#it was so ironic. the thing that for me really confirmed my loneliness on a personal level was what convinced her not to reach out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darklydeliciousdesires · 11 months

Text

The Dream - Chapter Twenty Nine + Epilogue.

The end is here, besties. A huge thank you as always for those who have stuck it out until the end and offered such kind words in the way of feedback. Huge love to you all. It was a challenge to write this as it’s very different from my usual offerings. I can only hope the bittersweet ending meets your expectations :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five Twenty Six Twenty Seven Twenty Eight

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 4,186

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

His hand kept reaching into the space beside him on the pull out, vast in its emptiness, no small body curling against his, no warmth from her skin. He would never awake to find her using him as a pillow again, just like she had on his first morning there all those months ago. No little sleep snuffles, no morning kisses. No more shared dreams.

She really was gone.

His brain couldn’t quite absorb it, yet the shock kept on hitting him over and over, like the perpetual jab of a knife into his heart. It had all happened so fast. One minute she was there and the next... gone.

How precious and fragile life truly was.

Angel knew better than most that’s how death worked sometimes, too. There were no guarantees of notice given. Death did not call and tell you to mark a date in your calendar. It snatched people without warning.

It had done this to him twice now. First his mom, and now his love.

His eyes stung from crying, his heart completely shattered. He couldn’t believe it was real. He still expected her to walk back in from the kitchen and tell him to scoot over, or ask if he’d farted, slapping him if he revealed he had.

Why? Why her? She’d barely even begun to live her life before it had been snatched from her. Angel felt his throat tightening again as he thought of all the things she’d shared with him, everything she wanted to accomplish, all that he was looking forward to being proud of her for. What hit him the hardest, though, was that she’d died before he’d truly made it up to her, ironed out the crazy behaviour that had been driven by his insecurities.

He still owed her, and he could never repay it now, never show her he was worthy of her love, never prove himself. Stretching his arms above his head, his chest quivered on a sob, sniffing hard as his tears began to fall again. God, the loneliness. She’d only been gone for ten hours and twenty-three minutes, and yet he felt like he was being buried alive in the grief of losing her, how vacant he felt without her there.

He knew then he should have appreciated her more while he could and not acted like such an overgrown child at her being away, because at least she’d still been alive then. He’d now suffered the ultimate abandonment, and it wasn’t her fault or his, but fuck, how he wished he could turn back time. Just a little more time with her, just a day, an hour, a moment to hold her again.

“I love you so fuckin’ much,” he whispered into the dark of the living room. “Dunno how the fuck I’m meant to carry on without you.” The pain crashed through him, hitting him over and over as it swallowed him whole, Keri was dead... Keri was dead. He’d managed to stop his tears by the time the bedroom door opened, Frankie exiting quietly, coming over to sit on the edge of the pullout.

“Can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” he confirmed.

She gestured to the space beside him. “Mind if I cuddle up? I get it, if you’d rather be alone.”

He snorted softly. “Course, I don’t. Get over here.” She climbed under the comforter, resting her head to his chest, his arm wrapping around her. He wasn’t the only one completely heartbroken. Hell, they’d had to sedate Meryl, she was so hysterical.

“This feels weird,” she muttered, tapping his chest gently with her splayed hand. “No boobies.”

He smiled, laughing softly through his nose, Frankie continuing. “It doesn’t feel real. Like, you’re here, so my brain by default thinks that she should be, too. I keep thinking the door is gonna open and there she’ll be, my little beets.”

“Yeah, yeah you ain’t the only one,” he began, hand stroking her arm idly. “Just feels like she’s in the next room.”

“Oh, you know about the poem?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Yeah, the poem about death, about it being like they’re in the next room,” she explained, sitting up a little. He still looked confused. “Pass me your phone, I’ll find it.” He reached for it, unlocking the screen and handing it to her, Frankie searching for the piece she’d always found so comforting during times of loss.

“Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away to the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner. All is well.”

“All ain’t well,” Angel grumbled, sighing. “I get what the dude who wrote it meant, though. But like, I ain’t in that place yet. Hurts too much.”

“Yeah,” Frankie sighed, closing the webpage and locking his phone, handing it back. “Yeah, it’s too raw right now, but the words are beautiful. I’ll come back to them again. Right now, I just want to go someplace quiet and scream about how fucking unfair it is, that I lost my bestest buddy in the entire world.

“Isn’t just me, though. You lost your girlfriend, Meryl and David lost their daughter, and so many other friends, too. Rachel couldn’t breathe when I called her earlier. It isn’t fair, Angel. She should be here with us and she isn’t! She’s all alone in a fucking morgue!”

He winced at those words, not wanting to imagine it. It had been painful enough when after the nurses had pulled all of her tubes out, he’d gone back into the room, kissing her head and stroking her hair as she’d lain there, statue still, her warmth beginning to fade. She’d looked like she was sleeping, like she was about to wake up and ask him why he was crying on her.

Having to say goodbye to her like that had killed him. At least, though, he’d gotten to hold her once last time in their final shared dream. That provided a tiny slither of comfort blanketing the sharp edge of pain, if only for a short time. Tightening his arm around Frankie as she began to sob, he lay there in quiet contemplation about those dreams he’d shared with her, so much more about them now making complete sense to him, now the story that was him and her had sadly come to an end.

“I saw her in a dream, just before she died.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I fell asleep for a few minutes, and we dreamed together. She told me she didn’t wanna go, but she had to. Knew it was her time and shit. I begged her not to, then I woke up and she was gone.”

A little exclamation fluttered over her lips, Frankie looking up, reaching to stroke his cheek. “Of course, she’d come and say goodbye to you. She loved you so much, you were so special to her.” She swallowed back the little stab of envy, that he’d gotten to say goodbye to her when she hadn’t, Frankie realising that it was probably hell for him, to realise he was going to lose her, for him to wake and find she’d died.

“Didn’t get to prove myself worthy of that love.”

“Hey, none of that,” she began, pointing a soft finger at him, tapping his chest. “You were the love of her life, alright? Remember that. Don’t let regrets eat you up inside.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t push him further on it, guessing he likely wouldn’t stop feeling guilty just because she’d told him not to. Humans were rarely so simple. “I dunno, like... fuck. I dunno.” They lay there in silence, eventually falling asleep, although it was fitful, waking up regularly, both deciding to get up and go for a cigarette on the firs escape, Frankie sitting between his legs, Angel resting her chin atop his head.

“I hate that I won’t see you anymore, now that she’s gone,” she spoke, Angel making a noise in his throat.

“Don’t talk shit, Frances. If you want, I’ll still come see y’all when I can. You guys are my friends too now. I don’t forget shit like that.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, watching at the sun began to fill the sky. “She’d like it, too. If we kept in touch.”

“Yeah, she would,” she confirmed, smiling softly. “We’re the links to her, you know? What Keri left with each of us lives on within us all, so staying connected means we have little connections to her, too.”

“That shit’s beautiful, bro.” He knew he wasn’t capable of articulating something like that, but it made sense to him all the same. He went for a shower soon after, getting dressed and heading over to Meryl and David’s place, the latter answering the door to him.

“Hey man.” He pulled him into a hug, slapping his back softly. “How you doing?”

“Bad,” Angel confirmed, closing the front door behind him. “How about you guys?”

David waited until there were in the kitchen before replying, switching the coffee machine on and pulling two cups from the cupboard. “It still don’t feel real. Meryl is just... shit. Beyond devastated. She’s still in bed, but she didn’t sleep. Just crying endlessly.”

“Yeah, I think I drifted off for like, a half hour. Frankie too. You’re right, it don’t feel real at all. Keep expecting her to just walk in like nothing is wrong.”

David smiled, a soft laugh bursting from his nose. “And tell us about one of her calamities, spilling something or the like.”

“Showing off on her snowboard and hurting herself,” Angel smiled, remembering carrying her after she’d done that very thing and sprained her ankle.

David’s voice broke on a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I never had my own kids, and I didn’t feel like I needed to once I’d met Meryl. Here they were, this ready-made family. I always thought of her as mine. Ain’t fair at all. I can’t get my head around it. Feels like I’m in someone else’s nightmare.”

“Same,” Angel spoke, taking the coffee David handed to him with thanks. He turned back to the coffee machine, a sudden burst of sunlight from behind the clouds making something glint upon the windowsill. Picking it up, he held the thick, silver band Keri wore on her thumb, squeezing it in his palm before handing it over to Angel.

“Here.” He placed it into his hand, smiling with a nod. “I think she’d want you to have this.”

Angel took it, pulling off the rings he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand, placing on the band and returning them atop it, his smile sad.

“Fitting place,” David nodded, leaning back against the counter, watching him look down at his hand.

“I would have, you know. Would’ve asked her to marry me at some point.” Just then, David glanced with surprise over his shoulder, Angel feeling a soft hand upon his arm. Turning, he saw devastation personified.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes softening. “I’m so sorry, Meryl.”

She let herself be pulled into a hug, wrapping her arms around him, steeling herself not to break down again and cry all over her daughter’s boyfriend. “Thank you. I am too, for you. I know how much you loved her.” Pausing, she leaned to kiss his cheek, straightening up, wiping her eyes with her thumb. “Thank you for making her last month's so happy.”

“It was an honour, getting to love your daughter. She was everything to me.”

Meryl nodded, her lip quivering. “I know, love. I know.”

Angel didn’t stay for long, David vowing to keep in touch with him over the funeral arrangements before he left, booking himself a flight and heading directly to the airport. All around, there were memories of her, remembering walking through with her either on his arrival or departure, the Starbucks where he’d made her laugh so much about her frappuccino, the places they’d stood holding one another tight, the spot where they’d first met.

It stung his heart so hard that it almost took his breath away. He felt like he was moving through clay as he checked in and then sat and waited, buying a coffee while he waited the near two hours before his flight would depart, scrolling through his phone at the hundreds of pictures of her, of them.

“I dunno what I’m meant to do without you, tiny.”

And the truth was, he really didn’t. It was a pain he knew he would never truly recover from.

Epilogue

The entire charter of the Santo Padre Mayans MC roaring into the cul-de-sac was quite a thing to behold, all dressed in black, parking up behind the black limousines that would usher the family over to the funeral home. One by one, each man greeted the assembled family, offering his condolences, the few who knew her a little better speaking of his fondness for Keri, Meryl and David so very touched by their words.

The sun shone brightly on that October morning, a warmth still lingering through the crisp, fall air, Angel watching as golden leaves shook themselves from the trees, a perfect one landing right in front of him upon the handlebars of his bike.

“Yeah, baby. I know that’s you.” Placing it carefully in his pocket, he took a deep breath, feeling a hand press to his shoulder.

“The family is ready, mijo,” Bishop told him, placing his helmet on. “You lead, though. She was your girl. It’s only right.”

Clasping him in a tight hug, he felt the love from his brother swell through the cold nothingness that had become of his broken heart, the sound of bike engines roaring back into life filling the air, the procession slowly moving forward behind him. It still hurt, the grief cutting at him like a razor, nine days passed since his beloved Keri had taken her last machine assisted breath, since the last time he’d felt the warmth of her skin next to his.

He felt glacial without the sunshine of her love, a freeze that likely wouldn’t ever thaw.

He was glad Meryl had chosen a closed casket, because he couldn’t bear to see her shuttered in death again. Kissing her goodbye at the hospital had all but killed his heart, Angel instead wanting his last memory of her to be of when he’d held her in his arms at the airport, her face so bright and excited as they’d spoken of their vacation. What he would have given to be preparing for it, the trip he’d cancelled four days ago when he’d finally been able to actually get out of bed and do something other than lie there, weighted down by the lonely blanket of grief.

Once at the funeral home, they were met by a couple more of Keri’s friends, Angel touched at the sight of Rachel rushing into Gilly’s open arms, Bishop wrapping Frankie into a huge hug, Jaime too, telling her he wished he was meeting the girl he’d heard so much about under happier circumstances. “You’re right, she does look like a mermaid.” he spoke softly, Angel smiling when he remembered the moment he’d heard Frankie liken her to one, on that first morning in Provo, meeting Keri in the flesh for the first time the night before.

What he’d give to go back, be on that pull-out bed with her, enjoying their first kisses all over again. The pain of never having that again burned through him, as he knew it always would. There would be no cease to his sorrow at losing her, his one true love.

Turning to him, Frankie and Jaime held out their hands, both flanking him either side as they walked into the funeral home, ready to say their last goodbye to the girl who meant so very much to each of them. He still couldn’t believe she was gone. The appearance of the white casket sealed it, though, Angel swallowing the lump in his throat, letting go of Frankie’s hand and wrapping a strong arm around her when she couldn’t keep the sob in, holding her tightly.

“Good morning, friends. We gather today to remember fondly the life of our darling Keri Jane Watkins, taken much too soon from everyone she loved so very much on the second of October, twenty eighteen. As I look around at a room so full, I certainly see how her kindness, brilliant spirit, and unrelenting zest for life touched so many, from her mother Meryl and stepfather David, who we give all of our love and light to at this time, to her beloved boyfriend Angel, whom she adored beyond measure. Her Aunt Bee and Uncle Sunni, her precious cousins, and not least, her treasured friends, Frankie, Jaime, Rachel, Ash and Aaron, the core group of her heart.”

The words used by the minister were a lovingly touching tribute, yet Angel couldn’t have remembered any of them if you’d paid him all the money in the world as he sat there, replaying every memory he had of his darling over and over in his head, thinking how tiny her casket looked, for someone who was so full of energy and life. He still couldn’t quite reconcile that she was really lying in there.

“She isn’t, man,” Aaron told him afterwards, Angel voicing that thought to him as they congregated outside. “That’s just her body. The Keri we know and love, she’s dancing around through the skies, seeing every last part of the world she said she was gonna see. She’s up in the stars, man, laughing, soaring. Free. Her body will join her when her ashes have been scattered, too.”

Meryl, David and Angel had all agreed that Keri would have hated to be put into the ground, all deciding to cremate her and scatter her ashes up in the mountains, so she would blow free into the wind, and travel wherever it took her.

Angel smiled, giving him a big hug, thanking him for such words. “She loved the hell outta you, you know.”

“I know,” he croaked, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes. “I was so damned lucky to call that little calamity my friend.”

Lucky. That’s exactly what Angel had been, he realised, moving away to stand by himself, lighting up a cigarette. He was still lost in the fog of grief, so painfully lonely, he barely slept at night without her there, but he knew in his heart that he’d been the luckiest to call her his for the too short a time he’d had her. If he could hold onto anything, it was that.

In the months, and eventually years that followed, he was never quite the same, his loved ones all noted, those in Santo Padre and Utah, whom he had stayed in touch with. He’d welcomed other women into his life, but only at arm's length, never with any permanence, more a means to an end whenever his libido dictated to him that he should.

It never felt the same, though, and with each one that passed through his life, it only made him long for the one he could never be with again all the more. In the end, there were no more women, not wanting for them. Not for anyone but her. He’d spray her perfume onto his pillow, try and fool himself that she hadn’t really gone, abandoned in waking and dreams by his soulmate, hoping that wherever her spirit soared, she was happier than him.

