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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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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

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starwarsnonsense · 4 years

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Top 10 films of 2019

Here’s my very belated top 10 films of 2019! Note that this is a list of films that were released in the UK theatrically in 2019, meaning it includes certain releases that would be considered to belong to 2018 by others.

Honourable mentions: Joker, Hustlers, Booksmart, A Private War, Fighting With My Family

(And don’t worry - Little Women, 1917 and Uncut Gems are all already on my list for 2020.)

Look out for my most anticipated films of 2020 list, coming soon!

With that out of the way, here’s my list (in ascending order)! Do share your picks in the comments!

10. The Irishman (dir. Martin Scorsese)

This is clearly the work of a master filmmaker with much on his mind. In telling the story of Frank Sheeran, Scorsese is telling the story of a man who makes his trade in violence. Instead of elevating Frank as a hero or a figure of glamour, he’s consistently shown to be rather pathetic. He stumbles into the role of hitman for various factions of the criminal underworld, and sticks to it seemingly because it’s what comes most easily to him. The violence enacted by Sheeran is inane and routine, with no thought given to the personal cost until it is far too late. The final 15 minutes of this film show a life petering out with a whimper, laying bare the indignities of old age and the cold, empty horror of enduring it with no company besides your own regrets. The Irishman is a portrait of a life lived badly, and in the hands of anyone besides Scorsese it could have been dry and tedious. Instead, the filmmaking is incredibly assured and the editing is whip-sharp (in Thelma Schoonmaker we trust), making it a pleasure to watch even with the lengthy runtime.

9. The Farewell (dir. Lulu Wang)

The Farewell is a personal story about a young Asian-American woman (Awkwafina) struggling to reconcile her heritage with her current situation and values - specifically, she is tested when her grandmother is diagnosed with cancer and the wider family make the decision to hide the truth from her. The Farewell does a fantastic job of generating empathy for all the different perspectives and positions in play, but it’s truly anchored by Awkwafina’s amazingly nuanced and tender performance - basically, anyone who’s ever loved a grandparent should leave this feeling incredibly moved and inspired. The themes of The Farewell are both specific to the Asian-American experience and general to anyone who has struggled with maintaining bonds over a vast distance, whether physical or cultural. Lulu Wang is an exciting new voice in cinema, and I will watch her career with great interest.

8. Pain & Glory (dir. Pedro Almodóvar)

Almodóvar is one of my favourite filmmakers, and one of the reasons I love his work so much is its wild diversity. My favourite from him is The Skin I Live In, a film that could not be more different than Pain & Glory. This is a small, very personal film telling the story of a middle-aged director (Banderas, clearly playing a version of Almodóvar himself) who’s struggling with his legacy as a filmmaker and the increasing privations attached to middle age. Suffering in the present, Salvador finds himself retreating into memories of his childhood - particularly of his mother (Penelope Cruz) and his first crush. The childhood sequences were where the film really sung for me, perfectly capturing the sun-dappled glow of reminiscences of childhood. And the ending, where Almodóvar truly shows his hand, is delightfully mischievous and the perfect cap on this very personal picture.

7. Once Upon a Time in ... Hollywood (dir. Quentin Tarantino)

This is a slice of life movie, but while that might call to mind ‘kitchen sink’ dramas, this is unabashedly a ‘slice of life’ movie about Hollywood and the mythology that has developed around it. It’s meandering and feels rather aimless for the bulk of its runtime, but that’s kind of the point. It’s exactly what the title promises in that it recaptures what life was like in a very specific time and in a very specific place - it’s an idealised, loving depiction of the Hollywood of the time, with the movie stars, flawed and fading as they are, cast as heroes menaced by the drugged-up hippies poised to dismantle the status quo. It ends in the fashion you’d expect from Tarantino, but here I found his revisionist approach to history remarkably poignant and effective. Film is a magic medium, with Hollywood serving as the ultimate dream factory - it feels completely right that Tarantino would attempt to use celluloid to right one of the great tragedies of Hollywood history.

6. One Cut of the Dead (dir. Shinichirou Ueda)

I went into this with no expectations whatsoever - and what a treat it was! One Cut of the Dead is easily one of the funniest movies I’ve seen in years, taking what initially seems like a trite concept (a crew is filming a zombie movie at a desolate location ... only to discover that the zombies are real!) and twisting it in a truly ingenious way. The comedy is very broad, but it is consistently delightful and always manages to avoid becoming crass - the movie even has some really sweet family dynamics at the centre of it, which gives it some real emotional heft. The success of this film is heavily reliant on a major twist that occurs part-way through, so the best advice I can give you is to stay as far away from spoilers for this one as possible - go in blind, and you will be amply rewarded for your faith.

5. Midsommar (dir. Ari Aster)

I went into this film with reservations, since I wasn’t a huge fan of Hereditary (by the same director), which I found to have extraordinary moments but iffy execution overall. This movie, however, wowed me. While marketed as a freaky/arty horror film, the director has described it as a fairy tale, which is the level on which is spoke to me. Midsommar follows Dani (an incredible Florence Pugh), a young woman who has suffered a terrible loss, as she travels with her boyfriend and his friends to a pagan festival in the Swedish countryside. Dani is painfully isolated, and her grief is hers to shoulder alone since her boyfriend is un-receptive and entirely unprepared to help her. Over the course of the film, destruction and creation are conflated in ways that are both beautiful and horrific - this film spoke to me on a profound level, and the way it ended gave me an incredible sense of catharsis. This won’t be for everyone, for I found it to be a deeply special film. Let’s all raise a toast to the imminent, and much welcome, reign of Florence Pugh.

4. Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-Ho)

Parasite is that rare film that more than lives up to the massive hype surrounding it (you don’t get more hyped than winning Best Picture at the Academy Awards!). It’s hard to write about this film without spoilers, since so much of the joy of Parasite lies in discovering what the hell is going on. This is an ‘upstairs downstairs’ movie for the 21st century, where the downstairs people have fierce designs on the lives and pleasures enjoyed by their social superiors. The rich people here are not vilified, though they are depicted as vapid and shallow, perpetually searching for new ways to fill their lives with meaning. Their struggling counterparts from the rough side of the city are struggling only to get by - their lives too hard to allow time for such indulgences. This is a film about the fantasy of social advancement, and the power that dreams have to hold us in thrall to hopeless ambitions. It’s masterfully directed, acted and designed, and it has been extremely gratifying to see it receive such widespread recognition.

3. Marriage Story (dir. Noah Baumbach)

I was always going to see this (hey Adam Driver!) but I was entirely unprepared for how great Marriage Story was. Easily Baumbach’s best film, Marriage Story is a masterclass in acting and character writing - it’s fiercely intelligent in how it constantly forces you to reassess what you’re seeing and where your sympathies lie. Does Charlie seem like an oblivious, navel-gazing asshole? Sure, but he’s also confused and vulnerable and thrown entirely off balance by his awakening consciousness of his wife’s dreams and ambitions. Nicole is self-effacing and self-denying, as so many women are, which makes her emerging confidence and newfound sense of direction incredibly satisfying to witness. In the second half of Marriage Story, Driver’s Charlie undoubtedly takes the spotlight - it’s clear to me that he becomes the focus largely because he continues to flounder as Nicole finds her footing. Baumbach, wisely I feel, is most interested in his characters when they’re lost, struggling to be better but barely understanding what that means. Even if you don’t sympathise with Charlie by the end of Marriage Story, I can promise you will come away with a thorough understanding of him thanks to Driver’s extraordinary performance. Superlative work, all round. (It’s also, just for the record, the only film of 2019 to make me cry.)

2. Portrait of a Lady on Fire (dir. Céline Sciamma)

This is the 2019 film I am most excited to see again (it’s coming out in a week in the UK - I’m so excited!). Sciamma’s film is an incredibly moving and deeply beautiful love story, depicting how a female artist in 18th century France falls in love with the woman she has been covertly employed to paint. Portrait is very much a film about the act of looking, and in many ways it’s the ultimate female gaze film - it’s all about women looking at women, as depicted by a female filmmaker. Gazes are political as much as they’re romantic - here, our two heroines drink each other, aware of exactly how dangerous and forbidden their mutual intoxication is. The woozy thrall of their relationship is exquisitely conveyed through the cinematography and direction, and the final shot - which I won’t spoil - is an all-timer that serves as an exquisite coda to the entire film. This is a truly superb film, and I’m still incensed that it received no substantial awards recognition. Let’s hope it goes down in film history as the masterpiece it is, yet another omission proving the limitations of the Oscars as a metric for great art.

1. The Favourite (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos)

This completely wowed me, and against all the odds it stuck with me as the best film I saw in 2019 - it features a trio of magnificently compelling female characters (played by Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone) operating at the court of Queen Anne (Colman is Anne, Weisz and Stone are courtiers), and is laser-focused on the shifting sands of the power dynamics between them. The script is savage without sacrificing poignancy, witty without ceasing to be emotionally honest. And while I’ve seen some react to this film as a comedy (and it certainly has laughs, most of which are tightly packaged with shock), for me it was very clearly a drama about the inscrutable and complicated relationships that exist between women. Specifically, it is about how those relationships run the gamut from sincere affinity to ruthless manipulation. This is a spectacular movie, visually and thematically rich in every frame, and it also has the best use of an Elton John song in 2019 (sorry, Rocketman!).

Fly away, skyline pigeon fly, towards the things you’ve left so very, so very far, behind.

#the irishman #portrait of a lady on fire #the favourite #midsommar #adam driver #marriage story #florence pugh #the farewell #awkwafina #parasite #once upon a time in hollywood #film #cinema #best of the year #2019 #one cut of the dead #pain and glory

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glenngaylord · 3 years

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Glenn Gaylord’s Capsules From The Bunker – Summer 2021 Lockdown Style

Like many of you, I’ve lost all concept of space and time during this lockdown era. I’d watch movie after movie, but somehow forget to write about them. I’d consume films for sustenance, but then I’d move on to the next task of cleaning a room, doing a crossword puzzle, or staring at my dog for hours on end. Thank goodness I have a few friends to have breakfast with every now and then, or else I’d have assumed I had been transported to a cabin in Montana. “Am I a film critic or a hermit?” I’d ask myself daily…that is, if I even understand what days are anymore. All of this is to say that I have a lot of catching up to do now that we’ve taken a baby step or two towards returning to some sense of normalcy. Wait a minute. What’s that? Highly transmissible variants? Back into the cave I go. While I still can, I’ve managed to blurt out a few capsule reviews of some films worth mentioning.

