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harknessxo · 1 year ago

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If it is okay can i request Toxic!Agatha and fem! reader?

Initially, everything starts as a normal relationship very sweet and romantic (maybe including smut).

Then, Agatha begins to isolate reader until, mysteriously, reader loses their job. Agatha comforts reader, Agatha is their only support. Time passes and reader stays at home, reader has tried to get a new job but have not gotten any job interview. Until reader discovered the truth on Agatha’s computer, Agatha had left her user open and reader could see everything she had done. So reader planned to run away.

Reader did it.

Agatha is furious.

She's going to get you back

You Can Run But You Can’t Hide

Paring: Toxic!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: Agatha slowly starts to inside you so you can only rely on her and her alone but her plan has one flaw.

Warnings; hurt/comfort, a bit dark.

Word Count: 1.0k

A/n: Alright one down, four requests to go 😭🙏🏽

You and Agatha had met about a year ago. You two hit it off super quick and soon started dating. She was the girlfriend everyone would dream of. She would randomly buy you flowers, buy you gifts, shower you with kisses and so much more. A couple months into the relationship you noticed that Agatha would get jealous easily but it wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.

You found it cute at first.

Then, as time went on, Agatha's jealousy escalated into controlling behavior. God forbid if another man or woman looked at you the wrong way. She also insisted on you staying home while she did all the working but you didn’t want to. You liked working. It was a sort of freedom for you.

You were now sitting on your desk, doing some paperwork when you received a call from your boss calling you up to his office. You calmly put the papers aside and walked towards his office. You knocked on the door before walking in and stood in front of his desk.

“Ms. L/n, you might want to take a seat.” You gave your boss a confused look before taking a seat.

“Is there something wrong Mr. Stark?”

“It has come to my attention that you have been selling information to competing companies.”

“What?! I would never do such thing-”

“There’s evidence to back it up. Now I'm going to give you the option to resign and I won't have to bring this to court.”

“But I-”

“Please make a wise decision.” You sat there stunned. Who would set you up and for what reason?

You took a deep breath before placing your name tag on his desk and walking out with tears running down your face. You went to your used-to-be desk, picked up your things, and walked out. As you drove home, your mind raced with unanswered questions and disbelief.

You cried to whole way. It was only one in the afternoon and Agatha didn’t get off of work until three. You were devastated until you saw her car miraculously parked on the drive meaning she was home. You parked and rushed inside the house.

“Hey baby, what are you doing here so- what’s wrong my dear?” You threw yourself into her arms, sobbing.

“I- I just- got fired-”

“Shhh, darling calm down, okay? Deep breaths.” You cried in her arms for a while before you calmed down and were able to talk.

“Alright, tell me what happened,” Agatha encouraged you.

“Mr. Stark had called me into his office to tell me that someone told him I was selling information to other competing companies and that there was proof. He gave me the option to let me resign and that way he wouldn't bring the situation to court. I swear I didn’t do it, Aggie. I was framed-”

“Hey, I believe you baby,” she hugged you tighter, “Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think it’s best if you stayed home for a few days.”

“I will but I'm going to look for a job after.”

“Whatever makes you happy, though I think you could stay home permanently while I do the work.”

“You know I like to work.”

“Yeah, I know.” She ran her fingers through your hair until you fell asleep and carried to bed. She gently placed you on your shared bed, tucked you in, and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll make sure you never leave my side, darling. Just you wait.” she whispered darkly before making her way down to her office. She had been the person that alerted Stark of the apparent ‘fraud’ going on in his company. It was all a part of her plan to keep you home with her, forever. All she had to do now was make sure you didn’t find a new job.

She started plotting ways to sabotage your job interviews and make it impossible for you to leave.

—

“Alright, thank you either way.” That was the tenth job you had called and had been turned down. You didn’t know what was happening or what kind of sick joke was being played on you but you were going to get to the bottom of it. You went to get your laptop but realized it was dead so you decided to use the one Agatha had in her office.

You walked in, sat on her chair and opened her computer. When you did, there was an email tab already opened. You were about to close it when you read the name of one of the companies you had applied for a job. You frowned and began to read the email. It said horrible things about you as an employee. And it was all written and sent by Agatha.

There were emails sent to all the companies you applied to and more. How could she do such a thing?

You quickly closed the laptop and ran towards your bedroom. You went into the closet and pulled out a suitcase and began to pull your clothes in it. You needed to get away from her. You needed to leave before she came back. Once you were done, you ran to your car and shoved the suitcase into the backseat before getting into the driver’s seat and driving off.

—

When Agatha got home she found it strange that your car wasn’t there. She thought maybe you had gone to the store for something. She walked into your shared bedroom and immediately knew something was wrong. She walked into the closet and saw that most of your clothes were gone.

“Fuck.”

She ran into her office and opened her laptop only to see the last email she had sent the night before. How could she forget to close the tab? Agatha quickly realized what had happened. She had made a small mistake, and now you were on the run. She heavily sighed before leaving a text message for you.

‘You can run but you can’t hide, darling. You’re mine.’

#fanfic #hurt/comfort #x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #darkish #toxic love #tony stark #stark industries #oneshot

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marydublinauthor · 9 months ago

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Shot in the Dark releases May 14, 2024!! EXCERPT BELOW 👇🏼

After all these years, Jon Cliff and Sylvia are getting a NEW debut in this 4-6 book series where fairies, hunters, found family and forbidden romance collide. If you’ve read our shorts over the years here and even enjoyed the original 2013 release, you will LOVE this. @kendsleyauthor and I worked so hard on making it epic and more polished than ever before.

I know we’ve been more quiet on here as we struggle to keep up with all our platforms and personal life (mental health struggles suck y’all lol) BUT we truly can’t wait for you to read this.

Updates:

Preorder coming later this month!

If you review books, sign up to be an Arc Reader and help boost our book’s visibility! You get to read a free electronic copy of the book before official release in exchange for an honest review

Add to Goodreads and Storygraph now (also helps us!)

More to come— But for now, enjoy this juicy excerpt from JON’S POV! 💕

“Every non-human I’ve ever met only causes pain and death,” I said. “They want us to bleed by their very nature. But… you haven’t tried anything. You haven’t tried to kill us, seduce us into selling our souls, or trap us in an eternal nightmare. I don’t understand you.”

The fairy’s eyes widened, and she scoffed at me. “Well, forgive me for confusing you by not being a murderer. How can someone like you be remotely afraid of me?”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“And sometimes, they’re exactly what they are,” she fired back.

I didn’t wrestle off the tired, wry smile that came to my lips. “For someone the size of a mouse, you’ve got a lot of spirit.”

Her green eyes flickered, raking me up and down. Her posture softened like she was slowly seeing less of a snarling animal in me. “If you weren’t a hunter,” she said. “I might actually accept that as a compliment.”

“That’s a shame, then.”

“It is.” She sniffed, looking away pointedly.

The tug in my chest resurfaced—I couldn’t let her sleep thinking I might smother her before she awoke. She had to know we were going to release her. Somehow, it mattered to me that I wouldn’t stay a complete monstrosity in her eyes.

“I lied to you,” she announced, halting my train of thought.

I drew in a sharp breath and leaned away from her slightly. She didn’t appear to be priming herself to attack, but I stayed wary all the same. “What is it?” I asked.

“I…” She wet her lips and wrestled with herself. “I was there the night before you caught me. There were two humans. They didn’t see me, but I heard them. They… mentioned that hunters might be after them—”

“What?” I blurted, crowding toward her.

She cringed away, casting a wild look around the room for an escape.

“Hey.” I lowered my voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Look at me.”

Hesitantly, she did.

“You can tell me,” I assured. “It’s alright. What did they look like? What’d they say? Any names?”

“I couldn’t see their faces, and I don’t think I heard any names, but… I’m starting to think one of them was your monster. I’ve never been near one before, but something felt horribly wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s this… ability I have. A sort of instinct.” Each word fell from her lips hesitantly as though any one of them might set me off. “I can sense non-humans and other beings that you would consider unnatural. It’s meant to help my kind steer clear of those things. Maybe I could point you in the right direction if you take me back to that old house. But if I do that, you’ll have to let me go. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

Desperate hope painted her face. It was a little heartbreaking. I considered telling her I planned to release her regardless of what she offered, but it was a tempting ability to make use of.

“Why didn’t you say something about this earlier?” I asked.

Fresh, uncertain tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you’d kill me if I told you everything. You wouldn’t have a use for me anymore. And then, I thought if I admitted I lied…”

“You thought we’d kill you for that,” I finished. “So why admit it now?”

She shrugged, mumbling, “You didn’t lock me in the microwave. That counts for something, I suppose.”

After pondering her offer, I nodded. “Okay. We have a deal. You help us at the house, and you’re free to go.”

“Free to go immediately after,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “Swear that you won’t enslave me.”

I scoffed. “That didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Not even for a second?” She frowned suspiciously. “When was the last time you negotiated with a non-human? Stars, when’s the last time you spared a non-human?” When I couldn’t come up with an answer, she made a small noise of contempt.