He was simply lost without her, stumbling through what he thought was a living hell. That was, until hell came calling for him, for all of them, from the brothers who grew tired of the Santo Padre charter, literally battering down their gates to wage war upon them. He and his brothers put up a valiant fight from the safety of the clubhouse, he and EZ manning guns at the windows, his brother yelling every so often for Sharise to take cover, who wanted so badly to try and assist.

She hid behind the end of the bar, watching her husband and Angel firing all they could, until their rounds of ammo ran out, the brother’s exchanging looks, both then ducking the hail of gunfire that hit the front of the clubhouse. Angel, however, didn’t get out of the way in time.

Sharise watched his body drop to the floor, screaming in horror as she crawled out from her hiding place, scrambling to reach him, her knees and hands scuffed upon the floorboards. None of that mattered as she removed her top, pressing it to the wound in his chest.

“Angel, I got you. Stay with me,” she spoke, pressing down, turning to look at him with wide, urgent eyes. When she watched him cough out a mouthful of blood, just as EZ skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees at his side, she knew, looking down again to see a second hole, right above his heart. If it hadn’t been broken entirely two years before, the bullet that had entered his chest certainly finished the job off.

“Angel, you’re gonna be fine,” EZ spoke, knowing he was saying the words so he’d believe them more than anything, his beloved elder brother lying there dying, spluttering again. More blood.

“It’s... okay,” he croaked, a cold swirl chilling his bones, feeling it begin to pull at him. “Love you.” His eyes flitted to Sharise, the pain in his chest feeling like a weight of fire. “You too. Gonna go find...”

Sharise sobbed, nodding, grasping his hand as she bent to kiss his head, stroking his hair lovingly with her blood-soaked hand. “I love you, too. You go find her. It’s okay, you’ll be with her soon.” She looked over at EZ, sobbing chokingly as they both clung onto him, their tear-filled eyes the last things Angel saw before the pain burned to absolutely nothing, the vacuum of death yanking him away, the endless black void pulling him under, until there was nothing at all.

The nothingness swirled around him, Angel feeling as if he was falling, endless darkness swathing him, his consciousness muddled, messy, a sharp thought occurring to him; what if he didn’t deserve to follow where she had gone? His entire body suddenly jolted, a yank that took him downwards, descending, the nothing giving way suddenly.

He could hear the ocean.

Opening his eyes, he squinted slightly, everything so bright. Brilliant white surrounded him, the smell of saltwater and fresh linen filling his nose.

The white room. He’d made it.

Turning onto his side, he reached beneath the covers, her warmth right there next to him, where he’d craved it to be in the two long, lonely years without her. He pulled at the comforter, his heart mending itself in an instant to see those pretty hazel eyes looking back at him, her beautiful smile making her entire face glow.

She looked exactly as she had the first time he’d ever seen her.

Finally, he’d found her again.

Reaching for his face, Keri moved into the warmth of his arms, kissing him softly. “What was the last thing I told you?”

He beamed at her, the love he felt no longer a painful echo of loss. “That you loved me,” he stated, fingers entwining in her hair.

“And to look after yourself, and what do you go and do? Get shot and join me a mere two years later.” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

He laughed softly through his nose, kissing her again. “I wasn’t alive in those two years, mi amor. Only existing without you.”

She stroked his face, nuzzling him. “So, you missed me then?”

He held up a tiny gap between his thumb and forefinger, her laugh sparkling in his ears. “Just this much.”

Replicating, she mouthed the words back to him before he pulled her against him, turning onto his back, holding her tightly as they kissed. Death no longer mattered, and neither did leaving everything else behind. They’d found one another again, as they were always destined to. Their souls could rest now, there in the white room.

Forever.

The End.

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes x ofc #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fic

47 notes · View notes

exoticalmonde · 1 month

Text

Arknights Chapter XIII - The Whirlpool That Is Passion (Part II)

ACTUALLY, BEFORE I FORGET, I heard that the friend count will rise to 100, so that means that anybody who needs an Ebenholz/Hoederer and doesn't require them to be max pot... can add me, so we can work together to cry a little less with each passing event.

WARNING: This post is going to contain a lot of yapping from me about Hoederer and how much I love him and will also have a LOT of spoilers.

Anyway, continuing where we left off last time with the furniture sets.

Secondhand Leather Chair

A sturdy, durable chair. It may be called secondhand, but it has actually changed hands plenty more times than that. There used to be many chairs like this in their hideouts, though the number who sit on them has dwindled over the years.

STOP ANOTHER ONE ABOUT THE LOSS OF SARKAZ LIVES, I AM DEVASTATED. Yeah, nothing can beat the sheer loneliness that Mlynar Nearl has soaked into his furniture descriptions because at least Sarkaz sticks together, but there's so much to unpack here I don't even know where to begin.

Portable Mailbox

A small, movable desk with a pile of letters stacked on top and a small lamp inside. Sometimes, Hoederer gets pieces of historical excerpts sent to him, but their senders have often already become part of history before he is able to reply.

This is what got me crying in bed when I first bought the room and went through all the pieces to read their descriptions. There is something so heart-rending about living a life full of loss. Home. Friends. Family. Relationships. Everybody turns against everybody and you have to both accept it and move on with it, because if you linger for too long - you end up dead, but if you keep being paranoid about it you will just never know peace.

I lost two close people and have been wallowing in my misery for months now. Maybe that is one more thing that really makes me like Hoederer. And I do like him.

The way I see him, he is somebody who strives to move forward without never forgetting where he started from and who he was. It's both endearing and charming and it's a great characteristic to have. It's so HARD to have it, regardless if we are talking Arknights, another game character, or IRL in general. Maybe /I'm/ being too much about it, but that's what 'comfort characters' are about, right?

Basement Wall Lamp

A lamp installed on the wall with a yellow glow and exposed wires. A red scrap of cloth is tied around the metal ring. Eventually, Ines broke free of the rope tied around her wrists and took her out in her sleep.

I genuinely love the design of the wall lamp. Except when it comes to the description. What the absolute ever-loving hell.

"Door Of Life"

A heavy double-action door that separates the living space from the workspace. One side is for living, and the other side is for making a living. To Sarkaz mercenaries, the two might not be all that different.

If this is also a sliding door I can absolutely confirm that maybe I am a part Sarkaz in the way I live, because my bedroom is separated from the living room with a sliding door like that with a handle and it is a big difference where you are living and where you are 'making' the living.

Work Area Rug

A rug resistant to stains and heat, ironically covered in tracks and oil stains. The good news is that the deep red color did not originate from dried blood.

Yeah? Thank goodness. We'd have to run some tests to figure out whose it is if we find a random blood puddle on Rhodes Island.

Simple Welded Chair

A high chair put together from industrial waste. Sturdy and durable, the beast skin covering it was specially treated and seems smooth and sleek to the touch. In Kazdel, kids tend to grab waste materials to renovate their dust-laden lives.

Work Area Wall-mounted Rack

A rack used to hang tools. Pieced together from recycled metals and extremely heavy, the good thing is that it saves space. Once, the mercenaries would hang their equipment from it. That equipment has long since scattered across the lands.

"Maybe a Bonsai"

A handcrafted cabinet used to store tools. In the vase sitting atop—welded together from scrap metal—is the only splash of green in the room. Back in that small house in the cramped Kazdel slums, it wasn't a sprouted potato they planted.

Okay, but, do you know what this means? Kazdel is familiar with what bonsai is. They know that little planted trees in pretty, perhaps painted or perhaps simpler in style potteries get to be a breath of green inside your house. Everybody and their aunt get to have a bonsai because it represents life and new beginnings and whatever folk tale they might have abound them.

I'm falling apart.

Weapon Maintenance Table

A small maintenance table used for the repair and upkeep of weapons. Not only do you need to smooth out any blemishes, you also need to wipe away the blood. This is where Ines learned to sew and mend her clothes years ago.

Me hanging out there for absolutely no reason with my overhead lamp and under-hand lamp while I'm cross-stitching. That's how I imagine this being used. Perhaps me and Ines can have tea here.

Work Area Ceiling Lights

A light source used for precision tasks. Warm, stable, and dependable. Comes with an air ventilation system to ensure that any volatile gases or metallic dust can be removed in time. Hoederer often worked under its light, quiet and taciturn.

Now that I am well-prepared with the horrors that are the living conditions of the Sarkaz, I'm going to go check out how things have been going with Hoederer's skills and then we actually start Chapter 13 reading.

In the meantime, this is what the Bandorio list looks like. Except here, I forgot to take out Noir and Nothing because Lessing, Zhuo Le and Logos are coming. A lot of men with L in their names approaching my vicinity.

Decided to start top to bottom since I don't think I might need him yet for the Adverse stages. It's been two weeks almost, so he's pretty much complete. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had the gall to offer my services to those who got him but have other priorities.

...

You--- What even is this? Cyclicene Prefab? Another rock? It was a joke at first, but this is becoming ridiculous. ALL my men either huff paint or eat salt and nobody is going to bat an eye for it? What do you NEED this for???

An industrial product arrived at through the introduction of several excellent materials into the synthesis process, preserving luminous transmittance while vastly increasing strength and shock resistance. Prospects are high for its wide adoption in the field of defense.

Guess we are going to deal with M3-ing the other skill while I am dealing with this.

...

You're joking.

The gel. He wants his gel back.

At least I got to grind enough to get him up as fast as possible. Every single day was a: log-on, get base money and cards, level him up with like... 2-3 levels and leave up to 80 and then every day was a single level grind until I had no sanity.

Well, Mrs. Zofia, we are on a standstill until I manage to procure any coagulated gel. Tempted to pump levels into Crimson Solitaire or some other, but I'm not in the mood.

Imagine Zofia walks into the training room, having come from Lundi's RI specifically because she has to train with Hoederer and then just spots him eating a whole, boiled chicken for his regimen.

Pinkie: "She would thumbs-up him as a greeting." Me: "I love him."

#arknights #doctor of ri shenanigans #doctor of ri #doctor arknights #arknights chapter 13 #arknights chapter update #arknights hoederer #arknights vendela #arknights verdant #arknights pulls #arknightc gacha #arknights ines #arknights w #arknights babbling #the whirlpool that is passion #eve is insane again #also a winner

6 notes · View notes

mopcycle100 · 2 years

Text

thinks abt how takenaka joins telepathy club the first time in hopes of finding another telepath like him. by the time we meet him, takenaka has had his powers for years, and unlike mob, he's had a negative perception of his powers from the start. Years of dealing with his powers alone, and lashing out at people using said powers to make himself feel better would likely lead to tunnel vision on his end. I see it as similar to pre-mob teru, who believes he's at the top of the world alone and special, but in takenaka's case, rather than seeing himself as special, he thinks only he suffers alone from the drawbacks of telepathy. No one else can relate to him, he's been beaten down so much he can't see it happening. The manga really drives this home, where he explicitly tells Mob that they have nothing in common: the psychic skillsets Mob and the Shiratori brothers possess could not be comparable to his own. He couldn't fathom them understanding his awful experiences (Mob would disagree).

The way I see it in the grand scheme of things... Takenaka doesn't believe other people can empathize with his situation. The invasive property built into telepathy turns ppl away from him too (again, he explicitly confirms this in the manga). He likely feels so alone and alienated (bah dum tss) that when given the chance to possibly meet other telepaths, he takes it. (I understand feelings of intense loneliness considering I lived alone for a year and I'd latched onto the one guy who'd invite me out to places) But when that backfires on his face because it didn't meet his perceived expectations (aka he desperately wanted to meet someone in the same position as him), takenaka retreats within himself more, leading to his more visceral rudeness towards the telepathy club in ch98 when he comes back.

But ironically enough, the telepathy club was the place takenaka belonged to at the end. Not for his initial reasons of joining (hoping to find other telepaths), but because they provide him company, something that he likely deprived himself of due to his powers. Sure, the telepathy club members are taken aback by his powers when he uses it on them, but they brush it off and show their honest desire to make tomes wish come true. Takenaka said it himself that people don't want anything to do with him once they found out abt his telepathy, yet the club is able to brush it off after their initial surprise, only asking him for his help and not judging him further for his powers (even Tome doesn't judge him for his telepathy, and the two share friendly banter in ch99). And it warms my heart seeing him in the epilogue, where he's still in the club, telling mob they'll summon aliens again, and in his tiny cameos, he looks much more happier in comparison to ch 98.

tl;dr takenaka was always meant to be in the telepathy club in a way he hadn't thought of

#balls #incoherent takenaka rambles #<- new tag for me to talk abt takenaka meta but ik I'm not articulate #and I'm scatterbrained too sorr #also I'd like to imagine takenaka has really really horrendous confirmation bias #and is always taken aback when proven wrong (e.g. his only omake appearance and when Mob is openly earnest with him)#even if he doesn't use his telepathy to confirm those biases his standoffishness shows that he's not willing to hear ppl out #it's honestly why takenaka having a crush on tsubomi and joining tennis club for her makes me giggle but also surprises me #he really just is a silly guy #mp100 manga spoilers #<- tagging cuz I talk abt stuff that hasn't been shown in the anime oops

45 notes · View notes

blindedguilt · 4 months

Text

It's been quiet for some time, Leonard had noticed — not unlike the time he spent in the forest. It left him feeling some way he couldn't exactly tell. Was it unease? Possible loneliness? Either one was a feeling he hadn't expected to come back in such a way, but similarly, again, it had dug up a familiar memory of the forest...

Having finished tending to the small bonfire where he sat, Leonard's shoulders dropped and his head leaned back. For the first time since his pact — since meeting Seere — he wished he could be relieved of his blindness if only to confirm he wasn't alone as he thought he was.

The bonfire's warmth kept him comfortable, at least, as did the hope of the momentary thought that echoed throughout his mind: Time would tell.

//So this isn't an easy decision, but after a couple weeks of mulling it over, I've decided to put this blog into semi-permanent hiatus - basically, if things change either with the state of the RPC or my motivation to write I'll be more than eager to return, though it does seem unlikely.

//Things have been quiet lately, and it's of course by no means anyone's fault for being quiet!! (I can't blame them, life and Tumblr bullshit have taken a toll on a large portion of the RPC as a whole lately) But in the end, I think it had more of an effect on my motivation to write than even I expected. I tried for the past year or so to "Get back on my feet", as even now I deeply miss Leonard and being able to write him, but evidentially, I haven't gotten very far QwQ

//That said!! While this could be it for this blog, if anyone wants to discuss plans for plotting or even just chatting over Discord (At the end of the post), lemme know! One of the hardest things about the choice to leave this blog behind is definitely the loss of community that comes with it, there were a lot of people who followed me and that I briefly spoke to these past months who I don't want to cut off a potential friendship with just because of my own personal circumstances!