In Between Gays – Film Review: Summer Of 85 ★★★★

Prolific French filmmaker, François Ozon, has made a career out of finding dark crevices in the most unexpected of places. Here, with Summer Of 85, he tweaks this New Wave era gay romance just enough to upend our expectations. In pure Talented Mr. Ripley meets Call Me By Your Name meets Luca fashion, Ozon spins what could have been that sun-dappled, seaside summer that changed everything into a love that perhaps never was, zeroing in instead on a young man’s obsession for something unobtainable. Beautifully shot and acted, Ozon takes the story to more provocative places than you’d initially expect while still maintaining the boppy fizz of a great Cure song. Despite the mish mash of tones, the film has a pulse all of its own. It’ll make you swoon, pull the rug out from under you, and then make you wonder how he managed to quietly get a little twisted.

Summer Of 85 currently in select theaters, see official website for details. Released on DVD and BluRay August 17th.

Truffle In Mind – Film Review: Pig ★★★★

Writer-director Michael Sarnoski makes an auspicious feature debut with the story of a man searching for his stolen truffle-hunting pig. Caked in dirt, blood and looking not so much like a homeless man but as a person who died inside a thousand times over, Nicholas Cage gives one of his best performances ever as a man who seeks the truth at all costs. He asks his only connection to the outside world, Amir, played wonderfully by Alex Wolff, to drive him through Portland’s dark underbelly to retrieve his pet companion.

Although the film takes us to a rather unbelievable “Fight Club” moment, it generally holds its mood with credibility. It’s a great calling card, not only for Sarnoski, but also for his talented cinematographer Patrick Scola, who brings a painterly quality to every single image. The film finds beauty in a bite of food, a breath of air, or simply the compassion between two main characters who have seemingly little in common. It’s a shame the trailer elicits laughs when Cage utters lines like, “Who has my pig?” Clearly they want to sell the actor’s neo-gonzo persona, but Cage brings so much depth and seriousness to this project, only raising his voice once. He deserves the highest praise for committing to such an oddly touching, gorgeously quiet story. At risk of sounding Dad-jokey, the only thing that hogs the scenery is his porcine friend.

Pig is in theaters now.

All Is Lost – Film Review: Old ★★

In 1999, M. Night Shyamalan made a great film, The Sixth Sense, and has been chasing that dragon ever since, often to diminishing returns. His films, however, often do well because he has great concepts, a keen eye for visuals and timing, yet things always seem to turn clunky and inane real fast. With Old, he continues down that path by giving us something compelling—a group of people on a beach who age quickly—and ruining it with dialogue seemingly written by an algorithm and rendered unintelligible much of the time, while the terrific cast seem to have no idea how to make Shyamalan’s words sound any better than a high school play. A couple of sequences did make me sit up and take notice, and he uses compositions and offscreen space well, but overall, Old plays like a stretched-out episode of Lost, and like that cool but overstuffed series, you’re not gonna get very good explanations as to what transpires. Sure, the big twist works well enough on some level, but it doesn’t save you from the discomfort of watching good actors flatline in more ways than one.

Old is currently in theaters nationally.

Hi Fidel-ity – Film Review: Revolution Rent ★★★1/2

Shot in 2014, Andy Señor Jr., who played Angel on Broadway along with a host of other credits, staged the classic musical Rent in Havana during a thaw in our relations with the Communist regime. He did so against the wishes of his Cuban family, who suffered under Castro and insisted his production would merely serve as a propaganda tool for the government. He plows ahead instead, capturing the months long process in a rather artless home movie style. The aesthetics don’t carry any weight here when you have such a compelling subject matter. Witnessing his actors struggling with their performances while also living in harsh conditions adds new layers to the late Jonathan Larson’s story of squatters in the age of AIDS.

With a limited talent pool, one of whom doesn’t feel comfortable with the gay subject matter and another who lives with HIV himself, Señor finds new connections to Larson’s material as well as an affection for his heritage. What we may have taken for granted here in the US in terms of sexuality and gender expression feels like a whole new experience when seen through a Cuban lens. Señor speaks out against the Castros with quick sequences showing moments of oppression, thus preventing this film from perpetuating the lies of its government. Instead, he gifts the people of this poor, struggling country with a real sense of community and its first burst of musical theater in ages. Sure he’s a privileged westerner who dangles hope in front of people only to return to his cushy life, but he does so with heart and good intentions. You end up loving and rooting for his cast in this moving, sweet documentary.

Revolution Rent is currently streaming on HBO Max.

Do The Hustlers – Film Review: Zola ★★★★

Call me wary when I went to see a movie based on a viral twitter thread and directed by Janicza Brava, whose Sundance Award-winning short, Gregory Go Boom, proved to be not only tone deaf but downright offensive towards people with disabilities. Her new film, Zola, excels however, in ways her prior work has not. Taylour Paige, a standout in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, plays the title character, a stripper who meets Stefani (Riley Keough) one night and is convinced to travel with her down to Florida where they can make a lot of money dancing all weekend. Things, however, do not go as planned, with Zola’s story escalating from one insane twist after another. Paige and Keough are outstanding, as are Nicholas Braun and Colman Domingo as their traveling companions. Jason Mitchell, so great in Straight Outta Compton and Mudbound, brings a wild, dangerous energy, something he shares with the film itself. It comes across as The Florida Project meets Hustlers, but with its own surreal, unexpected tone. I laughed out loud often, especially with Paige’s loopy reactions to her surroundings and the giddy, zippy energy on display. Zola chews you up, twerks on your face, and spits you out, exhausted yet anxious to see whatever this talented group of people will do next.

Zola is currently playing in select theaters and available on demand.

Banned On The Run – Film Review: There Is No Evil ★★★★

It’s impossible to review There Is No Evil without giving away its central premise, so I will avoid as much description as possible. Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof has crafted a four-part anthology of sorts around an agonizing moral issue important to people worldwide. At the end of the first part, a stunning cut to an unforgettable visual reveals everything and allows you to watch the rest with informed eyes. Rasoulof seamlessly excels at different genres, from family drama, to action escape, to romance, weaving a tale of such depth and sorrow for its talented cast of characters.

The making of it proves as interesting at the film itself. Banned by the regime from producing feature films for two years and prohibited from traveling outside of Iran, Rasoulof, like any crafty filmmaker, came up with an ingenious plan. He slipped under the radar by calling these four short films, mostly shot in small towns far outside the reach of Tehran, and then had the final product smuggled out of the country. A filmmaker with such talent not only at telling stories, but the with ability to will his vision into existence against all odds, deserves the world’s attention.

There Is No Evil is available on DVD, BluRay and VOD now.

In Space No One Can Hear You Think – Film Review: F9: The Fast Saga ★★★

Considered review-proof, the Fast and the Furious franchise has ruled the box office for the past 20 years, so my calling its latest entry, F9: The Fast Saga, monumentally dumb will have zero influence on anyone’s decision to see it. We all know it’s big and stupid, as do the filmmakers. These films, deliver said stupid with such gusto, that you simply surrender and have a great time nonetheless. Nothing, however, prepared me, for this series to go all Moonraker, sending a car to a place no car has ever gone before. You’ll know it when you see it and probably say, “That’s ludicrous!” and also say, “That’s Ludacris!”

F9: The Fast Saga is currently playing on every screen on Earth and in select theaters throughout the universe.

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manage-mischief · 4 years

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Picture Prefect

Read on AO3 here.

Author’s Note: So, I’m not really sure I ship Dramione. At least, not in an endgame type of way. But, this idea came to me while rereading Harry Potter for the umpteenth time. I think there definitely could have been more to Draco’s character than was in the books/movies. I felt like it would be interesting to understand Hermione’s relationship to him, and that there was likely a bit of romantic tension/pining that may have been behind some of Draco’s actions/motivations. You know what they say about little boys and pulling girls’ pigtails on the schoolyard. Anyways, this takes place during OoTP, before Dumbledore leaves. This is also my first FF, so I’m still learning. I’ve just always thought about writing something but have been too nervous before now. Any kindfeedback or reviews would be appreciated. Thanks in advance :)

Disclaimer: I’m not J.K. Rowling. I own nothing.

Summary: Hermione goes on evening patrol with Draco Malfoy and things progress quite differently than expected. Secrets, lies, and broom cupboards may be involved.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we,” she sighed as she descended the stairs and laid eyes upon her patrol partner for the evening.

He gave a noncommittal grunt in return. Uncharacteristically pleasant this evening, she noted. Without a word, the pair set off past the Great Hall and got to work.

When Hermione had first discovered she was going to be a prefect for Gryffindor House last summer, she had been thrilled, but not surprised. She had top marks in all of her classes, and a (mostly) clean disciplinary record. Sure, she, Harry, and Ron had had a few run-ins with the wrong side of the law. Still, there was, at least in her humble opinion, no one more qualified for the job. When she found out that Ron would have the job alongside her, she had been that much happier. During the celebration held at Grimmauld Place, she had never felt prouder. Yes, she was an intelligent girl. Yes, she had even scored a date to the Yule Ball with internationally-renowned quidditch seeker Viktor Krum (and had especially enjoyed the look of jealousy and disbelief on Pansy Parkinson’s face, she might add), but this accomplishment somehow carried more weight for her.

Being muggle-born, she knew that there were some who viewed her as unworthy of Hogwarts. Some would even go to unspeakable lengths to try and force her out of the wizarding world—as she had learned the hard way during her bout of paralysis-via-basilisk during her second year. But, here she was: the top of her class, muggle-born prefect. The prefect title meant something. Anyone in her world could understand the accomplishment, and no one could deny her the honor that the title bestowed.

Ok, maybe she was a bit over-enthusiastic about the role. It did seem that, most of the time, she was nothing more than a glorified hall-monitor. Yet, she wore her badge with honor. And, as she and Ron strode towards the Prefects Compartment on the Hogwarts Express on her first day she felt that nothing could have lowered her spirits. That is, however, until she saw him. Her new colleague, leaning against a table with his usual, haughty, I’m-better-than-you-because-I’m-pureblood air, his blond hair standing out in stark contrast with his dark robes with emerald green accents. Draco Malfoy.