“Fine,” I said. “I promise there’s no strings attached after you help us. But we’re not going anywhere until Cliff comes back with the car, so we may as well get some rest.”

#shot in the dark #gt #g/t #gt writing #support indie authors #fairies #giant/tiny #indie authors #jon and sylvia #Jon pov

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speaknowworldtour · 6 months ago

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“went home and tried to stalk you on the internet” // “and your location you forgot to turn it off and so i watch as you walk”

“drowning in the blue nile he sent me ‘downtown lights’” // “how you don’t miss me in the black dog when someone plays ‘the starting line’”

“don’t you think i was too young to be messed with the girl in the dress” // “but she’s too young to know this song”

“baby we’re the new romantics, come on come along with me heartbreak is the national anthem we sing it proudly” // “i walk through the world with the heart broken”

“i keep these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault” // “my longings stay unspoken”

“you taught me a secret language you know i can’t speak with anyone else” // “and i may never open up the way i did for you”

“i laid the ground work and then just like clockwork the dominoes cascaded in a line” // “and all of those best laid plans”

“the coward claimed he was a lion” // “you said i needed a brave man then proceeded to play him until i believed it too”

“drop everything now meet me in the pouring rain” // “how you don’t miss me in the shower and remember how my rain-soaked body was shaking, do you hate me?”

“never impressed by me acing your tests” // “do you hate me? was it hazing? for a cruel fraternity i pledged”

“clearing the air, i breathed in the smoke” // “ten months sober i must admit just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it” // “six weeks of breathing clean air, i still miss the smoke”

“i’d never walk cornelia street again” // “now i wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes”

“i hope it’s nice where you are” // “i hope it’s shitty in the black dog”

#ttpdminutes #ttpd lyric parallels

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mariana-oconnor · 1 year ago

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The Three Gables pt 2

A little late, because life and Christmas are just... it's a lot.

Last time we had a lady who wanted to sell her house and someone who really wanted to buy it and everything in it. Including the remaining possessions of her dead son. Who had died of pneumonia? I think, but also been involved with some sort of woman his mother did not approve of.

And a servant was fired after everyone was kind of terrible to her, even if she was spying for some bad guys.

And there was a lot of racism, which I expect will increase.

Anyway

"Now, Watson, this is a case for Langdale Pike, and I am going to see him now."

Ah, it's another randomly referenced character that it sounds like we should know and yet we do not. Unless I have forgotten him. I don't think I've forgotten him.

Langdale Pike was his human book of reference upon all matters of social scandal. This strange, languid creature spent his waking hours in the bow window of a St. James's Street club and was the receiving-station as well as the transmitter for all the gossip of the metropolis. He made, it was said, a four-figure income by the paragraphs which he contributed every week to the garbage papers which cater to an inquisitive public.

OMG, he's the paparazzi!

Well, the Edwardian equivalent of it.

Holmes, I thought better of you than this. You're really feeding this guy information. Ugh.

'Please come out at once. Client's house burgled in the night. Police in possession. — Sutro.' Holmes whistled. “The drama has come to a crisis, and quicker than I had expected."

Really? You must have known you sped up their timetable a little. They knew you'd gone to see the place and they were worried enough about you they tried to warn you off. It makes sense that seeing you there would move up their plans.

“Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley was chloroformed and the house was— Ah! here is the lady herself.”

She was chloroformed and it's just an ordinary burglary? I hate to see what you call an odd burglary.

Just going to skip over the extra racism.

“Well, I don't think there is anything of value missing. I am sure there was nothing in my son's trunks.”

You hadn't even looked in them and Holmes told you that he thought there was something in them. Why are you so confident in this, lady?

"It is in my son's handwriting.” “Which means that it is not of much use,” said the inspector. “Now if it had been in the burglar's—” “Exactly,” said Holmes. “What rugged common sense!"

Please allow me to use my Holmes-English dictionary. I'll just check... yeah... Mmhm.

“I never pass anything, however trifling,” said he with some pomposity. “That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes."

Oh, oh no. Oh poor boy. You are being set up for the biggest of falls. You have no genre savvy. I'm sorry. This will hurt.

“Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so far as I can see.”

Please, tell me more.

“Why should they go to my son's things?” asked Mrs. Maberley.

Clearly they wanted the manuscript of his magnum opus of homoerotic literature, Mrs Maberley. I can see no other possible reason.

And honestly, relatable.

"Man must live for something. If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall surely be for your undoing and my complete revenge.”

🔥VENGEANCE!🔥

So it's not a homoerotic bodice ripper, at all. It's a tell-all memoir.

"I hear that she is about to marry the young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son."

Refreshing to see an older woman-younger man romance portrayed for once. Usually it's the older man preying on the sweet young ingenue. This time the sexual predator is the woman. Although... honestly, nothing that's been said so far makes me think she's doing anything but having a good time.

“Not at home means not at home to you,” said the footman.

RUDE!

The lady had come, I felt, to that time of life when even the proudest beauty finds the half light more welcome.

Also rude!

Come on, Watson. You're not exactly young yourself at this point. And you're still apparently marrying people left right and centre. Do you hide in the shadows?

Pah.

...two wonderful Spanish eyes which looked murder at us both.

I know what he means by this, but also I am imagining her irises being the Spanish flag.

Beautiful.

“I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for your intelligence to do so—though I confess that intelligence has been surprisingly at fault of late.”

Holmes is in such a bitchy mood in this one. He's just insulting everyone as much as he can. I kind of love it.

"I feel that I may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of a gentleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find it out. I will treat you as a friend.”

Wow...the bullshit is strong with this one.

“No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man like yourself.”

You should totally stroke his bicep and ask if he works out. That's clearly where this is heading. Lolol!

“No, no, you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a woman's secret.”

Wow. Just... wow. Weaponising femininity indeed.

✨ Gaslight. ✨ Gatekeep. ✨ Girlboss. ✨

So roguish and exquisite did she look as she stood before us with a challenging smile that I felt of all Holmes's criminals this was the one whom he would find it hardest to face. However, he was immune from sentiment.

That's because unlike you, he is not ruled by his horny brain, Watson. Please, take some deep breaths, drink a glass of cold water and come back when you've calmed down. You were literally just saying you thought she was too old to stand in proper lighting, my dude. Down boy!

"Because I had given he seemed to think that I still must give, and to him only. It was intolerable."

OK, fine. I'm on her side now. She's still the most ridiculous person ever, but this is a valid and correct point. Douglas needed to take no as an answer.

Barney and the boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so.

I'm torn. On the one hand, Douglas needed to understand that just because his sense of entitlement told him she owed him something, he really didn't. On the other hand, don't hire people to beat people up. Maybe just hire bodyguards to keep turning him away and save the beating for if he escalates?

I feel like everyone sucks in this story.

This... this is the same story from Charles Augustus Milverton except the female character is rich and has agency. And yet we're supposed to not side with the people who stole back the blackmail material that would ruin her? Because she's promiscuous?

Yeah, she's kind of terrible, but her crime was getting people to beat him up. The theft seems fair, honestly.

“Very good. I think you will sign me a check for that, and I will see that it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of air."

Yeah, she was chloroformed and it's possible that the beating led to her son's death. She definitely deserves something for all of this.

"Have a care! You can't play with edged tools forever without cutting those dainty hands.”

Weird line to end on, but okay. Basically 'fuck around and find out' in Holmes speak, I guess.

But yeah, this is just a different version of Charles Augustus Milverton and A Scandal in Bohemia only this time the lady is the bad guy. And she actually has done some horrible things. But if she'd come to you and said 'Mr Holmes, I had an ill advised dalliance with a young man and I need the evidence before it ruins my upcoming wedding!' Holmes might have done the burglary himself.

Well, probably not if he found out about her having Douglas beaten up.

But it's a weird change of perspective.

#Letters from Watson #The Three Gables #Sherlock Holmes #long post

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freezaprime · 2 years ago

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MY NEIGHBOR IS A REALTOR PART 2 (human Frieza & Reader)

It was an awkward moment in Starbucks. Not because you were having coffee with a rich realtor but so many people were staring at the two of you as if they were seeing a celebrity out and about in public. It made you wonder if Frieza was some sort of pop idol.

“Are you alright, dear? You haven’t touched your Carmel frappe yet.” Frieza spoke casually sipping on his vanilla iced coffee.

“I’m fine. It’s just the atmosphere here.” You smiled trying to keep your mind off of the many eyes staring at you.

Frieza looks at the people staring at them which in turn causes them to avert their gaze. “I see. Well my family is well known amongst the realtor community and further beyond that. Have you not heard of my father, King Cold or KC as he is mostly referred to as?”

“You mean Cold real estate? A bit but not too much. Sorry I’m not into anything involving realtors.” You said apologetically as you sipped on your frappe.

