#hope i managed to convert at least One person

[drowning-rabbit]

fuck it, i love you

spencer reid x celebrity!reader

chapter one: i like to see everything in neon

word count: 1.6k

plot summary

chapter summary: the calm before the storm - you meet spencer reid at an art gallery and he makes you question your view on life in less than twenty minutes.

Pretending is easy. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself the majority of adulthood. At 25, you had been cruising through milestones in a convertible, with the top down and the wind blowing. Making it as a public figure never seemed attainable until it was in front of your eyes. Poor kids don’t get famous, and your situation was inopportune at best. Childhood wasn’t easy, but lo and behold: here was a thriving career in your mid-20s, launched by a recurring role in a dramatic romance series.

Except it wasn’t all that easy. The series wasn’t perfect, and it required a lot more intense scenes than you had hoped. But it had kickstarted your fame, and Michael said it was too early to leave. You had worked relentlessly to get here with no one close to your side. Parker was nice, and had been a great friend since college. He was always busy curating, though. Pinky was… there. Mags had been around constantly but was a bit clingy, and Michael, your manager, was a delight. That was it. Hollywood was lonely, and you had given up the concept of real friends entirely. Although every single available person threw themselves at your feet, no one had treated you as an equal. There were no friends in business; only colleagues. Most anyone would stab a knife into your back for an opportunity at more money and fame. Some pretended to be nice, while others were outright rude. Pinky was one of the rude ones. Although interesting to be around, she was a narcissist and constantly brought you down. She also had a thing for older men - which was odd considering her preference for dating women.

Parker had asked you to attend his latest exhibit, accompanied by Pinky. She was a featured artist. You arrived before the crowd in order to avoid most of the paparazzi, and now walked with him and Pinky through the exhibit. Cameras were not allowed inside, so you were safe from prying eyes. He explained some of the featured pieces to you, but was quickly distracted by someone he recognized.

“Spencer! Spencer Reid! Dude! Look at you!” He yelled over to two men in corporate clothing. One was older, middle-aged. His hair was greying and his expression was solemn. He looked like he had seen a lifetime of sadness. Pinky would latch on quickly. The other was possibly the most beautiful man currently in the state of California. He had the sweetest brown eyes, slightly overgrown hair, and an apprehensive smile. He looked hesitant, like he didn’t want to see Parker. That must be Spencer Reid. The name bounced around in your head like the DVD-idle screen that played during late nights in your apartment. He stood awkwardly with his hands nestled into his dress pants, his polka dot button up covered by a grey vest and a sleek black tie.

“You look just the same. Look at you, dude. Nothing’s changed. Spencer was the only 12 year old in our graduating class. Just the same.” Parker smiled genuinely at the pretty man. His name hit the corner of your brain’s TV screen and it clicked. Spencer Reid, graduated high school at twelve years old. A man that looked like a modern Adonis but walked with the air of a childhood prodigy. Clearly intelligent, equally awkward. Beautiful. Pretending was easy - you remembered to feign disinterest. After staring at him for a few minutes, you gave up on enjoying peace of mind and walked around the gallery with Pinky. It seemed like everything out of her mouth was contemporary, which explained the nature of her pieces. You pretended to pay attention, but Spencer still lingered in your thoughts until you heard Parker call your name.

“Guys, come on.” He motioned to Spencer and the other man as they approached you. “Spencer, you ever meet a real movie star?” He asked as Spencer eyed you up and down. When he met your gaze, he realized what he was doing and quickly looked away. You kept your eyes on him.

“Movie star? Please, she's got one role on a television series about weird kinky romance. Totally blue collar,” Pinky added from beside you. You chuckled a bit and introduced yourself, refusing to let eye contact break when Spencer looked back at you.

“Hi, I'm... I'm doctor Spencer... Reid. I'm Spencer. You don't have to... call me doctor.” He stuttered through his introduction and squinted like he offended himself.

“I won't.. Spencer.” You grinned widely to convince him to lighten up a little. You were interrupted by several flashes of a camera, so Parker excused himself.

“Hey you! I told you! No photos in the gallery! All right? Out!” You sighed deeply before reaching out to grab a glass of champagne off of a tray. Paparazzi always got in the way of everything. It was hard to say acting was worth it when privacy was never an option. Sure, you loved your job, but at what cost? When was it all enough? Pretending is easy, so you pretended not to care.

“So... you're not from around here, are you?” You asked Spencer, giving him another award-winning smile. He wasn’t used to it all, and despite the awkward facade, he was shockingly easy to talk to. His hesitance to be in the limelight gave you a sense of camaraderie. It was fun to be the center of attention, but easier to blend in to the crowd. Talking to him made you feel normal, like you could have a real friend.

“Me? No.” He shook his head firmly. “No, I'm... We're running a training service about profiling for the Los Angeles police department.”

“Profiling?” You questioned. So much for a friend. He was a narc.

“Yeah, I'm with the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI. We psychoanalyze crime scenes in order to gain a better understanding of the criminal’s thought process,” He explained, crossing his arms over his chest. Oh, so maybe not as bad. He wasn’t any harm to you, anyway. It couldn’t hurt to entertain the possibility of connection. Pretending was easy, lying to yourself was a different story. And you couldn’t possibly lie about your attraction towards this man. You wondered if he could tell.

“Psychoanalyze, huh?” You watched his eyes as they averted your gaze, his cheeks still an endearing shade of pink. You wanted to see him turn red.

“Are you doing that to me right now?” You giggled as you watched his color turn. Bingo.

“What? no! I'm not psychoanalyzing you. I'm just…” He was so pretty.

“I'm kidding.” You said gently, unable to stop yourself from making sure he was comfortable. “Do you mind if I?” You reached out a hand and waited for him to take it.

He paused for an uncomfortably long period of time, staring at your well-manicured hand extended out towards his. He blinked once, twice, three times, as if trying to convince himself of something. He swallowed and closed his eyes, and you watched the trail of his Adam’s apple. When you looked up, he shook his head before opening his eyes and lacing his fingers through yours. You led him to one of the paintings on the wall while trying to hold his hand as gently as possibly. Physical contact seemed to be difficult for him, and it made you giddy that he was willing to trust you blindly. After a moment, you spoke again.

“Does it make you feel anything?” you gestured towards the painting in front of you. It was mostly dark, but splotches of neon light painted the canvas in an endearing way. It reminded you of Hollywood. When the lights were so bright, it was easy to forget the darkness lingering behind the scenes.

“Like what?” He tilted his head in curiosity, and you melted.

“I can't tell you how to feel. I can tell you I like to see everything in neon, and the lime green reminds me of partying. Fame is hard, but it’s easy to deal with. You just have to let go and live a little” You squeezed his hand a little, and he looked down before you heard a reply.

“Right now, I feel pretty good.” He squeezed your hand back. “You know, there’s other ways to cope. Maybe I can..”

“We're leaving.”

Spencer abruptly let go of you as the man from earlier tapped his back. He seemed to flinch as he realized what he was doing by touching you.

“We're still looking at the exhibit,” He protested, wiping the hand that held yours onto his pants. Was he trying to get rid of your germs? He could be a germaphobe, since you knew nothing about him. In fact, it was kind of odd to be holding the hand of someone you met twenty minutes ago. Then again, it was also odd for an FBI profiler and a television actress to meet in the middle of an art gallery. And it was odd that meeting this unusual man had been the most interesting event in your life in a long time.

“Now. Now, now.” The older man was in an urgent rush. He had left with Pinky earlier, which meant she was up to her antics again.

“Yeah, I guess we're leaving, so...” He looked you up and down, but made no move to leave.

“Reid, now.” At this, he started away from you. Fucking Pinky.

“Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid.”

“Bye!” He turned and smiled back at you, waving quickly. You only hoped you would see him again. Pretending was easy, so you pretended it didn’t matter.

[emperordinozenmon]

The Farmer’s Daughter

I came to the countryside to escape all the distractions and finally write my third novel, but instead, I found love—the biggest distraction of all. I arrived in the small town with nothing but my Foil SP Omnimon card Switch, earphones, phone, laptop, relevant chargers, and enough clothes to last me until I finished. The hostel I booked was a recently converted farm run by a family still figuring things out. That was fine; as long as I didn’t have to deal with a bunch of other people, I’d be good.

Or so I thought.

The moment I stepped out of the cab, I was greeted by a young woman in pigtails and overalls, with an adorable smile that practically lit up the countryside. My heart immediately whispered, “Marry this girl now!” My brain, being slightly more practical, suggested, “Maybe at least say hello first.”

I adjusted my bag, approached her, and said, “Hi, I have a reservation. It should be under Austin.”

She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening in a way that made my pulse race. “Austin… let’s see.” She opened a slightly battered logbook, her fingers skimming down the page. “Ah, there you are!” Her English was smooth, but her charming accent made it sound just a bit melodic. She tore a key off a hook and handed it to me.

“Thank you, Mrs…?” I trailed off, leaning in slightly, hoping to catch her name.

“Oh, I’m not married!” she said quickly, a faint pink coloring her cheeks.

“My name is Son Seung Wan but call me Wendy. I’m the main hostess here—and the daughter of the owner.”

“Well, color me impressed. I get the VIP treatment?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “Well, you’re one of our very first customers, so it only seems fair to make you feel special.” “You’re doing a pretty good job so far,” I said, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.

Her eyes met mine for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us. Then she blinked and straightened, brushing a loose strand of hair back. “Oh, wait before you go—” She grabbed a scrap of paper, jotted something down, and handed it to me.

Curious, I glanced at the note. It was her number, along with a quick doodle of a smiley face.

“In case you need anything,” she said, her tone casual, but her lips curved in a way that hinted at mischief.

I met her gaze again, this time letting a wolfish smile creep onto my face. “Anything at all, huh?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, but there was no mistaking the slight blush on her cheeks. “Just don’t lose it, okay?”

“Not a chance,” I said, slipping the note carefully into my pocket. As I walked to my room, I realized I might not get much writing done here after all.

On my first morning at the farm, I woke up before dawn. The timezone difference still had me in its grip, but I didn’t mind. By breakfast, I had already managed to crank out four chapters—a personal best. What finally stopped me wasn’t writer’s block but the loud, insistent grumbling of my stomach.

Unable to ignore it any longer, I ventured outside in search of food. The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of hay and earth. As I rounded the barn, I spotted Wendy. She was busy moving bales of hay, her pigtails bouncing slightly with each effort. Dressed in her overalls and boots, she waved when she saw me, flashing that same adorable smile that had disarmed me yesterday.

My heart gave an uncharacteristic flutter.

I walked over without thinking, the words tumbling out of my mouth before my brain could catch up. “Hey, you need some help, pretty lady?”

Wendy’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, but she quickly covered it with a smirk. “Pretty lady, huh? That’s one way to get on my good side.”

I grinned. “It’s a start, isn’t it?”

She laughed lightly, then cocked her head. “I don’t know if a big city boy like you can handle it, though. This is real work, not whatever you call exercise up there wherever you're from.”

I shrugged, leaning casually against the barn door. “Can’t hurt to try.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Alright, big guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

What I’d signed up for turned out to be far more than I expected. First, I helped her lug bales of hay across the barnyard, each one heavier than it looked. Wendy kept glancing at me, clearly waiting for me to give up, but I stubbornly matched her pace.

Next, we fed the animals—cows, chickens, and goats. At one point, a particularly ambitious goat tried to climb into the feed bucket I was holding, nearly knocking me over. Wendy doubled over laughing. “Looks like he’s winning, city boy!”

I managed to shoo the goat away, brushing off my jeans. “That goat’s got nothing on me.”

She smirked, handing me another bucket. “We’ll see.” We moved on to the horses, running a few of them on the track. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing, but Wendy coached me through it, her voice teasing but encouraging. She seemed genuinely impressed that I was keeping up.

Two and a half hours later, we finally finished. I wiped the sweat from my brow, trying to catch my breath. Wendy leaned against the fence, her face flushed from exertion but glowing with satisfaction.

“I’m shocked you made it this far, big boy,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Guess that size is good for something.”

“Hey, I used to be a college rugby star for New Mexico,” I countered, puffing out my chest a little.

She chuckled, the sound light and melodic. “A rugby star, huh? Explains the broad shoulders. Still, I’m not sure how you went from that to typing away in front of a laptop all day.”

I smirked, leaning against the fence beside her. “Guess I like to keep people guessing. But what about you? All this hard work—you could probably give a rugby team a run for their money.” Wendy tilted her head, pretending to think. “Maybe. But then who would be here to babysit city boys like you?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Fair enough. So, what’s next? More hay? Another goat to wrestle?” Her stomach growled audibly, and she shot me a sheepish grin. “Actually,

I was thinking food. But since you seem so eager, maybe I should keep you working.”

“Oh, no, food sounds perfect,” I said quickly. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from eating, after all.”

She rolled her eyes, tugging lightly at my sleeve. “Alright, come on, then. Let’s get something to eat before your stomach scares the animals.” “Hey, that was only once!” I protested, falling into step beside her.

As we walked back toward the house, I realized I wasn’t just enjoying the work or the fresh air—I was enjoying her company. Every glance, every smile, every teasing comment felt electric, like the start of something I couldn’t quite define.

Judging by the way her eyes lingered on mine, she might just have felt it too.

We made our way back to the farmhouse, Wendy walking a step ahead of me. She moved with an effortless confidence, her pigtails swaying as she chatted about farm chores and the antics of the animals. I tried to focus on her words—really, I did—but my eyes kept betraying me.

Her overalls fit snugly, hinting at the full, hourglass figure beneath them. It wasn’t just her curves, though; there was something about her—the way she balanced strength with an undeniable softness as if the hard work hadn’t taken away her natural femininity.

“You’re awfully quiet back there,” she said suddenly, turning to glance over her shoulder. Her smile was playful, but her eyes were sharp. “Something on your mind?”

I froze, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, uh, just thinking about breakfast.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, raising an eyebrow but not pressing further. Inside, the kitchen was cozy and smelled like freshly baked bread and eggs. Wendy moved to the counter, grabbing a loaf from a breadbox and setting out a jar of jam. She gestured for me to sit while she began to plate some scrambled eggs.

As she worked, my eyes flickered again to the curve of her waist and the way her overalls clung to her hips. I quickly looked away, but it was too late.

“Caught you,” she said, her voice sing-song as she turned, a plate in hand and a smirk on her lips.

“Caught me doing what?” I asked, feigning innocence as I reached for the plate.

“Oh, come on,” she said, setting it down in front of me. She leaned on the counter, her smirk fading slightly as she added, “You’ve been sneaking glances since we left the barn. I’m flattered, really… but also kinda surprised.”

“Surprised?” I asked, genuinely confused. She sat down across from me, resting her chin in her hand. “Yeah. Guys usually go for someone… smaller, you know? All my friends back in school were skinny, and it always felt like they got all the attention. Me? Not so much.”

Her tone was light, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. She picked at the edge of her napkin, avoiding my gaze. “I guess it’s just weird hearing compliments like that. I mean, I like food too much to diet, and I’m obviously not built to be dainty.” She gestured at herself with a half-smile. “Most of the time, I’m fine with it. But sometimes…”

She trailed off, shrugging as if to brush the thought away, but I could tell it lingered.

I opened my mouth to respond and immediately panicked, trying to think of something that wasn’t cheesy or dumb. Don’t tell her she’s pretty. Don’t tell her she’s perfect. That’s what every guy says, and it’ll sound hollow. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, “I think… it’s less about what most guys like and more about what’s real. And you, Wendy, are… real. Not trying to be something you’re not. That’s what’s striking about you. You’re just… you.”