And so, this is how she ended up on evening patrol on this otherwise wonderful night with a boy who was, in her opinion, one of the rottenest snakes to ever roam the halls of Hogwarts.

The first time she had met Draco had been on the Hogwarts Express during her first year. Bright-eyed and bushy-haired as ever, Hermione had hugged her parents goodbye and wandered onto the magical locomotive, anxious yet elated. She had been thrown into the magical world so fast. One minute, she had been running from bullies in the park by her house as they called her a freak. The next, she was meeting with a stern-but-kindly witch who explained to her that she was talented and special. Hermione was determined to learn as much as she could about her knew world as fast as she could, so she would be able to prove herself at school. Once she set her mind on something, nothing could stop her.

Armed with countless wizarding books and a new bank of knowledge, she confidently strutted into a train compartment and took a seat. She cheerfully introduced herself to the three other young wizards already occupying the space. The others followed suit. Two large, intimidating boys introduced themselves as Crabbe and Goyle. She was pretty sure those were last names, but had a feeling that prying for more information would be futile, seeing as they had both grunted out one-word answers to her questions and then looked away. They did not seem very bright. The third boy had brilliant blond hair and smiled in a way that made her blush slightly in spite of herself. “I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy. It’s a pleasure,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Draco had been overly friendly to respond, and all too eager to converse with Hermione. They asked each other about their wands, their favorite shops in Diagon Alley, and the classes they were most excited to take. “I can’t wait for Transfiguration. I know it’s one of the more difficult branches of magic, but it seems quite fascinating,” Hermione blabbered on cheerfully. She had been very proud of herself for holding her own during this conversation. Her reading and preparation had paid off! Draco seemed to have no idea she hadn’t grown up in a wizarding household.

He smiled at her. “Well, I hope we’re sorted into the same house. It’ll be a shame if I can’t spend any more time with you in the future.” Hermione again blushed. She kind of liked Draco’s cockiness and confidence. “So,” he continued, “where d’you want to be sorted? I know where I��ll be…Slytherin. My family has been in Slytherin for generations,” he remarked, haughtily.

“Oh, I’m not sure I have a strong preference. Although, Gryffindor seems like it would be a good fit. Or Ravenclaw. I guess we’ll see,” Hermione said.

“Where were your parents when they were here?” Draco asked, eagerly.

“Oh…well…they didn’t go to Hogwarts,” Hermione replied. She didn’t know why she didn’t reveal that her parents were Muggles. She wasn’t the least bit ashamed. But, something about the boy’s mention of his Slytherin family heritage made her wary. Hadn’t she read somewhere that Slytherins were obsessed with blood purity? Surely that was ancient history. It couldn’t mean this boy believed that only pureblood witches and wizards were worthy of magical education, right? After all, with such a small portion of the population having magical blood, there must be hardly any purebloods left!

“Oh, so they went somewhere else? Ilvermorny? Durmstrang? My father wanted to send me there, says Hogwarts’ Headmaster is an old crackpot…”

“No, no. They didn’t go to any magical school. They’re muggles,” Hermione interrupted. Immediately, the tone of the conversation took a sharp turn. Crabbe and Goyle both stared at her as if she had grown an extra head. Draco sat up straighter in his seat, and where before there had been a playful look in his eyes, there was now only wide-eyed fear and accusing. “So, tell me, what makes you think you’re worthy to be here, talking about magic to me and my new friends, when your parents are so backward they probably can’t even tell a wand from a stick in the mud?” Draco sneered at her. His two cronies sniggered. Hermione knew she was not welcome anymore. She shot out of her seat, determined not to cry, and stormed out of the compartment. She could hear Draco’s voice in the distance as she quickly scampered away, fuming. “Well, boys, glad we got rid of her, eh?”

Of course, leaving that compartment was the for the best. She had met Neville and, not long after, her future best friends, Harry and Ron. Luckily, not all wizards were as closed-minded as Malfoy had been. She had not let him get to her, and since then, had outperformed him in every class. Still, she always found it strange to reflect back on the one pleasant conversation she had had with him and relate that cute, smiling boy to the absolute toe-rag she knew today.

Speaking of today, it was getting late, and Hermione was becoming fed up, fast. Her and Malfoy had only been patrolling for half-an-hour, yet it felt as if it had been an eternity. They walked in silence, keeping at least a foot’s distance in between them at all times. The corridor was silent. It was shaping up to be a long, dreadfully boring night.

They reached the first-floor bathrooms around 11 o’clock. “I’ll check the girls and you check the boys,” Hermione broke the silence. Malfoy rolled his eyes and sarcastically replied, “no really Granger? What an ingenious idea.” She simply shook her head and went to check for students out of bed. The bathroom was empty.

“Nothing in there.” She saw Malfoy emerge from the boys’ loo across the hall. “Same here.” On they went.

Half of their shift had now passed, and all they had seen was a sleepwalking Ravenclaw first-year, who Hermione had gently guided back to bed. They were passing by the statue of George the Smarmy when suddenly, she heard footsteps. She paused and cocked her head.

“C’mon Granger,” Malfoy sighed. “It’s probably Filtch and Mrs. Norris.”

“Hush!” Hermione hissed. It most certainly was not Filtch. The footsteps clicked, making it clear their owner was wearing high heels. They were approaching fast. She couldn’t ignore her gut feeling that something was amiss. But, what was it? Why did the footsteps sound so familiar to her? “Have you lost your marbles? Let’s go! It’s a professor or someone! Nothing we have to worry about!”

Aha. It was a professor. Of course. That’s why Hermione recognized the footsteps immediately. She could hear in them the haughty sense of purpose that made her loathe Defense Against the Darks Arts classes daily. Umbridge. Just as she could hear the toad-like professor approach their corridor, another pair of footsteps sounded in the distance. Umbridge must have been meeting someone. But who, at this hour?

She didn’t know why she did it. Perhaps it was because she was on edge from all of the secrecy surrounding the DA. Perhaps it was because of the wrenching feeling in her gut that Umbridge was up to more than she let on here at Hogwarts. But, no matter the reason, before she knew it, she was grabbing Malfoy by the front of his robes and pulling him into the nearest broom closet.

“What the bloody hell, Granger?!?” he hissed indignantly. At least he had the sense not to shout. Otherwise, their cover would have been blown. “What’re you playing at?”

“Be quiet,” she shushed him promptly. Quickly, she pulled out the pair of extendable ears she kept hidden in her pockets. As much as she hated to admit it, Fred and George had really hit the mark with their creation. She always kept a pair with her, and had found them to come in handy on many occasions. As she fiddled with the device, Malfoy continued to look at her, wide-eyed. “What the hell are those?!”

“Extendable ears, now, HUSH!” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Extendable what?” “Ears. They let you listen in on other peoples’ conversations without getting caught. Now please kindly shut up so I can hear what’s going on!”

“…in this time of night. I wanted to do this privately. Most students use this corridor to snog without getting caught, so I thought it would do the trick.”

Umbridge’s girly voice echoed. Malfoy was still staring at her with a look of pure confusion.

A private meeting. But with who?

“Of course, Dolores. Do you have any updates?”

The second voice belonged to a man. She knew she had heard it before. But…it couldn’t be…

“Oh my god,” Malfoy whispered, now seemingly as invested in the conversation as Hermione had been. “What’s Fudge doing here?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Fudge. The Minister of Magic. She was sure glad she had had the sense to hide in the cupboard, even if she was a little too close to Malfoy for comfort. She couldn’t have had him running away and blowing her cover.

The pair of them remained quiet, now both eager to hear what was going on.

“Well, Cornelius. I’m afraid matters at Hogwarts are far worse than we feared.”

“How so?”

“Well first of all, there’s the Potter boy. He and his little friends seem determined to undermine my authority at every turn! He has no respect for the Ministry. Always going on about You-Know-Who despite my countless warnings and punishments!”

There was heavy silence for a moment before Fudge spoke again.

“And do the other students believe him?”

“Some do. Others think he’s gone mad. Most don’t know what to think, and it has been hard for me to convince them to take our side, despite our efforts to disparage him in the Prophet.”

“Surely these students have more sense than to believe the word of a 15-year-old boy over the Ministry and the Prophet! Why are we having such difficulty keeping this under control? I thought I could trust you to handle this, Dolores.”

“I…I am doing all that can be done! But that’s the thing. It isn’t just Potter who has been proclaiming the story that You-Know-Who has returned. It’s Dumbledore, as well. It is not so easy to discredit the Headmaster in the Prophet. He is too well known and well respected. Students love him. Which is why I am proposing that we focus our efforts on a new plan.”

“Yes?”

“Removing Dumbledore from this school, and making me Headmistress.”

“That is quite easier said than done, Dolores. You said it yourself, Dumbledore has the respect of the student body, as well as most of the parents, I might add. Implicating him in illicit activity to remove him from Hogwarts will be extremely difficult.”

“We almost got Potter, this summer.”

“Yes, and the fact that those Dementors even showed up in Little Whinging was a happy accident! How can we expect something like that to happen again? And at Hogwarts, no less?”

“Yes…a happy accident…well. I shall keep my eyes open for any ‘accidents’ that will allow us to relieve Albus from his post. In the meantime, you’d best be heading back to London. It is getting late. But I promise you this, Cornelius. Come hell or high water, I shall make sure Albus Dumbledore never sets foot in this school again. You can count on me.”

“We’ll see, Dolores. Have a good evening.”

Their footsteps echoed down the halls and disappeared into the night.

“I can’t believe it,” Hermione exclaimed. “That conniving little…”

“Blimey Granger. I thought you were intelligent!” Malfoy rolled his eyes. She glared daggers at him, daring him to continue insulting her. He sighed, “Of course the Ministry’s trying to oust Dumbledore! Fudge is scared of him. He thinks Dumbledore’s going to take his job.”

Hermione was taken aback at his words. She had known this information, of course, thanks to her months of living with the Order. Still, she was surprised that Malfoy knew this information, and that he had been so willing to admit it. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Draco couldn’t have come across this information by himself. What was his shifty father telling him?

“Like you even care,” Hermione tersely responded. “You and your father have been trying to get rid of Dumbledore since the day you arrived here! And probably before! You’d just love old Umbridge to become Headmistress and become her little pet.” Ok. Tirade over. Yelling at Malfoy, while satisfying, wasn’t going to do her any good. Hermione knew they should be continuing their patrol. Plus, she wanted to return to the Common Room and fill Harry and Ron in on the evening’s events. Hopefully they’d still be awake…

“You always think you know me, but you don’t.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione whipped her head towards him just before she was about to exit their cramped hiding spot. Had she heard correctly?

