink so that he would settle into NRC!💖💖💖✨✨✨

The question remains why Crowley hired him so unexpectedly in the middle of his studies. Maybe because he's VERY KIND?😇😊

I think Crowley would have let him live in the Ramshackle dorm! Perhaps Sebastian would have asked him to do it himself❣️ This way he will be closer to his Master and beloved cat!💕💕💕💕

Tysm!💘

[htchnr]

♰ comfort of home ༻ B. COUNTY JR.*ೃ˚

✮ꜜ masterlist. ✮ꜜ buy me a coffee!

content warning unprotected sex ⋆ piv ⋆ creampie ⋆ finger sucking ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

summary just a lazy, passion filled morning under the sheets with Brisco. wordcount 0,9k.

authors note FIRST BRISCO FIC Y'ALL! there are fics almost 10 years old on AO3 with various characters from the show — but no x reader/x oc 🥶 so if anyone has any Brisco requests, i guess i'll just carry them all 😁

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

a low grumble came from Brisco as you slid back into bed. your body had gotten a little chilly when you had sauntered over to the back porch to pull Brisco's clothes down from the line. you stilled your movements for a second, trying to confirm if you had woken him up, when two arms wrapped around your waist. another tired groan comes from his throat as he pulls you against his front. his face nuzzled against your shoulder, his stubble scratching in a pleasant way.

“ you’re cold. ” he grumbles against your shoulder, moving his arms around you tighter, pulling you tightly against him. one of his arm sliding across the front of your hips, pulling them snugly against his. a small shudder rakes through you as he presses his front firmly against your ass.

you hands move up to hold his arms against you, closing your eyes as you relish the warmth. “ sorry, i went to pull your clothes down and bring 'em in, that’s why i’m a little cold. ” you mumble quietly, finding yourself unable to disturb the peacefulness around the two of you.

Brisco moves to nudge his face against the back of your neck, a quiet giggle slipping through your lips as his facial hair tickles you a little. “ then let me warm you up. ” he replies, the hand that was resting across the front of your hips is now rubbing small circles on the top of your thigh, fingers just barely gripping the inside of your thigh. your eyes flutter at his reply, as you couldn’t help but buck your hips the tiniest bit at the tone in his voice.

Brisco caught the small motion, and ground his hips into yours with a long rolling motion. long moans emitting from the both of you. your moan turned into small whimpers, he continuing the rolling of his hips. his growing erection grinding against your slowly soaking underwear, slotted so perfectly against you. the hand that wasn’t clasped onto your hip moved it’s way up your stomach and across your chest, resting on your throat. not squeezing or putting any kind if pressure on it, just resting it there.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Brisco firmly thrusted forward, then stilled. he held you firmly against him, you could feel the heat coming off him as he pressed his hard cock deliciously against your soaking underwear. pressed perfectly against your aching cunt.

“ Brisco-.. ” you whimpered, your voice giving out as he continues grinding into you.

“ shh baby, let me warm you up. ” his voice is low and gravily right in your ear. Brisco moves around a little behind you, and before you know it you feel the wet tip of his hard cock against your soaking wet underwear, sliding between your thighs. “shit baby, so wet for me..” he groans, continuing a long and slow thrusting pace, coating himself in your arousal. your moans and whimpers are reduced to tired pleads.

“ Brisco please- ” you plead, you voice cracking in desperation. but he just shushes you again, his hand that was resting on your throat moves up to place his long slender index and middle finger to your lips. you tilt your head, looking towards him through hooded eyes. in the dark room you’re still able to make out his bright blue eyes, more gorgeous than ever.

just as Brisco slips two fingers past your lips, your lips instantly wrapping themselves around his finger, pulling your underwear aside with his free hand. you choke out as he slides his hard cock along your dripping cunt, the sound of it filling the room. “ oh sweetheart.. ” he moans shoving his head in between your neck and shoulder. “ so wet for me baby.. ” his voice is strained and gravily as he continues to tease you both by sliding up and down, his tip slipping in ever so slightly as he passes down each time.

your lips are parted as you whimper and moan, Brisco’s fingers resting on your tongue just past your lips. and as he cannot hold himself back any longer he slips himself down you slit and slides into you in one long thrust, filling you up to the brim. your eyes roll back as you almost bite down on his fingers, dropping your head back next to Brisco’s.

moans and gasps fill the room as he stills, savoring the overwhelming sensation of your warm wet walls squeezing him firmly, pulsing in pleasure. “ so good for me baby. ” he groans. his voice raspy and low. “ so incredibly good- ” he strains as you squeeze tightly around at the sound of his praise. you nearly bite down on both his fingers, the sensation of his fingers and the fullness overwhelming your tired mind.

“ oh baby.. ” he moans, slowly pulling out, leaving just the tip in, before thrusting in slowly and filling you completely again.

you eyes squeezed shut as they roll back into your head. “ so f-full- ” you manage to choke out, Brisco’s fingers becoming a small hindrance for your speech.

Brisco notices and pulls them out, your saliva dripping past your lips and spreading across your chin. “ hmm? ” he asks almost teasingly. he moves forward again, filling you up till his hipbones are pressed firmly into your ass.

you gasp and Brisco moans deep as clench down on him, your warm slick walls suffocating him. “ so full- ” you whimper out.

he closes his eyes as his hips buck forward, causing you to clench down even more. “ shit baby- ” wet sounds fill the room as he slowly thrusts back and forth, keeping a slow, but deep pace.

“ i don’t think- ’m gonna last long. ” Brisco strains, the remainder of his sentence caught up by a long moan.

you nod in response. “ that’s- ah! okay- ” you gasp as he picks up the pace a little. though it still remains a fairly slow pace. your head drops forwards into your pillow, Brisco’s fingers now spreading your saliva down to your throat as his fingers rest splayed across your throat; a place his fingers often spread across.

the sound of skin against skin fills the room, along with moans and gasps, as Brisco tries to hold on for a little longer. “ ’m close baby, ” he grunts as he digs his fingers into your hip, then drags them across your stomach, where they splay against the sweaty skin.

you nod tiredly, but frantically. “ please honey- please cum for me-! ” you moan, desperate to feel his release. you never minded if you didn’t get off in time, as long as Brisco got off, you somehow felt pleased enough.

Brisco choked out a moan at your plea. his head against your neck, his lips and stubble grazing your shoulder pleasurably. you felt a stutter in Brisco’s pace, and his fingers spread on your stomach scraped across as he tried to reach his release.

your eyes close as your free hand reaches up to Brisco’s hand that’s resting against your throat. your fingers wrap around the palm of his hand and drag it up to your lips. “ shit- i’m coming- ” and with a violent stutter of his hips that’s how he comes; his fingers between your wet lips, his spasming cock buried deep in you as squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s got. his cum leaking out around where the two of you are joined, dripping a little down your thigh.

Brisco sags in exhaustion, draping his arm across your stomach and waist. his other arm going limp across your shoulder as he drops his head against your shoulder. the both of you are panting, shuddering a little in pleasure still. Brisco pulls the blankets further over the two of you. he nudges closer to you, still remaining in you as he softens.

he smiles against your shoulder. “ warm now? ”

you shake your head a little and laugh tiredly. “ i think so. ” you mumble as you wrap your arm around his that’s resting across your waist. slowly drifting off to sleep. the two of you will deal with the sheets when you wake up again, his clothes long forgotten on the chair in the kitchen.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #111

I went with my best friend B and her sister to a place called Lowville to see the solar eclipse. The trip was around 2 and a half hours long. B drove. Many silly and hilarious shenanigans were had along the way. I haven't laughed this much in a long time; my stomach kind of hurts, I was laughing with them so hard for parts of the trip.

…More than anything, if just for today, I wish you were here so you could experience this, too. The laughter. The joy. The love. Even if you get confused because you're not used to it, and even if you need someone to hold your hand to feel safe. I wish you were here to experience this for yourself so badly that I could almost cry.

…But that's silly; you don't exist as anything but an art form here. And even if I did allow my emotions to overflow from my eyes, it's not as though most anyone would understand anyway. Maybe they'd even think me deranged. So I won't. I'll pretend to be normal and okay for just a little while longer. Why not. Another 34 years or so really isn't that long, right?

…It's so heavy sometimes, though…

…

Well. I know you love nature. So I took as many photos for you along the way as I could. But I was in a moving vehicle when I took them, so I saved only the best ones. Here:

We got to the place early. Just enough time to eat a simple lunch at a Stewart's Shop, and… incidentally, enough time to check out a cheese shop! Cheese is one of my favorite things ever, and so I asked if we could go, and so we went!! Here, I'll show you what it looked like; maybe you'll see a little bit of my reflection in some of the glass of the display cases, haha:

I got a variety of nice things to bring home for M, J, and Br!! I'll show them to you!

In any case! After that, we found a very sparsely-populated hill in the middle of a parking lot. Not a glamorous place to watch the eclipse, I know. But it's all right; the clouds rolled in very thickly just when it was beginning, anyhow:

I tried to take a picture through the fancy glasses we got. Here's the result of that:

And in this one, you can see the way that the sun and the moon begin their slow dance in the sky together; I had to turn the brightness of my camera all the way down to make it work:

Because of the clouds, I wasn't able to get a very good picture for you. But in this one, if you'll look closely, you'll see the moon fully and lovingly embraced by the sun:

And, while the sun so tenderly encircled the moon within its light, the sky was a gloriously prismatic sunset in every direction, no matter where we looked; my camera COULD NOT do this justice, but... here:

Hey, Sephiroth? Please don't imagine you're unlovable, or that you're some kind of monstrosity, or that you're something that shouldn't exist. Because… Sephiroth… I am still alive only by virtue of the fact that I am looking for you in every little thing in my world that I can. I look for you in every delightful sip of tea, in every meal I share with the people around me, in every nifty thing I find at the grocery store that I think you might like. I look for you in every nice-smelling soap, in every warm, pleasant breeze, in the scent and colorful petals of every blossom, in every feather I happen to find and pick up from the ground. I'm looking for you within the way snow crystals refract light into kaleidoscopic prisms, within the tendrils of every wispy cloud, within the sound of leaves rustling in the wind, and in the sight of the sunlight streaming down from their leaves to dapple the ground. I'm looking for you in every melody I hear, in all the laughter I share with my friends and chosen family, and within the tears streaming down my cheeks (despite my best efforts to keep them in check…) as I write this to you.

You are the sun to at least one person, and I know this because if you can look at me and see someone who shines, you have to know that it's only because I am reflecting the light that you gave me so many years ago; it came from you. Your light breathed life into me when I felt dead inside, and it bade me to rise up from my knees even when I thought I couldn't go on, in the same way that our sun bids saplings to break through the confines of their seeds and rise up into truly living. You gave me the strength to continue when my surroundings were painful and wretched, and now everything that surrounds me is beautiful and full of love. You have been my guiding light and my reason for keeping my eyes on the distant horizon no matter what gets thrown at me.

And for all that, I could write letters to you like this for all of eternity, and still, it wouldn't be enough to thank you. I could trade my life for your safety (I would do this proudly, happily, and without even a fraction of a moment's hesitation), and it still wouldn't be enough to thank you. Even if by some miracle I had the power to create with my bare hands a whole world for you that has everything you could possibly ever want or need, it STILL wouldn't be enough to thank you. So don't… please…. please don't call yourself a monster anymore. Please don't be mean to yourself anymore. Okay?

On the way home, there was a crow flying over a rainbow-colored mosaic; we can only see its right wing from here...

Maybe it's ridiculous, but... you know, it doesn't hurt anyone if I can look at the one-winged thing dancing in the sky over some sparkly, beautiful, and prismatic thing, and think to myself that maybe, against all odds, you'll be safe somehow. Somehow...

My body uselessly threw what little water I drank today away, through my eyeballs. So I guess I had better stop writing in favor of rehydrating. How silly, hahaha… I wonder if I'll ever get used to inhabiting a flesh-vessel and all the quirks that come with it…

I love you. I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[royalblades-cosmicfates]

||Star aligned— cosmic mishap

||For the —- @hom3land3r ~~~……]]

[[shortened for convenience of reading]]

____……………………………____

Alfor had gotten used to the life on earth and its people, while vast and filled with life, it had been a rocky start to his time on the beautiful blue planet. While it had its own beauty, variety of creatures, unique people and cultures, it did hold its own dangers, however, he did find it fairly easy to settle down into a fairly nice and pleasant routine for day-to-day life. While mundane for the most part it never meant he wouldn’t find something new to do or discover of the planet. Especially one which held a rather unique type of people. The kind who were able to harness or born with supernatural abilities, powers, and knowledge.

