#my house is falling in to disrepair

[mbrainspaz]

ok I don't really feel like I had a choice in One Piece suddenly being my new hyperfixation in the first place but one week and 183 issues in I'm definitely starting to feel like a prisoner here.

[alongtidesoflight]

i swear my stepdad is so illogical AND stubborn it hurts

[goatsorcery]

reasons i never want to be a home owner:

i doubt i'll ever be in a position where i'll have enough mental/physical energy to hold a full time job and do regular yard work

the idea of having to pay for constant repairs and replacements makes my wallet shake in fear

the process of maintaining and fixing up a house so that it's in shape enough to sell also would cost more money than ill ever have

there's no guarantee that a house will be worth more when sold than when bought, even with all the repairs to make it sellable

most mortgages are cheaper per month than rent, but the total cost of maintaining a house (with taxes, repairs, utilities) is often more than rent

[yourfatherlucifer]

| 𝒮𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 | Chapter One

Mafia!Ot8!Ateez x Female!Reader

Summary: After losing everything through gambling, your father's debts to the Ateez Mafia have resulted in you becoming their property. With no other family left, you are now at the mercy of these dangerous criminals due to your father's reckless actions.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight Parental Abuse, kidnapping, mental breakdown, MDNI

My Thankful Help: @potatomountain @kitten4sannie @rems-writing

WC: 1.7k

AU: Mafia

Nets: @othersideoutlawsnetwork

AN: This chapter is under 2k because as I said, the first chapter would be short.

Tags: @xomakara @jedi-dreea @beabatiny @ateezaddict24 @spenceatiny18 @18fernanda @prodsh00ky @evercodeee @yizhou-time @smally97 @eshia-16 @daniela-f-uwu @peachyy-joonie @butterfliesinthenightsky @dassmyname @unlikelysublimekryptonite @dollinno @stay-tiny-things @joongscheese @misskarynie @monstacheol @yeosangcutie0615 @mariaa @pinuspot @amphiroxx

@hyukssunflower @witchbxtch0701 If I cannot tag you, please fix your settings.

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“Dad, please, this is all I have left!” Y/N’s dad didn’t care, he snatched the few bills she clenched in her palms, then shoved her to the floor.

“I don’t care. I need it more, you brat.”

Her father left her on the cold hard floor without another thought as he exited her home.

This all started five years ago, when her mother died and her father became a huge gambling addict. Every bit of death insurance money that was left for their daughter was stolen by the father for excessive spending.

Whatever, his ass can forget it.

Y/N had to return to work if she wanted to keep her home, rent and bills were definitely no joke. With a sigh and groan, she grabbed her apron and hat. As much as she hated her customers, she had a good job. It paid well and gave her a nice home: small, but nice. The best part is that it’s away from her fathers run down house.

Oh the family home..it used to be so beautiful. Y/N’s mother always kept it so extravagant and beautiful, her father actually built it for her mother. Alas, once she died, Y/N’s dad let it fall into disrepair. Holes in the floor, broken windows, no working appliances. It truly was just, not hospitable in any way shape or form.

The walk to the car was miserable, with her pockets robbed of the last cash she had, her bank account stripped clean of its currency. Y/N hated her father in these final minutes to her car, “Piece of shit, hate his ass.”

Her car struggled to start, pissing her off even more. Her hands smacked against the steering wheel and she let out an agonizing scream. Tears streamed down her face that signified her further frustration. Why? Why not was her life like this? Y/N stepped out of her car with a slam of the door. Bus transposition it is. She could only count on the money she made tonight to make it back home. Her bus card only had enough for one ride.

Y/N grabbed her coat before heading back outside to the bus station, it better not be packed. Her day was already shitty and she didn’t need to be jostled around by people on the way to work.

The moment she stepped onto the bus and scanned her card, only then could she breathe a sigh of relief. There was no one on the bus which gave her momentary tranquility. A peaceful silence if you must.

After the jostling bus ride and arriving to work, Y/N prepared for a long day ahead of her. Hopefully having no shitty customers and ending the day with a good pay.

She needs it.

About six hours later, she was clocked out of work with some cash in her pocket, she had made about one hundred and twenty four dollars. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get her home and maybe something ordered to eat. Tomorrow's payment would have to go to rent no matter what. She absolutely cannot afford to be homeless.

It had turned dark outside on the way home which she didn’t mind but alas, men. She never had to worry about that but she still worried regardless.

With her home in sight, she let out another sigh of relief and stepped inside. Why was it so dark? She knows she left the lights on. She was sure she left them on. Y/N was about to bolt when hands grabbed her and the lights turned on.

Three men resided in her home entrance and she panicked, “Who the hell are you people and why are you in my home?” She tried her hardest to break away from the man’s hold, she couldn’t see what they looked like and that scared her.

A short one with orange hair pushed himself off the couch with a frown, “You’re not Mark..” His face grew cold, “Might I ask who you are instead?”

Y/N could only scowl before giving in, “I’m his daughter. What do you want with my father?”

“Well, you see, he owes us a hefty bit of money. He listed this place as his home but he’s not here. Do you know where he is?” He came face to face with the girl as he scanned her body up and down. Quite the specimen indeed, he thought.

Y/N shook her head, “Why the hell would I know where that deadbeat is? He’s nothing but trouble and continues to steal my money.”

This made the man laugh, the others stiffening.

“Oh, yeah, sounds just like him.” He thought for a moment before nodding to himself, “Well, guess we’re gonna have to take you instead! Maybe we can lure him out with you.”

Before she could protest and scream for help, something was bashed against her head and she fell to the floor in a blackout.

Time flew by quickly.

The moment she woke up, she realized she was in a cell, her body wrapped in a tight rope and her legs barred together tightly.

Y/N began to cry, of course her father would get her in this situation. What a dickweed.

A light quickly flashed into the dark room, someone stepped in.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” The voice was monotone, “Captain wants to see you.” The sounds of keys jingling rattled her ears, swearing she had a concussion.

She was quickly yanked up and taken outside of the cell, “Do not attempt to flee, I will just shove you back in there with nothing to eat.”

Y/N gave in and let him take her upstairs. She was astonished by his beauty once they reached the light. No, no, do not think that way, she thought to herself. She was kidnapped.

She was taken to a room that was secluded from the rest, chandeliers lining the hallway as she walked, well, was forced down. Still, a beautiful place that astonished her.

Once she was shoved into the room and the door slammed behind her, only then could she look up from where she fell.

The other man stood up from his seat and helped her stand up, “I told you to be gentle, Jongho. Follow my orders next time or you know damn well what happens.”

“Yes, Hongjoong, sir, I’m sorry.” The voice spoke from behind the girl.

This guy was the boss?

“I’m Hongjoong, I’m the leader of ateez and you’re in our home. You can thank your father for that.” Hongjoong gently brought Y/N to a seat and sat her down, sending shivers down her spine.

“What do I have to do with my father? He’s not going to rescue me. He only cares about his money.” He didn’t like those words but quickly gathered his cool.

“No matter, fathers always come back if they want to escape our wrath.” Hongjoong cleared his throat before he stood up once more, “You’ll be staying with us until he makes an appearance or pays us back.”

She knew neither was going to happen. She’d be stuck here forever until the day she died.

Tears lined her eyes as she tried to fight them back, “Then you should just kill me.”

Hongjoong laughed in such a maniacal way that it scared Y/N, “I won’t be doing that either, you’re too pretty to kill. I like you.” He wasn’t sending any red flags but still, he scared Y/N.

“Fine.”

“Good girl. Jongho, take her to the room I had prepared and have the maids clean her up and feed her.” With a wave of his hand, Y/N was back to being yanked around, “Be gentle, dammit!” His fist smacked against the desk and Jongho was frightened once more, being more careful than he had before.

When the two of them were out of sight, Jongho was harsh once again, “I don’t like you. I don’t see why Captain has such an interest in you, I would’ve just killed you if I was in his position.”

Y/N couldn’t say anything, she was too scared, too afraid to die in all honesty. She could only wonder what would happen to her home, her job, everything she had. Would she just be reported as missing? What would happen? Would anyone even care?

“You’ll be staying in here.” She was shoved into a room once again but maids rushed to her this time, helping her to the bed, almost as if they were also afraid of Hongjoong.

She didn’t blame them.

Y/N didn’t even fight back, she let them undress her, too hollow of shell at the moment. They led her to a prepared bath, it was..big. Too big.

They helped her inside and began washing her body before she shouted, “I can do it myself, thank you.” The maids didn’t scamper off unfortunately.

“We’re so sorry, but Mr Kim wants us doing this. We have to.” They spoke with such a frightening tone, almost as if they were gonna get their heads chopped off on a stand.

They scrubbed her body with such ease and care, not wanting to hurt the girl. Too scared to do so. Then again, they haven’t had another girl in the house in so long. It was nice.

Once they were done, they had her step out, drying and dressing her in a gown. Something she normally would never wear, alas she has no choice unfortunately. If this is what the man wanted her to wear then so be it.

The several maids took their leave for a moment and Y/N took that as her chance to escape. She bolted out of the bathroom, out of the room, then into the hallway. Her heavy breaths carried her in a panic, but what she didn’t expect was to run in a hard chest.

Y/N screamed in defeat as they grabbed her tight. She recognized the hold as the person who captured her home.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” The voice snickered in such a mimicking tone, “Mm, captain is gonna love to hear about this.”

Y/N stared up into his eyes, yet another beautiful man and this one was definitely tall.

“You do look delicious.” However, he shrugged and dragged her back into the room, “I’m Mingi, though, next time you try to escape, I won’t be so lenient.” The door was slammed as Mingi left her in the cold and dark room once more.

Y/N could only cry as she came to the conclusion she was never leaving this place.

Ever.

[samsblades]

✶ green couch — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, younger sibling!reader, fluffy hurt/comfort, mentions of arguing, unedited, 898 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : a green, velvet couch + “i don’t say it enough, but i care about you. a lot.”

a green, velvet couch sounds like something fancy and desirable, maybe like it belongs in the home of some wealthy person’s well curated home. this one smells a bit musty, is falling into disrepair, and resides in bobby’s cluttered living room. regardless, you think it deserves some merit for the fact that it’s still so soft after many years of use and admittedly poor care. it’s not even lumpy, and is a surprisingly nice place to fall asleep when one is avoiding their overprotective older brothers.

you are trusted to be alright most of the time. you have all of the skills that you need to keep yourself safe, but it doesn’t stop sam or dean from worrying. it’s just that you didn’t expect to get any shit about it from sam today. dean is more likely to overreact about something like this, but sam must be extra on edge today.

honestly, you’re not even completely sure what it was that he got upset about, just that it was something about this last hunt. either way, it was all frustrating enough that you abandoned the cot in the room you usually share with sam here, and have migrated to your favorite couch of the house. the sun is long set, and you fall asleep there, knees bent to accommodate the size of the couch and neck tilted up as your head presses into the armrest. you’ll be sore in the morning, but you’re as stubborn as sam and already fast asleep anyway.

the clock on the wall ticks softly, marking 2:17 a.m. when sam finally comes back inside. you’d argued in the gravel driveway, and when you stormed back into the house, sam took to sitting alone on the hood of some dysfunctional car for hours.

he treads lightly as he lets himself back into the house, not wanting to wake anyone, but most especially you. he’s sure you’re tired after the hunt and subsequent argument, which he’s felt bad about since the moment he raised his voice at all. he doesn’t notice you when he passes by the living room, the shadows and wide back cushion of the couch keeping you hidden from his view. but he enters the bedroom where you should be sleeping and immediately notices your absence. he calls your name softly, then turns on his heel, mind already wheeling with worst case scenarios. he checks dean’s room and the bathroom before rushing back down the stairs. he’ll wake dean if he can’t find you in the house.

he keeps his voice quiet as he continually calls your name, not panicking just yet. he’s glad he kept quiet when he spots you on the couch, cheek squished against the armrest and day clothes mussed. a sigh of relief leaves his lips, and another rush of guilt floods his chest.

his feet carry him softly to you, silent to keep you sleeping. he crouches in front of you, the faint sound of muffled music meeting his ears. you’ve fallen asleep with one earbud in, the wires leading to your ipod all tangled. with quiet, slow hands, he slips the ipod from where it had begun to disappear in the crack between cushions. his big thumb almost presses skip instead of pause, but the music stops. your sleep is deep enough that the change doesn’t make you stir one bit. now, all sam can hear is your soft, even breathing and the ticking of the clock.

he gently pulls the earbuds away from your sleeping form and wraps the wires neatly around the ipod before setting it on the carpet and returning his gaze to your face.