Her eyes softened, and she blinked at me as if trying to decide if I was serious. “Real, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “And for the record, you pull off ‘real’ better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

She laughed, some of the tension slipping from her shoulders. “You’re dangerously close to cheesy territory there, city boy.”

I grinned, holding up my hands. “What can I say? You make it hard to avoid.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile she gave me was warm and genuine.

“Alright, alright. Eat your breakfast before you try to sweep me off my feet with more compliments.”

I picked up my fork, but before I took a bite, I looked at her and said, “For the record, I wasn’t trying to sweep you off your feet. Just… being honest.”

Her cheeks turned pink again, and she quickly looked away, but I noticed the small smile lingering on her lips.

As we ate, I couldn’t stop stealing glances at her—and this time, she didn’t seem to mind.

After breakfast, Wendy followed me to my room. I didn’t mind her company—something about her presence felt energizing, even as I worked. I settled at the small desk by the window, my laptop glowing softly in the morning light.

She perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, leaning slightly forward as if trying to peek at my screen. I was laser-focused on pounding out another few chapters, but the occasional snicker from her side of the room was hard to ignore.

“What’s so funny?” I asked after the third one, still typing.

“Oh, nothing. You just look so serious, like you’re solving the mysteries of the universe,” she teased, her tone light and playful.

"I am solving the mysteries of the universe…at least for these characters,” I said, glancing at her with a mock frown before turning back to my laptop.

“Sure you are,” she said, barely containing her giggles. For a while, I worked in relative silence, her occasional fidgeting and soft hums the only sounds besides my typing. Then, after what must have been half an hour, she broke the quiet.

“So… what’s this book about? I can see bits and pieces from here, but I can’t get the full picture.”

I paused, leaning back in my chair and stretching. “It’s about a Paladin of Justice who falls in love with a beautiful succubus. It’s meant to be a romantic comedy, mostly.”

Wendy tilted her head, her expression caught between curiosity and disbelief. “A succubus and a paladin? Is the paladin evil?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Nope. They’re both good. Or at least, trying to be. They’re in legitimate love with each other, despite all the odds stacked against them.” Her eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise flickering across her face. “Legitimate love? Like… no trickery, no spells?”

“None,” I said firmly.

She sat back, letting the idea sink in before asking, “So how do they meet? How do they fall for each other?”

I smiled lightly. “Mostly by happenstance. Boy meets girl, falls head over heels, and girl… well, she just happens to be a succubus. They figure out life and love together, and comedy ensues.”

Her lips curled into a smile. “That’s definitely unconventional. Why write something like that?”

I shrugged, spinning my chair slightly to face her. “It’s a creative way for me to address unconventional love. You know, exploring themes like acceptance and understanding, but in a fun, silly way that doesn’t carry the baggage of something like an interracial couple or other real-world dynamics.”

Wendy’s gaze narrowed slightly, her expression shifting to one of intrigue. “So… you use fantasy to confront reality?”

I nodded, a little surprised by her insight. “Exactly. It gives me room to be playful and honest at the same time.” She grinned triumphantly, leaning forward. “See? I can be smart too.”

I frowned, not understanding her tone. “I never said you weren’t smart. Never even thought it.”

Her confident grin faltered, and her cheeks flushed. “Sorry. It’s just… most city boys think I’m a country bumpkin. You know, farm girl, overalls, chickens clucking in the background… even though I graduated top of my class.”

I shook my head, the idea of anyone underestimating her irritating me more than I cared to admit. “Well, I’m not most city boys.”

Her blush deepened, but a smile tugged at her lips. “I’m learning that,” she said softly, her voice almost shy.

For a moment, the air between us felt heavier and warmer. Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her shirt, and I found myself watching the movement, wondering if I’d said the right thing.

Before I could overthink it, I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. “For the record, I think you’re brilliant. And if anyone’s ever made you feel like you’re less than that, they were idiots.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, wide and startled, and for a heartbeat, she didn’t say anything. Then her lips curled into a slow, genuine smile. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Dangerous how?” I asked, grinning.

“Dangerous because you say things like that and make me think you actually mean them,” she teased, but there was no hiding the warmth in her voice.

I turn to Wendy look her in her eyes and "I mean them,” I say simply, leaning back in my chair.

She laughed, the sound light and musical, and the tension melted away. “Alright, city boy. Keep working on your book. I’ll be here, judging your plot decisions silently.”

“Only silently?” I shot back.

“For now,” she said with a wink.

I finished another 3 chapters then we started the afternoon chores at the farm. I was a bit slower this time around but still managed to keep up with Wendy as she blitzed through them. She would often look back and smile at me

She'd occasionally ask, “Still alive city boy?” to which I respond “Yeah,” I felt bad though because my gaze would continually leer over her body and I had only just met her but I was already deeply infatuated with her Lunch at the farmhouse was as hearty and unpretentious as the setting itself: a steaming bowl of beef stew, fresh bread, and a crisp salad made from vegetables Wendy had likely picked herself. We sat across from each other at a small wooden table in the corner of the kitchen, sunlight filtering through the window and catching in her dark hair. The conversation flowed easily—Wendy had a knack for keeping things light and entertaining. She told me about the antics of the chickens that morning, gesturing animatedly, and I couldn’t help but smile at the way her eyes lit up when she spoke.

“Wait, you’ve never been chased by a rooster before?” she asked her tone equal parts mock disbelief and teasing.

“Not unless you count the time my high school mascot went rogue during homecoming,” I replied.

Wendy laughed, the sound like music before she stood abruptly. “Hold on. I forgot the chili paste. You’ve gotta try it—it’ll change your life.”

Before I could reply, she turned and walked toward the pantry. And just like that, I fell into a trance.

Her overalls clung to her in all the right places, accentuating the curve of her hips and the effortless sway of her walk. The straps framed her shoulders and the way her pigtails bobbed with every step felt almost hypnotic.

But it wasn’t just her figure—it was everything about her. The way she carried herself, confident and relaxed, without a shred of pretense. The way her voice softened when she talked about the farm, was full of pride and affection. The way she smiled like she knew exactly how to make the world a little brighter.

I was completely, hopelessly mesmerized.

“Enjoying the view?”

Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I blinked, realizing she was standing right in front of me, the jar of chili paste in her hand and a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“I, uh…” I stammered, my ears burning.

Wendy tilted her head, her grin widening. “Don’t stop on my account. You looked like you were thinking something very important.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to recover. “Just… admiring the architectural integrity of your pantry. Very sturdy shelves.” She laughed, setting the jar down on the table. “Sure you were.” Sliding back into her seat, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So? What’s your verdict?”

“On… what?” I asked cautiously.

“On the shelves,” she teased, her smile turning sly.

Caught, I let out a sheepish laugh and met her gaze. “Fine. You got me. I was thinking about you.”

Her brow arched, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Oh? And what exactly were you thinking?”

I hesitated the words balancing on the edge of my tongue. I wanted to tell her everything: how I thought she was stunning, how her laugh felt like sunlight breaking through clouds, how her presence made me forget everything else. But that felt way too heavy for lunch.

Instead, I smirked and said, “I was thinking chili paste might not be the only thing here that could change my life.” Wendy blinked, surprised, before laughing softly. “Wow. A city boy’s got some lines after all.”

“Not just any lines,” I said, leaning slightly closer. “Good ones.” She chuckled again, shaking her head but not looking away. For a moment, the playful banter fell away, replaced by something quieter and deeper. Her smile softened, and she reached for the jar, opening it with a casual grace that made my heart beat faster.

“Alright, Romeo,” she said, breaking the spell as she handed me the jar.

“Let’s see if you can handle this chili paste without crying.”

“Oh, you underestimate me,” I replied, grinning as I took it. As we ate, the tension lingered in the air, warm and electric, and I knew one thing for certain: I was falling for her.

After spending a few quiet hours resting with Wendy, she left to talk with her dad, Mr. Son. I turned my focus back to my writing, managing to chip away at another chapter, but I couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of her warmth beside me or the playful lilt of her voice.

A sharp knock at the door jolted me out of my thoughts. When I opened it, Mr. Son stood there, his broad shoulders framed in the doorway. His expression was as weathered as the land he worked on, and his eyes carried a weight that made me stand a little straighter.

“Mind if I come in?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“Of course, sir,” I replied, stepping aside as he entered.

He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the open laptop and scattered notes on the desk before settling on me. Crossing his arms, he fixed me with a steely look. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

The question hit me like a hammer. I expected it, sure, but hearing it aloud—especially in that gravelly tone—made my throat tighten. I let out a slow sigh and met his gaze. “I have a crush on your daughter, sir,” I admitted plainly.

Mr. Son’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “That’s not good enough. I don’t trust city folk, especially not with my daughter. You’ll need to do better than ‘I have a crush.’”

I inhaled deeply, choosing my words carefully. “Your daughter is… incredible, sir. She’s smart, funny, and kind. She’s confident even when she feels insecure, and she has this strength that’s just—” I paused, searching for the right words. “She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner. I’d marry her in a heartbeat if I could, have a family with her, and spend my life making her as happy as she makes me. She’s my dream girl, sir.”

Mr. Son tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze studying me like a hawk sizing up its prey. “And what’s so special about her that makes her your ‘dream girl?’” he pressed.

I squared my shoulders, determined to answer honestly. “She’s beautiful, of course—anyone can see that. But it’s more than that. Wendy’s wit keeps me on my toes. Her caring nature makes me want to be better. And even with all the hard work she puts in here, she’s still soft—emotionally and physically—in a way that makes me feel grounded. She’s the kind of person who makes you want to fight for something worth keeping.” For a long moment, Mr. Son didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he took a step closer, his presence towering despite my height advantage.

“You’re not like most city boys,” he said finally, his tone more curious than accusatory.

I nodded. “I try not to be.”

A flicker of something like amusement crossed his face, though it was gone as quickly as it came. “I’m not fully sold on you yet,” he admitted.

“But I’ll give you this—you don’t seem like you’d hurt her.”

“I wouldn’t,” I said firmly. “I couldn’t.”

He chuckled then, a low, gravelly sound that felt like the breaking of ice.

“Well, you’d better not. Because if you do, I’ll make sure everyone in town hears about it.”

“I believe you,” I replied with a small smile.

Satisfied, Mr. Son turned to leave but paused in the doorway. His tone softened slightly. “Wendy’s not like most girls. She’s been hurt before, and she’s always felt different from her friends because of how she looks. She needs someone who’ll see her for who she is and stick by her. Can you do that?”

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words. “I will, sir. I’ll take care of her. I swear it.”

He studied me for another beat, then nodded. “Good. But don’t forget—you screw this up, and it’s not just Wendy you’ll have to answer to.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Understood.”

As he stepped out, I couldn’t help but add, “You’ve got nothing to worry about, though. I have way more to lose if I ever hurt Wendy. People like me… the world loves to see us fail. But I won’t give it that satisfaction—not with her.”

Mr. Son turned back, his expression shifting to one of faint surprise. “That’s an interesting way of looking at things,” he murmured. After a pause, his lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Alright then. Have fun with Wendy.”

With that, he closed the door behind him, leaving me standing in the quiet room, my heart pounding in my chest. I’d passed the test—for now. But more than that, I felt a renewed sense of determination. Wendy was worth every effort, and I wasn’t about to let her—or her father—down. As my heart stopped racing I was surprised to get a text from Wendy asking me if I wanted to go on a double date. The idea of a double date had clearly put Wendy in a good mood. When she mentioned it to me earlier, her smile was equal parts nervous and excited. “Joy wants me to go with her, but I’m not going unless you’re coming too,” she’d said, almost shyly.

How could I say no to that? She asked me in a pretty sun dress she had decided to wear with nice leather boots.

So now we were seated at a polished, cozy restaurant with Joy and her date, a clean-cut guy named Jae who seemed charming enough—at first. Wendy and I sat across from them, sharing appetizers and easy banter.

Joy was effortlessly sociable, and she clearly enjoyed teasing Wendy, poking fun at her for being “so domestic” with her farm duties. But the teasing was lighthearted, and Wendy took it in stride, rolling her eyes and laughing along.

I leaned over to her. “She seems like trouble.” Wendy grinned, whispering back, “You have no idea.” The date was going well—right up until Jae tilted his head, squinting at Wendy like he was trying to place her.

“Wait a second,” he said, his tone sharpening with recognition. “You’re Han Wendy, aren’t you? We went to high school together.” Wendy tensed slightly but managed a polite smile. “Oh, yeah. Jae, right?” “Yeah, that’s me.” He leaned back in his chair, his grin turning smug. “Wow, I didn’t recognize you at first. You’re, uh… still living out on the farm, huh?” Wendy’s smile faltered. “Yeah, I am.” Jae laughed, a little too loudly. “Guess some things never change. I mean, who else could it be? I remember everyone used to call you Cow—what was the other one? Heifer, right?” The table went silent.

Wendy’s cheeks flushed, and I could see her trying to keep her composure, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of hurt. Before she could say anything, something snapped inside me. My chest tightened, my jaw clenched, and the words came out before I even realized what I was saying—my usual measured tone replaced by a thick, unmistakable Texas drawl. “Now hold on there, partner,” I said, my voice low and deliberate. “You best watch what you’re sayin’.” Jae blinked, startled. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said, leaning forward slightly, my eyes locking onto his. “Ain’t no one gonna sit here and call my woman names like that. You got somethin’ to say to her, you say it with respect, or you don’t say it at all.” The accent was as thick as molasses, and for a moment, even I was surprised by the force of it. But it worked. Jae’s smug expression faltered, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Jeez, man, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just a joke.”

“Well, it ain’t funny,” I shot back. “Wendy’s a better woman than you deserve to be sittin’ across from, and you’d do well to remember that.”

Jae muttered something under his breath, clearly not eager to push the issue further. Joy, wide-eyed, gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. The rest of the meal passed with forced small talk, and when it was over, Wendy and I walked back to the car together in silence.

As soon as we were alone, she stopped, turning to face me. Her expression was unreadable at first, her dark eyes studying me intently. Finally, she broke into a smile, one that was equal parts amused and amazed. “My woman, huh?”

I scratched the back of my neck, feeling my cheeks heat. “It just… came out. I didn’t mean to make a scene or anything.”

“No,” she said quickly, her voice soft. “I mean… thank you. For standing up for me.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say, but then she took a step closer.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” she said, her tone playful but sincere. “Here I thought you were just some smart, sophisticated city boy. But turns out, there’s a little bit of a farm boy in you too.”

I chuckled nervously. “Grew up around a lot of cornfields. Guess some habits stick.”

Her smile deepened, and for a moment, she just looked at me, her gaze warm and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

“I like it,” she said finally. “I like you.”

My breath caught, and before I could respond, she slipped her hand into mine, squeezing it gently.

“Come on,” she said, her voice light again. “Let’s get out of here before Joy tries to rope us into another one of her ‘fun ideas.’”

As we walked to the car, hand in hand, I couldn’t help but feel a new kind of certainty settle in my chest. Wendy wasn’t just someone I was falling for—she was someone I wanted to protect, cherish, and share every part of myself with, even the parts I thought I’d left behind.

And judging by the way her fingers laced with mine, I had a feeling she felt the same.

Here’s the revised and expanded version of the scene, where the narrator’s “Cornfed” side emerges and, with it, his comfort, affection for Wendy, and the eloquence of his pre-college self: The next morning, Wendy was knocking on my door bright and early.