While he never pried to much into Homelander life, he did try to get to know the man better while being cautious and aware of his boundaries. He had learned a few new things about Homelander and the earth as well in that time; most being what to be cautious of and what the man enjoyed to do in his free time. He enjoyed the time spent with the blonde man or watching him during his interviews, and saving the lives of fellow humans.

While he never admitted it, he was fairly concerned with how this Vought treated him and his fellow colleagues. However he never pried to hard in that. Mostly seeking out his own answers through the media and some of those insider information circles. During one of those little moments of discovering any more interesting, if not concerning, details or rumors of vought—

—The sensation of being watched hit him. While it had before while he was out and in pubic, this was different. He fixed the mask on his face before continuing his walking before rounding a corner of a small alleyway. While not the best of areas to hide in, he had checked if it was empty and to his relief it had been, just a dead end with a small bin to the left with other discarded objects.

But it remained. And it was scarily familiar, not unlike someone watching him- which couldn’t be the case due to him being out of sight. Even looking up for any supers he found no one, but it was familiar, it was similiar to the feeling of when he first escaped. With great care he dug through his pocket to find the phone given to him. Once finding it and holding it he unlocked it to send Homelander a text. Some apprehension hit him as he hoped the man wasn’t in the middle of another interview or another life or death situation with humans. It was a quick and to the point text-

[[Homelander, I’ve sent my location. I do not know why, but something is wrong.]]

Along with he text was the location he was standing at. His eyes jumping around the area before an odd sensation of weightlessness overcame him. Then the feeling of falling and air left his lungs. The next thing he felt was hitting the ground on something hard and cold.

[bts-story]

LOVE IS CHAOS

masterlist / previous chapters

Chapter six - Eight of clubs

The night had not been very pleasant. The mattress was so thin that you could feel every slat digging into your back, the sheets were so dusty that you felt like you were sleeping on a whole population of dust mites (and even shaking them as hard as you could, the dust seemed to be embedded in the fabric). You weren't the type to be scared easily, but you were expecting to have a night full of nightmares due to this new world you were now in. 

Fortunately for you, in the end, it was a night without dreams or nightmares, or rather a night with so little sleep that you wondered if it was wise to find a new arena and play a new game today. 

On the other side of the bed you had heard Niragi tossing and turning several times and if neither of you said the first word, you knew the other was awake, probably for the same reasons. 

Finding breakfast was just as difficult as finding sleep. Cans of ravioli were dueling on the highest shelf in the abandoned kitchen, and it was a miracle to find a can of Mitsumame in the cupboard under the sink, because a fruit salad, even canned, was ten times better than ravioli or ratatouille for breakfast. 

There were only a few pieces to share, and even though Niragi had insisted that you eat his share under the pretext that he wasn't really hungry, you knew that was just a lie to camouflage the fact that he wanted you to be the one to gain strength. He needed it just as much, but it was his own kind of love language and just for that, you finish those little pieces of lychee, a knot in your stomach. 

Having to play a new again today made you nervous. It could be anything, on any topic, any theme or difficulty. You knew so little about this world that it was absolutely impossible to predict what you were getting into. 

The sun had been up for a few dozen minutes already and it had painted the sky a pink-orange color that made it look fantastic. And as you watched the yellow ball sneak up behind some buildings in the distance, you couldn't help but wonder if there were games all day, or if it was only at a certain time. 

Either way, it didn't make much of a difference.

"We should go get some supplies before the next game," Niragi commented as he dusted off a backpack he had found in the bedroom closet. His hands were still wrapped in the bandages you had carefully treated the day before and as he stretched his fingers with difficulty, an almost unnoticeable grimace appeared on his face. 

Food was just as hard to come by as it had been the day before, and you wondered how to survive in this world without food. Surviving the games was one thing, but the lack of supplies was something else that the game masters should have thought about more seriously. 

"Baby, look," you pointed to a small bush that seemed to vibrate with the sound of your footsteps. You thought you had imagined it as the grass stood still for a few seconds, then finally, right in the middle of that cobblestone street, you made out a rabbit snooping around on either side looking for the same food you were. It was all white and dirty from nature, but its furry face raised its head at the sound of your voice, before escaping and disappearing under a car, a little further. 

The nature of flowers and trees littered the ground and began to gain ground on the buildings. It was a rather apocalyptic vision, like the end of the world in an American movie. 

Niragi shrugged his shoulders and if he had a weapon at hand, whatever it was, he would have been happy to hunt the animal down for a good lunch. The hardest part would be lighting a fire and figuring out how to cook the animal on the coals. But with a defeatist insult, he kicked a rock and headed back the other way. 

"Babe," you called a second time as you made out something in the distance that merited a challenge. 

"Yes, I saw your damn rabbit, princess, can we get some food now?" Niragi mumbled over your shoulder as he walked further and further away. 

"Damn it, Niragi, I told you, look!" 

Pointing straight ahead in the distance, between the column of buildings that lined up perfectly, a new giant screen lit up the shadow that the sun didn't reach. On this white screen, written in black letters, you could read:

Game starts in fifteen minutes.  Please register at the Sakashitamon Gate. 

Here we go again. 

"Sakashitamon Gate?" Niragi repeated as he took another drag on the end of his cigarette, one hand in his pants pocket and his gaze fixed on the giant screen in front of you. "That's at the Royal Palace Gardens, right?" 

Indeed. 

So the next game would take place in the emperor's gardens. It was a vast and voluminous forest, and it was very easy to get lost if you didn't know the place well. They were huge gardens, full of flowers and famous for their beauty, but only open to the public twice a year. As much as to say that no one would have the advantage of knowing every corner of this forest more than another. 

"Well, let's go." you commented as you watched Niragi throw the butt of his cigarette on the ground without taking the time to put it out. In the real world you would have grumbled at his actions, that you didn't tolerate pollution so easily but in a world like this you wondered what good it would do. 

"We're on an empty stomach, it's not a good idea to go now." He was right. In all honesty, it would be much smarter to wait until the next game, once your stomachs were full and well-fed. 

"If anything, we could win some food if we survive the game. How about a nice Donburi ?" It was highly unlikely that you would win a reward at the end of the game, let alone food. However, you thought it would be quite a victory to be able to eat a nice hot dish, and cooked with so much good culinary skill, that just imagining the dish, you could feel the smell caressing your nostrils and tantalizing your taste buds. 

With a grunt of complaint and shuffling towards the playing arena, Niragi still insisted how bad an idea it was to play without eating. And even though he wasn't doing much to convince you otherwise, he still kept looking around on the way if a supermarket didn't miraculously appear.

The hard tar was heating up quickly thanks to the sun beating down hard against your heads. It was a cloudless sky and a windless atmosphere, and you knew it was going to be very hot today. It would usually have been a day of lounging by a pool with a cocktail in your hands and music blasting in your ears. And you sighed absentmindedly at the thought as you made your way to the bridge that led to the doors. 

Before that bridge, in a shady corner, there was the same table as in the lobby of the building before the first game. There were three phones that had not yet been taken, and the same sign that said, ' One per person .' 

Facial recognition in progress. Niragi Suguru.  Welcome. 

As you took the phone in your hands, the same message appeared, with your name. Even though both of you were wondering what this game was, what it would be and how difficult it would be, neither of you spoke. Maybe it was a way to focus, or just a way to keep the pressure off each other while the danger of death remained the main concern in this world. 

Instead, you walked next to each other, your fingers almost close enough to touch from time to time. In the distance, you could make out exactly seven other players waiting patiently under the blazing sun. There was a man with matted skin, a stranger with frizzy hair and crystal clear eyes. There was an old man who was over sixty years old, with a bad back and a creaking hip. Two teenage girls were trying to fan themselves with their hands, one with short, bright blue colored hair and the other with a long braid and a skirt that was way too short to call it decent. A man in sportswear was the only one sitting on the floor, muscular and athletic and with a prominent beard, he was just ogling the young woman with sunglasses and a short bob, dressed in jean shorts and a shirt tied at the waist. The last person was a short man in his forties, frail and shy, like a house of cards about to collapse and a backpack on his back. 

When you arrived, and as at the first game, eyes turned to you, ogling from head to toe, but nobody said a word. As if it was bad luck to say something. 

You didn't know how much time was left before the game started, but the sun that kept beating down on your head was already starting to make you dizzy. After a few minutes, a person appeared under the bridge, and if the math was right, this was the last player missing to start the game. 

He had a small figure, face hidden under the hood of a light gray sweatshirt that made you frown at the surrounding heat. A few long blond locks were sticking out of his hood and as he walked towards you, a feeling of deja-vu ran through your body. 

You recognized that walk and that nonchalant air under the impassive face of Chishiya Shuntaro. Your eyes widened and as if frozen in time, you couldn't look away as he offered an astonished smile when he laid his own eyes on your figure. "[Y/N], what a surprise to find you here..." he said in a soft, clear voice. He turned to Niragi and, provided with empty eyes and without much emotion, he bowed his head in respect. 

"Who is that one?" Niragi spat aggressively as he stared at Chishiya's figure walking away to stand next to the woman with the sunglasses. 

"A former... a former patient..." you explained softly, your eyes still fixed on the blond man's figure. 

It was absolutely strange to run into Chishiya Shuntaro in this world, it was a chance in a million and you doubted the odds were ridiculous enough to really fall on that. A strange feeling was felt throughout your body and it was as unsettling as it was unexpected. Being stuck here with Niragi was one thing, but seeing someone you knew, and having to play life and death games was something that stirred your whole stomach. 

"Why is he calling you by your first name?" Niragi kept asking, and he was right to ask so many questions. He had felt your body stiffen at the sight of the other man, he knew you well enough to manage to decipher the expressions on your face and if Niragi was a jealous man, then the world would end in ashes. 

He still had insults stuck to the corner of his mouth, eyebrows locked in an eternal frown and if he even suspected for a second that this Chishiya was interested in you, you knew he could kill him without even blinking. 

"I don't know... what's the point of calling me 'doctor' in this world?" You were trying to justify yourself as best you could, and while that explanation more or less made sense, Niragi was now staring at you with doubt written in his eyes and a promise that he would look further into it once the game was over. 

But for now, the game had to start. 

Registration closed.  The game will now begin.  

With one last insistent look, Niragi's jaw tensed as he looked away from Chishiya once more. You knew that from then on, Chishiya's life would be in danger, more than what this game could bring. He now had the pressure of Niragi's eyes stabbing invisible knives into his face. 

From a distance, Chishiya was waving his hand, and he had a kind of arrogant look plastered on his face that caused Niragi to growl an insult under his breath. 

Game: Capture the flag.  Difficulty: Eight of clubs.  

Exchanging a look with Niragi, you listened attentively to what the voice announced. You were right, there were other difficulties than diamonds, and it was surely necessary to start playing games that would also be clubs or hearts.

We will now be explaining the rules.  Each player is placed in a team of 5 people. Each team is assigned a flag that it must keep and protect at all costs. It's GAME CLEAR for the first team that manages to capture the other team's flag and bring it back safely to its base camp.  It's GAME OVER for the defeated team. 

You had an advantage. You knew the game very well, having spent your childhood playing it with the other kids in the neighborhood. Of course, the playing field was much smaller than this one, but the strategy was the same. 

One team can capture a member of the other team and bring him back to the prison of his base. You can choose your team.  It is forbidden to change the location of your flag. It will be game over for the players who are in prison, even if they are on the winning team.  

That was a lot of rules compared to the other game. But this one was a physical game. It was a game of strategy and skill, and before you even start this game, the most important thing would be to pick your team. The tragedy was beginning now, and as the players began to argue their own opinions on the matter, you had already chosen who you needed on your team. The hardest part would be getting the other players to listen. 

Time limit to pick teams: 3 minutes.  Time start.  