//And going onto that topic, I won't be shutting down or removing any current drafts or asks in my inbox in the event I ever magically DO get motivation to write again or something changes, and of course, that in turn means the blog itself will be staying as well!! You might have guessed, it goes without saying that this blog and the interactions on it mean a great deal not to just me, but (At least I hope!!) some of you. It's also a bit of why I wanted to "wrap up" the blog with the in-character piece at the top, even given my issues with writing (I may add to it to make it feel more "complete", given I kinda don't like how half-assed it feels currently), it just didn't feel fair to go for what could be forever without letting him speak his final piece. :,)

//I won't spend too long waxing out all the sentimentals, but I've stated over and over how when I first made this blog, I really wasn't expecting it to last much more than a couple weeks before moving onto another character. It's kind of impossible for me to state just how much this blog and all the experiences on it mean to me personally and the impact it's left, both personally, as I mentioned before, but also in my enjoyment and love for Drakengard 1 and 2 and Leonard's character specifically! Being able to dive into his mind and find someone I can put together so easy with such a well-constructed tragedy, it's not much of an overstatement to say that ironically, being able to play and put my own mind and problems away for one I not only cared to look into, but one I could more easily pick apart and explain the actions of while being layered enough and having enough facets to make it interesting. Leonard in a lot of ways was and is a sort of second life for me, but in a way I didn't have to deal with the burden of having a psychical body or firsthand perspective! lmao

//And not to be sounding all overdramatic or anything but as I said, it's letting go of not just what feels sort of like a little hideout or small part of me I like to nurture and keep from falling into rot, but this blog is some of the most fun I've had in a horribly otherwise busy, yes, but very mundane outside life. It's sort of pathetic to admit, but I mean it in the best way I can when I say I haven't really gotten so emotionally engaged with anything in a long time. Just the small interactions and memorable snippets from this blog, both from long-standing partners, people who fell off, or even people I just spoke to once and then never again still play over in my head and definitely spark a lot of joy when I really need it! I'll be honest, there's not one day that goes by where I don't think of at least one interaction I've had here. I remember my pain at being in a different timezone and always falling behind the drama before I went to the US and could finally catch up. To update on that: I'm not doing too well in the US in all honesty, but I'm doing my best to get on my feet and making progress!! One of the first things I always did in difficult situations was, unironically, use this blog to reference some old posts and memes to laugh and think about all the new connections, subplots, and jokes that were going to be shared.

//I guess the final point I'd like to make is a short one, but a major argument I had against shutting down when the thought first entered my mind, and the hardest part of all this is the loss of potentiality. I had a lot planned for Leonard, both things that I actively wanted to do and just general questions of "What kind of people will he meet with next? What will he think of them, and how long will they get to develop with each other?" The thought both of meeting new people and the interactions that could be shared with them, as well as all the different interactions and shenanigans that I thought might be in store when the DOD RPC came back was a major motivator in why I kept trying to fight my writer's block, and why I even kept this blog going for the past year with barely any activity to speak of. Even going on Discord, as you might imagine, can be limiting in its setup compared to just being able to search and see who's out there via tumblr - and joining communities can be quite an issue being a Leonard mun, specifically!!

//But either way, I'll be sure to find my way around it one way or another, and hopefully, by some divine miracle, I'll just end up back at this blog anyways!! Again, the chances are slim, but I'm really holding out here dskhffkdbhdkh

//I think that should be it based off what I wanted to say, Leonard's left nice and comfy at his campfire, and it's getting late so with ALL that said, if we've spoken or never have before (ESPECIALLY if we never have, I like to believe you followed for a reason so I'd love to speak to you so we can get to know each other better, plot, or just chat!!), please consider following me on Discord!! I'm usually on there, and always happy to talk (Unless I'm on Do not Disturb, but that's hardly ever lol):

//My discord is: barnabism

//Anyways, I apologise for the downer announcement, but this has been wracking my brain for the past few days so I'm at least glad just to get the hard part over with. :,)

//Thank you all for over two years of writing!! Please don't be afraid to reach out, and as always, if you have any questions, please ask!! ^^

#Important #||OOC||#{/man; im getting all emotional now lmao}#{/ive had this draaft open all day i literally have like 36 tumblr posts to catch up to now.....}#{/in the morning; though; im tired and have a doctors app early today}#{/posting this will hopefully get rid of some of the HUGE struggles I've been having in the past couple days; but... *crumples*}#{/I'M GONNA MISS YOU GUYS SO MUCHHHHH 😭😭}#{nevertheless! that is why I gave my Discord lmao}#{/Goodnight!! And as I said before; thank you all so much :'))

5 notes · View notes

syeunko · 1 year

Text

2022

Quit CVS and secured my first big-girl, full-time, fully remote job

Got confirmed (Baptism)

Tried omakase, surfing, and ceramics (loved, liked, and tolerated, respectively) for the first time

Traveled to Barcelona by myself! (Ok, it was one day. But still) + Portugal with Hanna

Got my first tattoo, and three more thereafter

Moved out of Boston, my home for the past 8 years

Into Williamsburg, New York

But visited Korea in between

Caught COVID for the first time

Witnessed 2 weddings

Lived with a dog

Discovered a love for thrifting

The unplanned nature of all these events, save one, is the common denominator, and goes to show two things: one, how little control or gauge I have over the happenings of my life, and two, I’m not much of a planner.

Which is sort of ironic, considering how much I dislike not knowing things. I easily give up on a problem if I can’t get the answer right away, often frequent the Wikipedia “Plot Summary” section for most movies, and am more comfortable in the position of asking questions rather than answering them.

But I’m not a fan of questions like “What is your passion? Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” And especially the Christian edition: “How is God working in your life right now? What are you struggling with?”

I find them to be such big, meaty questions, either questions I mostly don’t know the answer to or questions with complex answers I don’t feel like sharing. I’d go as far to say they’re overwhelming, because heck if I know how to artfully say, “I have no passions nor any plans for the next 5 years” or feel comfortable disclosing struggles I’m sure are universal to most humans.

There’s nothing like the advent of a new year, rife with prospects and unknowns, to raise big questions and reflections with no definitive answers. I hate it.

But if there’s one thing I learned in 2022, it’s the importance of continuing to ask these types of questions, if only to myself for myself; they musn’t be glossed over simply because I’m not satisfied with who’s asking the questions or the effort needed to digest them.

The main question I found myself asking this year was “What does it look like to live a life with purpose?” Not so much in those words, because really, who wakes up everyday and asks themselves, “How do I live purposefully today?” (If you do, I don’t want to be friends with you.) But I’d question my motivations for work, evaluate my spending habits and time management, scrutinize my shortcomings as a friend, sister, and daughter, evaluate my impact in my community, and wrestle with trying to reconcile my status as a sinner to my position as a child of God.

2022 marked my first year out of college, and I learned a lot. I learned Grace’s Chinese name this summer despite being friends with her for the past 6 years, that respecting boundaries is respecting yourself, dogs are a good cure for loneliness, the freedom of a paycheck, to be more patient, the ins and outs of Teams etiquette and drafting Outlook emails, what a gift covenantal friendship is, more about God, the importance of buttons, and most importantly, how little I know.

Many a time I’ve dismissed “purpose” as a loaded buzzword; it’s a term so overtly obvious it’s confusing. I know what it means, yet somehow the semantics get hazy when I want it to materialize as tangible actions. Maybe that’s the point - I really don’t know, leaving me little choice but to trust God by reaffirming to myself the uncomfortable truth of my brazen ineptitude. Nevertheless, it’s a question I’m going to continue chewing on in 2023.

To chew on it in more practical terms, I’ve decided on monthly resolutions. Like I’ve mentioned, I’m not enough of a planner to realistically bring New Year's resolutions into fruition, but monthly goals seem more reasonable. My plan is to do a monthly update for each goal, so I’m putting this out there on the internet in hopes of keeping myself accountable. First up is No-Buy-January!

“Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, even without noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.” - Sue Klebold

Here’s to learning to appreciate questions without immediate answers~

0 notes

whiskeyswifty · 2 years

Text

my favorite thing about closure.mp3 is how it's such a classic example of fundamental taylor-ology subject matter, struggling with the frayed ends of an unresolved relationship, romantic or otherwise, but it's the final evolutionary form. and it's fitting that it's called closure because all her years she has crooned endlessly in search of that very thing, desperate for it and calling out to those on the other end of broken relationships to give her closure.

it takes different forms. sometimes she's longing for them still, and hopes to find closure in the form of mutual longing where she wishes the other person to feel the same way about the breakup as she does. is it killing you like it's killing me? and just between us did the love affair maim you too? sometimes she fully projects onto them, it reminds you of innocence and I bet you think about me. Longing is less painful if she knows they're both longing for each other, as it alleviates the loneliness longing often brings. and if she can at least feel less alone, then she can start to move on

or she seeks closure in mutual recognition of their relationship as she saw it, their history as she wrote it. we were something don't you think so? and don't you think I was too young to be messed with and you never called it what it was and the constant repetition in Out of the Woods of i remember, i remember and in the tour version she even adds do you remember? She's reaching out for confirmation that they felt what she felt, that their relationship was as deep and meaningful to them as it was to her. because if it didn't mean as much to them, if they don't remember it as good as she remembers it, then she really was as foolish as they made her feel in the bad moments. she needs this one last validation she was right so she can lay it to rest and move on.

Another way is vindictive inditement where she's furious that they HAVE claimed their relationship was meaningless and so she needs them to feel shame and confront her version of the truth. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed and when you can't sleep at night you hear my stolen lullabies and look what you made me do. sometimes that vindication is trojan horsed in the form of flaunting how good she's apparently doing without them and rubbing in their face how not hung up on them at all she is, i forgot that you existed and i'm shining like fireworks over your sad empty town. she needs them to feel bad, as their guilt will validate her pain as warranted because they admit to having caused it. she can rest easy knowing she isn't being dramatic. She believes she can get some kind of closure from that validation.

and even on the flip side of that, she seeks closure in the form of assurance from the other person that they think well of her. there was happiness because of me and thinking that i hate you now cause you still don't know what i never said and something reminds you you wish you had stayed and hope you know this ain't easy for me and when you hear tim mcgraw hope you think of me. in these moments she might have accepted their ending but she needs to be assured they think well of her so she can move on.

she's always reaching out, seeking a response, an answer, validation or confirmation or explanation of some kind for a relationship that ended seemingly without reason. that's what she thinks will bring her closure. she's desperate for it, and only after that last text or call will she no longer be hung up on it and can move on. and curiously then in the song closure... she finally gets it. she got the message from them yes i got your letter. she got their admission of fault and accepting the blame looks like you know that now. they do think highly of her staying friends would iron it out so nice. and yet, now that she finally got the closure she has sought for a decade, she rejects it, i don't need your closure. why? because she had already found closure. before the letter arrived she had already moved on and was happier, yes i'm doing better. she hadn't waited around for it or desperately begged for it. she soothed herself, had begun to exorcize them from her life on her own, and start to fill in the gaps they left behind, I'm fine with my spite and my tears, and my beers and my candles. and she knew that any kind of closure she willed them to give her would be self motivated or forced anyway, it's fake and it's oh so unnecessary. for if they wanted to still be with her, they would be, and they told her what she needed to know already by ending their relationship, reaching out across the sea that you put between you and me. and even more extraordinarily, you can hear the shakiness in her voice, the tightness of her jaw in her delivery. she's not over it yet but is stronger now in her convictions to know to reject it.

because after all these years of searching, the song shows that taylor has arrived at the solution to the great mystery of loose ends and what if's and how to move on from heartbreak. it's even a bit meta in the way how this song shows she has found closure in her search for closure. the answer is that the only person who can ultimately give you the closure you seek is yourself.

#taylor swift #evermore #closure #TRULY underrated and i know a lot of you think it 'sounds weird' but you're MISSING OUT #it's a great step in maturity in her life that was a sigh of relief to hear upon first listen #it's almost like the archer and how that was her first admission of fault honestly and directly #i LOOOOVE the maturity of themes over the years in her work #best best best topic to talk about #and also closure as one of the few outright songs addressing The Thing if you believe its about what i believe its about #romantic or not!#also this might be my longest post..... i'm so sorry

120 notes · View notes

pretentious-clownery · 2 years

Text

join me as i watch the lego batman movie for the first time (yes i’m late but fuck you)

JOKER I LOVE YOU

why did i recognize the calendar man bc of starkid-

“but all i’m getting is this hold music!i love it” YES

the joker is gay say it with me

wiat why do we give a ahit about the mayor

OH AHIT ITS BRUCE WAYNE-I MEAN BATMAN

“always bet on black”-batman whilst wearing a blonde wig,not surprised tbh

WHY IS BATMAN AND THE JOKER SO GAY

LIKE THE WHOLE “i’m fine with you fighting other people but-“ THEYRE BOYFRIENDS

“are you saying there nothing special about our relationship” JESUS CHRIST THEYRE NOT EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT

petition to have superhero movies all be lego

j bird is my official name for the joker now

“batman doenst do ships” bitch tell that to your fandom

“there is no us” “batman and joker are not a thing “ THE WAY THE JOKER SHAKES HIS HEAD AND TEARS UP

GIVE THIS CRIMINAL A HUG

“i don’t need you” HE NEEDS YOU THO BATS ,WHY ARE YOU BREAKING UO WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND

“you mean nothing to me” JOKERS LIPS QUIVERING IM GONNA CRY HE LOVES HIM SO MUCH

i’m 12 minutes in i-

i like to think that while everyone is praising batman joker is crying to taylor swift

“i love you more than my kids “ i didn’t know my parents were in this movie

why did i think when he asked where the orphanage was that he was gonna either set it on fire or beat up the orphans-

IS THAT ROBIN

“take care of your abs” gonna write that on my wall

aw the kid with the glasses that i think is robin didn’t get anything but still loves the rich asshole

“what’s the password “ “iron man sucks” THEY WENT THERE AND I LOVE THEM FOR THAT

i mean i agree

did he pull that out is his pocket??

is he wearing a fucking THONG

why is the lighting so good it’s a fucking lego movie

ok but the silence after the loud atmosphere to show his loneliness is so good and smart??

is he laughing at what i think is a sad scene

batman honey you can take off your mask y’know

like you’re at your house you can be yourself

hes talking to his parents aw

DID HE KICK ALFRED INTO THE FUCKING PIANO BY ACCIDENT??

JESUS CHRIST THAT GIVES ME A BIGGER REASON TO BE AFRAID OF HIM

why is this so fuxking meta i love it

“don’t you think it’s time to face your greatest fear?” ”snakes?” “ no” “clowns?” “no”

batman how are you afraid of your boyfriend

SNAKE CLOWNS OML

“nope now it’s snake clowns bc you put that idea in my head” same

“you’re gonna have a great time!” “nonono” “you might meet some new people “ “nonono” “you could even make some new friends!” “nONONONONONONO-“ why is this me

did he beatbox no

OML TUXEDO DRESSING PARTY

the only party i wnat to go to honestly

why do all of his tuxedos really suck

“superman gets it,why can’t batman” *sinks into his chair* your honour give him a hug

“you deserve better than batman” HARLEY BE SPEAKING FACTS

joker is so upset

joker would like olivia rodrigo and blast good 4 u and favorite crime CHANGE MY MF MIND

WHY IS VOLDY THERE

oh god what’s his idea

“he’s the greatest orphan of all time!” why is he actually right

in every batman movie we see his parents die

he’s become an orphan so many times it’s ridiculous

“i’m just so jazzed to meet you”

JAZZED??

oml bruce just said it

robin with eyeliner oml

BRUCE YOU HAVE A BF WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU LOOKING AT

ok she’s badass

IS THE JOKER ACTUALLY SURRENDERING WAIT

“apapapapapapa” “you run and i catch you” theyre boyfriends carol

“you were right.there is no us” in any other movie this would be an emotional scene but in this movie it’s a VERY EMOTIONAL scene

but joker is right

his plans often have a back up taht is literally him getting captured so why not just surrender

is he actually saying blink

why do i love him and kinda relate to him

“i just wanna go to arkham and pay for all my crimes” bitch who are you trying to fool

still love him

“BLINK BLINK BLINK BLINK BLINK BLINK-“

joker is an anime girl confirmed

“i’m of the menu! you won’t get to fight *this* anymore” is he calling himself a snack

“riddle me this!WHAT JUST HAPPENED” i love the riddler

OK WIAT EVERYTHING WHEN DARK BC NOTHING MATTERS TO HIM BUT THE POLICE CAR WITH THE JOKER AND JOKER HIMSELF ARE STILL COLORFUL

DO I SENSE THAT BATMAN ACTUALLY DOES LOVE JOKER BUT SIMPLY JUST IS IN DEEP DENIAL HMM??