“Up and at ’em, city boy!” she called. “We’ve got work to do!” Groaning, I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door. Wendy stood there, a hand on her hip and a teasing grin on her face, dressed in overalls and a straw hat.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” she said. “The chickens aren’t gonna feed themselves.”

I rubbed my eyes, giving her an exaggerated groan. “You’re way too cheerful for this early in the morning.”

She smirked. “Can’t help it. Gotta see if I can bring out more of that Cornfed Boy I saw last night. I know he’s in there somewhere.”

I rolled my eyes but grabbed my boots. “Alright, boss. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”

At the chicken coop, Wendy handed me a basket and gestured toward the hens. “Alright, let’s see if you remember how to do this.”

I stepped inside, and the chickens clucked and fluttered nervously. A younger me might have hesitated, but something about being back on the farm—with Wendy watching expectantly—felt natural.

“Hush now, darlin’,” I murmured to a particularly noisy hen. “Ain’t no need for all that fussin’.”

Wendy straightened up, her grin widening. “Was that a little twang I just heard?”

I chuckled, crouching to collect the eggs. “You’re hearing things, Wendy. These chickens’ve got you spooked.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, leaning on the fence and crossing her arms. “City boy’s trying real hard to hide it, but it’s coming out.”

As I worked, I found myself relaxing more and more. The motions were familiar, and the weight of the basket in my hand felt like an old friend. By the time I handed the basket to Wendy, I wasn’t even thinking about hiding the accent that had crept into my voice.

“You’re pretty good at this,” she said. “Starting to think I’m not the only one who grew up around chickens.”

“Spent a few summers doin’ chores like this,” I admitted. “Dad wanted to keep me outta trouble, so he sent me to help out some neighbors. Learned a thing or two.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re really Cornfed, huh?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” I replied with a sly grin. When it came time to muck out the stalls, Wendy handed me a pitchfork and leaned against the barn door.

“Alright, Mr. Cornfed,” she said, smirking. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” I didn’t even hesitate, rolling up my sleeves and setting to work. The smell wasn’t pleasant, but the rhythm of shoveling and tossing was oddly satisfying. As I worked, I found myself explaining the best way to handle stubborn spots and how to keep the bedding clean without wasting hay.

“You’re awfully good at this for a city boy,” Wendy teased.

I shrugged, leaning on the pitchfork for a moment. “It’s just about workin’ smarter, not harder. You gotta respect the process. Animals ain’t so different from people—give ’em a clean space, a little kindness, and they’ll take care of the rest.”

Her eyes softened, and she tilted her head. “You sound like you’ve been doing this your whole life.”

I smiled, my voice taking on a more thoughtful tone. “Maybe I forgot for a while, but it’s comin’ back to me. Feels… good, y’know? Like I’m findin’ a piece of myself I didn’t know I’d lost.”

She stared at me for a moment, her smile turning from teasing to something gentler. “I like this side of you,” she said softly. At lunchtime, we sat together on the porch, the sun warming our faces as we ate. Wendy had made sandwiches and sweet tea, and the simplicity of it all felt just right.

“You know,” I said, leaning back against the railing, “this is the kinda meal that sticks with you. Not just in your stomach but in your heart.” Wendy blinked at me, then laughed. “Wow. That was downright poetic.”

“Farm-work does that to a man,” I said, winking at her. She nudged me with her foot. “Alright, Shakespeare. What else you got?” I turned toward her, resting my arm on the railing. “I’ve got this,” I said, my voice softening. “You, sittin’ here in the sun, lookin’ like you belong to this place in a way most people never will. It’s beautiful, Wendy. You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, pretending to adjust her hat.

“You keep talking like that, and I might start believing you.”

“Good,” I said, my voice low but steady. “Because I mean every word.” By the time we got to the creek in the afternoon, I was more comfortable in my skin than I had been in years. Wendy led me to the water’s edge, kicking off her shoes and splashing into the shallows.

“You coming in, or are you too fancy for creek water now?” she teased.

I grinned, rolling up my pant legs and stepping in after her. “You forget,

I’m just a Cornfed boy at heart.”

She laughed, splashing me lightly. “Prove it!”

I splashed her back, and we spent the next few minutes chasing each other through the water, laughing and hollering like kids. At some point, I caught her by the hand and pulled her close, the cool water swirling around our legs as we caught our breath.

“Y’know,” I said, my voice dipping into a deeper drawl, “you’ve got a way of bringin’ out the best in me.”

Wendy tilted her head, her eyes shining. “Maybe because this is the best of you,” she said softly.

I smiled, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. “Reckon you’re right.”

Her grin widened, and she leaned against my side as we waded to the bank to dry off. Sitting there together, the sun dipping low in the sky, I felt like I was finally whole again—and it was all because of her.

The next morning found me in the barn, fixin’ a loose latch on one of the horse stalls Wendy had mentioned yesterday. Sunlight spilled through the slats in the wood, catchin’ on the dust motes hangin’ lazy in the air. I was whistlin’ low and easy as I worked, pausin’ now and again to make sure the latch lined up just right.

“Didn’t expect to find you out here this early,” came a familiar voice from the barn door.

I straightened up and turned to see Mr. Son leanin’ against the frame, arms crossed, his gaze as steady and sharp as ever.

“Mornin’, sir,” I said, brushin’ my hands off on my jeans. “Latch was givin’ your horse some trouble, so I figured I’d see to it. Ain’t no sense lettin’ a small thing turn into a big problem.”

His eyebrows lifted, though he didn’t comment right away. Instead, he stepped inside, his boots scuffin’ softly against the wood. “You’ve been keepin’ yourself busy,” he remarked.

I nodded, settin’ the screwdriver aside. “Just tryin’ to pull my weight. Wendy’s been workin’ circles ’round me, so I figured I’d better start earnin’ my keep.”

He chuckled low, though his tone stayed cautious. “That so?” “Yessir,” I said, leanin’ a little against the stall door. “Place like this needs constant care, and I reckon there’s no better way to show I’m serious than to put in the work.”

Mr. Son studied me for a long moment, his eyes squintin’ like he was seein’ me for the first time. “You’re talkin’ different than you did a couple days ago,” he said finally.

I shrugged, a faint grin tuggin’ at my lips. “Guess bein’ here brings it out of me. I spent my summers on farms like this when I was younger. Dad thought it was important I learn how to work with my hands, so he sent me to help out local folks who needed it. This life kinda gets under your skin—it stays with you.”

His expression shifted slightly, though his arms stayed crossed. “Didn’t expect a city boy to know his way around a barn.”

“Well,” I said, straightenin’ up and leanin’ on the stall door, “city boy’s just the surface. Dad was a professor, and he believed in groundin’ his kids with hard work. Every summer, I’d wake up before dawn, shovel stalls, fix fences, harvest crops—whatever needed doin’. Taught me a lot about patience and pride in a job well done.”

His gaze softened, though he didn’t uncross his arms just yet. “That’s rare these days. Most young folks wouldn’t know the first thing about how to fix a fence, let alone stick with it.”

“Yessir,” I said with a small nod. “There’s somethin’ about seein’ the results of your work—somethin’ real, y’know? Even when I was back in the city, stuck at a desk or in a lecture hall, part of me always missed this. The smell of the earth, the ache in your muscles after a long day, the quiet satisfaction of buildin’ somethin’ with your own two hands.”

Mr. Son looked me over again, his eyes narrowing like he was weighin’ my words. “You’ve changed,” he said slowly.

“Maybe,” I replied, smilin’ a little. “Or maybe I’m just settlin’ back into the part of me I tried to leave behind.”

His chuckle was quieter this time, almost thoughtful. “When you first showed up, I figured you were one of those smooth-talking city types. Someone who’d sweet-talk my daughter and leave her with nothin’ but heartbreak.”

“I get why you’d think that,” I said, my voice steady. “But sir, Wendy’s more than just a pretty face to me. She’s…” I paused, searchin’ for the right words. “She’s the kind of woman who makes you wanna be better, just by bein’ around her. And I don’t take that lightly.”

Mr. Son’s shoulders relaxed a little, though his eyes stayed sharp. “You ain’t just talkin’, are you?”

“No, sir,” I said firmly. “I’ve got every intention of stickin’ around, so long as she’ll have me. And if that means puttin’ in the work, then I’ll do it. Whether it’s muckin’ stalls or mendin’ fences, I’m here for the long haul.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at me like he was seein’ something he hadn’t expected. Finally, he nodded. “Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t think I’d see the day a city boy walked into my barn and left actin’ like a college-educated cowboy.”

I chuckled, rubbin’ the back of my neck. “Life’s funny that way, I guess.” He stepped closer, clappin’ a hand on my shoulder. “You keep showin’ me this side of you, and I might just start callin’ you somethin’ other than city boy.”

“I’d like that,” I said with a grin.

As he turned toward the door, he glanced back. “And your writin’? How’s that comin’ along?”

“It’s goin’ great,” I said, my grin widenin’. “Almost halfway done now. Somethin’ about bein’ here… it clears my head. The words’ve been comin’ easier than they ever did back in the city.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s good. Just don’t forget where your priorities are.” “Yessir,” I said with a nod.

When he left, I leaned against the stall, feelin’ a quiet kind of satisfaction. The city had polished me up, sure, but bein’ here had reminded me of who I really was. And I wasn’t just writin’ a novel—I was rebuildin’ myself, piece by piece, with every nail I hammered and every word I wrote.

The morning sun was sittin’ high by the time Wendy finished her chores and wandered over to where I was perched on the porch, takin’ a breather with my notebook open in my lap. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be after a morning of wranglin’ chickens and tendin’ to the garden. Her hair was tucked up under her straw hat, a streak of dirt smudged on her cheek that only made her look more radiant.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” she asked, leanin’ against the porch railing and squintin’ down at the notebook like she could read it upside-down.

“Just hammerin’ out some details for the next chapter,” I said, smilin’ up at her. “Want a peek?”

Her face lit up like I’d offered her the keys to a candy shop. “You serious? I’d love to!”

I handed over the notebook, watchin’ as she plopped down on the porch swing beside me. She tucked one leg under herself, balanced the notebook on her knee, and began readin’ with an intensity that made me feel like a schoolboy waitin’ on a grade.

Her lips moved faintly as she read, and every so often, her eyes widened or her brow furrowed, her reactions tellin’ me more than words ever could. When she finally closed the notebook, she let out a breath and turned to me, her gaze so earnest it made my heart skip a beat. “This is really good,” she said, her voice soft but certain.

“You think so?” I asked, my voice comin’ out a little rougher than I intended.

“Yeah,” she said, noddin’ like she was tryin’ to convince me as much as herself. “I love your use of imagery. Like here”—she flipped back a page and pointed—“when you described the sunset as ‘a lazy cat stretchin’ across the horizon, all claws of pink and gold.’ That’s such a vivid, unexpected image, but it fits perfectly.”

I scratched the back of my neck, feelin’ heat creep up under my collar. “Well, uh, thanks.”

“And the foreshadowing!” she continued, her enthusiasm bubblin’ over. “It’s subtle, but it’s there, like breadcrumbs leadin’ the reader without them even realizin’ it. And your style—it seems simple at first, but the more I read, the more layers I see. It’s like a quilt, each piece tellin’ its own story but all stitched together into somethin’ whole.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “You sure do talk pretty, Wendy. Soundin’ downright college-educated there.”

She laughed, leanin’ back against the swing. “That’s because I am. I’ve got a doctorate in literary sciences and linguistics.” The notebook nearly slipped from my hands. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“Nope.” She beamed, sittin’ up straighter. “Defended my dissertation three years ago. I studied how storytelling shapes language development in children and how it’s tied to intelligence across cultures.” I let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be. Here I was thinkin’ I was impressin’ you, and you’ve probably forgotten more about literature than I’ll ever know.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, tappin’ my notebook with a playful smirk. “You’ve got talent. And it’s not just your imagery or style—it’s the way you understand people, their struggles and joys. That’s the kind of thing no amount of study can teach you.”

“Guess I had a good teacher, then,” I said, thinkin’ back to my dad and the way he’d always read to us as kids, his voice deep and steady, drawin’ me into worlds far beyond our little farm.

That comment must’ve sparked somethin’, because soon we were knee-deep in a conversation about the role of stories in human history. Wendy talked about how oral traditions preserved culture and passed down knowledge long before writin’ was a thing, and I chimed in about how even now, stories are how we make sense of a world that don’t always make sense on its own.

Her words were sharp and insightful, but there was a warmth to ’em, too, like she wasn’t just speakin’ from her head but from her heart. And the more we talked, the more I found myself leanin’ into a rhythm I hadn’t felt in years. My words slowed, pickin’ up a drawl I hadn’t noticed before, and my thoughts came together like rows of crops, neat and orderly, every idea growin’ from the one before it.

By the time we circled back to my novel, I realized the city boy I’d been tryin’ to be all these years had vanished like smoke on the wind. What was left was me—plain and simple. A man who loved the land, loved the work, and, if I was bein’ honest, was startin’ to think he might love the woman sittin’ beside him, too.

“You know,” I said, my voice lower and softer than it’d been in years, “I reckon I’ve learned more sittin’ here talkin’ to you than I ever did in a lecture hall.”

Wendy smiled, her eyes crinklin’ at the corners. “That’s sweet, but I think you’ve had it in you all along. You just needed the right person to bring it out.”

“Well,” I said, settlin’ back against the swing, “ain’t no one better for the job than you, darlin’.”

The word slipped out natural as breath, and when she looked at me, her eyes wide and her cheeks pink, I knew there wasn’t a lick of the city left in me. I was home, in every sense of the word.

The evening had settled into that perfect sweet spot where the sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a soft lavender, with the warmth of the day still lingering in the air. Wendy and I were dressed a little nicer than usual for tonight’s double date, but still, nothing fancy. Wendy wore a simple sundress, her hair flowing freely in the warm breeze, and I had on a button-down shirt that was slightly wrinkled from the long day on the farm.

Joy and Arbor arrived shortly after we did, with Arbor flashing me a grin that told me he was fully aware of what he was about to witness. Arbor had always been an easy-going guy, someone I could always depend on during the roughest farm days, but I hadn’t seen him in a while since I’d been away at college. And now? Well, now I was feelin’ like a completely different man, for better or worse.

Wendy gave him a quick hug, and then we all sat down at a cozy corner booth at the little family-owned restaurant. The conversation started easy enough—Joy asking about the farm, Wendy laughing at some old memory I had of accidentally dropping a whole bucket of feed into the wrong stall, and Arbor sitting back with a knowing smile, looking from me to Wendy with a strange amusement.

At some point, Arbor’s eyes flicked over to me. He paused mid-sentence, setting his glass down. “You know, Austin,” he said, drawing out my name like he was testing it on his tongue, “it’s funny. I barely recognized you when I first walked in. I mean, you’re like… a whole new person.” I shot him a glance, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckled, leaning back in the booth, crossing his arms over his chest. “I used to know you as that city kid, always talkin’ about how you couldn’t wait to leave the farm and go back to the hustle and bustle of college life. And now look at you.” He gestured to my shirt, the way I was sitting—relaxed, comfortable, with a quiet confidence I hadn’t exactly had back in the day.