“jesus, kid, i’m sorry,” he whispers, a light frown on his lips. your short sleeved shirt catches his attention and his frown deepens. it gets cold at night here, and the downstairs isn’t as good at retaining heat than the rooms above. he shrugs his brown jacket off and carefully settles it over you, its fabric warm with his body heat. his expression softens when the warmth pulls a soft sigh from your lips and you seem to settle a bit more than before.

he waits a little while to see if you’ll wake. he’d rather you sleep in a bed tonight; he’ll give up the bigger one for you if you want. but he’d also hate to disrupt your sleep. you’ve always had an affinity for this couch anyway. so when you stay fast asleep, he brings you down a blanket from his bed and promises to apologize when you’re awake in the morning.

his hand lingers over the top of your head after making sure you’ll be warm enough, and his voice is soft and sincere. “i don’t say it out loud enough, but i care about you. a lot. i’ll go into town and buy you a good breakfast in the morning.”

a few hours later, you get too hot. half asleep, you kick the poor blanket off and it falls to the floor in a heap. but you curl your fingers into the thick material of sam’s jacket, not needing to open your eyes to recognize the familiar texture. sturdy on the outside edge, but the lining a bit softer. for a work jacket, it’s quite comfortable to sleep with. more than anything, it’s comforting and a very appropriate beginning to an apology.

[unteriors]

With all due love and respect, most of the interiors you're showing from Piedmont are old (1950s-60s) country houses. Not exactly what I'd think of in terms of real estate neocapitalist dystopia hell. Many of those houses would be absolutely fine with a bit of work. It's definitely a tragic consequence of capitalism that nobody is buying them tho, for sure.

I understand where you're coming from. There are a few things here that irk me a little though - occasionally I'll receive some feedback that touches on similar themes. To start, I'm not really that motivated by titles when it comes to creative projects. There are things in the world, in my own life, in what I see around me, that I find interesting or disturbing or which I have anxieties about, and I put time into exploring them. Almost by accident I've amassed an enormous amount of imagery culled from real estate listings on my PC. I can explain the motivations and ideas behind it, but I'm not very good at wrapping everything up in a neat bow. I've come across a similar thing for another blog I've had for much longer, where people in its audience (or friends and family) would often message me saying that this particular image isn't really an Unplace, and the ambiguity of the title ends up narrowing their perception of the scope of the project (and makes it seem much more superficial - for a similar reason I'm not keen on the concept of liminal spaces, or the word liminal generally). With this blog, I made a conscious decision to use a title that would be broad enough to ward off attempts to pigeonhole it into specific, surface-level interpretations, which would sort of work against and challenge itself (and the viewer).

When I was in art school I was keen on the idea of antimarketing, which extends to branding. Advertising (increasingly over the past half-century) has a way of corroding depth and reducing substance to easily-accessible content guided by broadly-accepted conventions around social norms. I feel like it should only be a thing you deal with yourself as much as you have to, and I try to deadvertise the things I do as much as I can. I feel like these images deadvertise places. I look for real estate imagery which, on the direct, immediate level of their intended purpose, fail miserably (i.e., I do not want to buy this house. I sense lead paint, asbestos. This house may contain a corpse. Stay away). On a secondary level, in addition to selling a product, advertising often sells an idea about the world. With real estate imagery, the idea is much like the one this ask represents these houses as - a way of looking at housing that reduces it to an investment, which views older houses in a state of disrepair as something to be renovated and resold for a profit. This feels particularly myopic and inappropriate when it comes to Italy, a part of the world I've spent time in (though not Piedmont), which has layers and layers of history and human misery in every lived (and abandoned) surface, and which was hit hard by the twentieth century and still seems to be falling apart in many ways. As you pointed out, it's a consequence of the economic system that's currently oppressing Italy (involving years of austerity forced upon it by waves of neoliberal administrations, including within the country and in EU economic policy, against a backdrop of corruption and aggressive anticommunism that the US played a role in) that it has an issue with housing vacancy sitting comfortably alongside the same housing crisis most of us are experiencing (this article goes into a lot of detail about it).

There's the more technical question of how much work would be needed to rehabilitate these places and make them livable - I know in Australia houses that are only fifty or sixty years old often require specialised work by contractors (which our propaganda system that promotes DIY culture and house flipping tends to gloss over). And then, who would put the effort into renovating these places and then living in them? There are parts of Italy with very high unemployment rates, particularly among young people, where people have been leaving for generations. I guess, if someone from a richer country uses the exchange rate to buy and do up a rundown house in a village somewhere and pumps money into the local economy, there are some good sides to that. But I can't get away from the idea that, in our current system, renovating an older house - fixing it up - has the cumulative effect of pricing more people out of housing. I felt bad even about buying a house in my own country - more mortgages mean higher house prices, ultimately. The rot in the economic superstructure feeds into our artistic and conceptual understanding of housing. That creates tensions, between the real, deeper, historically and culturally rich, lived experience of a house, and the fake, greige, airbrushed, negatively-geared, embalmed home-as-investment that's sold to us, and I find those cracks in the surface (peeling paint, if you will) interesting.

This may be getting close to paranoia, but there's also a phenomenon where, if you say anything too negative and controversial, you come to expect that some people will instinctively react by mocking it. This is something I feel instinctively (again, maybe the answer to this lies more in therapy than in looking at the outside world). Often without evidence of their own to demonstrate why what you have said is wrong. It reminds me of a reddit post I saw floating around on tumblr a few years ago, about how the attitude to the world you see in South Park is that, if you complain too much about something (i.e. if you point out that something is wrong), and you demonstrate that you care about that without hiding behind irony, that makes you the problem. You find this all through pop culture from a certain time period (the Simpsons could be just as bad, I also come across this attitude in contemporary art - the laugh react on Facebook feels like its late-stage distillation). It's hard to tell how much people are encoded by it, or if it provides a framework for seeing the world and handling moral issues for people who already held these attitudes. I named this blog Neoliberal Capitalist Real Estate Dystopia Hellscape to weed out those those attitudes and make the people who would ordinarily express them self-conscious. It's getting harder and harder for people to deny that it's not an accurate description, the middle-class psychological bubble has been getting harder to keep insulated for some time now.

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[paige1722]

So Much for a Safe House

Summary: You go on a mission with 141 and end up taking shelter in an abandoned building. The place is haunted, and you are all trapped inside; creepy things are happening. (Ghost of War-inspired)

Callsign: Spark because it was all I could think of.

Warnings: scares(?)

Also, this is my first fanfic since my one-direction days, so please be kind. 

Chapter One: Shelter

In the freezing weather, you and your team hiked through the thick pile of snow to make your way to the abandoned house at the top of the mountain. Soap recalled seeing it on your way to the supposed enemy weapons cache in the middle of nowhere that turned out to be a dead end. Though when you all tried to radio command about the false information that it turned out just to be an empty plot of land in the dense snow-ridden forest, was when it was discovered that all forms of communication were not working; Ghost even tried scaling a tree with impressive speed, to see if a signal could be found that way but to no luck. 

“A few miles back, there was a house that looked to be abandoned. We could make our way back to it and come up with a plan there instead of standing around waiting to get hypothermia or become somethings next meal,” said Soap, his voice mumbled through the mask he wore to protect himself from the cold, making his accent more difficult to decipher. 

 Seeing no other option and rather than freezing to death, Price agreed that the best course of action would be to rendezvous there and wait for further instruction from Laswell, whenever the radio wanted to start working properly again.  

That is how you found yourself trudging through the thick snow in below-freezing temperatures for what seemed like 20 miles, but in reality was more like two. Once the abandoned house came into view, did you try to break the silence beside the occasional curse, that had fallen over your task force. You decided to theorize about the abandoned, dilapidated house that you could see in the distance, which quite honestly looked more like an asylum than a house. 

“So, where do you think they hid the bodies? The basement or maybe inside the walls?” 

Soap let out a breathless laugh, slowing his step to fall into line beside you, “Oh, definitely in the walls. It is like a given, right, horror movie 101.” Throwing an arm around your shoulders, he pulled you into his side and lowered his voice to sound more menacing, “The real question is, Bonnie, this far out, no one would be able to hear you scream.” 

Feeling a shiver go down your spine at the creepy comment, you turned your head to face Soap, seeing the crinkle by his eyes as he was smiling like an idiot underneath his mask. 

Rolling your eyes, you pushed him away, scoffing, “You spend too much time online, go and touch some grass.”

“Alright, you two, that is enough. We won’t be there long; just need to regroup and wait for the exfil.” Huffed Price from behind you both. 

“Sorry, Captain. Just trying to lighten the mood and distract myself from the fact that my entire body is becoming a popsicle,” you muttered while rubbing your hands up and down your arms, trying to get some feeling back in them. 

Gaz nodded in agreement, “I don’t care what is in the walls or the basement. As long as I can make a fire and get out of this snow, I will be happy.” 

Walking up to the house's main doors, you could see the state of disrepair everything was in huge holes could be seen on the roof where snow was falling in, busted windows, and rotting wood on the steps and door. Price grabbed the door handle, using his body to force it open. The door swings open, nearly falling off its hinges. Quickly, Ghost and Gaz march inside to sweep the area. Standing in the main foyer of the house, you got a clear view of just how run down this place had become; gusts of wind from the busted-out windows and holes throughout the house made an unsettling groaning occur. From where you, Soap, and Price were standing, you noticed that this place was actually a lot smaller on the inside than it seemed on the outside. There were only three rooms downstairs; it looked like a kitchen, dining area, and a small living room with stairs leading up the second floor right in front of the door. The stairs looked warped, like one wrong step, and you would quickly find out if there was actually a basement here or not. All that could be heard were your teammate's heavy footsteps and the groaning of the wood. You walked over to peer into the rooms Ghost had already cleared. From what you could see, the entire place was bare, except for the dining room, that had a few old wooden chairs that would probably break if you tried sitting on them, and a small dinner table. The kitchen had cabinet drawers that were barely hanging on its hinges with spider webs and a thick coating of dust on the counters.

“All clear up here,” Yelled Gaz, as he made his way back down the stairs, carefully planning where to step next.

 “Clear, first floor. Guys, come check this out.” yelled Ghost from the living room on your left. Side-eyeing Price, you all turn to make your way to where Ghost is waiting. The first thing you noticed was a massive fireplace; running excitedly and throwing your gear down next to Ghost’s, you stuck your head into the fireplace and looked up the chimney. “Let's make a fire before I become one with the snow.” 

Grabbing your shoulder and pulling you out from the fireplace, “First, you got to get out of the fireplace, Spark. Also, we need to find something for firewood. See what you can find while I get this cleared out and ready.” Ghost ordered. 

Looking around the barren room you were all currently in and not seeing anything useful but a raggedy carpet on the floor and scraps of cardboard piled in the corner, you make your way into the dining room. Seeing the old wooden chairs that had seen better days, “This will do, but first..” you grab one of the chairs and proceed to break it into pieces to use for the fire, by throwing it to the ground with as much force as you can muster. 

