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iwaasfairy · 2 years

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┌─ “ „ SLICE ─┐

tw. noncon ! , pseudo-cest, coercion, explicit gore ! , a lot of blood, body horror, side character death, serial murders, yandere, bodily harm, explicit descriptions of violence wordcount. 6.7k

a/n. day 3 of kinktober ♡♡♡ this counts for all of my fics, but for this one I feel like i have to say it extra loud, please read the warnings. i normally don't write stuff quite this explicit, and i really wanted to push myself a little with this one, and I know this isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea.

also, I hope I don't have to say this, but I'm not trying to glorify anything that happens in this fic. it's the closest to horror i'll probably get in my work, and it's meant to be horror. I'm not trying to romanticize this. inspired by the horror movies i've been watching and thank you miss @seijorhi for betaing. i hope you like this fic because i really liked writing it!! mwuah!

kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

Toughness isn’t a trait that is well-respected enough in his humble opinion. It’s not the ability to claw your way out of a hole or the ability or relate that makes a person, but the ability to endure. It’s how he was raised, how he’s been since he was a child— and it’s the toughness that people have over any other living thing that he might just appreciate most about the human experience. It’s maybe no wonder then that he loves watching the toughness in people crawl out of them like a slow seep of oil spilling into a lake— polluting everything around it. After a while of lasting through pain, everything else rots away, and the only light left in people's eyes often is that they’ve endured this long.

It’s almost victorious, really; to watch it start to break out in people. There’s an art to it. A magic.

Until he snuffs that dying light out, of course.

It’s not like he doesn’t respect their struggle. But if this hunger is his cross to bear, then he’ll bear it. It’s one he’ll be damned to fuck up with some misplaced mercy. Mercy only causes liabilities. His scarred hands are cold as he slips the panties into his pant pocket, rubbing the wet fabric between his fingers, before he moves and wraps his hands around the wooden handle to lift it over his shoulder, before bringing it down again with sickening efficiency. The axe silences the last of the pitiful, pained humming in the air— with a heavy thump of bone giving in, it’s splattered across the polished stone of the bank. There’s not much left of her to identify.

And the water will clean it out as the level rises again. But still he takes a moment to sit by her side, staring out over the soft waves of the river, and takes a deep, long breath of the copper-tasting air. Wet blood drips off the blade of the axe along the thick coat of molasses-like proof of the ones before, and creates a perfectly shallow pool of red that runs down all the way to the water, before he lets the handle drop entirely from his grasp.

His breath comes out in floaty, little clouds that disperse so easily into the cold, and make his lashes damp. Away from all the bustle of the city, there’s an unmistakable peace that rings like home. It’s nice and quiet out here.

You remember losing your left front tooth to an almost uncanny amount. Among other things, it was the last truly long summer in Tokyo.

Your eyes are wide as you’re stood in the living room with your hands fisted into your skirt and your mouth open as Kenma’s fingers prod around your gums. Even though he washed his hands… you can’t help but pout and frown. “Nw- ii—dan,” you mumble softly, and watch as he pulls his fingers out with a grimace and wipes them on his shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” the brunet sighs, then slips the band around his wrist to tie his hair out of the way and sits back onto the back of the couch. “How’d this happen in the first place?” He prompts you to open your mouth again, watching with a slight smile as you loll your tongue out like a dog and try to speak with your mouth open, making a noise as your spit goes everywhere. “Put your tongue back, idiot. You’ll choke.”

“Bi—ss- an app—e -w.”

Kenma nii takes a deep breath as his face goes back to one of concentration, and you try your best to hold the instinct to wiggle your loose tooth like it’s a game. You’d get in Kenma’s way— and it’s plenty hard to get his help in the first place. But your brother seems focused enough on the task, if a little annoyed, even with his hands full of your spit. You’ll have to remember to thank him later. He fiddles around with it for a little more, before letting out an annoyed sound. “I can’t get a good grip on it.”

“I can try.”

Kuroo san speaks up from where he’s sat on the couch facing you two, staring at the way your face is scrunched up, half in amusement, half in concern. His big eyes are already pinpointing the issue in a way that only a meticulous person like he can, tongue trapped between his teeth. He only gets a shrug out of Kenma, but is quick enough to put the volleyball down and get up to where you’re standing. The noiret’s long legs carry him close, before he puts one hand on his knee to crouch down to you and pull you a few steps toward him.

And though Kuroo san is only a year older than your big brother, you’ve always found it somewhat odd to understand. For all the things that make them get along, they’re extremely different. Kuroo’s bright and bold and prods at people’s borders for sport. And well, Kenma… doesn’t. You’ve never really seen Kuroo as a neighborhood friend. He’s more like your big brother’s big brother, if anything. He spent the last three summers at your house, has slept over more times than you can count too. And you can count high.

His long legs bend until you’re just about face to face, and Kuroo’s natural smile puts you at ease just as well as Kenma can. Your big brother who you glance over to for confirmation, and who’s already let his attention go back to his game as he plops down into the couch. “No need to get comfortable, Kenma,” Kuroo says quickly, receiving a groan from the younger boy— but he doesn’t give it more attention. Instead he pats you on the head and then motions to his shoulder. “Hold on to me real tight, m‘kay? There’s going to be a little pinch.” You fist your hand into Kuroo’s red jacket automatically at his prompting, before he smiles and you mirror it.

And he then slides his thumb along your lip to pull it upward a little, before looking up at you. “Ready?” You nod before you think. Kuroo san’s quick to wipe his hands on his pants, breathe a soft ‘1, 2, 3,’ and just as easily yank the dangling tooth out of your skull with only a little noise of acknowledgement. “O~kay.” It’s more than a little pinch. It hurts. Hurts and feels weird and gross all at once.

The waterworks are activated before you can even think about it, tasting blood and salty tears all over your tongue as Kuroo inspects the damage. “Don’t cry, you did great!” He walks to the kitchen to fish the cupboards for a handkerchief, sticking it quickly under the tap before coming back to you with big steps. And though you’re still crying, his voice is pleasant as he nudges your face his way. “You’re fine, little bug, come here.” The blood is cleaned up and the rag pressed against it, and you hold it dutifully in place as he leans to pick you up and swings you onto his hip with a smile. He’s just … pleasant. You can’t explain it any better.

“Wanna watch your niisan and Tetsuro play?” he asks.

Again you find yourself nodding, and wipe your wet lashes— and spend the rest of that day watching the older boys play in the yard for the last free days before Kenma will be starting highschool. And swing your legs left and right each time either of them ask for some water, before hopping up and sprinting over with a small smile. You remember liking the heat of Tetsuro’s hand on your head, and the way your big brother lifts you into his neck with an almost-grin as he manages to make the older boy miss. You remember the split second of pure bliss falling asleep in a heap on the lawn with the both of them tuckered out from practice.

It’s only a couple days later they find the first girl, a middle schooler barely a few years your senior.

You only remember bits and pieces of the ones afterward. Life didn’t change too much for you, after all, but your parents were more vigilant after that. You weren’t allowed to go out without taking one of the guys with you, and Kenma would often walk you back from school. You were probably too young to understand fully why your mom would watch you come and go with such a concerned look on her face. She was worried… it was only natural.

But you suppose all that worrying didn’t save the next girl they found, because there was a next.

Another middle schooler, younger this time. There’s a memorial for her at the school across town, and though you don’t have to attend, her picture is plastered everywhere over your own school too. You can’t help but find something familiar in the soft smile, all bright eyed and friendly.

And you cling a little harder to Kenma’s hand that evening when you walk, leaning your head against his arm.

You also recall when the announcement of an evening curfew came blasting from the tv and how everyone around the table went a bit quieter. You didn’t use to eat dinner with the device playing before, but… you can’t help a parent’s worry. Your own happy chattering slowly drops off when even Kenma across from you turns to listen, and Kuroo falls quiet at the head of the table; your mom going a bit paler in the cheeks. ‘This morning, another young girl— Due to the recent events— curfew,’ only parts of it really enter the whirlwind of thoughts. Because you might not be old enough to fully understand, but you do see the way your mom stares at you with a sort of barely-hidden glaze, and how your father takes her hand to squeeze it.

Even Kenma nii, the world’s most unshakable person in your mind, puts his utensils down to get up for some water. It’s only Kuroo who dares break the awkward silence by clearing his voice, and saying the thing everyone’s thinking. “What a load of shit.” It lingers in the room like a badly worded joke, but you can tell, your mom agrees. “Instead of finding the guy doing it…” He doesn’t bother to hide the grimace as he scoops some more rice into his bowl, and Kenma returns to the table.

“Well, hopefully they will, soon.” Then your big brother pauses for a second, before he reaches over the table to pinch your nose softly, and sends you a hint of a smile. It’s starting to become a common sight, that melancholic expression people have when talking to you. The poor girl they show is yet another girl close enough to your age to make your chest feel a bit tighter, staring up at the tv as the reporter rambles. She’s cute, has the same pretty eyes as the last. She also reminds you a little of yourself— and that; that’s the thing that sets goosebumps erupting all over your skin. Biting your lip, picking at the ends of your hair for some kind of distraction.

You only look back down from the screen when Kuroo’s pinky softly brushes your own and pulls you back down to earth, and his golden eyes flick over your expression with a sad understanding, before he properly takes your hand to squeeze it.

Your mom is less good at concealing her concern, and the almost constant furrow in her brows doesn’t stir as the news finally moves on. Her pretty features are scrunched up as she forces a bit of food onto her fork. “Tetsuro kun, how about you sleep over? I don’t want you to go walking home alone tonight.”

It’s that night you stumble into the bathroom in the late hours to find the light on. As you peek in, you watch how Kuroo’s staring in the mirror with his hair a mess, no shirt, and seems so lost in thought he doesn’t even notice you until you push open the door further. “Kuroo san?”