“Well, I did spend a few years learning how to blend in with the city folks,” I said with a chuckle, though the words didn’t quite fit right in my mouth anymore. “Guess I was hopin’ I could shake off the farm life a bit.” Arbor raised his eyebrows, giving me a look that said he knew better. “You sure you’ve shaken it off? I mean, not that I’m complainin’, but you’ve got a whole different energy now. You talk slower, sit straighter… and I swear to God, you even sound different. I can hear that Southern drawl comin’ out now. You’re startin’ to sound like a damn cowboy, Austin. Hell, you even look like one.”

I could feel my face heat up, and I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly, glancing over at Wendy. She was smiling at me with a gleam in her eyes, clearly enjoying the show. I leaned forward, catching Arbor’s gaze. “Guess the farm has a way of rubbin’ off on a fella. Guess I’m just more comfortable here. More at home, y’know?”

Arbor didn’t look surprised, but there was a touch of nostalgia in his eyes as he leaned forward. “Yeah, I get that. Used to be you’d complain about every single chore, but now you’re workin’ alongside it all, like it’s second nature to you. You’ve really found your place, huh?”

I let out a slow breath, glancing down at my hands. “Funny how things change when you’re not tryin’ to force ‘em. I didn’t expect to end up here, but here I am. Feels like I’ve found somethin’ that I’ve been missin’.”

Arbor studied me for a moment before nodding slowly. “You’re happier here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said simply, my voice a little more sure of itself. “Guess I am.” Wendy, who had been quietly watching the exchange, leaned over to me, her voice soft but warm. “I think it’s more than just the farm, though. It’s who you’ve become. Who you really are.”

I felt a rush of something in my chest. She was right. It wasn’t just the farm. It was the way I’d come back to myself, to the boy I used to be, before all the city pressures and the desire to be something I wasn’t. This… this felt like the real me.

As the conversation moved on, I noticed that Arbor was glancing over at me every now and then, like he was piecing something together in his mind. Finally, he put his glass down, looked me dead in the eye, and said,

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it. You know, when we were workin’ together back in the day, I always saw you as a city kid tryin’ to find his way in the world. But now? Now you’re more grounded. More… at peace with yourself. Hell, I don’t know if it’s the farm, or Wendy, or just you finally growin’ up, but I gotta say… it’s a damn good change.”

Wendy smiled at the comment, but I could see something flicker behind her eyes—pride, maybe? Maybe even something deeper. Something between the two of us that I wasn’t ready to name yet, but I could feel it growin’ every time we spoke, every time we shared a quiet moment. I smiled back at Arbor. “Thanks, man. I guess it’s been a good ride so far.” Arbor winked. “Well, I’ll be damned, Austin. I think you’ve finally come home.”

The night had wound down, the warmth of the evening still hanging in the air as we walked back to the farm. The others had already gone, laughing and chatting as they made their way home, leaving Wendy and me alone under the deep velvet sky, the stars twinkling like diamonds above.

We walked side by side, the soft crunch of gravel beneath our boots the only sound, and yet, everything felt so loud—like the world was holding its breath. I couldn’t help but glance over at her every so often, her profile illuminated by the faint glow of the porch light up ahead.

There was something about the way she carried herself now. It wasn’t just her beauty—though God, she was beautiful—but the way she held the world around her like it was hers to nurture. It was the way she talked, the way she laughed, the way she loved this farm and everything it stood for. And it was the way she made me feel like I belonged here too.

We stopped just outside the door, and for a moment, everything went quiet. The door was just a few feet away, but neither of us moved. I felt her presence like a pull, like gravity, and I couldn’t look away from her.

“You know, you really have changed, Austin,” she said softly, her voice full of affection, her eyes warm as they met mine.

I shifted my weight, unsure how to respond to that, but before I could think of anything to say, she continued, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“I mean, I loved the city boy at first,” she started, eyes twinkling with mischief, “but now? Now I get to see my cowboy come alive. And it’s… honestly the best thing ever. I didn’t know it could feel this good, watching someone finally shed their old skin and become who they really are.”

I felt my heart skip a beat at her words. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she spoke about it, how proud she was of me—not just for the changes I’d made, but for being me. The me that was finally here, in the place I was meant to be.

Wendy took a step closer, and for a moment, I thought she might say something more, but instead, she grinned, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint.

“You know,” she started, voice dropping a little lower, “I think I’m gonna claim you, Austin.”

I blinked, caught off guard, and she raised an eyebrow at me. “Claim me?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow of my own, unsure of where she was going with this.

“Yeah,” she said with that same mischievous grin. “I mean, I might have to brand you, you know? Just to make sure everyone knows you belong to me.”

My mouth went dry. I laughed, trying to keep my cool, but there was something so serious in her expression that made me pause, my heart racing.

“You’re gonna brand me?” I asked, a grin spreading across my face despite the nervous flutter in my chest.

“Yep,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest with an air of finality. “I’ll get one of those hot irons and press it right on your arm—just a little mark, so you know, everyone knows you’re mine.”

I just stared at her, dumbfounded. My heart was pounding, and my throat felt a little dry.

She was so sure of it, her face beaming with joy, and I couldn’t help but be absolutely enthralled by her excitement. The way she spoke about it, the way she was so open, so confident in her love, it left me speechless.

“Wendy,” I murmured, unable to find the right words at first, but then, something shifted. Her energy was so infectious, so full of life, that I finally found my voice. “You… you make me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

She laughed, her face lighting up at my response. “Well, that’s the point,” she said, her voice softening just slightly as she reached up to place a hand on my chest, feeling the steady beat of my heart. “I want you to feel like that. I want you to feel like you belong here, with me.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached for her, pulling her closer and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. The way she fit into my arms, how easy it felt to hold her—it was like she was meant to be there. Like we were meant to be here, together.

“Wendy,” I said again, this time, my voice more steady, more sure. “I… I’ve never known anything like this before. You’ve made me realize so much, and I—” I stopped myself, then took a deep breath. “I love you. I love everything about you.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at me with wide eyes, her lips parted in surprise. And then, a smile spread across her face, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears as she reached up, cupping my face in her hands. “I love you too, Austin,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion. “I never thought I’d find someone like you. Someone who would make me feel this way.”

For a long moment, we just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading away. There were no words left to say, because everything we needed to communicate had already been said in that one simple moment.

And then, with that same mischievous glint in her eye, she looked up at me again and said, “Now… about that brand?” I couldn’t help but laugh, my heart swelling with affection for this woman who had not only claimed my heart but had made me see the world in ways I never imagined.

“Guess I’ll just have to take you up on that,” I teased, grinning down at her. “But I’m pretty sure there’s nothin’ more permanent than the way you’ve already got me.”

And with that, she laughed, the sound filling the night air, and for the first time in my life, I realized just how right it felt to be exactly where I was—with her, in this moment, in this life we were building together. The night moved on after that, filled with lighthearted chatter, but my mind kept wanderin’ back to Arbor’s words. You’ve finally come home. And for the first time in a long while, I realized… he was right. This was home. With Wendy. With the farm. With everything that had come together. The world around us faded away, the only thing left in focus was Wendy in my arms. Her breath was steady, but I could feel her heart thumpin’ against my chest, beatin’ in time with my own. She pulled back just enough to look up at me, those eyes of hers piercin’ right through me like she could see deep down into my soul. I’d always prided myself on bein’ a man of steady hands and steady nerves, but now, standin’ here with her, I realized she could shake my whole world with just a look.

Her smile, soft but sure, sent a shiver through me. When she leaned in just a bit closer, pressin’ herself up against me, the air got thick, heavy with something that felt like it was pullin’ me deeper. My heart pounded, my breath caught. It wasn’t just the way she looked—it was the way she made me feel. She had a way of makin’ everything around her seem so real, so vivid, that it felt like nothin’ else mattered but the two of us. Her hand slid from my chest to my jaw, gently tracing the line of it like she had every right to be there. I was dizzy from the way she made me feel, lightheaded with the power of it. “You’re incredible, you know that?” she whispered, her voice low, warm, full of affection.

I had to swallow hard, tryin’ to keep my composure, but truth be told, she’d already knocked that all to hell. “I’m just a fella who loves you, Wendy,” I managed to get out, my voice rough from the weight of it all. Her grin stretched even wider, and damn if it didn’t make the world brighter. “Well, lucky for you, I love you back, cowboy,” she teased, but I could hear the sincerity in her voice, feelin’ it in my bones. No question in my mind now. We were in this together.

She must’ve felt the shift in me ‘cause her smile softened, her fingers threading through my hair like she wasn’t ever gonna let me go. I could feel the weight of her touch, the way it anchored me, and I wasn’t goin’ anywhere.

“Wendy…” I whispered her name like a prayer, my chest tight as I fought for air. “You… You make me feel like I’m alive, like I’m real.”

She pulled back just a hair, steadyin’ herself before meetin’ my gaze. “I am real, Austin,” she said, voice firm and steady, like she was claimin’ her place in the world, like she was tellin’ me and the whole damn world that she was here to stay. And that confidence, hell, it was somethin’ I’d never seen before. “And I’m not afraid of bein’ who I am. Not anymore. Not with you.”

Her words hit me like a damn freight train, and I felt the grip she had on me, both physically and emotionally, as strong as a rope lassoed tight ’round my heart. She held me with a strength I hadn’t known anyone could possess, the quiet power of a woman who knew exactly who she was and wasn’t afraid to show it. And damn, it made me fall harder for her.

Her hand moved from my chest to my face, her thumb tracing across my skin, and I couldn’t stop lookin’ at her. My gaze drank her in, savorin’ every curve, every line, every inch of her. She had me in the palm of her hand, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“I’ve never been this sure about anything in my life,” she said softly, almost like a confession. “Not just about us, but about me. About everything.”

Her words, full of certainty, confidence, and self-assurance, made my chest swell. I didn’t know what it was about her, but she made me feel seen, like I wasn’t just some guy from the city tryin’ to make a life. I was somebody. I was hers. And she was mine.

I pulled her in closer, my hands cuppin’ her face like she was somethin’ too precious to let go of. “You’re incredible, Wendy. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone like you.”

She tilted her head, her eyes steady on me, that smile of hers not just a smile anymore but a damn promise. It was a promise that she was mine, and I was hers. And that made everything feel right in the world.

She leaned in, close enough now that I could feel her breath on my lips, whisperin’ soft as silk, “You’re mine, cowboy. All mine.” And in that moment, all the walls, all the doubts, the pieces of me that were still unsure—hell, they were gone. There wasn’t a single trace of that old life left. No more “city boy.” There was just me, the cowboy, standin’ here with her, and I was complete.

My heart raced, but this time, it was a good kind of fast. And as she held me tight, her confidence spillin’ into me like a steady stream, I couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest son of a gun in the world.

The soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. Donny lay on his back on Wendy’s bed, his arm casually draped around her as she nestled into the crook of his shoulder. Her forehead grazed his jaw as she shifted to get more comfortable. The faint scent of her skin, a mix of something sweet and wild, lingered in the air between them.

Wendy sighed, her breath warm against his chest as she traced lazy circles on his stomach with her fingers. “You know, for all the chaos in our lives, moments like this make it feel… simple,” she murmured.

“Simple, huh?” Donny chuckled softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. “I don’t think anything about us is simple”

She smirked, glancing up at him with a playful glint in her eyes. “Okay, maybe not simple. But… I like that when I’m with you, everything else fades away,” she teased, giving them a gentle shake for emphasis.

My smile deepened as his hand slid down to her back, gently brushing my fingers against the small of her back just above her waist. She tensed for a moment, then relaxed, her body responding to my careful, affectionate touch. My fingertips traced the soft membrane of her back, moving slowly so as not to overwhelm her.

“You know, this is still new for me,” Wendy said softly, her voice betraying a mixture of vulnerability, contentedness, and curiosity. “I’m not used to… anyone touching me. Especially with them being so sensitive,”

“Does it hurt?” I asked, my voice gentle as my fingers continued their slow, calming strokes along her shoulder blades.

“No, it’s… actually kind of nice, too nice” she admitted, a small smile playing at her lips as she nestled closer to me.

My other hand found its way to her tummy, gently running along the length of it with the same care he’d shown her back. Wendy’s eyes fluttered closed as she melted further into my embrace, a soft sound of contentment escaping her lips.

“You always know how to make me feel safe,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s the plan,” I said with a smile, my touch never faltering as I pet her tummy and shoulders in slow, soothing patterns. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me now.”

Her eyes softened as she rested her cheek against my chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of my heartbeat. “Good. Because I can’t imagine going through all of this without you.” There was a vulnerability in her voice now, one she rarely let show. “You ground me, Austin. When I’m with you, I feel like I can handle whatever’s coming.”

I shifted, tightening my arm around her as I pulled her closer. “You’re stronger than you think, Wendy. You don’t need me to handle anything. But… I’ll be here anyway. Always.”

She smiled at that, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “That’s the thing. You always make me feel stronger. But I don’t want to be strong all the time. Sometimes I just want to be… here. With you. Like this.”

“I think I can live with that,” I said, my fingers continuing their gentle exploration of her body. “Besides, it’s not like I’m exactly looking for an excuse to be anywhere else.”

Wendy tilted her head up to look at me, her expression mischievous now. “Is that so? What if I told you I was going to turn into a giant succubus monster and you’d have to deal with all my dramatic mood swings forever?”

I raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Then I’d say bring it on.

I can handle your mood swings. I’ve already got a pretty good track record with you.”

She gave me a light smack on the chest, though there was no real force behind it. “Jerk.”

“Hey, you love it,” I teased, dipping my head to kiss her again, this time on the lips, lingering just a little longer.

Wendy grinned against my mouth, her hand sliding up to cup the side of my face. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

We lay there in silence for a while after that, the quiet between us comfortable and full of unspoken promises. The world outside felt far away, the weight of our lives reduced to nothing in the warmth of our shared space. Finally, Wendy broke the silence, her voice soft but steady. “No matter what happens… no matter who or what comes for us… I’ll always fight for you, Austin.”

I looked down at her, my heart swelling at the determination in her eyes. “And I’ll always be there, fighting right beside you. We’re in this together.” She smiled, that familiar spark of playful mischief returning to her gaze. “Good. Because I’m not letting you off the hook. Ever.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmured, my lips brushing hers once more as my hand found its way back to her cheeks, caressing them tenderly, sealing the quiet vow we both knew we'd keep for as long as it took—through every storm and shadow.

As we settled back into each other’s arms, the world could wait. For now, it was just us. As I continued to trace lines and trails around Wendy’s body

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Ann and Lulu. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: I know I shouldn't but I say that every time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖 

Finally, you’re going to college but it can’t be a smooth transition. No, there’s always a hurdle in the road. You have your acceptance and your tuition scraped together, and there’s only one box left unticked; housing.  

It’s as if the ad was meant for you. ‘Book your room now. Single rooms available for campus students.’ 

Maybe people are right when they say your devices are listening to you. Still, you can’t exactly pass up the opportunity. All summer you searched yet just like the rest of your life, you’re running behind. 

The response is so quick, you almost can’t believe it’s real. It isn’t, not yet. It’s just an offer of a walk-through. You’ve done a dozen of those at least and each time, the room went to someone else. But you have to try. You can’t just give up, not after everything you’ve gone through to get here. 

Better late than never. That could be your motto. You should get it inscribed in Latin on something. Maybe a jacket? Are letterman’s out of style? 

You head out for the noon-hour meeting with the building manager. The posting said it was a new development. Hopefully, that means you don’t have to deal with anyone elses' leftover grime. Not that you’re picky. You’ve lived in worse. 