“Epic,” you say as you stare at the chair which has broken into smaller pieces, which allows you to be able to stomp on it, creating small sticks of wood that would be perfect for the fireplace. Reaching down to pick up the pieces to bring back to Ghost, a small notebook catches your eye, peeking out from underneath the dining room table. Grabbing the small red notebook and running your hand over the raised symbol on the cover in the shape of what looks to be an upside-down cross with a ‘c’ shape on the bottom, turning the book over in your hands to open it when you hear Gaz yelling, “Have you found anything yet, Spark? It’s bloody freezing in here!” 

“Yeah, I’m coming!” you replied quickly, shoving the notebook in your pocket to look at later, grabbing the remains of the chair, and running back into the room with the rest of your team. Walking into the room, you see that Gaz has joined Ghost in preparing the fireplace while Soap and Price are trying to secure the window with pieces of what looked like cardboard and duct tape, probably trying to keep the cold out. Once you reach the fireplace, you place the scraps of the chair inside while Gaz gets out his case of emergency lighter, which he mainly carried around for when Price lost his and wanted a cigar. He lights the piece of fabric Ghost is holding out to him to use as a firestarter; he places the lit fabric in the base of the wood, and you hold your breath, hoping it works. Seeing the wood slowly start burning and letting off a warm glow, you release the breath and finally relax, sitting back on your knees. 

“That should about do it. It’s not perfect, but it should help with the wind and snow.” Price said while clapping Soap on the back, “Now lets see if we can figure out what to do about the radio.” 

They both made their way in front of the fire as well, where everyone was now huddled together, waiting to unthaw from the harsh weather. 

Pulling out the radio, Price tried once again to reach Laswell, “Laswell, you copy.” crackling static was the only thing that could be heard in response. He grabbed the knob and tried changing the channel to the emergency line, “Laswell, you copy.” again, nothing could be heard. Sighing, he continued messing with the radio as Gaz tried to help, trying different ideas to make it work. 

Ghost had pulled over the gear thrown down and was rummaging through it, pulling out MRE rations, emergency blankets, and first aid; he looked like he was taking inventory of all the supplies we had with us and creating plots for us to sleep. As you move to make yourself more comfortable in front of the growing flames, you feel the small red notebook in your pocket. 

Pulling it back out again, Soap looks over, “Aye, what do you got there?” 

“Hmm, some sort of diary, I guess I found it in the dining room when I was getting the wood. It has this weird symbol on it.” flipping open the book, you and Soap start going through the pages, seeing lots of frantic scribbling that neither of you could decipher and pictures of what looked like some sort of creature, who only got more gore-filled as you filled through. It was difficult to make out the writing, but on some of the pages, it seemed to be pleas for help about needing to make ‘it’ stop and go away. 

You and Soap share a nervous glance, flipping to a new page; you let out a gasp. On the page was what looked to be a warning, ‘there is no way out, it has them, I can hear their screams, I am next….. Don’t let it in.’ 

Turning to look at Soap, you could feel your blood run cold, and you knew your fear could be seen on your face. Soap laughs nervously, saying, “It’s probably just some silly story trying to scare us.” Nodding in agreement, you closed the book and placed it back in your pocket, turning back to face the now roaring fire. 

Trying to distract yourself from the creepy notes and pictures, you start listening to your team-mates talking idly amongst themselves; whether it be trying to fix the radio or the supplies, you slip into one of the spots Ghost created and close your eyes, trying to clear your mind and catch a few minutes of sleep hoping everything would be fixed when you woke up. 

Price released an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands up in the air, “I don’t know why the bloody thing isn’t working. It is like something is interfering with our signal.” He sets the radio down near the gear, Ghost had set out.

 He walked over to where Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were sitting. He looked over to where you were sleeping near the fire to keep warm; turning back to look at his teammates, he rubbed his face, saying, “It seems we will just have to wait out the weather and head to the exfil point then and hopefully will be able to radio Laswell. In the meantime, why don’t we follow in Spark’s footsteps and get some sleep.” 

Ghost grabbed his gun, placed it in his lap, and moved to sit in the corner between the window and fireplace, “I’ll take the first watch. We still don’t know what’s out there.” 

“Or what is in here,” mumbled Soap as he and the others made their way near where you were sleeping to find a spot for themselves. 

Gaz cleared his throat, turning to Ghost, “Yeah, well, anyways, I’ll take next watch. Wake me up in two hours.” he laid down, pulling his toboggan to cover his eyes. Soap and Price following in suit. 

After about an hour and a half of nothing happening except the occasional groan from the house settling, Ghost notices the radio Price had placed near the gear begin to static; thinking that it might be command trying to get into touch with them, he makes a move to go over to it, but before he could get near it. A piercing sound comes from the radio, like a shrieking noise. 

Everyone startles awake, “what the fuck is going on?” you exclaimed, all eyes turning to Ghost for an explanation. 

“Hell, if I know, it was dead silent a minute ago, and now the bloody thing won’t stop making that noise. Somebody turn it off.” 

Gaz reaches for the radio and flips the switch on it to turn it off. When the noise stopped, a thundering bang was heard from above you all. It was so loud that it shook the walls, causing dust to fall down.

 Ghost reaches for his gun, as does the rest of you. Pointing your weapons towards the door, waiting to see if you could hear anything else or if it was just a noise an old house makes in the middle of a snowstorm. From behind you all, you hear the radio, which you could have sworn Gaz just turned off begin to crackle with life. Slowly turning around to look at the noise, a voice comes from the radio: “It is here now.” A cold wind came down from the chimney, extinguishing the fire and plummeting the room into darkness. 

Chapter 2: Hunter's Moon

[mysteryshoptls]

R Azul Ashengrotto - School Uniform Vignette

"By a mere die"

[Classroom]

Azul: Good afternoon, all. Oh, Idia-san, I see you've arrived already.

Idia: Azul-shi… You finally showed up to the club room. Look at this.

Idia: I finally got my hands on the latest edition of the "Magical Game of Life."

Azul: The "Magical Game of Life"…? If I recall, that's a board game, yes?

Idia: Right! You roll a die to move your little car along the board, get married, have children, buy a house, sometimes go bankrupt…

Idia: It's a decision-game revolving around whatever life may throw at you!

Idia: Here, we're in the Board Game Club, we should toss a few dice around and play a proper board game.

Azul: Ah, no… I think I'll pass. I am not very fond of games that rely on luck.

Idia: Here we go again, you always say that. All you play are strategy games like land cultivation, or shop management.

Idia: Don't you ever get bored of always picking games you constantly have to use your brain for? It's not bad to pick something that's got an element of randomness to it, you know.

Azul: Those luck-based games just are at the whim of chance.

Azul: I prefer games that allow me to polish my strategizing skills.

Azul: A game like the "Magical Game of Life" in which all we do is throw some dice around is just utterly imbecilic…

Idia: Uh-huuuh. So basically…

Idia: You have no confidence that you can win in any game that doesn't require strategy. …Right?

Azul: Excuse me?

Idia: Even the great and powerful Azul-sama cannot hope to win against pure luck. You don't have the intellect to coerce the outcome of the thrown dice, hm.

Idia: I seeee, I seeee! Fweheheh, I get it, I get it. Okay then, it's fine, you don't have to play.

Azul: …Who do you think you're speaking to?

Azul: Do you think I would lose to you in a game where all we do is roll dice?

Idia: Heehee… I never said I thought you'd lose. I'm just saying you don't have to go through the trouble.

Azul: You certainly know how to provoke people. …Fine.

Azul: I shall go along with your little game today.

Idia: Here we go, let's get the game on a roll! First, pick out the color that'll be your car…

Idia: Geheh. Looks like you lose another three turns according to the all-powerful dice.

Azul: How…

Azul: How could my life be affected by a mere die…!?

Idia: And while you're doing that, I've struck oil.

Azul: What is with that sudden development!? Why did an oil field suddenly appear in the middle of a shopping center!?

Idia: Hey, chill, it's just a game. It's your turn now. Roll the dice already.

Azul: …It's a 2.

Idia: …Oh-hooo?

Idia: "You purchased a home, but it is in disrepair. Lose 5,000,000 Madol. Oof! That sucks!

Azul: There is no way that I, of all people, would fall for a scam like this…! This game is absurd!

[Interior Hallway]

Idia: Whew, Azul-shi was a sight to see last week. I still remember how infuriated he got… Bwahaha.

[Classroom]

Idia: Oh hey, Azul-shi. You're early today.

Azul: 5… 5… 3.

Idia: Azul-shi?

Azul: One more time, 5… 2… No good, next… 3.

Idia: Heeey.

Azul: Perhaps I need to use more speed. 5, 5… 5! Yes! ….Oh, Idia-san. You're here.

Idia: Yup. You looked like you were in your own little world, what's going on?

Azul: Ah, yes. As you can see, I've been practicing dice rolling.

Azul: As the result of all my practice, I now have a 1 in 3 chance of rolling the number I want.

Idia: The number you want!? How is that possible…?

Azul: I hold the die with the 2 facing up, then toss with a flick of the wrist. I'll get about 4 and a half rotations with the strength I put in.

Azul: Watch the die roll… See, a 5!

Idia: Azul-shi, don't tell me… Have you been practicing throwing dice ever since you lost in the Magical Game of Life last week!?

Azul: I merely lost last week due to my negligence.

Azul: It became a simple game of chance simply because I was unprepared.

Idia: But that's the point of board games like these…

Azul: Not at all, it only happened due to a lack of preparation.

Azul: If I focus on the game and compensate for the luck element…

Azul: I can even conquer this sort of board game!

Idia: You're… Trying to remove the element of chance from a game of luck!?

Azul: However, I'm still not at my peak. I can still improve even further. I'll try throwing the dice a little stronger this time…

Idia: Azul-shi? Heeeey, Azul-shi, you hearing me?

Azul: A 4… Off by one pip…

Idia: He's completely immersed. I don't think he hears me at all.

Azul: 4… 4… And a 3 this time. I'll need to steady my wrist more… Another 4…

Idia: Y'know, I always thought that despite how he looks, Azul-shi is pretty straightforward and tenacious…

Idia: And goes all out for everything.

Azul: Alright! That is five 4's in a row! There's no way I will lose now!

Requested by @pianostarinwonderland.

[ceilidho]

Ok if this doesn't sound like an idea you'd be interested in then disregard, i don't want to bother you 🙂 BuT! It's been itching the back of my brain since forced throuple au and creepy-apartment!ghost has compounded it so:

Forced throuple but a sort of android verse with some body snatching horror thrown in for flavor. Reader's husband (Soapy boy) dies suddenly and in their grief a lot of stuff has gone into disrepair, so they mail order an android to help around the house and with crippling loneliness. The company sends Ghost, a refurbished security model now named Simon, and he ends up being pretty helpful despite the silent brooding. Hell, sometimes that even helps as scary dog privilege so you let it slide (big mistake dumby, that android is falling for you in the process of taking care of you ohhh no-).