His eyes narrow for just a moment, before he takes a deep breath at the sight of your form in the doorway. “Oh, it’s you. I… got up for a drink, and then I couldn’t sleep. A lot on my mind, you know.” His handsome face is a little puffy from rest, you can tell. He turns to you halfway to grin. “You’re a little overthinker too, hm? Did you know you talk when you’re dreaming?” You don’t know what to say to that, but it heats up your cheeks enough to make you feel, and look, doubly flustered.

“No, I didn’t… And I gotta pee, so-” You trail off as you watch Kuroo dry off his hands with slow, meticulous motions, before he hums. There’s scars all over his hands. Small ones, but also long lines like gashes, or scratched open skin, some newer than others. It makes for a pretty painful sight, criss crossed all over his palms, fingers, wrists. When he notices you stare, he only puts the towel away, but leaves his hands outstretched as if presenting them to you.

“Ah… scars from… receiving practice.” He’s smiling, but there’s something … It’s weird. You feel weird, hair on your arms standing up. It’s just the dark. It’s the dark. “Not pretty, is it? Looks a little scary.” Kuroo continues when you don’t speak, and wiggles his fingers.

But his eyes are so dim in this light you can’t read them, even zeroed in on your face. And your stomach turns, clearly upset. The news really is making you all anxious. And you’ve seen Kuroo in just as little clothing before, at the pool and at the beach, but… Your oversized, borrowed Nintendo shirt feels too sheer for how close the black haired boy is standing, or how rapidly your heart is patterning in your chest. Even if- he’s like a big brother- even if you know Kuroo doesn’t think like that, you can’t help but stare. And he must notice, because he slowly blinks. “What are you thinking?”

As he grabs the door handle, you back up to let him pass instinctively, and shake your head left to right. “Oh, just… It’s how you are, isn’t it? You always do things as well as you can.” It’s not a good answer, really, but Kuroo seems to take comfort in it anyway, and rests his hand onto your shoulder. Before he slides it up along your collarbone and up to your throat ever so slowly, gripping you there as if to hold you in place. You don’t dare breathe, let alone move as he seems to take all the time in the world appraising you, swiping his thumb along the vulnerable area.

“Give me a kiss?” You’re used to giving both of them goodnight kisses… but your muscles strain as you slowly press a peck to his soft cheek, before allowing him to wrap his other arm around your shoulders. He hums, sinks to your level to rest his lips to your forehead, and takes another long breath against your frozen state. He finally lets go after a few more frozen breaths, and wishes you goodnight for a second time that evening.

And it’s late, and definitely Kuroo looks a bit out of it, but you can’t calm down even in the safety of your own bed. That Kuroo is only one room over.

You don’t get much sleep that night.

“Tetsuro aniki~” you groan as the guy, who towers over you at the best of moments, wraps his long fingers around your hand and sways it left and right. His eyes shine with a soft glitter in the resting light of the afternoon, casting a golden edge around his figure. “I promised mom I’d head straight ho~me. And Kenma asked me to watch him beat the final boss too, so—”

“I’ll walk you home in a second,” Kuroo swears, dark hair a sweeping mess over his one eye. You kinda want to brush it back, and smack him in the back of the head for hauling you around. But you don’t, evidently, instead readjusting your bookbag and starting to fall into a lazy walk behind him as his grin goes from excited to triumphant so easily. As your eyes track the way his pants legs move with every step, you can’t help but giggle that he’s about to outgrow his highschool uniform. Not that he’ll need it for very much longer anyway. In a few months he’ll be going off to college, and then only months after that Kenma too. It’ll be weird.

You two walk in silence until you get to the less crowded streets of the Tokyo outskirts, and then a little past that too. It’s more open here, more room to breathe, to think. You know Tetsuro comes here often for his runs, and you can kind of see why. It’s in the way the lowering sun catches the river all the way along to the horizon, glittering brilliantly with golden and orange streaks. You let him pull you to a halt and push some quarters into a vending machine, as he lifts his shoulders and then drops them again. “Have you ever had a secret?” He doesn’t look at you while grabbing the drinks out of the tray, or even when he hands one to you and pops open the other.

But you suck your tongue and think, before opening your own. You childishly put your hand on your hip, and tilt your head. “If you’re trying to get me to air out my secrets it’s not going to work.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. Although…” Tetsuro chuckles, before glancing up at you. His sharp eyes have a frightening intensity for just a flash of a second, but it’s gone by the time he looks aside. “No, no, I’m being serious,” he confirms, and that smart mouth pulls up at the corners, “for now.”

“Hmm, well then. Are you thinking of any secret in particular?”

There’s a long silence. Filled with soft chirps of birds and wind, but long, long enough to have your mouth break open a sliver. Before you can speak though, the noiret blinks and stretches his arms above his head. “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and smiles, and though it crinkles the sides of his eyes, you can’t help but feel like… there’s something dishonest about it. “Just thinking out loud.” He shrugs, and slurps at the can a little too obnoxiously, before walking back over to you to sit down on one of the street railings, long legs tucked under himself. “Let’s say you had a hypothetical secret though, an important one.”

“Mhm,” you respond.

“Then you wouldn’t tell anyone that secret, would you?”

There’s a few seconds of silence again, but this time you dare look up at Kuroo, focusing on the way his eyes travel along the landmarks of your face. It’s awfully intimate. You can’t help but think Kenma wouldn’t like this, whatever it is. “I guess it depends on what the secret is, and who it’s affecting. I don’t think I could keep a secret from nii nii, at the very least.” Tetsuro’s golden eyes glide down to your mouth as you talk, before he chuckles again, bites his lip, then rubs his hand along his chin. And hops off of the bar, swinging his arms around like he’s nervous. You don’t get it. “What?”

“You’re a clever one,” is all Tetsuro responds, pillowy lips keeping a soft smile. Then he walks back over to you with all his height and lean but defined muscle, so much more intense than usual. “You really are clever.” He leans down and grabs your face between his two hands to look into your eyes, before continuing in a softer tone as your heart beats out of control once again. “I like that about you.”

You hear an unfortunate amount about the next two girls found in the months following, and each fact people happen to mention over drinks, in the paper, while walking along the street makes you wish everyone would just shut up. Defiled and bruised, strangled, and skulls bashed in by a sharp, heavy object. They show the pictures on the news, not the gruesome ones, but enough of them to turn your stomach and make you want to dry heave on the lawn to get the taste out your mouth. One of the girls had been dead for almost 6 weeks, they estimated, was fished out of the river naked and blue and headless. You can only wonder why the hell it took them so long to find her, but you don’t stick around long enough to hear. A terrible fate. The pictures of their smiling faces are always just as bad though. It’s uncanny. Same hair, same eyes, similar age and same general shape—

Looking in the mirror is so much harder that night, pulling your hair down from your ponytail. Because you just can’t shake the feeling that… you’d fit his type, if he were to ever see you walking around Tokyo.

But you get lucky, apparently. Because for all the stories and morbid reminiscing people seem to love doing, you never run into the freak. And though you feel sorry for the victims, the fear slowly starts fading. Winter comes and passes, and by spring, Kuroo moves into his college dorms. You can tell it takes a toll on Kenma. You can’t lie and say you don’t miss him either. Everything’s different for you too, though. After the six girls in those three tense years, the culprit suddenly seems to vanish into thin air. One month goes by, four, eight, and there’s no more trace of him— no more crippling fear about having to wear a skirt to school, or glaring at every person you walk by.

Of course, any trail the police go after soon goes cold, and the loss of those girls lingers.

You’re already eighteen when you see Kuroo again for the first time in years… and resort to flinging yourself around his neck with a smile and a well deserved congratulations. His graduate cap looks good on him, as does the smile painted on his pretty lips. Kenma’s familiar scowl is nowhere to be found despite swearing up and down that rooming with Kuroo has been an absolute nightmare, and the blooming bouquet that Tetsuro has tucked under his arm is only half as bright and wonderful as he is.

As your family and Tetsuro’s mom head off to drive to a restaurant to celebrate, you stay behind with him for a little longer, watching. The boy you knew looks so different now. The same, but entirely foreign too. You don’t illusion yourself to think that he stayed the same in his years away, and neither did you for that matter. You can tell in the way he can’t seem to stop looking at you, that Tetsuro sees it too. As you walk side by side, the familiar banter also comes quickly. You’re a lot sharper now than you used to be. Better able to match his pace, and his arm is warm when he leans into you with a laugh. “No, no— but, you’ve always been something special.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t hesitate, just stares at your visage again. “You’ve always been… different to me, I don’t know. Since before I left, even.” You know your face is going hot in the cheeks, but there’s not a single thing you can do to stop it. It’s just… he smells so nice, familiar, and yet so much more grown, more mature than he was. He looks it too, buffed up a lot since middle and highschool— and though he was always huge compared to you, he feels even bigger. “You’ve changed so much though. Grew into yourself. It looks good on you,” he seems to mirror your thoughts, and sends your skin up in flames at that.

You let it hang in the air without a word though, because really, there’s nothing for you to say, right? He’s Kenma nii’s best friend. His longest lasting companion. Kuroo’s always been good at keeping you, and the conversation, going, so he breezes over it too. “Oh, I bought a house.”

“You bought a house?”

“Sure did,” he smiles, sliding his large hand around in his back pocket to pick out a set of keys that he presents to you a little too proudly.

But you’re more than glad to indulge him. “Shut up, no way. You capitalist scumbag.” Kuroo laughs with his whole body, and lets the joy crinkle up his eyes as his black mop of hair sweeps along his brows— before his hand lands alongside yours, and picks it up into his. Fingers tangle with yours so easily you’re almost lulled into believing that it really isn’t a big deal at all. But you know better.

“You’ll get it when you see the place.” Though you try to pull your hand out of his, he squeezes it a little harder when he notices, and doesn’t let his grin fade. “What? I can’t hold your hand?”