“How interesting.” Frieza raises an eyebrow. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t know about my father or his business. But to get to the point of this, I am here because the…..President…..of my company has been concerned over the lack of development in this area.” He shivered at the mention of the president of his company.

You were confused about that but continued to hear Frieza out.

“From what he heard plenty of plans to turn those empty plots of land into a flourishing neighborhood were met with threats of violence and destruction of some construction tools including setting a forklift on fire. It has been going on for years and the President needed someone to go and ensure that there were no interruptions to the construction process and here I am.” Frieza said.

“Yeah that kind of stuff does happen further from where I am. But why are you telling me this and not someone else like the mayor?” You asked.

Frieza sighed before sipping on his iced coffee. “Ever since I had moved here with my son; Kuriza, I have been asking around about the reasoning behind it and I’ve been told that a drug gang rules that part of town. When I pressed further about they just changed the subject and even recommended me to build the new neighborhood elsewhere. Those fools had the gall to tell me that it was a lost cause to build anything there. Besides there’s been too much brown nosing amongst those other realtors who are asking to work with me to build the neighborhood in a more ‘ideal location’.” He air quoted in a sarcastic tone. “I had just gotten home to relax when you dropped off my son at my front door. It was when Kuriza told me about you that I decided to at least talk to someone who might know more about this area and why they fear this gang so much. Plus you were very kind as to take my son home to which I am thankful for and you seem easy to talk to.”

You took another sip of your frappe before speaking. “They sell drugs as well as make them. The police have tried to track them down numerous times but because of the wooded areas they always managed to escape. I’ve never seen them but I know some people who were threatened to keep quiet about it and those kinds of people made good on their threats. One of my coworkers had ignored those threats and reported to the police which led to several arrests of a few gang members and even raided one of the meth labs. But then when he went home to find his house broken into and his dog butchered. A note was left there saying, ‘We’ll get you next time.’ He moved away after that.”

“Damn. They’re not fooling around at all.” Frieza said in awe.

You nodded as you covered the left side of your mouth and whispered. “Plus I heard from a friend of mine in the police force that the gang leader is on the FBI’s most wanted list yet he’s been evading them for years now. He’s wanted not just for drug dealings but also first and second degree murder, rape, and assault.”

“Interesting.” Frieza hummed. “So this drug gang is led by a convict? I’m surprised that this small city is still afloat and here you are talking about it like it’s no big deal. It’s even more so that you’re taking a big risk in telling me this. Aren’t you also afraid of those individuals?”

“Honestly I don’t think they’d be interested in someone who doesn’t poke their noses into their business.” You shrugged. Then suddenly you were pushed out of your seat and landed on your side letting out a loud, ‘Whoa!’

“Good afternoon sir! I’m Margret Campbell of the Redfox real estate. Pardon my intrusion but I have a few proposals that you may be interested in.” A brunette haired woman who looked to be in her 40s had just stolen your seat and was talking to Frieza in an enthusiastic tone.

“Excuse me, ma’am! But I was just sitting there! So could you please find an extra chair to sit in?” You exclaimed loudly standing up.

Margret looked at you as if you were an annoying fly. “I’m talking to a very important person, can’t you see? Now shoo!”

You huffed and looked at Frieza giving him a ‘can you believe this?’ expression.

The purple haired man just sighed as he closed his eyes for a short time.

“As I was saying, there are a few spots to construct a neighborhood here in this city that is far more better than the one you suggested. For example if we were to build it near the mall-“ Margret was continuing but stopped as Frieza spoke.

“Not interested in your proposal, Mrs. Campbell.” Frieza looked at her with disinterest. “I have already made up my mind and I won’t be changing it any time soon.”

“Please reconsider. Plenty of construction plans had been attempted in that specific area but too many complications have arisen and we can’t afford to have any more delays.” Margret said. “Anywhere in this city is better than that place.”

“Are you finished? If so then would you kindly get out of my neighbor’s seat? I was talking to her first before you ungraciously shoved her onto the floor.”

Margret looks at you dumbfounded. “Neighbor? Her?”

Frieza stood up and walks over to Margret with a fake smile. “Yes, her. Now please get out and don’t bother me again.” He then gave her a chilling glare. “Otherwise I would have to report this to the police as harassment and quite possibly assault which is what one would consider seeing what you did to my neighbor just now. You don’t want that on your clean record, do you?”

Margret stuttered and eventually left with a flustered expression on her face.

“Terribly sorry about that, dear. How about we take a drive before anyone else interrupts us?” Frieza suggested.

“Sure.” You nodded following him outside. You bumped into him suddenly. “Sorry! It was-“ Your voice faltered when you noticed that Frieza was standing eerily still. He seemed to be staring at something which prompted you to follow his gaze and that’s when the blood drained from your face.

A trio of rough looking men were looking at the two of you with menacing grins on their faces. In each of their hands was baseball bats. This made you feel really uneasy.

“Can I help you?” Frieza asked curiously.

The men didn’t say anything.

“If you three have nothing to say then I will be on my way.” Frieza walks towards the limo.

One of the men charges at him readying the bat to strike him.

“Look out!” You screamed and the next thing you knew the man charging at Frieza was on the ground in a fetal position holding his stomach while groaning in pain. Standing over the man with a satisfying smirk was Dodoria.

‘I forgot they were with us the whole time.’ You thought remembering that after you took up Frieza’s offer for coffee and getting into the limo just to see Dodoria and Zarbon sitting in there too. You felt unnerved about earlier so you avoided looking at Dodoria before he gave you a small apology. When you had arrived at Starbucks, Zarbon and Dodoria both stayed in the limo and watched you both sitting beside a window to make sure everything was alright. Obviously they noticed the three men trying to attack Frieza and decided to jump in.

“Who’s next?” Dodoria asked while cracking his knuckles.

The two men were hesitant but went after Dodoria. Zarbon took one of them down with a swift kick to the face. The other man became frightened and tried to run but Dodoria tackled him hard to the ground.

“Going somewhere?” Dodoria asked amusingly.

Frieza chuckled as he approached the down man. “Did you really believe that you would get away with this stunt of yours? I don’t. Perhaps you can explain to me what caused you to attack me when I’ve barely done anything to you.”

“You’re better off building your fancy neighborhood somewhere else. If you don’t then you can kiss that swanky ass house of yours goodbye along with that brat of yours.” The man hissed.

Frieza glares and nods sharply to Dodoria who slammed the man’s head hard into the ground again.

“What are you doing?! Shouldn’t you leave the interrogation to the police when they get here?” You exclaimed.

“You saw what they tried to do. Don’t tell me you don’t feel upset about this.” Frieza said coldly turning his gaze to you.

“I am. It’s just that this is something for the police to do.” You retorted.

He sighed as he walks up to you with his piercing red eyes staring hard into yours. “I do not doubt the capabilities of the authorities, however; unlike the police I have no patience for those who get in my way. Of course I will leave the rest to the police but they first need to know that it was a mistake to attack the likes of me. You’re more than welcome to turn away if you get squeamish but just be glad that you’re not in their position.”

You couldn’t help but shudder at that last sentence. At first he seemed like a gentleman of business whom you’ve just chatted with over coffee but now he seems more like a mob boss than a realtor. Something moved behind Frieza and looking behind him it was one of the guys who had been knocked out by Dodoria and he was charging at Frieza with his bat. You pushed Frieza out of the way just in time as the bat came down on your skull causing you to black out.

Frieza landed on the pavement. “What the hell was-“ He was about to go off in a raging rant when he looked to see you collapsed on the ground and standing there in disbelief was one of the men who was holding his bat.

Dodoria body slammed the man into the wall of Starbucks knocking him unconscious. “Are you alright sir?” The pink haired man asked concernly.

“Just call an ambulance right now, Dodoria! She’s bleeding out as we speak!” Frieza hissed in an angry tone before turning to Zarbon. “Check her pulse!”

Zarbon ran over and knelt down over you as he grabs your wrist and presses his fore front fingers down on it. “She’s alive, sir.” He turns you over onto your back just as he started to notice blood coating your hair. “Hopefully it’s just a broken skin.”

One hour later…

You woke up inside a hospital room feeling groggy while your eyes adjusted to the bright lights. Instinctively you tried to sit up.

“The good doctors will have a fit if you move too much.” A familiar voice said.

You looked to your right to see Frieza sitting next to you. “Are you alright?”

“Of course I am, silly girl. But what you did was reckless.” Frieza said sternly. “Even though I appreciate the gesture, you should consider your own sense of self preservation in the near future. You’re just lucky that you have a hard head.”

You touched the bandages that was wrapped around your head. “So it’s not that bad of an injury?”

Frieza shook his head. “No but they’ll be keeping you overnight just in case and I’ve already taken care of your medical bill. Think of it as my way of both a thanks for your action and for the helpful information you’ve provided me.” He then stood up to walk to the door. “I wish you well, Y/n.”

10 minutes later…

Frieza sighed as he looks over a letter that made his brows furrow.

“Sir? Is she-?” Zarbon inquired as he drove the limousine.