But maybe Ghosts old security features make him super observant (obsessive) paired with his new "fix it" code make him come to the conclusion that, actually, reader could still use her husband and mail orders a Soap-bot-3000 without letting them know :O. Watch the horror unfold as Reader wakes up one morning to her VERY NOT dead husband in bed and both Ghost and Soap acting like nothing is wrong :)))), maybe some "Simon reverts fo Ghost" too as the story progresses

this is from awhile ago (apologies, anon) and so wickedly weird and cool :)))

androids that are so realistic and bodies so malleable that they almost feel lifelike, like they're flesh and blood. you never wanted to actually give in and purchase one because you have personal qualms with the idea of something so human-looking being programmable and subservient to you; it's just always felt wrong and borderline cruel, and johnny used to concur with you when you spoke about it. that was then though. years and months and weeks before the accident.

now it's midday on a tuesday and you can't even get out of bed. there are two weeks of dishes in the sink and the lawn is overgrown and the feral cats haven't stopped by in days because you haven't had the strength to get up and feed them. your voicemail's been full for days. your sister stopped by and insisted when she saw the state of your house. "at least for a few weeks," she pleaded with you. you can always return it when you're back on your feet. she's already ordered you one from 141 Labs before she's even out the door, making you promise to give it a shot.

when you open the box, you worry that you might've ordered the wrong model. the size of the android they sent you feels out of place, like he's meant for private military companies or as a bodyguard for celebrities. not depressed accountants who can't get out of bed because their husband died two weeks ago. but it's your name on the receipt, your address. so when his blue eyes flare neon when he's first activated and all six feet and four inches of him sit up in the crate (that had to be wheeled in by two delivery men, you recall with a small amount of horror), you wait patiently to introduce yourself.

maybe this one was sent to you because of the defect. he wears a mask because the only layer of skin on his face starts from the bottom of his face down. at first you roll the mask up only to shudder at the exposed wiring and metal where cheekbones should be. you roll it back down.

he comes with a name. Ghost. that's his model, you surmise from the lengthy instruction booklet you're provided. the whole situation feels weird at first; his presence in your house always catches you off guard, even though, you suppose, it's his house now too. you jump whenever you walk into a room and he's just there, silent, so large that you nearly always think Threat first before you recognize him. maybe it's not fully your fault. he makes no effort to signal his presence, moving silently from room to room when he helps carry out the garbage or swifter the living room. sometimes you catch him staring at the photos of you and johnny that still line the top of the fireplace.

you try to be equitable, insisting that he take the guest room as his own. Ghost won't hear of it, following you into your room when night falls; ominous. you have to lock yourself in the en suite to change, heart beating away because you know he's standing just outside the door, like a cat waiting to be let in. shaking hands drag your clothes down. you stare blankly at the door while you shower, fingers twitching when you pass a washcloth over your nipples.

you think there's something wrong with you. you're sick or something. you're sick or something worse because your husband died two weeks ago and the thing in your house isn't even a human and still your stomach clenches when you think of him waiting for you in your room, knowing that you're naked behind the door. it's taboo; it's not something that's done, at least not something that's spoken about. people don't sleep with their androids. recent widows especially should not be thinking about fucking their androids.

two weeks go by. you can't even think about johnny without wincing these days.

"he was your husband."

you look up. Ghost says it like a fact, not a question. you're in the living room sorting through insurance papers while Ghost vacuums under the sofa (he lifts the corner up with just a single hand; you swallow, throat already dry). neon blue eyes zip across your face when you look over at him. you wonder sometimes what he sees there, etched into the plains of your face.

"yeah." your smile is tight, pained. "johnny."

he looks back down to the framed photo in his hand, studying it. you wish you could ask him what he's thinking about, but you worry that would be just another privacy stripped. you can't ask more of him.

"what happened to him?" he finally asks, looking up again.

you feel it catch in your throat. "he, um - he." it doesn't come out. your nose stings before you can even try to get more out. you grimace, shrug instead. you try to smile again, but it's warped, unpleasant to form much less look at. don't ask, it says, whatever you do, please, please don't ask.

"you miss him?"

you blink at him, misty eyed. "ye - of course."

his eyes are so, so blue when he stares across the room at you. it's unnerving to look at; terrifying to find yourself under his scrutinizing gaze. what do androids even think about?

"I understand." he puts the photo back on the bookshelf and walks out of the room.

sometimes you catch him watching you too intensely; rare moments when he doesn't seem entirely mechanical. you wonder if one day you'll roll the mask up and there'll be skin there suddenly, a real flesh and blood person. it feels entirely possible some days. he moves too fluidly, has his own quirks and intricacies that seem newer each day.

you don't try it. the minuscule amount of professional space between the two of you is an absolute. you worry sometimes what you'll let happen if you ever let that distance collapse. already he sleeps motionlessly in the chair beside your bed, refusing his own room. he powers down with his eyes still open, the blue flickering away to a dark grey. it's only mildly reassuring.

when you open your eyes in the middle of the night though, he stares back at you, eyes dark and sightless.

you worry sometimes that you might have made a mistake, letting your sister talk you in to this.

it's the arm tucked around your waist when you're doing the shopping, freezing for a second before the hand on your hip squeezes and he pulls you towards the fruit and veg. it's the menacing stare from over your shoulder when a man approaches you in the checkout lane, offering his condolences (an old colleague of your husband's, he says) and an invitation to dinner. you open your mouth only for Ghost to answer for you.

"No." it thrums out of him, a different modulation. you stare helplessly as the man's face goes white and he makes an excuse to leave, offering you another lame apology.

it's the hand that tugs you out of the store by the back of your shirt, Ghost's voice rumbling like he doesn't know you can hear him. saying something about how you don't need another man in your house. that you had johnny and now you have him.

[moonylovegoodsposts]

Back To You | David!Clark Kent × Plus Size OC!

Wordcount: around 4K

Warnings: fluff, no use of Y/n (no matter how hard I try, I just can't get myself used to write using the Y/n thing, I'm so sorry about that!). Plus sized Oc, because why not? and Latina(Brazilian) Oc, because again, why not? Suggestive ending.

Oc! Lianna Torres

ps: guys I AM SO SORRY for being late with this one, I really lost myself. english is not my first language so im sorry for any mistakes.

faceclaim for Lianna Torres: Brianna Marquez (@/brimarqz)

I drop the last box on the porch, sighing as I watch the moving truck drive away. What trouble have I gotten myself into... actually, they have gotten me into. I love my family very much, but did they really need to leave me with... this?

Okay, let me explain. My grandmother died a while ago and, well, like every decent American, she had a will. What I didn't expect was that I would be forced to leave Brazil to inherit a farm that is falling apart. She hadn't lived here for a good few years when her illness began to take over, so the farm was left empty and the animals were given to someone who could take care of them, probably to a neighboring farm, from what I remember.

I stare at the large wooden door, the key in my hand. I take another deep breath, walking to the door at once, turning the key, trying to get it to open. Well, as everything that is great can get better, what is shit can get worse too. "Shit!" I exclaim, kicking the door, more to try to relieve stress than to try to open it.

And I thought I was the favorite granddaughter...

I roll my eyes, my head falling forward and my forehead hitting the door. "Holy shit... Why didn't you leave this to Matthew, huh, Grandma?" I ask, as if she could hear me, wondering why she didn't leave it to my cousin, who lives, like, two hours away.

"Do you need help?" I hear a voice that makes me turn back to the entrance of the farm and see a ridiculously tall guy wearing a blue flannel shirt and jeans, standing in front of the porch steps. "Excuse me?" I ask, not understanding where the man came from. I look a little behind him and see a blue pickup truck parked at the entrance of the farm. How did I not hear him coming?

"My parents said you came to live here permanently, so I thought it would be a good idea to come and help you... and it's summer, I have nothing to do on my parents' farm, so..." he continues babbling, as he walks up the steps, looking nervous about something but only one thing goes through my mind: Who is this guy?

"Excuse me, who are you again?" I ask, very confused, making him stop on the last step, his expression changing a few times. "Do I look that different?" He asks with a smile, staring at me. I open my mouth to reply with some ironic shit, but my brain freezes when I finally recognize the bright blue eyes. "Clark?"

It all seems to make sense now. I mean, why on earth would a random guy show up at my grandmother's door? Which is now my house...

Clark and I used to play together when I came here, in the summer when I was a kid. And sometimes in the winter too. And not just when we were kids...

I watch him smile and climb the last step. "I thought you forgot..." he says, pulling me into a tight hug that I return. "You look different, but I could never forget you!" I say, pulling out of the hug and he walks to the front door, touching the doorknob.

"It's stuck, you won't be able to open it that easily..." I say, trying to warn him, but when I see him he's practically broken down the door. "What the..." I stare at him, who seems to have made the minimum effort to open that door while my toes are still sore from the kick I gave him. "Ladies first" he says, gesturing for me to enter the house and I do. My heart skips a beat as the first wooden plank creaks beneath my feet.

The house is in a state of disrepair, that's for sure. Cobwebs are the least of it. All the furniture is falling apart and the musty smell is unbearable. All the wallpaper is peeling and everything is a mixture of mud, dust and bugs. I reach for the light switch, trying to turn on the light. The light stays on for a total of five seconds before the bulb simply explodes into sparks. "Shit."

"Okay, so... we have a lot of work to do..." Clark says, crossing his arms beside me and I glare at him "You don't have to..." I try to argue but he interrupts me "I'm not going to let you take care of this house alone. Are we going to start now or not?" He says, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt.

Oh my God, when did his arms get so... huge...?

Holy shit, Lianna. Focus!

"Okay, let's go..." I say, taking off my own jacket, throwing it over some boxes outside.

_

I sigh, sitting on the porch steps, trying to regulate my breathing. Most of my boxes are still outside and it's already the third day, but every hour there seems to be a new problem with the house.

Why does it have to be me?

The sound of the pickup truck pulls me from my thoughts. I see Clark getting out of the truck in his boots, jeans, and green flannel shirt.

I've really been away for too long... when did that teenager I knew get so...

I guess I'm thinking too much. I'm definitely thinking too much, thinking so much that I almost didn't notice the clump of white fur getting out of the truck and running towards me. The dog circles me, smelling me and wagging his tail, stopping in front of me, tongue out, as if smiling. "Oh, hi!" I greet the dog, my hands going behind his ears, the look in his eyes bringing back memories of my teenage years. "Wait, is that Krypto?" I ask Clark, who approaches the porch.

"That's him!" He sits down next to me, his hand stroking the dog's head. "Wow! He's what? 15 years old?" I look at Clark, seeing his blue eyes looking between me and Krypto, stuttering a little "Yeah... yeah, I think so... about 15 years old, yeah..." he says, coughing a little, looking a little nervous. "Uhm, my mom sent this" He hands me a paper bag "for your lunch".

"Oh, she's so sweet!" I smile, taking the bag "I miss her!" I say, looking inside the bag, the incredible smell of food reminding me that I didn't have breakfast.

"She misses you too, she asks me every now and then if I've heard from you..." He looks at me as if he wants to talk about something that I know exactly what it is. "I'm sorry I disappeared... life got a little more complicated when my dad died and coming back here..." I try to explain myself, but Clark puts his hand on mine, interrupting me. "It's okay... I mean, you could have sent me an update, but you're okay, that's what matters," he says, looking into my eyes.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of his hand on mine and those sky-colored eyes staring at me.

"I wish I had called..." I say, a feeling of not having done what I should have taken over me "written, I don't know... sent you an update..." I laugh, without any humor. "I didn't call either..." Clark says, shrugging, but looking at me with a little guilt in his eyes "I could have called..." he says, intertwining his fingers with mine, looking at the rain that has started to fall.

"Things were as they were supposed to be..." I say, letting my head fall to the side, resting it on his shoulder, smiling when he rests his head on mine.

"What do you think about changing that wallpaper? It's kind of cheesy, right?" He suggests completely changing the subject, in that way he always did to distract me from difficult subjects. "That would be great!" I chuckle, leaning into his touch.

_

"So, I brought the best ones I could find..." Clark says, entering the house with many rolls of wallpaper. Many. "There's this blue one and there's this one with flowers..." he shows me "I think you'll choose the one with the flowers, but I needed to bring the blue one in case you changed your taste in prints..."

I laugh, looking at him, finishing sweeping the dusty floor. I put down the broom and walk over to him, looking at the options he brought me. He really knows me well. He still knows me well. I smile, picking up one of the rolls of wallpaper with a white background and flowers in pink, blue and violet. "I loved this one!" I say "Thanks, Clark!".

"You're welcome! I'll return the blue ones to the store later..." he says, dropping the box of blue wallpaper on the porch. "You're amazing, you know that?" I say when he stops in front of me, holding the box with all the rolls of wallpaper in one hand. He smiles at me, with that smirk as he says: "You've told me that a few times..."