"Excuse me," the old man said as he slowly approached the sportsman, "could I join your team?" 

The man in the sportswear looked him up and down, with a maddening urge to blow him off. In a game of life and death, he would be crazy to accept an old gimp to defend a sporting activity. The two teenage girls also exclaimed, the blue-haired one singing in a soft voice, "Oh yes, sir, can we join your team too?" 

Niragi rolled his eyes as he approached the woman with sunglasses. "You there," the woman turned as he approached and stiffened her back as if she was about to have to defend herself from some threat coming her way. "What team are you on?" 

She looked him up and down, red lipstick fizzing on her lips as she relaxed her shoulders. "What would make you say I want to go on your team?" 

Niragi chuckled thickly, and you wondered what he was getting at. "Oh there, easy, sweetheart, I never said I was inviting you..." 

You pinched your lips at the nickname, but the woman answered before you could even think about it. "Then why are you talking to me? And I'm not your sweetheart, okay?" 

Niragi smiled at this answer. He liked women who were tough, he liked women of character and for a second you wondered if this was a little personal revenge against Chishiya's coming that had very obviously disturbed you. 

But just as he was about to respond with a more or less well-placed insult, Chishiya's figure intruded into the discussion, a small smirk perched on his lips as he circled the woman's arms. "I think what An means by that is that we'd love to be a part of your team." 

You frowned at the words. Niragi had invited him even less and you knew it would take very little more to make him understand. However, you were surprised that Niragi didn't say anything and somehow you were relieved. It would have been awful to have to face Chishiya and even though having him on your own team would have shot you in the foot, you just hoped that he wouldn't really have the chance to argue with Niragi.

The woman named An said nothing but shook her shoulders to free Chishiya's hands and as he offered another smile, Niragi stared at her as if he had the power to understand where they knew each other from. You would have liked to find out yourself, but the only thing that betrayed their mystery was the small bracelet around both of their wrists that had a chain with a number on it. 

It looked a lot like the bracelets you find at the local swimming pool to keep your locker key. Chishiya wore number eleven while An wore number six. Perhaps they were together? Maybe they were two souls who had met in a previous game and decided to team up, or maybe they just happened to be staying at the same place? But then, you didn't understand the point of keeping that bracelet around their wrists. It was strange. Very strange indeed. 

"Well, then we only have one more person to complete our team." An then threw out in a voice that was just as disinterested as it was annoyed. 

Time until team registration closes: 1 minute.  

A few feet away, the other six participants had noticed that they were one too many on their team. The man in the tracksuit found himself overwhelmed by all these players, some of whom he could have done without. After all, what could he possibly do with an old man and two teenage girls? The other two men didn't seem to be in good shape, but it was better than nothing. 

No one wanted to volunteer to join your team and it was true that from an outside perspective, you didn't look like much. But at least you were young and fit and you would bet a hundred times more on your team than on theirs. 

But time was running out and someone had to step up sooner or later. You didn't know what the consequences would be if the teams didn't form before the deadline, and you weren't really in a rush to find out. 

Time until team registration closed: 30 seconds.  

"I... I... I'll go with them then," the man in his thirties stammered, and his frail, small body then moved towards you, his gaze darkened by the weight of the world's misery that seemed to weigh down his shoulders. 

Well, it wasn't a gift, that one. If you had to choose, you would have much preferred to have the sportsman with you, but whatever. 

The time is up. Closing of team registration.  Congratulations, both teams are now formed. Team number one, please head to your base camp located in the east of the park. Name of the base camp: Ninomaru Garden.  Team number two, please head to your base camp located in the western part of the park. Name of the base camp: The Imperial Residence.  The game will start when all players are gathered around their flag.  Good luck. 

All right, this meant that the time to get to the base would be the only time available to set a strategy. If the game was going to start the moment all five of you were gathered around your flag, then you had to start thinking about how to steal the other team's flag and how to get it back safely to your side. 

The two teams split up and instinctively the other team went to the right and you went to the left. Everyone gave a bit of their opinion and you were surprised to see that no one was trying to disregard the other's plan and every opinion was carefully listened to. An had proposed a strategy in which there would be two teams of two attacking the other side to maximize the chances of capture, and the fifth player would be used to guard the flag. 

But it was too dangerous to let only one person be the guard if the opposing team was also attacking in multiples. 

Chishiya proposed that two players guard the flag, another player guard the jail in case a player from the other team got trapped, and the two remaining players would attack the other base. 

But this would mean losing the advantage of a player stuck at the jail if he had no prisoners to guard.

Each proposed plan had flaws and weaknesses that could cost you the victory in case of mistake. You had confidence in your team, if not for the fragile man who answered to the name of Jun Masahashi who was indeed the weak link of the team. An seemed to be quite athletic, you knew Chishiya well enough to judge his intellectual abilities and Niragi, well there was not much to say except that you could trust him with your life. 

Time limit: none.  Game start.  

The strategy had been voted. You were proud to think that the plan you came up with was the one that worked the best, and who would have thought that those endless hours spent playing that game as a kid would do any good now. 

An was at your side and she had good stamina. Her breathing was steady and regular and she had finally dropped her sunglasses that showed a pretty, virtuous face. The sound of branches cracking under your feet echoed with each step you took, you had to dodge the leaves and step over the trunks of the trees to avoid tripping over the roots.

The man named Jun was already dragging his feet a few feet away, and you had to shake him up a bit to make him understand that this was no time to slow you down. Lives were at stake, and you wouldn't let a guy you didn't even know take away your chance to win. 

First you had to get through the forest before you could get to the river, and once you got there, you had to find a way to cross it discretely. 

No one knew the area, and despite the fact that the gardens were only open two days a year, not one of you had ever visited the emperor's gardens before. It usually attracted thousands of visitors from all over the country, but none of you seemed interested. This was something of a regret now. 

Arriving at the flag a few minutes earlier, the vastness of the imperial residence had taken your breath away. It was neither modest, nor sober, nor modern, but a carnival of wealth and beauty. It looked like an old Japanese temple that was often seen in movies, and the red and gold colors adorned the walls and floors in a bewitching way. 

The flag was perched on top of a small stick, planted in the middle of the courtyard, which was surrounded by exotic flowers and colorful bushes. Huge rocks barricaded the north and east entrances, and small paths allowed the other team to sneak in unnoticed. The western entrance was open and immediately you thought it would be difficult to watch that side. 

Standing in front of the red flag, which was barely fluttering in the almost non-existent breeze, was a white table with several objects delicately placed on it. First, five one-liter bottles of water that were already making your mouth water under the stifling heat; then, three hunting knives, two watches, a map and finally, a compass. 

This same compass that you were now holding in your hands to look for the northwest. The little needle turned in all directions before stabilizing on your right. The race began again and the man didn't even have time to catch his breath, hands on his knees as you and An had already left. 

"I... can we... can we take a break?" 

The sun was easily sneaking through all those tree branches, and the softness of the shade was welcome. You tried to focus on the path, trying to think as little as possible about the two men who had stayed behind at base camp to protect the flag. You kept telling yourself over and over again that there was absolutely no reason for them to talk about you at such a crucial time, so there was no chance of Niragi trying to figure out how you and Chishiya knew each other. 

"I have a side point... please... I'm not going to... I'm not going to hold!" 

But after all, they were alone and it was going to be a long time until a threat appeared. Even though you didn't doubt for a second Niragi's associable skills that competed strongly with Chishiya's, one of them would most likely speak up at some point. And talking about the good weather wasn't going to keep them going for several hours, or however long it took you to get that fucking flag back to base camp. 

"Girls !"

"What the fuck?" Tu stopped and An did the same. With his breath short and his ribcage rippling with each breath, the man was close to collapsing on the ground littered with dead leaves. He put his hands back on his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath. Drops of sweat trickled down his temple, a pleading look written all over his face as An looked up in exasperation.

She looked just as annoyed as you did, and despite her nonchalance, you decided you liked her. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and wrinkling her nose, she took a few steps around as if to determine how much further you had to go. She snatched the compass from your hands and without really paying that much attention to it, you shifted your attention to the man who was struggling to breathe. 

"If you can't run with us, we're going to have to leave you behind," you bluffed with a dry, authoritative tone, even though it wasn't true. You needed him, and he was part of the plan, whether you liked it or not. He belonged in this world just as much as you did, and you had to do everything you could to make sure that everyone came out of this unscathed. At least for the time being. 

"No, no, please, I just... I just need a minute," the man was almost sobbing, and if he didn't have such a pathetic look plastered on his face, you could have almost helped him regain his composure with some of the breathing exercises you'd learned in your medicinal tenure. 

"It's been ten minutes since the game started and you're already crying," An commented in a blank voice as she glanced at the watch around her wrist. She looked like a villain under her raven-black hair and flashing lipstick, and you were just as annoyed as she was, but pointing out the man's clumsiness and misery wouldn't help his condition. With a sigh, she continued, "I'm coming back, don't move." 

She commanded like a team leader and not that you minded, she seemed to take this game much more to heart than anyone else here. It was as if the weight of death affected her especially, much more than the others. She took a few steps and disappeared around a tree. It was still hard to trust people you didn't know and had just met, but you were a team and that insisted that for now you had to trust her.

//////// / ////// /////// / / / ////

Entry of An and Chishiyaaaaaaaa

I was wondering if my readers would be ok with a love triangle with Chishiya or if you prefer a story really focused ONLY on Niragi...

Please tell me what you want!

Nageoire

[queenburd]

So like I was gonna do more with this and I might later but right now it’s bite sized and pleasant, it’s nicely self contained, so here’s a TSP fic about the narrator being indecisive about making himself a character model.

—

[ I have a question. ] Stanley posits to no one in particular.

He is standing in the room with two doors, quietly considering. As it is his choice, the narrator is quiet here, and allowing him the privacy of his own head. Mustn’t spoil which route Stanley wants to take for himself, he’s said before. Keeps the fellow on his toes.

(Toes. Ha. How relevant.)

“Yes, Stanley?” The narrator prompts him with friendly curiosity. At one point he may have asked with impatience, an effort to keep him moving, but they’ve done every route so many times that sometimes, it’s more fun to take their time. Stop and smell the roses. “What’s on your mind?”

Stanley—fidgets. It isn’t like him, to fidget, or hesitate. When he finally signs again, after a long consideration, it’s clear he’s chosen every word very carefully.

[ It’s probably a silly question. Is that okay? ]

“Well, Stanley, you are a silly person, so I expect nothing less.”

He scowls at the ceiling, scrunching his nose at the tease. There’s no heat in it, of course.

There’s such a… gentleness, to their relationship, these days. For two entities designed to be in conflict, they’ve somehow found a way to meet in the middle, and find the places where they disagree as ways to appreciate each other. It’s hard, having to deal with someone else’s perspective when they think so differently from you.

But it’s good. It’s nice.

“Go on, then. I will reserve my judgement on the silliness of your question for after I hear it.” Stanley snorts.

He looks at his hands. Releases a puff of breath.

[ Do you have a body? ]

There is no response, but this is fine, because Stanley continues, nothing but genuine curiosity behind his thoughts. There is no motive, no craving. Just simple questions.

[ I usually think you don’t, but sometimes you sigh, or cry or clear your throat, or just do things that imply more than just audio. People have lungs and stuff, to make those noises. But I know you’re not human. But do you have a character model somewhere, like mine? ]

“Um. Er,” is the uncertain reply. The fellow sounds caught off guard, a little sheepish. “I… no. I don’t.”

[ oh. Okay. ]

Stanley isn’t disappointed, not really. Okay, perhaps a touch. But not enough to be properly bothered.

“Wh— is that it? No followup?”

He shakes his head.

“Is it a problem that I don’t have one? I’d never thought to—good lord, can you imagine?”

Stanley shakes his head again, then considers it, and lifts a hand, seesawing it vaguely.

It isn’t a problem, per se, that the narrator isn’t a physical being. It’s simply—

[ Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch. We’re not human though, so I don’t need it. It’s like the sleep thing. ]

“Hm.”

The narrator sounds contemplative, learning something new. Stanley fidgets again.