“Of course you can, but… I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, then relax. Stop worrying.” You find yourself listening, much to Tetsuro’s amusement. He mulls the next words over for a few more seconds, before leaning into your ear much too close, and letting his lips brush the shell of your ear. “I missed having you around to drive me crazy.” Kenma nii is going to kill you for the thoughts you’re having.

You’re propped up onto the kitchen counter as Tetsuro talks, pouring more champagne, and most of the guilt is slowly melting away the longer the night goes on. Kenma had to get back home to stream a couple hours ago, and the family all went back right after dinner already— and you’re still giggling along with the noiret as he tells any story that comes to him from his time away. It’s damn near impossible not to get swept up in the excitement at the prospect of decorating, and throwing housewarming parties, and watching him start a real ‘grown up’ life.

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll allow you to take one of the rooms while you’re in uni,” he chuckles, his pretty mouth reaching at the glass for another sip. He’s close enough for you to smell his cologne and see each of the sparse freckles on his face, and how each passing second seems to bring him closer. So you laugh along before hopping off the counter, just to put some space between the two of you. Your hands are jittery, and brain fuzzy, and though it’s still Tetsuro aniki, you can’t get around the fact that things have changed.

So you turn and smile, walking backwards. “I’m going to go check out the rooms.”

“Hey,” he breathes, turning over his shoulder as you walk out of the living room, chuckling softly. “Don’t just go walking around another person’s house.”

“You tempted me with the room suggestion,” you call over your shoulder, swinging your arms as you walk down the hall and find the first door.

“Don’t snoop!” Kuroo laughs again, but doesn’t make any more effort to stop you. The first room is a bathroom you've already used earlier. But the hall continues around the corner. And you can hear Kuroo put away the champagne in the kitchen, so you have no doubt he’ll come after you in a second. You’re not actually snooping. The next door you open is a bedroom, neatly decorated, and instantly guess this must be his room. The room across from it is wide open and clean, only a couch and a tv placed in the corner for now, and some moving boxes shoved out of the way under the large window.

You move on to the next door to find a smaller little corner room, and look around to see even more moving stuff, closets not yet set up, a dismantled gaming desk, buckets of cables, the works. His home improvement gear and dumbbells are all strewn across the floor too. And at the end of the room, there’s another smaller little door, that you yank open for a broom closet, or maybe a small corner with a washing machine.

You hear Kuroo call your name from in the house. “Where are you?”

Everything stops.

Just that the air goes so cold you can barely feel your hands, or your face. Blood seeps from rags tossed into the old, mechanical sink, and a thick smell of iron and rot meets your nose. And sticky blood everywhere, on the floors, splattered on the wall, coating wooden furniture. There’s something that vaguely resembles a lower half, blood seeping from the holes in the almost-plastic like flesh. And her. The small room has no light, but you can recognize a human person when you need to.

The figure has her legs folded to fit the small space, eyes red and irritated and glazed with almost milky tears, and the side of her face has a gash from the top of her head down to her jaw deep enough to see bone. You stumble back and try not to gag, the nauseous feeling crawling down to your stomach and twisting. Her chest is still moving, but faintly, barely going up before it collapses with a stuttering, painful weeze. You want to sit down. You want to run. You want the horrible spinning in your head to stop. Her clothing is almost all ripped to shreds and stained dark blackish-brown, and with the way she’s positioned, you can also see… the raw, sticky, irritated mess that was left of her upper thighs.

“Oh my god,” you manage to whisper, before taking a deep breath and forcing your shaky legs to move towards her.

Your first instinct is to bend and grab at her face, trying to press on the wound; but the previously docile girl is quick to swing her arm and nick you with something sharp as she screams a horrible, animal-like squeal and slices your palm open. Dark blood sprays, you fall, the girl scrambles up over you. She doesn’t get far before she tumbles over with a gurgling, heart-bleeding noise, but gets to the door and starts dragging herself through the hall. You stare at your shaking palm in just as much shock, warm blood dripping down in thick drops from your wrist and fingers— but your legs carry you towards the noise anyway. You want to help. You want to help her, or she’ll die. Your blood is pounding against your skull. Everything else is blurred. Everything else is buzzing and vibrating with this awful noise of blaring anxiety.

You hear your name only vaguely, following down the dragged path of blood along the pristine wooden tiling, before you get to where she’s collapsed against the wall, and is breathing through the bubbling blood that spills from her mouth. There’s an awful, broken, pinched moan coming from her- like that of an animal that’s been left to the vultures. But you still put your hands under her arm and try to help her up, now starting to really feel the absolute searing pain of your hand with a pitched groan. It hurts. It hurts so much, and you’re so fucking shaky you’ve completely disoriented yourself. “It’s gonna be… oka—hngg,” you whine as your open wound moves around, you can feel it—

Suddenly, she pushes herself along on your body and tries to set off into another hobbled spurt, but is yanked back by her hair, before she’s shoved hard to the floor. She collapses into a sad heap, and a loud noise makes you jump. Her legs and arms fall limp instantly as the axe connects with a sickening noise, and blood splatters all over the room. It lifts again, dripping, and lands with a frightening amount of force— into the front of her head again.

The wet squelch doesn’t have anything over the crack of her skull and jaw being shattered, and the mess the red-coated axe makes of the lower half of her face, red blood and muck everywhere. You think you scream while you’re gagging— but you can’t hear it over the echo and the pounding and the terror. Your eyes are wide and bug-like as your legs give out and you drop back onto your ass, and the scene makes a big, round pool of blood on the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs out of breath, heaving over and resting his hands on his knees, “I forgot she was in there.” A soft sigh, and a dry chuckle. “Fuck.”

Your joints are locked, and your face is wet and hot and you’re sucking in more air than you can handle, as Kuroo— your Kuroo— straightens up, and looks around the room for you. He spots the gash in your hand first, because his relief just as quickly snaps into an expression of pure disgust as he looks at the heap of flesh and blood before him, her legs strewn wide open and battered body sadly left before him. And spits on it, kicking hard against her hip and sending the remains of her rolling onto the plush carpet. “Fucking bitch.” He lets the handle drop with a wooden clang, and rubs his face though. “Come here, baby, let me take a look.”

Your gasping isn’t enough to get him away from you, but you’re physically unable to do anything but lay there in terror, grasping your palm against the pain. Even with the threat of death kneeling before you, you can’t do more than sputter through your tears, vision completely wobbly and blurry. His gentle smile isn’t lost on you though, and you take a deep, wheezed breath. “You… you-y- ng-you—”

“Hey, hey, I’m doing this for you, okay? In all this time, I haven’t hurt you once. I haven’t hurt you once, have I? This is so I don’t hurt you, baby,” he says it all so casually, like anything he’s saying is making any sense at all; with his cheek red with splatters of blood, and his eyes a dark, dark pupil taking over the normally light irises. “It’s because I love you, you know that.” There’s so much on your mind. Your parents, Kenma, your memories— all of it makes a thick wrecking ball that slams into you so hard it knocks the air out of you.

It was him. All of them.

All those years… it was… You’re gonna puke. You can’t get enough air into your lungs to, or speak, or scream. You don’t want to die. You’ve spent your entire childhood afraid of a shadow around the corner, even though he was— Tetsuro puts his hands under your arms to pull you up from the floor in one fell swoop and places you on the couch, walking straight past the girl he brutalized to stare at your quivering lips and teary eyes, before taking a deep, long breath.

And though he smiles, there’s no gentleness there. None of the things you found so attractive about him just mere minutes ago. It’s nauseating, a vile, bitter feeling that makes your tongue feel like lead. “I feel this hunger towards you, you know,” he explains, gripping your hurt hand in his to inspect the flesh wound some more. “It’s, it’s really intense— and- and I don’t really know what to do with myself when I’m around you.” He leans in, long lashes basically brushing yours as he hovers his mouth over yours. “It’s not gonna be you though, ever. I swear, I’ll make sure of it. I just… want you so bad.”

His pink tongue swipes over his lips to get rid of the drying blood, before he pushes a soft kiss to your lips. “I want you.” When you don’t respond, his mouth crashes to yours, laying you down under him and letting his hand slide along your side as his tongue meets yours and he lets out a long moan into your mouth. “Oh, fuck. You get me so hard so quick.” His tongue is glad to claim anything it can take, even though you’re not moving, and huffing terrified whimpers into his mouth— it’s like it barely even registers.

He nudges your face up to his to kiss you messily, then down your neck as if following the trail of your tears, and to your collarbones. He props you up to hold your limp body against himself, and rolls his hips into you with a soft groan. “S-shit, good- g-girl. You feel me?” You do. His cock, even pressed against you through layers of clothing, is hard and swollen as he pushes his hips into you with needy motions, kisses along your ear, sucking marks into your throat. It rubs your pussy through your leggings, and makes your puffy cunt feel warm. It’s sickening that it seems to act completely without your doing— because you don’t want this.

If you could do any more right now than lay there and take it, you’d be clawing out of the window the second you could. Whatever fight it takes. But you’re frozen in miserable fear and your treacherous pussy is taking his rolling hips like it’s good enough. The press of his cock, and then his fingers over your pelvic area is too much, soft presses against the top of your slit exchanged for harder, direct touches as he thumbs at your clit. He knows what he’s doing, kissing your lips with softer, lazier kisses as he’s got you in his arms. “My sweet, little girl, you’re so fucking pretty. I’ll make you cum so hard you stop worrying.” He picks at the band of your pants, before slipping it over the curve of your ass and pulling them, and your underwear halfway down your legs.

There’s a cheeky smile on his lips as he pulls back to watch you, and groans long and hard at the sight of you. “You want my mouth or my cock?” He pulls your pussy open to rub the glossy wetness around, and grinds his cock against the inside of your push thighs a few more times, before breathing out your name. “You want to come on Tetsuro nii’s cock?” Your head hurts, and the way he spits on your pussy and rubs your clit up and down is so filthy and distracting you can barely take it.