“Apparently she is, Zarbon. Though I have no idea what hobby her aunt finds a waste of time. Besides now wouldn’t be the best time to tell our new neighbor about her aunt selling her out to settle her debts. For now we shall focus all efforts on ensuring that this neighborhood is built on this spacious land.”

“What about this meth gang sir? In all honesty I suggest we bring ‘him’ in to clean it up.” Dodoria said.

Frieza stiffened. “No. I’d rather not bring him in unless the situation is dire. And you already know how smug he gets everytime I call him for cleanup. ‘Couldn’t handle this on your own, eh Frieza? Seems only natural that you would ask for me, the perfect soldier, for help.’ Bah! I swear that man could go on and on about his ‘perfection’.” He air quotes irritably.

A phone vibrates in Frieza’s pocket causing him to pull it out. He smiles in satisfaction as he looks at the caller ID. “My dear Captain Ginyu, have you finally made it?” He answers.

“Yes sir! My men and I are at your new office right now.” Ginyu responded.

“Excellent. I will meet with you shortly then.” Frieza hung up and dialed Berriblu. “I’m meeting up with Captain Ginyu and his men for debriefing. Let Kuriza know that I’ll be home past nine o’clock if not later.”

“Of course sir.” Berriblu said.

Kuriza’s whining was heard in the background.

“What was that?” Asked Frieza feeling concerned.

Berriblu giggles. “He’s fine. It’s just that his favorite…..vtuber….just rescheduled their streaming session for a later date. Honestly though I still don’t understand much of it and why he’s so fascinated with it.” Her tone was laced with confusion.

Frieza scoffs humorously. “From what my son has said, vtubers happened to be people who would rather not show their actual face but would instead speak through these virtual avatars while playing video games. Most of the time they would apply some lore to their avatars to make them more interesting.”

“I see. Well I shall make sure that Kuriza goes to bed at a reasonable hour. Take care sir.” Berriblu said as Frieza hung up.

The next day…

You took an Uber home after being released from the hospital. Thankfully it was only a concussion and nothing serious. You sighed while looking at your discord chat that was asking if you were okay after you told them about getting whacked by a baseball bat. Assuring them that you’re fine, you climbed out of the car and thanked the Uber driver when you arrived at your house. You then saw a piece of paper sticking to your front door as you approached it. It read: ‘Watch your back. Snitches get stitches.’ A lump feeling began to form as you read the note and quickly ran into the house.

“How did they know? Did those guys saw me talking to Frieza at the cafe?” You asked shivering in fear.

Suddenly you heard someone knocking on your door which caused you to yelp. You grabbed a broom randomly and braced yourself as you opened the door and swung the broom at the person.

“Get away from my house!!!!” You screamed but the broom stopped mid swing.

“WHOA! WHOA! I’M NOT GONNA HURT YOU MISS!!” Exclaimed the person.

You looked at the man who apparently was six feet tall wearing reddish shades with blue hair. He wore a sports tank top and shorts with some shoes to match. “Are you with the meth gang?”

“Hell no! I just got here! Can you please put down the broom so I can explain myself?!” The man said.

You pulled the broom away from him but still kept it by your side. “Sorry I’m just on edge after finding a note on my door.”

“I know. I just took care of that guy for you.” The man smiled warmly.

“What? You did? Why?” You looked surprised.

“The boss told us about the gang yesterday and I decided to go on a walk to survey the area and as luck would have it one of them put a note on your door and I took him on my ‘walk’. Now you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Boss?” You raised an eyebrow curiously.

“You had coffee with him before you got injured?”

“Oh! You work for Frieza? So are you his elite bodyguards?”

“You can call us that.” The man laughed. “I’m Burter by the way.”

“I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.” You smiled.

“I know this is sudden but do you want to join me on my walk?” Burter asked. “You look like you could use one.”

“Sure but aren’t you on duty or something?” You asked.

“I’m always on duty. Besides the boss doesn’t mind a little multi tasking on the job.” Burter said.

Back at Frieza’s house….

“As we speak sir, Burter has neutralized one of the gang members and is keeping the young lady outside while Jeice and Guldo are installing cameras around her house.” Ginyu spoke to Frieza who was fixing himself a fresh cup of coffee.

“Excellent. Be sure to keep an eye out for any of those hooligans that might crawl around near either her house or mine.”

“Yes sir.” Ginyu was about to leave but stopped. “Pardon me sir but what do we do of the other one we have in the basement?”

Frieza chuckled. “It’s only been an hour so he should have had plenty of time to adjust to his new surroundings.”

The man screamed in pain as Dodoria ripped off his third fingernail with a plier.

“Do you still wish to not tell me what I need to know about your leader or your little drug organization?”Frieza asked amusingly.

It had been twenty minutes since he began to interrogate the man who had attempted to put up a warning note on Frieza’s door only to be tackled by Dodoria and Zarbon. So far the man only threw insults and threats to his purple haired captor. However, he would instantly regret it when the first of his fingernails was torn off. Frieza tried again asking him about the gang he was associated with but despite the pain he continued with the same routine. And again once more ripped off his second fingernail.

“E-even if I-I told……you….it….won’t matter…!” The man said in pain. “This fancy house will be….burned to the…..ground………..your people will be shot and stabbed! And your kid will…..”

“Dodoria!” Frieza snapped.

Dodoria immediately ripped off a fourth fingernail causing the man to scream again.

“I have been nothing but nice to you until now. You should know better than to threaten a parent’s child especially when the said parent can make you disappear in an instant.” Frieza said coldly. “Now I will ask you this question one, last time; why are you targeting me?”

The man groaned in pain as he slowly realized that Frieza wasn’t kidding around. “We know that bitch told you about us and the boss is furious. He decided to give you both a warning.”

“And what if we don’t heed that warning?” Frieza asked amusingly.

“You both would wish you had.”

Frieza hummed as he walked up to the man. “Are sure about that? You probably got away with those threats in the past but I’m afraid that it won’t work now. I came here to build a new neighborhood and I won’t be intimidated by thugs like you. Whoever your leader is will come to regret his mistake in attacking me.”

The man huffed. “You’re just a realtor. What could you do that would make anyone scared of you?”

Frieza snapped his fingers.

Ginyu then called Recoome to come in. The red haired man carried a limp body as he tossed it onto the floor.

“Jack?!” The man gasped as his eyes widened in recognition of the body. “What have you done to him?!”

“Not to worry you’ll be joining him when I send your remains back to your ring leader….in boxes.” Frieza laughed evilly.

To be continued…….

#human frieza #Frieza/Reader friendship #human ginyu force

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art-of-manliness · 7 months ago

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Saddle Up! A Dictionary of Old-Time Cowboy Slang

The cowboy is one of the great archetypes of American manliness. He embodies many of the virtues Americans prize, such as grit, freedom, and independence. The cowboy followed a code of honor that, rather than being set by an aristocracy, came from the ground up and worked itself out within a posse. While many of our ideas of cowboy life are a myth, the romantic ideal of it has had an outsized influence on American culture, including in language. Because the cowpuncher was typically uneducated, he often used slang to communicate with his horse-riding, steer-roping peers. In 1936, American folklorist Ramon Adams published an ethnography called Cowboy Lingo that focused on the unique language of American cowboys. In it, he cataloged the colorful slang words used by cowboys in the American West from the 19th century to the early 20th. According to Adams, cowboy slang is characterized by the use of picturesque metaphors. The cowboy drew from his everyday life to create phrases and words that could be used more broadly. For example, a cowboy might have noticed that when a bull gets angry, it starts aggressively pointing its horns at would-be targets. To tell a fellow cowpoke to quit looking for trouble, a cowboy might say to his compadre: “Pull in your horns!” Below, we give you a sampling of common cowboy slang words. You might notice some of them sprinkled in a Western movie or novel, and you’ll even notice some that are still in use today. Ace in the hole. A hideout or a hidden gun. According to Hoyle. Correct, by the book. “Hoyle” is a dictionary of rules for card games. Acknowledge the corn. To admit the truth, to confess a lie, or acknowledge an obvious personal shortcoming. Addle-headed. Empty-headed, not smart. A hog-killin’ time. A real good time. “We went to the Rodeo Dance and had us a hog-killin’ time.” A lick and a promise. To do a haphazard job. “She just gave it a lick and a promise.” All-fired. Very, great, immensely; used for emphasis. “He is just too all-fired lazy to get any work done around here.” Amputate your timber. Go away, run off. Apple peeler. Pocket knife. Apple pie order. In top shape, perfect order. Attitudinize. To assume an affected attitude. Bach (pronounced “batch”). For a man to keep house without a woman’s help. Backdoor Trots. Diarrhea. Ballyhoo. Sales talk, advertising, exaggeration. Barber’s cat. Half-starved, sickly-looking person. Barber’s clerk. A conceited, over-dressed fellow who tries to act like a “gentleman.” Barkin’ at a knot. Doing something useless; wasting your time, trying something impossible. Barrel boarder. A bum. Between hay and grass. Neither man nor boy, half-grown. Biggest toad in the puddle. The most important person in a group. Biggity. Large, extravagant, grand, haughty. Black-eyed susan. A six-gun. Blue devils. Dispirited. “I have the blue devils today.” Bone orchard. Cemetery. Bosh. Nonsense. “It was absolute bosh what he said.” Boss. The best, top. “The Alhambra Saloon sells the boss whiskey in town.” Buckaroo. A cowboy, usually from the desert country of Oregon, Nevada, California, or Idaho. Buckle to. Set about any task with energy and determination. Calico queen. Prostitute. California widow. A woman separated from her husband, but not divorced. (From when pioneer men went West, leaving their wives to follow later.) Cash in. To die. Catch a weasel asleep. Referring to something impossible or unlikely, usually used in regard to someone who is always alert and seldom or never caught off guard. Clodhopper. A rustic, a clown. Cotton to. To take a liking to. Cowboy up. Toughen up, get back on yer horse, don’t back down, don’t give up. Dash. Euphemism for damn. Dead-alive. Dull, inactive, moping. Didn’t have a tail feather left. Broke. Docity. Quick comprehension, usually used in a negative way. “He has no docity.” Don’t care a continental. Don’t give a damn. Dry gulch. To ambush someone, especially when the ambusher hides in a gully or gulch… http://dlvr.it/T613jw

