8 Works in Clout Farm's Style Challenge (V2!)
Listing Works
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800 Pandora Lane.
Two stories of solid oak and crumbling cobblestone reach towards the sky like an omen, tucked away into a small clearing down an old, dusty road, just a little ways into the woods just outside of town. From inside the car, Wilbur can spot potted flowers hanging from the windows just below where faux shutters hang open—the windows themselves stretching nearly floor-to-ceiling in the front of the house, a nice reflective tint warding off any prying neighbors’ eyes. Past the music from the radio and the white noise of his AC, faintly, so faintly, he can make out the sound of birds chirping from the trees outside. Some bathe in the birdbath in the front yard’s garden.
Sure enough, it all checks. This is the place. Already, he can imagine that it will take some getting used to. (At the very least, the place appears to be a pretty omen. He’ll give it that.)
(OR: Wilbur, home from college for the summer, finds a place to stay in a cabin in the woods. It would seem that he is not the only resident to be seen.)
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Wilbur Soot believes fervently in a god of dreams and the sun; in an end of times that will come in the form of a golden child and a newborn sun. His little brother thinks he's crazy - DreamXD is a stupid name for a god anyway, and what evidence does Wilbur have that this weird apocalypse is going to happen?
What a shame, then, when Tommy comes down with an impossibly high fever and his skin starts to glow and burn sunlight-hot.
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This note in Wilbur's handwriting, this note he did not write, is stained with blood. Fresh. Still wet.
So he reads it. What else is there to do?
Tommy—, it begins.
Who’s Tommy?
[or, Wilbur wakes up, and, and, and—]
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Wilbur Soot wakes up, and his day is oh, so normal. Too normal.
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where the beast and the beauty coalesce by thanotaphobia (blue000jay)
Fandoms: Dream SMP, Video Blogging RPF
18 Feb 2022
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“I already told you what happened,” Tommy grumps for the thousandth time. His arms are crossed, he’s sat up in the hospital bed with pillows against his back and needles in his hand. Hospitals smell awful. Like rubbing alcohol and lemon cleaner. They’ve got him in a room with glass walls so they can watch him– he’s not gonna hurt himself, he told them that, but they don’t fucking believe him, apparently. “Big giant goopy monster attacked me in the bathroom. I’m not crazy.”
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or, Tommy is not crazy and there was definitely a monster in the bathroom, and it won't leave him alone.
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“Tommy,” Wilbur gasps, “keep running.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
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You are going to be okay, Wilbur. You’re not going to be happy. I know that, and you know that, even if you don’t understand why you know. You’re never going to be happy again. But you’re going to live with it, because you promised you would.
It’s been a long time since Wilbur’s gone home.
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Pathetic, he thinks. Maybe I am, but it’s kept me alive, hasn’t it?
“If you want to drive yourself insane, be my guest,” he says, finally.
Tommy grins at him, all teeth. He’ll learn soon enough.