“Tetsu-t-suro,” you manage to breathe out just a desperate whimper, but it has him groaning and gripping his cock through his slacks, then quickly shuffling them off down his thick thighs.

“I know, baby, I’ve got you. Gonna eat you out after, okay?” He pumps his heavy cock a few times up, before pressing the head to your warm hole. The head is so hot and spongy, and he rubs it down your slit and back up with almost scary patience. Because his eyes are wild and anything but patient, as he leans down to grab your cheeks and plant another kiss on you. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you. This is the best day of my fucking life, baby.”

Then he pushes himself up on your tits and squeezes them, rubbing your nipples between his fingers through your shirt. Lines himself up with a few smooth flicks of his swollen cockhead on your sensitive nub, and pushes in with a long grunt. “Oh, fuck me. That’s a— fucking tight little pussy.” He pushes his large cock all the way inside as he bites his bottom lip and one hand comes down to dig his fingertips into your ass, pulling you as far onto him as possible. The stretch aches, burns a little as he mumbles out your name— before pulling back and shoving himself back into the hot clutch of your belly. “Gonna fuck you until you beg me. Until you can’t cum anymore.”

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chicinsilk · 11 months

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US Vogue June 1972

Lauren Hutton in a shirt dress, reds, whites and navy separates from Serbin Fashions over a plaid plaid. Polyester and cotton dress (Dan River fabric). Charles Jourdan shoes. Trifari watch.

Lauren Hutton en robe-chemise, rouges, blancs et bleu marine à l'aspect séparé de Serbin Fashions sur un plaid à carreaux. Robe polyester et coton (tissu Dan River). Chaussures Charles jourdan. Montre Trifari.

Photo Helmut Newton vogue archive

#us vogue #june 1972 #fashion 70s #1972 #spring/summer #printemps/été #serbin fashions #charles jourdan #trifari #lauren hutton #helmut newton #plaid #shirt dress #robe chemise

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sailor-toni · 1 year

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I’m Humanity's Last Hope, But My Hot Arch Enemy Came to My Balcony Missing His Arm, and Confessing his Love for Me?!?

You can also read this on A03, FF.net, or Wattpad!

Dan Phantom had disappeared two years ago after he was a hair's breath away from destroying the last of humanity. The anti-Ghost shield was destroyed, and their weapons were useless against him. The last thing Valerie Gray saw was a younger Phantom with Sam and Tucker alive and fighting. Then she woke up in the hospital, with her father at her bedside, praying. Much like the citizens of Amity Park, who huddled up in their homes, praying for Dan’s wrath to be quick and painless. And many believe someone had answered their call, for in the disbelief and silence Amity Park rebuilt itself once again. A new shield was erected, and life moved on for those who survived, leaving those like Valerie Gray behind, wishing to be rid of the gory past. But how could she let go when she knew he was going to come back, and when it came to Phantom, she was never wrong.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” The sound of the rain smashing upon the metal roof was drowned out by his words.

Valerie’s grip loosened at the sight of him. Dan Phantom, humanity's greatest threat, was standing at her balcony door, his left arm reduced to an oozing green hole, and his ghastly blue skin bleed through his ripped suit. He smelled of sulfur and fire, with half of his white cape, reduced to half of its size. The remaining half had been burnt to a black crisp. All while green ectoplasm ran down his body in thick rivers. With a sigh, she moved aside and let him in.

Phantom’s hulking form came into the light of the apartment, limping past the kitchen before throwing himself upon the velvet bench, his head resting against the wall of photographs. Star had been the one to come up with the idea. A gallery of photos, one for everyone she cared about, so that when they passed they wouldn’t be forgotten. Valerie tried to remember when this all started, was it freshman year when Phantom started showing up? Was it when he ruined her life (for the first time) and made her father lose his job. Valerie chucked in her head, at fourteen she was so angry and frustrated. Her home was gone, her friends had dropped her, and the two of them were forced to move into a run-down apartment building. The first week they lived there, the water heater broke. She remembered crying in the locker room the next day, ashamed at having to use the school’s showers to clean herself. Phantom was smaller back then, but it wouldn’t be the last time he ruined her life.

Her first aid kit was an army green metal box filled with borrowed medical supplies and surgical tools. Her fights with Phantom and other paranormals had made her medical expenses skyrocket, and Valerie found it easier to collapse on her couch and fix herself up.

“I’m going to have to clean the area up before I can fix it. It’s going to sting,” She said.

“Do your worst,” He said. His smirk was smacked clean off his face when Valerie grabbed the remainder of his suit and pulled it off his shoulder. The fabric was soaked in ectoplasm and had begun to harden over the hole. Dan bit his lip, grunting in pain. “This must make you happy, to see me like this.”

“Why would you say that?” The wet fabric was cut clean off his skin, landing on her hardwood floors with a splat. The skin around the wound was torn, with parts stretched and twisted into small skin strands. It looked more like torn leather than skin. Deep in her medical kit she pulled out a brown bottle of peroxide.

“I don’t need that. Unlike you humans, ghosts don’t succumb to infe-” He cut his own words off with a loud grunt. Ectoplasm started dripping out of his clenched mouth, as the foam of the peroxide cleaned the dirt and debris away.

“Ghost or not, one should always make sure wounds are clean of any poison or dirt before treatment.”

“Since when has peroxide removed poison?”

“Don’t be a baby, it’s just peroxide.”

“You dumped half the bottle on me!”

“It’s a big hole,” She pressed a wet cloth against it, gently rubbing away caked green blood and anything the peroxide couldn’t catch.

“I now see why you fight on the front lines.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, usually women tend to work as nurses, not as soldiers. As women tend to be more motherly and nurturing; but you seem to be lacking those qualities.” Only Dan Phantom could say this to her with that smarmy smirk on his face. Like he expected to be praised for his observation. Valerie took the cloth, wrapped it around her two fingers before quickly jabbing it deep into his wound. “WOMAN!” He threw his head against the wall, throwing several pictures off their hooks. “You cruel bitch! AH! FUCK!”

“Talk shit, get hit. You came to my house, you follow my rules,” Valerie said.

“I came to you for help! Not to be assaulted!”

“Is that not the reason you attack Amity Park every few weeks? You fly in proclaiming yourself to be god, only for my lonesome self to kick your ass back to the Ghost Zone. At this point one would think you have developed a fetish for it.”

“You think I am a masochist?”

“Only a masochist would attack Amity Park over and over again, and lose every time.”

“I have not lost!”

“Your goal is to take down the ghost shield and destroy humanity. You monologue it everytime we fight. Yet the city is still thriving, I would call that a loss. Now strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have more cuts and wounds on your chest, I need you to take your shirt off, so I can get to them.”

“Of- course.” With his remaining arm Phantom grabbed his shirt, and phased it off his body. His chest was sculpted like a Greek statue; with the cuts and bruises mimicking the destruction of time upon a statue's body. A new warm damp cloth was retrieved from the kitchen to wipe away these wounds, while Phantom held a rap to his exposed hole. Her stash of band aids had been raided and taken over by Paulia’s and Star’s children who came over with their mothers for visits. So Peppa Pig and Firetruck band-aids were used for the scraps and bruises. “Do you have any __?” The end was left hanging, for the first time in a long time Phantom looked concerned? Worried?

“No. My friends have children and I watch them when I’m not busy fighting you.”

“Ah I see. You do have a motherly side,” Dan chuckled. Valriew wrenched her arm back for another strike. “NO! NO! No! I was making a joke!”

“You know the rules!”

“Do you do this to the children?”

“The children know how to keep their mouths shut. Plus, I like them more than you.”

“That wounds me Valerie.”

“Aw… well, get over it.” She said, With a fresh roll of gauze, she shoved as much as she could into the gaping wound. “Tomorrow morning I’ll replace this with fresh gauze and we will change it out every day and night until it closes up on its own. Since you’re a ghost, that shouldn’t be too long.” A second roll was wrapped around his chest and shoulder, securing the wad in place.

“You always surprise me. I didn't think you would actually help me,” Dan looked up to her, his red eyes meeting hers.

“Did you come here expecting a quick death?”

“No, but I don’t have many allies. I’m afraid that is one of the many consequence s of world destruction. Not many are quick to lend a helping hand to the one who is destroying it.”

“So you came to me?”

“When I thought of hope I thought of you.”

“Mmm… I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Am I? Are you not humanity's last hope?” Valerie thought about dumping the vodka in her fridge on him, but he wasn’t completely wrong.

“I was, but since you’ve been gone for so long, there is nothing to protect humanity from.”

“How long have I been gone?’

“Two years.”

“Hun, it felt longer.”

“Where did you go?”

“Did you miss me?”

“UGH- don’t ask me that bullshit. Just answer the damn question.”

Phantom’s laugh was like red velvet cake, deep and smooth, “I missed toying with you,”

“I didn’t miss your taunting, now tell me what happened to you. Before I lose my patience and kick you out.”

“You won’t do that.”

“You wanna test that?”

“I like to see you try.”

“I’m sorry who just bandaged your body? You know I think I have more peroxide in the bathroom.”

“NO! I think the first half gallon was enough.” Valerie finally broke character and laughed at the ghost. Her hand gripped the wall to keep herself steady.

“Are you scared of peroxide?”

“Only when you use it my dear.” Dan said. He sighed, pulling himself up and began his story. “Clockwork did this to me.”

“Who’s Clockwork?”

“The ghost of time. When humans die they become ghosts, when animals die they become the beast that roams the ghost zone, when plants die they become the floating land that make up the Ghost Zone. And when every day that dies and becomes a new, it becomes one singular ghost. He has made himself guardian of time, watching over it to make sure everything goes according to his plans. He had my younger self travel to the future and trap me in the Fenton thermos. And then he kept me in his tower outside of time, in order to ensure I did not cause trouble,” The last word he said with one set of air quotes. “I only managed to escape when the seal became rusted, and I tried to return to the past.”