[ I was just curious. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. ]

“Oh, no, it’s alright,” the tone is dismissive, distracted. It stings a bit, but it’s probably for the best. The last thing Stanley wants is to make them stew in an uncomfortable atmosphere. The pair of them should move on.

It’s honestly fine that Stanley’s never had interaction with another person. Or. Well. He thinks it is. It doesn’t bother him frequently. He ISN’T human, so he isn’t about to go mad without it.

There have been times where he really really wished, needed, craved comfort—mostly in the worst moments when the both of them were affected. The aftermath of the Skip Button ending is the most obvious.

But the narrator’s voice has become its own kind of presence. It can rest on his shoulders like a weighted blanket does, grounding him and soothing him, easily as intimate as a hug.

So there’s no real loss here. Stanley can’t miss something he’s never had. It’s honestly okay.

“Er, Stanley?”

Right. Doors. Stanley crosses his arms and considers them.

“The door on the left, you know the drill.”

Mm. No, he thinks he’ll take the door on the right. The lounge is calling his name, singing sweetly with its serene blue and photos. Then maybe he’ll play a different game behind a blue door.

There’s a little grumble that follows him when he heads to the right. Stanley smiles, gives a cheeky wink.

—

The narrator—ponders.

He doesn’t do it frequently; he finds he doesn’t like to. It’s quite easy for him to get stuck thinking about one little thing, one tiny detail, capturing all his attention until he comes back to himself and finds hours have passed and Stanley is sitting against a doorframe trying to entertain himself with a whiteboard and marker, having long since given up trying to capture his attention.

Pondering is not… good for him, the narrator thinks.

But, as he is prone to do, he catches himself going back to a moment, looking it over again and again, trying to glean something new.

Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch.

Do you have a body?

The narrator is a voice. He is a part of the parable, he is a mechanism. But then, Stanley is a mechanism of the parable as well; a vessel for a player.

It isn’t the same. They are intrinsically different. But do they have to be?

The narrator is and is not the world; he is and is not the halls, the doors, the very air itself. He controls it, it controls him. He has access to its assets; it has access to his mind.

He wonders if this is how humans feel about their own bodies. Both in control, and plagued by limitations.

Oh, for goodness’s sake, he’s doing it again. Going off on an inexplicable contemplation of the nature of humanity, existence and choice. Honestly, sometimes even the narrator doesn’t know what he’s on about.

The narrator doesn’t have a body. He doesn’t need a body.

Humans are social creatures. They need physical interaction and touch.

Would…

Would Stanley prefer it if he had a body?

I don’t need it.

He thinks on the hesitation in Stanley’s fingers. He wonders what it would be like to squeeze them.

Textures. Temperatures. Softness, firmness, sharpness. Scents, tastes.

Senses he knows about in theory. He has no frame of reference.

Would it be that difficult to make himself a character model? He has assets hidden in the code of the game, models he can edit, tweak, piece together to make something new.

Oh, but how could he choose the right features? How could he know when it’s really him?

And—oh no—what if Stanley dislikes it?

The narrator knows himself, he knows that if he wants to do something he commits to it until he thinks it’s perfect. He won’t settle for less. He’d put his heart and soul into it.

If he put all that work into a model, and Stanley didn’t like it?

He doesn’t think he’d take it very well.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do.

—

“When Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he—would you at least be so kind as to let me finish?” The voice berates Stanley as he swerves right without pause. Stanley doesn’t even roll his eyes.

He’s going to go see the lights.

There’s a nervous clearing of the throat. “S-Stanley was so bad at following directions—“

Spare him, please. He understands the needed script, but it grates a bit this time. Stanley balances on the edge of the platform, a hand around the support rail, timing his jump.

“Look, Stanley—“

Not his enemy. No, they’re not enemies. In fact, Stanley would go so far as to call the fellow his dear friend. It’s why he’s doing this.

This is not an act of cruelty. He knows the fear it strikes into the narrator, and in honesty Stanley cannot blame him. The number of times the protagonist has gone down this route just to find a different exit, all in vain, is not a high value, but it’s still too many.

There are only two ways out of the room behind the red door. One is in the narrator’s power, if he can overcome his own nature to use it. The other is in Stanley’s power, and makes them both miserable.

It’s not ideal. And it’s so frustrating, because this place really is beautiful. It really is up there as one of Stanley’s favorites.

Clearly anxious, but trying to keep his composure, the narrator loads the map into the starry dome. In the instant Stanley steps into the room, all the panic falls away, into an easy bliss.

“Oh…”

Stanley walks to the center of the platform and sits. He crosses his legs, craning his head up to watch the lights.

The narrator is quiet, but his flood of real peace is palpable. This is one of the places he seems most open. Most willing to relax.

Usually, that can be a danger after too long. He ends up stopping, never progressing forward, unwilling to move. That’s not a life.

But they’ve compromised on so many things. This is one of those things too.

[ I’m going to stay a while ], Stanley offers in the dark, knowing he will be seen. [ You’ve been preoccupied for a bit. Do you want to talk about it? ]

“I—“

The voice cuts itself off, clearly surprised, the anxiety slipping back in.

[ It’s okay if you don’t. I thought being here might help you deal with whatever’s going on. I’ll wait as long as you need. ]

—

To say the narrator is embarrassed is putting it mildly.

He feels caught red handed, even though he hasn’t even done anything.

“Am I really so obvious?” He grumbles, more to himself than to Stanley. The man grins anyway.

[ I know you. I pay attention. ]

“Hmph. That’s debatable,” he grouses. Still, Stanley was wise to come to this place to prod him. He’s much more at ease here. A little less ashamed, afraid, overwhelmed.

[ Like I said. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll stay here while you sort out whatever’s been bothering you. This way you don’t have to be distracted by the narration. ]

He’s being…. Kind. So kind, to a person who used to be his enemy, his jailer. How has the narrator been so fortunate to have a Stanley that is so exceedingly good? He knows he certainly hasn’t been a fine example in the past.

He sighs. Stanley lays back, hands behind his head on the floor. It can’t be comfortable, on the metal grating. The narrator gives a small noise of warning, before he changes the texture pattern on the dark floor to the rug he’s saved for the Bottom of the Mind Control Facility Bucket ending. It’s a bit more comfortable than the carpet in the office.

It catches Stanley off guard a little, and the narrator chuckles as he shakes his head at the sudden change, like a wet dog shaking off water. But he settles back with a smile.

“If you intend to be there a while, you may as well be comfortable.”

It’s just… so easy. To be with Stanley. To do things for him. To try to make him smile. Like it’s innate. It wasn’t always. But he’s changed. The both of them have.

They look at the lights for a bit. The narrator feels himself relax. Like he’s floating. Like he is one of the lights, going up, down, changing slowly, unhurried and unconcerned.

Why has he been so worried?

It takes him a long minute to realize he wasn’t the one who had wondered that.

Stanley waits for him. Stanley doesn’t demand anything from him. Stanley’s intentions are entirely devoid of deceit or manipulation.

It makes this… easier.

“I…”

But not completely.

“I’ve been thinking. About making something new. I haven’t decided if I should do it, because, well—I worry you won’t like it.”

Stanley’s eyes are closed, but he’s awake. He’s listening.

The narrator is being very careful with his words. It’s been at least fifty runs since Stanley asked him about a model, so he knows at least that it doesn’t occur to the protagonist that this is related.

No, Stanley is wondering if the narrator has been considering new endings. Why wouldn’t he like the new endings? They aren’t ones where he dies painfully and miserably, are they?

The narrator chuckles good-naturedly, suddenly far more at ease. “No, Stanley. No cruel twists of fate that leave you mad or dead, that much I can assure you.”

Okay. Then Stanley isn’t sure why he wouldn’t like whatever the narrator makes for him, if it comes from some place genuine.

It leaves him a little tongue-tied. The narrator hears himself swallow, without a throat.

“It’s not that simple.”

Why not?

“Because…”

Because he doesn’t just want Stanley to like it. He doesn’t want Stanley to be happy because it’s a new thing.

He wants Stanley to like him. He wants to make this thing himself, the way humans shape their bodies to fit the way they picture themselves in their heads, and he wants Stanley to like what he sees.

It would be him. It would be his. And if Stanley was just neutral about it, or just didn’t like how he looked, then—

Oh, he couldn’t bear it. It would hurt him irrevocably. He’d throw it into the deepest pit of code and never think about it again.

“I… I think, if I did try to make this, this idea I’m considering, a reality, well—you know I don’t do things halfway. I’d be so—it needs to be perfect, do you understand? And if I spend all this time on it, only for you to, to—“

To treat it like his story.

“—yes! Exactly! Oh, Stanley, this is for you, it’s all for you. I just want to make something for you that you’ll care about, and appreciate.”

(And love, he is certain not to say. There’s no need to attach such words to this idea yet, that’s a little too dangerous.)

Stanley is very quiet. He’s thinking, but he’s thinking in that way where he wants to be certain with his words, so the narrator gives him his privacy. The narrator looks at the lights. He lets himself relax again.

He can feel Stanley’s tender heart. His compassion. Stanley cares deeply for him, can see how much it matters to him.

A desire fills the protagonist, an intense longing he can’t bury, hard as he tries. The voice can’t help peeking at it, not when it’s bubbling over like a boiling pot against a lid.

More than anything, Stanley wishes he could hug the fellow.

He must make some noise of surprise, because Stanley’s demeanor changes instantly to one of embarrassment and trying to recontextualize.

He wants to comfort the narrator! He doesn’t mean to make it weird! He just wishes he was able to provide the fellow a physical sort of validation!

The narrator feels more than sees Stanley’s face flushing all the way to his ears. He can’t help laughing, not at the man necessarily, not even meaning it at his expense. It’s just…

It’s a little adorable?

Stanley’s embarrassment only grows. Welp. Moment ruined. Time to go throw himself off the stairs.

“Absolutely not!” The laughter dies instantly, turning to an angry sort of panic. Stanley flinches.

Right. Not a funny joke when it’s here.

The narrator inhales deeply. “God, you gave me a fright.”

He can feel the genuine remorse radiating off his friend. Forgives him immediately.

“It’s—it’s alright. Slip of the tongue, as they say.”

Well, Stanley can’t talk, but, yeah. They both are on the same page.

“In any case. Thank you for listening. I… I think I will try, actually. I honestly appreciate your… your sentiment.”

The narrator can hear the smile in his voice. Yes, he’s going to go through with this. He’s certain now.

Because Stanley wants to hug him. And that in itself has erased all his doubts.

Still.

“Can we… stay here, for a little longer?”

He’ll reset. He will. Stanley doesn’t need to hurt himself. It’s just…

It’s so peaceful here.

Stanley shoots a thumbs up at the ceiling, towards the lights. The narrator relaxes again. Tries to imagine himself laying besides Stanley. Looking up with him. He wants it more than anything.

“Thank you, Stanley. I… thank you.”

Soon.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi, Mousy! 👋🏻 I hope you've been doing well! ✨ I don't know if these are worth of ideas but I'll leave that to you! It's about the short stories that you wanted ideas from. I pondered the whole day... Here's one of them 😆

So, firstly, I had an idea about your farmer, Julian and my farmer, Ziana. It's based on that one Joja situation with Shane your friend talked to you about, if you remember, hehe (the blue chickens). I would imagine Julian and Ziana were just finished with some farmwork and are resting together (feel free to add more of others' farmers, if you like!) munching some cookies or whatever you can think of (like a picnic maybe?) Ziana has the habit (like me, LOL) who kind of just having random thoughts and questions out of randomness.

So, while they're munching some cookies, Ziana suddenly thinks about Shane's chickens being blue and can't help but think to herself while she's munching on a cookie, finding the thought weird at first. But then she remembered that one time they helped Shane with his Ad video for Joja (you know that cutscene with Emily and Clint as well? Imagine Julian also helping too!) She recalls that Clint turned blue after drinking the Joja Cola. Then Shane also worked with Joja, so...