I can barely contain the smile that tries to appear on my face, as he places the box on the new couch, identical to the old one, but without rat piss. Krypto doesn't take long to climb on the couch, watching as we work, enjoying his nice little life. It's quite possible to say that Clark's more excited about this renovation than I am. He's been here every day for almost two weeks, without fail. I have nothing to complain about, but it's funny and gratifying to see how much he's dedicated to making this house at least decent.

I see him enter through the back door with a ladder, his perfect hair dragging on the doorframe and I notice that he slightly lowers his head to get through.

"So..." he begins, positioning the ladder on the wall near the door "my mother invited you to dinner at my house today..."

"Today?" I ask, incredulous. "Today." He answers me simply, as he begins to install the wallpaper.

Is it wrong to find the guy I've had a crush on since I was a teenager extremely attractive while he's installing wallpaper? Ah, the wonders of adult life...

"Oh, I..." I try to say, but he interrupts me. "You know she doesn't take 'no' for an answer, right?" I confirm, knowing this very well. "And also, she's already started thinking about the dinner menu, so..." he argues, leaving me with no way to refuse.

"I have nowhere to run, right?" I ask, just to confirm.

"No."

_

And here I am, standing at the Kents' door, wearing a dress. A dress! A white sundress with blue flowers. My God, I haven't worn a dress in years. I ring the bell next to the door, taking a deep breath. The door opens and I see Clark on the other side, smiling, wearing his denim jacket and the white t-shirt underneath, and his glasses askew. "Hi! You're early!" He smiles, making room for me to pass. "My mom's in the shower and my dad's out back finishing fixing the back door." I walk into the house, slightly embarrassed to be back after so long. "I brought this..." I hand the dish to Clark, "I didn't have much time to make something better, so I made it with what I had at home..." Clark takes the container from my hand, removing the cloth from the top, revealing the sweet treat my mom taught me to make. "Lily, you didn't have to..." he begins with a smile forming on his lips and I feel a shiver down my spine hearing my old nickname come out of his mouth after so long. "I did need it, Clark. I wasn't going to show up here empty-handed." I smile "It's called 'pudim', it's typical in Brazil..."

"You're amazing, you know?" He smiles, taking the pie to the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow him. I close the front door behind me and head to the kitchen. "You've told me that a few times..." I smile, watching him finish setting the table.

There's still a small feeling of being home hidden in my chest. Everything seems as comfortable as I remember, the couch in the same corner as always where Clark and I used to watch all the cliché Christmas movies and romantic comedies – because he always let me choose what to watch.

"So..." he approaches me, drying his hand on a dish towel "here hasn't changed at all, has it?"

"Even the couch is in the same place... it seems like it was yesterday..." I say, trying not to sound too nostalgic.

"It really does!" I hear a familiar voice at the kitchen door and turn around, finding Martha, smiling, coming to hug me. "Martha, I miss you so much!" I hug her back, smiling.

"I was so happy when I found out you were moving here for good! I called Clark right away, he was in Metropolis, putting off coming to spend the break here!" she says, ignoring her son. "Mom..." Clark says, a warning and a little embarassment implied in his voice. I look at him, curious, since he had made me understand that he was already here.

"Lianna! My God, you're such an adult!" Jonathan appears next to Clark, smiling at me, repeating Martha's action when she hugged me. "The last time I saw you, you were wearing glasses and pigtails!" he says, not even humorously, making me laugh. "That's true!" I agree. "Thank God for contact lenses!"

"Come on, let's sit down and eat!" Martha gestures to the table. "Mom, Lianna brought a typical Brazilian dessert, it's called 'pudin'." He says, with his cute American accent. "Pudim." I correct him playfully, emphasizing the 'm' with my Brazilian accent.

"Pudi-m..." he tries again, making me laugh. "Almost that..."

We finally sit down to dinner, Clark in front of me, next to his father and his mother next to me.

Dinner goes by peacefully. There's never a lack of conversation with the Kents, even after so long. His parents ask me how things are going in Brazil, how my mother and brothers are doing, what I do for a living, if I like what I do. That's the kind of thing you talk about when you haven't seen each other for many years.

"I'm a journalist..." I say, as Martha cuts a piece of the pie she made, placing it on a plate with the dessert I brought. "Are you a journalist too?" Jonathan asks me. "I am! I used to work in audiovisual journalism in Brazil..."

"That's really cool!" Clark says, picking up his own plate of sweets that his mother placed on the table, "Do you have a job around here yet?"

"Not really... I dropped everything to come and take care of the farm..." I say, taking a bite of the pie.

"That's really nice of you..." Martha says, "We kept some of your grandmother's horses when she got sick... the cows went to another neighbor, but they're all well taken care of!"

I look at all of them, sighing in relief, "That's good to hear! I admit I was worried about the little animals, I loved them!"

"I remember! I even thought I was going to be a vet..." Clark says. "I almost was... but I don't think I would have..." I laugh.

The evening continued as pleasantly as before. Clark's father was the first to leave while Clark and I worked together, washing and drying the dishes. His mother tried to stay a little longer but soon followed her husband, claiming that she no longer has the same energy as before. Clark and I finished putting away the dishes and I was ready to leave when he took two bottles of beer from the fridge and handed me one, inviting me to stay a little longer.

And here we are. On the roof of the Kent house. Looking at the stars. Just like when we were teenagers and used to go up here, sneaking drinks from the adults. Now we are two adults and it's so weird to think about.

"Can you believe that nowadays we don't have to smuggle a bottle of beer here anymore?", I ask, breaking the comfortable silence between us. "I was thinking the same thing!" he says, letting out a laugh.

I hear a few small pops and look to the side, seeing Clark sitting down, resting his arms on his knees, staring at the trees behind the house. I sit down too, trying to adjust my dress to cover my thick thighs. Damn, this is why I don't wear dresses!

"Is everything okay?" he asks, seeing me struggling with the dress. "It's okay, it's just... that's why I don't wear dresses... I'm too big for them..." I say, taking a deep breath, finally managing to keep the skirt in place and I see Clark frowning. "I think it looks great on you..." he compliments and I can't help but laugh humorlessly. "I know it doesn't." I reply. "I guess I was trying to impress, or something... I don't know..." I say, laughing at myself, taking a sip of beer.

"I think you should wear it more often..." he says, looking at me with an intensity I haven't seen in a long time. "You look beautiful..." he smiles with that sideways smile, his blue eyes staring deep into my soul, and that's enough to make my heart beat faster, as if I were that teenager again.

He looks forward again, as if coming out of a trance, shaking his head a little, his curls bouncing cutely. I turn back to the front, staring at the trees and the stars. "Thank you..." I say, "For helping me with the house... and for the compliment, too..." I lower my head, trying to hide my flushed cheeks. "I think you're the only person who can compliment me so... openly...".

"I just told the truth." I see him shrug, taking another sip of his beer and I look at him, searching for some sign of joking or lying in his eyes. Nothing. "You know, I missed you in the summers. And in the winters too..." he admits, leaving the bottle leaning against a tile.

"I missed you too." I confess, hugging my legs, feeling the cold night breeze chill my bones. "You were by far the best company to spend the holidays with..." I smile without showing my teeth, remembering the chaos that the holidays became as soon as all the grandchildren arrived at the Farm.

"I guess I can say the same thing... your cousins ​​were very..." he smiles, unfolding a blanket he brought when we went upstairs. "Chaotic?" I suggest, feeling him place the blanket over my shoulders, our faces being inches apart for a few seconds, making me hold my breath until he was back in his place.

"Yeah... 'chaotic' is a great description for them..." he laughs. "I'm glad it's just you now... I can visit you without fear of leaving all covered in paint..." he remembers one of the last summers I spent here, when my twin cousins ​​played a prank on him. Well, the victim wasn't really him, but rather anyone who walked through the door at that time, and well... Clark was the first. "Maybe I'll call Fred to help me prank you, one of these days..." I laugh, teasing him a little.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll love that!" Clark says sarcastically, making me laugh even more, and I barely notice the way he's staring at me.

I take a deep breath, wrapping myself even tighter in the blanket, and my heart skips a beat when Clark keeps staring at me in that intense way he's had before.

Something in his gaze reminds me of the last time I was here. On this roof, just the two of us. The first time we kissed. I almost let out a laugh, a slight snort escaping my nose as I look straight ahead, avoiding his gaze.

They always say that the first kiss is always bad, and... yeah, it kind of was. We came up here, smuggling some cheap liquor I found at my grandmother's house. We were trying to get away from my cousins, obviously, but we ended up drinking too much and kissed. And it was really weird. We got down from the roof, and he took me home without saying a word. The next day, when I wasn't drunk anymore, I could barely go to town with my grandmother to go shopping, afraid of running into him and afraid that he would never want to look at me again because of that horrible kiss. But of course, Mrs. Celina dragged me with her to the market and made me hold all the bags while she picked out the things. That's when Clark showed up to save the day, as he always did. He helped me with the bags and walked us to our farm. And then, when my grandmother came in, he kissed me again, at the front door. Infinitely better than the day before, I must say.

"What's wrong?" I hear his voice next to me, pulling me out of my trance of memories. "Nothing..." I answer with a smile, but he raises his eyebrow, not accepting my answer. "It's just..." I start, looking at my hands holding the blanket "I was remembering...".

"First kiss?" he asks, his eyebrow raising a little higher and I suddenly feel so shy around him. "Yeah..." I say, looking straight ahead again.

I hear a laugh beside me but I don't dare look at him, the embarrassment making my skin flush.

"I always remember that when I come here... and I come here a lot..." he says, looking down, his arms resting on his knees, his tone almost like a confession. "I think... maybe I missed you more than I care to admit." he says, his voice almost in a whisper, as if he were saying it only to himself. But I hear him, and I look at him, my eyebrows furrowed and my gaze too curious, too hopeful, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just stares at the roof, as if he's said enough for now.

"Me too." I admit. It's not a lie. In fact, it's the honest truth. "I love Brazil, but spending my vacation there, alone, isn't the same... and by alone I don't mean without my cousins..." I say, a small laugh escaping, but my smile slowly disappears when he looks at me again. Those bright blue eyes. "I missed you. A lot." He presses his lips together in a thin smile, playing with the empty beer bottle in his hands. The subject seems to disappear between us, but it's not an unbearable silence. It's actually quite pleasant. In fact, everything is quite pleasant around Clark. I used to think it was all in my head, from when I was a teenager, but... the feeling is still the same.

I take a deep breath, staring at the stars, imagining what it would be like to fly among them, as if all the weight of my body were null. I smile at the idea of ​​a small and light body, as if it were even funny. Me, small and light.

"It must be cool, right?" I ask, out of nowhere, still looking at the stars, and Clark looks at me with a question mark on his face. "Flying," I clarify. "Like Superman. Being so powerful that you can just jump and fly around... or being so light that your body simply floats near the stars." I say, smiling, but I can see the gears in his head turning and turning and turning.

"I wrote and directed a video journalistic report about him, you know?" I ask, more to tell him something I think he'd like to know. "Superman is a huge hit in Brazil, everyone loves him. That neat little hair, the blue eyes and the underwear outside his suit. The kids love it." I laugh, taking a last sip of my beer while looking at Clark.

He's still, staring at me. I frown at him, as if to ask "What's wrong?" But the gears in his head seem to keep turning. "Clark?" I call to him and he swallows hard, looking down and then back at me. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, sure, it's great!" he says, shaking his head and looking at me with a little smile. "It's just that you reminded me of an article I need to write about Superman too... but... but what about this video journalistic report of yours? Can I watch it any time?"

"Sure! Tomorrow, if you want I'll show you... speaking of which, it's getting a little late, right?" I ask, staring at the phone screen. "It's almost midnight... I think I should go..." I say, worried about the time.

"Oh, yes! Of course, it's late!" Clark agrees, standing up, offering me his hand and I gladly accept, following him slowly, avoiding making too much noise on the tiles.