“Why the past? You can’t kill your past self, that's suicide.”

“No, I wanted to change the past,” Dan turned his gaze downward. “To tell you the truth all I could think about inside that soup can was you. I know with everything I have done things could never work out between us. I realize far too late that this was a mess of my own doing. But maybe I could go back and get a second chance as Fenton. To be able to tell you, I love you, without the guilt of what I’ve done. But I was weak from captivity and I fought the ghost of time, and you can see the rest.”

TIK TOK TIK TOK. The clock in her kitchen dragged every second through her body like a rake. She always knew who Phantom really was. It wasn’t hard to figure out, Danny disappeared whenever trouble appeared, and he always came back with his skin painted in shades of pain. She didn’t want to notice, she loved him. Danny was her first kiss, and she had broken up with him to protect him. What a fool she was.

The second time Phantom ruined her life was when she was 15 years-old. The Nasty Burger had exploded, destroying the entire Fenton family and Danny’s Friends. Danny disappeared with a rich relative and Phantom's presence in Amity Park was gone. She spent months looking for him in every shadow and rooftop. At that young age she would never admit it, but without him there she was lonely. At 27 she was still lonely without him. He was the only one that knew who she really was. Ghost Hunter, soldier, hero, teen girl. If she could go back, Valerie would want to find out more about him, to know him like she knew him. Or at least to know him before his return.

Phantom came back with pale blue corpse skin, burning hot hair, and those horrible eyes. At first glance she assumed it was a new ghost, for the skinny boy was wearing anothers eyes upon his face. They were too big for his face, and full of undeniable rage.

Then came the destruction. Blood flowed through the streets as men, women, children, it didn’t matter. If it moved, Phantom ripped it apart and scattered its corpse upon the ground. Her hair was drenched in blood, as he held her down strangling her, his gloves twisted upon her neck. Those red eyes bore down on hers. It was as if he was forcing his hatred into her soul. She couldn’t remember what she said to him, but he threw her. The glass windows tore through her back, ripping through her suit and cutting deep. Her spinning vision was no hindrance to her next movements. Gun raised, the whiplashed broke her shoulder, but the scream from Phantom sent shock waves through her body. One thought rang through her hazy mind; Phantom had only come back to ruin her life a second time.

The fact that Valerie Gray was 15 year-old was quickly disregarded, as she was brought from the hospital bed to the front lines to save humanity from Phantom.

“I understand if you hate me,” Dan said.

Valerie looked upon her gallery wall of photos. At 13 she had dreams of attending MIT and becoming an engineer. At 12 she had plans to marry a man who saw her as his equal and formed a life with him. At 11 she had proudly told her father that she would give him no more than three kids. But right now she was 27 years old, and she never got a chance to graduate from Casper High.

“You give me plenty of reasons to,” She replied. TIK TOK, TIK TOK.

“And yet I let you in,” she mumbled. Dan’s head snapped towards her, for the first time in a long time his eyes were truly his own. “I don’t know what that says about me, but whatever answer you're looking for I can’t give now.”

“I understand,” He sent his gaze back down.

The third time he ruined his life was two years ago. Without Phantom Valerie found herself bored. Yes, she took out the smaller ghost that tried to fill the power vacuum, and many still proclaimed her a hero, but she had spent the past two years in stasis. Watching the days go past like molasses on a cold winter’s day.

“But it’s late. Let’s talk more about this in the morning.” She sighed.

Dan pulled himself up from the bench, hissing in pain as he did so. She wrapped his arm around her shoulders and helped him to the living room.

“You’re letting me stay here?”

“You said you had no one else to go to.”

“What if I try to do something?”

“I’ll pull your other arm out, now-” Her words faded away as the two rounded the corner.

On her couch was an old man with blue corpse-like skin in a purple hood and his legs hand formed together into a specter-like tail. The man snapped his pocket watch close, before tucking it into his tunic, the silver chain hung loosely around his waist. .

“You!” Dan hissed.

“I assume that is Clockwork?” Valerie said.

“Your assumption is correct,” Clockwork replied.

“The creep has probably been here the whole time listening to our conversation.”

“T’was an interesting one.”

“I didn’t think there was a ghost more annoying than you,” Valerie said. Dan rolled his eyes.

“You must be jesting Ms. Gray, for I am nothing but a gentleman.” Clockwork said.

“Sureeee A gentleman who eavesdrops on private conversations,” Valerie reached behind her, feeling the handle of her ecto-blaster hidden under her end table. “Can we cut to the chase. Why are you here, and what do you want?”

“Val, you can’t fight him,” Dan said.

“Don’t worry, I am not here to finish you off, the world will do that for me. I am here to offer Ms. Gray a deal,” Clockwork floated up, his face began to morph and shrink, twisting away the wrinkles until all that remained was a blue skinned child.

“First explain that, what the hell was that,” Valerie said.

“As Dan has explained before, I am a ghost of time, the ectoplasmic leftovers of every second,, every minute, and every hour. As the days go past my body gathers more and more energy, resulting in a bodily form that is less than stable. I ask you to not mind it, I am sure my form will change at least three more times before we strike our deal.”

“And what deal are you making Mr. Ghost of every second, minute and hour?”

“And what do you mean by the world will take care of me?” Dan snapped back.

“My powers over time allow me to see every possible future, and when the most plausible future for the young Fenton boy was to become that,” Clockwork jabbed towards Dan. “I decided to intervene with time. Call it a bad habit of mine, but I prefer to see a peaceful world, rather than wanton destruction. So, I brought this doomed timeline to life and thrusted the young man. I am sure you remember that day, I believe you called him cute? Either way it was success, not only was the young man able to trap Dan, but he changed his course on life. The future now shines much brighter. But I am now stuck with a paradox. This future will never come to pass, meaning everything that happened after the death of the Fenton family and the nasty burger explosion will cease to exist. I have been using my power to keep this world alive, to allow its inhabitants to know peace. But I am only a ghost of time, helpless to time itself, and time does not like paradoxes. Before the sunrises this world will cease to exist. Living only in the memories of those who managed to travel here two years ago.”

“What?! Well what can we do?” Valerie said.

“Nothing, all are powerless to the march of time. But while looking back on the timeline, I realized that for a hero as great as you, this seemed like an ill-fitting end. Thus, I am here to offer you a deal. I give you the ability to live in a world where Dan Phantom never destroyed Amity park, and in exchange you sometimes do things for me.”

“What kind of things?”

“You can’t be considering this?” Dan asked.

“Given what he did to you, and who he is, I don't doubt him,” She replied.

“Nothing crazy. Getting rid of a person here, moving a ghost there, small things to maintain the future of humanity.” Clockwork said.

“Why would a ghost want humanity to stay?”

“Because it is very, very rare for a ghost to be born fully formed without the aid of another ghost or a human soul. If humanity disappeared, eventually all ghosts born on humans would pass on and cease to be. And that would leave me quite bored.”

“How virtuous of you,” Valerie whipped out her gun. “But I prefer to live in my own time now tell me how to fix this world.”

“If I knew how I would tell you, but I am no deceiver.”

Valerie blinked. Her TV came down with a thundering crash upon Dan’s body. The missing body weight sent her stumbling forward. Then she was stumbling backwards, as if pushed. Regaining her balance she felt cold hard metal against the nape of her neck.

“How?” She breathed.

“I am the ghost of time, therefore I am able to manipulate it to my will.” Clockwork spoke behind her, her gun wrapped in his aging hand. “Here take this. I speak the truth when I say I mean no harm to you.” He gave the gun back to her. The barrel had been sliced open and its core removed. Rendering it useless.

“What about Dan?” She asked.

“Since he is the reason the world has become like this, he will stay here and face his untimely end. A fitting end for someone like him,” Clockwork said.

The floor shook and rumbled under them. The sky beyond her apartment was cracking and swirling into a deep void. The rising sun spun into the pitch black vortex, depriving the world of its last sunrise. Signaling the end of this world.

“He comes with me,” Valerie said.

“No,” Clockwork grimaced.

“Yes, you told him that he hasn’t earned a second chance, but how is he supposed to earn one stuck in a soup can?”

“Fine, but you will be responsible for anything he does.”

“I accept that,” Valerie moved forward and grabbed the pocket watch from Clockwork. The black metal had a blue CW engraved upon its surface. She put it around her neck before grabbing the thermos from him, and for the fourth time, Dan Phantom had found a way to drastically change her life.

#Danny phantom #dan phantom #valerie gray #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #Val #Dark gray #shipping #romance #blood #clockwork #missing limbs #light novel title

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seekingidlewild · 10 months

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Dan invites Yok over for dinner, but the night doesn’t go quite as either of them planned.

—–

Behind Dan's closed eyes, the world was red. Pain wriggled through him like a living thing, clawing and biting under his skin. Hunger burned him from the inside out as if he'd swallowed a shaft of sunlight. His head was swimming. The scent of his own blood filled his senses, but he could also smell the presence of human blood beyond his reach, and it was maddening.

In an effort to escape this torment and the monster it threatened to awaken within him, he turned his focus outward. Through the white noise of pain in his head, he listened to the steady hum of the refrigerator nearby. After a few hazy moments, he realized that he could no longer hear Song's voice or his brisk, decisive footsteps. There was only the rustle of fabric across the room and, briefly, the barely-there hiss of a bladed weapon sliding out of its sheath.

Was he alone with Yok, then? If so, the weapon was a wise choice. He could feel the blessing that clung to the exposed blade even from where he lay. Its presence was a steady irritant, like the high-pitched squeal of an alarm. But the rational part of him was grateful for it, even while the ravenous beast within him recoiled.