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wallofmoth · 6 months ago

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1. Undercity. Probably in Bhaal's temple, let's be real.

2. Chaotic Neutral / Lawful Evil (depending on Act)

3. Silver Dragonborn

4. He'd be found by the injured Mind-flayer, preparing to smash its skull in.

5. Durge all the way! Cannot live without a dose of lovestruck Gort *somewhere* in my playthrough.

6. Platonically close to Astarion, definitely. His & Lae'zels are the only ones my Tav's completed. Reminds him of himself, and so 1, he doesn't want someone with a similar background and motive set to gain the same power he has, and 2, he doesn't like being reminded of his worse times. Somewhere in there is genuine care too, but he'll never admit it.

7. Romantic with Lae'zel & in the past, Gortash. He'd absolutely try to establish a poly setup if he didn't know Lae'zel would just attempt to kill Gort the second she heard the proposition, and honestly vice versa. He cherishes Lae'zel- love at first sight kinda situation; she tried to slit his throat and he made fuckin heart eyes. He'd kill just about anyone or anything for her, no questions asked. In the past he downright worshipped Gortash; in his opinion, the man was second only to Bhaal. They did unholy shit on that altar.

8. Suspicious of Karlach and Gale. They're ticking time bombs, he's a ticking time bomb, and neither approve much of Lae'zel in the beginning, or of Gort at all. He dislikes how similar they can be to him whilst still being good. Also, he hates that Karlach *knew* some about his past and just Did Not tell him.

9. Yeah, Baldurian, kind of. He's going cause they need to fix their memories, at first. Then they go because Lae'zel needs him to. Finally, it's just Durge being Durge doing their Durge bs that leads them to BG in entirety.

10. Nope

11. Greatsword or Hammer, specifically ones that deal psychic or fire damage as bonuses.

12. Sexual orientation? Alignment? What? Well, he's anything-sexual, so there's that. Durge just doesn't give a fuck, from what I've seen.

13. They like it most of the time; sometimes it gets boring or they get lost in their own head when killing though, and he despises that. Like when you eat a food so many times over that your tongue feels almost numb when you taste it, if that makes any sense. He'll need a good meal, or a fuck if it's Gortash, or for Lae'zel to beat the shit out of him, to get back on track. He sees it as a weakness and refuses to acknowledge that a Bhaalspawn would ever be anything but pleased with murder.

14. He doesn't have many hobbies besides average Bhaalspawn activities, but he does enjoy the following: Selling things, shopping, spending; micromanaging everything whilst somehow managing to leave it all in chaos. Having Astarion feed from him very, *very* slowly whilst reading a book or something. Platonic food edging or whatever the fuck you wanna call it; it calms the Urges on those rare days he finds it obnoxious to indulge. In general dressing Astarion up in stupid idiotic gear that the spawn can't help but find useful-- he sees it as cute, kind of.

15. Liked NPCS- Gortash. (PCs count as the main party in my POV, so I won't add Lae'zel- she's fully playable.) Full stop. In terms of amusement, though- The head Tiefling from the Grove, and that girl who Orin forced to eat her own cat, along with Hope from House of Hope. He likes them for the fact that they are all desperate. pathetic, and fragile creatures who put their complete trust into him, and died for it. (In my playthrough, Hope died. He doesn't actually like the fact that Hope died. She was growing rather intensely on him.)

16. Cranium rats & gnolls.

17. Love of adventure fluctuates day to day- some days all they want is to be pampered in their temple, some days they desire only to be knee-deep in muddy cavewater, or viscera, or whatever new strange situation they end up in.

18. He'd be still in the Moon Towers Mindflayer colony, being experimented on. I like to imagine Gortash would have found him eventually. They would have fucking killed Orin after that.

19. I don't have a good idea on that one. ATM I'm going for either old age besides Lae'zel, nuked Netherbrain, or suicide on the altar next to Gortash's days-old dead body, post Netherbrain control, leaving Lae'zel to rule in his stead.

20. That fluctuates as well! If it was just Gort and my Tav, they would control together. All 3 of Gort and Tav and Lae'zel would end up in Tav controlling it & much later Lae'zel would nuke, after Tav/Gort's inevitable early deaths. Tav & Lae'zel alone would nuke it.

21. Spirit Guardians, the Light version, Guiding Bolt, and Cast Invisibility/ Cloak / whatever invisibility spell they can get their hands on. He's a War Domain cleric with a lot of offensive protection tactics; he fucking LOVES watching little enemies swarm him just to die before even getting within melee attack range. Lae'zel picks off the stragglers with her badass crossbow shit. (Then they make out over incinerated creature corpses, probably.)

22. Draconic, Common, a couple Hell dialects. (And a bit of most others, but not enough to be called fluent.)

23. 1, die in a horrible way, or 2, be some sort of fucked up ruler and live until old, old age (probably as the head of Bhaal's cult.) 3rd secret option for Lae'zel rolling straight nat 20's and convincing him to just Settle Down Peacefully. They still kill shit, but it's more of an executioner type gig. Would drive him bloody crazy, but he loves her enough to do it (with a hard shove in the right direction anyhow.)

24. Nope.

25. I Have No Bloody Idea. Maybe I'll update this if I do more research at some point.

26. Tardigrade.

27. Durge life, baby! Headcanon-altered to include Durgetash & Durge-raised-Orin-sort-of theories. Durge+.

28. He co-leads with Lae'zel, but Astarion is in charge of weaseling them outta shit when Intimidation fails.

29. He went full Illithid. I've got two split save-fudges in his main save where one has him as a full fucking mindflayer, but I do enjoy his draconic form a bit more. Very much pro-tadpole, gotta fill the holes in his brain somehow!

30. Favorite thing about him? He was trying to be so good at first, but kept slipping up-- eventually he regained a few memories and ended up free-falling into Bhaal BS. I interpret his and Lae'zel's relationship to be madly codependent and yet completely independent, if that makes sense; they own one another in all ways important. (Gortash owns the unimportant bits of him, though- he used to have him all.) Basically an accidental Durge who stopped trying to resist. Only thing stopping him from going nuts is his fierce green wife 💚

Baldur's Gate 3 Character Development Questions:

1: Where in the Faerûn is your Tav from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?

5: Dark Urge or no?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Is your Tav from Baldur's Gate? Why are they travelling there?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Tav have?

15: What NPC's do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Faerûn?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Tav be doing if they weren't kidnapped on the Nautiloid?

19: How do you think they'll meet they're end?

20: Would they destroy the elder brain or control it?

21: What is your Tav's favorite spell?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after the absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What arcana major best represents your Tav?

26: What animal best represents your Tav?

27: What was their life like before the events of BG3?"

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: Does your Tav want to utilize the tadpole powers or not?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Tav?

#bg3 durge #bg3 dark urge #bg3 #bg3 tav

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 9 months ago

Text

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 23-24

CHAPTER XXIII

DOREMUS was nervous. The Minute Men had come, not with Shad but with Emil and a strange battalion-leader from Hanover, to examine the private letters in his study. They were polite enough, but alarmingly thorough. Then he knew, from the disorder in his desk at the Informer, that someone had gone over his papers there. Emil avoided him at the office. Doremus was called to Shad's office and gruffly questioned about correspondence which some denouncer had reported his having with the agents of Walt Trowbridge.

So Doremus was nervous. So Doremus was certain that his time for going to concentration camp was coming. He glanced back at every stranger who seemed to be following him on the street. The fruitman, Tony Mogliani, flowery advocate of Windrip, of Mussolini, and of tobacco quid as a cure for cuts and burns, asked him too many questions about his plans for the time when he should "get through on the paper"; and once a tramp tried to quiz Mrs. Candy, meantime peering at the pantry shelves, perhaps to see if there was any sign of their being understocked, as if for closing the house and fleeing.... But perhaps the tramp really was a tramp.

