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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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svfic: looking-glass, 1
children of dune - leto 1
seperis
You know, I'm just not as loyal to my LJ as I was to my diary. I feel like a semi-adultress, and I'm not even any good at it.

Personal News

If all goes well, sister will be leaving for boot camp on Wednesday. We had kabobs and cheesecake tonight to celebrate. Absolutely non-intresting to most, but STRAWBERRY CHEESECAKE! AND a strawberry torte.

And have I mentioned I bonded with Wal-Mart's Valentine's candy section?

Recs

Luna Lunatica by penelope_z
Surreal. That's all I'm saying. Read it a few times. It's just--yeah. Surreal.

A Bed in a Room in a House by dammitcarl. I love Jessica's lovely single-scene, thoughtful fics, and this one is both hot AND sweet. A Nickyverse story, and lovely as ever.

Harvest by Bren Antrim. In which the fandom still works through it's Clark!Rage quite energetically. Lex is bitter. And this hurts. Read.

Sweet Dreams by bexless. Bittersweet Lex POV, covering several different time periods. Beautifully written Lex that I can sink into, and lovely introspection.

Links

Livia's gotten Truckload of Heart, A Clark and Pete link directory. Slash and friendship, should definitely be checked out. And contributed to!

jenn squeeing

liviapenn's been playing with Premiere and made the COOLEST thing ever. A trailer for Standing in the Common Spaces, Spiderman the Movie/Smallville. Yes, I'm drooling and giggly and DAMN it's so NEAT! The cuts are DAMN cool and I just love watching it and that song rocks. RealPlayer format. *happy sigh*

No, I haven't watched it multiple times in succession, why do you ask? *grins*

Just think, we can get her to VID for the fandom if we just put enough pressure on her--er, the word is 'encourage', rather. I like this idea. Can we start an official campaign? *curious*

*happy squeeing*

Really, I'm cute when I look like this. Anyway, go check it out, it just ROCKS.

*hugs liviapenn*

Other Things

I'm labeling again. I like it. It makes me feel as if there's been progress.

So the other night, Koi made me want to try a Five Things fic. Of course, that never works, as if I AU, I tend to want to stay there for an indecent word count and wallow in it instead of skipping blithely off. But. This one came out. After talking it over with liviapenn and pearl_o, I don't really think it works as it is, either as a legit AU or as a good Jonathan characterization. Since I'll never use it, I thought I'd post this version while I work out how it would work better.

And because I sort of LIKE it. *grins* I like creepy!

Anyway.



One Thing That Jonathan Never Would Have Done

Small town pride is the reason, he'll think later.

He steps over meteor rock pieces that glow strangely green in the cloudy light. He left Martha at home, a smile on her face, dreaming of the children she'll never have.

In the distance, Jonathan can see Ethan's car, skidding to an uncertain stop in the middle of the road. Ethan climbs out, the sharp, jerky motions of his body showing grief better than his face ever will. The passenger side door slides open, and a woman's low pump steps onto the dirt road, a puff of green-tinged dust hazing the air. He hadn't expected her, takes a step, ready to ask Ethan what he was thinking to bring a woman to see this, but the tear-streaked face that meets his gaze stops him in his tracks.

"My sister," she says, mouth trembling. A black paste of eyeliner and mascara has drawn deep circles around eyes reddened and dripping black tears down her cheek. He's never seen Nell less than flawless before today, and it hits him all anew, a pain that starts in his chest and radiates outward like spiderwebs, clinging to every inch of his mind.

"God, Nell--" He reaches for her without meaning to, and she's soft and familiar in his arms, smelling of soot and bone-deep grief. The soft dark hair's a tangled mess that shifts against his cheek, and he held her like this once before, a long-ago, dusty barn loft and she'd curled against him and cried out her pain at her mother's death.

Too familiar to be completely comfortable, even how she fits beneath his chin and melts into her body as if she was meant to be there.

"Jonathan." Ethan's mouth is tight, and Jonathan looks over the wave of dark hair, opening his mouth to ask, but he can't quite force the words. Over the soft whisper of the corn, he can hear the sound of cars, and when he looks, he can see them coming. He knows who Ethan called.