#not me #not me series #not me the series #not me fic #danyok #danyok fic #when the river's running red #follow me back into the sun #uncanny hungers #my fic

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maudeboggins · 1 year

Photo

Dan River Fabric ads, 1949

#1940s #1940s fashion

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travelinglibrariansdesk · 3 months

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Civil Rights and adventure travel (for kids)

One thing I should say about this blog: if anyone reading it in the future needs to know the suitability of a book for a certain age, you'll have to follow my links to another site - I'm not qualified to judge, and I don't have children of my own, so dig deeper if you want to know if a book I recommend is appropriate for a specific kid or classroom.

My first two books today were clearly returned by someone teaching her children about civil rights. Doreen Rappaport's Freedom River, tells a story about crossing the Ohio River from the slave-owning states of Kentucky or West Virginia to the free state of Ohio. Surprisingly action-packed for a kid's book, the narrative keeps the reader in suspense until the end. The art, however, puts this one over the top. I would call the style "quilting with paper" - but collage pretty well covers it. The colors, patterns and textures create motion and a 3d effect that had me running my fingers over the pages. Absolutely gorgeous work in this one.

A very different style of art, simple, bright and almost cartoonish, supports the story of To Boldly Go: How Nichelle Nichols and Star Trek Helped Advance Civil Rights. The narrative is twofold: a young narrator speaks of the thrill of watching Nichols on screen as a child with her family, and then a 3rd person narrative takes over with a biography of Nichols. I have heard and read Nichols' story before, and I particularly love the part where Martin Luther King, Jr. himself tells her not to quit the show, reminding her of how important it is for people to see her onscreen as an equal member of the crew. I'm glad Angela Dalton thought this story worthy of her efforts. She treats it lightly, not slowing the story down with too much detail, but the impact remains significant.

I really enjoy the way artists can "texture" children's books. Dan-ah Kim's lush The Train Home is like the above-mentioned Freedom River, composed of pen and ink drawing, cut paper and fabric. Again I find myself running my fingers over the page to feel the composition of the art. In the story, Nari looks out of her apartment window, annoyed by the noisiness of her environment, and, as the train rumbles by, she imagines where it might take her, away from city noise. In the forest, she imagines herself in a nest, surrounded by bleeding hearts, butterflies and blue jays. She imagines herself under the sea, living with mermaids and a newspaper-reading, spectacle-wearing octopus. The colors leap off the page as she moves from one potential home to another (what is it about marble lions and libraries?), eventually deciding that she wouldn't be happy without her sister's songs, her grandparents' stories and her parents' laughter. A stunning piece of artwork and a great nudge to children's imagination.

Last but not least is Anna Desnitskaya's On the Edge of the World. It piqued my curiosity because the cover (image, author, title of book) is on both sides of the book - one the reverse of the other. I started with Lucas's side, which tells of his life "on the edge of the world" in Southern Chile, where his father is a marine biologist. Desnitskaya interrupts the narrative with funny pages sketching Lucas's favorite things, illustrated maps and definitions, then returns to the narrative, where Vera begins appearing, as a ghost (outlined), as Lucas wishes he had a friend. He sends a signal in Morse code with his flashlight out into the darkness over the sea...at which point the reader must flip the book upside down and begin to read Vera's story. She lives on the Kamchatka Peninsula in North-Eastern Russia, and she also longs for a friend. It's a very clever and creative way to tell a story - my only complaint is that it's unsatisfying: Lucas and Vera never actually connect - Desnitskaya just leaves it as a possibility. The book has other virtues, however - teaching geography, local flora and fauna, and Morse code. I loved that Lucas climbed a tree to read a new book - and quoted the first lines of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Then, when we read Vera's story, we find that LWW is her favorite book. She, in turn, refers to The Hobbit (Lucas's favorite book) - great teasers for readers inclined to adventure. Even cooler, when I looked it up, I found that this one has been translated from Russian.

I read an article today detailing how one librarian teaches digital literacy; more on this in a future blog, I hope. In the background of a picture of her, I saw delightful "vintage", "travel" posters to Narnia and the Shire and Arrakis. Someday, if I become a children's librarian, I'd love to do something travel-related with this: decorate with such posters, design maps, plan brochures, travel agents... I suppose librarians don't usually do projects with teenagers, but if I could start a reading club, maybe kids would find the enthusiasm for their books enough to do projects - especially if it took place over the summer.

#freedom river #the train home #to boldly go: how nichelle nichols and star trek helped advance civil rights #on the edge of the world #civil rights books for children #traveling through reading #art of children's books #doreen rappaport #angela dalton #anna desnitskaya #dan-ah kim #chile #kamchatka peninsula #nichelle nichols #star trek

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dickvanas · 3 months

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Muziekproducent van wereldhits als 'By the rivers of Babylon' overleden.

De Duitse muziekproducent en zanger Frank Farian is op 82-jarige leeftijd overleden, meldt zijn familie. Hij stierf in de Amerikaanse stad Miami, waar hij woonde.

Farian is in Duitsland bekend als zanger van de hit Rocky. Zijn grootste succes had hij achter de schermen, als oprichter van de muziekgroep Boney M., die vooral eind jaren 70 en in de jaren 80 iconische hits scoorde als Sunny, Rivers of Babylon, Rasputin en Daddy Cool. De groep verkocht meer dan 150 miljoen platen.

Farian, die in 1941 werd geboren als Frans Reuther, was eigenlijk kok. "Omdat ik altijd honger had en dacht dat ik altijd iets wilde eten", zei hij ooit. Zijn grootste succes had hij echter als producent. "Het succes was een enorme verrassing", zei hij ooit tegen het Duitse persbureau DPA. "Ik dacht altijd dat het mij niet zou lukken."

Enorme zwendel

Onomstreden was Farian zeker niet. Hij zat ook achter het Duits-Franse duo Milli Vanilli. Dat leek een niet te stoppen succes, met meer dan 30 miljoen verkochte platen en hits als Girl You Know It's True en Girl I'm Gonna Miss You. Maar die nummers zijn ook onlosmakelijk verbonden aan misschien wel het grootste schandaal uit de geschiedenis van de popmuziek.

De twee voormannen Fab Morvan en Rob Pilatus bleken helemaal niet zelf te zingen en bij optredens te playbacken. Dezelfde tactiek veroorzaakte later een groot mediaschandaal toen bekend werd dat de leden van de groep Milli Vanilli niet zelf zongen. Toen het playbacken tijdens een optreden niet goed ging, gaf Farian toe dat Robert Pilatus en Fabrice Morvan niet zelf zongen. Door de ophef rond dit incident moest het duo zijn Grammy Award uit 1990 teruggeven.

Het schandaal kwam aan het licht tijdens een optreden op MTV, toen het bandje haperde en het zinnetje Girl you know it's maar bleef spelen. Jeugdvrienden Morvan en Pilatus hadden naar later bleek zelf geen noot gezongen. Farian en andere zangers hadden alles ingezongen.

Ook Boney M. was in dat licht niet onomstreden, want ook voor die groep zong Farian vooral zelf veel in. De Arubaanse voorman van de groep, Bobby Farrell, zong zelf niet. Hij was vooral gekozen vanwege zijn uitstraling en zijn danskwaliteiten. Farrell overleed in 2010.

Uiteindelijk gingen er naar schatting meer dan 800 miljoen platen over de toonbank waar Farian op enigerlei wijze bij betrokken was. Toen hij 80 jaar werd zei hij: "Bijna alles is mij gelukt. Ik leef de American Dream op z'n Duits."

Later produceerde Farian nog voor groepen als La Bouche en No Mercy. Met beide bands had hij hits in de jaren negentig. In 2006 werd er een musical gemaakt over Boney M. en andere groepen met wie de producer had gewerkt.

Belichaming van disco

Farian had een neus voor succes en was – om het in het Engels te zeggen – a money making machine. Als oprichter van Boney M. scoorde hij eind jaren zeventig en begin jaren tachtig hits als Sunny, Rasputin, Daddy Cool en Rivers of Babylon. Frontman van de groep was Bobby Farrell, maar hij was door Farian naar voren geschoven om de belichaming van disco te worden. Met het duo Milli Vanilli dat bestond uit de Duitser Rob Pilatus ende Fransman Fab Morvan scoorde hij als producer hits als Girl I’m Gonna Miss You en Girl You Know It's True. Dat laatste nummer zorgde voor een groot schandaal. Tijdens een Club MTV-concert in de Verenigde Staten in 1989 liep een band vast waardoor het voor het publiek pijnlijk duidelijk werd dat de mannen stonden te playbacken. Het was meteen het einde van Milli Vanilli.

In 1990 bekende Farian dat de twee zelfs geen noot van het album Girl You Know It’s True hadden gezongen, waarna het duo zijn Grammy moest inleveren, een zeldzaamheid in de geschiedenis van de muziekprijs.

Farian werkte in zijn carrière ook samen met artiesten als Meat Loaf en Stevie Wonder en krikte zijn totale platenverkoop op naar 800 miljoen exemplaren. En die vlek met Milli Vanilli? Zelfs dat werd omgezet in een succes. Enkele dagen voordat Farian zijn laatste adem uitblies in Miami, hoorde hij dat de film Girl You Know It’s True die draait om de opkomst en ondergang van Milli Vanilli de hoofdprijs had gekregen op het Beierse Film Festival. Farians oplichterstruc is vereeuwigd op het witte doek.

De familie heeft niet bekend gemaakt waaraan Frank Farian is overleden.

(Door Dick van As)

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lapseudosphere · 6 months

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3. Petit historique - partie 3 (pseudossier : le phénomène ovni)

À lire avant pour ne pas être trop perdu :

1. Petit historique - Partie 1

Pseudocomplément : l'affaire Roswell

2. Petit historique - Partie 2

Je remercie les chercheuses et chercheurs cité·e·s dans ce pseudossier pour leurs travaux. Pour réaliser ce pseudossier, je me suis appuyé sur des films documentaires, des interviews vidéos, des ouvrages, des articles de presse ou de sites internet. Je remercie les pseudosphéristes passionnés qui en sont à l’origine.