You let Marla know you’re heading out. Your mom’s friend will be even more ecstatic if you get this one. Neither of you expected you to be crashing for so long. It’s getting a bit crowded with her own kids still under the same roof. 

You catch the downtown route and get the connection just before it drives off. The building is slightly off-campus. You don’t mind. You're a bit too old to be kept awake by the frat house ragers. The reminder sparks another swell of insecurity. 

High school feels distant and you feel a bit pathetic running to catch up from behind. You’ll be older than most of the freshmen, even those who took a gap year. At least you’re doing it. Yeah, that’s something. An achievement is still that even if it’s not on the same schedule as everyone else. 

You miss your stop and curse yourself. It’s only a block away from where you need to be but you’re getting close to twelve as you spot the same building from the ad.

It’s a nice place. Modern and sleek. You wonder why anyone would convert it to student housing. Financially, it’s likely a windfall yet students do have a way of ruining a good thing. 

As you come up the walk, the curtain flutters in one of the windows. The boxy building isn’t quite as big as the on-campus dorms. That’s another relief. Not having to deal with the crush of students. 

The more you think about it, the more this seems like the perfect opportunity. You don’t want to get your hopes up. You know better. 

The door opens before you can reach it. You falter as a lithe man breezes through and grins in your direction. His blond hair pales in the sunlight and his blue eyes twinkle. He’s at least a decade, maybe two, older than you but he’s not aged poorly. 

“Ah, you must be Ann,” he extends his arm in a formal greeting, “Jonathan, we emailed.” 

“Oh, yes,” you shake his hand and show your teeth sheepishly. “Sorry if I’m late.” 

“Right on time,” he lets go and checks his watch. “I thought we could have our tour and then get to the usual questions. You understand, we have a strict screening process for residents. We can never be too careful.” 

He turns and strides back to the door and opens it, waiting for you as he steps to the side. You approach as he beckons within. 

“It is as much about out safety as those we choose to live here. We have seen the recent scandals at the college and what with the world the way it is. He tuts as you precede him through the door. His accent soothes your bubbling nerves. 

The entry way is tidy and neat. There’s a shelf of cubbies for shoes and a rack opposite with at least a dozen hooks for jackets and the like. You kick the dirt on your soles onto the mat. 

“You may leave your shoes on for the tour. We will have the house cleaned prior to move-in day. Of course, once you and your flat mates are in-house, it will be up to you to determine house rules.” He points you ahead. “Of course, if you choose to stay with us.” 

“Right, er, yeah, makes sense.” 

“Is this your first year?” He asks. His overly cordial manner helps ease you. 

“Mhmm, um, finally. I had to delay it a bit but happy to finally be going to school,” you explain. 

“Never too late to do something new,” he remarks. He gestures into the front room. 

“We’ve two common rooms, seeing as there will be six residents. We would like you to have all the amenities as a typical building. You see, this is a pilot program. We’ve a government grant for development of student housing.” 

You nod. You don’t really care about the money behind it but you appreciate his explanation. You’d rather know more than you need to. 

“A sitting area; television, sofas, perfect for a movie night, should you choose to spend a night in.” He lets you look around as he keeps to the wall and waits, “in the next,” he leads you on, “some games. Table tennis. A table should you wish to partake in any other sort of gaming.” 

The place is nice. Everything is brand new and shiny. There’s a shelf of board games by the sleek black table with chairs. The ping pong table has four paddles and there’s a basket of balls on a wall shelf. It’s all arranged so perfectly. 

You carry on into the kitchen. It’s huge. You marvel at the pale blue and black aesthetic, accented in silver and crystal. It’s immaculate. A bit much for college kids. 

“Uh,” you turn to him and twiddle your fingers, “did I read the rent correctly? I don’t know if I can afford this.” 

“Yes, two-hundred plus utilities. As I’ve said, we get a supplement from the government for housing students.” 

“Oh, sure, makes sense,” you sway and look around again. 

“There are a few things to go over, do let me know if you have any questions as we go,” he stands back as you tentatively explore without touching anything. “We’ve continuous security in place. You may see any of our staff on the grounds throughout your day. You will of course be acquainted on move-in. And we have on-site maintenance.” 

You nod as you listen and he takes you back around to the entryway and shows you the bedrooms on the other side of the house, only two down there, four upstairs according to him. He allows you even to peek into the bathroom behind the staircase. 

“Now, before I go through the typical questions, there is one condition I might confirm before wasting your time,” he says. “It was in the application but I do like to double-check these things. You are comfortable with co-ed residence? A mix of boys, girls, and all?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you smile.  

It’s not ideal. You’ve never really lived with men but you can make it work. 

“Splendid, well, how about we go and see the verandah? It is a sunny day and I hate to miss the sunlight, especially as autumn approaches so quickly.” 

“Oh, okay,” you agree and reroute as he directs you with an open hand. “This place is really nice.” 

“Thank you. I’ve overseen the design myself so I will happily accept that praise,” he chuckles as he trails after you. “Oh, you’ve not even seen the garden.” 

As if the flight wasn’t enough, you’re met with an endless wait in line to have your visa and documents checked before you can leave the airport. Even after all that, you’re far from settled. 

You pull out your notebook as the signs bring you down to the underground station. It’s neat that there’s a whole set of tracks right underneath the airport. Everything about this new place is so astounding but scary... 

You check your scribbles and stop at the wall map to confirm the information. Your platform is a little further down. You better hurry! 

You drag your bag behind you as you scurry down the scuzzy concrete, your carry-on bouncing on your shoulder. It won’t be long, you just need to get to the town centre and go from there. You can’t wait to see your room.  

You hope the real thing lives up to the pictures. The man on the video chat seemed honest. He was friendly. Jonathan... or maybe Jaime. Oh! You shouldn’t forget. 

You're out of breath as you reach the train door. It's like it's waiting for you as once you board, the compartment door shuts. You find a seat and keep your suitcase stuffed in front of you. It's already cramped without the luggage.  

You keep an eye on the digital banner near the exit. You won't miss your stop. When it comes, you're the first up and waiting to get off. 

Outside, you're swept up in vertigo. The distance between you and home finally catches up to you. You're really there. All on your own. 

You're shaky as you take out your notebook and your phone. You just need to go around the corner... every twist and turn is written down. From the airport to the station to your residence. 

Your bag rolls and rattles as you go down the next street. You recognise the house from the pictures. The lawns are vibrant and green and the front gate adds a homey touch. 

You stop just outside and scroll through your emails. Jonathan said to call when you got there as he'd have the key for you. You find his number and tap it, your phone popping open the call screen. You wait, there's no answer. Hmmm. 

The sudden roar of a motor and blast of air startles you. You look over the hedges at the man with a leaf blower. He clears the trimmings of the finely-groomed bushes. As you glance over, he spots you and shuts off the gadget. 

You smile, tight-lipped and teetering, as he approaches. It's not Jonathan. This man is much the opposite, burly, bald, and bearded. 

"Can I help ya?" He asks in a drawl. 

"Oh, sorry," you giggle nervously "I must look like a mouse in a swimming pool. I'm looking for Jonathan Pine." 

He tilts his head slightly, a squint as he seems to chew on his thoughts. 

"He's 'round. I can get him for ya. Can I get who's askin'?" 

"Oh, Lulu. I'm supposed to be moving in, sir," you push your shoulders up as another uneasy trill crawls from your throat. 

"Ah, you best come on in," he goes to the gate and unlatches it, "here." As you near, he reaches out and grabs the handle of your rolling bag, "you come far?" 

You let him drag the overpacked suitcase. Your shoulders are killing you. You follow him down the paved walk. 

"Yes, I flew in. From overseas," you answer. 

"Shoulda known. You sound like him." 

You laugh again. Your accent is not as refined as Jonathan's but certainly is nothing close to the local one either. 

"Name's Sy, I fix this place up and all. Do the garden, unclog the sink," you stops at the door and sets your bag to stand on it's own. "I'll get Jon for ya." 

You nod and he disappears through the front door. You sway as you peer around. The place is amazing. The facade is just as gleaming as the advert and the gardens are lovely. You've always liked oak trees and you're sure the leaves will be a beautiful shade of copper once the seasons change. 

The door opens again and startles you back to the present. You look up as Sy dips his chin in your direction and keeps the door open. A familiar face emerges and a tiny bit of pressure lifts off your chest. You're definitely in the right place.  

"A pleasure to finally meet in person," Jonathan offers his hand. You shake it and a giggle crackles in your throat, the habit harder to suppress as your stress mounts. "I am glad that you made it and I trust you had a safe journey?" 

"Oh, yes, sir, yes," you answer, "thanks." 

"Sy," he glances at the other man who promptly retreats. 

"Well then, please, let us get you set. You are the first to arrive. Of course, there is no trouble accommodating you early given the circumstances. Such a far way to travel. You must be terribly tired." 

"Oh, a little, but excited too." You go to grab your suitcase but he's much quicker.  

He directs you in first and follows as he rolls your bag with him. 

"I've put you upstairs but if the first floor is preferable, we can rearrange," he explains. 

"Upstairs is fine!" You squeak in a tone higher than your usual tenor. 

"Ah, I recall my first time abroad myself, it was surely nerve-racking. Don't be shy, eh, it does help to have someone who understands the plight, hm?" 

"Thank you, sir. Yes, it's... it's all so new." 

"Mm, you needn't call me sir, Jonathan is fine enough," he insists as you begin up the stairs. "Perhaps you won't feel so out of place once the others come." 

[nonotnolan]

The Ends Justify The Means

As always, this February story is dedicated to my valentine, @mergeman

"Okay, but did we have to add him to the Hivemind?" Jordan said, looking at his unconscious boss with a look of resigned disappointment. "If I end up with an old man's vocabulary because of him, I'm gonna be so upset. This body looks too good to sound like a geezer." He tossed his shirt to the ground and gave me a flex. "See what I mean?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Some humans stress-tested my 40% Free Will rule, and Jordan was definitely one of them. "One, bringing him into the Collective is the only way to bend his authority to our will. Two, the symbiote doesn't change our speech, it just enhances our knowledge. And three, the eventual goal is to overtake most of humanity anyway. We were gonna have to add Shaun sooner or later."

Jordan nodded, though I doubted he was paying any attention me. He was one of the part-time workers I had converted within the past two hours, and so his symbiote half was still checking out his new body. I can't blame it, I suppose.

I wasn't sure this plan was even going to work, so I was glad we managed to succeed. Capturing the part-time college students who worked here had been easy-- a bit of flirting from a tempting body, a kiss to introduce the symbiote, rinse and repeat. Shaun had been much more difficult. We had to resort to ambushing him in the bathroom where there we no cameras. Jordan's strength held him in place while I pried open his jaw to insert the new symbiote. It was far from elegant-- Shaun was stronger than he looked-- but at least it worked.

Shaun finally opened his eyes, and looked at me with a wry grin. "Alright, sir. I know we have a lot to talk about, but let's retreat somewhere else, shall we? It's cramped in here, and I think Jordan is a few moments away from whipping his dick out."

"You're not wrong," I said, shaking my head. "We should probably leave him to it. If nothing else, it will be nice to talk things over someplace a bit... less pungent. I assume you know what is going to be expected of you?"

"I do," Shaun says, crossing his arms. "Although I was hoping to talk to you about that one. I scheduled Darren to work Valentine's Day because I haven't had that day off for the past three years. This body's wife is threatening to make life miserable if I still have to work the holiday despite my recent promotion. I have a proposal for you."

I smiled at the audacity of this symbiote. Clearly its host body had a lot of confidence.

"Darren will still get the day off, of course," Shaun said. "But instead of working the day myself, I'll just tell Jenn that she's going to have to handle the shift solo. We don't need two store managers tomorrow night-- no one goes furniture shopping on Valentine's."

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

"You'll never guess what happened today!" Darren said, greeting me when I arrived home. He and I had been dating for a few weeks now, ever since I was granted control over this host body. Unlike the symbiotes who were mostly extensions of my mind and my personality, I had full control and full autonomy over my decisions. Coming out of the closet was one of the first changes I made to this host's former life.

"Your store is actually closing for a holiday?" I guessed, walking up to him and hugging him from behind. I held him close, feeling the heat of his body against my borrowed chest. Humans were very big on physical contact, and it was a ritual I was more than happy to join.

Darren chuckled as he turned around for a quick kiss. "Okay, so it wasn't a miracle. But it was still pretty crazy! Shaun texted me, and approved my vacation time for tomorrow. Can you believe that? I've never known him to change his mind like that before."

I just smiled at him. "Maybe your District Manager yelled at him about it? You did submit that request a few months ago." As much as I hated feeding white lies and omitted facts to my boyfriend, I couldn't justify telling him my full truth this early in the relationship. Anyway, the only way I'd be filling him with a symbiote would be if we broke up and he posed a risk to my secret. I wanted a relationship with an equal, not a masturbatory fling with a clone of myself. Anyway, what was the phrase? The ends justify the means.

"Well, maybe." He paused a few minutes to consider this possibility before shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, and I'm not going to question it. I'm just glad you kept those dinner reservations! I'm looking forward to tomorrow's date!" He smiled, and I could feel my heart melting. I would do anything in my power to make him happy.

[coffeesleep-ooc]

DNNNH but LiuShen

Recently I’ve been watching Dungeon no Naka no Hito and my brain decided ro just spam me with sv thoughts.

(beware spoilers for the anime btw!)

For ppl that hasn’t seen it, it’s an adventurer who tried to find her father in a dungeon only to end up being employed there by the administrator! She lives a lot of new experiences with this new job, like understanding a bit of how the dungeon works, that some monsters ate intelligent, why some monsters drop gems, the relationship between the dungeon and the outside world etc etc…and there’s even some hints of a potential relationship between the cute admin and the protagonist!

So i was thinking her ‘must be strong’ cold no friends personality - even though she is loyal to a fault and still tries her best to find her only family and better her fighting strength - would fit LQG quite well! And administrator-san who is apparently op as heck but happy and sweet and messy like nobody else fits SY!SQQ quite well!

So imagine:

LQG is initially wary bc he (she? him? she??? idk if i should make them girls, it would be cute either wayyyy, girls have their own charm but they work ao well as giya in denial too…) didn’t come here for this, and this pretty person leading him who knows where could always be a very elaborate illusion or trap of the dungeon. But then he actually fights him and its a whole thing that doesn’t let him sleep at night. It was that spectacular…and later on he becomes the only human companion to the administrator of the dungeon, they have other people and beings in there, but still it appears tha SQQ is quite lonely. Regardless, LQG lost and has to fulfill his end of their deal, so he works: he does stuff like move supplies, refill the dungeon’s chests, train in the shadows, and anything and everything SQQ can think of.

LQG doesn’t understand how SQQ can work with so many things around. SQQ is still dying of shame bc his new friend employee saw the surveillance room before he tidied everything up.

He also admires SQQ’s sense of duty and passion. He likes to see him smile and pretend that he isn’t tearfully hoping Liu Qingge won’t throw away the very unusable stuff he has accumulated, like the 100 holes umbrella (‘it will have an use’, he says, ‘it converts water in other random things of the same size of the hole’, he says. ‘Isn’t that cool???’ He also says). LQG likes to watch him pat the fax slime (mo idea where a word like fax came from, but the thing is useful at least) after it spits out documents, or excitedly play with low level monsters in the first floor.

He also likes to see WQW (the resident dwarf blacksmith) scold SQQ for delaying the patrols and forgetting to organize the administrator's room. It’s…entertaining to see his face contort trying not to pout.