Malfoy gave a sad sort of grunt. He hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether or not he should continue. Hermione continued staring at him intently. She was mystified.

“You and your little Potter Protection Squad. You all always think you know me, know my story, know my life. ‘Oh, Malfoy hates everything good. He’s always out to ruin things for us. He’s a jerk. He’s the enemy. He’s evil,’” he mimicked her in a high-pitched voice. Hermione couldn’t speak, still baffled. He continued.

“For your information, I detest Umbridge just as much as you do. I just know how to be subtle about it. And I know my place. I know what happens to me if I don’t get on her good side. You wouldn’t understand. You’re from a muggle family.”

“You know what, Malfoy? I am absolutely sick and tired of you bringing up my parentage. I have as much of a right to be here as you! And I understand plenty, thank you very much! I am top of our class and work hard to prove myself to intolerant people like you and your family every single day! Don’t you forget you were impressed by me when we met on the Hogwarts Express first year! Impressed by more than just my knowledge of the wizarding world, I might add!” She spit back, her breath labored from the force of her outburst. She could feel her cheeks flushing. It had been an unspoken agreement between them to never mention their first encounter. She could see his face tint red as well.

He stared at her for a moment. Then, without warning, grabbed her by both of her arms and turned her so they were face to face, which was quite cramped due to their inopportune hiding place. His gesture was not threatening, however. He looked sad.

“You don’t understand. I…I sometimes envy that you’re from…well…your background.” He huffed. “I mean being a Malfoy is an honor. People envy me.” His voiced switched back to the shaky timbre it had been. “But…there’s certain…expectations. My family is one of the greatest pureblood lines in wizard history. Malfoy and Black. We have a reputation to uphold. My father reminds me of that every chance he gets.” His face darkened. “I have to hate Dumbledore. I have to be friends with people like Crabbe and Goyle. I have to suck up to Umbridge and support her for headmistress. You don’t understand what happens if I don’t.”

Hermione continued to stare at him. She blinked, trying to understand why and how Draco was capable of showing such vulnerability with her. He searched her face, almost desperately, for a reaction. Hermione softened her face. Perhaps there was more to him than she thought. Maybe he just needed someone to listen. When he realized her receptiveness, he spoke once again.

“Everyone in my family expects me to be like my father. Become a…” he stopped himself. But she knew what he would have said. “Well, become like him,” he carefully worded. “No one has ever asked me what I want to do. And I can’t tell them. I can’t tell my family to shove it…that I don’t want to be part of their circle! That I’m terrified of what’s coming and of what I’ll have to do!” Draco’s voice broke. Hermione remained silent, entranced. Without thinking, she took his hand gently. They both looked down at their hands, now touching. When he spoke again, he refused to meet her gaze.

“My parents were part of an arranged marriage. Even their lives weren’t their own. Everything…every bloody thing that’s ever happened in my life and before has been about blood purity. About money, and power, and respect. They expect me to uphold that tradition. I’ll marry a pureblood girl. I can’t object. I’ll be disowned. Banished. Burned off of the family tree for even thinking about, as they call it, ‘tainting the bloodline.’” He sighed once more. He finally brought his eyes back to meet hers. His stare was intense and a bit frantic. Hermione felt her heart pounding in her chest and her cheeks growing hot. Who was this boy, and what had he done with the tosser Draco Malfoy? At least she knew how to deal with him when he was being a jerk. But this? This vulnerable Draco standing before her? Her brain could not figure him out.

His voiced softened further. “I’m sorry I’ve called you names. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I truly am.” And then, it rose once more, “But don’t you understand? I have to act this way! You terrify me, Hermione. And…that just…can’t happen. I…I don’t have a choice.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The pressure in her chest was too much to bear.

“Draco. Everyone has a choice,” she whispered, softly, her eyes still locked on his.

He swallowed. Then, he leaned forward, slowly. She could feel her own body move towards his in response. Her heart pounded and her mind went blank as she felt his strong arms wrapping around her and pulling her into a kiss. She pressed into him, her body moving with his in a passionate dance. He ran his hands through her hair. She could feel her pulse rising, heat surging through her body. The pair continued hungrily for a few more moments. Then, as if on a timer, they both regained composure and pulled back from each other, panting. Hermione smoothed out her hair. Draco fussed with his now-disheveled robes. They regarded each other once again, neither sure what to say to the other.

Hermione blinked in a vain attempt to regain focus. She couldn’t deny that had been the most passionate kiss she’d ever received, including those from Viktor—who had more than once professed his love for her. But, she thought to herself, that will never excuse his behavior. He had humiliated and degraded her, time and time again. The names he had called her were almost unforgivable. Had he changed? She couldn’t be sure. But, one late-night encounter in a broom closet was far from enough proof for Hermione. After a few moments of silence, she realized he was waiting for her to speak. To say something about what just happened. Her mind was still racing too fast to latch onto a single thought.

“I’m sorry about your family Draco. That sounds very hard.”

Oh, if she could have kicked herself in the moment! Sorry about your family?!? That sounds hard?!? She felt like a proper wanker! What an idiotic response to what had just happened!

“I wish things were different,” he replied. This shocked her.

“Are you saying you want to be with me?” She inquired.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, almost inaudibly, sheepishly running his hands through his hair.

“Draco,” she sighed. This was all too much information for Hermione to handle. “I’m not sure, either. Thank you for apologizing for calling me those awful names…but…I’m not sure that’s enough. You just said it yourself. Your family life is complicated. I’m sorry. If you ever want to change, to escape, I will be here for you. And, I may even want…this…too. But, I won’t be the girl who you degrade in public and then snog in a broom closet when no one is watching. I don’t deserve that.”

Draco simply stared back at her for a long time. She could tell he was thinking. Would he really say he wanted her? Would he really change? Would she really want to be with him, even if he did? Ugh, Harry always said girls were confusing, but she was beginning to think that boys that were really the ones who were bonkers!

Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke once again, “I’m sorry. I just…” he shook his head. He glanced towards the door. “We had better finish patrol and then head to our dorms.” Under his breath, Hermione heard him mutter, “I have a lot to think about.”

Unable to form any intelligible words, she just nodded her head. The pair emerged from their cupboard and set off back down the corridor, as silent as before. When they finally parted for their respective common rooms, they met each other’s gaze once again. Draco smiled softly, “Goodnight, Hermione.”

She gave a tentative smile in return. “Goodnight, Draco.”

As she entered the Gryffindor Common Room, she was deep in thought.

“Oi, Hermione! You’re back late,” Ron shouted to her from the table in the corner, on which Harry and him had stacked piles of books and essays. In the back of her mind, she mentally rolled her eyes. Of course, they hadn’t finished their homework.

“Was patrol with Malfoy as awful as we thought?” She gave a noncommittal sigh which Harry took for annoyance. “That bad, huh? What a git,” he shook his head. He and Ron then launched into a conversation about how much they hated Draco Malfoy. Hermione did not listen. She was still deep in thought, her thoughts swimming as if she were looking at them from the surface of a pensive: slippery and liquid and not quite fully formed.

“You alright, Hermione?” Ron asked, snapping her back to reality.

“Fine,” she answered half-heartedly. “Just dead tired. I think I’m going to head to bed.”

She climbed the stairs to the 5th year girls’ dormitory, and told herself she would tell the boys about Umbridge’s conversation in the morning. Right now, she was too preoccupied with thoughts of a certain Slytherin prefect to think about anything else. As she crawled into bed and closed the curtains of her four-poster, she found herself clinging to a small bit of naive hope. It did seem like Draco was serious when he kissed her. Maybe, just maybe, people could change for the better, even people as entrenched in the pureblood movement as Draco Malfoy.

She should have known it was silly to hope for such things.

#harry potter #hp fanfic #hp #dramione #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione #hermione granger #being prefects #order of the phoenix #hp ootp #ootp #can pretty much be inserted into canon without changing much of anything #please be niceeee #my writing

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teaandcrowns · 4 years

Text

whispered truce

Chapter Seven: Diplomatic Solution, part iv

_________

It… was actually a really good idea.

Zuko wasn’t sure if it was surprise he felt that she’d come up with something so ingenious, or if it was embarrassment that he hadn’t thought of it first. It’s admiration, a voice that sounded curiously like his uncle’s whispered in the back of his mind. He ignored that voice. Behind him, the Avatar’s waterbender hovered over his shoulder, watching.

“You’re being distracting,” he said, a little irritably. Did she have to stand so close? His arm still tingled with a pleasant coolness from where she healed him.

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.” Except—she also didn’t move.

Zuko set the calligraphy brush on its porcelain stand and twisted to look back at her. “What is it? Did I miss a stroke in a character? Are my brush lines not clear enough? Do you have an issue with my wording?”

Despite his flurry of questions, Zuko didn’t expect an answer; he expected her to take the bigger hint and give him a little more breathing room. Forging a letter from the Royal Palace Ministry of Domestic Culinary Affairs took a bit more precision from his brush strokes than he tended to give them, and that was considerably more difficult to accomplish with a waterbender breathing down his neck.

She blinked a few times, as if not realizing she was practically invading his personal space. More frustratingly, she still didn’t move.

“I’ve never seen someone actually write that well before.”

That caught him off-guard. “Well, I mean—” he started. “My handwriting isn’t normally this formal. But it has to look official.”

“Still,” she said, leaning even closer over his shoulder so she could reach out and brush fingertips along the empty space to the left of his last line. “The lines are just so crisp and decisive.”

A strange shiver snaked up Zuko’s spine at her words, which he attributed to the time limit and pressure they were under to get this done and in the right place before dawn. He cleared his throat, giving her a pointed look which was completely hidden by the mask. Finally, she got the message and straightened, stepping away from him to walk over to the door of the storehouse. With nowhere else either could really think of, they’d headed back to the record keeper’s storehouse. It still stank in here, but once the waterbender had crystalized the air and captured what she said were droplets of the foul smell lingering in the air, it was bearable. Zuko had no idea what she was talking about, or how crystalizing a scent even worked, but he chalked it up to being a waterbender thing, and so had set to work drafting up a fake letter to forge.