In the office, in mid-afternoon, Doremus had a telephone call from that scholar-farmer, Buck Titus:

"Going to be home this evening, about nine? Good! Got to see you. Important! Say, see if you can have all your family and Linda Pike and young Falck there, too, will you? Got an idea. Important!"

As important ideas, just now, usually concerned being imprisoned, Doremus and his women waited jumpily. Lorinda came in twittering, for the sight of Emma always did make her twitter a little, and in Lorinda there was no relief. Julian came in shyly, and there was no relief in Julian. Mrs. Candy brought in unsolicited tea with a dash of rum, and in her was some relief, but it was all a dullness of fidgety waiting till Buck slammed in, ten minutes late and very snowy.

"Sorkeepwaiting but I've been telephoning. Here's some news you won't have even in the office yet, Dormouse. The forest fire's getting nearer. This afternoon they arrested the editor of the Rutland Herald—no charge laid against him yet—no publicity—I got it from a commission merchant I deal with in Rutland. You're next, Doremus. I reckon they've just been laying off you till Staubmeyer picked your brains. Or maybe Ledue has some nice idea about torturing you by keeping you waiting. Anyway, you've got to get out. And tomorrow! To Canada! To stay! By automobile. No can do by plane any more—Canadian government's stopped that. You and Emma and Mary and Dave and Sis and the whole damn shooting-match— and maybe Foolish and Mrs. Candy and the canary!"

"Couldn't possibly! Take me weeks to realize on what investments I've got. Guess I could raise twenty thousand, but it'd take weeks."

"Sign 'em over to me, if you trust me—and you better! I can cash in everything better than you can—stand in with the Corpos better— been selling 'em horses and they think I'm the kind of loud-mouthed walking gent that will join 'em! I've got fifteen hundred Canadian dollars for you right here in my pocket, for a starter."

"We'd never get across the border. The M.M.'s are watching every inch, just looking for suspects like me."

"I've got a Canadian driver's license, and Canadian registration plates ready to put on my car—we'll take mine—less suspicious. I can look like a real farmer—that's because I am one, I guess—I'm going to drive you all, by the way. I got the plates smuggled in underneath the bottles in a case of ale! So we're all set, and we'll start tomorrow night, if the weather isn't too clear—hope there'll be snow."

"But Buck! Good Lord! I'm not going to flee. I'm not guilty of anything. I haven't anything to flee for!"

"Just your life, my boy, just your life!"

"I'm not afraid of 'em."

"Oh yes you are!"

"Oh—well—if you look at it that way, probably I am! But I'm not going to let a bunch of lunatics and gunmen drive me out of the country that I and my ancestors made!"

Emma choked with the effort to think of something convincing; Mary seemed without tears to be weeping; Sissy squeaked; Julian and Lorinda started to speak and interrupted each other; and it was the uninvited Mrs. Candy who, from the doorway, led off: "Now isn't that like a man! Stubborn as mules. All of 'em. Every one. And show-offs, the whole lot of 'em. Course you just wouldn't stop and think how your womenfolks will feel if you get took off and shot! You just stand in front of the locomotive and claim that because you were on the section gang that built the track, you got more right there than the engine has, and then when it's gone over you and gone away, you expect us all to think what a hero you were! Well, maybe some call it being a hero, but—"

"Well, confound it all, all of you picking on me and trying to get me all mixed up and not carry out my duty to the State as I see it—"

"You're over sixty, Doremus. Maybe a lot of us can do our duty better now from Canada than we can here—like Walt Trowbridge," besought Lorinda. Emma looked at her friend Lorinda with no particular affection.

"But to let the Corpos steal the country and nobody protest! No!"

"That's the kind of argument that sent a few million out to die, to make the world safe for democracy and a cinch for Fascism!" scoffed Buck.

"Dad! Come with us. Because we can't go without you. And I'm getting scared here." Sissy sounded scared, too; Sissy the unconquerable. "This afternoon Shad stopped me on the street and wanted me to go out with him. He tickled my chin, the little darling! But honestly, the way he smirked, as if he was so sure of me—I got scared!"

"I'll get a shotgun and—" "Why, I'll kill the dirty—" "Wait'll I get my hands on—" cried Doremus, Julian, and Buck, all together, and glared at one another, then looked sheepish as Foolish barked at the racket, and Mrs. Candy, leaning like a frozen codfish against the door jamb, snorted, "Some more locomotive-batters!"

Doremus laughed. For one only time in his life he showed genius, for he consented: "All right. We'll go. But just imagine that I'm a man of strong will power and I'm taking all night to be convinced. We'll start tomorrow night." What he did not say was that he planned, the moment he had his family safe in Canada, with money in the bank and perhaps a job to amuse Sissy, to run away from them and come back to his proper fight. He would at least kill Shad before he got killed himself.

It was only a week before Christmas, a holiday always greeted with good cheer and quantities of colored ribbons in the Jessup household; and that wild day of preparing for flight had a queer Christmas joyfulness. To dodge suspicion, Doremus spent most of the time at the office, and a hundred times it seemed that Staubmeyer was glancing at him with just the ruler-threatening hidden ire he had used on whisperers and like young criminals in school. But he took off two hours at lunch time, and he went home early in the afternoon, and his long depression was gone in the prospect of Canada and freedom, in an excited inspection of clothes that was like preparation for a fishing trip. They worked upstairs, behind drawn blinds, feeling like spies in an E. Phillips Oppenheim story, beleagured in the dark and stone-floored ducal bedroom of an ancient inn just beyond Grasse. Downstairs, Mrs. Candy was pretentiously busy looking normal—after their flight, she and the canary were to remain and she was to be surprised when the M.M.'s reported that the Jessups seemed to have escaped.

Doremus had drawn five hundred from each of the local banks, late that afternoon, telling them that he was thinking of taking an option on an apple orchard. He was too well-trained a domestic animal to be raucously amused, but he could not help observing that while he himself was taking on the flight to Egypt only all the money he could get hold of, plus cigarettes, six handkerchiefs, two extra pairs of socks, a comb, a toothbrush, and the first volume of Spengler's Decline of the West—decidedly it was not his favorite book, but one he had been trying to make himself read for years, on train journeys—while, in fact, he took nothing that he could not stuff into his overcoat pockets, Sissy apparently had need of all her newest lingerie and of a large framed picture of Julian, Emma of a kodak album showing the three children from the ages of one to twenty, David of his new model aeroplane, and Mary of her still, dark hatred that was heavier to carry than many chests.

Julian and Lorinda were there to help them; Julian off in corners with Sissy.

With Lorinda, Doremus had but one free moment... in the old-fashioned guest-bathroom.

"Linda. Oh, Lord!"

"We'll come through! In Canada you'll have time to catch your breath. Join Trowbridge!"

"Yes, but to leave you—I'd hoped somehow, by some miracle, you and I could have maybe a month together, say in Monterey or Venice or the Yellowstone. I hate it when life doesn't seem to stick together and get somewhere and have some plan and meaning."

"It's had meaning! No dictator can completely smother us now! Come!"

"Good-bye, my Linda!"

Not even now did he alarm her by confessing that he planned to come back, into danger.

Embracing beside an aged tin-lined bathtub with woodwork painted a dreary brown, in a room which smelled slightly of gas from an old hot-water heater—embracing in sunset-colored mist upon a mountain top.

Darkness, edged wind, wickedly deliberate snow, and in it Buck Titus boisterously cheerful in his veteran Nash, looking as farmer-like as he could, in sealskin cap with rubbed bare patches and an atrocious dogskin overcoat. Doremus thought of him again as a Captain Charles King cavalryman chasing the Sioux across blizzard-blinded prairies.

They packed alarmingly into the car; Mary beside Buck, the driver; in the back, Doremus between Emma and Sissy; on the floor, David and Foolish and the toy aeroplane indistinguishably curled up together beneath a robe. Trunk rack and front fenders were heaped with tarpaulin-covered suitcases.

"Lord, I wish I were going!" moaned Julian. "Look! Sis! Grand spy-story idea! But I mean seriously: Send souvenir postcards to my granddad—views of churches and so on—just sign 'em 'Jane'—and whatever you say about the church, I'll know you really mean it about you and—Oh, damn all mystery! I want you, Sissy!"

Mrs. Candy whisked a bundle in among the already intolerable mess of baggage which promised to descend on Doremus's knees and David's head, and she snapped, "Well, if you folks must go flyin' around the country—It's a cocoanut layer cake." Savagely: "Soon's you get around the corner, throw the fool thing in the ditch if you want to!" She fled sobbing into the kitchen, where Lorinda stood in the lighted doorway, silent, her trembling hands out to them.

The car was already lurching in the snow before they had sneaked through Fort Beulah by shadowy back-streets and started streaking northward.