Everything is a coincidence but it feels right for her conclusion so she just had to ask Julian about this thought... (assuming she's already comfortable with Julian since she tends to ask random questions to those she's comfortable with 😁 The result of doing so is mostly a flick on the forehead from others. Mostly from Isaac 🤣)

How will Julian react upon hearing Ziana's random question? 🤔

It's a funny idea, haha 🤣🤣 For me, at least 😅

I hope this is okay and understandable 😅🙏🏻 My English has worsened lately 🥲

Heeey! Thanks so much for the question! I just got the inspiration for this scenario (the story turned out longer than I thought it would 😅). Hope you like it ❤️

In this story, the main characters are OCs Farmers - Julian (my OC), Ziana (@nimillaarts), Bo (@boinurmom13), and Bella (@ivquatro). Enjoy!

_________________________________________

"The blue chicken theory"

_________________________________________

Many will agree that the middle of spring is the ideal time for a picnic in nature, when the forest has already woken up from its long winter hibernation, and the ground is covered with whole fields of pleasant-smelling flowers; when your skin is blown by a not too cool breeze, and the food is not atacted by pesky midges, which are usually found in summer.

The farmers of the Stardew Valley thought a spring picnic would be a great excuse to get together and relax after the hard work in the fields. Ziana and Julian sat on the edge of a picnic rug on the grass near Marnie's ranch, Bella beside them opening a bottle of homemade juice (everyone had decided to avoid alcohol for this picnic). Bo, having finished helping his friends with the dishes and food, decided to head to the lake with a fishing rod, trying his luck and practising fishing, which, by the way, he hated with all his heart. But, unfortunately to him, fishing is necessary to make some good cash, so Bo trying to learn while he could, and also try not to gag because of the fishy stench.

Bella finally sat down on the rug with the others, pouring apricot juice into her and others mugs.

"Mmm, the cookies is really good!", Ziana was munching contentedly on the four mint cookies Bella had baked just in time for the picnic. Making healthy oatmeal cookies, and at the same time so tasty, is not an easy task, but the red-haired farmer succeed in cooking.

"I can say the same about your homemade juice. I love apricots". Putting the large glass bottle of juice in a basket so the sun wouldn't heat up the drink, Bella took the cranberry rakhat lukum Julian had made from the pretty little plate. Taking a half bite of the sweetness, she hummed a little with pleasure as she chewed the lukum slowly. Julian didn't need any verbal encouragement, as his friend's reaction to the lukum he'd made spoke for itself, so Julian just smiled broadly and began to quench his thirst with apricot juice.

"Hopefully Bo will be back in time from fishing, or his juice will get hot in the sun quickly", Julian said and grabbed from the basket a small avocado and tomato sandwich that Bo had made. The funny thing was that he was the only one who brought salty snacks to the picnic, thinking that "after the sweet stuff, one would immediately crave salty stuff". And he was absolutely right.

While the three farmers were sitting on the picnic rug, chatting and eating tasty snacks, waiting for the fourth farmer to come back from fishing, Jas came back from Pelican Town and excitedly told her uncle, Shane, about something. Behind them, clucking, come three chickens - Charlie, Shane's favorite, and two more, motley, with beautiful blue feathers. When the girl spotted the farmers near her aunt's ranch, she waved her hand in greeting. Shane also raised his hand and smiled weakly - his smile grew a little bigger when Julian, Ziana, and Bella waved back at him and Jas.

"What a beautiful hens! Hehe, so cute!" Ziana gasp, she couldn't take her eyes off the beautiful feathers of chickens.

"Right? So adorable. I even managed to buy two blue chickens from Marnie", Julian was also looking at the chickens, which were noisily stomping around Shane and Jas's feet, begging for attention and pets while Shane tried to open the front door with his key.

"This chickens looks well-fed, and very happy. Still don't understand why Shane still speak about himself so poorly..." Bella recalls with a slightly sad smile a conversation with a pizza and beer lover who was always calling himself worthless in everything he touched. The situation was even worse when Bo told her that he and Julian had found Shane lying near a rock in the rain with a bunch of beer cans. Good thing they'd gotten him to Dr. Harvey in time.

Ziana turned to Bella, looking at her worriedly, and then looked at the ladybug on the rug; she knew about situation with Shane, and the fact that the story had almost ended in tragedy... Even though chicken man often spat caustic phrases and demands for the farmers to leave him alone, Ziana knew that if she got to know him better, and that he actually is a wonderful and interesting friend. She's glad the other farmers gave Shane a chance (although Shane and Bo still exchange sarcasm, and sometimes, when the kids aren't around, heavy swear words).

Julian caught the tone with which Bella said the last sentence and sighed, remembering the feeling of anxiety that they wouldn't get Shane to the clinic in time.

"It's a good thing it all worked out. He said he'd been talking to a therapist for a while now and had even kicked the alcohol habit", Julian set himself up for more positive thoughts, Bella and Ziana nodded in agreement.

"Mr. Shane looked much happier". Ziana smiled softly, still looking at the ladybug and making sure none of her friends inadvertently squashed the little insect. Wanting to change the subject to something more cheerful, Ziana remembered the blue chickens. "How do you think Mr. Shane made his chickens' feathers blue?"

Ziana's question made the other two farmers think for a few moments.

"Well, I don't think he dyes his feathers, the chicks are already born with blue coloring", Julian nodded in confirmation of Bella's words, "So maybe..."

"Goddamn piece of garbage! I hate this fucking fishing! Stupid fish, fucking rod! Bitch ass fucking bullshit!" Before poor Bella could say anything further, all the farmers on the rug were startled by the harsh and loud profanity of Bo, who, stomping loudly and kicking some kind of iron can under his feet, was walking towards his friends. Shane and Jas were also taken aback by the loud noises, but Shane's expression immediately changed from shock to annoyance. He quickly handled the keyhole and led Jas home, covering her ears with his hands just in case so she wouldn't hear any new "unnecessary" words. The chickens quickly followed their owners and the front door to the ranch slammed shut.

Finally, the white-haired "fisherman" reached his friends: his face was still contorted with anger, but he tried to hide it.

"Mr. Bo, what's wrong?", Ziana set the plate of cookies aside so her friend could take off his shoes and sit down next to her on the picnic rug.

Bo sighed tiredly and rubbed his temples with his fingers, trying to settle his headache and calm down.

"Let's just say the fishing hadn't gone well."

He reached for the net he'd thrown on the grass nearby and showed the three farmers his catch. Well, if you could call it a catch: in the net, from which fresh water dripped to the ground, were several empty Joja cola cans, broken disks (also from Joja.co), and slippery green algae hanging from the same net. That can, by the way, that he was kicking, was also his "catch" - an empty iron with the logo of that "beloved corporation", but he didn't put it in the net with the rest of the catch, deciding to take out all his anger on the unfortunate can.

"But why do you need fish? We have plenty of picnic food", Ziana asked again.

"Wha..?" Bo murmur quietly. "Oh, no, I wasn't catching fish to eat, was planning to release fish anyway. I just need experience, like, fishing knowledge, you know? And what kind of experience can I have if I catch shi- uh, I mean garbage, instead of fish?" Bo looked into Ziana's amber eyes and quickly corrected himself. He thinks he's used his entire limit of bad words for the day, especially since he'd hate to vent so much negativity on his friends.

Finally, Bo sat down cross-legged, picked up a plate of loukum and ate his sadness, showing to this world how grumpy and angry he was, cursing quietly the fish, the Joja co. trash, and the day the old fisherman had handed him that damned bamboo rod. Julian and Bella began to take turns comforting him with food and words, agreeing with his negative opinion about the greedy monopoly corporation and their inexcusable attitude toward garbage disposal.

Ziana's attention was suddenly drawn to the cola cans in the net, she stared at them intently for half a minute. After a moment, a question suddenly dawned on her.

"Uh, Mr. Julian? Remember when we helped Shane with his Joja cola commercial project with Clint and Emily?" Julian stopped patting Bo's back in comfort, and looked at Ziana.

"Yeah, of course I remember. Clint had turned blue after drinking that nasty stuff.", Julian's face wrinkled a little at the mere recollection of this "miracle drink" with a lot of sugar, caffeine and Yoba's guess what else, since some people contacted the company with a complaint that their skin turned blue as blueberries. While the change in skin color can be blamed on Clint's worries about Emily, it can usually be a slightly bluish hue rather than a bright blue. Julian also can't forget Bo's light teasing that multicolored young man grumbles over Joja like an old fart. But he knows that Bo wouldn't even want his worst enemy to take a sip of that crap, let alone drink it himself voluntarily.

"I remember by the end of the commercial, Clint was turning blue from soda. I mean, a side effect of that cola is blue skin in some people", Ziana scratched her chin in thought. "And Mr. Shane", she continue, "also works at Joja and he too drinks this cola a lot. Doesn't that mean he pours the soda into the chickens feed to turn their feathers blue?" Ziana finally spoke the question, waiting to see what her friends would say.

Bo snorted and wanted to open his mouth, reply that it was an absurd idea, but he immediately closed his mouth again and his eyes widened at the realization that this theory had a right to exist.

"No. Freaking. Way.", Bo said.

Bella and Julian followed Bo's example: the red-haired girl almost choked on the apple slice she was chewing, and Julian's face expressed the emotion of a man who had just realized that his life was a lie and shambles.

"Huh, it actually makes sense..."

"Don't." Julian replied to Bella, raising his hand in protest. His throat was sharply dry. "I refuse to believe it."

"But man, think about it!" Bo had completely forgotten about his anger over his recent bad fishing trip and was fully immersed in the discussion.

"Shane would never do that to his chickens!" Julian protested.

"But maybe..." Ziana began cautiously, but Julian interrupted her.

"It can't be", the yellow-haired young man replied a little softer to Ziana.

While Bo, Julian and Ziana argued for a minute about the chickens feather theory, Bella pulled back from her shock and said: "Why don't we ask Shane himself?"

The three wranglers looked at Bella, and then all four of them looked directly at the front door of the ranch where they had seen Shane today with Jas.

Bo smiled predatorily. "Time to terrorize people."

"Let's do it better tomorrow, after lunch. We'll rest today." Julian decided to leave the feather coloring debate for tomorrow, returning to the snacks and juice, and his friends decided to follow his example.

[cleolinda]

Varney the Vampire: Chapter 13

Chapter 12: 4900 words about paintings oh and also we shot a vampyre

This chapter is roughly 4300 words, and the only reason I haven't lost my will to blog is that I have a much shorter chapter to look forward to. Also, this one is incredible.

Chapter XIII.

THE OFFER FOR THE HALL. -- THE VISIT TO SIR FRANCIS VARNEY. -- THE STRANGE RESEMBLANCE. -- A DREADFUL SUGGESTION.

I. The morning after

The squad can't find hide nor hair of the vampyre outside on the estate grounds, except some blood outside the window where Flora shot him, which is not the most recent time he was shot (by Charles Holland) nor the first time he was shot (by Henry). Swiss cheese has fewer holes than this guy. :[

Flora's brothers, fiancé, and kind-of uncle try to tell her that her fiancé was just firing a warning shot, you know, through the glass of her bedroom window, as you do, and everything is fine. She does not believe it, "only sighed deeply, and wept." Beautiful day, though:

The birds sang their pleasant carols beneath the window. The sweet, deep-coloured autumnal sun shone upon all objects with a golden lustre; and to look abroad, upon the beaming face of nature, no one could for a moment suppose, except from sad experience, that there were such things as gloom, misery, and crime, upon the earth.

I quote this partly because I'm curious as to whether James Malcolm Rymer will forget that he said it's autumn.

II. Classism for some reason

A female servant brings Henry (Flora's elder brother and the head of the Bannerworth household, if you're just joining us) a letter. That's the only real important development here, but Rymer blows a few hundred words on a woman who is "one of these who were always armed at all points for a row, and she had no notion of concluding any engagement, of any character whatever, without some disturbance." All I see is a worker who "only comed here by the day" and wants her pay so she can be done with these people who keep shooting vampyres in the middle of the night:

"I can't stay in the family as is so familiar with all sorts o' ghostesses: I ain't used to such company."

"What does I mean!" said the woman, "why, sir, if it's all the same to you, I don't myself come of a wampyre family, and I don't choose to remain in a house where there is sich things encouraged. That's what I means, sir."