“no more crime!” are they actually that stupid? do they really think that all crime is over? even though someone new could spawn ??

aw the soft music when it shows robin being adorable and bruce realizing he has to raise him is actually so wholesome

“and i must say,i’ve grown rather fond of the young lad” same alfred,same

he’s saying hello to the table protect this angel at all costs

“i’ve always wanted one of those” can i give him a hug

i love robin sm

“don’t call me dad” “okay papa”

HE CALLED HIM DAD AND BATMAN DIDNT OBJECT TO IT IM GONNA CRY

he’s proud of him i’m actually going to cry

DAMMIT YOU RUINED IT

harley is such a queen

JESUS THEY ACTUALLY BROUGHT ALL THE VILLAINS I

VOLDYS HERE

“with an eye for jewellery” y e s

NO SHIT THEYRE POWERFUL

“ask your nerd friends” what if you are the nerd friend

“actually this is pretty terrifying bat-dad” i love him so fucking much

“where’s homeboys bat cave” i wnat this on my wall

“are you trying to tell me bruce wayne is batman

‘s roommate?” I LOVE THIS SM

“i’m rubbing my butt all over your stuff” “we’re gonna have to rename this the butt-mobile” why is he like this

YES ALFRED JOIN THEM

unironically alfred is such a fucking badass

them dissing suicide squad i love it

bitvh there was an entire trilogy to destroy sauron you do not have time to destroy it NOW

his autopilot oml

HE CALLED ALFRED GRANDPA IM GONNA CRY

“endgame is the biggest crossover” what’s THIS THEN HMM

NO ALFRED CANT DIE

oh thank gods

alfreda british insults are iconic

“have you realized you have never said the words i hate you joker?”

mf they’re not even trying to hide it are they

WHY IS THIS SO GAY

LIKE WHO GAVE THEM THE RIGHT

THEYRE CHEERING FOR THEM SAME

they’re all invited to the wedding

“i’m not gonna be part of a one sided relationship any longer!” OH STRAIGHT UP JUST SAYING-OK GOT IT

harley and joker being gay best friends is what we deserved all this time

ok that light bitch is speaking facts

batman ,while not being a bad guy,he really isn’t great either

HIM TAKING THE NIGHTWING SUIT YES

him and robin bonding in their own way aw <3

THE CLASSIC FIGHT SOUND AFFECTS YES

“winguediam leviosHUT UP!” love that

“GET OFF MY PADRE” YOU TELL EM DICK

“the most powerful weapon at all,shredded abs”

“if there’s no gotham,then i’ll never get to fight you again “ he really knows how to change his mind huh

HIM LISTING ALL THE TJONGS THE JOKER IS THE REASON FOR IS ODDLY TOUCHING??

“and if it wasn’t for you,i never would have learned how connected i am with all these people.

and you”

brb gonna go SOB

“you’ll help me save us” theyre in love

“you just said us”

y’all

why do i have a new ship

“you had me at shut up” YES

my new wallpaper

then having to take off their hairs to connect is actually a fun detail

eXCUSE ME THAT IS *VERY* CLOSE

HE SAID THAT HE HATES HIM AWW

“i hate you too” “i hate you more” “i hate you the most” “i hate you forever” GET A ROOM

NO BATMAN STAY WITH YOUR BF AND SON

“my two dads are the same dad! but they’re both leaving…” i’m gonna cry

ok bruce talking about how losing people is part of life and how you need to let people in no matter what is just so meaningful and i love this sm

THANK YOU FOR SAYING PLATONIC

NO HE HAS TO SAY WITH HIS SON PLS NO

THEYRE HUGGING

NO YOURE GONNA CRY SHUT UP

all of the villains watching him ascend oml

DID HE GET REJECTED YAY

THEYRE ALL BONDING YES

“holy family photo batman we did it!” YES

him calling him dad yes

the credits YES

alfred playing the guitar >>

“i really hope this thing wasn’t recording “ oh boy do i have some news

NOOO ITS OVER WHYYY

#legobatman #lego batman movie #batjokes #will watches films

117 notes · View notes

stellocchia · 3 years

Text

This is part 3 of the Comprehensive Analysis of c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship during the Exile Arc

Part 1 - Part 2

Here we go again! When I started this I did NOT think it would be this long or take this much time, that said the Exile Arc is very nice to rewatch. There are a lot of little moments I didn’t notice on first watch.

Anyway, as always from here on out it’ll all be about the characters and we will be discussing some heavy topics so do keep that in mind!

We are now onte the 4th proper Exile stream: Tommy Is Holding It Together in Exile with Dream

This one peculiarly enough does not start with Tommy drowning. Also I want to mention that this is the second time during exile where Tommy mentions that he thinks he is allucinating. The first time it was in regard to seeing a group of mobs, this time it was in regard to Tubbo being on-line. Also at the beginning of the stream he finds a present left from HBomb consisting of 1 fire resistance potion 1 strenght II potion, Wait and a photo of the Queen, Tubbo and Vikkstar.

“We need to do something and quick today. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but every single day at the start of my stream Dream logs on uh... and I’m starting... *sigh* he said that Technoblade was over there” (moment when he decides to go scout out Techno’s cabin)

“Okay, what if- just- just to investigate it because I know- I know that big man Dream wouldn’t be too happy if he knew so...” (the manipulation is turning out to be quite effective)

By the way, the reason Tommy states for wanting to see Techno at this point is literally just too feel again like there was someone near (he did say “to smell” someone near, which does tie in with him saying he could “almost smell” Dream when he was searching Techno’s cabin when only Ghostbur and Tommy were there, which I’m sure we could analize further, but I won’t), not to team with him. Once again, :t no point was it Tommy’s intention for them to team up.

“I’m very lonely out here heh, I’m very lonely back home” (casual use of “home” to referr to Logstedshire)

“I wanna go back, I wanna go back. I don’t like this no I don’t like this now we’ve been away for too long” (panicked speach patterns get worse the longer he is away)

“Friend??? No, horse” (Lmao)

“Dream wouldn’t want me going in here...” “Dream wouldn’t like it if I was here! Dream wouldn’t like it if I stole! He’d loose his shit, he’d loose his shit. Surely not...” *Dream joins the game* “oh Oh OH NO! I’m in deep fried shit!”

I want to point out that I personally think a bit of time has passed since last stream, mainly because of this progression. At this point it’s not only fear of physical pain prompting him to act a certain way, it’s also Dream’s conditioning: suddenly what Dream wants it’s extremely important and the same goes with what he would and wouldn’t approve of. And, if I remember correctly, this particular scene was quite the eye opener for a lot of the audience at the time.

“Okay we run back we run back we run back we run back *screams* okay which way’s back? which way’s back? which way’s back? He [Dream] can’t know he can’t know” (panicked speach patterns once again, getting worse)

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone there, that was stupid that was stupid that was stupid” (self-loathing)

“Now how do I get home?” “No no, chat, we should just get home!” “We should probably get home quick” “Is anyone at home? Maybe Wilbur came home” (Logsteshire has now the title of “home”, but it’s definitely not safe)

“No!” *creeper blows up* “*sigh* I deserve that” (self-loathing)

“You know let’s clean up our land. What we need to do before... before He arrives. Maybe we should make a little safe spot, nah, there isn’t enough time today. You know I reckon after last night He is gonna be okay with us, He is gonna be much more...” (hard time speaking or thinking about Dream)

Tommy proceeds to seat down with the compass listening to Far and looking towards L’Manburg for a while. Then Tubbo (hallucination, which is quite worrying) comes out of the portal with the compass in hand and they stare at each other for a bit, after that he keeps seeing Tubbo (always hallucination) throughout the stream.

“I actually just woke up Tommy and I came straight here, to visit you” “Why would you go stra- straight here?” “Because I wanted to see you~” “Why?” “Uh, because we’re friends” “Oh yeah... hi Dream!” “Hello”

Dream arrives and blows up Tommy’s armour and weapons (I actually did not remember about Dream taking the weapons every time as well, but it does make sense in Dream’s f*cked up way considering that his intent was leaving Tommy entirely defenceless so that he would be more dependent on him). This time though, Dream makes Tommy light up the tnt, with minimal resistance from Tommy at this point (he just says: “I don’t really want to”, but he can’t bring himself to resist more then that).

I do find quite interesting that every time they seem to have the blowing up and insecurities part of the conversation at first and then basically re-start all over. It happened last stream as well. Also, Dream keeps accentuating 2 points to Tommy: how everything back in L’Manburg is better without him there and how, while it is basically effortless to come visit Tommy, he is the only one making the effort (even going as far as going to visit first thing in the morning).

“I’ve had a little idea by the way, I want to know what you think” “Okay” “And also if I’m allowed” “Okay” “*sigh* Basically, I’ve been thinking, you know how we made our Big Path to get home?” “Yes, it’s been a little while” “Yeah yeah, I’m thinking: I throw a party!”

So, couple of things to talk about here: Tommy feels the need to constantly ask Dream for permission (because Dream just puts so many rules to this supposed “exile”), another indication of some time having passed since the last stream for them, considering that the last stream was literally the day before irl (I’m talking about the “it’s been a little while” part) and also this is when we are introduced to the idea of the party.

“I’m allowed? I’m allowed?” “Yeah, can I come?” “Of co- uh- yeah” “Okay, they’re allowed to come” (talking about the party)

“Well Dream, is it me or is it you that’s been left by themselves for about 13 days now?” (irl it’s been 4-5 days, though at least now we have a bit of a timeframe for them as well)

Ghostbur arrives with Phil (who gifts Tommy the Tommy Slippers, which are a pair of diamond boots, a stack of black wool, 8 iron blocks and a Friendship Emerald)

“Guys are you- are you real?” “Am I real?” “Because I keep fucking seeing... I keep seeing Tubbo” (Tommy finally mentioning the hallucination to others, also Ghostbur pretends to see him, though it was confirmed later on that he wasn’t there)

“Dream’s here by the way, Dream’s always here” (now that’s kinda ominous)

“Dream, Dream I swear to Christ I think I just kept seeing Tubbo” “I didn’t see him, I never saw him once. Phil didn’t see him either, it was only you and Wilbur. Pretty sure he wasn’t here~” “My eyes are not the most reliable, I see lots of things”

I’d say from here on out is when Tommy starts trusting Dream over his and Ghostbur’s perceptions of reality. After all, as I said at the start, this is not the first, nor the last time where he questions his own perception of reality and, as we talked about in the last analysis, it’s not the first time that Dream tries to assert himself as his main source of information (callback to him negating having ever destroyed any of Tommy’s belongings). Also Fundy came to visit giving Tommy an efficiency II fortune I diamond axe (may I point out now how Fundy is literally the one person, aside from Dream and Ghostbur, visiting the most and how he is the only one aside from Ghostbur always saying “hi” whenever Tommy logs on? Their friendship is so underrated).

“I’m going- I’m going crackers...” “Hi Tommy! I think- I think I saw Tubbo as well” “Dream was Tubbo here?” “I did not ever see Tubbo, but I don’t know, I haven’t seen him” (confirmation of what I said before)

“Dream, now that you showed up everyone started to visit me again!” “Well I think it’s just because the- well, to be fair, are they here with you right now? They’re just running around, like, I don’t think they are here visiting you, they’re just visiting Logstedshire” “Oh” (Dream enhancing Tommy’s feeling of loneliness)

“He [Tubbo] told me he missed you” “Really?” “Well-” “Yeah! I gave him a compass that pointed towards you at all times and he siad ‘I really miss him'“ “Really?” “Yeah” (...) “I thought I saw the compass in a chest, like he threw it in a chest in the Community House, but I’m not- maybe it was a different compass, I’m not sure”

Ghostbur was actually a great support during Tommy’s exile. From pointing out the holes in Dream’s rules, to trying and reassure and support Tommy when he is feeling down, often going directly against Dream’s narrative, even going as far as creating a physical connection between Tommy and Tubbo through the compasses. It’s no surprise then that Dream tried to get rid of him right after this stream. Tommy builds his first girlfrend, “hot girl”.

“Hey Tommy, don’t you worry, I’ll be at the beach party!” (Ghostbur said, like a liar...)

“Wilbur did you burn my hit novel?” “No!” “I heard you did” “No!” “Did you know that that was the only book in history that sold better then the Bible?” “No! No! No! Didn’t do it!” (Ghostbur said again, like a liar...)

“Wilbur we need a chest room” “No I don’t really need one, I just go to L’manburg” “Low blow ghost” (Ghost [derogatory])

“I’m sleep deprived” (we’re back into character after the 20 minutes of them bullying Brand)

“I have a gift for you Tommy” *gives Tommy iron helmet, chestplate and pants* “Armour? For me?” “Yeah” “Oh thank you, thank you!” “You’re welcome”

Remember this part because Dream will use this as a point against Tommy when destroying Logstedshire, just like Techno does later on. In case anyone was wondering: if you give something freely to someone as a gift you have literally no right to then hold it over their head at a later date. That’s just manipulative as shit.

This neds with Phil, Dream and Tommy making a cake for the beach party and deciding on the last few details, and:

“We’re getting better everyone. We’re getting- are we- we’re getting better. I guess- I guess we’re bonding... *sigh* I guess...”

I’ll leave this off by reminding everyone that Dream and Tommy called Dream blowing up Tommy’s armour and weapons “bonding”.

#dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #ghostbur #exile arc #tw abuse #tw manipulation #relationship analysis #long post #my post #I was thinking of doing 2 streams at a time every time #but including the beach party stream analysis in this post literally made my tumblr crash multiple times #so screw that!

172 notes · View notes

neonponders · 3 years

Text

Surprise! Here’s a part 2 for my fic, Deeper Than Skin ~ read on ao3 •

Thank you SO MUCH @edith-moonshadow for donating to Harringrove for Palestine, AND letting me indulge in my fic some more.

👠 👠 👠 👠 👠 👠

Billy’s thumb pressed along Steve’s arch, holding the pressure for a few seconds as he went along . . .

He peeked up at the sound of ocean-swaying breaths at the head of the bed. As if he could hear the exact moment Steve fell into REM sleep, clutching Billy’s latest gift to his chest.

An elephant ear leaf plushie. It was half the size of Steve, and it’s heart-shape tucked under his chin to pillow his cheek perfectly. The soft micro-fleece behaved like crushed velvet, the light absorbing inside the dark, unsettled fibers where Steve touched it.

Billy had gotten very good at choosing gifts for him.