Sissy sang out cheerily, "Well, Christmas in Canada! Skittles and beer and lots of holly!"

"Oh, do they have Santa Claus in Canada?" came David's voice, wondering, childish, slightly muffled by lap robe and the furry ears of Foolish.

"Of course they do, dearie!" Emma reassured him and, to the grown-ups, "Now wasn't that the cutest thing!"

To Doremus, Sissy whispered, "Darn well ought to be cute. Took me ten minutes to teach him to say it, this afternoon! Hold my hand. I hope Buck knows how to drive!"

Buck Titus knew every back-road from Fort Beulah to the border, preferably in filthy weather, like tonight. Beyond Trianon he pulled the car up deep-rutted roads, on which you would have to back if you were to pass anyone. Up grades on which the car knocked and panted, into lonely hills, by a zigzag of roads, they jerked toward Canada. Wet snow sheathed the windshield, then froze, and Buck had to drive with his head thrust out through the open window, and the blast came in and circled round their stiff necks.

Doremus could see nothing save the back of Buck's twisted, taut neck, and the icy windshield, most of the time. Just now and then a light far below the level of the road indicated that they were sliding along a shelf road, and if they skidded off, they would keep going a hundred feet, two hundred feet, downward—probably turning over and over. Once they did skid, and while they panted in an eternity of four seconds, Buck yanked the car up a bank beside the road, down to the left again, and finally straight— speeding on as if nothing had happened, while Doremus felt feeble in the knees.

For a long while he kept going rigid with fear, but he sank into misery, too cold and deaf to feel anything except a slow desire to vomit as the car lurched. Probably he slept—at least, he awakened, and awakened to a sensation of pushing the car anxiously up hill, as she bucked and stuttered in the effort to make a slippery rise. Suppose the engine died—suppose the brakes would not hold and they slid back downhill, reeling, bursting off the road and down—A great many suppositions tortured him, hour by hour.

Then he tried being awake and bright and helpful. He noticed that the ice-lined windshield, illuminated from the light on the snow ahead, was a sheet of diamonds. He noticed it, but he couldn't get himself to think much of diamonds, even in sheets.

He tried conversation.

"Cheer up. Breakfast at dawn—across the border!" he tried on Sissy.

"Breakfast!" she said bitterly.

And they crunched on, in that moving coffin with only the sheet of diamonds and Buck's silhouette alive in all the world.

After unnumbered hours the car reared and tumbled and reared again. The motor raced; its sound rose to an intolerable roaring; yet the car seemed not to be moving. The motor stopped abruptly. Buck cursed, popped his head back into the car like a turtle, and the starter ground long and whiningly. The motor again roared, again stopped. They could hear stiff branches rattling, hear Foolish moaning in sleep. The car was a storm-menaced cabin in the wilderness. The silence seemed waiting, as they were waiting.

"Strouble?" said Doremus.

"Stuck. No traction. Hit a drift of wet snow—drainage from a busted culvert, I sh' think. Hell! Have to get out and take a look."

Outside the car, as Doremus crept down from the slippery running-board, it was cold in a vicious wind. He was so stiff he could scarcely stand.

As people do, feeling important and advisory, Doremus looked at the drift with an electric torch, and Sissy looked at the drift with the torch, and Buck impatiently took the torch away from them and looked twice.

"Get some—" and "Brush would help," said Sissy and Buck together, while Doremus rubbed his chilly ears.

They three trotted back and forth with fragments of brush, laying it in front of the wheels, while Mary politely asked from within, "Can I help?" and no one seemed particularly to have answered her.

The headlights picked out an abandoned shack beside the road; an unpainted gray pine cabin with broken window glass and no door. Emma, sighing her way out of the car and stepping through the lumpy snow as delicately as a pacer at a horse show, said humbly, "That little house there—maybe I could go in and make some hot coffee on the alcohol stove—didn't have room for a thermos. Hot coffee, Dormouse?"

To Doremus she sounded, just now, not at all like a wife, but as sensible as Mrs. Candy.

When the car did kick its way up on the pathway of twigs and stand panting safely beyond the drift, they had, in the sheltered shack, coffee with slabs of Mrs. Candy's voluptuous cocoanut cake. Doremus pondered, "This is a nice place. I like this place. It doesn't bounce or skid. I don't want to leave this place."

He did. The secure immobility of the shack was behind them, dark miles behind, and they were again pitching and rolling and being sick and inescapably chilly. David was alternately crying and going back to sleep. Foolish woke up to cough inquiringly and returned to his dream of rabbiting. And Doremus was sleeping, his head swaying like a masthead in long rollers, his shoulder against Emma's, his hand warm about Sissy's, and his soul in nameless bliss.

He roused to a half-dawn filmy with snow. The car was standing in what seemed to be a crossroads hamlet, and Buck was examining a map by the light of the electric torch.

"Got anywhere yet?" Doremus whispered.

"Just a few miles to the border."

"Anybody stopped us?"

"Nope. Oh, we'll make it, all right, o' man."

Out of East Berkshire, Buck took not the main road to the border but an old wood lane so little used that the ruts were twin snakes. Though Doremus said nothing, the others felt his intensity, his anxiety that was like listening for an enemy in the dark. David sat up, the blue motor robe about him. Foolish started, snorted, looked offended but, catching the spirit of the moment, comfortingly laid a paw on Doremus's knee and insisted on shaking hands, over and over, as gravely as a Venetian senator or an undertaker.

They dropped into the dimness of a tree-walled hollow. A searchlight darted, and rested hotly on them, so dazzling them that Buck almost ran off the road.

"Confound it," he said gently. No one else said anything.

He crawled up to the light, which was mounted on a platform in front of a small shelter hut. Two Minute Men stood out in the road, dripping with radiance from the car. They were young and rural, but they had efficient repeating rifles.

"Where you headed for?" demanded the elder, good-naturedly enough.

"Montreal, where we live." Buck showed his Canadian license.... Gasoline motor and electric light, yet Doremus saw the frontier guard as a sentry in 1864, studying a pass by lantern light, beside a farm wagon in which hid General Joe Johnston's spies disguised as plantation hands.

"I guess it's all right. Seems in order. But we've had some trouble with refugees. You'll have to wait till the Battalion-Leader comes—maybe 'long about noon."

"But good Lord, Inspector, we can't do that! My mother's awful sick, in Montreal."

"Yuh, I've heard that one before! And maybe it's true, this time. But afraid you'll have to wait for the Bat. You folks can come in and set by the fire, if you want to."

"But we've got to—"

"You heard what I said!" The M.M.'s were fingering their rifles.

"All right. But tell you what we'll do. We'll go back to East Berkshire and get some breakfast and a wash and come back here. Noon, you said?"

"Okay! And say, Brother, it does seem kind of funny, your taking this back road, when there's a first-rate highway. S' long. Be good.... Just don't try it again! The Bat might be here next time—and he ain't a farmer like you or me!"

The refugees, as they drove away, had an uncomfortable feeling that the guards were laughing at them.

Three border posts they tried, and at three posts they were turned back.

"Well?" said Buck.

"Yes. I guess so. Back home. My turn to drive," said Doremus wearily.

The humiliation of retreat was the worse in that none of the guards had troubled to do more than laugh at them. They were trapped too tightly for the trappers to worry. Doremus's only clear emotion as, tails between their legs, they back-tracked to Shad Ledue's sneer and to Mrs. Candy's "Well, I never!" was regret that he had not shot one guard, at least, and he raged:

"Now I know why men like John Brown became crazy killers!"

CHAPTER XXIV

HE could not decide whether Emil Staubmeyer, and through him Shad Ledue, knew that he had tried to escape. Did Staubmeyer really look more knowing, or did he just imagine it? What the deuce had Emil meant when he said, "I hear the roads aren't so good up north— not so good!" Whether they knew or not, it was grinding that he should have to shiver lest an illiterate roustabout like Shad Ledue find out that he desired to go to Canada, while a ruler-slapper like Staubmeyer, a Squeers with certificates in "pedagogy," should now be able to cuff grown men instead of urchins and should be editor of the Informer! Doremus's Informer! Staubmeyer! That human blackboard!

Daily Doremus found it more cramping, more instantly stirring to fury, to write anything mentioning Windrip. His private office— the cheerfully rattling linotype room—the shouting pressroom with its smell of ink that to him hitherto had been like the smell of grease paint to an actor—they were hateful now, and choking. Not even Lorinda's faith, not even Sissy's jibes and Buck's stories, could rouse him to hope.

He rejoiced the more, therefore, when his son Philip telephoned him from Worcester: "Be home Sunday? Merilla's in New York, gadding, and I'm all alone here. Thought I'd just drive up for the day and see how things are in your neck of the woods."

"Come on! Splendid! So long since we've seen you. I'll have your mother start a pot of beans right away!"