LQG likes working in the dungeons with SQQ, with WQW and everyone else.

And SQQ? Well, SQQ is always there for LQG’s progress as a warrior now. He watches him growl and frown when he doesn’t understand something (most of the things related to monsters, magic and the dungeon itself), watches his eyes light up when there’s battle or training, watches him go into pensive modes when there’s something new he just learnt.

SQQ definitely doesn’t listen in secret as LQG tries to imitate the language of one monster they interviewed earlier that day. He does not struggle to silence his giggles when LQG unknowingly says something vulgar.

SQQ doesn’t smile when he watches LQG struggling but doing his best to accept whatever the dungeon throws at him. He is not looking at LQG barely managing to contain his excitement when talking of weapons with WQW and feeling fond. He is not…

Who is he kidding? SQQ is happy he has a…coworker now. He is happy he has a companion. Since the previous administrator left he has been… craving human contact maybe. Just maybe.

*

There is another scene in particular that i think would be extremely funny with these two. When they sit down to eat, imagine SQQ asking LQG why he (or she?) doesn’t eat anything aside from the basic bread and meat that he gets in the kitchen rations, and he says his big sister (almost parental figure) taught him that messing with cooking could kill him if he didn’t do it right.

then proceeds to tell SQQ of the time he tried to put salt in his soup, only to make it a disgusting mess that couldn’t be eaten and would surely kill him if he tried while SQQ (who also has mo idea of cooking) listens with horror

This is someone else’s cue to enter and say:

“You are really strong but don’t know anything of the world, do you? You are not supposed to throw in a huge rock of salt but grind it and use a little bit of the sand that rests.”

SQQ & LQG: Oh…

And then comes chef extraordinaire LBH to try and teach these two about cooking, stopping LQG feom making the ingredients paste, stopping SQQ from tasting the peeling of the onions, amongst other difficult things that make him end up in the floor looking at the ceiling with a lost gaze that speaks of the horrors

he does find top grade ingredients that make him salivate and put puppy eyes at SQQ

LQG has his world changed after one Hap-i mean…one Binghe meal!

*

Or alternatively! Shen Qingqiu has to go renew his contract with the new ruler of the nation and be able to be a self-ruling dungeon-town. He thinks this is too much work. So he asks LQG ro disguise himself as the actual dungeon admin and fight the king in his place! What does hw mean he’s not strong enough yet? Ofc he is! Believe this poor overworked administrator Liu-dada! He won’t let you be in danger anyways! (LQG is unimpressed)

there’s a problem tho, the king wants to win no matter what, so when the fight goes ro LQG’s side he secretly orders his strongest bodyguard to subdue the seemingly soft and weak young master that accompanies the “master of the dungeon” so he can make LQG surrender of his own volition. However, when he turns, the strongest man in the whole country is unconscious himself while SQQ rapidly stands up to cough awkwardly (yes, his eyes didn’t deceivw him, this young master was poking at his bodyguard and playing with his unconscious form). Lets say that the young king ends up fighting an angry LQG while SQQ tries to calm them both down.

when they finally renew the contract tho, SQQ asks if there’s any questions and the king says:

“i-if i may be so bold to say…you fought beautifully, I- this one is called Luo Binghe, could i ask for your name?”

SQQ: o.o

LQG: … ò.ó

SQQ: S…L…! I-I!!! MY NAME IS MU QINGFANG GOODBYE

SQQ was still breathing heavily after the transportation light dimmed inside the admin room.

“You said you were the dungeon’s slime.”

“S-shut up!”

“Wei Qingwei is going to yell at you.”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” (Insert very manly whines here)

LQG feels…annoyed. He doesn’t want SQQ to go away with some king that has no manners. He wants SQQ to stay with him for…for a long time. Mmm, he must be catching something to feel this bad, maybe he shouldn’t have pushed himself so far in training the day before.

The king tried to dins info on this MQF to invite him to dinner, he is still sighing hopefully, sadly that “MQF” has no idea he is losing an interesting meal. LQG finds out and is angry for a whole week for no reason, he wants to go fight the king asap! SQQ is confused.

*

Was also thinking about where SQH would fit in here bc i love cumplane way too much too, and that made me think of Qijiu as well, so this another idea came to the braincell.

L: “Wait, so your shizun is still alive?”

“yeah…the dungeon was his passion and everything, but he found his childhood sweetheart and eloped. I mean, I’m glad he didn’t have just the dungeon you know? But then, Qinghua also eloped! That b-p-person!”

LQG fondly ignored the softly said: “stupid pair of assholes leaving me here to manage their responsibilities!” He already knew that SQQ said that to hide his real feelings.

“and Qinghua was…?”

“oh,he was shizun’s other disciple, but his magic was less combat oriented i guess? So shizun made me his successor…An ice monster kidnapped Qinghua after shizun was gone for two years.”

“An ice monster did what?!”

“Willingly, he was willingly kidnapped to do paperwork and have his children.”

LQG was speechless.

SQQ snorted.

“Im just kidding, he went to become an advisor.”

*

MQF should be a slime.

Ik how it sounds but hear me out too. There’s this cool system in DNNNH (or maybe it should be DNH? Idk) where slimes are monsters of the dungeon that are just there and never attack you, but behind the scenes there’s a gigantic slime that is the “mother”, and the admin periodically cuts bits of the giant slime to produce smaller copies that act like lil cleaners of the place (they dissolve stuff) and qhen they lose most of their magic and become rlly tiny and get to join the mother again.

so, was thinking that MQF should be the head cleaner alime version! So he sends lil copies of himself to dissolve stuff and clean!!! But he sleeps a lot or eats ravenously things that fontain magic power to replwniah his energy so he has lass interaction with LQG and SQQ!

QQQ could be one of the dungeon bosses in a grumpy violet cat form maybe. Other peak lords could also be nom-human staff.

there’s human connections tho! Like the guild’s directors and adventurers that try hard to pass each floor… and the one cooking episode with soup…and fried veggies…

…now im also hungry

*

I theorize that the protag’s father accidentally fell into the demon’s world. So i imagine a big sister LMY happily writing the equivalent of bl after falling into that world lsndmsjsj.

her (or his? Gender bent thoughts attack again) works are so famous that they reach othwr worlds too!

and LQG finds one, he thinks ‘this is…somehow familiar?’ but he doesn’t know why!!!

SQQ finds the book and misunderstands tho. Rip.

“To think he would have this kind of tastes…well, one needs to have a hobby no?”

SQQ read da book, tears da book apart - metaphorically -. New hobby unlocked too!

*

I also think that the king could come to the doors of the dungeon after finding nothing ofthe mysterious MQF and oofer food to the beautiful and shy MQF.

LQG would be raging, SQQ running for his life and the rest of them wondering why the human king wants ro court a regular slime. Though he will certainly manage with food.

*

I may or may not add more to this if i get any ideas…

[velvetvexations]

it's so unfair lol

That sounds really cool, anon!

we need to build a wall (in the Atlantic)

Thank you. <3

I don't think calling it "misandry" is accurate in all cases but you're correct that the terror of transfem sex offenders is essentially the same bigoted instinct that makes White people fearful of Black sex offenders. Trans women aren't men and aren't oppressed for being men but transphobes aren't lying when they say they see us as men. That doesn't make what we suffer misandry, but it does mean you can't just default assume "man" is a privileged category to be perceived as.

"it's bad to listen to trans women when they disagree with me" -apricot-aligator, 2024

Amazingly, my personal least favorite Tumblr user managed to make a post pointing out that "TME" appearances were only so high because it counted appearances and not actual individuals, and that it was mostly one person.

It'd be a real "worst person you know made a great point" moment if it had also realized the methodology was formulated specifically to craft that illusion. And it was right after it reblogged the school shooter post. These people make it so hard to praise them, you know? Kinna like a dog trained to piss everywhere when you give'em a treat.

baeddel is a slur to silence them and I wish it worked

very happy to have converted you to Dandadanism

I sure hope so as well anon

It wasn't even orchestrated that way by The Cis in this case.

Yeah. It's not that hard to just. Not be pointlessly cruel.

Sounds like you're playing the long game, anon, sneakily pretending to have adoring love for your AMAB trans friends for years and years to maximize the pain when you accuse them of sexual assault. I recognize the tactic because it's what all my non-transfem friends have been doing, they just haven't sprung the trap yet.

I still don't know anything about them or that discourse so I will welcome education on the matter.

Yeah!

The Homestuck fandom was very irony-poisoned and hated pretty much everyone for everything.

I don't think it's become a dog whistle because legitimate uses still vastly outweigh non-legitimate but the lie that it was invented exclusively for transbians does feel me with indescribable rage.

Yeah, the controversy has been ongoing from like, day one lol.

There is some debate about the precise origins and what exactly it referred to but I am pretty sure that "and that's where the word bad comes from, a term for trans women" is emo nonsense. Also, even if it did originally refer to feminine men, that is Not The Same Thing anyway.

I've literally never seen a trans man make a misogynistic joke, so I couldn't possibly know.

I hope you get that anon. <3 Somehow I have the same problem. Funny how transfem and transmasc depictions both trend towards femininity, isn't it?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Weltschmerz is a German word that describes a feeling of sadness, weariness, or hopelessness about the world. It's made up of the words Welt, meaning "world", and Schmerz, meaning "pain".

[Thanks Ellen Geller]

* * * *

Put one foot in front of the other. Repeat.

November 16, 2024

Robert B. Hubbell

It was a tough week—on the heels of an even tougher week. A few Democrats are revved up and ready to jump back in the fight. But if my inbox is a reliable indicator, many (most?) people are still reeling from the losses on Election Day. They are bewildered, exhausted, tapped out emotionally and financially, and angry. You wouldn’t be human if you did not feel those emotions in some measure. Hopes were high, and the loss was unexpected. The disappointment was exacerbated by PTSD.

The president-elect has a feral sense that many Democrats are emotionally vulnerable. His cabinet picks are designed to rub salt in our wounds and deepen our sense of bewilderment. We must recognize that the ludicrous nominations over the past week are part of a strategy to dispirit and weaken Democrats—in hopes of reducing their resolve to resist his dark plans.

We cannot give in to the president-elect’s transparent ploy. Although I am not a fan of the Godfather movie franchise (no hate mail, please!), every American knows the line, “‘It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business.”

Trump’s bizarre, anti-government nominations are not personal. They are strictly business—to Trump and to us. He is using them as an emotional cudgel against Democrats and a test of loyalty for incredulous Republicans. Our job is to defeat as many of the nominations as possible—thereby demonstrating that Trump is vulnerable and weak after his narrow win.

It is possible that Trump will resort to unilateral recess appointments by forcing an adjournment of Congress for ten days so that he can cram his unqualified, anti-establishment choices on the American people.

Doing so would be a mistake and would overplay Trump's hand. The officers would be branded as illegitimate leaders who could not make it through a Senate confirmation. More importantly, such a move would instantly convert Trump into America’s first (and last) dictator.

No other president has forced an adjournment of Congress, much less for the anti-democratic purpose of evading the Senate’s “advice and consent” role under the Constitution. Although lawsuits would challenge the recess appointments unilaterally engineered by Trump, the bigger point is that the move would drop all pretense of a president bound by the rule of law.

Whatever the Framers thought they were doing with the recess appointments and the adjournment clause, none of them believed those clauses could be manipulated to strip the Senate of its constitutional obligation to review presidential nominations.

If Trump manages to remove the Senate’s advice and consent role from the Constitution, he will sow the seeds of his quick undoing.

As I write, it appears that the nominations of Matt Gaetz, Pete Hegseth, and Robert Kennedy are in trouble—at least if they go through the Senate confirmation process.

We can help keep up the pressure by notifying our Senators and Representatives that we oppose the nominations of Gaetz, Hegseth, Kennedy, and Gabbard. See Jessica Craven’s Chop Wood Carry Water for a word script and link to phone numbers. Chop Wood, Carry Water 11/14.

There are two other themes that deserve mention as we head into the weekend.

The first is the stand-alone injury to women across America who hoped that the 2024 election would be a major step to re-establishing their status as equal citizens under the Constitution. Few opinion writers or journalists have mentioned that the re-election of Trump has dashed those hopes—at least for another four years.

Mother Jones has addressed the issue of the election’s impact on women in its article, Of Misogyny, Musk, and Men by Clara Jeffrey. The article runs under the sub-header “Women are not okay. We’re furious.”  

For all of the punditry analyzing the reason for Democrats’ loss on November 5, almost none of them mention the Trump campaign’s explicit appeal to sexism among young men. Any pundit who purports to analyze the reasons for Kamala Harris’s loss and does not list misogyny among the top three reasons is running cover for Trump—whether they intend to or not.

The second issue is the unrelenting tidal wave of pundit analyses that seek to assign blame for the Democratic loss. Spoiler alert: The reason is (allegedly) that Democrats are “liberal elitists” who ignored the working class.

The above analysis is both wrong and lazy. But even if it were accurate, it beggars belief that journalists and pundits are wasting their time assigning blame at the very moment that Trump “is slouching toward Bethlehem” in the manner of the “rough beast” in The Second Coming.1

If the above metaphor is too obscure for a Saturday morning, here is another: Imagine that we are on an oil drilling platform in the North Sea. A fire has started in the galley and threatens to engulf the entire platform. What is the better course of action? To argue over who is responsible for starting the fire in the galley or to work on extinguishing the fire?

It is appropriate and necessary to understand how and why Democrats fell short in 2024. But to do so at a time when we are stranded on a burning platform is suicidal. Assigning blame may fill column inches but it corrodes unity. The legacy media is failing us.

And yet, readers cannot resist the temptation to forward articles to me with the thesis, “Democrats are liberal elitists who got what they deserved.” I get a dozen such emails a day (often multiple duplicates of the latest from NYT or WaPo). I have received hundreds since November 5.

Amplifying such articles merely compounds the journalistic malpractice of the legacy media. We should not give them oxygen. They invite disputation and discord. They are inimical to our prime objective: Resist the efforts of the Trump administration to erode the rule of law.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[strkid]

You know what I’ll say this

IF it is that guy Luigi Mangione, and he’s not just some guy realizing he could do the funniest thing ever as soon as he saw the photos — or he’s not just some guy who kinda fit the profile and now they’re planting evidence on him etc

But IF it is that guy then I’ll say this. Center right wing people are the ones who could do this.

A deed like this one requires a certain level of individualism in your political beliefs in order to make you carry it out

As an anarchist and a communist I have unfortunately in many ways lost a lot of hope through adulthood regarding organizing collectively.

I see it as the strongest weapon but it’s incredibly difficult and exhausting and the effort is huge and long term and many of the wins feel small

Yet my despair would never be able to entirely reach the point of murdering one CEO, even though I believe in propaganda of the deed, my deed would be much more likely to be aimed at something like a weapons manufacturing plant, or an oil refinery or some other cog in the machine

However a deed like that wouldn’t fully be able to reach the masses like this did.

When most people view the world as made up of people rather than systems, a deed like this will reach everyone in a way that blowing up their offices or something wouldn’t have.

This guy took the structural and made it personal.

He reduced the CEO to his human parts. To his flesh and blood.

I think this is something that the working class can resonate with more than any type of more structural deed.

The commentary more than any other commentary, allows the cracks to surface; by this I mean:

If the guy had burned down a UHC building to the ground with no injuries to people

(Such as is often the tactics of the most extremist leftist or anarchist groups whether it’s the vegans and climate activists of the 90s or Weather Underground of the 60s)

Saying that you don’t care about an office being burned down doesn’t provoke the out of touch rich people at all as much.