Her plan was simple, but Zuko thought it had a really good chance of working. All the domestic shipments of food and cooking items that weren’t homemade by families or produced in local towns were shipped out from the capital. That included things like rice, barley-wheat flour, soy sauce—and nam-pla. The letter he was writing made the proclamation that an unknown number of nam-pla containers across several shipments got contaminated, and would soon go bad if they hadn’t already. It claimed that because the contaminant had been caught only after the shipments were dispersed, it would take too much time to send representatives to every location and check all the jars that had been already distributed to only get rid of the bad ones. In order to expedite the health and safety of all Fire Nation citizens, it is hereby decreed by the Ministry of Domestic Cultural Affairs of the Royal Palace that all current stores of nam-pla be disposed of. City, town, and village officials are to order a double shipment with their next procurement requests to the capital in order to replenish stores. Failure to comply will be considered a lapse in public stewardship of citizens and location officials will be dealt with accordingly.

“What if they don’t actually get rid of this stuff?” the waterbender worried from her spot by the door. It was cracked open to let fresh air in, and a slant of moonlight spilled in through the opening. “It’ll be really suspicious when no actual officials show up to ensure the jars have been disposed of.”

“They’ll do it,” Zuko replied, picking the calligraphy brush up again to finish the letter.

A beat of silence passes, and he can almost tangibly feel the tension of her concern. “What makes you so sure?”

He didn’t pause in his brush strokes. “I think the mayor here will spook easily enough and comply. From what I’ve gathered, people have only been getting sick recently, so being caught so quickly would most likely make him want to get rid of the evidence. After that, hopefully it won’t matter that Culinary Affairs officials never show up because the poison will be gone, and word will have reached the capital about the skimming he’s been doing here for the last few years.”

“But that also means people won’t be coming around to make sure every jar’s been disposed of. What if some families don’t?”

That thought had occurred to him, as well. Zuko frowned at the scroll, pausing only momentarily in his writing. They couldn’t afford to waste too much more time if he kept stopping mid-sentence. Beneath the wood of the Blue Spirit mask, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

“We just have to trust they’ll all follow the order.”

He heard her pace a few steps behind him. “What if they mayor doesn’t let the people know? How can we be sure the word will actually get out?” Her pacing stopped short. “What if he thinks it comes from someone trying to work against him?”

It was strange, hearing his own concerns voiced so clearly to him. “I think,” he said, slowly, “that so long as this looks really official, he’ll do what it says.” Zuko finished the line he was working on. “I did put in that officials will be coming around to gather the emptied jars and check for compliance, so…”

“That worry will hang over him like a bad banana.”

“Yeah—wait, what?” Her comparison struck him so odd as to be funny, and it caused him to pause so long before starting the final line of the letter, he nearly forgot himself and let ink drip onto the scroll. Thankfully, he caught himself in time and moved the brush away. He’d have to start a whole other letter if a stray splatter of ink found its way onto what was supposed to be an “official” document.

He twisted back to look at her, and saw she had a sheepish smile on her face. She shrugged. “I don’t know, seemed like a fitting saying.”

Zuko shook his head and was glad that his own smile was hidden by the mask. “That was a really bad attempt at a metaphor.”

“Not if that bad banana falls on his head,” she insisted, and he honestly couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. Why would she be joking with him, after all?

“Is… the fake letter the bad banana?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

“Well, the fake threat of officials coming from the Royal Palace are. The letter’s more the peel.”

Despite himself, despite everything, he almost laughed at that. At the sound, the waterbender seemed to realize the banter starting between them and thought better of it. She cleared her throat a little.

“How’s it coming along?”

Right. Back to business. But… the banter was a good sign, wasn’t it? Maybe if he won her over a little bit, she’d help convince the others that he should be the one to train the Avatar firebending. That was his ultimate goal, anyway.

“Nearly finished,” he replied, picking up the brush again and getting back to work. After a moment, he leaned back a bit to scrutinize his handiwork. “There’s only one thing left.”

“Where to take it?”

“Well—before that. The signature stamp.”

“Oh.” It was clear by the fall of her voice that she understood his concern. “Do you… know it?”

He knew it well enough—most of the Ministries’ seals were variations of one another, and incorporated some part of the seal of the Royal Palace. He’d had them all drilled into him relentlessly during his schooling, so much that he doubted he’d ever forget one. “That’s not the issue. I can recreate it, but it definitely won’t look like it’s stamped.”

“I think I can help with that, too. Can you write it on another scroll?”

Unsure of how exactly she could help, Zuko did as she asked anyway. With careful strokes he replicated the seal to the best of his memory. It was a pretty good rendition of it, that was for sure, but any other thoughts he might have had on it were interrupted by a soft crackling beside him.

The waterbender was shaping the end of a small block of ice while staring intently at the seal he’d replicated on the scroll. When she was finished, she carefully pressed the carved end against the still-wet ink, then used that to stamp the scroll beside the written seal.

“How’s that?”

He compared it to the one he’d written. “Almost. This line should be a little more tapered, and that one just a bit straighter.” Zuko watched as she made the adjustments and made another stamp. He nodded his approval. “Won’t the ice melt into the ink, though?”

The waterbender shrugged, unconcerned. “All ink is, really, is charcoal and water and a little thickening ingredient. I can just evaporate the excess water if need be, but it probably will be so little it won’t make a difference.”

Beneath the wood of his mask, Zuko’s eyebrow lifted in startled appreciation. “You know how to make ink?”

“I know how to make a lot of things,” was her reply. She moved her fingers over the seal he’d written with a fluid twist of her wrist, and the black ink glistened in the lantern light.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, just as she was poised to re-ink the seal. “It should be red.”

Quickly, he rummaged through the storeroom until he found what he was looking for—a small porcelain container with the iconic red seal ink that every letter-writing Fire Nation citizen had. He removed the lid and set it down next to the extra scroll.

“Here.”

With precision, she removed the outermost layer of ice on her block to clear away the black ink still clinging to the corners and contours she’d carved, then dipped the end into the container. Once the seal was coated in red, she hesitated and looked at the forged letter scroll.

Sensing her question before she asked, he directed her to the proper location for the seal, then held his breath for the brief moment she hovered directly above the scroll with the seal before pressing it firmly against the paper. When she drew back, Zuko looked over the letter, nodding.

“This looks…”

“Pretty official,” she finished. “Do you know where it should go? Or who we should leave it for?”

“Yeah. But… it’s gonna be a little more involved.”

#zuko #katara #zutara #atla #avatar the last airbender #renamed Diplomatic Solution on ao3 #is tumblr still doing that stupid ass thing #where posts with links don't show up in the tags???#reposted to test this theory #my fic

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retphienix · 4 years

Video

youtube

*slamming table louder each time chanting* bad ending get

Bad ending get

BAD ENDING GET!

@gamesception I have to thank you for the recommendation because while Hollow was on my radar, it wasn’t a game I fully planned on playing purely because, if I haven’t beat the darn horse dead already, it’s not a genre I’d consider a forte of mine.

I’m thankful as all hell to you for that little push, and I apologize in advance for this:

I probably won’t be going all in for bonus content and all the endings despite the world and story having its hooks in me MORE than enough to warrant me attempting to muscle through.

Fact of the matter is- I suck at this genre. Give me a 3d souls game or a shooter or a tactical RPG or most RPGs for that matter and I’ll piledrive through because those are my jam and I can more naturally adapt to increasing difficulty because those are genres I’m acclimated to.

2d action platformers? I’m so trash I can’t beat a sonic without save states and mario is honest to god a hardcore challenge for my hands.

Now I do love the genre and trying my hand at improving- and this was a 11 out of 10 experience for that that genuinely didn’t have a low point despite any gripes I mentioned (even Nosk).

But knowing that the games post-release content aimed for more challenge- knowing that the other endings (after beating it I looked em up because I am pretty decided) require additional bosses and a real final boss- I know enough to know it’ll take ages for me to accomplish that.

And maybe I will at some point, because my god, I’m hooked both on the reward of playing and on the story, but as for the blog’s inclusion I think we’re done here outside of a potential post gushing in friggin 10 years time when I sit down and return to this gem.

I really really ended up loving this, not that I truly doubted that. But I really did have, I don’t know, lesser expectations for how the world would hit me. I’ve just seen a lot of games attempt to replicate the souls world building before and they come off as just desperately copying or otherwise lacking heart- this though? This genuinely holds its own flame.

From exploring the environment to talking with the denizens, to the bosses, to the fully verbalized plot- it’s apt that the characters are bugs because it got its hooks in me for certain.

Reading through the wiki post-credits and watching the alternative endings I’m left even more enthralled on that end.

I mean, they really had the dedication to make this bleak world end truthfully instead of copping out and giving you a glitz and glamour happy true ending possible- huh? And I love that shit.

That’s the kind of stuff that hits your heart upon completion and makes you think about the game for months after you stopped holding the controller.

That’s the stuff that makes you sit back and consider what a happy ending would be, what all the things that are left ambiguous actually turned out to be and potentially inlay those as things that make the post-ending better or worse for those you met along the way.

That’s the shit that shows a story well told, start to finish.

And I’d have just as soon skipped it entirely and thought of this as “That one soulslike that’s 2d and I heard was good” instead of what I will get to hold onto now. Thanks again, sincerely :) Game story means a lot to me, as well as the overall experience a game can lend you and allow you to expand on for yourself- all those pieces that make what you get from a game unique and individual despite the mass product-ibility of the game itself.

That means loads and you let me see a great deal here :)

Enough of that.

Hollow Knight.

This is usually where I ramble about flaws or gems in the game despite how silly I think that can be since every game has both and I almost always emphasize one or the other when I don’t mean to lol.

So Hollow Knight. It shoves some features that don’t feel right in a metroidvania. It has a world that doesn’t ENTIRELY properly mold to the exploration of a metroidvania (too much is unlocked with single upgrades, it more or less becomes an entire map of free reign and near equally difficult areas with single rooms barred off until you get things like the shade dash).

It falters on base game difficulty on occasion because of the ‘we accidentally made the metroidvania map too open too quickly’ thing.

And despite any of that it ended up playing like a wonder all the way through lol.

God, some of those bosses will stick with me just because of how perfectly balanced they felt like the manti or either Hornet fight.