Listen, maybe "ghostesses" is an accurate rendition of a working-class dialect. I have no idea where in Britain this is supposed to be taking place; I've seen the v-to-w thing in many 1800s works, I don't know. All I know is, Rymer likes to ride this particular hobbyhorse as hard and often as possible, in an extremely condescending way, and he informs us that this woman is spoiling for a fight even as [footage not found]. This scene seems to mostly be a comic interlude that portrays Henry as a put-upon saint. However, there is a major character coming up who talks like this 24/7, and Rymer clearly loves him, and I seem to remember that I kind of did too. It's an aspect to keep an eye on.

III. The letter

Now, remember, way back in the sixth chapter, the Bannerworth family was fielding an offer from some unnamed rando, through their solicitor, to buy Bannerworth Hall. Having been rebuffed then, he's back with a direct offer. As it turns out, he's also the new neighbor who committed the grave faux pas of, uh, expressing sympathy. The letter, which I reproduce here in full, says:

Dear Sir, As a neighbour, by purchase of an estate contiguous to your own, I am quite sure you have excused, and taken in good part, the cordial offer I made to you of friendship and service some short time since; but now, in addressing to you a distinct proposition, I trust I shall meet with an indulgent consideration, whether such a proposition be accordant with your views or not. What I have heard from common report induces me to believe that Bannerworth Hall cannot be a desirable residence for yourself, or your amiable sister. If I am right in that conjecture, and you have any serious thought of leaving the place, I would earnestly recommend you, as one having some experience in such descriptions of property, to sell it at once. Now the proposition with which I conclude this letter is, I know, of a character to make you doubt the disinterestedness of such advice; but that it is disinterested, nevertheless, is a fact of which I can assure my own heart, and of which I beg to assure you. I propose, then, should you, upon consideration, decide upon such a course of proceeding, to purchase of you the Hall. I do not ask for a bargain on account of any extraneous circumstances which may at the present time depreciate the value of the property, but I am willing to give a fair price for it. Under these circumstances, I trust, sir, that you will give a kindly consideration to my offer, and even if you reject it, I hope that, as neighbours, we may live on in peace and amity, and in the interchange of those good offices which should subsist between us. Awaiting your reply, Believe me to be, dear sir, Your very obedient servant, FRANCIS VARNEY.

ah shit y'all let's fucking GOOOOOO

Clasping his hands, then, behind his back, a favourite attitude of his when he was in deep contemplation, [Henry] paced to and fro in the garden for some time in deep thought. "How strange," he muttered. "It seems that every circumstance combines to induce me to leave my old ancestral home. It appears as if everything now that happened had that direct tendency. What can be the meaning of all this?"

There's a 1935 Bela Lugosi film called Mark of the Vampire that has an off-brand Dracula ("Count Mora") and his spooky daughter who (spoiler!) are actually actors hired to smoke out a murderer. (It was made only four years after Dracula, and with the same director, which really shores up the assumption that this will only be more of the same, just with the serial numbers filed off. It's very effective.) And this is what I thought of around this point in Varney, because Henry, more than once, will lead us to ask whether the vampyre attacks are just a hoax to force the Bannerworths to sell their ancestral home to an interested party. Maybe a relative of some sort, based on his resemblance to the family portrait, wants to get the Hall for himself. And on one hand, yes, the family is being constantly harassed by someone, a person who is earthly enough that they can't make a clean getaway over a wall, and the situation is now untenable.

On the other hand, you are asking me to believe that some mundane person coveting this mansion is so committed to the bit that he would actually bite Flora, leaving her and everything else covered in blood—we witnessed this happen. We were told that he had "fangs," not normal, scheming house-buyer teeth. Within the story, this happened. You are telling me that he would be willing to get shot, in the 1800s before surgeons even washed their hands—three? four? times now. He somehow vanishes instantly every time he's playing ghost at Charles Holland's door or getting capped outside a window. You are telling me that some normal mortal dude could or would do all of this?

Of course, it could be a little bit of both: an actual vampyre running a harassment campaign. Rymer really likes to play both—all—potential sides of a situation, and I can't tell if he just forgets that he absolutely made clear that Varney is a real vampire, or he just wants to run off with a particular idea right now and that's what we're doing. What're you gonna do, go find the penny paper from three months ago and check? It reminds me a lot of playing with my nephew—just making it up as you go along, going with whatever idea will keep a young child engaged, and he's in kindergarten, so who cares if it makes sense? Maybe the six-year-olds Rymer knew just had far more expansive vocabularies.

IV. Considering the offer

Whatever may truly be going on, Henry asks his sort-of-uncle Mr. Marchdale what he should do, and Marchdale comes up with some surprisingly practical advice: why don't you just rent the Hall to this rando for a year and see how it goes?

"Ay, and it might, with very great promise and candour, be proposed to this very gentleman, Sir Francis Varney, to take it for one year, to see how he likes it before becoming the possessor of it. Then if he found himself tormented by the vampyre, he need not complete the purchase, or if you found that the apparition followed you from hence, you might yourself return, feeling that perhaps here, in the spots familiar to your youth, you might be most happy, even under such circumstances as at present oppress you." "Most happy!" ejaculated Henry. "Perhaps I should not have used that word."

POINTS:

"Ejaculate" was a common synonym for "exclaim"; you see it frequently throughout older books. This is standard and unremarkable.

The word Marchdale should not have used is "happy."

No. No, you should not have used that word.

lmao

Henry then confers with his family, which is a considerate thing for a Head of the Household to do; we don't really hear anyone's opinion but Flora's, and she admits that she wants to get the fuck out of their beloved childhood home ASAP, as well she might, being the one who actually gets attacked. Henry is sad that she never mentioned this before; Flora says that she's hardly had any time to think, and also, she knows how much Henry loves the Hall. I don't know if Rymer just wanted some comic relief/space filler earlier, or if he intentionally had that incident with the unnamed servant to show how obliging and saintly Flora is in comparison. Love yourself for once, Flora, I'm putting that into the universe for you.

V. Interview with the vampyre

So now, Henry and Marchdale spend hundreds of words trooping out to the grand estate recently purchased by the neighbor they haven't met yet, one Sir Francis Varney. A servant bids them enter over the course of several sentences, until finally,

Henry and Marchdale followed the man up a flight of stone stairs, and then they were conducted through a large apartment into a smaller one. There was very little light in this small room; but at the moment of their entrance a tall man, who was seated, rose, and, touching the spring of a blind that was to the window, it was up in a moment, admitting a broad glare of light. A cry of surprise, mingled with terror, came from Henry Bannerworth's lips. The original of the portrait on the panel stood before him! There was the lofty stature, the long, sallow face, the slightly projecting teeth, the dark, lustrous, although somewhat sombre eyes; the expression of the features all were alike.

CHAPTER ONE:

The figure turns half round, and the light falls upon its face. It is perfectly white -- perfectly bloodless. The eyes look like polished tin; the lips are drawn back, and the principal feature next to those dreadful eyes is the teeth -- the fearful looking teeth projecting like those of some wild animal, hideously, glaringly white, and fang-like. [...] The glance of a serpent could not have produced a greater effect upon her than did the fixed gaze of those awful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent down on her face.

CHAPTER NOW:

"Are you unwell, sir?" said Sir Francis Varney, in soft, mellow accents, as he handed a chair to the bewildered Henry. "God of Heaven!" said Henry; "how like!" "You seem surprised, sir. Have you ever seen me before?"

I love this chapter so much. So much. The absolute balls on this guy. Bear with me for a moment:

As harrowing as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is (I'm not going to mention anything graphic), there is exactly one thing I took away from the 2011 David Fincher adaptation, and it is this: the horrible torturey killer says to the hero, while they are quietly staring at each other in the killer's kitchen, both knowing that the killer is the killer,

Let me ask you something. Why don't people trust their instincts? They sense something is wrong, someone is walking too close behind them... You knew something was wrong but you came back into the house. Did I force you, did I drag you in? No. All I had to do was offer you a drink. It's hard to believe that the fear of offending can be stronger than the fear of pain. But you know what? It is.

The realness of this statement just blew my fucking mind when I first saw this movie, because I am extremely that over-polite person, but horror/suspense so rarely comes out and just says, pay attention to the danger, the harm, that you are inflicting on yourself. I don't mean in a victim-blaming way; I mean, artistically acknowledging the horror of watching yourself act in ways you know you don't want to act, because the machinery of politeness seems that much more important. You are just as much caught in society's jaws as you are in the monster's.

And what's so incredible about this moment in the movie is that it's not us sitting in the audience screaming at Daniel Craig to NOTICE!! that the killer is behind him. No, he's perfectly aware. He followed him in. With the exact same stomach-twisting reluctance I have personally felt before, and maybe you have too, he feels like he has to be polite on the off chance that somehow, he might be wrong about this guy. It's the horror of the way "good manners" make you gaslight yourself.

I used to point out that People in Dracula Don't Know They're in Dracula, particularly regarding the early Jonathan Harker chapters—his behavior seems oddly complacent if you think he ought to realize he's in a horror movie. Of course he doesn't—the name "Dracula" means nothing to him; it doesn't sound weird or scary. Who, in a modern age of timetables and trains, could possibly believe that some guy would be a vampire? We are rational people these days, we are logical, we know better than that.

What if you did know you were in Dracula?

What if you knew a vampire was handing you a drink but you felt like you had to be polite?

"God of Heaven!" said Henry; "how like!" "You seem surprised, sir. Have you ever seen me before?" Sir Francis drew himself up to his full height, and cast a strange glance upon Henry, whose eyes were rivetted upon his face, as if with a species of fascination which he could not resist. "Marchdale," Henry gasped; "Marchdale, my friend, Marchdale. I -- I am surely mad." "Hush! be calm," whispered Marchdale. "Calm -- calm -- can you not see? Marchdale, is this a dream? Look -- look -- oh! look." "For God's sake, Henry, compose yourself."

Henry is melting the fuck down, and Varney is just standing there like, "What." "You're a vampyre!!!" "No." And there's Marchdale like, "Henry, you can't just ask people why they're vampyres."

Henry sunk into the chair which was near him, and he trembled violently. The rush of painful thoughts and conjectures that came through his mind was enough to make any one tremble. "Is this the vampyre?" was the horrible question that seemed impressed upon his very brain, in letters of flame. "Is this the vampyre?" "Are you better, sir?" said Sir Francis Varney, in his bland, musical voice. "Shall I order refreshment for you?"

"All I had to do was offer you a drink."

"No no," gasped Henry; "for the love of truth tell me! Is is your name really Varney?"

Sir Francis Varney avers that it truly is his name, and not Runnagate "Oh, Why Not" Marmaduke von Spookyportrait Bannerworth I, with such pride that I went and looked up if "Varney" has any special historical background. It, uh, doesn't. Per ancestry.com, it means "from the alder grove":

English: of Norman origin a habitational name from a French place called Vernay probably chiefly Saint-Paul-du-Vernay (Calvados). The placename comes from a derivative of Gaulish verno- ‘alder’ + the locative suffix -acum.

File that away in case alders or Norman apple brandy come up later, I guess. Meanwhile, Henry is saying straight to Varney's face, "I can't stand the sight of you because something really terrible just happened to my family. Something keeps happening. SOMEONE."

"A vampyre, I have heard," said Sir Francis Varney, with a bland, and almost beautiful smile, which displayed his white, glistening teeth to perfection.

"Nay, Henry," whispered Mr. Marchdale, "it is scarcely civil to tell Sir Francis to his face, that he resembles a vampyre."

"[You] so much resemble the vampyre," added Henry, "that that I know not what to think."

"Is it possible?" said Varney. "It is a damning fact." "Well, it's unfortunate for me, I presume?"

This fucking guy, I love it. But then Varney winces with pain: he apparently hurt his arm at... some point in time, because... reasons.

"A hurt?" said Henry. "Yes, Mr. Bannerworth." "A -- a wound?"

How did u come by that tho

"Oh, yes. A slight fall."

Over a wall, several times, maybe? Or one of the three times we shot you?

"We never know a moment when, from some most trifling cause, we may receive some serious bodily hurt. How true it is, Mr. Bannerworth, that in the midst of life we are in death." "And equally true, perhaps," said Henry, "that in the midst of death there may be found a horrible life."

I'm impressed that Rymer does not inflate the word count with a long staring contest, because they're absolutely having one right now.

"Well, I should not wonder. There are really so many strange things in this world, that I have left off wondering at anything now."