Riley's field is a mess of destroyed corn in neat lines. From here, he can see where some kid was hung up for Homecoming--Jonathan vaguely remembers the kid being brought in by paramedics, and there's a flush of shame that cuts across his cheeks when he remembers his own senior year, but the memories brush away like cobwebs with the first figures emerging from cars and trucks--tear-stained faces of men he's never seen weep before, and he swallows hard.

He hadn't lost anyone today.

"Where is it?" Ethan's voice is hard, and Jonathan swallows, freeing himself from Nell before stepping back. Black and red stains criss-cross the soft flannel of his shirt, and her perfume clings to him over the smell of burned corn and fresh earth. He turns toward the truck, feeling a vague sense of unreality.

Behind him, he can hear Ethan draw his gun.

The creature looks up at him with huge dark eyes, uncomprehending, but reaches up with thin arms as Jonathan wraps the blanket close. Something in his chest tightens at the trust in the tiny arms that curve around his neck, but one look at Nell straightens him, and he can feel her eyes on him, dark and hard.

Men form a loose semi-circle around him as Jonathan deposits the bundle of dark hair and warm body on a blanket on the ground. He catches himself straightening it when the little body tilts over, and it gives him a slow, toothy smile, free and innocent.

Jesus. It looks so much like a real child.

"Where did you find him?" Ethan says, and Jonathan straightens, turning around.

"In the field." Even to himself, his voice sounds strangled. "There was a ship."

The low murmurs flow around him like water, and Jonathan takes a step back.

"It looks almost human," he hears Nell say in a low voice. "It--it killed--" Her voice trickles off into silence, and Jonathan finds himself watching how her face crumples again, hands shaking as she clenches them in the tails of her shirt. He's not even sure what he's doing when he wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into him, her bones as thin and fragile as a bird's beneath his hand.

"Dig a hole," Ethan whispers, and men are moving. Mike, one of Jonathan's oldest friends, owner of the Wild Coyote, had lost his wife today, and he's the first, grabbing a shovel from the burlap bundle at his feet, stamping forward without hesitation. The Ross brothers follow after only seconds, and Jonathan feels the air in his lungs seem to thicken. It's desperately fast work, the concentration of men escaping in physical labor, and then they step away and Jonathan watches the darkened sky start to break up, sunlight streaming around them.

This is almost acceptable in the green-grey aftermath of the most horrific day of their lives, but when Ethan raises the gun, Jonathan almost opens his mouth to protest.

"For Laura," Nell murmurs, and the choked grief shuts his teeth. Sunlight reflects off dark hair and the dust-tinged barrel of a gun, before the sharp sound of a bullet penetrates.

It slumps over, and Jonathan feels some kind of shock that it bleeds red onto the blanket, like a boy.

Ethan and Mike wrap it up, depositing it in the hole--only a glimpse of matted dark hair and sightless green eyes before the first shovel of dirt covers his face. Jonathan doesn't look away until it's completely covered.

"Jonathan." Ethan's voice in his ear brings him back to reality, and he turns to see the man watching him with worried eyes. "What will you tell Martha?"

A thousand answers flicker through his mind, but none she'll believe. He knows that. "I'll think of something."

Nodding, Ethan takes Nell's arm. "Come on, Nell. Let me drive you home." The tender croon of his voice jerks Jonathan's head up, but Nell only nods, letting him lead her gently to the car, inserting her inside. Three pairs of feet are stamping down the dry earth, making it look like less like the freshly dug grave it's become. Not that anyone would notice here, with all the damage surrounding them.

He won't say they're dancing on the grave, but if they were, could he blame them?

Turning away, he walks back to the truck and climbs inside, letting every reason run through his head one by one, and starts the truck.

He's the last to leave.


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*breathes*

*shivers*

Yeesh. Creepy, indeed! And definitely likeable for that. *g*.

*happy smile*

Mini-Au's ROCK.

Thanks! *hugs*

Wow! This is chilling. And I can totally see it happening. Great job!