Steve’s apartment was slowly filling up with Billy’s tokens of affection. The window seat had become a shelf for Steve’s shoe boxes; only three so far, but Billy intended to get him a proper shoe rack, or renovate his closet

Or have Steve move into his place. Billy wanted nothing more in the world. To get home to Steve slumped on the couch, immediately complaining of incongruent television plots as if Billy had never left the room. To see Steve’s shirts and clutter in their closet despite Steve being gone for work. To put his shoe collection on display in any room Steve wanted, so he could live in the open with his interests, instead of walking laps in their closet.

Not all of his gifts were expensive. That proved the trick. The key to Steve’s locked tight heart. Most were certainly pricey, but once Billy knew what he liked, what he constituted as worth it, then he couldn’t help himself.

A coffee table book of The New Yorker’s covers, spreads, and topmost articles throughout the 20th century. Steve stared at that thing for hours.

The elephant ear pillow clutched to Steve’s chest now, among other plant cushions. Steve claimed he couldn’t keep anything alive, so Billy gave him a pink and blue sedum succulent, a purple and green echeveria, and a monstera leaf. He now lay in his garden, sound asleep despite Billy’s rolling a cold tennis ball around his heel.

It was dangerous, this bruised ache in his chest.

Even with Steve right here, Billy felt sore with affection. The desire to wrap an arm around Steve’s waist was ever present, to pull their bodies flush together, or to tuck himself into Steve’s chest and never leave.

This ravenous greed dulled with Steve nearby, soothed with Steve happy and content, but Billy knew he had to be patient. Steve sometimes retreated inside himself, behaving as if Billy were already one step out the door. He had no idea what power he wielded over Billy.

He eased Steve’s slippers onto his feet and returned the tennis ball to the freezer. He put some of the dishes and pans from the drying rack back in the cabinets. He straightened the rug underneath the coffee table. Tidying. As self-sufficient as Steve lived, Billy had picked up quickly enough that his outward affections were done through actions.

He liked making dinner with Billy at home. He even coerced Billy into the first grocery store he’d stepped into in years.

Steve enjoyed pulling Billy onto his chest to watch a movie. Billy liked that too, even though he wished Steve didn’t stuff his utility invoices into the kitchen utensil drawer before Billy arrived.

They were both strong personalities who valued control, but Billy had learned such a thing came in different mediums. Steve didn’t like the leash of money. “Don’t collar me in diamonds. I’m not a poodle,” he’d once said.

Billy did not take kindly to commands. To exist like a bull guided by the ring in his nose.

Yet here they both were, Steve slowly allowing Billy to furnish his interests, and kissing Billy’s cheek when he reluctantly accepted the task of chopping onions.

Billy sat on the bed and rubbed his arm. If anything, Steve only fell deeper inside his slumber. Slowly, Billy lifted him out by planting kisses along his hairline. All at once, Steve emerged with a shake of his head, as if to swat Billy off before the chuckle in his chest made Steve moan, “Bhh…lly?”

He slanted his arm across Steve’s body, pressing his hand into the bed. “Hi, baby. I’m heading out. I should be back next Friday.”

Steve’s full, parted lips twitched with a puzzled grimace. “Huh?”

“I’m going out of town.”

One of Steve’s eyelids hung lower over his groggy eyes. Billy thought it looked cute. “You wait till I’m half-asleep to tell me?”

Billy huffed a laugh, but it faded quickly. “I told you during dinner. I asked you to come, but you said you couldn’t get the vacation days.”

Steve’s eyes sagged closed in a long blink. He sniffed loudly and rubbed a palm over his nose while he shifted for better attentiveness. “I can’t get vacation days with only a twenty-four hour notice.”

“There was something about sick days from two jobs not aligning for an extended vacation,” Billy recalled stiffly.

Steve did not respond well to the bitterness. “I’m not my own boss. If I’d had more time, I could’ve done a long weekend—”

“I’ll be gone for two weeks.”

That left Steve’s mouth open while he shifted to sit up more on the pillows. “You didn’t say that during dinner.”

It should’ve been some consolation, Steve’s being upset at such a time frame. Two weeks apart was hardly unbearable. For regular people. For Billy, it only confirmed his distaste for Steve’s unrelenting schedule.

“Now you want to go?”

Steve’s eyes hardened as much as they could for being freshly disturbed from sleep. “It was never about not wanting to go. I literally can’t without being thrown off the payroll.”

“You work two jobs.”

Steve’s eyes wandered, as if searching for his meaning. “Yeah?”

Billy didn’t want to talk about this the night before he left but his frustration won out. “You don’t have to work two jobs. You know that, don’t you?”

He could see something wilt behind Steve’s face. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Steve,” he sighed, lifting off his hand to sit on his own. “You know I don’t mind paying for things.”

“You’ve made that clear,” Steve returned stiffly.

Billy pointed turquoise eyes at him. “Money is meant to be spent. Why won’t you let me spend it on you?”

Those eyes locked on the muscles in Steve’s jaw clenching. Steve could feel those irises on him, dissecting him. He wondered if Billy saw his mother’s closet. More like a bank vault. Full of insurances for the day she finally saw fit to drop her husband and all of his betrayals, all of his business blunders that she was tired of dishing a sapphire out for to cover the losses.

An ironic thing, Mr. Harrington’s greatest business scheme: apologizing with luxurious things. Marrying a woman smarter than himself. Maybe that’s why Steve had sought out Nancy all those years ago. Why he loved Robin’s company and conversation. He did feel safe in strong women’s company. But their safety was hard earned and shrewdly won.

Respect how a woman spends her money, Stevie. Even if you don’t know where it comes from.

Sweetheart, you’ll never understand what it is to be a woman in a man’s world.

I love your daddy as much as he infuriates me beyond belief. But where I come from, nobody is handsome enough. Nobody is wealthy enough. A Rolex is a man’s prideful status symbol. A woman’s bags are her divorce lawyer’s payments. A man’s car is the steed to a shining knight. A woman’s diamond necklace is her first apartment out of an unsafe home.

Am I really just a trust fund kid? Steve had been brazen enough to ask. Another diamond in his mother’s closet.

She had stroked his cheek, raked her fingers through his hair and around his ear before pinching his earlobe in that way she did. Like she wanted him to keep looking right at her. Don’t turn your head.

Anyone who treats you like a trust fund for money or a good time is plastic, baby.

She hadn’t taught him how to navigate this, though. Maybe if he’d been a daughter, he’d have gotten that lesson. How to not be ensnared by money. How to keep wealth as a key to a cage.

But Steve only knew the cage. Had grown up in it. Had to face heartbreak and loneliness to break out of his gilded bars.

He did not judge his mother for relying on his father. As she’d said, she came from a different world with a different mentality. But Steve couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t meet all of his father’s caveats. Had too much fun being broke with Robin to desire gilded masks and grey grey grey grey grey suits.

A warm hand touched his arm. “I don’t like it when you do that,” Billy said. “Go somewhere I can’t reach.”

Steve’s hand overlapped his. He hoped it came across as encouraging instead of farewell. “Get your work done. There’s no point in me taking a vacation if you’re working the whole time.”

It didn’t work. Billy’s features stiffened, far from pleased.

And when he left the apartment, Steve felt his path like a negative space dug out of his home. Billy Hargrove had always dominated a room, but Steve was afraid of being wrung out before he left with permanence. Steve didn’t think Billy was a cage at all.

But he didn’t think he was strong enough to be a diamond in Billy’s closet.

#harringrove #harringrove for palestine #neonponders #pondermoniums #edith-moonshadow #ficlet #mafia au #sugarbaby!steve #sugardaddy!steve #asexual!steve #grey ace steve

79 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 3 Co-Written with @southerngracela

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, but when you’re being held hostage by Hugh Ransom Drysdale there’s really not a lot to be thankful for, is there?

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is Part 2 to our submission for @Jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 2

You could feel the chill of the outside seeping into your space, your bones, through the vented window following your shower. The way it crept in made you realize just how far along through fall you were, maybe it was even approaching the onset of the holiday weather. Either way, a storm seemed to be outside. At least it felt like it. Once dried, you found yourself wrapping up tighter in the thick cardigan you’d chosen before you dried your hair, and allowed yourself a quick squirt of perfume before settled into the reading chair in the corner of your room, your journal on your lap.

The little, leather bound book had been in your handbag which had been given back to you earlier that morning as the latest reward for behaving and as you ran your hand over the deep brown cover, you couldn’t help the air of excitement you felt at having been given your treasured little note book, despite the dreary sky you could see from the porthole above your chair.

It had actually surprised you that Drysdale had kept it and not disposed of it the same way he had your phone and your car. But for whatever reason, he’d held onto it, and for that you were grateful. Grateful that you had something of your own from before this imprisonment to anchor too. You’d expected him to want some kind of favour in return but he hadn’t demanded any sort of sexual gratification, simply informed you he would be out most of the morning and would be back mid to late afternoon. As soon as he had gone you had eagerly tipped the contents of your bag onto the bed, almost crying at the sight of your half empty bottle of Coco-Mademoiselle, the Mac Lip-gloss, NYX Eyebrow pencil, Mont Blanc fountain pen, a full tube of mints and your treasured journal. With teary eyes you’d put everything away in its new place, apart from the book and pen before padding into the bathroom for a shower, deliberately sorting yourself out for the day. All you could think of was taking the time so you could savour the moment when you could hopefully make some sense of the jumble in your head by spilling it onto a page.

You opened the cover and flicked to your last entry, the morning of Halloween. A rambling rant about Mick-The-Prick filled the page and you paused, tears in your eyes, as you’d give anything to be stood in his office thinking about ingenious ways to kill him and get away with it. Ironic, really considering that was exactly what your captor had done; committed murder and gotten away with it.

You went to jot the date down in the corner of the page and realised that actually, you didn’t have a clue what it was. Down here, night bled into day, day bled into night…and soon it all bled into weeks. However, given the fact your cycle had been and gone a week ago you figured that it was maybe four weeks since Halloween. Of course, you could ask Hugh, but the less you had to ask him the better as far as you were concerned. You hate the fact that he had this hold on you, that you had to ask for and ‘earn’ things by being ‘good’. And whilst it made you sick to your stomach, you’d fast learnt it was easier to comply than rebel. The night he had left you tangled in your sweater had hurt. It had taken you a good twenty minutes to muster the strength to work your way out and drag yourself into a bath, your body shaking with the trauma, sobs wracking your frame. Your body ached for days, your mind in a post-traumatic cloud of despair. And whilst it hadn’t broken you per-say, it had certainly made you realise exactly what the bastard was capable of, and you had no intention of finding out just how much further he was willing to go.

So, in summary, it had taken Ransom Drysdale two days to break you into compliance.

You’d become passive, so to speak. You gave into his whims, let him use you as he saw fit, did as he told… for the most part anyway. There had been a few other incidents post the sweater one where you’d forgotten yourself and protested, fought a little and he’d gone hard on you, but nothing like that second night. Your passive behaviour was mistaken by him for compliance, and as such you had earned a number of rewards. The bistro table where you took your meals, a book or two which just so happened to be by his grandfather, a gesture you weren't sure was him purging or pressing an agenda onto you. And more recently and most preciously, your bag. But, the strange thing was, that whilst he wanted you to give into him physically, he seemed to enjoy the fact that you were in no way, shape or form compliant to him in others. You openly sassed him, bit back, called him out and he actively encouraged it. He’d started spending a little more time with you in the mornings and afternoons, not just visiting you to toy with you or fuck, but to engage in these little tete-a-tete’s, and the sickest, most perverted thing about it was that you were almost glad. The loneliness was crippling, and you craved company. Even if it was his.

All things considered, you’d rather ask him for as little as possible so instead, you flicked to the front of the book and crossed off the days on the small calendar inside the cover. Deciding that the date it led you to was as accurate as it was going to get, you turned back, jotted it down in the top right of your page and stared at the blank lines, looking to sort your thoughts for your next entry.

The saying used to go, what's in a name, however as I sit here thinking back on the last few weeks I wonder now what's in a day. My days consist of imprisonment. Held by a captor I have met once before. He's smart, almost too smart. Displaying forms of abuse and aggressive behaviors any FBI analyst would love to dive deep into. But that's not my job, no, my job is to please and satisfy him. Answer to his whims of gratification at any call of the day. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. But if I behave, he lets few things get by. I miss home, my bed, my life. I miss Mick, which is saying a lot all things considered. I don't know still what he wants from me, other than the obvious sexual gratification with little to no room for anything else. I'm a toy, a means to an itch. I don't know how long exactly I've been here, I can only guess it's been about a month. Nor do I know how long I'll have to stay. The answers are blurred like my vision, marred by tears and the low light inside. I haven't seen outside since the day he took me. I haven't been anywhere outside this room. I can see from the small porthole window above this stupidly soft leather chair the season has changed. It feels like deep fall, and as a storm comes outside, what little sky I see is bleak and dark, clouds covering the bluest of skies, angry and ready to open up, raining down water to wash away the sins of the day. I wish I could do the same.

Before you realized, time had obviously passed, for the sound of the door bolts unlocking had you guessing it was late afternoon or early evening. A glance up at the porthole behind you confirmed as much. The sky was dark and rain had been beating on the window for a little while.

In came Drysdale, hair a bit wet, a strand slightly out of place, wool pants and maroon sweater. He carried a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He looked irked, like he'd wasted time on something, a look you were now able to decipher after weeks of seeing it.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he said, setting the plate down on the bistro table with its two accompanying chairs, waiting for you to join him.

Instead of biting back, you simply whispered, "it’s Thanksgiving?" You checked the inside cover of your journal and see the date again. You were a day off and it now dawned on you. It was the fourth Thursday of the month and indeed, Thanksgiving. You glanced back up at Ransom and a deep sadness washed over you. Closing your journal and setting it on the table by your chair, you stood, moving towards him and the plate of food. You took a seat and looked down at the plate, full of the holiday dish basics; turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, diced not candied yams and roasted green beans. It was gourmet and nothing near what he'd been serving you or managing to try. "Thank you," you said softly, rolling your fork through the potatoes. You take a bite but it's about as bland and tasteless as your despair.

"I brought it back from the country club, I met my father there," he looked under your gaze again, as if willing your eyes to his. "Do you not like it?"

Finally, your gaze met those cold cerulean orbs, setting your fork down and you took a drink of water, "No, it's fine." Then you picked up your fork again and took another bite, this time of the turkey and gravy. You didn't have it in you for an argument or it's physical ramifications.

"Are you not hungry?" Ransom pressed.

"I guess not as much as I thought," you repled further poking at your food, your voice cracking a little as you try to keep your composure. The sting of the holiday has you broken, far more than you'd expected. Normally, today you'd be helping your mother in the kitchen, settling the final touches on the side dishes and listening to your father tell your uncle about some a-typical dad joke he'd heard. Your sister would be giddy over the wine while her boyfriend of the month received death glares from said uncle and your father.

Ransom outwardly sighed and you wait for what you were trying to avoid. "Are you alright?"

The question threw you off guard completely and you struggled to hide the shock from your expression. He never cared about your feelings before. Maybe he thought you were coming down with something. You braced yourself to answer honestly. There was no point in lying, he'd see through it.

"I'm fine, I'm not sick if that's what you're thinking," you answered, a deep restraint on your tone to keep yourself in check. "I hadn't realized what day it was. I didn't know it was Thanksgiving." You swallowed the lump in your throat and blinked hard. "My mom, my sister and I, we used to all help make dinner as a family. My dad and uncle would talk a bunch of shit around the fireplace while shooting death glares at my sister's flavor of the month."