And yet my takeaway will remain the story and world. They really pulled out the stops and went for it and created a world that feels so utterly unique. What an ingenious design decision to make everything insect themed, it gives the world an alien feel that I certainly haven’t felt before. And it’s incredible to me how a game that is more or less gray for the length of the gameplay felt so full of color and artistic expression.

The zones have so much life through the land itself despite the plague-like infection and corpses everywhere. The Fog with its bubbles will definitely stand out there.

I’m wrapping up and doing a terrible job of it and all that’s going through my head is “Those endings, the ambiguity of Hornet’s outcome or even the truth of how the knight persists or entirely dissolves in the flower extended ending since in the others he either becomes the new vessel or perishes. I can’t stop dwelling on that world I’ve explored in those context.”

and

“I should write fanfiction” followed by “Do not do that you have not explored 100% of the game and you’re obsession with details will kill you in attempting that, stick to writing your darn (as of now) OneShot game fanfiction instead you dolt”

This was good. Very good. I’m sorry to sort of blanket it out with such a simple statement but honestly, I couldn’t do it justice, so I’ll say it plainly. This is a good game and I’m happy to have played it :)

#RetPlays #Hollow Knight

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rewatchdoctorwho · 4 years

Text

My Top 10 Classic Series Episodes

This list was incredibly difficult to compile. You’ll no doubt notice how many of the stories I listed as my favourites from particular Doctors are not present. You’ll likewise notice the complete absence of a couple of Doctors from this list altogether. Ultimately I decided to go with the stories I would automatically think of when considering different eras of the series, even if those particular stories might not be the ones I think are the best or even the ones I like the most. Doubtless many of you will curse my name and hate me forever after reading this list, which is fair.

10. The Seeds of Doom

There are many superbly classic stories from the famous Season 13, but my personal favourite has always been “The Seeds of Doom,” one of the darkest and most horrifying tales Doctor Who has ever told. I mean yeah, it’s more or less ripping off H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness and the original Howard Hawkes version of The Thing from Another World, but it’s still wonderfully told and manages to keep the tension ratcheted up throughout all six parts, something very few stories of this time period manage to do. The scenes in the arctic, showing a man slowly transforming into a plant monster, is still quite horrific to this day.

9. Remembrance of the Daleks

A cherished fan-favourite, “Remembrance of the Daleks” is one of the most exciting and action-packed stories of the Classic Series, and carried long-term consequences for the series as a whole and its titular character. Never before had the Doctor seemed so powerful, so intense, and so frightening. There are a lot of subtle hints that the Doctor, in his words, is “more than just another Time Lord,” and while these implications have been more or less overlooked in the modern series, this was the beginning of the controversial “Oncoming Storm” interpretation of the Doctor, and the story would go on to influence the legendary Time War storyline that still resonates throughout the series to this day.

8. The Keys of Marinus

Despite how much I love stories like “The Space Museum” and “The Tenth Planet,” I always find myself going back to “The Keys of Marinus,” what I consider to be the first really good Doctor Who story, and the one that is of high quality through all six installments. I’ve always loved the structure of this story, with the first chapter introducing us to this strange planet and the challenge of the Doctor and his companions having to recover the titular keys that lie scattered across that planet. The next four chapters see us taken to four very different parts of the planet of Marinus, each with a different challenge for our heroes to overcome in their quest to collect the Keys. This also offers the characters rare opportunities to have the screen more to themselves than usual as they pair off to pursue the Keys in different places, giving the actors a change to develop and show off their characters to greater degrees than previously afforded.

7. The War Games

What really makes “The War Games” so notable, beyond its ingeniously-written structure that keeps the dramatic tension up for the entirety of the mammoth ten-part story, is the sheer wealth of mythology the story introduces. We learn for the first time that the Doctor belongs to an alien super-race from the planet Gallifrey call the Time Lords, a race he abandoned after stealing the TARDIS to wander the universe to both of his heart’s content. We see the introduction of the famous Sonic Screwdriver (which is actually used to unscrew something), and witness the beginning of the Doctor’s long exile on Earth as a punishment for breaking the Time Lords’ most sacred rule of noninterference with the timeline of the universe. Virtually the whole of the broader mythology of the series was birthed here, and watching it unfold was an unforgettable experience.

6. City of Death

When most people talk about the magic that was Tom Baker’s performance as the Doctor, scenes from “City of Death” are usually what they’ll reference. Every Doctor Who fan worth their salt can recite the iconic “Wonderful Butler” scene from memory, and the sparkling writing combined with some truly beautiful location photography in Paris make for an endless memorable story. The plot is a brilliant piece of melodramatic science fiction courtesy of the great author Douglas Adams, who penned many of the show’s best stories from the late 1970’s.

5. Tomb of the Cybermen

Patrick Troughton’s Second Doctor is one of my very favourites, and in no other story is everything that is wonderful about this portrayal so well displayed as the legendary “Tomb of the Cybermen.” Aside from the beautiful photography and iconic sequences, this is the episode where the Doctor’s gentler, nobler, and wiser side is first really centre stage, which contrasts wonderfully with the titular Cybermen at their most disturbing and sinister. I was always a fan of the Cybermen, but this story really catapulted them into my number one spot on the list of favourite Doctor Who monsters.

4. Genesis of the Daleks

This is the first story where Tom Baker really got to show us what he could do in Doctor Who, and was (in my opinion) the first step on his road to becoming the greatest Doctor of them all. The legendary moment when he, with the future of the entire Dalek race literally in the palm of his hands, questions whether he has the right to exterminate them just as they have exterminated so many other races, is still talked about as a definitive moment for the character. The story is notable for other reasons too. It fully fleshed out the origin story of the Daleks, something that had only been hinted at in previous stories despite their huge popularity with fans, and introduced what I consider to be the Doctor’s greatest enemy, the megalomaniacal Davros, the father of the Dalek race.

3. The Curse of Fenric

“Curse of Fenric” might just be my favourite Doctor Who story of the 1980’s, and I pin that mostly down to the very strong direction and borderline apocalyptic themes. It’s a prime example of how one can tell a large-scale story on a small-scale budget and location. The elements of gothic horror, Viking mythology, transcendental science fiction and complex emotional drama are blended together seamlessly into one very pleasing package. This is the kind of story that I would have watched over and over again as a child had I known about it then, even if I would have done so from beneath the safety of my blankets. A real masterpiece.

2. The Caves of Androzani

For a lot of the Classic Series, the viewer has to more or less meet the program halfway. The quality of the writing, acting, directing, and especially special effects aren’t always up to the standards we have these days, but if you can overlook that, there’s still a lot of fun to be had. “The Caves of Androzani,” however, need no such contextual crutches. This story holds up unbelievably well even today. The plot is nuanced and sensitive without being too complex, the directing feels very modern with a uniquely strong pace and sense of immediacy, the special effects are pretty strong by Doctor Who standards, and the acting is among the finest the program has seen in the entirety of its history. There’s not a lot I can say about this story I haven’t already spoken about at length, but considering how poor the series would get in the next couple of years following it, it’s emotional clout and thematic weight is even more remarkable.

1. Shada

“This is absolutely unfair; ‘Shada’ was never finished and surely animated reconstructions can’t count” I can hear many of you say. Well it’s my list and “Shada” is my all-time favourite Doctor Who story. Of course it had to be a Tom Baker story, and this story shows off everything that was good (and everything I liked best) about his time on the show. It’s simply a delightful story that takes you into places of complex morality and science fiction madness that few other stories from the Classic Series have dared or done so well.

What I like most about “Shada” is its tone. As we’ve seen, Doctor Who is a show than can tackle a variety of different stories, some light, some dark, some heavy, some silly. But the kind of Doctor Who story I always liked best were the ones that sparkle, the ones that show us just how magical and delightful the Doctor’s life can be, the ones that give us the biggest sense of how wonderful travelling through the universe aboard a spacetime machine that looks like a phone booth on the outside must feel. And “Shada” is by far the best exemplar of this in the Classic Series. Is it the best Doctor Who story ever told? No. Is it the most fun? I say yes. And if you don’t like that, well, I don’t like your tailor.

#doctor who #classic #tom baker #patrick troughton #bbc

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dabistits · 4 years

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(1) I too get the impression that the Todoroki children avoid bringing up serious topics around Rei, probably to avoid triggering her. While understandable, I still don’t like seeing a mentally ill character being treated as fragile by the children SHE’s supposed to take care of. I wish Rei would show more initiative in discussing the issues they need to talk about.

ok, you sent me a long string of asks (the rest are blow the cut) and i can’t respond to them point by point, so i’ll just comment on some salient things. i think you bring up good points from the perspective of someone struggling with mental illness, so i certainly understand looking at characters who struggle with the same things as you and thinking about what you’d do or what you’d prefer to see, but i can’t completely get behind approaching rei’s writing from that angle.

some other things:

i don’t think avoiding triggering someone is treating them as fragile, it’s showing basic respect for their mental wellbeing. even parents deserve to have boundaries, and parents who enforce good boundaries btwn parent and child will help that child develop develop better boundaries for themselves. i know the case with the todos is a bit different, since it seems like they don’t talk about those issues at all, but i don’t want to correlate getting triggered with fragility in general.

we can’t talk about psychiatric patients seeming to be passive without addressing the larger issue, which is that psychiatric institutions largely seek to strip independence from their patients (see also the burrito test: “If you are not allowed to wake up in the middle of the night, leave your room, and microwave a burrito, you live in a prison.”). patients may not be allowed to cook or clean, and some places will not let them decide their own bedtime. female patients are frequently sexually abused. adults with severe mental illnesses are not children, but they are treated as such by neurotypical people and by the industries that are supposedly there to “help” them.

while we don’t know the exact parameters for rei’s stay at the institution and her release, knowing the way most institutions work and because of the context of her institutionalization being one where she became a danger to someone else, i doubt that she can just check herself out to be part of her childrens’ lives. we don’t even know if she’s allowed to leave the hospital on her own. i don’t think it’s great to assume the blame is on her, rather than questioning if the institution itself or if the man who put her there had a much stronger hand in curbing her independence. why is she getting blamed for separating herself from her children and not the man who abused her and had her institutionalized?

like, i do think you’re correct about many things. yes, rei is infantilized; yes, it’s patronizing for shouto to phrase his feelings as “saving” her; yes, rei is obviously excluded from her children’s lives, but… whose fault is that? why is it primarily her fault before the fault of her abuser or the fault of an abusive psychiatric industry? why is it her fault before the fault of her author? i get that you want to see her get better and be a mother who can be present in the lives of her children, but for that to happen, hori would actually have to invest in her as a character, which he seems unlikely to do.

it does bother me that there’s more criticism of rei (as though she were a real living breathing person) than her writer, who does appear to find abused women specifically to be infantile and needy. it’s not that we can’t question the behaviors of abused women toward their (possibly also abused) children, but given our cultural fixation on criticizing abused women as too complacent and too weak-willed and too stupid, i’m not terribly interested in picking apart rei’s behavior. she’s just a female character written by a male misogynist who clearly can’t be bothered to think of more than two traits for her, so… yeah, she’s going to seem nonsensical and passive a lot, because her own fucking creator can’t be bothered to write about her.