He goes down the stairs first, reaching the grass. I go down soon after, foot by foot, step by step, suspicious of the old wooden stairs. But even so, I think I trusted him too much. When I was almost on the grass, with a few steps left, a damn nail broke, making the wood give way under my feet and all my balance disappear. My body falls backwards and I feel like it's in slow motion as I try to reach the stairs to hold on and balance myself, but at the same time, I embrace my fate that I'm going to fall backwards on the ground. I just close my eyes, waiting. But the thud never comes. In fact, there is a fall, but on two strong and enormous arms that are now surrounding me, somehow, saving me from falling on my ass. I open my eyes, wondering how and when Clark became so strong, but as soon as I open my eyes, I see him. His eyes. So close. After so many years.

He puts me back on my feet, without any apparent effort, but he continues to hold my waist. And now that I realize, I continue to grab his biceps – which I don't even remember how I started holding in the first place.

I let go of his arms, a little embarrassed by the situation, but his eyes don't leave me, they don't stop studying my face, and it may have been my imagination, but I'm almost sure I felt his hands squeeze my waist lightly, making me look into those eyes again and for a moment, I almost don't realize how close we are. I almost don't notice when he leans a little more towards me, and the way my body simply responds, even after so many years.

But it's impossible, impossible, not to notice when he presses our bodies together. The way his eyes wander to my mouth every now and then. The way our breaths mingle as the tips of our noses touch as we continue to lean into each other.

And it's almost otherworldly when he finally kisses me. When my eyes close as my arms instinctively wrap around his neck. And when his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.

I almost let out a moan in the middle of the kiss when he tangles his fingers in my hair, angling my face better as the kiss gets deeper and deeper.

I don't know how long we stay there, or anything like that. I just know that we need to break the kiss when the need for air becomes greater. Our breaths, still mingled, and completely out of control, almost make me laugh. But nothing really matters to me now, when all I feel is wanting more.

More, more, more.

I tilt my face again, searching for more and he obliges. The kiss now feels more desperate, more passionate, more... hotter.

"I think you can stay here tonight..." He murmur against my lips and in a few seconds I feel his hands going down to my ass, squeezing a little and then going down to my thighs, making me wrap my legs around his waist, and I almost let out a little scream at the way he holds me so easily.

"Yeah, I think I can..."

[oh-no-my-hand-slipped]

We know noseguard trapdoors exist But what about Noseguard Chests, and Noseguard Wardrobes(Especially a Noseguard Wardrobe for, say... a maid?)

If you can fashion a lock for something, you can have a NoseGuard! Boxes, chests, luggage, even diaries! Usually, the limits don’t involve the what, but the where. Depending on what a NoseGuard is made of, it is sensitive to many things. Imagine it in cold climates, on a dusty shelf, buried.

One of the greatest adversaries of NoseGuards is dust…which you will soon see.

************************************

This room had obviously not been used in years — much like the rest of the manor. How could a once such prosperous, wealthy household, Estella wondered, fall into such disrepair?

Well, no matter. If she had anything to do with it, this study would soon be sparkling from the edge of the chandelier to the corners of its plush red carpet.

But first, she needed supplies. Her master had told her something about a maid’s closet in this room, but with all of the old and broken furnishings filling every inch, Estella knew it would be some time before she found was she was looking for.

Or so she thought.

“Ooooooh…”

Estella jumped. The groaning only got louder, growing more pained with every breath. Was it a lonely spirit? A mischievous ghost? One of the errand boys playing a trick?

She held her feather duster in front of her, brandishing it like a deadly weapon.

“Show yourself!” she said, hoping she sounded just as brave as the guards. “What are you doing in my master’s house?”

There was no reply other than a few moans, punctuated by thick sniffles.

Estella lowered her duster. This wasn’t someone playing a trick — this was someone who needed help.

“Are you alright?” she called, craning her neck over the mountain of velvet and polished oak. “I don’t mean to harm you,” she added, kindly.

After a few moments, a muffled, sniveling voice shuddered from nearby.

“Oh, thangk heavens…snf!…please, this rug is ever s-hoh-! So very d-duhsty-!”

Estella looked around the room, her eyes soon falling on a, in her opinion, quite ugly rug. The green wool was decorated with brown diamonds, each surrounded by a pattern of yellow vines. In other words, it looked more like a rotten garden than anything Estella would have pleasure in cleaning.

She grabbed both sides of the rug, using all her strength to heave the thing aside. As it piled on a floor next to her, a cloud of dust rose around her. She coughed, fanning the plume from her face.

“Oh, at last! To be free frob that horrid prison!”

Estella jumped again. The voice was right in front of her, but she saw no one. All there was under the rug was an old wardrobe, decorated with simple iron edges.

However, she did notice one strange thing — instead of a knob or a lock, a large iron nose sat in the middle of the door. As Estella took a closer look, she saw a ring of rust surrounding its nostrils, as well as the remains of a rodent’s straw nest stuffed into them.

Hold on, was it…? Did Estella just see the nostrils quiver?

Suddenly, the iron nose sniffled, bits of straw falling onto the floor. Estella stumbled back in surprise, falling onto a nearby fainting couch. Another cloud of dust rose up between them.

“Oh, pardon mbe!” the nose said, bridge wrinkling. “I didn’d bean to…t-to…”

The dust was swirling around the nose, and it began to snort and snuffle.

“Th-Thad blasted d-d-duh-! Huh-!”

The nose hitched, its nostrils flaring, its septum trembling, until…

“Hoooh dear…”

The nose’s nostrils drooped, causing more straw to flutter from them. Estella got to her feet, approaching the nose sideways, leaning away.

“B-Blessings?” she stammered.

“Blessings have ndo place before a sdeeze,” the nose said, sniffing. “Ooh, I haven’d had a good sdeeze in years. Not that adyone has required mby contents…”

Estella squinted.

“Must someone make you sneeze in order to open the door?”

“By master’s orders, yes, to be sure ndo rapscallion steals the rags for handkerchiefs and the like.”

The nose sighed.

“Bud I’ve been stuffed so full of dust and straw thad there is simply ndo room for a sdeeze.”

Estella smiled, patting the side of the wardrobe.

“Well, you are among good company, Master Nose!”

She lifted the corner of her apron.

“I’ll have you and this room as clear as a dead man’s debts!”

She began rubbing the inside of the nose’s nostrils with her apron, tugging out the tightly packed debris.

“Ohoh-! Do be cahah-!”

Estella felt its nostrils flare against her fingers, even though she was as gentle as she could be. The nose sniffled and snorted and sighed and gasped, only breathing “a b-bid to the left” or “r-right!” between them.

Estella was polishing the outside of the nose’s nostrils when the felt the whole wardrobe shudder, and the door seemed to bend with every sharp hitch the nose choked out.

“I d-do - hiiiih-! - th-think I…st-stand bahahaHAAAAAH-!”

Estella hurried behind the fainting couch. The nose’s door seemed almost ready to shake of its hinges as the nose bent upwards, showing its massive (but clear) nostrils.

“HAKSH’SHIEEEHIIIIIIIEW!”

A fine yellow spray misted the air above Estella, giving the air a metallic smell. The wardrobe door flung open with a rusty squeal. The nose lost no time in making up for the dismal dustiness it endured, and continued to sneeze for quite some time afterward.

“Snnnnnf - oh, by the gods,” the nose said as Estella finally revealed herself again.

“Bless-ings,” Estella said. She began looking inside the wardrobe for her cleaning supplies.

“Oh, no, my dear, blessings to you. I haven’t sneezed so well since my smiting!”

“Well, you’ll have plenty more to sneeze after soon,” Estella chuckled, bringing out a glass bottle of freshening water.

She sniffed it, and her own nose wrinkled. Her eyelids fluttered, and she pitched forward into the wardrobe.

“hhhp’tcHIEW! TSHIEW! TSHHHHIEW!”

“Blessings for a magnificent sneeze!” the nose cried.

Estella sniffled. “I…my pleasure?”

The nose hummed.

“I’m sure anyone would be quick to free your lock, with a sneeze like that!”

Estella laughed, closing the wardrobe door again.

“A strange compliment to be sure, but one I have no qualms with, Mr. Nose.”

[buckgasms]

Once upon a time - Kinktober

Hello!!!

Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll! The winner by far was 'Beauty and the Beast' so I will be starting with that one!

I will be writing some of the other popular ones too so don't despair if this wasn't your favourite!

I'm doing this in two parts because it's just too huge otherwise, so please enjoy and I hope to see you for the next part!

The village of Swanford had once been a prosperous village, lead by the Barnes family, who had not only made their fortune there, but had also been generous benefactors of the town.

But after the wars of Europe and the death of their patriarch, the family and the village had descended into disrepair.

The Barnes residence, once a shining display of wealth and fashionable architecture now stood, imposing and delapidated on the edge of town. It's owner, the reclusive James Barnes, was never seen in the village. Rumours swirled of a beastly nature about him.

Cruel and unkind, a monster returned from war, more metal than man.

You had little interest in the life of James Barnes and his sad house. Your life, and it's problems were far more pressing.

You lived with your father in the poorer part of the village, his health would ebb and flow, keeping him out of secure work, and much of the financial responsibility falling onto your shoulders at a young age.

Since you were able to, you took jobs wherever you could, sewing, serving and occasionally teaching at the local community school. That had been your favourite, but was naturally short lived.

One September afternoon you had been informed by the headmaster that you would no longer be able to work. They hadn't received their usual funding and could only afford two teachers.

You were devastated but swallowed your pain and smiled. Perhaps another year?

🥀

You had just finished a day of sewing that left your fingers red and throbbing, when your father burst in the front door.

"Darling, I've had an idea..."

You strained a smile. These were never the start of a good conversation with your father. As he approached you could smell the scent of liquor on his breath.

"The Barnes mansion... It must be abandoned now. No one's seen sight of the miserable lad for years..."

You shrug and raise your eyebrows. "So? What does that have to do with anything?"

He chuckles and pinches your cheek.

"Tonight... I'm going up there. There must be something I can sell. Then you can forget these silly embroideries and I'll buy you a lovely dress!"

Your stomach churns. Both at his idea and his painful misunderstanding of you and the situation you are both in.

"I don't think that's a good idea..."

But he's already flopped down on the bed, unconscious to your protests, a victorious smile on his sweaty, boyish face.

🥀

You woke in a start, not sure what made you so terrified in your dreams but feeling uneasy as you panted in bed.

It took you a moment to realise the usual sound of your father snoring was absent and that the front door was left ajar.

You groaned and scrambled out of bed, pulling on a shawl and a pair of worn out shoes. Perhaps you could catch him before he made it to the mansion.

In a few minutes you were out the door, surprised to find the early dawn light breaking. How long had he been gone? Your stomach churned again. A familiar feeling when dealing with your father's escapades.

You were panting and out of breath when you arrived at the gates of the Barnes' home. You shivered at the prospect of walking through the overgrown garden but a shout from inside the normally silent house pushed you on.

Ignoring the clawing branches and weeds that tried to trip you until you were at the big wooden doors. Before you could knock the door swung open and you were met with a huge man, hair and beard giving the appearance of something like a wolf and piercing blue eyes burning into you.

"Come for more stolen goods?" He growled as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into he house.

You cried out in protest until he released you, yanking you into a large parlour. There you found your father standing, looking terrified and sober. Beads of sweat were pouring down his face, and behind him a pile of shattered glass and porcelain.

"What did you do?" You strained as you walked to him, taking his hands in yours.

"He's a thief" a harsh voice spoke and you turned to face the owner of this dark, terrible home. James Barnes.

"His foolishness and avarice has cost me several hundred dollars in damages. Priceless family heirlooms, lost forever..."

You squeezed the eyes shut, hoping just briefly you might still be asleep, but you opened them again, finding yourself still in this nightmare.

"Sir, please forgive us. My father, he...he doesn't always make good decisions, but he means well. He was just trying to support us. It was a mistake..."