He looked at you like he was confused. You scoff, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He squint his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek. His body language completely changed as he leaned forward on his forearms, popping one shoulder up higher than the other.

"Nothing," you backed down immediately.

"Tell me," he pressed.

God, he was relentless. You pushed your plate forward and leaned on your own elbows. You looked at him with a raised brow, "am I going to be in trouble if you don't like what I have to say?"

"Depends," he popped a shoulder smugly.

You matched his expression and his demeanour falters just a fraction. You saw it, but you didn't hold back. "Then I'd rather keep it to myself. That's what you want isnt it? Me to comply, be obedient? Frankly, I'm not in the mood."

He failed to hide his smirk and you noticed that too, "Sweetheart." It wasn't laced with teasing, rather his pet name for you on his tongue held a cautious venom.

"You hate your family. You know nothing about love and what it takes to give love. Hell, I don't doubt that for a minute you've ever felt loved. It's all an act. Self-preservation even. I don't know you or your family outside of the hours of research I did and the mere forty five minutes I listened to you drone on about your 'predicament'. But, the cold hearted truth of it is, you don't know how to love." You watched him run his tongue along his teeth as he continued to glare at you, but you weren't finished. "And that's what family is, it's what they do. They love, they are the embodiment of love at its deepest root. Maybe, just maybe somewhere along your life, your parents loved you, but judging by the Thrombey-Drysdale standards, none of you know what love is outside your selfish tithings and flashy cars. It got lost along the way, more than likely long before you ever were born."

"Wow," he raised his brows and clicked his tongue against his teeth, "That's good, that's really good."

You're fear receptors suddenly spiked as recognizable flash of anger in his eyes flashed through his irises. But there was something else there that you couldn't put your finger on it. Your breathing quickly up-ticked as you felt your palms begin to sweat.

He inhaled a deep, almost centering breath, "that perfume in your bag, I like it."

As if he'd grown a second head, you blinked hard refocusing on him. Had you heard him right? You'd just broken a rule, laid out an unspeakable truth for him and now in a blink he's, God forbid, complimenting your scent? Who the fuck was this guy? Was he on meds? Because he should be or he should at least probably share. It might make life here more bearable. "What?"

"The perfume from your bag, you're wearing it. It smells good," he lamented.

Alright, now the 'of sound mind' argument might be worth something because he sure as shit wasn't now. You swallowed and picked up your fork, taking a bite of the cold food just to buy yourself some time as you tried to process the scene before you. You had no remark to make. Confusing jumbled any thought of a coherent word you could utter.

"Maybe if I'm out, I can pick you up a new bottle. I noticed you were near empty," Ransom offered.

This was starting to make your stomach turn. If he'd gone through your bag, because why wouldn't he at this point, smelled your perfume, had he read your journal? You made a mental note to go back through and see if there was anything he'd read that he had used against you thus far or could use to corner you in the future. You looked around the room, waiting to see if you were being Punk'd. Just who the fuck is this guy? Without your expression giving too much of your confusion away, you nod at him in reply. "Thank you, I'd like that."

"Hmph," he paused, a dramatic effect he seemed to know that your heart rate up in anxiety. "Well, then why are you looking at me like I have two heads, Y/N?"

Tread lightly, you thought to yourself. He didn't call you by your first name often, in fact, the last time he had, you were very much smarting back and it resulted in a forceful situation that left you raw and sore for a few days. It was always 'Sweetheart'.

He baited you, you knew it, but you couldn't back out now. So you sighed, "I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but, I don't even know who you are right now. Do you? One minute you're giving me food and being gentle, the next you're allowing my opinion, and now you're ready to flip this table. That's as close as two heads as it gets."

"Careful, Sweetheart," he now glared at you. There it was, you were in for it. The approach of choice, you weren't sure of, but he was done. You'd learned the different tones in his voice by now, the cues he gave. You were definitely in trouble. You dropped your eyes to your plate. The food stone cold and no longer even appealing in its slightest measure, a wave of nausea washing over you. You further pushed your plate away, "I don't think I'm hungry anymore."

His broad frame rose from the chair, "you weren't to begin with," his left hand reaching for the plate and holds it in his hand, "Third drawer down in the armoire. Pick something, I'll be back."

You watched him leave, the familiar click of the door shutting and snap of the lock sounded around the small apartment and you exhaled loudly, your head dropping into your hands. This wasn’t the first time he’d requested that you ‘dress for the occasion’ so to speak. With a deep breath you stood up and crossed the room, opening the drawer of requirements, seeking out a negligee for him to no doubt remove. Your fingers roamed over the fabrics and selection. La Perla, Agent Provocateur, Carine Gilson, Coco de Mer and Fleur of England were just a handful of the expensive, high-end brands that filled the space. Your fingers smoothed over a black macrame and tule underwired long line bra and the matching thong that was folded neatly under it. Plucking it from the drawer, you headed for the bathroom. You slipped out of your casual tee, duster cardigan and leggings, the bra and panties you'd had on. You sighed as you took a good look at yourself in your naked form.

While you hadn't lost a ton of weight over the last month, you could tell you'd grown thinner. You weren't gaunt but your lack of a daily Dunkin' Donuts macchiato had seemed to thin you out. Your captor made sure you were fed, but you didn't always eat. The plump of your cheeks had receded and your little pooch brought on by happy carbs was sucked into your frame. There were a few bruises still seen, near green, an indication of their final healing stage. The pock mark from a hickey he'd given you still a bit scaby as he'd broken the skin just barely. This was your life now and it made what few bites of Thanksgiving dinner in your stomach nearly lurch forward back up your throat.

You swallowed it down, pulling the long line bra straps up your arms and clasping it behind your back. Your legs slipped into the thong panties and you pulled the material up your freshly smooth legs. Your shaky fingers plucked at the hair tie that fastened the end of your brain closed, nails raking through your hair to loosen your tendrils. He always wanted your hair loose. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you were ready.

***** Ransom tossed the un-eaten food into the garbage and dumped the plate into the sink to be dealt with later. Turning so that his lower back was leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter he ran a hand over his clean shaven jaw, his mind ticking over the events of the day so far. A pain-in-the-ass Thanksgiving meal with his father had been made bearable by the fact he knew he was coming back to her, and because he hadn’t wanted to be a complete monster he’d made the effort of bringing her a nice dinner back too. But she’d hardly touched any of it.

And what disturbed him most about it, was the fact that instead of wanting to punish her for being an ungrateful bitch, he instead felt a deep rooted sense of concern. She’d lost weight, her face was pale, her hip bones more pronounced, and frankly the last thing he wanted was her passing out on him. Whilst he wanted her compliant, necrophilia really wasn’t his bag.

He had thought by giving her back the bag she’d had on her the night he took her he might have seen a lift in her spirits so to speak, a little gratitude, but instead she’d been meek and reserved until he’d coaxed that familiar sass out of her. And even then she’d been reticent.

It should have pleased him that she was learning her place and becoming more subservient. But if he was being honest with himself, he almost missed her fighting and arguing back. It had been exciting in a way, and he had thought it would have taken longer than it had to break her so to speak. Maybe he had overestimated exactly what a fighter she was, maybe she wasn’t the right muse for his writing after all. Because, let’s face it, writing a tale about a woman who was captured and broken into submission within two days, merely becoming a puppet for her captor’s whims was hardly going to win him any accolades was it? He needed more, needed something that he could spin a good story from. He knew now that when he went back down to her he had to try a different tact so to speak, he needed to coax her mind into reacting not merely her body.

Because if he couldn’t do that, there was no point in keeping her.

He allowed her half an hour or so before he headed back down the stairs and found her sat on the bed, dressed in one of the sets he’d purchased, her hair loose round her face and shoulders the way he liked. She jumped to her feet and he had to actively supress the groan that was rolling in his throat as his eyes scanned her up and down, and he didn’t miss the slight bruises that dotted her skin in various places where he’d marked her as his own. She’d long since stopped trying to cover herself up. Instead she stood stock still, her eyes focussed on the floor.

With long strides he walked into the room and stopped in front of her, tipping her chin up with his finger so she was looking at him, her eyes wide with trepidation and he gave a smirk as he reached up, brushing her hair off the side of her face and neck, dropping his head as he did so.

“You smell so good, Sweetheart.” He inhaled against her pulse point, lips pressing into her there. He felt the gasp of her breath, the way her skin pricked with chill bumps. He smirked to himself, he’s found her spot. And he filed that away, committing it to memory.

“I like this…” he practically purred as he toyed with the straps to the bra, a long, thick middle finger outlining the strap against her skin, lips following pursuit.

“You should, you chose it.”

He chuckled, ignoring the snark behind her words. “Like I chose you, huh?”

Like I chose you.

His words echoed around your head, reminding you exactly why you were in this fucking situation. Because he had decided you would be. He wanted you, and just like with everything else in his life that Hugh Ransom Drysdale wanted, he simply took. But what worried you the most about all this was whether or not you would be discarded the same way he no doubt discarded the other possessions he lost interest in.

You took a deep, steadying breath as his hands moved from the straps of your bra, long fingers moving to caress the back of your neck, but there was no grabbing, no force. He was being positively gentle.

And it scared the crap out of you.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked, his breath hot and wet in your ear as you trembled under the further graze of his fingers against the macramé of your set.

“You know I am," you swallowed nervously. You weren't new to this, this wasn't your first time, but the way he was being soft, a stark character change to his a-typical stance with you was what had you crawling in fear in the inside. Was it a game? Was it some sort of ploy? Was this his idea of foreplay now before he turned it up and went hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to make you cry?

A flat palm ran down your abdomen, already taught in fear. But not before a thumb grazed along the underside of your breast. Agonizingly slow, his hand, still splayed over you, dips into your matching macrame panties, dipping into your wet folds, thumb lightly pressing against your clit.

“You’re so wet, considering you’re scared.”

You didn't answer, just swallowed hard, the lump stuck in your throat as it fought against a little whimper.

His mouth once more latched onto your neck, the kisses gentle as opposed to the bruising ones you had become accustomed to. The fingers in your folds matched his slow nature, teasing you in such a way that when you closed your eyes and focussed your mind elsewhere, you could almost believe you were somewhere with a man you’d given permission to touch you in such away. But when his lips moved to your jawline and you took a deep breath, the heady scent of his cologne hit your senses and your eyes flew open as you were reminded just whose lips and hands were violating you in such away.

You swallowed as Ransom pulled away, his hand gently grasping your chin once more as he issued a simple instruction.

“Strip for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep breath, swallowing down the bile that had once more risen up your throat as he sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs bent, hands resting on his knees as he watched you the way a lion watched its prey. You undid the clasp on your bra, your eyes remaining locked on his as you slid the straps down your shoulders and dropped the garment to the floor. Your captor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking down your body as you moved to shed the bottom half, wondering what on earth had been the point of wearing it in the first place. But even as you asked yourself that, you already knew the answer. It was a bout power, another way for him to remind you just who you belonged to now. How he could strip you bare in more way than one without even lifting a finger.

But lift a finger he did, curling it in mid-air as he beckoned you towards him. You took careful steps over the floor until you were stood in between his legs. His large hands smoothed up the outside of your thighs, before he pulled you towards him, his nose brushing the skin of your abdomen as he took a deep breath, fingers curling round your thighs.

And then, in a flash he stood, taking you with him, and before you could so much as utter a squeak or noise of surprise he had you naked, laying across the bed, the sheets cold against your skin, a contrast to the heat emanating from the body against yours. The look in his lust blown eyes was overwhelming. You didn't know what you were in for but as his body, still clothed in the frayed maroon sweater and wool slacks sunk into the mattress between your legs, you felt a chill course through your veins, your skin, again, pricking in bumps all over. His hands, with their thick fingers, trailed long lines up and down your thighs, Ransom's full lips kissing at your sensitive inner skin, a nip or two here and there as he went from your knee, upward.

He could smell your arousal, see it glistening as it dripped from your core. "Someone's ready," he quipped. He watched you swallow hard, a literal lump in your throat bobbing the skin. Your eyes never left him. "No cumming until I tell you. Do you understand?" When you didn't answer immediately, he swiped his tongue over your wet lips, tasting the honey your body gave him, your back arching away from sheets. "Do you understand?"

And there it was, your punishment finally arriving from your little moment before over dinner. As you still had your wits about you, you uttered a single word response, in the hope that the more submissive you were, the more accepting you were of your chastisement, the less hard on you he was going to be.

"Yes."

His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, the lavish holiday meal he'd partaken in not filling enough. His thumb pressed against your engorged nub, causing you to writhe but a firm arm over your abdomen kept you in place. The same thick fingers that traced lines up your thighs, two were now buried deep inside you, his tongue working away any juices that seeped out. As he gave you a third, stretching you more, you felt your walls start to tighten, that burning coil in your belly flare and your hands gripped the sheets tighter.

Ransom could clearly feel you flutter against his fingers as he stopped his assault and looked up at you.

"What did I say?"

Your chest heaved, your stomach taught and you fought to obey. When you managed to calm yourself, he began again, almost from square one, slowly, tantalizingly slow.

The action was torture and you were desperately willing yourself to remain grounded as again your body fought to ride over the edge building inside you. When his mouth was over you completely, tongue deep, thumb pressing again into your clit, you felt the urge to cum. But he pulled away, slowly, his thumb stopping the pressure, his tongue slowly dragging out of you.

"I said no. This is your punishment for your smart mouth over dinner."

"Please, I need to, I'll... I'll make it worth your while, please just let me." Your voice sounded alien as you spoke, the words leaving your mouth in the desperate hope he’d take pity on you but to no avail. Your attempts at bartering served only to frustrate him, anger him even and he Ransom backed away, roughly pulling you to the edge of the bed before stripping out of his sweater and undershirt, the undeniable outline of his hard cock along his thigh strained against his wool slacks.

Harsh in his grip, he repositioned himself between your legs, your thighs across his shoulders, ass dangling above the floor as a heavy arm kept you still. His flat tongue, hot and full of your sex was eating away at you while his final throws of resolve ate away at him.

“I’m done playing fucking games.” he growled against your aching cunt “I should have gagged you, stuffed my cock deep into the back of your throat, something, anything to shut you up.”

You barely had time to register his words before once more you were flat out against the mattress, trying to regain your breath and calm yourself down when he backed away, tore open his flies and smirked down at you.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, we're not done yet." He kneeled beside you, his chest heaving, hair completely out of place, anger and wait, was that pain, flickering in his eyes as he stuffed you with a hard thrust of his length. "Now you’re gonna cum on this dick."

He thrusted hard and within a few slams of his hips against yours, he allowed you the release you were begging for, "that's right, Princess, cum on my cock."

You wept at the feeling finally freeing you, cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as you squeezed around him. Your chest heaving against his, skin to skin. The fabric of his wool pants hot and itchy against your inner thighs. He was still thrusting but now it had slowed to a roll, slow and calculated. Your muddled mind was buzzing and rapidly trying to sort out if he'd cum inside you or if he wasn't finished. His features were softer, but still filled with purpose and his lips latched onto a naked breast causing your body to react, tingles and flames licking at your core again. His eyes looked up at yours as he caged you in, still buried deep inside you, hips rolling.