They much don’t care either; to them the office is ultimately numbers- they’d be indignant and demand the “justice” system harshly punish those who destroy their sources of income — but they wouldn’t actually care.

This deed, while perhaps not in and out of itself destroying the machine in the same sense that for example pal action does — this one is in some ways significantly scarier to at least some of the capitalists

What they’re seeing online is that the people, as soon as anyone manages to actually illustrate class tensions, are actually pretty united

When class tension becomes sufficiently visible, people are able to unite across the dividing lines and agree, wholeheartedly for the deaths of those who oppress us.

If we are lucky, the way things play out from now on will keep bringing out the sense that the capitalists too are flesh and blood just like ourselves

I hope as well that we remember this when we speak to bigots and right wingers; we have things in common. Our class interests align.

Our job as leftists is not to convert anyone to our ideology, or to our organizations.

Our main job is to get people to look up.

When in discussions about sensitive topics come up, try to aim the conversation upward.

Use their lingo. Talk about the “suits in the offices”, talk about the rich, talk about honest work

[corinne-eaglebridge-sso]

A simple guide to Shilling-banking

So, these are all the methods I've found to save up Jorvik shillings in your closet, without it actually being shillings and counting towards the cap! I personally use these to stockpile for limited events, but you can use it for whatever you want! Most if not all of these methods are aimed towards starriders.

Light Every light sells for 1 shilling, which doesn't seem much - but it is extremely easy to get light! Run around the woods, extract it from wild seeds with your terra powers, gather herbs, etc! Light will easily be your biggest source of shillings if you spend a lot of time in the Hollow Woods. Be careful, though! While light stockpiles easily, dividing from stacks goes one-by-one... Consider taking some time to run around between the woods and closet, making and stockpiling different stack sizes of light - 500, 2000, 5000, etc. You're not going to have a completely empty shillings amount in your backpack very often, and this will save you the pain of losing shillings by selling more than you need to reach the cap!

Archeology The tried and tested method! Focus especially on Epona's special finds, and keep the items you get there in your closet. For ease of stockpiling, do not trade them in until you need the shillings. If you have the time and have a route, Dino valley might be a nice change of pace - however, regarding time management, you're unlikely to make more shillings here than you would if you ran around in Hollow Woods collecting light, and with more different items, it takes up more closet spaces. Only do Dino archeology if you actually like it - it's not very profitable otherwise now.

Championships If you are interested in doing championships, winning and stockpiling ribbons from this can be a good way to fund your spending. There's not much to say about this one - it is dependent on your racing skills. Edit: (thank you @centeris2) every championship you complete will give you at least 200 shillings - store these by not claiming the prizes you get in the mail until you need the shillings.

High Score Races Like championships but worse; races give you payout if you have the daily, weekly or monthly high score of your server. This one heavily depends on your racing skills again, and also shows way less immediate and substantial reward: you might be the first when you finish, but unless you race at 11PM, it's likely someone will kick you off the first place later in the day. This is more like a nice bonus for if you are already training horses than a reliable source of shillings. To stockpile these, simply leave the messages in your inbox until it's time to use the shillings; you can then claim all this mail with shillings.

Flax = hay Another terra path ability is turning flax into hay. And while some of that hay may go towards your horses, depending on your garden setup you may quickly find yourself buried in a mountain of flax. Flax grows fast and interacts with many plants to form the rare flowers, so there's a high chance you have this in your garden. Each piece of hay sells for 5 shillings - take some time to convert some flax every once in a while, then stockpile them in your closet!

I hope this is helpful for people! There might be more techniques, of course - these are just the ones I use! If you know of any others, please feel free to add them in the comments!

[basilone]

22 for Nora Graham from the trio prompts?

Thank you for sending this one! Prompt 22 is a red convertible, a priest’s collar and dogtags... which naturally made me think of Nora & Crank! 😊 I hope you will like this one.

It’s remarkably easy to hide this.

It helps, she supposes, that most days when she walks out the girls aren’t clamoring a where are you going, Nora at her. They used to back when they were in training, but she’s well-practiced enough to make everything she does sound like a great boring yawn. Just going to grab another cup of coffee, just going on a walk and watch the birds, just going to find a place to sit and draw my maps in peace, and nobody bothers to ask to come along to any of that.

She sometimes wonders how it is that they didn’t wash out. Tiny spends more time gossiping than anyone she knows, but yet managed to get her pilot license just fine. Val and Push are some of the most combative arguers she’s ever met, getting into trouble for it until they’re airborne and doing their jobs better than anybody. By all rights, Frosty should have been on the outs when the brass figured out just what that Lombardi surname was about – all Chicago mob in that girl, right down to her stash of cash and jewels – but then Frosty’d calculated a bomb drop with alarming accuracy and that had stopped them all cold.

Nora supposes beggars can’t be choosers in a time of war. Whatever she considers to be their personal flaws – Max calling girls pretty but never calling a man handsome, One-Eye’s refusal to sleep without her teddy, Dee’s hatred of men’s mustaches – are things that Colonel Huglin and Colonel Harding both wouldn’t give a damn about. As long as they can fly right, it hardly matters what they do when down on the ground.

“You’re doing it again,” says Charles, then, all soft admonishment beside her.

She allows her grin to stretch to the corners of her mouth. “Doing what?”

“Thinking too hard for the occasion.”

“One of us ought to,” she says, turning her head only to find him smiling at her already. “Just realizing that nobody cares what we do as long as we’re able to get into a bomber and give hell to everyone who deserves it. It’s a sole purpose sort of thing, you know?”

“Hmm.”

“That’s a hmm, Nora, you are clever but I disagree sort of hmm.”

“I wouldn’t say nobody cares.” His voice is as earnest as his eyes – soft yet unyielding – and a soft sigh accompanies his words. “They care enough to send us to a flak house, or give us weekend passes when we really need them. They care enough to keep us grounded when we fly too much. Buck would’ve passed out if they’d made him fly one more run, but they sent him to barracks and made Lottie fly with DeMarco day before last.”

“Which was a great decision, considering that she is finally realizing this fad of hers with Darlene won’t last and DeMarco’s solely responsible for that realization hitting her at all,” says Nora, rolling her eyes a little to let Charles know just what she thinks of all that. “It was like being in a plane with my parents, who’d also pretend everything is fine while making you feel miserable over dinner. Val kept talking over comms just to stave off how unbelievably awkward it was to have DeMarco in our plane. It took two hours before Lottie gave him more than one syllable answers. Two hours, Charles!”

“At least they’re talking again now, aren’t they? I would say it worked out all right.”

“Of course you would say that, you weren’t stuck in a bomber having to give directions to two pilots who both like the same girl,” snorts Nora as she gives him a nudge. “I still don’t think that’s a lot of care going into those sorts of decisions, you know.”

“If nobody cared,” he hums, taking a sip of his coffee, “I could marry you tomorrow without either one of us being sent home about that.”

Nora feels herself flushing crimson from the root of her hair all the way down to her toes. “I thought you said we had to wait until we got home? That you wanted that sweet red convertible to drive us off into the sunset with?” she teases, remembering some of his more fanciful daydreams she had laughed about before realizing he was really quite serious. “Maybe we should get married – find someone with a priest’s collar to do the job – and just not tell anybody.”

Charles’s eyes crinkle into a broad smile. “Don’t have a ring,” he says, ducking his head slightly as he takes a bigger gulp of his drink. “Am saving up to get you one. That’s easy enough, just need to avoid playing craps with DeMarco for a while...”

“We could… exchange dogtags. Or ask Two what sort of thing she’s exchanging with Blakely the second they go on leave.”

“What?”

“Apparently they’re getting married,” shrugs Nora, having mostly learned this through Tiny’s inability to keep quiet about anything. “They’re being too obvious about it, once you know where to look”– Two’s post-flight smiles, Blakely’s refusal to dance with other girls –“but I suppose not everyone is as good as us at hiding that sort of thing. We could pull a sneak wedding off better than they could.”

“Or we could wait,” he says, hand finding hers, “and do all of it better than they could. None of this hurried business where you don’t even have a dress for the occasion. I want us to have a moment, Nora. Something just for us, without…”

“Without the war peeking around the corner asking us to get back into our bombers,” she sighs, dropping her head onto his shoulder. “I know. I want that, too. That moment with you, where it’s nothing but us, where it’s just love. I was just…” Being silly, she almost says, except she doesn’t think Charles would find it silly at all. “I was just getting ahead of myself.”

“I was there with you. Ahead and terribly in love with you about it.”

“Really? Tell me more about that,” she smiles, lifting her head off his shoulder just to kiss his cheek. “How in love are we talking, hm?” She can’t help but giggle as he takes his time to set his coffee cup down. “Oh, you need to take a moment, Charl–mmph!”

“More than a moment,” he laughs, once he pulls back from their kiss. “I am, after all, very in love.”

“Keep talking,” she says, before kissing him briefly.

“Can’t,” he breathes as her hands slip into his curls, “unless by talking you mean…”

Nora tilts her head. Nudges her nose against his a moment. “Kiss me more?”

It shouldn’t be easy to hide this. But for now, toppled over in the grass and laughing about it, Nora is glad this is the one thing she doesn’t have to share.

[thrawns-backrest]

I've never heard anyone talk about this theory on tumblr, but I was curious to ask you. What do you think about Ronan becoming a Grysks spy? I saw such an idea in one fanfic, but there they made Ronan just an ambitious and stupid villain. But I thought about and decided that given its canonical nature, such a development of events also seems to be probable to some extent. It seemed to me so, because look: Ronan in Ascendancy is even more vulnerable than Eli, who managed to build good relations with at least Vah'nya and Ar'alani, he obviously needs a lot of time to somehow get along with at least a brother-in-misfortune, and already especially with someone else. In essence, he is alone, and his character also repels the Chiss from him, which leads to their distrust and unwillingness to explain anything to him. A person who communicates little with anyone and understands little is easy to take advantage of, besides, attachment to some things or people is something that the Grysk are only too good at pressuring, with intimidation or cunning. And Ronan is attachmented to Krennic, to the Empire, to the Death Star, so in theory they have something to hit. In addition, if he is faithful to someone, then he is faithful, as we see, almost to the end. And if someone else could become for him a figure like Krennic to whom he "swears" - this person could push him into many things.

If anything, I'm not saying that this is a full-fledged theory and it will be so in the canon. These are just my thoughts on one of hundreds of possible scenarios. I was wondering how likely you think this is?

Oooh... honestly, as much as I love Ronan, I think that's very likely. I think it's even likelier when you consider Thrawn's suggestion to Ar'alani about feeding Ronan the right kind of information because they know he's a potential traitor.

Looking at the book, it's hard to tell if they mean that in the sense of feeding the Empire information through him or using him to misled the Grysks but both scenarios are kind of sad because neither assumes an eventual assimilation into the Ascendancy (which I'm trying to fix in my fic lol).

But yes, as you said Ronan is a very likely target for the Grysks. Ar'alani herself points it out and if something isn't done to prevent it, Ronan could easily be converted into a Grysk agent. The moment he realizes Thrawn didn't send him on some secret mission to find Chiss jedi, he'll grow even more distrustful of him. And if his experience in the Ascendancy is as negative as we assume it'll be, there's plenty of dislike there for the Grysks to feed and exploit.

In a way, characters with a lot of zeal and extreme views always have that problem. They're just... unstable. Kind of like Anakin in the prequels, because they feel so strongly about something they're open to manipulation and their loyalties can be exploited with the right kind of nudging.

That said, making Ronan's motivation ambition and depriving him of his intellect is just... dumb. Ronan genuinely believes he's on the side of the greater good, that the Empire is doing good, etc. I can see the Grysks convincing him that the Chiss are the bad guys in the grand scheme of things, maybe that they're planning to betray or attack the Empire and use his loyalty and inflated self-righteousness to pit him against them.

The thing about Ronan, I think, is that he has an eye for detail and is good at noticing things and reading people (e.g. realizing that Vah'nya is force sensitive) but he's not as good at using that information to come to the right conclusions. Sometimes he does and that's when his skills shine but sometimes his takes are just so far off it's funny.

Whether it's because he tends to overthink or because his biases skew his thinking, it's still a flaw and one that could be exploited.

My only hope for Ronan resisting the Grysks' manipulation is that he's already seen what they're capable of. There's this moment in the book where he gets a very strong reaction to seeing the bodies they've left behind ("Ronan nodded silently from his seat at the conference room table, trying very hard not to be sick. [...] He tried to remind himself that these men had been thieves who’d stolen from Stardust and the Empire, and that they deserved punishment. The rationalization didn’t help.")

At the end of the day, Ronan isn't cruel and doesn't have the stomach for cruelty. And that could be the only thing stopping him from trusting the Grysks who don't have a problem openly showing their ruthlessness. But, of course, if he's already in a bad place and vulnerable to manipulation, that might not be enough to save him.

[littlelittlesimmies]

i don't think the other anon was implying that people were making 4t2 conversions with bad intentions. i assume the "clique" they mentioned is lordcrumps, tvickiesims, and platinumaspiration, because the three of them upload a lot of bulk 4t2 conversions. i think the anon meant that you should talk to them to see what they plan on converting, so you don't accidentally convert the same things as them. i assume when the anon said other people's cc would be obsolete, they just meant duplicates.

Aw, if that's what the other anon said, then I'm sorry if my reply was a bit upset. Maybe I should turn anonymous asks off to prevent me from assuming that the intentions of the message may be bad. Especially that I don't master english and might misunderstand things.

I think you might be right, I should talk to them, but the thing is I won't. Not that I despise them -far from it-, but because of my sick mind that makes me froze and hyperventilate when I have to talk privately to strangers. And if I miraculously manage to talk to them, then I might suddenly stop replying for the same reasons which is quite rude, isn't it ? + I like my solitude. I'm not a social person at all, even in my afk life. People with depression or autism or other mental health issues might relate. So I'm asking publicly hoping that if someone plans to do the thing, they'll reply or they had said it somewhere (in which case tere might be a lot of people that might know the info and tell me). Does it makes sense ?

Anyway, I'm still a bit skeptical about the idea that small sets might/will become duplicates simply because they are smaller sets… To me, the "duplicate" word implies that something similar already exists, so the first conversion can not be the duplicate one, you know ? It's the conversions made after the first one that are duplicates, no matter if it's from a small or a huge set. At least that's what feels logical to me.