Principales pseudosources :

Je me suis appuyé sur l’ouvrage suivant pour l’ensemble de ce pseudossier : Franck Maurin, Les mystères du phénomène ovni - de la préhistoire à nos jours, Éditions La Vallée Heureuse, 2016

Pour ce chapitre, je me suis également appuyé sur la page Wikipédia qui recense de manière chronologique les principaux cas d’ovni, il est possible à partir de cette page, d’accéder à des articles plus détaillés : https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chronologie_de_l%27ufologie

Ovni de l'Amarante : http://www.ldi5.net/ovni/sepra/nt17.php

Vol Japan Airlines 1628 : https://ufologie.patrickgross.org/htm/japan86f.htm Leslie Kean, Ovnis, des généraux des pilotes et des officiels parlent, Editions Dervy, 2010 (pages 301 à 310) (en anglais) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japan_Air_Lines_Cargo_Flight_1628_incident

Vague de l'Hudson River et survol de la centrale d'Indian Point : Leslie Kean, Ovnis, des généraux des pilotes et des officiels parlent, Editions Dervy, 2010 (pages 214 à 225) Stéphane Royer, Didier Gomez, Ovnis et nucléaire : sommes-vous sous surveillance, Éditions JMG, 2021 (pages 225 à 228)

Vague belge : Leslie Kean, Ovnis, des généraux des pilotes et des officiels parlent, Editions Dervy, 2010 (pages 33 à 55) https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vague_belge_d%27ovnis

Vague d’ovni de 1990 en France : http://univers-ovni.com/sepra/culte_5_novembre.html https://www.parismatch.com/Actu/Insolite/Vague-d-OVNIs-du-05-11-1990-Un-temoignage-inedit-L-objet-enorme-masquait-les-etoiles-862295 Egon Kragel et Yves Couprie, Ovnis - Enquête sur un secret d'États, Éditions Le cherche midi, 2010 (pages 220 à 228)

Crop circle : https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cercle_de_culture http://www.bltresearch.com/ (en anglais) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arecibo_message https://www.lecosmographe.com/blogs/article/message-arecibo/

Vol Paris-Nice, 1994 : https://actu.fr/ile-de-france/coulommiers_77131/seine-et-marne-ovnis-a-coulommiers-que-s-est-il-passe-pendant-le-vol-af-3532_35376616.html Leslie Kean, Ovnis, des généraux des pilotes et des officiels parlent, Editions Dervy, 2010 (pages 183 à 184) Chaine Nuréa TV, « Rencontres entre Pilotes et OVNIs » avec Franck Maurin (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDYFt3DCf2w&t=9397s, à partir de 2 h 27 et 40 s)

Ovni de l’école d’Ariel : Randall Nickerson, Ariel Phenomenon, 2018, String Theory Films https://rr0.org/science/crypto/ufo/enquete/dossier/Zimbabwe/ Chaine Nuréa TV, Ovnis au Zimbabwé : Le cas Ariel avec Fabrice Bonvin (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_Q6kF4Yl6I)

Missions STS : Chaine Nuréa TV, Missions Spatiales & Ovnis (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PAs7kCx3_U et https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRGNDt5J1v8 (à partir de 52 min pour la mission STS-80))

Mission STS-115 et Mary Anne Stefany Shyn-Piper : Ikaris n°13, magazine bimestriel, Février - Mars 2020, Gemini Édition (page 52) http://messagesdelanature.ek.la/ces-ovnis-que-la-nasa-veut-cacher-p186368 https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=3&v=tK40WwEe1Qc&feature=emb_logo Chaine Nuréa TV, Missions Spatiales & Ovnis (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRGNDt5J1v8 à 1 h 12)

Affaire Varginha : (en portugais) https://www.varginhaonline.com.br/175732/et-de-varginha-23-anos-relembre-um-dos-casos-da-ufologia-mais-conhecidos-do-mundo.html Film documentaire Moment of Contact réalisé par James Fox et sorti en 2022 Bimestriel Ikaris n°16, Gémini édition, août-septembre 2020 (pages 34 à 44) Philippe Auger, OVNI l'affaire Varginha, Ankama Éditions, 2009 http://www.ovni.ch/guest/leir.htm https://www.paperblog.fr/2770159/varginha-un-crash-d-ovni-au-bresil-premiere-partie-par-gildas-bourdais/

Lumières de Phœnix : https://www.noxfrance.com/post/les-lumi%C3%A8res-de-phoenix Leslie Kean, Ovnis, des généraux des pilotes et des officiels parlent, Editions Dervy, 2010 (pages 334 à 362) (en anglais) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoenix_Lights

Affaire d'Haravilliers : http://www.lesconfins.com/HARAVILLIERS02.pdf Bimestriel Ikaris n°21, Gémini édition, juin-juillet 2021 (pages 8 à 15) https://rr0.org/science/crypto/ufo/enquete/dossier/Haravilliers/ Chaine BTLV, OVNI, L'AFFAIRE HARAVILLIERS avec Joslan F.Keller et Cynthia Casanobe (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIXVfTOW4Wo)

Incident du Nimitz : (en anglais) https://theufodatabase.com/incidents/uss-nimitz-ufo-incident (en anglais) https://www.explorescu.org/post/2004-uss-nimitz-strike-navy-group-incident-report https://theconversation.com/videos-d-ovni-declassifiees-par-le-pentagone-decryptage-et-precisions-137857 Ikaris n°7, magazine bimestriel, Février - Mars 2019, Gemini Édition (pages 30 à 33)

Vidéos de l’armée américaine authentifiées : https://information.tv5monde.com/info/ovni-la-marine-americaine-confirme-que-trois-videos-sont-authentiques-322315 https://theconversation.com/videos-d-ovni-declassifiees-par-le-pentagone-decryptage-et-precisions-137857

Ovnis géants au-dessus de la Manche : Leslie Kean, Ovnis, des généraux des pilotes et des officiels parlent, Editions Dervy, 2010 (pages 98 à 109) Chaine Nuréa TV, « Rencontres entre Pilotes et OVNIs » avec Franck Maurin (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDYFt3DCf2w&t=9397s, à partir de 2 h 33 m)

Ovni de Stephenville : (en anglais) https://abcnews.go.com/GMA/story?id=4142232&page=1 (en anglais) https://www.texasmonthly.com/articles/the-searcher/ https://en.wikinews.org/wiki/MUFON_releases_report_on_UFO_sighting_in_Stephenville,_Texas https://documents.theblackvault.com/documents/MUFON/Journals/2008/August_2008.pdf https://www.ufocasebook.com/pdf/mufonstephenvilleradarreport.pdf

Flotille d’ovnis au-dessus de Lima en 2007 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkNdXncScmY

Ovni au-dessus de l’aéroport international de Xiaoshan (Chine) en 2010 : http://messagesdelanature.ek.la/l-ovni-de-hangzhou-2010-p1487506

Ovni de Porto Rico en 2013 : Chaine Nuréa TV, « Rencontres entre Pilotes et OVNIs » avec Franck Maurin (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RDYFt3DCf2w&t=9397s, à partir de 2 h 47 et 35 s)

Ovni de Houston en 2014 : https://www.cnews.fr/paranormal/2014-08-22/ovni-de-houston-des-centaines-de-temoins-689379

Ovnis dans les Philippines en 2015 : https://mysterium-incognita.com/2020/03/16/les-ovni-des-philippines-de-2015/

Ovnis et confinement : https://www.lesacdechips.com/2015/05/14/8-recentes-videos-etranges-impliquant-des-ovnis (en anglais) https://www.cnet.com/news/ufo-sightings-spiked-dramatically-during-the-coronavirus-pandemic/ https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2020/04/02/coronavirus-blame-record-number-ufo-sightings-belgium/

#pseudossier #phenomene ovni #extraterrestre #soucoupe volante #pan #Trans-en-Provence #Hudson River #vague belge #5 novembre 1990 #crop circle #Ariel school #Varginha #Lumières de Phoenix #Haravilliers #Manche 2007 #Nimitz #Stephenville #BD #humour

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danriveroutfitters · 9 months

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Exploring Adventure and Relaxation: Dan River Floating Tents and Water Activities

The tranquil allure of nature combined with the thrill of adventure has long been a sought-after blend for those seeking an escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. In recent years, innovative outdoor experiences have been on the rise, and one such trend that has captured the imagination of adventure enthusiasts and relaxation seekers alike is the concept of Dan River floating tents and water activities.

Meetup Groups and the Essence of Community

In an era where digital communication often overshadows face-to-face interaction, the resurgence of Meetup Groups is a refreshing testament to the enduring need for real-life connections. Dan River floating tents have emerged as a popular destination for these groups, offering the perfect setting for like-minded individuals to gather, share experiences, and forge new friendships. These floating tents create a unique environment where participants can engage in team-building exercises, group discussions, and workshops, all while being surrounded by the calming embrace of nature.

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Corporate team-building activities are no longer confined to conference rooms or indoor venues. Dan River floating tents provide an unconventional yet effective backdrop for fostering teamwork, communication, and camaraderie among colleagues. Engaging in activities such as river tubing, collaborative challenges, and problem-solving tasks while surrounded by the beauty of the Dan River landscape can help break down professional barriers and build a more cohesive workforce.

Tubing Dan River: A Refreshing Adventure

Tubing down the Dan River offers an exhilarating blend of excitement and relaxation. As participants navigate the gentle currents of the river, they can soak in the sights and sounds of the natural world around them. The cool waters offer respite from the summer heat, making tubing an ideal activity for groups, families, or individuals looking to escape into nature's embrace.

Fluzzle Tubes: Floating Social Experiences

The concept of "fluzzle tubes" has added a social twist to traditional tubing experiences. A portmanteau of "float" and "puzzle," fluzzle tubes are interconnected floating devices that allow friends, families, or even strangers to form a floating cluster on the river. This innovative approach encourages social interaction, laughter, and shared memories as participants drift along together.