"I said we weren't done," he rasped. His thrusts and rolls, the two very different tactics mixing now, made the swell of his cock inside you abhorrently pleasurable. Try as you might, it was impossible to feel otherwise.

And Ransom was finding it equally as hard to hold on. His weight was evenly distributed over her, his cock swelling inside her heat. It took all he had not to blow his load the first time he made her cum, hearing the sinful sounds of her orgasm that felt like a volcanic eruption around his hard shaft. But now he could feel her again, tiny little pulses around his already overtly sensitive dick. He was sure his precum was leaking out, wanting to paint the way for the rest of him to follow. He rolled and thrust as his lips nipped at her neck. She moaned loudly, her body exuding lust. He could feel her shake beneath him and to his delight and surprise her eyes were no longer screwed shut and turned away. Instead they were locked on his. The moment those deep hued orbs met his, he felt a hitch in his breath and tightness in his chest that travelled through his belly and into his cock, causing the thick member to throb inside her. Tiny, soft hands gripped at his biceps, her touch a fiery scald against his skin, almost as if it were frost bite. Her touch equally shocking as her stare and he gave a roll of his hips to hide what he felt. A deep, satiated roll of his hips that sent her over the edge.

"Hugh!" She came around him, harder than her first, crying out his given name. It snapped him from his moment of revelation, driving him insanely frustrated at the word leaving her lips. He slammed into her as she rode out her orgasm, chasing his own.

You felt the dismissal of his body as he violently pulled free from your walls, spewing his hot seed over your abdomen, drops claiming your tits too. He nearly collapsed, his dick in hand, the other holding himself up against the mattress between your legs.

He left you there, dirty, degraded and shut the door with a barked instruction for you to clean yourself up. You no longer cried in front of him, either before, during or after. There was no point. He didn’t care about how you felt, but the thing he DID seem to care about was the fact that you still refused to call him Ransom.

It was the one thing you held on to, the only thing that gave you an inch of control in this entire fucked up situation. You hadn’t missed the look on his face when you’d cried out 'Hugh' in the throes of your last orgasm. Before that moment there had been a softness in his eyes, one that had unnerved you no end, along with something that had looked suspiciously like hope. But when his given name had tumbled involuntarily from your mouth and not the one he preferred that softness had turned to contempt and you didn't miss the undercurrent of disappointment either.

And seeing that, knowing that it pissed him off and dare you say it, upset him so much was your single, albeit feeble, act of rebellion that served as a desperate boost to your ever waning inner strength. *****

Ransom laid in his large, plush bed, hands behind his head as the silk sheets pooled at his waist as morning was in full swing outside. His thoughts strayed to his girl in the basement and he took a deep breath, shifting slightly as he remembered the way her fingers had felt as they’d curled around his biceps, her touch firey but cold. That had been the first time she’d touched him when she wasn’t trying to push him away, it had been involuntary, he knew that, a reaction to the way she’d been feeling, the way he had made her feel.

A twitch resounded deep in his belly....the way he made her feel.

He realised now that he’d been going about this the entirely wrong way. The force had been necessary to make her comply at first, but last night she hadn’t just complied she’d participated, just what he had wanted all along. And all after he’d shown her a little leeway, brought her dinner, entertained her talk. He understood now that he needed to play a different card from his hand. She responded better to conversation, talking. Ransom hated fucking talking, he was more cerebral, calculating. Conversation means connecting, and connecting was something he wasn’t particularly interested in normally. He needed to lead, to be in charge, but it was clearly what she knew and thrived on, so he had to swallow his apprehension down to play the long game, to get what he wanted.

Now he understood that, it was going to be so fucking easy. All he had to do was to seemingly show her compassion, a little give so he could take so to speak. He rolled his head, cracking his neck as he remembered what she said about cooking with her mom so he decided that after her stellar performance last night, today she’d earned a bigger reward than a book or some journal. He was going to show her what she could have if she just gave in and admitted what he knew she truly wanted. A large house, a garden, a pool, a hot tub, silk sheets, a large bed, and a man to fuck her every way to heaven and back. He could give her everything that any woman could possibly desire, and then some.

With a twitch of a smirk across his lips, Ransom pulled his naked frame out of bed and slipped into joggers, a soft waffle knit thermal long sleeve pulled over his tousled hair. He felt like company for breakfast and he knew exactly to invite up.

His bare feet padded with purpose over the plush carpet of his room, down the stairs and onto the first floor, over the hard wood and marble tile of the halls and entry, down the plush carpeted spiral staircase down to the basement.

He reached the door and gently turned the locks, quietly pushing the door open as he turned the knob. It opened quietly and his eyes fell upon the empty bed. He frowned slightly, wondering where she was. Then his eyes found her, sitting curled up with her eyes cast upward, that little tease of a porthole window in her focus. She'd turned her chair around so she could see it more clearly, the throw blanket he'd tossed at her the week before was wrapped around her body. He didn't know the time, but it wasn't early nor was it afternoon. Not that it mattered, neither had anywhere else to be.

"Good morning," he said lowly. He watched as her eyes slowly moved away from the only bit of outside world she'd seen for weeks now.

"Morning," she replied quietly, her eyes locking onto his. "I err, I was just..." she trailed off. "Actually, I don't know what I was doing to be honest."

He stalked up to the chair, kneeling in front her. His hand reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb running over her cheek bone. "You were such a good girl last night. Took me so well, teased me with that little number you had on. I've thought about you all morning."

Ransom watched her throat bob as she swallowed before licking her lips and biting the inside corner of her lip. Such an innocent gesture that had him half hard straight away.

"I want to give you something. But you have to be good, or it goes away," he started. "Can you be good, Sweetheart?"

She nodded, slightly. "Okay," he smirked. "Now, fix the chair and come up to make us breakfast."

Ransom stood back, allowing you some space to accommodate his request. You slipped the throw blanket from your shoulders and left it in the chair as you rearranged the piece back to its normal state. You met him at the doorway. You didn't miss the way his eyes moved over you, the way they lit up in a way at as he looked at the silken material covering your body. The dark teal silk and lace cami set was just one of a handful of options he'd provided for you. All the same, different colors, all in your size.

You hesitated for a second, not sure if this was another one of his little games but he simply met your eyes with his own and nodded up the stairs. With tentative, shaky steps you climbed them, sensing him close behind you as for the first time in weeks you left your prison. You felt anxious, highly on edge and nervous. What was awaiting you? There was the sickening feeling in your stomach of excitement too, you hadn’t seen the outside since Halloween. You paused at the top of the stairs in the hall. The kitchen was directly across from you, the entry to your right. The door to the basement clicked shut and you felt Ransom’s firm chest behind your back as his form invaded your space. He dragged a finger down your arm causing the strap of your top to fall away, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

"Straight ahead, Sweetheart."

“Okay,” you whispered before you slowly made your way through to the large, airy kitchen. You stood looking around, taking in the fancy appliances before you turned back to Ransom. "Did you have something in mind?”

"Well..." Ransom leaned in the doorway, watching you as you stood in the middle of the tiled floor "Yesterday wasn't the first time you said you enjoyed to cook so I thought you might like to." His eyes flicked once more down your frame and back up again before he nodded his head towards the rear of the room. “Anything you need is in the pantry and fridge.”

“And I can make anything I want?” You blinked, not quite able to believe what he was allowing you to do. It was fucked up that you were even considering this as a reward but, you’d take it. Boy would you take it, anything to grasp some sense of normality in this day-by-day hell you were living.

“Sure.” Ransom popped a shoulder again and you took a deep breath before you turned and headed to the sink to wash your hands before sorting out your menu and you froze. The outside landscape had stopped you cold. From what you could see of the back garden the property was secluded, not over looked. A lawn extended a fair distance back from the rear of the house, a neat decking area stood to the right which sported a hot tub and a little further down there looked to be a pool of some kind which was covered over for the season. Trees hung over the bottom of the garden lining the high wooden fence, what few leaves they still sported were shades of crimson, gold and brown and the river traced it’s banks as it curved around the side and back of the house, the sun shining off the surface, giving it the impression it was made of sapphires. It was breathtakingly beautiful and you felt your heart shatter, your eyes well and you couldn't help but hold back the urge to weep as your chest contracted painfully. You were so close to the outside, separated only by a pane of glass, yet it had never felt further away.

His voice broke you from your despair and you swallowed back the sob that choked your throat as you flicked your attention to the left, Ransom's reflection drawing closer towards you as he crossed the terracotta tiled floor.

"Everything alright?"

You cleared your throat and gave a quick shake of your head, "Fine."

Again you felt him in your space. His presence consuming. “You sure?”

Sure? No you weren’t sure. Because none of this was fine, in fact it was as far from fine as it could possibly get. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to spin round and hammer your fists into any part of his body you could hit but you knew that it wouldn't get you anywhere, bar back in the basement likely shackled naked to the bed so you instead turned slowly to find yourself caged in by his broad frame so close to yours. You cast your eyes downward, uncomfortable at his searching stare, "Yeah, I’m sure.”

Your tongue flicked nervously over your lips as you continued to avoid his gaze before you cleared your throat “How do you like your eggs? Or would you prefer an omelette? Pancakes even?" The urge to move away from him pulled you away from your idea of a menu. Brunch basics were flooding your brain and you rattled off a few nervously. He may have said you could make whatever you wanted, but right now, you had no clue. Seeing a different space, the outside world and breathing new air had rattled you.

“You choose.” Ransom spoke softly, his hand reaching up to brush your hair off your face before he tipped your chin up so your eyes met his. He looked at you, and you swallowed as for the first time there was something unreadable on his face. His eyes were looking at you in a way they’d never looked at you before, with a softness you’d never have anticipated he could possess.

"Waffles." You suddenly blurted out, desperate to escape his gaze "I err, do you have a waffle iron?”

“No.” He deadpanned.

"Oh," you swallowed "Erm, then in that case French toast...maybe? Is that ok?"

“Sounds delicious.” He said, his hand dropping from your face, “Sure it’ll taste almost as good as you.”

“Great. How about with fresh Chantilly cream and berries if you have them?” You asked, completely ignoring his blatant back handed compliment and you started familiarizing yourself with the space as you glanced around.

“Like I said, whatever you want, Sweetheart.” He shrugged, and with that he stepped back to allow you to move away.

Ransom watched her move around the luxurious kitchen, looking through the pantry and cabinet near the stove taking out cinnamon and vanilla, plucking items like bread, butter, eggs, berries and cream from the fridge. Searching drawers for utensils and measuring cups and spoons. Finding a pan and bowl from a bottom cabinet. Measuring sugar from the glass jar on the counter. He hoped the ingredients were still fresh, he wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been stored. She moved like she belonged there, he thought to himself. So sexy looking in her nightwear, bare feet on the tile, her ass and breasts moving underneath the silk as she stretched and worked.

"Coffee?" He offered, as he moved from one side to the other. He made sure his exquisite espresso machine was ready as it sat in all its glory on its own portion of the counter like a batista station inside Starbucks.

He didn't miss the way she watched him move around her, preparing the coffee and grabbing the orange juice from the fridge. He reached over her shoulder, his body brushing against hers as he opened the cupboard where he kept the glasses and mugs. He peered down at her, giving a twitch to the corner of his mouth. A smirk indeed. He noted the way her eyes followed him as he poured the juice, like he was going to poison her or something.

"It's just juice, Sweetheart," he said nonchalantly and put the juice back in the fridge. He set the breakfast table for them and took a seat in his place, a now hot cup of coffee in his hand, hers sitting on the counter next to her.

It wasn’t long before she had finished and brought the plates to the table, sitting down timidly in the seat to his right as he gestured to it, stopping her dead as she was about to make her way around to the opposite side.

It was quiet, the only sounds heard for a while were the click and scrape of forks and knives cutting away at the plates of food. Ransom wouldn't admit it out loud, but this was the best French toast he'd ever had in his life. Something about it, the way it was not soggy, but perfectly moist, the edges just crispy. The way the cream made for no syrup and the sweet berries added the final element. He watched her pick at the food for a moment or two as he glanced over at her and saw a small bit of Chantilly in the corner of her mouth.

A long arm reached across the table and automatically she flinched a little, as if she was going to pull away but one firm stare stopped her in her tracks. His thick thumb padded away the white, sweet cream and he brought the same thumb to his lips, sucking the cream away. He lifted his brows in a teasing manner and twitched up his lips, "Delicious. Like I said, almost as good as you, Sweetheart."

"Thanks, I think," she paused.

"Trust me, I know."

The comment seemingly threw her off her meal and it didn't get past Ransom. She had started picking at it, moving it around the plate like she had done with her dinner the night before. He, on the other hand, was near finished.

"Are you still not hungry?" He inquired.

She shook her head, "I just made my portion too big. I overestimated my appetite, I guess."

"Huh," he placated her reply. He knew she was lying but he let it slide, realizing that seeing a new space, the window to the outside was overwhelming. So, he thought he'd sweeten the deal. "I thought maybe you'd like to see the house," he offered, watching as her big eyes locked onto his and she took a deep breath.

"That sounds nice, thank you."

"Good, after breakfast then." He nodded affirmingly, as if it were drying ink in his mind. He picked up his coffee and finished it off, his plate already clear.

She stood from the table, collecting his plate with her own and headed for the sink. He turned in his chair, stalking her, watching her every move. The way she pitched over the sink, bending her frame over the dishwasher to load it as she cleaned up the kitchen.

With each bend and snap of her hips, he felt his mouth water more. Her little silk cami riding up as she moved, her breasts falling in and out of a fuller view. When she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, he was on her. He moved behind her, his hands grabbed her hips as she spun around completely startled giving a gasp and a quick yelp.

"Easy, Sweetheart," he chuckled as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Sorry... you, err...you startled me." She whispered as he moved his hands so they gripped at the side of the kitchen counter on either side of her, caging her in with his body.

"Some women would like that," he quipped, arching an eyebrow a little and watched as she swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward. Moving one hand slowly up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck, he tipped her head back up so those large, Bambi eyes locked onto his.

His hand adjusted, gripping her chin softly as he moved closer still, dipping his head he pressed a firm kiss to her lips. He felt her go rigid, her chest spiking as she drew in a sharp breath, her body shaking slightly in his hold. "Stop fighting it..." he whispered against her mouth before he kissed her again. This time, his tongue traced the line of her upper lip, the feel of it soft and soothing.

You felt his tongue line your lip and you couldn't hold the whimper of fear that passed through you. He’d never kissed you before, not on the mouth anyway. You felt him deepen his kiss, his big hand cupping your face, pulling you into it more. Your mind went elsewhere, imagining anyone but him kissing you like this. You couldn't deny it, this intimate moment, completely lost on both of you for different reasons, felt good and he was good at it. He was damn good at it in fact, and that alone made you want to vomit your breakfast into his throat. At that, you jerked back, panting a little, feeling your lips swollen from the way he'd sucked your bottom one between his, pulling at it just the right way. You hated the feeling between your legs that it had evoked, your body betraying you just like it always did.

In an attempt to stave off the conflicting emotions spiking within you, you focussed on his face, the face you hated and to your surprise he looked dazed. The usual stoic expression that clouded his features had been replaced with something akin to surprise but no sooner had you noticed it, it was gone.