Anyway, I'm not here to fight. I'm here to share my stuff, download a few things, get inspiration while looking at other people's screenshots, and have a good time, so I won't answer anymore if there are more anon asks about it. My first post was only about the fact that I don't want to create duplicates for various reasons and that I'd rather spend my time improve already existing things or create brand new things. It was not a declaration of war 💐

[thegeminisage]

star trek update time. tuesday we did voy's "night" and ds9's "afterimage."

night (voy):

i REALLY liked this one...a rare w for neelix, whose fear of nothingness is relatable and totally understandable considering he just converted to atheism

it also makes me understand why people hc janeway as bipolar...she's up she's down i kind of get it. not sure if i 10% agree but i do at least get it. deeply enjoyed chakotay's attempts to bring her back into the rest of the ship also

also, chakotay asking tuvok for advice <3 and then later janeway is like chakotay i trust you more than anyone on this ship and you just KNOOOW he is like damn take THAT tuvok! worsties <3

MUTINY AS A TREAT!!!! we can have a little mutiny as a treat.

i love that she was like chakotay i trust you saaaur much and he was like got it i will go behind your back to do mutiny

although, is it really mutiny if they're stoping what is more or less a suicide attempt...no. ALSO, it makes me well up how much they love her. not a single one of them wanted to stay behind on that paradise planet and the last time they almost mutinied it was curing 2.25 resolutions in which she did have to be left behind and like...damn. she's kicking herself for what she did to them but they love and trust her so much. wah. excellent episode

oh and before i forget i loved the aliens in this one also. she was like fuck the prime directive we are in fact taking sides <3

afterimage (ds9):

i miss deanna troi.

it's that bad! it's that dire! at least when deanna was being a therapist on a ship she knew what the FUCK she was doing. exri dax is like hee hee we will figure our problems out together at the same time! we will do it without warning in the middle of your tailor's shop! im a junior counselor i am such a good little girl scout! girl...please

i did really like ezri's scenes with sisko. firstly it's hard to fail when you're acting alongside him (although eddington or whoever did manage) and secondly it's when exri feels the most like "just dax" instead of teehee quirky cute junior counselor wannabe manic pixie dream girl. christ

also, it really riles me that garak is talking about this deeply personal stuff with a STRANGER. even jadzia was nearly a stranger to him - they knew each other but they weren't super close. it was a BIG DEAL when garak even allowed julian to know who his father was, and now with no prompting he's talking about that same father locking him in a closet isaac lahey style in the middle of his shop with zero prompting?? get FUCKED. it was so horribly manufactured. garak should have been working through this shit with JULIAN or at least someone who actually knows him. the betrayal of cardassians is such a juicy bit of acting and character development and we fucking wasted it on this shit!

speaking of julian, i'm also extremely put off by julian/exri...quark/exri actually feels so much more natural and respectful at this point whereas "oh she used to love when you flirted with her julian it would have been you if it wasn't worf" was so fucking excruciating and shoehorned in

finally...the worf stuff is bogus. he has no right to be like this isnt the same lady and then threaten people who talk to her. he also has a right to want nothing to do with her since he's grieving. she doesn't have to like make peace or whatever with him. he's not an obstacle she has to overcome in order to feel like one of the gang~! like she literally could leave :/ too bad she won't.

LIKE THEY DIDN'T HAVE TIME. TO DO A NEW CHARACTER. JUST BE LESS SHITTY TO TERRY FARREL. GOD.

maybe it will get better. i hope it does. but this JUNIOR~ counselor stuff is fucking killing me

TONIGHT: voy's "drone" and ds9's "take me out to the holosuite" - FINALLY. i'm still mad that jadzia never got to play baseball :(

[tobiasdrake]

Final farewells. T_T So long to everyone. Until we meet again one day.

And by one day, I mean "On sale now!"

Of course she is. She's the obligatory love interest for a romance arc that didn't even manage to dip its toe in the water before the end credits rolled. She's going to need several more games of development before anything gets started for her.

Poor girl didn't even manage to get a climactic last-minute kiss, either right before Yuma went off into the final confrontation or just before the end-credits rolled. The game was having too much fun shipping Yuma with Fubuki (gross) and Shinigami (SO GROSS) instead. Kodaka owes her at least one date to a coffee shop or something.

Go get him, girl. Maybe next time, you'll be allowed to have a relationship with him that is actually romantic in some way.

That must have been such an awkward conversation. Can you imagine having to talk to your crush's clone to try and get permission to go look for his human counterpart?

I remind everyone that Kurumi was able to navigate a Peacekeeper-infested Dohya District when even Yuma needed timey-wimey powers to pull that off. I have the utmost faith in her abilities.

...all due respect to everyone here but I cannot in good conscience vote for any of them. Halara's too capitalist, Fubuki lacks worldly experience, Vivia's unmotivated, and Desuhiko has a lot of personal growth he needs to do before he'll be ready for any kind of authority.

I hope there are more well-adjusted Master Detectives in the organization who will do a better job of it. But if you twisted my arm... Fubuki, with Desuhiko as running mate.

Halara is far too valuable in the field and would most certainly convert the WDO into a for-profit corporation immediately after assuming control, so that's a hard pass. Vivia, absolutely not. Why would you do that to the poor guy? He just wants to rest.

Fubuki lacks a lot of wordly knowledge but she has a boundless curiosity and love for the act of discovery itself. I have faith in her judgment. I do not have faith in her ability to fully understand context, which is why Desuhiko would make a good partner for her.

Desuhiko's head is too far up his own ass to make sound judgment decisions with authority. He has a lot that he needs to figure out about himself and the way he engages with the world. But he's attentive and follows along with information well.

The two of them could make for an effective tag-team, with Desuhiko laying out the context and Fubuki calling the shots. That could work.

But if there's someone, anyone better, that would be... better.

T_T This is the true reason that Yuma went into hiding.

See you around, Halara. It was awesome knowing you. I have the utmost faith that you're going to excel, no matter where you go or what you do.

Oh, of course! In fact, I have these three friends who I'm sure are just dying to meet you. I can take you to them right now, if you'd like!

I kid. We know now that he's only doing this to try and look cool. Nonetheless, as uncomfortable as I was interacting with him as a boy, I am twice as uncomfortable interacting with him as a girl. But, c'est la vie. This is what every day is like for women.

So long, Desuhiko. I wish you the best of luck in figuring yourself out and finding your way to a place where you can be satisfied with the man you've become. Or woman or person, if you wind up down one of those roads. Whatever the case, may you one day find yourself in a place where you can be happy.

Spinoff game starring Fubuki and Kurumi. I want it now. They can call it Ultra Truth Girls or some shit. I don't care what.

Farewell, bestie. I trust that wherever your adventures take you next, you'll have the awesomeness to weather it. And get the hell away from your shitty family, while you're at it! If you wind up becoming President of the WDO, that's my fault, I'm sorry for that.

Yeah, I'm mad at Desuhiko too. I told him that was his job. Though he might not have skedaddled so quickly if I hadn't threatened to get him eaten by ferals. So I guess that's on me. Sorry, Vivia.

In any case. Vivia? I hope you get to take a nap. A long, long nap. The longest nap of your career. And when you wake up from that, you get to take another nap. You deserve all the rest in the world.

So. That. Means. We have dibs on the submarine, right? Let's take this sucker out of port and get to globetrotting!

Y'know, a sub wouldn't be a bad place for a homunculus to live, in fact. No fear of sunlight in here. None whatsoever. Plus, Yakou's still feral for the time being so it's not like he needs it.

No? Going to leave it here to rot forever? Okay. Fine. What's even the fucking point of having the office in a sub if nobody ever uses its vehicular capabilities for anything. Angry fish noises!

Sure. I guess we can take the train, if we want to be boring about it. Watch out for murderers, Kurumi.

Yuma left Kurumi a note telling her that he left and offering little information as to where. Aww, that was sweet of him.

HE ALSO LEFT HER THE BOOK OF DEATH

OKAY

Kodaka, you realize that this is a promise for Kurumi to be the protagonist of the next game, right? You're clear on that?

I want to be sure because you might think that this means "Kurumi is going to find Yuma at the start of the next game and hand him back the book, so he can connect with Shinigami again."

But that is not what this promise means. This promise means, "Our next adventure will star Kurumi as she makes a pact with Shinigami and they go on adventures while trying to find Yuma together."

I'm gonna be mad if Kurumi isn't the protag for Master Detective Archives 2.

Again. This is promising a Kurumi-centric adventure. Just so we're clear. I expect you to deliver on that.

Post-credits scene showing what Yuma's up to?

The closeup here implies she's going to be important for the next game. Fuck, we're not getting a Kurumi-centric adventure, are we? She's going to show up in the prologue and be like, "Here you go, Yuma. I brought your book!" and then resume the same role she had in the first game.

Fine, but at the very least, I demand a badass scene where she exposes herself unfiltered to the sun and lets herself turn temporarily feral on purpose to fuck up the bad guy.

[gs0nk]

Right after I finished Aiden's route in Baldur's Gate 3, I decided to write a small text that will complete his own ending. I included Lorroakan here, cause in my version of timeline, they started to feel close to each other after first met (in which Aiden kicked Lorchie's ass really hard because he's a slavery hater and chain breaker for sure)

I also made a sketch illustration for this moment! Hope you'll enjoy reading this uwu

Lorroakan hated leaving his tower - even the invasion of illithids from the depths of the underground city could not shake his principles, and it was much easier to manage defensive processes while maintaining an unstable flow of magical energy in safety inside than outside in the epicenter of the massacre. Let those who consider themselves defenders of the city do this. However… The thought of one particular person never left my head even when it became clear: victory was on the side of the adventurers who decided to fight back the threat.

And yet, when it was all over, the cries of the defeated, newly converted victims of ceremorphosis died, and the refugees stopped bothering him with attempts to break into his house, the magician decided to go outside. The last words of the half-elf, whom he had seen quite often lately, did not want to leave his head - so often that he managed to get used to them and their “friends”, who had a habit of showing up on the threshold of the tower in their dirty armor, soaked in someone’s blood, brazenly examining every corner of his house for a moment, and even, it seems, stealing a couple of artifacts from him in the process. An unthinkable insolence that he could not tolerate and yet for some reason he forgave everything to his newfound acquaintance.

The magician himself was now thinking about how he would arrogantly reprimand this friend of his for the fact that solely because of him Lorroakan had to bother descending into a literal hell on earth, having the opportunity to contemplate the carnage that had taken place and endure the presence of not only ordinary, still frightened people, but also the stench of an alien city, wounded and practically destroyed.

Without bothering with pleasantries, he asked the aimlessly wandering locals about the heroes who put an end to the Absolute. Some still clutched makeshift weapons in their hands, unable to believe that the danger had retreated from Baldur's Gate, that it was all over. Finally, a couple of “unwashed militiamen” pointed to the pier - where the very same half-elf whom the magician so wanted to find was last seen.

Lorroakan, cursing everything that came into his field of vision, finally reached the right place and went down to the boardwalk of the pier. He did not take his eyes off the lonely silhouette of a young man in the rays of the setting sun, as if worried that he would now disappear like an illusory haze. That did not happen.

However, the magician tried to hide all unnecessary emotions, coming very close to the one he was so zealously looking for. Without wasting time on unnecessary honors to the “savior of the city,” he chuckled disdainfully:

- Are you without companions this time? Where is your noisy group of ragamuffins?

Aiden didn’t turn around at the stranger’s voice, but a smile was visible on theirs tired face. They wiped their own blood from the cut on cheek and shrugged.

- It's all over. Our story came to an end and everyone went their separate ways, and you were late for a tearful send-off. We don’t yet know which road we prefer.

The half-elf pulled a strand of red hair behind his ear and exhaled with a whistle.

- For the first time in many months, there is one less voice obsessed with world domination in my head. This change is surprisingly difficult to get used to, at least for now. And you? Have you come here to balance my loss? You're a so-so manipulator, don't flatter yourself with hopes.

Aiden didn’t see, but they knew perfectly well that the magician was now rolling his eyes and raising his right hand in a mannered gesture, as he always did, expressing his displeasure. Lorroakan crossed his arms and chuckled again.

- Oh, i beg you, how can I compete with your friends on the other side! Lolth, the incubus of Raphael, the Thai ghouls, your fragmented self, maybe there is someone else I don’t know about… But that’s not what I’m here for.

The magician crosses his arms over his chest and looks into the distance, where the sun is slowly sinking into the stormy ocean waters.

- I wanted to generously offer to stay in this terrible damn city, with me. After all your undoubtedly disgusting attempts to sabotage my well-deserved immortality, cripple me several times over that misunderstanding with the aasimar, and deprive me of my clueless student, I want, no, I demand, that you should live in my tower. You can take any vacant servant's position; today many of them chose to posthumously change their occupation.

The half-elf finally turns around and looks at Lorroacan mockingly, tilting their head slightly to the side.

- After becoming the savior of – no less – the entire world, being your servant is a huge step backwards, don’t you think?

Aiden takes a step towards the wizard and rests their forehead on his chest.

- Luckily for you, my services hardly require payment and we have no home to which we could return. And… We managed to get used to you.

- Hell, just don't force me to tell you the same thing!

Lorroakan frowns, but then the magician half-whispers and his voice is devoid of all feigned mannerisms:

- I need you. So I ask you to stay with me.

They will spend this night and all subsequent ones together.

The half-elf's hands rest on mage's shoulders. The wizard allows himself to exhale, hugging Aiden back.

Huddled close to each other, they watch as the unbearably long day recedes under the onslaught of dusk and the sun finally plunges into the depths of the waters.

[alln64games]

The Game of Life 64

JP release: 19th March 1999

PAL: release: N/A

NA release: N/A

Developer: Takara

Publisher: Takara

N64 Magazine Score: N/A

The “classic” board game The Game of Life is very popular in Japan. The board game is incredibly basic as you roll, move and do what the square you land on says, with the biggest choice you get to make is choosing what career you do – for the most part, though, it’s fancy Snakes & Ladders.

When it comes to making a video game version of The Game of Life, the Japanese publisher Takara haven’t just made a digital recreation of the board game, but have instead properly adapted the game to take advantage of being a video game.

Without needing to fit within the constraints of the board, the spaces twist through a large landscape of farms, countryside and cities. There are different size board for different game lengths, and you can also create your own out of different themed sections. The method of moving is unfortunately still the same – spin a spinner and move that many spaces, but it at least does something with it.

At the start of the game, you get to create an avatar to represent you, with a decent amount of options. If you can’t be bothered with this, then you can select a pre-made one. When the game start, you start as a child, with the initial avatar to suit the age you’re supposed to be at that point of the game, up to an elderly version of it. It’s a nice little touch to visualise the game more.

When you land on spaces, you get amusing little animations showing the event happening (and as I didn’t get a repeat in a game, there must be a lot). Sometimes you also get to make a choice as to how your react to a situation. These will then alter one of your four stats (which affect bonuses at the end of the game) or your money. It solves the problem of multiple people getting the same event.

This version also has “game” tiles, with a small selection of minigames to play. These are fine, but nothing outstanding, with a lot of focus on the strange aliens prominent throughout the game, with arse-UFOs. Winning or losing will affect stats and money. They can be played with one controller (so you can do a full 4 player game with just one controller), which is a nice touch for a game like this.

Getting married and having children is also massively expanded upon for the video game. When you land on a romance square, you enter the dating minigame and can visit a place to meet new people, ask someone you’ve met to go on a date, propose or work on improving yourself. It’s an interesting way to expand upon it, but as it requires landing on a lot of exact squares, difficult to do. In a “short” 2+ hour game, only one person managed by taking a chance and proposing with a 50% chance on the final romance square of the board.

When you reach the end of the map, all your assets and achievements are converted into money. From then on, when it’s your turn, you spin the spinner and collect money, which is a really boring way to end the final part of the game, especially as it can still take a while before others reach the end as well. You can also risk all your money by gambling in the hopes of getting more.

At the end, bonus money is rewarded based on categories, such as all the individual stats and a winner is the person with the most money.

At the end, each player get judged based on their morality of their choices during events, which determines the kind of afterlife you get. It’s a fun little ending to the whole thing.

This version doesn’t turn the game into a good game (it’s still 95% spinning and not deciding on anything), but it’s nice to see attempts to turn a board game into more of a video game, utilising what can be done in the digital format that would be a pain for the actual board game.

Remake or Remaster?

New versions are being made, with the latest on the Switch. An English version would be intriguing to see.

Official Ways to get the game

There’s no official way to play The Game of Life 64