(2) As someone with a mental disorder, I have great stakes in seeing a mentally ill character strive for recovery and independence. That’s why I’ve been very critical of Rei. It bothers me how passive and immobile she is inside her hospital room. I also have issues with how the other characters treat her and talk about her.

(3) Shouto swore to “save her from this place,” but I want to see Rei take responsibility for her recovery and get herself out of the hospital as a result of her own efforts. Thus, while in-character, I nevertheless viewed Shouto’s sentiment as patronizing. At the same time, however, I see how Rei warrants this kind of attitude toward herself.

(4) I was worried that Rei accepting the flower and claiming that Enji has changed indicated that she was slipping back to her gullibility toward the honeymoon stage of abuse, that she was teaching her children to fall for these supposed peace offerings and promises to stop toxic behavior that should have never happened in the first place.

(5) Fuyumi especially seems to be following her mother’s footsteps in staying in an abusive relationship, both with her father in the present and relationships she may have in the future. That’s why I wanted Rei to warn her children to stay wary of Endeavor. Or maybe Hori thinks mentally ill people are incapable of imparting wisdom and learning from experience.

(6) If those were my kids, I would tell them to stay out of that Hell house! I would instruct Natsuo and Shouto to stay in their dorms over the weekends and ask a friend (or girlfriend in Natsuo’s case) if they could stay with them during school breaks. Now that Shouto’s living in the dorms, Fuyumi can find her own apartment, since she has a job.

(7) Though that’s assuming Endeavor doesn’t confiscate her paycheck. Endeavor may be rich, but he may still resort to financial abuse in order to hold power over his victims. I sometimes wonder if he prevented Rei from getting a job or withheld cash from her so that she would never save enough for a train ticket out of there with her children.

(8) If that’s the case, then I want to see Rei give Fuyumi tips on how to hide money from Endeavor. I once read that a woman hid dollars in a tampon box from her abusive husband until she saved enough to hire a divorce attorney. This is the kind of ingenious advice Rei could be giving her children. Instead, Horikoshi makes Rei seem unnecessary.

(9) Rei’s not involved in important family decisions. She’s not there when Shouto runs off to fight the hero killer or when Natsuo gets threatened by Ending. Everything happens without her. It gives the impression that even if she were released from the hospital, it wouldn’t make a difference in her children’s lives.

(10) In fact, it looks like Rei depends on her children more than her children need her. Fuyumi bringing Rei her laundry in the manga and light novel is supposed to be seen as sweet, but this recurrent scene infantilizes Rei as a needy mentally ill mother. I hope Rei, along with Natsuo, will at least play a big role in reaching out to Touya.

#ask #rei todoroki #mental illness #abuse /

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callunavulgari · 4 years

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“Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home When our hearts beat slow together.”

Heather’s Top 50 Songs of 2019!

dark night — philip sheppard // curse of the i-5 corridor — neko case // way down we go — kaleo // almost — hozier // dancing in a room — ezi // epic (pt ii) — anais mitchell & justin vernon // spanish sahara — foals // obstacles — syd matters // tom thumb — bitter ruin // wolves of the revolution — the arcadian wild // epic (pt iii) — anais mitchell, justin vernon // the spine — darren korb & ashley barrett // don’t think twice — hikaru utada // face my fears — hikaru utada // waves — chloe moriondo // ashes — bear mccreary // wake up, moving on — kevin penkin // paper boats — darren korb & ashley barrett // call off your ghost — dessa // power over me — dermot kennedy // a future for the krogan — christopher lennertz // mine — bazzi // bite — charlie cunningham // wait for me — andre de shields // birds — imagine dragons & elisa // crazy — patsy cline // bury a friend — billie eilish // the seed — aurora // eleventh dimension — julian casablancas // sunflower — post malone // what’s up danger — blackway, black caviar // bad guy — billie eilish // elevate — dj khalil // must’ve been — chromeo // dark matter — les friction // lark of my heart — eliza rickman // dancing on my own — robyn // hungover in the city of dust — autoheart // season of the witch — lana del rey // bird song — juniper vale // paradise valley — honey & the sting // my hallelujah — autoheart // furthest star — dirt poor robins // play dirty — kevin mcallister // it’s quiet uptown — kelly clarkson // pas de deux — michael abels // i got 5 on it — michael abels, luniz, mi // one day more — les mis cast // into the unknown — idina menzel, aurora // show yourself — idina menzel & evan rachel wood

short version | long version | youtube | spotify unwrapped

long version will lead you to the 165 song, 10 hour and 34 minute playlist which i’ve been slowly adding to since january. short version will lead you to what you see here. youtube will lead you to the playlist you see here but... wait for it... on youtube. mostly because i know not everyone has spotify. spotify unwrapped will lead you to a mixture of the long and the short version, which is pretty bloated with austin wintory songs because those are what i listen to when i write or read usually.

the long version is much improved in length from last year, which was 261 songs and 17 hours, but that’s mostly because august through december i was pretty bad at keeping track of the music that caught my attention. whoops.

and under the cut is me ranting about music, like usual. enjoy!

i. dark night || philip sheppard *instrumental*

This was my absolute favorite from the Detroit: Become Human soundtrack. I tended to prefer Kara’s songs most because they were gorgeous and haunting and just plain fantastic. Connor’s songs were mostly listened to while writing for the fandom, but Kara’s songs were what I kept coming back to. ii. curse of the i-5 corridor || neko case So I left home and faked my ID I fucked every man that I wanted to be

Sometime in January, I fell in love with eighteen wheels on an uphill climb, which was a 91k hank/connor wip by blackeyedblonde. Hank’s a trucker. Connor occasionally dabbles in sex work to keep himself alive and moving. But like, it’s so much more than that? Anyway, at some point the author linked to this song. I think it may have been on tumblr, but I fell in love with it and neko case.

iii. way down we go || kaleo Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall And they will run you down, down 'til you go Yeah, so you can't crawl no more

Speaking of Detroit: Become Human (sensing a theme?), this fanvideo is one of my favorite things in the world. I had it and a couple other fantastic videos like it playing in the background while writing for the fandom. This video, in fact, is what finally made me go in search of the game. iv. almost (sweet music) || hozier The same kind of music haunts her bedroom I'm almost me again, she's almost you Wasteland, Baby was a thing that happened to me. Which would have already been enough to get it on this list, but I also listened to it on repeat while writing my first DBH fic. v. dancing in a room || ezi I know you notice, notice me I might be broken but it's not showing It's how I'm copin', copin' I don’t actually remember where this one came from. I know that sometime when March is still a bit cold, I listened to a playlist on spotify that I can’t find for the life of me. It had a lot of the songs that are about to come up on it, and before I started exclusively listening to audiobooks while I got ready for work in the morning, I listened to random fantastic playlists. vi. epic (pt ii) || anais mitchell & justin vernon And suddenly Hades was only a man with a taste of nectar upon his lips

Hadestown was also a thing that happened to me. This song makes me fucking weak. All of the lyrics are great, the whole song is gorgeous and haunting and so perfect it hurts, but those lyrics above are just *chefs kiss* vii. spanish sahara || foals Forget the horror here Leave it all down here It's future rust and it's future dust

Sometime during the spring, I played Life Is Strange and had a million and one feelings. I played both options for the ending and each one was gut wrenching in its own way. I think I still prefer the one where Chloe lives, but this song has literally haunted me ever since.

viii. obstacles || syd matters Someday we will foresee obstacles Through the blizzard, through the blizzard And this is the song that plays if you make the other choice. Again, SUPER TRAGIC, but also you know. You get to keep your girlfriend. ix. tom thumb || bitter ruin And I know I'll be burnt, but I can stand a flame or two to catch you

This was one of the songs that I discovered on the mysterious spotify playlist! Something I’d forgotten: I discovered Hadestown off of that playlist. Thanks, mystery playlist. You gave me all the ear worms. x. wolves of the revolution || the arcadian wild You're trapped inside of your own heart It's a spectators sport, just play your part You guessed it - from the mystery playlist. They’re all very reminiscent of the Hadestown soundtrack. Vaguely eerie, kind of haunting, a lot beautiful. Makes you feel like you’re a forest creature living on the edge of the swamp. You know: the aesthetic. xi. epic (pt iii) || anais mitchell & justin vernon Where is the treasure inside your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his hat in his hands? Who stands in the garden with nothing to lose I thought about only including this one instead of including part 2, but in the end I loved both too much to choose. Hadestown, man. I hope it comes to Ohio at some point in the near future. xii. the spine || darren korb & ashley barrett Fingers tied themselves in knots around the heart It beats in time I see the spine of the world

I have never actually played Transistor, which is fucking tragic because I listened to basically the entire soundtrack over and over again for the entire year. There’s at least one more song from the game on this list, but it is really wonderful. Haunting vocals, perfect for writing or reading or driving. xiii. don’t think twice || hikaru utada I'm only crying 'cause I never dreamed It'd take this long, it'd take this long Hi, I played Kingdom Hearts 3 this year. And I cried so fucking much. I had some issues with the game, namely how the ending was such a clusterfuck of boss fight after boss fight and emotional character arc resolutions so it all felt kind of rushed? But the gameplay was superb, the selfie thing was ingenious, and I did cry at least six different times while I was stressing my way through fighting boss fights with blurry eyes. xiv. face my fears || hikaru utada Oh, let me face, let me face, let me face my fears Won't be long, won't be long, I'm almost here Watch me cry all my tears