Glamping on the River: The Ultimate Nature Retreat

For those who desire a more luxurious outdoor experience, glamping (glamorous camping) on the river is an option that perfectly marries comfort and adventure. Floating tents equipped with modern amenities provide a cozy sanctuary amidst the elements. Glampers can enjoy a blend of relaxation and exploration, with the gentle rhythm of the river lulling them to sleep at night and the promise of adventure greeting them each morning.

Connect Tubes: Bridging Relationships

An ingenious offshoot of the floating tent trend, connect tubes offer a novel way to strengthen relationships. These interconnected inflatable tubes allow friends, couples, or family members to remain in close proximity while floating downstream. Whether engaged in heartfelt conversations or comfortable silences, connect tubes facilitate a deeper sense of connection with loved ones against the backdrop of the serene Dan River.

In a world where constant connectivity often overshadows the beauty of the natural world, Dan River floating tents and water activities provide a much-needed opportunity to unplug, unwind, and rediscover the magic of both adventure and relaxation. Whether through meetup groups, corporate team-building endeavors, tubing escapades, fluzzle tube social experiences, glamping getaways, or connect tube connections, the allure of the Dan River beckons, promising a rejuvenating journey for all who seek it.

For more info:-

glamping North Carolina

Fluzzle Tubes

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fletchinscloset · 1 year

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: A Nancy Frock Vintage 60s Pink And White Gingham Shift Dress Size 10.

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luv-lee · 7 months

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Washes in a wink!

#it’s a Dan River fabric #Dan River #Dan River fabric #vintage label #vintage tag #vintage design #vintage font #1950s #suncraft shirt #washes in a wink

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theimportanceofbeingaloof · 1 year

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invitation to trip

charles baudelaire

a sublime country, a catholic country, they say i dream of tripping with my friend, strange country, drained by northern mist, the east in the west, china in europe. its liberty given by such tender and excessive imagination, wise and delicate plants.

a country stacked, where all is beautiful, rich, calm, honest, where luxury gazes happily into order. where life is fat and honey sweet, everything exists on the expected, without turbulence or disorder. joy weds silence, even the food is poetic. everything which looks at you looks like you.

have you known the illness that takes us over in misery? nostalgia for a land you’ve never been? the anguish of curiosity? the land mirrors your skin: all is beautiful, rich, calm, honest, fantasy has built and decorated a western china, joy weds silence, in a country made for us to live, a country made for us to die.

right – you’ve got to go there to breath, dream, elongate the hours with the infinity of sensation. a composer wrote ‘invitation to waltz’ but who will write the invitation to trip? which could be offered to the woman you love, my sister, my prettiest whore.

right - this is the atmosphere where it’d be ok to live, there, where the slower hours contain more thoughts. where the clock strikes happiness with a deeper and more resonant solemnity.

on illuminations, or on golden and dark rich leather, peaceful paintings live calmly, like the souls of the artists who painted them. setting suns colour the room with such a rich light, and are sieved by beautiful fabrics or tall ornate windows, which the lead compartmentalizes. the furniture is vast, strange, and bizarre, armed with secrets like complicated souls. mirror, metal, fabric, golden trinkets and clay play a silent and mysterious symphony for the eyes, and from everything, from every corner, from the chink in the drawer, from the fold in the curtain, a unique perfume escapes, a return to sumatra, like the soul of the apartment.

i tell you its a really heavy place, where everything is rich, clean and shines, like a beautiful conscience, like a magnificent saucepan, shines like a set of sublime golden ornaments, or a colourful ruby, the treasures of the world flow, as in the man who worked so hard he deserved all the well of the world.

let them search, search again, let them and push out the boundaries of happiness, like an alchemist designing flowers, let them offer me a billion euros for the solution to an unsolvable problem. me, i found my black tulip and blue dahlia.

incomparable flower, rediscovered tulip, allegorical dahlia. it’s there, isn’t it? in this calm and dreamy land, a life in flowers, mirrored, as if speaking like a mystic, by your own correspondence.

dreams – always dreams– the more ambitious and delicate the soul is, the more the dreams steal it from the possible. everyone carries with them their dose of natural opium, instantly potent and reborn, furthermore from birth to death, how many hours of our lives do we spend in positive frames of mind? in successful and determined actions? when will we pass through the portrait that my sensitivity has painted, the one that looks like you?

these treasures: this furniture, this luxury, this order, these perfumes, these miracle flowers, it is you. it is you again, in the vast rivers and quiet canals, these enormous ships carry you, all heaving with wealth, you are the music of sailors, you are the thoughts that sleep or roll on your chest. you carry your thoughts gently to the infinite sea, while reflecting the deep sky in the purity of your beautiful soul, and when exhausted by swell of the tide, and sated by the luxuries of the orient, your thoughts will return to their native port, like my thoughts, grown rich, that have returned to you from infinity.

------------------------ L’INVITATION AU VOYAGE

"Il est un pays superbe, un pays de Cocagne, dit-on, que je rêve de visiter avec une vieille amie. Pays singulier, noyé dans les brumes de notre Nord, et qu’on pourrait appeler l’Orient de l’Occident, la Chine de l’Europe, tant la chaude et capricieuse fantaisie s’y est donné carrière, tant elle l’a patiemment et opiniâtrement illustré de ses savantes et délicates végétations.

Un vrai pays de Cocagne, où tout est beau, riche, tranquille, honnête ; où le luxe a plaisir à se mirer dans l’ordre ; où la vie est grasse et douce à respirer ; d’où le désordre, la turbulence et l’imprévu sont exclus ; où le bonheur est marié au silence ; où la cuisine elle-même est poétique, grasse et excitante à la fois ; où tout vous ressemble, mon cher ange.

Tu connais cette maladie fiévreuse qui s’empare de nous dans les froides misères, cette nostalgie du pays qu’on ignore, cette angoisse de la curiosité ? Il est une contrée qui te ressemble, où tout est beau, riche, tranquille et honnête, où la fantaisie a bâti et décoré une Chine occidentale, où la vie est douce à respirer, où le bonheur est marié au silence. C’est là qu’il faut aller vivre, c’est là qu’il faut aller mourir !

Oui, c’est là qu’il faut aller respirer, rêver et allonger les heures par l’infini des sensations. Un musicien a écrit l’Invitation à la valse ; quel est celui qui composera l’Invitation au voyage, qu’on puisse offrir à la femme aimée, à la sœur d’élection ?

Oui, c’est dans cette atmosphère qu’il ferait bon vivre, — là-bas, où les heures plus lentes contiennent plus de pensées, où les horloges sonnent le bonheur avec une plus profonde et plus significative solennité.

Sur des panneaux luisants, ou sur des cuirs dorés et d’une richesse sombre, vivent discrètement des peintures béates, calmes et profondes, comme les âmes des artistes qui les créèrent. Les soleils couchants, qui colorent si richement la salle à manger ou le salon, sont tamisés par de belles étoffes ou par ces hautes fenêtres ouvragées que le plomb divise en nombreux compartiments. Les meubles sont vastes, curieux, bizarres, armés de serrures et de secrets comme des âmes raffinées. Les miroirs, les métaux, les étoffes, l’orfèvrerie et la faïence y jouent pour les yeux une symphonie muette et mystérieuse ; et de toutes choses, de tous les coins, des fissures des tiroirs et des plis des étoffes s’échappe un parfum singulier, un revenez-y de Sumatra, qui est comme l’âme de l’appartement.

Un vrai pays de Cocagne, te dis-je, où tout est riche, propre et luisant, comme une belle conscience, comme une magnifique batterie de cuisine, comme une splendide orfèvrerie, comme une bijouterie bariolée ! Les trésors du monde y affluent, comme dans la maison d’un homme laborieux et qui a bien mérité du monde entier. Pays singulier, supérieur aux autres, comme l’Art l’est à la Nature, où celle-ci est réformée par le rêve, où elle est corrigée, embellie, refondue.

Qu’ils cherchent, qu’ils cherchent encore, qu’ils reculent sans cesse les limites de leur bonheur, ces alchimistes de l’horticulture ! Qu’ils proposent des prix de soixante et de cent mille florins pour qui résoudra leurs ambitieux problèmes ! Moi, j’ai trouvé ma tulipe noire et mon dahlia bleu !

Fleur incomparable, tulipe retrouvée, allégorique dahlia, c’est là, n’est-ce pas, dans ce beau pays si calme et si rêveur, qu’il faudrait aller vivre et fleurir ? Ne serais-tu pas encadrée dans ton analogie, et ne pourrais-tu pas te mirer, pour parler comme les mystiques, dans ta propre correspondance ?

Des rêves ! toujours des rêves ! et plus l’âme est ambitieuse et délicate, plus les rêves l’éloignent du possible. Chaque homme porte en lui sa dose d’opium naturel, incessamment sécrétée et renouvelée, et, de la naissance à la mort, combien comptons-nous d’heures remplies par la jouissance positive, par l’action réussie et décidée ? Vivrons-nous jamais, passerons-nous jamais dans ce tableau qu’a peint mon esprit, ce tableau qui te ressemble ?

Ces trésors, ces meubles, ce luxe, cet ordre, ces parfums, ces fleurs miraculeuses, c’est toi. C’est encore toi, ces grands fleuves et ces canaux tranquilles. Ces énormes navires qu’ils charrient, tout chargés de richesses, et d’où montent les chants monotones de la manœuvre, ce sont mes pensées qui dorment ou qui roulent sur ton sein. Tu les conduis doucement vers la mer qui est l’Infini, tout en réfléchissant les profondeurs du ciel dans la limpidité de ta belle âme ; — et quand, fatigués par la houle et gorgés des produits de l’Orient, ils rentrent au port natal, ce sont encore mes pensées enrichies qui reviennent de l’infini vers toi."

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