*giggles* I've always wanted to write a good mob story. With pitchforks. *sighs sadly* I didn't get pitchforks, but look! Mini!Mob!

*hugs* Thanks!

ooooh. Definitely creepy. A little shivery, shuddery creepy sort of thing. Wow.

*giggles* Thanks! I had an indecently good time writing it.

When I was in the fifth grade, I read a short story that I've never completely forgotten:

A container lands on earth. Without opening it, all anyone can tell is that there is something large, alive and horrifying (tentacles) in it. A loud gravely audio message keeps repeating and the country's best translators have been unable to decypher the message. The military and the leader of the country decide it would be best to blow it up. They set explosives up around the container. Just as they detonate them, one of the translators yells out for them to stop.

The message translated: "please take care of my baby."

I can't imagine why your story reminded me of that. {g}

*blinks*

Okay, now I seriously want to read that. *shudders* That's just--whoa. *blinks* Double whoa. Um. Happen to remember anything else about it that would aid in searching?

Oddly enough, what stuck with me while I was writing was "The Lottery" and Stephen King's "The Storm", with those small-town, isolation, choice-things going on. *shakes head* "The Lottery" STILL creeps me out.

*hugs*

Thanks. Now I'm going to spend the rest of the day sniffling over the death of the baby tentacle thingie. I shall call him James.

Happen to remember anything else about it that would aid in searching?

Just that it was in a reading text used by the Wheaton/Warrenville IL (USA) public school district sometime between 1972-1975, specifically in S. Holmes Elementary in Warrenville. The school was torn down a few years ago, but if you're really determined, I'm sure the school district has the records. If you plan to, let me know and I'll ask my mom for more detail--she worked at my school and can probably remind me what year I had reading with "that really annoying 6th grade teacher". (We floated reading, so with my fast reading speed it could have been my 4-6th grade year.)

I shall call him James.

Personally, I called him Fred. But I like to call everything Fred. Or George.

I was very upset when I read it, and to this day I hate mistaken intentions and/or mistaken identity.

I haven't read "The Storm", but I really liked "The Lottery". It didn't creep me out as badly as other things have, because of the pseudo-volunteer aspect of it. The one, that for some reason I lump in with "The Lottery", that truly creeped me out was "The Rocking Horse Winner". And I couldn't tell you why, because I have studiously avoided remembering anything about it. Except the title, so that I can avoid it.

Wow. Besides making me sniffle for poor, defenseless baby Clark, which it most definitely did, this story also gave me a new appreciation for how-- I guess "open" is the word I want-- the Kents were when they found and took little Clark in.

I think your story is much closer to the normal human reponse. And that makes me want to hug Jonathan, something I haven't felt in a long time.

Thanks for sharing the story!c

I felt horrible for Jonathan throughout--it felt icky. *sighs* Yet strangely addictive.

Thanks for the feedback!

It makes perfect sense. XF fan I am, I dunno if I'd take the kid home. He's cute, but then so are tribbles, you know? Had Clark been anything other than what he became, their reaction would have been right on the money. Martha was definately spearheading the effort to take Clark home. She's a brave woman. I prefer to think of her as an insightful optimist, as opposed to a woman ruled by her maternal instincts.
Honestly? I'm not sure Martha and Jonathan really thougth Clark was an alien at the time. Maybe they thought he was a superstrong human returned by aliens or something. Who knows.

And yesterday seemed to be the day to post creepy fic. Sweet Dreams by Bexless (SSA) was pretty darn good. Wait for the ending.
-Silverkystü

Martha was definately spearheading the effort to take Clark home. She's a brave woman. I prefer to think of her as an insightful optimist, as opposed to a woman ruled by her maternal instincts.
Honestly? I'm not sure Martha and Jonathan really thougth Clark was an alien at the time.


*nod* I was thinking about that. It just seems, to me, STILl weird that they jumped on teh chance to adopt an ALIEN for God's sake. *grins* I'e wondered how other people might have reacted to finding Clark, actually.

*hugs* Thanks for the comments!

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