So like, if you care at all you’ve probably already seen it, but the opening cutscene of KH3 was to Face My Fears, and I’m gonna be real honest here - I didn’t like it at first. I moaned and groaned about Skrillex and how it was nothing like Simple and Clean or Passion/Sanctuary. But it grew on me to the point that it was actually my most listened to song this year. Watch me cry all my tears, indeed. xv. waves || chloe moriondo Make me into more than a goner Perhaps a little bit stronger Thicker skin, less needy, And maybe to not bruise so damn easily, but you can't

I don’t remember where I found this song either? Maybe mystery playlist but probably not. Either way, it’s pretty and uh, I too want to slow the world down. xvi. ashes || bear mccreary -instrumental- Man, oh man, let’s talk about how good of a game God of War was. It was so good, guys. The game play was excellent, the world was gorgeous, and the storyline was interesting. And the music went so, so hard. Between Horizon Zero Dawn and the new God of War, I have basically been ruined for all other games. Also, dad protagonists, am I right? xvii. wake up, moving on || kevin penkin -instrumental-

Did not actually realize this was part of a soundtrack to a game? But it’s very lilty. Has that French quirky romcom vibe to it and I listened to the crap out of it in early summer. xviii. paper boats || darren korb & ashley barrett The river always finds the sea So helplessly Like you find me

Another Transistor song. I really love Ashley Barrett’s voice. I should probably at some point play the game. xix. call off your ghost || dessa I hope she makes you happy It's just a lot to ask to watch your future walking past me

This song played during one of the weather segments of Welcome to Night Vale and made me remember how much I absolutely adore Dessa. Her voice is fantastic and I love the way that her songs flow. Also, this song gives me personal feels. xx. power over me || dermot kennedy I wanna be king in your story I wanna know who you are I want your heart to beat for me I have absolutely no idea where I heard this one. It might have been playing on the radio while I was driving somewhere? I played it a lot during the summer. xxi. a future for the krogan || christopher lennertz -instrumental- It’s been a while since I played Mass Effect, but this song came up on a writing playlist and I have been listening to it ever since.

xxii. mine || bazzi Running circles 'round my mind Even when it's rainy all you ever do is shine

Shrug emoji.

xxiii. bite || charlie cunningham Stone cold faces let you keep you poisoning your blood Cut you open then you'll see poison in your blood

Also shrug emoji? Most of the time when I’m doing these there’s fandom connatations to half the songs, but these year I wasn’t heavily invested in a whole lot of fandoms so these are mostly just songs I listened to while I was a) driving, b) in the shower, or c) while reading.

xxiv. wait for me || andre de shields Ain't no compass, brother, there ain't no map Just a telephone wire and the railroad track Keep on walking and you don't look back

And here’s the last Hadestown song on the list. It’s just... really good, okay. Really, really good. xxv. birds || imagine dragons & elisa Seasons, they will change Life will make you grow Dreams will make you cry, cry, cry

I think there’s been an Imagine Dragons song on here every year since they came out with Radioactive. This is the only song of theirs I heard this year, but pairing their voice with Elisa’s was fucking genius because this song makes me feel the chorus in my soul. xxvi. crazy || patsy cline You'd love me as long as you wanted And then some day You'd leave me for somebody new I was at a bar, and my friend has just announced that he was getting married to his girlfriend of ten years in Vegas, on a ferris wheel, by an Elvis impersonator. We started listening to Elvis songs to figure out what he’d play, and then we got distracted listening to a bunch of old love songs. This one is more heartbreak than love, but I’ve always loved Patsy’s voice. xxvii. bury a friend || billie eilish Bury a friend, try to wake up

I was really slow to the Billie Eilish train. One of my friends recommended her music and it’s just so chaotic and fantastic that I can’t believe I didn’t fall for it earlier. This song in particular was a Billy Hargrove song for a while.

xxviii. the seed || aurora Feed me sunlight, feed me air In a place where nothing matters Feed me truth and feed me prayer Aurora’s got one of those truly lovely voices. Also I like songs about how the earth should eat humanity.

xxix. eleventh dimension || julian casablancas 'Cause no one really cares or wonders why anymore Oh, I got music, coming out of my hands and feet and kisses

Back in 2011, when I was still watching Doctor Who, someone made this video which blew my little heart away. I rediscovered this song while we were driving back to Ohio from our annual beach trip and managed to get everyone in the car hooked on it for weeks afterwards.

xxx. sunflower || post malone You're a sunflower I think your love would be too much

Into the Spiderverse! Was so! Good!

xxxi. what’s up danger || blackway, black caviar I like it all on the edge just like you, ayy I like tall buildings so I can leap off of 'em

So like, that scene, right? The one that had everyone losing their collective shit? I saw gifs before I watched the movie, and goddamn, it lived up to every single expectation I ever had. I made Nick watch it with me, and he groaned a lot because honestly he is not the biggest fan of super hero movies, but even he admitted that it was the best damn Spiderman movie we’d ever seen. It was powerful and clever and heartwarming and funny and the music and animation were both fan-freaking-tastic.

xxxii. bad guy || billie eilish I'm the bad guy, duh Can you believe that I actually didn’t know about this video until @nijuukoo did art? I mean, I’d definitely heard it and liked it before hand, but the fucking video, man. That pic of Vanitas showering Ven in hearts is still the background of my desktop.(It would have been the one of him sitting on Ansem while he’s doing push ups, but it didn’t work with my screen)

xxxiii. elevate || dj khalil I jump off this building to save these civilians My strength and my honor is trusted by children I'm ready and willing to fight all these villains No chaos or killings, my style is so brilliant I really, really liked the music to Into the Spiderverse.

xxxiv. must’ve been || chromeo I must've been high when I met you Out of my mind when I decided to love you

There was a Harringrove fic that I read during the summer that made the connection between this song and modern AU Billy and Steve. I thought it was @lymricks but maybe not. Either way - I listened to this for like three weeks straight while reading about Billy and Steve flirting at the pool. Ha! Found it - you, through half-shut eyes by @brawlite.

xxxv. dark matter || les friction Bring me your soul, bring me your hate In my name you will create Bring me your fear, bring me your pain You will destroy in my name

There was an Outsider fanvid. I tripped over it.

xxxvi. lark of my heart || eliza rickman Lark of my heart - dance in the dark and say you love me Lark of my heart - right from the start and say you love me

This one was another that I found on a random playlist while I was reading and I just love the rhythm of the song. I sat right up and favorited that sucker before I lost it.

xxxvii. dancing on my own — robyn I'm just gonna dance all night I'm all messed up, I'm so outta line Stilettos on broken bottles I'm spinning around in circles Okay. Okay, okay, okay. So there was that tumblr post that went around a while back where a bunch of subway riders who just got back from a Robyn concert started singing while waiting for the train and I just. It makes me so fucking happy. Like, I remember the night I clicked on that video. I’d never heard the song before, but I didn’t need to because the level of fucking joy and unity in that video literally brought tears to my eyes. Sometimes, humans are fucking beautiful.

xxxviii. hungover in the city of dust || autoheart We’re hungover in the city of dust So let our minds run round in circles While we figure it all out

I really adore autoheart. They did Sailor Song, which was on my Top Songs post last year and honestly, according to the plays on spotify, probably should have still been on my list this year, but alas - this is the abridged version. Every song I’ve heard from them I’ve loved. The entire bridge makes me shiver, it’s just so wonderfully executed.

xxxix. season of the witch || lana del rey You've got to pick up every stitch, The rabbits running in the ditch, Oh no, must be the season of the witch In October I watched Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark and it was super spooky and really great and probably one of the best movies I saw this year? But like, also this cover by Lana del Rey was the best damn thing about it. Someone made a witchy video that was great too but I can’t find it now. xl. bird song || juniper vale Listen to the sound of my heart beat slow Yeah, my heart's like yours, my heart's like yours Listen to the sound, oh it feels like home When our hearts beat slow together

I really like Juniper Vale. I found them last year when I stumbled across their cover of Singing In The Rain, and they churn out some really quality music.

xli. paradise valley || honey & the sting So you'll have to hold me down Could you just hold me down build the levees higher This song was always going to make it to 2019′s list too. It’s just too damn good. Thank you, Wolf 359. You’ve given me a gift that is still giving three years later.

xlii. my hallelujah || autoheart Thought I found a new religion In you who was I kidding There's nowhere to go Except for under quarantine

More Autoheart! Just listen to that melody! That flow!

xliii. furthest star || dirt poor robins We'll find our hiding place Clear across the Milky Way Beyond the galaxy On the furthest star that we see

This song reminds me a lot of Muse back in their early days. I was half-napping on the couch listening to, you guessed it, a random playlist on spotify, and I liked this song enough to surface from the edges of slumber to favorite it so I could find it again.

xliv. play dirty || kevin mcallister Would you get the Devil this dance? Would you be a part of his plans? Now you got some blood on your hands

There was a fanvid. It was good and basically caught me up on Preacher. The song is also really catchy.

xlv. it’s quiet uptown || kelly clarkson Look at where we are Look at where we started Last year, this was on my list because of an EOS 10 playlist. This year it’s on my list because I still fucking love it. Also I saw Hamilton this year and it was really phenomenal. I cannot get over how good it was.

xlvi. pas de deux || michael abels -instrumental- I watched Us in late October/early November and this entire sequence was really lovely and eerie and just all around fantastic. I loved the mirroring throughout the movie, and it all came together in this stunning confrontation.

xlvii. i got 5 on it || michael abels, luniz, mi I got five on it

Us had a really good soundtrack.

xlviii. one day more || les mis cast One more dawn One more day One day more!

About a month ago I got to see Les Mis in theater and I cried like six or seven times. That is not an exaggeration I was a fucking mess. As much as I’ve adored every musical I have seen up until this point, I have never had a musical affect me the way this one did. It was incredibly powerful and the experience was worth every damn cent.

xlix. into the unknown || idina menzel, aurora Everyone I've ever loved is here within these walls I'm sorry, secret siren, but I'm blocking out your calls

Like, I know it’s cool to hate on Frozen because it got so popular, but Idina Menzel is a queen with the voice of an angel and I’m sorry, but the movies were good. Also, Elsa is very, very pretty and this shit was very, very gay.

l. show yourself || idina menzel & evan rachel wood Come to me now Open your door Don't make me wait One moment more

Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Elsa gets all the best numbers. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, folks. Happy listening.

#heather says what #fanmixes #2019 #music makes the world go round #new year's memes

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