I love that I can thoroughly picture every single expression and intonation that's got to be happening. Obviously I do not love Francis Varney as a person, but he just emerges as this slippery, deadpan, fully-formed antagonist. And what makes it even better is if you imagine it's this guy who keeps flopping off a wall, over and over.

But what about Bannerworth Hall, isn't that why we're here? Well, Sir Francis wishes to buy it. Oh, are you attached to it, asks Henry, as if from LONG AGO? LIKE REALLY LONG AGO? Oh, not too long, Varney says coolly, but the Hall seems pretty chill. And "amazingly well wooded, which, to one of rather a romantic temperament like myself, is always an additional charm to a place." Henry informs him that he (Henry) was born there, and his ANCESTORS have lived there for CENTURIES. But the Hall has crumbled a bit over the last hundred years—hey, I bet you HATE being a VAMPYRE, HUH?

"No doubt it has. A hundred years is a tolerable long space of time, you know" [said Varney]. "It is, indeed. Oh, how any human life which is spun out to such an extent, must lose its charms, by losing all its fondest and dearest associations." "Ah, how true," said Sir Francis Varney.

The servant then returns with "wine and refreshments." In the middle of trying to google why vampires started not liking wine at some point, I discovered a Medium article explaining that vampire dot com is somehow not a White Wolf site but rather a winery, and they tried to sue FUCKING APPLEBEES over a $1 "vampire cocktail" on COPYRIGHT GROUNDS. Can you fucking imagine. "Vampire Wines has rights to 'vampire' and 'Dracula' wine branding." Get the fuck out of here. No you see legally they can reserve a generic term hundreds of years old in a wine context and—well they should feel bad about it, then. Also, "the company has filed similar suits against Taco Bell for its vampire-themed burrito," which is certainly a combination of words I've never heard before.

I want to note that this Medium article on vampire alcohol nuisance lawsuits also takes the time to say, "Vampires even made their way into popular literature through penny dreadful series like Varney the Vampire, a pulp fiction serial produced so hastily that new stories would often contradict previous Varney episodes." So I'm not imagining it, then! Wheeeee.

This episode actually ends abruptly on the appearance of noms, so we do not find out at this time whether Varney drinks............ wine or not. That's where we'll pick up next time.

Varney the Vampire masterpost

[austajunk]

7 and 9 for Yomi/Makoto? Maybe Makoto gets caught off guard and gets topped by Yomi?

Well! A Yomi and Makoto fic where Makoto is the sad bottom is quite a challenge to write, so I hope you enjoy this one. I had fun writing it but I feel sorry for Makoto. XD Fic below the cut.

Triggers: Sodomy, Non-con, prison sex, nipple clamps, and orgasm denial/edging

With a pulsing throb to the back of his head, Makoto Kagutsuchi awoke on the cold, hard ground of a prison cell inside of Amaterasu Corporation. That was to be expected. He couldn't very well trust going off on his own in the middle of the night without someone placing a target on his back on behalf of Yomi Hellsmile. Even with the pain stinging his senses, he didn't really feel all too surprised by that.

No. What was somewhat surprising was the chill of the air curving against his naked body. When he glanced down, he saw that he had been completely stripped of his suits. His hands were bound behind his back. At the very least, it seems he was left with the decency of being able to keep his mask. That, or perhaps Yomi would find it amusing to say that he was too hideous to be looked upon as he was tortured. Typical of Yomi Hellsmile.

For the next few hours, Makoto was left to himself. The prison was painfully quiet as though all the other prisoners down here were removed just so the focus could be on him. There was no need for witnesses, Makoto figured. The cameras posted at every corner of his cell would capture his torment. The worst of it was the cool air teasing his body. Oh, how he wished to slip into a warm bath filled with bubbles to coat and soothe his skin. Instead, the chilly air just made his body twitch and stiffen. His pale nipples stung, goosebumps surfaced across his sensitive flesh, and he trembled with a heavier breath leaving his lips.

Eventually, he caught a flash of that red hair and the smile of a devil peering in on him from behind the bars. Makoto was used to forcing a pleasant smile when Yomi Hellsmile was around and today would be no different…even behind a mask.

The door slid open and Yomi marched up to him to get a closer look. He relished standing above Makoto in such a way before grinding his boot in between Makoto's legs. "How's that feel, you freak?" He mouthed to him in a low, intimidating sneer. The underside of his boot placed its pressure to Makoto's cock, earning him only a twitch from his captive.

Makoto ignored him. "Well… you're getting it very dirty," he said back. "That's not very kind, is it, Yomi?"

Expecting a hit, Makoto braced himself for the result of his insolence. But it never came. Instead he found that widening grin all too unsettling. Yomi removed his foot and knelt down to his eye level.

"You don't like it?" Yomi mimicked a tone of pity and concern. "Shit. I thought this would be the kind of shit a fucked up usurper like you'd be into."

"Stepping on it would probably just hurt," said Makoto carelessly. Though the slight pressure against his shaft had gotten him halfway hard on the floor. Any touch besides the cold could probably do that, but Makoto found himself wanting more. More heat.

Yomi amused himself with tracing a sharp finger of his across Makoto's lithe chest, stopping to flick his stiff nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, then pinched it mercilessly until Makoto was forced to gasp and wince. "Oh, you like that? Sensitive here?" He tugged his left nipple as well. His nail dug into the flesh and drew a pained groan from the CEO. "Of course you are. Good news, you fucking menace. I have something that you'll like then."

The biting sting of metal tightened into his nipple and Makoto flinched, stifling a sudden cry. Yomi had latched a clamp to his left nipple as he pinched the right one to force it to swell between his fingers. The metal seared onto his right nipple to finish, tugging both his swollen nubs down by the large weight that swung over a heavy chain between them. A hot sweat broke out across Makoto's body as he panted, trying to adjust to the burst of pain flooding across his chest. With each inch of movement, the metal stung worse and made him move again to repeat the hellish process.

Yomi snickered and slid his hand upside Makoto's mask to tilt it up. He saw the redness of Makoto's cheeks and his wet eyes. The curl of his lips as he gasped and winced. Fuck… he could stare at that pained look forever.

"See? I knew you were sick in the head," hissed Yomi to the side of Makoto's ear. He gripped his light hair and tugged it back so Makoto could no longer avoid his gaze. "You look like you're ready to drool like a goddamn baby when I play with you."

"Hngh…" Makoto grunted. He didn't want to move, but Yomi twirled his fingers around the weighted chain and he was left in the torment once again.

"I brought more than one toy for you, you know?" Yomi waved a dark, cylindrical toy in front of him. If Makoto had to guess, it was something close to a hitachi wand, a vibrator of some kind.

"It's tempting to shove it up this tight hole of yours," continued Yomi with unhinged glee. "But where's the fun in that? I leave you stuffed to the brim and let you come buckets without my strict guidance? I'm so much better than that." He leaned in closer, digging a sharp bite into Makoto's ear shell.

"I want to train you. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be wet for me on my command."

Makoto could hear the click of the switch. He braced himself and tried to remain still as that low vibration was placed to the underside of his cock. It teased across his vein, massaging him and sending sweet vibrating motions to his open, purple slit. His breathing became shallow and agonizing. It was slow, but the pressure grew in a steady, uphill pattern across his hot flesh, making him move his hips. And of course, with each thrust or jerk of his body, the nipple clamps shifted and brought him down the path of more pain.

Between the hungry groans and whimpers, Makoto couldn't speak. Yomi merely smirked and flicked the switch to raise the vibration. The wand toyed with him and ran along his shaft, increasing the time spent playing with his girth. It felt good.

"Ngh…" The precum dribbled from the opening of his cock and Yomi slid a thumb across it to catch some of the excess.

"See?" He told Makoto, his voice entering that low, sadistic growl. "Tell me you were meant to be my whore instead of a the worthless CEO that you fucking are."

"..." Makoto sucked his face into a rebellious frown, defiance flashing in his eyes. His fingernails dug into his palms to raise himself above the pleasure he wished to succumb to.

"Awww, are you acting proud? Give it up. Tell me what I want to hear and maybe… maybe I'll let you come." A lie. Why would he ever give Makoto anything unless it amused him? He didn't want to see Makoto's face forming that little "o" of ecstasy, to watch his body curl up and convulse with satisfied lust. No. He wanted Makoto's cries, his pains, his begging and pleading with his eyes! Yomi didn't think there could be anything more beautiful in the world than Makoto Kagutsuchi on his knees, glancing up at him with his mouth open ready to accept Yomi's hot meat.

"N-No."

"What was that?!"

That irksome defiance made Yomi's blood boil. But he forced that pleasant smile… or at least, he felt it was pleasant enough for what he would make Makoto experience.

"Well, that's just fine!! Hahaha!"

It started with more metal clamps being added all over Makoto's body. His skin was pulled and stretched between the clamps biting into him. Every breath was a new form of hell. Yomi silenced Makoto's resistance by shoving the vibrating wand down his mouth until it hit the back of his throat. Makoto's gagged and drooled on the tool, the rumbling making him sick to his stomach. It made his mind spin until Yomi tugged it out and flipped Makoto onto the cold floor upon his chest, raising his slender ass into the air.

"You're still sopping wet, you freak.." Yomi said to him. Then he placed the vibrating wand to Makoto's puckered hole to admire the size of his large toy compared to Makoto's ass. Without mercy, he shoved the toy in and drove Makoto's into the floor with a howl of agony.

"Worthless CEOs deserve to get sodomized with a stick, but I'm just the most forgiving soul I know…I'll let it vibrate inside of you," added Yomi over Makoto's squeals and cries. In and out, in and out, he drove the toy inside of him back and forth.

Makoto bucked and plunged his head into the corner of the wall. Any sensation to block out this impalement. It started painfully tight. The vibrator could hardly squeeze through his walls. He was forced to open himself, to contract to survive as the tears formed in his eyes.

He laid on the floor, defeated. His body was covered in welts and bruises while his ass hung in the air. The vibration was something he adjusted to, but his cries had soon turned to wanting moans. His twitches had turned to jerking his hips in the air, offering his ass to be fucked harder. Stimulation. He needed more.

He wanted more. The sight of crimson hair flashed above him as Yomi watched him quiver as a broken mess on the floor.

"I…I want to…"

"I know," said Yomi with a snicker. "You want to come. You're ready to offer anything, even if it means kissing and licking the scum off my boots." He knelt down again to the ground, giving Makoto's ass a sharp slap. He watched the flesh bounce pleasantly and sighed.

"And maybe… if you learn to properly suck and clean your beloved leader's cock today, I'll let you come all over yourself sometime this week…"

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 9: You're (not) a Wizard

You try magic! It's super ineffective!

On AO3.

The bread and cheese the others leave for you stares forlornly up from the plate on your lap. You woke to a splitting headache and a stomach disinterested in doing its one job. You wait until the others aren’t looking to stash the food in your bag.

Gale has another nasty potion for you. You’ll have to take one every morning if you want to be able to communicate. You choke it down, almost bring it right back up, and give him a thumbs up through watering eyes. And then you learn he only has three more left.

“So keep a sharp eye out for,” some kind of plant names that he has the sense to describe to you. In detail. You retain maybe half of it?

To which you reply, “Um. I’d like to learn y’all’s language itself, too. Y’know. In case we run out?”

So you don’t have to toss that shit back first thing. Or rely on magic leaf juice to translate for you (melt-change-condition, for fuck’s sake).

You catch Astarion wrinkling his nose at your accent. You’d love to understand how, exactly it translates to him. What a Middle Narnia—apparently this place is named Faerun—southern accent equals to. But then y’all are packing up and climbing out into fresh sunlight. And while most of you squint and shield their eyes, Astarion throws open his arms as if he’s greeting a long, lost meemaw. And almost swats you in the face in the process.

***

Y’all set off walking again. Still uphill, still heading away from the water. Gale immediately starts pointing out plants that you dutifully pick. It’s not your favorite, but you need to be pleasant and accommodating, so tromping through thigh-high grass and shoving through bushes to rip up leaves and flowers it is.

You start checking for ticks.

You don’t find any. Which is deeply weird, and also deeply a relief.