"Clean up and I'll meet you in the study." He told you, his voice a deep almost pained whisper.

"But I don't..." you started but were quickly cut off.

"You're a smart girl, figure it out," he smirked and slipped away.

You were tempted to follow, just so you'd see where he was going but you knew not to defy a command. The feeling of unease seemed to disappear as you slumped your shoulders and instead defeat filled your frame. A trembling hand came to your lips as jittery fingertips touched your swollen skin. Your bottom lip quivered like a ripple in a river and you quickly covered your mouth, turning on a dime as your French toast littered the sink. If the water hadn't been running already, Ransom would no doubt have heard you retching. You rinsed your mouth out to attempt at hiding that vomit taste from your tongue and quickly finished your task of cleaning up the kitchen, salty tears dripping from your chin, mixing with the soapy water.

When you could stall no longer, you sighed and headed out into the large hallway, taking a quick look around. It was light, airy, the grand staircase swept in and curved round to the next floor and your eyes lingered on the heavy wooden door just beyond it. You hesitated, and then with a dejected sigh realised there was no point even trying to escape. Even if it was unlocked, which you doubted, the threat to your family was just too much for you to risk. Instead, you decided to head down the corridor to your right and found yourself in a large open plan living room of sorts. It was decorated in clean whites and crisp greys with a huge feature stone open fireplace and sported a bar at the back. A brown leather sofa and two matching arm chairs were strategically placed around an expensive looking coffee table but you didn’t bother to look at the rest, this wasn’t the room you needed so you turned back on yourself, walked back into the hall and took the turning to your left.

This time you found yourself walking into what you could only assume was his study-come-den of sorts. It was huge, and once again sported a sofa pushed up against the wall, looking out over the spectacular view of not only the garden but the river too. But that wasn’t what caught your attention, nor was it the walnut desk and laptop that sat upon it. It was the floor to ceiling bookshelf behind it. Your mouth dropped open as you made your way towards it but then you stopped, biting your lip. Were you supposed to be looking at them? But, he had said to meet you in here. And left you to find your own way. Surely, if he didn’t want you looking around he wouldn’t have left you to it.

Throwing caution to the wind you strode forward, your pace hurried this time and your eyes quickly scanned across some of the books. You couldn’t help but feel shocked. Whilst there was a huge collection of his Grandfather’s books, and a number of other crime novels of types, it was the colourful spines to your right that made your chest heave in delight. The entire Harry Potter collection. With a shaky hand you reached for The Philosopher’s Stone, noting the British version of the title, and opened the front page giving another gasp as you read the publishing details.

This was a first edition. And from the date you also knew it would be one that contained the misprint errors. And as such, would be worth a small fortune.

“See something you like?” that familiar voice hit your ears and you gave a little shriek, jumping around, clutching the book to your chest to avoid dropping it.

“I’m sorry.” You hastily began to apologise “I was just…erm…”

“It’s ok.” He assured you, crossing towards you. Once more he encroached into your personal space and you felt the blades of your shoulders press into the shelf behind you. “Harry Potter fan?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Didn’t think they’d be your type of thing.

“They’re not really.” He shrugged “I’m a collector. Everything on the shelves, well they’re all first or limited editions, so worth a lot.”

“Figures.” You mumbled, turning round and slotting the book back into the space it had come from. As you did you felt him push up behind you, his hands on your hips, the unmistakable feel of his hard on dug into the lower part of your back and you fought to stop yourself shuddering. He was after pay-back for allowing you to leave your prison.

“Did you like the house?” he asked, brushing your hair off your neck.

“Yes.” You answered politely, your voice catching a little as he placed a kiss to the crook of your shoulder.

“You know, it could all be yours sweetheart if you just stopped fighting what you know you want” His kisses continued up your neck as his words whirled around your brain and you were back to where you had been in the kitchen. It felt good. And that disgusted you.

“Did you enjoy making breakfast?” he whispered, his lips by your ear.

“Yeah.” You nodded, your voice barely there.

“Show me how much.” His teeth nipped at your lobe, his hips grinding forward and you swallowed and closed your eyes. You knew what he wanted but as you turned to face him you had an idea. One which would save you being fucked no doubt over the desk or on the hard looking couch.

With a lick of your lips you looked at him and sank slowly to your knees, taking his sweats with you. His hard cock sprang free, slapping his lower abs and you reached out, grasping it in your hand.

“Fuck, yeah baby…” Ransom hissed as you moved your head forwards and took him in your mouth.

You pulled out all the moves, you took him as deep as you could, gagging a little as he wasn’t a small man. You kept your hand firmly on the base of his cock, you hollowed your lips, you swirled your tongue around his shaft and he let out a little groan his hand fisting in your hair as his hips bucked forwards.

“Jesus, I knew your mouth was smart but…” he panted, looking down at you. You raised your eyes to look at his as he bit his lip, his entire face contorted in pleasure…

Pleasure that was ruined by the sound of the doorbell.

“What the fuck…” Ransom growled out, un-fisting his hand from her hair. “Who the fuck is that?”

He glanced down at her and she looked up at him, wide eyed. She was a mess, swollen lips, wet chin and dressed in nothing but her skimpy tank and shorts. With a frustrated growl, Ransom pulled his dick out of her mouth and grabbed his phone from the table to check the doorbell camera. His face blanched as he saw who it was.

“I don’t fucking believe it…” he mumbled, as she looked up at him.

“Who is it?” She asked, wiping her face, “I’m not exactly dressed for visitors, Hugh.”

Ransom might have been pre-occupied with the familiar face staring at him from his phone, but he still picked up on that 'Hugh' and he glared down at her. “No shit, and because we have a visitor, I'm gonna let that one slide. Get up.” She rose to her feet, blinking a little as he pulled off the thermal he was wearing and tossed it to her. “Put that on. No one gets to see you in silk but me.”

She blinked as she caught it, confusion spreading across her face. “Don’t you just want me to go-“

In a flash, he grabbed her chin between his thumb and finger and she winced, “If I wanted you downstairs I’d have said. So put the damn shirt on, and when he starts asking questions just remember what I said I could do to your family and friends.”

In complete complacency, he watched her slip his thermal over her head, her fingers barely peeking through the sleeves to fix her dishevelled hair. The material hit her mid-thigh and his eyes brows gave a flicker of approval before he walked to the entry and opened the door. "What do you want?"

"Pleasure to see you too, Mr. Drysdale..." that infuriating Southern drawl hit Ransom's ears with all the finesse of a cheese-grater. Benoit Blanc, without so much as a gesture of request, pushed past Ransom as he strode inside, stopping in the tiled entry, looking around.

"Do you have a warrant?" The man of the house snipped in his usual spiteful tone.

Blanc still didn’t reply, and Ransom rolled his eyes following him as he wandered down the hallway, stopping at the open door to the study. "Well, if it isn't the lady of the hour."

Ransom stood behind Blanc, an infuriatingly warning glare sent his girl's way. He noted the way she was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, lips still swollen, cheeks flushed, hair tousled. She looked like a sex kitten, and maybe that was the idea. He warned her to sell it after all…

"Excuse me?” Y/N looked up at the two men in the doorway.

Blanc stepped inside the room, taking a seat on the edge of the same couch where she sat. "I've been looking for you, young lady. A lot of people are looking for you, you know Miss Y/L/N.”

“I errr…” she swallowed a little as she slowly got to her feet, her hands pulling the hem of the thermal down before she folded her arms across her chest, not in a defiant manner, but almost as if she was hugging herself “Did someone send you or…”

“No, nothing like that. You see, I heard you'd gone missing, and I knew you had a work connection to Mr. Drysdale, that, shall we say didn't go quite as planned. So when things started adding up, I thought to ask the man himself."

“Well, congratulations, this is one mystery you actually solved correctly, Sherlock. As you can see she’s here and she’s fine, and we were in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind….” Ransom folded his arms, his eyes moving from hers to Blanc, who was irritatingly completely ignoring him, his gaze focussed intently on the woman who stood in front of him.

Ransom could see him take her in fully, now seeing the situation he may have just walked in on. She looked dishevelled and was missing crucial parts of her clothing, but she had no tears in her eyes, no markings looking to be of abuse or out of the ordinary. None that were visible anyway. Blanc’s gaze then dragged over to Ransom who was bare foot in joggers and still half aroused, which he did nothing to hide as he folded his arms over his naked chest.

Ransom held Blanc’s gaze, his chin jutting out defiantly, the detective only looking away when the lady of the hour spoke, her voice quiet, as she gave a small nod. "He’s right, I’m fine."

"Then why not tell your family where you are?”

“I err…” Y/N’s right hand gripped he cuff of the sweater sleeve tightly, “I just, well, I…”

Ransom could see that she was losing it and he knew he had to intervene. He walked over to her and placed an arm around her, kissing the top of her head lightly, "It's alright, Sweetheart. I know how he can be frustrating. We're doing nothing wrong."

With that he turned his gaze to the man in front of him, not even trying to hide the sneer of contempt that was crossing his face “I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you Blanc.”

“Well, maybe Miss Y/L/N has some crayons hidden up her sleeve so to speak.” Blanc smiled innocently and Ransom felt the anger floor his system.

“You’re starting to really piss me off.” he snarled, “You barge into my home, without so much of an explanation…” his rant was stopped dead as Y/N placed her hand on his chest, palm splaying over his bare skin. Ransom swallowed at the touch of her fingers against his skin, firey hot just as they had been last night when they curled around his arms.

"Hey," she spoke and he looked down to see her giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes but one that should be enough to convince the dumbass detective who was watching them. "It's okay." She then turned to Blanc as he held his hand up, palm open, speaking to Ransom.

“I’m not trying to be frustrating Mr. Drysdale, I'm merely enquiring after Miss Y/L/N’s wellbeing."

"I'm not here under duress if that's what you're thinking.” She spoke, clearing her throat. “Hu… Ra, we have had to keep our relationship private,” she stumbled on the right identity, settling for 'we'. Clearing her throat again and settling her nerves, she continued, "Mr. Blanc, as you well know, I'm reporter and his background has been less than stellar as of late. It no doubt would not look good for either of us if it had come to light. My reputation as a journalist would have been in tatters.”

“Well, lies and deception certainly go hand in hand when it comes to Mr. Drysdale...”

Ransom rolled his eyes dramatically “Change the record, Blanc. The static is a little loud.”

Blanc completely ignored him, his attention still on her. “So you caused all this worry, because of some…” he waved his hand in front of him, gesturing between the pair of them.

Ransom’s arm curled round her even tighter, his fingers pressing into her hip and he felt her stiffen a little before she relaxed into his side and gave a small nod.

"Like I said, it wouldn’t have gone down well with my family, or my career.”

“Ahh, yes, your job, which you quit.” Blanc looked at her. “Yes, I spoke to your boss.” He answered her unasked question. “Why would you be so worried for your reputation as a journalist, if you’re not actually a journalist anymore?”

At that she took a deep breath “I quit the paper because my boss is an asshole. His antics on Halloween were a step too far. But that doesn’t mean I have no intentions of working ever again. I'm currently taking a long overdue sabbatical.”

Blanc studied her again, almost as if he was weighing something up and she once more began to fidget and Ransom decided he’d had enough.

"Okay, I’m done being polite,” Ransom moved his arm from around his girl and stepped towards Blanc, placing himself directly between the detective and the woman. “You've interrupted out little post brunch love affair and I’m horny, so…do you need help finding the door, or can your super sleuth skills figure the way back out of it on their own?”

“Miss Y/L/N?” Blanc spoke, his eyes locked onto Ransom’s. Ransom felt the nerve in his jaw twitch, the fact that Blanc wasn’t scared of him irritated him no end.

There was a pause and then her voice came clearly from behind him as she spoke, “If you'd be so kind as to not tell my family where I am, I'd appreciate it. I prefer this time without their unwanted opinion.” Her voice was steady, measured almost. “You can tell them that you've found me, alive and well."

Blanc knew he wasn't welcome, he had proof of life and no reason to suspect foul play. He stood, his long wool coat falling into place around him. "Well, then I guess my work is done." He brushed passed Ransom and gave a quick quip, "I'm warning you...."

"What was that?" His girl wondered. She'd heard him.

"Have a nice day," Blanc nodded curtly “I’ll see myself out.”

You watched the back of the detective as he left the large living room, Ransom following him to the doorway where he stood, arms folded, watching. The sound of Blanc’s feet on the tiles of the hallway grew fainter and fainter until eventually they stopped completely. The latch of the door sounded and you fell to the closest thing you could sit on. Your while body shook with a chill that crept into your bones but not from the cold. No, you were sick to your stomach in fear and worry. The bile of deceit rose to your throat and had you not already spewed up your breakfast it would have most likely decorated the carpet of the study. Instead, you swallowed down the sour bile as Drysdale approached you and you glanced up at him, blinking whilst he studied you for a second, his face passive. As you held his gaze, something akin to amusement flashed in his cold blue eyes and a twisted smirk spread across his face.

“Your acting skills certainly improved there along the way, at the end you were almost award worthy.” He drawled, his hands falling to his hips. “Even Meryl Streep would be jealous.”

"Fuck you," your voice quivered.

He arched an eyebrow, an amused expression on his features “Already played that game Sweetheart, and carry on back-chatting me and you’ll be back in the basement.”

"Wh... What?"

"You pulled through in the end there. It was a rough start, but you convinced Colonel Sanders that you were here on your own."

“Colonel Sanders?” You blinked, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Blanc. CSI KFC.” He replied. You were none the wiser as to what he was going on about and it must have shown on your face as he simply rolled his eyes. "Never mind...the point is, sweetheart, I'm in a good mood. And seeing as you behaved...”

"What?" Your voice was quiet, meek.

"If you shut that pretty little mouth for longer than a second, I'll explain." His tone was measured but you didn’t miss the underlying threat.

“Sorry.” Your eyes fell to the floor, your left hand worrying at your right.

“Eyes on me.” He barked and your head whipped up automatically and he smirked at you as you took a deep breath. “As I was saying, seeing as you were such a good girl, I thought I’d reward you, let you stay up here with me for the day.”

The notion shocked you. Your mouth went dry and you couldn't make sense of it. But then, the more you thought about it, the more his audacity irked you. He’d imprisoned you, used you, abused you…and now he was implying that staying in his company was a fucking reward.

“Wow, thanks…” you blurted before you could stop yourself, sarcasm lacing your tone. As soon as the words had slipped from your mouth you felt panic flood your system as he stepped towards you and reached out, his right hand curling around your throat.

"Don’t push me sweetheart.” His voice was low as his fingers squeezed the column of your neck, a reminder of how easily he could simply end it all whenever he chose.

And just like that the softness that he had displayed with you earlier that morning was gone, and the shutters were back up. You swallowed hard, feeling the strain of your throat against his touch, his eyes now dark and full of that familiar angry lust and desire that chilled you from head to toe. Blanc had riled him, gotten underneath his skin, that was easy to see while your mouthy comments fuelled that ire. And as such, he needed an escape, an outlet.

And he was going to get it from you.

“Now on your knees and finish what you started."

**** Part 4

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

236 notes · View notes

what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 3 Co-Written with @southerngracela

Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, but when you’re being held hostage by Hugh Ransom Drysdale there’s really not a lot to be thankful for, is there?

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is Part 2 to our submission for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.