"So like everyone else in this village, it is someone else's problem to fix. Forget doing something useful, just hold out your hand and someone else will provide?"

You flinched at the venom in his voice. You had never once complained about your lot in life, it felt awful to be at the brunt of his fury. Despite your fear you step towards him, placing yourself between the two men.

"How dare you... As if you know what it's like to live in discomfort or poverty..."

At your words he holds up his other arm, heavy silver metal and scoffs. "I know something of living in pain....I just refuse to make it into anyone else's problem."

You blink. Shocked at both the appendage and his confession. The silence hangs heavily in the air for a moment.

"I will not let this go unpunished. This is my home and he has caused damage. I will have to report this to the police..."

You whimpered, knowing that this was probably your father's final strike. If he was arrested again, he would be sent away for hard labour. A sentence that would probably kill him.

Your father gripped your elbow and squeezed. "It's ok my love, it's what I deserve..."

You shook your head and approached James, dropping to your knees grabbing at his hands, both to his surprise.

"Please? If they arrest my father.. I'll never see him again. And.... He's all I have left. Please? There must be something else..."

Tears fell from your eyes, but you refused to break your eye contact, gripping his hands as hard as you dared. His face was unreadable, but you hoped there was a good man there somewhere.

"Very well. He can go home."

You heaved out a sigh, moving to release his hands, but instead he gripped you tighter.

"But you have to stay."

Ah perhaps not a good man at all....

You gasped and tried to escape his grip but he held fast.

"You will work off your father's debt to me. You will stay here so I know you aren't gossiping about me in town, or stealing from me. Once the debt is paid, you can leave."

He releases your hands and you scramble to your feet. You turn to your father, standing uselessly in the mess he has created. Your shoulders drop and you turn back to James.

"Ok."

🥀

Spending time in the Barnes household wasn't as torturous as you had envisioned. Bucky, as he preferred to be called, spent most of the day alone leaving you to your various tasks.

The house was a mess, so you were busy dusting, cleaning and tidying. You spent your first week in the kitchen, disgusted by the dirt and mouldy food you found there.

Each morning ready made meals were delivered and you would store and serve when appropriate. Around midweek you were handed three bowls of mushy oats, you recognised as gruel. It looked odd amid the rich soups, stews, bread and cheeses that were stacked next to it.

"Well this looks almost good a new"

His deep grumble of a voice made you jump as you were scrubbing dishes and made it slip from your hand, smashing in the sink.

"Hmm that must be another week's work at least" he chuckled, walking over to you, brushing past you to grab a drink of water.

You scowled and began collecting the shards to put in the bin. He leaned against the counter as he watched you work.

"There was some gruel delivered today. What's that for?" You asked briskly as he slipped slowly.

"Ah yes. That's your's"

You looked up at him and stared. The twinkle of amusement in his eyes was enraging.

"I have a proposal. If you would like to dine with me in the evenings, then we can share a meal. If you continue to eat alone, then it only seems right you should eat just enough to sustain you."

"Why would I wish you eat with you?" You tried to dial down the venom in your words, but he seemed unbothered. A simple shrug and a flash of a grin before he turned to leave.

"I'll leave it with you to ponder, Beauty..."

That was another thing. Despite the fact you had told him your name several times, he insisted on refering to you as Beauty. Perhaps it was some sick reference to a fairytale?

You were beautiful, despite your often disheveled appearance, but it felt more of an insult when he said it.

Either way, you were never going to share a table with such a brute. You were made of tougher stuff that just a bit of gruel.

🥀

By the weekend you were starting to break. The gruel was exactly as he said, just enough to sustain you, but not enough to make you feel good in any way.

Saturday morning came and he had a huge roast delivered, with all the trimmings. You groaned as you set it in the oven to roast for a few hours. It looked so good.

In the afternoon you had some time to yourself and decided to read, finding some of his books left lying around too hard to resist. You didn't care what you read, you just loved it. Losing yourself in a fantastic world, or learning about real life places that you would probably never see.

As you were learning about the rainforests of the Amazon, Bucky appeared, and you did your best not to react as he sat on the couch where you had curled yourself up.

"Dinner already smells divine Beauty. Are you sure you won't join me tonight?"

You closed the book slowly. "Why are you so persistant about me joining you? Servents don't normally dine with their masters..."

"I don't consider you a servant. You are working off a debt, yes, but I still consider you a guest of sorts. If we are to share a home, we could at least share a meal..."

You narrowed your eyes but your treacherous stomach betrayed you, growling loudly.

He chuckled. "That settles it. You must join me. Oh! I have another delivery coming this afternoon. It's for you..."

And with that he left with your rainforests.

🥀

A dress.

It was a dress.

No in fact it wasn't a dress. It was an entire wardrobe of clothes, fit for a woman of a far higher status than you. Annoyingly they were all to your taste and fit like a glove.

You were mortified to find he had also purchased undergarments and threw the parcel of lacy items into the drawer to ignore them for the time being.

You decided on a pale green dress for dinner, throwing it on and brushing your hair through before rushing down to the kitchen to dish up.

He was in his usual simple black trousers and loose white shirt that he always wore, making you feel a bit of a spectacle in your shiny new dress, but he complimented you in a way that felt genuine so you smiled and allowed him to serve dinner.

He was quite handsome, but he was hidden behind a thick scraggy beard and long lank hair. The beard covered scars that you noticed drifted down towards his chest, more on his left side.

His metal arm, made of some mysterious metal called vibranium was surprisingly nimble. Occasionally he would knock something with it but it was hardly the terrifying limb the rest of the village made it out to be.

His eyes were the most wonderful though. Glittering blue that seemed to change with his emotions. Sparkling with joy, or turning grey with his anger.

You wondered what he must have been like before the war. There was definitely a sense of humour there, gentleness and generosity. But like so many men of his time, the things he had seen and done had buried those attributes beneath a surface of blood, mud and pain.

You ate mostly in silence because you were enjoying every single mouthful of delicious food. It was heaven, and even as the cook, you had to admit that this was the best roast you'd ever had. He seemed similarly impressed, mmh-ing at each new bite. It was almost sweet.

Once the plates were clearing he poured you a wine and started probing you. He wanted to know about your life, everything....

You answered briefly and without inspiration until he asked you about books.

"Oh yes I love to read. My mother insisted I learn and I'm so glad I did! I'll read anything I can get my hands on!" You laughed and he smiled, cogs turning in his head.

"I used to teach actually, I loved it. But they had to let me go..."

"Why? That seems crazy?"

"The money. There wasn't enough. I don't understand how people could take funding away from a school. It's so selfish..."

He stopped smiling.

"Maybe these places should learn to save better, and spend more wisely..."

You eyed him. "Well how can they with nothing? Don't be so naive, just because you have enough. Life is miserable enough without more selfish people in the world."

He threw his knife on the table and stood up.

"I knew it. You are just the same as the rest of them... Just waiting for a handout."

You also rose, fire burning in your chest

"I have never in my life asked for anything. I have worked all my life, harder that I imagine you ever have! I think its about kindness. It costs nothing to be kind James. And I'll stick to gruel if this is what dinner with you looks like."

You tore from the room before he could throw another barbed word your way, slamming the door and running to your bedroom. You refused to shed a tear until the door was firmly locked, collapsing on the bed, wishing this would all just end.

You heard a door slam in the distance before more tears fell until you finally drifted off to sleep.

🥀🥀🥀

[shadowqueenjude]

I’m astronomically late but this was meant for day 1 of @rhystaappreciationweekend

AU of what if Nesta took Feyre’s place in the bargain:

Nesta gasped and wheezed as they reached the crest of the mountain. She and her companions were soaked in blood, sweat, and rain, and the cold seeped down to their bones. She knew all three of them had likely gotten a fever, but at this moment Nesta couldn’t bring herself to care.

Because at the crest of the hill lay an enormous wall that was falling into disrepair. The border between the human lands and Prythian stood before them.

“We made it,” Nesta croaked. Then she collapsed before the wall.

“They made it through the forest?” came a voice as though from a great distance. Was she in hell?

“Yes,” answered a different voice, this one sounding a bit more polished. “Three human women, two matching the descriptions of Feyre’s sisters. I am not sure who the third girl is, though.”

“It doesn’t matter; she is with Feyre’s sisters, so she must be protected.”

“But it does matter, Tam. Look at her weaponry- she’s been trained to fight the Fae. She must be some kind of guide for these ladies. They came here to save Feyre- likely from you. I believe Feyre has underestimated the depth of their regard for her.”

Probably not hell, then. But it sure felt like it. Nesta’s head felt so heavy, and her eyes glued shut. She couldn’t even muster the energy to open her mouth and speak.

Back to sleep it was, then, until she got more comfortable.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself on a bed so comfortable that Nesta felt like royalty. The mattress was soft yet supportive. The sheets were like satin, and the blankets were so warm that Nesta felt like a baked potato. She gently pulled off the blankets and her jaw dropped as she looked down at herself.

Her clothes were utterly spotless, and definitely not what she was wearing before. She was wearing an elegant green silk empire gown with real pink flowers stitched around the waist. Nesta reached a hand into her hair. No tangles and butter-soft beach waves. How??? She had just been asleep. Shouldn’t there be tangles?

She jumped out of bed, stomping towards the door and flinging it open. She was furious; who had touched her without her consent? Her heart went cold as she remembered Tomas Mandray’s hands on her skin…

By the time her anger dissipated just enough to have the rational thought that it was probably not a good idea to stomp around in the land of the Fae, but by then it was too late: her presence had already been discovered.

“Lady!” a voice cried from the body of a tree. Nesta looked up at her imperiously. “Was this you, tree girl?” she hissed.

The tree held her ground, raising a brow. “You can see my true form? And no, I am not a tree.”

“Of course I can see you,” Nesta snapped. “I am not blind.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she replied coolly. “I am Alis. It is nice to meet you.”

Nesta glared at Alis. She had not answered her question. She placed her hand on her hip and angled her head at her. “Somebody changed me while I was asleep. Who. Did. It?”

Alis didn’t look the least bit impressed. Perhaps she was already accustomed to this attitude from somebody else. “Just the maids. Nobody touched you inappropriately, I promise. We only gave you a clean shower and clothes.”

Nesta sighed in relief. Somehow, she believed Alis. “Where are my friends?”

“They have separate rooms. I can take you to them, if you wish,” Alis said.

“Ok.”

Alis led Nesta through several halls. Nesta was constantly doing double takes as she saw wind spirits scurry through the house. This place was just so weird; she couldn’t say she liked it.

Alis first led her to her sister’s room. Elain was still fast asleep, her hair artfully askew on the pillows. She seemed so peaceful with her face relaxed. She was the princess incarnate.

Nesta clasped her shoulder and shook her. “Elain, wake up,” she whispered.

Her little sister’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked Nesta blearily. “Just a few more minutes,” she mumbled.

“No,” she snapped. “We need to get up. We’re in Prythian.”

That sobered up her sister quickly. She sat up in bed, grabbing her sister’s hand. “But where’s Tiana?”

The mercenary who had bravely taken on the quest to reach Prythian after she and Nesta had already failed once. After Feyre was taken, she became quite close with the Archeron family. Nesta considered her a dear friend and close to a sister.

“The tree woman will take us to her,” Nesta said reassuringly. Elain slid off of the bed, revealing her shiny new dress: a lavender-colored chiffon dress with real hydrangeas all down the skirt. Her hair, a few shades darker than Nesta, was so glossy that it reflected the dimmest of lights. They walked back to Alis, who led them to Tiana, who was wide awake reading a book on the bed.

Nesta raised a brow. Her dark skin lacked sleep circles, suggesting that she had been awake a while. Her midnight hair had been braided and tossed over one shoulder. She wore a flowy black dress with butterfly sleeves and mesh on the shins. She looked like a mystic or a priestess.

“Oh good, you two are awake!” Tiana said enthusiastically. She slammed her book shut and slid off the bed, striding towards them with purpose. “This place is really nice, but I asked around, and your sister is not here.”