Doremus was happy. Not for some time did his cursed two-way-mindedness come to weaken his joy, as he wondered whether it wasn't just a myth held over from boyhood that Philip really cared so much for Emma's beans and brown bread; and wondered just why it was that Up-to-Date Americans like Philip always used the long-distance telephone rather than undergo the dreadful toil of dictating a letter a day or two earlier. It didn't really seem so efficient, the old-fashioned village editor reflected, to spend seventy-five cents on a telephone call in order to save five cents' worth of time.

"Oh hush! Anyway, I'll be delighted to see the boy! I'll bet there isn't a smarter young lawyer in Worcester. There's one member of the family that's a real success!"

He was a little shocked when Philip came, like a one-man procession, into the living room, late on Saturday afternoon. He had been forgetting how bald this upstanding young advocate was growing even at thirty-four. And it seemed to him that Philip was a little heavy and senatorial in speech and a bit too cordial.

"By Jove, Dad, you don't know how good it is to be back in the old digs. Mother and the girls upstairs? By Jove, sir, that was a horrible business, the killing of poor Fowler. Horrible! I was simply horrified. There must have been a mistake somewhere, because Judge Swan has a wonderful reputation for scrupulousness."

"There was no mistake. Swan is a fiend. Literally!" Doremus sounded less paternal than when he had first bounded up to shake hands with the beloved prodigal.

"Really? We must talk it over. I'll see if there can't be a stricter investigation. Swan? Really! We'll certainly go into the whole business. But first I must just skip upstairs and give Mammy a good smack, and Mary and Little Sis."

And that was the last time that Philip mentioned Effingham Swan or any "stricter investigation" of the acts thereof. All afternoon he was relentlessly filial and fraternal, and he smiled like an automobile salesman when Sissy griped at him, "What's the idea of all the tender hand-dusting, Philco?"

Doremus and he were not alone till nearly midnight.

They sat upstairs in the sacred study. Philip lighted one of Doremus's excellent cigars as though he were a cinema actor playing the role of a man lighting an excellent cigar, and breathed amiably:

"Well, sir, this is an excellent cigar! It certainly is excellent!"

"Why not?"

"Oh, I just mean—I was just appreciating it—"

"What is it, Phil? There's something on your mind. Shoot! Not rowing with Merilla, are you?"

"Certainly not! Most certainly not! Oh, I don't approve of everything Merry does—she's a little extravagant—but she's got a heart of gold, and let me tell you, Pater, there isn't a young society woman in Worcester that makes a nicer impression on everybody, especially at nice dinner parties."

"Well then? Let's have it, Phil. Something serious?"

"Ye-es, I'm afraid there is. Look, Dad.... Oh, do sit down and be comfortable!... I've been awfully perturbed to hear that you've, uh, that you're in slightly bad odor with some of the authorities."

"You mean the Corpos?"

"Naturally! Who else?"

"Maybe I don't recognize 'em as authorities."

"Oh, listen, Pater, please don't joke tonight! I'm serious. As a matter fact, I hear you're more than just 'slightly' in wrong with them."

"And who may your informant be?"

"Oh, just letters—old school friends. Now you aren't really pro- Corpo, are you?"

"How did you ever guess?"

"Well, I've been—I didn't vote for Windrip, personally, but I begin to see where I was wrong. I can see now that he has not only great personal magnetism, but real constructive power—real sure-enough statesmanship. Some say it's Lee Sarason's doing, but don't you believe it for a minute. Look at all Buzz did back in his home state, before he ever teamed up with Sarason! And some say Windrip is crude. Well, so were Lincoln and Jackson. Now what I think of Windrip—"

"The only thing you ought to think of Windrip is that his gangsters murdered your fine brother-in-law! And plenty of other men just as good. Do you condone such murders?"

"No! Certainly not! How can you suggest such a thing, Dad! No one abhors violence more than I do. Still, you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs—"

"Hell and damnation!"

"Why, Pater!"

"Don't call me 'Pater'! If I ever hear that 'can't make an omelet' phrase again, I'll start doing a little murder myself! It's used to justify every atrocity under every despotism, Fascist or Nazi or Communist or American labor war. Omelet! Eggs! By God, sir, men's souls and blood are not eggshells for tyrants to break!"

"Oh, sorry, sir. I guess maybe the phrase is a little shopworn! I just mean to say—I'm just trying to figure this situation out realistically!"

"'Realistically'! That's another buttered bun to excuse murder!"

"But honestly, you know—horrible things do happen, thanks to the imperfection of human nature, but you can forgive the means if the end is a rejuvenated nation that—"

"I can do nothing of the kind! I can never forgive evil and lying and cruel means, and still less can I forgive fanatics that use that for an excuse! If I may imitate Romain Rolland, a country that tolerates evil means—evil manners, standards of ethics—for a generation, will be so poisoned that it never will have any good end. I'm just curious, but do you know how perfectly you're quoting every Bolshevik apologist that sneers at decency and kindness and truthfulness in daily dealings as 'bourgeois morality'? I hadn't understood that you'd gone quite so Marxo- materialistic!"

"I! Marxian! Good God!" Doremus was pleased to see that he had stirred his son out of his if-your-honor-please smugness. "Why, one of the things I most admire about the Corpos is that, as I know, absolutely—I have reliable information from Washington—they have saved us from a simply ghastly invasion by red agents of Moscow—Communists pretending to be decent labor-leaders!"

"Not really!" (Had the fool forgotten that his father was a newspaperman and not likely to be impressed by "reliable information from Washington"?)

"Really! And to be realistic—sorry, sir, if you don't like the word, but to be—to be—"

"In fact, to be realistic!"

"Well, yes, then!"

(Doremus recalled such tempers in Philip from years ago. Had he been wise, after all, to restrain himself from the domestic pleasure of licking the brat?)

"The whole point is that Windrip, or anyway the Corpos, are here to stay, Pater, and we've got to base our future actions not on some desired Utopia but on what we really and truly have. And think of what they've actually done! Just, for example, how they've removed the advertising billboards from the highways, and ended unemployment, and their simply stupendous feat in getting rid of all crime!"

"Good God!"

"Pardon me—what y' say, Dad?"

"Nothing! Nothing! Go on!"

"But I begin to see now that the Corpo gains haven't been just material but spiritual."

"Eh?"

"Really! They've revitalized the whole country. Formerly we had gotten pretty sordid, just thinking about material possessions and comforts—about electric refrigeration and television and air- conditioning. Kind of lost the sturdiness that characterized our pioneer ancestors. Why, ever so many young men were refusing to take military drill, and the discipline and will power and good-fellowship that you only get from military training—Oh, pardon me! I forgot you were a pacifist."

Doremus grimly muttered, "Not any more!"

"Of course there must be any number of things we can't agree on, Dad. But after all, as a publicist you ought to listen to the Voice of Youth."

"You? Youth? You're not youth. You're two thousand years old, mentally. You date just about 100 B.C. in your fine new imperialistic theories!"

"No, but you must listen, Dad! Why do you suppose I came clear up here from Worcester just to see you?"

"God only knows!"

"I want to make myself clear. Before Windrip, we'd been lying down in America, while Europe was throwing off all her bonds—both monarchy and this antiquated parliamentary-democratic-liberal system that really means rule by professional politicians and by egotistic 'intellectuals.' We've got to catch up to Europe again— got to expand—it's the rule of life. A nation, like a man, has to go ahead or go backward. Always!"

"I know, Phil. I used to write that same thing in those same words, back before 1914!"

"Did you? Well, anyway—Got to expand! Why, what we ought to do is to grab all of Mexico, and maybe Central America, and a good big slice of China. Why, just on their own behalf we ought to do it, misgoverned the way they are! Maybe I'm wrong but—"

"Impossible!"

"—Windrip and Sarason and Dewey Haik and Macgoblin, all those fellows, they're big—they're making me stop and think! And now to come down to my errand here—"

"You think I ought to run the Informer according to Corpo theology!"

"Why—why yes! That was approximately what I was going to say. (I just don't see why you haven't been more reasonable about this whole thing—you with your quick mind!) After all, the time for selfish individualism is gone. We've got to have mass action. One for all and all for one—"

"Philip, would you mind telling me what the deuce you're really heading toward? Cut the cackle!"

"Well, since you insist—to 'cut the cackle,' as you call it—not very politely, seems to me, seeing I've taken the trouble to come clear up from Worcester!—I have reliable information that you're going to get into mighty serious trouble if you don't stop opposing—or at least markedly failing to support—the government."

"All right. What of it? It's my serious trouble!"

"That's just the point! It isn't! I do think that just for once in your life you might think of Mother and the girls, instead of always of your own selfish 'ideas' that you're so proud of! In a crisis like this, it just isn't funny any longer to pose as a quaint 'liberal.'"

Doremus's voice was like a firecracker. "Cut the cackle, I told you! What you after? What's the Corpo gang to you?"

"I have been approached in regard to the very high honor of an assistant military judgeship, but your attitude, as my father—"

"Philip, I think, I rather think, that I give you my parental curse not so much because you are a traitor as because you have become a stuffed shirt! Good-night."

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