Gale starts to name things, too. It’s hard to remember, with the dirt potion twisting sounds. But you do your best, and by the time y’all take a thank fuck break, you can repeat the words for sky, sun, tree, and ground.

Astarion uses your snack break to go have himself a look around. He’s real quiet, today. Gotta be an elf thing, maybe. You wanna ask him about that—and a lot more, because holy shit, he’s an actual elf—but you’re trying to keep quiet yourself and he’s been trailing along at the back of the group all morning.

You manage to force a few crumbles of cheese past your lips. Your stomach is real unsure about that, until it remembers how much walking and scuttling and running you’ve been doing lately and comes screaming back to life.

Gale flops down next to you. Holds out a scroll. Says the name until you can repeat it back. Then, “Now, I—and by that I mean the three of us—have noticed you don’t seem to have much experience when it comes to combat. Since our ocular invaders don’t normally give us the kind of time frame needed to develop these kind of skills more organically, how about we start off with something easier. You said you’re unfamiliar with magic?”

You nod.

“And I couldn’t help but notice you said your world was unfamiliar?”

“Yeah?”

His eyes almost physically light up. “At all, or just not something you yourself have been exposed to?”

“I mean, people do sleight of hands tricks and call that magic? And some people say they can do magic, but it’s all fake bullshit? We build things we can’t do on our own. Machines and the like.”

“That is fascinating. Machines to do what?”

How the fuck do you explain a computer? “Um, well, it’s all run on electricity. Like lightning, only we’re not out there actually catching lightning or nothing. We use it to light rooms or run heaters. We build, erm, communication machines to let us talk to people real far away. And we made, basically, think of a cart but it goes on its own without a horse or nothing.”

He’s practically vibrating next to you. “Ah, what a wonder your cities must be like! And what a mystery it is that magic hasn’t touched your realm.”

“So it’s common, then? Magic? In other worlds?”

“As common as the air we breathe,” he says and waves a hand that trails purple lines after it. Show off. “I’ve heard there were other realms less connected to the Weave, but—”

“There was a point to this, I believe?” Shadowheart says. She’d plonked herself down on a fallen log on the other side of the clearing you’re on, and is using this break to clean and oil her weapon, it looks like.

“Yes, thank you,” Gale says. Back to you. “So! Never fear, scrolls like this are made for beginners and those not gifted with manipulation of the Weave. As you can see—or maybe you can’t. Does the potion translate writing for you?”

Sharp ass kana shodo is still sharp ass kana shodo.

“Nope.”

“Mmm. Well then. We’ll definitely need to add that to your curriculum. Can you read your own language?”

That was one of the things you went glutton about once you were on your own. Turns out having full, unhindered access to things like the internet and public libraries—books! movies! as many as you wanted and free!—went straight to your head. You went, as your friend put it, “a little apeshit.”

“I’m a clerk, so…”

“Yes, you did say that. Excellent! A fine start. I take it your family valued a good education?”

He smiles as he said it, and you’re pretty sure he means well. Other families are happy (in shows) when their children go to school or get good grades or think and act independently like a grown ass adult. But your dad died when you were too young for any memories, and your mother…well. You proved her right, in the end, didn’t you?

“I like learning,” you say.

“The scholarly pursuits can be extremely rewarding. I’ve always thought—”

“We’ll need to be moving soon as well,” Shadowheart swoops in again. “You might want to actually show her how to use it?”

Is she on the market? Like, for real? You make “thank you” eyes at her while Gale nods somewhat abashedly.

“Right. This is a scroll for Mage Armor. I have another reclaimed from those ruins, should you need it in the future, but it’s a purely defensive spell. I thought that might be a good start for you, out of our other options, currently. If you’ll follow me?”

You tag along back out into the dirt path, and he hands you the scroll. Motions to open it. It’s got writing at the top, and a picture done in what looks like calligraphy painting of some sort of, well, armor.

“This spell will consume the scroll, so don’t be alarmed should it disintegrate,” Gale says. “When you’re ready, you’ll say the words maia et fortior. Don’t repeat that yet. Do you need me to repeat myself?”

It sounds…latin? Yeah. Latin. You’re pretty over being surprised at this point. Why not latin?

“Nope,” you say.

You hold the scroll out like you’re some old-timey town hollerer. Take a breath. Your hands tremble, but your brain has such a lock down on your emotions right now, you don’t actually feel anything but the physical symptoms and the way your neck muscles tighten.

Open your mouth. Say the words. “Maia et fortior.”

You wait.

Nothing happens.

Gale frowns. “Try again.”

“Maia et fortior.” You make sure to roll the r’s, enunciate slowly, hearing the reverberation in your brain as the words match.

But nothing happens. The scroll stares back at you like an underpaid, overworked teenager halfway into the opening shift at a McDonalds on a Saturday morning.

“Let me see that,” Gale says and doesn’t quite snatch it from you. He studies it. Runs a finger over the lines, inspects it from several angles. Has you repeat the words three more times while he listens with his eyes closed. Then he hands the scroll back to you.

You say it again.

The paper fucker isn’t a teenager, it’s an eighty-year-old Walmart greeter who got fired from a forty-year career six months before retirement and found themself back on the job market with no college degree where all entry level positions in their field want a Masters and three years unpaid internship and they’re so done you don’t even dare give them a polite nod because honestly? Yeah.

Gale makes an offended sputter. Holds his hand out. Lifts the scroll once you fork it over and says the words and his voice goes all echo-y and his entire body flares with golden light.

He looks at you.

You look at him.

“Shit,” he says.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[therealbeachfox]

Look, despite what some people might think, country folk aint stupid. Simple sometimes, sure, but not stupid. So when three events happened in quick succession, it wasn't hard to connect the dots.

First, there was the shooting star. Meteor. Meteorite. "That green blaze of light that went cross the sky screaming like a banshee's flute". Whatever you're going to call it. Anyone who was up at the time saw it. But nobody heard any sound of it hitting ground. And with all the fuss it was making, you'd figured you would. Everyone would've just figured it burnt itself up while stretching through the sky. Except.

Second, there were the very clean, well-groomed men in their suits and their near-identical close-cut haircuts who showed up within a few days. On their own or in pairs, just asking around in that sort of way that super serious people who are trying to be casual for the first time think is casual. Asking about if anything 'strange' had happened. Asking if anyone had talked about 'finding something'. Asking if anyone, or anything 'new' had shown up.

Aside from them, of course.

And despite what some people might think, patriotism and trust in government officials do not always go hand in hand. So everyone was degrees of blandly pleasant and polite to the men who were certainly not from the government and gave friendly non-answers before hurrying behind closed doors to gossip and compare notes and try to figure out exactly what they were all on about.

Third, the Kents had a baby. Martha was a skinny twig of a woman back then and certainly hadn't been anything but a skinny twig of a woman just the week before. And though the hair matched Johnathan's just dandy and the skin-tone was a perfect match for Martha, neither of them nor their kin ever had eyes of that perfect piercing blue.

It was an absolute delight of a baby, though. Martha and Johnathan were good people. However it was they'd gotten whatever it was they were calling their son, they'd manage it right. You could trust them with that sort of thing. You certainly couldn't trust some federal agency of serious be-suited men with identical haircuts and stiff awkward ways. Eventually, those men gave up finding whatever it was they were after and everyone breathed a sigh of relief and got on with their lives.

I mean, yes, the Kents were raising some sort of secret space baby, but aside from the initial flurry of community-wide confirmation of the fact, it really wasn't the sort of thing worthy of gossiping about. The McConnals had that daughter they'd brought home from Vietnam and it was mostly agreed that gossiping about that was poor manners, so why should the Kents' boy should be any different?

Then that was that, at least for a handful of years, till the Kent boy started attending school. He was a sweet kid, a kind kid. The Kents were raising up a good one, everyone could agree on that. And sure, he seemed to have an uncommonly keen ear and sharp eye, and was a hellion on the little league field, but you could chalk all that up to good genetics. And heck, everyone had been going along with the Kents' story so long it was easy to forget he weren't their actual blood. Not that that should matter much in any case.

By middle school, though, the happenings around the Kent boy were getting downright peculiar. The boy was fast, the boy was strong, the boy was tough. And not in the sort of way that made the high school coaches eagerly anticipate them entering freshman year, no. He was trying to hide it, 12 year olds aren't good at hiding normal things, let alone the fact that you tried to keep someone from getting run over by a thresher and wound up with mangled thresher blades, shredded school clothes, and an otherwise completely unharmed Kent boy looking abashed and trying to put together some excuse about a hidden rock getting in the gears or something.

But the kid was obviously mortified by the whole thing, so Dormick didn't push it. He did make a few comments to others though, and once people were looking, the Kent boy's uniqueness was plain to see.

The boy could outrace cars. He could pull tractors out of the muck all on his own. He could stand between a classmate and a thresher and the only thing that'd get wreaked was the thresher. Honestly, it would've been more than a little concerning to folk if it wasn't for the fact that the kid was just so dang nice. He was a good boy, kind, considerate. Any hint to him being, well, better was met with either embarrassed denial or fervent denial depending on how it'd been phrased. So instead of being the sort of thing that lead to muttering behind closed doors and maybe an eventual rousting of the whole family out of town, it instead just became a local secret. An open secret, but a secret.

There were still outsiders with short sharp haircuts and awkwardly stiff manner who'd come through from time to time and ask leading questions about whether there was anyone 'strange' in the community and very obviously trying to play off the assumption that they'd all be a bunch of bigoted fearful 'simple' folk.

There was no way in hell any of them were going to hand the Clark boy over to anyone like that.

It was when he was getting towards the end of high school and began talking about his plans of moving off to one of the big cities to pursue college and a career that folk begun to get worried. The cities weren't like Smallville in a lotta ways, and Clark was such a good decent boy. They worried.

It wasn't some sort of great plan. No one got together and came up with it. It was just a lot of people coming to the same decision in pretty much the same way, then others seeing what they were doing and deciding that they had the right of it and following course.

"That's a strong shake you got there." Mr. McCormick would say down at the store, feeling his bones grind against each other slightly, "You gotta watch that when you hit the city or everyone's gonna think you're one of those asshole highroller types who've always gotta be proving themselves top dog or something." Clark would apologize and start shaking more gently.

"Thanks Clark, that was right quick of you." old Ms. Narri would say when the boy arrived with her weekly groceries, running up so fast he's almost a blur until he slows down at the gate. "You should be careful with running that fast when you get to the city, though. Lotta more people out there, and none of them watching where they're going or what they're doing. We don't want you crashing into someone just cus they don't notice to get out of the way." Clark nodded with understanding and slowed himself down.

"Yer a lifesaver, kid." would say Lenny when Clark would haul a shipment of tractor parts into the shop. "Might want to avoid letting folks know you can do that up in the city, though. They'll think all those muscles left no room for your brain and instead of college, they'd have you lugging boxes at the docks till you go grey. Or spend all your time moving their fridges from apartment to apartment." Clark wasn't sure he fully believed that, but he was more careful about considering what he was about to lift and carry around.

And so on and so on. If they'd all known Clark had wanted to move out of Smallville from the beginning, they would've been coaching him all his life, but the two years of gently nudging the sweet kid on how best to pretend to be normal would have to be enough.

And, well, judging from what you can see on the TV or read in the Daily Planet (which now gets issues shipped out all the way to Smallville for the corner store because everyone loves their hometown celebrity), they must've done alright with it. They're real proud of their Clark. He's a good kid, his parents raised him right. (And while it's not right to brag, everyone does feel more than a smidge of pride at being able to help with it.)

And when any outsiders come through with pointed or leading questions, everyone will just smile blandly and have no idea what they could be getting at. Because honestly, anything beyond the fact he's a good kid who's done well is nobody's business but him and his, thank you very much.

Starting to think a cooler headcanon for Clark’s upbringing might just be that the entire town of Smallville collectively decided to just go with it and accept that Martha and John's kid has superpowers, but we don't talk about it.

Someone's tractor gets stuck and nothing can get it out? "Be a dear and run down to the Kents, would you? Ask for Clark?"

"Why Clark, we need a machine--"

"Run along now."

Or if he kicks too hard and the football vanishes into the upper stratosphere, no it didn't, we all collectively saw it land over there *vague hand movements*