That was exactly what Nesta was afraid of. “Is she dead?” she croaked.

Tiana pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head grimly. “Worse.”

Nesta stormed through the house looking for Tamlin, Elain and Tiana hurrying behind her. She was going to have a few words with him when she found him.

At last, she found him holed up in his study, his head in his hands. Seeing him in inaction while knowing that her sister had been taken captive by the man who had assaulted her under the mountain made her see red.

“TAMLIN!” she roared. Instantly, he stood up, on alert. Nesta walked right up to his face and punched him with all the force she could muster. Tamlin did not even flinch, but he did look shocked.

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO TAKE CARE OF HER!” Nesta shrieked. She leapt onto him, trying to pull his hair out. Tamlin only grabbed her wrists gently, prying her off of him.

“I’m trying,” he said hoarsely. He sounded broken. “Rhysand has tricked her into a faerie bargain- it’s not easy to break. Lucien has gone to the Day Court to try and figure out a way to break it.”

Nesta could feel hot tears forming in her eyes. “Then I’ll go get her.”

“Are you insane?” Tamlin bellowed. “You have nothing to offer him, and no power to stop him.”

“Tiana has ash blades, and I’m certain it’s not Feyre’s power he’s after. What would he want with a mere human?”

Tamlin scrunched his nose and surveyed her. “You are also a human.” Not an insult, just a fact. But Nesta stared him down anyway.

“A human upon which Faerie glamours have no effect,” she answered.

They stared each other down for several moments before Tamlin sighed. “Feyre will never forgive me if you get hurt.”

Nesta angled her head. “There won’t be a Feyre to forgive you if she remains in this bargain.”

Tamlin slumped in defeat. He knew she was right. Nesta stood there waiting, arms crossed.

“I will take you to the Night Court border,” he said finally. “You’re on your own from there.”

Leaving Elain and Tiana behind, Nesta walked into the realm of the devil incarnate. It didn’t take long after she crossed the border for the High Lord of Night to be alerted to her presence. After mere minutes of walking in crunchy snow, a carriage came up to her claiming to be from the palace. It was utterly ostentatious with its dramatic silk coverings and threadings likely made from real gold, so Nesta climbed inside and awaited the palace of her sister’s captor.

When they reached the palace, Nesta stepped out and gazed at the palace in awe. The whole thing looked utterly sinister: a polished black with several spires coming to a sharp point. It looked like a castle of swords.

She was escorted inside by a broody batman who seemed to be surrounded by black smoke. When he moved to grab her arm, Nesta slapped his hand away.

“I am came here willingly; do you really think I’ll try to escape?” she snapped. The bat male merely blinked his hazel eyes before letting his arm drop to his side. Nesta held her chin up high, trying to memorize where he was taking her instead of focusing on her fear.

Nesta was taken to a throne room, where another batman lounged on the throne, legs hanging over one armrest and crown sitting lopsided on his head. His ears sat on the top of his head, long and furry and triangular. His eyes were completely black except for his violet irises. There were circular markings in bands all over his face, like some tribal symbols. In place of nails were dark talons. And each of his wings were as big as Nesta. He looked ethereal, wicked, terrifying.

“Leave us,” Rhysand commanded his stooge. The other bat guy scurried away instantly. Nesta sneered at Rhysand.

“Where is my sister,” she asked flatly. The High Lord of Night smiled sinisterly. “You do not mince words, do you, Feyre’s sister?”

“Where is she?” she demanded. Rhysand laughed seductively. “Mor, bring her here,” he ordered the woman standing by his right side. She swept out of the room instantly. Rhysand looked her over. “Human girl…you must love your sister a lot if you were willing to come this far.”

Nesta clenched her fists to keep from shaking. She was in the room with a bona fide High Lord, and this one was not so friendly. But she stood her ground; faeries respected power, so she had to act powerful even if she was not.

“It took your sister mere moments to dance for me,” Rhysand purred. “How long until you do the same?”

Nesta saw red at the man’s careless comment. “You caught my sister at her most vulnerable,” she hissed. “I promise that you will not find me in any such position.”

“We will see about that,” he murmured. “Dance for me, Nesta,” he whispered.

And then Nesta felt it, like a probe reaching into her head. In her mind, Nesta began to build iron walls. Brick by brick, she created an impenetrable barrier between her and that invasive force.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped. She pulled out her ash knife, gripping it like a vise.

Rhysand looked surprised for a moment, then intrigued. Then his eyes snagged on her weapon, and he smirked. “What do you think you’re going to do with that?” he inquired.

She tilted her head and placed her other hand on her hip. “Kill you.”

He chortled. “I am much stronger and faster than you, love. What in the world can you do?”

As if to prove his point, in an instant Rhysand charged towards Nesta, punching her forearm. She cried out as her knife went clattering out of her hand.

“You see?” Rhysand said in an erotic whisper. “You are no match for me.”

Nesta spat in his face. A cloud of dust formed over him, and he doubled over, coughing. Tiana’s ash chew had worked, then. While he was distracted, Nesta sprinted towards her knife.

“Do not underestimate me,” she hissed.

Rhysand clapped even while bent over. “Clever. Very clever, young lady…for your wit and courage, I’ll grant you one boon.”

There was only one thing to do. Rhysand would never agree to a bargain if he did not get something out of it, and he was too powerful to kill. So, she cleared her throat and forced out the words she was most terrified to utter.

“I wish to take my sister Feyre’s place in her bargain.”

Through the ash cloud, Nesta saw Rhysand laugh. “Very well, miss Nesta. I accept.”

[the-slow]

WOE, TERROR PLAYLISTS BE UPON YE

9 playlists, (Tozer, Hickey, Little, Jopson, Irving, Hartnell, Blanky, Bridgens/Peglar, Crozier) 8 songs each. Made in both a davechella "this is what I think they would listen to in the modern day" sort of way, as well as a "the songs are about the character" way. Playlists under the cut. Enjoy!

🦞 Best Shot Here | Tozer*

Built By Nations - Greta Van Fleet

Houses Of The Holy - Led Zeppelin

The Switch and the Spur - The Raconteurs

Iron - Woodkid

Heartbroken, in Disrepair - Dan Auerbach

I Promise - Radiohead

The Curse of the Blackened Eye - Orville Peck

Rounder - Watchhouse

🔪 Morals/Practicals | Hickey

Shove It (feat. Spank Rock) - Santigold

Sinister Kid - The Black Keys

Easy Way Out - Gotye

Judas - Cage The Elephant

Circuit Breaker - Röyksopp

The Future - Mystery Skulls

Big City Life - Kidkanevil

Krazy World - King Geedorah

🥇 Every Gold Thing | Little

Human Sadness - The Voidz

At The Door - The Strokes

You Can Let Go - Half Moon Run

Cowgirl - Ora Cogan

I Am The Dog - Sir Chloe

Romance - Fontaines D.C.

Don't Run Into The Dark So Quick - Jon Bap

The Place Where He Inserted The Blade - Black Country

🦅 Smaller Hawks | Jopson

Don't Call It Love - Zero 7

Tiny Garden - Jamila woods

Private Road - Bent

You Have My Heart - Ursina

If You Let Me - Alina Baraz

Compromised - Tim Atlas

The King - Sarah Kinsley

Leash - Sir Chloe

✝️ Reborn Clean | Irving

Punish - Ethel Cain

De Selby (Part 1) - Hozier

The Lament of Eustace Scrubb - The Oh Hellos

All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands - Sufjan Stevens

St Jude - Florence + The Machine

Picture You - Chappell Roan

Roses Are Falling - Orville Peck

Cigarettes And Chocolate Milk - Rufus Wainwright

🧊 Spared To Meet | Hartnell

When You Were Young - The Killers

Yellow - Coldplay

Float On - Modest Mouse

Island In The Sun - Weezer

Lavender - Ray LaMontagne

Plum - Widowspeak

Satellite - Guster

Ends of the Earth - Lord Huron

🐻‍❄️ Unnatural With Thoughts | Blanky

Sacred Love - Sting

Life In The Fast Lane - Eagles

Love Me Two Times - The Doors

Reelin' In The Years - Steely Dan

Theresa Maria - Fine Crowd

Moondance - Van Morrison

Free - Seal

Strangers In The Night - Frank Sinatra

📚 No More Herodotus | Bridgens/Peglar

I Melt with You - Modern English

Holland, 1945 - Neutral Milk Hotel

Love My Way - The Psychedelic Furs

I Will Follow You into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie

Dreams - The Cranberries

My Love Mine all Mine - Mitski

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) - Kate Bush

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields

⚓Travel Well | Crozier

Untitled 2 - The Green Kingdom ⚓

Fortress Around Your Heart - Sting 🐻‍❄️

You Can Bring Me Flowers - Ray LaMontagne 🧊

There, There - Radiohead 🦞

Would That I - Hozier ✝️

Sunday - The Cranberries 📚

Spinning - Zero 7 🦅

End of Nowhere - Ora Cogan 🥇

*PLUS - 8 songs was simply not enough for Solomon "my beautiful husband" Tozer, so here's an extended playlist:

[ghcstao3]

There’s something almost comical about the fact that Ghost lives in a classic horror movie house, Soap thinks.

When Soap is invited to join Ghost on leave at his place, Soap doesn’t hesitate to say yes. It’s a bit embarrassing, looking back, the enthusiasm with which he accepted the offer—but seeing now as Ghost drives up the obnoxiously long gravel driveway to his home, Soap is wondering if this is where he gets murdered.

Like Soap had immediately thought—the house is straight out of a thriller. Deep red brick walls covered in sprawling ivy, windows with chipped white trim and a black roof that needed to be retiled, even a rusted retro bike leaning against the side of the house—it screams I think this will be good for us just days before yet another family is brutally murdered by some evil demon within the home’s confines.

All that’s missing, as Ghost unlocks the front door with a calm familiarity, is the lightning strikes in the background while the door creaks open into a dark hallway.

At the very least, when Ghost flicks on the light, the home seems a little less in disrepair. A little less haunted, if only coated in a layer of dust since the last time he’d been out here.

Soap has to keep himself from gawking at the house’s interior and its vintage decor. It’s very not-Ghost, yet at the same time it very much is.

“Thought the whole dead-man-skeleton-motif persona was just a work thing,” Soap remarks, closing the groaning front door behind him. His other hand keeps a tight grip on the handles of his duffel.

“It is,” Ghost says, perfectly casual. “Why?”

Soap blinks. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet under Ghost’s gaze. “Nothing, I just… you really live here?”

Ghost frowns at him, wonderfully, miserably maskless, and folds defensive arms over his chest. “Yes. Is that a problem, sergeant?”

Soap is quick to shake his head. He has to remind himself that he agreed to be here, and should be grateful for the opportunity even if he’s ninety percent certain he is not making it out of this leave alive.

It doesn’t help that something suddenly thuds upstairs.

“No, it’s no’ a problem at all, just—this place is fuckin’ haunted, LT.”

Ghost snorts, arms falling loosely back to his sides, that calm, peaceful demeanour Soap had grown to know and love mercifully reappearing in place of the dark look that had briefly shadowed Ghost’s face. “It’s not haunted, Johnny. You’re a soldier—shouldn’t be afraid of the sounds of an old house settling.”

“Yeah, right,” Soap scoffs. “Settling is what makes those noises.”

Ever the bastard, Ghost cocks his head. “What noises?”

“Jesus Christ,” Soap mutters under his breath. He rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore the scratching he definitely hears coming from nearby baseboards. “Just show me to my room, then. But if I find bloody handprints on the mirror after I’ve showered or some shite like that, you’re driving me to the nearest hotel effective immediately.”

Ghost’s lips quirk upward. “Whatever you say, Johnny.”

Soap just might have to strangle the lieutenant himself—if he’s still alive by the next day to do so, of course.